The Moonclan are the vast hooded body of the Gloomspite Gitz: cave grots beyond counting, farmers of luminous fungus in the lightless deep, and the reservoir of raw spite from which every gittish flood is drawn. They arm themselves with pokin' spears and moon-faced shields, and pour up out of the underdark whenever the Bad Moon rises to promise that everything above belongs to them.
Taken one at a time, a Moonclan grot is a coward of almost artistic refinement: expert in the sudden absence, the backward flee, the knife between more heroic shoulder-blades. Taken by the tens of thousands, packed shoulder to shoulder and drunk on fungus-brew and prophecy, the same grots become a shrieking green tide that has drowned cities built to withstand proper armies.
What binds the warrens is the Gloomspite itself, the shared conviction that the Bad Moon is no distant omen but a personal patron, watching each warren especially and forgiving its every cruelty. This lunatic faith makes the Moonclan impossible to reason with and hard to disperse, for a beaten warren simply withdraws into the dark to breed, brood, and wait for the moon to come round again, which, in the Mortal Realms, it always does.
Order of battle
The Moonclan Grots field the units of the Gloomspite Gitz, a detachment from the roster:
Other Gloomspite Gitz formations
Jaws of MorkA gittish horde devoted utterly to the squig in all its bouncing, biting glory, convinced the beasts are the Bad Moon's own children and Mork's favourite joke. The Jaws of Mork fight as a stampede of Boingrot Bounderz and loose-herded cave squigs that hits fortress gates like red weather. Their leaders are whoever has survived riding the biggest squig the longest.
Spiderfang GrotsGrots who crawled into the webs and came back changed, the Spiderfang worship the Spider God and ride its skittering children to war. Their shamans drink venoms that would drop a gargant and call the resulting visions scripture. Where an Arachnarok walks, the Spiderfang follow in its shadow, chittering prayers.
TroggherdsLumbering congregations of troggoths (stony Rockguts, reeking Fellwaters and cavernous Dankholds) that drift after the Bad Moon's gloom by pure instinct. A troggherd fears nothing, remembers nothing, and regrows anything cut off it. The grots trailing behind consider themselves its clergy; the troggoths have not noticed them.
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