Slaves to the Fleshspoil
Those who have succumbed to the hunger, flesh-bound in purpose, their only law the call of the feast.
Changed by Hunger
Twisted by endless gluttony, these wretches have lost all trace of man, becoming little more than beasts driven by ravenous instinct.
Leading the Hunt
Masters of slaughter and ritual, these chosen few guide the Man Eaters with cunning, cruelty, and dark devotion.
The Fleshglutton Giants
Once noble, now ruined by endless hunger, these towering brutes embody the Man Eaters' all-consuming appetite.
The Hunger made flesh
The bloated tyrant and his apocalyptic form, the ever-feasting embodiment of the Carniphage’s will.
The Tithe of Meat and Bone
Grizzly offerings to the Carrion King, the lifeblood of the Man Eaters' endless feast.
Outbreaks of the Man Eater Insanity have been a quiet plague upon the Empire since the Cataclysm. In the wake of war and famine, exiles and war refugees, forsaken by the Empire, have found themselves driven to the unthinkable. Starvation leads them to feed upon their own, but in doing so, they awaken something far worse.
To those untouched by such horrors, this is simply madness. A curse of desperation and decay, fueled by guilt. But the truth is far graver, something unnatural takes root in those who consume the Fleshspoil. A hunger not their own. A sickness of the soul that does not relent.
These wretches, if discovered, are quickly strung from the gallows or put to the torch. But some escape. They vanish into the night, their shapes lost to the blackened woods, the ruined wastes. And when they return, they are no longer the same.
Scouts whisper of their hunts, roving packs that fall upon villages without warning, leaving nothing but ruin and silence. Strangely, livestock and crops remain untouched. The Man Eaters have no interest in gold, in shelter, in survival as others know it. They only deal in the Fleshspoil.
Their slaughter is more than hunger, it is ritual. The survivors of these raids speak of totems of gnawed bone left behind in the wreckage, as if marking their dominion. In distant cities, hushed rumors speak of a presence behind their madness. The Carrion King. The Carniphage.
The nature of this being is unknown. Some say it is a god. Others, an ancient predator that wears no form of its own, only those it has devoured. Whatever the truth, its will infects those who partake of human flesh, a sickness that twists their minds. It is not mere madness. It is a summons.
Few who fall to the Carniphage's call are ever seen again, but in the wake of their violence, some say they glimpse familiar faces among the fallen, lost loved ones, long thought dead, now grinning through bloodied teeth. They do not plead. They do not weep. But they hunt.
The Empire dares not acknowledge them. Official reports are burned, survivors dismissed as raving. To speak too much of the Man Eaters is to risk tempt their hunger. Yet in the forests and wild places, in the wastelands where no law holds, their numbers swell.
And they are ever hungry.
