Harpies are more often than not smelt before they are heard or seen. The natural musk of a harpy is enchanced by the almost innate need of a Harpy to bathe itself in carrion and rot.
Harpies range from about 4-6 feet, with an average of about 5 feet. Their faces appear wrinkled and cruel, with vicious beaks. The harpies have straggly hair with a large bald patch around their forehead, presumably to keep rot from tangling into the hair in front of their face. Harpies do not have arms, instead they’ve large wings, often covered in dark black, grey, brown or reddish hued feathers, Harpies appear very dirty and greasy looking as they constantly rub their feathers and skin with any rot or carrion they can locate.
Harpies worship a God that is a curiosity in it’s own right. The primordial heart it had stolen had consumed the lifeforce of the God that thought itself worthy to house it. The God’s form, forever lost to history was consumed and reduced to a pool of sludge and rot; forever pulsing ripples upon its’ surface from the still beating heart deep within the pool. The name of the God is largely unknown to those who are not a Harpy, as Harpies tend to just refer to the pool as Father Rot; Though some suspect the Sirens know more about this God than they would care to let on.