The Ha'book
Bones snap. Marrow sucked. Eyes, slurped down. Veins, rip cord yanked out. Skin stretched. Hair braided. Stained chisel teeth. Wet smacking lips. Moans and sighs, eyes rolling. Breath gasping, finger nails grasping.
A fish white underbelly skinned humanoid with sunken hungry eyes. The sound of stone scrapes masks steps. Long, knobbly alabaster fingers like broken piano keys stretch out silently around necks. Slow, curling wisps of smoke like digits lock around throats. Victims choke and splutter, feet kicking tattoos into the ground. The Ha'book with lover like tenderness squeezes every part of life out of the victim.
Stuffing the new meat into the pot on its back the Ha'book begins its work, it slowly utilizes every part of the victim into future projects. Adventurer parties tend not to think about the carnage they leave behind, the dead on battle fields or in back allies.
The Ha'book does though.
The Ha'book uses every single piece of a kill, every ounce of meat and centimeter of skin. Leaving nothing to waste the Ha'book uses it all. Fat is rendered down, blood and bone for the mushrooms growing on the skin and teeth replace other teeth. Even the armour and weapons will not go unused, armour is used for bowls, utensils or part of the meal itself. Weapons become nightmare kitchen utensils for this murder magpie cook.
The Ha'book is a dungeon denizen that is excess made flesh, that is the ultimate survivalist, that is the perfectionist personified. Always looking to create a new meal. Using anything and everything at hand. The Ha'book will usually latch onto anything that can provide it with raw materials.
After brutal dungeon battles when the adventurers have gone back to the inn to rest. The Ha'book comes out and takes the bodies away, slowly beginning carrion creations.
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