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Below is the narrative introduction to an Ork army I have constructed over a year's worth of time from gathering to assembly, painting, and finally playtesting. I was groping in the dark for not only a name for the army I was constucting but an overall theme when I began painting them.

It hit me early this year that when I thought of Ork konstruckshun methods, I naturally thought of the ramshackle method ork tek was assembled. Then I thought of all the disparate places an ork may get their material from- Tau Crisis suits, Ultramarine armor, the sidings of a Chaos Rhino, ect.. I discovered to my dismay that most of the paint line Games Workshop made was woefully lacking in metallic paints of different varities, for I came to the conclusion that my orks would not paint over the things they themselves welded together (the world they come from is a blasted landscape of sand, debris, and sand). So I simply slapped on various colors of metallic paint over anything metal looking in their arsenal to give the orks an enhanced patchwork feel as each ork not only is colored differently but also unique in how their armor has been welded together and cobble about fluff-wise.

In the spirit of their motif, I decided to name the Waaagh! after a namesake cereal that also has a very striking color scheme in the hopes that it is a functional and fitting name.

Below will be a short novel-like introduction to the leader of the army and a few other models that I have actually painted and use within my actual army. I will add more to this thread as the creative juices permit. One day, I'll get around to making it an article for others to see. Until then, enjoy the beginnings of the Waaagh! Frootpebblz:




Orks scattered before the waddling might of the warlord Gurgz Frootpebblz and his retinue. Orks, the galaxy’s greatest infestation of warrior humanoids, green-skinned thirsters for the ultimate battle, fearless combatants against the immortal Emperor’s mighty armies, and conquerors of countless worlds, withered and skulked away like grots before their lord and master.

Steam pistons and electrical discharges groaned in unison as the one ton frame of his kustom built battle suit trudged forward. A walking nightmare of inconceivably placed plates of metal scavenged from a spectrum of wrecks of all shapes and colors, it represented the pinnacle of the Waaagh!’s Mekboyz and their ability to slap together things and pray to Gork and Mork they work, lest Gurgz crush their heads under his already formidable boot. Strapped into this metallic clunker was an arm mounted gigantic shoota normally carried in two hands by one stout ork boy. His other hand ended in a vicious three member scissor hand, a vice-like ingenuity of ork mechanic genius affectionately called a powerklaw. Both weapons inspired awe and terror as they blazed and butchered Gurgz’s ascent to dominion.

Flanking Gurgz was his twin brother, Jakga Frootpebblz. Corded muscles and thick frame covered in numerous scars, Jakga was everything like his brother save for the title and the armor he wore. His favorite slugga was strapped to his back in an oversized back holster, and his powerklaw, the Krumpler as he named it, strapped tightly to his left arm. He plodded along with a bit more grace to his brothers side, careful not to get before the superior of the two. Silently, he smoldered under the indignity of being subordinate to his spore-kin. Openly, he obeyed the greenskin who spared his life after getting krumped to an inch of his life. Conspiratorially, many greenskins whispered and pointed behind the back of Jakga to his bionically reconstructed eye and skull, brutal testament and eternal reminder to the humiliation Jakga suffered at the hands of his brother. Either way, no ork dared question who was the superior of the two, or even thought they were superior to Gurgz, especially when he donned his clunky monstrosity.

Rumbling along with the titanic duo was a cadre of equally respected and feared warriors. Ten burly oversized orks followed behind Gurgz and Jakga. Their status amongst their warrior brethren was cemented as the bodyguards of the leader of the Waaagh! They paid their entrance into this elite unit through the blood and limbs of the dismembered enemies and upstart usurpers who sought to challenge their orkiness.

Through convoluted corridors of rusted and welded metal they all trudged, pushing and cowing any ork boy or lesser orkoid that happened to be in their way. Sigils and symbols of ork dominance littered the hallways of the vast fortress stronghold Waaagh! Frootpebblz began. Prizes ranging from severed human and xeno heads to the smoldered wrecks of shattered Rhinos and hulking warpbeasts were displayed every time a hall opened to a larger room. Gurgz paid no mind to past accomplishments. He single-mindedly ignored the trappings of prior glories and sought the two who promised to deliver him to a greater destiny.

Two Thumbs up man... Can't wait to read more...

Part 2:

Big Mek Grig Spygga was quite amazed when Zark started doing cartwheels around the lab. The fat, overweight grotherder was as slow as gak in the master engineer’s mind, his single greatest talent being able to eat more than any other creature he had ever seen short of a squiggoth. However, Grig maliciously invited Zark to see his latest invention, a grot-prod that didn’t need an ork to keep the little scurrying monsters in line. The grot-prod in question was a highly unstable grot strapped to a highly unstable giant battery shooting out very dangerous electric discharges (hence why orks were not required). One thing led to the next (especially when Zark kicked the contraption over and a certain piece started an energy chain reaction) and Zark starting running around on fire.

Grig Spygga, the most senior and sagacious mek of Waaagh! Frootpebblz told the grotherder to perform cartwheels to get rid of the fire. So Zark was spinning around, flames following behind in a hungry chase, and the score or so of meks that constituted Grig’s compatriots were splitting their sides in laughter as the poor slaver spun to his death.

Finally, the charred remains of Zark stopped spinning and his blackened mass rested at the feet of his killer. Grig Spygga wiped the last tear of joy from his eye and turned back to his gathered meks. Before him was the most eclectic mix of ork flesh, wires, bulbs, slapped on plates of metal, bits of metal poking out of skin, and bionic eyes that existed short of a dok’s medical station. Each ork mek also carried an insidious array of weapons and devices of a highly unstable nature, ranging from guns that shot cackling bursts of energy enough to blow up a small hill to machines that could repel bullets and missiles with astonishing ease. Further, for this inner circle of elite meks, Grig also chose the most expert and distinguished of the hundreds of meks within theWaaagh!; orks that had built hordes of killa kans, trukks, and machines of war or devised unique devices that have helped Warlord Gurgz become the system’s overlord.

Each mek was in some fashion at the pinnacle of their craft. Hundreds if not thousands of humans had fallen before their contraptions, and millions more still waited. That was why Gurgz gathered, kidnapped, and beat near to death all the talented orks he could find. Their collective talent catapulted their kind to several breakthroughs in ork technology, and the remaining humans within the system now cowered in fear as their nightmarish devices trundled forward in ragged columns of greasy black soot and smoke.

Grig scanned the crowd quickly and realized the one mek he wanted wasn’t there. He turned to his left and found his quarry. “Oy! Krugger, git over ‘ere!” the Big Mek bellowed.

Standing before a tumble of wires next to a large box-like machine the size of a dozen orks smashed together was a smallish ork by the standards of his race. Hunching a little over five and a half feet tall, Krugger Jigeyes slowly turned towards his master. His face ended in red goggles wired into his head. The telescopic beams adjusted and whirred as they looked into the distance to see who called him.

“Waddya want, master Grig?” inquired the curious mek. While most of the orks laughed and poked fun at the lack of ork stature Krugger had, he was by no means a skittering coward or a grot-kisser. His small size made him deceptively quick, and one of his trademark inventions was a slender blade that was perfect for quick knife thrusts into exposed skin. While not a very creative invention in and of itself, his blades all had little buttons on the hilt. One press exploded the sharp end within the target, causing localized trauma that meks chortled was “heart burstin’.”

“Git over ‘ere,” Grig commanded. Krugger strode away from his work and joined the throng of other orks. Krugger reached his big and not bionic hand over and wrapped it around the smaller mek’s shoulders, tugging him out of the crowd. They both walked towards the entrance of the mek workshop with the others following a few steps behind.

Grig conspiratorially looked over his shoulders in exaggerated fashion and placed his mouth near Krugger’s ear. “Is it ready?” he slathered in as low as his harsh grating voice could muster.

Krugger nodded. “I was workin’ on da last fixinz’. When da warlord comes, he should be happy.”
The Big Mek smiled, showing an impressive array of teeth. “Krumpy.”

Part 3:

“Aye, datz da fraggin’ mad boy da dun stole mah choppa!” shouted Akgurt as he pointed to a prancing, clanking ork wildly whipping about a huge rusted blade.

The other ork boyz stepped away from the fuming Akgurt and the insane ork, giving them a wide circle of green to settle the fight.

Akgurt was an above average sized ork boy. Not large enough to be a nob, but bigger than most orks by ork standards and ergo was a second rate leader whenever a larger ork with bigger mass wasn’t around. Everyone in the vicinity knew that Akgurt was a beast of an ork, able to wrestle baby squiggoths down with naught but his bare hands. Whenever another ork challenged him, he usually beat them to death and then stole their stuff (some whispered he was a part of the Deathskull ork clan who loved to loot and steal, but any talk of that had long stopped being said in front of Akgurt as he caved in skulls in retort to the rumors).

“Ey, mad boy! I’se givin’ ya to da count uv tree to give back da choppa!” Akgurt bellowed.

The ork mad boy kept prancing around the ork circle. Clad in a garish nightmare of colors and shards of metal plates, he was a bit wiry for a regular ork boy. Ropes and wires coiled around his arms and legs, giving the impression of being a bit bulkier than he was. Over his head was a metal bowl strapped to his head. Painted on the hat was the name “Lyqsquig.”

And of course, waving in his left hand was a very large and brutal sword.

And in response to Akgurt, Lyqsquid stuck out his tongue and gave him a massive raspberry.

Akgurt’s eyes popped wide and he hunched forward, emitting a raw of primal power and indignant anger as his veins popped and his frame shook. Propelled forward by powerful feet, he launched a dashing tackle at Lyqsquid…who leaped out of the way and causing Akgurt to land in the abundant sandy dirt of their homeworld.
Scrambling to his feet, Akgurt squared himself up for another charge and dashed again to the cackling mad boy. He again fell to his face and ate some more dirt.

The other boyz, unable to stifle laughing at such a dangerously enraged ork, began guffawing uncontrollably. Some clasped their knees and others emitted deep, rich belly laughs at the misfortune of their resident bully. All then while the demented Lyqsquig had stopped moving around and had raised the sword high, catching what few glints he could of the scorching sun along the rusted edges of the weapon.

“Datz it,” muttered Akgurt as he pulled from his belt his ramshackle pistol. He aimed it towards the mad boy, none of the other orks reacting quite fast enough to register the deadly degree this fight now approached. “Dead ork.”

Lyqsquig finally noticed the threat. Akgurt smiled maliciously and squeezed the trigger.

Blood and gore spattered everywhere. The other orks stopped laughing and stared. Lyqsquid’s sword arm fell limp, and the blade clomped to the ground.

Rivulets of blood fell from the wound in the back of Akgurt’s head. His eyes were wide open, and his gun arm still wavered for a moment. Then all at once, everything Akgurt tumbled to the ground, his fall causing a small cloud of dust to rise up before ascending to the hazy air above.

Part 4:

Akgurt's assassin lowered his sniper rifle. Confident his camo cloak hid him well, he drifted slowly behind the rock outcropping. Packing the weapon away, he breathed a quick prayer to the Emperor for his good aim. Without hesitation, he bolted from covering of the natural terrain and began his stealthy path from the deep heart of the ork encampment. He weaved between jagged metal protrusions of metal debris crudely fashioned into dilapidated structures. Slow witted orks never registered his movement from shadow to shadow. The occasional squig or gretchin that may of glanced his fleeting form were either too stupid to register the threat or too cowardly to investigate.

Braving the lackadaisical guard outposts precariously perched on jagged steelite poles and festooned with Ork glyphs screaming “Watch” and “Beware,” the specter of death found the right formations of stone and debris to between. He knew when to avoid the boisterous and obvious patrols of the orks, as their patrols rode upon smoke belching monstrosities of cobbled parts and ingenuity. Speedy as they were, the orks piloting them were not keen enough to spot the scout that carried with him the knowledge of their destruction.

How could they possibly know that a Space Marine was among them? A servant of the beneficent Emperor of Man, his legs pumped across the blasted landscape of a scorched world without rest. His mind raced with thoughts, but never did they stray from the task at hand; the absolute destruction of the orkish horde rising from this junk world. Through the day, the dusk, and nightfall of this world, from blisteringly hot to frigidly cold, the defender of mankind knew not sweat, shivers, or exertion. He willed himself forward towards an unobtrusive and nigh invisible location as the ground began to rise and the land became even more jagged.

Up he climbed upon the foothills of the Spinebreaker Mountains, the ring of jutting earthen teeth that nestled the birthplace of the Frootpebblz Waaagh! Towards the upper heights he climbed. His grip never slipped as the higher elevation covered the mountain in a frosted cap. His breath continued unabated despite the thinning air around him. Never did he waver as his objective came in sight; a hollowed portion of the mountain he climbed.
Before the gaping maw, a pinprick of darkness on the mighty mountain, the Space Marine stood. With another quick thanks to the Emperor for his safe journey, the Space Marine entered the cave to meet his fellow brothers.

He had dire news to tell them.

Part 5:

The space marine tredded into the dark depths, confident he picked the right cave to enter.

The cave was silent and dark. Without heistation, he began picking his way carefully into its depths. The walls narrowed at points that he could barely squeeze through, and crawling on his belly had to be done more than once. The paths he took eventually winded downward and deeper into the mountain. An hour of spelunking brought him to his prize.

In a cavern large enough to house them, a dozen space marines inhabited the heart of the crags. Secluded in mountain fastness, they walked through the wave at ease, each of them hardly fingering their weapons. Such idleness however was a farce to the truly observant and knowlegeable, for no space marine was truly ever in such a lax state.

They watched as their erstwhile scout entered the artificial light emitted from a projector suspended from the uneven ceiling. One of the encamped marines rose, his white helm and extra laurels covering his power armor denoting him as the de facto leader of the squad.

Might have a closer look later, but I saw the post preview of part 5 and I had to come inside and say it's "The space marine trod" not "The space marine tredded"