Wayfarers and wayward wanderers would do well to wear a wary eye when venturing into the throbbing heart of the Kingdom of Putrefaction, not least of all because of these horrid fairies: The Gackers.
They are the carnal, carnation-skinned, incarnation of the ill will of the accursed Living Gore itself, and their stinking hearts squirt suppurating gloor. With luck you'll never experience that first-hand, but still you are now unable to un-know it.
Reports of their appearance are as varied and wild as the fevered minds of all those of fate unhappy enough to have met them, though common to many tales is the power of their mere look to make a doughty fighter double over and puke.
Steel and fire are said to harm them none, nor arrow through the eye, nor the Gods' own lightning. Never has one been said killed, and none can imagine it being so, but there are seers and lunatics who say certain incunabula of Old Atlantis speak of a way to shoo them off: in the Goblinskin Grimoire, rumored to have fallen from the Silver Chain out of the hand of Moonmad Kyyrel himself, one line only mentions The Gacker:
"Of no avail was either of my tricks, the keening spade nor the limpid kiss, and despair I did of ever seeing the Clouds again, till a starflash stuck me that I must unburden and abase myself before my companions of all my sins against them, of thought will or deed; only then did the lumpen gristle-fairy leave off, cackling, seeming overcome with glee at my shame, as it had gorged on the finest meal of starshine and moonfroth."