[i]If Edrik came upon what was behind the crypt, he would see it. There was very little light, but rudimentary shapes and features were visible. It was gorging itself on the body of what might have been a woman, but it was difficult to tell. The only indicator of gender was a wet scalp that had been peeled from the skull, long black hair untouched by blood and still shining with vibrancy splayed upon the ground. 

Something huge and glistening had its head half buried in the body. Its pointy, crinkle cut ears were stiffly raised as it jerked something red and soppy out from the body with a hog-like grunt. Red tendrils of dirt flecked saliva swung from its maw. The juicy black globes that were its eyes shone dully in the fading white moonlight. They were stupid and almost empty, yet at the same time gleamed with the faint spark of an old and malignant intelligence. One that seemed to know already the past and future with a lazy disinterest, along with the deepest secrets of the human heart.

It was no paltry entity that had to rely on magicks to induce fright. No humanoid being of blackness that boasted of his might by plunging those nearby into false states of terror with the wave of a hand. The intimate daemon that lurked and glided through the nethers of human anxiety, whom the ancients called Salmu Pulhu, could send waves of cold gooseflesh up and down trembling backs without the assistance of supernatural power. The sight of it had on occasion even turned men's hair white.

It could have been entirely silent, but it had purposefully given its presence away. Easy prey fled when it revealed itself, and it chased them down. They always stunk of piss. Strong prey stood its ground. Such would indicate a different approach was needed. The strong ones always smelled of piss when it took them too.[/i]