Grog Tooftayka the road to ignominy!

Orcs & Goblins (1495.5 pts)
Warhammer Fantasy Battles 3rd Edition

Grog Tooftayka: Lvl 15 Orc Hero General – 188 pts. Hand weapon, heavy armour, shield, magical weapon: Enchanted Strike, Hellhoned Blade, Parasitic Blade, magic armour: spell tempered, mounted on warboar.

Wizza Knowotz: Lvl 15 Goblin Wizard – 115 pts. Spells: Assault of Stone (E1.1), Summon Familiar (D1.3), Cause Animosity (B1.2), Enthuse (B1.5), Flight (B1.7), Hammerhand (B1.8), Lightning Bolt (B2.5), Mystic Mist (B2.7), Vortex of Chaos (B2.14)

 Dreg Stompabitz: Lvl 5 Black Orc Hero – 75 pts. Heavy armour, magic weapon: Baneblade. (Champion of 1 unit of Boyz.)

Zag Snapstik: Lvl 5 Black Orc Hero – 69 pts. Light armour, magic missile: Hail of Doom. (Champion of 1 unit of Arrer Boyz.)

Snik Gutkill: Lvl 5 Black Orc Hero – 49 pts. Light armour, magic missile: Arcane Bodkin. (Champion of 1 unit of Arrer Boyz.)

Stompabitz Boyz: 20 Orc Boyz, spear, light armour & shield, unit standard, unit musician – 228 pt

 Snapstiks Pointy Boyz: 10 Orc Arrer Boyz, bows – 75 pts

Gutkills Pain Boyz: 10 Orc Arrer Boyz, bows – 75 pts.

Uuz Shooty Gobbos Mob: 20 Goblin Stikkas, short bows – 84 pts.

Uuz Worthless Gits Mob: 20 Gobbos, hand weapon, javelin, spear, shield – 120 pts.

“Woteffa dey wont” Mob: 3 Trolls – 195 pts.

Fast Paws: 5 Gobbo Wulfboyz, short bows, light armour – 60 pts

Low Slinkas: 5 Gobbo Wulfboyz, short bows, light armour – 60 pts.

“Da Banger”: Lead Belcher Organ Gun – 102.5 pts

"Da Banger" Lead Belcher Organ Gun

The Uuz Mobs

Stompabitz Boyz

Snapstiks & Gutkillz Arrer Boyz

"Wotevva dey wont" Mob

Fast Paws & Low Slinkas

Da Heroes! (from left to right) Wizza Knowots, Grog Tooftayka,
Zap Snapstik, Dreg Stompabotz and Snik Gutkill

The Written History of Grog Tooftayka 

as exposed by Wizza Knowots

The Master of Rubbing Bitz (Out) With Joy

Somewhere in the Old World the gods were laughing. 

Grog Tooftaka smacked his boar across the snout as it attempted to steal his grub.  It squealed in fright, backing up and falling onto its hind quarters, crushing the hapless snotling that had been poking around in its fresh droppings.

“Wizza, ya git were is ya!” shouted Grog as he tore off strips of deer flesh, fresh from the kill, the cooling blood congealing along his fist and upper arm. 

“Here I is Mighty Grog, chief Tooftaka and obsequies git,” murmured the goblin wizard, his voice coming suddenly from behind the orc boss.  This startled his boss such that he almost took the goblins head off with his armoured fist which he swung towards the voice, instinct taking over.

“Wot I tell ya about sneaking up on me.  Ya won’t live long if ya keep doing dat.  One day I will strike a lucky blow and dat’al be da end of ya. Den I got go looks for unnuva git like ya,” grumbled Grog.

Wizza Knowots was accustomed to his bosses’ foibles.  He would not have lived as long as he had if he hadn’t developed the knack of walking silently and carrying a big stick, well in his case a big bang stick.  The few buggers that had managed to surprise him were now fried and eaten, meaning that natural selection had taken its course.  In truth it was in reverse, but for Wizza this was for the best, at least for him.  It meant he could outrun, dodge and escape from almost any danger, leaving the slower less mobile to become a target.  Life was on the whole good, lots of decent loot, better than average food and lots of stupid gits to take the blame for him if things didn’t quite work out the way they should have.

“Wizza I ben thinking bout going North.  Der are lots of orcsy and gobbo tribes up der dat need a boss like me.  I need a challenge, something dat make me boss of bosses.  Dem smelly ‘umans with extra bits are tuff, not tasty ta eat doh, but I bash ‘em and make udder bosses come to my banner or else!”  Grog smiled wickedly at the goblin wizard, his tusks glinting in the light.

“Oh mighty master of masturbation, dat is stiff plan ta pull.  Might I make...”

But before he could finish Grog snarled “ya making fun at Grog, what dis masta thingy ya say?”

Wizza took a step back, bowing low while still keeping his eyes locked on Grog “it means to rub.... umm err out bitz wif joy.  Ya know you like rubbin tings out, well ya is a masta at it.”  He thought he might have gone too far this time, but Grog seemed to accept this explanation and settled down, chewing more deer flesh from the bone.

“Yeh, well den I am a mastabater den, and all will cry dat when I am chief of bosses.”

Wizza was suddenly worried about this line of thinking and made a heroic effort to change the topic and hope that Grog’s lamentably poor memory will strike it from his mind.

“Boss I hear der is good loot in them northen lands.  Lots of shinys.  Lots of slaves.  Ya will be rich and mean beyond da uvver gits.  So where we heading den?”

So started the journey to the northern lands, the Chaos Wastes where Grog Tooftayka would make a name for himself, or die trying.

To be continued......

Who Wants to be a Hero?

The three black orc heroes of this story are many miles away sitting around a roaring fire playing a game of hack up.  It is a common game played by orcs of all varieties to pass the time before sleep.  It involves coughing up the largest amount of phlegm or other nasty particulars and spitting the noisome glob through a fire.  The orc whose hack up travels the flames and lands furthest from them is declared the winner and wins whatever was placed as a bet.  This could be anything from shiny bits to slaves.  However fights usually break out after a few rounds as one orc accuses the other of some form of cheating, which does happen regularly, and in the ensuing fist fights, all will eventually fall unconscious and sleep.  Hack up is often referred to by more cynical minds as the orc lullaby.

So where was I, ah yes the camp fire.....

Dreg Stompabitz mulled over the magic weapon he had won from a dead dwarf some weeks ago.  He was sure it was magical, it did make him stronger, but he was worried about what the other orcs were thinking of him.  He found out from a goblin wizard that it was called Baneblade and that it would inflict severe wounds on any creature it killed.  Whether by misfortune or the curse of the gods Dreg was always hungry.  He would often use his magic weapon to kill a meal prior to battle.  He could sense in his small mind a sudden release of magic empowered him with the lust to kill.  It was a pity that his urges tended to be towards rabbits, passing wildlife and the odd snotling too slow on the foot.  When he actually got into battle, he found that his mighty weapon was well, nice and shiny, but seemed to lack the desire to really kill his opponent.  His mind would be wondering back to his meal, and the thought “killer of rabbits”.  This made him rename it “fodder feeder” as this seemed to be all it could do, feed him.

“Oi, Dreg, ya killa of rabbits it’s ya hack, cum on, don’t keep us holding a gob full!” 

This was from a powerfully built orc called Zap Snapstik.  Zap like Dreg worried about a lot of things, all of them usually about his absented minded strength.  He was from an early age good with a bow, able to shoot further than anyone else, penetrate a target better than anyone else, and ruefully break more bows than anyone else.  Even a magical bow was not immune to his strength, so with this in mind he was given an heirloom of sorts, well it was recent, and it did have history, the dead elf’s history, but he wasn’t going to complain.  

The ever so helpful goblin wizard that helped Dreg, helped Zap as well.  He was told that the given item was the Hail of Doom arrow, a potent magical missile that magically multiplied into many arrows when fired, which was just as well as Zap had usually broken his bow after firing it.  What the wizard did not tell Zap until later is that after the battle he would have to gather up all the arrows from the magical missile, strap them together overnight and by the next morning they will have become the single magic arrow he knew.  This meant that a lot of Zaps free time just following a battle, which other orcs spent gathering loot, Zap was spending trying to find all the arrows from his magical missile.  Thankfully this wasn’t too hard a task to do, unless a target managed to leg it off the battlefield before dying.  The fact that the arrows when released turned pink meant that they were easy to find.  After all who would be caught dead in pink, no pansy orc for sure.  Which was why Zap worried, and worried.

“Sod off Zap, Dreg is not a killa of rabbits, he’s da killer of any one we’s not killin, ain’t that right Dreg?”

Snik Gutkilla didn’t have too many worries.  He had been lucky when it came to his magical weapon.  He like Zap had a affinity with the bow and while he didn’t break his bow as often as Zap his magical arrows were special.  They were virtually an unlimited supply, well as long as he had arrows and his magical lubricant he was right.  This was the source of his prowess in battle, a magical unguent that allowed arrow heads to penetrate armour of any sort with ease.  The origin of the enchantment came from a magic mushroom, the helpful goblin wizard (see previous helpfulness given above) called it agaricus bisporus phallicus.  Yes, it was in the shape of a person genitalia of the male persuasion.  The only way he would get the unguent was to milk it before a battle.  After the first few battles and the lewd jokes from his troops he took to doing the task in private.  This has now resulted in his fellow orcs often calling him a wanker, of which he never could work out to what meaning. 

“Snik ya wanka...” the first thrown punch ended any further conversation.

It was then at this time that the nightly fist fight occurred and our heroes could finally get some sleep, forgetting for a little while their troubles.

To be continued......

The Expendables... 

not to be confused with anyone irreplaceable

Another mile further on from the Black Orc heroes was the tribe of “We’s Got Red (shirts)” a source of constant supply of goblins to the discerning slave trader and purveyor of arrow fodder.  The chief goblin of the tribe Jayti Cirk was putting on his nightly pantomime to entertain the growing horde of restless freeloaders.  

Jayti was grumpy, the slavers were late and he’d not been approached by up and coming bosses for his clans numerous offspring.  A goblin, who forgot his lines received a severe blow to the head.  Jayti looked down, surprised by his outburst, where was his thespian haughtier, his composure his flair. 

The clan shaman an older gobbo named Bones came up to the fallen actor, applied a viscous kick to the happy sack and sadly shook his head.  He then looked at his boss and spoke the only words appropriate at the time, “he’s ded Jayti”.  At which time the audience would then groan and pelt the stage with substances that may occasional contain rotting fruit but was more likely to be faeces.

It was during this interlude in acts that a trio of trolls, attracted by the lights action and well camera if they had it, stumbled into the cavern lair.  Silence broke in with such military precision that many a goblin passed out on the spot.  Those who remained conscious started eying the newcomers, after noticing their lean frames, they then started to look for the quick exit.  The cast and crew of the stage performance had already legged, with Jayti leading the way.  This exodus broke the spell and the ravenous trio of trolls started dining on goblin surpise(d).

When Grog Tooftakya finally arrived some week later (and into this story) to recruit goblin troops he found barely enough to meet his minimum requirements, however the bonus of three well feed and compliant trolls was one he couldn’t pass up.  Grog’s army was on the move!

To be continued......

(22 May 2014 Update)

The three little pigs

The three little pigs are actually three rather large and repulsive trolls named Abbot’toir, Hockey’need and Pup.  All the trolls were from the river variety, so they were oily, slimy, and stank of corruption and greed.  Even amongst other trolls they were despised for being examples of excessive trollish behaviour.

Abbot’toir was a strange troll indeed.  He would spend his free time going up and down patches of water looking for someone to save from drowning, the fact that they then ended up as dinner didn't seem to be appreciated by the victim.  He would start fires, usually in the bush, where he then waited for the unwary fleeing the flames who would then be consumed, hopefully just cooked enough by the flames to make the flavour more palatable.  Not that it worried Abbot’toir, he’d just pretend that everyone liked him and respected him for his acts of kindness.  As far as he was concerned he was doing what was best for the world, admittedly his little world but a world nonetheless.

Hockey’need was the avarice one, he liked lots of shinnies and would develop elaborate, by trollish standards, schemes to wrest whatever wealth he could from everyone.  He once saw a dragon on its horde of gold, puffing  and smoking away in delight at its good fortune.  Hockey’need with his limited tunnel vision associated smoking with new found wealth.  To this end whenever he acquired wealth, food or even good fortune in the form of torturing some poor peasant, he will light up a smoke, sit down, lean back and chuckle at how he’s screwing everyone over.

Pup, well pup while he may have been the newest to join the group was excessively fat.  He did however have the knack of always having just the right amount of brute force to win any argument he picked.  He made it clear to the other trolls that he expected to be the leader, and that he should be the leader, and that he would promise anyone anything to become the leader, even if he changed his mind on any deals two seconds after he uttered them.  Best known for sleeping on the job, and blaming everyone else for his woes, he is nonetheless as repulsive and unpleasant as the other two in the band of three.

How will Grog Tooftayka recruit these dimwitted but dangerous trolls?

Too be continued......