A storm has come to the Mortal Realms. First is the bitter cold, stealing breath and sapping strength. Then comes the thunder, distant and ominous. It grows, nearer and more frequent, until soon it is a constant crash. The air grows dark and purple bruised. Green lightning splits the sky, falling not from the heavens but rising out the crawling horizon. It is the horde. Stone colossi march among them, green lightning crawling across their faces. Their footsteps are the thunder. From among them, a giant among giants emerges, raising aloft a tongue of red fire like a burning wound on the horizon. The skies split and scream in primal rage. It is Mogrek, and he is the storm.
Not since Gorkamorka walked the realms in the flesh has such an avalanche of Waaagh! energies been brought together. At their head is Mogrek Longblade, an orruk warlord of prodigious size and wielding power from the Age of Myth. At his side march hundreds of Idols of Gork. Each of these stone colossi is a precious relic and powerful weapon, for they act as conductors of Waaagh! energy, gathering it and amplifying it back manyfold. One Idol could make a warboss mighty. Hundreds reshape the realms everywhere they tread. This concentration of power is like a raging beacon, calling in greenskins and their destructive allies from across the realms. It is the greatest promise of war and violence in a hundred years, and the chance to fight side by side with Gorkamorka’s flesh and blood.
Waaagh! Mogrek’s goals are not subtle. In ages past, Mogrek vowed that he would do what all the Chaos gods could not - break down the walls of Azyr. He seeks, above all else, to herald the return of Gorkamorka to the Mortal Realms, whole and in the flesh. To his mind, Sigmar’s defeat and retreat from the forces of Chaos are the sole cause of all that has befallen the realms, including Gorkamorka’s absence. He believes that if he can bring the war to Sigmar again, reawaken the God-King’s warrior spirit, he can start a war worthy enough for the Green God to return and fight once more. Anything and anyone that gets in the way of his march on Azyr are nothing more than ants to be squashed - including the Prime Dominion.
Mogrek Longblade
“
My name is War! My name is WAAAAGH! My name is Mogrek Everwinter, Mogrek Longblade, Son of Gork and Doom of Cowards! I’ve walked with gods and seen them bleed, and will again! I will shatter the Heavens and bring fury to the realms once more!”
Towering above even the largest of his kind, Mogrek is a near primordial force of strength and fury. He wields the fabled Longblade in one hand, a sword forged by the last and greatest of Grungni’s students, and in the other holds an Everwinter bound to his will. Waaagh! energy crackles across his massive frame, and an army of Idols bow to his command. He is the self-proclaimed Son of Gorkamorka, a demigod from the Age of Myth, and has come to fulfill his oath.
In ages past, after Sigmar fled before Archaon in cowardice and the realms fell into the Age of Chaos, Mogrek boasted before gods and mortals that he alone would break the Gates of Azyr. He sought out the legendary smith known as the Ironsage to forge a weapon for his task, yet so afraid was the smith that he chose his own death rather than surrender the Longblade. He released the Everwinter shackled within his forge and ensnared Mogrek in ice for centuries.
Newly released from his frozen prison upon the isle of Frorholm and master of the very Everwinter which held him, Mogrek Longblade has marched his army of Rogue Idols up the river itself like a great and frozen road. Many grots, orruks, ogors and even gargants witnessed his return, and it was not long before the banners of their kind flocked to Mogrek’s side.
At the Ashfall Delta in Aqshy, Mogrek slew Atressa Redhand, Warden of the Iscarneth Ceraphate, and the army she had assembled to halt his advance. Though he was victorious, the aelf managed to wound him, driving her sword deep between his ribs. The pain of the injury lingers with him still, instilling a new drive within him. It will not be enough to simply batter his way through the Prime Dominion on his way to Azyr. He will see it burn.
The Mooncaller
The grot shaman known as the Mooncaller is a diminutive and wasted thing, even among his kind. His jittery, shuddering form, ever swaddled in a filthy and ragged cloak, would be neither intimidating nor inspiring, were it not for the mask he wears over his gnarled features. This grotesque visage is waxy, almost cartilaginous. It leers and gawks with an interrogating gaze, and every word spoken behind it bites and tears. Only the Gitz see the lunacy in its wearer’s eyes. Only the damned can hear the daemon in his voice.
The Mooncaller is not quite the same grot that took to the field in Frørholm. Somehow even more withered and wasted, he now speaks with an unnerving eloquence and moves with the uncanny jerkiness of a puppet. Sometimes, though, something of the old Mooncaller breaks through the veneer, small and frightened and lost. In truth it is the mask itself, once an arcane tool and whispered advisor, who pulls the strings now, its tendrils reaching down into his filthy robes. The Mooncaller once considered the voice of the mask to be his ‘mate’, but now the sound of it rasping through his addled brain only fills him with fear.
Mogrek’s awakening on Frørholm and the surge of Waaagh! energy have changed something within the mask itself. It is no longer working to subvert the Mooncaller's faith in the Bad Moon, but to channel it. Perhaps the one thing more dangerous than a zealot in a corrupted mask is a corrupted mask that has become, itself, a zealot.
Warchanter Wapkagut
There was never anything particularly special about the Warchanter Wapkagut until one day, there was. Orruks of his callings drum anything - the ground, their enemy’s skulls, the other boys - to the beat of the pounding in their own head, but there’s just something right different about Wapkagut’s drumming. It doesn’t just incite the lads to ever greater acts of violence, no; when Wapkagut’s around, they have a proper good time of it, too!
If Wapkagut had the words to describe himself - which, to be clear, he does not - he would tell you that he’s a musician. He sees the rhythm of the realms, the fundamental frequencies of the magics that bind all things together. His beat resonates with the greenskins, tapping into the primal heartbeat of the Waaagh!, singing to the core of their being. When he drums, those around him don’t just want to break faces; no, they believe themselves capable of anything, and when an orruk believes something hard enough, it tends to actually happen.
Of course, that was Wapkagut before he met Mogrek Longblade. Now he’s got the primordial energy of Gorkamorka amplifying his pounding rhythm a hundredfold, and countless beats he never thought of before bouncing around inside his thick skull. Whatever happens next, one thing’s for sure: Wapkagut and the boys are going to have themselves a proper good time!
Character hooks for playing as an existing member of Waaagh! Mogrek
- Your protagonist witnessed Mogrek emerge from Frörholm, and has fought with him ever since.
- Your protagonist has been drawn to the tremendous hurricane of Waaagh! power that surrounds Mogrek’s march.
- Your protagonist previous fought alongside Wapkagut or the Mooncaller and have answered their calls for allies.
Character hooks for joining Waaagh! Mogrek in this campaign
- Your protagonist has something to prove, and if these aelves could wound a boss like Mogrek, they have to be dead ‘ard.
- Your protagonist cares little for the Waaagh!, but wishes to destroy or pillage the Iscarneth Ceraphate or the Prime Dominion for their own ends.
- Your protagonist has been swept up in the Waaagh!, and that’s reason enough.