Excelsis, one of the great cities of Sigmar. Built on the Coast of Tusk and now the capital of Ghur. It was founded after the end of the Realmgate Wars, around the Spear of Mallus. This stone allowed sight into the future and helped make the city rich and relevant. The Spear grew to be so important that the currency of Excelsis, Glimmerings, would be made solely from fragments of this stone. These would allow their owners to see, if only for a while, the future. This is the city where the out of place Orruk, Borgut, begins his story.

Borgut grew up raised by a human family, simple farmers, worshippers of Sigmar. He doesn’t actually know how this came to be. Whenever he asks his parents about his past they just smile and say “You’ve always been our son.” As out of place as he felt a lot of the time, he didn’t mind much. His family and friends all loved him as though he was one of them. I guess in reality he really was just one of them. Growing up he found that he was strong, very strong. Even the other Orruks, who would never accept him, were much weaker, and much smaller for that matter. This only fueled his feelings of not belonging. His father made much use of his strength around the farm. Lifting up huge barn doors with no effort. Carrying sick livestock across is back as though it was just a fox.Borgut grew up raised by a human family, simple farmers, worshippers of Sigmar. He doesn’t actually know how this came to be. Whenever he asks his parents about his past they just smile and say “You’ve always been our son.” As out of place as he felt a lot of the time, he didn’t mind much. His family and friends all loved him as though he was one of them. I guess in reality he really was just one of them. Growing up he found that he was strong, very strong. Even the other Orruks, who would never accept him, were much weaker, and much smaller for that matter. This only fueled his feelings of not belonging. His father made much use of his strength around the farm. Lifting up huge barn doors with no effort. Carrying sick livestock across is back as though it was just a fox.

One day he was out in the Ghurish wilderness hunting down “the giant beast” – as his father called it – that had mauled and feasted on an entire herd of oxen. He came across an outcropping in a cliff face. At the mouth of it was a huge pile of bones from all sorts of animals. He made his way in, not having much care at all. He turned the bend and was shocked by what he found. He was almost nose to nose with the biggest lizard beast he had ever seen. He had heard about them before but certainly never seen one. It was smaller than he thought based on the rumors, must be just a youngling. Face to face with a Mawkrusha, how exciting! The beast opened its mouth and let out an Innard Bursting Bellow. “His breath stinks” was all the Orruk could think. Before even finishing its roar, Borgut grabbed it’s snout, loaded up his left, and with all of his might gave it a left hook square in the jaw. Now the formidable beast lay completely limp as though dead on the ground. Borgut took the opportunity to grab a souvenir. “They’ll never believe it,” he thought. On his way out of the outcropping he heard faint screaming. Upon exiting he looked towards his city. Fire.

His farm was completely engulfed in flames. He frantically searched for family, but came up empty handed. About 100 meters away, a little closer towards the main city, he saw a rider, followed by 20 men. The rider was hulking, clad in red armor, riding an armor clad beast. Filled with rage like he has never felt, he let out a roar. Green lightning and smoke began radiating throughout his body. Tearing off his cloak he began sprinting, all while screaming, towards the rider. As he neared the men they began to form up, frightened as the giant lump of glowing green muscle was hurtling at them at alarming speed. Only 5 meters out he leapt towards their leader. His left fist loaded to unleash on those who destroyed all he loved. His punch crushed in the riders heavy breastplate, shattering all of his ribs and stopping his heart instantly. Stopping for just a moment he turned his gaze at the others, his eyes burned green with fury. Through a blinding fit of rage, the green giant slaughtered all of them. Except the few smart enough to flee. He stood there, looking towards his home, covered in the blood of Bloodreavers. As he stared, sadness began to creep in, his eyes returned to normal as he slumped down to his knees.

Getting to his feet he went to check the body of the Skullcrusher, whose chest was completely caved in. He found a Glimmering in one of the pouches. Touching it, he reeled backwards, blinded and surprised by a flash of light. He saw visions. Visions of Sigmar in a mighty clash with GorkaMorka. Visions of Chaos and Death ravaging lands far and wide. He saw himself in a huge arena, being cheered by thousands. He saw himself flying in an airship! He saw rage, his fist covered in blood, dispatching countless alongside warriors who rode lightning. He saw both Sigmar and GorkaMorka as part of himself. As though they burned within him. When he came to, he raised his fist to the skys. “SIGMAR!!! Give me strength! That I may avenge my home, my family, all that I have ever loved! I will destroy your enemies with rage!”

On his quest for vengeance against the followers of Chaos. Roaming endlessly on his own. Just looking for a scrap. His body count had climbed quite high, making a name for himself. He ended up being recruited into the ranks of the Bladestorm. A Stormcast Warrior-Chamber of the Celestial Vindicators. Forged from heroes plucked from the most war-torn lands, they are fearless even against the might of a Bloodthirster. They carry a deep hatred for all things Chaos, making them stern and unforgiving, creating a deep bond with their brethren. This makes them vengeance incarnate, relentless in their pursuit for revenge against Chaos. The Vindicators were recruited from those soaked in the blood of Chaos Champions, who prayed for more strength to smite their foes. Entry to the Celestial Vindicators requires an aggrieved inheritance that they must ask Sigmar the right to exact personal revenge. They know neither mercy nor restrain.

Borgut was the only Orruk to ever be allowed among their ranks. Thirsting for revenge he fought with them on the Roaring Plains of the Realm of Beasts to retake the Manticore Realmgate. He followed them into battle against the Skaven Grey Seer Kritch and his clan of Shokryk. His thirst for battle grew and grew. He was good at krumping, very good at krumping, the best even. Traveling from Realm Gate to Realm Gate with the Celestial Vindicators. He found himself looking for a better and better scrap. Stronger enemies to smash, bigger armies to bash. Becoming bored with being a soldier, granted a very esteemed and respected one among the Stormcast, he sought a bigger adventure.

During a particularly epic scrap in the Realm of Fire, scourging the land clean of Khorne influence, they found out that actually it was Tzeench all along. It was very complicated. Borgut was very confused. He just wanted to krump some heads. During all this downtime he had caught the eye of a particularly beautiful Stormcast, Sora. She was very tall, much taller than any of the women in the camp. Borgut fell head over heels for that amazon warrior. They quickly fell in love. Passionately they did everything together, and they were fierce. Especially on the battle fiend. Even the Lord-Cellestant would stop in awe to watch the duo dance on the battlefield, creating tides of Chaos blood.

One specific mission brought Borgut, along with an entire army of Bladestorms to the Realm of Chamon. The Stormcast came in full force to attack the Eldritch Fortress of Ephryx, the Ninth Disciple of Tzeentch. Borgut wasn’t quite sure why but he didn’t ask such questions. An opportunity to kill hordes of Chaos followers was reason enough. Ephyrx had originally built his fort around the monument to a holy artefact that the people of the Glimmerlands created in order to siphon it’s magic. The walls were covered in thousands of skulls, but they were no longer made of bone as each night Ephryx transmuted them into copper to better channel the holy magic of Ghal Maraz and glowed with iridescent power. Ephryx planned to use this power to complete a ritual that would convert every realmgate in Chamon to a portal to Tzeentch’s Crystal Labyrinth

This full frontal assault of the fortress caused Ephryx to panic. He unleashed all of his stored power into one dreadful spell. Every single Stormcast annihilated and sent back to Azyr, but in doing so Ephryx inadvertently revealed that his fortress held the fabled hammer of Sigmar, Ghal Maraz. But the spell was channeled to destroy the Stormcast, not an Orruk. Knowing he had no hope, Borgut turned to flee into the wilderness.

Countless days, weeks, and months on the run, Bogut found himself in a town called Scrappa Spill. A little run down, a little rough around the edges, his kind of place. While drinking himself silly to drown out the sadness he overheard a metal Duardin talking about something amazing. There was a gladiator “Kollassaio” in town. A big one. One that brought people from all over the realm to watch champions bludgeon each other for glory. In a drunken stupor he demanded the weird, mechanical looking Duardin to take him. When he reached it he let out a roar of joy. At least in his head anyway, to those around him they gave side eyes at such a huge beast squealing like a young Aelf. He entered the arena and began yelling at everyone to show him who was in charge. He finally found him. Another weird metal covered dwarf, this one with a silly ball over his head, but he had a very impressive spear so he could probably be trusted.
“Give me the strongest champion in this joint” Borgut demanded
“You look strong, but not so sharp. You’ll have to prove yourself profitable first” the Skywarden replied.
Borgut came in closer. Put his hands on the dwarf’s small shoulders and gently gave it a squeeze until his heavy metal shoulder pad made a crunch. “Give me the champion.”

Now standing in the middle of the arena, he found himself disappointed. It wasn’t quite like what he had thought. The stands were full but no one was cheering. Just then he felt and heard a thud. He also heard what sounded like a really drunk Orruk. The gate on the other end slowly raised up to reveal an absolutely massive figure, at least twice the height of Borgut, who is already impressive in stature. A Gargant! “Never krumped a Gargant before.” Then he noticed something that made him even more excited, something around it’s waist. “That’s the most epic flask – it was more like a barrel – I have ever seen!” The crowd erupted into a frenzy when the lumbering giant stepped into that arena. Even throwing things like food, flowers, and ale. A few rather attractive Aelf girls showing their appreciation in ways that are unbecoming of a lady. Borgut was amazed. “I could get used to this,” he thought to himself.

The gargant charged. Surprisingly fast for such a big guy. He brandished a tree limb that in his hands looked like a normal club. Borgut looked down at his hands. In his right hand the Tempestos Hammer, gifted him by the Lord-Cellestant of the Vindicators. In his left hand was nothing. Just a fist, calloused and covered in scars and misshapen knuckles. He had smashed one to many helmet clad warriors. His eyes went to and from his hammer and his fist. After mere seconds the Gargant was on him, his “club” reared back ready to knock him into the stands. Borgut dropped his hammer, and dodge-rolled between the giant’s legs. Missing his giant swing the Gargant took just a moment too long to recover. Borgut took his opportunity, now behind the beast, and gave a wicked left hook into it’s kidney (do gargants even have kidneys?). It made the giant writhe in pain and dropped to a knee. Down a level in size Borgut gave a strong cross to his ribs. The crowd gasped as they heard ribs shatter and saw a now fist sized indentation in the giants back. The blow knocked the beast down. Borgut began drinking from the Gargants “flask.” Struggling to pick himself up off the floor he had dropped his tree limb. Borgut set the flask down, casually went to pick up the tree limb. It was much heavier than he expected. He managed to hoist it to his shoulder, press it overhead, and bring it rushing down on the giant’s cranium. It’s head nearly exploded, blood splattering the crowd half way up the stands. Borgut began cheering, longer than he should have, before noticing no one else was making a peep. You could hear a pin drop. Borgut went for his hammer, raised it up in the air and gave a blood curdling roar “Waaagh!”. The crowd erupted.

Borgut had become king of the Kollassaio. Famous throughout the Realm. In search of greater challenge he had stored away his Tempestos Hammer and Vindicator armor specially handcrafted by Borgut himself. He was too big for it so he bashed it in and reshaped it with his bare hands until it did. It was an ugly sight but it did the job. Warriors came from far and wide in search of glory. Their ambitions always ended in the same way. Waaagh! A Lord-Aquilor of the Sons of Mallus came close one time. His Gryph-Charger was just too fast.- He decided that from then on, he too needed a ferocious mount. It would make him so much faster than a 4ft move action – It’s beak had gotten a hold of Borguts left arm. Leaving his fist, nicknamed Facebeater, useless. As the Aquilor aimed his Heavy Boltstorm Pistol, something crazy happened. For the first time since the burning of his home, his eyes began to glow bright green with energy. Blinding the Knight, missing his shot as he was bucked from the Gryph. Borgut was on him in an instant. With only one arm he had grabbed the Gryph-Charger by the neck and was beating the Lord-Aquilor with it. Quite a spectacle that was, only serving to increase his fame. He was untouchable. A true champion blessed by Sigmar and his ancestral god GorkaMorka.

During this time he had made a friend, Durkol. He was a little grot who grew up in Scrappa Spill and has never left. They did everything together. Borgut loved him. Durkol was his only real family he had known since the loss of his own so long ago. One day during a routine fight. There was a particularly annoying fight against a Vampire Lord and some silly fish Aelf. It was easy going, especially once one of the crowd threw a spear into the arena. That thing was huge, nearly as long as the Gargant. That battle was interrupted by those metal covered dwarfs with their flying ships and more of those stinking fish Aelfs. The battle to fight was epic. Borgut even managed to punch one of their smaller Gunhaulers, sending it crashing down. They captured Borgut, his friend Durkol, and a bunch of other randoms he didn’t know. They were woken up in a town being attacked by Skaven. All because they wanted ice cream, candy, or something like that. Unable to find Durkol, he broke free and stood with the city watch to fend of the smelly, flea infested rat things. Determined to find and rescue Durkol he set out on a quest.

It was this quest where he encountered followers of Nagash for the first time. He fought off armies of Nighthaunt. Got overrun by an army of Flesh Eater Courts and their gigantic Terrorgheists. He joined forces with some Skaven, who helped him build a ship. He used it to ferry his assembled army to storm the gates of the Kharadron Overlord port where his friend was being held. Defeating them on their own turf and rescuing Durkol.

They went back to Scrappa Spill, only to find the Kollassaio abandoned and in near ruins. Durkol had an idea that would make them rich. So they went to the city near the Realm Gate and it was there they built The Green Rumble. Borgut quickly became king of the arena once more. Now warriors would travel realms, just to get a scrap with Borgut. Becoming rich was super boring. Only so much beer, women, and easy fights until it all just becomes another day at the office. Until one day, he is challenged by a Lord-Celestant of the Knights Excelsior. It was a glorious battle. Back and forth as the titans clashed. Lightning striking out of the Celestant’s epic Sigmarite Runeblade. Green Waaagh! energy flowing around the Orruks fists. A sight to truly behold. They end in a stalemate. “How did you get so strong”? Borgut asked the stranger. The mighty Lord paused for a moment “Follow me.”

Borgut took the opportunity to find out if Sora had been ok. Had he seen her? Had he heard anything about the Bladestorm company? He had to know, and this seemed like the only way to find out. “They have been reforged, the fool Ephryx in his panic revealed to be hiding and syphoning power from Ghal Maraz. They are marching as we speak to reclaim it.” the stranger said with great pride. “I would forget Sora, once reforged she will have forgotten you. I am sorry for your loss but it is better to just forget her. The Bladestorm are not your brothers any longer, they are just as likely to kill you as they are to befriend you. Reforging… changes us”
“I can’t believe it, I will not believe it. My brothers must remember me, she must remember me.” Borgut said with sorrowful hope.
“It is time, we have to go, Sigmar summons you. In time you will gain much power. You will smite all of his foes.”

Borgut suited up, grabbed his hammer, and mounted his sturdy Gore-grunta “Rocket” – whose armor was of course painted red, because red obviously makes you faster – He gave all the wealth he had to Durkol, leaving him ownership of The Green Rumble.

Setting off to follow the Lord Celestant he noticed they were heading to the Realm Gate. “Wait a second, where the hell are you taking me?!”

“Let me tell you about the mighty Soulbound”