Standing forty-five feet tall, the Gigas is a mechanical work unrivalled across the globe. The construct’s body is roughly humanoid and comprised of interlocking, sandstone plates embossed with forgotten glyphs and dedications to dead deities. Its arms end in three-fingered gauntlets of meteorite metal which are attached to wenches and star-forged chains within the warmachine’s forearms. Its feet are merely wide stumps, not unlike an elephant, scrolled with the bas-relief of a landscape from before recorded history and stained from the countless lives the Gigas has stamped out. Its stone-wings match the eagle-like head between jewel-encrusted shoulders. While the appendages bear no articulation the powerful, forgotten magic etched into each stone pinion allows the truly massive statue to fly. Its head sports a single eye of an impossibly large ruby, and a likewise ludicrous-sized sapphire is inset in the construct’s sternum. The Gigas’s beak is hinged, so it might open it to roar and

Bearing an flamberge glinting with leering demon faces, the carnyfex prances into battle with an air of amusement and contempt. The fiend wears an executioner’s hood with a stitched-on grin. The leather is held in place by a rusted prince’s crown. Its wears an purely-ornamental breastplate over a quilted doublet with puff and slash sleeves of cerulean and marigold respectively. Long legs hide in tights of the same two colors with an exaggerated codpiece of the hues juxtaposed. Its scale-flanked hooves are bare and are the only easy clue to his infernal origins. The Prince of Headsmen. Many a tyrant’s foes meet their end under the swift stroke of an executioner’s blade while the bloodthirsty crowd roars. The carnyfex draws energy off of these cruel and untamed mobs; the sort that tear flesh from the condemned as mementoes and dances with the piked head through the streets. He adores actions done for the sake of slaughter which hide under the guise of justice. He languishes in the C

The risen woman countenance looks as if she was once broken like a mirror and put back together by inexpert hands. Her body doesn't quite fit together correctly and the gaps between are filled with coagulated ectoplasm and shards of black glass. In fact, many slivers of the glass pepper her entire body, the largest of which pierces the apparition where her heart should be. Shattered Sorscha wears a heavily embroidered dress just as tattered as she. The brocade of its cream skirt and bust is fashioned from fingerbones. The sleeves and fluttering train of the attire swirls with otherworldly shadows in which the hungry eyes of specters lurk. Her feet are nothing more than bloody stumps in black, glass slippers. Broken Souls. There once was a spoiled noble child who spent her days admiring herself in a mirror. Princess Sorscha blossomed into a vain, but beautiful woman who wielded her appearance and station with the subtly of an assassin's dagger and the brutality of a barbari

This fiend resembles a wolfhound in size and the shaggy appearance of its fur. Its face even appears friendly and familiar until hackles draw back from a mouth full of human teeth and a forked tongue. Of course, its sickly yellow fur dotted with ruddy patches, especially around the mouth, speaks to the rabid barons unnatural origins. So to do its hooked, six-fingers claws it has instead of paws. Its blood-red tail is actually a squirm of tangled furless tendrils that can unfurl and lash out like a whip. Most of the time, though, the rabid baron has transformed itself into a normal looking canine, lupine or vulpine to lure its victims in. Man's Worst Friend. The Rabid Baron exists to spread pestilence and madness among mortals. When not tending to its infernal court of barghests, hellhounds and howlers the fiend assumes the shape and demeanor of a friendly dog in ingratiates itself into a mortal family and community. It will carefully spread the Red Sight among local people an

Caught between woman and wasp, the vespidae is a mechanical chimera animated by an admixture of electricity and fury. The silver gynoid's legs are mostly human in shape, though they end in sharply pointed toes and are lined with self-regenerating barbs of loadstone. A slim wasp-like thorax extends from the vespidae's tailbone, ringed with red-steel circles. Two sets of arms extend from her shapely torso; a human set from the flanks and insectile ones from the shoulder joints. Her head is human for the most part, though it also mandibles cutting from side of her lips and small compound eyes in its sockets. Her antennae are merely a tuning fork and her wings an exquisite construction of silver and conductive gossamer. Glass slivers line the vespidae's ribs, cheeks, and spine. These give a glimpse of the lumpy blend of chitin and exposed muscle floating in charged chemicals. Scientific Mishap. The vespidae never intended to be an abomination encased in a silvery shell.

This undead terror usually moves on all fours despite its bipedal frame. Its skull is cone shaped, ending in a singular, fleshy node at its zenith which contains a collection of alien sensory nerves. While covered with geometric patterns, the creature's head is otherwise featureless. Its shoulder blades flare out like spongy fins, as does its pelvis. These flexible bones allow it to switch from walking on four legs to two and then back again with ease. The marrowborn pawn's ribcage is covered with a regal filagree of tendons that reminds one of a doublet. It also keeps the monster's collection of putrid organs in place. Pitter Patter of Little Bones. The marrowborn pawn's potency stems from two behaviors. It is an ambush predator and rarely attacks alone. The undead thing's fingers and toes are twice as long one might expect and number six on each extremity instead of five. These thin claws are enveloped in sound-dampening mucous. While it leaves noxious drops

Sculpted from bone, sinew and glistening cartilage, the marrowborn empress is an abomination like no other. As artistic as it is obscene, the undead monster towers are nearly nine-feet tall. The human-like qualities of its lower skull ends just above the nose hole where the bone flares into a latticework crown complete with wet-gristle instead of inset diamonds. Within the miscreation's throat lurks a sinuous tongue ending in a barbed spike, ever-eager to pull a victim closer to the empress. A sheaf of scrimshawed bones cover its torso in the imitation of an over-bust corset. Thought, one can still see down into its ribcage where marrowborn cysts pulsate within a moist, mucous lining. The bottom half of the anathema's body is a series of bone-plates stylized like an ankle-length dress. The marrowborn empress doesn't have ankles, though. Three dozen arachnid-like legs ring the hem. Constructed from phalanges and grey muscle, the collection lets the horror scuttle along with

A single burrspur stands around a foot tall and resembles a leafy melon at first glance. Across its bister surface jut dozens of hooked thorns. Within its mustard leaves hide beady black eyes and a wide mouth full of fang-like spines. A trio of squat stumps serve as legs. Alone, such a plant might appear comical despite its carnivorous, mobile nature. One rarely encounters a solitary burrspur, however. Dozens of the chewing, rending pods roll and bounce against one another whenever they form a swarm. The tide of sallow, gnawing doom pulls down and devours whatever meat it comes across, all while spewing obscenities when their gobs aren't full of flesh. Well-Tended Killers. The first burrspur was the work of an artificer who was also an accomplished horticulturist. He harbored little desire to create simple homunculi like his peers. Instead, he delved deep into plant-based alchemy and designed all manner of uncanny, hybrid plants to serve his needs. The burrspur was designed to

Session 7: The Lodgemaster. An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary With barely a breather, the heroes continued their assault on the Sandy Hills Chalet. Despite a myriad of wounds, the party remained determined to find the kidnapped associate of their new friend Niq the goblin. They also realized, rightly so, that these blueblood cannibals needed to be put down before they terrorized the congressional colonies further. Instead of smashing in the front door, however, the champions snuck through shot-out windows and into the chalet's large parlor. They picked over the bodies of the cultists they'd shot dead in the windows and scoped out the nearby rooms. In the grand hall, connected to the parlor, awaited a cadre of lodge redwolves , mangeservants , war mask , and a barghest. Through the other door was a fine music room complete with a harpsichord, comfortable

Lithe and tall, the humanoid is without any distinct facial features other than the vague impression of a nose and indents where eyes should be; though there is a golden glow implies ocular organs of some sort under its epidermis. At first glance, one might think this is due to a pale cloth drawn tight over its visage, but whenever the creature moves its plain that is some sort of artificial skin. The rest of its body is a smooth crimson shell of molded musculature. Raised, thicker and darker patches of skin form intricate patterns across its shoulders, down its spine and each arm. The synth chaser wears simple clothing, a crossed halter with spaulders attached; bracers and boots of a barbaric design. However, these accessories are crafted from materials not of this sphere. Its bracers are covered with indented dials and sliders that produce various magical effects with little resemblance to arcane ritual. It's main weapons are a thin, serrated blade that vibrates with no auidib

The lithe humanoid is without any distinct facial features other than the vague impression of a nose and indents where eyes should be; though there is a golden glow implies ocular organs of some sort under its epidermis. At first glance, one might think this is due to a pale cloth drawn tight over its visage, but whenever the creature moves its plain that is some sort of artificial skin. The rest of its body is a smooth crimson shell of molded musculature. Raised, thicker and darker patches of skin form intricate patterns across its shoulders, down its spine and each arm. The synth grinder wears a cross-halter top with spaulders attached that have a barbaric design. Its gloves, however, are bulky and unlike anything known on this sphere. The right hand doesn't end in fingers, but in a trio of buzzsaws equilaterally arranged around hole filled with grinding gears. The left hand has thick fingers, but a swirling flame under glass dominates the back of the forearm. From the gap in

Wearing a scarred, spiked helm, the muscled corpse stalks its prey with a relentless pace. Dead-white eys remorselessly stare from within; windows revealing a soul consumed by cold hatred. Its shirtless torso is marred by rigamortis bruising and a oozing laceration where the sabersworn's weapon sometimes rests. When on the hunt, however, the slasher pulls the red-steel saber free from its wound and uses it to strike its victim's down. The sabersworn wears spiked gauntlets, ragged black pants, and barbed greaves in the style of a bygone and savage age. Faux Undead. While the sabersworn appears to be a revenant at first glance, it is in truth a swarm of thousands of mite-sized constructs that have reshaped a corpse and pilot it as a vessel to commit their deadly deeds. The first sabersworn was the warlord who funded the mad constructs' fabrication. He wished for a set of armor and accompanying weapon that could change with the ebbs and flow of battle. When he needed to

A shambling mockery, the infernal jetsam is a collection of mismatched bones cobbled together into a humanoid shape. One might have a deer skull of a head, the next an orc's cranium; and the one after that a clutch of small bird skulls. Over the ghastly bric-a-brac is a lair of clotted, red ooze covered in scab-like patches that hold it all together. Many scholars liken these malformations to zombies and this is a very apt comparison. They have little intelligence of their own and exist only to serve the infernal flotsam . Infernal Jetsam Medium ooze, Chaotic evil Armor Class 8 Hit Points 55 (10d8 + 10) Speed 30ft Str 14 Dex 6 Con 12 Int 2 Wis 6 Cha 5 Damage Vulnerabilities cold Damage Resistances acid; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks Damage Immunities fire Condition Immunities blinded, char

Most who are unlucky enough to encounter the infernal flotsam only get a whiff of its noisome odor; that of freshly churned earth, putrid meat, and rancid sweat. When visible, the fiendish ooze is a roiling mass of gelatinous cruor, half-dissolved body parts and clotted cancerous lumps. Human-sized scabs float across its surface, breaking apart and re-forming as the infernal flotsam moves. Now and again, a demonic face will form atop the sludge. Its agonized face gives a hint as to the sinister slime's origin. Invisible Killer. The infernal flotsam's natural state is to be invisible to the naked eye. It slithers across the landscape, through a village, or within a cavern unseen, The only clue to the ooze's presence is the unholy stench its produces. By then, a victim's fate is already sealed. The slain creature is absorbed into the mass, torn to pieces and often ejected back out as an infernal jetsam. Too often, these shambling spawn are mistaken for the source

The celestial is made up of seven metal wings fused together at a central, spherical core. Along the arch of each limb is scrolled a name of one of the seven heavens. The wrackwing's feathers are cast from brass, gold, platinum, and silver and when the sun hits the creature just right it shines like the gateway to beyond itself. The angel's core is covered in small, lidless eyes. When attacking the wrackwing is a blur of sharpened feathers and glinting metal that moves so fast not a drop of spilled blood ever mars its perfection. Sanctified Sadist. To say that wrackwing enjoys the suffering of others would not be quite accurate. The celestial simply understands that mortals are doomed to lives of agony and when it is called to visit them it is because divinity demands they experience greater anguish. It uses its wings to dole out the correct dose of torment to each it meets, sometimes unto death if the mortal's sins are grave enough. In its heart, the angel hopes tho

Elegant and terrifying, the sanguisuge appears to be an empty funeral shroud at first glance. Whenever the celestial moves the afterimage of a gaunt, sunken angel appears within the tattered cloth complete with mangy wings. When seen, the sanguisuge's features are stretched tight with pain, eyes hardened with resolve. Some witnesses observe that its legs tapper off into muscle on which maggots writhe within. Though, its its legs actually end with spectral shins and feet. Likewise, the angel's weapon cannot be seen until it is already in motion. The head of the axe the sanguisuge wields is cast from its plucked feathers, dipped in the heavenly gold before being set into place. No doubt the silver-gilded bones of the weapon's haft came from its legs. Two Feet in the Grave. The sanguisuges are driven by a divine hatred of the undead that will never waver. The angelic order has gone so far as to walk through the waters of the River Akheron until their lower legs withered