The massive Waghhhh! Of Boss Verlbog Maneater sailed across the great ocean to Lustria after a terrifyingly brutal campaign that began in the World’s Edge Mountains. The seasoned army of greenskins had fended off the Slayer King of Karak-Kardin, coming through Peak Pass, proceeded to collectively urinate on the crypts of the lords of Sylvania, pillaged the food supply of the Empire, hewn the sacred trees of Athel Loren, and set up a brutally accident prone shipyard on the Bretonnian coast.
Verlborg’s march started as the most devastating the Old World had seen since Gorbad Ironclaw, and as the host of 500,000 shoddy makeshift orc vessels filled to the brim with Boyz and crying Night Goblins departed into the Great Sea, the Old World cheered, glad to see them go.
What ultimately landed on the shores of Lustria was a paltry shadow of the massive force that set sail from Bretonnia. The only ship to arrive safely consisted of Boss Verlbog and his second in command, the Night Goblin Shaman Moopy Morkyfeet, along with a small contingent of Boyz and Night Goblins that incessantly thanked Mork and Gork to be back on land.
“Ey boss, how’s come none o’ the other boyz is ‘here?” asked an orc boy as he hopped onto the shore from the remains of the greenskin vessel.
“’Do nae be an idiot mate! Dey’s want us to have a little ‘glory for ourselves before dey catch up, is all. NOW DAE NAE QUESTION ME AGAIN!”
“Oy. But, ey boss. How’s come you got a little Night Goblin git as yer numba two?” asked the same orc, his eyes full of curiosity and vacant bliss.
“CAUSE ‘E KNOWS WHEN TA FIGHT, WHEN TA LEAD, ‘AN WHEN TO NAE ASK ME ANY BLEEDIN QUESTIONS!” yelled Boss Verlborg, sidestepping and bringing a massive Choppa to bear on the intrusive boy’s neck, sending black blood spraying in every direction.
“Verlbog, Verlbog. Don’t be so hasty, buddy.” Came a little voice from behind the massive orc.
“We’re going to need all these Boyz and more for this tropical vacation.”
“Oy, mabbe you’re right Moopy….I’z want a big lizzie magic fingy OR! OR! Maybe one ‘o dem cleavas dey ‘has all inlaid with jools. Moopy, do ya think dey has jools all stashed aways? ‘AH WANT A LIZZIE HEAD OR ONE ‘O DEM BIG, BIG SKULLS ‘OFFA STEGADUN FER A HELMET” Verlborg’s eyes widened expectantly at the thought of bloodshed and headgear.
“Then let’s get to it, Verlborg. But we have to be careful. I sent some gits sniffing about and they say it smells funny in the jungle. There's man smells, and worse still.” said Moopy Morkyfeet.
“DEN WE’S BUGGERING DEM TOO MOOPY. BEFORE WE’S DONE ‘ERE, WE’S BUGGERIN’ EVERYBODY!” The orc let out a massive laugh as he and the diminutive Moopy retreated with the last of the Bugman’s Ale left over from the assault on Karak-Kardin, while boyz and night goblins scrambled to unload and salvage as much as they could from their wrecked landing.
Meanwhile, In the thickets overlooking the Orc camp, a group of horsemen looked on as the band of greenskins prepared for their march into Lustria proper.
“By the gods, the Dunewraith won’t be pleased by this. Let’s move along and report. With any luck, those moronic creatures won’t live a week in these jungles.” Said one of the mounted men.
“Haha If I had to guess, considering the Dunewraith’s current temperament, those greenskins won’t live to see another sunrise.” Said another.
Turning their horses, they galloped away into the treacherous jungle.
SCENARIO 1: Dunewraith, Chosen of Chaos, Warlord of Northern Tribes and a small vanguard attack Verlbog Maneater’s camp in the dead of night. Thinking the greenskins will be easy prey, he does not take into consideration that Orcs find sleep very overrated, and are only too happy to find themselves under siege. Moopy Morkyfeet’s goblin forces are out to scout and will not participate in this battle.
The camp is a disheveled mess with lots of cover. Points of interest are the groups of stacked crates found strewn hastily throughout the camp.
