Savage Orcs vs Warriors of Chaos: No Guts, No Glory

Bonekrunk scratched at the stitches around his neck. That stunty treasure couldn't be far off now, and yet another army had turned up to contest for it. In the dank caverns beneath the earth, his Waaagh! had been confronted by...

... well, he didn't know what they were. There was a bit of everything in this army. Marauder horsemen, dragon ogres, armoured warriors, chaos hounds and ogre bulls. No point in trying anything fancy, he decided. Just get stuck in and thump whatever's in front of you.

The chariot and giant both raced forward, eager to start fighting. But Ramgut's lads were dragging their feet again, arguing the toss over something or other. Bonekrunk was having doubts about his shaman's reliability, a feeling that wasn't assuaged when the Shaman suddenly bodged his spell and wounded himself with his own magical feedback.

From the opposing enemies, only the horsemen and hounds advanced, the marauders lobbing axes at his lads as they did so. The dragon orges attempted to run down the chariot, but the nimble little war machine spun around and eluded them. Except that it stopped directly in front of Bonekrunk's own mob.

"Get dat jalopy outta me way!" Bonekrunk bellowed. "I wants to get ter fighting." The three orc crew had now dismounted and were inspecting a loose wheel, sucking in breath disapprovingly between their tusks.

Busta was in no mood to wait, and charged into the dragon orges all by himself. Deciding not to strike any blows, he puffed his cheeks and blew a huge raspberry at the dragon ogres, who were too stunned to hit back.

On his left, Da Brave 'Arts finally got moving, ready to support Busta, but directly in front of Bonekrunk, the chariot wasn't getting anywhere. The warboss was seriously considering smashing the war machine to pieces, when a spell from the enemy sorcerer did just that.

Back to the fighting, Bonekrunk saw da Big Green raise up that menhir-on-a-tree-trunk that he called a club, and drop it directly on the head of a dragon ogre reducing him to a thick paste.

Da Brave 'Arts charged into the dragon ogres, and he could see that Ramgut was calling forth those fists of Gork that he was so proud of. Unfortunately those fists must have had some butter on the fingers because, no sooner had he reached the combat, the shaman blew up, taking a couple of lads with him.

The Chaos Warriors decided that the time was now right to add their swords to the confusion, and piled into Busta's flank. Assailed from all sides, the giant finally fell - in the wrong direction, crushing half of Da Brave 'Arts as he fell. Having taken more casualties from their own side that from the enemy, the savage orcs decided they had had enough and took to their heels, pursued by the warriors and renaming dragon orge.

There was just Da Bone 'Eads remaining now, but with the chariot gone, their path to the enemy was now clear - something which the orges took immediate advantage of and charged into them. Bonekrunk howled with battle-joy - at last the chance the krump something!

The warboss leapt forward, cutting down one of the ogres as his lads dealt with another. To their rear, he was aware that the enemy horsemen has also charged - but a few sharp elbows were enough to dismount those puny 'oomans. Faced with the fury of Da Bone 'Eads, the horsemen turned and fled one way, while the orges went off in another.

Bonekrunk ran after the orges, but the uneven ground of the caverns made for hard going and the fat brutes escaped him. The orcs charged again, and the orges fled again. "Yeller bellies!" he shouted, but could not goad them into an attack.

Then he found his way blocked by the pack of chaos hounds. Da Bone 'Eads couldn't charge into the orges without having to waste time on these puny beasts first, and time was becoming precious - Bonekrunk had heard reports of more stunties in the depths, trying to destroy their ancient treasue.

"Lads - THIS is how you do it!" he bellowed, as he left the ranks of Da Bone 'Eads and charged alone into the two remaining orges. The first one fell to his bone club, though the second managed to hack at him with a heavy axe. Bonekrunk spat blood at the pestilential orge, taunting him as he called him a chaos chicken

The rest of the chaos army was massing on their flank, and the ragged survivors of his tribe were in no shape to face them. He shouted at the remains of his army to retreat, then despatching the final orge with a backhanded club as an afterthought. Cowardly git.