u/karmenkool

As the seasons must turn, as the leaves must fall, the Harvestman must ply his trade. In his wake lies the death that all nature must face one day. Man or beast, monster or god, the harvest cares not what blood waters the trees, only that they may drink.

Many claim he is decay given form, born of undergrowth and detritus. Others believe he was once a druid, cursed to undeath for a sin lost to time. None can say for certain where the Harvestman comes from, only that he is followed by the echoes of decay and rot.

Made with kitbashing

Beneath the fjord, below the roots and stone, beyond even buried, ancient civilizations, the great wyrm Fjallgard has slumbered. In an era lost to history, the serpent was fury, divine judgement passed upon interlopers that would seek to exploit and despoil the forests.

In time, man learned how to harm the beast, how to imprison it within the very grounds it sought to protect. The wyrm was bound in arcane seals and great chains, the largest among them the size of a nobleman's dwelling. Fjallgard was imprisoned, kept sleeping beneath the stones, unaware of the rise and fall of those that had sealed it.

In the unknown millennia since, the binds have been weakened. The ancient magics holding the serpent faltered. The forest screams, and the echoes have awakened the Eater of Chains to unleash it's wrath upon the realms of man once more.

Made with kitbashing

Once, men from realms beyond the seas thought to tame the fjord. The cold consumed them, the forest reforged them. Before, they were a dozen. When the trees took them, they returned as one. A hulking mass of flesh and steel with too many limbs, too many faces.

Now, the fjord echoes with the screams of others that would seek to tame the wilds. Their cries only drowned out by a chorus of a dozen voices, all clamoring for their own demise so that the Levy may finally be disbanded.

Made with kitbashing