The Haruspex are the dark prophets of the Man Eaters, their bloated forms clad in little more than bone trinkets and filth-streaked loincloths. Their bodies bear the scars of countless sacrifices, their fingers blackened with dried gore, for they alone hear the whispers of the Carrion King with perfect clarity. His voice is a chorus of hunger and command, and it falls upon the Haruspex to translate his will. To question them is to deny the King himself—a blasphemy punishable by bloodletting.
To divine the future, the Haruspex practices anthropomancy in its purest, most gruesome form. Their captives are bound upon rough-hewn altars, bellies split open with practiced ease, their innards unraveled before the assembled tribe. The way the intestines writhe, the color of bile, the scent of fresh-spilled blood—all are omens to be read. Some futures demand the sacrifice of many, and so the Haruspex presides over great butcherings, the Carrion King’s will growing clearer with every severed artery.
