Ozmic, the Living Hive

As with all of history's most atrocious malefactors, the ancient fey-creature calling himself Ozmic would have wound up down an entirely different path in life if he'd been exposed to the kinder, gentler nature of mortals. Always conscious of how he appeared to children and the wary, the primordial shrubling worked diligently to earn the trust of a small village to which he served as a protector-spirit. He coaxed the harvests and defended the village for decades, but as Talingarde conquered more and more of the great Caer Bryr, he also eventually witnessed firsthand the casual barbarism and bloodshed the mortal races desired. The day in which he appeared before a court to answer for his crimes was the day in which Ozmic fell to the darker aspects of the fey, shifting with frightening ease into the role of tyrant.

The hatred in his unblinking eyes seems reflected a thousand-fold by way of the multifacted ommatidia, though rarely does he allow his expression to slip. Back arched, chin high, even in shackles does Ozmic hold himself in mockery of human royalty.

Crevices run horizontally across his chest in a way that reminds you of rib bones, but these, like the gaping holes in his cheeks and arms, only reveal the hollow trunk-like center of the Gathlain. Or the space that would be hollow if it wasn't for his 'children' - tens of thousands of well-fed honeybees cuddle together within his innards, occasionally crawling up and through his arms to buzz cheerfully around his head.

The queen, far too large to live within a honey-soaked cavity, is a majestic specimen he refers to as Taíri in loving tones. Easily 6ft from curious antennae to deadly-sharp stinger, the gigantic creature is equal parts fuzzy and terrifying. When agitated, over a dozen porous spiracle - like gasping mouths - can be seen sealing and unsealing down the length of the creature's abdomen and dripping with poison.