The deepdreck lurches from the grit, belly swollen tight as a drum, skin marbled with bruise-dark veins that pulse under caked dirt. Wet hitches escape its cracked mouth, leaking haze that clings low and sours the air metallic, stinging your nostrils. Fingers twist into pale, stone-chipped claws, knuckles split raw, ribs and hipbones etched with grime beneath a torn wrap. Gases fizz subtly inside as it shudders, breath sputtering when a curl of incense or crushed flowers wafts near, sweetness cracking the poison's hold.
Deepdrecks were miners long ago who found themselves far too deep beneath the earth, where they were cursed and corrupted by deforming powers. Now they tunnel and dig greedily, bloated with poisonous gases.
Astute observers have noted that these monsters occasionally bear a resemblance to missing loved ones who have long been thought dead.
The toxic essence of deepdrecks is disrupted by pleasant scents such as flowers, perfume, spices, or incense.
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