Within the Swarm, there is no questioning one's place in life. Otherwise, such a thing could never exist. It is not entirely clear what it is, a shambling mass of body parts, not entirely matching, held together by globs and globs of ichor, the honey of the hive. The caustic liquid makes a fine weapon, though the shamblers are never sent into battle. Rather, they live out their lives grovelling before the Queen, feeding the larvae on their gelatinous secretions. Instinct: To infest

• Spread Ichor