The Gorestalker walks alone. She does not share in the frenzied revels of the tribe, nor does she sleep beside the butcher’s fire. Even the Fleshmad give her a wide berth, unsettled by her silence, her patience. Some claim she was once a hunter before the hunger took her, clinging to instincts long abandoned by the rest of her kin. Others whisper that she serves no single warband, but the will of the Carniphage itself, ranging from tribe to tribe as it pleases.
She moves unseen through the wilds, striking from the shadows with bow or blade, her Manhounds sniffing out those who think themselves safe. Sometimes she stalks ahead of a hunting party, ensuring no prey escapes. Other times, she works alone, vanishing for months or years before emerging with fresh kills and a hollow, wordless devotion. When she does walk among the tribe, none dare question her right to feast.
