I posted this on The Waaagh a while back, but never posted it here. So here we go!
There was no doubt that Morgrim was dead. At least 20 boys saw him die one day, as he was walking through the marketplace. Skooge was with him as well. Morgrim had turned around to shake down one of the boys that owed him teef, when a squig chomped down on his shin. Morgrim casually shot it with slugga, not noticing the huge bundle of explosives tied to the thing’s back.
Skooge was probably the only ork who cared about Morgrim’s death. It happened right before Orkmas day, not that he and Morgrim did anything that day besides drink brew and scowl. To this day Skooge’s workplace says “Skooge an Morgrim’z plase of gettn’ teef.”
Teefamizer Skooge was something of a nob by now, although he didn’t grow from fighting, that’s for sure. It was rumored that Skooge had become a giant out of the sheer fear of being beaten up and having his teef taken from him He carried a kustomized slugga with him at all times, even though he could kill most boys with his bare hands. Unlike most Bad Moons, Skooge never wore any flash; he was only concerned with having and protecting his huge stores of teef.
Skooge’s counting house was probably colder than it was outside, as there wasn’t even any sun to warm it. In the corner there was a metal stove, used for burning wood or squigs, but it hadn’t been lit in weeks. Shivering next to the stove was Gob Ratchet, Skooge’s sumboy. Ratchet was trying hard to keep counting writing huge numbers, such as twenty-four, while shivering in the cold. Skooge didn’t seem to mind the cold at all, as he counted and carefully polished every one of his teef.
“Oi! Teefamiza! ‘Appy Orkmas!” Skooge looked up, although he already knew the voice. His friend from when he was a yoof, Gulgor.
“Bah! Squiggutz!”
“Orkmas a squiggutz? Wot’s yoo talkin’ bout?”
“Yoo wot’s oim talkin bout! Itz a squiggutz,” Skooge replied. “Why iz yoo so ‘appy anywayz? Yoo haz no teef!”
“Why’z yoo so grumpy?” Gulgor asked. “You haz lotz uv teef!”
“Wotz oim suppozed ta be? Stoopid gits go ‘round sayin’ ‘Appy Orkmas!’ when deyz haz no teef.”
“Mah offer still standz, Skooge” Gulgor said. “Yoo can come wif me an my boys to da big foight. We pooled or teef and got us a proppa truck ta ride in.”
“Git da zog outta ‘ere Gulgor, ‘fore I put a slug in ya!”
“Fine den. ‘Appy Orkmas!”
“Git out!”
“An a merry Yeer-Start!”
Skooge took a few pot-shots at Gulgor before he ducked out of the doorway. Skooge went back to counting his teef.
“Oi! Warez dose teef yoo owe me!” Skooge had an ork by the scruff of his shirt.
“U-u-uh ah’ll git dem soon boss! I just gotta sel sum more dese shootas...”
“Yoo sed yoo wud pay me tunoit, ya git! Ah’ll tell ya wot. I wont krump ya til too weeks.”
“Fanks boss...”
“But yoo betta hav twice da teef den!”
Skooge walked away as the boy tried to get him to agree to something more reasonable. The boy briefly considered shooting at him, but he knew Skooge could just blow his head off.
As Skooge continued in his teef collection, he came across an ‘Ardboy. Probably a nob, from his height.
“Oi! Yooz wun dem teef hazers! Dat’s just wot I need ta talk ta! Iz you da Skooge o da Morgrim?”
“Oim Skooge ya git, an Morgrimz ben ded fer ten yeers.”
“Datz too bad. Ah ‘ope dat is partna iz still meen! At dis time uv yeer, iyz kommon ta have a ‘uge foight agenst dem weedy ‘umies. Lotz uv da boys iz bored, but we need mor gunz and wagons to ‘ave a proppa scrap!”
“Are dere no rocks an pointy stikks?”
“Dere’s lotz uv dose”
“An feet? Do boyz stil haz dem?”
“Wot? Most uv dem do.”
“Gud! I wuz woried dat dere wud be somfin stoppin dem from foightin.”
“But deyze need weponz! Uverwize dey’ll just die.”
“If dey gunna die den dey shud do it, an dee-kreese da sur-plus pop-yoo-laish-un.”
Leaving the nob to ponder the meaning of those words, Skooge went to his house. It used to be a nice house, but now it was old and broken down, only repaired enough to keep thieves out.
Skooge sat down at his broken down table, eating old, stringy squig and drinking old, watered down grog. Skooge didn’t like spending his teef on food, even though he had sacks full of teef locked up in his vault.
Suddenly there was a huge gust of wind, which nearly blew over the table. Skooge drew is slugga, ready to shoot a potential burglar, but there was no one there.
“Skoooooooooooge.... Skoooooooooooooooooge...”
Skooge looked around to see a hazy, half-exploded ork looking him.
“Skoooooo-”
“Wot do ya want! ‘oo are ya! Dun make ma shoot yer fase in!” Skooge was bluffing, as it was obvious that the ork couldn’t die in such a manner.
“Teefamizer Skooge! Oim da ghost uv Morgrim!”
“Wot? Morgrimz ded!”
“Dats why oim a ghost ya zogger! See dis ‘ere rack? Dis iz all da trophies dat oi got in moi lif!”
Morgrim did have a trophy rack on his back, but on it was nothing but two grot’s heads and the hand of a firewarrior.
“Iz a terible trophy rack! All da uver boyz no how weedy oi wuz.”
“But yoo had all dose teef!”
“Teef iz not proppa! Krumpin is proppa. And yoo haz a rack wiff less stuf den mine.”
This was true, as Skooge had never killed a firewarrior.
“Wot duz oi do den? I wont da ded boyz to fink oim proppa! Kan oi buy sum trophies...”
“WAAAAGGGGHHHH! YOO IZ A ZOGGIN GIT! ‘OWM OI SAPOZED
TA ‘ELP YA?!”
Morgrim calmed down.
“Dere wil be three ghosts dat come tonite. Yoo betta lissen to dem gud you ‘ere! Da first wil come at one clockz. Da secund wil come at too clockz. Da therd will come at three clockz.”
“Kant dey al come at da same time?”
“NO! See ya, Skooge. If yoo haz problemz wiff da ghostz, complain ta Gork an Mork bout it.”
On that note, Morgrim vanished in a puff of smoke.
Skooge looked down at his fungus-brew.
“Dis stuffz no gud any mor.” He said, throwing it in the trash heap.
Skooge then decided to go to sleep.
Skooge woke up to a revving engine. He bolted out of bed, wondering where he was. He noticed that he was still in bed, but there was also a motorcycle sitting in the middle of his room. Next to it stood a huge biker nob, carrying a giant choppa. Skooge wondered if he was about to get killed for his teef. He also wondered how the bike got into his house.
“Skooge! Iz dat yoo?” The biker nob looked down at him.
“Datz me!” Skooge said putting his hand on his slugga “’oo are yoo?”
“Ahm da ghost uv da Orkmas in da past! Ah wuz sent ‘ere ta show ur pazt ta ya!” The biker replied.
“Now git up! Oi dunt loik ta waste time!”
Skooge got up from his bed as the nob got back on his bike.
“Git on ‘ere! Weez goin’ fer a ride!”
Skooge got on the bike behind the nob, and as he did, the bike suddenly rocketed forward. Skooge thought it would crash into the wall, but it went right through the wall. More accurately, it went right through time.
The nob stopped on top of a cliff. There was a little skirmish going on below, among a bunch of newly hatched yoofs. Skooge could recognize one of them; himself, with his pale skin and weedy arms. He had hurt his leg, and with nothing but a choppa and a rock, he couldn’t reach the enemy.
“Hurr Hurr! Yoo wuz such a weedy yoof!”
Skooge glared at the nob. “Datz not ma falt! Iff oi ‘ad a gun oi cud be killn dem, but I didn hav da teef fer un.”
Skooge aimed his slugga below.
“Dat wunt do anyfing. Dis is da past, stoopid.”
Skooge put the slugga away. He noticed his past self about to be blown up by a rocket, when the boy carrying the rocket was chopped in the face by another yoof. Skooge recognized him.
“Dats Gulgor! Oi forgot ow ‘e saved ma dat day. No gud git, dese dayz. Finks oi want ta get in sum scrap wiff him.”
“Ya dunt even want ta git in a scrap? Yer werse den I fot. Letz see da next fing, ow about?”
The nob plowed into Skooge with his bike, but instead of ending up seriously hurt, Skooge ended up in the middle of a party.
“Wotz ya do dat for ya... Ay! Itz dat party I wuz at!”
“Yup. I fink it wuz kwite a few Orkmases ago, too.”
There was a huge gout of flame, and from it appeared a clearly insane burna boy.
“Datz old Burnypantz! Ah cant beleeve it. ‘E died yeers ago. Nofin ta do wif burnin, strangely. Burny wuz da best, nutta or not. ‘E always ad da best parties!”
“Wot makes dis party so gud? ‘E just spent sum teef on burna fuel. Noffin too ard bout dat.”
“Wot? Burny wuz a grate ork! ‘E just wuz just gud an proppa. Nuffin ta do wiff teef.” Skooge paused. “Dis wurld dun make senss. Yoo cant foight wiff no teef, but yoo cant haz teef if yoo spend dem!”
“Dat iz too bad.” The nob agreed. “Now git outta ‘ere! Oi got stuf ta do!”
The nob picked his bike up and whacked Skooge on the back of the head with it.
Skooge sat up from his bed. He had a huge headache, and going to feel his head he noticed there was a huge lump on it.
“Oi! Musta it ma ead on somefin...” Skooge looked at his clock. The minute hand moved over the 12 as the hour hand moved over the 2.
Dong! Dong!
There was a flash of blinding light.
“HURR HURR HURR! WHERE IZ YOO SKOOGE?” A loud voice bellowed.
Skooge was scared. “Oim roight ere!”
The blinding light died down, and from it came a huge ork wearing a fur coat made from some sort of green animal. The ork was wearing a slick set of shades, and he was carrying a huge snazzgun.
“Dere yoo are den! Hurr. Dats wut oi call flash!”
“So ur sum sorta flash git? Oi gess yooz da ghost uv Orkmas roit now?”
“Dats roit, yoo little sumboy. Ave yoo eva seen an ork loik ma before? Wun uv my brudderz?”
“Iz ur brudder a speed freek?”
“Wot? No, dey look loik mah.”
“Den no”
“Datz becuz yoo dont want ta see dem. Wot yeer iz it?”
“Oi dunt no. Forty-fousand or somefin.”
“Den oi haz forty-fousand or somefin brudders. Wun fer eech Orkmas. We come to dis wurld ta bring gud cheer an krumpin. An nuffin gets in da way uv gud cheer loik yoo. Come on den! We haz stuff ta do!”
The flashgit clapped his hands, and in a flash of light he and Skooge disappeared. They reappeared outside of a falling apart hut.
“Wot wiff dis ‘ut?”
“Dis ‘ut is ware yur sumboy lives. I fink ‘Gob Ratchet’ is hez name.”
“Wy duz e live in dis dump?”
“E duznt haz any teef. Da git e werks fur dunt give him nun.”
“Wot? Oi give im for teef a munth! Dats lotz!”
“Datz not lotz! Yoo cant evin count ta lotz. E duz it fer yoo. Now luk in dere.”
Ratchet was trying to kustomize his shoota from scraps of metal, but he wasn’t getting very far. A huge spark leaped out, and nearly fried off Ratchet’s eyebrows.
“Oi didnt no Ratchet wuz a mek!” Skooge was surprised.
“Eez not a mek, e juzt haz sum mek skilz. ‘E cud be buildin a reelly blasty shoota dere, but ‘e duznt haz da teef fer parts.”
Skrooge saw a grot walk up juggling a hot piece of plutonium.
“Ah dis fings hot boss!”
“Juzt put it ‘ova ere. I dunt got da teef fer anyting dat can ‘old stuf.”
Skooge looked at the sad pair. “Ooz dat grot?”
The flashgit looked back. “Dats Tiny Tin. ‘Eez a gud grot, but ‘e gun die from al da ploot-on-ium e keeps caryin. Gobz not even gunna make it to da foight in time. ‘Eez gunna spen too much time on dat shoota. Now oim gun show ya somefin else ere”
With another clap of his hands the flashgit made a huge flash, blinding Skooge for a moment. When Skooge rubbed the spots out of his eyes he found himself in the middle of a warzone. There was a mob of orks pinned behind a blown out truck, but they were having a laugh.
“Oi! Gulgor! I fink ar trukk iz in bad shape!”
“Hurr hurr. Maybee Skooge wuz rite about it bein a waste uv teef!”
“Ar! Dun talk bout dat git. Yooz roon da foight!”
“Ole Teefamizer’s a git, but oi fink e moit deeside ta be proppa wun dese dayz.”
“Wot? Yoo fink Skooge iz gun come to da foight wiff us?”
“It cud happn. Oi tuld ya ah new him wen e wuz a yoof. ‘E wuz a proppa boy. Dere wuz dis wun scrap wen e urt iz leg...”
“Come orf et, Gulgor! Yoo no eez a weedy teef-countin git now, an e duznt want ta change dat.”
“Maybee not, but oi figgur oi gotta give it a shot. Wun dese dayz he moight akshually do somefin wiff da rest uv da boyz. Beesidez, if ah go talk to Skooge, an ask da git if e wantz ta foight, den oi no dat oi muzt be a reelly tuff git!”
Gulgor’s mob laughed along with him, ignoring the lasbolts ricocheting off the truck.
Skooge turned to the flashgit. “maybee ah shud kil a few umies maself one dese dayz. Oi ‘aven’t ben in a proppa scrap in a long time.” Skooge saw some wriggling coming from inside the flashgit’s coat. “Ey? Wots dose fings in ur coat?”
The flashgit opened his coat, revealing a pair of huge, snarling attack squigs.
“Aah! Heh heh... Dose shure iz sum meen squigs. Iz dey yurs?”
“Deyz all da ork’s. Dere namez is Weedyness an Bloodaxey. Beeware bof uv dem, o dey’l kil yoo.”
“Ow do ya kil somefin loik dose?”
“Wotz da matta? Are dere no rocks an pointy stikks?”
The flashgit raised his gun and pulled the trigger. A fourth flash of light rang out, and when Skooge recovered he was back in his bed.
“Ah! Dat wuz weerd. Oim watchin out fer dem squigz...”
-ong! Dong!
Skooge heard the last of the bells chiming at three. At first he didn’t see anything. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see a huge figure lurking the shadows.
CLOMP
CLOMP
CLOMP
The figure was in mega armor, but Skooge couldn’t tell what the ork inside looked like. Shadows obscured the top half of his head, and the jutting iron gob blocked the rest. The ork just stood there, towering before Skooge.
“Iz yoo da ghost uv fings wot avent appened yet?”
The mega armored ghost didn’t answer.
“Yooz a scaryer ghost den al da uvers. Say somefin!”
The mega armored ghost did nothing. Then, slowly, it raised its powerklaw, and pointed to the window. Shadows covered the both of them, and Skooge found himself in the middle of an old, dark house. The mega armored ghost stood near him.
“Hurr hurr! Dis iz sum gud stuf roit ere!” A fat ork picked up a shiny, well-oiled choppa.
“Quit muckin about! Dere’s teef ere sumware.” A grot was hurriedly ransacking the shadowy house looking for anything shiny.
“Wotz da ‘urry? Lootins fun!” The third ork had a stereotypical blue tattoo on the left half of his face.
“Dis iz weerd. Ah’ll loot stuff from a boy oi krump, but dis wun wuz kild by anuver ork. Yoo can’t make a trophy frum dat.” The fat one mused.
“Wot? We’z not lootin trophies ere! Weez lootin fings!” The Deathskull admired a really shiny spoon.
“Stil. It’s weerd.”
“Yur a cupple uv haffwits aint ya?” The grot snarked, catching bemused expressions from the two orks. “Nobuddy cares bout dis un. Nobuddy. Itz not even lootin, really. Dis ork got off’d too late, I fink. Shud ave ben krumped a wile back. Weedy, toof-countin, git.”
“I eard dat ee saw a umie walkin down da street wun day, an e juzt let em walk becuz e didnt wan ta spend da teef on da slugz.” The Deathskull said, laughing.
“Zaclly my point. Dis git haz a ton uv teef stashed ere, cuz e neva spent dem on nuffin. Eez loik a umie or sumfin.”
“Loik a Bludaxe?”
“Worse den dat! Mor loik a panzee or a goatfish or somefin. Weedy as zog.”
The mood seemed somewhat chilled by the mention of the extremely unproppa ork, and Skooge worried that he could be seen as something similar.
“Ghost. All dese gits fink dis unz not a proppa ork. Wots da uvers say? Eez gotta do sumfin orky, roit? Ee iz an ork.”
With a sweeping move of his powerklaw, the ghost wrapped them both in shadows, and through gaps in the shadows Skooge could see scenes connected with the ork’s death.
“Har har! Oi ‘eard dat git bot da dust. Bout time, ‘e neva bot anyfin else.” A tough looking Goff and a Snakebite were chatting.
“Oi ‘erd dat too. Maybee now ya can make sum teef sellin dose shootas. Dat git neva wuz a proppa wun. Nun you gitz is proppa check-warers, but e wuz sumfin else...”
“’Proppa-check warers,’ har. You fink hazing skwares on ya makez ya proppa? Etz da old wayz wots best, I keep tellin you yoofs, but den gits loik dat come ere, not proppa at all dem lot...”
Skooge was getting worried, which displayed itself as anger. “Dis iz da same fing! Get on wiff it, ya zoggin ghost!” The mega armored ghost just looked at Skooge, who half cowered from his gaze. “Pleeze?”
The shadows changed to broken down hut, that Skooge recognized.
Ratchet and another ork were sipping on grog quietly. Quietly for orks anyway.
“I ere eez relly ded?”
“Yup. Not gettin any mor teef from im. Neva even gave ma nun for ‘e died. Rotta.”
“Ah’m sory bout yur grot Gob. E wuz a gud oila. Or somefin loik an oila. Wot kild im?”
“Rady-ash-un poisunin. Ee’d stil be uhlive, if ah’s bot dose gloves.”
“Dun wory bout it Gob. Yoo didnt haz da teef for fings loik dat anyway...”
Skooge turned away from the conversation, and back to the ghost.
“Boss? Oo iz dat ork wot all da boyz ‘ate?”
The shadows parted again, this time at the body pit.
The body pit was what it sounded like; a huge pit filled with an ever-growing mound of corpses. Some were nothing but bones, some were still warm. All of the bodies that hadn’t rotted away too much had a name crudely painted on its torso.
Eventually Skooge came to the body he was looking for; he knew it all too well. Dressed in a faded black overcoat, with papers and a pencil fallen where the corpse had been thrown, was a pale green body. On its torso were two words: Teefimizer Skrooge.
Skooge didn’t need to be told his name was misspelled. He knew no one cared.
“Boss! No! Ah can stil do fings! Ah can stil foight! Dun haz me die wiff no trophies!”
Skooge opened his eyes to find himself begging mercies of his dresser.
“Wot? Wot wuz dat? Sum nutta dreem?” Skooge looked down at himself. Not a dream. Skooge didn’t see any evidence of it not being one, but he knew. It wasn’t a dream. But maybe there was still time. Time to set things right; maybe he couldn’t be proppa, but he could give it more effort than any ork who’s ever lived.
Skooge rushed to his window and, with cunning and brutality running high, smashed the window open. A grot looked up at the possible nutta screaming from his window.
“YOO DERE! GROT! WOT DAY IZ
IT?”
The grot looked like he was being tested. “Today? Et’s Orkmas day, uv corse!”
“HA HA HA! ET’S ORKMAS DAY! OI AVEN’T MESSED ET! DEREZ STIL TIME TOIM FER A SCRAP!”
Using his better judgment, the grot promptly ran off.
“Ratchet! Open da zoggin dore!” Skooge loudly knocked on the hut’s barely functional door.
“Boss? Oi cant count today boss, dere’s da big scrap today, an ma shootaz not dun, an-”
“Shut da zog up! Yoo dun need dat shoota, yoo got dis!” Skooge pulled out a huge weapon, that was once an imperial autocannon, but had been rebuilt so many times it looked nothing like one.
“Iz dis a deffgun? Wots yoo givin ma wun uv dese fer?”
“Ta shoot umies wiff ya zogger! Ere!” Skooge handed him a hefty sack of teef. “Go find da big mek ‘Wurrgeer,’ an tel da zogger ta giv uz all da wagons an shootas e can! An tel im oi gots lotz mor teef den dat bak at moi plase!”
“Uh.. sure fing boss! Oim reddy fer a scrap! Oil go tel im now!”
“Gud. Oi gotta ‘ard boy wots oi need ta talk ta...”
Journal Entry, December 28th
Dear Emperor, what have we done to deserve such a fate? Every morning I wake up with my toes frostbitten from this wasteland.
Johnny and Carlson are already dead. Johnny just got blown apart by something. Some sort of orkish autocannon. I don’t know.
Carlson was in the worst of it. He got flattened – dear Emperor flattened – by one of the orkish battle tanks. We knew there would be an ork attack but nothing like this. Nothing like this. I thought that by now I would be back with my family. I love them all so much; Catherine, Emily, Jacob. I know now that I won’t see them again. I’m going to die here. Our tanks are hugely outnumbered, and our infantry is hugely outgunned. I feel like I want to run.
If you’re reading this Commissar, well, I’m probably dead anyways. I’m not going to run. Faith in the Emperor is talked about cheaply, but I guess it still means something to me. More importantly, I need to give everything I can to help protect the ones I love. If my family can be evacuated in time, it’s a small price to pay.
I have to go now; the orks have started another artillery barrage. I think this whole ork thing is going way further than the command wants us to know. They’re saying it’s going to be an actual ‘Waaagh.’
“Waaagh Skooge.”
Throne I hope they're wrong. 
Gork bless us, everyone!
