The Ogors are mountains of muscle and appetite, towering brutes whose entire existence orbits the singular, gnawing need to feed. They worship the Gulping God, a deity said to be nothing more than an impossibly vast maw drifting through the cosmos, forever swallowing stars and worlds. To eat, for an ogor, is to pray; to gorge is to touch the divine.
Most roam as the Ogor Mawtribes, migratory hordes that descend on the lands like a plague of locusts, stripping regions bare of beast, crop and folk before lumbering onward. The frost-wreathed Beastclaw Raiders drag an eternal winter behind them, fleeing a hunger that can never be sated, while the Gutbusters simply eat until nothing living remains within reach of their cleadbelcher cannon and butcher's blades.
An ogor's belly is treated as a holy thing, and their shaman-butchers read omens in offal and bind rock-hard gnoblars into service as tally-keepers and morsels. They are not cruel for cruelty's sake, merely famished beyond all reason. When an ogor tribe appears on the horizon, wise folk flee, for these giants recognise no border they will not cross and no meal, however sentient, they will not consume.
The bestiary continues
