The Iron King ( Warhammer )

Prologue

Gitter gazed around at the carnage thay lay before him, the small greenskin's beady red eyes making out the fallen shapes of countless warriors littering the volcanic landscape of the Dark Lands like dolls thrown there by some monstrous child.
Lurking with the sheltered confines of a ravine, the orcs and goblins had had perfect ambush site to attack the Chaos Dwarf patrol. Launching themselves in a howling, bellowing tide, the greenskins had fallen upon their enemies before the stunted ones could bring their guns to bear. The resulting clash of steel had been brief and bloody.
"Stupid Big 'ats," snickered Gitter as the goblin scuttled from corpse to corpse, looting anything of remote value or interest. Anything, Gitter had learned early on, could be sold on if you knew a buyer. Gitter fished out a small sachet from the pocket of a dead stunty and gave it a curious sniff. He thought he recognised the smell as belonging to the smoky stuff he had often seen the Dwarfs stuffing into pipes. Eagerly, Gitter ripped open the packet only to be bitterly disappointed when he found nought but some dried plant leaves. Placing a few in his mouth, Gitter grimaced at the foul taste and spat it out immediately with gob of thick saliva.
" 'Orrid stuff!" He cursed.
So busy had the small greenskin's been in looting, that he had somehow failed to realise the giant, iron clad shape come stomping up behind him.
Grabbing Gitter violently by the throat, the massive, dark green skinned orc brought the goblin level to his ugly, fang filled face. Gitter fought his gag reflex as a tide of foetid fungus breath washed over him .
"What do ya think ya doin'?" Grunted the Black Orc, causing Gitter to squawk in high pitched terror, "Not trying to steal da best gear fer yerself."
"No no oh great boss," stuttered the goblin nervously trying not to meet the behemoth's fiery glare.
The black orc glared at him, as if searching for any signs of guilt written clear on the goblin's face. Satisfied, the orc grunted and dropped his small cousin into the dirt without a second thought.
"Good because da boss is expectin' more ladz ter arrive and we need all da choppas we can get!" He turned to walk away, "So gather everythink on da wagons and don't you even think about stealing any of da good stuff. "
Muttering obstantly to himself, Gitter scraped himself up off the ground. Black orcs were legendary for their lack of fun by he never pictured he would have to give up all his loot. Turning his head around, he quickly snapped up the brown leaves and deposited them in his pocket. After all, even if they were foul, at least no one would mind him taking them for himself or for at least , they wouldn't mind for long enough for him to sell them on when he got bored of them.
Silently snickering, the goblin ran after his fellows as they gathered the weapons need for the Iron King's ever growing legions.