Sluagh

They are born of dense night fog and the chill of dead air. Like a flock of predatory birds with swirling, smoky forms, they glide in on the icy wind. They know neither rest nor redemption; their existence is one of eternal hunger and endless wandering. They watch for tormented, dying souls, only to spread their black, feathered shrouds over them at the very moment of their final breath and tear their souls away...