For more than 200 years, the necromechanikal horror called the Deathjack has haunted the wilds of western Immoren. Striking without warning, this infernal machine voraciously devours souls and leaves nothing but death and destruction in its wake.
A master mortitheurge, Hexeris is unrivaled in the manipulations of life and death. He has lost the ability to empathize with the living and now sees them as machines with precisely analyzed thresholds for potential, injury, and pain. Those who speak to him leave feeling tainted, for his eyes pierce through to their immortal essence. Hexeris is skilled in battle and is strong enough to have been a Cataphract if his mind had not destined him for a darker path.
Bone shrines dotting the perimeter of gatorman territories serve as both places of worship and warnings against interlopers. Covered in votive candles and the skulls of dead offerings to the gods Kossk and Barnabas, the Lord of Blood, bone shrines are places of dark occult power.
The boil master is terrifying to look upon as he stirs his spirit cauldron, a large cast-iron pot full of a bubbling, sickly soup of melted fat, body parts, and blood. The boil master feeds this cauldron a steady supply of dead and dying meat in order to coax forth the feral spirits of decay and death, happily chopping up any who draw near lured by the fragrant smell of the stew.
Adapting the hunting techniques they once used to secure food for their tribes, croak trappers wield nets and daggers to bring down a new sort of prey. Prowling through stream and river to surprise their quarry, trappers hurl their nets to ensnare a victim before descending on it with a flurry of dagger blows.
An eccentric monster hunter from the swamp, the gatorman Longchops has earned a name for himself in the wilds of western Immoren. Constantly seeking larger and deadlier prey to pit himself against, Longchops carries a heavy rifle and a wide array of snares and traps, having adapted the techniques of humans in his search for the perfect prey.
The disgusting and bloated bodies of gatorman husks are stuffed near to bursting with all manner of venomous insects, and each new generation adds to the swarm wriggling within to distend the body ever further. Bokors direct these undead carriers at their enemies, hoping that a bullet or blade will puncture the husk’s swollen flesh. Even a small rupture causes the husk to burst into a grotesque, stinging cloud of swamp flies and worse that sows panic and disease among the enemy’s ranks.
Crafted by a bokor from a bog trog that has displeased them, a void leech is a mindless servant to the gatormen, one covered in countless occult fetishes nailed through its flesh. A void leech creates a pocket of arcane static that enemy spells have difficulty piercing, and it can be forced to sacrifice its pitiful life force to unravel even potent lingering curses.