How does the ecology of Grot function? Why does the weather do what it does? Why does the violet-white-tinged sun of Grot rise red and set blue? One may as well ask why Azathoth enjoys the piping of a trillion frantic flutes, or what’s inside a chicken mcnugget.
There are many ruins across the face of Grot, but there remain no living cities. The bastions of civilisation, if one is pressed to call them that, are generally found in ancient isolated castles. These fortresses look out onto a countryside teeming with death, disorder and degenerate savagery. They bear ancient names like Castle Xoon, The Fortress of Necron, and The Morgus. But the prospective visitor must be wary, for these fortifications can often prove as treacherous as the wilderness.
The wilderness contains few of what most would think of as species. The preponderance of Grot’s creatures are too subject to malformation and grotesquerie to conform to such mundane classification. Of those few that do, one type of note are the shockingly prolific Vogg, or Pig-Beasts. These bipedal abominations, clammy in their rubbery and unwholesomely pallid flesh, either creep in singular stealth or pour forth in maggot-like masses in many places across Grot.
The Vogg, their faces only suggesting the porcine, have glistening whitish translucent flesh, like some thing vomited forth from the blackest sun-forgotten pits, and their entrails twist and writhe visibly under the surface, like unfried spring rolls full of squirming black-eyed grubs.
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