Octotle

It drifts through the deepest, dampest ruins with its eight arms trailing, and it uses them with genuine dexterity, reaching through walls to move objects, snare prey, and, so the Pawbury tales insist, stir a great phantom cauldron of its own conjuring. It is patient and clever, setting traps and lures rather than hunting outright, and it seems to take a slow, calculating pleasure in the confusion it sows. It haunts a single deep chamber for years, arranging and rearranging the objects it collects into patterns no one has deciphered, the private, incomprehensible work of a long spectral life.