22 Aug 2006
Hey guys,
This was supposed to be the first installement of the adventures of Warguth Mountainfist and his Black Mountain Tribe.
I wrote it for the Twighlight Wars campaign but unfortunately I didn't come to doing any more.
Now the campaign is over I post it here.
I don't consider myself to be a good writer and English is not my native language, but I'll give it a go anyway.
A Sign in the skies
The sound of his huge gut roaring like a manticore made Warguth wake up. Food was the first thing that came to mind and after verifying there was no gnoblar snack around he started to get up. A sudden rush of pain made him remember the shape he was in.
The assault on the Empire encampement two days ago was a succes and the tribe would be filling their bellies with man and horse for a while, but the last volley of that thinling machinery had allmost killed him.
If it hadn't been for Targh, his loyal friend and tribe Butcher, he would't have survived the night. Two days Targh had been working his foul Gastromancy on Warguth with good results. Most of his wounds had healed and his whole body smelled of the Butchers brews.
His recovery didn't come to soon, as he could imagine some of his Guts trying to take advantage of a weakened Tyrant to seize command of his tribe.
"Better change their minds at once" he muttered as he finally got up and flexed his soar muscles.
He got out of his tent and headbutted the first bull he passed. The ogre toppled backwards and landed on his gnoblar pet, unconcious.
"If one of you lads wish to rise against me step foreward! But by the Great Maw you will regret being born!"
"We have no problem with ya, boss" one of his bretheren replied carefully.
"Then bring me some food, now!" the Tyrand spoke with his teeth clenched.
"That went better then expected" Warguth thought as he headed for Targh's tent. He had feared that one of his boys would have accepted the challenge.
"They are getting lazy, it is time to march" he told Targh.
The Butcher was not as tall as Warguth, but compensated that with blubbery fat.
"Yes Warguth, the time is right." Targh said. The Butcher was leaning over a human body, intestines in his bloody hands as if he was weighing the gory mess.
"There will be a sign, and there will be enemies to be eaten."
Some gnoblars entered the tent carrying a leg of an Imperial Knight. Warguth took it and kicked them out.
"I hate canned meat", he said and started peeling the metal shell off.
One of te gnoblars entered again and was pushing his luck to far. Warguth reached for his club and the gnob started screaming.
"Forgive me oh Obese One but there is something you must see outside!" he yelled while dodging the Tyrants angry swing.
"It's stunty machinery and it flies!"
Warguth stood there looking in the sky while ripping big chunks of meat from the bone.
A flying contraption flew a few hundered passes in front of their camp. Black smocke trailing behind it while making sputtering noises. It was losing altitude fast. Then it dissapeared behind a forest and a few moments later a crash was heared rumbling through the valley. A plume of smoke rose high.
"That's the sign. Assemble the Tribe, we'll see how hard those stunties are after they fall from the sky."
.........................
I know it is kinda short, but maybe I'll get to writing some more in the future. :wink:
This was supposed to be the first installement of the adventures of Warguth Mountainfist and his Black Mountain Tribe.
I wrote it for the Twighlight Wars campaign but unfortunately I didn't come to doing any more.
Now the campaign is over I post it here.
I don't consider myself to be a good writer and English is not my native language, but I'll give it a go anyway.
A Sign in the skies
The sound of his huge gut roaring like a manticore made Warguth wake up. Food was the first thing that came to mind and after verifying there was no gnoblar snack around he started to get up. A sudden rush of pain made him remember the shape he was in.
The assault on the Empire encampement two days ago was a succes and the tribe would be filling their bellies with man and horse for a while, but the last volley of that thinling machinery had allmost killed him.
If it hadn't been for Targh, his loyal friend and tribe Butcher, he would't have survived the night. Two days Targh had been working his foul Gastromancy on Warguth with good results. Most of his wounds had healed and his whole body smelled of the Butchers brews.
His recovery didn't come to soon, as he could imagine some of his Guts trying to take advantage of a weakened Tyrant to seize command of his tribe.
"Better change their minds at once" he muttered as he finally got up and flexed his soar muscles.
He got out of his tent and headbutted the first bull he passed. The ogre toppled backwards and landed on his gnoblar pet, unconcious.
"If one of you lads wish to rise against me step foreward! But by the Great Maw you will regret being born!"
"We have no problem with ya, boss" one of his bretheren replied carefully.
"Then bring me some food, now!" the Tyrand spoke with his teeth clenched.
"That went better then expected" Warguth thought as he headed for Targh's tent. He had feared that one of his boys would have accepted the challenge.
"They are getting lazy, it is time to march" he told Targh.
The Butcher was not as tall as Warguth, but compensated that with blubbery fat.
"Yes Warguth, the time is right." Targh said. The Butcher was leaning over a human body, intestines in his bloody hands as if he was weighing the gory mess.
"There will be a sign, and there will be enemies to be eaten."
Some gnoblars entered the tent carrying a leg of an Imperial Knight. Warguth took it and kicked them out.
"I hate canned meat", he said and started peeling the metal shell off.
One of te gnoblars entered again and was pushing his luck to far. Warguth reached for his club and the gnob started screaming.
"Forgive me oh Obese One but there is something you must see outside!" he yelled while dodging the Tyrants angry swing.
"It's stunty machinery and it flies!"
Warguth stood there looking in the sky while ripping big chunks of meat from the bone.
A flying contraption flew a few hundered passes in front of their camp. Black smocke trailing behind it while making sputtering noises. It was losing altitude fast. Then it dissapeared behind a forest and a few moments later a crash was heared rumbling through the valley. A plume of smoke rose high.
"That's the sign. Assemble the Tribe, we'll see how hard those stunties are after they fall from the sky."
.........................
I know it is kinda short, but maybe I'll get to writing some more in the future. :wink:
"Who cares if we are outnumbered?
It only means more tender thinling meat to fill our ever hungry stomaches..."
Warguth Mountainfist, Black Mountain Tribe
It only means more tender thinling meat to fill our ever hungry stomaches..."
Warguth Mountainfist, Black Mountain Tribe