Keeper of Corpses

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> The sharp horns of a minotaur protruded from my shoulders, the talons of hurricane hawks formed my back claws, and the broken iron bones of drake skulls—sharpened to deadly points—constituted my fangs.
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> I was an amalgamation of whatever corpse I had come across, and the skulls of the deceased were located at random spots around my torso. My wolf-like shape, quadruped and without human hands, was because I had been born of the progenitor behemoth, a god-creature who was also a quadruped.
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> These pathetic arcanists didn’t understand what they stood in front of.
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> - Arcanist Fables
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## Keeper of Corpses

Tier: 4.5

Reproduction: Born of one of the god-creatures (unique)

Trial of Worth: With a single exception, he ate anyone who asked.

A wolf like being made of corpses. Corpses he eats repair his body and any excess are reborn as ghouls.

True Form: Unobserved

### Magics:

Evocation: Decay and weakness

Manipulation: Corpses

Augmentation: Life and death

> I had never seen a creature so large or powerful. He had defeated five arcanists with little effort, and now he was feasting on the gore as though their bodies were his reward.
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> The giant corpse wolf turned to face us, his glowing red eyes wild with some emotion I couldn’t describe. My mouth went dry, and my weak legs nearly buckled, but Trent grabbed my upper arm and kept me standing.
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> The Keeper of Corpses strode toward us, but I knew we couldn’t run.
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> His gigantic body, made up of other corpses, moved oddly as though each undead body had to work in unison. The Keeper of Corpses’ belly was enlarged and sloshed with thick blood when he walked.
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> “W-wait,” I said, my voice cracking. I took a deep breath and started again. “Wait. Oh, mighty mystical creature. We’ve come seeking your trial of worth.” I would’ve knelt, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. And let’s face it—I probably would’ve fallen over.
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> The charnel hound laughed, his voice deep and taunting. “Then you have made a grave mistake. I have no trial of worth.”
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> Trent placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh. He trembled, and I wondered what kind of storm of emotions raged beneath his frozen expression. “All mystical creatures have a trial of worth,” Trent said, forcing the words out. “That’s… that’s the rule!” He barked the last part as if using anger to bolster his confidence.
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> “Rules?” The Keeper of Corpses snorted. He strode up to us and stopped only a few feet away. “What makes you think, a pathetic mortal—half of one at best—has any right to tell me what the *rules* are to my existence? I was once worshiped as a god. *I’ll do as I please.*”
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> Up close, it became apparent that the head of the wolf was a coagulation of bodies, laced together and locked in place with bones and sinew. The “fur” was corpse hair, some different colors than the rest.
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> I held up an unsteady hand. “P-please. Wait. Mystical creatures grow in power when bonded. They… they take from their arcanist’s soul. It… it’s a mutual agreement. Everyone benefits.”
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> “Lies.”
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> “What? No. That’s how bonding works. Everyone knows it.”
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> The beast chuckled as he leaned forward, flashing his blood-soaked fangs in front of Trent and me. “Silence,” he growled. “Or I’ll rip your tongue from your throat.”
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> “At least *then* you’ll have the truth in hand,” Trent spat. “Ezril is right! It would benefit you to let us compete for your bonding.”
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> “No human is worthy of me,” the Keeper of Corpses stated in disgust.
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> “I’m worthy,” I said, no hesitation.
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> The beast laughed, dark and low. “You’re so weak, your mother’s womb almost killed you.”
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> “I…” My throat knotted, and I struggled to find any clever rebuttal. Still, I stood firm. “I’m worthy.”
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> The beast shoved his rotting snout into my chest, knocking me to the ground. His nose was dry and flaking skin, and his breath had a sickening chill. “From what delusional wellspring do you pull such confidence? *No one is worthy of me.* No one.”
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> - Arcanist Fables
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