The churning mass of clotted blood, cruor, rotting discharges, and scabs takes on a disturbingly humanoid shape. Despite its vile mass, the elemental moves disturbingly fast as it transforms from a tide of filth and back to a hulking horror with ease. Typhoid Tide. So powerful is the pull of The Pariah's charisma is so powerful that even the diseased effluents of his devoted flock gather to worship at his feet. As the diseased run off pools and grows, it eventually animates into a quasi-intelligent creature that can be best described as an elemental. These scabrous flows fill profane basins dedicated to the prince of pestilence. Other elementals glop through the streets of a city dominated by the Pariah’s insanity patrolling for those that would unwisely try and turn the tired. Scabrous Elemental Large elemental (biological waste), neutral Armor Class 12 (natural armor) Hit Points 123 (13d10 + 52)

It’s easy to discern that the mantled swine was once a normal pig until the infection took over. Most of its face is featureless, smooth, pink flesh from which a single eye bulges in the middle of its forehead. A tangle of barbed tusks erupt from the sides of where a mouth once was. These pearlescent protrusions contain an intricate vein network that is easily visible whenever the mantle swine feeds. Caked on mud and filth covers the rest of its corpulent body. From behind the pig’s head and trailing down its spine is a carpet of fine pseudopods that resembles a razorback’s ridge. Filthy Beasts. Wherever the The Pariah goes, he always visits swineherds and their sounders first. Some speculate it is because the prince of pestilance always enjoyed pork when he was but a mortal man, or perhaps he kept pet pigs. It's hard to know for sure. The Pariah wades into the pens and 'blesses' the swine with a vile parasitic infection which rapidly mutates the beasts into cyclopean

Session Thirty Seven: The Siege of Newpoole, Part 3 An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary Overnight, the heroes took some time to rest and strategize with their allies the Wrathyrst brothers and the captain of the Tempered Musketeers, Veerle Oldguard. It was decided that the assembled forces, scant as they were, would strike out for a roadside fort between here and Newpoole. According to rescued mercenaries (Session 36), a truly massive deadwood treant marched on the fortress days ago. While the mortal forces were low in number, they were quite skilled, and will luck could fell the fey forces besieging the fort. That night Shinashe, the rabbit folk paladin, discovered exactly what massive meant. Atop her griffon mount, Hibou, the heroine scouted ahead in the pitch of the night. It wasn’t hard to spot the Deadwood Turret (legedary version enchanted to have fire resitan

The Swineherd is more parasite than man now. It still bears a human face of limpid flesh from which its squid-like mantle sprouts. The meaty, pink tube contains all of its still-humanoid guts and comes to a sharp point at the end which is all that remains of fused leg and foot bones. A squirm of tentacles curls away from the swineherd's chin. These six appendages are each as long as a man’s arm with tips adored by bone hooks that were once phalanges. Scourge Shepherd. Once, the swineherd was a humanoid. That was until the coming of The Pariah . In the grand aberration’s presence, the parasites within the swineherd’s livestock mutated into horrific, squirming horrors. Alas, they were still nigh-undetectable and it wasn’t long before the parasites made their way into human hosts. Within a victim, the little creatures burrow their way into the victims’ brains, all the while excreting toxins that break down their bones and putrefy the flesh. The mental deterioration also makes

Session Thirty Seven: The Siege of Newpoole, Part 2 An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary The heroes and their allies, the Wrathyrst brothers, entered the Western Thicket to seek out a crack unit of musketeers, Newpoole’s ‘The Tempered.’ The region was lousy with various soldiers for the waning fey host making war against the mortals of Newpoole, and by extension the entire Congressional Colonies. The heroes knew that they’d have to face some manner of ‘massive’ tree as they pressed on toward the city. It made sense to save The Tempered and have them at their side for the next, larger battle. The Western Thicket was a primordial, pristine stretch of forest where the Tempered trained. The party and Wrathyrst brothers split up to cover more terrain with an agreement to meet at the edge once again the following day. While scouting, the heroes spotted a cadre of sinister

Session Thirty Six: The Siege of Newpoole, Part 1 An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary Like the heroes they are, the troupe decided to head back into danger and stayed on the western side of the Pond Peaks. They were able to catch up with the Wrathyrst Brothers, Kaspar, and Simon before the portable inn started moving again. They, along with Ser Silvercrown and his allies, were happy to see the heroes once again. It was agreed that the groups would travel together back to the warzone around Newpoole and help out where they could. Soon after, they all got rolling. Along the way cracks were made about Simon Wrathyrst clearly fancying the otterfolk sorceress Cedwynn, despite never talking to her, only staring and Kaspar’s budding affection for the rabbitfolk artificer Freya. Perhaps the two noblemen had an odd taste in relationships. All that aside, a few hours later, th

The grim hound is a hairless canine creature glows with an eerie green light. Its legs are distended with misshapen muscles and its back lined with coarse hairs not unlike a boars. The grim hound’s head is wide and solid, its jaw thick and lined with inward curved fangs. Its eyes sparkle with a measure of intelligence. Its gaze is often kindly unless it spies an undead horror or is commanded to attack. Then the hound is relentless in its pursuit of its prey. Best Friend, Worst Enemy. If anything, La Contessa knows how to snatch victory from despair. Like any other hunter, the noblewoman often used trained dogs in the field. The loyal creatures not only relentlessly harried prey, sniffed out hiding places, and sensed when the unnatural was nearby long before she did. Her hounds, however, were not very effective against ghosts, specters, wraiths and the like. Their short lives were cut even shorter by these phantasms. La Contessa grew sick of losing her favorite companions and w

Extravagant and patchwork, the ghoukiller is garbed in a garish cloak, mask, and floppy hat to obfuscate its gaunt physique. One might mistake it for a grave-born horror given the pale to the point of translucency skin, sunken boiled-fish eyes, and stooped posture. While undead, however, the ghoulkiller was reanimated by alchemical means and hunts ‘naturally’ occurring undead with gusto. A grafted blade serves as one of the ghoulkiller’s arms, its blade weeping a concoction which lulls undead into a stupor and sickens the living. Much like a court duelist it wields the grisly weapon with panache and treats combat as a performance art. Tomb Hunter. Primarily deployed against ghasts and ghouls, the first ghoulkiller was crafted from the remains of one of La Contessa's loyal allies in the fight against the vampire menace. The poor soul loved to take chances with a flare for the dramatic, but flair means little against a clutch of ghouls. The duelist was torn limb from limb wh

Teetering on two steel, skeletal legs, the aspergillum golem’s name originates with its equally thin arms. While exquisitely made, these articulated limbs end in bulbous extremities from which holy water constantly dribbles from dozens of small holes. Almost like torn muscles, reinforced hoses wrap about either arm and connect the spherical ‘hands’ to the golem’s literal metal barrel torso. The bands about the golem’s core are spiked and engraved with traditional prayers against the undead. Affixed to the top of this cask is an alchemically tempered specimen jar containing a pickled priest’s head, the spine of which dangles down into the stored holy water below. Barrel of Blasphemy. If anyone ever believed that the ends justify the means, it’s La Contessa . Like any other undead hunter, the noblewoman knew well that holy water burned the undead, but oftentimes it just wasn’t utiizlied with enough volume to be particularly effective. It took her years to come up with a viable sol

This crude execution tool is crafted from rune-forged bands of iron in a bell-like shape. Within the cage sits the withered corpse of a vampire that was drawn and quartered. Oftentimes, its head is nailed into place at the top of the gibbet with its eyelids removed. Most of the time, the inquisitor gibbet says from a post or tree limb. However, it is completely able to float on its own, arcane power. Its chains whip about, the runes on each link blazing with radiant energy. At the same time, the skewered head screams in intelligible agony. No Rest for the Wicked. At one point La Contessa decided that she didn’t want to merely destroy vampires and other undead, she wanted to make them suffer. Every last crypt thing, graveyard feind, and ruin haunt had claimed so many lives over its existence, even if their state was accidental, that letting them rest didn’t seem fair. The inventor found it quite difficult, though, to keep them properly trapped and punished. That was, until, she