Hw english

“Move it you worthless MAGGOTS!

Sergeant Narzod Phlegmhammer’s voice thundered over the steady rhythmic thump of fifty ogre soldiers marching in formation. He was quite the motivator. Sergeant Phlegmhammer was the epitome of an ogre Iron Guard soldier; big, loud, and a disposition that would make a goblin wet himself.

The Iron Guard soldiers of the Snotreaver Klan were on a raiding mission to the human village on the far side of the Dreadwood forest. They had been marching since sun-up and would not reach the edge of the forest until sun-down. There, under the cover of the trees, they would make camp in preparation for the morning raid. Sergeant Phlegmhammer believes in a good nights sleep before a raid. An ogre needed to be well-rested before beginning a day of killing and pillaging.

“Platoon! Halt!”

The Sergeant spun around and barreled through the first two rows in formation; ogres flung left and right in his wake. He stood towering over the soldier. His bulging, red eyes were piercing into the cringed face of the now trembling soldier.

“Did you say something MAGGOT?!”

“Sir! Yes Sir!”

“Well, let’s hear it twinkletoes!

“Sir, I was questioning when we may be stopping to set up camp, Sir.”

“Are you getting tired soldier?” The Sergeant was seething. His yellowed, jagged teeth were clenched and dripping spit.

“Sir, No Sir!

The Sergeant straightened up; his broad, muscular chest now pressing against the nose of the still shivering soldier. He stood there a moment, motionless, his head raised back and his chin pointed out, his massive jaw extended out creating a shadow over the soldiers head. His red eyes glowed fiercely under his furrowed, protruding brow. He slowly gazed left to right looking over the soldiers who stood silent and still. He drew a deep breath.

“Is anyone else tired of marching?”

In thunderous unison the Iron Guard barked, “Sir! No, Sir!”

An ominous smile began to stretch across the wide maw of Sergeant Phlegmhammer.

“That’s good to here maggots, because we are going to march all night if we have to because I have no reason to hurry home just yet. My wife is fat, and ugly, and I hate her! So, if it is alright with you maggots, I think YOU will keep marching until I get tired and ladies, I am far from tired. Platoon! Forward, March!”

With a quick about face the Sergeant moved forward, twice the pace as before. The horde of ogre soldiers falls quickly into lockstep. Marching is one of the things an ogre army does a lot of and does it fairly well. In fact, besides raiding, killing, and pillaging, marching is one of the things that ogre soldiers are best known for.

Gorkus Beiberbasher was not your typical ogre soldier. He was not even your typical ogre. He had the domed hairless head, small pointy ears, and protruding brow of an ogre. He had the beady, red eyes and the small, wide nose with flared nostrils of a typical ogre. His jaw made up half the size of his head and was full of jagged, yellowing teeth. Like most male ogres he had two large tusk-like teeth that jutted out from his lower jaw. These two large teeth keep an ogres mouth partially open most of the time which is the primary cause of the large amounts of saliva that can be found wherever ogres have recently been. Gorkus also had the typical rough, green skin, and barrel-shaped body of an ogre. Sergeant Phlegmhammer was an exception. He had a hideously deformed body; small waist, large chest, and muscular arms that were proportional to the rest of his body. It was a remarkable accomplishment of his to ever find a mate with these grotesquely abnormal features.

So, for all intents and purpose Gorkus looked like most ogres. He was just much smaller than most ogres, even some female ogres. A typical male ogre stands 10 feet tall (Phlegmhammer is close to 12 feet tall). A typical female stands at 8 feet tall. Gorkus stands just below 7 feet tall. However, that is not what makes him so different, or unique, as he would prefer it said.

Ogres, by nature, are mean, even violent. They are loud, obnoxious, and have terrible personal hygiene. The typical ogre will spend their free time fighting and drinking and drinking and fighting. Some ogres, after a long, hard day of pillaging, will spend their evenings pillaging another village just for fun!

On the other hand, Gorkus Beiberbasher, first and foremost, has a stringent personal hygiene regimen. Similarly, he keeps a tidy cave and that is not an easy feat! Unlike possibly every other ogre anywhere at anytime, Gorkus cringes at the thought of violence. He even faints at the sight of blood. Although he has to go on raids; it’s his job, he’s an ogre, that’s what ogres do, Gorkus would much rather spend his time gardening. As for his free time, he relishes the solitude of an afternoon fishing and after a relaxing day in the sun he can bring his catch back to the cave, season it with some fresh herbs from his garden, and grill it over an open flame. Now that’s a good day!

The sun was beginning to set. Pushing through the web of limbs and branches, the fading beams of light cast jagged shadows stretching over the gathering fog at the feet of the monstrous Dreadwood forest trees. Sergeant Phlegmhammer had given the order to make camp in a small clearing inside the border of the forest tree line. The girth and density of the forest trees would provide ample cover to hide the gathering horde from the unsuspecting village waiting just beyond the forest edge. The Sergeant gave the orders to unpack the supplies, pitch the tents and gather wood for a fire. A handful of soldiers set up a perimeter around the camp to keep watch for trolls, dire-wolves, and any other threats the night forest may offer.

Making himself useful, Gorkus fashioned a broom out of a branch, some twigs, and vines and swept aside the loose dust and leaves around the circle of rocks gathered for the camp fire. If he had the time he could have crafted several fine rocking chairs out of the larger branches and vines littering the forest floor.

The acrid smell of smoke mingled with the savory fragrance of roasting meat and the bitter-sweet aroma of the honey mead spilling from the mugs and mouths of the ogres gathered around the campfire. Although the other soldiers frequently belittled Gorkus they did appreciate the herbs he brought from his garden, as well as his culinary skills.

“Soups on boys!” Gorkus announced as he hastily dashed out of the way of the onslaught of voracious ogres. Gorkus had learned early on that if you are preparing a meal for ogres than you best eat and drink your fill while you are doing the cooking because it is a guarantee that nothing will be left once the dinner bell is rung. Sounds of slurping and chomping spewed out of the melee as pieces of bone picked clean of every last bit of meat, fat, and gristle were jettisoned from the heaving pile of gluttonous ogres. Every so often one of the large heads would emerge from the heap and cast a wild-eyed glance at Gorkus. The ogre would let out a load, rumbling belch and would give Gorkus a dribbling, toothy grin then quickly plunge back into the throng. To Gorkus, this was a profound display of gratitude, appreciation, and respect. Because ogres rarely express such sentiments and, even less likely, anything profound it was more likely just gas.

Gorkus began to clean up the after the evenings carnage while the rest of the ogres, their stomachs bloated with meat and drink, began to settle in around the fire. Gorkus carefully packed away his cooking utensils and any herbs that were left over then he grabbed his makeshift broom and began to sweep up any remnants of the massacre left on the ground. Gorkus thought to himself, “No one likes ants around camp”. This was especially true of the ants in the Dreadwood forest. They are large enough to carry away a small ogre child.

When he was finished sweeping Gorkus found himself a tree to sit back against and he began to quietly whistle as he gazed into the fire. His eyes were following the glowing embers as they floated up into the forest canopy above when he noticed that two of them seemed to hang motionless in a tree several yards up and just a few paces behind where Sergeant Phlegmhammer and his lieutenant were going over the plans for tomorrows raid. Gorkus continued to stare unblinking at the two glowing dots until his eyes began to sting from the campfire smoke. A silhouette around the dots began to take shape and when it appeared to move Gorkus bolted upward. He looked around nervously. He did not want to attract any unneeded attention until he was sure that he was not imagining things. The last thing that he needed was to get the whole camp up in arms over something he may or may not have actually seen. Gorkus slowly began walking around the fire towards the tree. He began whistling again to appear as if nothing was happening. A loud crackling from the fire almost sent him running, but he was able to gain back a little bit of his composure. When he rounded the fire he was able to see a little better with the flame at his back.

“Could those be eyes?” Gorkus whispered to himself.

He took another step forward.

“If it has eyes then it has a…..mouth.”

Gorkus stopped in his tracks and began to tremble ever so slightly.

“Pull yourself together” he sternly, but quietly said to himself. “You are an ogre. An ogre of the Iron Guard. Be brave. Be vigilant.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. With his nerves subsiding he took a slow, but deliberate step forward. He fixed his eyes on the mysterious creature in the tree. With a little more confidence he took another step forward. After a few more steps he caught the attention of Sergeant Phlegmhammer. The Sergeant slowly stood up, his chest jutting out and muscles tensed, all the while glaring down at the small ogre. Gorkus kept moving forward, one small step after another, apparently oblivious to the Sergeant’s cold stare.

“Bieberbasher?” Phlegmhammer gruffly stated with curiosity and just a bit of agitation.

Gorkus kept moving forward; his focus solely on the fearsome beast lurking in the shadows.

“Bieberbasher!” Phlegmhammer growled; his eyes flickering orange and red from the reflection of the fire.

Gorkus walked right between the Sergeant and the lieutenant; their massive jaws dropping in utter disbelief. With each step Gorkus could make out more and more of the creature’s head and body. He thought to himself that “For a fierce, monstrous, ogre-eating, demon-beast it really wasn’t that big”.

Phlegmhammer barked “Bieberbasher!!! You worthless pile of troll dung, just what do you think you are doing?!!”

Gorkus jumped to attention. “Sir, there is a creature up in that tree”. He pointed at it; his hand trembling.

“So! There is something in a tree and you find that an acceptable excuse to ignore your commanding officer!”

The Sergeant charged at Gorkus grabbing him by the throat with one hand and pinned him against the tree with the creature in it.

Phlegmhammer leaned down and pressed his forehead against Gorkus’; the Sergeant’s large, crooked nose smushing the lower half of Gorkus’ face. The Sergeant’s back heaved in and out; his anger seething with each breath.

“You little maggot.” Phlegmhammer whispered; his graveled voice barely containing the rage underneath. “You ever ignore me again I will rip out your eyes, stick them to the back of your head so you can watch while I kick your worthless butt! Now, you get up in that tree and bring down whatever is hiding up there. For your sake it better be something we can eat or we’ll be having Bieberbasher for breakfast. Now move!”

It would be easier for most ogres to knock down a tree rather than climb one, but the trees in the Dreadwood forest are much too big for even an ogre to knock down. Fortunately for Gorkus he was just the right size to easily move from branch to branch. He made quick work of getting up into the tree and only another few yards to the branch where the creature is perched. From his vantage point Gorkus could no longer see the creature which made him much more apprehensive than he already was before he began climbing. Gorkus thought to himself, “Even if it is smaller it could still have big claws and big teeth.” He looked down and saw Sergeant Phlegmhammer standing at the base of the tree and obviously still fuming. Gorkus let out an uneasy little chuckle and then whispered to himself “I think I’ll take my chances with demon beast and it’s big claws and big teeth.”