Every capital-G God in Pathfinder (and some little-g demigods) has a special Herald for themselves, a CR 15 powerhouse that embodies their will that can be called to aid their followers via Greater Planar Ally or Gate. A sufficiently powerful Divine caster serving Cayden Cailean can call this beautiful woman to their side, and Thais is one of the more powerful Heralds one can call, if only for the utility she provides to a party of adventurers.
She’s capable of casting Greater Heroism at will, for starters, giving a target a +4 bonus to attack and damage rolls, as well as skill checks throws and 15 extra temporary HP on top of also making the target immune to fear. Given that it lasts 15 full minutes per cast, Thais can slap it on an entire party and herself before a battle begins to give everyone a powerful edge. And speaking of powerful edge, Thais’ personal halberd is called Tyranny’s Foil, a +2 Keen Anarchic Halberd that she can swing four times a round for 2d8+12 damage each. In addition, 3/day, she can raise the Foil to instantly burst open all nonmagical doors and unlatch all nonmagical chains within 30ft of her, embodying the freedom her God represents.
Staying within 30ft of Thais also allows allies to enjoy her Aura of Bravery, gaining immunity to fear and paralysis and also gaining a +1 to attack rolls, damage rolls, saves, and skill checks… While also imposing a -1 penalty to all enemies on the same rolls. Unlikely to make a huge difference, but it’s a two-point swing in your team’s favor and allows even the common foot-soldier to tangle with tougher foes longer than they have any right to. Aiding in this is Thais’ access to the Luck Domain, letting her use Bit of Luck (a reverse-Misfortune; anyone affected rolls twice for d20 rolls and takes the better result) and Good Fortune (she can instantly reroll any roll she makes 2/day) as if she were a 15th level Cleric.
Thais is an amazing force multiplier for a group, turning even the lowliest, scrappiest freedom fighters into a hefty force of their own, to say nothing of characters who are already powerful. While no slacker on her own, her abilities truly shine when among allies. Fitting for the Herald of a god of drinking and freedom; it’s always better to party with friends.
[The Kyuss Knight first appeared a few issues earlier, in Dungeon 130, but I’m using this art because it shows off the eyestalks and the executioner’s mace. That weapon was actually invented by the artist, Eva Widermann, in her portrait of Kyuss as a mortal, and the editorial staff liked it enough to make stats for it.]
Kyuss Knight This humanoid figure is covered in armor from head to toe,
but where its flesh is visible it is rotten and desiccated. Green worms wriggle
in the cracks of its armor and between its teeth. Its eye sockets each serve as
the nest for an enormous worm, which protrudes from the hole to gnaw greedily
with rasping teeth.
Kyuss knights are
among the rarest of the wormtouched undead, as they are created only by the
direct intervention of Kyuss himself. As such, they are found primarily in
areas directly under the Wormgod’s control. They know that their skills lie in
melee, and are versatile enough combatants to tailor their tactics to counter
their foes. Few Kyuss knights are found alone, as they command the allegiance
of many other wormtouched horrors.
Unique Kyuss Knights The first four Kyuss
knights created were Kyuss’ lieutenants when he was a mortal, and they were
directly exposed to the energies that allowed for the Wormgod’s ascension. As
such, they all have unique powers, as described below, in addition to the
advanced simple template. These unique Kyuss knights are all CR 14 creatures
Nezzarin: Nezzarin has preternatural senses, gaining true seeing as a constant spell-like
ability and a +10 profane bonus to all Perception checks and initiative rolls.
Barnos Indara: Barnos Indara is shrouded in his own damned soul, granting
him a 20% miss chance. In addition, as a swift action 3 times per day, he can
force an opponent within 60 feet to suffer from apocalyptic visions, rendering
them stunned for 1 round if they fail a DC 27 Will save. This is a
mind-influencing effect.
Kardic: Kardic can infuse his body with shadows as an immediate action three
times per day, allowing him to treat an attack as a touch attack. He may also
teleport 60 feet as a swift action three times per day.
Markath: Markath’s bite attacks deal 2d4 points of Intelligence
drain on a failed save. In addition, whenever she scores a critical hit with
her melee weapon, she affects the target with a greater dispel magic spell (CL 13th))
New Weapon: Executioner’s Mace This martial
two-handed weapon was the favored weapon of Kyuss in his life as a mortal, and
his most devoted followers carry them as well. It appears as a two-handed mace
fitted with an axe blade and short spike, granting its wielder great
versatility in damage type.
Cost 75 gp; damage 1d10 (S)/2d6
(M); critical x3; weight 12 lbs; type slashing and bludgeoning or bludgeoning and piercing.
[These guys were brutal in the original Age of Worms, and one of them turned the party barbarian into a favored spawn just as she dealt the death blow to Kyuss when I ran this AP way back when. I’ve toned them down ever so slightly, mainly by attaching a save to the Intelligence drain they deal.]
Broodfiend This grotesque giant appears as a cross between ape, toad
and bat, its head missing except for a gaping hole surrounded by lashing green
worms. Foul mist pours from this orifice. Its arms are tentacles, each ending
in a fanged worm’s maw.
The creation and
spread of broodfiends is in many ways the goal of the cult of Kyuss. Those
unfortunate mortals tricked into worshipping the Wormgod do not form ordinary
petitioners in the Outer Planes when they die. Instead, their quintessence
enters cysts growing in the foulest reaches of Abaddon, which burst and release
broodfiends when they accumulate enough devotional energy. These horrible
monsters can be found throughout the lower planes, but they are typically
intent on going to the Material world in order to spawn undead in huge numbers
and usher in the Age of Worms.
The toxic mist
emerging from a broodfiend is foul enough to living creatures, but as it
saturates the dead it animates them as new spawn of Kyuss. Those that succumb
to their bites rise instead as scions of Kyuss, retaining their natural
abilities but gaining a single-minded devotion to the Worm that Walks. A single
broodfiend is thus able to engender an undead plague quickly, and a flight of
them is catastrophic enough to destroy whole countries.
A broodfiend rarely
fights alone, as they have numerous abilities to create and control undead
servants. They fight from within their concealing clouds of mist, lashing with
the jaws at the end of their tentacle-like arms at a great distance. They
prefer not to remain close to any given foe for long, controlling the
battlefield with incredible reach and wracking foes with acid and negative
energy. A broodfiend will gladly fight to the death in service of Kyuss and his
goals.
A broodfiend stands
20 feet tall and has a wingspan of 30 feet.
[I used one of these guys in my Age of Worms game, to replace the inevitable noble ghoul character in Wolfgang Baur’s adventure. Noble ghouls are fine and all, but a solitary undead rogue in 3.5 would have been mincemeat to my party. The vitreous drinker was a suitably durable and creepy replacement. My version streamlines some of its abilities, notably the spectral ravens, which are too good in the original.]
Vitreous Drinker This hunched, robed figure is human shaped, but its
skin is covered with hundreds of bulging eyes. Its mouth is agape, and its
tongue is disturbingly long and prehensile. Ravens perch on its shoulders and
hover about its body.
A vitreous
drinker is a horrible undead creature made from the body and soul of a spy or
voyeur—anyone who watched others without their consent. They are animated by a
violent desire for secrets, and will gladly kill for them. More often, though,
they turn their victims into unwitting agents, clouding their vision with
magical cataracts that allow the drinker to see through the victim’s eyes
whenever it wishes. As such, vitreous drinkers will often conduct hit-and-run
attacks to create multiple windows into the world. If pressed, or if prevented
from fleeing, they use their spectral ravens to deliver deadly touch attacks
while lashing out with their gnarled hands and piercing tongue.
Vitreous drinkers
typically work alone—they make minions, not allies. A vitreous drinker may sell
its secrets to the highest bidder, infiltrating mortal society in disguise so
as not to give away their horrific nature or weaken their clientele with their
awful visage. Such urban drinkers make spies from the dregs of society;
beggars, thieves and vagrants with milky eyes are common in cities where a
vitreous drinker dwells. Occasionally they will partner with the clerics of an
evil god or some fiend in pursuit of higher knowledge, but such alliances last
only as long as the drinker feels it has some information to gain.
A vitreous
drinker stands as tall as a human, and their withered frames are typically slightly
lighter.
[There are a lot of original monsters in Age of Worms, you guys. Some of them, like the acidwraith here, are effectively unique creatures that I’m making generic. There’s support for this in the original adventure, which suggests that in time, it could learn how to use its alchemical genius to reproduce. In addition, the original seemed as if it couldn’t make up its mind whether it was incorporeal or not. I think the intent was it was an incorporeal spirit possessing a mass of liquid, but the mechanics were odd. I’ve (hopefully) streamlined things.]
Acidwraith This sizzling, toxic thing rises, its body composed of
translucent, gelatinous material. A long neck curves from its bulk tipped with
a cluster of skulls, some humanoid, some draconic and some transitional between
the two forms—these are constantly being eaten away and reformed. Tendrils extrude
from its form, lashing like liquid whips.
The acidwraith is an
exceptionally rare undead creature—many believe it is in fact unique. They are
created through the death of a water elemental exposed to a powerful acid
on cursed or desecrated ground. The first known acidwraith was born of a marid
enslaved and then murdered by black dragons, accounting for its draconic form.
Perhaps some fluke of the planes or morphic resonance is responsible for other
acidwraiths taking this shape as well.
Acidwraiths are
typically reclusive entities, living in the areas they were slain. Their very
presence corrupts water into acid—such effect creates pools of concentrated
acid if isolated from other bodies of water, but can contaminate entire rivers,
lakes or bays and make them acidic enough to kill mundane life. An acidwraith
cannot leave its watery abode for long without literally drying up. Despite
their monstrous forms, they are quite knowledgeable about alchemical matters,
and spend most of their idle hours creating bizarre elixirs and poisons.
Acidwraiths may force those who stumble upon them to labor for them on pain of
death, and if controlled using magic may be a source of rare and exotic
alchemical items.
In combat, an
acidwraith specializes on hit and run tactics, blasting foes with acid or
lashing them with its natural weapons before diving into their pools for
several rounds to heal. Their corrupting auras are strong enough to turn the
sweat of their foes into acid, meaning enemies without acid resistance can
succumb to their very presence rapidly. If confronted with an enemy resistant
to or immune to acid, acidwraiths are weakened but not helpless—their melting
skulls can still give a strong bite, and they can use telekinetic powers to
fling enemies around or hold them underwater to drown.
[When I ran Age of Worms, I made a soundtrack for it with appropriate cues for specific combats and characters. The battle with the ulgurstasta at the climax of “The Champion’s Belt” got “The Kraken” from Pirates of the Caribbean. ]
Ulgurstasta This house sized horror resembles nothing so much as
an immense maggot, with a cluster of beady eyes overlooking a voracious, fanged
maw. It has dozens of small legs lining its entire body, each ending in a hook,
and black tendrils fire from pores in its body and whip about it.
The ulgurstasta
is a creation of Kyuss, the Worm that Walks. Their original intent was to serve
as barely sentient siege engines, but they gained the capacity for intelligence
as a side effect of their creation. Now, the ulgurstastas are as much generals
as they are weapons, and they may command legions of undead armies in service
of the Wormgod. Ulgurstastas have never been common, and they typically give
each other a wide berth, the better to spread and avoid being hunted down all
at once by the enemies of undeath and evil. They happily work with other
worshippers of Kyuss, and some cults use them to “deliver” sacrifices to Kyuss
by feeding them to the ravenous beast.
An ulgurstasta
may be a genius, but they still delight in direct combat when the opportunity
arises. Their jaws sit on an eversible pharynx, allowing them to extend far
beyond its body to grab a victim and devour them. The acid that drips from its
maw and fills its stomach is charged with negative energy, causing it to eat
away at the life force of its victims as easily as it consumes their flesh.
Opponents drained of life animate as skeletons in the blink of an eye. The ulgurstasta
can carry these minions in a compartment in its guts that protects them from
its acid and allows them to ride inside it for a horrible surprise attack.
Creating an Ulgurstasta The secrets to
create an ulgurstasta are found in The
Apostolic Scrolls, the holy book of Kyuss’ grim religion. To form an
ulgurstasta, the flesh from a hundred humanoid corpses must be liquefied and
poured into a mass grave at least 20 feet square in desecrated or unhallowed
ground. Then, twelve intelligent undead creatures must enter the grave and the
creator must cast a create greater undead
spell. This effectively kills the twelve lesser undead, whose minds combine
into the gestalt intelligence of the ulgurstasta.
[The eviscerator beetle is supposedly the same as the “Hound of Kyuss” from Dragon Magazine, pictured above, but the 3.5 version from Dungeon is very different mechanically from the late 2e original. My version is at the power level of the one in Age of Worms, but it borrows a few mechanics from its predecessor.]
Eviscerator Beetle This swollen beetle is larger than a horse and moves with
unnerving speed. Pits and cracks open in its exoskeleton, revealing a network
of writhing worms just beneath the surface.
The most common of
the hounds of Kyuss, eviscerator beetles are bloated monstrous vermin that obey
the commands of Kyuss’ undead minions without question. Although their wings
have been destroyed by the worms that continually burrow and gnaw through their
bodies, they are capable of moving with alarming swiftness. As such, they are
frequently used as mounts by wormtouched monsters such as Kyuss knights or swords
of Kyuss.
The most feared
ability of the eviscerator beetle may not be its namesake mandibles. Rather, it
is the hideous noises they make, which are so dreadful they drive living things
into a maddening frenzy. Tactics are disrupted, friends become enemies, and the
beetles can pick off those that are unaffected. Eviscerator beetles can be
silent when they need to be, however, and rarely unleash their chittering until
they are close to their victims.
An eviscerator
beetle is about eight feet tall and nearly as wide. They weigh more than 2000
pounds.
[The original Ebon Aspect is super broken. I ran this adventure from Age of Worms twice for two different groups, and both times nearly ended up with a TPK. Its original abilities were way too strong even for a “boss monster”, so I had to figure out how to tone it down while still retaining the flavor. The original abilities are also strongly tied to Greyhawk gods, and I want this version to be setting-neutral.]
Ebon Aspect This grey-skinned, fiendish humanoid stands nearly twice
as tall as a man. It has six muscular arms, but only three of them end in
clawed hands—the rest appear as bloody stumps. Its face is gaunt and
skull-like.
The Ebon Triad is a
secret society that creates syncretic cults devoted to combining aspects of the
faiths of three different gods. The architects of the
Ebon Triad know, however, that they truly draw divine power from Kyuss. Those who worship him unknowingly are turned into fuel in the afterlife to
create broodfiends and empower the Wormgod in his attempts to destroy entire
planets.
Ebon aspects are signs of their “true
devotion” and act as guardians and vessels of worship. These creatures are monstrous in shape and cruel in character, and the
Ebon Triad typically targets worshipers of evil gods, from tiny cults to
state-sanctioned religions.
No two ebon aspects
look entirely alike; they have features common to the three gods they are
supposedly connected to. All bear six arms, three of which are maimed, which
the aspects explain away as being a sign that their power is curtailed by the
“false faith” of “heretics”. Despite this seeming weakness, they are brutal
melee combatants. They also function in a support role well, bestowing their
blessings on members of their cults to improve their ability to strike down
non-believers.
The more powerful
the cult of the Ebon Triad, the more powerful the ebon aspect created by their
devotion is. The strongest known of these creatures, the so-called Ebon
Overgod, is an ebon aspect with the giant simple template and 13 levels in
cleric (Death and Destruction domains and blessings). The Ebon Overgod is a CR
17 creature.
[Some installments of Age of Worms had more monsters than others, and to save on art budget they covered them in group shots like the one above. That’s one of the reason why I’m doing these commissions alphabetically instead of in publication order–so the reused art is at least broken up. So consider the above piece a preview of coming attractions (although PFRPG already has a thessalhydra, so I’m not going to convert that one]
Earthcancer Centipede This enormous centipede is the size of a small building,
and green worms writhe in cracks in its carapace. As it scuttles across the
ground, the earth around it warps into leprous, greasy growths.
Earthcancer
centipedes are among the giant undead vermin known to sages as the “hounds of
Kyuss”. Earthcancer centipedes are both the largest and the fastest of the
hounds of Kyuss, their bodies infused with supernatural alacrity. They get
their names from the aura that warps earth and stone around them and creates
pallid, tumor-like growths from the rock and soil. These structures nauseate
living creatures and impede movement along the ground.
As unnatural
entities, earthcancer centipedes have no place in normal ecologies. When not
being commanded by more intelligent minions of Kyuss, they lurk in the dark corners
of the world and kill whatever crosses their path. Earthcancer centipedes
gravitate towards others of their kind, and instinctively support each other in
combat by flanking foes and cutting off escape routes. They do not keep
treasure intentionally, but valuable items may be found in their lairs, the
remnants of prominent victims.
An earthcancer
centipede grows to about forty feet long and weighs eighteen tons.
i fucking love whenever someone tweets a game design question at the d&d 5e creators and jeremy crawford gives them a nice, professional response aimed at answering their query while mike mearls’ reply is just. a shitpost
D&D adventure concept: it turns out that the Fairy Queen doesn’t actually do anything with the sparkles-in-your-eyes and memories-of-a-summer’s-day and other sundry intangibles and abstractions she’s been scamming mortals out of for the last few centuries.
Whatever she had planned for them didn’t pan out, but she never ordered her minions to stop collecting them; by the time it became clear that the project was a no-go, expectations had already been set, and when you’re the Queen of the Fairies you can’t very well admit to having a bad idea.
She’s just been discretely dumping them down a disused well for hundreds of years, and the resulting effluvium of spoiled virtue and rotten whimsy has begun to contaminate the drinking water of a human village downstream - which is where the player characters come in.
It probably doesn’t help that half the Fae economy is now built around buying the stuff- every goblin market accepts your happiest childhood moment as legal tender for their dubious merchandise, and since the queen’s made it fashionable, there are fairy nobles who specialize in certain ephemera.
(Everyone’s a little worried about the Baron of Autumn, who specializes in bespoke Orphan’s Tears.)
But no one’s gonna admit that they don’t know what all this collecting is for, they just know that it’s valuable to the Queen.
Oh, god, imagine if the faerie realm catches on that the Queen no longer has any use for such things? Imagine the faerie realm undergoing an economic collapse!
I’m not gonna say “player characters start out investigating tainted well, end up being responsible for Fairy Realm’s equivalent of collapse of the gold standard” is specifically where I was going with this, but it’s definitely amongst the several possible outcomes I had in mind.
Since folks in the notes have been wondering about the potential effects of the contaminated water, a few ideas:
Village residents are suddenly compelled to speak in rhyme, but most of them are lousy poets, so in practice they’re just unable to communicate effectively (this one works even if the GM is bad at improvising rhyming dialogue, since the premise takes that into account)
Certain villagers’ personalities are warped into archetypal heroes and villains, without the skills to go with it, so you basically end up with Batman theme villains; e.g., a villainous shoemaker who devises dastardly shoe-related crimes
Domestic animals begin behaving as folkloric guardians and tricksters; e.g., a chicken who won’t let you gather her eggs unless you successfully answer her three riddles, and devours you if you fail
Formerly harmless rituals and superstitions become efficacious, e.g., a rash of seemingly unconnected people all getting hit with the same curse, the common thread being that they all walked under the same ladder at some point
Local tradespeople become supernaturally effective at their trades in awkward or inconvenient ways, e.g., the village piemaker begins unwittingly baking pies that act as magic potions with a variety of exciting and undocumented effects
For bonus points, have each incident be amenable to its own targeted cure or solution that doesn’t obviously point back to the water supply. If you’re running a town-centric campaign (e.g., perhaps using a system like Beyond the Wall and Other Adventures), you could squeeze a whole series of investigative scenarios out of this bullshit before the players figure out what’s going on.
(Feel free to add your own ideas if you’ve got ‘em!)
