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Made in gb
Stealthy Grot Snipa






Northern Ireland

Blunder the Wonder-Grot

It all began with a boom.

By the time the assembled spanners and riggers of GrodMeks Mekworx had discovered the source it was all but obvious what the solution was.

He did it.

The combination of the boss's favourite warbike wrecked and burning in the yard and a Grot with a still smoking blunderbuss standing alone in full view of the now enraged BigMek was simple mathematics. Simple enough for the combined acumen of a score of desperate underlings to point their collective fingers in unison at the least likely but most obvious candidate.

The boss eyed the grot with suspicion. He was in a bit of a quandary. Obviously, given the range of the weapon, the armour on his bike, and the dubious quality of the marksman, it couldn't have been him. But then again, in ork society mob rules and the mob was united, for once, around a common purpose. It was a dangerous thing to go against the tide, BigMek or not. GrodMek considered his options carefully. What the mob needed, he concluded was entertainment.

"Incredible!" He announced assuming the air of a circus master, "a lousy grot, wif nuffink but a blunderbuss no less, from as far away as dis..." GrodMek's deep stride had taken in the yards between them, the little grot now quaked in the shadow of his immense bulk. The BigMek now flourished the small weapon in his fat hand, obviously a piece of grot junk. He aimed it at the still smouldering wreckage of his prized racer for show, swallowing the urge to smash the little git to a bloody pulp in his thinly veiled furry.
"...has somehow..." He continued, choosing his words with care, "smashified my bestest ride!"

His audience agreed wholeheartedly. No way was there any chance it was any of them. It was that grot, for sure.

"But can he do it again?!" GrodMek eyed them all closely, looking for the unbeliever, the filthy lousy sneaking liar, the one who knew it was impossible, the real culprit wot dunnit.

"Sure, he can!" GrodMek guffawed, shoving the blunderbuss back into the grot's quivering hands. The grot , wisely accepted the challenge.

"GitFingaz!" GrodMek yelled. An ork Spanna stepped forward and snapped to attention.

"Bring-us anuvva bike... Your bike, I means." GrodMek grinned, relishing the notes of worry on the ork's furrowed brow.

"An' Gerramoveon!"

GrodMek turned to the little grot. "Load it yer git!"

The grot hopped to with a will, turning the barrel end up and rummaging in his pack. He produced a powder bag and poured a large enough amount into the end, grabbed some grass and leaves from the ground beneath his feet and stuffed them in before tamping the lot down with a rag on a stick.

GitFingaz' arrival on his supped-up racer was all smoke and noisy pipes. The crowd cheered and he waved, a big dopey grin plastered on his face.

"Stay right there where we can shoot yer, Fingaz." GrodMek ordered. That wiped the grin off the Spanna's gob and put one firmly on GrodMek's.
The Grot was busy gathering little rocks and grit from the ground, everything went down the funnel of the blunderbuss. GrodMek rummaging in his pockets produced some nuts and bolts, rings and rivets, buttons and bones, all of which were dropped inside and tamped down with great ceremony as the crowd looked on.

"Gavver round boys. Gavver round." GrodMek began. He presented the now fully loaded blundergrot. "Now youz've all tol' me dat dis 'ere grot wif his boomstick woz da one what krumpped my best speeda!"

They all nodded enthusiastically. The grot looked sheepishly at his boots. He'd had nothing to do with it but he knew better than to argue with orks.

"And if I were on me old bike, like ol' GitFingaz over der..." The hapless ork waved nervously, "I'd be toast! Dead meat! Zogged!"

The assembled mob agreed, following this simple A to B logic.

"So you all reckons I can be killed by a Grot do ya?" GrodMek noted way too many nods in the crowd. His lofty thinking was evidently leaving them confused. He needed to get to the point fast. It was time to end the charade with a clear demonstration.

"Well feast yer eyes numskullz!" He shoved the grot forward. "Alright, Blunder, let's 'ave it. Show us yer stuff."

The grot primed the firing hammer and slotted a small primer charge into place. He raised the muzzle and took aim. On the other side of the yard GitFingaz revved his engine and spun his wheels kicking up a lot of dust and smoke and making as much noise as possible. He raised a hand and gave the grot a stiff set of "GitFingas" his signature move. His adoring fans loved it.

"Don't move Fingaz or I'll blast yer me-self!" GrodMek bellowed over the noise. GitFingas made no reply, he just shifted the goggles down from his helmet. He didn't expect much from the distant trembling figure but he was ready all the same.

The assembled orks stared in wrapt fascination. Fixated on the spectacle, willing the tiny figure to glory.

"Blunder! Blunder! Blunder!"

The chant had settled in, deep in their primitive psyches and it couldn't be shifted until the grot pulled the trigger.

"Alright WonderGrot," GrodMek mocked "Fire!"

The blast was incredible.

Far greater than an average boom-stick blast, stronger than a Kannon even, and brighter and louder than an overcharged Zzap Gun. A lance of pale yellow green Waaagh energy erupted from the smokey flared barrel sending shards of metal shot and grit toward the hapless ork target like a hundred miniature lightning bolts. GitFingaz disintegrated fingers first in a terrific shower of gore and his machine promptly exploded on cue. It was Gork-damned spectacular.

The crowd lost their gak.

"Wot da Zog?" GrodMek was dumbfounded.

"Blunder! Blunder!" The chant went up anew.

"Blunder Da Wonder-grot!" Some wise-ass yelled and that with that they hoisted their champion up and carried him away to find something else to blow up. GrodMek's MekWorx emptied as every ork in the place bunked off early.

GrodMek almost face-palmed into his power-klaw; never a good idea. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be lording it over those dumb brutes and weeding out the idiot who'd botched his fuel lines or mis-wired the turbo booster, and then blamed the grot. And now his Mekworx had gone quiet. Not a nail was being hammered we not a bolt bolted or a rivet riveted. The place was a ghost town.

GrodMek stomped back to his abandoned workshop. They'd all be back soon enough he figured. They'd have their fun and then they'd be bored of it and that'd be that.

"Wonder-grot, Bah!" He scoffed as he kicked a dried squig-turd with his heavy iron boot. If he ever saw that little git again... GrodMek squished the turd flat and didn't give it another thought.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2018/11/05 20:43:10


   
Made in ca
Huge Hierodule






Ottawa, ON

And that's what happens when a grot rolls all sixes. That was a fun read.

Hive Fleet Manticore 1,750pts-
Eldar 1,500pts-
Tau 1,000-

A Stone Heart http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/504370.page 
   
Made in gb
Stealthy Grot Snipa






Northern Ireland

Thanks man. I'm working on lots more fun with Blunder in my usual style so that'll find its way here soon.

Just a quick rhyme with some pictures to tell the tale. Bit more good honest green fun.

   
Made in gb
Stealthy Grot Snipa






Northern Ireland



There once was a grot known as Blunder
Whose tale is a legend of wonder
His blunderbuss shots
Could floor a Bull-Grox
And even rend armour asunder.

One thing that the Ork Mind can do
Is to make what they think to come true
And the more that believe
The more power they receive
And that's how the grot's power grew

A blunderbuss so it was told
That could blast with a power ten fold
Stupendously shot
By a wonderous grot
Was truly a sight to behold.

Orks from all over da Waaagh
Heard tell of this rising green star
They came to his side
from far and from wide
To witness his Blundering power

The more that attended the show
The greater his power would grow
Each target they stood
Got blasted real good
There was nothing that grot couldn't blow.



And so began Blunder's adventures
Though battlefields, buildings and trenches
His blunderful buss
Caused such a big fuss
And attracted a lot of attention.

Now the tanks of the Imperial Guard
Though their armour be ever so hard
They seemed to just melt
When his power they felt
Like a knife through a slab of Squig-lard



As the Blunder-Waaagh gathered momentum
The humans just could not prevent them
From blowing to bits
All their tanks and their ships
He blasted whatever they sent him.

But alas came a terrible day
When a Titan came stomping his way.
Took a shot to the head
And fell down like the dead
and squashed him beneath where it lay.



And so ends the legend of Blunder
Whose blunderbuss echoed like thunder
Gork-damn, what a Grot!
and a zogging good shot
A mighty peculiar Grot-wonder

:The end:

   
 
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