Giant, Ash
Giant, Ash

Giant, Ash

Ash Giants

While they’re not native to Ash, these bashers have become a part of the ashen landscape as the soot ‘n’ cinders that make up the ground. First thing ya gotta understand is that livin’ in a place as hospitable as a dead campfire does somethin’ to ya. Makes ya tough, but also a bit off yer rocker. The ash giants have got skins like a well-done roast and a temperament to match. Big ol’ buggers, ten feet tall, easy. Their flesh’s a bit rough ’round the edges, covered in sores and the like, but that’s the Plane of Ash for ya.

Ash giant society is basically a mix of survivalist communes and warbands. Imagine if the bashers from Ysgard decided that life wasn’t chaotic enough and set up shop on a plane made of pure desolation. They’ve got a knack for bondin’ with the local creepy crawlies—big, mutated vermin, usually. Ya ever seen a man ridin’ a giant ash cockroach like it was a prize stallion? It’s a sight, lemme tell ya.

As for their sense of humour… well, let’s just say, these folks could make a chasme cringe. They love their pranks dark—darker than the pits of the Abyss, almost. We’re talkin’ “kill yer mate and laugh about it” kind of humour. It’s not that they’re dark of the heart; it’s just that when ya live in a place where the environment itself is tryin’ to kill ya, ya develop a sorta… let’s call it a “unique” perspective on life and death.

Aye, they’re violent, but ain’t that the way of most things out near the Great Nothing? Besides, consider this: spend enough time bein’ pestered by outsiders, raiders, and other nefarious sods lookin’ to exploit yer home, and ya might find yerself a bit punchy too. It’s like them high-up sods from Spiretown thinkin’ they’re the centre of the multiverse; if they ever stepped a foot in Ash, they’d soon realise how unimportant they really are in the face of the elements.

So if ya find yerself wanderin’ the Ash, and ya come across a band of these tumour-laden titans, mind yerself. But also appreciate ’em for what they are: the rugged individualists in a plane that doesn’t want ’em, but can’t get rid of ’em. Kinda like the eternal ash in me non-beatin’ heart.

Prominent giant clans in Ash

The Pyresmoulder Clan: These bashers are like your typical giant craftsmen, only their ever-burning forges are stoked by the cinders they gather from the plane. Craftin’ metals ain’t their strong suit, but they’ve figured out how to make ashcrete—solidified ash blocks—that they use for buildin’ structures. Picture a fort that’s as resilient as a Marut on a mission. What’s better, when they decide to move on, the whole thing crumbles back into ash, like it never even existed.

The Sootstriders are nomads, these ones. They don’t bother with settlements; roam from one part of Ash to another. What makes ’em unique is that their wanderin’ culture knows the dark of one of the rarest of things on Ash; portals to other planes. They travel to far-off places like Chamada on Gehenna, the Gray Waste, or Avernus, bring back curios, oddities, and sometimes even planar lore, tradin’ ’em for resources. Got a couple of handy fiendish trinkets from ’em meself.

The Cinderjaw Clan: Let me tell ya, these berks have got a sense of humour as dark as a tunnel in Pandemonium. A Cinderjaw basher would rather die than pass up on a prank. Best keep yer senses sharp ’round them, or you’ll end up laughin’ on the wrong side of yer face. Literally. This lot embrace their afflictions, they do. Ya know how their flesh is marred with tumours and pustules? They see it as blessin’s, something that ties ’em closer to the Plane of Ash. Even created a weird philosophy ’round it, claimin’ that every tumour is a memory or lesson. I’d call it daft, but then again, who am I to judge?

Canonical Source: Bestiary 3 [Pathfinder 1e], p126.

Source: Jon Winter-Holt,

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