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Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Bit of a dark one this. Kinda came out of nowhere.

Dark Soon

Spoiler:

Sikkum was covered in blood. Human blood, his favourite. It had all gone a bit red back there and he wasn't entirely sure how he'd been removed from he situation. He sat and sucked his fingers sullenly. They were human ones, already sucked dry and tasteless. GorSneek was there wrapping a nasty bite mark on his arm. He gave Sikkum a dark look but not an unfriendly one.

"You wanna watch that." He began, "I fink you got a taste for it."

Sikkum spat a knuckle bone at him and showed his teeth.

"It'll getcha killed is wot I mean." GorSneek continued unperturbed. "I was able to drag you out dis time." He cinched the bandage tight and gave his grotly muscles a pump. "Next time I might not bovver."

Sikkum hung his head.

GorSneek hefted his webbing and jacket up and slipped his bandaged arm through. He turned to leave.

"Fanx."

"So it speaks!" GorSneek didn't sound all that surprised.

Sikkum just looked up at him. A little less fiercely this time. He just looked tired. Bloody and tired.

"I don't got no grabba stick is all." GorSneek explained. "An' I ain't yer RuntHurd."

Sikkum looked away and blinked a bit. He didn't exactly miss old SkegNet. He had resented their old slavedriver just as much as the next grot but he had to admit, he'd had it good for a while there. Plenty of humans to sink his teeth into.

" 'Ungry." He grumbled. He licked a little sticky muck from between his fingers but it already dry and tasted of dust. He hung his hands back over his knees and shook all over.

"Ol' Slimy there'll getcha some squig-meat." GorSneek offered. "Fill you fight up. Make you fart like a champion too." GorSneek chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

"Bah!" Sikkum spat. His fingers were gnawed to the nub by now and just threw them in the dust angrily. He gave GorSneek a dark hard stare. His quivering eyes screamed in silent appeal.

"Oh I gets it." The Kommando grot had figured it out. Sikkum had a problem. His blood-lust had become an addiction. "Manflesh izzit?"

Sikkum gulped and looked away. He wrung his hands trying to keep from shaking.

"Da Sweet meat." GorSneek pondered. He'd seen it before. In orks more often. They became berserkers, thirsting after blood. Sure it would make them wild and furious in battle, but also insatiable and unreasonable; Not that he'd ever really met a reasonable ork in a combat situation before... More often than not they would die in the end, eventually; too fat and bloated to realise some obvious danger; a big tank or an unexploded bomb or a runnaway deffdread.

"You got some skillz, I'll give ya dat." Admitted GorSneek, "Ain't too many grotz can get stuck in like wot you can. Yer a nachural, see. Be a shame to see dat raw talent go to waste."

Sikkum got to his feet. He didn't want to hear it. The encounter with the humans had been brief and the small taste he'd gotten wasn't nearly enough. He could already feel himself starting to get the jitters. The sun was hanging low now like a great orange ball drowning all the world in a bloody mask. Sikkum could hardly stand it.

"Be dark soon." GorSneek's voice startled him out of some dire reverie. "If you can 'old on for a bit I'll take you stalkin'. We'll getcha wotcha need."

Sikkum tried to look over but he couldn't bare to meet GorSneek's sympathetic gaze. It was hard. His eyes were twitchy and wild. The blood red sky was pounding on him.
"Dark soon..." He muttered, "Dark soon. Dark soon." He went and buried his face between his knees, eyes screwed shut clutching his ragged ears in his fists. "Dark soon." He rocked and muttered back and forth.

Wotzit cocked an eyebrow toward GorSneek, pointing with his thumb at Sikkum.
"Wotzup wit dis guy?" He asked loudly. Wotzit didn't give a stuff for Sikkum's precious feelings.

"GorSneek didn't answer but the savage look he shot the mouthy grot was nothing short of bloody murder.

"I go see if Grimy needs an 'and wif da big shoota den." Wotzit staggered to his feet and disappeared quicker than a squig-hound at the races.

GorSneek checked his gear. He was running low on a few things, shotgun shells, frags. His arm was beginning to itch. He'd have to keep his eyes open for more bandages too when he went out. The sky was beginning to bruise into purples now.

Sikkum still rocked.

"Dark soon.

Dark soon.

Dark soon."






This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/03/11 01:19:02


   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

No way! Did I just bust “Give it yer Best Grot” out of the garage, dust it off and take it for a spin around the block?


Akshun!

Spoiler:


Gork Almighty! Red was so bored he could almost eat his own hat.

Blunder was tuned in to yet another riveting broadcast courtesy of Orky TeeVee; a seemingly non-stop sports channel run from some Space-Hulk out there broadcasting orkish events from across the galaxy. Right now, apparently live from Gork knows where it was yet another Evil Sunz Grand Prix. The incessant screaming of the Formula Waaaagh speedsters going round and round spliced with the near constant chants of “Ere we go; ere we go, ere we go!” was really starting to grind Red’s little grot gears.

“Red, Red, you gots to come see dis, Red.”

Red raised his hat above an already raised eyebrow. A welcome distraction? Thank Mork for small mercies, he thought. Another two minutes of these squig-brained racers and their redder than red cars and he might of gone out and thrown himself in front of one.

Wotzit busstled in carrying a box.

“I found dis over in da white streets, down near da Big Whoop.”

Red knew the place. Every imperial city had at least one large cathedral. This one, that the Orks called Da Big Whoop was situated in a particularly swanky part of town, where the sandstone architecture of the sprawling residential zones gave way to gleaming white marble and polished granite. It protruded like a great white needle in the eye of this otherwise ork infested sore of a city. The place was usually crawling with humans. Humans, tanks and defence lasers! Whatever Wotzit had been doing poking his little green nose around those parts was the more pressing question.

“I foun’ a Beaky!” Wotzit produced his prize from the unassuming cardboard box. A thing so shocking; a shock so utterly ingrained in the green-skin psyche that Red almost fell backwards off his stool; a Space Marine helmet!

“Wot da Zog!” Red blurted, scrambling to compose himself.

“It’s not a real’un.” Wotzit smirked, enjoying Red’s discomfiture. “I fink its fer puttin’ in water…” He showed the thing to Red, who tentatively stepped forward. Sure enough it had a handle on the back, and a lid on top for filling it with water. The beak made the spout for pouring it out.

“It’s a tin kettle!” Red grumbled with embarrassment. “Wocha wanna beaky water pot for?”

“I dunno.” Wotzit shrugged, “Jus’ to see your face!” He held the thing up to deliver the finest imperial decree he could think of, “Gak yer pants, in da name ov da Emp’rah!”

Red snatched the thing and inspected it a bit more carefully. He looked it over, considering it’s fearsome visage. Wotzit was turning to go when Red suddenly grabbed him by the ear and held the thing against the side of his head for comparison.

“Didya see any more o’ these?” asked Red, a strange pondering expression growing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah, dere’s loads ov’em.” Confirmed Wotzit, “Red ones, blue ones… I found a whole shop full’o all sortz. Dem Oomies must love dis Beaky gak.”

“If Weezul can cut the bottom out… ” A very far away look had come over Red all of a sudden, he might have been beginning to have a plan.

********

“Aaaand Akshun!”

Five diminutive Space marines crowded the small screen of Weezul’s recording unit. Red squinted at the display, looking for tell-tale signs that might give them away. There were a lot.

“Attenshun Orkses!” Pokey announced in the deepest tones he could muster. “You is propa weak an’ puny.”

Someone was sniggering.

“Oi, knock it off! Cut!” Weezul stopped the recording and reset the device.

“Who’s dat?” Red lifted the blue kettle helmet off the smallest bogus Beaky to reveal Snot-fer-Brains grinning from ear to ear. “Beakies don’t larf, Snot!” He dropped the helmet and shoved the little runt back into the shot.

“Tell ‘em Gorsneek.”

The kommando grot didn’t look up from his bomb making. He only grunted, “I neva met one. But I reckon dey’d fink dat was pretty funny. Pfff!” He scoffed and continued wrapping nails around a pipe.

That wasn’t the kind of inspiring direction Red was hoping for. “No! No!” He complained. “Dey iz dead serious! Look! Lookit me!”

“I can’t see zog in dis fing.” Wotzit complained from inside his beaky kettle. “Can’t we cut out da eye holes?

“No! Jus’ listen. You is big, you is mean, you is gonna krump da orks inta mush. It ain’t funny!” Red corrected another errant sniggerer, “It’s propa serious an dead scary.”

“Blunder, yer big shoulder fingy is fallin’ off.” He spun one of the costumed grots around and tightened the straps holding the painted cardboard pauldrons in place. Someone farted. “Serious! Dead serious you lot.” Snapped Red, “I wants ya to scare da gak outta me.” He quickly straightened up their positioning in front of the big lights and ducked out of shot.

“Ready Pokey?”

The narrator nodded.

“Akshun!”

“Attenshun Orkses. You is propa weak an’ puny.” Repeated Pokey. “Beakys like uz is too good for ya. If you wants a propa scrap against da likes ov uz an’ not just some squishy Oomies den listen up!”

Red’s eyes were wide with enthusiasm. The shot was dead dramatic, all low angle, blindingly backlit and crammed with sinister beakys leering down at the camera. Pokey was really selling the voiceover too.

“…”

“Wot? Oi, Pokey? Cut!”

“Dat’s all der is, boss.” Pokey shrugged, “you din’t tell me nuffink else to say.”

“I din’t… I mean, I reckoned you would improvise, you know? Get into da fing…”

“But I don’t get it.” Pokey was close to pointing out some the obvious flaws in Red’s plan when one of the beakys in the back chimed in.

“It don’t matter, Poke.” Dapper sighed so heavily you could practically hear his eyes rolling inside the helmet. “Orks is fick as two short bricks anyways. Just slag ‘em off, dare’m to fight ya and say sumfink ‘bout da emp’rah an’ we can all get done ‘ere.”

“Yeah, I’m missing Orky TeeVee for dis!” whined Blunder.

“Right!” Red clapped the resentful grot on the back carefully between the wobbly pauldrons, grateful for Dapper’s keen insight. “More insults, Pokey, Orks is weedy, Orks is naff. But go ahead an’ put some real stink on it. Alright? Yes! One more time. Let’s take it from da top. Positions!”

The grot squadron shuffled in tight and pointed their beaks down at the camera.

“Got it, Pokey?”

“Da Emp’rah?”

“For da Emp’rah!” Red gave his confused narrator two big thumps up and an encouraging grin and yelled “Akshun!”

“Attenshun Orkses. You is propa weak an’ puny! Why, I neva seen such a bunch of worthless goodfernuffink hunks of fungus-meat! An’ believe me, I seen tones of worthless gak all ova! You make me sicker’n a bucket of barfed up squig-guts.”

Pokey was really getting going this time. The bogus beaky grots were all nodding on cue convincingly enough too. Weezul was getting it all in the can. Red was loving it.

“You fink you got wot it takes to scrap wif da Emp’rah’s ‘ardest ladz? You fink you’re ‘ard enough? You don’t got nuffink. We blow up whole planets for breakfast! You can’t even blow up da Big Woop!”

That got Gorsneek’s attention. The kommando grot looked up with some surprise. Did a grot really just dare his orkish overlords to target the Big Whoop for demolition? It was a big ask, but Gorsneek admired its vision.

“It’s coz yer ain’t nuffink but a bunch of scaredy grot gits!”

Red swallowed his rebel-grot pride for the sake of his art and encouraged Pokey to wrap it up with a vague gesticulation.

“An’ you iz dumb too!” Pokey continued beginning to flounder, “Dummer’n …Snot-fer-Brainz!”

Red’s gestures became more emphatic, this was going downhill fast, it had to end now. He gave Pokey two big thumbs up and a huge grin, praying to Gork that he would get the hint before it was too late.

“Err, For da Emp’rah!” barked Pokey so loud that the grots on stage all snapped to attention.

Red almost passed out with delight. “Cut! It’s a wrap! It’s a Gork-Damned masterpiece of da Green-Screen!”

Weezul checked the footage and gave Red the nod. They had it all in the can.

“Now wotcha fink?” Asked Weezul, “You gonna show it to da WaaaghBoss yerself are ya?”

“Ummm…” Red pictured his head in a blue tin kettle adorning the boss’s Waaagh! banner and knew he’d have to come up with a better plan. “Yeah, you lot, maybe get rid ov dat stuff.” He tore a cardboard Aquila off of Wotzit’s chest and scrunched it up. “Have yerselves a bonfire.” He suggested, “Burn da lot!”

Snot-fer-brains pulled out a lighter and immediately set about trying to set fire to his own pauldron, before Pokey stepped in and helped him to take it off first.

“An take dem beaky hats outside for target practice.” Added Red, “Wif da Big Shoota! I mean really smash ‘em up.” He didn’t want any evidence left lying around.

The assembled cast and crew dispersed, some to the cardboard bonfire, some to the beaky shoot. Blunder went straight back to the box-viewer hoping his favourite show wasn’t over already. He tuned in to find pair of gobby BadMoon pundits hashing it out following the end of the latest heavyweight slobberknocker between a couple of Goff Skarboys. Blunder had missed the bout but he didn’t seem to care so long as he could still watch the highlights.

Red remained silently in the corner watching the blundering fool already transfixed by the screen, taking it all in.

“Pfff, Orky TeeVee!” Red scoffed. If it wasn’t Goff Boxing it was Squighound racing, or Snazz-my-wagon, or some such other inane nonsense! He held the data pack from Weezul’s vid-corder tight in his little indignant fist. He’d give these complacent blabbering brutes something to really talk about; And soon enough the talking would reach a critical mass, where action must necessarily follow. He had the match to light the fuse. Now all he needed, he thought darkly, was access to an audience, a moment of their undivided attention, and the fate of this world would turn on the whim of a grot.





This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2024/03/18 20:15:00


   
Made in de
Boom! Leman Russ Commander






That was pretty cool and funny. Can't wait to see what comes out of it

~6550 build and painted
819 build and painted
830 
   
Made in us
Dakka Veteran





After the battle the grots were all chilling at da brew house.

The orks kept throwing their mugs of fungus brew at Finga the grot who was trying his best to keep up with their belligerent demands for drinks.

Finga waited for the orks to start bashing eachother, and in a fit of rage thrust a stabba right into the backside of one of the orks. Then ran away and hid under a table.


"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa 
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Thanks Dekskull, and Welcome to the gang Finga.

Hmmm, so we have a grot bartender with a proclivity for getting standby when the opportunity arises.

Is there any particular reason you called him Finga?

   
Made in us
Dakka Veteran





Just a character in one of my family's long long running narrative campaign that comprises mortly Gorkamorka, some BFG, some 40K (3rd edition and now 9th edition). Its all good though, the characters can reguarly tellyport themselves anywhere in time and space, including message boards.

Other Characters in my Narrative:

Captain Rot Ear: Free Booter Captain

Decskull: War Boss in Mega Armor (Killed by a Hive Tyrant but brought back to life by the power of the green Waagh)

Duo: Rival Warboss that is always challenging Decskull and organizing rebellions.

Speedsta: Bike and Trukk racing Nob.

Finga: Retired rebel grot leader that led a group of grots against the evil Mek Wil-Furd on the infamous train Grotpiercer. Now works at the brew house, sometimes joins speedsta's mob for racing.

Locations:

BOD: Big Orky Desert. It was originally eaten by Tyranids, but then the orks found a new planet and called it BOD 2. They then forgot about the old BOD and its just called BOD. A subsequenttyranid invasion failed but there are still random tyranids that pop up from time to time.

Morkheim: (Same stellar system as BOD): Overrun with zombies and ruins. Great place for scrap and scrapping.


"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa 
   
Made in us
Dakka Veteran





So what would you think about organizing a collaborative brew house bash fiction?


"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa 
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Sounds like fun. For the purposes of this story I’ll happily teleport Finga & Co into our mob.

I’ll PM you with a drinks order for the brew house.

   
Made in us
Dakka Veteran





Nice I hope we can get some brew house bashing going on!

Here is the drink menu.




"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa 
   
Made in gb
[DCM]
Been Around the Block




Derbyshire

Brilliant work. From a fellow writer and artist. Consider yourself promoted.

A wizardz didz itz andz ranz awayz!!! 
   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Cheers McQuirk. Jump in if you’ve anyone to add to the mix. We can always use a fresh green face.

   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland


I think I’ve begun this section too early when I should’ve just started with them entering the TV station undercover, but instead…

Captain Exposition explains it all.

Spoiler:

“Gakkit, you got da fingy?”

“Yeah, Weezul. It’s ‘evier’n a sack o’ gak.”

“Are you sure dats da place?” Red wasn’t convinced.

“Course it iz! It’s got da big tower an’ da dish an all dat!”

“So?”

“So da dish is how dey gets da signal in.” Explained Weezul, and then pointing up to the tall radio mast tower. “An’ dats how dey gets it out.. so dats how WE gets it out too.”

“Which is why we need you, Gakkit.” Red interrupted, reasserting his grip on the know-wots of da plan, “to get up dere.”

“With da gak-sack.” Complained Gakkit.

“Wiff da signal splitta!” Weezul corrected him, indignant at his highly technical gubbinz being so disparaged.

“If you says so.” Gakkit shrugged.

I does says so.” Weezul folded his arms in a huff. “Anyway da sign on da front clearly says “Orky TeeVee” so we’re in da right place.”

“If you says so.” Red didn’t mean to be such a git. He was just a little nervous. It might have had something to do with the razor wire, perimeter guards, attack squigs and sniper tower they’d have to get by to make the mission a success.

“Don’t worry about dat lot.” Weezul grinned. He wasn’t worried at all. He wasn’t going in. “Just remember, when you clamp da Signal Splitta onto da wire, you…

“Turn da screws on da clamps til it gets good’n tight.” Gakkit repeated, his eyes rolling summersaults. “Switch it on. And wait fer da signal.”

“An’ if I don’t give da signal.”

“You betta give da signal!”

“If da remote don’t beep,” snapped Weezul, “I don’t signal nuffink, mate.”

“If you don’t give da signal,” Red broke in. “I has to upload da vid an play it live, an’ get out before dey set da squigs on me.”

“Easy fer you!” Yelped Gakkit, “I’ll be hangin’ out like a squigeon up a tree while it all goes south down below. So like I say, dis gak-piece splitta gubbinz better work, cause I ain’t pulling Squig teef outa my rear on your account.”

“Alright, don’t gak yer pantz, I’ll fink of somefink.”

“Y’hear dat, Gakkit? Don’t worry. We gots da best grot brain on da job.”
Red was keen to keep the grot sniper sweet; they needed Gakkit’s head for heights on this one, and maybe his uncanny luck too. There was no way Red was climbing that tower.

Gakkit relented. He’d been promised a brand new power pack for his long-las, and he wasn’t going to get one hanging around down here.
“Well let’s get on wif it then.” He hefted the backpack full of gubbins and made for the front door of Orky TeeVee headquarters.

“Oi, wait.” Red grabbed the other grot by the ear and turned him about. “First we need to go pay a visit to a friend.”

“In da Big Goff Grill?”

Red fast around trying to find his bearings. “No, wait. In there! We needs to talk to a fella in da Guzzlin’ Grox.”

“Sure, I could use a fungus beer.” Weezul marched over to the grots entrance and ducked inside.

“C’mon,” Red briefly considers making for the Orks entrance but thought better of it. They needed to keep a low profile. “And bring dat gubbinz.”



Next up Red, Gakkit and Weezul get to pay a quick visit to the Guzzlin Grox bar to see if Finga has something for them. Then it’s on to the mission. That’s the plan anyway. As ever feel free to jump in and improvise.

   
Made in gb
Renegade Kan Killin Orks






Northern Ireland

Sadly, no more story for these just yet but I did a new picture for one of the scenes above that I thought you all might enjoy.

It’s just all the grots in kettle helmets and cardboard costumes creating movie magic.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2024/03/18 20:17:42


   
 
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