Krolshag Gutrockit elbowed his way through the mass of green that surrounded the tribe's squig fighting stage. The atmosphere was heavy with sweat, aggression and the potential to win some teef.

Squigbaiting had been a growing sport over the past few months. With the triumphant victory of the orkish hordes over the local populace, there'd been little to do but smash their own forces together while they waited for a passing space hulk. Though it turns out this wasn't the only way this particular tribe of orks kept themselves entertained.

Ironically the solution hadn't come from the biggest or the toughest, as is common among orkish culture, but one of the oldest. With very few teef of his own left, and therefore very little standing in the tribe, Squigherd Grubnut didn't spend much time among the brutish Boyz and Nobz. Since his task was to keep the gretchin in line with a well placed eating by his pet Squig Grotluncha, he decided a long time ago to make sure he was the best of the best. It didn't afford him much status, but it was enough for him. That was of course, until da boss decided that he didn't like the look of his few toofed Squigherd and brought in a replacement. Grubnut wasn't having that.

As the much younger boy had showed up one day, his own runt of a squig in tow, Grubnut had done something he rarely did, let go of Grotluncha's leash. Perhaps the squig was bored of his diet of spindly gretchin. Perhaps like his master, he didn't like the idea of being showed up by a younger version of himself. Either way, Luncha headed straight for his replacement and a scrap of Squig like proportions ensued.

Understandably, when you pit a mouth full of teeth with legs aganst a mouth full of teeth with legs, a fight doesn't last too long, but it is bloody and violent, just the sort of scrap an ork enjoys. As his squig finished off the opponent and Grubnut reattached its leash, he quickly found himself the centre of attention among the orks who had watched. This was an unusual phenomenon for Grubnut, who half expected an ambush by his new pals. But as they clapped him on the back and pummelled the disgruntled newcomer squigherd for attempting to attack their new found friend, a brain cell ignited within the old ork that gave him an idea. Quite an excellent idea at that.

Before long, Grubnut and his ferocious Grotluncha were the toast of the tribe, his vicious little squighound decimating all opponents and earning him quite a pile of teef at that; you can't have a good fight afterall, without something being wagered on the outcome. That was the end that had brought Krolshag Gutrockit to the Squig fight today, he was going to make a lot of teef with a squig of his own.

He finally made his way through to the front of the crowd and checked with his personal Squigherd - which he had hired at quite a costly rate of teef - to see if his little devil was ready for combat. Fatgut was a grossly distended Squig. Contrary to the usual nashing teeth and quickly tapered torso of most Squighounds, Fatgut featured a distended belly that dragged across the floor as he pulled against the leash held by the herder. He only had half the trademark ferocity of a Squig, but he'd certainly eaten more than his share in his short but violent life. This was something Krolshag was counting on.

Krolshag looked over at his opponent, the now infamous Grubnut, festooned with the finest armour and trophies available to a non war-time ork. He also had quite a possie of armoured nobs around him, making sure that no one caused any problems for their paymaster; or his now even more infamous Squig, Grotluncha. Infront of the old herder, the little fella was nashing away, straining at his leash to get to the obese opponent just a few metres in front of him.

Catching Grubnut's eye, Krolshag smiled and shouted above the din of the surrounding orks, "1,000 teef". The likes of a bet like this had yet to be heard in the circles of Squigbaiting and there was a slight diminishing of the surrounding cries and taunts as the other orks waited for the answer.

Before Grubnot could though, Krolshag finished his sentence, "If you lose." Grubnut stared at his opponent, attempting to figure out what that meant. He'd gained quite a lot of status in recent months, he didn't want to lose it now. "It's da same 'fing" he replied, grinning his three remaining teef at his bodyguards and lackeys. "It's da same fing as him winning, alright alright." He signalled to one of the nearby grots that was struggling to hold up a large leather satchel. The grot quickly, obediently pulled the draw string of the orkish purse, letting a few of the many teef it contained spill onto the sandy floor.

A roar went up from the spectators and Krolshag tapped the bag at his waste, showing that he too was prepared to cover the bet. Little did the surrounding orks know that Krolshag was a sneaky git. He had barely 10 teef in the bag, along with a load of old bones that he'd made to look like teef. But they didn't need to know that.

With the bets made and terms agreed upon, it was time for the fight to commence. Knowing things were about to begin, the surrounding orks gathered in closer and the cacophany among them increased to a fever pitch as wagers were shouted back and forth and encouragement for their chosen squig was roared across the fighting stage. Even Grubnut, his fists covered in gold rings and his goblet made from a Space Marine's helmet, leaned in closer, the four grots holding up his seat struggling to hold the weight of their slave master.

With their eyes so focused on the Squiggs, no one noticed Krolshag take several steps back from the crowded wooden stage, making sure there were several other orks between himself and the front line.

At the sound of the bell rung by a scared looking gretchin, the two Squigherds released their charges. Grubnut's Grotluncha streaked across the stage, its appetite and speed enhanced by months of fighting his own kind. Fatgut on the other hand lolloped forward on its distended legs, weezing as it ambled closer to its opponent.

As the two came together in the centre of the arena, Grubnut and everyone else present leaned in even closer, the noise of the event reaching a cacomphany; though not just because of the shouting.

You see, Krolshag Gutrockit wasn't a squigherd at all, he was a tankbusta. And being a sneaky sort of tankbusta, he'd filled his Squig with rockits, stikkbombs and all sorts of other explosives he could get his hands on. When the two squigs met in the centre of the stage, he pressed the remote detonator he had in his pocket, setting off all of the charges in one monumental explosion.

The shockwave was even more than Krolshag had planned for. He was knocked off his feet, along with the orks clustered around him, very few of them surviving the blast.

As the dust settled, Krolshag climbed to his feet, his ears ringing and waded through the body parts that surrounded the now vapourised centre stage which featured a large red stain on the sandy floor; no doubt the remains of the infamous Grotluncha and his very own Fatgut.

Reaching the other side he found the remains of Grubnut and several of his possie, though you'd have been hard pressed to tell which was which. Krolshag's eyes scanned the area around him, beginning to feel dissapointed that his plan hadn't worked. However, underneath one of the armoured limbs of a dismembered Nob bodyguard, he found what he'd been looking for.

Peeling off the now armless hands of the gretchin who's job it had been to carry the bag of Grubnut's teef, he grinned a wide orkish smile.

"See, you's lose. Dese are mine now."

And who could have argued? Certainly not the few surviving few orks who had a new paymaster. As irefutable as Ork logic goes.