The path to becoming a Slaughter Chief is paved with blood. Among the Man Eaters, there is no birthright to command—only the right of the strongest. Those who covet leadership must seize it by force, cutting down their rivals in brutal, unceremonious duels. Even after victory, their rule is never secure, for there is always another challenger lurking in the shadows, waiting for their moment.
Yet brute strength alone does not make a Slaughter Chief. These warlords possess an uncommon cunning, not only in battle but in the art of the hunt. They orchestrate ambushes with ruthless precision, luring prey into dense forests, rocky passes, or the flooded ruins of dead cities, where their tribe can descend upon them in a frenzied onslaught. They strike without warning, with neither mercy nor restraint, leaving only blood and gnawed bones in their wake.
The Penitent Crusade is among the few foes the Man Eaters cannot simply overwhelm. These warriors clad in blessed steel are relentless in their pursuit, hunting down the flesh-cursed tribes with fire and fury. A Slaughter Chief must be more than a savage killer to best them—they must be a patient predator. They set traps, drawing the Crusade into the dark, forcing them to fight on uneven ground, exhausting them before the final slaughter. And when the time comes, the Slaughter Chief does not simply lead the charge—they carve a path through the enemy’s strongest, proving with every kill why they stand above all others.
With such status comes the right to claim the deadliest mount from the Man Swine drove. A Slaughter Chief selects the meanest, most ill-tempered beast, a thing barely controlled, its flesh bloated with corruption. Together, they are a battering ram of meat and fury, trampling the weak beneath their hooves and smashing through the foe’s ranks, leading the Man Eaters to their most savage feasts.
