Gorkmork the Flying Dragon.
From the outside he looked like an enlarged ordinary greenskin, with a red cloak hanging on his back. His eyes were sharp and lively, unlike those of a normal greenskin.
It was worth noting that a finely crafted, elegant beard hung from Gorkmork's chin, looking like Dwarfen work (referring to works made from Dwarfs as material).
It added a touch of wisdom to him. Although using that word to describe a greenskin, especially a warboss, seemed strange, everyone who had seen him thought exactly that.
This was a strange greenskin, so strange behavior seemed perfectly normal.
The warboss stroked his long beard and shook his head.
"Gork said: Don't gnaw on hard stones. It will break your greenskin teeth."
"Rat-things, rat-things help, yes, yes, help!"
"Gork said: Don't trust reinforcements that haven't arrived yet."
Gorkmork continued stroking his beard and shook his head again.
He didn't look like a warboss at all, not even like a greenskin.
"Die! Die!" The ratman emissary couldn't hold back any longer and cursed loudly.
The warboss's hand stroking his beard suddenly stopped. He fixed his fierce gaze on the Skaven emissary, who was so frightened he took two steps back and waved his hands to make up for it: "Human-things, die!"
Although his behavior and personality were extremely strange, a warboss was still a warboss. In this massive Waaaaagh that approached the scale of Grimnir Ironfist's after the greatest greenskin warboss Gorkmork the Flying Dragon launched his own Waaaaagh, Gorkmork himself was also empowered by Waaagh energy.
His strength could easily crush the disrespectful Skaven emissary.
Gorkmork lowered his beard, stood up, and walked down from his warboss throne. Warlords and shamans lined both sides. Unusually, they were not making a chaotic racket. The continuous victories over a long period had actually allowed the greenskins to briefly — at least inside this tent — control their chaotic nature, because they knew the warboss would always bring them a satisfying Waaaaagh and victory.
"Gork said: The best way to make someone obey is without cracking their skull."
"Gork said: In one Waaaaagh, only one boss can be the most Waaaaagh."
"Little rat-things, don't interfere with the greenskin Waaaaagh. You hurry up and attack the human cities. That was what we agreed on before."
After the warboss finished speaking, he led the warlords out. A few shamans stayed behind to watch the ratmen and make sure they didn't cause any trouble inside the warboss's tent. Outside was a noisy but not completely disordered, endless camp.
Under Gorkmork's rule, the damage from greenskins fighting among themselves had been reduced. Those brutes and warlords who were especially full of energy were sent out by him to raid human villages and intercept their reinforcements in various places.
The silent Flying Dragon bodyguards followed behind the warboss. These most elite and most obedient brutes — the ones who could follow the discipline and restraint the warboss demanded — were Gorkmork's personal guard. When they joined the Flying Dragon bodyguard, they had to emulate Morr's knights and the Flame Guard of Asuryan and were forbidden from speaking.
They were not even allowed to shout Waaagh and had to wear iron muzzles to show their status.
Each of them had a dragon as a mount. They were a terrifying flying monster legion.
They served as both warriors and administrators. Every Flying Dragon bodyguard squad was accompanied by three cunning and clever night goblins responsible for conveying orders for their masters.
After the warboss's inspection, some Flying Dragon bodyguards would have their iron muzzles removed and be allowed to speak, becoming warlords who could lead troops independently and swear loyalty to the warboss.
More than half of the commanders in Gorkmork's direct tribe were Flying Dragon bodyguards he had selected, trained, and then released. The entire tribe had also formed the habit that as long as it was the warboss's order, they would advance without hesitation even if there was a mountain of blades or a cliff ahead.
Unfortunately greenskin tribes had no blood relations, otherwise the warboss had planned to adopt many foster sons.
The warboss gazed for a while at the majestic walls of Magritta. Although they had suffered constant cannon fire and several small-scale assaults in recent days, leaving visible damage and bloodstains everywhere from the outside, the city still looked magnificent.
"Where are the pirates? Call all the pirates over!"
Gorkmork ordered his silent bodyguards. Two powerful brutes who were not much smaller than their leader nodded and left. The ratmen emissary had already departed, and the warboss intended to meet the second ally.
Before long, two pale-skinned pirates with hair braided and hanging over their shoulders and the back of their heads walked over unsteadily.
"We salute you! Wise and cunning, savage and ruthless, the most powerful warboss in the southern Badlands!" The pirate on the left raised a bottle toward the warboss. The words "wise" and "cunning" were almost alien to greenskins. They themselves didn't understand the meaning of those two words. All wisdom had to be described as "cunning." If a greenskin was particularly clever, then in greenskin speech it was definitely "especially cunning."
But the warboss was pleased.
He clasped his hands behind his back, nodded, and in a tone almost never heard from a greenskin — a consultative tone — asked:
"Gork said: The best way to make someone obey is without cracking their skull. I want you to send some people into the stone shells to talk with the human shrimp inside."
The pirates exchanged glances, shook their heads hard to make sure they weren't dreaming, and looked at the warboss with some hesitation.
"Of course we won't really let the stone shells go. Gork said: Even if someone slapped a greenskin's left cheek a hundred years ago, a hundred years later the greenskin will slap them back. I want you to go inside and see the situation, fool the human shrimp a bit, and prepare for the real big Waaaaagh." The warboss stroked his beard again, turned around, and gazed thoughtfully at the majestic city walls.
Only then did the pirates agree decisively. They accepted the order and left.
The existence of the Free Principality of Sartosa was already something the Southerners loathed yet had to tolerate with pinched noses — a latrine full of shit. To prevent the rats and cockroaches inside from scattering and disgusting their own countries, they had always left them alone.
In addition, this place produced endless heroes and strongmen, and there was a need for such a neutral third party to help them compete with and strike at opponents, acting as a white glove. That was why Sartosa had stood firm since before the Great War.
But after the free citizen elders (pirates and various leaders) were continuously persuaded by greenskins and ratmen to participate in this sneak attack on the Southern Kingdoms, they would inevitably become ten times more notorious than before. If the Waaaaagh failed and the greenskins withdrew, a vengeful expeditionary force would immediately arrive at their gates. Since the pirates had entered the game, they naturally hoped the greenskins would stay at the front and fight to the death. It would be best if both sides exhausted themselves so Sartosa could remain safely on the sidelines.
The warboss suddenly turned his head and glanced at the departing pirates.
No one knew the deeds of Gorkmork the Flying Dragon before this strange greenskin warboss rose to power — not even those who had participated in them to some degree.
He had originally been a greenskin slave chained on a pirate black ship. His future fate should have been to be sold to some arena or fitted with shackles to restrain that eternally restless greenskin urge to destroy, and labor as a slave for the rest of his life.
Until those pirates overreached…
"Gork said… even if someone slapped my left cheek a hundred years ago, a hundred years later I will slap them back." The warboss murmured softly. He had already forgotten the original form of those words, but the meaning he had transformed and understood in his own way remained.
He continued gazing at the majestic Magritta city walls. In front of such a man-made wonder, even the strongest greenskin brute, or even a giant, seemed somewhat insignificant.
But his army would soon break through the city gates and conquer this place. Gorkmork was certain of it. At least with the city's current strength, even five more cities like it could be knocked down one by one by the boys under his command.
But he wanted more than that. A savage and violent Waaaaagh, like the countless green tides that had been raised before, leaving behind ruined walls and destruction along the way — but afterward it would also be repaired and buried by the constantly rising forces of Order.
Gorkmork was a special greenskin.
He wanted more. At the very least, the fall of a single giant city was far from enough.