Blut's Clan

Far on the outer rings of the Wandering Contagion you find yourself, where the ground is writhing with tendrils and slimy membranes adhering to your paws.

Shattered serpents; with their gleeful grins and shiny bones are spiking the ground; crumbling underneath your every step, forming splinters, piercing skin.

It isn't long until you reach a small collection of caves, belonging to one of the smallest clans you have ever see, yet oh-so-very-rich with history. Stories long-ago; painted on the walls with an used-to-be crimson substance. The paintings, primitive as they are, match the ones of nature you saw on the outside.
But these, these do not depict nature ― no; they show the growing and dwelling and diminish of a clan full of vile grins and filthy hearts ―


You find yourself tracing the strokes of savage artists, wondering what kind of creature would feel the urge to depict such brutal scenes, such grotesque glory.
You didn't even notice the near-silent approach of company until it was too late, monsters and ghouls dressed entirely in scales, lurking in the shadows of the cave. You couldn't see them, but to hell with it, you could feel the sensation of breath on your neck and dripping saliva; could count your remaining breaths.
Like cobwebs, spiders crawling underneath your skin.