The Scuttling Apothecaries are human-like, generally, and around 5 feet tall, and have a hunched, heavy appearance. They have large, round potbellies which hang over their pudgy thighs. They have long, knobbly arms with large, six-fingered hands, and they are extremely bow-legged. Their feet are wide, flat, and have no separate toes. But on their backs, they carry shells like those of ladybugs, which can split open to reveal huge, translucent, and useless wings suitable only for show. These shells, rather than having a black and red pattern, possess the image of a grinning porcelain mask with painted face. Buzurivambavas have stumpy, insectoid heads which are fused into their shoulders and shells, with big compound eyes and snapping jaws. Their human bodies are very hairy. They rarely wear anything more than a kilt of woven reeds, and carry their ingredient and raegent bottles on their belts or hanging from their shells and arms.
Buzurivambavas possess no real fighting capabilities; they are slow, scuttling and trundling of movement, and are easily overturned and slain. They coat the palms of their hands, however, in alchemical greases and pastes, dying them bright colors, and when they touch mortals with these greases, they cause terrible, agonizing alchemical burns.

The Scuttling Apothecaries are solitary wanderers of Hell, nomads who travel Hell’s insane wastes and wilds in search of the millions and millions of ingredients detailed in the holy book of the Buzurivambavas, the Orange Book of the Disgusting Gods. The purpose of the Buzurivambavas existence is to gather the ingredients and to create the medicines and alchemical brews which they peddle to their demonic customers. Any alchemical substance which can be made, any medicine which can be fabricated, any miraculous brew which can be produced, has been made and sold by the Buzurivambavas.

All Buzurivambavas are technically vassals of the Infinitely Horrible Vizier of Hell, who tries, but not too hard, to reign them to it’s will. However, the Scuttling Apothecaries hate the Vizier, who frequently regards them as delicacies and eats them alive or spitted on their own bones, and they flee from any attempt of his to control them.

Buzurivambas are delighted by new ingredients and raegents which they have not seen before, and love hearing talented poets scream out verses from the Orange Book of the Disgusting Gods under pain of hideous tortures. Sorcerors summon them to procure their incredible talents in alchemy.

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