Vampangol

The termite eaters of Milaikh oasis valley were once small and docile creatures, harmless to anything that was not a termite mound. Untold generations of living in the fetid swamps polluted by The Skimmer Hive, however, have warped these creatures almost beyond recognition. Their fine fur has fused into scaly plates of iron which pits and corrodes beneath the harsh chemical rain.
No longer having a taste for tiny termites, vampangols lie curled up in a state of torpor until they get a scent of fresh blood. When this happens, they awake and begin to track down that sweet, sanguine scent until they encounter their bleeding victim. Their pointed snouts are more than capable of drinking a human dry, and their claws, so good at cracking open termite mounds, are just as capable at prying apart armour and opening old wounds to get at their next drink. A vine of Haemvin will distract them and slake their first... for a few precious moments.