Warcry: The Greenskins

Jorik Wolfstooth, First Fang of the Headhunters, looked over the cages filled with raging Greenskins with a smirk on his scarred face. He had captured all sorts of beasts, wild animals and unwilling victims in the past but this hunt was like no other. The Headhunters had snuck up on the Ork camp in the wake of one of their primitive feasts. Most of the savages were asleep or were so drunk on fungus-beer and mushrooms that they hadn’t noticed the warriors in their midst. Had it not been for one of the slave Plains Runners stumbling and snapping one of the bones strewn on the ground they likely would have made off with their prize without bloodshed. The massive Ork had snapped the Plains Runner’s neck like a twig with one muscled hand, acting fast Jorik had swung a bone-club at the Ork’s head knocking him out before he could alert the others. The Ork had come back to consciousness like a thunderstorm, fists smashing against the bars of the cage. Futile, but he appreciated the spirit. The crowds would love this one.

Crowds jeer and scream as the savage Greenskins are wheeled out into the arena. The furor of the crowds whipping the Orks themselves into a fury. Unlatching the cages and fleeing before the Orks retaliate, the arena slaves quickly scamper off and let the Headhunters take the field.

Seeing the approaching hunters, the massive Ork immediately rushes forward launching into a frenzied attack against Jorik. The Beastspeaker and her Rocktusk flank through the ruins looking to attack the lesser Orks. Firing a volley of arrows the Orks pelt the Rocktusk but fail to slay the snarling beast.

The enraged Greenskin showers blow after blow on the First Fang. The bestial fury with which he attacks pleases Khorne and draws cheers from the spectators. Ul’Karash from atop his throne watches intently, eyes focussed on the display of violence taking place. Deftly using his bone-axe to block the blows, the First Fang tries to brunt the assault but the sheer savagery and relentlessness of the blows are too much. Arms weakening and slowing, Jorik fails to block the Ork’s stone cleaver and has his torso cleaved from shoulder to sternum. The fountain of gore drives the crowds wild with bloodlust, even the Huntmaster himself bellows in raucous laughter. Indeed these Greenskins were a great spectacle.

First Fang slain and more Orks surging to the side of their Warboss, the Headhunters pull back. Seeing their hunters driven off, the Orks raise their weapons and join voices in a mighty “WAAAAAAGH!!!”. The slave-handlers of the arena prod the Orks back into a pen until their next bout.

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