macabre

Age: indeterminate.

Race: False Dragon

Gender: Male, Female.

                                                                      Abilities:
                                                                   Assimilation:
Yeist is a living, breathing collection of flesh and blood, shaped to resemble the outer-form of a dragon. The multi-slitted, horizontal eye-slots bear several Irises from tentacles that lay beneath the skin, acting as the actual eyes. His mouth lacks a lower-jaw. The upper jaw  is intact, though the mounds of flesh trailing down to his neck are all connected as a huge "pathway" of various tentacles. He may touch a creature and inject parts of himself inside in an attempt to consume the creature and bring it into his body. Fully doing so grants him that creature's knowledge, memories, and feelings. Yeist has done this so much, in fact, that he's lost the image of what his original self should be, though his body remembers and constantly tries to reshape/keep the original draconic form.

                                                                   Breath of "life":
Yeist can breathe out "leeches" that will attempt to consume any amount of flesh they come into contact with. If a leech attaches to something, it would be several days before any amount of flesh is consumes as the leech attempts to break down the biomatter, though more leeches stuch to a particular thing would speed up the process.

                                                                    Limb extension:
Since his limbs are made up of hundreds of pieces of himself, he can reach roughly fifty-feet in a given direction, though any force applied at such a distance would be almost microscopic as it would take a lot of biomatter to actually reach such a distance. More realistically he could reach twenty-five feet and have the strength of an average human. He could form both legs into a singular mass to make a "spring" to launch himself in the air. He could form extra wings(besides his normal two-tattered ones) to create more lift to fly upwards faster.
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Strength: 2-7
Depending on the distance to whatever he's attempting to lift, touch, grab, etc. Yeist's strength could vary. Close-up objects are almost never a problem for such a beast as he, though anything outside of his immediate vicinity would prove to be a struggle to affect.

Agility: 5
He's assimilated a lot of average people, and hasn't figured out any way to move quicker than... a slow sprint or a fast jog.

Speed: 6
Movement is not the easiest thing when your body won't cooperate with you, though Yeist is unsure if his body is even really "his body". Perhaps the people he's become one with are fighting him subconsicously.

Tactics: 2
With so many conflicting thoughts on what to do, Yeist finds it more comfortable to agree to do nothing and end any confusion or pain.

Skill: 2
Yeist can hardly control a lot of his body in a conscious way, let alone try to formulate any kinds of manuvers or ways to fight someone outside of his instinctual want to grab and hold onto someone/something.

Bio: Yeist was once a proud dragon. He can't remember exactly where, what, why, or how, but he knows it. Perhaps buried deep within the finest recesses of whatever counts as his brain, her brain? His brain? All he knew was that he'd managed to gain such an insane amount of knowledge from two people, perhaps more would give him what he needed. His rather un-wieldy arms were finally held straight. He ravaged old towns with few villagers to defend or even notify others. "none" were left behind. They all travelled alongside, or more accurately inside of Yeist. Their lives, their experiences, some holding kind and others spewing dreadfully angry words. He seeks to rectify the damage he's caused, though he wouldn't even know where to begin. His mouth waters every time he walks into a town. The lone streetcorners look so nice and dark, the perfect place to set up an ambush for another meal, another piece of information, another meatbag-shaped-pie. The worst part of it was the aching and growing consciousness that told him he needed to stop. He wanted to stop... but something kept him going. Will he keep on his silent rampage or tone down into a vigilante of the night?