Odd Jobs- writing a collection of Ogre short stories... Put Your Ideas In!

Greetings, fellow guts! First post on the site but fear not, long time OG player!
I am an author in real life, and have become horrified with the lack of love OG are getting at the moment from Age of Sigmar- so I have taken it upon myself to create 12 short stories featuring our beloved fatty kind, up to all sorts of mischief, in order to inspire others to join our fatty cause, with the end goal of getting this novel published.

WHERE YOU COME IN.

I want all your best, funniest, craziest stories- from spectacular outcomes on the tabletop to back stories you have of your tribe/ generals, to any cool ideas you want to see happen within the tales of our chunky friends. So post away!!!

I have a few to start: An ogre drinking in an inn reminiscing over his favourite battles; a leadbelcher pinching Empire cannons in the heat of battle to try out his new 'favourite', Bragg the Gutsman gets hired on a contract to kill an opposing tribe's Tyrant and has to battle a Maneater paid to defend the Tyrant; a captured empire man gets stuck into recording a Tribe's successes, ends up convincing them to raid the village that ousted him; a story of a Hunter; of a Bruiser trekking to the Chaos wastes and trying to decide which god to root for (to get various benefits); and of course, Maneater tales!

Gnoblar shanty town.

They build up a team of bloodbowl players and head to the big leagues. (I play stunty 7s)

Well, I personally felt quite left out of the End Times, so maybe a story eclipsing a tribe or two of their experiences heading into the final apocalyptic event? Are you looking more for general ideas, or did you actually want some written tales presented by us that you would then elaborate and "fancify" to create your Twelves Tales of the Tribes?

I mean, my particular tribe seems to have had more bouts against High Elves and Vampire Counts than any of the other armies combined (with surprisingly more wins than losses), so my Ogres seem to have figured out how to deal with their various shenanigans. I mean, my mages have failed to give much support, but against those matchups my opponents have had poor magic phases as well, which for those two armies against Ogres they are desperately in need of that magic support.

Perhaps, there's some mystic aura or trinket that my Tyrant has, that has befuddled the magicks around my tribe as they have waged various raids and wars against the realms of the Undead, and the High Elf forces that may be travelling against the Undead as well? It just seems to have kept coming up in all my 8th ed. games, and I for one have enjoyed that minor advantage (since, let's face it, without magic Ogres' troops can trump HE or VC troops overall).

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That might be a good story. And it would have tones of real world influence, since that's how my games have run lol

Sazel that's exactly what i'm looking for- just people's findings and stories they've thought of as a result of loving the fluff/ good games! Can definitely work a story like that, thanks for the input!

also thanks for the gnoblar shanty town/ bloodbowl idea, that would make a great short story!

Hi,

Good luck with your endeavour.

I wrote some articles on the Warhammer Forum which included the odd tale of Ogres, and more frequently Gnoblars.  Here is a flavour.


TALE 1 – ON STUNTED ALLIES

That infamous watering hole, the Horned Moon Coaching Inn, can be found at the up-market end of Bilge-Bucket Lane in the town of New Sarum. The fame of the Horned Moon has spread far and many famous warriors are drawn to the homely comforts of the Snnug Bar to share their tales of famous victories, infamous defeats and outrageous fortune.

The Snnug Bar is so named owing to the slight dyslexia of the publican, Thamos Shtim. The sign-writer employed to paint the name on the door of the snug bar spotted that something was wrong after he had completed the sign but Thamos stuck with the misspelling to avoid the additional cost involved with a correction. Fortunately, the alert sign writer spotted the mistake in the pub’s name before starting the outside sign or Thamos would have been left as publican of the Honed Moron.

I happened to be drinking a mellow pint of Throttled Piglet in the inn last Tuesday, when an Ogre by the name of Ostrakon Plain and a Slanneshi Nobleman, the Prince of Cups, started a drinking competition, the pints of ale interspersed with tales of luck in previous battles.

The Prince started with a tale of an unlucky Hellcannon.

 “We used to have this Hellcannon in the Army; three Chaos Dwarfs trying to control this great roaring  beast of a thing. Even  when we weren’t fighting, the beast would groan and strain to break free  and so we nicknamed it Groan-Strain.

“Well, we were fighting this Beastman army, must have been 4 or 5 years ago in the days before these new-fangled targeting aids came in and the crew had to have a good eye for estimating ranges.  It  was early days for us with the Hellcannon and we were keen to see what it could do.

An opportunity arose when a hulking Doombull broke through the lines and was creating mayhem in our rear. Our General shouted for the Dwarfs to kill it. They took aim and with incredible accuracy landed a shot right on its head.”

“Luck was with us as the shot failed to scatter and we looked forward to a dead Doombull.  But then our luck ran out and rather than a massive explosion accompanied by chunks of barbequed bull, we ended up with a damp thud, no wounds and an angry Doombull looking for trouble.”

“We managed to turn the battle round but the Boss was not best-pleased and the Chaos Dwarfs were in the dog-house for a bit.”

“Yeah, well, little short gits always spell trouble,” mused Ostrakon Plain. “You should see what our little ratbag Gnoblars can do to really rot up a battle.”

“It was 2 years ago at one of our Summer Incursions. We had reached a town near Mansfield and got stuck into a right old ding-dong with some pointy-eared Dark Elves. The Boss had a devilishly cunning plan involving us running at high speed towards the enemy. This was really paying off but a unit of Corsairs with a pesky frenzy banner were threatening our left, no right, no, hang on, which hand is this – oh yeah, it was our left. The Boss did some cunning sums and worked out that our unit of 25 Gnoblars could charge the front of the Corsairs, lose a shed load of wounds but would not be wiped out. The remnants would then flee and the frenzied Corsairs would be forced to pursue leaving them ideally placed for a flank charge from our Guts.”

“The plan worked beautifully with 20 or so Gnoblars dying. And then, it happened. From nowhere, the snivelling little gits decided to get all noble; they developed insane courage and refused to flee. The Dark Elves promptly wiped them out, reformed and, with the help of some Witches, wiped out the Guts. You know, we might be better off without the little gits.”

The Prince emptied his tankard and replied: “Well, you could be right. That same Hellcannon I was telling you about performed equally poorly against some Elves, High Elves in this instance.”

“It was spring last year and we were near a town called Nottingham contesting the succession of the Throne of Skulls. We were facing a host of the pointy-ears led by some bloke called Teclis. This Teclis was causing all sorts of trouble with his magic. Anyway, the General called for a Hellcannon shot at Teclis. The Dwarfs landed a shot right on his head and it did not scatter away form the target. Some bloke next to Terclis tried to push him out of the way of the shot but slipped on the damp grass and the magician took the full force. Except the full force was another damp squib and Teclis emerged unscathed. The General was so enraged, he took it out by charging everything in sight and we suffered a huge loss.”

“Yeah, well, stunty gits are bad enough by themselves but mix them with shooty things and you are primed for disaster,” opined the Ogre. “ We was at the battle of Neudorf last year and we had 2 lots of Gnobs on their Scraplauncher things. In training, they could not hit a barn door and so the Boss left them outside the gates to create a nuisance. We had a cunning plan to sneak into the town and we got in without being detected. Then the Boss called for shooting and the Scraplaunchers let fly using direction shouted over the walls. The first missed by a mile but the second scored a direct hit on some enemy Knights, but there must have been something wrong with the sharp stuff they load and none of the Knights was killed. As we advanced into the town, the Boss called for shooting against a unit of Warriors that were sheltering in Madame Fifi’s Gentleman’s Retreat. They scored a second direct hit but again the sharp stuff was faulty and the only casualty was Madame Fifi’s cat which suffered a slight bruise on its paw. As we advanced further in, the Boss called for a third bit of shooting and blow me if the Gnobs don’t get a third direct hit in a row, this time on another unit of Knights; but you can guess the outcome – no casualties again. You will have heard that the battle was a great success for us Ogres with our arch-enemy killed. It gave the tribe a new lease of life and I hardly recognised the Boys when they returned, they all looked so much younger. But I did hear that the Boss got to the bottom of the Scraplauncher debacle. Apparently, the gits were fed up with carrying heavy loads of sharp stiff around and so they had sold it for some grub and were firing bits of scrap without the S at the enemy.”

“Naturally, the Boss was pretty narked with this and was about to rip them Gnobs limb from limb when they said something that stopped him in his tracks. I’m not sure exactly what they said but it sounded like ‘We had a great view of the battle boss, would you, like us to tell the Over Tyrant what really happened?’ Dunno what that was all about.”

“OK,” said the Prince. “Last tale about our Hellcannon. It was round about the time that the thing had failed to kill Teclis and we in a bit of a barney with some Orcs and Goblins. The Hellcannon finally managed to break free from its bindings and looked around for something to charge. It settled on the nearest enemy, a Mangler Squig and then set off, covering a huge amount of distance before finally coming to rest on top of it. Naturally, the Mangler Squig was not best pleased by this and thrashed around so much that it actually destroyed the Hellcannon.”

“Anyway, one good thing came out of this, the General lost interest in Hellcannons and we have stopped lugging the useless thing around with us.”

“Now, I think it must be your round.” But his words were drowned out by the snores of the recumbent Ogre.


TALE 6 – CONCERNING COMMANDERS

The Horned Moon Coaching Inn in new Sarum plays host to a wide variety of guests, which can cause problems if the staff are unfamiliar with the quirky nature of some of the clients. Few of the staff will forget poor Henrietta Mongoose’s gaff when she was tidying away the Rhinox bones from a Dwarf feast and accidently put a drunken slumbering Skeleton Warrior out with the other bones by the bins.

Fortunately, the landlord, Thamos Shtim, spotted the missing Warrior and rescued him before he sobered up. He eventually checked-out happily enough en-route to visit his aunt on the Isle of Wights.

Last night when I popped in for a swift half of Badgers Codpiece, I made my way to the Snnug Bar where a reunion between two old comrades was in full swing. Muelva Haven, an Ogre, was drinking with his old companion, Sterry Gap, a Slaaneshi Warrior. As is to be expected on such occasions, a large crowd had gathered to hear their tales of battles and conquests.

“So, when was it we first met up then?” asked the Ogre.

“As I recall, it was when my company under Lord Hellblast had become renegades from the Empire and formed a Freebooter Dogs of War regiment. We fought for plunder, and the plunder was good. Of course, that was before we saw the light and dedicated ourselves to Chaos. It must have been back in ’05 or ’06 and then your tribe arrived out of the east and joined our band.”

“It must have been around then that our fortunes starting shifting and we had a couple of lean years and that was the catalyst to see us converting to Chaos.”

“Yes, I recall that,” replied the Ogre. “And then your Lord Hellblast led us into a trap at Neudorf. Over-          confidence was his problem that day. Taking on an Empire castle with the Emperor and all his nobles there,
what was he thinking?”

“Whatever his tactical decisions that day, old Hellblast fought bravely. At one stage he laid out Gotrek Gurnisson with a blow from his sword!”

“Yes, but he then fled from the Emperor didn’t he?”

“That was not fleeing, that was a tactical retreat. Anyway, your Koshtra Belorn fared little better. I hear that he was given the easy job of holding the right flank against a few pointy-eared Elves and even that proved too much. Wasn’t he laid low by a teenage archer.”

“Yeh, but that was just bad luck. The Elf just happened to put his knife where old KB’s neck was and KB sort of ran onto it. Anyway, KB had had enough of working for your old boss and that was when we went our own way and we have never looked back.”

“But we have been more successful without your company than we ever were with it,” said Sterry Gap. “Since then, we have experienced major success in the battles for the succession of the Throne of Skulls. In ’11 and ’12 our company became the Chosen of the Chaos Gods for our skill on the battlefield and this was largely through our leader’s skill in both training and in combat.”

“Well, we have been just as successful under old KB,” said Muelva Haven, the Ogre. “In ’11, we won accolades from the Over-Tyrant who considered us to be the best Ogre tribe at the Summer Incursion that year.”

“Maybe so, but I heard that your tribe was massacred by Lord Indefeatable at Neudorf last year and that Koshtra Belorn only survived through some trickery.”

“That’s a stinking lie. Old KB did what he set out to and killed that treacherous scum. Mission accomplished whatever the rumours might suggest. And,” he added slyly. “I heard that your boss was bested by a woman in a fight in Poole.”

“That never happened!” protested the Warrior. “Anyway, how did you hear about it?”

“Oh, word like that gets around. It’s not much of a recommendation for a great Lord of Chaos is it? Beaten by a woman – and a girl too by all accounts. So what have you got to say about that Mr Smarty Pants Slaaneshi Warrior?”

“Who do you think will believe you, you foul-smelling, stupid, thick badly-dressed lout?”

“Oi, who are you calling badly-dressed?” asked the Ogre swinging a fist.

“You, you great lump of lard,” replied the Warrior, responding with a well-aimed kick.

The other occupants of the Snnug Bar took cover as the fight kicked-off in earnest.

I turned to Emilise, the barmaid and asked: “Do you think that Chaos Lord was defeated by a woman?”

Before she could reply, an Empire noble chipped in quietly: “Oh, it’s true alright, and a stranger story than you can imagine. She defeated that Chaos army and eighteen other lords to win that campaign. Elphinstone Gladerider was her name and an Empire noblewoman rather than an Elf, despite her name. I ought to know, my name is Johannes Whitehelm and I was her standard bearer. Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you the tale.”

I reached for my purse and he began to speak – but, alas, my quill-hand grows tired and the tale of Elphinstone Gladerider will have to wait for next time.


TALE 8 – THE BUTCHER’S TALE

Arriving at the Inn, I ordered a half of Badger’s Bottom and made my way into the Snnug Bar. The customers in the bar included the Ogre, Zimiamvia Mount, known colloquially as ZM. ZM is a relative new-comer and owns the butcher’s shop in Fish Row. In the short time he has been in town, he has gained a varied clientele and is widely reputed to be the best butcher in town; well, you’d expect that of an Ogre butcher I suppose. Mind you, I am always wary of some of his cuts, particularly the ones containing heart – you can never really tell whether the labelling of these imported meats is accurate, can you?”

ZM was busy explaining how he came to be serving cuts of meat to men rather than serving cuts of men as meat.

“It was couple of years ago and I was working as an assistant to Melikaphkhaz Mawskull, slaughtermaster to Koshtra Belorn himself. Now Koshtra Belorn had never really recovered from the loss of his Tenderiser and the tribe had drifted aimlessly for many months without a success to its name.”

[Note to younger readers: The Tenderiser was the weapon of choice for Koshtra Belorn and other Tyrants for many years and many famous Ogre victories were fashioned on the back of these fabled great-hammers. Unfortunately, some trick of magic resulted in the loss of these weapons to the mortal world. Regardless of the introduction of new-fangled weapons and monsters, things have never been the same.]

“In an attempt to regain some of his old magic, Koshtra Belorn led us into a campaign against some tricky Dark Elves. Our early successes were more than wiped out when we were ambushed and cut down by heavy bolt fire. Only half the tribe survived and old KB himself was hit twice by heavy bolts and barley stumbled back to our camp with blood and entrails dripping from the open wounds in his stomach.”

“Melikaphkhaz Mawskull called me to assist in tending to our Tyrant but it was clear that he was dying. His strength was visibly fading and his body seemed to be falling in on itself.

Koshtra Belorn beckoned me and the Slaughtermaster to him and then whispered: ‘I know that I am weakening and it is time to consider the future of the tribe. I want you to go out and find a Bruiser who could be a future leader of the Ouroboreans. Some Ogre with the will to replace me. Find him, quickly …’ ”

“And so I went round the tribe seeking a potential replacement and Sorbey Plain, a youthful but ambitious Bruiser accepted the offer. I took him back to the tent where our beloved Tyrant was slipping away.”

“ ‘Come here that I may speak to you,’ croaked Koshtra Belorn. The Bruiser moved to the edge of the bed and knelt down to hear the faint words of the failing Tyrant.”

“ ‘Do you believe that you could replace me as Tyrant of the Ouroboreans?’ asked Koshtra Belorn.”

“ ‘I do,’ replied Sorbey Plain.”

“The Tyrant raised an arm and placed a hand on the Bruiser’s head, apparently in blessing, but he was too weak and the hand slipped off the head and onto the Bruiser’s shoulder before Koshtra Belorn took a firm grip around the neck and squeezed. Sorbey Plain realised with a shock what was happening but it was too late and thrash around as he did, he could not get free of the death grip on his throat. With a sickening rattle, he dropped to the floor and died.”

“ ‘You,’ said Koshtra Belorn to me in a steadier tone. ‘Go and see if there is any other Ogre that thinks they could take over from me.’ ”

“I left the tent, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and promptly deserted. After wandering around for a bit, I ended up here and now I do a nice line in chops and mince. Anyone fancy a Khorneish Pasty?”


TALE 14 - THE TALE OF MUNCH BODKINS, HERO GROINBITER

Sitting in the Snnug one evening, the assembled company were surprised to be regaled by an Ogre with a tale of bravery about a Gnoblar Groinbiter named Munch Bodkins.

“It all began,” the Ogre started, “when a High Elf army came through our land en-route to the South Coast for some sort of gathering. They were playing their tricksy tricks of shooting arrows at us from horseback and then running away.

Anyway, Munch and 15 of his Gnobs, including a musician and flag waver bloke, were on our left flank when an Elf pony mob came trotting up into their faces and started peppering them with arrows. This made Munch real angry and, in a fit of rage, ordered his Gnobs to charge. Amazingly, they followed his orders and charged. This took the Elf boys by as much surprise as it did us and they stood their ground.”

“In the first exchange of blows, 3 Gnobs were killed but the Elves lost one of theirs, tying the combat. In the next round, the Elves all whiffed their attacks and Munch and his boys laid down some pain, adding their flag boy and a rank to combat resolution; the Elves decided discretion was the better part of valour and ran off like pansies. Munch and his boys must have been on the happy juice cos they over-ran so far they ended up charging the flank of the next lot of ponies. Amazingly they beat these boys too and followed up when they fled.”

“So far, so good, but you can always rely on a Gnob to let you down and Munch’s boys did just this as in their enthusiasm to catch the ponies their legs outran their brains and they ended up charging into the front of an angry mob of Phoenix Guards. You do not need me to tell you what happened next – the local flora was redecorated in a shade of blood and brains and only Munch escaped alive, heading for the hills as fast as his puny legs would take him.”

“Laugh? - We wet ourselves.”

“Still the ponies made a nice after-battle snack.”

XXXXX

There were also a couple of other mentions, including a scholar's visit to Girth Whiteskin, a Butcher who had accompanied Groth Onefinger to the Great Maw and had remained as a disciple and a discourse on female warriors, including maneaters.

Best wishes,

KB

Fantastic work and ideas, i wish you all the best with this