Each new pox only toughens the aged Plague Monk, who has himself become a walking disease. Even worse, the mysterious hunching growths framed by the robes promise something still more virulent. The flesh that is not hidden by his tattered shroud is leathery and covered in a layer of dripping buboes.
Indeed, he is bent and gnarled under the weight of countless corruptions. Rather than weakening with age, he is possessed of a diabolic vitality that belies the years and the heaped diseases he carries. Skrolk is ancient, having existed many spans of even the most long-lived of his foul kind. Plants wither and die where Skrolk treads and the very air about him seems to congeal and darken, as if stained by his baleful presence.
That Lord Skrolk walks the world is an affront to nature and a sign of the power of the Great Horned Rat. It must be gifted the touch-touch of Pestilens !
