"Oi, whot's 'ee talkin' 'bout now?"
Grushnak looked up at the distant figure of Da Whisper. Like usual, the shaman was twitching and staring off into the realmgate that formed the basis of the Snowboyz' camp. He would occasionally mumble something that was dutifully repeated and shouted across by Zig'rut.
"Not sure, boss. Sumfink about beasts."
Surlak frowned, then coughed up a wad of phlegm and spit it out a good twelve paces. Not his personal best, but respectable. With a satisfied grunt, he turned his attention to the multicolored firmament of stars above the tundra. It was a remarkably clear night, with only a few shadowy clouds overhead.
"Da 'chanter is sayin' dat Da Whisper knows when da gate is gonna open. It's gonna go to da realm of da beasts."
Grushnak frowned and squinted at the boss.
"So why'd ya ask me?"
He was rewarded with a comradely thwack upside the head. Grushnak's skull was thick enough that the stars barely lasted a second before clearing.
"Just wanted ta make sure I isn't goin' barmy. Get yer gear ready and get drillin'"
Grushnak frowned but kept his mouth shut. The boss' plan sounded weird. Let the 'ardboyz go first? What kinda thinking was that? Still, he was only regrowing his tusks now, a week after the first time he'd brought his concerns up. With a snarl, he stood up and went about finding Gristle and his shield boyz. Taktiks, feh.
Surlak's mob is a squad of brutes with a surprisingly thoughtful boss who is plagued with bouts of Finkin'. They work more closely than usual with the 'ardboyz of the warband and do some strange things like "Movin' in formashun" and "keepin' ranks". It is only be sheer stubborn belligerence and frequent stompings of the orruks that question him that Surlak maintains leadership of the mob.
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