The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, Da WAAAGH o'Brutz (Character Storyline)

Inside the confines of the foul-smelling barrel, the dwarf squirmed about, rattling his knees, elbows and head against the slick, wooden surface he'd been stuffed into. It was a long drop down from the keep's wall to the filthy moat beneath, but he thanked the ancestors he managed to survive, even if it meant he was still struggling to free himself long after he'd washed up onto the opposite bank.

Ever since those thrice-damned greenskins flooded through Mount Bloodthorn's lands, destroying all the dwarfs' hard labor in creating a large trade route to the southern lands of the Empire, life had been nothing but a series of troubles and losses, all leading to the dwarf getting beaten to unconsciousness with crude, orcish implements and then kicked off his own keep's ramparts. All in all, not a good day. Especially not now that he could feel whatever lingering substance that had been kept in there starting to stick to his beard.

When he heard heavy footfalls nearby, he breathed a sigh of relief. The ironbreakers must have come for him at last.

"In here!" he called out, his voice resounding like thunder in the barrel, but likely barely even audible outside. "I'm in here, damn it all! Lemme out!" He shook as best as he was able, determined to draw attention to his location. The last thing he wanted was to slowly die of thirst while surrounded by water, especially with salvation so close at hand.

It wasn't long before the barrel creaked and cracked, while strong hands labored to pull the top off. Light spilled into the darkness in blinding rays, and fresh air spilled into what he thought would be his tiny little tomb.

"Thank the…" he began, tapering off as he squinted up at the too-large shape looming in the bright rays of the midday sun. Holding his hands up and squinting hard, terrible realization began to creep inward, freezing the blood in his veins. The thick stink of a greenskin camp. The brutish, hackmetaled armor silhouetted in the barrel's open top. The heavy breathing and rumbling grunts in the background.

"Ye ain't a … !" he cried out at the top of his lungs, only to have his stunned realization cut brutally short, with a vicious stab of the crudely fashioned weapon the huge black orc brandished, crushing as much as piercing as it ended the stumpie's noises.

Brutz had been disappointed when he had first been told to head down to the shoreline to gather up the choppas from the fallen, and inspect the strange barrels that were washing up, but watching blood ooze from between the cracked slats he'd found the stumpie in, glistening like rubies on the black dirt, he found the chore somewhat more bearable. Especially as he took stock in just how many more barrels there were to investigate. Oh yes, today was shaping up to be a good day.

May 2012

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