Taronachi the Ever-Perfecting Flesh

The strange entity before you resembles an ever-shifting mass of humanoid flesh. Though it keeps a roughly six foot tall human shape at all times, it has very little discernible epidermis. What little skin remains shifts constantly, sliding up and down the creature's limbs and torso in patches. The skin dissolves and recombines in a slow, shifting, and nearly incomprehensible pattern.

When Taronachi deigns to wear a face (his "natural" face actually just being the muscle tissue underlying what mortal men consider a face), he adopts a bland male facade with clean-shaven, rounded features and watery brown eyes. The face is very pale, and appears dead, and its lips and tongue seem to move with a slight lag, not actually matching his words. When he speaks, it is with an unnatural reverberating timbre to his voice, exuding confidence and power even from his frail-looking and fleshless form.

Though his posture is near-motionless and his movements precise and rigid, a queer motion and energy runs through his corporeal form like subdued electricity, or like maggots writhing within a corpse. The tissues composing Taronachi are constantly shifting and changing in a nearly-imperceptible pattern. Bone spurs, tumors, and bundles of redundant ligaments puff and bloom from his arms and torso at all times, giving the impression that his flesh is creeping and squirming, making multitudinous minor adjustments from moment to moment. Sometimes an eye erupts from some section of flesh, rolls madly and blindly in its temporary socket, then shuts, never to be seen in that exact location again.