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Gray in color, they constantly emit a sulphurous odor, akin to rotten eggs or dead, decaying flesh. Insect life flourishes here in the sum16 mer, as all manner of stinging and biting bugs infest the stagnant pools and passages of the flats. These marshes are nonetheless teeming with life, but not much of it is the kind of life that most characters wish to meet. These areas are grassy and either flat or gently rolling. They make the most appropriate grazing land on the islands, often used as pasture land for sheep or occasionally cattle.

The moors may contain pockets of swampy or marshy land, but most of their surface is relatively dry and well drained. Many areas of moors are dotted with small lakes and ponds that contain edible fish. This land is generally among the most pleasant and hospitable of the isles, except during winter. Then the lack of cover on the moors enables the biting wind to sweep unimpeded across it, striking with chilling force anything standing in its way.

Primarily composed of oak, hickory, aspen, birch, and maple, these are areas of dense undergrowth and tangled passages. Travel through them is very difficult, except along a path or game trail. The deciduous forests are home to a great deal of small wildlife, including squirrels, hares, foxes, and an occasional deer.

Insects are rife in the summer, as the dense undergrowth stifles any cooling breeze and holds the air, humid and heavy, among the massive trunks. In winter, these forests grow very barren, as the leaves fall away from the trees and the underbrush, leaving little to impede the biting winds and driving snow. Legend has it that these forests are the favorites of the goddess.

Unlike the deciduous forests, the coniferous forests contain only scant undergrowth. Most of the ground is covered with a thick carpet of needles that have fallen from the trees over the centuries, making travel through the forests easy, and rest quite comfortable. The coniferous forests are located higher above sea level than the deciduous and are swept by cool breezes in the summer.

Insect pests are rare, but large wildlife, such as deer, wolves, and bear, are more abundant than in any other part of the isles. In the winter, the thick protection provided by the trees keeps out the worst of the winter winds. This protects the inhabitants of these forests from really huge buildups of snow. These rugged ranges are surfaced mostly with broken rock, twisted and cracked from centuries of exposure to the weather. Although the mountains are not towering by most standards, the highest being a mere 8, feet above sea level, they are universally steep and broken.

Occasionally, a sheepherder or cheesemaker can be found living among these forested highlands. But most of the mountains are barren of trees and habitations. Hardy mosses and lichens are the most common plant life, though a vibrantly colored collection of wild flowers makes a brief appearance in the heart of summer. The only animals that live in these reaches are hardy marmots, tiny mice, and the slender foxes that live off the former.

Also, eagles, hawks, and falcons make their aeries among these heights, preferably atop a cliff sheer enough to keep the hungry foxes at bay. The highlands receive a heavy dumping of snow, beginning in late autumn and continuing through the beginning of spring. In places, accumulations of 10 to 12 feet are common. The high altitudes enable the snow to remain longer here than elsewhere on the islands; not until late spring or early summer is the snow totally melted away.

They are generally tree-filled, except where pools of stagnant water or sluggishly flowing streams prevent the roots from taking hold.

In summer, the insects swarm through the fens with every bit as much aggressiveness as they take over the salt flats. In addition, darker, more menacing creatures are suspected to lurk beneath the black and bubbling waters. The Fens of the Fallon, on the isle of Gwynneth, are perhaps the most fell reaches of any on the Moonshaes. This is the place where the Beast last arose, and the place it retreated to when its might was eventually countered.

But all of the isles have their fens, and none of them are pleasant. The only exceptions are the ponds and streams of the fens and salt flats. Even in these cases, the water that emerges, black and stinking, from a fen seems to clean itself within 5 or 10 miles of flowage, almost as if the earth acted as a filter. The fresh waters are teeming with trout, perch, and salmon; a skilled fisherman need never go hungry when near fresh water. The streams are generally fordable, nowhere reaching a depth of more than about three feet. They flow rapidly, however, and are not navigable by boat.

The few rivers on the isles are deep and placid, and carry much boat traffic. They can only be crossed short of swimming at the fords, bridges, and ferries marked on the map. The rolling gray vastness of the Trackless Sea and the more placid, but still chill waters, of the Sea of Moonshae insulate the islands from the rest of the Realms. The Trackless Sea is the source of a long series of harsh storms during the winter months.


These storms generally move out of the northwest, often pushing waves as high as 30 or 40 feet before them in huge, gray swells. The storms begin in fall, often as early as late Eleint September , and continue through the middle of Ches March or occasionally into Tarsakh April. The seas are virtually unnavigable during these seasons, so the Moonshaes are almost completely isolated from the rest of the realms during winter.

The Sea of Moonshae, enclosed by the isles, is more placid than the outer ocean, but is still a formidable challenge to winter mariners. In fairer seasons, the Sea of Moonshae serves as a pleasant path between the isles. The Sea of Swords, between the isles and the Sword Coast, does not receive the harsh winter weather of either the Trackless Sea or the Sea of Moonshae. Warm southerly currents seem to insulate the region against the heavy gales. These currents bring pleasant and comparatively balmy weather to the coasts of the Moonshaes that face to the south and east.

The largest of these creatures are the great deer that abound in all of the wild places, including moors, highlands, forests, and fens. The antlered rack of a big male makes a fine trophy for the hunter, and the venison is sweet and tender. These deer always run from human or other intruders. A variety of small mammals, including hares, squirrels, foxes, mice, ground hogs, and boars inhabit the 19 woodland and highland reaches.

Songbirds, blackbirds and jays are present in varieties too numerous to count. The rivers and streams of the isles are home to salmon, trout, perch, and catfish. Fishing is generally quite good, and many peasants pursue this during their rare moments of recreation. The Moonshaes are of course home to more terrifying residents as well.

These are listed together with their favorite terrain types in the Moonshae Topogra- phy section. Turning with imperial grace, she sought the life-giving force of the renewed sun. Soon she felt its warmth upon the long and gravelly beaches of her coastlines, and upon the stagnant expanses of her low, flat marshes. Slowly, the sun drove winters blanket from the rolling moors and tilled fields.

This was as it should be, and the goddess rejoiced in the growing vitality of her body, the earth. Cool seas bathed her lands, cleansing the debris left by the passing of winter. The goddess saw that her children still slept peacefully They could, she hoped, sleep long years before she needed to call them.

Through the Moonwells, she saw the clearing skies. No longer did the heavy, iron-gray storm clouds oppress her The Ffolk were active, preparing for a new season of growth. The druids moved among the trees and mountains of her wild reaches, restoring places where winter had disrupted the Balance. Yet, as she threw off her white blanket, she felt a sudden, stabbing pain, penetrating deep within her Hot and threatening, the injury seemed ready to spread like a cancer through her. A Moonwell was the source of the pain.

Instead of providing a window into the world, full of cool and healthy power, the well burned like a poisoned wound. Very black, it blocked the light and absorbed her power, instead of nourishing it. As she awakened, the goddess felt fear. And she knew that, once again, the Beast would walk the land. This belief, originated and primarily held by the Ffolk, has resulted in a conception of their goddess as the earthmother. The belief holds that the goddess is not a humanshaped, or otherwise mortal-imitating being; but is rather the hills and moors and marshes and seas of the world.

Central to this belief is the purity of the land. The antithesis of the goddess is, naturally, the threat of corruption, perversion, or pollution of the land. The goddess is a neutral deity, recognizing that both good and evil have a place in the world. Her strength derives from a Balance of these extremes. Her enemies are not only those evil ones who would extinguish life casually and frequently, or maliciously bring destruction upon her.

She is also threatened by those who preach a doctrine of complete peace, or practice the science of bringing the land under the control of its human caretakers, threaten to push the Balance too far in the other direction. Thus, the goddess strives against powerful forces. She is threatened from both sides of the Balance, and her existence is always in danger. She has powerful allies, of course. Her children, the Leviathan, Kamerynn the unicorn, and the Pack, all provide powerful tools in the defense of the Balance. But arrayed against her is the Beast, Kazgoroth.

It is a being of putrid filth but awesome power.

In times past, the goddess has seen the monster slain, or vanquished, only to suffer its return in an even mightier aspect decades, or perhaps even centuries, later. And the clerics of the new gods threaten the Balance as well, with their words of good and peace and mastery over nature. Peace is a benign blessing, but is the natural state of the goddess, and when this peace must be accompanied by mastery of the land, as the clerics preach, the power of the mother can only wane. The major players in this cosmic drama are detailed here.

They may be used 21 to serve as a centerpiece of your campaign, or simply to provide a bit of background flavor as you and your players wish. The Goddess, Earthmother The goddess shivered and flinched. The feeling was remote, and she took no great notice of it. Gradually, though, she began to recognize the numbness for the dire threat that it was. With an effort, she forced herself to stir.

Hesitation now, she knew instinctively, would be fatal. The call she sent reverberated through the earth, thrumming deep within the mountains and hills, even rolling along the bottom of the sea. Hoping that it was not too late, the goddess tried to awaken her children. As she is worshiped in the Moonshaes, however, her aspect is shaped differently than it is in any other part of the Realms. Where Chauntea is generally worshiped as a goddess of agriculture, the earthmother is much more a goddess of nature. Agriculture as an aspect of nature she regards kindly, but agriculture as an attempt to master the land becomes a grave threat to her existence.

The earth goddess does not have a physical form in which her worshipers can see her, other than the world that is all around them. Her symbols, however, are myriad. The tiniest swallow is a favored messenger of the goddess. A broad oak, gnarled and weatherbeaten, but alive and flourishing, symbolizes her ageless strength. A towering pine, rising arrow-straight toward the heavens, marks the precious neutrality of her being, so necessary to preserving the Balance.

The thorny, bright green cluster of mistletoe is another of her symbols, showing the vitality and harshness of her existence and mirroring the extremes inherent in her two most dramatic seasons, the winter and summer. Her deepest symbols, incorporating all of the contradictions inherent in the Balance, are the moon and the sun. This is when the druids harvest the mistletoe for their most potent rites, and when all the communities of the Ffolk pause to celebrate their life and prosperity.

The full moons near the vernal spring and autumnal equinoxes are also festive occasions. In spring, the festivals are affairs of frenetic drinking, dancing, and romance as, after the long cold winter, the return of warmth and sun to the land is welcomed by the Ffolk. Spring festivals are ribald affairs, but the Ffolk are congenial even in the throes of drink, so the only real drawbacks are suffered by the celebrants the following morning. The autumn festival is a more sober affair, for the Ffolk know that a cold and dangerous winter waits close in the wings. In autumn, feasting rather than drinking is the order of the day, and the better the annual harvest, the more elaborate the feast.

Nearly all ports of the isles bid their last departing ships farewell following the autumn festival; they are not likely to receive another visiting vessel for six months, until spring once again rolls across the land. The night of the Winter Solstice, or Yuletide, is an eve of deep reverence for the Ffolk and their druids.

Locked within the icy grip of winter, they quietly acknowledge the might of the land around them and celebrate the beginning of longer days and the gradual arrival of spring. The celebrations are somber, for the Ffolk know that many months need pass before the sun returns with enough strength to drive winter from the land.

Through the Moonwells and the druids, she has the might necessary to control the Balance, but she also faces some of her gravest threats. Lycanthropy, in particular, grows into its most dangerous manifestations during the periods of the full moon. The vehicles through which the goddess sends her power to the world, and through which her druids perceive her needs, are the Moonwells. These precious pools of clear water are located throughout most of the isles, but are most common on Gwynneth and Alaron.

The waters of the Moonwells have several beneficial properties that are known to the druids alone. This effect can benefit a character only once per day. If the character drinking the water has acted in a way that threatened the Balance within the month prior to drinking, the water actually sickens him, inflicting 1d8 points of damage. Examples of actions that endanger the Balance include slaying animals without putting the meat and skin to good use, chopping down living trees for any reason, or initiating attacks against peaceful beings. Characters who entered a dungeon to punish a group of raiding goblins would not imperil the Balance, but those searching for treasure and attack goblins in their lairs to gain this treasure would not benefit from the favor of the goddess.

When a druid bears a rod, staff, or other chargeable magical item, a Moonwell can be used to recharge that item. The druid must dip the staff into the well at midnight, under the light of a full moon, and cast a shillelagh spell at 22 the same time. The staff will receive 1d6 charges from the power of the water. This recharging can only be performed once a month, and a given druid can only recharge one item per month.

The druids earn these benefits, however, for without their tending the Moonwells would cease to hold their power. On some of the northern isles, where the northmen have already driven the Ffolk and the druids away, the Moonwells have dried up, or become stagnant, or merely turned into mundane wells. Each Moonwell is entrusted to the care of a druid of at least 12th level. Animals of the isles, when they are injured or sick, often seek out the Moonwells. Sometimes, the healing strength of the water will bring the creature back to a state of health; other times the waters peacefully put the suffering creature out of its misery.

Those animals that die at the shore of the Moonwell are taken by the water quickly and cleanly, leaving no carcass to decay and pollute. The animals of the Moonshaes are favored creatures of the goddess. The majestic deer she regards fondly, and the sly old trout is another of her favorites.

The rare faerie dragons that buzz through her wildest forests give her great delight. She is not given gaming statistics as she does not interact with the creatures of the world in a way that would make such stats meaningful. These are detailed here. Unlike the goddess herself, her agents can kill and can be killed. These agents are the children of the goddess. The Children The children of the goddess take three forms upon the face of the Moonshaes. These forms Leviathan, Wolf Pack, and Unicorn are not immortal, though their favored status empowers them far beyond the norm for their types of creatures.

These mortal aspects of the goddess grow old and die, as is ordained for all of the animals of the world. Yet their spirit and the favor of the goddess lives on in their line. Thus, when Kamerynn the unicorn, proud son of the goddess, meets his mortal end, another unicorn, somewhere among the wilds of the Moonshaes, will assume the mantle and serve his mother for the remainder of his mortal existence. Thus, the three children of the goddess are immortal in a sense, but the creatures themselves have game statistics and can serve as allies or antagonists for the player characters.

Though her children are mortal, the loss of one of these mortal bodies is a grievous blow to the strength of the goddess; their deaths are not things to be taken lightly. The passing of any one of them is a tragic occasion, to be marked by natural phenomena such as meteor showers, savage storms or unnaturally placid weather, a blight upon the area where the child of the goddess perished, or other supernatural special effects.

Each of these children is detailed separately, but they have this in common. Should one of them die, it will take some time for the spirit to find a new body. This time period varies for each of the children. Here the world knew neither winter nor summer, day nor night. There was only the darkness, the eternal darkness that cloaked a region nearly devoid of life. At first, the message was ignored, and the one who was called slept on. Another century or more might pass before the creature stirred. But the call of the mother was relentless, and finally a hulking form stirred in the deep silt of the sea bottom.

Shrugging its giant body free from the clutching muck, the creature rose from the bottom and floated, nearly motionless, in the depths. Time passed, and the form slowly sank toward the bottom again. But the goddess prodded gently at her huge child. The great head swung slowly from side to side, and powerful flukes pushed hard against the sea bottom. A mighty tail thrust downward, and the body flexed along its vast length. Then it began to move, slowly at first, but gaining an awesome momentum. The flukes plowed the water with solid authority, and the broad tail pushed with unstoppable force.

Higher, toward the realms of light, sun, and current, the creature moved. It gathered speed as it rose, and energy seemed to build in the mighty body. A stream of bubbles flowed from the wide mouth, trickling around layers of huge teeth and seeming to flow downward along the huge body The water ahead grew brighter, until the creature saw a pale gray glow spread across the upper reaches of the sea. The grayness became blue, and finally even the sun came into view, a shimmering yellow dot viewed through the filter of the sea.

The body broke the surface of the water with explosive force, sending a shower of brine through the air in all directions, High, and impossibly higher, the creature rose into the air, and still more of its length emerged from the frothing sea. Water spilled from the black skin in thundering cascades, until finally the great head slowed, and paused for an instant. Waves exploded outward from the falling body with enough force to capsize a large ship.

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But the horizon was empty of either land or sail. There was none to see that the Leviathan had awakened. A peaceful creature, it spends long years in hibernation at the bottom of the sea, reaching a state of virtually suspended animation. After many years of sleep, the creature will stir gradually, surfacing for air and then swimming about the isles, perhaps striking out along the length of the Sword Coast, or entering the Shining Sea, as it gratifies its tremendous appetite with plankton, kelp, and small fish.

Unless it is called upon by the mother to fulfill a purpose, meeting some dire danger with its enormous might, the Leviathan returns once again to its blissful and nearly eternal slumber. Its wide mouth is lined, not with soft balleen, but with razor-sharp teeth. It is capable of destroying a good-sized ship with a single bite. Its tail is also a formidable weapon and can easily crush the life out of any surface creature caught in its mighty blow.

The Leviathan will rarely make an unprovoked attack. It always fights to defend itself, if attacked by foolish sailors. A character can carve his way out of the Leviathan by inflicting points of damage with an edged weapon. The tail of the Leviathan is 60 feet wide and can be used to strike a different target than the mouth.

The tail is most effective against targets on the surface of the water, inflicting 1d points of damage to every individual within the path of the tail on a successful hit. Hits with poisoned weapons do not require the beast to save, but they inflict 10 times the normal damage for that weapon. In an area where the water has been clouded with offal or the decay of dead bodies near a busy port, for example , the Leviathan suf- fers 1 point of damage per turn spent in such water.

This damage can be repaired at the rate of 1 point per day that the Leviathan spends in clean water. When another whale assumes this place, he is only half the size of the original Leviathan, requiring many centuries to mature to the size and might of his predecessor. The Leviathan has swallowed many a ship, with its contents, over the centuries.

Kamerynn, the Unicorn The mistletoe rustled, spreading to allow the great white head to emerge. The head shook, and a satiny mane fluttered through the air and came to rest upon the snowy neck. The branches of mistletoe snapped as the rest of the powerful body emerged from the shady bower. Hooves, shanked with fur also white as snow, stepped gingerly among the wild flowers, crushing none, as the creature walked to the nearby pool. Bending his neck downward until the long horn broke the surface into a series of ripples, the unicorn drank deeply Still sleepy Kamerynn the unicorn raised his head and looked around the grove.

The grasses underfoot tasted sweet, and he ate heartily of the most succulent shoots. The beams of brilliant sunlight penetrated the leafy canopy in several places, creating dazzling shafts of yellow. Slowly the unicorn grazed and drank, recovering his strength after the long sleep. The goddess had awakened him for a purpose, he knew, and that purpose would no doubt require strength and endurance. With majestic grace, the animal moved through the thick patches of clover.

Suddenly the waters of the Moonwell swirled, whispering slightly. Kamerynn stared at the milky pool until he understood his task. The unicorn raised his head and trotted toward the pristine and pastoral forests of Myrloch Vale. After several minutes, Kamerynn began to canter, and then to gallop. Soon he raced like a ghost through winding pathways. All the lesser beasts shrank from his path at his thundering approach.

His ivory horn held high, and his mighty hooves carefully avoiding the rarer plants, the unicorn raced to answer the call of the earthmother. The mightiest of these is Kamerynn, who reigns as king of the wilderness, the proud child of the goddess herself.

Swift and stalwart, the unicorn races across the wilds of Gwynneth, fearing no creature in nature. Taller and stronger than any other of his breed, Kamerynn symbolizes, to the FFolk and the druids, all that is good and free and wild. When charging he strikes with his horn for double damage, forgoing the hoof attacks.

He will only consent to a rider who is a maiden of pure heart, and who has received a special blessing of the goddess.

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He makes saving throws as a magicuser of 13th level, and cannot be charmed or held by magic. He is immune to death magic. Kamerynn dwells in a shady bower near the center of Gwynneth, protected by a high hedge of mistletoe. The bower is centered in a high grove of oak and aspen trees, with a small Moonwell near its center. Although he is very old, he has not begun to lose his strength or his senses.

When he does, a younger unicorn will peacefully assume the mantle of the honored child of the goddess. If Kamerynn is slain, this transition does not occur for 1d6 years. The Pack The Pack a wakened to the cold, white glare of the full moon. Gray and shaggy forms emerged from a hundred dens, shaking the weariness of a long hibernation from stiffened muscles and sleep-clouded brains.

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A large male raised his voice to the moon in a long, ululating howl. Others joined in, first a few, but then hundreds. As one creature, the Pack raised its voice to the heavens, singing the praises of the goddess. And then a breeze carried to the large male the scent of a stag, somewhere not far away in the misty night.

Patches of fog drifted among the towering pines, but bright moonlight illuminated the clearings and high places as the wolf searched for the source of the scent. Others picked up the spoor, smelling blood, and meat, and fear. The baying of the Pack dropped lower, and took on a deeper tone of menace. Slowly, like gray ghosts, the wolves began to lope through the forest, gaining speed as alertness returned.

Once again, after a century of sleep, the mighty wolves of the Pack sang to their prey. The song was ancient, and piercingly beautiful. It was a song of the glory of the goddess, and of the might of her children. But above all, it was a song of death. These ferocious predators kill swiftly and ruthlessly, tearing the raw meat eagerly from the bones of their prey. Unwary humans are apt to fall into this category. These wolves are territorial creatures, and snarling fights erupt should two packs enter the same area. When the goddess chooses to awaken the Pack, however, the territories of the individual groups merge into one.

The largest male assumes leadership of the 26 Pack, without a challenge. Many hundreds of wolves will join together and lope across the land, serving the will of the goddess. As time passes, the Pack grows in size until it becomes an unstoppable force. The will of the goddess must remain strong, however, to bind the wolves together, or the unnatural grouping will dissolve. Most of the wolves of the Pack are dire wolves, and should be treated as such for game purposes.

The male who rules the Pack is an unusually large specimen, for the might of the goddess runs fiercely within him. The Leader uses the wolves like soldiers, dispersing them to cover vast areas, but calling them together when prey is sighted. In the chase, the Pack is unerringly patient. No matter how far or fast the quarry runs, the wolves of the Pack keep pace.

And sooner or later the prey can no longer run, and will turn to face the onrushing tide, and will die. In a sense, the Pack is the most immortal of all the children of the goddess, for if the Leader is slain, the next largest male immediately steps into the role, utilizing the same attributes listed above for the Leader. Whatever instinctive urge this creates, it compels them to join into a large group as soon as they awaken. At this point, the Pack numbers individuals. This awakening occurs 1d4 weeks after the spring equinox.

The Pack remains in constant motion, always seeking prey. While it roams, the Pack gains 1d wolves per week, until the summer solstice. It remains together as long as it is needed, or until the autumnal equinox sends the wolves back to their winter dens, but the Pack does not grow in size after Midsummer. Forces of Evil Black waters swirled and parted, and the form of the Beast rose from the still coolness of the Darkwell.

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  • Massive and tight-knit trailing vines crowded close, but the broad, scaly body thrust the interfering plants aside like blades of grass. Kazgoroth moved slowly, reveling in this new freedom. The Darkwell had served its purpose, for the monster felt power coursing hotly through its body as never before in its long centuries of existence.

    The Beast allowed a trickle of acidic saliva to drool from its widespread jaws. Turning its hot, fiery eyes to the pool, it watched the thick waters of the Darkwell bubble in its wake. Pulling its feet from the sucking mud, the creature pushed its way into the fens. Tree trunks snapped like brittle 27 twigs as broad shoulders pushed them from its path. A heavy, clawed foot squashed flowers, insects, and rodents with equal lack of note.

    The sounds of cracking limbs, crushed vegetation, and sticky mud slurping with each mighty footfall shot violently through the wood. Wildlife shrank from the path of the Beast, racing in terror or cowering in abject fear until the monster passed. Dawn colored the sky as Kazgoroth moved west. Now the chill reflection of the sea came in to sight, stretching a way to the horizon and beyond.

    But the monsters goal was much closer than the horizon, or even the sea. Before the waters stood a small castle, and Kazgoroth knew that humans in abundance would lair here. Before the castle spread broad fields, covered with tents and banners and stirring with activity and life. To this field Kazgoroth moved. Too numerous to count are the petty monsters and avaricious kings who kill for the joy of causing death.

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    Not so numerous, but equally threatening, are the builders and tam- ers of the land, those who seek to bring order out of the ordained chaos of nature. But neither of these extremes presents a menace that equals the ageold enemy of the earthmother. Though it stalks the land only rarely, its menace extends to far greater heights than those of any of the other enemies faced by the goddess. This enemy is Kazgoroth, the Beast. Together with its minions, the Beast seeks to kill and destroy across the face of the Moonshaes, taking particular pleasure in profaning the places of most sacred beauty.

    Kazgoroth does not work alone when it wages its war against the goddess. Instead, the Beast uses its potent magical abilities to enlist the aid of many henchmen, often using former allies of the goddess herself. The Beast delights in nothing more than the corruption of a druid to its evil purposes. On the Moonshaes, however, this aspect has a specific purpose: the dis28 ruption of the Balance. The Beast is a formidable foe in combat, yet whenever possible it seeks to do battle through shrewdness and trickery rather than straightforward melee.

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    When fighting in its true form, Kazgoroth attacks with its clutching foreclaws and vicious bite. It can, at the same time, swing its tail around to strike a foe behind it for 1d6 points of damage. A person thus struck must make a Dexterity Check with a -5 penalty, or be knocked from his feet. He can do nothing the following round except stand. Its magic resistance applies to all magic-user and clerical spells; it has no magic resistance against druidical spells.

    Kazgoroth can change shape at will, shrinking its body down to halfling size at the minimum. It has a number of special abilities. The Beast can cause lycanthropy with its bite, if it chooses to do so. A side effect of this charm is that the victim must roll a successful saving throw vs. Once per week it can cast a death spell at a character of 7th level or lower.

    The Beast has a unique ability to perform a corrupted type of mass charm spell, creating for itself a band of fanatically loyal undead troops known as Blood Warriors. The game stats of the Blood Warriors follow this description. Kazgoroth draws power from the goddess herself and thus chooses as a resting place a Moonwell that has been polluted or otherwise desecrated. The Beast is the lord of the Firbolgs and will often order a band of these giants to guard its well, and perhaps to pollute it, while it rests and gains power.

    If Kazgoroth is slain by any means other than the Sword of Cymrych Hugh, it will return within 3d6 years. If this sword is used to kill it, and the remains of the beast are burned to ashes, it is rumored that it can be destroyed permanently. They are fanatically loyal, never check morale, and rejoice in killing. The Beast can create one such unit each time it emerges from hibernation to stalk the land. The Blood Warriors begin to decay rapidly, resembling zombies as their skin and flesh rots away. Their fiery red eyes distinguish them from other undead, however. Blood Warriors must kill in order to retain their strength.

    Olaf the Stout. Nikosandros Golden Procrastinator. Olaf the Stout said:. Henry Autoexreginated. Merric, is the beach towel in the list? Ask Diaglo if you're never heard of it before now. Merric, if you post this over to the Acaeum forums, you'll get a lot of valuable input from folks there too! MerricB, What on earth provoked this? Have you completely run out of things to do in the Australian Summer? The lack of water affecting your brain? The sharks eaten all your Nobby's? Run out of 4X? That's a lot of trees!

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