A Viscerleech resembles an elongated, flattened worm of indeterminate length, its body capable of compressing and folding in ways that make precise measurement impossible. When fully extended it appears long enough to coil around a humanoid torso several times over, yet it can contract to slip through gaps or occupy spaces far smaller than its apparent mass should allow.

Its flesh is a deep, bruised purple, overlaid with translucent skin stretched thin enough to reveal striated muscle fibers and branching veins beneath, with every little movement fully visible under bright enough light. This exposed anatomy lends the creature an unsettling resemblance to trailing lengths of viscera, giving the Viscerleech its name.

At the front of its body, the Viscerleech bears a single circular mouth, rimmed with rows of tiny, flexible teeth. The mouth can widen far beyond what its size would suggest, sealing flush against flesh when feeding or anchoring itself within a host. Just behind the mouth rise two short eye-stalks, each tipped with a small, glossy eye reminiscent of a snail’s—though looking closer reveals a disturbingly attentive intelligence behind them.

Despite its classification as an aberration, a Viscerleech shows no obviously unnatural features beyond its intelligence, telepathic communication, and anatomical adaptability. Its movements are deliberate and efficient rather than chaotic, and its form appears wholly evolved for parasitism: coiling, clinging, and surviving within living bodies for extended periods. When outside a host, it often keeps itself partially coiled and low to the ground, minimizing its silhouette and conserving energy until another suitable body happens upon it.

When an opportunity presents itself, a Viscerleech will enter a host through any sufficiently large opening—most commonly the mouth, nose, or a fresh wound—compressing its body until it becomes little more than a ribbon of muscle and skin. The creature anchors itself by sealing its mouth against internal tissue, using rhythmic contractions to draw itself inward. Once inside, the Viscerleech makes its way to the main body and coils along the host’s internal cavities, distributing its mass to avoid immediate organ failure. Its body molds itself around existing structures, reinforcing rather than displacing them, and its musculature subtly synchronizes with the host’s own movements.

When the Viscerleech chooses to exit, the process reverses: muscle fibers loosen, coils unwind, and the creature forces itself outward through the same opening it used to enter—or tears a new one if necessary—leaving behind residual bruising and a small amount of internal bleeding no matter how careful the creature is, and a lingering sense that the host’s body is suddenly, unnervingly empty.

Externally, a host carrying a Viscerleech shows few obvious signs of infestation. In lean or lightly armored creatures, faint shifting patterns may occasionally be visible beneath the skin, like something adjusting its grip from within. In moments of stress or injury, dark, vein-like discolorations can spread outward from the torso as the Viscerleech redirects its own substance to absorb harm- or intensify it.

Mannerisms and Behavior

Viscerleeches are sentient parasites with a limited but focused intelligence. While incapable of complex abstraction or long-term planning on the level of humanoid cultures, they demonstrate clear self-awareness, memory, and intent. When they choose to speak aloud, their vocalizations are slow and wet, formed through forced contractions of their body rather than a true voice. Their spoken language is rudimentary, consisting of short phrases or single words in Deep Speech, often repeated or rearranged to convey emphasis. In all cases, a Viscerleech refers to itself and others exclusively in the third person, identifying other beings only as “It.”

More commonly, Viscerleeches communicate through a low-grade telepathic link with a host or nearby creature. This communication does not transmit words so much as impressions: sensations of pressure, hunger, discomfort, or satisfaction. Emotional states are conveyed through physical associations—warmth indicating approval, tightening coils signaling agitation, and a dull, spreading heaviness expressing contentment. Hosts that willingly house a Viscerleech often report that these impressions feel intrusive but not overtly hostile, as though sharing space with a presence that is curious rather than malicious.

A Viscerleech’s perception of the world is dominated by scent and internal sensation rather than sight. It categorizes creatures and environments in terms of decay, sweetness, rot, and stench, and will often describe living beings as “warm” or “spoiling,” while the dead are assessed by their stage of decomposition. Visual details are secondary and imprecise, used primarily to orient itself toward sources of biological activity.

Behaviorally, Viscerleeches exhibit an instinctual fixation on death and bodily decay. They are most at ease in enclosed spaces—within a living host, wrapped around a corpse, or coiled in confined, lightless environments. Open air and wide spaces provoke visible discomfort, causing the creature to compress itself tightly or seek immediate cover.

Central to all behavior of a Viscerleech is its obsession with what it calls “feast.” This term refers not to physical consumption alone, but to a complex sensory stimulus associated with suffering, rot, death, and decay. To a Viscerleech, 'feast' is experienced as nourishment, pleasure, and purpose simultaneously. Though not inherently aggressive, a Viscerleech will readily bargain, cooperate, or attempt to bond with other creatures if it believes doing so will grant it greater or more sustained access to feast. In extreme cases, this fixation can override caution, driving the creature to place itself in dangerous situations so long as the promise of feast remains strong.