Skragrott

Skragrott is what happens when a grot is born with a surplus of the one thing grots are never supposed to have: patience. He clawed his way to kingship over the Moonclans not with the biggest squig or the sharpest blade but with poison, prophecy and an unerring sense of exactly when to be elsewhere. From his fungal palace-warren deep beneath the surface he presides over a kingdom of tunnels that riddles the realms, and tribute (shinies, secrets and rare mushrooms) flows to him through the dark from a thousand grovelling warbosses.

His authority rests on a single miracle: the Bad Moon listens to no one, but Skragrott, alone in all the realms, can mostly guess where it will go. Armed with that 'mostly', he sends hordes marching weeks ahead of the Moon's arrival, so that when its grin finally fills the sky above some doomed city, every git present sees the Loonking's prophecy made good. Whether the Moon truly whispers to him, as he claims, or whether he is simply the only grot who ever thought to take notes, the result is the same: worship, obedience, and a very long list of poisoned rivals.

Skragrott's ambition is the faith's ambition, sharpened to a point. He does not want to raid the daylight world; he wants to abolish it: every sky filled with the Bad Moon's leer, every realm one endless dank cavern, and at the centre of it all the Loonking, ruler of everything the light no longer touches. Wiser races find the idea absurd, right up until they check the record of his prophecies. It is very good, and it is getting better.