The first sign of the Cloud-Fisher-King's approach is a heavy blue-grey cloud, hanging unusually low in the sky. An ethereal tear opens in the cloud, and a huge face looks out. A big blue nose and protuberant eyes, along with two enormous hands, are squished together into a gap too small for them all to fit.
The Cloud-Fisher-King holds wooden crosses tied to marionettes. He drops them down upon you and sends them, herky-jerky, to attack. You have offended him and he holds a grudge for a long, long time.
Reasons you have offended the Cloud-Fisher-King:
1. Stole the gemstones that decorated his abstract mud sculpture
2. Dug a latrine across a focal point of his 50-foot geoglyph
3. Killed a magic deer he was hunting
4. Slept in the tree-house he built exclusively for owls
5. Killed and ate some of his cattle-herd
6. Overheard very bad first rehearsal of his upcoming marionette play
Cloud-Fisher-Kings live in an ethereal realm hidden inside the clouds. In their world, matter has neither smell, nor taste, nor substance. They are trapped in this space, and feel intense jealousy for the creatures who live in the physical realm. The Cloud-Fisher-Kings can only interact with our world through their clumsy marionettes, which is incredibly frustrating to them. Imagine trying to paint the inside of an eggshell through a tiny hole in its tip: this is how the Cloud-Fisher-Kings feel all the time.
They have artistic ambitions. They want to create delicate things down on the surface world, but they keep fucking it up. They leave behind mangled blocks of stone, whittled tree trunks, gouges in the dirt that were supposed to look like something. They are petulant, miserable, vindictive, impossible to satisfy. If a surface dweller sees their art, they are shameless in their desire for compliments yet hyper-sensitive to any hint of condescension.
The marionettes are made from kidnapped humans. The Cloud-Fisher-Kings catch them with giant fishing rods and haul them up through the portal. In the cloud-realm all things are interpermeable. The humans' bodies are fused with blocks of wood, their tendons stuck to the ends of strings. Then they are thrown back into the physical world as marionettes, under the control of the Cloud-Fisher-King.
The marionettes move clumsily, but with an enormous amount of power. (Imagine yourself painting that eggshell, and how easy it would be to crack the whole thing.) A marionette's flailing arm can send a human flying through the air. They can knock down trees, flip over houses. What they can't do, at least not well, is the fine motor work required for the Cloud-Fisher-King's art.
If the string is cut, all that pent-up energy is released at once in a whirl of wooden limbs. If the marionette survives this, then it will be free. It won't remember much of its life before being transformed. It will always have a deep desire to be told what to do.
The Cloud-Fisher-Kings can also spit lightning-bolts, but they are ashamed to use this power because it is uncontrollable: the ultimate expression of their clumsiness. They will only spit lightning if you make them very angry or if all their marionettes are defeated.
If you can befriend the Cloud-Fisher-Kings (which is not easy) they may grant you access to their vaporous realm, where distance has no meaning and all things can be merged together as one. Beware, though: they are the only ones who can open the portals back to the physical world.
Cloud-Fisher-King
HD: 5
AC: 12
Attack: Lightning bolt 3d6, hits 1d4 random targets in area
Morale: 8
No. encountered: 1
Immune to physical attacks. Half damage from spells. Takes 1d8 damage per round from thick smoke or strong air currents.
Marionette
HD: 2
AC: 14 (body) 17 (string)
Attack: 2d6 bludgeoning
Morale: -
No. encountered: 2d4
String has 1hp. When string is cut, the marionette flails its limbs. All in melee range (including the marionette itself) take 2d8 damage, save vs. breath weapon for half.
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