It is the most foolish and useless of errands to attempt categorization of the Spawn of Rovagug: their vast forms follow neither rhyme nor reason; their savage minds are warped and screaming things raging hot and wild, incensed by hunger and fatalistic abandon; their terrible limbs and maws the cruel, spasming product of a destructive hate that has burned since the first light of creation dawned across the empty void that predated the world. Yet it is in the immutable nature of humanity to find or forge some explanation and order where none exists. Since the first of the Spawn was vomited forth from the Pit of Gormuz some 40 centuries before the founding of Absalom, countless scholars have bent in hushed and ink-stained study to the task of cataloging and codifying these incredible and legendary manifestations of godlike devastation and horror.
To the eternal frustration of those whose research delves into the acts and deeds of the Spawn of Rovagug, only little can be learned of them beyond whispers collected from fragmented texts, which often describe their varied anatomies and cataclysms as simply huge beyond comprehension, ferocious beyond reckoning, or nightmarish beyond all measure. Still fewer records remain of the opening of the Pit of Gormuz and the fate of the nameless city that vanished into its maw, legendarily ruled by a debased noble caste entirely loyal to Rovagug. Many accounts attest that a pre-human city called Gormuz was destroyed during Sarenrae’s final struggle with the Rough Beast himself; other accounts place the fabled, unnamed capital’s devastation in the second half of the Age of Anguish, with the Pit opening within the city’s very walls, and still others describe a sprawling slum, called Gormuzof-the-Pit, laid to waste along with its entire empire by the Great Spawn Tarrasque in the closing years of the Age of Destiny, less than 700 years before the rise of Aroden. So deep are the mysteries surrounding the Spawn of Rovagug that intense debate rages among some scholarly circles even as to the etymology of the word “Gormuz,” from which the legendary Pit takes its name. Although it is widely accepted that Gormuz was once a location (perhaps a city), certain Keleshite sultans loyal to the Padishah Empire maintain that the name is given in honor of an ascetic holy-man in service to the sun goddess Sarenrae who, according to myth, spent 1,111 years personally guarding over the foul Pit during the Age of Darkness, abandoning his ancient body to dust only once the sun and stars had returned and humans had relearned the magic of the written word. In contrast, the Rough Beast’s faithful among the mad orc oracles who attend the fuming Brimstone Haruspex far to the north in the Hold of Belkzen attest that “Gormuz” was the first of the Spawn, and that it shall return to life with the coming of a dark comet.
More modern accounts of the Spawn and the horrors that follow their destructive reigns encounter similar problems. Often, those few who somehow survive a Spawn’s direct assault perish from a poisoned air that roils behind them, or of wasting diseases borne in the blood and breath of such titanic monstrosities; the creatures famously leave little in their wake but ash, rubble, and corpses. Refugees have even starved to death, walking for days to escape the blighted path a Spawn leaves, finding only a trail of scarred earth that stretches for miles in every direction. Similarly, the degenerate adherents to the mad faith of the Rough Beast keep few records or even holy texts; their jabbering exultations to the All-Slayer more often take the form of hoarse screams, barks, shouts, and stomps around pyres of severed limbs and heads. Hand-painted icons of the Spawn themselves are often little more than grisly smears of ichor and fouler stuff. If any prophets of that deviant assemblage possess deeper insight into the nature of the Spawn themselves, their visions regard only a suicidal desire to raise up and reanimate the broken bodies of the colossi long ago brought low by sacrificed armies of wizards, miracleworkers, and heroes.
Some simple facts, however, are known regarding the Spawn of Rovagug and their origin. The trackless lands of Casmaron’s barren Windswept Wastes, controlled in name only by the Padishah Empire of Kelesh, contain a vast, howling void which spans some 20 miles from edge to edge: the Pit of Gormuz, said to lead to the eternal prison of Rovagug, God of Wrath and Disaster, born to destroy the world. This otherworldly landmark is the birthplace of the Spawn; for more than eight millennia, this chasm has expelled countless horrors of unfathomable power. Not all of the Spawn emerge directly from the Pit, however. Horrific creatures such as Xotani have ravaged countries—and even continents—far from the borders of the Windswept Wastes without ever being seen in those lands; beings of such epic power, it seems, can burrow through the solid stone floors beneath the oceans as simply as birds might wing through empty air. Each of the Spawn is unique—a singular expression of the Rough Beast’s all-consuming need to break free of his god-wrought prison and consume the world.
It is unknown how many Spawn have been spewed forth into the lands of Golarion from the churning womb of Rovagug, although most estimates place the number at between six and a dozen; indeed, some churches of Sarenrae chime seven bells at noon on the Dawnflower’s holy day of Burning Blades (the 10th of Sarenith) to mark the fall of Rovagug and his six Great Spawn.
Argument still persists over the exact nature and origin of the enormous beasts collectively known as the “Lesser Spawn”—massive, shambling holocausts as diverse as the monstrous Slohr which trampled the Arthfell Forest beneath its cracking, asymmetrical limbs in 3537 ar or the crab-like, many-headed Gray-Stag-Devourer which terrorized the Crown of the World in the lands later claimed by the Witch Queen of Irrisen. Although no proof exists that such creatures were the direct progeny of the Rough Beast, beings of such titanic size and power tend to produce legends of their own.
The following beasts, however, are decidedly the product of Rovagug’s divine power, collectively called the Great Spawn by those who study such dark matters.
Of all the Spawn of Rovagug, the image of Ulunat is perhaps the best known throughout the world. A stylized variation on his terrible visage now serves as the official standard of modern Osirion, and his broken carapace acts as the centerpiece around which their capital city, Sothis, now curls. A slavering, hulking, three-eyed abomination possessed of a midnight-black, mirror-sheened outer shell from which once unfurled four razor-sharp falcon wings, this alien and beetle-shaped thing is said to have breathed a noxious vapor that set flesh to ruin and steel to rust.
Its 10 mighty limbs ended in warped, oversized blades resembling a juxtaposition of lobster claws and bird-like talons; from the nostril-like pores of these wretched hooks extended flailing, multi-jointed things like mucus-covered human fingers.
The jaws of Ulunat, long ago wrenched from its unmoving body, dripped an acid capable of carving holes in solid obsidian, and the monstrous serrated ridges themselves are said to have laid entire buildings to dust as the Spawn’s dozen barbed tongues flicked forth from its maw to snatch up soldiers, livestock, and entire caravans. The horn of the great beast, now cracked with the passage of ages, was once its most terrible aspect: tales older than the wars between Nex and Geb suggest that Ulunat devoured arcane energy and radiated back a kind of necrotic, phantasmal madness, striking down those wizards and sorcerers who opposed it with heartstopping nightmares which stained the deserts black.
There is no solid proof that Ulunat was truly the first of the Spawn of Rovagug; surviving accounts from the lands of Ninshabur in those days (–3923 ar), acquired at great cost and difficulty from the mysterious temple-vaults of Tabsagal, mark only the passage of “a monstrosity unlike any other, truly a leviathan from the Pit, of size beyond size, rage beyond rage, and ever unmarked by spear or spell... by greatest miracle alone sent west across the sea and away from the world."
The most readily accepted theories suggest that this was, in fact, the creature Ulunat, as the first accounts of that monstrosity’s depredations upon the lands of Garund were recorded in –3729 ar, when six of the finest legions in the Jistka Imperium were obliterated to a man by “a skyfilling darkness that flies on four hellish wings, vomiting always death.”
It is believed that Ulunat was finally thrown down and slain in the first days of the Age of Destiny (circa –3470 ar), at the founding of Ancient Osirion; indeed, several Osiriontologists speculate that the God-Kings of that incomprehensible empire first united in power to defeat the beast, later claiming the creature’s hunting grounds (an area said to range from modern-day Rahadoum to Katapesh) as their spoils of war. So little is known of the time, however, that none can say how the black titan was finally felled—theories range from limitless armies of bound elementals to necromantic sacrifice of 10,000 slaves, to direct intervention at the hand of Nethys himself or interference by the ever-popular “outsiders” rumored to have guided Osirion in those unfathomable ages.
A folktale persists, told in the dusty back-streets of Sothis and out into the wildlands of the Salt Hills and Sahure Wastes, that the gargantuan Ulunat is not dead but only sleeping, the victim of some archwizard’s gambit which slows its mighty heart to but a single beat each century. These tales note, of course, that Ulunat bears not a single visible wound, and no stain of blood or stench of rot has ever been observed spilling forth from the shell—the few scrapes and scratches apparent on his immense form are only notable, in fact, in that they are so much less grievous than one would expect to see upon the corpse of a crushed insect lying dead in the sun for 85 centuries. Such stories continue that the capital of Osirion is ever maintained in the shadow of the vast horror to guard against its eventual awakening: when the beast arises once more, the city’s 100,000 citizens will be asked by their pharaoh (or prince) to lay down their lives in an effort to somehow slow the creature’s passage, thereby allowing their leader time to mount a defense—or an escape.
Although such a grim fairytale is only half-believed by even the most superstitious of Osirion’s populace, there are few who do not, from time to time, watch for signs of life beneath the great black shell, especially when the night wind roars in from the Inner Sea across the sparkling port, and the vast creature seems to somehow shift in the dark.
If such tales are to be believed, of course, the spell could wear off at any time; more pressing rumors circulate among the nobility of Sothis and Ipeq that a century ago, during the bloodless coup of Prince Khemet I against the Padishah Emperor, a cabal of Qadiran sorcerers undertook a series of mighty and blasphemous divinations with the goal of learning how to resurrect Ulunat in a final, lethal strike against their disobedient servitor-country. While none are believed to have been successful in this task, a minority theorize that Qadiran agents might still be searching for the secrets of returning Ulunat to life—if only for a single day. Terror holds the hearts of many, convinced that some scholarly servant to Xerbystes II, especially one with access to the Mouthpiece of Gurat, might be able to piece together a functional spell that could breathe animation into the god-born behemoth once more.
Like its cousin Xotani, the worm called Chemnosit is described in various garbled texts as a burrowing creature, with a whipping and flailing form some 500 feet long. The similarities of their alien and aberrant biologies, however, end there. Taken from a svirfneblin record-tome called the Way of the End-Name, itself recovered by Pathfinders from a treasure trove formerly belonging to a debased hive of skum deep within Sekamina, this passage purports to describe the Monarch Worm in great detail: This is the demon worm that eats the heart of the world.
It rears up like a snake about to strike, possessed of a huge, multipartite mouth filled with innumerable teeth. Within the pit of its mouth is a huge and evil eye, around which whip dozens of long, thin tendrils and other tentacular appendages ending in chomping mouths. The vast thing’s body is heavily armored with elaborate spikes and protrusions strangely reminiscent of the exteriors of cathedrals.
How much of the description is accurate is unknown; it is said that those few who lay eyes upon the beast Chemnosit are forever warped and made unclean.
Alone among the Spawn, the mighty Monarch Worm is still thought to be active beneath the surface of Golarion, slowly creeping between the cracks in the world, causing unpredictable earthquakes and wild tremors, bent to the completion of unfathomable duties and unspeakable needs. It is worshiped, in a weird and terror-shrouded way, by the translucent-skinned humanoids who dwell in the most haunted Vaults of Orv, and foul blood-drinking rites invoked around sputtering flames are spoken in Chemnosit’s unhallowed name throughout the Darklands by subhuman, flopping figures.
According to the gibbering prophecies of these abhorrent tribes, and confirmed by what little can be gathered from the wrecked libraries of abandoned drow and duergar cities wiped away in the wake of Chemnosit’s infrequent assaults, the Monarch Worm kills primarily by use of its awful, unblinking eye. The confused tales of those unhinged and hobbled few who have borne witness to Chemnosit’s gaze and survived describe enduring the depths of final famine, feeling their very minds falling away as a hunger unlike any other overtakes them completely, until their desperate need to consume surpasses the very need for survival. Some scholars of the Clockwork Cathedral in Absalom categorize the disturbing results as “autocannibalism”—the victims tear into their own extremities, devouring still-warm hunks of their own bodies until, stuffed full of their own flesh, they vomit.
And then they eat more, all under the quiet, watchful eye of Chemnosit. Those who perish, those who flee in terror, and those who fight—all become the food of the Monarch Worm.
Folklore claims that dread Chemnosit can be called forth with certain powerful magics involving ritual sacrifice, although there exist no known means to control the bestial titan once it appears, or even to attempt influencing its rampaging, ceaseless hunger.
Some dwellers in the benighted depths of the Darklands, particularly within Sekamina, seek a way to leash and guide the godlike form of the Monarch Worm; it is theorized that the majority of this Spawn’s assaults on cities are the result of such tampering.
Of all the abominable Spawn of Rovagug, the eternal horror called the Armageddon Engine is by far the simplest in appearance and design: formed symmetrically and efficiently in the shape of a vast, hunched vertebrate, it possesses neither tentacles nor wings nor ichorous, alien tendrils of mysterious purpose. It has but two eyes and a single maw, bearing a biped’s build with a quadruped’s tail; its form is arrayed with horns, claws, and teeth set for one purpose only: eliminating life. The raw, absolute lethality of the Tarrasque is beheld in its workmanship: a perfect predator combining the sleek grace of the hunting cat, the stunning ferocity of the shark, and the overwhelming force of the silverback gorilla.
Beyond its incalculable killing power and extraordinary size, the otherworldly carapace of the Tarrasque is its most notable feature, literally capable of deflecting (or even reflecting) nearly all known supernatural assaults.
The teeth of the Tarrasque are its most dangerous weapons, severing through flesh, bones, steel, and stone with equal ease. The jaws of the Armageddon Engine are swift to gulp down whole villages into the crushing dark of its gut, though few survive to experience such hell, rent asunder by the onslaught of scimitar-sized fangs.
Even the horns and tail of so awesome a foe are deadly weapons, capable of turning a nation’s most elite warriors into sticky crimson mist.
What very few records remain of the Tarrasque’s attacks on Ninshabur suggest that the creature was actually drawn to sites of human habitation, perhaps via scent, utterly annihilating populations and then savagely hunting down lone escapees in acts of indescribable brutality.
By the third full month of the creature’s assault on the kingdom, the thrice-sealed vaults of magically-shrouded Tabsagal had become the last refuge of Ninshabur’s nobles, who ordered their men to kill any refugees seen traveling toward the impregnable complex. It is noted that the ruling caste eventually succumbed to hunger, disease, and suicide in the dust-choked halls of their haven, dying unmourned and forgotten in a solitary oasis surrounded by the waste of an empire.
Truly, the savageries of this Spawn’s assaults were akin to a military campaign of total war, yet they also resemble in some ways a wild animal attack upon a campsite: the Tarrasque left no stone upon stone, and lashed out with chilling, brutal efficiency at every target that caught its dull attention. Upon scouring Ninshabur of life, it swept west and carried its reign of terror through Avistan and into Garund, again drawn to cities, fortresses, and farmsteads by some hateful need. It took more than 8 months after the Spawn’s arrival on the continent before the creature was finally stopped; a hundred conflicting narratives and folktales exist concerning what titanic and awesome energies were eventually used to bring it low and hide its body away. Among the many who claim some part in ultimately vanquishing the beast are the Taldans (who claim that a single swordsman slew it) and the Osirians (calling the defeat of the Armageddon Engine an act of the Last Pharaoh); both of these nations, along with many others, celebrate the fall of the Tarrasque as part of their cultural heritage and national holidays.
More serious scholars attribute the eventual defeat of the Tarrasque to the nation of Nex, Geb, or even Shory, and some evidence suggests that the Tarrasque might have been responsible for the crash of the flying city Kho into the Barrier Wall mountain range of the Mwangi Expanse.
Perhaps the greatest threat of the Tarrasque is its own reputation. The incredible power of the Armageddon Engine is respected, and even admired, by organizations ranging across the known world; these include such unlikely agencies as the inscrutable Monastery of Untwisting Iron among Jalmeray’s Houses of Perfection, the vampire-led Adamant Company of Nidal’s Black Triune, and several of the more suicidal demon-cults.
Many see the beast as an apotheosis of perfect drive and purpose, gifted of an absolute balance between desire, form, and action.
Of all the mighty Spawn of Rovagug, many regard the Great Tarrasque as the most likely candidate for a return to life in some dark future age; obsession with the fell deeds and unstoppable might of the Tarrasque is common enough among the uneducated masses of the Inner Sea region, and arrogant wizards the world over are intrigued to the point of madness by the godlike potential inherent in somehow harnessing the dread thing. A dozen attempts have been made over the last century alone to uncover the tomb of the Armageddon Engine, though most have discovered nothing or resulted in the searchers meeting unfortunate ends.
Some legends hold that the Tarrasque might be returned to life simply via the sacrifice of a hundred virgins flung into its gaping maw; others suggest that a full seven-times-seventy oxen and other beasts of burden must be drained of their blood from cuts delivered by a holy sword, blessed by a blind priest of Sarenrae, and the pooled, hot vitae then poured into the eyes and nostrils of the Armageddon Engine. Still others suggest a more esoteric ritual might reunite flesh and soul, but the truth is simply this: the mere fact that such legends are common folklore in so many parts of the world means that the return of the great Tarrasque in likely inevitable.
From the fragmentary Ezida Scrolls, unearthed along the southern coast of the Castrovin Sea in what was once the kingdom of Ninshabur, comes the most complete description of Kothogaz to ever make its way to the Inner Sea region. While most of the document appears to have been dissolved in some sort of acid, what is left reads:...[the] abomination wears the shell of a horned beetle, having insectile wings made of veins and shattered glass. Yet beneath the massive spiked shell onto its back, the creature’s body is horrifyingly all too humanoid. It is slug-like, though long, insectile legs jutting from its torso pull it forward. It has four arms, two ending in huge pincers... The thing’s head is little more than a bump upon its shoulders, with an elongated, elaborate mouth stretching from the top of its head to...dozens of gleaming eyes running parallel to that awful chasm on either side. Its body is covered in wet, chitinous armor; always, it is dripping a rain of drool and worse corruption from its leaking body.
The totality of Vudra’s might stood arrayed against the blighted Kothogaz as he lurched across Casmaron—and from their eventual, anguished conquest over his blasphemous power sprang the bloodline of Khiben-Sald, the one true Maharaja of the Impossible Kingdoms. Within two centuries of the beast’s fall, the hundred semi-independent kingdoms of that fabled land were ruled by a single raja, who brought tales of victory with him to the courts of Nex and used that power and influence to establish a hold upon the Isle of Jalmeray that persists to this day.
It is said that the blasphemy that is Kothogaz angered and mutilated the very soil beneath it as it came, generating polypcovered horrors from the slick earth over which it passed, and spraying forth the reanimated, spittle-coated corpses of devoured dead from wounds in its belly. A single bite from the Dance of Disharmony is said to have poisoned and tarnished the great gold-scaled dragon Trilochan, which now makes a ravaged and forsaken home for itself in the wastes of the Narhari desert, screeching and breathing futile flames at visions it perceives through its ulcerous third eye. In all, the Vudrani hero-priests of that age spent more than a million lives to bring the beast down, pushing it into the sea and then boiling the very ocean.
In Vudra, it is considered a crime to speak aloud the name of Kothogaz, and talk of his return is punished with the exile of entire households. Still, there are persistent whispers that the beast’s still-beating heart was cut into 101 pieces, with a single quivering sliver given to each king who swore allegiance to the first maharaja; the largest piece, it is said, was taken to far-off Jalmeray and buried beneath the pleasure-city Padiskar, the better to ensure that the Dance of Disharmony would never rise again. Should the pieces be reunited, however, it’s possible that the amorphous heart might grow itself another body.
The beast Xotani, called the Firebleeder, is said to have possessed sharp claws, a massive maw, and a burrowing body shaped like that of a colossal worm, yet little else is known of its outward appearance. A number of accounts suggest that it bore empty eye-sockets, some claiming dozens or even hundreds of them, which may have once provided the creature with sight; alternatively, the orifices may simply have been nostrils or open wounds, forever belching forth waves of wet flame. What force or creature could have blinded such a beast, or as some say, caused it to claw forth its own eyes, remains uncertain.
Without fail, all tales of the Firebleeder focus upon a specific aspect of the creature’s bizarre anatomy: the churning, pressurized magma that fed its unknowable organs and burned alive those who succeeded in piercing its flesh. In addition, it is known that Xotani was a landbound creature, capable of traveling through the soil and even solid stone with frightening ease. Its depredations and hunger were never noted in faraway Casmaron, though it ranged across Garund unopposed for some time before it was slain by the hundred-strong gathering of mages called the Legion of Wands.
The attacks of Xotani are not as well documented as those of the great Tarrasque, for the creature spent much of its time sunk beneath the surface of the earth—strangely, the magma-blooded beast could not stand the light of day, and usually emerged at nightfall to wreak fatal damage across the landscape. This was not always the case, however: confirmable records attest that the Firebleeder famously annihilated a mountain fortress-city 3 days north of Solku (high into the Brazen Peaks) during the height of midday, and that the plumes of black smoke produced by the incinerated banners, tapestries and grain supplies within could be marked from a hundred miles away. Even submerged within the cold darkness far beneath the dunes of Katapesh, however, the beast’s presence was deadly, turning crops to ash, huts to tinder, and sand to glass with its scorching passage.
Some tales suggest that, in addition to the terrible tremors and unnatural heat that boiled up from groaning earth in the wake of the Firebleeder, a certain phenomena of thunder from an empty sky and electrical discharges that spun in waves out of the creaking sands were viewed before the arrival of Xotani; certainly, vast lightning storms without clouds were reported across the whole of Garund during the time of this Spawn’s monstrous acts.
The lands of Katapesh, Nex, and southern Osirion were once much greener than those of the modern age, their scars of dust, burning sand, and shattered mountains encompassing centuries-old evidence of Xotani the Firebleeder’s rampage.
Dragging its blazing bulk from a massive abyss deep in the Barrier Wall, the Firebleeder writhed in pain upon exposure to the burning sun. Burrowing beneath the earth with its countless terrible limbs, its burning spines sheered great chasms across the land, sundered mountain ranges, and lit vast planes afire. By night, the horror emerged, titanic and blazing like a murderous sun, its all-consuming flames searing land and city alike, filling the horizon with enough black smoke to smother the rising dawn.
Many heroes sought to best the Firebleeder, tales spreading far of the terrible fire wyrm of Katapesh. Yet none were prepared to face the spawn of a god, and a generation of the world’s greatest knights, most infamous dragonslayers, and highest-praised heroes were consumed as completely as straw in a forest fire.
The people of Katapesh fled their lands, becoming nomads who would never again dare to settle, and the streets of the realm’s greatest cities emptied in fear of the inevitable fire.
It was a band of wizards, united under the banner of the Legion of Wands, that finally confronted the beast. Geniebinders of Katapesh, sand mages of Osirion, archmages of Nex, and dozens of other arcanists from all corners of Garund met to face the horror that threatened to spread its flames across their lands. When finally they confronted the living holocaust, half their ranks burned away in a wave of the Firebleeder’s fiery breath. For a day and a night the survivors rained magical ice and water upon the Spawn of Rovagug, weakening it amid a cloud of steam that could be seen for a hundred miles. Then in unison, the wizards intoned a spell of a single word to eternally douse the thing’s nightmarish flames. Shuddering, the Firebleeder fell, being buried amid a mountainous avalanche of searing ice and its victims’ bones. Ragged and few, the survivors of the Legion of Wands claimed victory, but deep in the heart of a pale mountain, an ember, the Firebleeder’s heart, still burned.
As with any of the Spawn, there exist myriad legends that suggest the Firebleeder might, by vile means, be somehow restored to life; yet, in the case of Xotani, one legend surpasses all others in the frequency with which it is repeated: 1,000 wish spells, spoken above its broken corpse—one for each of the wounds it suffered at the hands of the Legion of Wands. Thankfully, there could scarcely exist any way to generate or acquire such monumental arcane energies; similarly, no sane mind could conceive of unleashing such incomprehensible power with the aim of returning breath and strength to nightmarish Xotani, a creature that sages speculate was birthed with the sole purpose of searing a hole out of Rovagug’s prison.
If the Great Tarrasque is the best-known of the Spawn of Rovagug, the Rough Beast’s progeny Volnagur is the most widely traveled: reports matching the description of this vast, winged horror have been collected from throughout Garund, Casmaron, Arcadia, and Sarusan. It is always attended by freakish winds and incomparable storms, appearing from the churning skies to watch over scenes of panic, abandon, and mass murder.
An account collected from the western interior of Arcadia, transcribed from the signs of a deaf shaman, notes the End-Singer thusly: • Its gross, pale, and warty body is shaped like a manypointed star.
• At the center it has a lipless mouth shaped like a cross, which is full of needle-like teeth.
• Three very long and very thin tongues like whips or hairs extend from the center of its mouth and lash around. A fathomless black eye rests near each angle created by each segment of its four-parted mouth.
• The entire thing is lifted off the ground by many mismatched wings: some look like sickly vulture wings, other like tattered bat wings, and others totally alien. Wings jut from every side of the thing’s body, all flapping madly but somehow keeping the monster aloft.
Much as with its cousin, the crawling and unclean thing called Chemnosit, the deepest horror unleashed by the profane power of sky-borne Volnagur is not purely physical, but travels with its very presence: the morbid sound that keens from the hovering End-Singer drives humans and animals alike to the brink of madness, violence, suicide, and over into bleakest abject insanity.
The winged form of Volnagur appears from leaden clouds, brings to boil macabre visions in the minds of those who hear it sing, then slays all those who resist with its 50-foot-long, razor-tipped tongues, or with nausea-inducing bolts from its eyes that cause its victims to wretch blood until dead.
The End-Singer possesses great speed in the air, outpacing all but the fastest of elementals; similarly, it may hang still in space indefinitely, and perhaps even rest, without ever touching down upon the earth. Many theories suggest that Volnagur may be gifted with some natural form of invisibility, for it most often appears above habitations out of thin air, then vanishes silently once more into a thunderstorm over empty, blood-slick streets. While this eerie manifestation of Rovagug’s hatred is truly an enigma, it is said to have been defeated on multiple occasions: at the ruins of Holy Xatramba in 909 ar, above the Zho Mountians in 1540 ar, and again in the valleys surrounding Mount Na Ken in 2062 ar—yet each time, the beast has returned.
The End-Singer has been unseen since 4540 ar, when it turned a mining colony of 8,000 men upon itself in Sargava (then still ruled by Cheliax), leaving none who know what has become of the horror—or when it will strike next.
Because it is unknown if Volnagur is truly dead, imprisoned, or merely departed to some mysterious destination outside the universe understood by mortal scholars, few cults practice any magic that might draw the attention of the beast. A grim but nevertheless well-known ritual thought to be capable of “calling down” the End-Singer involves self-crucifixion and the destruction of 100 rods of lordly might; to what purpose a spellcaster would attempt such a thing remains unclear.