The Lost Expedition

Over the centuries, the Azerai Church has dispatched countless crusades into the shifting wastes. Most never return...

Abominations of the Ashen Wastes

Pitiful Hosts & Amalgamated Horrors, men-made-beasts and beasts-made-men, all wandering amongst the unbound corruption.

Necroid Growths

Unbound Arcane energy, reverting upon itself, imposing mindless order upon itself in ossified and wyrd geometry.

Abominations of the Ashen Wastes - Faction Pack | RPG

Abominations of the Ashen Wastes - Faction Pack

$10.00

Contains 1 PDF Booklet, featuring 5e Statblocks for the Abominations of the Ashen Wastes. A warped bestiary drawn from the heart of Doaden’s most blighted land. A collection of scavenged flesh-beasts, corrupted crusaders, towering mutants, and tragic monstrosities, each twisted by the impossible geometries and creeping magic of the Ashen Wastes. Bound by ruin, shaped by recursion, they are echoes of a world that should have stayed buried.

The Ashen Wastes stretch across the heart of a shattered continent, a desolate expanse born from a cataclysm that took place centuries ago. What lies at the center long forgotten, veiled in ashstorms and fractured reality, but it is from that unseen origin that the corruption flows.

The land itself is broken. Scarred plains of vitrified glass give way to ridges of bone-pale stone, carved with impossible patterns. Great growths of ossified magic erupt from the ground like tumors, angular and unnatural, bearing a strange lattice-like texture that seems to shift when not observed. These geometric intrusions, remnants of the Wastes' creeping corruption, defy mapping, burning out compass, eye, and mind alike.

Among the dust-choked ruins scattered throughout the Wastes lie remnants of a lost age. Shattered cities of cyclopean stone and half-sunken citadels hint at a world that once knew glory, now buried beneath creeping ash and centuries of silence. What secrets they hold are guarded not only by time, but by the dead.

Amongst the dunes, the Eternal Legions still march.

They are not ghosts, nor ghouls, but the living bones of a long-dead empire. Bound in ancient armor and animated by powers best left unnamed, these tireless warriors patrol the Wastes with ritual precision, striking down intruders as if centuries had not passed. None know their purpose. Some say they defend what remains at the center. Others say they simply follow orders written into their bones, unchanging, unthinking.

To contain the Wastes, the Penitent Crusade mans the Black Fortress, a towering bastion built on the last stable edge of the blighted lands. There, zealots and witch-marked inquisitors keep eternal vigil, scouring the perimeter for signs of incursion. For while nothing living should survive long within the Wastes, things do emerge. Twisted beasts. Shambling horrors. Echoes of the past, remade into weapons of ruin.

The Wastes are not dead. They are ever changing. And they hold echoes of the World-that-was.

The Ashen Wastes are death to most who enter them. Yet despite the peril, or perhaps because of it, there are always those drawn in. Scavengers, artificers, and desperate fortune-seekers slip past the watchful eyes of the Penitent Crusade, risking everything for a glimpse of the treasures said to lie within. Relics of the Old World. Secrets best left buried.

Most are never seen again, but some return.

These few, often changed in ways not easily seen, speak of impossible geometries and wonders beyond reckoning. Strange artifacts. Living metals. Machines that dream. Their tales are whispered in alleyway markets and hidden vaults, fueling the next wave of foolish souls.