Sometimes while I'm painting or converting I'll make up stories about the figure I'm working on. Usually it's just a humorous scene or two, but sometimes there's enough stuff to actually make a short story out of it. This story was thought up while making this model:
RoboNob!
Yes, the last scene is a mish-mash of several scenes from Robocop. That was done entirely on purpose
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Brewnail ducked into Doc Madhav's grimy tent and found the Doc sitting in his chair and enjoying a mug of squig beer. On the operating slab behind the Painboy was ... well, Brewnail was no expert, but he was pretty sure that if it was an ork it was missing quite a few bits. In the dimly lit recesses of the tent were other orks sleeping off wounds or waiting for the Doc to reattach limbs or replace lost parts with bionics. The Doc was enjoying a drink after a busy day of stitching and stapling.
"So da old warboss bought it?" said Brewnail.
"Yep. Bolta to da skull, powerfist took off da right arm, chainsword took off da left and den a Beakie tank ran over 'is legs while he was out cold. He's deader 'an da Squats. ORDERLY! A chair fer me mate Brewnail!"
Brewnail sagged down in the chair and took a mug from one of Madhav's many gretchin orderlies scurrying about the tent. The Doc kept plenty of beer on hand to keep his patients quiet. The Doc didn't look the slightest bit concerned, which annoyed Brewnail. As usual, he wasn't thinking farther ahead than the next mad experiment.
"So, who do ya fink'll be da next warboss?"
"Zagnut's brutal, but Grimlug's got cunnin'. Dey're arguin' and gavverin' dere mates tonight and dere'll prolly be a big scrap tomorra as soon as da sun comes up. Should be quite da event."
"Not gonna be as much fun wivout
de old 'boss."
"Heh, heh, dat's right. Remember da time he had us replace Zagnut's ammo wiv' eatin' squigs?"
"an' dat time I replaced da hydraulic fluid in Grimlug's legs wiv promefium?"
"Hee heee.. dat was totally wirf havin' ta stitch 'is legs back on aftawards. I even got 'em on da right way after da second go."
Then the Doc was on a roll, spinning tale after tale of how the old warboss had ordered his two favorite oddboyz to mess with upstart nobs time after time.
After he'd let him run on for a while Brewnail leaned in close to Madhav and slowly said "It's a good fing none uv dem will hold any of dat against us."
The Doc laughed for a fraction of second more and then went silent, eyes wide with terror. He leapt straight up out of his chair and grabbed Brewnail's shirt.
"OH ZOGGIN' 'ECK. Brewnail! We'z doomed! Dey'z gonna KILL US. Dey gonna nail me to a front of da battlefortress and fire you out of a Shokk Attack Gun!" He grabbed his head and started running around the surgery, throwing tools into bags and chests.
"Brewnail! Yer trukk's fueled up right? If we leave now dey might not notice we've gone until da pit fight is over tomorrow! We can leave right? We gotta leave!"
"Doc! Just revive 'im. Yer
de best doc on
de whole planet!"
Madhav turned and stared at Brewnail "Revivin' 'im aint da problem! Just a splash of fightin' juice and a grot-prod to da brain! Revivin' 'im is easy-peasy! Da problem is 'e aint got no arms or legs Brewnail! What're we s'posed ta do? Wheel 'im 'round in a trolley? I don't got spares dat're big enough fer da warboss an' I won't have time ta build proppa bioniks! No arms Brewnail! No fists ta beat Nobz dat get uppity! No feet ta kick grotz outta da way!"
The doc had taken a step forward with each point and was now yelling in Brewnail's face. He finally tried to slap him out of his panic, forgetting that he hadn't yet taken off his fighting arm. The oversized prosthetic spun the doc completely around, dropping him slack jawed in his chair.
"Well, at least 'es quiet. You! Orderly! Make sure 'e doesn't die and try ta 'ave 'im awake when I get back. I fink I've got an idea." The Grot he'd pointed at held up a grot-prod and discharged it with a sharp electrical crack and smell of ozone.
"Aye-aye boss! 'e'll be awake, one way or da uvver!" The Grot's enthusiasm for using the electric prod on his boss was a little unsettling, and Brewnail quickly made his way out of the tent and ran over to his Mek shop.
When he returned with a cart pushed by swearing Gretchin the Doc was in fact awake. He was awake, clutching a bone saw and chasing a Grot around the surgery, both of them knocking things over as they ran back and forth, the Grot clutching a pan over it's head as it ran.
"Get back 'ere Jippy! Dis won't 'urt a bit!"
"Boss! Dat's a lie and ya know it!"
"You'll get ta be a big mean ork! And I'll get ta hide!"
"I don' wanna swap brains! Da nobz is gonna kill ya!"
Brewnail shouted "Doc! I fink I've got answer."
The Doc turned and stared as Brewnail's assistants rolled the cart into the shop. Jippy took the opportunity to disappear into the back of the surgical tent, his improvised helmet clanging as he dove under cots.
"What's dat! Rokkit packs? Do dey even 'ave enough range ta get us out uv dis mess?"
In response, Brewnail pulled the sheet off of the fallen form.
"Termie armour. Boyz just brought it in. Arms 'n legs an' a nice big fist."
The doc scampered over to the suit of armour and started looking it over
"It's dead killy! 'Ow'd we get it?"
"Stupid git went inta battle wivout 'is 'elmet. One uv da grotz shot 'im in da face."
"It's glorious! It's ... ancient." The Doc flipped his reflector down and aimed a light down the neck hole "Oi! Dere's still a 'umie inside it! Dem parts aint compatible!"
"I said da boyz just got it in, no time ta clean da bits out yet. Will it work?"
"Well, givven dat our uvver options are 'die' an' 'run away an' become freebooters' it zoggin' well betta. Jippy!
get dat tin off yer 'ead and start cleanin' pinky outta dis suit!"
The next day the dead warboss's tent was the center of attention. There had been arguments, agreements, and more than a few suspicious cases of "accidentally shootin' demselves in da face wiv dere own shoota" during the night. The two biggest remaining Nobs were facing off in the middle of the tent. The rule for ork rulers was pretty much "I'm da biggest so I'm da boss!" and while one madboy had suggested they each get into a bath to be measured by volume this idea was discarded in favour of the traditional "beat the other candidates until they stop moving". Finally, Grimlug the Nob dragged his bleeding body onto the throne, shaking his head to try and clear some of the fog from Zagnut's repeated kicks to his head. His mates took up positions on either side of the big scrap metal chair, keeping as much an eye on each other as on any potential rivals.
"Okay" he coughed up a tooth and tossed it to one of his assistants "'ere, a tip fer ya!
De first order uv business today is havvin' a little chat wiv our local oddboyz." The rest of the Nobz all nodded slowly, some rubbing scars or burns or flexing cybork replacement parts.
"Get me Big Mek Brewnail and Mad Doc Madhav. Get 'em an' nail 'em to da floor so dey sit still 'n listen. I fink we've all got sumtin' ta say to dem."
As he was delivering his threat Grimlug gradually became aware of a rhythmic clanking sound coming from outside the big tent. The source became apparent when the door to the tent was kicked down by a hulking blue metal form. Brewnail and Madhav stepped in past the figure, taking up position on either side of the empty door frame. The metal figure was humanoid, with hulking shoulders, a massive power fist for a left hand and a sinister black Big Shoota held in it's right. The face looked like the old warboss, but it was hard to tell as a metal visor covered his eyes and a metal cap covered the top of his head. The visored head slowly looked back and forth, servos whining as it moved. Brewnail was the first to speak.
"Nobz, let me present da new warboss."
Madhav chuckled and stepped forward "Da fastest reflexes orky know-wotz 'as ta offer, onboard gear assisted memory an' a lifetime uv kickin' gits where it 'urts da most."
"Part ork, part mek, all Nob. I would like ta present ... RoboNob."
The Warboss stomped forward a few steps and then rotated at the waist until it was facing the throne and the very nervous looking Nob sitting in it. The other Nobs slowly edged away.
"GRIMLUG. YER IN MY CHAIR."
"Yer not da Warboss! Da warboss is dead! Madhav said 'e wuz!"
"GET OUT AH MY CHAIR. YOU 'AVE THIRTY SECONDS
TA COMPLY!"
Madhav chuckled "I fink you betta do what 'e sez Grimlug."
"YOU NOW HAVE TWENTY SECONDS
TA COMPLY." The warboss brought up his massive shoota and leveled it at Grimlug's head, giving the ork a clear view down it's two cavernous barrels.
Grimlug's nerve finally broke and he stood up and made a big show of dusting the seat off.
"Dere ya go boss, jus' a misunderstandin'. Madhav led us ta believe ya was dead. You should crump 'im fer dat, fer gettin' ya chair dirty at least."
As Grimlug walked the torso of the massive cybork smoothly followed him, keeping the giant gun aimed at him.
"YOU 'AVE TEN SECONDs
TO COMPLY."
"I'm up! I'm up! Madhav! It's gone mental! AGAIN! Can't ya do anyfink right!" Grimlug's adrenaline surged, and despite the injuries of the leadership fight he ran across the tent, trying to find cover in the crowd, all of whom ran away from him with just as much vigour.
"YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS
TO COMPLY!"
Finally Grimlug made it to a door and burst through running out into the camp. Orks crowded into the sides of the tent trying to get as far away from the line of fire as possible.
"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
"TWO!"
"WUN!"
Every ork present cringed and covered their ears. Only to uncover them a few confused seconds later as the warboss lowered his gun and clomped over to his throne. He smoothly turned in place and then sat down with a horrendous crunch making the metal seat
sag towards the ground.
"HUR. HUR. HUR. GRIMLUG ALWAYZ DID RUN LIKE A GROT. BREWNAIL."
"Yes boss?"
"FIX ME CHAIR AN' DEN MAKE GRIMLUG'S LEGS EXPLODE AGAIN."
"Rightaway boss!"
You come up with this when you work on figures? You could compile a set of short stories for the more importent figures of your army, that'd be cool. 
and I.G 
(work in progress...No full armies yet...) 
