Flesh Hound

The creatures of flesh, eyes and worse that inhabit the depths below the manner stand as a sort of immune system for the great and terrible thing beyond the final portal. Antibodies serve as sentries and turrets, Polyps fling poison bile and act as leaders of the others, but neither of these horrors can be clearly demarcated with the logic and language of the sane world-- or what we force ourselves to see as the sane world-- above the Dungeon's halls. The Flesh Hound, while a horror in its own right, at least can be described in normal terms. It is a hunter, a killer, a trained hound. Its mission, its dreadful, webbed form, with pseudopods where teeth and fur would rightly be, is the same as any attack dog left to protect an area. Target one foe after receiving a command-- the Polyp does a more-than-fair job of that-- and end its life.

There is little good to say about being eaten by a pack of wild dogs. At least their victims blood leeches not into the awful Thing, at least their life ends in a forest or a cave or any other sane place to die. The Flesh Hounds, by all accounts, do not eat. But lying in the hellish chambers where they slay their victims, there is only one possible fate.

Becoming part of the infernal organism into which you delved too deep, strengthening its will and power, and letting it repurpose your flesh into more of the horrors that ended you.

Behavior
Without the support of marks, the Hound acts at random, targeting the weak but more-or-less indiscriminately using it's gnashing bite to rend flesh or, somewhat less likely, biting a leg and dragging a backline hero forward, stunning them meanwhile. However, just as the Houndmaster's Target Whistle empowers his faithful wolfhound, the Flesh Hound becomes a far greater threat when supported by a Polyp's marking phlegm. If a hero is marked, the Hound will more-or-less devote itself to Gnashing the victim, doing significantly more damage than unmarked and forcing the unfortunate further towards Death's Door, where the Polyp's poison can reap its awful due.