Bristlewhakka, a kunnin’ prophet has been travelling between us warclans and he says dat he’s foreseen in his green eyes dat a new beasty is trying to join the great bashin of Puncha and Sitta, and dat da hummies want to stop it! Rubbish we say! Bristlewakka also knows maaaaaany secrets ’cause he’s so kunnin’! But you gotta come close to us ta know dees secrets, join us in da Waaagh! and you get to be da best!
But the tribes of Orruks and those that follow them are not the only ones that would see the walls of Nassollotyl fall. The mountains of Neolotl have long been known by the city to still hold deep secrets, rumours of beastmen that live in the caves and underground ways, Skaven that are rumoured to have made tunnels beneath the mountains and the city. Although small in number, even these forces have noted the dead rising across the lands, and the Orruks on the Waaagh! path. If ever was a time to consolidate power. Vorgur Boarfrenzy is currently doing so, and bringing together an eye-catching array of Chaos worshippers that would see all before them die. The deep dark and the wilds belong to you, the dead beneath should stay that way, and the living should join them.
Old Viggo, the Tidebreaker, had grown impatient. Not that he would admit it. It was his lads that were the impatient ones, itching for a good fight. But the truth was that the call that had led them here was resonating within him as strongly as it did in the other Gargants. For several days they had done little more than sitting around while the shaman-prophet Bristlewhakka and the leaders of the warclans were trying to agree on a tactic. Or what passed for a tactic among the forces of Destruction anyway. Fortunately one of the Mancrushers in his Stomp had overheard goblin scouts talking about a force of Stormcast Eternals that had set out from Nassollotyl. With what goal they did not know, but Old Viggo did not need to know. He knew the “humans in the shiny armor” usually made for a good fight. And no matter what sort of “tactic” Bristlewhakka would eventually come up with, taking out a bunch of the human’s mightiest warriors wouldn’t hurt it. So he had gathered his Gargants and set out to find them.
First they would find something else though.
About a day out, in the ruins of a long abandoned human settlement large shapes were moving in the mists. Even though it was still early in the afternoon a dark, oppressive aura lay over the place. There were the sounds of shifting earth, the grinding of bone on bone, the sounds of tearing sinew and the smell of rot and decay. Before long the first of the dark shapes came into proper view. It’s lower body looked like an emaciated dragon with tattered wings. The upper part was human. Or at least something that once had been human. Old Viggo had been all over Ghur and fought all manner of opponents. And he recognized the undead, even if he had never seen one like this before. The other things moving about were clearly not among the living anymore either. Great skeletal beasts, held together by rotten skin, torn muscles and dark magics. It was not the enemy the Gargants had set out to find, but they were not the kind to turn down a good scrap when it came their way.
With a deafening bellow the Tidebreaker signaled his Stomp to attack. The ground shook underneath their feet as the Gargants charged. Much to their surprise the undead showed themselves neither surprised not scared by the oncoming wall of muscle and anger. The thing Old Viggo had spied first shouted some words none of them could understand and the undead monstrosities moved to meet the Gargants with a charge of their own. With a loud screech, wings outstretched the leader of the undead flew at Old Viggo. She was one of the cursed Avengorii Dynasty, sent here to harvest the bones that had long lain dormant in the soil of Ghur for the masters of undeath had their own dark designs for Nassollotyl. Before Viggo could even grab his wallopin’ tentacle she was on top of him. Her claws raked at the Mega-Gargant’s leathery skin. Her tail whipped around to lash at him while she sank her rapier repeated into the great brute’s flesh. However, attacks that would skewer even the greatest of human heroes were mere pinpricks to the greatest of Gargants. Abandoning his weapons Old Viggo instead wrapped his arms around the undead abomination and squeezed. Even the unholy vitality that animated the twisted vampire could offer little resistance to the incredible strength of a Son of Behemat. Bones cracked, skin and muscles tore, limbs snapped. And although she continued to fight like mad, causing great rivers of blood to gush from rends in Old Viggo’s skin, the ancient Gargant did not relent until he had squeezed the unlife out of the body in his arms.
To the Tidebreaker’s left Drabb Cannon-Chucker, the Stomp’s other Mega-Gargant had brought down his huge flail on the back of a bat-like monster known as a Terrorgheist. The flail, made from the solid-bronze figurehead of a human galleon, smashed into the creature’s spine, shattering it and good part of its rip-cage in the process. On the right a group of Mancrushers, led by Pegleg Kraggi, were taking an undead dragon the vampires had just animated apart bone by bone.
With a loud bellow of triumph Old Viggo tossed the limp body aside. With its mistress gone and their greatest monsters smashed or pulled apart the rest of the undead forces decided that discretion was the better part of valor after all and fled. Mere minutes after the Gargants had arrived on the scene everything was quiet again. Except for the groaning and complaining of those Gargants who had sustained injuries. Old Viggo himself had been severely mauled by the leader of the undead, but he was quiet.
“Well, dat wus fun,” Drabb said. Stooping down he grabbed the leg of one of the destroyed beasts and inspected it. “Shame dere’s not much eatin’ on dese,” he added, tossing the limb away in disgust.
Old Viggo merely gave a noncommittal grunt as he looked around. Several of the smaller Gargants were injured. And he could do with a sit down himself. So they’d probably have to rest for a while. And this place was as good as any. “Oi!” he shouted. “Get Big Mad Drongo back on his feet. There’s no layin’ around here!” Just because there would be a rest didn’t mean he tolerated the Mancrushers lazing about.
“So, is we goin’ back?” one of them asked.
The Tidebreaker grunted as he settled down against one of the old ruins. “Goin’ back? What for? I said we’d give the humies in the shiny armor a good bashin’, and we damn well will! A couple of undead with their little pets ain’t gonna stop us! We keep goin’!”
There was a cheer from the gathered Gargants, and Old Viggo allowed himself a rare smile. “Once I had me a nap,” he added to himself.
For clarification/easy reference, Sons of Behemat were victorious against Soulblight Gravelords
Very little in Ghur was permanent. The realm was in constant upheaval, the forces that shaped constantly re-shaping it according the law of Eat or be Eaten. The humans under Sigmar’s rule did their best to fight this state. They attempted it with magic, through tricks and trickery, but in the end the only thing that truly worked is being too tough to be eaten. As such even rather small villages like Bunbor were build from solid stone, using Duardin plans and construction methods. There were many such villages dotted in the lands around Nassollotyl. And while they were build well to withstand the primal forces of Ghur, that did not mean that they were build to be very defensible, much to Torian’s dismay. The Lord-Celestant had taken the Stormcast Eternals under his command to inspect these villages, mostly to warn them of the impending upheaval that was sure to come with the Great Worm’s arrival. By Sigmar’s grace they had arrived in Bunbor just in time to protect it. Or attempt to, since Torian was afraid that this was an attack that they could do little against.
Old Viggo grinned broadly, showing his slab-like teeth. Fighting the undead had been a nice diversion, but this was what he had been after. Large, for humans anyway, armored in shining gold and standing in nice, orderly lines, the Stormcast Eternals looked ready to face the attacking Gargants. Shame there’s so few of them, he thought.
“STOMP ‘EM!!!” the Mega-Gargant bellowed. With deafening shouts of their own the smaller Gargants charged. He had lost sight of Drabb and some of the other ‘little ones’ among the houses, but that didn’t bother Viggo much. More for him to smash. The Stormcast Eternals moved forward to face them, some of them armed with hammers and shields, some just with larger hammers and huge maces. Viggo was charging into a group of the latter. With a loud laughter that echoed between the stone buildings over the noises of battle he began to stomp, kick and smash. Almost every time one of the brute’s giant feet came down there was a bright flash as one of the humans’ mighty protectors was sent back to Azyr. Some hammer swings did find their target, with visible effect too. But a Gargant was not easily brought down, even by the supernatural strength of the Stormcast Eternals. Hammers were not even the only things that met the charging monsters. Some of the Stormcast Eternals were wielding large crossbows that shot bolts powerful enough to punch clean through even a Gargant’s arm or leg. And behind one of the buildings, out of clear sight they had even set up a ballista. Within a short time several of the Gargants were peppered with bolts. But that did not slow them down much either.
It took only moments for the defensive line of Stormcast Eternals to break. The Mancrushers ran onward to take care of the rest of the “humies in the shiny armor” while Old Viggo himself set his sight on a particular one. He was armed with a hammer and a sword and just more shiny than the rest, easily identifying him as the leader. With another bellow, the Mega-Gargant charged.
Things were not going well for the Stormcast Eternals, Torian could see that. They simply did not have the numbers the hold the Gargants back. But maybe they could distract them. “Get as many people out of here!” he shouted to his remaining troops as the immense form of the Mega-Gargant loomed over him. A jump got him out of the way of the monster’s foot and he barely got up in time to dodge a grasping hand. The Lord-Celestant lashed out with his sword, but he had no illusions about actually hurting the brute. But as long as the Gargant’s attention was on him, he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. From the corners of his eyes Torian could see his Vanguard-Raptors fire a final salvo from their Longstrike Crossbows before one of the smaller Gargants was among them. There would be a lot of reforging to be done in Azyr today.
For the next few seconds Torian continued to dodge Old Viggo’s attacks, which clearly annoyed the Mega-Gargant to no end. All the greater was the Stormcast Eternal’s surprise when the monster made a step backwards. Reaching behind his back the Gargant pulled a long tentacle free from the ropes that hand been holding it. Much to Torian’s horror the appendage was still alive! The Gargant lashed out at him with it like a whip. Torian dodged again, but the tentacle changed direction on its own mid-swing and slapped against him, trapping him it is tight grip. The Lord-Celestant was lifted off his feet and immediately slammed down again. He let out a grunt of pain as he felt several bones break. For several seconds his vision was blurry and he barely see anything. When it finally cleared the thing he saw was a massive club, made of a length of wood and several cannons, all tied together, descending right onto him.
The human’s armor cracked with a most satisfying sound. It was a shame that there was no splattering of blood though. Instead a bolt of lighting shot up into the sky, blinding Old Viggo for a few seconds. He had been a quick one, but the good old wallopin’ tentacle had never disappointed him. With the leader of the “humies in the shiny armor” dead Old Viggo allowed himself a moment to look around. There were more of them, running between the buildings, leading the regular humans away. Turning his head the Mega-Gargant faced his smaller kin, who were busy stomping the life out of the last remaining enemies in sight.
“Don’t just stand around!” the Tidebreaker shouted at them and pointed at the fleeling humans with his club. “Go get ’em!” Immediately the Mancrushers hurried to follow his orders. Big Mad Drongo was lagging behind because of a bad limp, having been hit pretty hard by all the shooting the Stormcast Eternals had done. For a moment Old Viggo was considering following them, but decided against it. Instead he leaned down to pluck the weapons from the hands of the “humies in the shiny armor”’s leader. Those would be a nice addition to his collection. He also had a neat cloak that would look good at his hip.
While his Stomp was chasing down the fleeing humans, armored and regular ones, Old Viggo started to break open the nearest house to see if there was anything worth owning inside.
For clarification/easy reference, Sons of Behemat were victorious against Stormcast Eternals
“Tek da tunnels, ‘ee sez. Nawt a bad idea, issit?”
The speaker could not see the happy smile on the face of his boss, but he didn’t have to. “Yah, Hook, issa good idea.” Motioning for the rest of his mob to follow, Thorn da Ogorshield, light glowly faintly from the luminescent fungus growing on his back, led the way through the caverns surrounding and under the city. “Shoodn’t be a prollem ta sneak in an’ crump da humies. Dey won’t know wut hit dem!”
They’d had to be selective on this trek. Thorn fit in the caves – barely – but Mama Feeshie was just that little too big. Electing to stay behind, the Hag had ordered Scale, one of her apprentices, to follow the Troggboss and provide magical support.
But they hadn’t gotten far into the tunnel systems when Pebble reappeared. The small rockgut trogg had been sent ahead to scout out the caves and see what was what. He’d returned much sooner than they’d expected though.
“Oy, Pebble, yer back early,” Thorn muttered, casting the smaller rockgut a sour glare.
“Kint be ‘elped, boss,” the small trogg said with a shake of his head that left his large ears flapping about like bat’s wings. “Oi run inta sommat else in da caves!”
“Wut? Whuttaya mean summat else?”
“Goat-fings!”
Pausing in thought, Thorn brought a thick-fingered hand up to scratch at his head. “Wut, ya mean da fings wut go ‘baa’ and taste loik, uh… goat?”
“Naw, da uvver goat-fings! Da ones wif axes an speers an stuff!”
Nodding slowly, the troggboss began to frown, anger slowly growing on his craggy features. “Oh. Dem chaos-goat-fings. Roight. Huh. Well dat’s not good.”
“Dey’s in a big cave up dis way! We has ta get past dem da get to da city!”
“Huh. Well don dat beat all. Heh, bleat all. Cuz dey’re goat-fings, roight?”
“Uh, sure boss?”
“Roight.” Glancing over his shoulder at the troggs crowding the tunnel behind him, a plan began to form in his head. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was better than the normal troggoth plan which usually consisted of shouting the equivalent of “LEEEEROY JEEEEEENKINS!” before charging in and smashing things. “Kryz?”
A particularly large rockgut trogg raised a beefy hand and smacked the cave ceiling.“Yez, boss?”
“Grab ye’self a mob an head up dis way. I wants ya ta charge inta da middle of da cave ahead and frow rocks at a goat-fing wearin’ robes.”
“Robes? Wuzz robes?”
“Ya knows, dem drapey cloff fings da humie wizz-gits likes ta wear! Ya see sommat dat looks loik a goat-fing wizz-git, ya smash it, roight?”
“Roight, boss!” Glancing around, Kryz nodded and smiled. “Hokay, Rocky, Flint, Pebble, Chip an Slab, yer wif me! Grab sommat ta frow an let’s go stomp sum goat-fings!”
It was a tight squeeze, even after they dug a wider spot in the tunnel, but the selected rockgut troggs slipped past Thorn and took off in the direction Pebble had indicated. Nodding, Thorn turned to the trogg he’s been talking to when all of this started. “Oy, Hook? Take Reed an Big Bobber wif ya. Follow Kryz an ‘is lads. If’n dey gets bun-swar-uh-group,” he paused to think of the word he wanted. “Dere iz a lotta goat-fings in dere. I don’ want dem comin at Kryz an ‘is boyz from all sides, gottit?”
“Roight, we’ll guard ‘is back.” They trundled off through the caves, following the rockguts, the smell of their passing making Thorn wish he didn’t have a nose.
“Ugh. Dem fellwattas needs a baff.”
“Now why ya gotta say dat?” Scale, another Fellwater, but somehow bigger and yet skinnier than her fellow fellwater troggs, was glaring at Thorn. “Pfft, ya can’t tell me ya doesn’t fink dat sometimes, can yez?”
“Dey smellz foin ta me,” she shot back. “Iz yew dankholds an da rockguts dat smell weird!”
“We smellz loik dirt,” he said bluntly.
“Yez, ya does! Nawt even loik propa muck, jus dirt! Ennyway, wot ya wants me ta do? Mama said I gots ta do wutever ya say, so say sommat!”
Grinning, he patted her on the shoulder like she was a favorite child and nodded. “Yuz, oi gots a speshul job fer yez. Ya know dat wizz-goat-fing? Keep it from mekkin wif da wizzies! If’n ya wants ta toss summat yer own wizz-fings out, go roight ahead!”
“Dat’s it? Ya sure? Dat’s ded easy!”
“Wut, ya fought dis was gunn be hard?” As the sound of fighting broke out in the distance, Thorn let out a booming, deep laugh that echoed through the caverns. “C’mon, Scale, we’z troggoths! Oi know oi ‘ent da thinkiest trogg, but ‘least oi got summat idea ’bout wut ta do in a foight!” He called to the next group of rockguts and more fellwater, then sent them off like the first two groups in support of each other, but told them to hit anything wearing ‘lotsa shiny metal bitz!’
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the other dankhold trogg following them from reverting to classic troggoth tactics. Pushing past Thorn, Crusha’s face split into a wide grin and he bellowed out a challenge, charging out into the chamber before Thorn could say anything.
“Uh, wut bout ‘im?” Scale asked, gesturing in Crusha’s wake. “Why dint’ya give ‘im ennyfing ta do?”
Rolling his eyes, Thorn hefted his stone-headed maul and strode into the caves, Scale following close behind. “Yeah, we don’t botha ta give Crusha anyfing ta do. Waste uv toim. ‘Ee’s loik a whattya call it, um, rock on toppa da hill. Summat ya just gotz ta shove an’ hope fer da best.”
It was all over more quickly than Thorn wanted. They’d driven the beastmen off, but it had mucked up their timeline. It would be hours before everyone was back up to snuff, and some of the boyz couldn’t go anywhere until their regeneration had healed them up a little.
Or in some cases, reattached a foot.
Sighing, Thorn sat down on a handy lump of granite and grabbed a piece of something glittery off of the floor. “Brisslewhakka ‘ent gonna be ‘appy dat we’z ent movin, but nawt much we kin do bout it,” he finally mumbled. “We’ll be roight soon nuff, but oi dun know if’n we’z gunna be dere when da big foight starts…”
The Badfangs tribe have an oral tradition, myths and legends that have long been told and retold, passed down through the years, of their time as travellers among the stars, in the Void-Between-the-Realms. They believe that in an age long ago they roamed the cosmos, they were not natives of Ghur but they came from some other, unremembered Realm. They chased god-beasts across the void, riding in the belly of a creature they called the Odargul, but they crashed into the Great Parch by accident while the Odargul was battling another god-beast.
In some versions of the stories the Odargul was killed by the other god-beast, in other versions the Bonesplitterz accidentally killed Odargul from inside by cutting their way out in an ill-considered attempt to get at the god-beast that was attacking it.
Whichever version they believe, they all agree that in the crash they lost their ability to travel the cosmos and they were stranded. They still carry with them a sense of adventure that continues the tradition of travelling, exploring and finding new monsters to defeat.
They wear masks to protect them from the Void-Between-the-Realms and in reverence the god-beasts they emulate and hunt.
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Dry winds and reddish sands swirled through the Realmgate as the Badfangs stepped out onto a rocky island in the seas of Argharock. In the distance the colossal godbeasts; Nasson (also known as Puncha to the orruks) lumbered slowly through the waters around Neolotl (known as Sitta), each carrying the half of the city called Nassollotyl that was divided between their backs.
Hogrog tipped his head and pointed at the distant creatures. The Badfangs followed his gaze and one of them let out an impressed whistle.
“There’s Puncha and Sitta. There’s a whole bunch of gitz, what live in a city on the back of them like fleas.” There were a few wordless sounds of consternation from the warband.
Then he turned and pointed in a different direction. The Badfangs all turned to look, but there was some confusion as none of them could see any monsters that way.
“There’s a another big old beastie comin’ from that way. A massive wurmy thing. The stories say it will pass right between those two soon, and a whole load of them city gitz is planning to try to jump on it as it passes through. We’re going to make it difficult for them. Maybe even nick the wurm ourselves.” Some of the Badfangs laughed.
“We need to get into the caves under the mountains on Sitta’s back. The caves lead to tunnels, the tunnels lead under the walls of the city.”
The Badfangs arranged their gear and weapons for the fight, some re-tied knots on each-others backs, and others and adjusted their godbeast-masks.
Hogrog looked at his mob with pride – he could tell a few of them were already planning to update their masks with a pair of nose-horns, like Puncha’s.
+++
The Badfangs crept through the ruins in the mountains, on the back of the godbeast Neolotyl as the evening light faded. So far they had evaded detection – everyone in the city seemed to be distracted by their preparations for the arrival of the great wurm.
Make that almost everyone: A band of duardin mercenaries had been posted to guard the tunnels. Their leader hefted a heavy-looking (and probably magical) hammer and shouted orders as soon as he saw the Badfangs.
The Badfang’s arrer boyz let fly and with a roar, the rest of the mob changed!
Boss Ersatz leapt up the walls, straight into the fight. Aethershot rifles flashed and banged around him. Hogrog blasted one of the duardin off his feet with green lightning then jogged round the undefended side of the wall.
Skulsmaka wielded his great axe with skill and ferocity, stopping another of the mercenaries from helping his leader. Ersatz and the duardin Endrineer fought tooth and nail but neither had the upper hand for now.
A couple of the Badfangs were wounded in the charge, by the punishing volleys of duardin aethershot fire. But the mercenaries were pushed back by sheer weight of numbers.
Hogrog smiled to himself as his orruks roared with dark glee as Ersatz finally finished off the duardin leader.
Wardokk Urgog fixed up a couple of injured but still grinning orruks, whose wounds knitted themselves back together as Urgog’s magic did it’s job, while Skulsmaka and Zurgob chased off the last of the gunners. Then Hogrog and the Badfangs descended into the tunnels.
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Photos here!
https://warbosskurgan.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-badfangs-bonesplitterz-of-ghur-part.html