A monstrous colossus of flesh and limb, the Broodmother prowls the deep caves as a terror beyond reckoning. Few who glimpse her living nightmare form survive long enough to tell the tale.
Once, she was a queen among the elves, a ruler of elegance and wisdom. But in the Fleshsmith’s hands, she has been reshaped beyond all recognition, twisted and reforged again and again until nothing of her former self remains. Stripped of reason, her mind shattered by countless cycles of remaking, she has been reduced to a prowling beast, guided only by instinct and hunger.
Yet she is no mindless brute. The Broodmother reigns over the Necrospiders, the swarming horrors that spill forth in her wake. They heed her silent will, moving as one with their monstrous matriarch, hunting at her command. Even the dark elves, who once called her kin, are not spared from her insatiable hunger.
Only the Fleshsmith herself can impose control upon this behemoth of rage and remade flesh. With direct intervention, she can direct the Broodmother’s fury toward a singular purpose. But once set upon a path, there is no stopping her, whatever creature, stronghold, or hapless adventurer finds itself in her sights will not live to see another day.
