The Haruspex are the chosen of the Carrion King, their bloated forms adorned with bone trinkets and filth-streaked cloth. Scarred by countless sacrifices, their fingers blackened with dried gore, they alone interpret the King’s cryptic whispers. To question them is heresy, punishable by bloodletting.
Masters of Anthropomancy, they spill entrails across crude altars, reading fate in the twisting viscera. The Fleshspoil, infused with the Carrion King’s power, is their sacred work—nourishing the tribe, thickening their flesh, and dulling pain. Those who consume too much lose all but hunger, their souls devoured bite by bite. The Haruspex choose who is fed, ensuring the strong endure while the weak are spent.
In war, they march at the horde’s center, carried aloft on crude palanquins or astride the Lardermen, chanting dark litanies to drive their kin into slaughter. Blood spills, flesh rends, and in the carnage, the King’s will is made known.
