Sons of Behemat – Warscrolls

Beast-smashers are considered, even by other gargants, to be a touch mad. In truth, they are more susceptible to the energy of the Waaagh! than most of their kin. It stains their vision green and opens their souls to a rough elemental power, leading them to believe that they can hear Gorkamorka talking to them – or even that they are the god himself. Either way, their goal is the same: to slaughter great beasts, just as Gorkamorka once did. A Beast-smasher wades into battle without hesitation, unconcerned with the smaller enemies they either squash underfoot, catch with idle swings of their huge menhir clubs or snatch up to eat without conscious thought. Though they may eventually be brought down by a thousand cuts, a Beast-smasher will ignore all but the most punishing blows, convinced of their own godly invincibility. When tangling with worthy prey, Beast-smashers display a startling killer instinct. They know how to dodge between a hydra’s heads and tie their necks into a knot, how to wrestle a Black Dragon’s jaws shut so it cannot unleash its noxious breath, and how to cave in a rival gargant’s breastbone with one strike.

Even amongst a race of titans, the name Brodd looms large. While his strength is immense, Brodd is also marked out by a shimmering aura of power, and his one good eye flickers with primal mysticism and cruel intelligence. Brodd becomes a bellowing icon of savagery in battle, invigorating fellow gargants through the bestial energy that clings to him. Long did Brodd reign as king of the Scabrous Sprawl in Ghyran. Many believed that his relative intelligence resulted from some blessing of the dormant godbeast Behemat. During the Realmgate Wars, the gargants of the Sprawl formed an alliance with the Stormcast Eternals. When Sigmar’s chosen told him of Archaon’s plan to bind Behemat into service, Brodd agreed to help them fight back. He was thus close at hand to witness Behemat at last awaken – and when Sigmar’s champion murdered the godbeast, Brodd could do nothing but watch helplessly. Now Brodd sees himself as a holy avenger charged with trampling the empires of the hated God-King flat. He eagerly joins the warpath of other stomps, especially if they lead to Sigmar’s cities; few would deny the aid of the elder king, for they recognise that the best fights follow him.

One of the most destructive races to have ever lived, the Drogrukh were centauroid warriors who built a great nation in the Realm of Beasts. From their number rose a champion so powerful that he ascended to godhood: Kragnos, the End of Empires. Having led his people in warfare against a draconic empire that left the Drogrukh all but extinct, Kragnos was sealed away for the protection of the realms – only to be freed centuries later. Though he currently wages a protracted war in the Realm of Life, Kragnos can still be drawn to battle by the most ferocious fighting, his arrival announced by the smashing of enemy lines and the crushing of foes under his thunderous hooves. Already a natural disaster made manifest, Kragnos’s rampages are further augmented by his legendary armaments. The shield Tuskbreaker is said to have been cast aside by Gorkamorka himself, deity of the orruks and other brutish beings. The spells of enemy mages break instantly upon its surface, supposedly due to the residual divine essence that suffuses it. The Dread Mace, Kragnos’s massive studded club, is powerful enough to shatter walls of solid rock. Legends say that Kragnos retrieved the weapon’s head from an ancient geomantic nexus, and that it is infused with Ghur’s own destructive animus.

Kraken-eater Mega-Gargants are irascible old souls who have seen it all. They find just as much satisfaction in watching the sun rise while seated atop their favourite rock as they do in destroying a village, and they crave the relief that only the sea can provide on their old and aching bones – as well as the bounty that washes up on its shores. Though extremely acquisitive, most Kraken-eaters will not make any effort to use their prizes, other than carrying them around in huge nets or haphazard bandoliers. However, there are those who propose a wild notion: not everything made by pipsqueaks is worthless. These Kraken-eaters attempt to actually understand the contents of their hoards, and the cleverest have deduced that magic is a powerful force. While the manipulation of arcane energies is a bit too finicky for gargants, an artefact that does it for them is another matter, so they collect any mystical doodads they can. Despite their hermetic existence, Kraken-eaters are still gargants at heart. The need to destroy and stake their territory is strong, as is their newly acquired desire to pillage treasure. Dark legends tell of them submerging their massive forms below the sea then snatching ships from the water’s surface in order to drown or eat everyone aboard.

It does not matter to the Warstompers who is fighting or why; all they care about is finding a vicious battle to lose themselves in. The charge of a Warstomper is akin to being hit by a roaring Chamonic steam-engine, and then the titan begins swinging their huge club, ploughing through enemy ranks with howls of battle-joy. Warstompers regularly fight as mercenaries in the service of Chaos, for the society of the Dark Gods’ worshippers is predicated upon endless strife, and that suits these gargants just fine. It is tempting to think of the Warstompers as stone-headed brutes, incapable of higher thought beyond flailing their limbs in a frenzy. Their passion for battle, however, translates to a frightening degree of comprehension. While raw strength is usually enough to win the day, they have a basic but uncanny understanding of tactics, recognising when to fight, when to pull back and when to redouble their efforts. Should they be fired on by archers, the Warstomper will raise one arm as a shield to protect their vital organs. If they are charged by cavalry, the gargants will shake the earth with heavy jumps, breaking the momentum of the mounted unit. Some Warstompers will even set aside their pride to feign injury when confronted by a powerful adversary, only to strike once their prey’s focus lapses.

Mancrushers are the most common type of gargant, though they are still thankfully quite rare. While they have yet to reach the awe-inspiring proportions of the Mega-Gargants, they are not to be taken lightly; even an adolescent Mancrusher will loom over a Sigmarite domicile and can snatch up a fleeing settler with one grasp of their meaty hands. Many carry gore-stained burlap sacks and will stuff both living and dead prey into the meaty churn within to save for a treat after the battle is won. Mancrushers are impressionable beings who live for the moment. As such, they are easily swept up by the passions of their big mates. If the boss of a stomp wants to plunge into the most cataclysmic battles imaginable, then the Mancrushers will charge in right at their side, shouldering and tugging at one another in an attempt to be first into the fray. Similarly, those who follow the Beast-smashers are soon filled with pounding Waaagh! energy and seem more oblivious than ever to the blades and arrows of terrified pipsqueaks. Despite this propensity towards imitation, every Mancrusher dreams of one day growing to become a Mega-Gargant and forging their own path. Then, in turn, they will attract their own gargant disciples, and the cycle will begin anew.

Mancrushers are the most common type of gargant, though they are still thankfully quite rare. While they have yet to reach the awe-inspiring proportions of the Mega-Gargants, they are not to be taken lightly; even an adolescent Mancrusher will loom over a Sigmarite domicile and can snatch up a fleeing settler with one grasp of their meaty hands. Many carry gore-stained burlap sacks and will stuff both living and dead prey into the meaty churn within to save for a treat after the battle is won. Because they do not need to dominate a local food supply to the same extent as their larger kin, Mancrushers are often especially sociable by gargant standards. It is common to see mobs of the brutes banding together beneath the biggest of their number, hunting together and showing off to see who is the greatest. Just as common is the mob later having some catastrophic falling-out over the distribution of spoils or an accusation of foul play in some oafish game and battering one another to a pulp.