Chapter 4
First Moves
Hundreds of miles north of the where the emperor currently sat council, on a rocky mountain plateau in the Worlds Edge Mountains the man who's fate would also be that of the world, stirred and flicked open one eye. Lazily he looked around and suddenly became aware of the terrible pain that was engulfing his body from the waist down. Slowly he brought his head up and looked at his legs. They were burning horribly; an acrid smell of charred flesh pervaded the air. Yet Valten knew he would heal and for now he had to save his friend and mentor Luthor Huss. Standing he took a few tentative steps forward, testing the new grown bone and skin for its strength. Fortunately he found it to be adequate if not completely healed and he took another few steps towards the miraculously mark free hammer lying on the ground where it had fallen. Slowly he picked it up, feeling the smooth cold metal in his hands again he was instantly at ease.
Now he walked confidently as before and strode up the lip of the crater. Around him was a terrible sight. Body parts of the four Reiklander swordsmen littered the ground; a head rolled towards him and came to rest at Valten's feet, eyes still wide with terror. Valten uttered a silent prayer for the man's soul and kicked it out of the way. His eyes came to rest on the hideous demon that had attacked them, intestines dangled down from its blood covered maw and in its hand it held a man. A tall, rotund man with a whiskery white beard, trying futilely to fight his way out of the beast's terrible grip. With an outcry Valten screamed loudly "Put him down, beast!"
The huge demon turned its head to face him, surprise quickly registering on its dumb face. It roared immensely in anger, and the ground shook with its terrible sound. Almost absent mindedly it threw Huss roughly to the ground and turned its attentions to Valten, a bigger and more important prize. Roaring again it threw its head in the air and stamped its cloven feet, great cracks appeared in the earth and it panted heavily, steam issuing from its gaping jaw.
"Fight!" Roared Valten. "Or are you to afraid?" He sneered. Bellowing a demonic howl to the heavens it charged forward, all muscles and sinew in its body stretched to breaking point, salivating in preparation for the kill and the feast that would follow. Valten stood unafraid of the beast almost twice his size as it rushed towards him, in fact quite the opposite he seemed as if to laugh in it's face. As it came closer, time seemed to slow for Valten as he leaped into the air and above the creature's body. With an ancient battle cry he swung Ghal Maraz in a glittering ark, smashing the creature's skull into tiny fragments, pieces of soft brain tissue and jagged skull fragments flew off in all directions. The blow almost took the foul demons head off completely, destroying the left eye socket, breaking the jaw and smashing its tiny brain into a million pieces. With a howling cry that came from no natural source a great rift appeared in its stomach, its essence was sucked kicking and screaming back to the void from whence it came.
With a thud Valten landed on the rock, crouched low and ready to strike. Slowly he lifted his head, raised his hammer and screamed as loud as his lungs could "Is this …" He pointed at the charred spot that marked the only evidence that the demon had ever existed. "The best you can offer? Well bring it on!" He roared with laughter and collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily. Slowly he noticed the demon's foul head rolling towards him, mouth agape with shock. At this he began to laugh hysterically and rolled over laughing, his eyes wt with tears having laughed so much.
Luthor Huss walked forward unable to comprehend what he had just seen. That demon had managed to kill four of the best swordsmen the empire could offer with effortless ease yet Valten, a young man who wore no armour save his skin had killed it single handed with one mighty hit from his hammer. So what if he is a little mentally unstable, he thought studying the hunched form of Valten on the ground still laughing. He is the chosen of Sigmar and nothing can dispute that. Slowly the venerable priest of Sigmar dropped to his knees and bowed down before the one he knew would save the world. Valten, chosen of Sigmar.
The great armies stood facing each other across the blackened wasteland of the Chaos wastes. The great horde of Orcs and Goblins milled about misbehaving badly; frequent fights broke out, only to be quickly quelled by the Black Orc Bosses who strolled up and down the ranks to keep some resemblance of order. Up on the hill next to where the goblins busily prepared their stone throwers for firing, scurrying back and forth pulling heavy rocks in groups and being whipped by the cruel orc overseers, Grimgor Ironhide stood. Standing almost seven foot tall Grimgor Ironhide was the single biggest, and therefore most powerful, Orc ever sighted.
He was built like a fort, huge muscles as thick as tree trunks and powerful legs that could propel him across flat ground a lot faster than his size would suggest. His dark green skin bore scars of countless battles and his many tattoos and broad shoulders made him even more menacing. Oh his bare chest he proudly sported a mark that him feared and respected with equal measure. A huge section of bruising and many bandages showed where almost 30 years previously a cannonball had hit him square in the chest. Since, among Orcs, strength and endurance are respected more above anything else he wore nothing upon his chest to demonstrate to anyone that they were not to mess with him.
Grimgor's head was also big and uncompromising, his tiny red eyes poking out from under a mass of scarring. His huge jaw, broken a million times, contained four massive incisors for ripping apart meat and many other sharp teeth, corrosive saliva dripped down from his mouth and onto the floor, bubbling away. In his thick muscled hand he carried the huge axe Gitsnik, literally foe killer in Orcish. The huge double bladed axe head engraved with crudely drawn symbols and patterns imbuing it with magical powers.
Behind Grimgor, shackled to a gigantic boulder by almost unbreakable chains was Grimgor's pet wyvern Gutmucnha. At least 10 foot tall it twisted and turned, and struggled against the chains that held it to the rock but to no avail. From time to tie it took petulant swipes at the goblins rushing to and fro past it and occasionally, if an unwary gobbo strayed too close, it would grab one and devour it whole. Grimgor didn't mind, he believed it helped create an image of fear around him. During times of non war, (Rare for orcs) Snotlings (Kid Goblins) of Grimgor's tribe often used to play a game of chicken with the gigantic beast, seeing who could get closest to Gutmuncha without being eaten. Invariably the game ended when one of the unfortunate little Snotlings was munched into tiny pieces by the ravenous wyvern.
Grimgor watched his army struggle to stay in shape and surveyed the order of his troops. Grimgor was as intelligent as most normal men, which for an Orc was practically genius like. Most of his intelligence came from the sorcererous crown of Azhag that he wore on his head for many years but lost in the same battle where he gained his cannonball scar. Although he currently was not in possession of the crown it was one of his goals to eventually find it again. Whilst in possession of the crown it constantly whispered tactics and suggestions in his ear and although it no longer did so, Grimgor maintained much of the knowledge it had given him.
Grimgor's army was arranged much unlike a usual Orc army which usually operated on the basic principles of 'charge, charge, fight and leave da tactics to dem uvva lot.' Grimgor had grasped a basic principle of tactics. His missile troops and artillery were almost all deployed on the hill to give them better range, his fast troops like goblin Wolf Riders, Boar Boyz on the flanks and his mass expendable troops in the centre, Mainly Goblin spearmen and Night Goblin foot troops. Also in the centre behind the goblins were Grimgor's personal troops, big ferocious units of black Orcs and the biggest and most vicious normal Orcs in the army. The orc army would operate in a pincer movement, drawing the enemy in and attacking from the flanks with their fast troops. Grimgor himself would take up a position with the Black Orcs, ready to defend against any counterattack should the Chaos hordes overcome the goblins in the centre.
Finalising his battle plan in his head, Grimgor turned his attention towards the chaos army also lining up on the other side of the battlefield. The chaos commander, Crom the Conqueror had placed all his toughest troops in the centre and lead by example, the huge figure clad from head to toe in ornate bronze and blood red armour stood out a mile away, right at the forefront of his troops. Behind Crom stood all his best troops, rank upon rank of heavily armoured Chaos warriors, disciples of the dark gods, each carried a large wickedly sharp axe to cut through flesh and bone alike. Grimgor studied the ranks for a potential target and seeing the brightly coloured figure dressed in a long flowing robe he turned to the black clothed hobgoblin and, uttering a barked command, it sped off through the ranks to find the chaos wizard and bury its blade poison deep into the fragile mages back.
Also in the chaos army were hundreds upon hundreds of long haired, tattooed and muscled humans who wore very little clothes or armour. They were the bulk troops of the army and would easily be dispatched. At last, raising his head in the air and staring to the sky for the aid of Gork and Mork he raised up Gitsnik, and roared to the assembled troops with all his might "WAAAAAAGH!"
At once the orc army surged forwards as one, a green tide of destruction surging towards the enemy, ready to decimate anything in its path. At once Grimgor noticed that the orcs in his army were not following his plan; the flank troops had got carried away in the rush and were charging headlong into the enemy lines, ahead of the rest of the army. Grimgor realised that if they hit the enemy before the rest of the force they would be taken down one by one by the highly trained Chaos warriors.
Acting quickly Grimgor turned and leaped onto Gutmuncha's back and dug in his heels. The wyvern screamed and threw itself forward ripping the boulder from the earth. Quickly Grimgor grabbed the reins and directed it across the centre of the battlefield to the flanks, easily the wyvern's leathery wings outpaced the boars surging forward and Grimgor landed gutmuncha right in front of the unit. "Wait!" He yelled. "Dey'll be plenty of humie skulls to bash later, when da uvver boyz get ere, right?"
"Right boss," Said Borgut, his second in command, riding the biggest and most ferocious boar of the lot. Grimgor leaped off Gutmucnha's back, clicked his fingers and the wyvern flew off to land back on the hill. Turning Grimgor watched as the foot troops charged across the battlefield, running over the bodies of their own fallen kin even as the merciless arrows of the Chaos horde struck them down.
As the ferocious tide of green warriors, wielding brutal choppas above their heads Grimgor turned his attention to the enemy. Screaming insults and chanting terrible mantras the savage, wild, bare-chested warriors stood impassively. Even as each black, poison tipped arrow struck home into the body of the tattooed tribesmen another stood up to take his place. Grimgor started into the sky as a rushing sound echoes across the battlefield followed by a deep boom and thud as the first missiles from the stone throwers smashed home, destroying flesh and bone, sending blood spattered bone and body parts across the battlefield.
Grimgor shouted for the wild men to attack back yet still they stood as more and more of their number fell. Suddenly a massive shout came from Grimgor's left and he turned to see the first of his boyz smashing into the enemy line, a clash of blade upon blade. Watching, Grimgor smiled as the impact of the charge took the orcs headlong into the enemy ranks, causing innumerable casualties. At length the chaos tribesmen overcame their initial shock and began to fight back. Seeing the centre giving way Grimgor motioned for the Boars to charge and ran forward towards the mêlée in the centre axe held high above his head. With a roar of brute force Grimgor smashed into the enemy infantry beheading four of the mighty sweep of Gitsnik.
Roaring his delight Grimgor pushed on hacking and slashing blindly, with each sweep of Gitsnik's terrible curved blade another enemy fell dead at Grimgor's feet. With Grimgor's aid the orcs slowly began to take a foothold in the centre. The smell of death and gore hung in the air, Grimgor was splattered with blood, hundreds of both sides lay dead yet still neither side gave a bloody inch. Even as the fur clad warriors began to flee from the terrible sight of a demonic, blood soaked Grimgor he mercilessly hacked them down, breaking bones with his sheer force and felling yet even more marauders with each swing of Gitsnik's deadly blade. Grimgor had an insatiable appetite for death and wanton destruction, only when every chaos warrior on the battlefield lay dead at his feet would he stop.
Suddenly the giant Orc realised something. He couldn't find the enemy general, the bronze clad warrior he had seen earlier, the one they called Crom the conqueror. Grabbing a frightened marauder lying on the floor Grimgor pulled him closer to his one good eye to get a better look. The man was of average height, and wore plain trousers of brown leather. He wore no armour and sported many tattoos on his chest, his long braided hair stretched down to his waist.
"Where Crom?" He shouted.
"Hmfff…Hmffff..." The man struggled to reply and Grimgor realised his grip around the mans throat slightly. "May Nurgle curse you for every breath you have left in your body!" The man choked out and spat in Grimgor's leering yellow eye. Grimgor roared in frustration and squeezed so tight on the man's neck it snapped instantly like a twig. Throwing the lifeless body aside like a rag doll Grimgor strode onwards into the thick of the fighting.
With a smash from his mighty fist he cracked the skull of the first Chaos warrior he had found. He knew they were tougher than the rest of the chaos army. For him of course, they were no challenge but to the rest of his army, they were different. Grimgor picked up black armoured figure and clove him half with a sweep of Gitsnik. He took the man's Torso and held it up. Looking around Grimgor grabbed a broken standard bearing and effigy of Mork laughing. Shouting a cry of "Soz Mork!" he ripped off the thin cloth and impaled the top half of the chaos warrior on the standard. Hoisting it up in the air like some kind of macabre trophy he roared with satisfaction and shouted to his beleaguered troops. "Look, deyre not dat 'ard to kill!" With this a great cheer came up from the Orc ranks. Suddenly veering off to the left Grimgor moved over to where the boar boys had completely decimated the chaos left flank and were now working their way round to the centre. Frantically he looked around, spotted who he wanted and almost pulled Borgut of his boar with one hand. Quickly he spotted a spiky armour clad warrior walking up behind him, turned and bit the man's head off, powerful teeth sinking into the man's neck snapping it instantly. The headless body stumbled to the ground and Grimgor spat out the gristle with a mumbled "Coward."
Quickly he turned his attentions back to Borgut. "Where da gobbos gone?" He said snarling. "Dey…er…ran away boss."
"WHAT?" Grimgor bellowed and raised his heavy fist.
"Uh…It wasn't my fault boss…" Stuttered Borgut, fearful for his life, Grimgor was almost always on the verge of a violent temper something like this could really push him over the edge. "I told them not run away boss…honest."
"Agh!" Grimgor spat and raised his fist up in the air; Borgut whimpered with fear and closed his eyes waiting for a death that never came. Grimgor had noticed something, something far more important than beating his second in command senseless, something far far bigger. Slowly he dropped a thankful Borgut to the floor and stared hard at the figure, clad in bronze and red armour, drenched in blood and like Grimgor thick in the fighting. The armoured man fought with a skill and brute strength far beyond any normal being, his bronze axe, masked by a thick layer of blood and guts, swinging to and fro like a deadly pendulum. Many fine Orc warriors lay dead by his hand, where he walked death followed. Instantly Grimgor knew this was Crom, the he was her to fight. Grimgor had proven himself countless times against the best warriors the empire could throw at him. But here, Grimgor knew, was someone he could really respect, someone he could treat as a (lesser of course) equal. Finally, Grimgor thought, someone on this planet worth fighting.
Wading through carnage and blood soaked bodies Grimgor stood before the demonic man, and beneath the helmet he spied a glimpse of a pair glowing red eyes. "Crom!" Grimgor yelled, throwing the morbid standard to the ground and raising a bloodied Gitsnik up in the air. Turning, the armour clad warrior dispatched his foe with a quick strike to the throat and faced Grimgor. To Crom, Grimgor must have been a terrible sight. Seven foot tall, drenched in blood from head to toe, carrying a massive axe in his huge fist.
Crom walked forward and stared right in Grimgor's good and Grimgor leered back. Neither warrior was confronted by any other; soldiers of both sides had the sense to leave them to it. For what seemed like an age they stared at each other, man against beast, warrior against warrior, two of the most ferocious and bloodthirsty fighters of an age, staring at each other across a small piece of flat land.
It was Crom who broke the mutual truce, barrelling forward into the gigantic Orc swinging his sword left and right with incredible speed. Grimgor, surprised by the ferocity of Crom's attack, was on the back foot. Sensing that he had the upper hand, Crom pushed on with mighty sweeps of his demon blade raining down upon Grimgor again and again. Struggling to block the warrior's furious strikes Grimgor was hard pressed to prevent losing to Crom within the first few minutes. At last Grimgor lowered his axe and blocked the next strike with the massive metal gauntlet that reached down his left arm, the sword pinged off denting the metal but the second of surprise it afforded him was all he needed. With a roar of triumph he charged forward and slashed wildly with Gitsnik but found no gap in Crom's defences.
The epic duel continued for hours with neither fighter able to get the upper hand. For every blow there was a parry, for every quick swipe there was an even quicker block, several times it looked as though one was about to be defeated but then came straight back into it again. Blow after Blow fell, strike after strike rang out. So consumed in their own personal battle were the two that neither noticed how their own sides were faring in the battle that raged around them. Even as the battle turned in favour of the chaos forces and the Orcs began to flee from the field the duel raged on. Both Orc and Man were convinced that their victory would soon come, nothing would break the stalemate.
At last, as the sun began to dip behind the mountains and disappear for the night, the two warriors pulled apart, both bleeding profusely from a multitude of cuts. Both were exhausted, the duel had stretched them to breaking point, sweat slicked the arms and hands of both great warriors. For a long moment they both stood, breath frosting the air, watching other warily with mutual respect. Slowly and grudgingly Crom took a step backward and shook his head. He dropped his sword and turned back towards his own army. For a moment Grimgor thought of grabbing the sword and hacking Crom down as he turned his back but the great Orc warlord decided against it. Clenching his sweat and blood drenched fists he cast baleful looks in Crom's direction and slowly and purposefully trudged of the battlefield following his troops.