Maw

"Did ye see that bloody hand?! He snapped Wiggam straight in two!" -Dwarf survivor He picks his teeth with the snapped femurs of men, the ribs of lions. Shrunken limbs swing like silent chimes from his reeking belt, appearing childlike on his mountainous frame. Should you enter his territory, pray some other beast besets you first for Maw the Devourer prefers living flesh. When trophy hunters encroached on Maw's bone-strewn hunting grounds in Blackroot Bog, the great beast took the intrusion as a personal affront. He used the terrain to his advantage, crippling members of the party one by one before dragging them back to his lair. There, he would feast upon them for days on end, keeping them alive by cauterizing their latest wounds. Their numbers rapidly dwindling, the hunters began setting more complex traps. They left a concealed snare for Maw that drove spikes through the meat of his palm. When the trap was checked in the morning, all that remained was a massive dismembered hand, chewed straight through the bone at the wrist. Believing some other great beast had found Maw and finished the job for them, the hunters set their sights on this new mysterious foe. From his hiding spot, Maw cursed his enemies, but was grateful for the time their naivete bought him. Rapidly losing blood, he returned to his lair and jammed the skeletal pincer of a mammoth scorpion he'd defeated straight through his gushing stump before cauterizing the wound, much as he'd done with his earlier victims. Coated with a poultice of maggot mash and tree sap, it healed brilliantly. When Maw had fully recovered, he stalked the trophy hunters and set upon the remaining members, snapping them to pieces with his new appendage as if he were trimming parchment paper. After gorging himself on their bodies, the goliath preserved their limbs and adorned them as medals of his own upon his belt. His hunting ground reclaimed, Maw roams the Blackroot Bog, perpetually in search of his next live meal.