Head-to-head

Gulgaz Stoneklaw – Big Boss of the Gutstompas – stood at the cliff’s edge, staring into the conflagration that had enveloped the valley below. The fire stretched to the horizon, orange and red flames belching out ash clouds that blackened the sky. Its immense heat had singed his eyelids, and had started to cook the mummified heads of his two lifeless lieutenants that were mounted on his shoulders. But even so he hadn’t blinked in hours.

On the scorched plains behind Gulgaz were the teeming throngs of his tribe – greenskins, ogors and gargants beyond number. These brutal hordes had followed his campaign of destruction across the Flamescar Plateau, hacking their way through army after army with reckless enthusiasm. They had followed him to the edge of this infernal valley, where he had hoped to find a bigger battle than any they’d had before, but there had been no enemy waiting for them. After more than a week without combat, tempers among the Gutstompas were beginning to flare violently. Orruks were mobbing up, grots were hurling their crudest invective, and the biggest warriors were beginning to eat the smaller ones. Without a common enemy to battle, the Gutstompas would soon tear themselves apart.

‘There’s no one to fight here.’

The words came from directly behind Gulgaz. They were spoken by Moggo-moggo, a Wurrgog Prophet that had been with the Gutstompas for some months.

‘It’s your job to find us ’eads to bash.’

Gulgaz didn’t answer. He could hear the prophet speaking, but his mind was focused on the flames. In their flickering light he could see glimpses of a war of unprecedented scale, but when he tried to focus on these images they faded like a mirage.

‘Maybe you is not the best boss for the Gutstompas,’ said Moggo-moggo. ‘We need a big bash, and I know where to find one. Gorkamorka has shown me…’

Moggo-moggo was still speaking when another voice sounded, one that only Gulgaz could hear. It came from his left shoulder, where the severed head of his Gorka-boss Urgak sat.

‘Shut this zoggin’ idiot up!’ it yelled.

Gulgaz glanced at the head. Though its flesh had long ago withered away in the Aqshian heat, in his mind its lips still moved and frothed with spittle when it talked.

‘There is a great Waaagh!,’ continued Moggo-moggo. ‘In a faraway place, where boss of the dead has big skeleton armies, and they is...’

‘Shut ’im up!’ yelled Urgak again.

Gulgaz tightened his grip on the handle of his weapon, but then another voice came from his right shoulder, from the head of his Morka-boss Skiga.

‘No, let him speak,’ it said.

Gulgaz slackened his grip and glanced at Skiga’s head. It too was severely desiccated, though in Gulgaz’s eyes it was full of life.

‘Let him spill his guts,’ it continued. ‘He might say something useful.’

The big boss trusted the advice of these two lieutenants, though they did not always agree. When they argued too much they gave him a headache, a nasty pain that made him angry. He tried to think, but Moggo-moggo was still rambling on behind him.

‘...where spooky things fall from the sky and dead boyz come from the ground and…’

The bustling of the Gutstompas on the plain mingled with the prophet’s jabbering. They were getting ever more rowdy. Gulgaz looked deep into the fires below, and tried to concentrate on the glimpses of battle he could see there.

‘I can lead the Gutstompas there,’ said Moggo-moggo.

‘That Wurrgog finks he’s tougher than you!’ yelled Urgak.

Gulgaz pondered this.

‘Maybe,’ replied Skiga. ‘But he might know where the fightin’s at.’

The Big Boss considered this different point of view.

‘I know where the battle is,’ said Moggo-moggo. ‘It’s down the Deff-lands.’

‘He’s lying!’ yelled Urgak.

‘No he ain’t,’ replied Skiga.

A thunderous crack resounded as an Ironblaster fired its payload into a rioting horde of Moonclan Fanatics. Behind Gulgaz, the air began to crackle.

‘But you is not the boss to lead that Waaagh!,’ said Moggo-moggo.

‘Them’s fighting words!’ yelled Urgak.

‘Yes they is,’ replied Skiga.

Gulgaz felt the unmistakable static of magic coalescing behind him. His fingers tightened around his weapon.

‘I will lead the way,’ said Moggo-moggo, his deep voice now redolent with Waaagh! energy.

‘That’s enough from him!’ yelled Urgak.

‘I concur,’ replied Skiga.

Two gargants headbutted each other. A swarm of Gitmob grots piled onto a mob of Ironjaw Brutes and started stabbing.

‘I will open a portal to the Deff-lands,’ bellowed Moggo-moggo, sparks of green magic spitting from him with every syllable.

‘Kill him!’

‘Kill him!’

The big boss lifted his cleava. His mouth twisted into a snarl.

‘I just gotta make a little sacrifice first.’

‘KILL HIM!’

‘KILL HIM!’

Gulgaz spun around and, with a mighty swing, struck his cleava clean through the prophet’s neck. The Gutstompas fell silent as they all stopped their infighting to watch the severed head sailing into the air – its eyes wide with surprise, a trail of blood drops following in its wake – before landing with a thump on the rocky clifftop. Moggo-moggo’s headless body staggered forward, gushes of blood and streams of Waaagh! magic spurting from its neck. Gulgaz step to one side, allowing the walking corpse to stumble over the edge of the cliff. The body tumbled down, and as it fell into the fires below the vast inferno erupted with new intensity. Flames stretched into the sky, burning not red or orange, but a bright green, and from them came an endless ear-splitting wail. At the sight and sound of this, the Gutstompas burst into roars of approval and cackles of glee.

Gulgaz looked into the colossal fire before him, and there he saw clearly the war that he had only seen glimpses of before. It was glorious. An unending battlefield where the dead rose up to fight again and again, to which countless other grand armies were already marching. Gulgaz leaned down and picked up Moggo-moggo’s severed head – the prophet’s visions had been right after all. Perhaps he would provide more useful advice in the battles to come.

With the way forward now clear to him, Gulgaz bellowed his mighty war cry.

‘WAAAGH!’

Then he launched himself over the cliff and into the fires that led to the land of the dead.

PRODUCED BY GAMES WORKSHOP IN NOTTINGHAM

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