The soulblighted woman plucks the chalice from the air. She stares at it for a drawn out moment, then holds it out in an outstreched hand.
“You think I’m here because of a *fucking cup*?”
The sound of crushed metal breaks the silence and the chalice—no more than a lump of gold and broken shards now—falls from the woman’s hand.
The woman snatches her sword from its sheath and barks an order to her officers. In a display of almost comical uniformity, [[the deathless army begins its advance|Endless Horde]].Shamush wastes little time in devising a plan; the Beaksplitters charge down the hill to ram into the deathless horde. Their lines clash to the peal of iron and flashes of viscera.
Morslag pushes his way through the press of orruk bodies until he stands [[face-to-face with the enemy->Soldier's Trade]].Morslag sees the balance of power shift to favour the soulblighted commander. For every animated corpse that he strikes down, there are scores waiting soundlessly to take its place in the line. His brothers [[begin to rout->Shamush Runs]].(live: 1s)[(transition:"dissolve")[A spear thrust glances off Morslag’s armour.](stop:)]
(live: 3s)[(transition:"dissolve")[He parries the second thrust and retaliates.](stop:)]
(live: 5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[More and more bones scatter across the earth, lifeless once again.](stop:)]
(live: 7s)[(transition:"dissolve")[A blade opens the flesh on the back of his hand; he wields the axe one-handed.](stop:)]
(live: 9s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The pain in his muscles serves to remind him of the [[passage of time->Losing Battle]].](stop:)]Morslag follows Shamush towards the crypt entrance. The boss eyes him over his shoulder.
“You stay, coward.” Shamush says. He hefts the axe over his shoulder and spits on the ground. “Guard the door.”
The other orruks bound past Morslag; a couple of them snigger within earshot. None dare get too close for fear of the slighted brute’s wrath. Soon, the boss and his boys [[disappear out of sight->The Watch]].Morslag paces in front of the crypt. He scans the treeline for movement. Now and then, his eyes wander back towards the crypt. An hour passes, then another.
A distant rumble breaks the calm.
Morslag turns his head this way and that to discern its source—the sound is coming from the crypt, and it’s [[growing louder->Fleeing Orruks]].The lines around Morslag thin enough for him to see Shamush run. Some of the brutes who fought side-by-side with him follow the megaboss out of the fray. Others stay behind and continue to fight.
The soulblighted woman and her personal guard smash into the weakened orruk ranks.
“Don’t let the general escape! He will answer to me for what they’ve done to Fredek.”
She beheads a pair of brutes with ruthless precision. Several more orruks break rank, clearing the [[path between her and Morslag->Morslag Charges]].An orruk comes sprinting from the crypt. There is blood—streaming from his face and half a dozen wounds where his attacker found a break in the armour.
Moments later a second orruk follows him out. This one seems to be in a worse state yet. His right arm ends in a fresh stump. Once the adrenaline wears off, Morslag notes, the bloodloss will take him.
Morslag tries to [[flag the first runner down->First Escapee]].“Stop! What—”
Morslag cuts the sentence short as the first orruk (*Khagra?*) stumbles past him without sparing him a look.
Morslag turns to the second orruk. As the runner approaches, Morslag slaps him with an open palm to the chest. The orruk rebounds and falls onto his back.
Morslag leans to help him up but decides against it. The orruk’s wounds are too great; his life will end within minutes, [[if not sooner->Lug's Deathbed]].“What happened?” Morslag says.
The wounded orruk—Lug—struggles to focus his eyes on Morslag.
“There’s dead humies in there, Slag. A damn hundred of them.”
Lug raises his right arm in front of his face. He stares at the empty space where his hand used to be, then grimaces and lets the arm fall.
Morslag takes a breath. He unfastens his talisman of Gork (or is it Mork?) and ties it around Lug’s afflicted arm. There’s little else he can do for the boy. He lifts his axe from its belt loop and begins to walk [[towards the crypt->Into The Crypt]].Beyond the stone entrance, a veil of darkness conceals the crypt.
Morslag slaps a small glass lantern hanging off his belt. Within it, bioluminescent fungus springs to life; its spores cast enough pallid green light to see [[a few steps ahead->Trail Of Bodies]].The lantern reveals several orruk bodies among a carpet of bones, but there is no sign of their attacker. A flicker of light further down one of the galleries [[draws Morslag’s attention->Perception Test]].Morslag lets his own lantern guide him towards the second light source.
The way leads up some steps and through a crumbling portal. A body unlike those before it [[lies slumped at the foot of the stairs->A Body At The Entrance]].Orruk lanterns paint the gallery beyond in green light. There are Beaksplitters here, both dead and still living.
“Come to pick over the remains, Slag?”
Shamush muscles his way past his brothers in arms to [[face Morslag->Statue]].“Once we snuffed the aelf runt, the prancing dead bastards forgot how to fight.” He spreads his hands out to indicate the countless bones scattered around.
Morslag follows his gesture to see more orruks enter the gallery. They emerge from a doorway hidden behind a statue of two aelves entwined in a lover’s embrace. The light of their lanterns falls short of the [[statue’s faces->Treasure]].He can see it clearly now: green light spills from [[an opening up ahead->Aelven Mage]].Morslag covers the lantern with his palm and gives his eyes a minute to [[adjust to the darkness->Adjust To Darkness]]. This one is human—no, an aelf—male, his body ruined by powerful cut to the neck. A trail of blood leads up the stairs and [[into the next gallery->Reunited]].Once a silence has settled, the shaman speaks.
“This one doesn’t feel the Waaagh!,” says Umoog. His voice crackles with scorn.
Heads turn to Morslag.
“Is that so, Slag?” says Shamush. “You want to lead the fist without the Waaagh! to lead you? No orruk would follow a pox-withered freak like you.”
Several voices rise to [[rebuke Morslag->Rebuked]].A challenge delivered, Morslag eases his axe from its belt loop.
Shamush hesitates for a moment. His eyes dart to take in the crowded tent. He bares his fangs in a grimace and rises to his feet.
“I should have throttled you long ago, boy,” Shamush says.
Before the megaboss can take a step towards Morslag, Umoog strikes the ground with the end of his staff. The sharp sound eases into a rattle of fetishes hanging off [[the old shaman->Shaman Speaks]].Morslag sees his chance to take leadership of the fist disappear. If he strikes Shamush down now, another orruk will challenge him in return. He cannot—will not—fight the entire fist.
Shamush seizes on Morslag’s hesitation.
“Go on, get out. I’ll deal with you after the raid, boy.”
Morslag pushes his way [[out of the tent->Thoughts Before The Raid]].The Waaagh!. Orruks claim to hear its violent beat within them. Like a heart that pumps frenzy into your head. Morslag has seen his brothers froth at the mouth and scream with abandon when caught in its throes. Yet he has never felt its presence himself.
Does he lack the means to sense the Waaagh!? Perhaps some gland, atrophied at birth. Or is the Waaagh! itself a form of madness—a mass hysteria that grips all but a few of his kin. Could there be others like him, immune to its touch?
Morslag scatters his thoughts and focuses on the [[job at hand->Act II]].<center>ACT II
<div class="act">(live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The Raid](stop:)]</div>
(live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Continue reading->Left Behind]]](stop:)]
(live: 4s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Skip to next act->Act III]]](stop:)]</center><center>ACT I
<div class="act">(live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The Challenge](stop:)]</div>
(live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Continue reading->Challenge Delivered]]](stop:)]
(live: 4s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Skip to next act->Act II]]](stop:)]</center><center>ACT III
<div class="act">(live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The Cup](stop:)]</div>
(live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Continue reading->Caught]]](stop:)]
(live: 4s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Skip to next act->Act IV]]](stop:)]</center><center>ACT IV
<div class="act">(live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The Traitor](stop:)]</div>
(live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Continue reading->Familiar Face]]](stop:)]
(live: 4s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Skip to next act->Act V]]](stop:)]</center><center>ACT V
<div class="act">(live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")[The Megaboss](stop:)]</div>
(live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")[[[Continue reading->Fast Forward]]](stop:)]</center>Morslag charges the [[soublighted general->Losing Ground]].A realmgate hangs suspended mere miles away. From his vantage point on top of the crag, Morslag can make out a flash of greenery that spills out in a circle with the stone gateway at its centre.
He orders the Beaksplitters to break camp and [[turns to Baba Holda->Destination]].Lug shakes Morslag awake.
“—up, you fat grub.”
A drug-induced dream. Morslag watched Lug bleed to death at the start of it all. His eyes slip down to Lug’s arm to see a stump, healed and sutured. Strange. Umoog doesn’t trust chirurgy. His remedies take shape of fungal poultices and potions—the very same that clog Morslag’s mind now.
Lug shakes him again, [[stronger this time->Get Up]].The soulblighted woman uses her mount to her advantage. Despite his great height, Morslag struggles to get her within the reach of his axe. Instead, he lays a blow, then another on her black steed. The strength of his one good arm is not enough to cut through the barding.
The woman punishes several of his attacks with efficient parries and counterattacks. Jets of orruk blood [[spray the ground->Gamble]].Morslag knows his death is drawing near. If he continues to trade blows with the woman, his corpse will soon join her ranks.
If only he could [[pull her off her mount->Dismounted]].Morslag feints and the mount rears before him, poised to strike him down with its hooves. The orruk lets his axe fall and grabs hold of the [[horse’s foot->Bring Her Down]].Morslag dashes under the horse and across to its other flank, pulling its limb all along, and the horse collapses. Its screams and those of its outraged rider, now trapped under the animal, cut through the din of battle.
Before his enemies have the time to react, Morslag leaps for his axe and brings it down on the soulblighted woman. The blade cuts a [[gash in the woman’s armour->Vampire’s Flight]].The woman’s scream saturates the battlefield and drowns out all noise. The woman’s eyes snap open and lock on Morslag’s.
The orruk brute no longer has the strength to withdraw his axe. He watches with terror as the woman’s lips move. Before he realises she is casting a spell, her body dissipates in an burst of mist.
Morslag looks up to see the deathless soldiers [[begin to fall apart->Tides Turn]].With their general gone, the soulblighted officers sound a retreat. The few men and women who appear in control of their own minds and bodies flee the battlefield. The vast majority, however, collapse to the ground.
Orruk voices pick up a battle cry. They taunt their fleeing enemies and bellow praises in the names of Gork and Mork. A chant begins among the cacophony, a single name shouted again and again. Morslag.
Arms reach out to Morslag and help the wounded brute [[back to the camp->Act IV]].Morslag drops in anticipation of a blow to come. After several moments, he realises the hag [[will not attack->Bargain Offer]].“I know your ambitions, little brute,” Baba Holda says. “Follow me into the realm of life, and you’ll be free to pursue them. I’ll even give you a head start. It would be only fair, given your—condition.”
The hag [[holds the axe out to Morslag->Shield]].There are orruks here, but grots too, and troggoths. Lug leads Morslag to a hovel made of timber and mud. Bone and feather fetishes hang off every branch in sight.
Lug stands aside and looks at Morslag with expectation. Morslag enters [[the hovel->The Hovel]].A troggoth hag. She towers over him; twice the height of the biggest fellwater troggoth Morslag had ever met, and with [[an odour to match->Baba Holda]].“You better get up, Slag.”
His words finally break through the haze. Lug sees recognition in Morslag’s eyes.
“Shamush is back. He’s been talking to Oomug, and they want you dead. You understand, Slag? There’s enough boys still think you’re a freak. Someone’s gonna be here shortly to butcher you while you’re weak.”
Morslag groans. His tongue feels like a dead weight and his head throbs with pain. Lug helps him [[to his feet->Messed Up]].“You’re messed up real bad. If you wanna live to see another scrap, I’ve gotta take you to see someone. She’ll patch you up proper,” he says and waves his stump of an arm in front of Morslag. “You see this? Would’ve been dead if not for her. If not for you, too.”
The two orruks [[leave the campsite behind->Through The Swamp]].The orruks approach Shamush and drop a chest before him. It thuds to the ground with a murmur of treasure within. The megaboss nods to one of the orruks, and the lid is lifted.
Shamush grins and kicks the chest over. Countless coins scatter and roll [[across the floor->The Real Treasure]].A couple of miles away from the camp, Morslag recovers from a fever enough to realise that something is wrong. Rolling hills and patchy woods should mark his surroundings for several days to come. Instead, he finds himself wading through the jade surface of a swamp.
Morslag stops and looks down to see his reflection broken by an errant snake. He looks up at Lug, [[too dumbstruck to ask->Fetish]].Two days later, the crypt dwellers [[catch up with them->Outnumbered]].The sheer number of the pursuers leaves Morslag stunned. The brute recalls watching skabrot beetles swarm a rat once. He envies [[the rat’s chances->Nature Of The Foe]].Shamush bends over the treasure pile and lifts an object from it. He holds it up for others to see: a chalice of green glass bound in gold. For a moment, the shape of a face forms on its surface. Then it’s gone, and Morslag cannot tell whether to trust his own eyes.
“Grab the loot and scram, boys. Best be gone before the landlord’s back.”
The orruks scramble to grab the coins off the floor and follow Shamush [[back towards the surface->Act III]].The Beaksplitters take position atop a hill and prepare for a scrap.
Morslag turns to Shamush. The megaboss looks like he’ll run at the first opportunity. Good.
“Boss. They want the chalice. You feel like staying alive for another scrap or two, we got to give it back. They got enough brains, they let us go.”
Shamush [[eyes him with hatred->Hand Over]].“Fine, Slag. You want to run from a scrap, go on and give it to them.”
Shamush holds the chalice out to Morslag and lets it drop just out of reach. Morslag has no choice but to [[pick it up->Give Up]].Morslag grabs the chalice and backs away from Shamush. He takes a running start and lobs the vessel towards the [[group of soulblights->Vampire's Chalice]].The orruks see their adversary in full now.
An army of the living dead. Regiment after regiment of animated and armed skeletons form its core. Packs of wolves, eyes aglow with corrupt magic, race ahead of the main line. A group of mounted knights in obscene armour appear to lead the army.
Soulblight, Morslag realises. Vampires.
A woman on a monstrous steed appears in charge of the group. [[The general then->The Hill]].Lug sticks his hand under his chest plate and fishes out something akin to a bird’s nest.
“She says the swamp’s always been here. You just need something of it to get you there. Slipped you one before we left.”
“She?”
“Find out for yourself, Slag. We’re here.”
Lugs points his good arm towards [[a clearing->A Clearing]].“I am Baba Holda. Some call me the Fen Mother. And you’re Morslag,” as she says this, she stalks around the hovel. The ease with which she carries her bulk hints at her strength.
The troggoth snatches Morslag’s axe from its loop [[before the brute can react->Bargain]].“I’ll help you, little brute, if you return the favour,” Baba Holda says.
“What kind of terms are we talking about?”
“Your megaboss is waiting for you outside that door. He brought a great many boys with him—more than you can handle. I’ll help you defeat him. You’ll take his place as the boss and you and *your* fist will follow me east. I need to cross the Starving Plain. It’s a—” she pauses, choosing her words “a family matter.”
Morslag rushes to the hovel door and [[looks outside->Encampment]].The swamp is gone. Instead, the hovel stands in the middle the Beaksplitter encampent now. Shamush and his boys shake off their astonishment and [[grab their weapons->Ambitions]].Morslag takes the axe. He deserves a chance to live free of the Waaagh!. And the Beaksplitters deserve a better boss.
“And now for that head start,” Baba Holda says.
The hag raises her long arms towards the orruk. A force races through Morslag’s guts and turns him cold from inside out. Morslag gasps for air and staggers, but manages to keep hold of [[his axe->Time To Duel]].“This won’t make you indestructible, but it should turn aside a strike or two to compensate for your wounds,” she gestures towards the door. “Get a move on, little orruk.”
Morslag grins at the prospect of facing Shamush. He feints a few strikes to gauge his wounds and steps out [[into the camp->Act V]].“Why the realm of life? A troggoth in the land of tree spirits will stand out like an aelf on a squig.”
The hag barks a laugh.
“Hah! It may be so, little orruk.” Baba Holda turns to face him. “Would it surprise you to know I once walked the Radiant Wood freely? Danced with Noble Spirits and Forest Folk alike?”
Morslag snorts but holds back his response. Baba Holda’s eyes are on him, and there’s [[little humour in them->End]].Morslag turns to look back at the realmgate. Tomorrow, the Beaksplitters will walk beneath its arches and leave this world behind. They will do it by his command. He wonders though if they will do it by his will, or by the will of a scheming troggoth hag.[[Some time later->Realmgate]].