Son of Mastema (AKA Entrails)

Standing on his hooved feet he towers over others at seven feet tall. His razor sharp talons match his fangs in lethality. Horns similar to that of a ram curve around his red eyes. Giant leathery wings span out behind him as he takes to the air.


ST: 16
DX: 15
IQ: 6
HT: 15

Claws (Hooves)
Damage Resistance 1
Doesn’t Breath
Doesn’t Sleep
Extra Attack
Extra Life
Immunity to Metabolic Hazards
Spirit Empathy
Striker Horns (Crushing)
Striker Tail (Impailing)
Teeth (Fangs)
Temperature Tolerance 1

Bad Smell
Disturbing Voice
Frightens Animals
Low Empathy
No Sense of Humor
Social Stigma (Infernal)
Uncontrollable Appetite (Entrails)
Unnatural Features 2
Weakness (Blessed Areas)

Fine Spiked Buckler

Other Loot and Valuables:
Cash $4150
Soul Shards x3 $?
Old Dusty Tome $?

Gem of Healing $500
Maul of Strength of Will $???
Text Book of Kama Sutra $262
Cheap Fringed Shoes $ 40
1/2oz. Mustard $ 15
9oz. Indigo $288
3oz. Zeo-Berry $450

Total $5705


I hunger.

Pain. Since my birth. Or would it be creation? My mother, a virgin, captured by my enslavers and chained down to be raped by my father. My father, a demon, a spawn of Satan, summoned by christians.

Purpose. I was supposed to put the fear of god in the masses. Instead I put the fear of god in my creators.

Prison. I remember what they said, “What have we done?” “This has gone too far!” “Chain it below, it shall never see the outside of that dungeon.” I did.

Devour. I feasted on thier entrails, disembowling for pleasure when my shrunken stomach was too gorged to feast any longer. Joy for only a fleeting moment.

Rage. Bound again by thier christian rituals and forced into my cell. I vow to feast again, I wait, brooding in hatred.

Freedom. The door opens, and one of my enslavers stands before me. Fool. I will feast but instead I pause. It calms me, wishes me free. Promises of freedom and feast, I follow.

But still I hunger…

Son of Mastema (AKA Entrails)

Hellscarred Earth fourtykiller pokenopoly