"... OI! IZ YOU EVEN LISTENIN' TA ME, YA RUNTY GIT!? I'Z TALKIN TO YA!", the gibbering Ork skull bellowed at the warphead.

Wurrzag da Weird growled and pulled his staff from the ground where it was staked, turning the disembodied Ork head atop it to face him. "I'll listen to 'ya once youz has somefing' worth listnin' to, Naff!"

The skull snarled back at him, eye sockets and mouth flaring with bright green energy. "'Ow many timez 'ave I told ya not ta call me dat!?" the skull demanded in it's usual indignant tone.

Wurrzag simply shook his head at the bones, rolling his eyes behind his wooden mask. "Fine 'den, wot was yer name 'spozed to be, eh?", asked Wurrzag. The glow in the ork skull's eyes narrowed as it considered the question, before begrudgingly admitting, "I... can't 'memba."

Wurrzag let out a hearty laugh at the skull's expense. "You can neva' rememba, ya mangy git! Yer name iz Naff, cuz dat'z what I'z callin ya!"

The skull ceased talking, probably deep in thought as it tried to remember it's original name, and Wurrzag bathed in the silence. It was rare he could enjoy such a moment - ever since the day he discovered he could communicate with the dead by speaking to their skulls, his days had been filled with the ceaseless ranting and raving of orks who had been killed in one manner or another. Occasionally, his abilities were a boon - he could sometimes pry useful information from the corpses, such as what it was killed by, how many, and where. More often than not, though, a dead ork had very little of any use to say; the vast majority involved belligerent threats and indignant requests for a rematch with whatever killed it. Wurrzag could occasionally even speak to the skulls of other races, though this ability was intermittent and generally unhelpful, as he did not for example understand the flowing language of the eldar very well and many of the 'umies he was able to speak with were not interested in talking to a "Zee-noze" and went on and on about the human warboss, the "Empy-roar". Sometimes they would be screaming and hollering about something called a "warp" or horrible beasties, but Wurrzag had little interest in such things. He could sometimes tune the power out, but as the main warphead of Warboss Gargrim's army, he was constantly surrounded by throngs of orks that augmented his sensitivity to such things. Of course, Wurrzag was not one to complain, because it also meant he could blow things up with his lightnin' bolts as well as the biggest zzap gun.

Over the years, Wurrzag had encountered many a dead ork, from mighty warbosses to the smallest boy. Still, none were quite as interesting as the disembodied skull of Naff. When Wurrzag had discovered this Ork's skull, it was perched on a ledge above a battle shooting lightning bolts from it's eyes down into the fight, completely oblivious to the fact that it had been slain and picked clean. Wurrzag had reasoned that Naff had formerly been a weirdboy himself, as it explained why the skull had suddenly come to life in his presence. The two Orks, live and dead, amplified one another's abilities in close proximity, though Wurrzag's were reasonably superior due to the fact that he was still among the living. After Wurrzag discovered Naff's skull, he had installed it at the top of his weirdboy staff, nestled between trident-like lightning bolt glyphs banged out from copper on either side to help channel the additional Waaagh! energy. Wurrzag often conversed with Naff, though truthfully Naff was not very good company - he had little to no recollection of his life before being killed, such as his name, and more often than not forgot he was even dead.

Wurrzag stretched a bit, the chains shackled around his wrists and back clinking as he moved. He staked his staff back into the ground nearby without much argument from Naff. His minders shuffled warily, their tiny gretchin forms shrouded in robes, constantly watching Wurrzag. They were as much his prey as his keepers - the warphead had no doubt that if he so chose, he could wipe them all out before they had any clue as to what was happening. At the same time, though, they did tend to prove useful, helping to anchor him to the ground; in the middle of the battle, the surging Waaagh! energy had a tendency to pick Wurrzag up off the ground and fly him through the air. The warphead was not entirely sure as to the names of his grot minders, and took no effort to learn, as more often than not they got zzap-fried or flattened in battle anyway. Still, it was considered a privledge among the smaller greenskins to be chosen as one of the warphead's minderz.

Wurrzag spotted Big Boss Gargrim lumbering up the incline to the top of the cliff where the warpboy was standing, the ground rumbling beneath the giant warboss as he approached. The warboss' personal grot attendant, Urk, scampered at his heels, miraculously avoiding getting stepped on as it followed the enormous green-skin. Though Wurrzag was big, even compared to a normal Nob, he found himself dwarfed by the giant form of the Warboss as Gargrim reached the top.

"Yer, boss?", inquired Wurrzag expectantly, looking at the hulking form of the bigger ork.

"You'z did good in dat last scrap we 'ad against da panzee eldars, Weird", the warboss rumbled approvingly at the warphead. "Da boyz specially liked watchin' you blast down dat flyin' 'fing, and Booma'z already 'ard at work tryin' ta tear da gunz offa it 'fer woteva 'e'z workin' on now. I'z got a reward 'fer ya."

The warboss held out one massive, machine-powered fist and opened his hand, dropping the dismembered head and upper torso of a farseer onto the ground before the warphead. "Dis' one 'ad plenty ta say while it was kickin' about, so maybe you'z can get somefing' useful from 'em", the Warboss suggested. Gargrim turned and began walking down the hill and away from the warphead, yelling over his shoulder, "If'n you find out anyfing good, let me know, eh?"

Wurrzag did not answer, instead kneeling down close to the remains of the farseer. His eyes flared a bright green behind his rough-carved wooden mask, and his minders shuffled nervously. The gems on the farseer's helmet began to glow and pulse a deep violet in return, the visor's eyes lit up in an unnatural way. "Right. Wot's you, 'den?", inquired Wurrzag curiously.

The farseer suddenly shuddered to motion, writhing about for a moment before going still. The labored voice of an eldar began to pour into the air, from everywhere and nowhere at once. "What... sorcery is this!?" cried the voice, as though in pain. Wurrzag had difficulties understanding the flowing eldar language, but communicating with the dead gave him some degree of understanding all the same, as the sound was accompanied with feelings and images. Before Wurrzag could say anything in kind, the voice began to scream, and Wurrzag saw flashes of alien visions in his head - twisted, gibbering, monstrous looking beasts that could only have been from the depths of some horrible place where even the toothiest squigs would not go.

Suddenly, the gems on the helmet all shattered at once, and with one last heave the eldar went still.

"Er... woops", muttered Wurrzag, frowning behind his mask. "Dat alwayz seems to 'appen wif' dem panzee eldar. Ah well."

Wurrzag gave the remains one last look over for any good trinkets or shiny bits to add to his collection, and then sent the body rolling down the hill with a swift kick. He turned around and walked back up to where he had planted Naff in the ground.

"Wot wuz all 'dat about, Weird?", asked Naff. Though it was impossible for an ork skull to look curious, Naff's expression was probably fairly close. "Me 'ead aches now, an' I didn't even get ta see wot you wuz doin!"

Wurrzag let out a chuckle, uprooting Naff from the ground. "Nuffin' good, ya runt. Let'z go see if we can't blow somefing up, eh?"

The two orks turned and began the walk down the hill.