The Troggoths are among the oldest and most wretched things to crawl through the Mortal Realms, hulking beasts of stone-hard hide and idiot malice that dwell in flooded caverns, blighted fens and the roots of shattered mountains. Slow of thought and slower of speech, a troggoth's true horror lies in its flesh, which knits and regrows even as it is hewn apart, so that a wound that would slay a lesser creature is to it a passing itch.
Different kinds haunt different dark places. Rockgut troggoths swallow boulders to hurl at their foes, while dankhold troggoths grow moss-shrouded and immense in the deep glooms, and the sour spew of fellwater troggoths corrodes armour to slag. The cunning grots of the Gloomspite Gitz herd them into battle with drums and bad moon superstition, driving these living siege-engines against fortress walls.
Yet troggoths are no mere brutes to be commanded. Left to their own hungers they are eating-machines, devouring livestock, warriors and each other with equal appetite, and even the Ogor Mawtribes give their lairs a wide berth. To face a troggoth is to fight something that does not know it can lose, and simply will not stop.
The bestiary continues
