Rumour has it that this is the legendary axe that will start the battle that will end the world in an unstoppable orgy of fire and slaughter. According to Orc myth, this will come about when Warlord Ragna da Destroyer; Gork's (or possibly Mork's) chosen leader of the Last Waaagh! goes mad with an axe and destroys the whole world. This is the famous Orcish day of Ragnarork, and forms the basis of one of Orcdom's most popular and enduring campfire tales. It remains to be seen if the Battleaxe of the Last Waaagh! is actually the instrument that will bring about this destruction. However; there is no doubt that it is one of the most powerful magical weapons to be found anywhere in the Old World.

This weapon is battered and stained through long years of hard use. While it shows evidence of many rough 'improvements', the core of its broad-headed blade and cutting edge is of a pure and untarnished metal, much like the expertly wrought master weapons forged by the Dwarf Runesmiths at the height of their powers. The rest of the chunky weapon is bashed and cobbled together from many metals. It is a blade that slices armour with its razor edge, before punching through it with its hefty bulk. Bathed in the spiteful magics of the Night Goblins, it is a weapon to bring home all their curses upon the stunties.

Bashed together out of the blackest metals of the underground, together with the reforged suits of slain stunties, this armour is thick and heavy. It wasn't until the blessing of Gork was bestowed upon it that the suit of armour became so formidable. Now, imbued with the brutal and aggressive spirit of the most ruthless and fightiest of greenskin gods, it is fit for a king amongst Warbosses. The Armour of Gork gives its wearer an iron belligerence that steels his resolve, even as it hardens his hide.

This studded collar is inscribed with ancient glyphs entwined with the shapes of mysterious beasts. The wearer can stare imperiously at any beast that dares confront him and say 'Don't even fink abart it' or something like that, and the beast cowers before him. The Collar also enables its wearer to enter the mind of monsters and overpower or bind them to his ill.

Originally captured from the Necromancer Kaloth, this staff fascinated the Goblin Shaman Kazgi, who spent long hours trying to plumb its secrets - that is until his mysterious disappearance. At first glance this skull on a stick seems like any other Shaman's fetish, at least it does until the ancient headbone's eye sockets gleam with an unearthly glow. Then the jawbone moves and a voice as dry and raspy as the ages gone rattles out. It speaks in a language long forgotten, but its words hold a fell power that even simple beasts might recognise and rightfully fear: Should you be close enough to hear it tell its dread secrets and mouth its unholy curse, then that will be the last thing you ever hear, for its words are death.

Small and gruesomely shrivelled, like some over-ripened fruit, only a powerful enemy can be turned into the right kind of Shrunken Head. There are few charms as potent, but it can be made stronger still by the application of the correct rituals, shuffling dances and chants. Orcs have known this magic for as long as there have been Orcs. Some have forgotten, but the Savage Orc Shamans have not. When the crude stitches that keep the mouth sewn shut quiver, and the long-closed eyelids twitch, then the spell has worked. It is no minor charm, but a Lucky Shrunken Head. The old ways are best.

The Horn of Urgok is a twisted ram's horn with bands of rune encrusted red copper, and contains a potent spell. It has the power to panic enemies with feelings of dream and doom and fill friendly troops with courage with a single blast. When sounded, all enemy regiments within earshot may flee and all fleeing friendly regiments within range will rally themselves. If truth be known, most of Urgok's victories can be ascribed to the terrifying sound of this enchanted horn rather than his own generalship.

Mork's Spirit Totem drips with the raw Waaagh energy of the great god Mork. While the ladz march beneath its awesome shadow they enjoy the protection and favour of Mork. After powerful rituals and plenty of Shaman mumbo-jumbo, this banner was left leaning against an idol of Mork. There, under the totem's stony gaze, the banner has absorbed a fraction of the great Mork's mighty and indomitable spirit. This great green blessing drifts over and protects any that march under the banner's aura. The puny spells of enemy Wizards will be confounded - 'outclevered' by Mork's cunning. So strong is Mork that the enchanted weapons and items of foes become feeble in his merest presence. Good ol' Mork.

Covered in skulls and the webbed and dried husks of many offerings, this banner oozes with an evil aura. From out of the great webbed void, multiple-eyes gaze down upon the battlefield, with slaughter reflected in their blackness. When the wind moves the tattered banner; it flutters soundlessly, like so much webbing. Yet, ever so faintly, the furtive noise of scuttling can be heard, or perhaps the clicking and chittering of steel-hard mandibles. The divine blessings of the great Spider-god have been bestowed upon this banner and those who march beneath it visibly seethe with a black and deadly venom. Under the gaze of their Spider god's magic the Forest Goblins fill with Waaagh! energy, their eyes glint with power and anticipation of the slaughter.

The Bad Moon Banner is a creation of the Night Goblin shamans. When the leering, yellowed face of the Bad Moon Banner rises, all Night Goblins swell with an insane blend of daring and pure battle-madness. The very air about the banner seems to thicken into an inking gloaming. In the shadowy murk, the much-revered moon seems to shine more fully and more sickly still. As the light seems to get sucked away from their surroundings, the Night Goblins cackle and screech their glee. For those nearby, it feels for all the world like the damp and confined air of some darksome tunnel has materialised around them. Just the thing to fill a Night Goblin full of renewed bravery. of a sort.