The life and times of Tyrant Karnov Beergut, Fangsmasher, the Outlander – Part I

Here is a little "fluff" (aka story, fiction, a random string of letters and words that may pertain to something) for my Ogre Kingdoms army the Beer Gut Tribe. I had a hard time just jumping into the "now" for the BGT so I thought I would start at the beginning, with the life and times of the Beer Gut's Tyrant Karnov Beergut, Fangsmasher, the Outlander. Yeah it is a long name but that is just how the ogres do it!

I hope you enjoy this first little tale as I had fun writing it. I won't say this post or story has anything to do with the presidential election but I can't say it has nothing to do with it either.

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The life and times of Tyrant Karnov Beergut, Fangsmasher, the Outlander – Part I

Karnov was furious. That was not terribly unusual as he was often angry about something, but it was rare to see his own blood on the ground. His current source of aggravation stood directly across from him in the bone-strewn maw pit. Pulling against Dorfrog Stonechaser’s massive bulk Karnov strained to throw the other Bull over. “I will rip that shrimpy lump you call a gut right off your sorry frame an eats it!” growled Dorfrog menacingly. “You ain’t fit to be callin’ yor’selfs a true Ogre!” he continued as he threw his bulbous stomach forward, smashing into Karnov’s naked gut.

Dorfrog towered over Karnov, easily twice again as large and half again as wide. Even for an ogre Dorfrog was a bully and used to getting his way by beating down any Bull who might oppose him. Might makes right thought Karnov as he steeled his gut for another thundering attack, blinking the stream of blood out of his eyes. Straining forward against Dorfrog’s bulk Karnov twisted to the left, grabbing a fistful of the other ogre’s filth crusted breeches. Using all his strength he pushed forward, putting his front leg out behind the towering Bull, and quickly lowering himself to half Dorfrog’s height. The Bull was momentarily off balance and Karnov pressed the attack, punching Dorfrog once in the mouth.

“Keep your stupid thoughts to yor’self fore you makes me really mad!” roared Karnov as he thrust forward, crashing against Dorfrog’s gut and forcing him to the ground. “You might be big an’ your’es gut may swell, but I’m tougher an heres da proof!” Karnov rammed his head face first into the Bull’s skull with a loud crack. He continued the assault, repeatedly smashing his scarred face into Dorfrog’s now mangled face until the larger Bull failed to resist against his attacks.

Karnov forced himself up on his feet, the strain of pulling his massive girth shown in his squat muscled legs. Looking down at his now unconscious rival he put his large hand to his left ear, feeling the pulpy mass where it should have been. He would miss the ear, but it could have been much worse. Such was to be expected when two Ogres fought in a ‘guts-out’ contest.

Removing the gut plate and fighting to the death was seen as a badge of honor in ogre society, but there was no honor in this fight. Dorfrog was the younger brother of Reekus Goldmaw, Tyrant and ruler of the Goldmaw tribe. Karnov feared Reekus, but could not bring himself to respect the massive leader. While gold, silver, and jewels were plentiful for Reekus from the many assaults made on nearby traveling merchants, very little of this wealth made it to those ogres doing the fighting.

Karnov had a small gnoblar-hide pouch of his own which contained his meager wealth before Dorfrog had taken it. Such activities were commonplace among the ogre tribe, the large taking from the small, ensuring that only the most massive ogre made it to the top of the tribe. Karnov was not the largest nor the toughest Bull in the camp, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in ruthless cunning.

Waiting until the time was right, Karnov had confronted Dorfrog in front of the assembled tribe for his stolen possessions. The laughing and sneering coming from his rival had simply stopped once Karnov had removed his gut plate, throwing it at the Bull’s feet, and challenging his place in the hierarchy of the tribe. Such a thing could not be left unanswered and Karnov knew his life was the only thing truly at stake in this battle, no matter who was watching.

With a glance up at the engorged glittering beast seated in front of the maw pit Karnov drove his thumbs deep into Dorfrogs eyes. The semi-unconscious Bull struggled feebly against Karnov, grunting as he strained his head away from the savage attack. “You won’t be needin’ deese where you going!” Karnov said between clenched teeth before slamming the Bull’s head against the hard ground.

CRUNCH
CRUNCH
CRUNCH
CRUNCH
CRUNCH

Dorfrog’s head finally burst with a sickening pop, leaking what few brains he had on to the bloodstained mud of the maw pit. There was suddenly a deep foreboding silence in the camp. Karnov pulled himself away from the now unmoving corpse of Dorfrog, his mouth full of the dead Bull’s brains. Where were the cheers and accolades from his fellow Bulls? Where were the knowing grunts from the older Ironguts not wanting to give him too much credit at their own expense?

Looking at the gathered crowd outside the maw pit dug into the center of the camp Karnov saw nothing but downcast eyes. He turned his view towards Reekus Goldmaw before suddenly realizing what he had done. While family was not the most important aspect of ogre tribal life Dorfrog had been the Tyrant’s brother. His twisted sneer of hate told him everything he needed to know. It was time to go.