Ork stories

By Craig Gallant Da Beginnin' of Da End Space Hulk code named "Scylla" Somewhere near the border of the Nasea Cluster Sector -0.432 Grishnak refused to show fear before the over-muscled nobz that led him down the poorly-lit corridor, but deep inside his orky heart was cold with emotions very rare to a warboss of his stature and mental . . . constraints. He had been on the hulk for a long time, it seemed to him, and he had not seen any of the members of his ill-fated warband since the lot of them had been pulled off the Humie planet after those stinkin' cultists and their Mork-cursed Imperial armor had handed him a viciously painful . . . tie. The scarred face of the warboss quirked in a slight smile, proud of this colossal mental maneuver. He had spent his time on the hulk wandering around, engaging in contests of strength, endurance and squig eating, for lack of anything more exciting to do. He was aware, on some subconscious level, that he was stronger, tougher and faster than he used to be (his mega armor had required two refittings since he first came aboard), but connecting his growth with all of his latest exploits and activities was beyond his cognitive abilities. During his time aboard the hulk called Ognazdreg Gargdurslagulk by the many busy-seeming orks running importantly about, he had been able to piece together several interesting facts. Firstly, this hulk was definitely not drifting aimlessly through space. Somehow some ork was controlling the huge craft, a feat Grishnak would have sworn to both Gork and Mork was impossible. Secondly, something Big was going on, involving all of the orks running around wildly. He smiled again as he carefully thought out the capital B on Big, an editorial decision he had only recently come to. Because whatever was going on in Ognazdreg Gargdurslagulk, it was definitely BIG. The smile got even wider at this, because, Grishnak opined, if a capital B was good, then adding a capital I and a capital G was even better. One of the larger nobz escorting him cuffed him lightly in the back of the head to discourage further outbreaks of levity. Grishnak shot him a vicious look from beneath beetled green brows that promised volumes of pain for the offending nob in the near future. The antagonizing nob did not seem concerned. The large warboss turned back to the front and continued down the hall, silently fuming. Whichever ork had the power to control the movements of this hulk and command the vast horde of warriors skittering all over it, was probably more than strong enough to punish Grishnak for damaging one of his nobz . . . but should that not prove true, Grishnak silently promised the rambunctious nob a reckoning as soon as possible. The smile reasserted itself on the warboss's big ugly face. Grishnak's journey through the hulk seemed to take forever, and at every intersection his escort of burly nobz would usher him non-to-gently down a bewildering series of twists and turns. Just as the big warboss was afraid his head would unscrew itself (despite his continuously straightening his head surreptitiously with casually raised claws), the nobz surrounding him stopped before a huge armor-plated blast door. The door frame had been painted with a thick coating of gold, and a bewildering array of glittering gems and impressively large ork teef had been set in the gold in no apparent pattern. The wealth represented by that doorway had Grishnak salivating into a swiftly growing pool at his feet moments after laying eyes on it. His red eyes, usually beady and squinty, were huge, round ruby orbs, the black pupils almost lost in their incarnadine depths. The nob escort had not spoken a word to Grishnak after their initial grunted "Come wiv us." Now, before the great golden portal, they merely pushed the burly warboss at the very solid door. For a moment Grishnak was afraid he was about to run head-long into the scarred battlesteel, but then he remembered the automatic sensors that opened and shut doors all over the hulk, this would no doubt open the door before . . . he hit it with a dull thud, slid to the deck plating, and then flopped forward when the doors belatedly glided open. This final painful humiliation was too much, and the infuriated warboss launched himself to his feet with a howl of rage, landing in a fighting crouch and scanning the now revealed chamber for his first victim. He stopped in mid scan, his huge maw fell open, and a stream of saliva thicker than the previous inundation became to cascade to the deck. The golden door slid shut unnoticed behind him. Grishnak found himself in a Bad Moonz' dreamchamber. The walls were coated in the same shining gold as the doorway, pillars of what could only have been carved squigoth tusks rose up out of the carpet of ork teef that lay scattered all over the floor. Piles of treasure: gold, silver, teef, weapons and trophy skulls were everywhere. Chandeliers of teef and psi-sensitive crystals, all of varied size, color and design hung from the high arched ceiling. Against one wall a series of alien bodies were nailed in a variety of pleasing poses with big over-sized ork teef. The warboss grinned as he noticed the unmistakable robes of an Eldar farseer seemingly riding a slumped form in grey powered armor trailing ratty bits of fur and tiny little animal teeth. Finally Grishnak's gaze turned to the far end of the great hall, where a throne of carved squigoth ivory sat upon the largest pile of teef he had ever seen. Atop the throne sat a huge figure in gleaming golden mega armor. A monstrous yellow moon face leered up over the figure's head. One giant power claw tapped it's titanium nails impatiently against a scarred ivory armrest, the other gently stroked the scaly hide of an enormous, viciously fanged attack squig. Suddenly all the other details of the figure faded away, as the power of the golden ork's gaze fell full upon the gawking warboss. The eyes were immense, red orbs, radiating evil power and a cunning Grishnak immediately, and surprisingly, realized was far out of his league. When the figure spoke, the voice was loud and violent, reverberating through the warboss's chest. Grishnak realized that this was the ork that was at the center of whatever BIG thing was happening, because if he was anything, he was BIG. "Warboss Grishnak," The huge voice rumbled. "I got's an offer ta make you." It took the stunned warboss several moments to gather his wits enough to respond, moments during which the enormous attack squig began to growl low and dangerously in the back of its throat. "Uh," Grishnak temporized. "Wut?" The figure grunted as it lifted its huge bulk out of the throne, which gave creaking moans of its own at the sudden lifting of so much weight. Raising itself to its full, impressive height, the shining ork said "Do you know who I am?" Grishnak pummeled his still-stunned brain for a suitable response. It seemed he should know. Not many warbosses rose to the heights of power this one obviously had. But no names popped miraculously from the brown murk that passed for the warboss's memory. "Uh, no." This seemed to amuse the larger ork, whose laughter was low and gravely and ended in a nasty wet cough. When he was finished hacking, stabilizing himself with his power claw on one splintering arm of the throne, he straightened back up and speared Grishnak with that powerful red gaze. "I," the golden ork began self-importantly after a deep breath, "am Nazdreg Ug Urdgrub, Supreme Warlord of da Bad Moonz clans. And I gots a job fer you." Grishnak heard nothing beyond the great warlord's name, as he was quickly back-peddling towards the golden door, looking around frantically for any means of escape, his eyes wide with the fear he had refused to show the nobz outside. Of the few possibilities the warboss's limited imagination had come up with for who was responsible for bringing him to this huge, strange hulk, he had never once imagined that it might have been Nazdreg, legend among all of Orkdome, second only to the greatly feared Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka. Now the memories, so stubbornly shy moments ago, came swelling back up and Grishnak cursed himself for not having put together all the clues. The gold, the teef, the armor, the attack squig, and most of all, the name of the fantastic space hulk that defied what all orks knew instinctively about the randomly drifting derelicts. It all pointed plainly to the most powerful, vicious and greedy Bad Moon of them all. Grishnak's back hit the golden door, and panic began to settle in for permanent residence, when the rest of Nazdreg's statement finally sank in . . . "A job?" The fear in the warboss's eye was replaced with the familiar gleam of greed. Nazdreg smiled mockingly at the cowering warboss as he strode amongst the littered treasures. "Yeah, a job." Grishnak took a second look at the wealth that surrounded him, and suddenly a world of possibilities began to insinuate itself into his slow mind. He looked slyly back at the towering Warlord. "Wut?" Nazdreg began to pace amidst the piles of teef and gold. "Grishnak, I been watchin' you fer awhile, and although you been beat more times dan I'd care ta remember, you showed promise." Grishnak thought about arguing about Nazdreg's accusation, but he seemed to be unfortunately well-informed, and the fear that had momentarily given way to the Bad Moon warboss's greed once again asserted itself. Nazdreg continued. "I've gots plans, Grishnak. Big plans. An' every ork in the galaxy's got a place in 'em." He stopped his pacing and shot another direct glare at the warboss. "Most orks I won't need fer awhile. But you, I needs now." The silence grew uncomfortable and Grishnak knew he should be saying something. "Wut?" he repeated. "Something is happening in the Nasea Cluster," Nazdreg continued. "Pansies, Bugz, Humies and even some Chaos gits are movin' around in der. I needs you ta go back an' figure out what dey're all doin'." Another awkward silence began to crush in on the warboss before he squeaked out "why?" Nazdreg glared hard at Grishnak for a moment, shaking his huge head slightly, before moving back to pacing amid his treasures. "I's goin' ta want ta move lots o' hulks troo here soon, an' I needs ta know what sorts o' fight I should expec' and what sort o' gits 're goin' ta get in my way. All o' my uder warbosses 're at work uder places. Yer're da only one 'round fer me ta work with, an' you been ta da cluster, you know da area, and many o' da forces dat will be fighting us when we move ta go troo dere." This time Grishnak knew all too well what he needed to say. "Las' time," he said as sheepishly as his own deep, gravely voice would allow, "Dey beat me sometin' bad." After a moment he hastened to add, "a liddle bit!" Nazdreg gave Grishnak a look that was almost pitying, if it had not been so annoyed. "I know how bad dey beat you, you moron. Why do you tink I've had you trainin' fer months?" Grishnak gave him a puzzled look. "What's traynin?" "Ohgh! Never mind." The huge Warlord strode suddenly towards one darkened alcove that Grishnak had not noticed in his earlier assessment of the vast room. Something big, bulky and yellow stood within the alcove, dim light glinting ominously off many vicious looking barrels. "Grishnak, I'm givin' you some stuff to help you scout out the uder armies. First," at a gesture with the gigantic power claw caused a garish floodlight to snap on over the mysterious alcove. "I want you ta bring dis wit' you." Awe and greed warred across Grishnak's scarred face as he stared at what the lights had revealed. "A dread?" Nazdreg seemed pleased by this sudden sign of something resembling thought. "Yeah, it's a dreadnought. I had 'em put two lascannons, a heavy boltah and a heavy flamah on it. I figured you'd keep doz smelly Snakebite boarboys for gettin' stuck in, so's you'd like some more heavy fire support." Grishnak nodded vigorously, his eyes drinking up the big bulky lines of the lethal (not to mention expensive) killing machine. "Next," Nazdreg gestured again, and another light snapped on over another alcove. In this one stood two strange looking contraptions, like big grabber claws bolted to cannon bodies. "These are Smasha Guns. They should be great against big targets like tanks an' stuff." A faraway look entered the giant Warlord's eyes. "There's nothin' like liftin up one o' them Lemon Rust tanks and droppin' it on some Humies' heads!" Grishnak looked skeptically at the Smasha Guns, but decided not to look gift squigs in the mouth. He turned back to Nazdreg hopefully, but the bloated warlord was lowering himself back into his throne with a hissing series of grunts. When he was sitting once again he caught the smaller ork looking at him. "What? You want more?!?" Grishnak cringed away from the fury in the legend's voice. "N-n-n-n-no, W-warlord! Dis stuff's great!" He wrung his Bad Moonz cap in his big claws. "Uh, thanks." Nazdreg waved the tentative thanks away with one desultory claw. "I don't need yer thanks, I need to know what those stinkin' aliens 're doin' in the Nasea Cluster. I will warn you only once, Grishnak: If you in any way jeopardize my Big Plan," Grishnak distinctively heard the capital B and P, "You'll wish you'd never crawled up out o' the dirt." Grishnak didn't think an answer to that was necessary, so he just nodded and turned to the golden door, which slid open to reveal one remaining nob waiting to take him back to the less gold-encrusted portions of the hulk. Just as he began to step through the door, however, a very surprising thought jumped into his head and he whirled back around to stare in wonder at Nazdreg, who was watching him warily. "What?" the great warlord snapped. In a tone of amazement, hope and awe Grishnak said one word. "Waaagh?" An evil smile swept over Nazdreg's massive, scarred, snaggle-toothed visage. He nodded once, ominously, and responded with a single word.