"Several someones slit this bastard's throat and stuck him full of daggers. That much be clear from the weapons still lodged in his corpus and the ever-bleedin' wound. I reckon one o' them carved out his eyes n' replaced it with gems. I wished they hadn't with the way those damn things gleam. Even give me the willies, which aint easy. They also seem to be the source of his ability to gather a new ill-begotten fortune on this side o' the grave. Save he's converting suffering directly inta currency. Do the world a favor n' cash this fella in, will ya?" -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Jeweler Medium undead, neutral evil Armor Class 14 Hit Points 105 (14d8 + 42) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 7 Dex 18 Con 16 Int 11 Wis 16 Cha 17 Skills: Insight +6 Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, grappled, paralyzed, petrifi...

"Most folks don't understand the nature o' this particular geist. He looks like flakes o' pale blue floating around pitted bones with the occasional clump o' like color flesh. Don't know his name neither. Not sure he ever had one, truth be told. Just some poor fool born from air n' flesh, genasi they be called, with the bad luck of being a pretty boy. Ended up being sold to a harem by repulsed parents, raised to please the eye and touch. Till his last owner weren't pleased no more when the dancer could no longer hide his wrinkles. Sadistic bastard, the last one with the leash. He hired a dark wizard to force the genasi to dance at a banquet until he dropped dead from exhaustion, then for a bit after that. Oh, how the crowd laughed... Oh, how the crowd screamed when the newborn undead escaped his yoke and a lifetime of rage tore them apart. Well, a swirl of silverware, flatware, broken bones, wood shards, and anything else caught in Dan...

"Ifn' you think a bugbear be a sneaking, dangerous bastard. Well, friend. I've got terrible news for ya. They are even worse when they are dead. The gloaming gutter terrorized a human city for months on end as part of a goblinoid war party workin outta the sewers. She left piles of mutilated peasants n' took out heroes as they slept. When folks finally got wise to where the bugbears and gobbos were comin from, it became a bloodbath in the opposite direction. Not that it did alot of good, as the gutter got away... for a few days anyway. She was eventually caught, but not executed right off bat. 'Stead, they put her in stocks, letting folks pelt her with rotten food n' other things, giving her jus enough grub to keep her starving slow. Their cruelty made sense in the moment, but cruel deaths breed ghosts. Not that city's got a bigger problem, one that's haunted them fer generations." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme Gloamling Gutt...

"Hell, Ain't really hard to figure out what the spirit they call the Whistler is all about. Now, it be hard to figure out what the figure is in life. Ya see, he ain't got no head to speak of, nor a pair lips neither to whistle with. His neck ends in a jagged stump that still flex as it should we he dun whistle. The clothes he wears ain't fancy neither. No flash, no frills, no heraldry. I reckon he was a crofter of some sort that whistled as he worked, given the ghost's calloused hands Some poor fella that fell victim to an industrial accident that weren't no accident, you hear? The Guilds 'round these parts used to be cut-throat and them coffers stained with blood. The Whistler, he and the restless dead he gathers to him, well guess who they target. I suppose ya can figure the rest out." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Whistler Medium undead, chaotic evil Armor Class 13 Hit Poi...

Analepcticians were supposed to be the cure, not the disease. Tailored by someone part snake oil salesman, part alchemist, and zero-percent morals, the first doses of the distilled crystals they found on a distant frontier provided immediate mental and physical relief. It turned out this wasn't because it was a medicine. Oh no. The crystal is a non-organic ‘fungus’ that eventually takes over its host while budding cysts full of spores. Depending on the arrangement of veiny crystalline growths, an analeptician projects different manners of psychic resonance. Their goal is always the same, to spread the infection and destruction. Slim and gaunt, the idhunter still resembles a humanoid in some respects. It has a head, arms, and legs. The arms and legs, though are spread out thanks to large pockets of blood-streaked crystal at each join. The head resembles a cracked geode with a still-living brain nestled within the bowl. This brain languidly pulses, though the clawed beast...

Analepcticians were supposed to be the cure, not the disease. Tailored by someone part snake oil salesman, part alchemist, and zero-percent morals, the first doses of the distilled crystals they found on a distant frontier provided immediate mental and physical relief. It turned out this wasn't because it was a medicine. Oh no. The crystal is a non-organic ‘fungus’ that eventually takes over its host while budding cysts full of spores. Depending on the arrangement of veiny crystalline growths, an analeptician projects different manners of psychic resonance. Their goal is always the same, to spread the infection and destruction. Often moving on all fours, the mindbreaker blends humanoid and reptile thanks to a blend of crystal and flesh. The crystalline growths run along its spine like scary spikes, the blood veins within the rock pulsating at pysche-disrupting intervals. Its head is a large, jagged prism erupted from betwixt the shoulders in which the stringy remains of grey...

Analepcticians were supposed to be the cure, not the disease. Tailored by someone part snake oil salesman, part alchemist, and zero-percent morals, the first doses of the distilled crystals they found on a distant frontier provided immediate mental and physical relief. It turned out this wasn't because it was a medicine. Oh no. The crystal is a non-organic ‘fungus’ that eventually takes over its host while budding cysts full of spores. Depending on the arrangement of veiny crystalline growths, an analeptician projects different manners of psychic resonance. Their goal is always the same, to spread the infection and destruction. The crystalline fiend’s back is covered with a bumper crop of veiny cysts, its fingers converted into clear knives as sharp as fractured obsidian. It's the angstmonger’s face, however, that is the most harrowing. The crystal growths there form an inward spiral which draws the gaze to a meaty abyss that appears to have no end. It is into this psyc...

Blue-skinned and robbed in solid shadows which give a vague impression of a sheik’s robes, this fiend is always quick to smile or sneer depending on the current level of contempt for its ‘master’. However, malice always twinkles in its compound eyes, especially whenever it twists the wishes asked of it. Asymmetrical horns curl from the Thirst Slacker’s forehead. Its legs end with a fly’s feet. Lastly, it sheaths a charred scimitar on a belt made from a chain of coins stolen from the eye sockets of the dead. The weapon is rarely drawn and never used. Instead, holes in the feind's hands contain red-shelled centipedes eager to strike. Avarice Peddler. While the Thirst Slacker presents itself as some sort of djinn, its origins lay in the deep bowels of hell. It often appears with a cup of cool water or fine wine in hand, ready to offer it out to the current holder of the ‘ancient’ skull which summoned it. From there, it explains that it is here to quench its master’s thirsts. ...

When roused, the elemental appears to be the corpse of a drowned woman with long, pale hair tangled with branches and rotting leaves. She wears an ever-flowing dress covered with yellow stains and deep, billowing sleeves that obscure her hands. The hem also hides her feet. In truth, she doesn’t have any. Instead, whenever anything besides her head and neck are exposed, one discovers only murky water and sodden human bones instead. After a few blows, the elemental’s true state is revealed. From crown to soul, the phantasm consists of only filthy water. For decades, a mountainside village harbored a dark secret. Although famous for its springs, there was one such body of water they’d never show. Whenever a member of the village became a burden to the rest, save it be one too many children or stricken with illness or injury, they were taken into a deep cave filled with unclean watered, drowned, and left to rot with the rest. No one knows how many times this heinous act was repeated s...

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe...

Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine perfection and to hide the...

There is nothing typical about the typical bryne. These coastal terrors are lumbering humanoids with a skin tone close to that of a drowned corpse. Crystal-like deposits of bone and salt erupt from their elbows, knees and shoulders while the rest of their flesh is puckered here and there from barnacle scars and fell branding. Their most disturbing aspect, however, is their fleshless skulls. Some say a bryne’s head resembles a dead horse, others a dead wolf’s and there is an argument to be made for both. While the skull’s shape is general equine the fangs within are wicked and sharp like a dire wolf’s Deep set eyes as black and cold as a shark's ooze off-white ichors and within the fleshy inside of a bryne’s mouth resides a forked tongue capable of speech. Serving as tribal cook, leader and high priest, the bryne pestlewarden’s symbol of authority is a large stone pestle passed down from the previous overlord. The pestlewarden takes its duties very seriously and employs a squad...

Arousing and ailing, sensual and sickly, the veiled seizeran is, at first glance, a comely woman swathed in nigh-translucent veils. What can be seen of her soft skin appears feverish with desire. Up close, however, the beads of diseased sweat clearly shimmer across her multicolored raiment… for it is nothing more than thin flaps of infectious skin sticking to the aberration’s false curves. Those contours too are a lie, consisting of carbuncles and fatty sores. Somewhere under it all remains the humanoid woman the veiled seizeran once was, even if it is her all-too becoming eyes. Polluted Harem. While The Pariah is incapable of love and even lust, he still gathers paramours who give their heart, bodies, and souls to him. These poor women, often drawn from either the untouchable or most-vaulted classes, end up having all three aspects offered twisted by his ‘adoring’ caresses. The unique boils that break out across their body make it impossible to don even the lightest clothing wi...

Session Twenty Five: Assault on the Smuggler's Boots Tavern An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary The Smuggler’s Boots Inn and Tavern was cast into darkness and compromised by eldritch forces. Strange stickmen (reskinned/buffed Scarecrows) molded themselves from the building’s wooden doors, windowpanes, and rafters. The lurching figures were covered with pitch-black bark that was molded over by screaming faces, their faces featureless save for large, hollow sockets full with pale witchlight. The heroes and civilians scrambled to draw their weapons or cover as the assault began. Riley, the changeling dervish, dashed for the backdoor where three stickmen spawned. They were unprepared for the mystical dread that sparked within the figures’ eyes and froze up, only to be shortly assailed by claws made from razored roots. Sykes, the eladrian rogue, suffered too and found he...

Playing a flute fashion from a hollow thigh bone, this dark fey sways along to the dirge produced. So too does a floating dagger fashioned from the once attached fibula. The knife fifer's ears come to sharp points amid a crown of wild, auburn locks barely stuffed under a woolen cap. Their torso is bare and cadaverous, inked with notes and runes. While its feet are also bare, the knife fifer does wear a kilt fashioned from funeral shrouds and scalps. Knife Fifer Medium Fey, lawful evil Armor Class 14 Hit Points 39 (6d8+12) Speed 30ft Str 12 Dex 18 Con 14 Int 10 Wis 8 Cha 16 Saving Throws Char +5 Skills Performance +5 Damage Immunities thunder Damage Resistances lightning Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion Senses darkvision 60ft, passive Perception 9 Languages common, sylvan Challenge 2 (450 XP) ...

The petty colt is an aristocratic woman with the lower half of an equine, specifically a nightmare. While some might call her features lovely, the fey wears an expression of hostility even as she cavorts and dances with alien grace. The fey wears a gossamer skirt that does little to hide her black-haired legs and smoldering hooves as well as a buttonless buff coat of aged leather. Petty Colt Medium Fey, lawful evil Armor Class 10 Hit Points 45 (7d8+14) Speed 30ft Str 14 Dex 11 Con 14 Int 10 Wis 10 Cha 13 Saving Throws Str +4 Skills Athletics +4, Performance +3 Damage Resistances lightning Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion Senses darkvision 60ft, passive Perception 10 Languages common, sylvan Challenge 1 (200 XP) Crescendo. If the petty colt hits a creature with both of its stomp attac...

Session Eleven: Rotten to the Core An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary After a night of uneasy sleep, the heroes made their way down the pass through the Pond Peaks. The day proved hotter than expected with thunderheads gathering and humidity sticking to their skin. It wasn’t long before the clouds opened up in driving rain. The wet sheets blocked not only their sight but filled their noises with a noisome, unidentifiable smell. The ranger Wild suspected fey manipulation and reached out with his senses, but detected over half-a-dozen dragons nearby instead. The downpour let up some ten minutes later but the champions found themselves at the base of the Pond Peaks with the weariness of hours in their muscles and the same distance traveled. Rather than turn back to investigate the phenomenon, the party felt it best to continue forward. Likewise, the presence of dragons ...