Name: Gowglakk Bangdakka

Species: Ork

'Rank'/Type: Big Mek, thus at roughly the same level as a Nob. Also a Flash Git some time ago, but now less obsessed with guns than he was.

Age: 57

Klan: Bad Moons

Appearance: As with any Nob-level Ork, Gowglakk is incredibly large - about eight and a half feet tall, thus a foot or more taller than any mere Boy and even some other Nobz, on top of being significantly wider and more than twice as heavy as the former, mostly for sheer weight of packed muscle. His skin is a nice Orky shade of dark green, his left eye possesses a lovely blood red hue, and his gob is chock-full of teef with a great yellow colour on them, plenty of which are gold-plated.

More notable, however, are the large number of bioniks attached to his body, to the extent that other Orks might wonder why he hasn't degraded into a Madboy yet. Most notably, a chunky mechanical arm covered in large slabs of gold is attached to his right shoulder, ending in a four-bladed Power Klaw with joints on each "finger" akin to those in a normal hand, as well as the capacity to rotate those blades to any angle both on their own axis and around a circular slider on the weapon, apparently for "more dekks-territy" when working on technology, but with the incidental capacity to chop and stab in whatever direction Gowglakk likes with each blade, for instance in the manner of an Astartes Lightning Claw, or a power blender.

As well as this, his head has black-painted metal plates bolted over the top and back, a pattern replicated in the form of 'Eavy Karapace Armour bolted across much of the rest of his body, to make his most important bits ded 'ard (though the brown Squig leather clothing underneath is inexplicably able to be removed regardless), and his right eye has been replaced with a bionic eye that picks out targets for long-distance krumping with whatever shooty weapon he's using at the moment. A myriad of lesser bioniks are prevalent in various areas across the rest of his body, though few of these have had any significance as of yet. Lastly, a blue-painted Iron Gob is attached to his face, just to make sure all the dangerous bullets miss his head, though he has plans for an even more Orky type of 'ead protection in the works.

Personality: Gowglakk is, of course, a Mekboy at heart, and has the mindset to prove it - when he's not bashing the gitz weaker than himself, he's thinking about his next project, be it a simple shoota for one of the Boyz, or the burgeoning suit of Mega Armour he's been cooking up for a couple of years now. "'s a big projekt," he says about it when asked, "I's gots ta test everyfink ta make sure it werks properly." And that, right there, is what makes him so strange - unlike the vast majority of Orks, Gowglakk has acquired a somewhat absurd amount of what he calls "pragmattik forts". That is to say, he thinks like a Blood Axe despite being a Bad Moon, and then to a degree that quite a few Blood Axes never achieve. He's a big proponent of tactics and strategies that most Orks see as highly un-Orky, even downright bizarre, things like "dodgin' da enemy's attakks so dey don't krump ya" and "attackin' da enemy from a 'idin' place so's dey don't see ya attackin' dem 'til it's too late"; indeed, a certain lesser degree of this kind of thinking was what led him to become a Flash Git in the first place, though he now sees that sort of attachment to flair and weaponry as "distraktin' from da reel biznis ov buildin' things ta krump gits wiv". Of course, he still retains a reasonable amount of Orkiness, being just as up for a scrap as any other Ork, and holds a bit of a soft spot for his personal equipment as a holdover from his days as a Flash Git, even if he claims to be totally past it.

History: Right, lads! Fer sum reason, ya all wanted me ta talk about wot I's done in da past, an' I's gots da time ta talk, so I's gonna do dat. In da meantime, you all shut up unless it's a zoggin' great kweschun yer askin'!

So, back when I wuz jus' a Yoof, nuffin' much 'appened, an' nuffin' reely 'appened before dat eever- I SED SHADDAP UNLESS YER ASKIN' A GREAT KWESCHUN, YA GITZ! Dis is important ta establish! Basik'ly, I wuz doin' da same krumpin' and that wot all Orks do, but even-cher-lee I figgered out dat I wuz reely good wiv Orky teknollergy, an' became a Mekboy, an' I wuz proper pleezed wiv dat.

Now, da fing about Mekz is dat dey don' always fink in to-tully Orky ways - dat iz ta say, dey ain't direkt-lee Orky, but even-cher-lee get round ta bein' Orky, right? So I's workin' on dis Snazzgun fer one ov da Flash Gitz at da time, right, an' it occurs ta me dat ak-cher-lee, iv I 'ad a nice gun like dat, I could krump 'umies an' dat from far away, so's dat dey don't krump me first, right? 's no fun iv ya get krumped by some lukky shot ta yer kray-nee-um, izzit? So wen da Nob came back askin' fer his new weppen, I pulled it out and dakka'd 'im in da face with it! BWA HA HAA ha ha ha haaa, da look on 'is face... I mean, e' didn' 'ave one, 'coz 'is face wuz gone, but if he 'ad a face... haaa!

Okay, okay, settle down lads. So I's gots me a brand new Snazzgun, loadsa barrels so it's extra-shooty. An' I decides, 'coz I can now, dat I'm gonna start bashin 'sum gitz ta get more teef! So I goes out, start whackin' Orks wiv the gun ta take dere teef, an' shootin' off da legz ov any Nobz dat try ta stop me, 'coz dey all try ta git up close ta krump me. An' over time, as I keep improvin' my Snazzgun, I's noticing dat I'm startin' ta get bigger an' bigger, an' even-cher-lee, I's ended up as a full-blown Nob myself! Dat's a Big Mek ta you gitz, but dere a type a Nob, so shaddap. 'Course, I's also a Flash Git, since now I 'ave all da teef from the gits I bashed as well as da teef dat were given ta me ta do Mekky fings, which I woz doin' between bashin' gits fer teef. An' I's got real gitty about it, wiv all da swagger an' dat I's throwin' about, an' even renamin' myself ta show off loadsa types a dakka - yanno, "GOW GOW, glakk glakk glakk, BAAAANG, dakkadakkadakkadakkadakkadakka", right?- an' dis starts annoyin' sum fellow Mekz an' Big Mekz an' that, 'coz dat's wot Flash Gitz do.

Now, at sum point, a real git fort it woold be clever ta snatch my Snazzgun whilst I's walkin' round wiv it, an' den break it in 'alf in front a me! 'Oo even does dat?! Ob-vee-us-lee, I woz propa mad, an' wot dat git forgot is dat I still 'ad my Choppa! An' I whack his head in 'alf wiv it, and den start goin' on a right gitty rampage ov krumpin' uvver gitz, lef', righ', fron', bakk, but even-cher-lee, all a dat stops 'coz ov ev-ree-fink goin' dark fer me. Next fing I know, I's on my own on sum plannit wiv jun-gol trees growin' outta sand! Dere's like a 'umie viddie-ya screen in front a me, an' ob-vee-us-lee I's still a bit woozy from da annas-fettik, so I pikkit up an' press da button like a Snotlin' might do, an' dis git Krombasha shows up, talkin' about 'ow I's gone an' disres-pek-tid da name a Mekz ev-ree-where, an' so I's been left behind like da git I am. 'e woz right, an' I'm not a Flash Git now, but 'e's still a git fer doin' dat, an' I's gonna krump 'im an' ev-ree uvva Mek in da tribe e's wiv if I eva see 'is sorry gob again!

'Course, I got kort up in me own anger at 'im, so's I don't realise dat 'e's men-chunned a final ser-prize until it's too late, an' at dat moment, da 'ole fing blows up an' takes my arm off! An' dere's no way any Painboy iz gonna put it back on, it iz MULCHED. So's I eat it, 'coz I's gonna need da sus-tin-ants, an' den I sit an' fink fer a while. An' it okkurs ta me dat even wiv an arm missin', dere iz no way dat I would be dere alive if dere wuz no reazun ta be dere, an' so I's starts ta think Gork, or maybe Mork, wants me ta go on a vizzyun kwest ta find my troo self or summat!

Orright, orright, calm down... I SED CALM DOWN YA GROTZ! Wot, a man a si-ents can't also 'ave a vizzyun kwest?! Iz dat right? Dat's wot I fort. So's I go in ta dis sand jun-gol. Dere's not much ta eat, but dere's enuff little cree-churz an' leefs an' dat ta servive on wivvout bein' 'ungry, right? An' as I go in more, I starts 'avin' dem vizzyunz, 'bout finks like monsters an' that, but it's not like I woz left wivvout a choppa, 'coz no Ork iz gonna be DAT much of a git, so's I jus' chop 'em up as I goes, all fancy-like 'coz a the cullerz goin' ev-ree-where an' that. I dunno how long dat's goin' on fer, but even-cher-lee, I's gone and found myself inna cave, made a rocks an' that, even in dat sand jun-gol. An' as I go in more, da vizzyuns start fadin', an' I ree-lize dat I's finkin' diff'rent-lee ta how I woz before, but I's not sure 'xact-lee how yet. I tries ta figger dat out fer a bit, but stops when I discovers wot is pretty much... da muvverload.

Wot do I means by dat? Only da biggest pile a loot a Mekboy could ever want! Dere wuz fyool ta power stuff, a lotta komp-likk-ated ser-kit-ree ta make fings werk betta, tons a solid mettol- more dan enuff fer me ta make some rokkitships ta get off da plannit, an' prob-lee enuff ta get me a bionik re-plays-ment fer my missin' arm... an' GOLD! So much zoggin' gold! 'nuff ta bring a tear ta my eye! Yeah, dat's right, lad, us Bad Moons know wot's up! An' da rest a you can shut yer gobs about dat, it's well shiny! Amazin' stuff. Anywayz, I's gots da loot I need ta get out ov dere, an' so I's starts buildin' me a new arm, wiv a Power Klaw on da end... den it okkurs ta me dat if I jus' make a normal power klaw, den it's not gonna 'ave da dekks-territy ta put summa da more delli-kit bits a teknollergy togetha, so's derefore, I needs ta make da blades 'ave some joints, like wot 'ands 'ave, so I does dat, an' it works like a charm.

Dat, as I would even-cher-lee figger out, woz da first a my pragmattik forts! Eh, wozzat? Oh, no, yeah, I deffinit-lee meant da sorta fort dat you 'ide inside an' shoot da enemies from. NO, YA GIT! Da sorta fort wot goes froo yer 'ead unless ya've 'ad a Squig brain transplant, which you clearly 'ave! An' in dis case, my forts were more pragmattik dan most Orks, coz ov da vizzyun kwest, so's I's woz finkin' 'bout wot I woz gonna do 'fore I does it, see? Still am, at that. Dat's also why I tested da ferst few rokkits I made, ta make sure dey wouldn't blow up when dey start goin' up, 'coz 'splodey rokkits are only nice when yer not inside 'em. Deffinit-lee 'elped when some Snots and Grots started showin' up, at that. Dey 'elped wiv da buildin' later on, an' made great test pilots. Hurr hurr hurr.

Well, I 'ven-cher-lee got a rokkit goin' dat didn't blow up first- I ak-cher-lee 'ad ta make it a bit more powerful dan I ferst fort, 'coz uvverwize I'd 'ave 'ad ta leave all da gold behind, right? Not dat much stronger, though, 'coz when I got it werkin', I crammed as much a da gold an' uvva loot in as I could, inkludin' all over da outside, with a big load a gold on da top, reel pointy-like, an' ya know 'ow yellow makes ev-ree-fin' more likely ta 'splode? I woz finkin' it might do dat ta me, but I 'ad a stroke a gee-nee-us, 'coz of my pragmattik forts, an' put sum more ser-kit-ree innit ta redirect the 'splodeyness to da engine an' make it even faster! An' den I got in, an' I turned it on, an' WHAM, OFFITGOES, INTA SPACE! I figgered out why dere's so many Speed Freeks dat day... an' I fink I saw sum Orks down on da plannit I left. I wonders iv dey's gotten use outta da loot I 'ad ta leeve be'ind.

An' den, after a bit ov time, my rokkit crashed inta da ship we's on now. Ob-vee-us-lee, it woz a Freeboota kroo, an' I woz ak-sep-tid on as a member, 'coz dey's always needin' more Mekboyz an' Big Meks. An' dat is my 'ole story, lads! Any kweschuns? Yeah, you... w- NO, I DON'T MEAN BLEEDIN' 'IDEY FORTS, I MEAN 'EAD FORTS! YOU WANNA GO, YA ZOGGIN' GROT, DEN LET'S ZOGGIN' GO! WAAAAAAAAGH!

Skills: As a Mekaniak, Gowglakk is obviously very skilled with Ork technology, being able to build a great deal of the devices and bioniks and whatnot that he puts his mind to. Indeed, the rate at which he produces new ideas in his head is surprisingly high even for a Mekboy, often great enough that he forgets a lot of the ideas he has after just the initial consideration, though his most important ideas are always crudely sketched to make sure he can come back to them. Additionally, thanks to his nature as a Bad Moon, he's well aware of the value of the items he builds, and is more than capable of selling them off for far more teef than that to his less aware clients, as well as to haggle the price of the equipment and raw materials he buys downward when acquiring them from other vendors, typically backed up by his extreme bulk.

His most important skill is arguably his exceptional brutal kunnin', i.e. his "pragmattik forts", but heavily linked to that is his tendency to be far more cautious than an Ork has any right to be. For instance, he finds himself taking a little while longer to create some bits of tech than most Mekboyz would, since "dey need ta be tested ta make sure dey works prop'ly, see?" Of course, what he generally means by that is "get sum Grot or Snotlin' ta use it a few times first ta make sure it won't blow up", since the lesser Greenskins are substantially more disposable than any Ork, and it pays to have a good reputation for reliable gear.

Finally, though he's not necessarily had much opportunity to exercise it since his acceptance into his new tribe of Freebootaz, his nature as a Big Mek means lesser Mekboyz often flock to him when given the chance, and he's more than capable of commanding them to do his bidding where appropriate.

Equipment: As stated above, his armament typically includes his Kustom Power Klaw as part of his bionik right arm, as well as some sort of large shooty weapon, generally either a heavily-tested Shokk Attack Gun or a similarly-heavily-tested Tellyport Blasta, though he'll settle for a sufficiently-snazzy Kustom Mega-Blasta or Deffgun if he absolutely must. Closer-range equipment includes a big spanna and plenty of other Mek tools and raw materials to help him build things with, including a fair amount of what he calls "komp-likk-ated ser-kit-ree" in the form of massed wire bundles, to help improve whatever he builds and repairs and make it less likely to malfunction on him or whoever else is using it, as well as a Big Choppa for maximum damage up-close, though the spanna will also suffice in a pinch. Also stated above is his preference for the best protection available - 'Eavy Karapace Armour bolted in various places to his body, including to his skull, as well as an Iron Gob with an improvement in the works. He's even building up a suit of Mega Armour for the purposes of warfare, though he's not satisfied yet with how fast it goes, and hasn't had much success so far in making it go as fast as or faster than he'd normally like. "Maybe iv I paint da legz red..."

Miscellaneous: Nothin', yet.

Name: ‘Eadbanga

Species: Ork

'Rank'/Type: Boyz

Age: 103

Klan: Bad Moon

Appearance: ‘Eadbanga is about 6’5” tall, and almost equally wide. His skin is a sage green color, leathery and stretched over bulging, corded muscles all along his arms, chest, and legs. He has a large lantern shaped jaw, with two jutting tusks that jut up from his bottom lip and rise up about in line with his pig-like nose. A gold cap covers his left tusk. A heavy caveman-like brow ridge hangs over his eyes, which like most Orks are a bright red color. His arms are long, longer than a normal ‘ummies, his large claw tipped fingers reaching past his waistline. Squat, thick and bow-legged, ‘Eadbanga waddles around unless he is running, in which case it is a comical looking bouncing lope. His head is bald, save for a large stiff Mohawk of alternating yellow and black vertical stripes. He has large very pointy ears, with several gold rings on each one.

In his normal dress ‘Eadbanga wears a beat-up and patchy black leather jacket over his muscular torso. The jacket is adorned with big metal shoulder pads, with spikey bits poking out. The back of the jacket is embroidered with a crude looking Bad Moons logo, and has his name stitched above the Klan symbol. He wears a pair of baggy black and yellow tiger stripe camo pants, synched around his waist with a broad leather belt. His pants are tucked into a large pair of black leather combat boots, usually untied. His boots are capped with a metal toe and heel, with a big pointy spike on the toes for maximum kickin’ powa. He also wears a pair of fingerless gloves, the knuckles of the gloves covered in metal spikey bits.

Oh, and he can’t ever be without his shades. Big aviator looking glasses that ‘Eadbanga is totally convinced make him look kooler than kool, and let him see in the dark.

Personality: What’s the point of killin’, if you don’t look good while ya do it? ‘Eadbanda always has to be the koolest most badass looking Ork. Style, money, fame, all of that drive him forward in life. He has a pretty one-track mind, simply wanting to score sweet loot, lots of teef, and have every Ork around know that ‘Eadbanga is the biggest, toughest, and most stylishly Orky Ork around.

History: Growin’ up as a Bad Moon has its ups and downs. As a good thing, ‘Eadbanga always had a constant supply of teef. As a bad thing, he often got stomped by bigger, meaner Nobz for those teef. Since he was always getting kicked around by bigger Orks, ‘Eadbanga had to learn how to foight in order to keep his teef. He got pretty good at brawlin’ with tougher Orks, able to last longer and longer before his teef were kicked in each time some Nob came looking to collect. After awhile he decided that the only thing that was gonna keep the Nobz away was to make sure he looked mean and looked good. He also realized that if he spent his teef, then no one could come around and take them. In between battles and raids in which he would collect gear and cobble together bits of armor and weapons, which he then either used or sold to other Orks. He started getting pretty good at making Orks give him more teef for his stuff, and he started to use his merchant skills to buy sweeter gear, bigger guns, and then turn around and sell it for a profit. He got so good, that eventually one Warboss took notice of how many of the Boyz were getting ripped off from ‘Eadbanga, that he made the Ork cut him a piece of the profit or get stomped. Well, despite not being the sharpest spikey bit around, having less teef but all his bones intact rather than no teef and no bones intact sounded like a pretty good deal. So he worked as the Warboss’s personal wheeler and dealer, buying and selling, and making a good profit since the Warboss let him keep a small share just so he could keep working.

In order to get the sweetest loot, ‘Eadbanga had to spend a lot of time with the Orks with all the know-how. That meant hanging out with the Mekboyz usually. They could always slap together a sick ride, bigger and dakkier gunz, and make things loud and fast. He spent so much time with them, that he became obsessed with everything big and loud. Roaring engines, smokey exhaust, and supa fast speed all became something that he HAD to have. Especially the loud part. He figured that if something was big and loud it had to be kool and badass, since all the Orks wanted the things he sold that were louder and faster than the others. He wanted something for himself that he could carry around instead of riding in a Bike or Trukk, and when he was raiding a ‘ummie planet he stumbled across a weird looking string covered thing. Unsure of what it was, he decided that since he didn’t know what it was that no one did, and that made it something he wanted. So he grabbed it, took it back, and eventually through playing around with it figured out that if you plucked the strings it made noise. And if it makes noise, then you can always find a way to make that noise louder. And thus, ‘Eadbanga found his greatest joy in life.

He eventually got tired of working for the old Warboss, and got cocky and wanted to keep all the teef he was making. So he just packed up all of his stuff, slung his Geetar over his shoulder, and walked out of the Tribe. Of course he did it in the middle of the night, since he didn’t want the Warboss to know he was leaving. He traveled through various Tribes, smuggling goods and spending a bit of time in each spot before moving on, knowing that if he stayed too long then someone would eventually want to take all his teef again. He spent a lot of time with a tribe of Snakeboyz, since their more primitive ways made it a bit easier for him to sell his junk without raising a lot of suspicion. It was there, in one of the squig pens, that ‘Eadbanga found Lil Banga. The Herda who was breeding the Squigs said that the miniature Squiggoth was a mistake, that he would likely be eaten since it was a failed experiment in cross breeding several types of Squigs. ‘Eadbanga, listening to the growling and yipping of the tiny beast, instantly got attached as he was completely convinced the little Squig was talking to him. He traded the Herda for it, almost paying more than the Ork was asking since he wanted it so badly.

After traveling for several years, participating in odd raids with random Tribes he came across, stealing and always rokin’ out on the road. He eventually fell in with a gang of Freebooterz, hearing about how they were always out stealing loot and making tons of teef while they flew through space.

Skills: There is only one thing that ‘Eadbanga knows how to do well, even better than foightin’. And that’s rokin’ out like there is no tomorrow. Hammering away on his Kustom Geetar, ‘Eadbanga plays his sick solos and riffs, shreddin’ away even in the middle of a foight. He’s a good brawler too, since every good rokstar needs to be able to thrash like a boss in the moshpit. Whether its punchin’, kickin’, or ‘eadbuttin’, ‘Eadbanga knows that the only thing that goes best with ‘eavy metal is the sound of bones crunchin’.

Outside of kombat, he’s pretty good a swindlin’ deals for more loot, kooler gear, and modifications to his Geetar. He might be seen as a bit tricky to others, since he can usually get more for his teef than they thought. Due to his time working on his own Geetar, and spending a lot of time with Mekboyz, he’s a fair grease monkey as well and enjoys working on Bikes and Trukks to get them even louda and fasta.

Equipment:

Kustom Geetar: Nicknamed “Shredda,” ‘Eadbanga’s Geetar is his pride and joy. He’s spent a lot of time tinkerin’ and modifyin’, and probably will never stop. Currently, Shredda has a body that resembles a big circular saw. When he grabs it by the neck he can power it up, sending it into a ripping spin that lets him cut through enemies. The neck is heavily reinforced and bolted together, and just in case the enemies are a little far away for kickin’ and rippin’, ‘Eadbanga has included a flamethrower in the neck.

‘Oom Boxx: What’s a better than ‘eavy metal? Louder ‘eavy metal. A backpack mounted jerry-rigged amplifier, which doubles as both a sweet volume enhancer for his Geetar and has fuel cans for his flamer. Two big speakers jut up over his shoulders, decorated with metal bits so they look like open fanged jaws. Always cranked up to 11.

Knoife: Just a standard, jagged looking small stabby blade. Used more for picking his teef and cutting up food than foightin, but every Orks gotta have a good Choppa around.

Ciggies: Who knows what these rolled up, stinky cigars are filled with? ‘Eadbanga doesn’t even know, he just grabs whatever and rolls it up and smokes it. Kool Orks always smoke.

Miscellaneous:

Lil Banga: ‘Eadbanga’s personal squig pet. To him Lil Banga isn’t really a pet, but the sickest lead singer around. Lil Banga resembles a miniature Squiggoth, about the same size that a Dachshund would be to a ‘ummie, with stubby tusks, small sharp teef, and thick waddly legs. ‘Eadbanga is totally convinced that Lil Banga is not only a talented vocalist, but also is a complete genius. He often talks to the small creature and asks for advice. However, to anyone else it just looks like he’s talking to a regular, dumb squig. ‘Eadbanga says that he’s the only one that is smart enough to speak his language. And since he really believes it….maybe Lil Banga can talk.

“Wot do you zoggin' want from me?! Can't ya seem I'z workin' 'ere! Wot ya mean dat Grukk's shoota haz gone missin'?! I ain't took it! Honest az kan be! Even if it did 'ave a proppa nice paint job on it...and dem new kustom gubbin'z...wozn't me though...”

Name: Vurbukk Wrenchsmacka
Species: Ork, bordering near being a Nob.

'Rank'/Type: I'z da Mek boy around 'ere. And if da kurrent one ain't lookin', den I'z gonna be da new Big Mek too...

Age: 30 Terran Years, I'z knockin' on a bit now, boyz...but I'z still kickin' and datz for a reason!”

Klan: Da Deathskulls klan! Kunnin' but brutal we iz!

Appearance: Standing a shade under seven feet tall and with a physique perhaps better suited to cracking skulls than tinkering, Vurbukk is a monstrous looking Ork who has great swathes of his body replaced with various forms of cybork bitz and “bitz da make me betta at me job.”

Of these extensive cybernetics, the most noticeable is the colossal bionic arm which is in place where his right arm should be. The thing is made from various forms of metal, with a ragged and cobbled together appearance and a liberal blue paint job. The hand is akin to the normal Ork hand, though with massive barbed spikes across the knuckles and with a great wheezing piston in place of much of the vital muscle, this combines to give his punches something of a...deadly, edge.

Much of the mek's head, including the left eye (Dem zoggin' oomiez in da tin-kans did it!) seems to have been replaced with unyielding metal plates and bionics. The eye, once a crimson hooded thing, is now an intimidating, glaring bionic one. The work is not neat by any standards, as many wires protrude from the mound of metal, seemingly at random and with neither pattern nor actual reason to be there. The cranial cybork bitz extend from the left cheek bone all the way up to the forehead, and show signs of both rust and masses of squig oil.
The last of the major cybork bitz, are the pair of massive spider-like limbs which protrude from the Ork's shoulder blades. Forged from whatever was cobbled about the place, the left arm holds a gruesome looking buzz saw, with the right arm holding a burna set to kuttin' mode.

Vurbrukk himself is quite the gruff and ugly creature, with gnarled features and dozens of minor scars snaking across his body, leaving pale patches across the otherwise malachite green form. His face is a mass of scar tissue, with several prominent slash marks from shrapnel, leaving his otherwise almost pig-like face even worse than usual. He has stupendously thick arms, almost like massive engorged green pythons, with slab upon slab of muscle visible upon the surface, with his legs being only slightly less developed.

His attire is not fancy by any stretch of the word, with a mangled and stained apron being slung over his neck, the coarse off-white cloth being draped over the front of his torso. Vurbrukk also means a pair of thick-cut, battered looking old trousers that are a patchwork of blue and black cloth hastily sewn together. His shirt is no better, being similarly patchwork. Of all things, his boots are in quite pristine condition, showing little in the way of scuffs and blemishes. Though some would also comment that the local stomboy nob also seems to have lost a pair of boots, right about the time Vurbrukk found his own....

Personality: “I'z tellin' ya, I never took nufing!” Vurbrukk is a massive compulsive liar, and deviously cunning (for Ork standards that is) capable of spinning rather complex webs of lies. He has come to the point where his first natural instinct is to lie to someone, if that fails then he most typically expresses some manner of low-wit in an attempt to get on the good side of the fellow Orkoid (especially if they have an excess of teef).
That is not to say that he does not experience anger, if anything his rage burns brighter than a fair number of his fellows, as he has been known for an irritable and otherwise swift to anger nature. Though this is normally buried under a veneer of helpfulness and maliciousness.

He delights and loves nothing greater than a real plan coming together. Be that as simple as fixing some choppa, or as complex as rigging up a whole new looted tank, he gains no pleasure greater than that of a job done “roight gud and proppa!”

History: Vurbrukk's earliest days were spent on an Imperial world which had recently been subject to a massive Ork WAAAGGHH in the local system, though the main Ork forces had been driven off soon enough they had left thousands of spores on the world. Vurbrukk was one such spore, and was hatched into a tribal society of feral Orks, that did admittedly have a streak of stealing items from local human communities. His earliest of days were spent in the more or less tranquil lifestyle of a tribal Ork...so not peaceful in the least. It was during his first few years that his in-grained mek 'training' came to manifest, as he had an immense fascination with all manner of primitive Orky technology, even as primitive as it was. His life for the first decade was spent much in this manner, in a constant state of low level tribal warfare both against the local humans and the other Ork tribes that dotted the local area.

It was like that day in day out, until the WAAGGHH once more returned to the world. Masses of Ork roks crashed upon the world, disgorging thousands of Orks that were very soon backed up by whooping and howling mobs of tribal Orks. Vurbrukk was swift to switch out spear and sling for choppa and shoota however, and his natural knack for technology allowed him to be exceptionally handy. The world however, was quite swiftly taken by the green skin forces. It was not for another five years until the Mek got his cybork bitz from he, and his clan's, skirmishes against the Adeptus Astartes of the Nova marines The mek and his mob of cronies were discovered trying to rig up a set of explosives to a dreadnought's armoured shell, the ensuring firefight was short and bloody as many of the Orks were gunned down or severely wounded, it was here that an exploding bolt shell fired from a Sargent's pistol sprayed shrapnel across the mek's face, and here where he lost his arm in a desperate bid to try to and nick the local captain's sword...

Repulsed, the Orks were soon consumed by the infighting that was so common when a warboss failed in his conquests, though instead of fighting, Vurbrukk and his small group of boyz managed to break off and form their own wandering group of vaguely Deathskullz-esque Orkz. It was also in this condition that the Mek first came into contact with his most recent boss, and not all the boyz were most pleased about it.

Skills: Kunnin' but brutal in nature, Vurbrukk takes Orkish kunnin' to extreme levels as he relies on engineering 'accidents' for others when it comes to rising in power, and otherwise uses his intelligence and skills as a mek to get things done. He is an accomplished mek, able to fix more or less anything from a trukk to a battlewagon given enough time and enough orky know-wotz.

He is not generally that skilled in ranged combat, but up close his naturally immense strength allows him to cause devastating wounds and, as more than a single guardsman has learnt, being able to rip a man to bits using little more than (admittedly enhanced) strength alone. His melee skills, are as such, far greater than any sorts of ranged combat.

His nature as a mek means that he is generally more disposed to making things than destroying them, though he also possesses a great deal of skill when it comes to rigging up suitably orky explosives, be they stikkbombs or full blown demolitions charges.

He is also rather good at stealth, an uncommon trait among the non-kommando orks, however a life of plunderin' and lootin' have made the mek quite sneaky, maybe not kommando standards, but sneaky enough.

As a thieving git (what's a deathskull without his 'acquired' gubbins.) Vurbrukk has managed to gather quite an immense stash of items from a variety of different owners. Though not everything was stolen, just most things, some were actually cobbled together by his own hands.

Da gorekrumpa – a suitably massive 'uge choppa with manages to double as a rather handy wrench (if a tad oversized for more delicate work) if it comes to it. While not wreathed in a power field, or otherwise amazingly out of place, this weapons solid construction and sheer crushing power often manages to krump its foes.

Da blasta – A relatively simple slugga, or so it would be were it not for the inclusion of an automatic mechanism and an even bigger magazine. Accuracy is almost non-existent, but it makes a rather satisfying noise.
Back mounted burna, which can be configured to kuttin' or burnin' modes.

Back mounted circular saw, ded choppy.

Tools – various mek tools.

Two stikkbombs.

Cybork bitz – while not outwardly impressive, they function to improve endurance if at a cost of looking even uglier than before.

'Eavy armour – years of cobbling together this scrap armour have left it patchwork and disorganised, but it can reliably turn aside low calibres and blades.

One pot of squig ointment with the tag: “Property of Grug, do not touch – dat means you ya grot.”

His single grot orderly, Obud – spoiler, da grot don't know da shooty end from da holdin' end.

Name:
Craw.

Species:
Grot.

'Rank'/Type:
Entrepreneurial Grot Businessman (read: steals things and sells them on)

Age:
Pretty old, at least five standard years.

Klan:
Deffskull.

Appearance:
Around half the size of the average ork, Craw is a pretty standard looking grot. That's intentional though, standing out means people might remember you and who wants that. His whole appearance has been tailored to make sure he looks either completely unremarkable or eye-catchingly strange. When trying to sell someone 'repurposed goods' he likes to wear clothes they'll be sure to remember and then burn them the second he's out of sight. When going about the actual 'repurposing', he makes sure to look like every other grot so that anyone who sees him will just take their ire out on grotkind in general rather than him in particular.

So upon seeing Craw you might see someone in anything from a bright yellow business suit to a purple raincoat, from a set of camouflage fatigues to the standard grubby rags, all depending on his current activities. There's always one constant though; an ingratiating smile that says "Me, nick yer bike's engine? Ai wouldn't do dat ter you! Ai bet it was 'im over dere!"

Personality:
Like all grots, Craw is a cunning, sneaky, slimy little git who you shouldn't trust as far as you can throw. If anything, it's better just to throw him preemptively before he starts selling you a suspiciously familiar familiar slugga that's still wet with blue paint. Craw is a wheeler dealer, selling shrooms here, scouting scrap for the mekboys there, scavenging left and reselling right. He prefers not to get too familiar with any one ork, knowing well that orks are prone to striking out at the first face they don't won't hit back when in a rage. Instead, he makes sure he's a familiar stranger to every ork in the area, always popping up with a new outfit, a friendly smile and an "Me old mate [INSERT NAME HERE], 'ow you doin'? Lissen, Ai've got sum good gubbinz, fresh frum da fight, shall ai count ya in fer some? Barely cost ya a toof, swear on me legs." or a similar spiel.

Very few greenskins, be they ork or snotling, look out for anyone but number one and Craw is no different. He'll sell you out to save his skin without a second thought. To be honest, he'll probably sell you out just to save himself some momentary discomfort, if he's in a position to do so. It might be a lonely life as the only entrepreneurial grot salesman in the area but Craw doesn't mind. Better dead lonely than just plan dead, ay? Also like most of his kind, Craw views orks as an unfortunate fact of life. Yes, they're big, dumb, dangerous, dumb, oafish, dumb, drunken, dumb brutes but hey, what can you do? You might as well complain about the rain or the wind, they're just as likely to go away. Craw would rather fleece them six ways to Sunday than waste time moaning about how unfair the Greenskin caste system is.

Even so, he's heard some rumblings in the grot community. Crimson stars sprayed on walls, stolen weapons, Rumours of a Red coated grot preaching about justice, freedom and... revolution? Craw isn't particularly interested in improving the lot of all Grotkind, he'd rather concentrate on improving the lot of Crawkind. But a revolution needs weapons and if there's one person who can supply weapons at competitive prices, it's Craw.

"You sayz revolushun, I sayz oppurtunity."

History:
Craw was grown in the same batch of fungi as dozens of other grots, all of whom he subsequently saw die to the perils of life. Or, rather, the perils of being a tiny grot in a world full of huge ork boots, bottoms, fists and occasionally bodies. Some of his siblings were crushed during barfights, some while just walking around. Whatever the case, his siblings died and by his second year, Craw was the lone survivor of a once numerous brood. At that time, he was serving as a Grot Bomb Pilot, ready to guide the weapon down to a furious detonation and a glorious send off. But as he considered this fate, he realised that while he'd certainly go out with a bang, that would be it. There'd be nothing afterwards, no feasting with Gork 'n' Mork, no eternal battling. The orkish religion, such as it is, is very clear that only orks get to go and meet the gods before rejoining the endless cycle of war. Grots just pass on.

So at the last second he hopped out of the rocket, kicked the nearest grot in the shins and pushed him onto it. Before anyone could object, he yanked on the lever and prematurely launched his erstwhile Bomb with its new pilot. Then he set off at a run, dodging a few of the new pilot's chums and the grasping hands of the Ruthenherd to make it to the comparative freedom of the rest of the ship. But he wasn't going to go back to meekly taking orders that would lead him to a sticky end. No, Craw was wasn't going to take orders from anyone now, he'd be his own boss. What he really needed, though, was a plan...

It took him a few days but eventually it struck Craw that as much as you might hate them or want to kill them, everyone needs a salesman because who else will get you what you need? So he set himself up as a bonafide grot gubbinz salesman with a stall and everything. He lasted two days before an ork accidentally crushed his stall and a group of grots stole his merchandise (technically re-stole) and he was ruined. It was a valuable lesson though and Craw took it to heart; anything that's left sitting still can be and will be nicked. Move fast, talk fast, think fast and you might not have to live fast. So now he had a new plan; nick what isn't nailed down, sell it on, deny all knowledge that it was stolen from that big grumpy goff and get out of dodge. It's worked well so far, he's still alive and hasn't had to load a cannon, oil a gun or hold open a patients skull for some time. To facilitate his lifestyle, he often changes outfits, clan colours and even names to make sure no one can pin him down.

Skills:
If it can be nicked, Craw can nick it. If it can be sold, Craw has already sold the deluxe package to the nearest ork. He's very experienced at disguising himself and disguising the origin of other people's equipment. His lifestyle has also given him ample opportunity to practise his sprinting and dodging techniques, making him one of the fastest, slipperiest grots you'll ever see run. Apart from that, he has a few half remembered skills with a slugga that he'd prefer to never have to use.

Equipment:
The clothes on his back and a big bag of other people's stuff. Craw's philosophy of moving fast doesn't really allow him to build up much in the way of personal possessions. He has a stash of teef, for rainy days, but it's well concealed where even the most cunning mind will never look. What? I can't tell you, how do I know you won't go and steal them? I've got my eye on you...

Name: Morthug Badsnaga

Species: A ROIGHT PROPA ORK YA GIT!

Rank/Type: I'm a nob ya git, and ain't no reglar' one neither, I's a Shaymun, er weirdboy is wha' all the boyz calls me

Age: 82 o'dem humie years I fink...

Klan: I'm a snakebite, de old wayz is da best!

Appearance: Morthug looks like many snakebites, his skin is a healthy green, but covered in leathery scars and poc-marks. He is the size of any self repctable nob, around the upper half of 8 feet tall and as wide and muscled as his height would suggest, dwarfing many o' the boyz. Like many other Weirdboyz Morthug has bulging red eyes, and it is not uncommon for smoke to seemingly be coming out of his ears. Despite this he has avoided the 'purple brain' problem many weirdboyz have, meaning the bulging softened skull is not a problem for him. The ritualistic symbols carved into his flesh often glow whenever he uses his psykich abilities along with the many totems and tribal fetishes he has, be it as necklaces or piercing his skin in various places. His teeth are yellowed and some appear burnt from the use of his powers.

He wears an old tough leather cloak like many Weirdboys with old leather steel tipped boots. Several cow-bells are attached to his cloak as is traditional for weirdboyz to announce themselves to the boyz. Rather than have a vest his chest has a metal plate attached to him by chains wrapped around his thick chest, as dese are his 'ard bits'. His only apparent weapon is his staff, which he calls his 'beatin pole', which he is able to channel Waaaaggghhh!!! energy into to increase its hitting power.

Personality: To many orks Morthug seems backwards and slow, like many snakebites he enjoys doin things the 'old way', believing some of the 'new shiny bits' are unnecasary and make 'good propa' killin' hard to do. He prefers using just his 'beatin stick' and weirdboy powers.

That being said, he does have aspirations. He wants his own Waaaagh!!! He wants to be its focal point to be DA MOST POWERFUL WEIRDBOY TA EVA LIVE! He also has shown a vested interest in one teknology, mega armor, wondering if a mek would make him a speshul set of weirdboy mega armour.

Histery: Born on a backwater world amongst a more feral klan of Snakebites, Morthug was the klans shaman and guided its wrbosses in their war against the more advanced inhabitants of the wrold and other ork tribes. With the young Weirdboyz help the Klans warboss began uniting the other feral klans on the world, intent on creating a Waaaagh! and taking the world from the non-ork inhabitants. As it turned out the technologically advanced race that shared the planet was that of a Tau sept, and they did not take kindly to the Feral Orks attempting to band together. They responded with a Fire cast cadre, destroying the unprepared orks in a war of extermination. However, when they came to the Snakebites themselves they had to deal with a new challenge... Morthog and his mob of weirdboyz. No less than 10 weirdboyz were in his mob, and the Tau had no counter for the pure psykik might the weirdboyz. Unfourtanetly the rest of the clan was shrinking rapidly and Morthog and his shrinking mob needed a way off world. Together,he and his remaineing weirdboyz sent a psykik 'shout' if you will into space, hoping it would draw the power of Gork and Mork. In a way, it worked and an Ork fleet followed the concentration of energy, arriving just in time to beat back the Tau, take the planet and essentially save the remaining Snakebites, of whom Morthog was de-facto boss. Though it was hard for many of the Snakebites to accept all the new orky teknology the other orks had Morthog declared they would join one of the ships, as Gork and Mork willed them to Waaaaagh!!! across the heavens. So, he and the Snakebites embarked on one of the ships, ready to kill across the stars.

Skillz: Morthog is a powerful ork Weirdboy, in fact he is a warphead. He is rather skilled with his 'beatin stick' but is not a very good shot with a slugga or shoota. Is also confused by more advanced orky tech

Equipment: 'Beatin stick'

Misselaneous: Morthog keeps a small herd of squigs, the largest of which could probably swallow a human nearly whole, he calls this 'da big toof'

Name: Gorruk Tendon-Cleva

Species: Ork

'Rank'/Type: Painboy

Age: 37

Klan: Evil Sunz

Appearance: 6'6 with a wide grin covered by a bloody surgical mask, and his left eye torn out and replace with glowing red cybernetics. His armor was mostly covered by the large blood stained butchers apron which hung off of his chest. Syringes, knives, and a large bonesaw which had painted crudely in red on it's long serrated blade "Toofy" hung like ornaments from the apron. His shoulders were spiked, but not with the usual metal spikes, but mufflers sharpened to a point and hanging off of the spikes by bits of string are assorted car parts (Spark plugs, small view mirrors, Gas Caps)

Personality: Gorruk was a speed cultist, sure fighting and winnin' were best in life. But nothing in his mind beat preforming a surgery on some poor sod who got his arm blown off my chewing on a mine while whipping through the land in the back of a wartruk! Intense and precise with a love of experimenting and causing his fellow Orks glorious pain in turning them into walking killing machines. And the firm belief that the surgery is it's own reward.

History: Gorruk was a prominent member of the Evil Sunz, a speed cultist with more than normal tendacy for causing explicit pain and mutilation to those he practiced on. His obsession with wanting to turn Orks into living cars always sounded good on paper to him. But the war-boss didn't care for it when he replaced a blown off foot with a tire grafted to a pole. Banished from the band and almost beheaded Gorruk searched for the most brutal and needy of boys to fuel his want to give a little unnecessary surgery to.

Skills: Very cunning, and great with his pointy-bits. Given the right resources and tools he could easily fix and replace any blown limb or fill any large cavity that was torn open... Though the ork might have a few extra mufflers grafted to him when he wakes up.

Equipment: His Stabby Bits (Syringes, knives, His bone saw 'Toofy' ) And a small shoota on his belt for giving "Anesthesia" administered by a quick pistol bash to the head of his patients.

Miscellaneous: "It's gonna hurt a lot, but you'll be better! You'll see! Ha ha ha!"

Name: barakka dakka. “da franken-shoota”

Species: Ork

'Rank'/Type: Flashiest flash git. And if anyone else is flashier I'll krump em and take their gubbins so I'll be the flashiest again. And don't ya dare tell me I'z one o' dem greasy meks!

Age: I dunno... twenty O' dem humie years I guess?

Klan: Bad moonz

Appearance: Barakka iz your typical flash git. Clothed in a red leather jacket (for gettin to da fight faster, ya see?) Over a yellow suit of the best armor teef could buy. (yellow is a shooty color right?) and standing at about four meters of ill-tempered green muscle and bone. He has several slings containing anything from extra ammo to a bottle or two of squig ale. (I'z an even shootier git when I'z drunk!)

Personality: Barakka is a prime specimen of orkish boastfullness. He has made his very own unique shoota, amongst other things, and will waste no oppurtunity to tell aothers about this accomplishment. He considers himself to know everything there is to know about shooty things and thus dislikes listening to any other ork about such things unless said ork is a superior of his

History: barakka has always been a shooty git. He popped out right in da middle of some warbosses hittin each other ova da 'ead over who da biggest git was. Naturally, as an ork, he grabbed the biggest shoota and started firing at anything he didn't like seeing.

Everything after that was a glorious haze of shooting, lootin, sometimes reloading, wading through piles of spent casings, and more shooting. He was lucky enough to be on the winning side. A trend that continued throughout much of his ascent to greater orkdom.

It was around his fifteenth year of shooting the same old humies with the same old shoota that barakka felt something he hadn't felt before... boredom. Even the thrill of shooting a squad of guardsmen into mincemeat got old when repeated one too many times. So he went to the mek for the first time. Asking him to make his shoota flashier. The thing was already one of the better weapons in the camp, so improving upon it was difficult. After a particularly spirited night of squig ale and grot stomping, the mek had the bright idea to tape a flamer to the shoota. This first prototype responded to attempts to fire it by launching itself from the wielder's hands and spiraling bullets and fire everywhere. Barakka was far too 'ard to be bothered by being lit on fire though... The ork walked away with some grafts 'borrowed' from a passing grot and a newfound interest in experimental weaponry.

The second and third attempts, incorporating a rokkit launcher and a stolen melta, failed in equally unexpected and hilarious ways. The rokkit-shoota launched not just a rokkit, but the entire gun at the unfortunate grot chosen to be target practice. The melta-shoota vaporized itself and the ork that tried stealing the weapon before barakka could test it.

At around this time, the other orks in the camp were getting somewhat annoyed at the weird git and his self-destructing shootas. The first few incidents had been laughed off, but the fourth test, dubbed “da big plasma accident” finally caused tension to boil over. An angry mob broke into his hut, intent of getting rid of the idiot before he could do any more damage. Barakka however, had just finished work on his latest prototype, incorporating ideas from all previous iterations (and maybe some warp fuckery from a passing weirdboy). It had three barrels all firing seperate payloads, a self-reloading missile tube, and an underslung flamer, all linked to the same trigger. Barakka was nothing but thankful for the horde of target practice that so generously volunteered itself. By the time the local warboss wandered over to see what was going on, much of the surrounding campground had been leveled and barakka had just run out of ammunition. The warboss was not amused by this.

And it was like that that barakka was cast out. “Get out of 'ere! Ya aint even a flash git and you're already unbearable to have around!” the warboss said as he loaded the hapless ork and his entire workshop's worth of junk into a catapult. The landing was rough, but barakka was not worried. They had allowed him to keep his gun due to none of the other orcs daring to go anywhere near the damn thing. The ork just picked a direction at random and kept walking.

Eventaully, he came upon a bunch of orks, not from any of the local clans he knew... It took him a bit to realize he was standing before what would be his future companions. A load of freebootaz, just happening to pass by to get some planet-grown squig ale. The ork tagged was allowed to tag along after he told a summary of his exploits up until then.

Over the next few years with the freebootaz, barakka found himself to be one of the shootiest gits on the crew by far. This finally marked his transition into being what other orks derisively called a flash git. He was proud of the term all the same though.

Skills: Barakka has two truly notable skills. Salvaging and firing weapons. As a salvager, barakka is quite unmatched, able to make truly orky weapons simply by taping looted wargear onto plain old shootas. Ever since his first forays into making these franken-shootas, he has perfected this new technology into an art form. His guns are widely popular and in high demand. In part because even the most daring meks find themselves lacking in the insanity required to reproduce these weapons.

The second thing barakka is good at is shooting. He has been doing it from the day he popped into the world, and he gradually learned the finer subtleties of this, in his opinion, very orky way of fighting. He can handle the recoil on even the most oversized and unpredictable weapons around, and he sometimes practices the abbarant skill of aiming directly at the thing he wants to hit rather than simply waving his shoota in his target's general direction while holding down the trigger.

Equipment: Barakka carries the usual equipment of an ork, that being wargear and basic rations (this catagory includes grots). He is armored with a pretty typical construction of yellow-painted metal plates over a superstructure of squig leather armor.

By far the most notable thing about barakka's loadout is his gun. Some men say the snazzguns of the typical flash git are oversized. Such people have enver met barakka. Still using the same design as his first functioning prototype, this franken-weapon is truly one of a kind, at least as far as barakka knows. It consists of three revolving barrels, all drawing from the same ammo supply. The rugged barrels can fire jsut about any round put into them, from imperial plasma charges to tau pulse cartridges. The typical clip is basically just a bundle of mismatched ammo cartridges lumped together and thrown into the ammunition feed on the topside of the gun. It still has the underslung flamer the prototype had, but the missile tube was merged into said flamer to allow the gun to fire napalm rokkits. Because why choose between a flamer or a rokki when you can have both.

Barakka is completely trusting and reliant upon this versatile and unpredictable weapon, to the point he does not carry any other weapons on his person. After all, that would mean his gun isn't perfect in every conceivable way.

Miscellaneous: He runs a business making franken-shootas for his fellow orks on the side. Business is usually booming even though production is very slow. Barakka only makes new guns when he feels like it. And nine times out of ten, he would rather go lounge on his already substantial pile of teef and enjoy a good squig steak dinner.
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Name: wazull zkullcrusher

Species: Ork

'Rank'/Type: Nob, because I am da meaniest!

Age: er, ahundred of doz humie years? I din knouw!
Klan: Bad Moons! Yo know whyz? they the richest in the galaxyz!

Appearance: 7'6" tall, bald head, pale white green skin, large mouth with huge tusk for his bigger teeth. A large scar on his forehead going from one side to the other, wearing 'eavy armor, the symhol of his Klan at the center of the circle chest piece which mostly covers his top half and a bit of his lower, bits of teeth hooked at the bottom of the plate. No shirt, Yellow pants, black boots that have spiked tip metal bits on the end of them. A necklace lined up with teeth.

Personality:Thirsty for blood and war, he gets insane once he has killed enough of his enemies, even worse when it's humies, though when the battle ends, he tries to calm himself with deep hard breathes, which are very loud.

History: Wazull was a scrap boy, looting for the warboss and mek's, picking up wasted and/or destroy mechines that came from both Orks and da enemie, soon enough he bested some of the higher ups in one on one combat, showing he aint no useless fighter, with that, he got to fight more and more as dayz went by, soon enough, he was a Nob with a bosspole.

Skills: He is skilled with a mighty Big Choppa, being fualed with his killer intend against his foes, he pushes on with his brutel strength, though terrible wits of him, just great at close combat.

Equipment: A Big Choppa that has a saw blade to it and a engine to make it spine, you know? to do more damage'z to the headz. 'Eavy armor, Bosspole.
Miscellaneous: He enjoys taking skulls of his enemies, if he didn't crush em yet.

Name: Oonguh Boonguh

Age: 38

Klan: Goff

Rank: Nob

Appearance: Over 7 feet tall, this hulking Ork has an almost noble quality about him (almost being the key word). His broad shoulders frame his lean, muscled physique. Arms like cables and powerful legs that are good for charging, he's fit and intimidating to most other boyz. His lower jaw is made of metal, but has two large organic tusks jutting out of his mouth, reaching upwards past his nose. His shoulders are covered in welded metal shoulder pads. His dark green chest is bare and covered in scars.

He's got big boots that he took from the severed legs of an Ultramarine. His trousers are blood stained leather, and his belt is two guardsmen utility belts sewn together. He's got metal spikes protruding out of the back of his arms. So once he loses his weapons, and he doesn't feel like punching stuff, he can elbow someone and impale them.

Personality: Oonguh's got deep aspirations for an Ork. Mainly, killing the biggest, baddest, meanest opponent he can and getting bigger. So he can then become the boss and lead the Klans on an epic WAAAAAAAGH that'll shatter the Humie worlds, and then the Eldar, then the Tau, and finally those stinkin' Nids unless they attacked first. He tends to want a good fight. If an opponent loses their weapon, he'll kick it back to them so he can get the most out of each fight. He'll even give quick deaths to those he deems worthy.

History: Born in the middle of a War between the Goffs and some Tyranid hive fleet. His boyz fought back brutally, and when Oonguh could wield a choppa, he hacked through the little ones and THEN the big ones, once he got bigger. Took down one of those Tyrant guards one time. It felt really good. Him and his boyz messed up the Tyrant behind the guards, and booted the nids off world. It would be the fight of his life. They were then invaded by an Imperium force that sought to Exterminatus the world, until they realized the Nids had been killed. They landed and found the Goffs waiting for them. Guard after Guard was killed by Oonguh. He took shotgun shells to the chest. That hurt something good. The Space Marines showed up. They were fun to fight! The Ultra somethings, he recalled. Got in a melee fight with one of them, and cut his legs off. Another one shot out his shoulders and lower chin off, and he had to grow them back later. Got fitted up real nice after over 20 standard years of fighting. Metal shoulders and metal jaw, new boots welded on and a mean streak of killin'.

Skills: Good at brawling, hacking, chopping, charging, and takin' hits. Real hard boy.

Equipment: Double 'Eaded Choppa

Miscellaneous: Anything you want to mention but haven't been able to cover yet.

(Quick-kill Devastating fast-strike.)