[ WP ] Starting line for your story : `` He was n't a cannibal . Not exactly ... ''

He was not a cannibal, for he saw exactly what cannibals were every day. The dregs of society that he had trawled for his grand schemes delved into their grisly duties with reckless abandon, wandering through the towns of the lands to spirit children away. Most times he forbade them from feeding while at work, but when any of them disobeyed he gave free rein for the others to take them down instead. 
 
 He tasted none of the flesh himself. That was so far beneath him, like chewing bread before the banquet. No, he could wait longer than any of the wendigoes he commanded. They had practically leapt at the chance to gain the powers of the gonefathers while staying sane, thinking they could fight off the hunger. How wrong they were, as half of the hundred discovered in the first week. 
 
 All he had now were the ingredients waiting to be assembled into a succulent meal. Giving up now would be chewing the utensils instead of the dishes, taking the spice in exchange for the meat. It took foresight to conceive what he saw, foresight no wendigo possessed. The eternal hunger of those cannibals made it impossible to think beyond their next meal. 
 
 Give him a few more years, when all the processes were in place, and the seasoning had matured the taste, when there was left no more chase. Then the word'cannibal' would lie beneath him as far as a dish on the plate.
