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Made in us
Lead-Footed Trukkboy Driver






So I've been kicking the idea around of writing some ork fiction (cause there really isn't enough). I've been coming up with character ideas, and an over-arching plot. I've got something more or less worked out with the plot and I thought I came up with a decent enough idea for a prologue. You'll find that below, or rather a very rough draft of it. Any feed back would be greatly appreciated on this. Additionally, based on what I've got put down already, what can you infer/guess about the plot and/or Wazzom? Thanks a bunch!



A tranquil midnight breeze, sharp with a frozen bite and heavy with the pungent scent of industry, swept across the rural plains. The gentle gusts rustled the scattered of patches of tall grasses, each sprouting from one of a few scant rust-red hills of scrap metal dotting the prairie. Serpentine trails of smoke wound lazily across the prairie, weaving through the sickly pastel lilac vegetation and pooling in the (up to) waist-deep craters that marred the field like pox scars. Far off, billowing foundries and factories, awash in illumination from countless furnaces and fires, coated a not insignificant portion of the horizon, ceaseless in their production.

Alien creatures of innumerable shapes and varieties slithered and loped through the half-scorched grasses, some of the more toothy specimens attempted to snatch up a quick meal into their fanged maws. Tiny, impish humanoids, the largest no taller than a man’s shin, rushed through the grasses, chasing (or chased by) the fanged, clawed, and spitting fauna. Long, knife-like ears bobbed and flailed with hurried motions as beads of perspiration dotted their bald and mottled scalps despite the chilled weather. Occasional shrill animalistic shrieks, of both victory and failure, pierced the crisp night air, muffled by grass that might as well have been towering forests to such diminutive creatures.

A lone figure, a crude interpretation of a man’s shape, stood amongst the gently swaying grasses of the field, the light of civilization to its back. The figure’s shoulders, twice as broad as a man and a full head higher than even the proudest of men, swayed back and forth gently with the rhythm of grasses nearly 2 meters below. A barrel of a chest draped in simple tanned hides rose and fell slowly with each breath, layers of muscle and sinew rippling beneath the surface, with a savage energy just waiting to break free of this tranquil moment. The figure’s boxy head craned upwards to the night sky, sunken and beady eyes gazing up to the countless stars from beneath a brow thick enough to almost obscure vision entirely. The figure’s mouth, wreathed with fangs with two small daggers of tusks jutting from the lower lip, dropped open to allow a deep breath to rush into his lungs.

Wazzom Split’ead slowly let the breath back out with a sigh which could have easily mistaken for an engine failing to turn over. The stars far above stirred something deep within Wazzom’s simple mind, an emotion he could not even begin to place as his people had no word for it. A person of a more scholarly demeanor than Wazzom may have called it “peace” or “serenity”, but for the burly creature standing in the field, it only brought a gentle twinge of discomfort from his very core. But even he had to admit, it wasn’t a terrible sensation to be fretting about something or another for once.

Unwilling, or possibly unable, to maintain such a train of thought for any amount of time, Wozzom’s mind drifted from the twinkling specks hanging above his naked pate. The lights high above reminded the ork of work he’d occasionally witnessed in any of the multitudes of mek shops which peppered his people’s domains; he’d seen little flecks of searing metal flung through the air by cutting torches and whirring cutting devices as other, more technically inclined, orks shorn and sliced through great slabs and sheets of metal. But these lights above him hung in the air, motionless, rather than the torrential rain of sparks he was accustomed to.

***

As he peered up into the infinite abyss, his neck craned back as far as he could muster, something deep within him screamed; his sense of miniscule discomfort elevated to straight up unease. Something was wrong, but he could quite pin down what. Slowly, after long moments of pondering, Wazzom realized it had gotten darker, even if just a bit; the stars above him had gone black and lightless.

“Oi, Wazzom, ya git. Yuh’z gone an’ closed yur eyes. What’d ya do dat for?” he quietly grumbled to himself and focused on opening his eyes. Nothing changed, no stars returned to his sight, and he raised a brutish hand to his gawking gaze to pry open his eyelids. But when his clawed hand appeared in his field of view, he blinked in confusion.

“Erum… Me eyes is open?”

He pulled his gaze from the void hanging above him, and Wazzom glanced about to get his bearings. On the periphery of the sky, he could still see the flecks of light hanging in the night sky, but above him there seemed to be a whole gaping wide and swallowing all light. As he observed those distant stars wink out of existence, he realized the hole was expanding, spanning over a greater and greater breadth of the sky. Once again, the screaming from deep within his core returned; something was very wrong, and panic began to envelop Wazzom’s small, simple mind.

His first instinct was to run, though he intuitively knew he couldn’t escape from under the sky; he didn’t even think the Kult of Speed could do that. As the last stars hanging just above the horizon were swallowed up by the blackness, he clasped his hands hands over his face to block out this unnatural darkness. For a moment, he felt better; at least he knew the origin of this new darkness.

It was then he heard-- no, he could feel it. It was some great thrumming that ran through every inch of his flesh. The sensation was subtle at first, easily missable amidst Wazzom’s wave of panic. But as the seconds dragged on, his muscles began to ache in the most peculiar fashion. He’d been sore countless times from when a nob had walloped him, but this was different; Wazzom felt as though his body was being crushed, pulled in upon itself by it’s own muscle and strength. His breath came short as his chest tightened, and then he felt something pull inside him. It was like being yanked by his arm, but instead some part of he’d never seen, never felt. The sensations multiplied by the moment, growing impossibly intense until Wazzom saw fit to scream, half in agony, half in pure animalistic terror.

As Wazzom’s jaw fell, his tusked jaw agape, the tension suddenly released. And then the skies screamed for him. A cacophony of sounds filled the heavens, a veritable choir of discordant chaos as ear-splitting sounds overlapped. The stressed shrieking of metal straining, buckling and collapsing echoed through the sky. The unfathomable rumble of monumental bodies shifting and colliding rocked the ground. The terrible roar of shards of metal raining upon metal echoed in his ears.

The intensity of the mechanical banshee wail increased until Wazzom felt as though his head would burst in mere moments. His hands slipped from his eyes and clasped over his ears ,desperate to abate the unearthly roar. His eyes peered up into the infinite black, searching for the source of the sound. Slowly, as his eye adjusted to the pitch black night, he began to see… something. Or rather many somethings. He strained to see the foggy shapes as his head throbbed dully in pain, and the silhouettes of innumerable limbs coalesced from the shadows. All hanging from the inky void which had so recently swallowed the stars, five, ten, ...more than Wazzom could count.

Writhing tentacles, stabbing claws, and snapping pincers reached down from the hellish heavens, reaching toward the ground; each limb grasped hungrily for whatever purchase it could muster upon the ground. All the while, the sky continued to shriek. Lower and lower, the appendages came, straining to snap the wide-eyed Wazzom up from where he cowared. Just as he seemed moments away from capture, he flailed and shrieked; the ground fell away from beneath him and down, down, down he fell, his eyes clenched shut in abject terror.

And then, he landed with a crash. His eyes shot open and Wazzom found himself upon the floor of his shack. His hammock swung back and forth tumultuously just above his head. His chest heaved from the terror which still seemed all too real, and he tried to catch his breath; the sour scent of his sweat filled his nostrils, pouring from his soaked body. He glanced skyward and found the corrugated sheet metal of his roof. Tiny green flames and arcs of emerald power lapped at the reinforced ribbing of the ceiling.

Wazzom had previously had such visions, but none had seemed so real and visceral. He did not know what hidden meaning was locked away in this one, but he felt a looming shadow of dread hanging over as he climbed slowly back into his hammock and drifted off until morning.

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2018/11/24 04:36:05


"Just the act of orks looting it defiles it! There are Techpriests rolling over in their graves!" "Yeah! I'm rolling over them in their graves!"
"The usage of shipping containers is much like 40k technology: It's been handed down from tech-priest to tech priest, until none of us really remember how it works and we go through many pointless rituals in the belief that it will keep it alive. " - Dayspring

Looking for feedback:
The Machines of Waaagh! (Feedback appreciated) 
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Vey nice.

So old Wazzom (nice name) is a weirdboy?

He's seeing visions of an impending mechanicum invasion?
I'm guessing your story is going to be about that.

Looking forward to any and all ork fiction you want to put out here. I'm a big fan of ork fiction, as you could probbably tell from my own writings. Some of them anyway. Grot fiction more specifically. I'm actually in the process of writing another big grot story right now. Chapter 21 and still going, it's a labour of love is ork fiction.
If you fancy a bit of grot fun make us up a little grot character and drop him off over in the Give it yer best grot thread. Its an anything goes kind of ork/grot fiction free for all.

Of course if you want to save your best grot for Wazzom's service I totally understand. Look forward to meeting him too.

   
 
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