Wounds do not seem to stop this slithering mass of flesh, it's gaping mouths break into pools of acid that smell of salt and rain. It's eyes are deep dark or just blue, sometimes becoming a mirror-like reflections or tendrils that search the vicinity for prey. It can scream, shriek and even talk but all you'll hear is desperation and despair, perhaps a sob, tears, pain and unlogical words, but nothing coherent. And when that thing that desperately crawls finds you in the dark corners of forgotten palaces and houses it will change you too, it will wreak you, torment you, untill all you can wish is to become something else, to forget the horror of your most recent encarnation. Instinct: To change everything

• Seek conflict
• Convert the flesh of the living
• Feed on unwanted transformations