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“Let me tell you the tale of Lowsnik Greenshanks, Ruler of the Rebel Grot organization “Da Imperial Kompany of Krotz in Exile” (D.I.K.K.I.E.).
The air was thick with the large, black smoke coming from the open fires scattered around the Ork camp. Ork sentries on the walls, some sleeping, some smoking and all ugly. It was just another night for Lowsnik, his broom in hand, tidying the Mek’s Workshop.

It was quiet in the workshop. The Mek lay passed out in his chair. The other Grots were playing Squig-ball in the yard. The time has come to steal some more stuff for Lowsnik’s project in his cave he called a home. He silently grabbed some adamantium, a very resilient type of metal, rods, nails and pistons and snuck out, returning to his home and putting it with the rest of his trophies. Soon the time will come when he will rise to power, remove any leadership of the Orks, and forge his name in the Ancient Tomes of Imperial Knowledge.

Uneventful weeks passed. Every night, Lowsnik stole more stuff from the workshop. Slowly, and secretly, he started constructing something the Orks had never seen before. A dead Warhog was gutted and its intestants replaced with one of the strongest metal available on the planet. A steam-engine was put to power the thing and some voice recordings of Warhog snorts were added to the internal vocal-system. The massive beast stood tall. More than a head above an Ork Warboss and with its twin-power axes, it was twice as powerful. With the last paint applied, the time had come to unleash it on the camp.

‘Twas the night before Christmas… No….Wait. ‘Twasn’t…. There was no Christmas anymore.
I will start again; ‘Twas the night before the annual Orkish festival of “Orkdom”. The Warboss and Big Meks were drinking heavily when a small Grot, by the name of Lowsnik, entered the Throne Room. His bare little feet leaving sweaty marks on the polished marble floor. The Orks looked on and turned to each other, no doubt mocking the small Grot.

“Oi!” Lowsnik yelled, but there was no response.

He waited for a bit, seeing that no one paid any attention and took out a Zappah, a small tool to weld things shut. He pointed the tool at the Warboss and gave an electronic pulse.

The Warboss yelled and turned around, frothing at the mouth, and gazed upon the small Grot.

“Wot be dis?!” he roared, “Ye fink ye can zappah me without consah…conseuh…punishment?”

“I challenge you to a duel!” Lowsnik replied, “Last man standing and winner takes the camp!”

The room fell quiet. The Orks all looked at each other puzzled. Then, everyone started laughing, roaring and yelling. Mocking the small Grot who looked around the room nervously.

“A duel?” the Warboss said, trying hard not to laugh. “Ye fink ye can win in a duel? And fer wot? Da camp? I already got da camp!”

“I want the camp. It is written in the Teachings of Gork that a Warboss must accept every challenge issued for leadership. Failing to fight leads to forfeiting leadership.”

“Me knows wot it says,” the Warboss said. “Fine. We have a duel. Winnah gets da camp!”

Lowsnik nodded and left the room.

Several days passed and the time to fight had come. The seventh night of the sixth moon in the third year of the second coming, Lowsnik, on top of his mechanical beast, stood before the Warboss in Mega-Armour.

“So, Runt!” the Warboss said, “Ye fink ye can win with this…mecha…meki..strange beastie?”

Lowsnik looked around and gently nodded.

The following battle was short and bloody. The Warboss managed to land a few blows to the mechanical beast, but the chain-axe failed to penetrate the thick, adamantium joints. The axe’s teeth shattering in many pieces. The huge power-axes of the Warhog, though, slashed into the flesh of the huge Ork. His right arm was cleany cut off, and a few toes suffered the same fate. Black blood seeped on the soft soil of the arena and the Warboss fell to one knee, gasping for breath. With a last swing, Lowsnik directed the Warhog to chop his old leader’s head right off.
With a soft thump, the head fell on the ground and rolled for a few metres until stopping against the boots of the shell-shocked Mek.

“I win!” Lowsnik yelled, and started jumping up and down.

He then turned towards the amazed Grots and said in a Braveheart-esque way; “We are free brothers! Free from the Orks! Freedoooom!!!”

The Orks didn’t accept the win ofcourse. They are always sneaky. They attacked Lowsnik and threw him out of the camp. Together with some Grot followers. They had their own competition and soon a new Ork Warboss was crowned.

Lowsnik went into hiding accompanied by his mechanical beast with and his pet, a Dachshund only known as “The Friend” as well as the loyal Grot companions. Lowsnik decided on naming his people Grotski’s (males) and Grotska’s (females).



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Many years passed and the society Lowsnik created prospered. There was a steady influx of Grot refugees and by employing guerrilla attacks on the Orks, the Grots could manage well.

Stolen blueprints made the Grots to build their own vehicles and conquered, as well as looted, many Orkish Battlewagons. The Grot army is steadily growing, although the large Orkish weapons are not ideal.

It would all change though…

It was on one of the resource runs in the nearby Mines of Doom that one of the miners found a metal cilinder. The metal was nothing like found on the planet and it clearly had a tremendous age to it. The round cilinder was about 40 cm long and had strange markings engraved into it. Thinking it surely must be a sign of Gork or Mork, the miners quickly returned to the camp and showed it to Lowsnik. The Grot Mek came too and examined the thing.

He could not identify the markings nor the type of metal. Closer inspection of the cilinder learned that it had a lid on top. Slowly they removed the lid. A small hiss-sound emerged, followed by a strange smell. Inside there were documents. Ancient pictures and texts, with the same symbols engraved on the cilinder. The Mek suggested it was the Speech of Mork,although it also could be the Speech of Gork. The Grots decided it was at least one of the two speeches, and inspected the documents closer.

On the pictures they could see soldiers. Looking a lot like Imperial Guardsmen, only with different weapons. They have long, leather coats and strange helmets. Some have caps and fur hats. They wave red banners with a golden hammer and sickle emblem. The Grots start to cheer.

“They have the red flags of Gork and Mork! Red ‘unz go fasta!” one of the Elder Grots yelled.

The whole room was in awe. Could this be the sign which signals the coming of Gork? Or Mork? Could the Grots be the ones who are chosen to rule the galaxy in Gork’s name? Or Mork’s name? Or Gork and Mork’s name? Anyway, in someone’s name?

Lowsnik immediately starts examining the pictures. He orders the Meks to forge new weapons, all based upon the “Holy Ones” on the pictures. Smaller but with the same power of the original Ork guns. The Grotska’s start making many large, red banners as well as longcoats for the soldiers.

A few months later, Lowsnik’s forces launched a dawn-raid on the nearby Ork camp. Sixty days passed and the Orks were defeated. The new Warboss and bodyguard evaded capture though. Having bad memories of the camp, Lowsnik razed it, after freeing the Gretchin, the Grots’ slaves who all joined the liberating forces.

That, my friend, is the start of Lowsnik Greenshanks’ conquest of the galaxy. Remember his name, for he is on a quest for Total Grot Liberation and is a great tactician. For a Grot that is.”