The Bad Moon is the leering god of the grots, a vast and malevolent orb that rolls unbidden across the skies of the Mortal Realms, obeying no orbit and heeding no law. Where its sickly green light spills across the land, madness follows, and the scattered tribes of the Gloomspite Gitz boil up from cave and crevice in howling, moon-drunk hordes. To the grots it is no mere celestial body but a living, grinning deity that watches and wills their ruinous frolics.
No scholar can chart the Bad Moon's course, for it appears and vanishes according to a logic that is pure spite. It has been seen to hang low and swollen over doomed cities, to grind across the ground itself crushing all beneath, and to loose showers of moonclanged debris and cackling fanatics upon the terrified realms below. Its light awakens the fungal blooms and the deep-buried spites that the grots revere, and under its glow their shamans, the Loonbosses and Fungoid seers, work their maddest sorceries.
Whether the Bad Moon is a true god, a fragment of some slain celestial power, or merely the fevered dream of a whole race made flesh, none can say, for the grots offer no consistent tale and the sane offer no answers. What is certain is the dread it inspires, for its rising heralds slaughter and lunacy in equal measure. When the green light climbs the horizon, the wise bar their doors and pray to steadier gods, for the moon is grinning, and the night belongs to the gits.
The pantheon continues
