DA STINKIEST GIT A GREEN SAGA
Posted: Sat Apr 19, 2025 2:57 pm
Right den, ‘ere be da legendary origin of da one, da only... Dungsniffa Brownfiga, Shaman of Stink, Prophet of Pungence, and da undisputed Masta in da Fart of War.
Once upon a squig-squashed moon, deep in da dankest part o’ da Badlands, dere lived a weedy, nose-pokin’ git called Dungsniffa. He weren’t noffin special — just anuvver night gobbo what liked sniffin places wot shouldn’t be sniffed. But one day, he done a sniff wot changed everyfing.
While pickin’ a big ol’ bogie outta his bum... eh, finger, he give it a good sniff — real deep like. Den BAM! 'E saw da future! Da sky turned green, da clouds farted thunder, an’ da voices came...
"DUNGSNIFFA... SNIFF MORE... SNIFF FURTAH... BE DA ONE WOT SMELLS DA WAY!"
From dat day on, Dungsniffa got da stinkgifts. He could hear da Waaagh! in da winds, da prophecy in da pongs. Every time he sniffed his crusty digit, da voices told ‘im where da fight was, who needed bonkin’, and when da next good fart cloud was rollin’ in.
Now he roams da Old World, followin’ his nose an’ da call o’ da almighty Green Fart. He sniffs dung, sniffs farts, sniffs bits wot don’t need sniffin, all to channel da stinkin’ powah of Gork (or maybe Mork, 'ard to tell wiv da smell).
Dey say when Dungsniffa lets rip a real prophecy-fart, da enemy flees, da boyz cheer, and da wind blows da Waaagh! banner high.
So if ya smell somethin’ nasty in da air, and see a hooded gobbo wiv a brown-streaked fingie up ‘is nose... ya best get ready.
Dungsniffa Brownfiga iz ‘ere — an’ he’s sniffin’ for WAR.
WAAAGH!
Da Book o’ Brownfiga: Da Twelve Sniffs o’ Waaagh!
Chapter 1: Da Reekin' of Reikland
Dungsniffa’s nose leads ‘im into da Empire, where Karl Franz’s shiny boyz learn dat even gunpowder can’t mask gobbo gas.
Chapter 2: Sniffin’ Skavenholes
Down into da Under-Empire he crawls, facin’ off against Grey Seer Fartzit and his warp-fuelled windiness.
Chapter 3: Stankfangs in da Snow
Up north to Norsca, where even da Chaos-touched barbarians wretch at da waft of da Brown Cloak o’ Doom.
Chapter 4: Wood Elfs and Weedgas
In Athel Loren, da sacred trees scream as Dungsniffa sniffs out da stinkroots and upsets da balance o’ nature.
Chapter 5: Bretonian Breeze-Off
A holy tourney is interrupted when Dungsniffa wins a flatulence duel against a Grail Knight mid-charge.
Chapter 6: Dwarfy Dungholds
He breaks into Karaz-a-Karak, insultin’ every ancestor spirit wiv a fart so old it gets added to da Book of Grudges.
Chapter 7: Tomb Stinks of Khemri
Even da undead flinch when Dungsniffa uncorks a jar o’ preserved gut gas under Settra’s throne.
Chapter 8: High Elfy Nosebleeds
On Ulthuan, he sniffs so deep in da White Tower’s library dat da winds o’ magic themselves go sour.
Chapter 9: Da Big Green Sniff-Off (Orcs vs Gobbos)
Challenged by Freeboota Warboss Grufrip for leadership, Brownfiga farts a glyph so powerful it leaves a crater dat sinks da boat.
Chapter 10: Vampires an’ Vile Vapours
In Sylvania, he face-sniffs Mannfred von Carstein — and wins. Barely.
Chapter 11: Lizardbois an’ Jungle Juice
Deep in Lustria, he ingests a sacred fruit and unleashes da first ever flamin’ prophecy fart.
Chapter 12: Chaos Sniffinit... Da Final Wind
On da edge o’ da world, facin’ da Dark Gods demselves, Dungsniffa unleashes The Stench Eternal — a fart dat echoes through time, space, an’ da Warp.
Chapter 1: Da Reekin’ of Reikland
Where even da proudest knight gets humbled by a gobbo's gut.
It was a bright, stinkin’ day in Reikland. Da Empire’s banners flapped in da breeze, and da air was filled wiv da noble pong of gunpowder, horse sweat, and too many sausages.
But somethin' else was ridin’ da wind... somethin’ worse.
From da south, through bog an’ bramble, crept a green-hooded gobbo wiv a squig on a stick. His name?
Dungsniffa Brownfiga.
His mission?
To sniff out da Empire’s secrets, an’ maybe unleash a sacred fart or two.
Beside ‘im bounced Cheddar, a mangy yellow squig wiv half a face and a taste for shiny boots. Loyal, vicious, and a bit too chewy around da teeth, Cheddar was da perfect sniff-buddy.
“Dis land smells o’ polish an’ pride,” Dungsniffa muttered, finger already halfway up his nose.
“Time to humble da humies.”
Their sniffin’ led ‘em to a great Imperial parade, all drums and banners, led by none other than Sir Hellogigi, a Knight of da Blazin’ Sun. His armor gleamed like a squig’s arse in moonlight, an’ his ego was even shinier.
“Behold!” bellowed Hellogigi, astride his snortin’ warhorse. “This land is SAFE, thanks to Sigmar and my incredibly toned thighs!”
Dungsniffa burped.
Cheddar farted.
Da crowd went quiet.
Hellogigi spotted ‘em and rode forth, sword drawn, nose wrinkled.
“You there! Filthy green wretch! You stink of heresy!”
“Nah gitch,” Dungsniffa grinned, “I stink o’ truth.”
Then he sniffed.
And da voices came.
“SNIFF HARD, O’ CHOSEN STINKER... LET RIP DA WAAAGH-WIND!”
Dungsniffa leapt onto a cart, raised his crusty digit to da sky, and let forth a fart so mighty, so echoey, it shattered glass and wilted roses across three villages. Birds fell from da sky. Babies cried. Hellogigi’s warhorse bucked and ran straight into a cabbage stall.
Sir Hellogigi, da shining knight, collapsed to his knees, coughing, armor turning brown at da edges.
“What... what is this unholy gas?!” he choked.
“Dat,” said Dungsniffa, “is Da Reekin’ of Reikland.”
Cheddar pounced, bit off a plume, and danced around on two legs while Dungsniffa waved his fart-stained banner of Gork (or maybe Mork).
The crowd?
They ran.
Da soldiers?
They tried to fire, but their gunpowder turned soggy in da mystic fog o’ butt.
Only Sir Hellogigi Knight of the Blazing Bum err' Sun remained, curled up and mumbling about how da sun had gone inside his armor.
And so, Dungsniffa and Cheddar waddled off into da mist, victorious.
Da Book o’ Brownfiga
Chapter 2: Sniffin’ Skavenholes
“Where da only fing worse dan warpstone... is warp-farts.”
It all started wiv a sniff. Not just any sniff — but a Brownfinga Sniff.
Dungsniffa sat crouched on a dungpile near Nordland, finger buried knuckle-deep in a nostril, other hand holdin’ a pickled squig toe for luck. Da wind was stiff. Da cheese was hard. Da bogs were whimperin’.
Suddenly — SCRONCH!
He popped da finger out, gave it a mighty whiff, an’ his eyes rolled back like a possessed squig on bath salts.
“Sniffed it... I did... DA BROWNFINGA POINTS NORF,” he growled.
“Into da woods. Into da warp-smell. Into... RATZ.”
Cheddar, wiv his good eye twitchin’ and his worse one rollin’ wild, gave a gurgle like a clogged toilet. He was ready.
They followed da stink through Nordland — past sizzlin’ fields, smoulderin’ watchtowers, and one abandoned soup kitchen where da broth farted back. Dungsniffa sniffed his finger every mile, leadin’ deeper into a big stinkin’ pit full o’ moldy cheese crust and broken promises.
A rat-hole.
It pulsed like a pustule. It reeked like a troll’s navel after a pie festival.
Dungsniffa smiled. “We goin’ in, Cheddar.”
Inside, da tunnels glowed wiv bad magic and worse smells. Skaven symbols scrawled in warp-poo lined da walls. Cheddar growled, chewing a warp-cable ‘til it screamed. Dungsniffa pressed on ‘til dey reached a great big cavern full o’ sparkin’ machines, chantin’ gits in rags, and at da top — on a greasy stone throne...
GREY SEER FARTZIT.
He was big. He was bloated. His robes were yellowed by years of unholy emissions. Warp-lightnin’ crackled from his tailpipe as he rose and squeaked:
“YOU! Gobbo-freak-sniffer! You sniff-wreck my operation?! You dare sniff ME?!”
“Ya stink offended me nose, and me nose is sacred,” Dungsniffa snarled. “Time for a duel, rat-boy.”
Da Duel of Warp Farts Begins
Fartzit zapped warp-lightnin’ from both cheeks. Dungsniffa deflected it wiv his Brown Cloak o’ Doom, a sacred shaman-blanket made from fifty-year-old loincloths. Cheddar charged in, gnawin’ on a shock-staff while belchin’ green sparks.
"Cheddar, BITE ‘IS TAIL!"
They danced — fart against fart, zap against zap — until da chamber shook like Gork farted in a barrel. Den came da final move: Dungsniffa squealed like a pig and unleashed...
“BRING FORTH... DA STINK SQUAD!”
From a nearby pile o’ turd-bags leapt a gobbo wiv a sling full o’ steaming brown:
Dungflinga — eyes wild, grin wide, pockets full o’ poo-bombs.
He was ridin’ high on da broad shoulders of his best mate:
Dungdum, a massive orc wiv two brain cells and a helmet made from a hollowed squig. Strong, slow, and smell-blind, he were da perfect stool-mount.
“WHERE I THROW, DUNGDUM GO!” shouted Dungflinga.
“RAAAARGH!” grunted Dungdum, already swingin’ a wagon wheel like a club.
Together, da stink trio unleashed chaos:
Dungflinga lobbed a precision poo-shot into one of Fartzit’s warp-vents, causin’ a chain reaction of green gas and squeaky panic.
Dungdum charged through a pack o’ Stormvermin, belly-first, knockin’ over machines and breakin’ it all.
Cheddar farted into a capacitor. It exploded in applause.
In da confusion, Dungsniffa climbed atop a warp-dais, lifted his Brownfinga high, and roared:
“IN DA NAME OF GORK (or maybe Mork)... SMELL JUSTICE!”
He snorted da flutalated finga and unleashed a Prophecy Fart so mighty it burned Fartzit’s name into da ceiling... and into history.
Grey Seer Fartzit squealed, exploded into warp-mice, and vanished into a puff of regret.
Wiv Fartzit gone, da walls collapsed, revealin’ a bunch o’ overworked, underfed gobbos wearin’ ragged tunics stamped wiv a red rune — “Property of Tallinah - Khaine’s Disciples Ltd.”
“We wuz hired to ‘power da warp mines,’” Gudgey da gobbo said, rubbin’ his burnt nose.
“They said it were an ‘internship.’ But we got no tea breaks. No farts. No nothin’!”
Dungsniffa nodded. “Ain’t right. A gobbo gotta fart free.”
He raised his brownstained banner high and shouted:
“I hereby found da FREE GOBBO WORKERZ UNION O’ STINK!”
Da gobbos cheered. One named Stinykaz farted a little goblin-shaped cloud in pride.
Dey marched out da tunnel in victory, chantin’, belchin’, an’ swearin’ to unionise all da mines, dungeons, and dark temples across da land. Behind ‘em, da rat tunnels collapsed in a glorious fartquake, and da land smelled just a little less cursed.
“One stink down,” said Dungsniffa, smirkin’.
“Plenny more to sniff.”
Another sniff, another sign.
Da Waaagh! had begun.
Once upon a squig-squashed moon, deep in da dankest part o’ da Badlands, dere lived a weedy, nose-pokin’ git called Dungsniffa. He weren’t noffin special — just anuvver night gobbo what liked sniffin places wot shouldn’t be sniffed. But one day, he done a sniff wot changed everyfing.
While pickin’ a big ol’ bogie outta his bum... eh, finger, he give it a good sniff — real deep like. Den BAM! 'E saw da future! Da sky turned green, da clouds farted thunder, an’ da voices came...
"DUNGSNIFFA... SNIFF MORE... SNIFF FURTAH... BE DA ONE WOT SMELLS DA WAY!"
From dat day on, Dungsniffa got da stinkgifts. He could hear da Waaagh! in da winds, da prophecy in da pongs. Every time he sniffed his crusty digit, da voices told ‘im where da fight was, who needed bonkin’, and when da next good fart cloud was rollin’ in.
Now he roams da Old World, followin’ his nose an’ da call o’ da almighty Green Fart. He sniffs dung, sniffs farts, sniffs bits wot don’t need sniffin, all to channel da stinkin’ powah of Gork (or maybe Mork, 'ard to tell wiv da smell).
Dey say when Dungsniffa lets rip a real prophecy-fart, da enemy flees, da boyz cheer, and da wind blows da Waaagh! banner high.
So if ya smell somethin’ nasty in da air, and see a hooded gobbo wiv a brown-streaked fingie up ‘is nose... ya best get ready.
Dungsniffa Brownfiga iz ‘ere — an’ he’s sniffin’ for WAR.
WAAAGH!
Da Book o’ Brownfiga: Da Twelve Sniffs o’ Waaagh!
Chapter 1: Da Reekin' of Reikland
Dungsniffa’s nose leads ‘im into da Empire, where Karl Franz’s shiny boyz learn dat even gunpowder can’t mask gobbo gas.
Chapter 2: Sniffin’ Skavenholes
Down into da Under-Empire he crawls, facin’ off against Grey Seer Fartzit and his warp-fuelled windiness.
Chapter 3: Stankfangs in da Snow
Up north to Norsca, where even da Chaos-touched barbarians wretch at da waft of da Brown Cloak o’ Doom.
Chapter 4: Wood Elfs and Weedgas
In Athel Loren, da sacred trees scream as Dungsniffa sniffs out da stinkroots and upsets da balance o’ nature.
Chapter 5: Bretonian Breeze-Off
A holy tourney is interrupted when Dungsniffa wins a flatulence duel against a Grail Knight mid-charge.
Chapter 6: Dwarfy Dungholds
He breaks into Karaz-a-Karak, insultin’ every ancestor spirit wiv a fart so old it gets added to da Book of Grudges.
Chapter 7: Tomb Stinks of Khemri
Even da undead flinch when Dungsniffa uncorks a jar o’ preserved gut gas under Settra’s throne.
Chapter 8: High Elfy Nosebleeds
On Ulthuan, he sniffs so deep in da White Tower’s library dat da winds o’ magic themselves go sour.
Chapter 9: Da Big Green Sniff-Off (Orcs vs Gobbos)
Challenged by Freeboota Warboss Grufrip for leadership, Brownfiga farts a glyph so powerful it leaves a crater dat sinks da boat.
Chapter 10: Vampires an’ Vile Vapours
In Sylvania, he face-sniffs Mannfred von Carstein — and wins. Barely.
Chapter 11: Lizardbois an’ Jungle Juice
Deep in Lustria, he ingests a sacred fruit and unleashes da first ever flamin’ prophecy fart.
Chapter 12: Chaos Sniffinit... Da Final Wind
On da edge o’ da world, facin’ da Dark Gods demselves, Dungsniffa unleashes The Stench Eternal — a fart dat echoes through time, space, an’ da Warp.
Chapter 1: Da Reekin’ of Reikland
Where even da proudest knight gets humbled by a gobbo's gut.
It was a bright, stinkin’ day in Reikland. Da Empire’s banners flapped in da breeze, and da air was filled wiv da noble pong of gunpowder, horse sweat, and too many sausages.
But somethin' else was ridin’ da wind... somethin’ worse.
From da south, through bog an’ bramble, crept a green-hooded gobbo wiv a squig on a stick. His name?
Dungsniffa Brownfiga.
His mission?
To sniff out da Empire’s secrets, an’ maybe unleash a sacred fart or two.
Beside ‘im bounced Cheddar, a mangy yellow squig wiv half a face and a taste for shiny boots. Loyal, vicious, and a bit too chewy around da teeth, Cheddar was da perfect sniff-buddy.
“Dis land smells o’ polish an’ pride,” Dungsniffa muttered, finger already halfway up his nose.
“Time to humble da humies.”
Their sniffin’ led ‘em to a great Imperial parade, all drums and banners, led by none other than Sir Hellogigi, a Knight of da Blazin’ Sun. His armor gleamed like a squig’s arse in moonlight, an’ his ego was even shinier.
“Behold!” bellowed Hellogigi, astride his snortin’ warhorse. “This land is SAFE, thanks to Sigmar and my incredibly toned thighs!”
Dungsniffa burped.
Cheddar farted.
Da crowd went quiet.
Hellogigi spotted ‘em and rode forth, sword drawn, nose wrinkled.
“You there! Filthy green wretch! You stink of heresy!”
“Nah gitch,” Dungsniffa grinned, “I stink o’ truth.”
Then he sniffed.
And da voices came.
“SNIFF HARD, O’ CHOSEN STINKER... LET RIP DA WAAAGH-WIND!”
Dungsniffa leapt onto a cart, raised his crusty digit to da sky, and let forth a fart so mighty, so echoey, it shattered glass and wilted roses across three villages. Birds fell from da sky. Babies cried. Hellogigi’s warhorse bucked and ran straight into a cabbage stall.
Sir Hellogigi, da shining knight, collapsed to his knees, coughing, armor turning brown at da edges.
“What... what is this unholy gas?!” he choked.
“Dat,” said Dungsniffa, “is Da Reekin’ of Reikland.”
Cheddar pounced, bit off a plume, and danced around on two legs while Dungsniffa waved his fart-stained banner of Gork (or maybe Mork).
The crowd?
They ran.
Da soldiers?
They tried to fire, but their gunpowder turned soggy in da mystic fog o’ butt.
Only Sir Hellogigi Knight of the Blazing Bum err' Sun remained, curled up and mumbling about how da sun had gone inside his armor.
And so, Dungsniffa and Cheddar waddled off into da mist, victorious.
Da Book o’ Brownfiga
Chapter 2: Sniffin’ Skavenholes
“Where da only fing worse dan warpstone... is warp-farts.”
It all started wiv a sniff. Not just any sniff — but a Brownfinga Sniff.
Dungsniffa sat crouched on a dungpile near Nordland, finger buried knuckle-deep in a nostril, other hand holdin’ a pickled squig toe for luck. Da wind was stiff. Da cheese was hard. Da bogs were whimperin’.
Suddenly — SCRONCH!
He popped da finger out, gave it a mighty whiff, an’ his eyes rolled back like a possessed squig on bath salts.
“Sniffed it... I did... DA BROWNFINGA POINTS NORF,” he growled.
“Into da woods. Into da warp-smell. Into... RATZ.”
Cheddar, wiv his good eye twitchin’ and his worse one rollin’ wild, gave a gurgle like a clogged toilet. He was ready.
They followed da stink through Nordland — past sizzlin’ fields, smoulderin’ watchtowers, and one abandoned soup kitchen where da broth farted back. Dungsniffa sniffed his finger every mile, leadin’ deeper into a big stinkin’ pit full o’ moldy cheese crust and broken promises.
A rat-hole.
It pulsed like a pustule. It reeked like a troll’s navel after a pie festival.
Dungsniffa smiled. “We goin’ in, Cheddar.”
Inside, da tunnels glowed wiv bad magic and worse smells. Skaven symbols scrawled in warp-poo lined da walls. Cheddar growled, chewing a warp-cable ‘til it screamed. Dungsniffa pressed on ‘til dey reached a great big cavern full o’ sparkin’ machines, chantin’ gits in rags, and at da top — on a greasy stone throne...
GREY SEER FARTZIT.
He was big. He was bloated. His robes were yellowed by years of unholy emissions. Warp-lightnin’ crackled from his tailpipe as he rose and squeaked:
“YOU! Gobbo-freak-sniffer! You sniff-wreck my operation?! You dare sniff ME?!”
“Ya stink offended me nose, and me nose is sacred,” Dungsniffa snarled. “Time for a duel, rat-boy.”
Da Duel of Warp Farts Begins
Fartzit zapped warp-lightnin’ from both cheeks. Dungsniffa deflected it wiv his Brown Cloak o’ Doom, a sacred shaman-blanket made from fifty-year-old loincloths. Cheddar charged in, gnawin’ on a shock-staff while belchin’ green sparks.
"Cheddar, BITE ‘IS TAIL!"
They danced — fart against fart, zap against zap — until da chamber shook like Gork farted in a barrel. Den came da final move: Dungsniffa squealed like a pig and unleashed...
“BRING FORTH... DA STINK SQUAD!”
From a nearby pile o’ turd-bags leapt a gobbo wiv a sling full o’ steaming brown:
Dungflinga — eyes wild, grin wide, pockets full o’ poo-bombs.
He was ridin’ high on da broad shoulders of his best mate:
Dungdum, a massive orc wiv two brain cells and a helmet made from a hollowed squig. Strong, slow, and smell-blind, he were da perfect stool-mount.
“WHERE I THROW, DUNGDUM GO!” shouted Dungflinga.
“RAAAARGH!” grunted Dungdum, already swingin’ a wagon wheel like a club.
Together, da stink trio unleashed chaos:
Dungflinga lobbed a precision poo-shot into one of Fartzit’s warp-vents, causin’ a chain reaction of green gas and squeaky panic.
Dungdum charged through a pack o’ Stormvermin, belly-first, knockin’ over machines and breakin’ it all.
Cheddar farted into a capacitor. It exploded in applause.
In da confusion, Dungsniffa climbed atop a warp-dais, lifted his Brownfinga high, and roared:
“IN DA NAME OF GORK (or maybe Mork)... SMELL JUSTICE!”
He snorted da flutalated finga and unleashed a Prophecy Fart so mighty it burned Fartzit’s name into da ceiling... and into history.
Grey Seer Fartzit squealed, exploded into warp-mice, and vanished into a puff of regret.
Wiv Fartzit gone, da walls collapsed, revealin’ a bunch o’ overworked, underfed gobbos wearin’ ragged tunics stamped wiv a red rune — “Property of Tallinah - Khaine’s Disciples Ltd.”
“We wuz hired to ‘power da warp mines,’” Gudgey da gobbo said, rubbin’ his burnt nose.
“They said it were an ‘internship.’ But we got no tea breaks. No farts. No nothin’!”
Dungsniffa nodded. “Ain’t right. A gobbo gotta fart free.”
He raised his brownstained banner high and shouted:
“I hereby found da FREE GOBBO WORKERZ UNION O’ STINK!”
Da gobbos cheered. One named Stinykaz farted a little goblin-shaped cloud in pride.
Dey marched out da tunnel in victory, chantin’, belchin’, an’ swearin’ to unionise all da mines, dungeons, and dark temples across da land. Behind ‘em, da rat tunnels collapsed in a glorious fartquake, and da land smelled just a little less cursed.
“One stink down,” said Dungsniffa, smirkin’.
“Plenny more to sniff.”
Another sniff, another sign.
Da Waaagh! had begun.