@BCTheEntity@POOHEAD189@Natsucooldude@ConstableWalrus@agentmanatee@Roosan@SomeChap@Savage



Segmentum Tempestus,
130.M42,
WAAAGH! 'UMIE STOMPA,
Aboard the Ork Rok 'Gork's Raff'

The skirl of the squig-pipes and the keening wails of especially loyal, and therefore protected, Gretchin echoed throughout the cavernous corridors and passageways of the Greenskin Rok – known to their friends and foes alike as Gork's Raff – the procession of nearly three thousand Orks accompanying the ruined body of their former Kaptin.

It was said that Kaptin Ogmuk Marine-flayer had died during their most recent engagement against the Imperial Navy, impaled by a hundred pieces of rock, metal and shrapnel when a torpedo impacted right in front of him. There were those however, suspicious and ambitious Orks one and all, that proclaimed it aloud as some sort of assassination instead.

Now the Kaptin of the Freebooterz formerly known as 'Da Flayerz Gitz' was carried on the broad shoulders of his most loyal Nobz, the Jolly Ork draped across his colossal frame, choppas banging against the floors, walkways and stone walls of the hollowed asteroid, roars and hitting of chests showing an outpouring of emotion that many outsiders would probably think Orks were incapable of.

Thousands of Orks from a hundred differing Tribes and Klanz, bought together by the vanquished strength of the Marine-flayer now left leaderless...without direction...and with each Nob eyeing the other warily, even as their deceased overlord was jettisoned off into the void of space.

Not long passed after this that Mugrub Whatzitface, the oldest and most sage of the Ork Weirdboyz aboard the Rok – the closest thing the Orks had to priests or holy men it seems – summoned the most valiant and above all [b]largest[/i] of the Kaptin's favoured bodyguards to the 'inner sanctum' of the Raff for a meeting that would decide the course of the Freebooterz destiny



They could not stay here forever, thought Mugrub to himself, and they could not continue using this Rok as their mode of transport. Yes, it had engines attached to it that allowed rudimentary direction and thrust, but they needed something better, something larger and more well-equipped, something that they currently did not have.

It was what the Kaptin would have wanted...or so he thought.

The Weirdboy waited patiently, for an Ork, in the largest chamber of the floating construct – the former 'cabin' of their departed leader. It was called a cabin, but was about ten times larger, and with a ceiling that went so high that it disappeared into shadow toward the top. At the farthest end of the room was his 'throne' – a seat made from pieces of armour taken from defeated foes, their weapons scattered before it, their heads stuck on poles protruding from the stone wall behind and above it – while a circular table taken from an so-called Imperial Feudal World had been dropped right in front of it, and it was here that the future of the crew and lesser elements would be decided. There were no seats around the table, both because they had been destroyed and because the Kaptin had always thought it better for his subordinates to stand while he sat.

Mugrub himself was an Ork on the smaller side, looking more like a shrivelled piece of green leather with two red eyes than anything else, his staff of metal held in one hand and his hunched hide covered only by some flowing robes he had taken from a Cardinal of the Ecclesiarchy, and now he waited in front of the throne for the most cunning, strongest and more powerful Greenskins to assemble here.

Each one was a potential leader, but, one way or another, the wheat had to be sorted from the chaff.

Gorruk had heard the news mid surgery, the large Nob in front of him already cut open in seven different places along it's massive chest. one of his four Gretchin assistants approached and grabbed at the apron and tugged to get his attention. Gorruk looked down as the Gretchin told him quickly in it's tiny raspy voice and Gorruk boomed laughter. "Capt'n dead? Then long live da new Capt'n! Now get off me leg you git. I'm not done wiff me surgery ya see."

The tiny Gretchin had mention a call for all the largest and meanest to get to the shiny throne in the Captains Quarters the Doc's eyes shot wide. "Why didn't ya tell me before you little git!" And he reared back his strong leg kicking the Gretchin against the wall on across the operating table.

"Stupid Git, You dere..." He pointed to another Gretchin with a blood covered hand. The orc on the table continued to bleed with his open wounds, and the red robotic eye'd peered at the new Gretchin who approached "Grab me stabby bits, I wanna look all fancy like fer da occasion'" Gorruk paused his speech for a moment rolling his heavy jaw under the surgical mask.

"And bring me my 'Toofy'" Gorruk stamped a heavy foot down. "And If I see one o' dem fingy-prints on it, I'z gonna launch ya from he nearest tellporta so ya come out wif ya insides on ya outsides got it?!" The Grot squealed in terror and rushed off. Gorruk finally turned his attention back to the opened cavity's of the orc on the table and poked at one of the larger holes.

"Eh, he'll be fine... Still gotta fill dem holes with somefink." Leaning over to the side he grabbed a handful of scrap metal and parts and started to shove them into the many holes on the orcs body until they were full and would heal over (probably) "Good as new I fink' no time for a proper surgery. Gotz ta see who's gonna be in charge."

The mad-dok had an awful habit of talking to himself, and he picked up a nearby wrench and slammed it into the unconscious Nobz' jaw breaking more than a few teeth which Gorruk collected and stuffed into the pockets on his bloodied apron. "Payment in full, Oi! Nob if ya can 'ear me, Ya is gonna be able ta go right faster when ya wake up. I promise dat!" He screamed at the unconscious orc before The Grot had returned with his sawblade and he took it by it's handle.

"We goin' places toofy, dis gonna be fun." Stepping down from the elevated table, he started the task of strapping himself with his set of stabby-bitz. Assorted knives, needles, and crude tools hung from his apron the little loops stitched in to keep them attached to him. He patted the small shoota at his belt and pulled down his surgical mask to breathe deep, as he made his way 'toofy' in hand to the Captains Cabin.

Kaptin Ogmuk Marine-flayer had been a right fine Kaptin. Went out the way Oonguh would hope to go someday. He wasn't quiet about his own wail of sorrow for the deceased warboss. Of course, the lament quickly became something enjoyable, for there'd be a right fine fight comin' for who would be the next Boss. And that would be him, Oonguh Boonguh the Nob. He opened his lower, metallic jaw and let out a thrumming growl.

He strode over to his weapon's rack and grabbed his Double 'Eaded Choppa, a huge two headed axe that could slice through tank armor (if he hit it hard enough). He hefted the weapon, and nodded with satisfaction. He turned and stomped out of his cabin, stomping so much and with such purpose that two gretchin died from his stomping. Doors were smashed out of his way, and the Nob stomped up the stairs, elbowing past a smaller Orc boy before making it into the main Cabin.

Tall, lean, and every inch made of hard muscle, Oonguh stood at the center of the room and looked around. "Where are all da boyz?" he growled to Mugrub, muscles flexing as he gripped his axe harder. Mugrub was a right fine Weirdboy. Good for...weird stuff.

Gowglakk Bangdakka was only marginally upset about the death of Kaptin Ogmuk Marine-flayer. Ex-Kaptin, rather. Though he to some extent understood why his fellows might be so emotional about it, he deliberately held back on his own emotional outbursts, reasoning that they were best stored up as anger for when he came up against the foe that had killed the beloved Freeboota Kaptin, and also kept in mind that that was simply how it went - strong, clever Orks went up in the hierarchy; weak, stupid Orks got themselves krumped. In this case, Ogmuk had been stupid.

Gowglakk would not make that mistake. As a Big Mek, and a pragmattik one at that, he knew full well that he could easily achieve succession to the status of Kaptin before getting killed. It was just a matter of living long enough to make sure he was bigger than all the other gits trying to take the throne, and krumping any of them who continued to question his legitimacy after that point.

Thus, it was no surprise to him when, whilst working on his latest project, a Grot turned up in his office, flailed a bit of paper around, and screeched "Oi, Big Mek! Youse gots a messij frum Whatzitf-", shortly before receiving a large thrown spanna to the head and getting half-flattened under its weight. Bangdakka did not like being interrupted; however, he figured this had something to do with who would be the next Warboss, and in any case was not foolish enough to dismiss a call from Mugrub Whatzitface himself. He was oddly composed for a Weird, more than enough to hang out with the rest of the boyz, but still capable of anger enough to 'eadbang anybody he didn't like. And it was only pragmattik to want somebody like that allied with you, rather than acting as a potential threat in the future.

Just in case, Gowglakk grabbed one of the shootier Deffguns in his arsenal. He figured a Shokk Attakk Gun wouldn't be that useful without plenty of Snotz around to fire, and a Tellyport Blasta or Mega-Blasta might be too 'splodey for something like a throne room. On the other hand, plenty of dakka never hurt any throne too much... not in his experience, anyway. For appearance's sake, he also slung his Big Choppa and some ser-kit-ree over his shoulder so it all hung across his back, though his Kustom Power Klaw had generally proven to be the more effective weapon in most cases. Maybe it'd come in handy, though. With all that set up, and with a final tightening of a couple of loose bolts on his Iron Gob, Gowglakk made his way to the throne room.

Some twenty minutes and several literally gob-smacked Orks later, he arrived at the doorway into the room, half-expecting it to already be flooded with rioting Nobz. However, it seemed that he was one of the first ones there - other than that one git Oonguh Boonguh. Gowglakk did not like him. Aside from anything else, he had the most un-Orky name the Mek had ever heard; plus he had these weird notions of what the Oddboy disdainfully called "'onna", for instance that any fight ought to be made deliberately fair by giving back the opponent's weapons, or that worthy foes should be krumped quickly for reasons other than getting rid of them as fast as possible. Who had time for stuff like that in a fight? A proper Orky close-range fight, in Gowglakk's eyes, began and ended with a single good hit with something big and heavy, like a Power Klaw.

Speaking of close-range fighting, though, Oonguh was one of the better melee fighters on the ship, and one of the strongest too, as came with being a Goff. Even if his Klaw technically trumped the Choppa, Gowglakk decided it'd be best if he could use his range to his advantage, and so took a position sort-of close to the table, but as far away from Oonguh as he could manage without seeming antsy.

"So where're da uvver Nobz right now, den?" Gowglakk asked Mugrub casually. "Iv it'z just us in 'ere, dere'z not gunna be much ta tork about, iz dere?" He held off on explicitly naming the likely reason for his presence in the room, given that this may set off his two present rivals for leadership. And he did consider Mugrub a possible rival, even if he was small enough to cut into bits vertically with his Klaw; physical strength hardly mattered when you could be vaporised from across the room, and he was probably clever enough to rival Gowglakk in that field too, which made him especially tricky.

In a reinforced section of the rok, a rather infamous member of the crew plied his trade. Barakka Dakka was hard at work, a snazzgun of one of the nobs was propped up on his workbench. The ork was busy crudely bolting two looted tau pulse carbines on the weapon, the magazine system had been torn out and replaced with a cord leading to a rechargable vehicle-grade power pack he had taped on the stock of the gun earlier. The mek he got it from had told him this would mean the pack’s emergency heat exhaust would be pointed directly towards the shooter’s face. Barakka had simply laughed at the mental image this gave him and carried on. He told every ork that asked him to make one there was no guarantee his franken-guns wouldn’t kill their wielder at any point during the firing operation.

Just as got ready to screw in the final rivet, a nasal high-pitched voice rang trough his quarters. “Ey! Da weirdboy Mugrub iz calling you over in da dead kaptin’s cabin.” The tingling of a falling rivet sounded trough the cabin, before the ork could grab the small part, it rolled into a vent to parts unknown. The ork snorted annoyedly before turning to the offending grot. “Good job ya arrived when ya did, I dropped a rivet down in da vents. Go geddit fer me.”

The grot looked down to the vent cover and then back up to the curiously tranquil greenskin. “Can’t you just go get annuva one from da meks?” He asked, trembling like a leaf.

“Nah, it’z more entertaining to imagine a grot like you squeezin through da vents.” The grot was noticably nervous now. “Dere’s squigs down there!”

The ork laughed heartily. “Even betta! Now get down dere or I’ll mince ya through the cover!” His tone changed from calm to angry on a dime. The grot was scrambling to get in the vents before the sentence was even finished. “Jus’ place it back on da bench, if ya touch the trigger… well, den your friends’ll be cleaning a you-shaped stain off the ceiling.”

The ork walked off to the captain’s quarters in an altogether good mood. Behind him, he could hear a scrambling sound in the vents and the distinct sound of skittering squig vermin.

---

The kaptin’s quarter was still as opulent as always. It felt quite empty without a kaptin in it though. Barakka dakka looked over the trophies lining the walls, and quickly noticed a weapon of his handiwork. The captain had never intended to use the device, consisting of several chainswords taped to a rocket-boosted thunder hammer. Instead, it had been gifted to an insolent nob to get rid of him in style. Barakka still remembered what the ork’s quarters had looked like afterwards. He had learned just how much blood was in the average nob that day. It had been a good day.

He looked over the other orks in the room. The lot of them looked like a capable enough bunch. However, Barakka was not going to bow down to any of them, after all, the only one he trusted to be a good boss with the kaptin gone was himself. He hoped the weirdboy had called them all together for an all-out brawl to determine the new leader then and there. He wasn’t counting on it though. Things were never that refreshingly simple.

Deep within the bowels of the rok, Vurbukk Wrenchsmacka was busy toiling away on his latest project. He was busy hammering sheets of steel alongside corrugated iron into a loosely shield-shaped construction, though he had painted the whole thing a bright shade of blue alongside checks and dags of white. on a black background. The idea had come to him recently, the idea that sometimes a shield just wasn't enough to stop the enemy's dakka entirely. "Oi! Grot! Go off and fetch me da drill!" He commanded his grot orderly, Obud, who was soaked in oil and mechanical grease. The grot scampered off in the rough direction of the device, only to have a rivet barely skim his head, and the shouted anger of "Not dat way ya git!" Follow soon after.

Vurbrukk had personally nicked...looted, the drill from a rather boorish nob after a particularly fierce battle with a techmarine from the Imperial Fists. The drill itself was a old breeching auger, ripped from the still twitching corpse of the slain techmarine. Vurbrukk held the item akin to that of his most prized of possessions that a life of looting and stealing brings, with care he used the tool to further the ramshackle device he was building. "And dat should do it...I fink." He mused to himself, setting aside the drill and hefting the shield. His design had accounted for the innate durability of the shield, as a small personal shield generator was concealed next to the shield's handle.

With a prideful yank, Vurbrukk pulled the chain that would start up the hastily constructed shield generator, and it worked rather well...for a time. With a minor explosion caused by massive internal failure, the shield generator fizzled out of life leaving the Mekboy blackened with soot and sporting a rather toothy smile. "Bah, needz more calibrashunz anyway...could just give it to dat zoggin' loo-"

His words were cut short by the shrieking tone of a messenger grot, as it exclaimed its message. "Da kaptain wontz ta see ya!" The grot was soon knocked unconscious, however, as a spanner was lobbed at his head by the mekboy for his transgression.
"Git should learn not ta shout at 'iz bettaz." Verbrukk muttered before gesturing for his grot orderly to follow him to the kaptain's lair. Obud deftly managed to scramble up the mek's armour to loosely sit on one of the ork's immense pauldrons.

Both of them walked with haste to the Kaptain's room, though Verbrukk expected the worst from it all - if nothing else, he hadn't nicked anything, yet...

----------------------------------------------
With a decidedly hushed walk he entered the Kaptain's lair with his grot, though he shirked somewhat at the sight of all the Nobz before him. Verbrukk loved and hated them, most were morons yet forever the domineering sorts. The mekboy loosely looked over the room with passive interest in what was mounted on the walls and all the trophies that were strewn about the place. There was a gun that took his fancy, but stealing that would take a rather elaborate plan and best left for later...

Verbrukk was not most pleased by those arrayed around him, he wasn't even the big mek on the ship...yet, but he knew too well that this would probably turn violent at a moments notice. He kept to himself, giving praise only the current kaptain.

Sitting in his regular little hole, Zagsnik was currently spinning a squig over a small fire with his makeshift grilling stand when someone in the room above suddenly began shouting and making a fuss.
A single glittering gubbin was seen falling from the grate in the roof and landing in the middle of the room.

-"Wonder wut eez up ta now?" The runty yoof said to himself while standing up and looking at the little grate above which was this places only lightsource from outside.

“Ey! Da weirdboy Mugrub iz calling you over in da dead kaptin’s cabin.”

“Good job ya arrived when ya did, I dropped a rivet down in da vents. Go geddit fer me.”

Zagsnik didn't really tune in on the rest, a meeting ey? That's interesting.
He was returned to the moment when the ork above began moving after a big laugh, making the grot begin moving the grate, it sighed and muttered something before bringing a chain which it started climb down on.

The scrawny pale little blighter took great care in its descent, but finally reached the ground where it silently began to rummage through the rubble on the floor.
Without a sound two red eyes was seen glowing behind him, they came closer and closer, just as the grot thought he noticed something Zagsnik grabbed his mouth and turned him around.

-"Yo knowz, dere's far worse fingz down 'ere den squigz?" He said grinning to the panicking grot. Then he presented the glittering rivet to the grot before releasing his grip.
-"Thenkz for da info, runt." Zagsnik spoke, then disappeared into the darkness.

The grot held the rivet with both his shaking hands. He was alive! He walked up to the chain after pocketing the rivet.
Around him in the dark, one... two.. five... many pairs of gleaming orange eyes with glistening teeth began grinning towards the scrawny grot.
Now when the only one above them in the food chain was gone, it was free range.

Far too late the grot realized, Zagsnik was amused when he heard the pathetic scream and the barkings of dozens of squigs behind him.
He was going to attend that meeting, sure he wasn't stompy enough to be boss.... yet, but that didn't mean that he shouldn't be there to see who is the next boss.... perhaps even 'influence' the decision a bit.
Zagsnik grinned when he thought of that.

Almost soundless he moved through the vents, unused corridors and shafts. He knew these parts well and made good headway to the kaptins cabin. Spooking a few squigs on the way and nicking a snack from a sleeping ork.

He heard voices below in the cabin, he silently opened a grate and risked looking directly at the gathering. Some big brawny nobs and meks. An obvious painboy as well.
He didn't really know their names, he was more of an outsider, but he knew that the old kaptin had died recently, he didn't expect some fancy meeting though. He recognized the one who lived above him though, and Mugrob.
Getting a better look, he took off the sight from his shoota and looked through it.

He risked whispering.
-"Dis gonna be interestin'." And grinned, then he started chewing on a piece of dried squig meat.