Destruction of Waaagh! Gutstompa

In the year 2401 IC, Waaagh! Gutstompa fell upon Stirland. With the Emperor and his closest allies embattled in the west, repelling a Bretonnian invasion, it seemed that Waaagh! Gutstompa would bring the Empire to its knees. Yet as the greenskin horde passed through the ruins of Wurtbad, its boss Shaman, Redfang, caught sight of an ancient tome lying charred, but otherwise unscathed, amidst the rubble. Though the script within those aged pages was indecipherable to the aged Orc, he could sense the sorcery locked within its pages and set about teasing it loose with magics of his own. The resulting explosion wrecked the centre of Wurtbad anew, tore asunder the fabric of reality and loosed a mighty host of Daemons into the heart of the Waaagh!

Daemonettes were the first through the breach, dancing and singing as they slashed their way through the milling and confused ranks of Orcs and Goblins. Those initial victims swiftly broke but did not get far — Hellflayers and Seeker Chariots crashed pell-mell into routing greenskins, scythed wheels and whirring blades ripping them to bloody shreds. As the Daemonettes fought their way further from the portal, more Daemons emerged to assail the greenskins. Pink Horrors giggled and cackled as they hurled bolts of weird-hued fire and Beasts of Nurgle bounded excitedly through the ruins. Towering behind them all loomed the giant figure of Kz’ar’aka, Daemon Prince, Harbinger of Sorrows and Chosen of the Blood God, his axe glinting in the dawns light.

Yet by this point Gutstompa had managed to bellow some order into the rest of his lads. At the Warboss’s command, a dozen regiments of Black Orc trampled their way forward through the chaos, paying no heed to the bellows of pain from those who fell under their iron-shodfeet. Grinning wickedly, the Daemonettes turned about to face this new threat and sprang forward. The Black Orcs impassively stood their ground as the Daemonettes capered and pirouetted onward. At the last moment the brutes locked their shields, and the Daemonettes collided with an uneven wall of heavy timber, rough iron and stubborn sinew. The warpmetal of the chariots and Hellflayers buckled under the impact, hurling their crew deep into the Black Orc formations. The Daemonettes on foot fared little better. Some of their claws found chinks in the Black Orcs’ armour, but most wasted their impact on shields and battle-scarred plate. In response, the Black Orcs’ axes chopped down, severing limbs and heads with bloody finality.

With the heart cut out of the Daemonette onslaught, the Black Orcs bellowed with the joy of their victory. This Waaagh-shout spread through the ruins of Wurtbad as all greenskins in earshot took up the cry. The Pink Horrors were the first to suffer the newfound momentum of the Waaagh! Though their wild spells mutated hundreds of onrushing Orcs, they were swiftly hacked apart by the greenskin horde. As each Pink Horror perished, two Blue Horrors burst into existence, but those that weren’t bludgeoned in the first moments o f their existence quickly scurried off to find shelter amidst the tumbled stones and broken timbers. Yet even as the last Pink Horror fell, Kz’ar’aka loosed his shock troops.

Flesh Hounds hurled themselves into the Orc ranks. Driven mad by bloodscent, the Daemon hounds gave no thought to their defence. Each beast took three or four good choppa blows before it finally lay still. The Flesh Hound attack had buckled and disrupted the greenskin lines, and now K z’a r’aka hurled his Bloodletters and Bloodcrushers into the gaps. Keening their brutal battle-songs, the gore-hued Daemons attacked with a ferocity that matched even that of the Black Orcs. Hellblades rose and fell in bloody arcs, widening the rents in the Orc lines and allowing other Daemons to enter the fray. Fiends of Slaanesh prowled the flanks, claws and stings slicing and stabbing madly. High above the rest o f the fray, in the ruined bell-tower of the Temple of Sigmar, Snotlings and Nurglings exchanged volleys of faeces-flecked fungus and festering filth; this battle lacked the desperation and horror o f the one being played out below, with both sides cheering each time a revolting missile hit home.

Finally, Kz’ar’aka grew bored of watching. Spreading his mighty wings, the Daemon Prince swooped into the heart of the fighting, where Gutstompa, choppa broken and abandoned, laid about him self with a Juggernaut’s severed forelimb. Such a weapon could have been though laughable, but the trail o f crushed and broken bodies at the Warboss’s feet proved otherwise. K z’a r’aka thought to take Gutstompa by surprise but, warned by the shadow cast by the Daemon Prince’s wings, the Warboss wheeled about, his impromptu weapon connecting squarely with the Daemon Prince’s torso, badly denting his armour and snapping a handful of ribs. Before the Daemon Prince could recover, Gutstompa followed up with another flurry of blows. Two, Kz’ar’aka deflected with his axe, but the third caught the Daemon Prince squarely about the head, breaking the tip from one of his magnificent horns. This last blow too robbed Gutstompa of his weapon, for the tortured Daemon-metal finally gave way. Even then, the Warboss didn’t give up, but hurled him self bodily at Kz’ar’aka, kicking, butting and punching with wild determination. Grinning evily, the Daemon Prince set aside his own axe, and latched one betaloned claw about the Orc’s throat. Ignoring the fusillade of blows — apart from the one solid kick that landed against already broken ribs — he pulled the Warboss close, and closed his needle-sharp fangs about Gutstompa’s head and bit it clean off.

With Gutstompa’s death, the fight finally went out of the Orc horde — almost as one, they broke and fled. Even the Snotlings beat a hasty retreat, their erstwhile Nurgling opponents waving and cheering them on. Kz’ar’aka surveyed the battlefield, and was pleased. The portal that had granted him ingress still glowed with power, bringing more Daemons to his side with every passing minute. Better still, the Winds of Magic were gusting, further buttressing his daemonic might. The Daemon Prince knew that it was only a matter of time before one of the Greater Daemons happened upon the rift and seized command of his army. But until that time, there was destruction and anarchy to unleash in the name of mighty Khorne. Waaagh! Gutstompa was but the start...

Source

 * : Warhammer Armies: Daemons of Chaos (8th Edition)
 * : pg. 22

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