The Tall Tales Of GnolBolg Wolfeater - The King Of Gut Tower

It was a cold night on the plains of Bifgut, and the Irongut Wargen Fatskull lay awake in his tent. His huge head resting on his favourite rock, he stared up out of the chimney hole in the centre of the animal skin canopy. The stars were all out tonight, but Wargen didn't really care, he was feeling rather miserable. Tomorrow was the week's great hunt, something that usually really cheered him up, but his mind was on other things today. As he stared up at the stars he began to join up the stellar dots, thinking up big complicated shapes in his head. In fact, bearing in mind Wargen's limited intellect, these shapes were really quite impressive. Giant mouths, filled with line upon line of teeth, big staring eyes, and severed limbs and heads…
“Hmm”, thought Wargen, “looks like the maw that does.”
Soon came dawn, and the sunlight streaked in through the doorway of Wargen's tent, making him squint. It was just with this bright ray of sunlight that something hit Wargen, the greatest idea to ever leap into the dim-witted Ogre's little brain.
“That's it!” he shouted, grinning broadly, “I'll go and find the Maw!”
“No you bloody won't.” boomed a voice from outside the tent, and Fingers Fumkick burst into the tent, waving a finger-stump in Wargen's direction. Fingers Fumkick got his name after a Sabretusk bit every one of his fingers off, leaving only his thumbs remaining, a testament to Fumkick's lack of ability when it came to taming cave beasts. Fumkick was the tribe's resident Hunter, a big oaf even by Ogre standards, whose favoured method of hunting was hurling large rocks from the cliff faces of the Bifgut valley onto unsuspecting Rhinoxen.
“If you don't come on the hunt, I'll eat your hands. And then, Urgup will eat your head off I bet, and we'll feed the rest of you to the Gnoblars!”
The Ogres of Bifgut, led by Urgup the Blind, were staunchly devoted to the Maw, and anyone not intending a hunt was severely punished. Fumkick's colourful punishment was probably not very far from the truth…
“Well, I'm gonna go sometime,” muttered Wargen under his breath, “I'm bored of all this flipping hunting, bored of flipping little Gnoblars crawling all over the place”
Wargen hadn't muttered as under-his-breath as he'd hoped, however, and Fumkick had heard the Irongut's treacherous remarks.
“You fat-headed traitor!” he wailed “I bet you eat blooming grass and everything, Urgup's gonna pull your tusks out when he hears about this!” and without further ado Fumkick lifted Wargen over his head, and carried him towards Gut Tower itself, Urgup the Blind's very own abode.

It had been decided by the Ogres of Bifgut, that during the war in the sky, a good number of Sky Titan buildings had been pushed down from the mountains either side of the Bifgut plains. And these immense ruins formed the basis of most of the Ogre's dwellings.
Gut Tower was the only intact bit of the ruined castle, a huge leaning tower, around 300 feet high, resting against the eastern cliff face of the valley. In it lived Urgup himself, spending his days listening to a troupe of story-Gnoblars. Urgup the Blind was, as his name suggests, blind. And to keep himself entertained he had in his employ a good hundred Gnoblars, all well trained in telling stupidly exaggerated tales about the wide world. Urgup was very weak for an Ogre, but had been the Tyrant of the Bifgut Ogres for nearly sixty years. This wasn't due to any kind of martial prowess however; instead Urgup had managed to get his hands on an Empire Volley Gun, which – with a little help from his Gnoblars – he towed into pit fights, invariably annihilating his foes from a healthy distance.
Fumkick's fist banged heavily on the huge iron door to GutTower, and a wrinkled Ogre head appeared at one of windows on the highest floor.
“Who is it?” called a croaky voice, echoed by the chattering calls of dozens of tiny Gnoblars.
“It's Fumkick, I've got Wargen with me here, he says he doesn't want to go on hunts no more, says they're boring! Can I cut his legs off?”
“No” replied Urgup.
“Aww, why not, he's a gutless traitor, and I wanna eat him!”
“You don't just eat traitors you dolt, all that treacherous blood would go to your head, and you'd end up a traitor too and someone would have to eat you as well. Think about it, everyone would end up eating everyone else, and then there'd be no more Ogres and no more Bifgut's to worship the Maw!”
For a moment Wargen thought he was safe, but it wasn't a very long moment--
“Crap, I didn't think of that, sorry Urgup… What should I do with him then?”
“Urr, wait a sec.”
Scuttles and scratches resounded from the looming tower, and the huge iron door creaked outwards, opened by an impressive tower of Gnoblars, all struggling to stay balanced on top of each other's heads.
“Throw him in there,” called Urgup “and I'll deal with him”
And so Fumkick hefted Wargen forwards, onto an awaiting pile of Gnoblars, who carried him off into the dark depths of the tower.
“I'm buggered.” he thought.

Wargen, for the first time since his capture, began to struggle. He would have been stupid to try and struggle when in the grasp of Fumkick, who would easily have broken him in two, but now, being carried by a tide of gibbering Gnoblars, he felt he stood a better chance. They were carrying him towards the bottom of a circular staircase on the far side of the huge circular base of the tower, striving to carry his massive weight up the steady slope caused by the tower's extreme slant. Wargen shook the clinging Gnoblars from his arms and legs, and stood upright, squashing a considerable number of them in his effort to regain balance.
The remaining Gnoblars, of which there were many, screeched and yelped, running in a scrabble up the huge staircase, heaving their tiny bodies up the huge steps. Flicking the last few Gnoblars from his shirt, Wargen sighed heavily, getting out of this muddle would not be as easy as shaking off Gnoblars.
He stood firm, looking at the staircase ahead of him, and took a deep breath.
“I just hope he doesn't have that bloody great gun on him.” He thought, and marched towards the stairs. Each step upwards took a great stride on this part, and frequently Wargen tripped on a discarded bone or Gnoblar corpse, stumbling to regain his balance. The stones of the stairs were coated in a thick layer of dust, dotted with thousands of tiny Gnoblar footprints. It looked to Wargen like Urgup had been outside for a good long while. Just as Wargen reached the doorway to the second floor, Urgup's croaky voice called out of the darkness.
“Come in then, you big fool, I haven't got all day”
It struck Wargen that if Urgup had one thing; it was all day, since he never even went outside. He didn't even hunt with the tribe, instead sending a retinue of Gnoblars as representatives, and also to bring back his share of the catch.
Wargen shuffled into the darkness, and squinted at the huddled, crooked shape of Urgup before him. It had been a good 20 years since the last challenge to Urgup's reign, most Ogres conceding that when looking down the wrong end of each one of a volley gun's nine barrels, it was best off to stand down, and this was the first time that Wargen had been up close to the Tyrant. He was sitting on a barrel, chewing slowly on a stale piece of meat. He turned to face Wargen, and made a harrumphing noise.
“You don't smell like a traitor. Or sound like one too. Hmm, what do you think Sticktooth?”
The old Tyrant shifted his head to an equally old looking Gnoblar, who whispered something in a coarse scratchy voice.
“You're right!” laughed Urgup, a rasping chortle that declined into a throaty cough.
“You know what Sticktooth reckons?” choked Urgup, “He reckons that you smell like I used to, and he's probably right.”
Wargen was downright confused by now. He had expected to walk face first into the famed Volley Gun by now, but instead he was facing a relatively warm welcome. Just as Wargen's confused thoughts were about to reach fever pitch, Urgup broke the silence.
“When I was a whelp, I was a lot like you—“
“Hey I'm strong me!”
“Shut up you numbskull and hear me out! What I mean is, I started to get bored of all the hunting and stuff, and I realised what was more important.”
“What's that then?”
“The Maw you pratt of an Ogre! The Maw's why I went off travelling, it's where I lost my eyes, and it's where I lost all my muscle.” Urgup's head hung low, “When I went to see the Maw, I was punished, I don't quite know why, the Maw works in pretty odd ways, but when I reached the great mouth in the desert it took away my strength, If it wasn't for Sticktooth here I'd have been dead, but him and his Gnoblar's helped me back.”
On a big wooden table in front of Urgup, Sticktooth was striking two flints. Swiftly, for a Gnoblar, he lit a big candle, and a sharp light was cast across the old Tyrant's withered face.
Inside each of his eye sockets lay a rough cracked pebble, each with a tiny Maw symbol at its centre. Stone eyes that now stared up at the surprised Wargen.
“The Maw punished me that day, but it looks to me like it'll be much better pleased with you.”
A wide grin stretched across his thin face, and he burst out into a spluttering laughter as Wargen recoiled at his grotesque visage.
“Now get out of my sight! And go and find the Maw!”
Wargen turned tail and run, practically throwing himself down the huge dank staircase. He burst out of the huge door and squinted up at the glaring sun, he was as confused and frightened as he was relieved.
A confused Fumkick did a double take at Wargen when he realised that he was still in one piece, but only had the time to shout after him as he ran out into the valley, heading for eastern end of the valley – and the Maw.