Many wise men have found themselves pondering the question; which is better – orcs with muscles on their muscles and less brains than the average rock, or orcs with skinny arms and rusty knives that sneak up when you’re not looking and stab you like a bunch of utter gits? It was a point of debate at the heart of the Orctober challenge between myself and the boy wonder IRO as we battled it out over the last month. You can read a summary of my heroic efforts here, and a load of self aggrandising propaganda from him here.

Until now however no-one has been able to answer the question satisfactorily. Until now…

Yes, ladies and gentlemen I shall attempt to deal with this most thorny of problems by settling it in the only way orcs know – by having a big fight. Orctober saw me paint up a whole army of Kruelboys, plus various other orcs, and all that was left is to find a willing mate to command the other army and pit them against one another in a viscous fight to the death!

One quick note before we begin – there are large versions of all these pictures but I’m having a little trouble making it so you can easily click to view them. Must be because I’m a technological dinosaur not keeping up with the latest WordPress trickery! If you just give it the old right-click you’ll get the option to view decent sized versions in a new tab, without needing to break out the magnifying glass!

Skulkamungus Steelgutz leads a tribe of old fashioned greenskinned thugs who have hammered out a petty kingdom in the rugged Broken Skull Mountains. Far from the knights and armies of civilised lands the orcs have grown wild and unruly, raiding villages, carrying off livestock and burning outposts with impunity. However whilst Skulkamungus has come to regard himself as the biggest and most dangerous orc around, and the natural lord of the Broken Skulls, his old shaman Gulbogga mutters into his squig-ale. The fens to the east are a foul place of dank mists, sucking mud and pools into which an orc and his war-boar could be swallowed up forever. Who knows what lurks there, beneath the crooked trees? Who cares, Skulkamungus says with a shrug. No sane or sensible orc would ever go there! Gulbogga knows better than to argue with the boss, but in his green heart he knows that some orcs are neither sane nor sensible…

At the core of Skulkamungus’s tribe we have his brutes – the warboss’ inner circle of henchmen.

A band of unruly orcs forms the majority of the tribe – as happy drinking or having a kick-about as they are fighting.

Of course not all the orcs are louts, the ‘Ardboys have delusions of being proper soldiers.

Whilst these lads have been sent quite loopy after drinking too much of Gulbogga’s “special brew”.

Like any orc settlement Skulkamungus’s camp is overrun with squigs, and a hulking troll has made itself at home in a nearby cave.

Meanwhile down in the mire Skarfrag da Grot-eater gathered his lads. The time has come for the Kruelboys to show those uppity gits that real orcs ain’t ashamed of cunnin’ plans!

The killaboss is supported by a circle of (dis)trusted advisors; Sneakin’ Slimegob da Snatcha, Zaggrob Nose-picka, Graggrub da Hunta and the shaman Weirdfang Skull-fer-a-hat. (Man, I love naming orcs. It truly is one of life’s great joys).

Two mobs of Gutrippas form the backbone of the tribe – one armed with spears…

… the other with knives, clubs and axes.

Others carry bows to snipe their rivals from afar. No such thing as a fair fight!

No less cruel are the hobgoblins who lurk in the shadow of their bigger cousins.

A marsh crawler slogoth shambles in their wake, crewed by goblins ready to snatch up the unlucky survivors of the coming battle. Will they be made into a meal – or something worse…

Meanwhile in Skulkamungus’s camp the boys are enjoying a lively game of kick the squig when the Kruelboys attack. Daggaface Bill is so distracted that he misses his turn and the squig takes the opportunity to bite his foot off. The other orcs hurry to defend the camp.

The first turn, as usual, is all about movement and repositioning. Bellowing their respective war cries the two warbosses make straight for each other.

Keen to prove themselves the bolt-boys attempt to snipe Skulkamungus but their poisoned arrows bounce harmlessly off his battered steel plate.

The hobgoblins emerge from the shadows of a ruined building to pelt the boys with stick bombs. The result is a surprising amount of high explosive carnage as the orcs are sent reeling by their smaller cousins.

Graggrub da Hunta leads one mob of gutrippas and makes a beeline for the biggest thing in the opposing tribe – Rock-bottom the troll. This will make a fine trophy for his collection!

Rock-bottom isn’t having any of it and chucks a huge chunk of masonry at them. His aim is a little off but two boys are unceremoniously flattened all the same.

Sneakin’ Slimegob finds himself surrounded by a nest of savage squigs (an unenviable situation from which he attempts to extricate himself without success).

Now feeling extremely hacked off the surviving orc boys make straight for the hobgoblins and lay into them with their boots and fists. The fight goes very badly for the little gits but there are too few surviving orcs to really press the advantage and the goblins beat a retreat.

Gulbogga waves his staff and grants his boss magical fists. This extra punching power is sure to come in handy (ahem) as Skulkamungus and Skarfrag clash.

Skulkamungus and his brutes are individually far tougher than the weedy Kruleboys but the smaller orcs have them outnumbered and their scary shields have the boys rattled. They need reinforcement, and luckily the Ardboys are on their way.

Weirdfang Skull-fer-a-hat draws upon his magical powers and, muttering a prayer to the orc gods, conjures the mighty foot of Gork (or possibly Mork) to stamp on the Ardboys. Their ‘eavy armour is no match for the divine boot which squashes three of the boys quite flat.

Meanwhile, whooping their warcries, the savage orcs surround the Marshcrawler Slogoth. The beast proves hard to defeat however.

Graggrub and his lads start to worry that they’ve bitten off more than they can chew. Rock-bottom is proving to be a tough customer and to make matters worse his wounds keep regenerating. Luckily Sneakin’ Slimegob has finished dealing with the squigs and, despite having suffered a few nasty bites, he reckons he’s still got what it takes to deal with that troll and show that wimp Graggrub how it’s done.

The surviving Orcs and Ardboys join up with Skulkamungus, and the tables start to turn against Skarfrag.

The slogoth is holding it’s own against the savage orcs but Zaggrob Nose-picka charges in to help out anyway. With the snatcha boss distracting the under-dressed mob the slogoth takes the opportunity to devour the leader of the savage orcs (the pig, you’ll be relieved to hear, survived and ran off squealing into the night).

Across the board the mighty troll finally falls, leaving the grudging alliance of Graggrub and Slimegob free to pick another fight. Old Gulbogga looks like a soft target. Time to show the weird git what they think of him and his fancy magic!

The old shaman is not without a few tricks up his sleeve however. Green lightning fries two of the surviving Gutrippas and the others flee, leaving the two bosses without backup.

The fight goes against Skarfrag as Skulkamungus and his followers chop their way through the last of his Gutrippas. The Killaboss himself soon follows, his cunning no match for their brutality.

The savage orcs with the giant spear put paid to Zaggrob only to be consumed in turn by the ravenous slogoth.

In the shadow of a ruin the surviving hobgoblins regroup and go to the aid of the slogoth. Alas, as they pick over the corpses of the savage orcs they discover that they have very little worth stealing (perhaps unsurprising given that most of them don’t even have clothes).

Graggrub and Slimegob close in on Gulbogga but the shaman didn’t get to be an old orc without developing a little old-fashioned cunning. He waves his staff and in a puff of green light swaps places with his boss. Skulkamungus is less than impressed with suddenly teleporting across the battlefield and takes out his outrage on the hapless Graggrub and Slimegob.

Weirdfang finds himself the last of Skarfrag’s generals still standing – and face to face with the battered survivors of Skulkamungus’ elite. Despite frantic hopping, cursing and waving of arms his magic fails to materialise and the hulking orcs give him the kicking he so richly deserves.

As the dust settles the Kruleboyz have mostly been either killed or driven off (minus the slogoth which took the opportunity to shamble away into the mire in search of lone stragglers and lost grots to devour).

Victory goes to the “proper orcs”. Perhaps things would have gone differently if the Kruelboys had a few more monsters in tow… Something to think about next Orctober! Or maybe I should have spent more time thinking about my tactics instead of trying to take lots of photos. What can I tell you – it’s the Kruleboyz that are supposed to be cunning, no-one is pretending I am!