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Subject: Re:Give it yer best Grot! Building a grot mob of unlikely heroes. (Insert your own grot)
While I await your writings on our unfolding story I'll offer another character for your literary pleasure. Ladies and gentlegrots I give you...
Dapper- the fancy grot
Grab a grot indeed! Dapper had never heard the like of it! No sooner had he found a mirror in which to inspect his new shades than a crazy little grot in a big daft hemet had him by the collar of his jacket and was hauling him before the tender mercies of the ugliest brute he'd ever laid eyes on.
Still, he was out of that Gork-awful stink-tank of a wagon. Tending dirty, greasy, smokey engines and kannons was not Dapper's kind of work, he preferred to stay clean. He kept his boots real shiny and his knees off the dirt. His glossy hair-squig named Quiff was his pride and joy and he kept it well oiled.
But he was finding that being part of SkagNet's crew had its hazards too. That nosey git Wotzit was one. Always watching, always trying to poke his nose into your business or your pockets. A sideward glance confirmed his privacy and he inspected the swag stowed in an inner pocket of his studded jacket. Human's swag, nice stuff. Things that only he seemed to value but were none the less useful. An Imperial Officer's standard issue shaving kit for example, complete with cutthroat razor. A pair of tinted glasses, an engineer's fine wire cutters, a glossy lacquered flip-top lighter. All very useful, all beautifully made.
He tightened the strap on his weapon harness as far as the buckle would allow. The Imperium didn't exactly make the things to fit one of his stature but it concealed his weapon of choice well enough beneath his coat. Nestled carefully beneath his left arm there swung a small light-weight autopistol. It may once have belonged to a man or woman of some standing and dignity. It was elegantly styled in polished chrome and rested neatly in his delicate grot fingers though he daren't take it out of it's holster now for fear of brutal mockery. It was human made and perhaps the most singularly unorkish weapon on the planet. It was small and potent and beautiful.
Wotzit cocked an eyebrow in his direction and Dapper casually dropped his hand from inside his jacket. Nothing to see here. Nothing of any interest to a grot like you. He gave Wotzit a look. A glare almost as he reached into his pocket and flicked out his shades, the eye contact only broken as he put them on. He gave Quiff a quick comb with his delicate fingers and turned away. Wotzit was getting no answers from him today.
Can't wait to draw this guy, though I reckon it might be a bit tricky to get right.
This message was edited 4 times. Last update was at 2018/06/26 18:48:08
Another drawing, albeit an incomplete one but I am at least writing this time too. Will post that soon.
This picture is an attempt to show all our unlikely heroes together. But I wanted to leave it open for a last few of characters. There's room here for maybe two or three more. I remain hopeful.
I'll get this story update posted soon. It's a bit dry. Just needs a polish up and few more gags then it'll be ready. So stay tuned for that.
The familiar crack of lasguns heralded the coming madness. SkagNet ducked down into cover of a ruinous stone wall. Nothing seemed to be aimed his way, though it was hard to be sure with the way the sounds echoed around the open Plaza. A pair of guardsmen appeared at the entrance of an alleyway, rifles shouldered and fingers heavy on their triggers.
Cutty had been hit though the half dozen of so las-rounds had not in any way impeded his progress. He continued his work on the statue in the centre of the square regardless as Weezul alternately ducked and took potshots in the direction of their assailants.
SkagNet's grots were getting jittery. Sikkum, knife at the ready, was itching to go. SkagNet dragged him back into cover by the belt strap of his ragged grot shorts. "Git down!" The enthusiasm melted out of Silkkum's sharp little features at the Runtherd's withering glare. "Wait fer it!" He growled. "We sit tight an' shoot'em up til dey'z 'ad enuff. An' when dey come runnin', Den you can stick'em!"
Wotzit was just peaking under the red wheelbarrow when the shooting started. He ducked down and pulled himself tight in behind it. The darkness beneath looked safe and inviting but his muscles were frozen for the moment in terror and he dared not move for fear of drawing attention to himself.
It seemed like hours, maybe just minutes, more likely only seconds but eventually Wotzit's curiosity overmastered his fear and he dared a glance.
Two men in the alleyway entrance, just two! They hadn't seen him, or weren't shooting at him at any rate. all their focus was on trading fire with the mek and his orderly who were still at work in the centre of the courtyard. Wotzit began to feel brave, or at least not so crippled by fear. He produced a grot blasta from his belt and levelled it atop the base of the upturned barrow. He closed one eye and squinted his aim across the courtyard at the guardsmen.
A lasbolt flew past his nose, close, really close. Wotzit was down and underneath the wheelbarrow before he knew what was happening. Where had that come from? His fear addled grot brain was clawing for any information critical to his survival. Those men in the alley hadn't been looking his way, it wasn't them. That shot had come from the other direction. Wotzit twisted around shoving something angular and uncomfortable out of his ribs. Evidently he was sharing this space with some large lump of... Whatever it was. He could feel wires and tape and some sort of clay or putty or... He shuffled the thing with an effort out into the crack of light at the edge of his tiny shelter. It was red and orkish looking, like a bomb of some kind. Whatever it was there was more room to hide under there now without it.
The appearance of another squad of shooters sheltering amongst the market stalls was enough for Cutty to at last look up from his task. Weezul had been busy down below laying down plenty of suppressing Dakka but truth be told his flechette blasters weren't exactly the right weapons for the job. He needed something with a bit more noise and smoke and threat about it, something with range and...
The unmistakable staccato bark of a big shoota took up its chorus on the west side of the plaza. Weezul smiled, the perfect cover. Slipping in low like a rat in a gutter he moved to the west of Cutty's artwork. The Mek who had finished cutting was taking some abuse from the pair in the alleyway but their lasguns, being only two and not the usual fusillade of twenty plus were having little to no effect. Cutty was tough old nut, and indeed there was little evidence in his manner to suggest that he was more than passingly aware of the assault. He was searching through his sack for something as he casually rubbed a scorch mark on his neck like a Bullgrox flicking squig-gnats off it's ears.
Weezul noted with growing alarm that the firefight was heating up. More humans had arrived in the east. The frequency and volume of lasfire was intensifying and by answer his unlooked for allies to the west were responding in kind. It was high time for Cutty and Weezul to make their exit.
"Not da Mek, you stupid berk!" SkagNet delivered a savage backhand to the offending grot who sprawled full length on the cobbles. "Shoot da Zoggin' Oomies!"
The rest of his charges levelled their weapons at the selected targets and obliged their brutish overlord. Even Red and Grimy had managed to mount their big shoota pointing in roughly the right direction in a pile of rubble which formed a rudimentary fox-hole. Their opening burst of Dakka hit little more than plaster and brickwork but certainly drew the attention and the fire of the human attackers away from Cutty and Weezul.
A flurry of pink laser beams lanced across the plaza from a new direction.
"More Oomies!" Yelled Pokey, his little grot blasta firing non-stop in a two handed pistol grip at the newcomers. SkagNet stomped over to the big shoota. He slung a loop of his whip over the hot barrel and adjusted the direction of fire back across the square. Slapping the top of the thing, good to go, he left the grots to feed and fire the hungry machine at will. SkagNet stepped over a dead grot and continued the fire fight, his shoota leaping and barking in his hands. That stupid Mek and his minder were still plumb centre of the plaza, what were they waiting for?
Gakkit's sights hovered like the hand of Death over the mere mortals beneath. He had a few choice targets, easy shots, he would normally have thought, but there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right here; there was something else going on.
Cutty was done cutting, Weezul was squirming at his heals eager to be away and the grot mob were probably seconds away from being badly outflanked and skewered on bayoneted lasguns.
If that guy didn't get them first! Down below, weaving his way through the market stalls was a man with boom-tube. Gakkit had seen those in action before. The big tube would be raised up on the shoulder and out would fly a rocket, like what a tankbusta might fire only it usually went in a straight line. One of those placed neatly amidst the rabble of grots in the plaza would be the end of them. The man slipped away beneath a striped canvas awning, swinging to the right, Gakkit thought. Tracking the shadows as best he could be tried to bring the crosshairs to bear on the spot where he anticipated the man would emerge. He waited.
"Beta in position." The vox behind him mocked.
Where was that boom tube? Gakkit's eye flitted at random across the market place. Two men on the left, kneeling behind a stack of pallets. Another to their right, a head and shoulder visible through the ragged tarpaulin. Las rounds coming from his position indicating that he wasn't the one. A flash of movement on the far right, another rifleman. Where was that boom-tuber? Then he saw them. Boots, black against a green plastic crate. He followed upward but the body was soon obscured by a hard wood market stall front. Its flapping canopy covered the rest of the man intermittently but Gakkit had found him. A light breeze billowed the canvas outwards revealing for a fraction of a second the man's figure, weapon shouldered ready to fire. It was all Gakkit needed. Even as the canopy dropped back down obscuring his target he pulled the trigger both eyes now half shut, trusting to the Eye of Mork.
The man fell to his knees beside the market stall, one hand sliding off the bench he had hoped might steady his collapse. The other hand clutching his throat as the gory life poured out over the cobblestones and ran away in little rivulets beneath his now discarded weapon.
Not clean, but effective enough. Gakkit listened for a report on the vox but nobody seemed to have noticed just yet. He checked his depleted power cell, one shot, maybe two if he tapped out a short round. Eye to the lens he scoped out the unfolding drama below. Passing over the plaza on his way to the men at the alley mouth his gazed paused at an odd thing. He stopped up the magnification a couple of clicks and refocused to be sure.
Yep, it was definitely a bomb. And one of an all too familiar design at that. It was one of His, one of Gorsneek's.
Gorsneek didn't appreciate all his hard work and long preparation being interfered with. They'd been hours in the planning, setting the trap, laying the bait and luring the enemy in. And all for what? So some stupid bungling Runtherd and his rabble of naff-headed grotz could go stumbling into the middle of it all and ruin the lot. He wasn't having it.
And who was this burke slipping in under the wheelbarrow to hide? That was Gorsneek's hiding place first, and what was worse, now the bomb he'd hidden there was lying out in the open, in full view for all to see. They may as well have put a sign up. "It's a Trap!" In large red letters on a banner over the plaza. "All Oomies welcome."
It was no good, he'd have to intervene. Picking up his pack, and his shoota, Gorsneek headed for the stairs. Alighting on the ground floor he ran to the doorway and took up a ready stance, weapon shouldered and placed a few rounds into an abandoned potters stall.
Shards of glassware and fragments of shattered pots and earthenware rained over the marketplace as Gorsneek advanced toward the red wheelbarrow.
He pulled a pin on a guard-issue smoke bomb and tossed it toward the eastern end of the plaza putting a little smoke between himself and the men in the market place. And perhaps more importantly between himself and Gakkit. The eye was definitely watching them. Gorsneek had seen that boomer go down. And this was just the kind of situation that a little stray friendly fire might go unnoticed. There was no love lost between the two.
Sufficiently covered he bent down and retrieved his wayward bomb. Ripping the arming wires clear he stashed it in his bag for later. Now to deal with the interloper. A toe beneath the rim of the bucket and the barrow was flipped noisily onto its wheel. Wotzit squealed and cowered and cringed; death had come for him at last.
"Come wif me if you wanna live." Gorsneek the Kommando grot held out a big meaty hand, big for a grot at any rate. Wotzit, confused but undoubtably relieved reached up and took it. No sooner had he planted his feet on the ground when he was tossed bodily into the barrow, wheeled back across the plaza and dumped unceremoniously at SkagNet's feet.
"Kollect yer Gak an' skidaddle Runtherd!" Gorsneek yelled, "Dis ain't yer fight."
The grot addressing SkagNet was a disconcertingly self possessed one. Not a trace of natural fear or respect for his ork betters seemed to lurk behind those steely eyes. SkagNet didn't like it one bit. He squared his toothless jaw and made for his trademark backhand but the grot was quick. Turning the ork's motion into his own side-stepping roll he somehow overbalanced the Runtherd and SkagNet went sprawling into his back.
"Grot's wiff me!" The impressively capable newcomer commanded with all authority and he set off into the western buildings behind them brooking no dissent . SkagNet was about to rise in protest when a large armoured boot fell from on high. Cutty, having evidently found what he was searching for in his squig skin sack had finally elected to join them. Though now he was standing on SkagNet's arm pinning him to the ground as his grots abandoned him one by one. Red wheeled Grimy and the big Shoota away after Gorsneek without a second glance.
"Oi! Yer big lug!" SkagNet's yelps and protests went unheeded. "Gerroff me arm!"
Cutty was fully absorbed in his task and cared not a zog for the agonised Runtherd beneath his feet. SkagNet briefly considered availing of his grot-prod but thought better of it. He'd already lost a leg, an eye and several fingers; there was no point in giving a crazed Mek with a buzz-saw any excuse to add an arm or a head to that list.
Men were emerging now from the smoke in the plaza, lasguns shouldered, close order drill, a sergeant calling the shots. The exit music was in full chorus now and finally Cutty stepped off the stage, following Gorsneek and SkagNet's grots inside.
Weezul made a show of himself one last time, squealing and capering for their adoring fans, a shining beacon of grotliness for all to steer for. SkagNet raised his head in time to witness a broad fusillade of lasfire crack dangerously over the masonry of their crumbling shelter. He ducked back down but quickly realised he was alone. They had all abandoned him.
Everyone was gathered inside. They were just waiting for Cutty and Weezul. The Mek appeared remote trigger in hand, grin writ large on his manic features. The time had almost come. A noisy volley of lasguns sounded just outside and Weezul ducking into the doorway at last nodded his confirmation. Cutty held up the big red button in one hand his thumb raised and pressed it home with a surge of immense satisfaction.
There was just enough time to look askance at SkagNet, hobbling in through the door: that "where the zog did you just come from" expression as the statue in the plaza exploded in concert with Gorsneek's charges on the surrounding buildings. The whole world without was noise and fire and smoke and debris.
SkagNet slumped to the floor. He was getting far too old for this gak.
I had completely forgotten about this thread until a random thought passed through my head tonight and I wondered if anyone had carried the story forward. I’m glad I checked, this is brilliant! It’s even come to a very satisfying conclusion, although now I’m inspired by it to write some more.
All Orks, All Da Zoggin' TIme. 'Cause Da Rest of You Gitz is Just Muckin' About, Waitin' ta Get Krumped.
Subject: Give it yer best Grot! Building a grot mob of unlikely heroes. (Insert your own grot)
Gulgog TufToof wrote: I had completely forgotten about this thread until a random thought passed through my head tonight and I wondered if anyone had carried the story forward. I’m glad I checked, this is brilliant! It’s even come to a very satisfying conclusion, although now I’m inspired by it to write some more.
Glad you enjoyed that, and even more delighted that you're feeling inspired. I'm all out of ideas for the old Grot mob right now so I'm all ears. Maybe the trouble is the whole conflict they're lost in is so illdefined we have no tactical direction in the story, or maybe that's really not a big concern of the orks in general.
Whatever, never mind. I'm all ears and looking forward to whatever you have up Cutty's sleeves.
I know it has been a long time since the last post, but here's my grot Slimey
A bit of background
Slimey is a squid feeder, he fetches bits of dead guardsmen and random assorted flora and fauna to feed the squigs.
Slimey looked up from the charred 'oomie' arm, he was dragging it across the track when two grots in a wheel barrow came racing at him, the grot which was pushing, yelled something along the lines of "join da zoggin revolution!!!" before he knew it he had been picked up by a grabba and stuffed in the back of the wheel barrow! After knocking his head on an ammo can he fell unconscious. Awhile later he awoke to a wizened old one-eyed runt herd. "Welcome to da mob" he said!
Well that was my first bit of fiction, if my grot cannot join then so be it, but I am interested in seeing how this thread comes along!
GENERATION 9: The first time you see this, copy and paste it into your sig and add 1 to the number after generation. Consider it a social experiment.
Subject: Give it yer best Grot! Building a grot mob of unlikely heroes. (Insert your own grot)
Super! Love it! Slimey is in. It actually fits perfectly with the little unknown grot on the bottom left of the sketch above. That guy with the oiler squig is now officially Slimey.
Thanks for joinin' da revolution.
I haven't written anything for this in a while but you never know when inspiration will strike. Jump in with more on Slimey from any time during the story. You gotta name his oil squig too. You can give him any number or kind of squigs in fact. Welcome to the mob Bschwi1
Very excited to share the completed hero pic of the whole crew!
the whole crew are here, from left to right we've got SkagNet- the Runthurd, Slik the grot oiler down in the corner there, Sikkum is eyeing up his squig, Wotzit is trying to steal SkagNet's shoota, Grimy and Red there with the big shoota in the wheelbarrow, Gakkit up top with his longlas,
Gorsneek in the middle looking hard-as-gak, Dapper lookin' smooth, beneth them we have Pokey and Snot-fer-Brainz, Slimey the squig feeder makes his first blood-soaked appearance and then i've chucked in Blunder the wonder-grot (just a fan-boi-grot) and taking it to the Imperial civic art is Cutty the mek and his minder Weezul up top.
Thanks for the inspiration folks, i'll maybe even get writing again on this soon.
The equivalent of an accountant, Kounta is in charge of harvesting, and then keeping track of, teef. As one of few grots who can count, he is fairly valued, but not so much that he doesn’t have an ancient, rusty slugga forced into his unwilling hands at every opportunity.
Subject: Give it yer best Grot! Building a grot mob of unlikely heroes. (Insert your own grot)
At LONG last I finally have another bit of the story! Woohoo! Many thanks to DalekCheese for the inspired idea of a Grot Accountant. I'm calling him Booker da Kounta. And here's his first appearance and the next step in the story.
Balancing Da Books
"No, no! Not in dat bag! Give it 'ere!" Booker snatched the big molar out of Wotzit's hand and shot him a withering stare. "Dat bag'z all junk for Blunder."
Blunder looked up briefly from inspecting his blunderbuss. For such a basic weapon the thing seemed to take a lot of maintenance. Grimy too was hard at work reassembling his big shoota, elbow deep in squig greese as ever. The rest of the grots were engaged in the standard post-battle scramble; the gathering of weapons, ammo, limbs, and of course teef.
Booker da Kounta screwed a thick lens over his left eye and inspected a big tooth that Wotzit had found, a nice big ork molar.
"Good fat one dis." He weighed it in his hand, turning it over and inspecting the long roots, "Come out good'n clean too. Nice bit of dosh... very nice." he muttered. "Too good for da teef bag. An' it ain't junk for Blunder's junk bag dat's for zoggin' sure." he scolded, "Teef like dat go to Cutty!"
He tossed it back to Wotzit to take to the Mekboy. "Pokey, Snot! Wotchagot feruz?"
Pokey dropped a handful of dentistry onto Booker's counting mat. A couple of good tusks among them. It was a respectable haul and all but one of the teeth went into the teef bag. The last it turned out was a bone fragment and that went into Blunder's junk.
"Nice one, Pokey." Booker popped the eye glass off and squinted up at Snot-fer-Brains. "Wocha got Snot?"
Pokey's simple-minded companion dropped an armful of detritus onto the mat. Lots of little broken bits of all sorts of plastics, bones, some small rocks and many unidentifiable things. Some of them white, none of them teeth and all of them junk. Booker sighed, it wasn't even worth rolling his eyes over. He just rolled his mat up into a tube and poured the lot into the junk bag. It might be useless as currency but it could feed the blunderbuss all the same.
In that moment Red came pelting through. He shoved past Pokey and spotting the open end of the rolled up mat in the open mouth of a sack he slapped his own contribution down the shoot. Whatever it was, thought Booker it was in the junk now and he didn't care to go hoking around in there to check it out.
Slimey was next in line. His fingers were dripping gore and in one bloody hand he presented what looked like a full set of squig's teeth. Booker wrinkled his nose and did not unroll his mat again. "Fanx but no fanx Slimey."
Slimey shrugged and pocketed the change happily.
"Get back 'ere yer thievin' git!" The unmistakable bawl of SkagNet turned a few heads but the grots didn't exactly jump to attention. Blunder didn't even flinch. Perhaps his headphones had cancelled out the sound. SkagNet came clamouring in and looked around, practically blind with rage.
"Where izzee?!" He guldered, "I'll rip out his stinkin' little grot gizzard!"
Red was hiding behind the wheelbarrow but nobody let on.
"He's nabbed me teef!" the Runthurd complained, "I swear to Gork if I don't have 'em in my hand in da next five seconds... Both of 'em!"
"Der's a whole bag of teef here, Skaggers." Booker spoke calmly, irritatingly, and with a degree of over-familiarity for a grot. Kountas were like that, thought SkagNet; real full of their own self worth. Think they know the value of everything, everything but a smart-arse grot.
"Pick any two you like." Booker smirked a little, he didn't even try to hide it.
SkagNet saw red. He flipped his Grabba-stick end over end and brought the business-end down around Bookers throat with a deftness none would have guessed of one so decrepit. He brought the struggling grot up to eye level squeezing mercilessly waiting for a glimmer of respect to appear before putting his request to the grot accountant a second time.
"Red took me teef." He began slowly. "He came in 'ere, an' gived 'em to you."
Booker nodded breathlessly.
"I likes me teef." He continued. "Dey fits in me gob jus' right."
Booker begged for a breath in silent appeal.
"See, he finx I won't be able to find 'em among da ova teef, but I rekkon you iz da exspurt when it comes to teef. Am I right?"
Booker nodded. He might have been passing out but his head wobbled in the right way. SkagNet relinquished his grip and the grot fell gasping in a heap.
"Now find me da teef wot Red brung ya before I really lose me gak!"
"Blun..." Booker gasped still seeing spots, "Junk..." He coughed. SkagNet almost kicked him but wobbled off balance on his metal peg leg.
"Don't you call'em junk! I knows dey ain't no prize gnasherz yer gobby git!"
"Blunder!" The grot squealed. "Blunder's junk-bag!"
SkagNet shifted his focus immediately over to the oblivious Blunder still ardently mending his piece-of-junk blunderbuss, headphones on, for all the world he might have been the only grot in the room.
"BLUNDER!" Barked the Runthurd.
Blunder jumped, his finger on the trigger, the upright blunderbuss went off right in SkagNet's face. SkagNet staggered backwards in shock tripping over Red who was crouching behind him, and landed rear-end first in the red wheelbarrow. Quick as lighting Red was on his feet, barrow in hand and calling for help.
"Come on, nowz da time!" He called, "da revolution is now!"
Nobody had the faintest notion what he was on about.
"Give'us a hand wit dis big lug, Pokey?"
In a moment they were off. Red and Pokey beating it down the road with a blinking Runthurd in the wheelbarrow still reeling in shock. The rest of the gang were following hot on their heals, whooping and jeering, all enjoying the comedy spectacle.
"Where're we taking 'im?" asked Pokey as they hustled along.
"I dunno," Red didn't care, "I just wanna get rid of 'im."
"Can't we just poke 'im?" Pokey mused, "wif a knife?" He was a big fan of that particular solution to most problems.
"Nah, he's a tough old git. An' canny. We just need some stairs."
"Like dat?" Pokey was nodding at a big civic building entrance, all grand polished steps and columns.
"Nah! We need down ones,"
SkagNet was beginning to re-combobulate. They were running out of time.
"Oi, 'ere we go. Make a right!" Red had spotted a likely alley way he hoped might work. They tilted over to the right nearly tipping their load. The leg of the wheelbarrow scrapped and banged on the cobbles as they straightened up and pressed on into the gap between the buildings. SkagNet flailed like an upturned turtle trying to get a grip on the world. The alleyway went down but not steeply enough. They clattered through a dog-leg corner threading a narrow gap between two high tower blocks and then there it was. The end of the road, a perfect stair, and only about twenty yards to go.
SkagNet used the wall on his right to shift his balance onto one side. Pokey heaved and strained taking most of the weight as they desperately closed the distance. Red ducked a flailing boot as SkagNet rolled onto his belly and gripping the front edge of the rattling wheelbarrow with both hands lifted his face up in time to see the ground disappear beneath him.
Pokey and Red watched in fascination as the wheelbarrow careened down the narrow stairway like a runaway mine-cart. SkagNet clinging on for grim death rode it to its unceremonious terminus landing face first in a paved plaza very far below.
The metallic gong of the wheelbarrow echoed up the alleyway for a long second leaving them in an eerie silence. The grots all crowded together on the top of the stair watched and waited as far below nothing moved.
"Izzee dead?" asked Wotzit. "Did we kill 'im?"
"Did I kill 'im, ya mean?" scoffed Red, "I should zoggin' well hope so!"
Down below, as they watched, SkagNet didn't move.
"D'ya reckon 'es dead yet?" Slimey was getting bored and anyway it was nearly feeding time, the squigs would be getting nippy.
The down below there came a sound, the fearful crack of a volley of lasguns. SkagNet's body twitched in the brief flash and a whiff of smoke betrayed the welcome truth.
"E's dead now, I reckon." Pokey concluded somewhat redundantly.
"At least we got his teef." Booker added, that was what mattered after all.
"Yeah!" Red yelled, his grotly defiance echoing down the alley "Long live da Grotz, you dumb brute git!"
A man appeared below and immediately shouldered his lasgun in readiness to fire.
Red stopped statue still, his little grot fist hanging in the breeze "Uuum... Run for it!"
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2019/12/02 02:21:58
Thanks Sarg. I hadn't really envisioned this as a Vs Astartes kinda story. It's just human's be orks in a long drawn out city fight. I suppose there could be a squad or two of Space Marines around, leading the guards on some vital spear-head action. But then it would feel like a stretch to incapacitate one and have him abandoned and at the mercy of the grots. It's an interesting premise though, would be a good Space Marine standalone short story.
What I'd really like to read though is what Gakkit has been up to?