The Grots are the lesser greenskins, spindly and malicious creatures who lack the raw might of their orruk cousins but more than make up for it in low cunning and sheer, seething spite. Where an orruk simply charges, a grot schemes, ambushes and betrays, surviving by wits and numbers in the lightless corners of the Mortal Realms. They are cowards by nature, yet a cornered grot is a vicious thing indeed.
The most fervent gather beneath the earth as the Gloomspite Gitz, worshippers of the malignant Bad Moon whose rising drives them into howling, fungus-fuelled frenzies. They herd monstrous cave-squigs, brew hallucinogenic poisons, and creep from cavern and crevice in tides of shrieking green when the moon shines full. Their moon-mad prophets promise that the world will one day be swallowed in eternal gloom.
Grots endure through cruelty and craft, hoarding shinies, cheating one another, and dying by the score without ever truly diminishing. A single grot is a pitiful thing, easily crushed; ten thousand grots pouring out of the dark with poisoned blades and gibbering laughter are a nightmare that has undone whole cities. In the grim realms, spite alone has proven a durable kind of strength.
The bestiary continues
