Feylgara

"What did this? Oh, you poor stupid lad, you're not a hero are yeh? I din't care how shiny that armor is, how big yer pauldrons are or 'ow many friends you've got. If you go after the beast what did this, yeh in't commin' back..."

The ground quakes at her approach. Armies and stalwart adventurers alike turn and flee. Her towering figure blots out the light of the sun. Where she has passed there is only ruin. She is Feylgara, the Great Beast. A monster of tremendous size and appetite, for whom civilization is nothing more than a combination toy chest and larder.

Standing somewhere around eighty feet tall when fully upright, her specific race is unknown. Heavens forefend that there are more of them somewhere, though unless she is some creation of sorcery, there must be! She appears to be a human woman, her skin a creamy tan and her hair palest lavender, partially covered with formidable looking armored plates which extend into a thick and heavy tail behind her. These also form a semi-helmet with a pair of tusk like horns on either side of her face, and claws on her fingertips and toes. Her eyes are a light green, vertically slitted and reptilian. One would think all that would be enough to make her recognizable, but since hunters and heroes like to know they're dealing with a specifically infamous creature, they tend to use some distinguishing features for identification. Common wisdom says that her (apparently) unarmored portions are more vulnerable, and previous attempts to slay the giant beast have left their marks; a pair of long, thin scars across the bridge of her nose and a web-like burn scar on the left side of her jawline. It's not known how these wounds were given...presumably the ones who gave them didn't manage to get away afterward to tell anyone.

She has no known "territory", no set stomping grounds. Thanks in part to her size, Feylgara is forced to roam widely to keep up a steady intake of food. There have been long periods when she hasn't been seen, leading to the story that she goes dormant every now and then, possibly to conserve her energy when she's recently gorged herself. But it's equally possible she simply went far enough away that she wasn't seen in that area for a long time. Regardless, those who have taken it into their heads to destroy her usually count on catching her in that state, or at least slumbering. Otherwise their already slim chances of success lower drastically!

Why? She's every bit as powerful and terrible as she looks! Immensely strong, heavily resistant to physical harm, she can steamroll her way through fortified castle walls with horrifying ease. The one happy note is that despite her appearance, she has no sort of breath weapon. No sheets of flame, spears of biting ice or streams of liquid acid. All she has to rely on is brute force and a seemingly bottomless supply of aggression. Surprisingly, this does not make her feral. She's clearly intelligent to anyone who has a chance to observe her in action, and she's even rumored to be capable of speaking, however infrequently she actually does. Her digestive tract is brutally efficient, leaving few remains if any, but it's also slow to act. The bards and story-weavers at the taverns tell tales of undigested treasure in her innards (or coughed up in her wake, or kept in her supposed lair), and even far-fetched ballads of romantic heroism where someone saved their swallowed love by entering the belly of the beast a full week after said love was devoured whole before making their long way out to freedom. In other words the only waste she tends to leave are bits of metal or enchanted equipment, but it's possible to survive in her guts for a surprisingly long time. How true are the stories of escape?

....how badly do you really want to know?


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