Part humanoid, part swarm; nearly undead, yet literally
squirming with life—the worm that walks is literally a walking
contradiction. It’s also one of
the standout monsters of the Bestiary 2,
instantly recognizable as it perfectly straddles the line between fantasy and
true horror.
According to Amanda Hamon’s “Ecology” in Pathfinder Adventure Path #75: Demon’s
Heresy, worms that walk have popped up everywhere from Lovecraft to Buffy. (My favorite example is The Hooded One from Jeff Smith’s Bone). They have featured prominently in several Adventure Paths, especially
Dungeon’s Age of Worms and the
recently completed Wrath of the Righteous. And, as I just mentioned, Demon’s Heresy serves up a very nice ecology with several example
NPCs and variants.
So rather than retread that ground, I instead just want to
take a moment to discuss the difference between worms that walk and liches.
Despite its fearsome reputation and the risks involved in its
pursuit, lichdom is, at its core, a conservative existence. It’s an insurance policy for those
mages who don't have the tools or talent to achieve immortality in life. A lich’s originating impulse is the
desire to cheat death, and every other goal they work toward—greater magical
might, domination over a kingdom, divine status, you name it—is secondary to
that.
Becoming a worm that walks, on the other hand, is a Hail
Mary play. It’s difficult to
become one intentionally—doing that involves actually dying and burial in
vermin-infested unholy ground. So
most worms that walk arise spontaneously, out of a confluence of environmental
evil, luck, and their own indomitable wills. It's what happens when a spellcaster is so obsessed with his
goals that death itself becomes a
mere speed bump.
All of which means that worms that walk are not going to
hide in a deathtrap-filled dungeon or deep under a secret library the way a
lich might. The worm’s very
existence is a miracle. Every worm that walks, whether
generated spontaneously or via careful preparation, knows with absolute
certainty why he or she was spared death’s embrace. The worm that walks walks for a reason; it is a creature
actively pursuing its goals and ambitions. It has plans—big
ones—and gods help the PCs who get in the way.
The man who would
become Rancor’s Embrace left nothing to chance when he became a worm that
walks. He buried himself alive in
a potter’s field reserved exclusively for tieflings, using his last telekinesis to cover himself and consign
his body to death. Now returned as a scuttling mass of beetles, he intends to
kill every last one of the Maimed Maiden’s priestesses for helping his wife to
flee with his infant child.
Yertham Mar died at
sea, but his spirit returned in an amalgam of worms, minute crabs, and a
thousand other oozing, wriggling creatures. Barely able to hold himself together above water, he should
nevertheless be feared. The
crustaceans that compose his body hunger for flesh more than the average worm
that walks, and they strip away meat every time they engulf someone (consider
the engulf damage to be one Hit Dice category higher and normal).
While undeath is
abhorrent even to evil druids, becoming a worm that walks sometimes holds a
macabre appeal. Reese o’ the
Wildwood still thinks of himself as a defender of the forest, despite his
wriggling shape. But his obsession
with reanimating pixies, wolves, and bugbears as undead shows that his power
now stems from some other unnatural source.
—Pathfinder Bestiary 2
286–287
We covered the woolly rhinoceros back here and the worg just a few days ago.
Work is kind of crazy, but rest assured I’m still reading
all your comments, messages, and reblogs.
Also, just finished Scott Lynch’s The
Lies of Locke Lamora. Pretty
great! If you like heists and
thieves’ guilds, I recommend it.
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