The Gorgers were once Ogre infants. If a child is born with no paunch, the Ogres throw them into the bowels of the earth. Assuming their bodies aren’t broken and smashed on the fall, they are left to a troglodytic life in a hellish world of warpstone encrusted caves beneath the tribe’s camp. A harsh life awaits those that can survive to adulthood; a life of brutality and mutation that leaves them as little more than savage nightmares ready to be unleashed upon their former kin’s enemies …
The Empire Cannoneers laughed as the deadly missile smashed through the ranks of charging Gnoblars. Their tiny bodies were thrown around like leaves in the wind, the ones that had been hit directly left pathetic, bloody smears on the ground.
“Ere, watch dem little blighters fly!!” Exclaimed one of the cannoneers.
“Yeah, stinkin’ little buggers always brings on all the creepy crawlies!” Commented another about the increase in flies and small carrion. The cannon team had set itself up well on high ground in bushes hoping to obscure their position at least a little. Rumour had it the Ogres had no long range artillery, but you can’t be too safe!
Certainly, the screaming horde of Gnoblars, now a smashed ruin, presented no threat after a blast from Sigmar’s Might. Even the preternaturally tough Ogres didn’t stand much of a chance against the deadly cannonballs.
“Oi, mate, you get a whiff of that?”
“Yeah. It must be a dead fox or something, old boy.” Once the smoke had cleared, the cannon team were near overwhelmed with the stench of rotting meat.
“We’d better get the old fella reloaded, ready for another go. ‘Ere, is it just me or is the smell gettin’ stronger?”
The others had no chance to answer as the bushes spewed forth a nightmare and the Gorger feasted …
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