Measure one part grell and one part Alien. Mix until bloody. Garnish with Aklo. Serve spackled along the walls of a horrific hive city.
Adventurers trying to flee the attentions of a thriae hive flee downward into the earth, until the bowels of honeycomb city give way to something else: strange tunnels seemingly made of blood and gore. There is a new hive hidden below the thriae hive, and the creatures inside have floated up to feed…
Cloakers begin pouring out of the deep caverns like panicked bats out of Hell. Those who can speak their strange Undercommon get only garbled tales of “gore weavers.” The fact that the cloakers can be hunted in their native element, the air, has them terrified even beyond their typical racial paranoia.
A sculptor seeks new media with which to create his works. He begins having the same dream every night—of scarlet tunnels, of liquid that can be shaped like iron, and of vault doors he must open. He is determined to answer the dream’s call. Interestingly, nothing can stop the dreams or the calling, including the effects of such spells as silence, remove curse, or antimagic field. But when a cold robs the sculptor of his sense of smell for a week, the dreams vanish.
—Pathfinder Bestiary 3 124