Ogor Gluttons are the mawtribes' rank and file, if a landslide can be said to have ranks. They fight in loose, bellowing mobs armed with clubs, cleavers and blades the size of farm gates, each warrior wearing a gut-plate strapped across the belly — armour for the body's holiest organ. A charge of Gluttons is less a manoeuvre than a natural disaster: tons of muscle and hunger arriving all at once, flattening shield-walls that would have held against any cavalry of men.
To a Glutton, battle is honest work with an excellent buffet at the end. They are not cruel by philosophy — they simply stand at the top of every food chain they meet and see no reason to apologise for it. Victory is measured in mouthfuls, defeat in missed meals, and the tribe's history is told around the fire afterward, between bites, by whoever ate most impressively.
Order of battle
