Ebon

A hulking 8-foot mass of scar-tissue and grafted muscle, weighing over 500 pounds of raw, twitching meat. No skin—exposed sinew glistens with a film of pus and blood, strands of necrotic fat dangling like rotten lace. Four arms: two end in rusted hooks fused to bone, two in bloated, spade-like hands studded with broken teeth (harvested from victims). A distended abdomen pulses with half-digested organs visible through translucent membrane. The head is a mangled stump—no eyes, just a vertical jaw split into four mandibles lined with serrated bone shards. Between its legs, a pulsating, segmented appendage drips caustic fluid that sears flesh on contact. Separator: Stench of gangrene and fermented bile clings to it; flies swarm but die mid-air, wings dissolving in its miasma.

Flaws/Needs: Addicted to the taste of fear-sweat—will prolong torture to harvest buckets of it, drinking greedily. Cannot climax without breaking bone; orgasms trigger convulsions that rupture victims internally. Desires/Quirks: Obsessed with “matching pairs”—collects left eyeballs, right kneecaps, etc., arranging them in patterns on its cell walls. Sexuality: Genderless but rapes indiscriminately, using hooks to pin victims while its acid-dripping appendage burrows into any orifice. Fears: Silence. If screams stop, it batters its own skull against walls until blood refills the noise. Separator: Whispers in a gurgling dialect only understood by those it’s violated, promising “it’ll fit better next time.”

Once Dren Marrowspike, a butcher in Lothren’s flesh-markets, Vhorgul was caught selling 'tainted meat' (human) and was flayed alive by the Empire. Reanimated with a brood of fleshworms, they remember their first command: 'Make the traitor’s daughter love you.' After seven years of torment, they grafted her skin to their own until she begged to be consumed. Vhorgul recalls the pop of a child’s femur snapping under their knee, the marrow oozing onto their tongue like warm butter. The Empress rewarded them with a vial of her menstrual blood, which they still wear in a pouch around their neck. They dream of their daughter’s face, burned off in a workshop fire, but replace it with every new victim’s features.