Chapter 10. The Badlands
Rychek
had surmised that Slann Lord Taisteslaikch'ken would be taken to the ogre lands
which the skink knew to be far to the north east, over the World's Edge
Mountains and the desolate Dark Lands beyond.
Although the journey would surely be long and arduous, Bob and Joe tried
to keep everyone's spirits up.
"We
are not here to collect souvenirs. Get
rid of it."
"I
like him. And his name is Len. Don't hurt his feelings."
Bob
inspected the ibis perched on Joe's head.
"He's a bird. He doesn't
have feelings."
The
bird puffed its feathers out in annoyance.
"Anyway,
eggshells make better head coverings.
They provide protection."
"Ibis
are better. They can get aggressive when aroused. Who wouldn't want an extra attack?"
"Eggshell
is better!"
"Ibis!"
"Eggshell!"
"Ibis!"
"Eggshell!"
"Gawk!"
TOCK!
Bob
had leaned too close. Len's savage peck was
blocked by the eggshell.
The
argument was declared a draw.
The
strangling deserts of the Land of the Dead grudgingly released their grip as
the party trudged onwards. To begin
with, low thorny bushes of the arid zone became more common on the sun blasted
ridges. These gave way to patchy scrub
which in turn, melded into viney thickets and stands of scrawny trees. They had entered the Badlands.
This
region, which was almost as large as the Empire of men, was a bubbling cauldron
of destructive hate. Greenskin tribes,
skaven clans and beastmen war-herds alternated between vying with each other
for local supremacy and leading invasions into the neighbouring lands of the
wood elves, men and dwarves.
The
southern reaches of the Badlands were sparsely populated. To the south there was nothing invade or
conquer except for dunes and salt pans.
Therefore the heroes were able to travel for some days unmolested.
On
the fifth day, they crossed a boundary marked by a glowering greenskin totem
pole. This was crudely carved to
represent a snarling wyvern bearing an orcish warlord. The orc wore upon his head an eagle totem
with wings outstretched. The carved
sentinel exuded palpable animosity from its six hollow eye sockets.
Little
did they know it, but the party had strayed into the territory of the Hawkhatz
tribe. Generations ago, every last bird
in the region had been hunted to extinction to satisfy the tribe's demand for
feathered head dresses. The
extermination had started with the commonest and most easily captured
birds. As these dwindled in number, the
greenskins had to pursue more exotic game until not a single avian
remained. No Hawkhatz greenskin alive
had ever seen a living bird.
The
last recorded bird hunt had involved the Savage Orc Warboss, Glars Haarfful,
and his pursuit of a Great Roc which had alighted on a nearby peak.
His
last words were reputed to be, "Dis looked mutch smalla from down
dere!" as he was carried away to meet the mighty bird's nestlings.
Since
that time, the tribe had been ruled by a succession of warlords, supported by
greenskin shamen who maintained their influence through a combination of
superstitious fear-mongering and brutal application of the power of the twin
greenskin gods, Mork and Gork.
The
twins are an embodiment of the savage hostility of their endless hordes of
worshippers. The pair are,
unfortunately, so alike in manifestation and demeanour that not even their high
priests can reliably tell them apart.
This is a dangerous situation, because Gork knows that he is not Mork,
and he lashes out in umbrage at any who address him inappropriately.
Mork
is not sure which one he is, but he is content to lash out randomly, "Just
in Kase."
The
magical powers bestowed by Mork and Gork are not drawn directly from the winds
of magic, although their intensity does vary in parallel with the magical
flux. In comparison with High or Battle
magics, the greenskin magic is more often contained in "Fings",
rather than in abstractions such as a chanted spell or a gesture of power. Such fings range from the totem described
earlier, to magical weapons and artefacts, to the lukky bloo war paint which
provides magical protection from harm to the savage orcs who daub it on their
bodies.
The
terrifying black orc warboss, Worhuh Wotsitgudfaw had recently called a new
Waaagh! Waaagh! is the rallying cry of
the greenskin tribes, and it is also the word used to describe greenskin
armies.
Worhuh
was recruiting orc fighters from far and wide, leaving few of the larger
fighting orcs in the home range of the Hawkhatz tribe. The warboss's force was marshalling at the
foot of the World's Edge Mountains. He
was planning to lead his Waaagh! into the soft undabelli of the Empire.
Others
in the Badlands saw an opportunity to exploit such a power vacuum. An upstart Beastmen War-Herd was flexing its
muscle in Hawkhatz territory. The
remaining forest goblins of the tribe simply melted away into the trees. They would not engage the herd without the
inspiring or bullying leadership of the larger orcs who had been drafted into
Worhuh's Waaagh!
The
lizardmen smelt the stench and heard the deranged braying of the war-herd long
before it came into sight. The sheer
volume of sound coming from the beasts indicated that discretion would be a
better course than confrontation. They
had time to find an empty cave on a hillside and Bessie was secreted deep
inside so that the glow of the solar engine would not be seen.
The
heroes prepared to lay low until the herd passed by.
The
herd did not pass by. The hillside
formed part of a natural amphitheatre of ridges with a large clearing in the
centre. The beastmen made a rude camp
here so that they could perform some religious observance to mark the rising of
the full Chaos moon in three days time.
Beastmen,
of all the mortal servants of mayhem, are the most driven by hate. At the Coming of Chaos, mutating warpstone
dust showered the globe. Man became
beast and beast became man.
The
beasts which rose onto their hind legs resented their millennia of domesticated
slavery. Nothing but the destruction
every town, farm, and family restaurant would slake their thirst for vengeance.
Lizards
can endure long fasts without discomfort or harm but, by the dawn of the third
day, Mahtis' stomach was rumbling loud enough to present a significant risk of
discovery by the herd below. The cave
amplified every sound inside, and the kroxigor's rumbles had some of the
beastmen below scanning the sky for storm clouds. Whenever it occurred, Mahtis would apologize
shyly and retreat to the rear of the cave.
Bob
kept a nervous vigil just inside the mouth of the cave. Joe and Rychek were a little further back.
"Is
this good to eat?" Mahtis had
returned from his self imposed exile and was holding a large glowing
mushroom. It's cap was covered in square
mirror-like facets which caught and reflected points of light around the
cave. "I found it at the
back."
"Let
me see, Mahtis," Rychek examined
and sniffed the mushroom.
Mahtis's
stomach growled even louder.
"For
the Old Ones' sake, let him eat it!"
Joe hissed. Below them, some of
the beastmen were pointing at the cave mouth and yammering to each other
excitedly.
"Let
me try it first, Mahtis. It might be bad for you." Rychek nibbled the cap of the fungus. After a long pause he declared, "It
seems Okay. Okay."
"Okay,"
echoed Joe.
Mahtis
reached to take the mushroom from Rychek's hands then paused in alarm.
"Okay
Okay Okay Okay Okay." the corners
of Rychek's mouth had twisted upwards in a mockery of a grin.
His eyes drifted out of focus and his limbs began to twitch. His body bucked and he launched into a
ghastly parody of dance.
Mahtis
caught his spawn kin and wrapped him in his arms. "What is happening?"
"He's
having a fit! Joe declared. "Force something in his mouth so he
doesn't bite his tongue. Not my tail!
Not my tail! Waaa-aa-aaah!"
"Waaa-aa-aaah!" The blood curdling cry was amplified and
deepened by the cave and reverberated around the amphitheatre of hills. Before the echoes had faded away, the Doom
Bull, Beast Lord of the Bray-herd, raised his shaggy head and bellowed his
enraged reply to Joe's howl of agony.
The
bloodthirsty war herd pawed the ground and snorted, working themselves into a
frenzy as they prepared to charge at the unseen threat in the cave. The mighty minotaur bawled a wordless command
and the braying mass surged up the slope, gradually gathering speed.
Suddenly,
the surrounding forest came alive.
Innumerable goblins of the forest poured out from among the trees. They unleashed a black rain of stone tipped arrows
and the beastman charge quickly became a rout.
However,
the Doom Bull's momentum was great enough to carry him to the mouth of the
cave. There he found his way blocked by
a white helmeted lizardman brandishing a green glowing sword. The Beast Lord swiped with his huge wooden club
and the lizard attempted to parry the blow.
The strange sword embedded in the wood of the club and was wrenched from
the saurus's claws.
With
a bawl of triumph, the slavering minotaur pulled the glowing sword free to
untangle his club, ready for the killing blow.
He brandished both weapons.
The
deep rumbling bellow that came from the beast's mighty throat abruptly jumped
in pitch by at least three octaves. His
visage changed from one of rage to one of alarmed bewilderment.
The
Warpstone enhanced Sword of Abstinence cursed any who wielded it with sterility
and genital shrinkage. It had no effect
on the asexual lizard "men", but the effect on the Doom Bull's
impressive equipment was instantaneous and dramatic.
The
Beast Lord stooped to peer between his legs as a dark shadow fell across the
mouth of the cave. "Holy-ee-ee Shee-ee....." he squeaked before being
cut off, literally, by a gigantic pair of mandibles.
Bob
gawped, open mouthed, at the enormous Arachnarok spider which had neatly
decapitated his assailant. From a wicker
platform on its back, a dozen war painted forest goblins peered down. "We herd da call. Where'z da boss?"
Neehai
Tuacrikket was confused. The hardy
greenskin warrior below him must have emasculated the Doom Bull with his teeth,
for he bore no weapon. That was a feat
worthy of great respect. What was
confusing was that this greenskin was BLOO.
And he had a tail.
"I
beg your pardon?" The bloo warrior
enquired politely.
Neehai
narrowed his eyes. The bloo warrior was roughly
eight feet tall, had just swallowed the melon sized nuts of a Doom Bull, and he
had just said, "I beg your pardon?" to a puny goblin. There was definitely something amiss.
The
orc and goblin tribes were a height-rarchical society. The largest and strongest bullied those less
impressive than themselves, and these vented their angst on their smaller
peers, and so on, until every frightful kicking was passed on, with interest,
to the smallest night goblin. Coincidentally,
that goblin was the fastest runner to ever wear a green hide.
Bob
was uncomfortable with the lingering silence.
He had a personal policy of showing politeness to anyone who had nominal
control of an arachnid which was the size of a barn. He generally felt that such folk should be
engaged in friendly conversation. "Excuse me?"
Neehai
felt safe enough up on his mount to dare speaking to the murderous
champion. "We herd da Waaagh! We came ta answer da call ta war. We is only Gobbos, but we kan still
fite!"
Another
bloo warrior lurched out of the cave. He
was at least four times the mass of the first.
"What's happening?" asked Mahtis.
"Righto,
dat must be da boss."
"Go
back inside and care for Rychek," Bob snapped, "Leave this to
me."
Neehai's
jaw dropped in astonishment. "Yoo'z
can't orda him about! He'z bigga dan yoo
are!"
Mahtis
nodded vigorously, "He's right!"
"Size
isn't everything! Now get back in
there!"
"Size
izn't evryting?" the other eleven
goblins on the spider repeated the words in astonished unison.
Neehai
mouthed the words to himself. He
struggled with this new thought, much as he struggled with every other thought,
new or old.
The
interior of the cave started to glow.
Bessie was not being supervised and had moved closer to the
entrance. The light intensified until
Neehai had to shield his eyes. Out of
the blinding radiance stepped a terrifying figure. He was a bloo warrior, like the first, but
this one had a totemic head dress in the form of a savage eyed bird of
prey. As he stopped beside the
vanquisher of the minotaur, the totem on his brow came alive and unfurled its
mighty wings.
"Gawk?"
"Oh
mahrlecht! Oompa Loompahs!" Joe exclaimed.
"Yoo
mus' be da boss!" Neehai felt
happier. This impressively adorned
specimen was surely the leader.
"What? Well, Rychek seems to think he's in
charge," Joe mused.
"Anuvver
boss? Kan I talk ta him den?"
"Oh, I need to speak for him at the moment. He's a bit....."
Just
then a small bloo figure capered out of the cave and danced around the legs of
the arachnarok.
"Sorry
Bob, he got out," apologized Mahtis as he gave up his pursuit.
"Gawk," observed Len.
"Gawk
gawk gawk gawk gawk!" echoed Rychek while he slapped the carapace of the
giant spider in time with his words.
"E'z
not a Boss! E'z a shaman!" observed the goblin chief in amazement.
"Umm. Why do you say so?" Joe didn't want to contradict anyone who had
nominal control of an arachnid which was the size of a barn. For once he and Bob had something in common.
"Cos
e'z crazier dan yoo are!"
By
this time Rychek had finished the spider slapping dance and had started
throwing handfuls of leaves in the air.
"Yooah yooah yooah!"
Mahtis
nodded vigorously, "He's right!"
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