Chapter VIII
9 532 029.M42
Morning rose on the small planet that had been the home for the Deathskullz orks, and, in proper orky fashion, was announced with an explosion.
“Yeeeaah! Ah’m gonna be a Stormboy!” an ork cried, holding his choppa above his head as he rode the largest rockit he could find up into the sky.
“Oi! Cut dat out ya bloody git!”
“Stuff it! Ah’m tryin’ ta sleep!”
“Zog off, ya grot!”
The rockit exploded in the air, killing the ork riding it, and showering a small grot camp below in gore and debris.
Nabrot Stub-fingers was already up, staring up at the rising sun and scratching his massive belly with his damaged hand and bit back a yawn. He had learned a long time ago that Warbosses should never sleep in. He still had the scar from when that choppa had stabbed into his shoulder.
Most orks didn’t have to worry about that. While most warbosses had to fight challengers in the biggest, orkiest fights Nabrot had ever seen, the Deathskullz bosses had to, more often than not, watch their backs.
The Deathskullz were some of the most cunning orks in the galaxy. The only ones who got more cunning were the Blood Axes, and they were so un-orky that they used things like plans and tactics.
That’s about as unorky as you can get.
Scratching the flesh beneath his metal jaw, he then stood, before finding the nearest ork to yell at. “Oi, you! No lazin’ about!” he cried.
He had a meeting to be at.
---=][=---
A small collection of blue-painted Deathskullz orks stood at the bottom of a small ravine. The sun was high, and the small gang of orks was accompanied by numerous orky vehicles, most stolen from other peoples of the galaxy, and then re-armored with thick, rough-cut metal plates and decorated with orky symbols.
There was even an Eldar jet bike. The long, sloping curves of the anti-grav bike broken violently by the rough metal plates of the orkish design.
On the other side of the valley, a few other orks, dressed in yellow and black moved forward. The leader of which, had a massive pole on his back depicting a scowling yellow crescent moon.
Nabrot checked the rim of the canyon, where quite a few orks, both Deathskullz and Bad Moons, stood along the edge.
There was even a certain…“ork” up there, watching the pit.
Well, he didn’t have all day, might as well begin negotiations. “Oi! Ya Bad Moons git! Whatcha’ got for me?”
“Ah’m askin’ da questions ‘ere you grot!” the Bad Moons warboss said, stomping angrily forward.
“Ya might got the teef,” Nabrot said, also stomping forward, “but teef ain’t nofin’ wifout the loot!”
“Nah, dey’re still teef!”
Hm...that was some good logic there.
“So, whatcha want den?” Nabrot asked, his power klaw snapping loudly.
“Ah want da bike!” He said, setting his massive gun and his chainsaw ax aside.
Nabrot smiled. “It’s gonna cost ya.”
The two slammed into each other, Nabrot’s power klaw gripping the Bad Moon’s arms while he punched with the other. The Bad Moon Boss answered with his own blow, slamming into Nabrot’s gut. “‘Ow much?”
Nabrot’s massive head slammed into the Bad Moon’s in a vicious headbutt. Now stunned, the Bad Moon was in no position to defend himself from Nabrot’s tackle, bringing them both to the floor. “A thousand hundred teef!” he demanded, before his massive fist slammed into his buyer’s face.
As negotiations went on below, the orks above started their own bartering.
Large, fang-like, yellow teeth and looted “orkified” goods exchanged hands, the Bad Moons having far more of the former, while the Deathskullz had the majority of the latter. “Two ten teef” made a good trade for a brand new shoota, while a rockit launcha went for a “hundred and half-dat teef.”
Every now and then, punches flew between the clans, but that was mostly them paying up with the teeth that were still stuck in their heads.
It was about as civil as orks could get.
One figure in the mob slithered through the mass, orange fur standing proudly against the green crowd.
Scootaloo had grown a lot in the thirty years she had been with the orks. In fact, it could be argued that she grew a little too much. She was now far taller than most ponies she knew, and about as tall as the average ork. Her wings were now twice as long as they used to be, and her muscles were at least three times thicker than she remembered a pony’s should be.
She had a Cutie Mark now, the blue ork skull of the Deathskullz superimposed over a blood-red lightning bolt, which stood out brightly against the blue paint that covered half her body. Even her eyes had changed, yellowing along the edges, and the pupils narrowing to reptilian slits. They remained the brilliant purple they always were, yet she couldn’t deny that things had changed.
That and her skin beneath her fur was green now...
But that was probably normal.
She leaped over another Deathskull, her large, spiked, “knuckles” knocking a tooth loose for him. “‘Ey! Thanks, Shootaloota!” the ork said, before paying the Bad Moon for a new knife.
“No problem!” she said, clutching a bag of teeth in her mouth.
The knuckles on her hooves were actually one of the Mekboyz best work. Riveted to the sides of Scootaloo’s hooves they had been designed to slide down to the sole of her hoof for maximum punch and so they can stay out of the way when she walked.
And by Gork did that hurt.
Of course, those weren’t the only weapons on her. Slung to her back, a harness sat beneath her wings, connected to two Kustom Shootas that had been screwed into the leather. These weapons were some of the best the Mekboyz had come up with, complete with a bunch of worky gubbins and zappy bits that made the rifles all the more deadly. Of course, being the size of a rifle and slung under her wings, they tended to slow her down a touch, but that was the best the boyz could come up with at the time, short of riveting them to her back. As they were, however, her kustom weapons had proved useful in the numerous Waaagh!s to take the planet for themselves.
As her powerful wings flapped to take her above the crowd, Scootaloo’s eyes scanned for a specific ork. “Come on, where is he?”
The last time the Bad Moons had come was almost fifteen years ago, and she had been saving up teeth ever since.
“Where is he? Where is he?” she muttered around the bag in her teeth. “Where is he?”
Her eyes suddenly spotted a single Bad Moon, sitting on the biggest, reddest bike she had seen in her life.
“Skullrippa!” she called. “Skullrippa! I’ve got the teeth!”
The ork on the bike gave a lazy glance in the air up at the flying pony.
She landed, and those that did not make way for her became her landing strip. “I got all the teef, Skullrippa!” she said, before leaping to the ground in front of the bike-riding ork. “Two-ten thousand teeth!”
Skullrippa, an ork that had lost most of his body to various explosions and had been replaced mostly by machine, looked up at her. The cybork (yes, that’s what they’re called) stepped down from his bike and stared down at the pony. “Whatcha want?” he asked.
“The bike!” Scootaloo said. “Don’t you remember? You said you’d sell me the bike for Two-ten thousand teeth!”
Skullrippa gave a chortle. “Did Ah say dat? Ah don’t remember sayin’ dat…”
“What? No! Come on! That’s what you said!”
“Nah...nah Ah don’t fink it was…”
“Skullrippa…” Scootaloo said, her eyes narrowing.
Skullrippa smiled. “But if ya want mah bike, Ah won’t stop ya.”
Scootaloo perked up, and smiled, moving towards the big, red, wheeled bike.
“It’s just gonna cost ya four-ten founsand teef…”
“What!” She cried, glaring at the cybork.
“Nofin’s free, cupcake…” Skullrippa said.
“You dirty thief!” Scootaloo roared, and a ring of orks, Bad Moons and Deathskullz alike all stopped to watch.
“Thief? Me? Dat’s rich, comin’ from a Deffskull. You all loot more stuff den any other ork out dere. Yous is da thief, ya grot.”
“Shut your zogging gob, you sniveling git!” Scoots roared, as her wings flared, a revealing the kustom Shootas beneath, along with the two drums of ammunition below.
“Oh, whazzat? Is the little grot gettin’ angry?” Skullrippa mocked.
Scootaloo glared at him and her purple eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m not angry…”
The Kustom Shootas both fired full force into cybork. The loud, fast reports of the firing rifles echoed in air around them as the orks watching the battle recoiled from the heat. In a flash, Scootaloo was on him, slamming into him with her knuckles out and ready. Skullrippa barely had the time to stand as the pegasus’ hooves slammed into him. “Waaagh!” she cried, letting loose the ancient ork battle cry as her hooves dug into the ground.
“Waaagh!” The Deathskullz roared, picking up the cry before a thousand other fights broke out amongst the crowd.
The orks transformed into a massive free-for-all, punching, kicking, stabbing, and shooting their way through each other. The only empty spaces left were the pit where the bosses fought and the space around Skullrippa and Scootaloo.
Skullrippa’s hands had just barely managed to grab Scootaloo’s hooves, and even then, one of her sets of knuckles had pierced his hand. The pegasus smiled, and spoke. “I’m downright grim.”
Skullrippa laughed, before pushing forward. “Wat? You? grim? Yer bout as grim as a gretchin, ya grot.”
Scoots smiled. “Don’t think I’m dangerous, huh? Well, you live and learn.”
“Well, you learn, anyway…”
She leaned to the side, dragging Skullrippa to the left and then bringing him face to face with her kustom big shoota. She fired the gun, and Skullrippa just barely had the time to dodge out of the way of the close range line of fire.
Scoots smiled. That’s fine. Didn’t want him to go like that anyway.
She pulled to the ground, wrapping her hooves around his big barrel chest, and let her harness fall to the ground.
And with that weight gone, she took the sky, passenger in tow.
“Oi! Whatcha doing?” Skullrippa asked as the ground and his bike began to get farther and farther away.
“Ever wanted to be a Flyboy, Skullrippa?” she asked, before laughing.
“Oi! Oi! Put me down!”
Scootaloo didn’t so much as slow down as she continued her climb.
“Ah’m serious, now, put me down!.
She went higher.
“Sh-Shootaloota...C-come on now, leeme down.”
Scootaloo smiled, before leveling out, and hovering above the ground at an altitude that no ork was really comfortable with.
“So how’s it going, Skullrippa?”
He whimpered something.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Could ya lemme down, please?”
“Well, that depends,” Scootaloo said. “I could just drop you and get that bike free you know.”
Silence hung in the air for a second.
“How’s one fousand teef sound?” Skullrippa asked.
“Honestly? That sounds proper orky,” she said with a smile. “The problem, though, is that Nabrot wants me to off ya.”
“What?!”
“You see, Nabrot figures if little ol’ me can take on a full-on Cybork, then the rest of you Bad Moons might think it’s a bad idea to fight us. And that means that Nabrot gets a few extra teef coming his way.”
Skullrippa’s eyes went wide as he suddenly realized what was going on. “You sneaky…”
“So thanks,” Scootaloo continued, “but no thanks. Thank you for your business, Goodbye!”
“You sneaky giiiiiiiiiiit!” Skullrippa screamed as he fell.
Scoots smiled, before gently gliding down after him.
He hit the ground with a splat.
She landed with every ounce of grace that pegasi had been blessed with.
The world around her was a mess of fighting, yet even so, she took a little pleasure in stepping over Skullrippa’s body as she made her way to her new bike.
---=][=---
Nabrot laughed as he came back to his tent, Scootaloo by his side. “Ya did a proper orky job, ya did!” he said, tossing his big bag of teef into the back of the room.
“Just trying to be helpful, Boss,” Scootaloo replied.
He nodded, before turning to face her with the biggest grin he could manage. “Yous is da most cunnin’ git I know! Ya make a Warboss proud, you do!”
She stood with her chest puffed out and her head held high as Nabrot continued.
“I knew! I knew it was a good idea ta keep ya! If you could turn a whole camp on it’s ‘ead looking for ya, then you could do some orky stuff once you’d be fully grown! And you did!”
Nabrot smiled, before sitting on a large throne made from an amalgamation of the largest chairs from the biggest vehicles he had looted. “Ya’ve done me proud, Shootaloota, done me very proud.”
Scootaloo shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
As Nabrot’s laughed died down, he found himself staring at the pegasus. And that when the old Warboss gave the biggest smile yet. “So, Shootaloota, since yous is so cunnin’, ya ready for another job?”
“Whatcha’ thinking?” she asked.
Nabrot reached over for a massive tankard, filled with the black ichor that passes as alcohol amongst ork-kind. “Ya know Nobgobba?”
She snorted.
Yes, she knew the unfortunately-named ork. She had been there when he earned it, by taking a massive bite out of an ork noble or “nob” as they were called. He was younger than her by a few years, but he was already gaining the reputation of being a rather brutal ork. He was gaining strength, influence, and had the ambition to match. She also thought he had the most hilarious name she had ever heard, which was completely lost on the asexual creatures she was completely surrounded by.
“I know about him,” she answered.
“He’s been sendin’ in grots to kill me.”
Scootaloo blinked. “Really?”
Nabrot nodded. “Send in da small grots, let ‘em say dey’re da warboss now, den kill dem. It’s an old, sneaky move.”
“So why don’t you kill him?” she asked.
“Da prophets of Gork and Mork,” he said.
Scootaloo frowned.
“Da prophets say dat Nobgobba is da chosen of Mork, and dat he should be leading some orks hisself.”
“Wouldn’t he be the chosen of Gork?” Scootaloo asked.
Nabrot shrugged, before leaning forward. “So, how do I get the grot ta zog off?”
Scootaloo went silent for a moment or two before finally speaking up. “So he wants to be Warboss, huh?”
“Roight.”
“So why not make him warboss?”
Nabrot blinked. “What?”
“Now, hang on, let me explain this,” she said quickly as Nabrot began to stand, menacingly. “Give him his own Waaagh!”
Nabrot raised an eyebrow. “Give ‘im a Waaagh!?” he asked.
“Right!” Scootaloo said, capitalizing on the fact that she wasn’t dead right now. “Look, he wants power, so give him some, make him a Warboss of a smaller Waaagh! and send him off to go take something, anything. But as long as he’s out there, he’s not here trying to kill you. And while he’s out there, the prophets think that you’re giving him a reward so you make them happy. And of course, if he's going to be un-orky and try to kill you with a grot, then you can always send someone in his Waaagh! to do the same. You see?”
Nabrot blinked again. “Dat...Now dat’s cunning.”
Scootaloo nodded. “It’s what I do. Now, since this is a very important, and sneaky thing, you’re going to need this to stay quiet, aren’t ya?”
“Roight...roight…” Nabrot said before his eyes glanced over at her. “Do ya fink ya’ll need ta go?”
Scootaloo smiled. “Do you trust anyone else?”
Nabrot broke into a grin. “Nevah trust a Deffskull. Whaddaya need?”
Scoots smirked. “Three Kommandos. Give me that, and Nobgobba will either die or never come back at all.”
Nabrot nodded. He could do that.
---=][=---
The three Kommandos of the Deathskullz Speshul Forces that had been assigned under Scootaloo stood at attention.
Or...the ork equivalent of attention.
Which was milling about while holding their gunz at the ready, or picking their teeth with the sharp whatsits on them, and the like.
Their proud, green skin was dyed purple with the occasional splash of Deathskull blue, and the night vision goggles made from bits and pieces found all over the place distinguished them from the average boyz.
The small, dark room was slightly cramped for the three “assassins” but they didn’t complain.
Out loud…
Much…
“So what’re we doin’?” one of them asked.
“Nabrot needs us ta do somefin’. We’s supposed to be talkin’ wif Shootaloota ‘bout dis.”
“You are,” Scootaloo said, as she stepped into the room. “Now, Nabrot’s got a very important mission, and it’s going to be a long one.”
“So why’s we talkin’ ta yous if Nabrot’s da one wif da mission?” a second one asked.
“Because it’s all very complicated, and I’m probably going to have to explain this several times. So before we get started, what are your names?”
“Ah’m Hellspitta,” the first ork said, a small burna weapon slung to the bottom of his shoota.
“Ah’m Facehacka,” the second said, covered head to toe in ax-shaped choppas, and his shoota came armed with a scope.
“And Ah’m Blooddagga,” the last one said, a large knife-choppa in his hand while his slugga pistol had a long silencer with a kombat-choppa bayonet.
“Good to meet ya, boyz,” Scootaloo said. “Now gather ‘round, and let ole’ Shootaloota fill you in.”
---=][=---
Nabrot roared before the gathered green horde, yelling at anyone and everyone that even looked like they weren’t thinking of paying attention. “Stuff yer gobs ya grots! Stuff it!”
Slowly but surely, the orks began to settle, and Nabrot then took center stage.
“Alright, ya snivelin’ gits! Lissen’ up! It’s come to mah attention dat we ain’t doin’ enough!”
“What?” A burna boy asked, his flame thrower sputtering as he lit a small gretchin alight.
“We’ve stayed on dis planet long nuff’!” Nabrot said above the piercing scream of the tiny orkanoid. “Dere ain’t nufin’ left ta kill!”
“So we pick a new planet!” An ork said from the back.
“And we are!” The warboss continued. “But we’re gonna do somefin’ different too!”
The horde, now intrigued and confused, gave him their full attention, and Nabrot gave a smirk. “We’s gonna split the Waaagh!”
The minds of the ork were blown. And a few of the Weirdboyz actually had their heads literally explode.
Those events were somewhat unrelated.
“Dat’s roight! I’m gonna take some boyz, and Nobgobba over dere is gonna take the others, and we’s gonna take two planets at once!”
“Waaagh!” The boyz cheered, thrilled by the very idea of taking two planets at the same time.
“Dat’s roight boyz! We’re gonna take dis Waaagh! and we’s gonna make it da biggest Waaagh! evah!”
---=][=---
“The justice of your action is measured by the strength of your conviction.”—Imperial Thought of the Day
Alright guys! Up next is another Ork Chap, and then we’re gonna see what Apple Bloom’s been up to for the past 30 years.
“Are Kommandos real?”
That seems an oddly specific question from you…
“Well, someone asked that earlier. So I’m just trying to get it out there...”
Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll let this picture answer for me.
“Pffft! Bwahahaha!”
Yes, they do exist, they are actually fairly useful on the tabletop, and that’s a bunch of other stats that I’m not going to get into.
So, anyways guys, we’ll see you all next time, alright?
“Bye!”
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Orkz is Da best foighters dere is!
Looks interesting I'll give it a read.
Kommandoes are the best. Well, they are orks. This chapter was as good as I was hoping it would be. Those green skins always know how to make me laugh.
i'll just leaves this here
Ah, Orkz. The comic relief of the galaxy. Looking forward to more.
Keep up the good work. Deus tecum.
Will all of the crusaders meet up At one point and become friends again
6522767
That's a good question.
6522578
The Joke of evolution, as Artemis Fowl would say similarly about goblins: pick the stupidest creatures ever, give them special abilities beyond comprehension, and then have them kill everything they see.
Anyone 'ere watched "If The Emperor had a Text to Speech Device"? Now dat's a riot in itself! As for this story, Keep up the great work!
I've read all your stories so far, and i myself was introduced to Warhammer 40k By Dawn of War, so... this is great!
Th-THIRTY YEARS!!!!!
WHAT THE HAY HAPPENED INBETWEEN!!!!