“A perilous fair flower I saw, and found myself beguiled
And long I looked, but ne’re revealed
But nought that I desired”

Whether they came from primal green energies on borders of the wodes, or from the very dreams of Apothachron, Anthousai dazzle the eye and captivate the soul. A riot of color and flower with vaguely humanoid shape, they may have flowers sprouting all over their body and limbs, or even have petals framing their face, and leaves or grasping tendrils for fingers.

Swift to bloom and swift to wither, Anthousai remind others of the fleeting nature of life, and prompt them to make the most of their time upon Orden. Most Anthousai appear untroubled by this bittersweet impression, being too occupied with the moment they are in to mourn times yet to pass.

On Anthousai
“Why do you uproot the…” hesitating, the figure plucked a similar shoot and rubbed it between two tendrils.
The farmer stared back at a face framed in pink petals shot through with deep purple and answered, “The onion grass? Cows graze this field. Ruins the milk when they eat it. “
“But the soil is the same. So is the light, and the rain. Yet the taste differs?”
The farmer shrugged.
“And you eat it, I’ve seen you. It goes in your soup.”
“Be that as it may, the milk tastes off.”
Looking up at the sun, then back down at the grass, the flower-man spoke his thoughts aloud, “The nourishment from the cows withers by way of consuming this plant.” A shimmy ran through his whole stalk, “I can help!”
Before the farmer could speak, he plunged splayed tendrils into the dirt. A few leaves shook loose with the effort. Plants pulsed and writhed as they changed, a season’s growth over in moments under a haze of pollen and dust. “Now the cows won’t eat the onion grass!”
The farmer nodded as he looked out over unnaturally long thorns stabbing upward across the field, then turned to head back toward the barn to fetch his leather gloves.

Hey folks! The campaign ends in four days, so if you are waiting to pledge, now is one of the best times to do so.

With the release candidate of the Draw Steel Heroes book on Patreon, we've got a great look at how the hero ability statblocks (and one monster statblock) will look. So, I've decided to start going through and update all the statblocks to reflect this. It's a lot of work, but it'll be worth it!

Here's a look at one of the Elemental Dancer Minion statblocks (designed by Aaron Flavius West) to show what it's going to look like. This involved making brand new elements for the Power Roll icons (these are actually distinct from the ones used by MCDM; perhaps in the future we'll make these available?) plus emulating the distance and target icons.

I think this is a big upgrade over the original statblocks and will only increase the utility and value of the book. It's worth the extra work!

Lastly, we've got the lore dump for the Creatures of the Wode by Chris Hopper. This features 4 new creatures for your wode-based adventures. I've elected to include the separate lore for all the creatures here, but each one will also include statblocks between the lore.

Until next time: Take care of yourselves; take care of each other. Black Lives Matter. Trans Rights are Human Rights. ACAB. Make Art, Not Content.

And stay gold,
--Onslaught

The Wode, the ancient forest of Vasloria, is home to things far older than the human kingdoms that press against the treeline now. The menacing beasts and spirits of the dark woods once swallowed entire kingdoms. Woe be to any adventurer now traveling too deep into the Wode today. There are places there even the elves dare not tread.

Wodesense
The Wode watches. It’s not self aware, exactly, but wodethings share a deep connection that stirs when the forest floor is disturbed. How these ancient beings react to that disturbance varies; some are curious, some are violent, some may be both. But the wodethings are always watching. Non-wode creatures feel the press of this presence as an ominous pressure that increases the longer they spend under the thick forest canopy.

Draw Them Deeper
Wodethings use the environment to their advantage. Their tactics involve drawing intruders deeper into the wode’s inescapable traps: drowning, throwing off cliffs, or pushing them into combat with each other. Direct confrontation is a last resort.

Bramblebeast
Thorns and brambles move and twist to take on familiar shapes under the darkness of the forest canopy. Bramblebeasts are the wooden warriors of the Wode: forest spirits formed from the undergrowth to protect the creatures living within it. They are typically larger than their real-world counterparts, and lash out with whip-like claws to protect the wodethings that summon them.

Grim
The watcher in the darkness, a guardian of ancient sacred spaces. The grim resembles an animal, typically a domestic cat or dog, but of extraordinary proportions and with eyes that glow with malice. Though capable of physical attack, they prefer to keep their distance and rely on magic to maneuver trespassers away from their domain.

Nightravens
Shapeshifting oily black creatures with razor-sharp beaks, too many claws, and jagged obsidian feathers. Nightravens scour the wode for trespassers, screaming warnings to those who could aid them. They spear through the branches of the Wode unseen, swooping close to the ground in near-silent rustling beats of too-large wings.

Wodelings
This forest guardian, beautifully clad in green or dressed in leaves, is always accompanied by a bevy of protective animals or bramblebeasts. They are the embodiment of the wode’s capriciousness, but also its wrath. They may bait an intruder, leading them deeper into the Wode, or simply ambush them for traveling too deep. Wodelings delight in luring those who should not enter into places they cannot escape.

“Roots in the earth, leaves in the clouds, and a memory of seasons passing like dawn and dusk.”

With a patience known only to elves venerating The Forestal, Thyll Hylacae, in the immeasurable span before the Law of Time was imposed, the elves spoke to the trees. Some of the trees listened. Of the awakened trees, the derwic, a handful shook out their limbs and grew into even more ambulatory forms. Long lived as they were, throughout generations after time began, they grew to a new status as guardians of the boundaries of the wodes, and the plants therein. While wode elves tend to see all forests as their domain, the original dryads saw themselves more as partners, as collaborators with the wode and endeavored to impart their values on their saplings.
Dryads have forms as varied as the trees they resemble. Smooth skinned or rough, dark or pale, thin or stout. Seldom seen in cities, even scholars convinced they exist cannot agree whether that is due to their rarity, or because they hold a duty to the wild forests that occupies their collective interests far from “civilization,” or prying eyes. 

On Dryads
Her mouth twisted in what could only be interpreted as a grin, as the leaves of her hair shook lightly, “Technically only the oakform of my kin should be called “dryads,” but yes, that is what we’re called in common parlance, at least in myth.” She turned to Eidior, the wode elf with his mouth agape, “and no, we’re not what you call ‘derwic,’ either. The Forestal had other plans for some of us.”
The tall figure reached up to absentmindedly stroke a sparrow that had perched on her head now that the din had ceased. “I observed how you handled the blighted boar yesterday, and thought you deserved some help seeing as you fought the corruption at its source.” 
Gazing at the bird as it took flight, then the felled demons around the pool, she added, “The forest and I are grateful. Now it can return to the cycle of birth, growth, and reclamation once again.”