|Red wons go fasta!
Author: Riddlesindisguise PM
An Ork Warboss of the Evil Suns clan wages a Krusade against the 40k galaxy. Read and reveiw! Fourth Chapter is up!Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Sci-Fi - Chapters: 4 - Words: 20,950 - Reviews: 32 - Favs: 10 - Follows: 11 - Updated: 01-16-07 - Published: 09-10-06 - id: 3148603
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Alright here it is, the forth installment of Waaagh-bang's epic tale. I will not lie, many people did vote on who the Orks would fight next, but no two votes were the same. So you see, I had to make the choice myself, and my choice was: The-
Wait if I tell you that, then you might not read this, and more importantly, you might not review. Which reminds me, how come I have over eight hundred hits on my story here, but only thirteen reviews? What does a guy gotta to do? Do I have to threaten you with a frenzied Squig to convince you to review? Will that work? Eh… why not? I'll give it a shot.
Next person, who reads this and does not review, will be horribly savaged by a frenzied Sqiug!
Oh, and I do not own any Warhammer 40000 stuff that I could make money off of.
Ork Warboss Waaagh-bang Ironteef, Kan squisha, Da Trigga-Happy was bored. Bored out of his mind.
Three months after he had beaten the Necrons off the world of Omacron, his Meks had bolted on the last bulkhead to a huge Kroozer, made out of looted scrap from the wrecked hive cities dotting the planet. The ship, which Waaagh-bang christened the Deth wit Frusters, was an amazing feat of Ork Kustomizin'. While it was on the ground the rusty behemoth stood nearly half a mile high, and was nearly four times as long. Thirty thruster exhaust ports made from hollowed out, reinforced sky-scrapers stuck out of the rear like miss-angled feathers, and the front of the Kroozer had been given a massive, city block spanning Iron Gob. Waaagh-Bang wasn't sure what it was for, but it sure did look impressive.
The entire ship was red, if not from the countless gallons of bright red paint dumped down its length, it was from acres of badly rusted sheets of looted plassteel. The Kroozer, as with all Ork vehicles, bristled with guns. Sticking from between the teeth of the Gob huge Kannons stuck out like sentinels. It had taken an extra month for the Meks to figure out how to launch the ship, and when the day had finally come to leave Omacron, the reactors powering the engines had worked better than expected and fired the ship straight into the sky and out into space in record speed, also leaving a huge crater at the blast off point. Subsequently it lost power and drifted for three days, but several cracked skulls later Waaagh-bang managed to give the Meks incentive to hurry with their repairs.
After the battle with the Necrons, the Warboss was hoping to find a new enemy to fight quickly, but after three months, nothing worth fighting was had entered sensor range. Who knew that it would be this hard to find someone to fight?
Waaagh-bang currently stood in one of the Fruster's many huge cargo bays. The huge, rusty room was well lit and had seen much of it's unique use.
The Warboss came here in emergencies, like when some Nob needed to learn his place, or when Waaagh-bang was angry about something. Or when he was bored.
"Launchit!" He roared. There was the sound of a kannon firing from the far end off the bay and a yellow trukk appeared, sailing through the air and nearly scraping the rust off of the scrap ceiling. Waaagh-bang opened fire with a brand-new kustom shoota, the trubo-detonator rounds impacted with the flying vehicle and the condemned trukk exploded into flames. The flaming vehicle crashed into a large pile of smoking wrecks on the other side of the cargo bay burning brightly. Waaagh-bang nodded in satisfaction as the pile of ruined trukks smoldered. He trained his shoota to the ceiling and shouted.
"Launchit!" There was another kannon shot and another trukk, this one red, flew through the air. Several shoota rounds later another blazing wreck was added to the pile.
Waaagh-bang was the stereotypical Orkish Warboss, as in around eight feet tall, had muscles not even a Space Marine could match, and the common IQ of the galaxy's most idealistic brick. When faced with an issue that was beyond his thinking capabilities, the Ork was known to merely hit the offending object to see if the problem would go away.
The red mega-armor he always wore was kustom made by the best Mek in his WAAAAGH. Not surprisingly after the order had been given, the Mek had forced a bunch of Gretchin do all the work at shoota point. But despite the "artisan's" inevitable blunders, the hydrawlik pumps and riveted plates that now covered the Warboss had stood solid against everything that had been thrown at Waaagh-bang.
"Launchit!" There was the rattle of gun fire, and another explosion.
On top of his thick skull sat Waaagh-bang's prized "Tinkin 'at". The helmet had huge horns sticking out from its sides, and had been painted a very bright red. According to the Warboss it helped him think faster because it was red. No one who could point out the problem of this had dared ever say otherwise.
A loud clank echoed through out the cargo bay as the door leading to a rusty balcony far from the Warboss opened. A squig leather clad Ork, roughly half the size of the huge rusty door, stepped out on to the balcony and leaned over the railing. From where Waaagh-bang was he could see the Ork cup his hands over his mouth and shout something. Waaagh-bang craned his neck as much as he could in his mega-armor. "Wot? Say dat again?!" The Ork shouted louder, but the distance dissolved the words into meaningless echoes. "Oi can't 'ear ya, use dat loud tingy!" Waaagh-bang yelled.
The Ork cupped his hand around his small pointed ear. "Oi said, use da loud tingy ya grot!!" The Ork nodded and opened a junk box on the balcony. The Ork quickly pulled something from the box and to his mouth, causeing terrible whining feedback echoing throughout the bay, causing both Orks to slightly wince. A static distorted Orkish voice came through spaekas mounted in the walls. "Um…Boss, wes runnin outta Trukks fer you ta shoot at." The Ork could almost see the irritated expression on his Boss's face. "But uh, da Mekz say dat dey fink dey found sumfin on der scannas fer you ta look at." Waaagh-bang's interest had been caught. "Well? Wot did dey foind?" The Warboss shouted back.
The Speakas squeaked "Wot Boss?"
"Oi said wot did dey foind?!"
"Oi cant 'ear ya Boss, wot did yez say?" Waaagh-bang took a deep breath.
"WOT DID DA STOOPID GITZ SAY DEY FOUND!?"
"Oh, well dey ain't sure Boss, dats why dey needz ya up dere."
Waaagh-bang wondered for a moment weather or not to shoot at the Ork in irritation. This thought was quickly misplaced and forgotten as his brain made sense of what the other Ork had said. Something on the scannas could quickly turn into something to shoot. The Warboss turned from his Shootin' Place and headed out through the bay door. Too bad his Meks didn't know what it was now, but he guessed that the old humie saying was right: If you want something done right, shoot at it.
Or something like that anyway…
A human might describe much of the interior of the Deth wit Frusters with the word badly, as in badly maintained, badly operated, and badly in need of a few hull breaches. To an Ork it was the equivalent of a wild party. To Orks, nothing was better than a good fight, but if there are no enemies around to fight, and no one has called anyone else a git and started a fight, Orks found other means to distract themselves.
Waaagh-bang stomped across a catwalk over the main "Wreck-ree-a-shun" area, Ork entertainment of all kinds surrounding him. Bright lights illuminated the gigantic, noise-filled room. The rusted floor had gained a thick layer of dirt and pieces of half eaten sqig that had been crushed into the floor by hundreds of thick Ork boots. Mobs of Ork Boyz and the occasional Nob covered the filthy floor like a muscular green carpet that had learned foul language and how to fire a gun.
To the left of the Warboss, two Orks who were engaged in a head butting contest. A shouting crowd of Orks circled the slightly-concussed contestants, betting teeth on their favorite to win.
Loud bangs and guttural cheers echoed from Waaagh-bang's right as Orks played the now infamous game, "Wich runt goes bang." The object of which was to guess which grot, out of the three placed before you, had been forced to swallow a bomb. Each grot had a pair of wires exiting its mouth and the wires led to a big button for each grot. Once the contestant chose his grot he would press the button and if the grot exploded in your face, you won. An especially loud bang shook the rusty catwalk as Waaagh-bang punched open the hatch on the other side of the catwalk. Ignoring the great cheers from below him, he silently he made a note to check if they were using See-foor in their games again. The Warboss snorted and crossed through the open portal and into the corridor leading to Kontroll room.
The Kontroll room was small in comparison to most of the area aboard the Deth wit Frusters. It was darker, and to an Ork it smelled funny. It didn't smell of fighting, violence, or any fun what so ever. This put most Orks on edge and they tended to avoid such places. Over the door, some Ork had carved in a message to his fellows, advising that hard work on their part is good and well appreciated. It said:
No sloGGin, No sLeeepin
No squIgs, No grotS
The rooms only occupant was a happily drunk Ork sitting in the large command chair, and at that moment he was blissfully unaware of the first rule.
The Mek in the chair relaxed. He leaned back in the big red iron-plated chair. He stretched he arms until his joints popped and yawned widely, releasing halitosis bad enough to tarnish a silver plate. The Mek's large green right arm reached at the base of his chair and pulled up a scrap-made flask. The Mek shook the flask near his ear and smiled at the sound of liquid sloshing around inside. He put the tip of the rusty flask to his lips and swallowed some of the noxious Fungus grog he had been hording. There was a clank behind him and the Ork spun in his char and jumped to his feet. Through his eyes he saw the Boss standing in front of him, smiling happily from the door way. The Mek sighed with relief, it must be another hallucination from the grog. The Boss either growled, shouted, or shot his gun wildly when he entered any room. Yup, this had to be a hallu-
The now very life-like phantasm grabbed the Mek by the throat and lifted him to see the Boss eye-to-eye. The happy smile rippled and faded from the Mek's sight as the familiar scowl took its place. So the smile was the hallucination, the Mek thought.
"Oi Mek, wot did oi say 'bout drinkin', an' flyin' da ship at da same toime?" The Mek swallowed past the massive klaw that held him off the ground. "Er, yous said, er… The Warboss began to growl menacingly. "Roight! Uh, you said dat if I was 'aving a drink, ta get a bigger drink an' invoite you, an' a buch ov udder boyz, an' den we all get a drink, while I flys da ship at da same toime." Waaagh-Bang nodded. "Dats roight, so-" The Warboss gestured to the rest of the room with his shoota. "Where are dey, all da boyz ya invoited dat iz?"
"Deys uh, late Boss?" The Mek struggled in the Warboss's titanic grip. Waaagh-bang screwed up his face with the effort of thinking, then popped his klaw open and dropped the Mek. "Alroight, now Oi was tol' dat you found sumptin' on da scannas." The Mek pushed himself back to his feet and stumbled over to a crude control panel. "Roight Boss, er, da fing is, it don't stay in won spot long 'nough for us ta find out wot it iz." Waaagh-bang stomped over to the lit up scanna panel and shoved the Mek aside. The control panel was covered in small round radar screens, looted from Imperial outposts from Omacron. The screens all had one shaky green line circling the screen and, seemingly at random, a small blip would appear on each of them, all in different places. The Mek got to his feet again. "See Boss? Neva in da same place on two screenz." Waaagh-bang stared at the screens silently, as if he stared at them long enough they would tell him the answer.
Waaagh-bang was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, he was probably a meat hammer, but even he could notice when something obvious and stupid was in front him. The Mek stepped closer to see what held the Warboss so enthralled, when fast as lighting the Boss's shoota arm smashed him in the face. "You stoopid git! 'Af ov da screens iz in upside down!!"
The Mek rubbed the gun-barrel shaped bruise that was rising on his green forehead. The words worked their way into the Mek's grog and concussion muddled head and kicked the thought process into action. "Oh… well yeah, um.. dat would do it Boss." The Mek's vision swam as he got to his feet. Waaagh-bang grabbed several screens with his klaw and twisted them until they all faced one direction. "Er… Boss?" the Mek groaned.
"Now dere all upside down Boss." Waaagh-bang swung his glare from the control panel, to the mek and back again. "Well wot git put dese tings in stoopid-loike in da firs' place?!" The Mek searched his memory. About a month before launch, it was his job to put the screens in. After that his memory was blank, except for the explicate memory that he had drank some really experimental grog that night…
"Oi got no idear Boss."
"Well were iz dis ting suppose ta be now?" The Warboss shouted irritably
The Mek stood up and stepped toward the Scannas. 'Well da scannas now say dat it's roight behind uz, so dat means…"
Waaagh-bang looked at the Mek after a moment. "Oi, why you stop talkin?"
"Jus pausing fer da draw-mat-tic affect Boss."
"Well kwit it and spit out da ansa!" Waaagh-bang shouted, his already thin patience fraying. The Mek, wary of his Boss's anger, quickly pressed a jagged button on the consol and there was a click behind them. The two Orks turned around, and before their eyes, part of the wall began sliding up. Beyond the sliding wall, the empty vacuum of space loomed. As the panels slid back, revealing darkness and stars, a force field crackled over the open viewing center. Small patches of the field sparked and static like interference played along it, distorting the star spotted view.
The view was of a huge derelict ship, floating dead in space. The ship was as large as the Frusters, although its coloring was a diseased yellow green. Its great arrowhead shaped prow had horrible carvings along its length of a multitude of races screaming in hellish torment. The armored sides of the ship were coated in similar effigies among distorted gothic arched and twisted mantels. Most terrible was the belly of the ship. The ship's side armor changed into a sickly mottled grey green flesh. Out from the flesh were several thick tentacles, great enough to wrench bow plates off of other ships. At the moment though, the long appendages floated in space, just as dead as the rest of the ship. A huge three pointed star with great circles between the points was emblazoned on the ship in many places.
"Oi'd say dat dey was roight in front ov uz Boss."
Waaagh-bang's large mouth spilt into a huge toothy grin. "Hur hur hur. Looks like Gork loiks us, dat deres a kay-oz ship!"
The Mek smiled too, Chaos marines always put up a good fight. "Dat ship ain't movin' much Boss, maybe dey 'er all sleepin." The Mek's grin widened "Well dat'll make em easier ta hit." The Mek ran passed his Warboss and began mashing buttons on another control panel. "Oi, Mek wot do ya think yez doin?"
I'm gettin da gun's ready ta fia Boss." Waaagh-bang stomped over to the Mek. 'Loike heck you iz! Da boyz 'avant had anyting ta chop since we launched off, and dey iz getting restl-, impati -, deyz getting real bored. Wot's worse Oi iz getting real bored!" Waaagh-bang leaned over the much smaller Ork and stared him in the eyes. "If dey iz sleepin ova dere, Oi'll wake em up! You iz gonna launch space trukks when Oi says so, GOT IT!!." The Mek cowered under his Boss's anger, but didn't dare move just yet. Waaagh-bang brought the barrel of his shoota into the Mek's veiw. The already intimidated Mek found his eyes drawn to the weapon. "GOT IT YA GIT!!"
"Good." The Warboss stomped over to the main control panel and slammed a button that began to flash furiously. A small mikerfone exited the panel and stopped not far from Waaagh-bang's face.
The Nob Basha reclined against one of the thousands of rusted steel girders that crisscrossed the wreck-re-a-shun room. Being a Nob he had beaten all his challengers in the head-butting contest, and none of the other brutal form of Orkish pastimes appealed to him. Not to forget the "Squig Punt" game, The stupid squig was still trying to chew his thick leather boot. Looking down at the determined creature, Basha pulled out his slugga and blasted the squig. It sqealed and deflated like a balloon. The Nob reached down to remove the squig and stopped, he felt a strange elation in him. Shooting that squig was the first bit of honest fun he had had since the fight with the Necrons, and now he wanted more. He aimed his slugga at another Ork, just one little squeeze…
"-Z THIS DIS BUTTON DAT MAKES IT WURK?" Boomed a huge voice next to Basha's ear. The Nob jumped out of his seat in surprise and turned to face what it was that was so loud. As he turned he saw that the girder he had been resting on had a speaka bolted to it. "GOOD, NOW OI CAN TELL DEM- WOT'S DAT?" All the Orks in the cavernous room were facing the blaring speakas. "WOT'S VOL-YOOM? LOOK YA CAN NEVA BE Too loud Mek." The hugely loud voice had quieted to a mere roar. "Oh it's wurkin'? Roight." The Boss's voice cleared it's throat "Alroight you lot of grotz, we'se found some one ta foight!" A wild cheer broke out among the Orks, they all waved their weapons high and shoota rounds ricocheted off of the ceiling. "It gets betta boyz, deyz KAY-OZ! So ooeva want ta chop something betta get to da space trukk's fast-" if there were more words they were drowned out by the countless Ork's running for the boarding craft. The Orks were going to war.
Glemcrit scrambled as fast as his wasted legs would let him. The cultist ran down the once beautifully tumored halls of the Poxes Glory. The enemy had somehow gotten on board and had slaughtered everyone. The Deathguard Chaos marines protecting the sourcer's experiment were the first to fall, their heavily blessed bodies and armor provided no protection against the enemy's shimmering blades. Even Flemus Dragonbile, the ship's warlord was cut down by the shimmers. That was why Glemcrit ran, the enemy had no face no form, all he saw were shimmers, and then his poxed brethren dying in droves before his eyes. Grandfather Nurgle had abandoned them. With each step the cultist pleaded with the lord of Decay to save him.
His filth encrusted clothes cracked open sores on his body and gave of a terrible stench. For the first time the cultist cursed Nurgle's blessings, for surely something like the shimmers could find him by smell alone. He breathed heavily and broke into a thick cough. He stopped at a corner for breath, and hawked a pile of green phlegm to the floor. He looked up and froze, the air shimmered at the end of the hallway. The shimmer seemed to stare back at his crusted eyes, spun and then sped down the hall after him. The cultist screamed as the shimmer reached him, leaving deep slash marks all down the rotting hallway's length. The shimmer stopped right before him, and Glemcrit stared at it in utter fear. The shimmer moved and the Cultist was shorn in two at the waist. Glemcrit's upper half landed in overpowering agony and his vision's edges creped with blackness and the shimmer gained form before his eyes. It changed into a thin a slender figure with a glowing sword in one hand, and a strange pistol in its other hand. Its hair was woven into a long thick braid down its back, and most terrifying of all was its face. It had a wide and taunting grin, as if its wearer found laughter even in utter tragedy, and especially in death. The blackness covered Glemcrit's sight and his ears heard four words before they stopped working as well. "Meet your master Mon'kiegh."
Alright, there is chapter four. Sorry it's late but I've had bad writer's block as of late so forgive me please. Oh and please don't forget to review, I welcome all criticism, but flames are not wanted. Those who read this and do not review, will be horribly savaged by frenzied Sqiugs! So there's incentive for you.