Kinda fluff/story based on my Mordheim Orc Warband, Varak'z Vandalz. It is not finished. All constructive criticism received thankfully.
Part 1
Varak drove his damaged sword into the downed body of the human. “Datt’ll teach you to jump us from behind.” Laughed the feared leader, as he pulled out the bloodied blade and licked it, savouring the taste of human blood.
“Nice one boss.” Noted Bagn, a laggard Orc Boy.
Swivelling the battered blade in the air, Varak hinted he needed a new one. Magar ‘The Mud-Eater’ mercilessly nudged Whiny with his foot. Being the least respected Goblin in the warband, which didn’t take much wrongdoing, Whiny almost always got the job to go out and look for things. He waddled out of the door of the tavern, rubbing his freshly bruised shoulder.
The tavern the warband were staying in was mostly ruined, but only on the right side. The upstairs was totally destroyed by the comet. They spent most of their time in the bar area, which was almost totally preserved from harm three weeks ago. It also had a staircase leading to the cellar, filled with barrels with ale. Varak often spent afternoons in this cellar, while the rest of the warband were out looking for Wyrdstone. When they would return he would seem slightly dazed and out of it, but his Orc Boyz dare not comment on this.
The only one who stayed in the tavern with him was Thaarr Torso-splitter, an Orc Shaman and also long time friend. But now in his elderly years the staff bearing green skin spent most of his time sitting at one of the bar stools, murmuring to himself. It was a rare occasion when we he would take to any one but Varak.
Half way through conversation, Varak and his warband were interrupted by Whiny, who was panting as he rushed through the stained glass door.
“Yes?” Varak imposed upon the pale Goblin.
“You must come quick, boss. You must look at what me has founded.”
“Iz it a new sword?” Asked Varak, not interested.
“No, but.. but..”
“Then you shall be seated, and speak only when asked.” The experienced green skin informed.
“It’z WYRDSTONE! Piles and piles of it boss, you must look!” Insisted Whiny.
Varak expression sharpened for a second. He sighed, and looked at Crit Cropstealer. Crit looked worried.
“Go with him, return, and then you shall and confirm he iz lying.” Varak Instructed.
Crit stood up, trying to hide his feeling of anxiousness.
“Be careful.” Advised his leader.
Crit drew a Choppa from each side of his waist and nodded. He shunted Whiny out the door and followed.
*
The pair, very different in size, returned less than a minute later. Varak gave Cropstealer a sparing look.
“He iz lying, no?”
“No, boss. He’z not.” Crit replied, boldly.
Varak, suddenly a little interested, raised his eyebrows as to suggest his follower should carry on.
“There is a large mound of Wyrdstone a few streets away. Let’z ‘urry before da otha’z get it!”
Varak jumped to his feet and snatched a dagger off a Goblin, who looked petrified. This time the unfortunate one was Grimy.
“Coming, Thaar?” He shot a look at the wide-eyed Shaman.
Not bothering to lend his old friend his gaze, the Shaman shook his head, suggesting the venture was a bad idea.
“Fine. We’ll be back before nightfall.”
The warband shot out the door, excited by the rare opportunity to, “Get Some Gold!” as the Vandalz would call it.
*
They reached the corner of the street. They could see the Wyrdstone glistening at the end of the crumbling road. They slowly paced into the middle of it, in a circular formation, with the 5 smallest green skins around the edge.
Suddenly, towards their rear and accompanied by a deafening roar, a huge mound of earth came tumbling down from one of the rubbled buildings. The path they had used to come hear was now inaccessible.
The warband turned to face it. An Ogre effortlessly climbed over it, and let out a battle cry. Huge in size, it stood still and stared directly at Varak. The Orc, nicknamed “Skullsmasher,” stared at it right back. He heard swift whizzing noises behind him, towards the Wyrdstone, and quickly turned his head. Tiny and Shiny, his two favourite Goblins (which didn’t count for much), were laying face down with an arrow each in their backs. As he turned to face the Ogre again, he saw it running thunderously at his bunch of scampering green skins.
“Damn, it’z a trap!” He cried. “Shoot it.”
