Marcus grabbed his choppa and led his boyz forward.
Today he would go all out.
The giant bear, true to its nature, charged.
Humans say “first pig, second bear, third tiger” for dangerous animals when wounded.
Bears are not stupid, they are territorial and in spring, they are starving.
This one had just woken from winter sleep, found easy meat – Goblins – and was now defending its kill pile.
Marcus charged first, meeting claw with steel.
He swung his 1.4-meter choppa in a huge overhead chop.
The blade met the bear’s paw mid-swipe.
*CRACK.*
A deep, bone-revealing gash opened on the bear’s forearm, black blood spurting.
But the bear didn’t even flinch.
It stood up on hind legs, over two and a half meters tall, and brought its other paw down on Marcus’s shoulder.
The force was like being hit by a Dwarf anvil.
Marcus flew two meters and crashed into a bush, shoulder numb, green blood trickling.
At that moment, his Goblin boyz rushed in, just as Gaptooth had drilled them.
Shields up front, spears behind.
Wooden shields, not great, but they blocked the bear’s view.
Stone spears and the few iron spears looted from the Skaven thrust from all sides.
*Thud, thud, thud.*
More than a dozen bloody holes appeared in the bear’s thick hide, belly, thighs.
The bear roared in pain, swinging paws to smash spears, snapping two stone spearheads.
It opened massive jaws, trying to bite a Goblin’s head off.
Just as it lunged forward, Marcus was back on his feet.
Orks are incredibly tough – a hit that would break a human collarbone only made him angrier.
WAAAGH!
energy flooded him, making his muscles swell.
He charged from the side, choppa held horizontal, using his momentum.
He dodged the bite and sliced across the bear’s muzzle, a forearm-long gash opening from nose to jaw.
The bear shrieked.
Marcus rolled away from a desperate slap, and with Goblins jabbing from the front to distract it, circled behind.
The back is a weak point for any animal – hamstrings, spine.
He didn’t have a fancy technique.
Orks don’t have sword forms.
They have one move: chop harder.
He roared and drove his choppa forward with both hands, straight into the bear’s hindquarter, aiming for the big tendon.
Two-thirds of the 1.4-meter blade sank into thick muscle and fat.
The Goblins gasped.
Green blood and bear blood mixed.
Marcus, remembering what some Goblins told him – that shouting your move name makes it stronger because WAAAGH!
energy listens – tried it.
It was stupid, but in Warhammer, belief makes things real.
ORC CHOPPA – BIG CHOP!”
Whether it was the WAAAGH!
field responding, or just adrenaline, he put his whole weight on it and twisted.
The blade cut sideways, severing hamstring and opening the gut.
A mixture of blood and stench sprayed out.
Marcus was covered in it, but he yanked the choppa free and rolled away.
He quickly wiped the blade on the bear’s own fur – Orks never clean choppas, but Marcus still had some human habits.
The bear could no longer stand.
Its back leg gave out, it collapsed with a thud, blood pooling fast behind it.
It lay on the ground, breathing hard, eyes tearing.
It was probably the first Forest Bear in the Old World to be hamstrung by an Orc with a rusty cleaver.
Marcus and Goblins retreated a dozen steps.
They didn’t rush to finish it.
Wounded bears have a final death frenzy – they can kill you even as they die.
They had time.
Wait until it’s weaker.
After five minutes, the bear’s breathing stopped.
It died from blood loss and shock.
Marcus went forward, chopped off its massive head with two heavy swings, then cut open its chest to make sure.
The hunt was a great success.
No Goblin died this time – only the one wounded earlier.
The teamwork was impressive.
Gaptooth’s drilling – shield wall, spear thrust, flank – had worked.
They were becoming real soldiers.
Marcus ordered Goblins to butcher the body to take back.
Bear meat is tough but edible, and bear fat is valuable.
He planned to scrape the hide, tan it with brain and ash, and use it as a rug in his Boss Hut once upgraded to a wooden hut.
Greenskins don’t mind straw, but who doesn’t want a bear skin rug to show you’re da biggest?
He opened the system:
> **QUEST COMPLETE: BEAR HUNT**
> Loyalty of all spear and bow Goblins +20 -> Obedience.
> Reward: 15 WAAAGH!
Energy.
Over a hundred favorability increases flashed.
His core fighters were now Obedient – they would follow orders even into a Troll den.
Just as they were tying the bear quarters to poles to carry, a branch snapped in the nearby bushes.
Both Goblins and Marcus grabbed weapons instantly.
Several bolder Goblins ran towards the sound.
The creature in the bushes sprang out, trying to flee, but hundreds of Goblins quickly surrounded it.
They dragged it back.
It was a Goblin, but completely different from Ironhead Goblins.
Ironhead Goblins were barbaric and backward, but they wore rat-skin loincloths and crude leather.
This Goblin wore clothes made of stitched leaves, his skin covered in white and red warpaint, swirling tattoos, face painted like a skull.
He carried no iron – only a big stone-tipped club and a necklace of bones and boar tusks.
Other Goblins might not recognize it, but Marcus did.
This was a **Savage Orc** – or rather, a Savage Goblin, from a Savage Orc tribe.
In Warhammer lore, Savage Orcs are a branch of Greenskins who reject metal.
They think Orcs in iron armor are un-Orky, that real Orcs should show muscles, covered only in warpaint blessed by Gork and Mork.
They use stone, bone, and wooden clubs.
But they have merits.
Savage Orcs breed the biggest, meanest **Squigs** and **Boars**.
They have a deep faith in the old gods, and the WAAAGH!
magic flows stronger through them.
The chance of a Shaman being born among Savage Orcs is the highest.
The most powerful Greenskin Shaman ever, **Wurrzag da Great Green Prophet**, was a Savage Orc.
And they are the most fearless.
Other Greenskins might say “Let’s retreat and fight again later” when losing.
Savage Orcs don’t understand retreat.
They charge.
If they win, they win.
If they lose, they die and their spores return to Gork and Mork.
Perfect suicide squad, and many tribes welcome them for that.
Marcus looked at the Savage Goblin, who was snarling even while surrounded.
“Which tribe you from?
Why you in my territory?”
The Savage Goblin spat, warpaint dripping with sweat.
“Me from Broken Tusk tribe!
South!
Tribe smashed by pink-skins!
I run!
Dis forest not yours!
Dis forest belongs to Gork and Mork!”
Marcus grinned, showing tusks.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a recruitment opportunity.
Broken Tusk tribe smashed meant there were more strays out there.
And a Savage Goblin, with that fearlessness, would be perfect for his Stink Mob or as a future Shaman assistant.
“Now dis forest is Ironhead’s.
You want join?
Or you want become bear food like dese gits?”
He pointed his bloody choppa at the bear corpse.
The Savage Goblin looked at the bear, at Marcus who was bigger than any Savage Orc boss he had known, at the obedient Goblins with iron-tipped spears.
He dropped his club and knelt.
“WAAAGH!
You bigger!
I join!”
Marcus had just finished a bear hunt, and gained a Savage Goblin.
The tribe was getting more…
savage.
And more dangerous – exactly what he needed on the edge of the Dark Lands.
Marcus grabbed his choppa and led his boyz forward.
Today he would go all out.
The giant bear, true to its nature, charged.
Humans say “first pig, second bear, third tiger” for dangerous animals when wounded.
Bears are not stupid, they are territorial and in spring, they are starving.
This one had just woken from winter sleep, found easy meat – Goblins – and was now defending its kill pile.
Marcus charged first, meeting claw with steel.
He swung his 1.4-meter choppa in a huge overhead chop.
The blade met the bear’s paw mid-swipe.
*CRACK.*
A deep, bone-revealing gash opened on the bear’s forearm, black blood spurting.
But the bear didn’t even flinch.
It stood up on hind legs, over two and a half meters tall, and brought its other paw down on Marcus’s shoulder.
The force was like being hit by a Dwarf anvil.
Marcus flew two meters and crashed into a bush, shoulder numb, green blood trickling.
At that moment, his Goblin boyz rushed in, just as Gaptooth had drilled them.
Shields up front, spears behind.
Wooden shields, not great, but they blocked the bear’s view.
Stone spears and the few iron spears looted from the Skaven thrust from all sides.
*Thud, thud, thud.*
More than a dozen bloody holes appeared in the bear’s thick hide, belly, thighs.
The bear roared in pain, swinging paws to smash spears, snapping two stone spearheads.
It opened massive jaws, trying to bite a Goblin’s head off.
Just as it lunged forward, Marcus was back on his feet.
Orks are incredibly tough – a hit that would break a human collarbone only made him angrier.
WAAAGH!
energy flooded him, making his muscles swell.
He charged from the side, choppa held horizontal, using his momentum.
He dodged the bite and sliced across the bear’s muzzle, a forearm-long gash opening from nose to jaw.
The bear shrieked.
Marcus rolled away from a desperate slap, and with Goblins jabbing from the front to distract it, circled behind.
The back is a weak point for any animal – hamstrings, spine.
He didn’t have a fancy technique.
Orks don’t have sword forms.
They have one move: chop harder.
He roared and drove his choppa forward with both hands, straight into the bear’s hindquarter, aiming for the big tendon.
Two-thirds of the 1.4-meter blade sank into thick muscle and fat.
The Goblins gasped.
Green blood and bear blood mixed.
Marcus, remembering what some Goblins told him – that shouting your move name makes it stronger because WAAAGH!
energy listens – tried it.
It was stupid, but in Warhammer, belief makes things real.
ORC CHOPPA – BIG CHOP!”
Whether it was the WAAAGH!
field responding, or just adrenaline, he put his whole weight on it and twisted.
The blade cut sideways, severing hamstring and opening the gut.
A mixture of blood and stench sprayed out.
Marcus was covered in it, but he yanked the choppa free and rolled away.
He quickly wiped the blade on the bear’s own fur – Orks never clean choppas, but Marcus still had some human habits.
The bear could no longer stand.
Its back leg gave out, it collapsed with a thud, blood pooling fast behind it.
It lay on the ground, breathing hard, eyes tearing.
It was probably the first Forest Bear in the Old World to be hamstrung by an Orc with a rusty cleaver.
Marcus and Goblins retreated a dozen steps.
They didn’t rush to finish it.
Wounded bears have a final death frenzy – they can kill you even as they die.
They had time.
Wait until it’s weaker.
After five minutes, the bear’s breathing stopped.
It died from blood loss and shock.
Marcus went forward, chopped off its massive head with two heavy swings, then cut open its chest to make sure.
The hunt was a great success.
No Goblin died this time – only the one wounded earlier.
The teamwork was impressive.
Gaptooth’s drilling – shield wall, spear thrust, flank – had worked.
They were becoming real soldiers.
Marcus ordered Goblins to butcher the body to take back.
Bear meat is tough but edible, and bear fat is valuable.
He planned to scrape the hide, tan it with brain and ash, and use it as a rug in his Boss Hut once upgraded to a wooden hut.
Greenskins don’t mind straw, but who doesn’t want a bear skin rug to show you’re da biggest?
He opened the system:
> **QUEST COMPLETE: BEAR HUNT**
> Loyalty of all spear and bow Goblins +20 -> Obedience.
> Reward: 15 WAAAGH!
Energy.
Over a hundred favorability increases flashed.
His core fighters were now Obedient – they would follow orders even into a Troll den.
Just as they were tying the bear quarters to poles to carry, a branch snapped in the nearby bushes.
Both Goblins and Marcus grabbed weapons instantly.
Several bolder Goblins ran towards the sound.
The creature in the bushes sprang out, trying to flee, but hundreds of Goblins quickly surrounded it.
They dragged it back.
It was a Goblin, but completely different from Ironhead Goblins.
Ironhead Goblins were barbaric and backward, but they wore rat-skin loincloths and crude leather.
This Goblin wore clothes made of stitched leaves, his skin covered in white and red warpaint, swirling tattoos, face painted like a skull.
He carried no iron – only a big stone-tipped club and a necklace of bones and boar tusks.
Other Goblins might not recognize it, but Marcus did.
This was a **Savage Orc** – or rather, a Savage Goblin, from a Savage Orc tribe.
In Warhammer lore, Savage Orcs are a branch of Greenskins who reject metal.
They think Orcs in iron armor are un-Orky, that real Orcs should show muscles, covered only in warpaint blessed by Gork and Mork.
They use stone, bone, and wooden clubs.
But they have merits.
Savage Orcs breed the biggest, meanest **Squigs** and **Boars**.
They have a deep faith in the old gods, and the WAAAGH!
magic flows stronger through them.
The chance of a Shaman being born among Savage Orcs is the highest.
The most powerful Greenskin Shaman ever, **Wurrzag da Great Green Prophet**, was a Savage Orc.
And they are the most fearless.
Other Greenskins might say “Let’s retreat and fight again later” when losing.
Savage Orcs don’t understand retreat.
They charge.
If they win, they win.
If they lose, they die and their spores return to Gork and Mork.
Perfect suicide squad, and many tribes welcome them for that.
Marcus looked at the Savage Goblin, who was snarling even while surrounded.
“Which tribe you from?
Why you in my territory?”
The Savage Goblin spat, warpaint dripping with sweat.
“Me from Broken Tusk tribe!
South!
Tribe smashed by pink-skins!
I run!
Dis forest not yours!
Dis forest belongs to Gork and Mork!”
Marcus grinned, showing tusks.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a recruitment opportunity.
Broken Tusk tribe smashed meant there were more strays out there.
And a Savage Goblin, with that fearlessness, would be perfect for his Stink Mob or as a future Shaman assistant.
“Now dis forest is Ironhead’s.
You want join?
Or you want become bear food like dese gits?”
He pointed his bloody choppa at the bear corpse.
The Savage Goblin looked at the bear, at Marcus who was bigger than any Savage Orc boss he had known, at the obedient Goblins with iron-tipped spears.
He dropped his club and knelt.
“WAAAGH!
You bigger!
I join!”
Marcus had just finished a bear hunt, and gained a Savage Goblin.
The tribe was getting more…
savage.
And more dangerous – exactly what he needed on the edge of the Dark Lands.