Return of Reckoning

Sometimes the path towards darkness can be quick and ugly, and other times it is long and fraught with dangers that weed out the weak and consume the strong.

Long was the path of the once-noble creature called Ooul. The second-born son of a Reikland aristocrat, he was destined to be naught but a servant to his older brother, who was cruel and unkind to his younger and weaker sibling. Daring to strike his brother after an unfair lashing, Ooul became an outcast by decree of his father. Vowing to one day return and cast them both from the parapets of the Reikland keep that his father stood guard over, Ooul swore his soul to the Dark Gods and began a pilgrimage to Nordland, where those who were also sworn to the Dark Gods had landed in force, invading the lands of the Empire.

Unaware that he had been singled out by the Dark Gods to sunder their foes, Ooul joined a ragged warband with little more than cobbled together armor. Over time, as he traversed the lands of Empire, Elves, and Dwarves, it became Ooul who won the victories against the forces of Order, and it was he that the forces of Destruction looked to when they needed a warband leader to crush foes and despoil the land with corrupted ways. It was during these times that the beastmen came and bowed before the mighty Ooul. Chosen of the Dark Gods, he was brought before the assembled mages of the God of Change. Bonding living armor to his mortal form, Ooul began the path toward immortality. Each foe that lay slain before him fed his armor and weapons, taking their strength and consuming it into his gear. As his might increased, long grew the list of his victories.

Having proved his value to Lord Tzchar'zanek, the leader of the Forces of Destruction, Ooul was now a true Champion of Chaos. Brought before the warp forges in the Inevitable City, his armor was torn from his body and he was infused into an armor made from the very essence of the warp. It was bonded upon his physical form, and he transcended mortality, forever encased in Warpforged armor. Also, he was given a mighty sentient sword, The Direblade of the Schemer, with which to harvest the forces of Order.

It is now in these dark times that Ooul, Chosen of the Dark Gods, an immortal warrior who had renounced his kin, sealed the pact that he made so long ago. Rising above the ranks in a massive siege upon the Reikland castle of his origin, he cast both his brother and aged father down from the ramparts into ravenous hordes of daemons and Destruction warriors surrounding the base of the keep. His soul forever bound in darkness, Ooul has become an unstoppable force, dealing death to those who do not bow to the forces of Chaos.

Against all likelihood, there arose a warrior from the muck and slime of the far side Bloodhorn—an Ork who would one day be a terror to his foes and a mighty ally of those whom he knew as “friend.” In his earliest days, before the light of reason was a glint in his eye, this Ork was told by his betters to go forth and begin “hittinstuff.” Returning to them with a gore-coated weapon, he would report that his foes lay dead. They would send him away time and again, to continue “hittinstuff.” Soon this became his moniker, dull by the standards of some Ork names; but an Ork becomes known for his deeds, not by what others call him.

At that time making decisions was not his strength, but this was to change. Due to misadventures and the pain of admonishments delivered by the stronger or smarter Greenskins, he questioned his existence, and after having the knowledge of Gork and Mork beaten into him by his superiors Hittinstuff began to find the answers he was seeking. The cause he was meant to die for became clear: Hittinstuff was no more than fodder in the struggle against the forces of Order. To survive he would have to think! Blind fury could carry him only so far, and although he wanted nothing more than to destroy his enemies, he knew the careless were those who died first.

Not wishing be counted among the dead, out of necessity Hittinstuff became increasingly skilled. However, once engaged in battle he displayed viciousness particular Black Orks tempered by unusual cunning. With magnificent brute force he continued farther than he could ever have imagined. He was given weapons reserved for only the top echelons of Ork soldiering, and was being relied upon by his allies as a parapet to protect them: a living, armoured, blunt instrument to smash into the spearhead of enemy Elves, Dwarves, and Empire combatants.
Outliving all of the expectations for one of his kind, a day of glory dawned for the Ork known as Hittinsuff, when Warpforged armor was grafted onto his hide in a secret ritual beneath Destruction’s capital, the Inevitable City. The agonizing process involved the most pain Hittinstuff had to that day experienced, yet upon completion, as he regained his feet, he was fully aware that he had become one of the mightiest Orks to walk the planet! “Wauuugh!”

Nice to see someone put time and effort in the background of their character. I guess i better start pondering about my dwarfs as well. Good show!


~Firr