Every ogor is hungry; a Gorger is nothing else. Born wrong or starved into madness, these outcasts feel the Gulping God's hunger without pause or mercy — no meal dulls it, no feast fills it. Driven from the firelight of the tribe, they haunt the caves and crevasses along the Mawpath, pale as things that have never seen the sun, all sinew, claw and unhinging jaw.
The mawtribes use their outcasts the way other armies use artillery. Gorgers are loosed ahead of the horde, or held slavering in chains until battle is joined and then released — bursting from tunnel, shadow and snowdrift among the enemy's war machines and commanders. Even ogors step carefully around them, for a Gorger is a sermon with teeth: this is what the god's hunger looks like when nothing is left to hold it back.
Order of battle
