The rustic form of an old urn floats here waving about in the air. Sparking from its base, tentacles dart about in an electric fury. Acidic blood runs from its brim, and drips freely from its base. Occasional drops of blood fall on the metallic tentacles and eat holes through their surface.  The constant grinding of tentacles laces the air with sparks of electricity. A floating urn almost glows with nearly god-like power.  - By Ciaran