Sculpted by Anders Lerche

The howling begins in the swamps surrounding the manor house, a deep guttural screech that tears through the moonless drift of mist and bile seeping from the putrid water. The Wrath emerge in multiple waves from the darkness and infiltrates the fields, burrowing beneath the tilled soil and dark earth. Only traces of yellow ooze and slime remain after they cross the southern portion of the property.

Beware my little minions, they hunt within the pumpkin patches, like snapping turtles they lurk just beneath the broad green leaves of the patch. Snatching down and silencing your little beating hearts. The warm blood and twisted struggles keeping them satiated over the long summer months. Until they slither, once more, into the inky depths of the shallow bog for Winter’s long rest.