Togtol sat on his saddle, observing the skies of this wild land. The sun was shining over the mountains behind them, bringing a distant memory of his homeland Hysh and it’s lush green steppes. Even though he never had been in this realm before, he felt an innate connection, a fertile land for a hungry grot like him.
Rakot, the Oddbrain was riding along Togtol on his old wolf. The troops behind them were following slowly, guarding the warbands back, while scouts were riding in front to give the alarm on any enemies approaching or a giant beast along the way.
Rakot: “The Bogs must be near, o’ wise Togtol. Soon enough, we will smell the stench of its swamps… we can only hope, we will be welcomed after all…”.
The warband had suffered major casualties in the last days. Many of his former klan warriors had fallen to several threats of the realm on their travels. Fortunately, some of his troops had been reinforced the local greenskins, who seemed to have been left behind by the conquering klans of Ghur on their way to Excelsis.
Rakot: “The hobgrots are nothing like us, wise Togtol… I’ll have to remind you not to trust their words. There is only one thing they value higher than anything and that is… wealth.”
Togtol scuffed at these words. His shaman seemed to have forgot where his place was. But then again, who cared about his title, in this ruthless realm of the beasts.
Togtol: “Trust me on this, shaman. I have a plan. You seem to forget that I am the lead wolf. Your age makes you the pathfinder, but you will still follow my order and direct us to the Bog… the hobgrots are reasonable and might strike a deal with us, if they hear what we are ready to offer. If we handle this well, they may be powerful allies to deal with in the future once we are back home…”.
Most of his warriors knew little about Togtol and his strange companion. In his homeland, Togtol was given certain privileges, being breeded to be a protege to the Skywolves throne. The Skywolves ruled over a far land in Hysh, which culture had been influenced heavily by the realmstones, changing their way of life and thinking. The klan had found the secret to preserve and breed a royal blood line, a concept completely unknown by the greenskins. Togtol was formed of a strain of the great father Bakatoi, first of the Skywolves.
The role of being a leader was given to Togtol as a birth right. However, after a line of unworthy successors of Bakatoi, this tradition was put in question. Generals with an unknown upcoming started rebelling against the leaders, who had taken the roles of leaders by birth. The royal line showed weakness, which provoked the uprising from Orruks, who wanted an end to the Grot rule. Seeing his life in danger and following his own beliefs, Togtol decided to run away and to put down his claim to the empire.
In battle, the warleader had proven himself “a Wize leada”, choosing his battles cleverly. He was able to convince recruits into his band under the promise of successful raids. He picked most of his warriors from the weakest tribes, who surely would have served as food for the goregruntas, ended beaten up and scavanged for their teefs and skulls or used as expandable units or bate for hunting parties. Under the instruction of “da Wize” they had experienced training to serve and fight as a cunning warband, ready to follow the leaders command.
Rakot: “Look, the scout is coming back!”.
Riding uphill a wolf scout approached the warband. Togtol patted his ferocious Gnashtoof, which started to stare at the scout coming nearer.
Scout: “Got newz, boss. We found a sign of da enemy… Itz da bad’ unn…”.
Togtol grumbled. T.: “Are you sure?… I mean, did you see him this time?”.
Scout: “No, he… Left a message… again… on a rokk… Said… that you can eat drekk, boss.”.
Annoyed Togtol sighed. T.: “What else did it say?”.
Scout: “Said… “if you’ze a boss, come get your krumpin over that red hill”…”.
Togtol nodded to the scout, telling him to go. He surely wouldn’t waste his time with yet another orruk, trying his chance to bring him down. Unsurprisingly he had the pleasure to fight already one or two, who had their opinions about a Grot being in charge of “a bigga army” than his. But this one surely was becoming a major concern.
Whenever the “bad unn” was spotted, he seemed to fall back and hide, mocking and threatening him, sometimes making it difficult for the troops to advance, leading much to the frustration of Togtols advance who had to be on guard of yet another danger.
Togtol: “This time he will get his krumpin… enough is enough.”. Togtol raised his fist. He would gather a small force around him, leaving the rest to camp and wait for the boss to return.
Report about the Battle at Blood-drenched Hill will follow!
