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Bőrrabló

Description

The story of the bőrrabló, or fleshreavers, is well known. They were a band of musicians, poets, swindlers, thiefs and con-men who got overconfident and thought they could rob even the divine. During the Festival of the Bone Picked Clean held every year in Viharanyavár, they drew much attention to themselves through their musical skill. This was all according to plan, because they intended to hold a performance in front of Viharanya herself, while some of them would stealth away. And so they did, and their non-musical companions robbed a vault belonging to the goddess and one of her favored saintesses. At the end of the performance Viharanya asked what they would want as a reward, for they had given a performance worthy of such. But they asked for meager reward, knowing that they had already gotten far more. This was their fatal mistake. Someone as cunning as Viharanya knows the greed that lies in the heart of most men, and this unexpected modesty set of all her alarm bells. She sent out the saint Tóvar who quickly uncovered the robbery. Shortly before the band of musicians were able to skip town, they were caught and punished in the worst possible way. Moisture drained from their skin, their eyes bulged out and the skin peeled back to reveal rotting teeth. They became the beings known as the fleshreavers. Now they are undead, forced to eternally wander the desert in rhythm. They are under a divine geas that requires them to always move in the rhythm of the iambic pentameter in which they had told their final verse. They can be killed, but they cannot die. The divine geas keeps resurrecting them, over and over, forced to suffer eternal pain.

Intelligence and Behavior

Along with their brains, their minds have mostly deteriorated by now, suffering an eternal madness. They wander aimlessly, but they still react to their surroundings. When they pass by people they rarely attack, but instead they cling to people, as if begging to be saved. But then occasionally something flares up, perhaps a rage at their inability to speak, to make the music they once could, and they start flailing wildly, attacking others with rhythmic slams. But even in their madness they stick together, moving as a silent pack. A dozen pale bodies, roaming the eternal dark.