efore they scavenged along the shores of Wraeclast, they were all exiles from the island of Oriath. Their crimes could have been anything, from insulting a senior soldier, to murder or worse. But that matters little now, for whatever their past was, their present is consumed by one goal. Find food, and find the weapons to help procure that food. They wander in huge packs along the shores and cliffs of Wraeclast, driven half mad by starvation, and cooperating only because none of them has anything worth stealing.

hese pathetic wretches are the banished of the banished, too weak to travel with the local bandits, too insane and dangerous to find shelter in the rare pockets of civilization remaining on Wraeclast. They lurk in the shadows and crags, rheumy eyes watching for a hapless soul who might come by unarmed and alone.