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thecreaturecodex · 3 years

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Demon, Klurichir

Image by Puddnhead, © Wizards of the Coast. Accessed at the Fiend Folio Art Gallery here

[Commissioned by @razzelmire. The klurichir appeared first in the 3rd edition Fiend Folio, where it is said to be the tool of the demon lords. This is likely a case of one hand not knowing what the other hand is doing--demon lord statistics appear in the Book of Vile Darkness, released the same year. The klurichir sits comfortably in the middle of the demon lords in terms of CR on paper (CR 25 against a range between CR 20 and 30), but even the weakest demon lord in that book has more hit points, a better AC and more nasty abilities than the klurichir. The klurichir also seemed to have gone through several major revisions before publication, leaving it a bit muddled. It has Multiweapon Fighting but only one weapon, claws but no claw attacks, and no range given on its spine attacks.

So my take on the klurichir is plopped in the middle of the CR range for nascent demon lords in PFRPG, weak enough to be a valuable tool for the true demon lords but not their equal. It also streamlines and clarifies their abilities (why did they cast spells as a 10th level sorcerer?) and borrows the malign aura from the D&D 4e version. ]

Demon, Klurichir CR 23 CE Outsider (extraplanar) This hideous fiend stands as tall as a building, with four clawed arms. Two of these arms hold an oversize axe. Its head is like that of a snarling beast, with a pug nose and crooked teeth. Spines cover its shoulders, back and crown. Its skin is a dark, unhealthy green, and its membranous wings are the color of arterial blood. Most horrifying is its chest and stomach—a gnashing maw with multiple rows of teeth and a pair of scissor-like mandibles splits the beast open like a gaping wound.

A klurichir is sometimes called a catastrophe demon, as the effects of a single one of these creatures are truly cataclysmic. They do not form from mortal souls directly, instead being sculpted by a demon lord when it has need of a powerful catspaw, inquisitor or general. They are as strong as or stronger than nascent demon lords. The history of the Abyss is littered with nascent demon lords whose ambitions outstretched their powers and were slain by a klurichir assassin. When not on missions, a klurichir may incite wars between demons and other planes for the sheer fun of it. Some demon lords allow this behavior as a distraction from their own internal plotting, whereas others attempt to stymie it and kill any rogue klurichir they can.

A klurichir is an absolutely devastating combatant. They carry great axes or other two-handed weapons, but prefer to leave some of their hands free in order to grab opponents. The maw set in their stomachs is too awkwardly placed to attack creatures that a klurichir hasn’t grabbed, but it can do overwhelming damage to held foes, even severing heads in a single bite. Opponents that are faster or more agile are barraged by spines infused with negative energy. If facing multiple foes at once, a klurichir uses its impressive magical abilities, in particular its ability to evoke symbols with a mere thought. A klurichir almost never flees from combat once it is joined, choosing to die rather than surrender to mortals.

All klurichirs look almost identical, and they rarely make their allegiances to a particular demon lord clear. Lesser demons scurry for cover at mere rumors of a klurichir’s presence, and are typically obsequious if the beast appears directly. They are fiendishly intelligent and excellent judges of character, and do not tolerate being lied to. Klurichirs lead armies of fiends when their goals dictate so, and even balors bend the knee to a klurichir’s orders (albeit reluctantly). A klurichir considers its greatest enemies to be solars and other klurichirs.

Klurichir CR 23 XP 820,000 CE Huge outsider (chaos, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +10; Senses darkvision 120 ft., detect good, detect law, Perception +35, scent, true seeing Aura malign (30 ft.), unholy aura (DC 28) Defense AC 38, touch 18, flat-footed 32 (-2 size, +6 Dex, +20 natural, +4 deflection) hp 471 (23d10+345) Fort +26, Ref +23, Will +26 DR 20/good and cold iron or epic; Immune electricity, energy drain, poison; Resist acid 10, cold 10, fire 10; SR 34 Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 90 ft. (poor) Melee +3 greataxe +39/+34/+29/+24 (4d6+25/19-20x3), 2 claws +31 (2d6+7 plus grab) or 4 claws +36 (2d6+15 plus grab) Ranged 4 spines +27 (2d8+15 plus enervate) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks multigrab, planar champion, rake (bite +36, 4d6+24), powerful blows (bite), vorpal maw Spell-like Abilities CL 23rd, concentration +33 Constant—detect good, detect law, true seeing, unholy aura (DC 28, self only) At will—greater dispel magic, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. objects only), mass charm monster (DC 28), mass suggestion (DC 26), slay living (DC 25), telekinesis (DC 25) 3/day—quickened blasphemy (DC 27), empowered fire storm (DC 28), quickened greater dispel magic, master symbol (DC 29) 1/day—gate (planar travel only, DC 29), meteor swarm (DC 29), summon (9th level, 1 demon of CR 20 or lower, 100%), wail of the banshee (DC 29) Statistics Str 41, Dex 23, Con 40, Int 28, Wis 28, Cha 31 Base Atk +23; CMB +40 (+44 grapple); CMD 60 Feats Combat Reflexes, Empower SLA (fire storm), Flyby Attack, Improved Critical (greataxe), Improved Initiative, Improved Vital Strike, Point-Blank Shot, Power Attack, Precise Shot, Quicken SLA (blasphemy, greater dispel magic), Vital Strike Skills Acrobatics +32, Bluff +36, Diplomacy +33, Fly +24, Intimidate +44, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, history) +32, Knowledge (planes, religion) +35, Perception +35, Sense Motive +43, Spellcraft +32, Stealth +28, Use Magic Device +33; Racial Modifiers +8 Intimidate, +8 Sense Motive, +4 Stealth Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic, Infernal, Protean, telepathy 100 ft. Ecology Environment any land or underground (Abyss) Organization solitary or warband (1 plus 2-5 mariliths) Treasure double standard (Huge +3 greataxe, other treasure) Special Abilities Enervate (Su) A creature struck by a klurichir’s spine attack must succeed a DC 31 Fortitude save or gain 1 permanent negative level. A creature with a number of negative levels equal to its Hit Dice dies immediately. Malign Aura (Su) No creature can gain hit points within 30 feet of a klurichir. A klurichir is immune to this ability, as is a demon lord. Master Symbol (Sp) As a standard action, a klurichir can trace a symbol in the air, which automatically resolves as a triggered symbol of death, fear, insanity, pain, stunning or weakness. A klurichir is immune to the effects of its own master symbol, and it can choose to attune a number of creatures equal to its Charisma modifier as part of the action made to cast the spell. Creatures can resist the effect with a successful DC 29 saving throw, as appropriate to the symbol represented (Fortitude for death, Will for fear or insanity, etc.). This is the equivalent of a 9th level spell. Multigrab (Ex) A klurichir can choose to grapple a Large or smaller creature using two free arms without taking a -20 penalty for not using its entire body in the grapple. If it has two creatures held in its four arms, it can make rake attacks against them both. Planar Champion (Ex) A klurichir can bypass the damage reduction of all creatures with the outsider type, save creatures capable of granting divine spells, with its manufactured and natural weapons. It has a +4 bonus on all caster level checks made to overcome the spell resistance of outsiders. Spines (Ex) As a standard action, a klurichir can fire four spines. Treat these as thrown weapons with a range increment of 100 feet. A klurichir has an effectively infinite supply of spines, and does not risk running out. Vorpal Maw (Ex) If a klurichir rolls a natural 20 and successfully confirms the critical hit with its bite attack, it severs the head of its opponent. This kills most, but not all opponents instantly, as per a vorpal weapon.

#klurichir #demon #pathfinder 1e #D&D #commissions

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potatochipflavor · 3 years

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Your OCs have cool names. Tell me everything about them, immediately

Oh they are my dnd characters! Sorry I didnt see this I use mobile.

Azaezel is a warlock who lived in the woods for 20 years cause some fucked up shit that happened at the magic academy she was at. She didnt INTEND to be a warlock but hey bad grades at wizard school can lead to some... drastic measures lol. EDIT cause I forgot: Azzy is a purple Teifling with silver hair.

Skulcrath Turnuroth was the first name fantasy name generator made and it was just so fucking edgy sounding I stuck with it lol. Shes a black scaled dragonborn sorcerer raised by the Evil Dragon Cult of Tiamat. Since she is a sorceror she was heralded at "the chosen one" but every time it was mentioned she HAD to ask "but chosen for What?" She got a different answer every time ranging from "to be an instrument of Tiamat's return" to "I dont fucking know or care who are you again?" And since shes dumb as bricks she didnt ever live up to the evil expectations of the cult. She was eventually just stuffed in a box and shipped off on a boat. That's where the party found her lmao. Shes got an INT of 8 so she mispronounces words with 4 or more syllables (fasternating, exerplination) and has memory issues which is most of the reason the cult didnt want her around anymore. Very much the "evil character who does evil so bad she does good instead" Oh she also has a magical wooden training sword. It doesnt break, but it also doesnt hurt that much. It's her arcane focus and she has to swing it to cast spells.

Now my favorite, Grokever the Severer, is a half-orc half-fire giant (so orc stat block but just BEEG and BEEFY ((7 foot 6)) and SHE is a Rune Knight Fighter so. You know. Can double in size to smash harder. She was a gladiatorial slave in the underdark, where her father orc also fought and caught the eye (and eventually heart) of a fire giant noble master rune smith. She wasnt made to fight until she was 15 but then she went on to thrive in that environment for 10 years. Eventually, her parents' relationship was discovered and was ruled as a "disgrace" to the other noble houses of the fire giants so all 3 of them were masked in iron (think like a torture device) and had them fight in a deathmatch. However, Grokever refused to kill them, so they were executed in front of her. However, upon a noble being revealed and executed there was a large ruckus of some sort idk how but Grokever managed to escape up to the surface. She had a rough time of it before she actually learned common (not many speakers in the underdark gladiator pits) but she DID make her way to the public fighting pits of Ironstone. There was a rule against killing in place there, but some chucklefuck put Grokever, a half giant, up against a goblin for her debut match. She uses a greataxe. That goblin very quickly and accidentally because two halves of a goblin, clean down the middle. Thus she was dubbed "The Severer" and she fucking THRIVED playing the 'heel' character on stage. In the 10 years shes been in Ironstone, shes won the organized Championship FOUR times, and is current standing champion. That is, FOR NOW *GASP*!

See, Skulcrath (Skully for short) and Grokever are in the same campaign, but Skully is very bad at doing magic on purpose. On a trip to deal with some Goblins (classic first quest) Skully was demonstrating that her sword must be swung in order for magic to happen. Except she accidentally teleported. Into Grokever's Hype Up room right before a Beast Match (sometimes its boxing people sometimes its killing monsters). Skully promptly got clocked. One strange thing about Skully's physiology though, is that due to a lifetime of whacking her head on doorframes (shes also seven foot tal) her neck has adjusted and is INCREDIBLY flexible. So her head just rolled around, no damage. The wild magic that went off earlier apparantly wasnt yet concluded, as both characters now teleported back to the forest road Skully came from. Grokever threw a second punch right as Skully's head finished the rotation from the first punch, and she KO'd right there. Thankfully Skully only had to make ONE death save before the rest of the party could succeed on a medicine check lmao. Now grokever has to make the trip BACK into town as her rival challenges her in 7 days. Except, now that shes out of the safety of the town, that Underdark Bounty on her head has tallied up some casualties. Seems like someone may have simply used Skully's magical incompetence to get Grokever out of the city and into thier crosshairs.... Azaezel is a different game.

#long post #my dnd characters #Azaezel #Skulcrath #Grokever #might start tagging shit that makes me think of them

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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NSFW #16: Volsung’s Folly

The hour was early. A thick patch of mist surrounded Mountain Springs Lake and the trees bordering the banks, giving the place an almost mystical feel. At the end of the wooden dock, a boat bobbed- while done in the fashion of a Viking longboat, it was neither adorned nor intricately carved. The more peculiar part was the boat’s contents- a pair of large, curious raised shapes covered in a royal purple and forest green banner, two pairs of wrestling boots protruding from beneath it. There was no sound but the soft splashing of water at the lakeshore, the nearly imperceptible creak of the thick rope holding the boat in place… and softly, but growing louder, the marching cadence of feet on soil. Twelve souls came first, in two rows of six apiece, faces streaked in viridian and ochre, clad from head to toe in furs and mail and steel, the men wearing great horned helms and wielding greataxes, the women in winged headgear bearing round shields and short swords. The two at the front of each procession carried torches, which they planted on poles on either side of the dock’s end, flanking the docked boat. That done, they stood at the edges of the wooden platform, facing each other in pairs. A moment passed. In synchrony, the wild-looking warriors turned their heads to the path whence they came. The head of their company approached, first preceded by their bannermen- two masculine figures, one burly and one slight. Their outside hands carried flags- a blazing orange phoenix on a field of green- and between them, a wooden chest with trim and lock of bronze. This was carried to the end of the dock and sat down, the bannermen taking their places at the end of the line of warriors. Only then did the leaders of this procession make their way to the end, the axemen and shieldmaidens letting out a fierce but respectful cheer. Their armor was leather and studded with iron, furs wrapped around their shoulders and capes in their respective colors billowing behind. Belts of gold, the symbols of their position, were fastened about their waists, and runed bronze circlets rested on their heads, one adorned with an emerald and the other with a fiery topaz. The smaller of them carried a greatsword about two thirds her size, the larger a massive shield with the same stylized phoenix on a green field that appeared on the bannermen’s flags. There was a seventeenth member of the company- a lithe but strong armed looking fellow in light leather armor, carrying a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but he hung back for the time being, sharp eyes observing the proceedings. Nobody smiled or joked- after all, this was a solemn occasion. Mike McGuire spoke first. “Y’know, we’ve been doing a lot of reading. Well, my partner here always does a lot of reading, but I digress. We’ve been reading up on some Norse lore- y’know, fuckin’ Viking stuff. It’s good reads, really engaging. Everybody’s always gettin’ tanked on mead or gettin’ in fights, which frankly is my kinda reading material. But I had no idea it’d be as educational as it was, especially when it comes to the guys our opponents were named after.” John Bishop Church came in next. “Völsung Death Squad. What a powerful name. It carries a heavy meaning. But what did it mean to them?” He gestured vaguely towards the longboat. “A name to instill fear into their victims. Or maybe just a name to plaster across t-shirts.” The two share a look. John continued. “Masterson. Lovecraft. When Mike and I saw their names opposite ours - we got excited.” “Yeah. I mean, anybody who ran with our friend and legit fucking badass Sarah Roberts was bound to be good for a nice, challenging fight.” John stepped forward. The soles of his boots creaked on the wooden planks of the dock. “People think of a legendary Norse clan and their minds race to their courageous exploits. And maybe one could derive that from the Völsunga Saga. That story was wrought with tragedy. And it all could have been avoided. Like these two, they didn’t listen.” Another step towards the chest. “Völsung was greedy and agreed to wed off his daughter Signy to the king of Gothland, Siggeir. And against his daughter’s warnings of treachery and betrayal, they wed. And despite them nearly coming to blows over Odin’s trickery involving a magic sword, Völsung went head first in battle - and died. And all of his many sons? They were eaten alive one by one at the mercy of a she-wolf. Except one. Sigmund. He lasted a little while longer. Got some revenge even. Until he thought he could kill Odin. Then he died, too. After all of that blustering. After all of those adventures. Even with the aid of their magics, the Völsung clan died when they could have lived.” “Sound and fury signifying fuckin’ nothing. Kind of a shaggy dog story in the end, and I ain’t talking about that wolf. And all over a treasure that Völsung and his clan just couldn’t leave alone.” Mike strode at her partner’s side, her steps long to match her larger partner’s pace. The flanking warriors nodded at their passing as they approached the end of the dock, the chest, and the boat bobbing in the lake. She paused, looking directly into the camera, cocking an eyebrow. “Y’know, considering the Völsung clan’s, er… proclivities, I sure’s fuck hope those two weren’t related.” John cast her a sidelong glance. “They weren’t.” “Good, cuz that woulda been weird. Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah. It was all so goddamn unnecessary. One could argue that Odin was being a giant troll and knew exactly how things were going to play out, but still. Völsung and his family could’ve easily defied their sad fuckin’ fate just by saying that a fancy sword wasn’t worth it, no matter who stuck it in a tree.” “A sad fate, indeed. Like these poor fellows. Let’s pretend that these fallen warriors in front of us are indeed ancestors of this long forgotten clan. We had such high hopes for them. They made sweeping proclamations. Competition. Our eyes lit up with exhilaration as we witnessed the arrival of two men who could be our greatest challenge to date.” John sighed. “But what we saw instead was their untimely demise. Falling to the allure of a fruit-filled conspiracy. There was false hope when we saw them dismantle The Syndicate. But whohasn’t? They weren’t who we were hoping for.” “Not at all. How in the name of Fenris’ giant goddamn teeth were we supposed to expect a challenge from a pair of so-called warriors who couldn’t even crush a couple of looney-tunes melonheads? I mean it’s not like they didn’t put up a decent fight, but we’ve had enough of ‘decent’ fights. We weren’t sold on ‘decent’. We came for something we could talk about in Valhalla. Something that we could be proud we took part in, win or lose. How the fuck could we be proud of losing to the sloppy seconds of the motherfucking Melon Club?” Mike rested her forehead on the end of her giant sword, sighing in obvious disappointment. “With that said, we are willing to look past that. We are going to give them a proper send-off. Worthy of their status. Honoring their memory. Celebrating their accomplishments.” Church went towards the chest. He retrieved a keyring from his belt and held up one bronzed key. A sun ray peeked through the mist and caught on the key. He knelt and unlocked the chest, flipping the lid backwards. He rummaged through the contents and picked out two familiar looking championships. New England Championship Wrestling Tag Team Champions. Replicas or not, they were convincing. He hefted one to Mike and then got to his feet. “These right here represent just what they were capable of. Champions in their own right. Four hundred forty five days. Legends say they never lost them. And then one day, a man tempted them with greater fortunes. And they forfeited these. They traded their greatest achievement for a chance to step foot in the best tag team division in the world. Their avarice blinded them to the reality that this silver tongued man had failed long ago and only sought to attach his name to theirs. Like an albatross, he hung around their necks and dragged them down to the depths of his mediocrity.” Mike nodded. “They didn’t need him. Never did. Sarah didn’t and she’s doing fantastic for herself. She beats the fuck out of who needs beaten the fuck out of and doesn’t need any little weasel telling her how, what, where, or fuckin’ when. They shoulda followed her example. Pity.” She tisked, shaking her head and looking at the belt in her hands before dropping it into the boat atop the banner, Bishop following suit. “Just in case any of you’re confused out there, Faithful, the Death Squad ain’t fuckin’ dead. This is all symbolic and shit.” “And this upcoming match? Believe us, we’re looking forward to it. Maybe not as much as before. But still. We’re aware of the ramifications of this match. We would rather have something more up for grabs. But, that’s a conversation for Monday. Lovecraft and Masterson. They’re bigger than us. Stronger than us. More time put in than us as a unit. They came into this company and looked past us. Tore down the very teams that outwitted them and said that these...” He tapped the front plate of his Tag Team championship. “...were theirs.” “And some could be pithy and say ‘didn’t you guys do the same thing?’ No. When we said it, the belts were in the mitts of one guy who I’m pretty sure has to double check to make sure he puts his underwear on the right way. When we came here, the division was in sorry fuckin’ shape, and I don’t wanna say we fixed it ourselves, but we pretty much fixed it ourselves. We earned the right to lay claim to these. We earned the right to fight and win and defend them. This division, these titles... despite some fuckin’ smirking degenerate’s claims, they mean the goddamn world to us. You don’t get to barge in outta nowhere with your snakey little puppeteer and claim what belongs to us without so much as a by your leave from the fuckin’ kings.” The warriors tamped the ends of their greataxes against the wooden planks, the shieldmaidens smacking their swords against their shields, letting out the same barking cry they did when NSFW first appeared at the dock. “Honor us and we would have honored you. Just think about it. NSFW versus nearly six hundred pounds of monstrous power. Not a militant group of proud boys. Not a dubious pairing that was never meant to last. Not mindless mercenaries. Not just for fun. And no worshipping of the lesser gods. No. A real legitimate tag team. Challengers to our championships. That’s what we want to see in the Völsung Death Squad.” “That’s right. We want a good hard fight. Something that we, you, and everybody who sees it won’t ever fuckin’ forget. Because that’s what we’re about. ‘NSFW vs. The Tag Division’ wasn’t just a cute title on an award. That’s what we do. We take on any and all comers, friend or foe, who want to try and take the throne. Over and over, people come for these crowns, and over and over, we still reign supreme.” John unsheathed a dagger from his belt and slashed at the rope binding the boat to the moor. Mike planted her boot into the hull and kicked the boat further into the lake. The mist by this time had began to clear. Sunlight shimmered upon the water on this cold day. “Mike, these two have been gifted a great opportunity. And right now, we are going to absolve them of their past shortcomings. In moments, their legacy, tainted by a pretender, will be burned away and they may start anew.” “People can say what they will. This division is one of the crown jewels of this company. We’re Not Second Fiddle Warriors, we’re as worthy fucking champions as anyone. And we expect you to be just as worthy contenders. Learn from your goddamn namesakes and earn your place in Valhalla.” Turning her head back behind them, Mike nods briefly before looking back towards the longboat. It floated out a ways away, and as it did, the archer made his way out, the gathering of warriors, shieldmaidens, and bannermen stomping their weapons and letting out the rhythmic, barking chant, anticipating what was to come. Stepping back, NSFW gave him plenty of room as he lit an arrow in one of the torches, nocked it, and let it fly. The arrow landed perfectly on the drifting boat, setting it ablaze, the morning sun and the rising fire staining the shimmering water a vivid display of oranges and yellows. Letting out one last cheer, the gathered throng of warriors and their kings watched the burning vessel sail across the lake.

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