Gitslayer, the greatest fighter of all

By Halberd

The winds swept across the green marshes, whistling through drained woods and crumbling caves where evil things crouched. It howled across the barren moors like some screaming apparition, whistling through blackened bushes and rattling the windows of lonely farms. The evil things were lurking, and      the smattering of men that lived on the edge of the moor were bolting their doors and locking their windows, praying to Sigmar that beasts would not venture onto their property that night.

Out in the middle of the blackness, evil things were indeed stirring. They were things unseen by men, things that dribbled and howled and groped about with clammy hands. But they were being disturbed. Not used to trespassers, they fingered their way about, sniffing the air with snot-encrusted nostrils for the stench of men. Instead, it was a different sell that they sensed, something unknown.

All through the marshes, things were crawling out from under rotting logs. Things were emerging, dripping with yellowing slime and cached in a disgusting black stew of marsh goo, to see who dared enter the forbidding moor.

And through the swirling mist, the creatures came. They were large, and muscular, and they grunted with each heavy stomp upon the watery gunk. Some dragged rusting weapons behind them, a few were encased in browning armour from head to toe that clanked and clattered as they trudged onwards. As the trespassers slogged ever closer, it became apparent that they were green. The evil things had never seen anything like these creatures before.

One of the evil things pointed a gnarled, withered finger at the largest intruder, muttering and hissing in a hideous forgotten language that consisted of growls and grumbles. The others too began hissing and snarling, clawing the air and eyeing the unknown creatures with hatred. Still the green beasts trudged onward.

Without warning, a beast of the moor threw itself screaming at the large green monster, talons swiping and red eyes glowing with rage. As its’ grotesque arm swept through the close night air towards the trespassers’ head, it was caught mid-flight by and iron grip with the strength of twenty men. Momentarily stunned, its’ swollen head was then pummelled repeatedly by a massive green fist, before being tossed to the ground and smashing against the rocks that lay under the shallow water of the marsh, splintering open and a white maggot-infested sludge pouring out of the hole where a brain should have been.

At this sight, the sight of one of their fellow beasts being slain, a beast that had terrorised men and roamed the moor unscathed for centuries, the other evil things were overcome with a black rage. They flew snarling at the green unknowns, snake-like clubbed tails flailing and barbed teeth snapping, jaws drooling and slavering with anger, and anticipation of the grisly feast to come. But strong as their might was, the green monsters blocked their attacks with shields, weapons of steel, and powerful grips as before, and sliced through the rotting flesh with their rusting swords and axes. They jabbed and poked eyeballs out with the long spears carried by the smaller green creatures, and all the while a terrible battle cry echoed amongst the green-skins’ lines, one that sent the night-beasts mad with fear – “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

****

            The blackness was clearing, though the dreary mists weaved on throughout the moor. Men were still in hiding at this hour for the evil things could still be roaming. Little did they know of a more violent evil approaching, one that was of afraid to venture out into the daylight. An evil hell-bent on destruction, one that lived not to wait and scheme and plot, but to rend flesh from bone, to burn and pillage.

            The dawn was slow to come, as if it feared the sight of such monsters. When light came at last to the moor, and the moor-beasts should be in hiding (though they were slain now), the Orcs merely grunted. It was some way to the nearest human stronghold. Their warlord was at the front, his hands still slimy and covered in a sticky yellow pus-like substance from the battle with the beasts. In he entire battle he had not unsheathed his sword, for he was ever testing his martial skill with new challenges as they arose. His small brain, although much larger than a normal Orc brain, was struggling to formulate a plan – his Orcish instincts told him that glory could only be obtained by a frontal charge to the castle gates, but his common sense told him that this was foolish.

            In the distance there came a wet sound, like paws squelching through mud. Soon shadowy figures could be seen galloping over the marshy ground, whooping and cheering with high pitched, croaky voices. It was the Goblin wolf riders; come to report to the warlord their sightings. Their leader pulled his wolf to a halt by the side of the massive Orc.

            “O Great Green One, may I request your time for one moment to relate to you our findings which you so kindly asked for earlier?”

            The Orc smiled. Goblins were such cowardly things. “Gerron with it!”

            The Goblin wheezed and struggled as he fought to keep the snarling wolf from bounding away. “There is a castle, my liege, a two full days march away. The land between here and there is littered with treacherous bogs and dark forests. We believe there to be more… evil things lurking in them.”

            “Oh yer, they’re a nuisance they are. Carry on.”

            “A half-days march from here lies a large wood. To either side is impassable bog, so we ventured through the forest. It was dark, and the moons light could not penetrate the thick overhanging branches of the trees. We believe the evil things did not attack us because of our numbers,” the Goblin gestured towards his unit of thirty or so tired looking wolf riders. “however, we caught sight of a… castle.”

            “Whaddaya mean, a castle?” grunted the Orc warlord. He sniffed with his large green nostrils and coughed. “Well?”

            “My liege… no humans dwell there. The smell, it was of something else. Something dead, yet living.”

            “Yer, uh, fall back into line you Gobbos!” The wolf-mounted greenskins immediately snaked away to the flanks of the army, their leader slightly bowing as his wolf backed away and then leapt after the others.

****

            The blackness had stretched its’ wiry fingers across the land once more, and the Orc army was in sight of the dreaded wood. They had been delayed somewhat by an encounter with more evil things, a strange occurrence during the day. Now, in front of them, in the middle of the forbidding wood, towered a castle. It was in fact a crumbling watchtower, but that of the ancient kind, adorned with stone-carved images and much larger than the watchtowers of the present age. It loomed above the treetops like some ghastly daemon, its’ blackened windows staring out at the Orc leader.

            With a cough, he spoke. “You ladz, stay ‘ere. I want me Big’uns to come with me. The rest of you, just you watch. I’ll clear a path fer you through that wood.” The word quickly spread throughout the army that the Boss was going in, and that they were to stay put. A few grumbles came from the more hardy-looking groups of Orcs, but none dared to defy the word of the Boss.

            A small band of massive Orcs muscled their way through the press of lesser greenskins and joined the warlord. They wore thick browned armour plates and heaved brutal double-handed axes. Not a trace of doubt or fear entered their minds as they plunged into the dark wood with their leader.

            As they marched, they saw red eyes glinting back at them from the midst of the bushes. They were more evil things, but they stayed where they were, wary of the huge green brutes. Soon a clearing opened up in the wood and the watchtower loomed before them, gaping entrance inviting them in. “Not yet ladz,” whispered the warlord.

            There was movement from inside the tower, and the Orcs could smell the dead smell that the Goblins had reported. It was unlike the smell of the evil things – it was the odour of an intense wickedness. The Orcs glared into the doorway. And the thing came out…

****

            It was a man. At least it looked like a man to the Orcs. Long red robes draped over its’ pale body, it glided almost effortlessly across the ground, halting just outside the stone doorway. It threw aside the red garments to reveal golden plate armour decorated with strange bat-like symbols and curling patterns. “I’ve been waiting for you. I hope my children didn’t cause you too much trouble” It spoke almost without moving its’ lips. Then a smile broke out on its’ face, and small pointed fangs glistened amongst its’ brilliant white teeth.

            “Ladz, leave it ta me.” The Orcs gestured for his bodyguard to hold back. Reaching for his sword, he stopped. “Borza, give me your axe.” The Big’un threw him the ornate double-handed weapon, stolen from Elves, which he caught neatly. Immediately he spun the axe round in his hands and swung it round towards the Vampires’ head, a trick that would have caught a man by surprise. Instead, the axe hit nothing but air as the Vampire disappeared in a blur of motion and dodged the blade, spinning around to the side of the warlord before the Orc even realised the Vampire had moved. A clawed hand, pointed and spear-like, slashed the warlords’ face and sent green blood flying to spatter upon the cursed ground. The Orc sent an elbow straight at the Vampire as soon as his brain realised what had happened, but again the creature of the night easily dodged it. In one single movement, as if it had practised this action for centuries, it darted forward and unsheathed it’s golden sword, narrowly missing the Orcs’ neck with a swipe which missed as the warlord stumbled back in shock.

            Laughing now, the Vampire swiped again and again with impossibly accurate blows, deliberately missing the Orcs head and neck and instead tearing the flesh of his arms, creating crude symbols from the cuts. The Orc was powerless to do anything as the incredible martial prowess of the Vampire outclassed him utterly.

            In an instant, the Vampire was gone, only to reappear behind the Big’uns, stabbing three in the back before they had a chance to turn around. The unlucky Orcs toppled to the floor, crumpling like rag dolls as the deadly poison of the sword took hold. The returning blows of the Big’uns missed completely and the Vampire darted to the middle of the clearing.

            “Enough games! You cannot beat me, that is my only regret.” The Orcs, panting and confused by the insanely rapid movements of the Vampire, did not attack it. Instead they eyed it in wonder, fearing that it would strike again.

            “I am the vampire Draco. I am not going to kill the rest of you, as I know you fear I shall. You, Orc, what is your name?” He turned his gleaming eyes towards the warlord.

            “G… Gitslayer. T..that’s me name. I aint g..got no other.”

            “You fought well, Gitslayer. You fought much better than any humans I have encountered, with a determination that only Orcs have. Of course, you did not fight well enough. No-one does…” Draco sighed at the last bit, then smiled his wicked smile once more as he glanced at the warlord, who was clambering up from the ground where he had fallen.

            “Of course, you will be wondering why it is I spared your lives.”

            “Uh, yeah. Dat’s what I was thinking,” lied Gitslayer, whose tiny brain was still trying to figure out how the creature had moved so fast, and above all how it had beaten him.

            “Well, first of all, a good foe is hard to find you see. I hope that when you are more learned in the arts of single combat, you will return here. Oh, I shall see to that.” Gitslayer gulped. “But mainly, I understand you are at the head of a large army?” “Dat’s true.”

            “Mmmm, yes, I shall require their assistance very soon. I hope you won’t mind me borrowing them. You won’t mind, will you?”

“Oh, erm, no, o’ course not, any time, you can, you can, erm, borrow me army, you can ‘ave ‘em if ya want, erm, yeah, you can…”

“Good. Then all is well. I miss having an army. Those Ghouls that live out on the moor just haven’t got what it takes. Very well. I shall relieve you of command. However, I know how much you like to lead,” Draco stared at the Orcs’ eyes intently, and Gitslayer felt a sense that someone was intruding upon his mind, “And you are free to assist me in my task. That is, the assault of the Empire castle to the north.”

Gitslayer nodded slowly, his brain still processing what the Vampire had said. In an instant, Draco was gone, a swirling green mist taking his place. Dazed, confused and frightened, the Orcs returned to their army, only to find them already marching away with Draco at their front…

****

The next day passed slowly. Gistslayer and the remains of his bodyguard marched up front alongside Draco. The rest of the army, some thirty wolf riders, two hundred Goblins and five scores of Orcs, trudged through the wet land once more. Roughly fifty Ghouls trailed behind them, reluctant to leave their master. And far behind, struggling and dragging their machines, came several Rock Lobbers and spear chukkas, their crews cursing and spitting as they dragged the heavy machines along.

It was nightfall once more. The sun reluctantly left the land of man in a cold darkness as the army approached the castle. The Orcs were arranged into formations, and at last the war machines assembled themselves into teams, already loading the mechanisms with lethal projectiles.

The castle was a fair size; many times larger than the Vampires’ ancient watchtower. It had no moat, not even a ditch. Large wooden doors formed the main gates, reinforced with iron bars. At the four corners of the castle were small towers, and all the way along the castle walls ran battlements. It was an impressive sight indeed. Suddenly there came an urgent cry; “Man the battlements! Man the battlements!” There was a commotion from inside the castle as men rushed about, yelling and shouting as they rushed to grab their weapons and load their heavy cannons. Draco grinned and ordered the Orcs’ war machines to concentrate their fire around the main gates…

****

The gates lay in ruin and the framework of the archway began to crumble as the rocks of the Rock Lobbers had smashed it. Archers poured arrows into the Orcish ranks and many fell, but the cannons had not been loaded, for their crews had been slain by a mysterious pale figure that could appear and disappear at instantly. The steel-tipped arrows of men had slain his bodyguard, but Gitslayer marched on, almost at the gates now. Many Orcs lay dead or dying, and a large proportion of Goblins had run away, but the army was still strong enough to overwhelm the defenders.

Orcs had never been this way before, and as such the castle was not particularly well constructed or defended. The soldiers used to tell tales of a Vampire that lived in nearby woods, but it had not been sighted for nearly twenty years and the Empire refused to send fresh troops to the castle. As such, the bewildered men found themselves fighting both the legendary Vampire and a large Orc army, and were at a loss as to what to do.

Gitslayer and a unit of Orc Boyz charged the gates, which were being defended by a terrified-looking regiment of Swordsmen. Axe swiping and rending flesh, Gitslayer used every technique  available to him. He lopped the head off a puny human and neatly decapitated another with the back-swing. Feigning a swipe, he caught another Swordsman off his guard and proceeded to smash his head in with the butt end of the axe. When the press of bodies became too restricting he lashed out with his huge green fist, stunning warriors and denting helmets with powerful blows. Soon the humans were fleeing from his might, fleeing back into the castle. He pursued them in a rage and crushed the ones he could catch.

Gitslayer now found himself in the main courtyard of the castle, surrounded on all sides by archers. The Orc Boyz were falling one by one, and several arrows found their mark upon his skin, their stinging points digging into him.  The Orc warlord ignored the pain and rushed towards a small group of petrified nobles, impaling one with the point of his axe. The others were skilled fighters, but they found their blows blocked by the strong shaft of the axe. In a horizontal arc, Gitslayer swung the heavy weapon round, slicing the other nobles in two, their weak bodies crumpling from the mighty blow. He could contain his rage no longer and exploded into a ferocious animal -“WRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Spinning wildly about, he charged around in the courtyard, felling any reinforcements that were foolish enough to enter, with a flurry of blows. In an animal rage he tore bodies apart, his martial skill lost but transformed into unstoppable strength. Scores of brave men fell in the face of his wrath. Several soldiers ran at him. Dropping his axe, he thrust his arm through one of them and completely impaled him, blood gushing out in all directions and drenching the others. The soldier collapsed, gasping, and finally screaming in pain, as the Orc warlord wrenched his still beating heart from his body and crushed it in his hands. The other soldiers ran as fast as they could from this monster, but Gitslayer picked up his axe again and hurled it after them. It split open the skull of one unfortunate, his brains running down the walls of the castle.

****

            The archers were all dead. Draco had dispatched them. Some of the bodies were draped over the battlements; others had fallen from the walls and smashed upon the ground. Some of them were arranged in hideous positions, a cruel joke that Draco enjoyed very much – a final insult to the body. All had looks of terror in their faces, though their eyes were dead; they would never sparkle again.

            No-one had escaped alive – Gitslayer had run them down, often tearing them limb from limb in his insatiable rage. Most of the Orc army had run away, only a few Orcs remained, though they too were leaving slowly, terrified of their leaders’ irrational rage. He had become so crazed that he had killed five Orcs outright, not recognising them as friends. One of them had had his arms wrenched off, another his head smashed to pieces. The others were so badly mangled that it is too horrific to describe. Suffice to say that in his frenzy, Gitslayer had demolished the defenders of the castle, but also lost his army. Now he stood in the courtyard screaming. Draco approached him.

            “Truly you are one of the greatest fighters I have ever seen.”

            Gitslayers’ body was tense and quivering. “Leave, now. Quickly.” The Vampire merely smiled. “You must leave!” Draco seemed puzzled. Once again he stared into Gitslayer’s eyes, but they held no clues for him; they were cloudy and insane. The Orc warlord could contain himself no longer…

****

            A large green creature trudged away from the marshes towards the Empire. Evil things would not venture near it. It carried no weapons, and its’ hands were drenched in blood, some dried, some fresh. As Gitslayer marched along the dusty track road, a large Orc Shaman wearing a strange wooden mask and carrying a small furry squig approached him. Gitslayer walked towards the Empire and into history…