Saturday, August 18, 2012

A Squig Herder in the Rye


The sky was gray.

Rottooth sat on a rock overlooking the blood drenched battlefield, his mighty sword resting against his thigh. He looked at its handle, inspecting the twisted human skin leather that made up its grip. "Gonn' haf ta fix me choppa a new bit," he thought out loud. His back aching, he pushed himself to his feet. His arm had begun to heal from the mighty gash the Bretonnian lord had left for him, before he fled the duel crying in pain from the shattered fingernail in his eye. Rottooth grinned to himself, he always did prefer to fight dirty.



His mangler squigs had struck a mighty blow in the battle, but one now lay dead and the other was off prancing through the wilderness, hapless corpses of its night goblin masters in tow. He knew he would have to give up some of the shinier trinkets he pilfered from the nobles to get the night goblins of Crag Burok Dur to lend him more of the accursed beasts.

As he trudged towards a fallen knight, his brow furrowed and a few beads of sweat glistened on his stern continence. The battle had been hard fought and these humans had taken a mighty toll on his now exhausted boys. Skarlbaggds trolls had fared the worst, second only to Gizpop the shaman. Hulking corpses of pallid flesh stank in the evening air, flies and maggots already making the reeking cadavers their homes. His savage big 'uns, the Teef Howlas, were looting their bodies, yanking out big teef and bile filled stomachs to gamble with and drink from after they "pitched camp".

The Teef Howlas had an interesting take on pitching camp, usually consistent of cannibalizing their fallen comrades around a raging blaze fueled by their own feces and the bones of slain enemies. Huts were nigh unheard of among their savage kind, preferring to sleep under the stars while dosed up on hallucinogenic mushrooms that their shaman brewed in a vat of blood and boar urine. Rottooth only hoped that the Giant, Gurrr, didn't locate and drink their psychotropic beverage. He shuddered, remembering what happened to the last giant in his command who had imbibed the foul liquid. Its feeble mind had stared too far into the sky and something had devoured his body, twisting and rotting away his flesh. He had sprouted skeletal wings and tusks so heavy his neck snapped and his head hung at a sickening angle. The rampage that the giant went on had proven disastrous, joyfully slaughtering over one hundred grots before Gazguts' mighty war ax had cleaved the giant from neck to arse.

Rottooth wondered where Gazguts forces were. They had separated from Cragteefs WAAAAAAGH 3 moons past, and Gazzy, as he was affectionately known by Rottooth, had only curtly mentioned some incursion into the pointy 'eads territory. Rottooth paused, looking over the fallen errant. He didn't look old, by human standards, but he was old enough to wield a weapon. His face was beautiful, and his body was well armoured; he had obviously come from great wealth, maybe a duke's son. Rottooth drew his dagger and cut a small slit at the base of the lads scalp. Peeling and pulling the skin away he formed several strips of mangled cheek, forehead, and nose until he felt he had enough flesh to reform his weapons grip.

He marched back to camp, sure to not miss the gambling that was bound to happen with or without him there. His step faltered as he past Gizpops corpse, his small head impaled by a mighty lance stuck at a slight angle to the ground. His beady, little eyes were frozen in a look of fear as his hands were clutching a dirty scroll in an almost covetous way. With much effort, Rottooth plied off the rigor stricken fingers, unfurling the literature with a delicacy that only an orc could muster. The page ripped nearly in two, but, by his standards, it was relatively intact. Gibberish runes lolled across its front, words calling for Rottooth to read them out loud. Too bad for the living letters, Rottooth couldn't read anything. He hastily put the damned thing into his pouch, intent on having Bokrak interpret the writing. He knew Bokrak wouldn't be much help, his WAAAAGH riddled mind polluted by the savage brew he stewed each night, but at least it was a start.

Rottooth slowly made the climb to his encampment, anticipating the winnings he would receive and the blood that would surely be spilt over cheaters and drunks.

He grinned a toothy grin as he punched a scavenging goblin square in the face.

Dramatis Personae -
Cragteef - Grand Warlord
Gazgut - Warlord, General
Rottooth - Warlord, Lieutenant
Bokrak - Savage Orc Great Shaman
Gizpop - Night Goblin Shaman (deceased)
Skarlbaggds - Leader of Trolls (deceased)
Gurrr - Giant
The Teef Howlas - Savage Orc Big 'Uns unit

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