Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

Here's the first part of a short story I've written on an Ork named Glur. The writing is light-hearted, but meant to be. It certainly needs improvement, so give me some CaC if you have any. Thanks!

Glur loved being an Ork. He loved the sound of the Shoota Boyz’ guns firing aimlessly into a crowd of Space Marines, the way the blood splattered across his rusty Choppa when he cleaved it into a foe. He loved the taste of a meaty Squig, and the way Grots always cowered in fear whenever they were told they to man the ear-deafening “Big Gunz.” But most of all, Glur loved to lead, and therefore had a great respect for those in his tribe whose rank proceeded his. He revered the Ork nobility, the Nobs, and especially their king, the Warboss. Only the largest, toughest, and most brutal Ork could become the Warboss. When one did, it became his job to lead the other Orks into battle, traveling the galaxy in a never-ending search for the next glorious fight. Even though Glur was an ingenious tactician (a trait unknown to his peers), he was never quite strong enough to assert dominance over his fellow Ork Boyz. Frankly, however, it would make no difference if the other Orks knew of Glur’s knowledge of battle, as Orks tend to prefer a suicidal blood-crazed charge to a well-executed assault.

Glur was once lucky enough to have a chance to display his skill, though. Such a chance happened when the Nob commanding his squad of Slugga Boyz was killed by an Eldar Shuriken Cannon squad. The cannon had been stationed just across the rocky ridge the Orks had been assaulting, and had forced the boys to take cover. The Nob, Irontoof, had tried to show his “tuffness” to his underlings by standing out of cover and firing blindly towards the Eldar force. Needless to say he was shot down quickly. His body fell backwards, and landed in a cloud of dust and rock, razor-sharp discs lining his body. Glur took advantage of the moment and proceeded to tear the Twin-Linked Shoota out of the still twitching hand of his former officer. He then stuffed his belt with the dead Nob’s Stikkbombs, and ordered a charge towards the Eldar. His squad-mates, confused and a little frightened at the sight of their friend raiding the pockets of their former commander, shrugged their shoulders and ran screaming at the Eldar. Glur grabbed several Stikkbombs from his side and launched them across the field. They landed squarely amidst the cannon team, and the Shuriken Cannon blew up in a cloud of blue smoke and electrical charge. The Ork boys yelled even louder, letting loose the war cry infamous amongst the galaxy as a promise of death and destruction.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

***

Despite his victory by demonstrating what would later be known amongst the Eldar as “an impossibly strategic assault for an Ork,” Glur was not able to assume the position left vacant by the late Irontoof. Instead the position was filled by Ghrakskuz, an Ork that Glur soon grew to despise. It should be noted, too, that the Twin-Linked Shoota Glur had commissioned from Irontoof blew up when Glur tested it the next afternoon after returning to camp. The Mekboy who later examined it blamed the explosion on a hidden explosive device wired into the ammo clip. Glur returned to his tent that night, disgruntled, and found a note on his bed. It read: “Gotcha! – Ghrakskuz.” Glur confronted the Nob on his actions, whose response was that it wasn’t proper for a Ork of Glur’s status to have such a fine weapon.

“A git like ‘urself needz only two fingz: a slugga an’ a choppa,” Ghrakskuz explained.

So it was that Glur and Ghrakskuz began their fierce, and often violent, rivalry. Had Glur not such a hatred of Ghrakskuz, his life would be dramatically different. Firstly, he would not have met Zaapz, his best mate. In a spur of the moment idea, Ghrakskuz had ordered all his Slugga Boyz to report to a mandatory training practice with a group of Shoota Boyz, led by Nob Torffug. The day was hot, and the two suns on the planet Ortugah seemed to melt the rocky soil. Tumbleweeds and furry serpents crawled across the landscape. All of the Orks, aside from the Nobs, appeared disgruntled and angry at having practice. Such a thing was un-Orky.

One of the Shoota Boyz spoke up, “’Ey, wat’s da meanin’ of dis? Dis ain’t right, gettin’ togeffa fer a fight when there’s no fings ta kill.”

Torffug removed the cigar he was smoking from his mouth, “You does as I sayz so ladz.”

He removed his Twin-Linked Shoota from his belt and shot the Shoota Boy where he stood. The rest of the Orks looked at the steaming corpse in awe.

“Any uva queshuns?”

The Ork boys grinned and roared in approval.