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Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





So I've been playing around with a quick story. The first bit of which is below. Lemme know what you think and whether or not it's worth carrying it on. It's just a bit of fun, I'm not looking to get it printed or anything like that.

Enjoy (hopefully!)
[i]

Harle forced himself to crouch lower, pushing his body further into the rough dirt, trying to gain as much camouflage from the small outcrop as possible. He was nestled between two large boulders with a single sparse branch hanging in front of him. The rough dirt crunched under him as he shifted, resting his cheek against the stock of the long barrelled sniper rifle, staring through the mag sight.

Through the smoky green haze of the viewer he watched yet another ramshackle Ork vehicle pull into the hastily erected encampment, the smaller greenskins pummelled into unloading the cargo. The door to the vehicle flung open, cracking one of the smaller creatures in the face hard enough to send it sprawling, its nose clearly broken.

A large, dirt encrusted Ork pulled himself free from the vehicles carriage. He paused lifting up a pair of archaic looking flight goggles to stare down at the whimpering Gretchin before him. He barked a laugh before lashing out, his thick metal shod boot smashing the skull of small xenos. The big Ork barely broke stride, stepping over the corpse on his way into the camp.

It’d been the same process for the last few days, vehicles would arrive at the camp, disgorge their varying cargos before being moved elsewhere. The drivers would all march into the centre of the encampment, heading straight into the largest of the tents that had been strewn about.

It was in that tent that Harle’s target resided. An Ork bigger and meaner than the rest of them. Their leader. A brutal mountain of muscle the monstrous creature dwarfed the other inhabitants in the camp, his sheer bulk enough to keep the lesser greenskins in order. Officially he was designated 0015249 but he’d come to be known amongst the troops as “Tin Head” due to his appearance. At some point one of the Orks savage doctors had practiced their skills on him, repairing what must have been significant damage to his skull with a large metal plate, from which glowed a bionic eye. They’d obviously not been content to stop there though, as Tin Heads right arm ceased to exist below the elbow. In its place was a monstrous power klaw favoured by the Ork warlords. Capable of crushing through most armour the weapon was a man and tank killer.

Harle sighed in frustration. He’d spent the best part of a week trekking back and forth to this spot, his own camp hidden further out, in an attempt to get a sight on the Ork. The over charged long las cradled to his cheek was powerful enough to get through any skull, all he needed was the chance. He smirked remembering the meeting where his mission had been discussed, the senior brass believing that if Tin Head fell the Ork band would scatter.

Moving his fingers over the dial on the scope Harle zoomed in, perhaps today he’d get his chance and best to be prepared. His thumb flicked the safety off as he started to calm his breathing, pushing thoughts of a bed and a warm meal out of his head.

The goggle wearing Ork tossed back the entrance flap to the tent, disappearing from view as all of his predecessors had. Nearly ten minutes passed before the Ork exited, a hunk of some unidentified meat clutched in his fist. The flap dropped back into place, with no sign of Tin Head to be had.

“Feck.” Harle cursed softly under his breath, reaching up to carefully wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow, preparing for a long day of waiting. He blinked a couple of times before returning his eye to the scope, shifting his shoulders slightly to keep his camo cloak in place.

No sooner had he pressed his face to the smooth surface of the rifle than his world erupted in pain. Harle screamed in agony, trying to turn, finding himself unable to. Something inside him twisted and the pain became unbearable, his world fading into darkness.

“Har har. Got one.” Barruk chuckled, holding tightly to the length of thick metal in his hand. The sharpened blade plunged through the small pinkskin hiding in the rocks, pinning him to the ground.

“I call dat shiny gun!” his younger brother Burrak barked, shoving past to snatch up the rifle.

“Watcha gonna do wid dat? Pick yah teef?”

“Shut yer hole. I’m gunna give it ta Spigot, see wat dat mad mek’ll do wid it.” Burrak shot back, resting the gun and its mount over his shoulder.

“”Ooooh lookie. He’s got one of dem fancy shiftin’ cloaks.” Barruk crouched rubbing his fingers on the material even as the blood seeped into it. “Wonda if da Boss’ll let me keep it. It’d make a fancy top.”

“Whateva. We better get it back before it leaks too much. You know da Boss likes ‘em still squirmin’.”

The muscles of Barruks’ arm flexed, lifting the choppa and raising human off of the ground, its body hanging limp. He give his wrist a shake making the body jiggle, drawing a grunt of laughter from his brother.

“Let’s take it back to da boss den.” He grunted holding the kill aloft as they started the walk back to the camp.









   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Very nice. Hard to see how our hero Harle is gonna get out of this one. Unless of course Barruk and Burrak the ork chuckle brothers are the real heros we'll be following. Either way I don't think you're wasting your time. Keep on writing and reading and playing with ideas and plots and see where this goes. It'll be a fun journey. Orks are always fun.

Also, brutal grot abuse! When the revolution comes that ork will be the first against the wall.

   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





Will he survive? Will he die? Is he the hero the humans need? All will be revealed. Tune in again. Same bat time. Same bat channel.

But thanks for the feedback, i've not given much thought to the overall plot, I'm just throwing words at the paper to see what sticks.

He had it coming! Anyway part 2 below.
   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





The smaller Greenskins darted out of the way as the dirt encrusted brothers strolled back into camp, Burrak using the end of the sniper rifle to give the inside of his nostril a thorough cleaning. He retracted the end, flicking his findings in the direction of the nearest Gretchen and missing by a predictable distance.

As the brothers drew closer to the tent two Ork’s unfolded themselves from their crouches, pulling themselves up to their full height. The two Ork’s dwarfed the brothers the same way they dwarfed the human skewered on the end of the blade. The bigger of the two jabbed a finger so dark green it could have been black at Barruk.

“Wotcha got dere runt?” He snapped, one massive hand resting on the grip of his shoota.

“Looks like dey brung us a snack!” The other chuckled, leaning forwards to poke at the limp form of Harle.

“Not for you, dis for da Boss.” Barruk growled back, yanking the human away.

“And for da Boss only.” Burrak echoed, the tip of his finger pushing into the finger guard of his newly acquired rifle. He may not be the best shot but he knew the punch the softskins weapons could pack and this close it wouldn’t be pleasant for the two guards.

“Krusha, Kleava, wots ‘appening out dere? Ain’t no drop s’posed to be ‘appening!” The voice boomed from the interior of the tent. The two dark skinned Orks looking at each other quickly.

“Nuffin’ Boss, just some runty Boyz wiv sum softskin dey found.”
“Wot? Wot softskin!? Ain’t none of dem humies dis far out. Dey all by dat big camp.” The entrance to the tent pulled back revealing the shining head of Da Boss, Tin Head. In a final irony the shot that Harle had waited so patiently for was presented only with his death.

“Boss.” Barruk and Burrak said in union dipping their heads in obedience. If the two guards had dwarfed them then the Boss made them look like children. Neither came above his chest, which was twice as wide as they were. An arm thicker than their muscular necks held back the tent flap, the glowing blue lens of the Bosses skull glittering in the semi darkness.

The Boss ignored the display of obedience, his eyes drawn to the prize impaled before him. “Humies dis far out…” he mused to himself, lost in thought. Without a care for the massive hunk of metal sticking from its chest he gripped the body, tugging it away and hurling it back into the tent. “In.” He grunted looking at the two brothers.

Tin Head turned heading into the tent, so unafraid of the brothers that he deigned to turn his back on them, making it clear he didn’t consider him a threat. Even without the thick plate armour the Boss wore into battle the two Boys would have been hard pressed to put him down. And both of them knew it.

The Boss dropped his massive bulk down into a mass of Gretchen stuffed bags, wriggling until he found a comfortable spot. The movement no doubt costing more than a few of the little creatures their lives. “Tell me bout dat.” He snapped, nudging the body with his foot.

“We found it out in one of da rock groups. It had a rifle…” Barruk responded, nudging his brother who dutifully presented the acquired weapon. “It was looking into da camp, all sneaky like. We came up on him all super sneaky and den I stuck ‘im good. Pinned him down like a squirmy Gretchen.”

“He da only one you found?” The Bosses voice was low, his eyes fixed on the prostrate form on the ground.

“Yes Boss. Just da one. We waz on rounds, lookin’ real good. We came right back when we found it.” Burrak offered up hurriedly.

“Krusha!” The Bosses voice boomed, the sudden noise causing the two Boys to jerk backwards in fear, hands dropping to their weapons.

The shoota wielding Ork stuck his head inside the tent. “Boss?” He asked a frown creasing his piggish features.

“Take some of da Boyz out. Search da camp. Make sure ain’t no more of these lurkin’ out dere.” He gave the corpse a meaningful look. “Send some of dem speedboyz over to da peak, make sure dere ain’t no humies settin’ up a trap.”

“Yes Boss.” He grunted, backing out of the tent, yelled orders quickly following Krusha’s departure.

The Boss turned to the two boyz, looking over the cape and rifle. He waved the massive steam venting klaw. “Keep wot ya found.” He grunted. Nudging the corpse again.

This time instead of a soft thump the noise was accompanied by a groan of pain. “It’s alive!?” The Bosses remaining eye glittered maliciously. “Get me one dem sawboys and you best hope it don’t die before ya get back.”
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Uh oh. Saw boy plus human isn't a pretty equation.

And, Gretchin stuffed beanbags! You monster! Are you too young to remember Grotbags? Ah nevermind...

   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





Next section is almost ready to go up, just got to find a bit of spare time...

Grotbags I must admit are before my time. Or buried in the deep recesses of my brain.
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Oh no, I was remembering this Grotbags

The 80s, when kids TV used to be more traumatising.

Looking forward to more scary green nasties from you whenever its ready.

   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





See. Now that I remember.

*dives back into typing*
   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





Apologies for the delay. The next installment is now here. Only a short one! Again, feedback/comments welcome. I appreciate it's not full of savage firefights (yet).
   
Made in gb
Regular Dakkanaut





Hours passed whilst the group worked, the sky turning from its clear blue to a dark mottled purple akin to a bruise. The sounds of camp quietened, fading as the hustle and clamour turned to the rumbling snores of the Orks and the high pitched whistling exhalation of the Gretchen. Eventually the two Painboyz stepped back from their experiment, the cog boy having long since retreated to watch their ministrations.
“It’s done.” Karsnik grunted, reaching up to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, succeeding in doing little more than streaking it over his green flesh.

At his feet lay the remains of Harle, the guardsmen’s body having suffered through the full attentions of two Painboys intent on keeping the small life spark within him working. Harle’s flesh was so pale it was almost translucent, drug filled veins showing blue through it. The gaping wound in his chest had been stapled and sewn shut, though not before two pipes had been inserted into his chest cavity. These pipes snaked a little way across the floor, feeding in to what looked like a small idling engine. Inside the engine sat three large containers, one filled with Harle’s own blood, one filled with Ork blood (provided by an unfortunate Boy who had happened to be passing) and the last a concoction mixed up by the two Painboys.

Karsnik pointed at the body, motioning to the contraption. “Dis is pulling ‘is blood out, mixin’ it wid Ork blood an’ pumpin’ the mix back in.”

“It’s also addin’ in a special brew we mixed up. Keeps da pain away.” Raldak chuckled, his eyes glittering with evil malice. He motioned to the waiting Cog Boy.

“Iz simple Boss.” He turned the engine pack around showing the back end to Skarak. “Dis’ll keep ‘im alive. But if ‘e is getting’ out of ‘and den youz turn dis an’ it’ll make ‘im behave.” The Cog Boy motioned to a single large brass dial welded to the back.

Skarak’s grin nearly took in his eyes as he leaned forwards in his throne. “It’ll live?” He asked again, his brain already whirring with the possibilities this would present to him. “It’ll think…it’ll talk…?”

Karsnik looked down at the near corpse and back up at the boss. “It should. Don’t know doh. Humie brains are weak.”

“Wake it!” Skarak growled staring at his Painboys.

“Could kill it.” Raldak said before realising he was speaking.

Skarak’s head snapped round, glaring at him, his eyes burning with anger and need. His lip curled slightly, displeasure clear on his face. “Wake. It.” He repeated.

Raldak and Karsnik exchanged a look before nodding to the waiting Cog Boy. All three held their breaths as he turned the dial on the back of the pack, a low gurgling sound from the tank filling the tense silence. Harle’s back arched suddenly, an inhuman scream tearing from his lips, shattering the silence.

Harle’s body slumped back to the ground, his chest rising and falling steadily as the Cog Boy rapidly adjusted the dial back to one of its lower settings.

“Why? Why he no awake?” Skarak stepped forwards nudging the form with his boot, his ears still ringing from the scream.

“Pain. Soft pink skins can’t take pain.” Karsniks gauntlet clicked as he flexed his fingers, needle tipped syringes dripping with lurid coloured liquids hanging over the body. “Can take away pain, but could be…fatal.”

The Boss pushed past the Cog Boy and yanked the dial “Wake!” He bellowed, the booming resonance drowning out another inhuman scream. He released the wheel after the briefest moment, the brass dial spinning back into place.

Harle lay on the floor, gasping for breath, pain flooding every nerve ending. He coughed once, weakly, rolling onto his side. Another retching cough wracked his frail body, sending a splattering of black bile across the boots of the massive Ork before him.

Skarak leant down, his single remaining eye boring into the bloodshot eyes of the human before him. “You live, you tell me all.” He rumbled. “You help me beat others. Dem metal men.”

Harle scrunched his eyes shut, trying to block out the image before him. “No.” He muttered, the word raw in his throat.
   
 
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