Athach [Giant]

An athach is a lumpy, misshapen giant with a third arm sprouting from the middle of its chest. Its huge head is a mess of mismatched features: bloodshot eyes, one enormous ear and one tiny one, and a drooling mouth from which thick, twisted tusks curve upward. It never washes and stinks accordingly. Rags and furs hang off it at random, and jewelry is crammed on wherever it fits, necklaces around wrists and bracelets on fingers, the gleaming pieces looking absurd against the ugly body.

It speaks a crude version of the giant tongue, and a few know Common.

Each of its three warty hands grips a stump or boulder, every hit dealing 2d6+7 including Strength. It also bites with its tusks, and the venom is so potent that the victim must save vs. poison at -4 or lie helpless for 1d6 turns. Athachs know no tactics and always charge straight in. When hunting, they may bind paralyzed prey, humans included, and haul it home alive to keep the meat fresh for later.

Stupid as it is, an athach can unnerve even hardened fighters. Yet it is a coward toward its own size class, suffering -4 to morale when facing huge or larger creatures.

Families of one male, one or two females and two to four young share a plain cave in the mountains or deep forest. When not hunting, they mostly brawl with each other; their whole existence turns on food and violence. Soon after reaching adulthood a youngster is thrown out to roam until it finds a mate, and it may have to beat rivals, and the mate itself, before founding a family.

Gems and jewelry are their one passion. Treasures lie tangled in the filthy furs strewn around the cave or wrapped around the giant's body, and an athach may spend hours polishing and gazing at a single piece.

Athachs hate nearly all giants, other athachs included, but fear keeps them from troubling any except their own kind. Humans and demihumans hold no terror for them and count as delicacies, so an athach may plant itself in a mountain pass or forest track and wait for a party to come by.

Travelers can sometimes buy their way past with enough gems or jewelry, but the beast is likely to break its word a few minutes later and charge anyway. Caravan masters joke that it only keeps a bargain when the new trinkets enthrall it so thoroughly that it forgets to attack.