Hello dakkadakka! I haven't posted anything in a while so I thought I'd get back in the game with a short story.
Let me know what you think. If you like it I'll keep posting more.
Raziel
Chapter 1: Promises of Blood
Fire. Screams. Pain. Misery. All this surrounded Raziel vonKrieger on top of one of the only intact buildings at the center of it all. He stood admiring the beauty of all he had wrought. He turned slowly, savoring it all, taking in the death of a world as completely as he could. Burned out shells of building spread out for miles, the boulevards between them completely devoid of life. The only thing that showed that people had live there recently were the rivers of blood still running through the streets with the dead of the populace still laying where they had fallen. That, and the screams of the survivors as his forces hunted them down one by one.
One thing caught his interest more than anything else. More than the burning hab-centers, more than the the laughter of the daemons of the blood god running through the streets, more even than the screams of the innocents souls still dying under the swords of his army. The scent of blood filled the air. It was cloying, suffocating even. Raziel thrived on it, he felt every nerve in his body tingle at the smell. It was all he could do to resist the urge to jump from the building and float down on his wings of nightmare black, a crimson armored figure of death, and join in the slaughter. He stomped one of his hooves impatiently. One of his hooves…the idea was still growing on him that he no longer possessed the legs of his birth. A boon he was told when he received them as a reward for his last conquest. The daemon, that for all the world looked like a skeleton of brass easily twice his own height, had said the transition would hurt just as the wings had, but in time he would grow to appreciate the boon. Raziel still failed to see their purpose past making him resemble an armored Minotaur of ancient myth from the waist down, but if the Skull Lord willed it, then so be it.
Raziel suddenly snarled in impatience. Why was he not taking part in the slaughter? Why was he gawking at all the carnage, when he could be adding to it? He reached to his hip where he kept Soulweeper, his chainsword, his calming voice, his very sanity. It held back the red mist that would otherwise make him just another mindless berserker. It reinforced the iron will that had made him so respected now feared by the emperors lackeys. Without it, it was only a matter of time before even his formidable will cracked under the call of the Blood God.
Only it wasn’t there. Surprised he whirled around ready to fling any of his subordinates unfortunate enough to be near him at this most distressing time off the building.
Instead of subordinates however, he found the brass skeleton behind him, a permanent grin fixed to his skinless skull. “Raziel” it hissed, “How good to see you in the flesh again…so to speak.” He chuckled dryly at his own joke. Raziel in turn nodded respectively. “Soulweeper, what brings you out of your confinement again so soon?” His voice was smooth, unlike most followers of Khorne, he sounded composed, serene even. A clicking noise filled the air that Raziel had come to recognize as the daemons laughter. “Ah Raziel straight to the point as always? Fine Out with it then I suppose. But first a question.” Raziel sighed, the daemons mannerisms grew tiresome quickly, especially with so much death yet to be wrought around him. “Ask and you will receive.” Soulweeper clapped his hands together delightedly. “Excellent. It’s simple, I promise, no tricks, I leave those to our cousins of the Changers ilk. No as I said quite simple.”
There was a mad hitch to the daemons words. Raziel having known the daemon for some time realized he needed to keep it focused or he might ramble for hours. “To the point Soulweeper!” he snapped. The skeleton looked up as if just remembering he was there. “Ah, yes the question! Do you like what you see Raziel?” “That is no question. Of course.” replied Raziel. The daemon shrugged. “What if I told you that our lord wanted to give you the power to unleash this level of carnage on every world of the Imperium?”
Raziel felt his breath catch in his throat. Was this a serious offer? Or another of the mad daemons ramblings? Before he made a commitment he needed proof. He cut right to the chase. He laughed. Long, and hard, it easily cut across the battlefield causing some daemons to look up from their slaughters. They grinned. They already knew the mortals path.
“Soulweeper, if this was a true offer I would sing Khornes praises from the deepest depths of the greatest blood oceans I could offer in his name. But we both know you are quite mad.” Soulweepers teeth chattered, giggling, as if to emphasize the point. “and as such I will not commit my Skull Reavers to a fruitless task if there is no proof to back your words.” Soulweeper danced from one foot to the other, clapping his hands. ‘Raziel, Raziel, my young plain spoken friend,” though young was relative to the daemon as Raziel was coming up on three hundred years old, “Of course I have proof. Several pieces as a matter of fact. The first you see around you” Soulweeper opened his arms wide as though to embrace the world that was still dying around them. “It is a glimpse of the future that shall be forged should you accept this task. Though whether it is you as Khornes chosen, or another depends entirely on your decision of course. But I digress. The second piece of proof, as if more was needed from one as trustworthy as me dearest Raziel, is behind you.”
Raziel turned, unsurprised to find a chest that appeared as though it were made of brass skulls was behind him. He approached it. He stopped before the waist high chest, and rested his hands upon it. He felt its smooth texture, savored the anguished look of the vanquished that made up the skulls of the chests construction. He felt air brush the back of his neck. It stank of death. “Open it Raziel.” breathed Soulweeper. “Open it and see what our lord promises you as a show of favor if you accept his offer.” His pulse pounding in his ears, hands trembling, he opened the chest. What he saw within made him sink to his knees. “Yes Raziel, yes.” hissed the daemon. “It is yours. All you have to do is complete one last task before it, and all the power that comes with it, is yours.” The daemon was backing away fingers steepled together, already knowing his answer. “Anything” Raziel rasped. He reached for what lay within only for the chest to disappear. He rushed back to his feet. “What would Lord Khorne have us do?” The daemons form was shimmering now, like a desert mirage. “Find a daemon princess of the pleasure god. Find her and kill her Raziel.” Raziel surged forward, his patience at its end, desperate to complete his task and claim his prize. “Which one?! The weakling god must have countless champions!” A sick cackling filled the air as the daemons form almost completely faded. “Oh believe me my young friend, you know this one. Her name is Genevieve and, you will find her on the planet of Asylus. Claim her head, and prove your loyalty, and you shall be given all the power you need to anoint the galaxy in blood.”
Then, the world exploded.
Raziel gasped for breath. His helmet was venting his frenzied breath out in bursts of vapor from his horned helmet. He was kneeling in a darkened room, unlit save for a single light focused on a shrine to his lord and master. Soulweeper was where he had left it, at the center of the shrine, power radiating off of it. Permafrost filled the room, but was quickly melting under the intense heat of his battle barge the Soul Harvest, now that the exchange was over.
His breathing calmed, he stopped to replay the conversation that had just played out between him and his patron. He shivered as he recalled the prize that lay within the chest. Though if he was honest with himself it also had to do with his target. Genevieve. That was a name he hadn’t heard in some time. No matter, hers was a name of the past, soon to be left there permanently.
He would have her head.
“It will be done.” Raziel whispered to the shrine. He rose and collected his sword, feeling complete as it slid back to its rightful place at his side. Turning smartly, he strode across the room and released the lock on the keypad. Silence greeted him. He left the holy room, and strode out into the hall.
The workings of the ship were the only noises to be heard as he made his way to the assembly area at the center of the ship. Other worshippers of the gods of the chaotic pantheon might torture and sacrifice the weak to appease their gods, but Raziel was of a different mindset than most, even his fellows who worshipped the blood god alongside him found his manner…odd. He refused to partake, or allow those in his service to get involved with any kind of torture or prolonged experiences of death. It was his belief that a true worshipper of Khorne did not waste time on the weak and unworthy. Instead, it was better to dispatch them as quickly as possible, to seek out an opponent whose skull was actually worth offering to the Skull Lord.
After several minutes of walking Raziel found himself standing outside a set of large brass doors, with glowing red runes of Khorne embossed on them. He whispered a single word, “Open.” And the doors swung wide into the room to admit him. Silence greeted him as he entered. The only noise in the room, as he stepped onto the balcony overlooking the assembled warriors, was that of the doors booming shut behind him. He looked out over a sea of bronze and red trimmed armored warriors.
They looked to him expectantly. A cold smile that none could see, but all could hear crept across his face as he addressed his warriors. “Our master has given us another chance to prove ourselves.” His voice easily carried across the room to every warrior. The vox was neither necessary, nor used. A roar of approval swelled to greet his words. Raziel silenced them with a single upraised hand. One motion was all that they needed, their loyalty, and by extent their obedience was absolute. The warriors fell silent immediately. “We are to hunt a daemon princess of the pleasure god. We are to collect her head.” he paused as if considering the prospect for the first time. “Unworthy of us perhaps, but their heads make such pretty trinkets.” Gruff laugher rang out across the room, and this time he allowed it to die out on its own so he could gather his thoughts.
“As much as I wish we could depart immediately to make war on these weakling warriors, it cannot be so.” He held up a hand once again to forestall any cries of lament, or question. “We must deal with one adversary at a time. The greenskins are our primary objective for now. The planet of Sanguinum was ours to slaughter. Ours to offer to the Lord of Skulls. But the greenskins have stolen it from us. Stolen out kills, our blood.” the tension was thick enough to walk on, “Our skulls” He had barely whispered the last words when cries of outrage, and apoplectic anger filled the room. “We will have to take theirs instead. Let us dispatch these disgusting xenos quickly, so we may move on to more worthy prey.” The warriors began milling around, making preparations to drop, knowing their assignments after centuries of war even before their lord spoke. “Assault units in the first wave, anoint the daemon spirits with blood, we are to rip the heart from this beast, I want all drop coordinates locked on the center of the capital. Skull Guard!” the last he bellowed to hulking figures sheltered in the shadows behind him. Five terminators stepped forth in perfect union, and likewise asked, “Yes my lord?” Raziel found a smile creeping across his face again. “We join them in the first wave. I will personally kill the xeno.” He turned with a sigh of ‘open’, and strode out into the hall to make his preparations for war.
Chapter 2: The Hammer of Gork
Three days prior to the events aboard the Soul Harvest
The ramshackle construction roaring above the burning city had no right to be in the air, let alone carrying a passenger. The fact that it was doing so while pieces of it broke away and fell to the city below as it picked up more and more speed bothered the inhabitant of the fighter bomber not one bit. If anything it seemed to excite him as the less of a ship there was beneath him the shorter distance he had to walk to jump down onto the target and begin the killing.
As big a miracle as it was to the casual observer that the ship was still in the air, it would have truly shocked any had they known the size of the sole occupant held within its dark and rattling interior.
A loud wheezing of heavy machinery and stomping boots signaled the occupants’ impatience to be part of the fighting. This resulted in the ork flying the ship to yell, “Thirty second to drop boss!” over his shoulder. A deep guttural chuckle was all that drifted out of the darkness by way of response. The pilot trembled. The boss only laughed when there was something to kill. And right now, hundreds of feet above the ground the only thing to kill was him. As such, he decided to plunge the controls forward and send the ship into a controlled dive towards its objective.
The chuckle picked up again as the ship picked up greater and greater speed, gradually turning into a roaring laugh that continued until the pilot shouted “Now boss!”
With a roar of release a wall of green muscle and wheezing steel exo-skeleton leapt laughing and shooting from the back of the fighter bomber as a missile slammed into the cockpit of his transport turning it into a rain of burning debris.
Fear was prevalent on all of the guardsman’s faces. Standing atop the governors building awaiting the arrival of Delta platoon via valkyrie to reinforce the building, all they could do was look out over the city and watch as their comrades were driven back block by block by the greenskin horde. Guardsman Korvin stood clenching his lasgun tight to his chest, while he stood peering over the edge of the building.
The entire city looked like it was on fire. Thick black smoke appeared to be curdling into the sky from every district, causing the entire city to be cast in a foreboding shadow. If not for the fire spawning it, it would have been dark as night.
All the death, all the suffering and destruction. Why? Why had the orks come to his home? Why had they destroyed everything he held dear? All these questions and more swirled around inside Korvins head. He felt bitterness rising up in him. Bitterness and fear.
The orks had arrived only a few days ago and already the minor cities were all razed to the ground, with the capital well on its way to the same fate. All their defenses had been swept aside so easily. From the destruction of their meager orbital defense fleet, which had allowed the killkroozers in orbit to disgorge thousands of orks unhindered, to the unprepared pdf troops that had died in untold numbers within hours of the orks making planetfall. It was almost laughable. Almost.
He still remembered the vox traffic that had come flooding in after the orks made planetfall. The desperate pleas for reinforcement, the calls for extraction, and the screams. Oh holy Emperor how he remembered the screams. Especially the ones that were terminated so suddenly to be replace by cries of Dakka!Dakka!Dakka!, or Waaaggh! Until the onrushing tide of green trampled the transmitting vox unit underfoot.
Oh yes, fear was definitely a prevalent emotion on his mind.
Lost in his bitter thoughts, Korvin didn’t hear his squad commander approach from behind, until he clamped a hand on Korvins shoulder causing him to flinch. “What’s on your mind lad?” asked a voice like gravel grinding together. Korvin turned to face his sergeant. He was a big man, easily six feet tall, bulky with muscle nowadays sliding away to fat as he advanced further into his career. He was a hard man. Anyone who met him got that with one look into the grizzled veterans scarred and pitted face, exactly as Korvin was doing now.
Korvin couldn’t help but shiver as sergeant Mavins bionic eye whirred into focus to take in the young soldier before him. As he did this, Korvin was able to take in his own appearance in the eyes reflective surface.
He was a young man, with a shaved head, and an earnest face. Not as bulky as his squad leader, he was nearly as tall, and wore his dark gray uniform every bit as proudly as the veteran before him. The difference was Korvin was terrified of what he knew was heading their way, and it showed on his face as openly as if he were pissing his pants. Mavin knew this. He also knew that he needed all his men rock steady, or they would all be dead before dusk when the fighting finally reached them.
Korvin shrugged before responding, “Nothing sarge, just thinking about all the greenskins we’re gonna kill.” He started to laugh nervously until Mavin fixed him with a hard glare that caused the laughter to die in his throat. “Boy, that is one of the worst lies I have have ever heard. And that’s saying something. I’ve been to statistic meetings.” He looked Korvin up and down before asking, “Afraid eh?” he didn’t wait for an answer, but pressed on “It’s alright to be afraid Korvin. Fear keeps us sharp, keeps on our toes, and most importantly it keeps us alive. You can’t let it overwhelm you though lad. Use it, harness it, but don’t let it paralyze you. After all, those orks die just like anything else. They eat, they breathe, they bleed. Just like you or me ‘cept a helluva lot dumber.” The last part elicited a laugh from Korvin and a few of the other men from the ten man squad that happened to catch the speech he was delivering to the young soldier.
Looking his sergeant in the eye, Korvin knew he had the utmost confidence in him and the rest of the squad. He knew they would do their duty unto death, and would do so with their weapons in their hands and their heads held high. Korvin felt his chest swell with pride at being a member of the 224 Brivonian Dragoons.
With that simple speech Mavin had displaced all his worries. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and was turning to continue watching the progression of the battle behind him when out of the corner of his eye he saw the look of stoic determination on his leaders face transform into one of panic. In the same instance he heard a roaring sound from behind him and turned around in time to see a flying pile of junk closing in on their position quickly. Too quickly. “Missile!” bellowed Mavin, regaining his composure enough to see it was an ork craft, and not falling debris from orbit barreling towards them.
No sooner had he given the order then the teams heavy weapon specialist dropped to one knee, sighted the ship with the missile launcher on his shoulder and fired. All in one fluid motion. This was unsurprising to Mavin as, with the exception of Korvin who had only recently been advanced from the common pdf , all the men garrisoning the governors building were veterans of at least five years service.
The missile whooshed out of the tube and smashed into the cockpit obliterating the craft, and showering them with harmless scraps of debris. It was a fine shot, timed perfectly. But it hadn’t been fast enough to stop the ship from getting with feet of the airspace above the building.
No sooner had the craft exploded into a burning fireball, than a shape of massive proportion came bursting from the inferno firing as it went, and screaming a war cry that promised death for everyone on the planet.
Before the still smoking figure could hit the rooftop, three of his men were obliterated by gunfire pouring from a whirring gun at a terrifying rate. By the time the figure smashed onto the concrete the floor was covered in casings. Time seemed to slow down as the figure rose from the crouching position it had landed in giving Mavin a chance to take in their attacker in all his horrific glory.
The beast towered over Mavin, and was all bulging green muscle, wheezing, smoke belching and rusted exo-skeleton. Even without the armor, and bionics Mavin realized this monster would have been huge. With it, he was turned into a colossus. From his steel tipped boots, to the massive energy wreathed claw adorning his right arm, to what appeared to be a cluster of welded together assault cannons on the other, everything about the creature just screamed of the potential for violence that was even now pouring off his frame like a heady musk. As the beast rose he raised his head to admire the chaos he had wrought with his arrival. The lower half of the beasts face was obscured by a metal jaw, and half of his head was covered by a metal plate. What held Mavins attention though were its eyes. There was such intense hatred and insanity locked within them that he gave an involuntary shudder.
The beast looked over what was left of Mavins squad. He nodded slowly before making a quick step forward. The entire squad jumped back scrambling for weapons and cover.
The beast chuckled, “Bunch o’ scardy squigs you lot. Bet you scream like grots.” With that he launched himself forward to attack.
Mavin barely managed to roll under a blow from the power klaw that would have sent his upper torso sailing over the side of the building. The two men behind him weren’t so lucky. The klaw impacted into them and they simply ceased to be. All that was left was a red smear and some tatters of uniform.
The beast began openly laughing at the carnage he had created when a missile raced past his head, missing him by centimeters. And then was forced forward a step as the another two of the remaining soldiers opened up on full auto with their las guns, singeing his flesh, and pinging off his armor. The laughter turned into a deep throated cry of WAAAGH! As he wheeled around to hose his attackers down with his massive gun. It whirred as it spooled up before turning the soldiers into a mess of ragged flesh as the weapon unleashed an ungodly amount of bullets in the three second span it was fired.
Smoke was still misting from the barrels as the beast turned on Korvin, who had watched his squad get torn to pieces in under a minute. He held his rifle clutched to his chest like a talisman meant to ward off evil spirits. The beast began to laugh again and took a step toward Korvin to finish this ballet of death.
Korvin knees felt weak. He had just watched his squad get slaughtered, and he had done nothing to stop it. His weapon was useless in his hands as his body refused to move in the face of the monster that was about to become the last thing he ever saw.
The creature walked until he was towering over Korvin. Such was its size that had the sun been visible past the smoke from the burning city he would have been engulfed in the beasts shadow. It was laughing as it stood over him. Laughing at his dead comrades. Laughing at the word being torn apart around them. And most angering of all it was laughing at Korvins inability to do anything about it. Hatred, potent and blinding in its intensity surged through Korvin, as the words spoken by Sergeant Mavin only minutes before came back to him. He would die. Of that he had no doubt. But he would die facing this enemy of the Emperor like a true soldier. Fear would not decide his fate.
“Hey humie” chuckled the ork. “You don’t look so good. What’s the matter? Don’t like the color red?” as he said the last part he nodded towards the blood pooling across the rooftop. Korvin didn’t answer instead he shook in rage at the easy dismissal of his former squad mates lives. The ork took the shaking as a sign of fear and grinned. “Awww, what’s wrong humie. You sad cause your mates iz dead. Don’t worry your gonna see them again real soon. In fact-“ Before the ork could finish his statement Korvin unleashed a cry of “For the Emperor!” before plunging the bayonet attached to his rifle deep into the orks chest.
The ork roared out in pain and stumbled backward ripping the gun out of his hands, leaving it lodged in the beasts’ chest. Korvin Stared in disbelief. Had his bayonet really hurt it that much when his squadmates gunfire had seemed to only irritate it? It was then that Korvin realized that the ork was scrabbling at something on his back, not the weapon lodged in his chest. As the ork swung around frantically trying to get a grip on something on his back Korvin saw why the creature was so distraught.
Seargent Mavin had his power-sword lodged deep into the beasts back and was holding on for dear life.
Mavin had known the idea was an insane one even as he carried through with it. In truth, if the ork hadn’t had its back turned to him while it taunted Korvin he would have probably kept laying there on the blood splattered ground pretending to be a corpse. But, with every word out of the orks mouth Mavin had felt his anger growing until finally he had picked himself up off the ground , drawn the power sword scabbard at his hip and charged at the beast.
The plan was to work his way through the thick muscle and, Emperor willing, avoid it bones to plunge the sword into the creatures’ heart killing it before it could kill any more good men. The fact that Korvin struck out the same moment he did, rather than attempting to flee only confirmed that Mavin had made the right decision.
Alas it was not to be though. He had missed the heart and was even now fighting to maintain his grip on his sword and by extension his life. He could feel his grip slipping though as the massive ork bucked like a mad grox beneath him. He had seconds at most.
His muscled were burning and he was gasping for air, but he shouted the last order he would ever issue with the last of his energy. “Run lad!” before he could see if Korvin obeyed the ork got a grip of his arm and ripped him off his back. The pain was excrutiating as the energy field worked with the blades on the klaw to rip his arm apart as the ork flung him to the ground before him. It felt like every bone in his body was shattered and he knew at the least his lungs were punctured, probably worse.
The last thing he saw before darkness consumed him was Korvin still rooted to the spot mouth agape and eyes wide in terror. ‘Damn it boy.” gurgled Mavin before darkness took the pain away.
Korvin couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot by terror. Mavin had jumped into a fight he knew he couldn’t win to save him, and yet here he was still rooted to the spot staring at the blood pooling out from under the boot where Mavins head had been. Korvin had felt his body cringe at the sickening crunch of his sergeants’ skull being crushed. The worst feeling though was knowing he had died in vain. Fear held him in its icy grip, and Korvin found himself unable to obey his late sergeants final order. And for that he felt shame.
Then the orks gun roared and he felt no more.
“Too easy that. No fun at all.” Grunted the ork. Then he shrugged and walked over to the door leading into the building. He didn’t bother to open it, instead he just smashed his way through to the surprise of the men who had come to investigate the the sounds of gunfire on the roof. The ork didn’t stop walking. He clubbed them against the wall without breaking stride and strode deeper into the building.
Several formerly beautiful floors, and a few dozen bodies later the ork found himself standing at the end of a corridor filled with guardsmen. If the ork could count he would have seen that there were around fifty men in the hall, all well armored and equipped with high powered las weaponry. All aimed at him. In truth though he didn’t even notice them until they opened fire. Instead, until they signed their death warrant by gaining his attention, he was focusing on the massive double doors embossed with a golden double headed eagle behind them. That had to be where his target was hiding.
A slight stinging on his arms and chest caused him to break from his thoughts back to reality and in turn back to the situation at hand. Officers were bellowing orders, while firing lines were formed, and the hall was filled with disciplined volleys of ruby beams. A normal man would have been dead instantly under such a barrage. But they weren’t firing at a normal man, and the beams merely irritated the avatar of death before them.
As such, instead of being swept away in the sea of red the ork unleashed a wall shaking bellow and charged towards the men at the end of the hall. What followed was nothing short of slaughter.
‘My lord” whispered a nasally voice next to the pudgy man seated in the throne at the end of room behind the double doors. “Captain Zane reports that there is an ork moving through the facility, and recommends you move to a more secure location.” The pudgy man scoffed before replying, “Nonsense Kain, we are safe right here.” The man had a warble to his voice, giving lie to his words of bravado. “But my lord,” started Kain only to be cut off as the pudgy man stormed out of his throne to confront this lack of tact. “Enough! I will not be second guessed by my emissary!” The pudgy man was dressed in opulent robes of purple that now matched his face as he was consumed by apoplectic rage. He was a man of privilege, a lord governor of a planet of the Emperor no less! He would not be questioned by someone as lowly as an emissary. The very idea had him scoffing in outrage.
He was about to reprimand his hawk nosed attendant again when a roar of primal anger and hatred filled the hall alongside the sound of heavy gunfire.”My lord, please. We must leave” pleaded Kain. “No, I think not Kain. We have fifty highly trained soldiers guarding the other side of that door. No single ork, no matter how dangerous is, getting into this room. Suddenly the gunfire halted, and ominous silence greeted the lord governor. “See? Nothing to worry about. Now how about a drink to toast this minor victory eh?” Kain sighed and walked over to the tumbler with a swish of robes to pour a shot of amasec for the Lord Governor Borros.
No sooner had Kain begun to pour the drink than the doors were smashed off their hinges to come skittering to a halt at the feet of Borros. Standing in their place was a very angry looking ork
The ork stomped into the room, taking in his surroundings. The chamber was made of black, gold veined marble, with statues of winged children lining the approach to the throne at the far end of the room. The ork scoffed at the only living thing he saw in the room.
It was a tall, skeleton thin man, with a bald head and a hooked nose. He was wearing one of those humie dress things. He also had what looked like beer. The ork licked his lips and smiled at him. “I’ll take one of those git.” When the man didn’t move he growled and took a step forward only to draw up short as another person made their presence known. “Do it Kain. Now.” whimpered something cowering in the throne.
The ork turned to see who else was here and paused before bursting out laughing at the diminutive figure. It was a short human, grot short, ‘cept grots don’t have fat thought the ork. Then it hit him. “You look like a fat ol’ squig you do.” The squig-humie looked confused. “squi-squig?” he stuttered. The ork laughed even harder. Everyone knows what a squig is. The ork wiped a tear away with his deactivated klaw, and caught his breath. When the ork was finally done laughing and wheezing, Borros asked, “Who- who are you?” The ork looked up sharply, rage written across his features. “Who am I? Who am I! I’m Warboss Gitstompa! I’m the ‘ammer of Gork! Who in the name o’ Morks ‘airy ‘arse are you?” Borros starred in fear as the ork bellowed at him, and finally burst into tears as the ork screamed at him, “Well?!” Tears and snot streaming down his face, Borros found his voice and whimpered, “I am Lord Governor Borros.” Before either of them could say more the sound of clacking shoes, and rustling robes filled the air. The ork whipped around to see Kain running for his life towards the gaping hole that had been the entrance to the governors’ room. He made it. Just not whole.
The clattering of shells hitting the floor alongside the pieces of Kain hadn’t stopped when the ork wheeled around and gripped Borros by his soft waggling neck and lifted his sputtering form out of his throne. “Right humie, I’m bored. It’s time to end this.” Borros tried to say something but before he could suck in enough air, the ork closed his klaws slowly, and sent Borros’ head rolling across the floor.
Gitstompa let the body drop, with a shrug and turned towards the amasec still resting on the table behind him. With his entertainment at an end, the only thing left to do while his ladz mopped up down below was to have a drink. Rather than fumble with the glass, he took up the whole container and downed its contents in one gulp.
He hawked, and spat a glob of phlegm across the room with a grunt of disgust. “Worst fungus beer I ever had.”
: 1850
