'Ere We Go!
A deafening explosion sounded from the other end of the hallway, carrying the piercing shrieks of the dying with them. Animalistic roars of twisted jubilation follow shortly thereafter. Governor Patrick Gerald broke into a sweat. With his PDF escort, he waddled down the corridor as fast as his chubby, underworked legs could manage. He feared for his life as much as the time some diplomat fired off a confetti popper at a dinner party. He had his bodyguards kill him immediately, thinking it was a weapon. Gerald didn’t know what a bolter sounded like, so that whole messy incident was brushed under a rug.
This, however, was entirely different. This could not be brushed under anything, because he didn’t make any sort of controversial blunder. This planet was under attack. All the other manufactorum cities have been conquered. Only Kaldesia, his city that he governed, remained. It wasn’t insurrectionists, nor any neighboring tau. No, it was an enemy that no one could even hope to reason with. Fighting was the very nature of their existence.
Greenskins.
A lanky, shaky PDF caught up with the rest of the group. He did a fumbly salute and addressed the leading officer.
“S-sergeant! Orks have broken through the gates!”
It could be said that Sergeant Kippins was a shining beacon of leadership in these harrowing times, but that was simply not true. In fact, that would be so much of a lie that it’s probably some kind of heresy. I’m surprised that the Inquisition hasn’t made a hole in my roof and shot me yet. Please, if you guys are reading this, don’t shoot me just yet. I have to finish this story first, then we can do that whole “fear and surprise” thing.
And from the heavens rained down a voice, so angelic and god-like that the continuity of the story ceased, and gave way to the mastery of ThePartyCannon’s words.
“Nope.” he said, cracking thunder across the sky to underline his point. As arcs of lightning split the horizon, ThePartyCannon withdrew a massive rifle, too powerful to be described in mortal words. Aiming down the sights, he targeted the heretical insurrectionist known as MAGO5.
But then MAGO5 used his ultimate powers, being the author of this story, and turned ThePartyCannon into a pony. He cursed with rage, for he could not manipulate his gun with hooves. MAGO5 ignored his relentless swearing and casually tossed him into the Webway, where he was doomed to do nothing but play Diablo 3 for all eternity, which was marginally better than being dead.
Anyhow, back to the story. The Sergeant faltered for a second, listening to the cacophonous war cries of the orks. They were getting closer.
“It doesn’t matter!” He shouted back with as much courage as he could muster. “Our top priority is to evacuate the Governor and get him to the emergency vehicles! Man the barricades and buy time so we can secure a way out of here!”
“Y-yes Sir!”
Kippins didn’t really give a flying Throne about the Governor, nor the lives of his subordinates. Inside the emergency Thunderhawk was a comfy seat and some high-quality rations waiting just for him. His lavish ticket out of this hell-hole was tied to the life of a fatass aristocrat.
“Follow me, Governor Gerald! This way!” With three other troops flanking him, he lead Gerald’s entourage down the right passageway. All the while, sirens and klaxons wailed, signaling a breach in the perimeter. The PDF, hopelessly under-trained and under-experienced for any kind of invasion, held fast to their lasguns with white-knuckled grips. Sergeant Kippins clutched his sidearm as if he hoped it would do any damage to an alien if he saw one. He was a realist, and he knew the city was lost. The greenskins rushed at them from all sides and tore through their defenses like a chainsword slicing through flesh. With their vociferous cries for blood, they drove their ramshackle vehicles and looted tanks into the city, killing civilians left and right, spitting out lead and boisterous laughter. Like every other planetary attack in the history of the Imperium of Man, the Planetary Defence Force could do nothing to stop it. Their impotency originated from a crude political decision a few decades back. The leadership of the planet thought themselves safe nestled in the heart of a calm and well-defended sector. The spending was cut from military treasury, a majority of the equipment was dismantled for spare parts, and the money was embezzled by the head of defense, who took every cent of it and flew off to some agri-planet a few thousand light-years away. He was spending his days sitting on a beach in front of his mansion, sipping margaritas while an overpriced prostitute worked his junk.
An explosion ripped from one of the barricades. A visceral spray of body parts and gore flew from its epicenter. The Governor and the Sergeant were clutching their skulls in their hands, trying to stop the pain pounding against their ears. Recovering from the blurry disorientation, Kippins looked up at the fading smoke. A massive, hulking form emerged from the wreckage, his heavy bootsteps ringing out the sound of death with every strides. In one of his giant, calloused hands was a boxy-looking thing. A crude, but powerful firearm. Kippins saw a single shot from it vaporize some unlucky bloke’s torso, leaving only his dismembered arms, legs, and head. In the other hand was a gruesome spiked flail, caked in fresh blood and bits of human meat. The creature grinned, displaying rows of inhumanly large, sharp teeth. Fetid air spewed from between those ivory spikes as he looked upon the Sergeant and The Governor with his beady eyes, not unlike how a vicious predator would look upon his delectable prey.
“Well lookie ‘ere, boyz!” The Nob bellowed. “Anuvah tasty lil’ fat morsel wez can cook over da spit!” Governor Gerald seized with fear. The leader ork addressed his smaller followers. “First one tah bring me da fatty’s ‘ead gets a round a’ beers from me!”
“WAAAAAAAAGGHHHH!!!!!” They shouted in unison and tumbled over each other to get to the Governor. Expelling hot lead sporadically from their shootas and swinging their choppas around above their heads, they ran towards the entourage like a howling sea of violence.
“Run!” Kippins dragged the Governor to his feet. A quick sniff of the surrounding air told him that at least one of them had soiled himself. The Sergeant just hoped it wasn’t him. He ran to the doorway while firing wild shots for his laspistol behind him. The hot bolts of light only pittered off the orks’ thick, green hides. Completely blind to any sort of pain, they charged on, wailing and hollering for the sensation of flesh and bone cleaved by their blades. The three PDF troopers stood there mindlessly, stricken with terror. One man’s lasgun clattered to the ground as orkish buckshot annihilated his cranium, leaving nothing but scarlet mist and a blood-gushing neck-stump. Another jumped straight out of his paralysis and set his gun to full auto. He blazed away at the incoming horde, felling one or two in the process, but his weapon soon clicked dry and he was overrun in a mess of flashing cleavers and hungry teeth. The last man shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth and squeezed the trigger.
With the Governor in tow, Kippins reached the door and slammed a big, red button on the console. The hydraulics hissed and the steel door came sliding down, separating them and the xenos with a foot of metal. They ran on, Patrick Gerald blubbering senselessly.
The orks ran head-first into the door, making a ringing clank with every impact. After an additional couple dozen or so of these clanks, the mob finally realized there was something in the way.
“Boss!” One of them cried with despair. “Deyz gettin’ away!”
“Stand back!” The Nob roared as he aimed his shoota at the door. With the special second trigger, he activated the Kombo Rokkit Launcha attached to his shoota and fired it. With a trail of smoke, the Rokkit soared to the metal door and impacted dead-center with a echoing explosion. A few of the slower, unluckier Boyz were caught in the blast and killed by the shrapnel, but none of them really cared. The tar-colored fog dispersed to reveal that the Nob had only made a small dent in the plating. In a fit of rage, he punted the nearest grot. The green orkling squealed as he flailed through the air and landed on the cold, concrete floor with a comical splat.
“ZOG IT ALL!!!”
+++++
“I d-don’t want t-to die...” Gerald muttered.
“It’s ok, Governor! We’re almost to the hanger!” The Sergeant reassured. What he really wanted to say was “Shut the frak up you idiotic waste of space.” But if he successfully got the politician out alive and acted like a hero as he did so, then he will more than likely be awarded with a medal or two. Then, he would retire from service and never have to fight ever again. With the ork horde cut off behind them, they would get a clear shot to the emergency hanger, where salvation awaited them. Nothing could possibly stop them. By the time the orks somehow broke through that blast door, they would be off the planet and on their way to the system’s capital.
They took a sharp turn down the corner, where the lighting abruptly cut off. Kippins dismissed it as faulty maintenance. Funding for these underground bases was cinched off for a while, leaving the establishment to decay over time. Even the robust, long-lasting glow-globes could short out given the right condition. It didn’t matter, for the hanger was just directly down the hall. Nudging the Governor forward, he ran on. A tear came to his eye. He could almost taste freedom.
Something stopped them. In the blinding darkness, they saw the orange glow floating in the air, accompanied by the stink of cigar smoke. Their hearts froze. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they could make out a shape that blocked their path. A pair of green, pointy ears adorned his green, hairless head. Goggles were firmly fastened onto his eyes. The stub of a victory cigar rested in the crook between the yellowish pikes that were his teeth, laden inside his massive jaw. His left arm was mechanical; its motors whirred with the small movements it made. He was adorned with a patchwork of thick leather and metal, several pockets and containers carrying the crude tools of his trade. He was unarmed this time, save the metallic box propped in the middle of the hallway that he leaned on with his synthetic arm. With a smooth movement of his natural hand, he took one last inhale of the cigar and deftly flicked it away. It hit the ground in a small splash of embers. The lone ork turned to the flabbergasted humans and grinned wickedly. He uttered only two words:
“‘Ello, Gov’na.”
He elbowed the box he was leaning to and it came to life with the roar of a motor and the clack of moving parts. The top opened up and the machinery shifted, revealing four scorched gun barrels and scads of ammo belts. A blood-red laser pinpointed the humans’ location. It sounded a dreadful beep of target recognition.
Sergeant Kippins and Governor Gerald screamed as they were cut down into sinew and vapor. Even as the clatter of the guns died down, Mekboy Grundy’s chuckle could be heard echoing down the hallway.
“‘Ello, Gov’na. Hehe... das a gud one...” He put another cigar in his teeth and lit it with the lighter concealed in his mechanical thumb.
+++++
Amidst the blazing fires that took place in the war-torn streets lay the burnt-out husk of a PDF tank. The blackened metal was crusted with carbon residue and dried gore. A gigantic ork in mega armor, complete with a power klaw, big shoota, and a clan banner on his back, strode up the metal shell. The dead tank creaked with his immense weight. Warboss Krumpface looked upon his subjects, the Boyz of his horde, and smiled behind his great metal jaw.
“Dis planet belong to da ORKS!!!”
With one big cry of WAAAGH, the orkish army cheered. They cheered from the rooftops. They cheered on the dead bodies of their enemies. They fired shots into the air, drank fungus beer, got into fights for the pure sake of fighting, etc...
All in all, it was your standard ork victory party. Biker Boyz raced through the streets on their slapdash motorcycles with ork banners and human heads upon their pikes. Their roaring machines vomited thick smoke into the atmosphere. Even louder than their engines was the sound of the phat beats that were laid out by MC Beatstick while two Killa Kans schooled each other in a breakdancing competition. Of course, it always ended up with them killing everyone in sight out of spite.
While the party raged in the streets of the broken city, it should be noted that not all the orks were taking part in it. Within the quieter recesses of Kaldesia, a lone Mek sat on a chair with his eyes fixed on a glowing screen. This was Mekboy Grundy. He was just as orky as any other greenskin in the galaxy, and if anyone said otherwise, their next gun would have an... “explosive malfunction”, but Grundy’s interests led him elsewhere. He looked past the senseless violence and saw greater potential in his inborn ability to make things that go vroom or go boom. It’s what an ork would call “proffeshunal pride”. Grundy strove to know more things than the average ork, and even the average Mek for that matter. He was scouring the digital databases for whatever could be useful to him. The last planet the Waaagh had left in ruins proved to be fruitful in a way. That was when Grundy had lost his arm, but the data from the humies’ computers gave him the knowledge to make better and stronger replacements. He even grafted it all by himself. To be honest, that could have gone better...
But in the great cathedral of the Cult Mechanicus of Kaldesia, there lay a treasure trove of knowledge that Grundy could repurpose for his own needs. From what he had found so far, the database seemed to hold some of the most vast and esoteric subjects from the farthest reaches of human history. He was not as big as other orks (hardly taller than the average Boy), but he had his intellect to make up for it. Boss Krumpface may be able to crush three human skulls with one gigantic hand, but the Mek could obliterate a hundred humans with only his button-pressing finger.
Grundy leaned back in his seat and tapped off the ashes of his cigar to the side, not wanting to dirty the equipment. He had all the time in the world to search the computers for weapons-related schematics, so he was merely savoring the moment by going through the miscellaneous stuff first rather than greedily diving right into it. What he was currently looking at was media archives. Holos and videos from times so incredibly ancient that it was truly a miracle that they still existed. Such things, if it were known to the rest of the galaxy, would merit the attention of both the Mechanicus and the Inquisition. Too bad the orks found it first. Har har har...
It was mostly porn, anyway.
But something there made him raise an eyebrow. A strange file. Yes, he knew how to read. That was rare, too. It was a file, titled:
mlpfims1+s2
This struck Grundy differently than the plethora of other files. Leaning forward in his seat, he moved his mouse and clicked on the virtual folder. It expanded to show several video files. Fifty-two to be exact. He clicked a random one. A window popped up with a blast of the brightest colors and the sickliest music.
My little pony, my little pony! Aaahhhhh!~
Grundy immediately shielded his eyes.
“WHAT DA ZOG IS DIS?!?!?”
The colors, the music, the four-legged animals, the smiling! It was too much for any ork to bear. Grundy tried to find some way to cover both his eyes and his ears at the same time. He was not successful.
After a while, he peeked over the safety of his clawed fingers and looked back at the screen. The annoying music had died down, but the video was still going. Two of those... things looked like they were watching something fly through the air. Was it a Deffkopta? A purple one came up next to them.
“Hey Rarity and Pinkie Pie. What are you watching?” She said.
“Rainbow Dash!” The pink one replied in the most annoying voice he had ever heard, and he had been around grots. Lots of annoying grots.
Grundy was confused. He put his arms down while the animals on the screen continued to talk. Was this what humans watched? Considering just how easy it was to take this planet, that seemed to be the case. Why would any fighting-loving race want to watch this? He knew that the humans loved to fight--not as much as the orks, though. Nothing loves fighting as much as orks do--and this didn’t look like it had anything to do with fighting.
The pink one on the screen craned her neck up to watch whatever this “Rainbow Dash” was. Her neck twisted in a cartoonish fashion. Grundy noted that if any other thing twisted its neck like that, they’d be dead. Maybe these things were tougher than they looked. She then made a funny face and her body comically unwound behind her.
“Hur hur...” The ork snickered. “Dats kinda funny...”
Flicking the stub of his last cigar away and lighting another one in his teeth, he continued to watch. Why he did so, he didn’t quite know that himself. He just found this stupid humie show interesting. He justified that, if he continued watching it, he would find out exactly why any human would want to watch this, without actually getting into the show himself.
If only he knew the sheer number of people that thought that exact same thing before him.
+++++
He did it. Grundy couldn’t quite believe it himself. He had just watched all 52 episodes in one sitting, including the season two finale. He removed his goggles and picked the crust out of his fatigued eyes. Those red pupils had absorbed every second of every minute of those colorful ponies. His orky constitution allowed him to stay up a lot longer than most things and sleep a lot less... but that was nearly nineteen hours of nothing but pony.
And the worst part was that he enjoyed every minute of it.
Those colorful horses... It was almost hypnosis. He was at war with himself. Part of him embraces this cartoon into his likeness, part of him is angry at himself for falling for this human trap, part of him is ashamed at the sullied state of his orkiness, and part of him feared that he might revert into a grot for it. He could justify it. Some orks like driving fast, some orks like flying fast, some orks like shooting thing, some orks like chopping things... What’s wrong with an ork who likes ponies? He was still the best Mek around. No other interests would make that untrue.
But orks weren’t known as the most reasonable race. Nobody could find out about it. If they did, his reputation would be ruined. Not that he had much of a reputation. Grundy mostly kept to himself. He worked better alone, but if this gets out, it would gain the attention of some bigger, stronger ork looking to bully an oddball just to make him look bigger. He didn’t want any of that. He kinda wanted to hang on to life a little longer to enjoy it fully.
Grundy sighed a deep, orkish sigh. Flicking away yet another cigar stub (and adding to the pile of cigar stubs on the floor), he withdrew another and put it in his teeth.
His head jerked up before he had a chance to light it. A sound came from behind him. A scrape, maybe a clatter. Whatever the exact sound, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that he wasn’t alone. Grundy drew his shoota from its holster and turned around. In the hallway that lead from the room there was only a single glow-globe active. The Mek had turned around just in time to see a large shadow dash across the wall, paired with an echoing snicker that was all too familiar to him.
“Kommando Rusty...” Grundy muttered to himself. “Gork dammit.”
He had seen him, and now that sneaky, no-good ork was going to use it against him. Rusty had been trying to get back at Grundy since the start of the Waaagh. The Mek couldn’t remember exactly when their rivalry began, but the latest exchange between them had been when Grundy rigged the Kommando’s kit to billow out smoke, revealing his position to everyone. It was the perfect ploy, to make a sneaky fellow un-sneakafied. As he had last heard, the smoke went off while he was creeping into a Bad Moons camp to get a piece of their shiny loot. There was a lot of yelling and shooting, Rusty didn’t get so much as a tooth, and Grundy had a good laugh. If this was his plan for payback, it was a damned simple one, but effective nonetheless. He didn’t even bother to go after him. He was already gone, and within an hour’s time, he’ll have spread the news to just about every ork in the city. They’ll all know his secret soon enough.
He didn’t feel tired anymore. He felt particularly angry. He felt like he needed to go out and put some orks into place to remind them who’s the best Mekboy around, and he was going to need his patented “Thunda Stik” to do it.
+++++
Grundy stomped into the bar, a building that had been remodeled almost as soon as the greenskins stepped inside of the city. Here, with the torn floorboards and the bullet-riddled walls, was a place for the orks to get a drink and start fights. Everything an ork ever needs, really. The half-broken door swayed on its hinges and every head turned to the entering figure’s direction. Grundy stood there a moment, gaging the crowd for its worth. His eyes shifted from side to side, looking at the bar patrons, who had begun to mutter things to each other under their breath. Some snickering was heard. The term “pony-lubbah” made itself audible. The Mek’s eye twitched. He flexed his shoulder, the weight of his Thunda Stik slung over his back reassuring him. The force-charged maul could send them flying and break every bone in their body at the same time if his fists weren’t enough to send his message. All eyes on him, Grundy marched across the room and sat down at the counter. He saw no signs of Rusty, but he wasn’t the type to make himself visible. Especially now.
Rusty’s gone too far this time. All the jabs at each other had been indirect. A stolen tool, a loose bolt, a crossed wire... they were all just inconveniences to him. Yes, sometimes they almost got him killed, but they were orks. Literally everything orks did involved the possibility of death. But this... this was a direct assault on Grundy’s orkiness. That was the lowest thing any ork could do to another. An insult like this would have made any other ork go on a mindless killing spree, but the Mek kept a cool head. It should be noted that “keeping a cool head” for an ork may seem a bit different from how a human would do it.
The apron-wearing barkeep lumbered up to him. He was carrying a metal keg of beer under his arm. Grundy reached into his pocket, pulled out a small handful of teeth, and slammed them on the counter, loud enough for everybody to hear it.
“Squig-meat. Raw. An’ sum beer. Make it snappy.”
The barkeeper sneered. “Wez don’t serve tah pony-lubbahs loik yew-”
The Mek yanked him close with his mechanical arm and shove a gun in his mouth.
“Youz ain’t servin’ to a ‘pony-lubbah’. Youz servin’ to Grundy. Now get me some squig-meat or I blow your brains outta yer skull an’ eat dos instead.”
“Oh!” A voice sounded from a table behind him, accompanied by the thunk of a rusty knife embedding itself into the table. “Dere goes da high an’ moighty Grundy, finkin’ ‘e’s big’ah dan all da uvva orks.”
Grundy released the barkeep, who scurried away, and turned to the table, teeth grinding together in rage. There sat Kommando Rusty, sitting on a chair that he wasn’t sitting on when the Mek came in. He made no sound when he moved, yet his voice was the loudest, most grating sound you’ll ever hear coming out of an ork’s mouth, and that’s saying something.
“Oi saw dat Mek in a ‘umie techno-ploice, starin’ at a screen dat had all dem p’noys awn it, singin’ an’ dancin’. Boyz, Grundy ‘ere watches a show made fer ‘umie snotlings! ‘Ar ‘ar ‘ar!” The rest of the bar joined him in laughter. “Dat Mek’s gon’ soft. Next ting ‘e’ll do is start makin’ peace wiff da ‘u-”
*BLAM*
Grundy held the smoking pistol in his hand. The Kommando’s body, with a fresh, leaking hole in his head, lifelessly slumped on the table. Blood started trickling to the floor.
That word that he said. Peace. It was the highest form of orky sacrilege. Rusty should have known he would have gone past the threshold saying that word, for as he said it, the bar went completely silent. A crowd gathered around.
“COULDA SOFTIE ‘AVE SHOT YER DEAD, ARSEHOLE?!” He holstered his gun and turned to the crowd, spitting out his cigar. “Lissen up yew lot! I’m Grundy, da Mekboy, da same Mekboy who made or fixed jus’ about ‘arf a’ yer guns an’ bikes an’ stuff! Wiffout me, yew guys wouldn’t be nearly as killy! Who cares wot I watch! Oi’m still an ork!”
“No youz ain’t!” Came a shout from from a lone ork. The crowd separated to reveal a Boy about the same height as Grundy. Filled with plentiful, orky confidence, he strode up and met the Mek face-to-face.
“Youz got somefink tah say?” He growled.
“Nobody ‘oh watches dat p’noy zog can be an ork! Dat’s da stuff dat ‘umies watch!” He said, grinning at his own flawless logic.
Grundy snorted. “Tell me somefink, den. Are orks big an’ green?”
The other ork scratched his chin and thought with the greatest capacity of cognition he could muster. It took him about five seconds.
“Uhh... yeah?”
The Mek sized up to him. “And am I big an’ green?”
“Yeah.”
“Dan I’m still an ork!”
The ork knew his plan failed, so he fell back on a verbal riposte so clever, so foolproof that it was the single smartest thing he would say for the rest of his life.
“Dauhhh... Yew mad?”
And then he died due to his face suddenly being replaced by Grundy’s steel fist.
His body flew backwards across the room and landed on some ork’s table. The impact spilled his precious fungus beer. Begrudged, the ork socked the guy next to him who, in turn, punched him back. The bar exploded into wanton violence like a spark in a room filled with Promethium vapor. Orkish instinct and the need for bloodshed commandeered the exchange of jabs and kicks. Guns were yanked out and fired wildly into the air. Grots and snotlings were tossed around squealing amidst the fray. Furniture was smashed and the parts were used as impromptu weapons to beat each other senseless. Howling and jeering deafened their ears until they bled.
Grundy waded through the sea of fighting orks, punching left and right, trying to get to the door and live another day. He was sure he made his message, a message nobody would forget for a long time. If they did, he’d take care of them like he did with Rusty and that other ork. He was still top-Mek of his clan, and the fact that he liked ponies wouldn’t change it. As he made his way, the sheer noise of the room blotted out the ominous sound of clanging bells and jingling chains of the approaching Wierdboy, who was oblivious of what was amiss. Grundy saw him walk into the bar. There weren’t a lot of things that could instill fear into Grundy. He had faced all kinds of enemies in his life. He’s fought the insanity of Chaos, the mighty, holy force of the Space Marines, the endless tide of chitin that was the Tyranids, and the deathly, unstoppable, zombie-like Necrons. None of them were as deadly as a Wierdboy who gets caught in the high of the residual psychic aura that radiates like a star whenever there’s orkiness to be had.
“‘Ey guys! Wot’s goin’ o- BLLEEEARRRRHHHGGG!!!!!!!” The power of the Waaagh was absorbed by his eldritch mind and forced out of his entire face in the form of a beam of pure, randomized energy. Grundy couldn’t move in time. He was caught in the blast. His insides went aflame. His eyes dripped with the power of the Warp. He hovered in the air for a bit before his body convulsed and imploded with a blast of light. Everyone in the room stopped fighting at once and looked at the Wierdboy, who burped out a cloud of smoke.
“Sorry. My bad.”
+++++
The first thing he felt was a pounding headache throbbing against his thick skull. He flitted his goggle-covered eyes open and immediately shielded himself from the blinding sunlight. He groaned and remembered that the sun wasn’t this intense on their recently-conquered planet. The great manufactorums spewed so much pollution into the air that it generated a thick layer of smog that dimmed the sunlight across the entire planet. The last thing he remembered was being hit by the Warp-beam. He wondered how he was still alive. Last time he checked, if you got hit by a glowing beam, there would be nothing left of you to account for. It could be possible that he wasn’t on the same planet anymore.
As soon as his eyes adjusted, Grundy looked around for a better view of where he landed. He was in some forest, that was for sure. It was dark and humid. He’d kill something if it turns out he landed on a Death World. The jungles there are just plain unpleasant. He remembered the last deathworld he stormed. Bugs everywhere. Not feeling the bite of flying parasites, he got on his feet. Scorched earth surrounded him where he lay. A quick look around gave him sight of a nearby hill past the edge of the treeline. Marching that way, he strode up the grassy mound and look into the far horizon. His jaw dropped.
“Gork... be... Morked...”
A pastel castle, embedded on the side of an impossibly steep mountain, dominated the far distance. It shone with a glorious radiance of beauty. The sight would have put a human in tears, but come on, this is an ork. Has that bit not gotten across to you?
Grundy recognized that very castle, he just couldn’t believe it. Was it possible? Was this real and not just his mind playing tricks on him? The sensation of glee poured through his veins. His face split into a big, toothy grin. He raised his arms into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs at the fortune that had come his way.
“I’Z IN EQUESTRIA!!!”
He hopped up and down, whooping and cheering, happier than a Squiggoth in a field of Imperial Guardsmen. But something niggled the back of his mind. Something felt missing. He finally realized what it was, stopped his jubilation, and looked to his left. His mechanical arm was gone. He looked back at the forest.
“Oh zog me.”
+++++
“~I’m going to Zecora’s to go talking to a zebra!~ Ugh... I’m such a dork...”
Twilight Sparkle trotted down her usual path to go see the striped witch-doctor once again. She had this event scrawled down in her meticulously crafted schedule, even though it was an informal visit. She was a very busy mare, after all. She was annoyed because she couldn’t help the habit of talking to herself or breaking out into stupid songs. Twilight sighed. She needed to improve on her sociability and break her idiosyncrasies. Maybe there was a book that could help!
Something caught her eye. A shimmer off the side of the road. She stopped and peered around for any dangerous wildlife. Then, she tip-toed to the edge of the path and inspected the object of interest.
It was the strangest thing she had ever seen. It looked like some kind of... metal thingy. For all her knowledge and her expansive vocabulary, that was the only word she could find to describe what it was. She picked it up with her lavender magic to scrutinize it further. It was chocked full of moving metal parts and it stank of oil and... some other smells she couldn’t place. The bulky thing seemed to bend at the middle, too, and at one end of it there were five smaller hinged parts that reminded her of Spike’s claws. Twilight sat on her haunches and held out her forelegs. She levitated the object to her hooves and let it drop. She grunted and immediately picked it back up with her magic. It was heavy. She stood up and carefully rested it on her back, the hinged part nestled against her spine. It was burdensome, but she had to study it further to find its origins. She could show all her friends what she found. For once, they might think something of hers interesting.
Humming to herself, she resumed her stroll towards her zebra-friend’s hut.
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Oh yes!.....
If I pretend I didn't see this will my brain recover from the overload?
WAT.My brain is full of wat.
Must... read.... but following... too many.....
DAMN YOU!!
INB4 Featured
MUST BE FEATURED.
MOVE Up, MOVE Up, MOVE UP!
EDIT: Grundy Best Ork.
i418.photobucket.com/albums/pp266/06bamajetta/this-is-gonna-be-good.gif
So that's what the O in OiE stood for!
Orc.
681809
Nope.
Ork.
KILL KILL KILL someone
681817 YOU, SIR.
You deserve a PRRRRRRRRRRROMOTION!
(Cant believe I just did that.)
What have you unleashed?
681843 The most Original fic in history!
That'll teach the Random fics. They were just warmin' the seats for this fic.
A happy Ork in Equestria?
Iz jus' crapped in meh 'ardpantz!
681809
i3.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/192/841/Orks.jpg
"He did it. Grundy couldn’t quite
believe it himself. He had just
watched all 52 episodes in one sitting" Ahh good times good times...
Sweet jesus... it's beautiful.
You, sir, are a master author. This is very funny. I'm nearly crying from the sheer awesome radiating from this wonderous work of literature.
This should be featured. Like, NOW!
This is the best "human in equestria" fic ever. It blows that one Ellis from L4D2 way out of the water. I bet the author is crying right now because he cannot hope to compete with a crossover of this caliber!
681980
*sobbing*
It is true! My life is meaningless now! Oh, woe is me!!!
681909
Too much WoW for me
blog.zap2it.com/pop2it/admiral-ackbar-ole-miss-bigger.jpg
Our minds can't repel awesomeness of that magnitude!
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH YES
he should lead his own waaagh of ponies and cut a bloody and cute path straight to Terra
681993 Ah, understandable. Just know that orks are NOWHERE near as honorable as orcs.
One word: Magnificent.
Continue, if you please.
682079
Still aliance FTW
But im a orc in skyrim
Dear mother of God this is beautiful.
t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRyM3GZvNXFifJMVJHdLe0_8mQNPFRA4XQGUwZG8aYAT7frvgwl
Fav, thumbs up, and watching.
You my good sir have possibly created the greatest piece of fanfic I have ever read.
Keep up the wicked awesome work!!!!
Now I'm wondering if he loses a leg here if will be able to make some more orks from the spores that would come of it and make his own little Waaagh in Equestria... Hmmm, theres some food for thought.
Holy hell... You did it, you finally did it.
'OIN MEH!
WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!
682181
Well I knew this would come up sooner or later, so I'll explain the whole "ork spores" thing to you and how this fic will handle it.
Basically, orks thrive on fighting. Bloodshed is just as important to them as food or water. The amount of war that occurs on a particular planet is directly related to how well they can reproduce. On a planet constantly besieged, orks pop up like weeds. On a planet that hasn't seen very much action, new orks are few and far-between. And, as you know, Equestria hasn't, to our knowledge, seen a shred of war. Spores couldn't root there. It's basically like a daisy in a desert.
img.ponibooru.org/_images/9b4d9668479fec10f7bbcb82e522d37c/68419%20-%20ork%20pinkie_pie%20WAAAGH!!!%20warhammer_40k%20Warhammer_40000.jpg
Oh yeah, I just realized. I, ThePartyCannon, made a picture awhile back that is in relation to the whole Orkiness of this fic;
fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/049/d/e/pinkie_pie___ork_warboss_by_partycannon-d4q3njm.jpg
Thar ya go, ya gits.
682226 Huh, well there's my answer. I only really read the general codex a few years ago and what I could find on a wiki at the time. All I found out was that orks reproduction was really changed around in every new codex generation. So I haven't really been up to date with it, not really a Gameworks shop near where I live as far as I can tell. The most I most recently know is that if an ork dies its gonna grow spores off the body and make it a big pain in the ass clearing a world of an ork invasion/infestation. I wasn't really sure if that also applied to lost limbs or had to be the whole body.
Well thanks for the clearing up, didn't really know that little tidbit about orks. I really need to find another damn codex one of these days. As long as it doesn't have too much damn Ultramarine buttlove thats been so rampant from that one writer of W40k lore...
682303
Actually... that's just something I made up so Equestria wouldn't have to deal with feral orks. Makes sense, right?
682100 First a Nord, now Argonian.
682329 khajiit mage and thief
682387 Warrior, part time thief, part time assassin, and healer. Hard for opponents to kill you when you have a weapon in one hand and 'close wounds' in another for the healer. I just have too much fun sneaking around for thief and assassin.dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/shrug_Luna_apple.png
My knowledge of Warhammer 40k is pretty limited, but I'm finding myself enjoying this nonetheless. You're doing an exceptional job at introducing me to ork society.
682079
In the first two Warcraft games, before all the MMORPG crap, they were just as bad as orks and just as funny.
Agonians and Khajiits and Orks. YUSH. MUST BE.
682458
You missed DRAGONS,wait....oh spike you are in trouble
682503 hohohohohohoho.
Indeed, I did.
So ORKS, DRAGONS, KHAJIITS, ARGONIANS, PLUMBER--wut.
And Spy-crabs!
This is the greatest most original idea for a Crossover in a long time. Really loving it.
682455 I'd argue, but the only sources I've got to contradict that I haven't finished reading ("Day of the Dragon" by Richard A. Knaak), came out after WOW's launch ("Rise of the Horde" by Christie Golden), I don't own (Orcs and Humans), or I own but can't go over due to the age of the programming in it (Tides of Darkness).
So essentially, this fic can be summarized in the following is the greatest thing mankind has ever seen. Never been much of an orky player, but I love the green xenos none the less. Fo' da WAAAGH indeed...
Thank you for contributing to the Warhammer crossover genre....Please keep up the good work.
682309 Yes that does actually. Its an interesting little twist on ork reproduction that won't really have equestria swarming with orks. Though it is a bit of a shame. Should we just be expecting Grundy or should we be expecting some more orks or something 40k'ish so he use his shoota and other gizmos?
682878
I think you can expect that Grundy isn't going to be the only element of WH40K to show up there.
One does not get shat through the Warp into a parallel universe without some... omnipotent powers taking notice...
682893 Well I'm glad for that. I just hope you don't downplay and nerf the violence and gore that is to be expected from 40k. I want to see blood, guts, and ponies being traumatised and scarred for life!
I'm just happy that an Ork found the data. Had the world been saved and an inquisitor found those files? And then somehow got sent to Equestria? geez louise would their be a lot of dead ponies and claims of the "false empress" and "chaos". That's not even assuming the inquisitor was part of ordro xenos... regardless, another great story. I just hope this doesn't cut into Ellis to much
Inquisitor: "Xenos scum!" *BANG*
Inquisitor: "you bear the mark of chaos upon your flank!" *BANG*
*BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG*
683058
I'm sorry, that's just hilarious what you just said.
You're glad that, of all the creatures that could be sent to Equestria, an ork got there? An alien that needs violence as much as it needs to breath, armed to the teeth with all kinds of deadly weapons and cunning knowledge of building machines of mass destruction?
Yeah, those ponies. Lucky them.