Changing captains midstorm...

A collaborative effort of the greenskins. Part one by Dularg, part two by Wazoo, part three by Tarlen, part four by me, parts five and six by Wazoo again.

=========

Flickering torches and smoldering rush lights cast gaping shadows across the wreckage of the great hall. Pale ants crawled through heaps of refuse, dried bones, rusted scraps of metal, discarded crockery, slimed pools, curtains of moss and drooping mushrooms. The smoke of many ages had blackened the roof so that it seemed to fade away into vast nothingness. The decorations on the walls had long since been battered into shapes more pleasing to the new occupants. To the side of the hall, a great rent tore through the steel doors of the vault. The goblins stared. For thousands of years, they had not been able to force entry. They could do no more than scratch at the rune sealed steel and dream of the riches within.

"Wot da zog is dis?" Dularg Ironnose turned back from the gap with his big 'uns. "Where all dose treasures we wuz supposed to find unner da mountain?" His leering eye settled on the goblin warboss. "Youse promised we wuz gonna rake in whole cart loads of shinies. Ain't nuffin here but spider eggs and a stink like thunder powdah those men make. Is you workin' wiff da squishies, Grimlit?"

"None of dat, now." Grimlit bared his teeth. "Keep a respecterfool tone with yer boss."

"None of dat 'boss' business, now!" Dularg began to pace back towards his adversary and the horde recoiled before him. "You ain't no boss of mine. Dis little gobbo runs dis operashun." He claw settled on Gobzag who let out a piercing squeal. "Shuddup, runt. I's not pinching you too hard. Youse a boss, Grimlit? Youse only an incomplete blot... errr... an incontinent snot... no, dat's not it either... Ya, an incompetent grot. Tanks Gobzag, youse a right propah genius wiff words."

Dularg pushed Gobzag aside and hefted his axe. "So anyway, Grimlit, it's time for fings to change. It's time for a real warboss to take kommand."

"Yooz wanna shot at da champ, eh?" Grimlit's long tongue licked under his nose. "Ya little snot, Iz gonna giv ya dat chance! An' den Iz gonna use yer chance ta wipe me bootz wv yer face, deyz can use a good cleaning after all dat drudging trhough da montainz!"

His fumbling fingers unclasped a small leather skin and he gulped down the liquid within. "Huum, it tastez a little wierd, kind ov bitter, yooz sure datz how itz supposed ta be? Yooz are? OK den. Now were's dat wimpy Dularg. Ready to fall before a boss wiff da strengf ov da godz?"

At that moment, a night goblin tiptoed out from behind a pillar and stabbed one of the big 'uns behind the knee, before dancing backwards with a cackle. The injured orc bellowed and heaved his shield which smashed into another goblin with a crunch of breaking bones. Another pair of grots leaped towards Dularg's back but he twisted around and sheared off their hooded heads.

Snotlings shrieked. A hundred voices cried out. A third of the gobbos attacked the orcs. Another third tried to run. The rest simply attacked everything nearby. Gobzag Grotwrangler crawled into a corner and held still. Dularg charged through the melee, knocking smaller greenskins aside.

The hall reeled before Grimlit's eyes. His limbs weighed down like solid bones. He had a vague sense of alarm at the orc barrelling towards him, punching down his best lads, but couldn't quite reason out why. Dularg pulled back his huge choppa for a resounding blow but the weapon writhed free of his hands and fell clattering on the stones. The goblin warboss grinned, remembering the powerful protection granted by his amulet.

Ironnose slammed his forehead into his rival, smashing the goblin to the floor. Then he pounced and began to punch with his ham sized fist. Blow after blow fell upon the unresisting Grimlit, as his orc challenger shouted and foamed at the mouth. Bones cracked and blood spurted but still he struck. At last, when his arm grew sore, Dularg rose.

The surviving orcs and goblins said nothing. They had stopped squabbling as soon as they saw Grimlit go down and no one wanted to move lest the triumphant warboss mistake him for an enemy.

"Nailz." Something glinted in the victor's eye. "Big spiky nailz."

Several goblins pushed at each in their eagerness to scurry out of the hall and fulfill the command. They feared the orcs might eat those who had fought against them. Gobzag remained motionless in the corner. Ironnose grabbed the bloody that had been Grimlit and dragged him across the pavement by the collar. He halted at the main entrance and stared at the lofty door.

The survivors whispered to each other until the whole chamber rustled to their scratching voices. Some crept out but more crept in. At last some cautious goblins set down a few buckets of nails by the warboss. He upended one can.

"Too small. Now deze ones..." He lifted a ten inch spike. "...dese will do."

He held up Grimlit's carcass to the door and then drove the long nails throw his arms and legs in no particular pattern. When it was done, he threw the hammer aside, unintentionally killing a snotling. A huge toothy smile filled his green face.

"Ain't it bootiful? Nobody touches boss Grimlit or I'm tacking 'im up here wiff 'im. Now, no more of dis grot-like sneakin' around. Now, we 'as a new plan. Warboss Dularg Spinesnappa Ironnose is leading youse lot to biggest scrap of all forever. Kill! Barbecue! Eat! Waaaaaaaaagh!"

"Waaaaaagh!" Mount Bloodhorn shook with the cries of the orcs.

==========

“Well, dat cud 'ave gone better”, thought the goblin to himself as he watched Dularg hammer the last nails into the former warboss of the Steelcrushers and Warlord of the Waaagh!, Girmlit’s limbs. He always knew something like this was going to happen eventually, in fact, he had had some vague plans of offing the warboss at some point himself, although not quite yet.

Grimlit was always going to have to go, partly because he stood in the way of Borag’s ambitions but mainly because he was so insufferably stupid. His stupidity had thrown spokes in the wheels of many of Borag’s plans as well as getting bucketfuls of goblins unnecessarily killed with poorly thought tactics. While Borag didn’t care about the goblins themselves, they could have been useful in the conquest of the mountain, but he did care about his plans.

So, in true goblin tradition of stabbing each other in the back Borag had prepared a “strength potion” for the intellectually challenged goblin using only the finest spider venom. He had hoped to provoke a challenge to Grimlit’s rule in his own time, thus ensuring he used his potion in the defense of his leadership, but the humans’ clearing-out of the dwarven hold had forced his hand. Now the Waaagh! was under new, albeit better, management and was a force to be reckoned with. However, while Grimlit had lacked the requisites of a great leader his stupidity had made him easily manipulated, a quality that Dularg didn’t seem to share. How was Borag to see his ambitions come to fruition with a smarter and more aggressive orc warlord at the helm? Well there was that one thing…

He sidled up to the imposing Warlord as he stood admiring his handiwork. “I fink he looks better like dat!”
“Ah, Borag ya little git, I wuz wonderin' where youse wuz. Itz hard to say but it seemed like Grimlit wuz a little slower dan youshul today. I mean, he’s jus’ a stinkin’ grot but I's seen him fights before. Youse woudn’t know anyfing about dat, would ya?”, queried Durlarg
“Wot, me? Nah boss Dularg, I’d never had done anyfing dis’onerable like slip ‘im sum spider poison ‘afore da fight. It waz surely jus’ da godz showin’ der will! Yooz iz da rightful leader ov da Waagh! an’ now everyone knowz it!” Replied the shaman with an ingratiating grin. “On another note, wot do ya fink about dat local grot Gobzag?”
“He’s cunnin’, dat wun, he is, but alwayz talkin' about 'ow 'e's all superiah or somefink. Da sneak even stole some of me best wood. Insufferabible snot. But you Borzag, youse even more cleveruh dan he is. So wot plan you got brewin'?"
“Well, Iz bin finkin’, wot if he were ta disappear, now dat yooz iz da king ov da mountain an’ all? Wot do ya fink dose local grotz are gonna do? Why, dey wud all follow ya, wudn’t dey? It jus’ so happens Iz got a plan fer how weez can get rid ov ‘im, all sneaky like! ‘Ave ya ‘eard of a stuntie called Mag-Runt? If ya ‘aven’t, well then, let me tell ya a story ‘bout ‘im…”

Things were about to get interesting in Waaagh! Dularg.

==========

There is a certain odor to the air underground; a scent of damp, and dirt, and old secrets long forgotten. Dwarfs will speak of other smells, smells their highly-developed senses can detect - the tantalizing metallic whiff of a buried forge, perhaps, or the sharp tang of fresh dirt trickling from the roof of an unsafe mine.

Tunnels overrun by greenskins have an entirely different, entirely more unpleasant suite of signature odors. Skirgit’s nostrils twitched as he led the little band of goblins deeper into…if not exactly enemy territory, then certainly land claimed by a rival. Old meat, dung, unwashed cloth, blood, dung, that peculiar cheese-like smell exuded by nervous snotlings, and more dung…it smelled like home.

The steady tramp of a score of goblins blundering in the dark announced his presence long before he showed his face. As a rule, greenskin eyes are sharp even on nights when both moons fail to rise, but the darkness beneath the mountains was something else entirely, and the Bone Locust goblins were a surface tribe, not adapted to the total absence of light. Skirgit alone seemed to know exactly where he was going, presumably the same way he always did. His filmy eyes peered into the darkness…and, abruptly, he stopped. Several goblins collided with him, then each other, and he absent-mindedly swung a fist behind him. Delicate bones crunched, and someone squeaked in pain.

“Shaddup.” Skirgit said, almost cordially. “Oi! One o’ you lot want ter light a torch? Me ladz is about ter trip right on ter dem nasty li’l spearpoints o’ yers, and wouldn’t dat be a bleedin’ shame?”

Someone mumbled in the tunnel up ahead, and moments later, a greasy lantern kindled. Dozens of hooded figures crowded in around it, their red eyes glaring balefully at the larger goblins. Many of them were indeed carrying spears, leveled at the other greenskins. One of the Bone Locusts whimpered, dabbing a bloodstained sleeve at his nose; the others began to close ranks, instinctively turning their backs away from the shadows. Skirgit stayed right where he was.

“Oh, now, now, is dat any way ter treat yer ol’ mate Skirgit?” He wheedled. One of the night goblins, his face masked with a red cloth, stepped forward. A long-fingered hand drummed on his still-sheathed sword.

“Yer ain’t no mate o’ mine.” He rasped. “You lot stomp in ‘ere, stabbin’ our ladz an’ stealin’ our – “

“Stabbin’?” Skirgit asked, his face a mask of injured innocence. “Stealin’? Who does dat, eh? We’ez just been buildin’ us a fort, dat’s all! Ain’t dat right, ladz? Ain’t krumped nuffin’ but some wood planks, so there!”

“Too right.” The goblin with the broken nose muttered, his voice a nasal whine. Skirgit chortled.

“Now, if’n – “

The night goblin was having none of it. His free hand pointed down the tunnel, the way the surface party had come. “Yer take yer mob an’ turn ‘round right da zog now, or I’ll gut yer fer squigbait, got it?”

“I don’t take orders from stinkin’ tunnel rats.” Skirgit hissed, his battered head moving closer. As if a signal had been given, his party drew their weapons, hesitantly at first, then eagerly when they saw they weren’t alone; knives, clubs, and crooked goblin swords left their sheathes, brandished in defiance of the wall of spears ahead of them. Skirgit curled his lip, then spat, grinning. “Yer lucky I ain’t lookin’ fer a scrap, or I’d stake yer out in da sun ter fry. Got news fer yer boss.”

The night goblin flinched at the threat, then drew his own blade, slowly. “Better talk fast, afore I cuts out yer – “
“We got da stunty.”

The night goblin paused, staring at Skirgit. “…wot stunty?”
“Aaaahhh, don’t play fick.” The blind goblin flapped a hand, grinning. “You know wot one. Yer lot’s li’l pal. Wotsisface, Mag-Runt? Been pickin’ yer off, ain’t ‘e? Well, we gorrim, all trussed up nice an’ neat fer Gobzag. Figured ‘e ain’t gonna want ter talk ter us face ter face, but if’n yer don’t want ter ‘ear us out, maybe we’ll just stick yer an’ go tell ‘im ourselves - “

“Stuff it!” The night goblin snapped, and slammed his sword back through his belt. All around the tunnel, pointed ears had pricked up in interest, and the tension had begun to ease back…if not evaporate. Not yet. He pointed a finger at Skirgit. “Go on. I’z listenin’.”

The outrider smirked. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

==========

The heavy oaken door swung inward into the cell, revealing Gobzag Grotwrangler standing in the opening, grinning his teeth bare in the torchlight. 'Dere he is! I woz worried ya went and got yerself et by one ov da gribbly beasts that nest 'ere! But here ye are, alive and well!' The goblin shaman looked the prisoner over. 'Well, alive anywayz.'

Gobzag instinctively kept his distance from the prisoner, despite the many chains binding him to the wall, but there was no need. The prisoner was defeated, bloodied and beaten, caught trying to make his way into Mount Bloodhorn and captured by the scouts. The shaman inched closer, drawing a serrated dagger from his belt while several hooded goblins followed him, grinning in anticipation.

''ello, Mag-Runt. Me choppa missed ya.'

Magnir struggled weakly against his chains, to the goblin's amusement. 'Dun worry Mag-Runt, Borag told me he strapped ye in tight. Wouldn't want ye to get away again, would we? No tellin' wot might happen ifn you gets loose again.'

The goblin menacingly drew his finger over the dagger's edge, licking the blood as it welled up from his fingertip. 'Honestly, Mag-Runt ol' boy, I dunno why ye ever left. I came so close ta cuttin' tha stuntiness out of ye. Almost made ye a bit green. Almost. But ya had ta spoil it by runnin' off.'

He leaned in close, waving the serrated dagger inches away from the dwarf's mangled face; a missing nose and one empty eye socket amid a mess of scar tissue, where not a single hair would grow. Slowly, he moved the knife down, hovering over the dwarf's exposed torso- likewise a patchwork of scars and badly healed burn wounds. Tears of fear ran down the dwarf's ruined cheeks, his one good eye wide with panic.

'Now, wot sez ye we make up fer lost time? Mebbe I'll take a few more teef, ya know, since ye owe me fer bringin' ye back to tha cage, eh Mag-Runt?'

Gobzag's nose shattered as Magnir's forehead connected to it with the force of a sledgehammer. The goblin staggered backwards, grabbing at his excruciatingly painful face with a cry born of shock, pain, fear and anger.

'Ye broke me gob! Ye zoggin' runt, dat'll cost ye!'

To his surprise, Gobzag saw the dwarf rip the chains from the wall with ease, taking only a moment to realize the chains had never been attached to the wall, just to a bit of dung or clay used to fill two holes in the wall. Apparently someone wanted him krumped! But who-

'Borag, ye sneaky git!' Gobzag turned momentarily, fixing the goblin with his piercing red eyes. 'Settin' me own pet against me, eh? First I'll sort this runt out, an' den it is off to tha squig pit wiv you!'

Turning back to the dwarf, Gobzag realized that he had given Magnir time to take the chains off his wrists. He growled angrily, and green sparks enveloped his hand for a moment, which he waved over his dagger. The weapon instantly began dripping a sticky, sickly yellow substance, which hissed as it fell to the floor.

Threatheningly, he jabbed the weapon in the dwarf's direction. 'Down, boy, or else ye'll get the stikka. Down I sez! Down, Mag-Runt!'

The dwarf slapped the goblin's weapon out of his hand, ignoring his flesh burning away as the venom dripped onto what remained of his skin. Instead he grabbed Gobzag robe with his free hand, and mercilessly pounded the helpless shaman's face with an acid covered fist. After the fifth strike he let go, tossing the bloodied goblin to the ground.

'Me name's Magnir Grobidum of clan Bitterbrew, grobi scum.' Then he straddled the unconscious goblin, and started pounding the shaman's face with his fists until nothing remained but a large splatter of blood and bits of broken bone. Only then did he stand up, panting, looking the assembled goblins in the eye.

'Now, are ye going to lead me out of here, or would ye rather end up like this git here?'

Four of the goblins ran in panic, but five more remained, including Borag. The pleased grin on his face did not bode well for the dwarf. Green arcs crackled all over the goblin's body as he stepped forward, confidence in his stride.

'No chance, stuntie,' he announced loudly. 'Ya dun krumped Gobzag, dat old windbag. Now lessee how ye fare 'gainst a real shaman!'

Cackling madly, Borag jumped forward, right into Magnir's waiting fist. A bright flash of green light blinded all those present. When their eyesight returned, the remaining goblins and Magnir saw that Borag was nowhere to be found.

'Foul, unreliable grobi magicks, gone and got himself killed afore I had the chance,' he dwarf commented. Then he looked up at the other goblins. Grabbing a length of chain from the ground, he said, 'guess ye four'll have to take his place.'

==========

“Oi Weergill, wotz cookin’? It smellz gud!” The rotund scarred orc put down his axe and ambled up to the lame goblin idly stirring the pot by the campfire.

“Stew! Why, ya want sum? It’ll be ready in a jiffy!” Weergil answered ingratiatingly.

“Sure why not! Say, ‘ave ya heard any nooz from da front? Iz right bored back ‘ere on guard duty an’ cud use sum distraction. Come to fink about it, where’s Gobash? He’z supposed ta be back from da big mountain by now, izn’t he?”

“Well, he iz back allright, he’z right here in da stew. He went ta make sum squig hamburgers an’ da squigs made hamburgers outta ‘im! Luckily I managed ta get da legz of ov dem before dey et all ov ’im.”

“A pity, I liked Gorbash, he woz gud wiv a bow, buy he never woz dat smart woz he?”

“Nah, not da sharpest choppa in da black orcs kit.” The goblin looked up at the orc with a pleased look on his face. “But Iz managed ta get sum ov da gossip from ‘im ‘fore he went an’ made ‘imself squigfood.

Seem like da boyz took da mountain wivout much ov a fight, only a few ov dem local gobbos wot ran away once dey saw da boyz. Da funny fing woz, dey didn’t find anyfing, ‘cept some dung an’ empty caves. Doze marine burgers ‘ad already stolen all da loot!”

“Haha, Iz bet da ladz weren’t too ‘appy about dat were dey…” Quiped the orc as he took a taster from the stew, “Oh, datz gud! Iz it ready yet?”

“Five minutes Turkish! An’ no dey didn’t, warboss Dularg especially took issue wiv da lack ov shineys an’ actually nailed Warlord Grimlit to da door as a welcome to da stunties when dey come…”

“Oof, dat’s harsh. Was he still alive when he did dat?”
“Dunno, Gorbash sed he certunly looked ded but dat sum of da boyz woz whispering dat Borag slipped ‘im sumfing dat meant he cudn’t move but still felt wot woz goin’ on. But yooz know how Grobash woz, he always made sumfing up ta make a story better.”

“An’ ov corz you wun never do dat, wud you?”
“Me? Perish da thought… Anyway after dis sumfing weird happened. Dey sey dat boss Gobzag went down ta da deep caves ta chase after Borag who ‘ad captured ‘imself a crazy stunty, yooz now da wun, da wun wot keeps killin’ all da local gobbos.”

“Yeah, Iz know ‘im, Marit, no datz not it… Mag sumfing…”
“Mag-runt! Right! Well, apparantly Borag managed ta capture ‘im and wanted ta interrogate ‘im but Gobzag wanted ta torture da stunty ‘imself. So he goez down ta ‘ave sum words wiv da shaman an’ right den da stunty getz loose an’, well after dat we don’t really know wot happened. Wun ov da boyz who was nearby sez he ‘eard a lot ov shoutin’, wot sounded like fightin’ an den dere was a massive green exploshun! When he went in to investigate everyone was gone!”

“What d’ya mean gone? No bodys or nufing?”

“No, nofing! Well, at least dats wot dey say, but who knows? Sum say dat Gobzag done krumped da stunty an’ Borag while ovvers say dat da stunty krumped both Gobzag an’ Borag an’ still ovvers say dat Mork came an’ took Borag up ta da Great Green, but I fink dat dose last grotz ‘ave been drinkin’ too much ov da captains grog…”

“Zogin’ hell, da boss are fallin like flies! First Boss Zagruk, den Grimlit, now even Gobzag an’ Borag! Mebbe there’z a space fer me ta be a boss too!”

At this the lame goblin laughed good-naturedly: “Yooz never gonna be boss! Yer too fat an lazy ta be boss!”

“Yeah, yer probably right. So Iz da stew ready yet? Leg stew’s me favourite!”

“Ten minutes Turkish!”

“Dat’s wot ya sed five minutes ago…”

==========

Extract from “Understanding the Green Menace: An insight into orc and goblin psychology” by Gunter Rosch, published by Altdorf University press, 1544. Chapter 8: Goblin myths.

“… Another fascinating case of Goblin myth can be found in the case of the “Deffless shaman” of the Steelcrusher tribe who grew to infamy during Waaagh! Grimlit/Dularg which ravaged the Dragonback mountains in 1489 before the crowning of our savior Sigmar. This particular Waaagh! is of course famous not only for its own exploits but for their involvement in the trade negotiations, I use that term loosely, between the Marienburg Dragonback Expansion Effort and the Dwarven Dalazidrungak Drekaz. For an excellent treaty on unorthodox Marienburg trading techniques I highly recommend Donahue Trumphe’s “The Art of the Deal: Force as Leverage in International Trade”.

The “Deffless Shaman” appears, at first glance, to be a variant of the Divine Intervention myths commonly used to justify the replacement of an existing leader by unconventional means, read; not by a straight-up fight or backstabbing. (For more information about greenskin infighting please see chapters 3 through 6) Such as the variations of the Messiah myths of the Blue shield goblins hailing from Cathay or the accension of the Howlin’ Choppas’ Eyeless Wun, found roming the Border princes.

However, upon further investigation there are some odd inconsistencies with the myth. Notably, the protagonist of the myth did not actually rise to claim power of the Waaagh! nor the tribe. In fact, from this moment on the shaman, Borag, who reliable witnesses have reported as an existing greenskin shaman before his brush with immortality, seemed to transform into some form of primitive boogeyman who advised, bullied and prodded the Waaagh!’s members as necessary without physically appearing more than a handful of times. Much like the legendary Wurzag (see chapter 12).

While the shaman’s latter influence is of great interest of equal importance is the myth’s explanation of his "resurektion". The exact date has been disputed but most scholars agree that it occred shortly after Warlord Grimlit fell to Warlord Dularg’s challenge. Spoken goblin traditions hold it that Borag trapped an insane dwarven warrior in a cave, intending to do unspeakable things to him. While not an uncommon practice among goblins this was considered an encroachment on the rights of the resident warboss, Gobzag Grotwrangler, who confronted the shaman. After a brief altercation, the dwarf apparently managed to escape, killing both goblins and their retinues. Immediately after the fight there was said to be a strange green glow or explosion emanating from the cave. Once the cave investigated the cave was found to contain no bodies. Shortly after this apparitions of Borag the Deffless started to be recorded. While the apparitions are varied, there are consistent reports of the shaman’s eyes appearing to be a glowing blue colour, most unusual for greenskins of his kind, and an eye colour he had not previously sported. Of course, as in most cases of greenskin myths corroborating details are hard to come by.

Some researchers, see Fritzengeld 1502 and De La Vega 1492, claim that the whole event was orchestrated by Borag in order to remove Grotwrangler from power while simultaneously increasing his own. They even go as far as to suggest that the dwarf in question was actually working with Borag, further claiming to have supporting evidence in the Dalazidrungak Drekaz’s records of the dwarf known only as Magnir the Mad. Of course, the idea of a one of their noble race working in cahoots with a wretched goblin is absurd! This researcher believes that myth was simply invented to explain away the loss of two important members of the Waaagh! and to bolster moral... ”