//------------------------------//
// 'Ere we go 
// Story: Lament and an emerald tide 
// by Lord_Draigo 
//------------------------------//

The stars are off, the usually perfect celestial ballet has been disrupted by a set of several objects, having emerged into the sky in unnatural, short-lived nebulae. A tightly bound cluster of various sizes and shapes on one side of the sky, and a far more consistent and measured group of shapes on the other. The real worrying thing is the approach of the ragtag cluster, a dozen clumps of what are thought to be large stones. The four princesses have come together to confer, numerous large stones coming at high speed towards the world is pretty good grounds for a crisis state.
Princess twilight has already pulled out astronomy books, records of millennia of celestial movement and shifts by a hundred different authors. So far, these had been determined to not be a recurring pattern, at least one that occurs more often than two millennia prominently to be noted. The four royal ponies had already reached the point of frustration. Celestia’s initial attempt to push the rocks away had failed, not due to her not having enough power, or it being repulsed or countered. Her magic just, didn’t work, period. That was what concerned her enough to call the other Alicorns. The best mathematics accessible to the ponies said that these objects will arrive at equestria in around a day. At this point, the four are silent, busy thinking of their own solutions. Eventually, Luna broke the silence.
“If we are to stop these stones, we must come up with a solution at some nearby point! what if they strike our lands? what if they strike Canterlot?!” She stomps her hooves on the table, rage and frustration flaring behind her teal eyes. Two days without sleep have made her speech far less elegant than usual. The others remain quiet, after a moment Celestia volunteers a response.
“Luna, if it were that easy, we would already have cast those stones away. And even if they get to our world, we believe that they will miss by tens of thousands of miles. We’re only trying to prevent the worst possibility. Unless you have a useful suggestion, please keep it to yourself, we’re thinking the same thing, regarding the need for rapid action.” Luna leans back, still grumbling. Twilight then picks up the slack.
“I personally think that we should address the elephant in the room” All eyes turn to the youngest among them. “Why were these stones immune to Celestia’s magic? Could it be that they are influenced by some sort of great power beyond our knowledge? Perhaps another ploy of Discord’s?” The young alicorn never really grew to trust the entity whose entire being was by nature, chaotic and unpredictable.
“He’s strong, but not so strong as to render my magic irrelevant, in short, if it’s magic, it’s too strong to be him. That, and since when would discord meddle in this subtle a fashion?” Celestia replies, keeping her voice level in spite of the displeasure building behind it, like a solar flare kept in check by a strong magnet. SHe continues after a few moments. “I suggest we call it a night, and allow our minds to rest, we have all of tomorrow to figure this out.” With that, the sun princess exits, flanked by two of her guards, and followed by dagger-stares from Luna and Twilight. 
The other three look to one another. Cadence, whose expertise was governance and diplomacy silently retired, leaving the princess of night and the princess willing to forgo sleep in favor of study to work on a potential solution. Twilight sighs, looking over the many thousands of pages still to go over before a definitive conclusion could be reached. Luna looked through the telescope, staring at the cluster of stones. The other set of objects were still too far to discern what they were, except that they were behaving a lot more predictably than the rocks, and will arrive in orbit above epona in around a week. She thinks of what these could bring, other than a spectacular show as they skim above the surface, or a mighty set of craters if they were to strike, which is the worst possible thing.
Luna looks to twilight, concern in her eyes. Not for many millennia has anything this unusual happened in the sky. The violet princess continues working, poring over three tomes at once at breakneck speed. Luna sighs, she was never one for the scholarly arts, she was a warrior and ruler, content to leave the books to those more qualified. Alas, with equestria being a far less warlike place since her return several years prior, her knowledge of the waging of war is practically useless, with the exception of small skirmishes with the remnants of the changeling army and parades to show off the latest in equestrian craftsmanship. Even modern dreams were different. The old fears of the night had been cast out by Equestria and thus, her job as warden of dreams had been somewhat rendered redundant.
Twilight lets out a groan of frustration as another book proves to lack the precedent for this astronomical event. Several scrolls had arrived from various observatories and other governments of the world in the few days since the arrival of the mysteries bodies in the sky. Their contents were much the same across the board, they had no idea where they had come from or what exactly was bringing them on a collision course with their homeworld. She looks up to the dark blue alicorn at the window, wondering what she thinks of all this. The room is utterly silent but for the sounds of papers shifting. Luna finally breaks the silence, her voice softly filling the air.
“Twilight, what if we don’t figure it out, and the worst comes to pass?” Luna doesn't say what the worst is, but Twilight can hazard a guess, given the situation.
“You act as if that’s a possibility.” Twilight replies offhoofedly as she continues to read, but her voice betrayed her uncertainty, It was no coincidence that she’d sent all the elements of harmony to different corners of Equestria to investigate a series of odd shooting stars, if one stone struck the land, it would be terrible if Equestria’s best force were wiped to a mare. With a sigh, Luna looks back to the telescope, all she knew was that there was a great malevolence from these things, and they were coming closer. It wasn’t improved by the distant voice that it seemed every unicorn had been hearing, sounding like a choir miles away, and growing slowly stronger...

Meanwhile, a million miles away, the roks and ships teemed with energy in their orbits around the space hulk, their occupants excited for what was to come. The small fleet, with a selection of kill kroozas and other such craft steamed toward the green dot in the distance, the weirdboyz had said that there would be a good scrap, and what else would please an ork more than a good scrap. The mob needed more loot anyway. On the bridge of the space hulk, sat the leaders of this horde of impending doom. Sitting with one hand on the wheel and the other on a comically large gun was the meklord, Graknar steeljaw. He’d been at the head of his warband for a total of five terran years, an impressive time by ork standards. He is a monster of an ork, standing at a full fifteen feet high if he didn’t slouch, which means he’s effectively twelve feet tall. A jaunty tricorn sits on his head, the felted material of the body having once been an imperial general’s furred overcoat, and the plume of metal feathers having been created from spare strips of space marine power armor left over after he’d looted it from the fields at Armageddon. He had been kicked out of his original band for the usual reasons, being too rich, show-offy and generally a git for the liking of his old boss. 
Thus, he became a Freeboota, like most cast off like in that manner. His outfit shows it, being ornamented with both trophies of victory like stolen imperial medals and helmets and tools of his trade, like a wrench and hammer that he uses for both working on his prized machines and whacking the occasional gobbo who zogs up the machines he holds so dear. His squig-leather gauntlets are so encrusted with oil and grime as to be thought to be black rather than their original light brown. His lower jaw had been maimed in a rather humorous accident at one point, and has been replaced with an armored hunk of metal, rusting in some places from close, constant contact with the ork. He scratches at his jaw, looking over his crew, most of whom were working at inscrutable machines in the bridge, apart from his meganob guards and the other giant of an ork sitting in a somewhat shorter throne. He is the muscle of the mob, Grombrig Rokfist. The mega-armored ork taps one of the fingers of his klaw on the armrest of his seat, leaving slight dents in the riveted metal. The other arm terminates in a large kombi-shoota, The large ork is staring out the front window of the bridge, staring straight at the small planet in front of them. Above his head rises his bosspoles, which bear skulls and trinkets of war. He angrily chews on a bone left from his last meal, it’s been awhile since his last scrap.
The Big Mek Kaptain leans back a bit, before getting a brilliant Idea to rile up the boyz. He pulls on the horn, sending a deep klaxon call through the hulk, and the accompanying roks and ships. Then, with one gloved fist, he smashes down on a big red button next to his seat, the one labeled ‘GOBBOS ZOG OFF’, a small smile on his face as the boosters roar to life, accelerating the ship to nearly double its original speed. With the boost of speed underway, the sounds of cheering seeped through the shoddy metal walls, a chorus of raw orkish energy just waiting to be unlocked.
Graknar stands, adjusting his ragged coat as he turns and stalks down the bridge, followed by a small gang of Gretchtin and his five Meganob bodyguards. There were more than six suits of the armor in the warband, but these five and Grombrig were the only ones he trusted to be unsupervised near him with their several-ton armored suits. He proceeds to a lift, looking more fit for light cargo than the giant ork and his retinue of light tanks with legs. Yet, it works, groaning its way down into the depths of the hulk, to his workshop. This is the place where he feels most comfortable. The massive workshop, at the heart of the hulk, is around the size of a several large aircraft hangars stuck together, and the roof extended deep into darkness, as did some of the giants standing within. The Mekboss steps out into the hubbub of activity, his mekboyz and their grots scurrying to get the new weapons ready for war in around a terran day. These preparations ranged from loading shells into the massive racks of battlewagons with improbably large cannons to fueling various aircrafts and mounting the teeth to the massive chain blades wielded by the hundred meter walkers that Graknar loves so much.
He proceeds to his favorite section, where the paintjobs and final implantations were being done on the walkers, ranging from killa kanz with their Grot pilots to the gargants commanded by some of the best nobs of the mob. He proceeds forth to the end of the row, to a beast that the normal line gargants barely reach the top of the legs of, his personal Gargant, Da Iron Fist of Mork. The monstrous walker looms up into the darkness, many colored riveted patches of metal illuminated by the incandescent glows of tesla coils, energy cells and the welding as the final touches were being put on it. The face of the machine flashes into view from arcing electricity, teeth the size of men and one eye bearing the energy weapon known as the eye of mork were the most prominent features, apart from the iron tricorne. One cannot have a gargant without a proper hat, and the replica of his own hat, situated as both armor and a sensor array was right flash on top of the giant machine. The boss allows himself a long-toothed smile, the pride of his army, and his steed standing before him. He steps onto a scaffold near the base of the giant machine. The boards groan in protest under his immense weight. An improvised megaphone carried by his grots is handed to him, and The ork coughs into it to get attention, this predictably fails, so he does the logical next step in this procedure.
“OI, YA GITZ, I WANNA GIVE A SPEECH ‘ERE” He lets off a burst of shoota fire into the air to punctuate his statement. Most of the greenskins of the workshop give their attention, now that they know the boss is present.
He continues, looking over the crowd “See, wuz dat sooo hard, now, I know we’s in a dry spell of krumpin gitz, i’m first to admit that it iz zogging terrible, but in roundabouts half a day, that’ll change. For once, da weirdboyz actually made a good prophecy, theyz said that a good scrap wuz on da way, and well, i see a little green world ripe for war and plunder, all to ourselves for once, no thraka to take it, no bigger boss to steal our loot. Think about it ladz, a world’s worth of scrap and slaves all to us! Ain’t that a great thing?” He’s answered by a tide of cheering orks, many accidentally clobbering their grots in their excitement. He allows this to fade before proceeding.
“Now, I don’t know about youze boyz, but I’m not seeing the results I’d expect with such a hard deadline. I want my dreads and gargants ready for war by the time da roks with their tellyportaz hit the planet, I wanna personally see the look in da eyes of our foes when Mork’s Fist hits em! If they’re not ready at that time, I will find the slowest mekboyz here and personally rip their ‘eads off and shove ‘em down their throats!” The boss looks over the orks, most of whom are returning to work hurridly, lest they end up having the threat carried out against them, be it loading a big shoota on a battlewagon, welding a jet engine into a blitza-bomma or painting up a Gargant in the back. The ork begins to laugh, a deep, crass sound bubbling from his muscled depths. It devolves into a full-blown cackle as he looks over the assembled dakka being prepared for war. It’s always been a great thing, being the boss.