Wantubeetchu

A Warhammer Fantasy story from /tg/ involving Lizardmen.

The Legend

They were crumbling now, Wantubeetchu could see it. The Saurus warriors were all but smashed into paste, the Skink regiments had scuttled off somewhere, and the Oldblood Tzatlpuutuu was dragged underneath a screaming tide of Norsemen, Carnosaur and all. In fact, it was quite assuredly the end of his beloved temple city.

Unless he could rouse Lord Izakanta to the waking world.

Wantubeetchu scuttled over his Lord's girth as he nervously eyed the oncoming army of Chaos. He poked at one of Izakanta's errant flabby bits, and moved back towards his head. He looked at his Lord's face; it was so calm and serene (though there was a bit of a frown there) even in the midst of their annihilation.

"Please your most Spacious one! PLEASE! Wake up! We are going to lose everything!"

Izakanta didn't even stir, his face still set in the same focused sleep. Wantubeetchu clicked testily and began to poke his lord's slumbering eyes.

"Wakey wakey eggs and.... grubs!"

Still nothing, and Wantubeetchu began to get rather irritated. Here he was, about to exit this mortal realm and lose all the progress in The Great Plan, and his GLORIOUS LEADER couldn't even be conscious enough to even LOOK AT IT. The army was marching towards the gates now, the gate that the floating throne and it's cargo of Slann and Skink were in front of.

"FOR THE LOVE OF SOTEK WAKE UP YOU STUPID OLD FART!" screamed the Skink.

He let out a sharp gasp as he felt the Slann's shoulders shift and he lost his grip. A tremendous yawn was let out of the Mage Priest's cavernous maw, heard even above the din of marching feet not 200 feet away. Smacks were heard as the great Izakanta locked his lips, scratched his stomach, and blearily opened his eyes.

The Norse stopped 50 feet away, unsure of why this toad-like monstrosity was blocking their way. No words were spoken as the two parties sized each other up. The silence continued for a whole minute until is broken by a grumbled/croaked: "What the hell do you want?"

The Norseman chief was taken aback for a moment but rallied quite quickly saying "I HAVE COME IN THE BLOOD GOD'S NAME. I AM HERE TO RIP YOUR SKULL FROM YOUR SHOULDERS AND OFFER IT UPON THE BURNED CORPSES OF YOUR WARRIORS! I AM HERE TO BURN, LOOT, AND DESECRATE THIS CITY IN THE NAME OF CHAOS, I AM THE SCOURGE OF TELHEIM, THE SLAUGHTERER OF KAZ'NATH, THE---" The rant continued on, the soldiers seeming unwilling to risk stopping their chieftain's speech. Meanwhile Wantubeetchu spun himself around from the back gazed at his Lord in wonder. They had only gotten three words out of Lord Izakanta in the last three hundred years, a whole sentence was a goldmine of wisdom. Wantubeetchu stopped in his idle and dazed musings as he noticed Izakanta's brow had hardened and furrowed, his webbed hands clenched the sides of his throne, quivering slightly.

It was then that Izakanta, decided to give a speech of his own. One that would be forever engraved on the temple walls.

"THIS FROGSHIT AGAIN? AGAIN?!" he roared.

"EVERY FUCKING TIME I WAKE UP, EVERY FUCKING TIME, IT'S ALWAYS 'I AM HERE TO SWALLOW YOUR SOUL, OR YOUR SKIN WILL ADORN MY MOST DIRE FAGGOT ROBE!' OR MY FUCKING FAVORITE, 'DEATH TO THE OLD ONES!' I FOR ONE, AM SICK OF IT!

His head snapped sharply towards the now jaw-dropped Wantubeetchu.

"WHY CAN'T YOU WAKE ME UP JUST TO SAY 'HI', OR GIVE ME A HAND-MADE ROASTING POT, OR OPEN A DAMN FUCKING PICKLE JAR?"

By now the chieftain had joined Wantubeetchu in gawking at the madness occurring in front of them. It was then a large muscular hand raised itself over the crowd.

"WHAT?" snapped Izakanta.

"What's a pickle jar?"

Izakanta froze, slowly reached out, grabbed Wantubeetchu, placed him in his lap and officially "lost his shit".

The scene therafter was rather hard to describe, as it was mostly obscured by flying viscera, fireballs, beams of light, a rather large statue being dropped, and screaming. Lots of screaming.

"YOU FUCKING LIKE THAT YOU JUGGERNAUT FUCKERS?! HUH?!?"

"Please my lord! Your blood pressure!"

"SHUT UP. OH HEY! YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA CRAWL AWAY NOW? DO YOU? NOT ON MY WATCH."

"My LEGS!!!"

"GAHAHAHAHAHA."

---

Wantubeetchu stepped back and looked at the completed mural of that historic event. He dismissed the recently spawned artists and began to fondly survey the painting.

The Great Mage Priest Izakanta, floating above the earth spewing hot death from his mouth, fireballs raining around him. A small feather-behatted figure gripping fearfully to his back. The rest of the mural showed the magnificent carnage, a tasteful mix of aforementioned body parts, screaming victims, and a chieftain's arm sticking out from under a statue of Sotek.

Truly it was a great day. Words were written, history was made, and High Skink Priest "Little Annoying Bastard" Wantubeetchu, had lived to see it all. Praise The Old Ones.