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Da Followers of Graw: Kolkorok and Gormodan the Thunderkings

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I R GMAN

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Da Followers of Graw: Kolkorok and Gormodan the Thunderkings

Volkorok stirred. His scaled bulk shivered as the rock around him trembled and shook.

How long had it been? He could feel the distant calling, his one true instinct slowly burning into his mind like a hot iron on bare flesh. War had come, and with it a monstrous storm.

The shaggoth rolled from one side to the other, scattering bones, dust and small scurrying things that had took up residency in these dank caves. Eyes finally open he snarled as he felt the weight of rock on his tail. Centuries of rock water and dripping had caused a stalagmite to grow right around it, pinning him to the cavern floor. With an almighty tug the tooth of stone shattered and was sent skittering about into the dark, answered by snarls and groans deeper in the cave.

The thunderskorn had always used these caves to slumber the quiet warless years away. But now through the very rock a deep rumbling murmured, as if a thunderhead roared on the other side far away. 

Volkorok rose to all fours, his talons digging deep into the sandy bedrock of the cave. It had been so long since there had been a good storm to wake him, an age since a true battle roared across the planes. He remembered the coming of chaos when he was but a young thing, so much blood and carnage he thought he would never sleep again. But then the battles subsided and the Gargant’s Maw Mountains had grown quiet and still. So the thunderskorn had slumbered as they always did, waiting for the next chance to wreak havoc open the lands. Once or twice he had felt a storms call in his rest, but they had felt  wrong. Tainted by light and purity those storms had irked him deeply, like foul music on sleeping ears and so he had receded deeper into his sleep. But what he felt now was glorious to behold, a roar  to be bathed in!

With a guttural roar he kicked his sleeping brother Gormodan. He was always last to rise for slaughter, always slower to shake off his slumber, but Volkorok wouldn't stand for it, he wouldn't miss the days to come now that he had heard the call of battle through the earth itself.

“Hunger…” Gormodan murmured as the larger shaggoth unfurled his horned tail and scarred muscles.

“Soon, but first we wake the others!” Volkorok responded before he beat his chest with his monstrous fists and bellowed a harrowing roar into the deeps that undulated and rattled the very earth. Stalactites cracked and fell thundering into the dark, stone quaked and deeper in the caves there was the sound of dozens of dragon ogres rising from their sleep, a cacophony of bestial roars and scrapping claws that would cause the stoutest of mortals to buckle all the while a foul electricity filled the air. But even as Volkorok was reacquainted with the sound he had heard countless times of the thunderscorn awakening he heard a different noise behind him, one of many more smaller clawed feet scurrying and high pitched voices in the dark.

“Yes quick, quick it came from this way ekk!”

Many furred rat-things burst into the chamber coming to a shuddering halt before the two colossal shaggoth. A rank odour filled the air as several of the ratmen soiled themselves.

“Hunger!” Gormodan roared. And so Kolkorok watched as his slow to rise brother proved once again how quick he was to strike.

The skaven had been ripped apart, barely sating the hunger of the two shaggoth, but the survivors led the now fully awoken thunderscorn to their warren, whose odorous filth filled tunnels none the less were home to hundreds of tasty squirming fleshy things that were devoured without mercy.

Well fed but still lusting for slaughter and war they pushed on through the gore stained skaven nest before they tore from the mountain whose womb they had birthed from, their scaled forms filing out onto a dry plateau of sand, rock and thorny scrub in a plume of crumbling stone and dust. 

Kolkorok and Gormodan bulled their way to the front of the horde, lightening already crackling and arcing from their giant great axes, setting ablaze to the dry grasses around them. And that is when they beheld it…

So vast in size they first thought it was the horizon itself, a wall of jagged toothed peaks with snowcapped summits over a writhing carpet of rainforest that heaved skyward to pierce the very clouds. It was not the land, it was not the horizon, it was the back of something truly monstrous.  It was a rotund beast, a continent almost in size from the same pantheon lineage as Behemat or Dracothion, it was a God-Beast. 

With a world shaking bellow, the roar could be seen tearing across the landscape that moments later broke upon the shaggoth pitching them both to the ground like babes while flattening trees, the beast swung its tusked head low. With a  red eye gleaming like a foul scarlet moon scarred by a quivering red slit, it rent the earth with a gouge a mile long with its tusks as its broad skull connected with the Fanged Peak mountain. Even while still scrambling to stand the warhost of dragon ogres felt the connection as they were tossed as the ground heaved, the mountains around them cracked and crumbled while their ears were filled with a great explosion.

Kolkorok watched as the Bastion of Pain, the dreadhold of gorechosen that was the anchor point for the followers of Khorn in these desolate lands since the coming of Chaos, was obliterated. Twice the thunderscorn had awoken and twice had they seen the dreadhold still standing, an age unbroken. Now it disappeared as the Fanged Peak whose upper slopes it sat upon was smashed into oblivion, untold tons of rock and stone flew up and out in a colossal cloud of dust and carnage that swallowed the small insignificant fragments of blood and brass. The beasts head continued in its destructive arc as if it had met nothing, flinging bedrock and mountain miles into the air.

Again it roared, the very sound pummelling the mountains into rubble, and for the briefest moment its red eyes seemed to be filled with a primal  glee as it watched the rocky remains of its mayhem plummet back to earth, but then they returned to their furious glare. No longer amused with the remnants of the Fanged Peak it turned its head duskward and the beast began to move, one colossal foot after another towards the horizon.

Behind the beast a tide followed, the length and breadth of the land they were legion. Orruks, grots, ogors, beasts and more hollered and roared. War drums throbbed while gargants bellowed, wyverns, maw-crushas and untold other winged fierce things swooped overhead. Beastmen stomped their hooves and clashed their horns all the while the earth split as lush green growth burst from the dry plains as the Prowling Growth took root in the great beasts wake. It was like staring into the storm front, a wall of fury unlike anything else, flowing and roiling. It bite and clawed at itself as hordes turned on one another, as gitmobs ambushed orruks or herds of gore-gruntas snuffled up unwary morsels, but like a tide it heaved as one.

Kolkorok and Gormodan watched, their great axes limp in their grip as they watched Graw the God-Beast stride across the horizon and beyond. They could feel that call fading with it, the storm receding, its very eye centred upon Graw. Wherever that beast went the greatest battles would follow, untold slaughter would be found, they would never slumber again.

And so the thunderscorn descended the plateau and followed the God-Beasts crater-like footfalls over the horizon and to untold wars to come…

 

 

 

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