In this week’s riveting episode of the Dawnbringer Chronicles, a story unfolds that is sure to keep you at the edge of your seat. The Trogg King, known for his peaceful slumber, has been abruptly jolted from his extended nap. But that’s not all – an enigmatic and immensely powerful magical contraption now resides on his back, causing him a rather unpleasant headache.
It seems that someone, perhaps inadvertently, has bestowed this device upon the Trogg King during his restful reprieve. As the story unfolds, it becomes apparent that this newfound magical artifact is more than just a minor inconvenience. Its presence raises concerns and questions that ripple through the narrative, setting the stage for a tale brimming with intrigue and mystery.
The cannonball thwacked against Trugg’s temple, doing nothing to improve his mood. Rubbing at a swelling bruise, he lumbered towards the gunnery crew and aimed a kick at their smoking weapon. It flipped over and landed on two of the humans, who squirmed beneath the metal carriage like half-squashed bugs.
‘Hrunnngh,’ said the Troggoth King, somewhat satisfied.
It didn’t last long. His whole skull was throbbing. It was the same agony that had plagued him ever since he was torn from the soothing oblivion of a centuries-long slumber, waking up to find a massive slab of glowing stone stuck fast to his back. Ever since that terrible moment, he had been plagued by a pattern of searing lights and colours, like a strange map scratched across his eyeballs. That map had led him here, to this soft-skin settlement. Something here was causing his headache, and he was going to find it and smash it to bits. Along with anything else that got in his way.
Humans ran about screaming, as a mob of troggoths and grots poured through the town’s smashed walls. Trugg ignored the chaos swirling about him and slowly swept his gaze across the settlement. His eyes were drawn to a domed structure at its centre. Humans had gathered here in numbers, sticking up their paltry shields and blasting away with those little sparky firesticks they liked so much. More importantly, the migraine patterns in his mind converged on the structure, joining together to form a pulsing orb of light so bright that looking at it was akin to dipping his eyeballs in boiling water.
Trugg knew only one way to deal with a problem like this: pummel it until it didn’t bother him any more. He loped towards the dome, irritably shoving a smaller troggoth out of his way. Why did they all seem to follow him wherever he went? Could they see the lights? Did they feel the terrible pain too? Was that why they would not leave him alone?
Anger flared, and he brandished his club at a cluster of bow-wielding grots. In doing so, however, Trugg accidentally slammed the side of the stone altar embedded in his back. There was a whirring, crackling sound and an amber glow, and Trugg felt his mouth fill as his tusks grew, painfully splitting his gums and jabbing up into his nostrils. Coarse hair sprouted from his arms and neck. His tree-like limbs ached, muscles contracting and then swelling up so it seemed they might burst through the skin. Trugg threw back his head and roared, flush with newfound energy.
The mass of soft-skins aimed their firesticks at him, and there was a rippling pattern of smoke and fire. He felt pellets smack off his hide, only a handful finding any amount of purchase. Nothing more than the nibbling of ants.
‘Hurr, hurr,’ he chuckled, taking sour enjoyment in the humans’ looks of panic.
Trugg lowered his head and charged. The soft-skins tried to scatter, but Trugg was moving faster than seemed possible for a creature his size. Packed together in their squares, they had no hope of getting out of his way. He barrelled in amongst the mass of bodies, elbowing and kicking, feeling bones and steel crumple beneath his blows. One human tried to drive a sword into his thigh. Trugg reached down and grabbed the wretch, stuffing him into his fang-filled mouth.
Crunching noisily, Trugg peered at the domed structure, which flared with even more intensity now he was so close. He brought his club up over his head, his tongue lolling out in concentration as he aimed a crushing blow right on the top of the stone shell.
A bolt of lightning sizzled in over his shoulder and slammed into Trugg’s face, scorching his eyes and causing the strings of saliva hanging from his lips to sizzle and spark. The troggoth roared as more crackling arcs slammed into his flesh, hauling his bulk around and spotting his attacker.
‘Begone, fiend!’ cried the wretch in question: a tall and broad-shouldered warrior bedecked in golden plate, sat astride a snarling, winged beast with a pair of curling horns that almost rivalled Trugg’s own. ‘Your reign of terror is over.’
More gleaming, masked champions came marching forwards, while streams of bloodied and battered humans fled in the opposite direction. They placed themselves in a semi-circle between Trugg and the dome, their broad shields locked edge-to-edge.
Trugg spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm and started forwards to mash the shiny warriors into paste. As soon as he took a step forward another sizzling missile slammed into his chest, but he kept on striding, kicking out at the line of gold-and-blue. His foot mashed into one shield, sending its crumpled bearer tumbling back, but the warrior’s comrades surged forward to fill the gap, pounding away at Trugg’s ankles and belly with broad-headed hammers. These blows hurt a lot more than the bullets had. He winced and groaned as one of his attackers hit a particularly sensitive spot. Thrusting out his head, he impaled one of the wretches on his horns and battered several more to the ground with a low sweep of his club.
An opening appeared in the shiny warriors’ ranks, and Trugg elbowed his way through. He picked up one warrior and hurled them against the domed structure to a loud snap of splintering bone and stone. Yet the enemy closed in on all sides, hammering relentlessly. His momentum faltered. Trugg looked up to see the winged steed descending towards him with blazing ferocity, trailing fire and lightning from its glossy wings. Atop it, the golden magic-wielder raised his staff, which was wreathed in crackling arcs of blue-white energy.
Down came the heavenly beast, plummeting towards Trugg. It was no more than a few metres away when a spear of greenish energy zipped in to strike it in the flank. The beast howled and veered aside, blood splattering across Trugg as it whooshed past, missing him by the length of a swamp-gnat’s wing. It struck the ground with terrible force, leaving a bloody trail across the earth as more emerald flashes riddled its flank.
Trugg looked around, bewildered, as his golden attackers began to drop, struck by more strange missiles. One raised its hammer to strike him, only for a smoking hole to appear in its forehead with a loud *clang*. The warrior dropped, his body fizzing into sparks of light. Through a fug of confusion, Trugg thought he heard the discordant clanging of bells, and a chorus of chittering, squeaking cries.
Having no idea what was going on around him – and half-blinded by the flashing streaks stabbing across his vision – Trugg simply focused on his most immediate concern. He reached the shrine, levelled his club and struck it with a thunderous blow that crumpled stone and caused the entire structure to teeter. The ground below Trugg trembled, and he felt the device on his back whir and spit, his back burning as magical flames twenty feet high leapt into the air. He struck the dome again. And again.
There was a sound like the distorted scream of a stuck boar, and the font of glowing energy belched flames of its own. White light and agony filled Trugg’s eyes. He stomped his feet and swung his club one more time, an overhead blow that came down on that wellspring of painful light.
The world erupted in fire. Cracks spiderwebbed across the streets of the human settlement, swallowing grots, humans, troggoths and buildings alike. Trugg felt his own massive bulk lifted into the air like a child’s toy. Then he crunched down to earth, and things went black and silent.
It was three days before he stirred again.
Indeed, Trugg might happily have lain there beneath the rubble and corpses, were it not for a familiar sensation: an insistent, pulsing throb that dragged him back to consciousness. It was at least less raw than before. He felt a tip-tip-tapping on the tip of his nose and opened one crusty eye.
There was a grot perched on his chest. A particularly unpleasant one, whom Trugg remembered without fondness. This particular loudmouth and its incessant gibbering had dragged him out of a well-earned slumber and left him stranded in this world of headaches and harsh light. It was jabbing at him with a spiky stick, but as soon as it met his gaze a wide grin spread across its ugly face, enclosed by a massive orruk skull. On its shoulder sat a snaggle-toothed ball of flesh with wings.
‘Knew it!’ the grot cackled. ‘Braggit Big-Talka don’t back a loser. Knew you wasn’t about to die on me, boss! Shame about them other gitz what got blown up when you whacked that shiny fing, but it don’t matter. Long as you’re up and about ol’ Braggit and his gabber-gift can always get more of ‘em.’
Trugg reached out to grab the annoying git, who leapt away, cackling. As the Troggoth King clambered upright, tossing aside a handful of debris, he was relieved to find that the humans’ strange shrine no longer burned like a second sun in the centre of his vision. There was a flickering afterglow that rippled across the ground before him, down into the centre of a huge crater some twenty metres across.
The hole was filled with rats. They boiled and surged in a grey mass, hauling chains and spiky bits of metal about, descending down into the darkness on teetering ladders. Strange whirring bits of machinery sparked and spat trails of green sorcery.
As soon as the rats saw Trugg, they began to squeak and chitter, their frantic movements only growing more erratic. Braggit Big-Talka scampered behind Trugg’s left leg, his Bat Squigs squawking in alarm. Larger vermin clad in rusty red armour marched towards Trugg, brandishing long, spiky weapons. Other rats appeared on the cliffs above, levelled long, thin devices that looked to Trugg like the bits of bamboo he often used to pick dried flesh out of his teeth.
‘Time ta scarper, I reckon,’ muttered Braggit.
The Troggoth King winced. His headache was getting worse again. But it wasn’t this big pit of rats that was causing it. He glanced off, over his shoulder. In the distance, on the far horizon across the ash wastes, he saw another pulsing orb hanging low over the ground. Looking upon it was like having his head slammed in some immense door.
‘Grrrrrrrgggrrrrrttth,’ Trugg groaned. Not again.
Trugg glared down at the rat-filth and their pitiful weapons. Several dozen of the creatures skittered backwards, pushing their companions in the way of anything that Trugg might throw at them.
Disgusted, Trugg turned his back on the ruins of the strongpoint and the rats that infested it. Smashing these pipsqueaks into paste might briefly distract him, but it would do nothing to relieve his headache. He fixed his red-rimmed eyes on the next pulsing light, way off in the distance. It was a long way off.
‘On we go then, boss?’ said Braggit cheerfully. The grot saw Trugg clenching his fist and wisely stepped out of range of a skull-crushing punch.
Sighing, the Troggoth King began to walk. Maybe after he’d smashed this next glowy thing up, he’d be granted a bit of peace, and be able to find a nice, dank cavern to crawl into and sleep. The thought cheered him up a bit. Until Braggit started singing.
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