The Carcassmen of the Dark Lake, as they are informally referred to by anyone outside of their insular group, are a small civilization of monster hunters, monks and pirates all rolled into one. Their seat of power, such as it is, resides in the gargantuan carcass of some primordial beast long since flensed, its bones used to make scaffolding and barges. It spans the length of two cathedrals, studded with ugly, zurkhwood shacks in a pale imitation of a skyline. The issue of men dissatisfied with their King, his identity now lost to time, who fled below and butchered the beast they now call home, or so they say.

A certainty exists among the myriad rumours that surround the Carcassmen, they are proficient hunters, who specialize in the otherworldly beasts that litter the caverns and the depths of the Lake, though they will turn their great harpoons on anything that presents itself as worthy prey, they are also said to devour their catches, aberrant or otherwise. Cannibalism has also proved to not be beneath them in lean times, it is said. These hunters, who tattoo themselves in the blood of the aberrant are led by priests known as The White, men who have dove headlong into the stygian depths of the Dark Lake, and dragged something back with them to feast on. Devouring these strange beasts from other planes of existence, whose flesh both Is and Is-Not, leaves them with a perpetual hunger, with eyes black as pitch from visions man was not meant to see. The most senior of these priests have eyes scorched out of their sockets by the irreversible nature of these visions, leaving only burnt flesh in their wake.