Silken Thrall
Medium humanoid (human), lawful evil
Challenge Rating: 1/4 (50 XP)
Armor Class
12 (natural toughness, twitchy movement)
Hit Points
22 (5d8)
Speed
30 ft., climb 20 ft.
STR | DEX | CON | INT | WIS | CHA
---|---|---|---|---|---
10 (+0) | 14 (+2) | 12 (+1) | 6 (−2) | 8 (−1) | 5 (−3)
Saving Throws
Wis +1 (advantage while within 60 ft. of the Queen of Silken Darkness)
Skills
Stealth +4
Damage Immunities
Poison, necrotic
Condition Immunities
Charmed, frightened, poisoned
Senses
Darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 9
Languages
Understands Common but cannot speak unless commanded
Traits
Hollowed Shell
The silken thrall has no soul.
-
It cannot be revived or resurrected by any means.
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Healing magic restores hit points but does not remove conditions affecting it.
-
Effects that target emotions, memories, or morality automatically fail.
Bound Will
While the Queen of Silken Darkness is alive, the thrall has advantage on saving throws against being stunned, paralyzed, or restrained.
If the Queen dies, the thrall immediately collapses at the end of its next turn, its body rapidly desiccating into brittle remains.
Venom-Laced Flesh
A creature that grapples or restrains a silken thrall must succeed on a DC 11 Constitution saving throw or be poisoned until the end of its next turn.
This venom is mind-affecting, not toxic—immunity to poison negates it.
Actions
Club or Dagger
Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target
Hit:
-
Club: 5 (1d6 + 2) bludgeoning damage
-
Dagger: 4 (1d4 + 2) piercing damage
The thrall shows no reaction to inflicting harm.
Mindless Obedience
If commanded telepathically or verbally by the Queen, the thrall can immediately move up to half its speed as a reaction.
Running Them at the Table (Tone Notes)
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They do not flee.
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They do not taunt.
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They do not scream when wounded.
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If disarmed, they claw.
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If cornered, they block exits with their bodies.
They are frightening not because they are strong—but because they are already gone.
The figure that emerges from the webbed passage is human—at least in outline—but something about him resists that word.
He is thin to the point of fragility, all sharp angles and sunken flesh, his posture permanently stooped as though he has forgotten how tall he once was. He moves with a jerking, insect-like gait, as comfortable skittering along the stone on hands and knees as he is standing upright. Each step seems guided by habit rather than thought.
His eyes catch the light.
The pupils are blown wide and unchanging, swallowing nearly all color, as if his gaze is fixed on something far away—or far below—no matter where he looks. He does not blink often. When he does, it is slow and uneven, like a reflex remembered imperfectly.
At his neck, just below the jaw, the skin is broken by a dark, sickly wound: a bite mark, swollen and infected, its edges blackened and webbed with thin, purplish veins that pulse faintly beneath the skin. Whatever was delivered through that wound was not meant to kill him.
It was meant to empty him.
He does not speak unless commanded. When he does, the voice that emerges is thin and distant, stripped of emotion, as though the words are being pulled through him rather than chosen. There is no fear in him. No pain. No hesitation.
Only obedience.
If struck down, there is no spark to recover—no breath to call back, no soul left to anchor. Healing magic mends flesh that no longer knows why it exists. Resurrection finds nothing waiting to return.
These are not servants sustained by blood or breath.
They are shells—hollowed out and filled with her will.
And should the Queen of Silken Darkness fall, those shells will not cry out or rebel. They will simply collapse where they stand, bodies drying and crumbling in moments, as though the last thread holding them together has finally been cut.