Da Kaptain's Log: Chapter One

The figurines on the floor of the cave were intricately carved, master level in skill. Some were taller than the others, representing humans and dwarves, some soldiers, some citizens, others even children and pets. Each figurine was hewn from a single piece of stone, chiseled, and colored to make them flawless, lifelike. Precious. Breathtaking. Perfect.

Flogg’s gnarled green foot came crashing down, the massive foot muscles pulverizing several of the figurines at once, grinding them into fine dust. The roars of laughter filtered through the cavern, Orc voices raised in cacophonic praise.

“Yer, dem humies suren’ wet their wares when da Foot O’ Gork came crashin’ down, scatterin’ dem all over da place. Like dis!”

The Orc fanned his foot across the figurines, scattering even more to the dark recesses of the cavern, some smashing into pieces against the unforgiving grey walls, others falling into cracks and crevasses in the floor, their masterful construction now lost for all time. More roars and guffaws erupted from the cavern, dozens of greenskins lending their approval to the telling of the story as the din of noise rebounded from the walls of the cavern.

Blacksquig squinted his forehead, trying to cloister the din of noise from his ears, nursing yet another hangover. The old Orc rose to his feet, the full length of his greatcoat unraveling like a ball of yarn, getting stuck on the paunch of his midsection, exposing a growing mass of green flab. Pulling his shirt and coat over the mound that was his belly, Blacksquig reached for a cracked beer stein that rested on a nearby boulder. His hand, wobbly at best, knocked the tankard from the boulder where it shattered into dozens of broken shards. Who cares that the vessel had been hand carved centuries ago, now it was just a requiem of broken glass and dark black grog.

“Dammit Flogg, shut yer yap! Yose got a voice that could tear barnacles from the underbelly of a galleon! It’s getting on me nerves!”

The cavern grew silent, more than anything it was not the foul mood of their Kaptain, but the fact that he interrupted a good bout of comradery that the Orcs were sharing and had not had for some time. These past months had been trying for all the crew, used to sailing and pillaging as they were, the loss of their ship had marooned them in these dismal mountains, in search of plunder while they waited for their Kaptain to get them another vessel. It has been through the cunning of da Kaptain that the crew had been able to slake that need to plunder. A War was going on, humies and stunties and gobbos were all warrin’, fightin’ to claim a stupid mound of rock. Better to be in the open seas, breakin’ sweat under the roar of kannons, the flash of powder and the burin’ of the enemy ships before the dark depths claimed em?

Blacksquig surveyed the assembled crew, reading their faces, and knowing that something had to be done. Pulling off his ridiculously large and feathered Kaptain’s big hat, he ruffled the feathers and replaced the cherished item on his scarred brow with a flourish.

“Lookit ladz. I know yose was celebratin and yose got gud cause to do so. But let me be straight ladz. Dis fightin’ is getting’ to be old. Sure, we iz wettin’ our blades and swillin’ grog, but it aint enuff! We iz stuck in these Mork-cursed mountains when all weze wantz izza to feel the sting o’ salt in our eyes, breath da salt of da seez and feel da decks rollin’ under our feetz.”

Many of the Orcs threw their fists high, cheering the affirmative while others tipped their caps of raised empty tankards. The Orcs had been fighting for many months now, small battles, large skirmishes, but nothing that compared to manning their own ship, raking the enemy with kannon fire and hacking down terrified sailors trying to surrender! Moving to a more central position in the cave, Blacksquig looked over his crew with approving eyes, shaking his head here and there, making several grunts. Inspecting the ranks as it were.

“I know yose lot are wonderin’ wot the heck weze gotten into, heck, some of yose might be wonderin’ wot Da Kaptain got yose into. I find meeself wonderin; da same thing. Weze is doin’ all the fightin’ in dis skirmish, yet weze not getting’ no rewards fer it. Fight ere lads, march der ladz. Hit da stunties, hit da ‘umies. When iz weze gonna git wotz propa?”

Less than more of the crew shouted affirmatives to the Kaptain’s ranting, knowing full well that agreeing with Blacksquig might not always be the safest thing to do. The dark scowl on Blacksquig’s face told everyone he wasn’t looking for support in these ramblings. Letting his left eyebrow raise in distaste, the powerful muscles even in the old Orcs face forcing his hat to raise above the eyebrow, Blacksquig drew his sword from the wide leather belt struggling to hide in his growing paunch.

“Spooktalker! Front and centa!”

Murmurs rose for the assembled crew, low and troubled. When the Orc that was called for refused to step forth, Blacksquig grew angry.

“Spooktalker! Where is dat mangy, flea-bitten trout?” he bellowed.

Floog stepped forward at this point, just outside of krumpin’ range.

“Er, Kaptain, dat lot aint ‘ere no more.”

“Wot!?”

“Yer, remebba? He was dat lot wot summoned da Foot of Gork. His ‘ead done blew up like a overprimed kannon when weze was figthin’ dem ‘umies da ovva’ day.”

Sucking on his teeth thoughtfully, Blacksquig squinted his brow more and then a nugget of memory loaded into his brain barrel. His mood seemed to sour rapidly, forcing Flogg to think about taking a few steps back. And then the old Orc roared with laughter! The rest of the lads soon joined him, shaking the cavern under the assault of off key guffaws and chants.

“Oh yeah, yose right. Dat lot done gone on to da Lokka! So, don’t weze got his apprentice lurkin’ around ‘ere. Dat weedy Gobbo wif da bum leg?”

Grimgrog choked at that moment, spitting forth a large bone he had been gnawing on, followed by a long tirade of choking and wheezing. Looking up to see the rest of the crew staring at him, the second mate stared at Blacksquig who was glaring at him down the length of his nose.

“Wot Kaptain? Dat runt was dead! I is just makin’ sure he don’t goze to waste,” proclaimed the Orc, sucking in a piece of charred Gobbo flesh that was stuck in his teeth!

“He wasn’t dead yose lunk,” roared Blacksquig. “last I saw he was sleepin’!”

“Yer, but yose know that lot was a big lair, sayin' he was asleep when he was really dead!”

Throwing up his hands in supplication, Grimgorg waited for the blow that never came. Looking up, he saw Blacksquig still glowering at him, but he didn’t seem to be reading his blade. Leaning on his massive blade, Blacksquig mumbled something to himself before he turned to face the crew once more.

“Lads, I will tell yose dis. I iz getting’ tired of us doing all da fightin’ and de rest of dis so called Waaaaagh getting’ all da glory. I miss me ship. I miss me Kaptain’s wheel. I miss da salty breeze blowing across da bow of me ship, and da flash and smell of powder. Weze gots to end diz Waaaaagh once and fer all and git back to the business of plunderin’! Iz yose ladz wif me!?”

And as one the crew of Kaptain Blacksquig roared their approval and applauded their flamboyant Kaptain. He would find a way for them to profit, more scumgrods to krump, or they would find someone that would!

*Sigh* If only they wasn't orcs, Brask could be good friends with them. Still, I guess better to be orcs than elves.

Nice writing. Really fun to read.

Da Kaptain's Log: Chapter Two

Dedgit the Gnoblar stood in the dark with his fellows, the lot of them shivering in the darkness of the cold mountain air. Covered in soot to hide their faces, all clad in dark rags and robes, the party of a dozen watched from high above the human campsite that lay spread out in the valley below. Dozens of tents, a makeshift corral, and many camp fires dotted the moss-covered floor of the valley, churned up by the passage of the human army and their twice dozen mountain-bred warhorses. For hours, the Gnoblars waited and watched, patience being something they had learned through a lifetime inane, monotonous work and savage whip-rewarded discipline. Their lot among the Orcs was less than a bead of sweat on the eyebrow of their Kaptain, but the Orcs had need of them and so the Gnoblars had a niche in their world, a place of belonging that help them in even higher standard than Goblins! And so, the diminutive greenskins jumped at the chance to be able to enact a plan that would repay their fellow green-skins in kind.

Dedgit was smart, a scholar among the Gnoblar crew of Kaptain Blacksquig, smarter than even the Kaptain himself, as Dedgit would be happy to tell anyone who would listen and that were out of earshot of Blacksquig! Possessed of a bestial cunning and understanding, Dedgit had secured the allegiance of a dozen of his mates to help in out on this mission, of life and death he had told them, that might brighten the Kaptain’s mood. Scouts had brought news of the humans moving out of the mountains, pulling back their forces in the face of Waaaaagh Grimlit, all the while looting the treasures of the Dwarves.

Dedgit had been relieving himself next to the Kaptain’s chamber in the cavern complex, and heard the report about the looted Dwarven treasures. And an idea sparked in his little brain, a chance to kop some easy loot and present it to the Kaptain! He would be a hero and receive the accolades his station called for! Visions of being hoisted high on Orc soldiers, getting to share grog in the grog tent, getting choice bits of captured delicacies, receiving a crew share of booty, his head simply spun!

“Oi, Dedgit! Wake up? Yose sleepin’ on da job? Really?”

Shaking away from the grasp of his mate Digga, Dedgit stared at the twelve sets of beady eyes glowing red in the dark.

“Course I wasn’t sleepin’, knuckleadz! I was finkin’!”

Dedgit pushed past the assembled greenskins and took up his position once more on a jagged outcropping, using his dark-sight to scan the camp below.

Rows of gleaming white teeth appeared in the dark, the assembled Gnoblars grinning ear to ear in the cold wind. They looked a ridiculous lot, their giant flappy ears whipping around in the strong mountain breeze, the only sounds the moaning wind, the whining of horses and the flapping of the colorful snapping banners that ringed the camp below the snowline. Large patches of grey rock poked through the piled white snows that covered the valley and its sides, a fresh blanket of white even now still falling from the night sky and swaddling the humans in their billet.

Several guards walked the perimeter of the camp, a pair of them stationed at the makeshift corral and another pair outside of the commanders tent. A trio of guards stood watch over a smaller tent, whose opening flap blew aside from time to time, showing a small mound of sacks, chests and barrels.

The light from the campfires wavered in the strong breeze, irregular shadows being throw across the billet, the whipping of tent bottoms sounding like applause as they snapped taunt and released, snapped taunt and released again. The aroma of dinner wafted into the mountains where the Gnoblars lay in wait, making more than one greenskin mouth water. Since the camp had bedded down, the Gnoblars had waited. And waited. And waited. Boredom began to sneak in, several of the diminutive greenskins began emptying their bladders into the fresh snow, trying to write crude glyphs with their urine.

Finally Dedgit came back from his perch and ushered his “crew” into a circle to spell out his plan.

“Roit, ‘ere iz wot yose lotz izza gonna do. Dis plan is simple, even enough fer yose lot to understand! Da ‘umies are bedded down fer now, wot with just a few lot guardin' da premir..primros...prim...per...zoggin heck! Da outside of da camp! Weze gonna sneak down to da tent wif da three umies, that lot looks to be guardin’ da treasure. Weze gonna krump em, go into dat tent and take da treasure. Simple!”

The gathered masses grinned and snickered, white teethe glowing against the black face-paint they had dabbed crudely on their faces. Then several of them furred their foreheads.

“Er, Boss. How iz we runts gonna kop those big treasures? Dey is bigger dan da lot of us.”

Dedgit’s triumphant grin faded as the question sank in, his own forehead furrowing even as his floppy ears drooped further. He had not thought of that. How were they going to get the chests out of the camp without waking up the lot of them? More thinking followed as his crew watched and waited. They were used to watching and waiting. And waiting.Finally Dedgit snapped his fingers.

“Simple lads! Weze krump dem guards and takes da treasure to da horses. Load dem up and kop dem treasures rite out from unnda der nozes!

Again the gleam of teeth told Dedgit that his crew liked and approved of the simplistic plan. As one they huddled group moved to the lip of the valley. Each of them checked the sharpened sticks and crude knives strapped to one another, making sure they were tight and not going anywhere. Dedgit leading the way, he dropped to his belly and very much like a snake began to slithered down the slope though the snow, his crew following suite. If someone had seen them, they might have thought an avalanche of large snakes were slowly making their way down the slope. Slithering back and forth, parting aside the snow like waves on the ocean.

Once they had all descended to the valley floor, they stood around looking at how big the humans really were. Massive, gigantic, the guards continued their patrol, not seeing the diminutive greenskins huddled in the dark.

Moving around the perimeter of the camp, the group took up hiding places near the supposed treasure tent. Dedgit looked to his two trappers, Ferd and Jimbo. He made motions with his hands, like a pair of claws coming together. The diminutive trappers scratched their heads until Dedgit pointed to the traps hanging from their belts!

“Yose gitz set dem traps ovver der, near dat big rock. Lay em out and git back ere pronto!”

The trappers took a minute to contemplate what Dedgit had said, but then understanding dawned on their faces and they moved off into the dark. And then they waited. And waited. And waited. Finally the two trappers returned and nodded to Dedgit that all had been done.

“Rite ladz. Dis is it. Yose two lots git over to da horses and git some ropes on em.” Pointing to a smaller than small Gnoblar, Dedgit continued.

“Grimly, yose gonna go over near da big boulder and yose gonna wait for a bit till and then make noise. Git dem umies to come ovva der, den dey will step in da traps and da fun iz gonna start!”

Following more pearly whites in the dark, the huddled group went on their ways, each one moving as they was told. Ferd and Jimbo found a number of coils of rope near the corral, the horses starting to whiny as the stench of the Gnoblars reached their noses. Hooves shuffled as the beasts tried to move away from the offending smell. The two of them, using crude goads managed to isolate one of the horses at the back of the corral, holding it in place even as the horse flexed its muscles threatening to throw the two Gnoblars to the ground.

Grimly, moving stealthy among the guards, neared the big rock. Suddenly he shrieked in pain as one of the steel traps snapped shut on his leg, the cruel metal barbs digging into his ankle and holding fast. More and more he screamed, alerting the guards near the treasure tent who rushed off with drawn swords to see what the disturbance was.

As they guards left the treasure tent, Dedgit and his remaining crew rushed the tent, grabbing up several sacks, while a pair of them hefted a massive chest between them before screaming for help from more of their lads!

Dedgit watched to see if the humans were coming back when he heard another snap of metal and the shriek of one of the human guards as he stepped into one of the traps laid down earlier. Dedgit shook his head in amusement as he heard the shrieks, his lads leaving the tent and heading for the corral, laden with treasures.

As he turned to leave, the gleam of gold caught his eye from a seam in one of the sacks left behind. Grasping the golden object, he saw it was massive wheel of gold, stamped with some sort of image and a number of glyphs. While he could not read them, he knew them to be Dwarven in nature.

Flipping the coin into the air, the Gnoblar caught it on its downward descent, slipping it easily into his crude boot before heading to the corral.

By now the camp was in an uproar, yet another shriek of pain resounding across the valley as yet another human ran afoul of a trap. As Dedgit made his way to the corral, he saw the human leader and several of his men emerge from their tent with drawn swords and little clothing on.

When he reached the corral, his crew were grinning ear to ear as they strapped the sacks ot the whining horse and started hefting the chest onto the beast, in a sort of makeshift pyramid. However the pyramid would not reach the top of the horse. Cursing, Dedgit climbed up the corral post and onto the horse. Motioning for a rope, he grabbed the strap and began tying off the chest. But it wouldn't tighten, despite pulling with all of his might.

“What in Sigmar’s name do we have here?” roared a voice from the dark.

The gathered Gnoblars turned as one, shrieking at the sight of a massive human, clad only in his skivvies, brandishing a sword. Like a pack of roaches, the Gnoblars turned and started to flee, Dedgit falling backward over the horse but not hitting the ground as he twisted in the air, caught up by one of the straps. Looking up from his precarious position, Dedgit saw the human raise his blade to strike him.

Thinking like a feral beast, he did the only thing he could. He punched the human in his skivvy exposed privates!
The human doubled over in pain, his downward swinging blade missing Dedgit and instead slicing through the rope that held the terrified horse in place. Galloping away, the horse lurched through the corral opening, sacks and chest bouncing to and fro while Dedgit, or more precisely his head, bounced along the rocky ground. One of the sacks opened, spilling Dwarven treasures across the ground like a short river of gold, even as the horse raced past the camp perimeter, tearing one of the banners from its pole, entangling it in the wildly bouncing treasure haul as it disappeared into the freezing mountain night.

Less than a day later, a sweated and bedraggled horse wandered into the orc camp. Shouts brought forth Kaptain Blacksquig and his crew, who marveled at the prize that walked right into their clutches. Sacks, overflowing with gold, a chest containing a gleaming breastplate etched with gold, a tattered banner from some ‘umie flag.

And even a tattered leg of Gnoblar, swinging on a tattered leather strap. Twisting in the wind. Blacksquig grabbed the proffered foodstuff (boot and all), munching down on the bone with a satisfied grin. The meat was thin and greasy but it had a good flavor. Blacksquig patted his paunch once he had finished the snack, a loud and satisfied belch followed...

Da Kaptain's Log: Supplemental

The fact that the disc is cold to the touch, even after spending quite some time in a Gnoblar's boot, tells you that this is no ordinary treasure. Runes have been inscribed along the edge of one side, which faintly glow with a cool blueish light whenever you bring it close to any liquid. And while you may not recognize it, the personal rune of King Grimbalki is displayed in its center.

The other side of the disc is perfectly flat.

When you place a mug filled with grog (or any liquid really) on it, the runes do not just exude light- they exude cold, as well. Even after several hours the grog is still refreshingly cool, despite the dry and hot desert air.

It seems that you have stumbled upon a Dwarven runic coaster, inscribed with runes of frost in order to keep any beverage placed on it cool and drinkable. The King's rune indicates that this device belonged to the second Dwarven King of the Dragonbacks, passed down for thousands of years, and is quite possibly the only one of its kind- forged right here in Ekrund.

Fanks fer da Grog Kooler ladz! Roit nice of ya!

Da Kaptain

Hur, hur, hur!

Da Kaptain

In all seriousness, these were some good reads. I hope to see some more of these.

Great reads!

Da Kaptain's Log: Chapter Four

The sand dune blossomed into fire, throwing a shimmering white spray into the air, only to have it cascade down once more upon the blackened sands. The cannonball hit hard, furrowing out a large trench in the beach before exploding, now leaving behind a smoking crater from which jagged pieces of fused glass had been strewn across the uneven ground. The billowing smoke wafted across Blacksquig, who was leaning heavily against a large dune, his massive gullet sweating in the hot breeze. Acrid smoke assailed the Orcs nostrils, a smell that registered as something familiar and pleasant to the old greenskin. He took in great gasps of black smoke, blowing it of his nose in spectacular fashion. All around the Kaptain, his Orc forces huddled among the dunes of sand, seeking cover from the constant fire of cannonades from the deck of the anchored Tilean brig, anchored as it was amid the smoking wrecks of the merchant fleet that failed to get out of Monte Castello before the raiding party of angry greenskins had attacked. Now the Mona Lisa was the only ship still capable of sailing, but she was trapped amid the floating debris of several other vessels that had been scuttled by the Orc raiders.

Having decided to wait out the Tilean, let them expend their shot now, and Blacksquig would attack when the sun sank below the horizon, where night would offer suitable means to assail the vessel from whatever direction seemed the fastest and would provide the most fun! All around the beach, increasingly large numbers of cannon balls landed amid the sands, the gun crews working a feverish, blistering pace to lay down as much firepower as they could muster, in hopes of breaking the backs of the orcs. So far it was to little avail, though an occasional shot would land near a huddled pack of orcs, throwing them into the air like pinwheels, their bright colored clothing searing with flame and smoke, as they landed in blackened heaps or sizzled like frying bacon as they landed in the cold waters of the harbor. Thick bands of smoke hid the Orcs from line of sight, though spotters high in the twisting ropes of the mainmast of the Mona Lisa tried to pierce the smoke and direct the gunfire below.

Blacksquig continued to wait, flicking fat, bloated marsh flies from his dark green bellybutton, occasionally munching on one thoughtfully. Patience, unusual in an Orc leader, was something that Blacksquig had cultivated into his personal portfolio over the years, emotional responses of rage and enthusiasm while needed and welcomed, often took a backseat to measured responses and dare say, plans?

It was a sad state that the Orc pirate had come to. Having lost his ship to a bunch of thieving umies from some place they called Ind, the Kaptain and his crew turned mercenary for several months, travelling to this distant shore and signing up to help fight umies and Stunties. Seemed a good enough plan at the time, the Kaptain got to krump things, the crew got to krump things and the gold they got doing it was fine at the time. But more and more, Blacksquig furrowed his brow in thought, it seemed like they were doing the fighting and the dying while the other Gitz in this Waaaaagh was getting the fortune and glory. Somewhere in his opium addled mind, because the Kaptain loved to chase the dragon, he decided that enough was enough and he wanted to get back to the high seas. And he would need a new ship.

Another rain of sand poured over Blacksquig as a Goblin sailed overhead and landed with an amusing splat on the now blood-soaked sands, that last shot really vaporizing a good number of the little buggers. Blacksquig could only smile at the carnage, but once more his mind started churning and he realized that he could not continue to lose the lads like he was, otherwise there would not be enough of them left to man a ship, once they captured one!

As he eased his bulk up of the sand, rivers of salt and sweat steaming down the side of his ample belly, he used his sword to push himself up to a kneeling position, letting the blood flow back into his time-frozen vessels. With a grunt of frustration, he turned to Scragg, his second-in-command.

That old Orc was a mate of some thirty odd winters, having lost an eye to Blacksquig in a bonze contest. Despite that little incident, the Orc was as loyal as they came, and perceptive. He could see the growing urgency in BlackSquig's eyes, meaning that the boss was spoiling for a fight.

But before he could do anything or say anything, a Goblin approached from behind the lines, his crude wooden sword dragging a trench through the sand because it hung too low on his belt. He carried a torn scrap of parchment, which he thrust into BlackSquig's gnarled hands. Blacksquig promptly clobbered him on the head and handed the letter to Scragg. Because Scragg could read. Of course.

“Boss,” said Scragg as another cannonball screamed overhead, drowning out a reply. “Seems dat der izza new Boss strutting around back in da mountains. Seze dat da Gobbos wot were leading that krew done got krumped and dis new Boss, Dirtbag, Darkdrawers, Dirty Underpants, Dularg, somfink, as dun taken over. And he seez yose gotz to follow his orderz, savvy?”

A wicked hot wind snatched the scrap of paper from the Orcs hand, allowing it to be swallowed up by the thickening smoke.

“Hur, hur, hur!” laughed Blacksquig. “Dat Git betta fink twice iffin he finks he kan order us around. Where has he been? Sittin playin grabssies wif da Gobbos? I ‘ears dats all hes good fer, playing games with Gobbos and pretendin he is all big an powerful.”

“Don’t yose fink we should do wot ‘e seze Kaptain? He might get all angry and try to krump ya.”

“Let him try Scragg. How many Gitz dun tried dat? Dey stabs me wif der steely knives but dey just kant kill da Beast! I say let 'im try! Fer now, I wantz dat ship. Git it fer me lads!”

Thrusting his sword upwards and waving it towards the harbor and as one, the raiders burst from their hiding places and rushed headlong into the smoke, screaming a good Orc battle cry as they surged towards the Tilean vessel...

Uh-oh, sounds like trouble in the Waagh!



Another good read, thanks for sharing.