Squigs are what the Bad Moon thinks a predator should be: a mouth, a stomach, two spring-loaded legs and no surviving trace of caution. Grown fat in the fungus-caves and then starved to a fine edge, they will eat armour, horses, siege equipment and — with democratic regularity — their own herders.
A Squig Herd is not commanded so much as aimed. Grots with prodders and drums drive the beasts in the enemy's general direction, then concentrate on not standing between them and anything edible. When the herd strikes a battle-line it is less a charge than an avalanche of jaws, and if half the squigs come bouncing back through their own side afterward, the grots consider that the second-funniest part.
Order of battle
