Grashrak Fellhoof

Grashrak Fellhoof rose through the herds on cunning rather than horn-span, a great bray-shaman whose sermons are feared as much as his sorcery. His creed is simple and total: every wall is an insult, every road a scar, and the only honest prayer is a settlement burning. The raiders he gathers, a handpicked knot of gors and ungors bound to him by equal parts prophecy and terror, leave nothing behind them but the wild flowing back in.

When the living mountain of Beastgrave stirred in the Realm of Beasts, its savage call reached Grashrak like a horn-blast, and he drove his despoilers into its hungering tunnels without a backward glance. There, amid caverns that shift and close like a throat, his herd hunts intruders in an endless red circuit of ambush and trophy-taking. To Grashrak the mountain is a sermon made stone: proof that the wild is not merely older than civilization but hungrier, and that it always, in the end, gets fed.