Farador Ginnungagap

Farador Ginnungagap, the Butcher Abomination. For 32mm, The height of the figurine from bottom to top is 67 mm.

 Farador Ginnungagap shambled forward with the wet sound of rotting meat slapping against itself, its grotesque form a nightmare of pulsating flesh and rusted iron. Its stomach yawned open like a grotesque maw, the edges of the wound lined with jagged teeth that gnashed hungrily against each other. Spiked armor plates, fused to its decaying body by some unholy alchemy, bristled with jagged protrusions that dripped a thick, black ichor. In one massive hand it clutched a brutal mace, its head crusted with dried gore and fragments of bone. Where a face should have been was only a twisted amalgamation of meat, iron, and splintered bone, from the center of which jutted a single twisted horn, cracked and oozing a foul-smelling pus. The air around it shimmered with flies and the stench of corruption, a living plague given form.

None knew what foul rituals had birthed Farador, only that it walked the land as both punishment and executioner. The ruined villages in its wake told the tale – buildings crushed beneath its bulk, bodies impaled upon its spikes, others half-consumed by the gnashing teeth of its stomach-mouth. Some whispered it was once a mighty warrior, cursed by a scorned god. Others claimed it was a failed experiment, a thing dragged screaming from the depths of some forgotten alchemist's lab. But all agreed on one thing – to gaze upon Farador was to gaze upon the face of damnation itself, a walking blasphemy against life and death alike. Its hollow, groaning voice carried only one word, repeated endlessly like a funeral dirge: "Meat..."