A Troggherd is less a warband than a slow geological event: a congregation of troggoths set drifting beneath the Bad Moon's gloom by an instinct none of them could name, were any capable of naming anything. Stony Rockguts, reeking Fellwaters, cavernous Dankholds tall as siege-towers. All lumber the same vague direction, following the moonlight as tides follow a colder, higher stone.
The troggoth is a creature of magnificent simplicity. It fears nothing, for fear requires imagining an outcome; it remembers nothing, for memory requires caring what happened; and it regrows nearly anything hacked or blasted from its body while chewing placidly on the warrior who made the wound. An enemy can win a battle against a troggherd all afternoon and find, by dusk, that they are still coming.
Around this shambling core the grots gather, as grots always do near anything large and violent, and appoint themselves its clergy, herding, coaxing, and reading the troggoths' gurgles as holy pronouncement. The troggoths have not noticed the grots and never will. To the Gloomspite the misunderstanding works perfectly: the little folk get living battering-rams, and the Bad Moon gains a congregation too stupid to ever lose its faith.
Order of battle
The Troggherds field the units of the Gloomspite Gitz, a detachment from the roster:
Other Gloomspite Gitz formations
Jaws of MorkA gittish horde devoted utterly to the squig in all its bouncing, biting glory, convinced the beasts are the Bad Moon's own children and Mork's favourite joke. The Jaws of Mork fight as a stampede of Boingrot Bounderz and loose-herded cave squigs that hits fortress gates like red weather. Their leaders are whoever has survived riding the biggest squig the longest.
Moonclan GrotsThe hooded heart of the Gloomspite: fungus-farming cave grots beyond counting, armed with pokin' spears, moon-faced shields and a bottomless supply of spite. Individually they are cowards of legendary calibre; together, drunk on fungus-brew and prophecy, they are a tide that has drowned whole cities. Every Moonclan warren is certain the Bad Moon watches it especially.
Spiderfang GrotsGrots who crawled into the webs and came back changed, the Spiderfang worship the Spider God and ride its skittering children to war. Their shamans drink venoms that would drop a gargant and call the resulting visions scripture. Where an Arachnarok walks, the Spiderfang follow in its shadow, chittering prayers.
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