PumppoxBringer

Pumppoxringer was not born; he was grown. One of the first, he grafted himself onto a host, sinking roots into flesh and marrow, siphoning every drop of life until the body was nothing but a hollowed husk. From that grotesque union he swelled, a living harvest of rot and pumpkin flesh, twisted and bloated beyond natural recognition. Now he moves with terrible purpose, a juggernaut of festering autumn, guiding the newer sprouts and smaller pumpkins that cling to him like acolytes. Each pumpkin u…

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