Urnth

"That thing—Urnth—slid through my fields one autumn, by the week’s end the beans were curling in their stalks and the squash turned black on the vine. Whole season died slow. Thought I’d have to sell the goats just to get through winter. But come spring, the ground came back angry. Things grew where I didn’t plant. The corn was near twice my height, and the roots tore up the soil like they’d been waiting. We pulled three years’ yield from one harvest. That trail fed us better than any rain I’ve prayed for—but I still keep a wide berth where it passed. Blessing or not, I ain’t calling it a gift."

Urnth, the Funerary Slime

Urnth is a creature not born of flesh or soul, but of time, silence, and the slow turning of the earth. It forms deep beneath the soil, inside long-forgotten funerary urns buried beneath layers of root and stone. These urns, once carefully sealed and lowered into the ground with reverence, contain only ash—remnants of the dead reduced to dust. Yet in stillness and pressure, with moisture seeping through soil and the quiet company of roots and minerals, the contents begin to shift. Ash gathers, clumps, thickens. Not quickly, not purposefully, but as if something within it remembers being whole. Over many years, the substance inside becomes viscous—no longer dry remains, but something pliable, cool, and restless.

When the weight becomes too much for the vessel, the base of the urn fractures. A crack forms in silence, and from it the creature slides free. Urnth is born not in fire or pain, but in a slow spilling of memory and matter. The broken urn remains on its back, cradled like a shell that can no longer contain what it once held. From this vessel, the creature carries its origin forward, not as armor, but as the sign of its becoming.

It moves with great slowness. It does not stalk, does not watch, does not plan. Its body glistens faintly in low light—ashen grey, with folds and ripples like melting wax. At the front, its form gathers into the vague shape of a skull, not of any particular species, and not of bone, but a crude suggestion formed from memory rather than anatomy. This face sags and distorts as it moves, constantly softening, constantly reforming. From the cracked urn protrudes a long pseudopod that sometimes curls into the shape of a hand, though it does not grasp or hold. It reaches outward gently, trailing along bark or dipping into pools, as if feeling the shape of the world by texture alone.

Urnth does not hunt. It has no hunger beyond its instinct to feed on decay. It moves without urgency, trailing a damp, glutinous residue in its wake. At first, the trail appears harmless, a faint shimmer across soil and stone. But slowly, the ground begins to change. Plants that drink from it do not thrive—they overreach. Grass softens, then slumps. Leaves hang heavier with each passing day. Stems grow limp, not from drought or disease, but from too much richness pressing inward from the roots. This is not a blight that spreads from plant to plant, but a creeping suffocation of the earth itself. It is a death brought on by the overwhelming abundance of what should nourish.

This effect unfolds slowly, often unnoticed until it is already too late. Flowers never bloom. Trees shed prematurely. What was green fades without color. By the time winter arrives, the path behind the creature lies hollow and silent. No birds nest in its wake, no insects hum. The soil breathes only stillness.

And yet, Urnth does not bring ruin forever. With the passing of time and season, the trail it leaves behind begins to fade. As snowmelt sinks into the earth and the air warms again, something stirs beneath the fallen leaves. New shoots rise, not cautiously, but thick and fast. Moss unfurls in broad, vivid swathes. Fungi bloom in strange, tangled knots. The soil, fed by what has died, swells with strength. The growth that follows an Urnth’s passing is often richer and stranger than what came before. Groves left barren by its trail may, come spring, burst into chaotic life—wild, overgrown, and unusually vibrant.

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This design has been sold, and all intellectual property rights, including full ownership and exclusive usage rights, have been transferred to the owner. The owner has the freedom to use, edit, and expand the design for personal or commercial purposes, including but not limited to games, merchandise, and storytelling.

As the original creator, I retain the right to:

• Reference this design in my portfolio or for non-commercial purposes.

• Reuse abstract ideas or general artistic motifs from this piece for unrelated future projects.

The specific design, artwork, and lore remain exclusive to the owner. Credit to me as the original artist is appreciated but not required.