So I have been begging my 40k friend group to make the switch over to Crusade since 9th edition. They have been surprisingly resistant to the idea despite loving 40k and RPGs (we alternate playing DND and 40k together on the weekends), so putting those to things together seemed like a no-brainer to me. Nevertheless, it wasn't until late September that I finally talked about half of them (the less ruthlessly competitive half) to give it a trial run- just in time for Orktober. To help get them hyped and to keep myself in the right Crusade headspace, I promised myself I would make an effort to flesh out out our battles using the written word. So far, they almost seem more into the story updates than they do actual Crusade, haha.

Orktober 1st: Waaagh Beginz

Gorzang Grotflinga kneeled next to his Shokk Attack Gun and adjusted a knob that sent sparks flying. The ammo feed tube on his ponderously large weapon suddenly and violently activated its vacuum feature, sucking everything in the immediate vicinity into its inescapable threshold. A nearby gretchin, lazily painting a Trukk, barely had time to react before being yanked into the tube and out of sight.
With a supply of ammo, the rest of Gorzang’s machine coughed and hummed to life, sickly purple light spilling out around its creator. The bemused Mekaniak, large even for an ork, looked upon his creation with pride as, in an explosion of heat and electricity, it opened a warp tunnel that instantaneously transported its hapless victim into a precariously piled mound of junk far in the distance.
As the horrified Gretchin exited his brief but terrifying tour of the Warp, he had only a split second to take in his surroundings before the pile of junk he had now been horrifically fused to began cascading in an avalanche of scrap metal. Had the Gretchin survived his traumatic transformation, he might have heard the wheezing laughter of his former Warboss echoing in the distance.
As Gorzang tried to catch his breath, still chuckling while waving off the fumes of the Warp, another large ork- this one wearing a pole decorated with various totemic symbols that marked it as a Nob -ran up from behind, “Boss, one o’ da Loota boyz says dey found a juicy signal.”
Gorgzang slowly turned, greed in his eyes, “Wot kinda juice dey reckon is makin’ this signal?”
“Dey said it was dem Green Mareenz. Called ‘em Samma-mandaz, I fink,” the Nob replies hesitantly, scratching its large head.
“Yeeeeh,” Gorzang hissed, “I knowz dem- dey’s da ones wot use burnaz all da time.”
The Nob shifts his eyes suspiciously from side to side suspiciously, “Beggin’ yer pardons, Boss, but yer tellin’ me dere’s Green Mareenz dat go ‘round shootin’ burnaz at everythin’? Are yer sure dey’s not just Meganobz or somesuch?”
Gorzang steps closer, looming menacingly over his underling, “Could be, could be. I reckon dere’s only one way ta find out- we peel ‘em open and see if dere’s humie bitz inside.” To punctuate his meaning, he shoves the Nob violently, sending the ork sprawling.
The Nob gathers himself off the ground with a smile, “So it’s Waaagh, then, Boss? Want me ta grab da Boyz?”
“I figure anythin’ that likes the color green oughta put up a good fight. An’ da tribe could always use some more burnaz,” he pauses, clearly attempting to be dramatic, “and Gorzang Grotflinga’s skrap hoard is NEVA BIG ENUFF!” He aggressively swings his clawed arm around as if to indicate the breadth of his hoard. “Oi, an’ tell ‘em ta crank da Dakkajet- maybe we can put a few holes in dem Sammamandaz from a distance.”
“Right away, Boss,” the Nob gleefully replies, already skipping and sliding down the mountain of scrap metal parts that Waaagh Gorzang calls home. As the Nob descends he whoops and yells, dozens of unseen tribesorks replying in kind. The message spreads and the volume builds until the Waaagh echoes for miles around.
With a pleased smirk on his face, Gorzang lifts a piece of sheet metal under which hides a shivering gretchin, undoubtedly hiding after witnessing the fate of his brethren just moments ago. The Warboss lightly kicks the grot and growls, “Get da Tek Grotz ta pack up da Skrapshop- I has a feelin’ we’s gonna need ta patch up da machinez real soon.” Without waiting to see if his orders are followed, Gorzang turns to his Shokk Attack Gun. Despite the weapon’s considerable mass, the Warboss lifts it easily and settles it onto his shoulders. Calmly stretching and cracking his neck, Gorzang inhales deeply and adds his voice to the din of still-screaming orks. Waaagh was here.
Orktober 7th: Upgradez
Having been repelled by the heavily armored Salamander forces, Gorzang’s tribe recuperates back in their lair, the SkrapKeep. Warboss Gorzang consults his lieutenants, moreso to share war stories than to reflect on strategy.
Huntboss DreadKraka growls as a grot orderly attempts to treat his wounds, “Me Snaggaz took a beatin’ from dem Termiez but ‘t’was still a good fight.”
A exceptionally large ork named Cragsmasha guffaws in response, “Dose Termiez didn’t give da Nobz any trouble- did ya forget how ter krump? ‘Ere’s a tip: ya slash da humiez wit’ da sharp end of yer choppa.”
The Beastboss stares blankly at first, taking a moment to mull over his peer’s words. When the insult’s intended meaning finally registers, DreadKraka roars in anger. DreadKraka is not quite as tall as Cragsmasha, but more than makes up for that in sheer mass; mass which he now uses in a brutal tackle into his taunter.
Gorzang takes a single, relaxed step back and watches the brawl with a great deal of interest. Without taking his eyes off the fight, he mumbles to one of the Nobz next to him, “Go snatch dat Dakkajet pilot- we’z need ta have some wordz.”
A few minutes later, the two brawling orks are picking themselves up off the ground, laughing and clapping each other on the back. Gorzang congratulates them both, “Beautiful fight, boyz- ya got me itchin’ fer da next battle.”
“Oi, Boss, ya wanted ta see me?” An ork, much smaller in stature than any of Gorzang’s lieutenants, comes jogging up the skrap pile.
Gorzang turns, the hint of something in his eyes that instantly puts everyone nearby on edge, “What’s yer name, git?”
“It’s Brrrrt, Boss- on account of da sound da Dakkajet makes when it killz.” The ork wears a bomber jacket and sunglasses, despite the waning sunlight.
“Heheh, dat’s a propa name. Tell me, Brrrrt, how many of dose humiez do ya reckon ya killed?”
“Gee, Boss, I was movin’ pretty fast, but me earz are still ringin’ from all da dakka I was shootin’- I prolly got twenty-firty of ‘em, easy.”
“NOT A FUGGIN’ ONE!” Gorzang’s bellow sends grots and orks scattering down the skrap pile, but Brrrrt remains frozen in place. Gorzang slowly reaches a huge, clawed hand out to palm the much smaller ork’s scalp, his hand dwarfing Brrrt’s skull as his other hand lightly plucks Brrrrt’s sunglasses off and tosses them away. “How’s yer eyesight, Brrrrt?”
“I-it’s pretty good, Gorzang, I hit stuff all da time; why, jus’ da otha day I was swoopin’--”
Gorzang cuts him off with a lazy gesture, reaching into his belt to grab a screwdriver. His other hand tightens slightly on Brrrrt’s skull as the screwdriver plunges into Brrrrt’s left eyesocket. Behind Gorzang, a gretchin hiding behind a buggy tire visibly winces as he watches his Warboss’ elbow move in several directions before the arm finally pulls back and wipes the screwdriver on a rag. “Seems ta me that one o’ yer eyez isn’t up ta snuff, Brrrrt,” the Big Mek replies as he loosens his grip on the ork’s skull, allowing Brrrrt to fall to his knees in a pained groan.
As Gorzang calmly paces away, he shouts at a passing grot, “Tell the Painboyz my pilot needs an upgrade!”
Another ork, one of Gorzang’s personal squad of Lootaz he calls Tek Snatchaz, smirks in Brrrrt’s direction as he skids to a halt next to the Warboss, “‘Notha one o’ dem humie signalz, Boss. Da tiny ones dis time- da Umperial Grotz.”
“Dat so?” Gorzang raises an eyebrow, greed once again growing in his eyes. “Jus’ goes ta shows ya, dem humiez dunno nuffin’ ‘bout fightin’- whoeva heard about somethin’ as silly as lettin’ humie grots have their own army?”
The Loota politely chuckles, “Still, Boss, dem humiez always ‘ave good gubbinz- tiny or no.”
“Yer right about that- ‘an da tiny ones squish real good. I reckon I could go fer a good squishin’.” Gorzang lowers his head in thought for a couple moments before his chest swells in a raucous inhale of air. His Tek Snatcha joins Gorzang’s bellow in perfect unison and the SkrapKeep is soon vibrating in a deafening wave of growing Waaagh.
Orktober 8th: Ork Music
Gorzang Grotflinga surveyed the battlefield while his Tek Grotz hastily erected the Skrapshop in a makeshift wall surrounding his position. The Astra Militarum forces were just now becoming visible in the distance, arriving from behind an ancient collapsed roadway. For the moment, it appeared that the orks had the drop on the human soldiers.
Gorzang noticed with a frown that this particular force was not nearly as squishy as he would have expected from the Umpirial Grotz; these humiez had brought a lot of tanks with them. Well, squishy humiez or not, Gorzang wasn't about to turn down a fight. He instinctively trusted his orks to be awaiting his signal to attack.
In this case, that signal was a yelp from one of the gretchin as it was sucked into Gorzang’s Shokk Attack Gun. As his weapon hummed and coughed into life, rough-running ork engines revved and Mork-blessed dakka exploded downrange. Tiny Guardsmen went scurrying for cover and, as is common with ork dakka, very few shots found their mark.
Amongst the chaos of this opening salvo, a high-pitched roar could be heard– louder even than the din of the ork's surprise attack and the Guardsmen's less frequent but more accurate return fire. Gorzang broke into a huge grin, craning his neck upwards to watch as his most prized creation, the Me’z Lootin’ ‘Em Bomma, screamed out of the clouds in a full-throttle dive towards the ground. Ugly by almost any objective measure and deafening to any creature with ears, Gorzang often described the skrap-built craft as “Half-engine, half-burna, half-noise.” Hardly any part of Gorzang’s Bomma was symmetrical and hardly any part of the ship had not broken down or been shot through and replaced thrice over; but in the sky, it was the most beautiful sight Gorzang had ever seen. Hardly anyone who heard it flying once could ever forget its sound- it was as if a dozen inefficiently tuned jet engines were competing to produce the lowest bass bellow and the highest pitch scream all at the same time, whilst accompanied by 3 dozen squeaking engine belts; it was perhaps the closest thing Gorzang knew to music.
My proudest proxy/kitbash- which I run as a Chinork Warkopta. Obviously still needs some painting.
Gorzang could not suppress a fist pump of sheer excitement as the Me’z Lootin’ ‘Em Bomma’s pilot pulled the ship out of its dive at the last second, scattering sheared bolts and scrap metal all over the battlefield as it came to hover just in front of the enemy line. As soon as the Bomma’s momentum ceased, a wall of fire belched forth from various openings all along the craft as the Burna Boyz inside did what they did best. Even from dozens of yards away, Gorzang could feel the heat of the burnaz and cackled with glee as he first heard, then watched squealing ogryns scatter as their flesh melted.
Super happy with how the pilot turned out, considering that none of his parts came from the same kit.
However, no sooner than Gorzang began to turn his attention elsewhere to continue his own assault, several weapons fired upon the Me’z Lootin’ 'Em Bomma patchwork hull from multiple directions, ripping open its belly and spilling the surviving Burna Boyz to the ground not far below. Gorzang snorted with annoyance as the Bomma jerked, faltered, and backfired its way back to a safe altitude and limped back to base; while enough to take it out of the fight, that attack barely registered among the countless repairs the Bomma had undergone. “Give da humiez somethin’ loud and flashy ta shoot at and dey take da bait every time,” he growled, feeling the air growing electric with the energy of the coming Waaagh.
* * * * *
​
Back at the SkrapKeep, one of Gorzang’s gretchin assistants called CountaGrot was going over the Warboss’ least favorite topic: numbers. “With the repairs, Boss, we are barely doing better than breakin’ even on skrap after that battle.”
“Yeh, well, I didn’t see you chargin’ dem spicy Lobbaz da humiez kept shootin’ us with. Maybe next time, I fling you closa to tha enemy so that youz can help us get even,” Gorzang replied with a wicked sneer.
There was a reason, however, that the CountaGrot was one of Gorzang’s longest serving underlings- he was ever-wary of his Warboss’ temper and dodged just as Gorzang made a grab for the gretchin’s neck. “It was a pleasure, your Bigness. We’ll finish going over the skrapcount some other time!” the tiny creature yelled as it jogged away.
Grumbling because of the foul mood numbers always put him in, Gorzang was suddenly distracted by the tell-tale purple flash and brief absence of sound that always accompanied Shokk weaponry. He always made time to tinker with Shokk tech, which was easily tied with Burnaz for his favorite method of killing.
Rounding a pile of skrap that led to the makeshift garage for his tribe’s ever-growing and ever-broken fleet of vehicles, Gorzang saw a pair of orks working on Da Dragjumpa, his one working Shokkjump buggy. Normally this wouldn’t have attracted his interest, but this time was different because these orks were calibrating the aim on the buggy’s Shokk Rifle by bullseyeing squigs. This was notable for two reasons: 1. Gorzang hated squigs because they ate skrap and he often shot at them out of spite and boredom and 2. Orks didn’t bullseye anything except by accident and this Shokk Rifle’s firing cycle was nearly twice as fast as it should be.
Approaching the larger ork who was another Big Mek like Gorzang, the Warboss asked incredulously, “Oi, Keenjaw, what in Gork’s name did ya do ta dat Shokk Rifle? I ain’t seen nuffin’ like it.”
Keenjaw turned, whose lower jaw was comprised entirely of a half-dozen buzzsaws, replied in a voice tinged with mechanical grinding “I’ve been tinkrin’ on makin’ me own Shokk Attack Gun and figgured a way ta cool da warp splitta heatsink quicka. I’z can do it ta yourz’un too, if ya likes, Boss.”
“Ya touch my weapon and I’ll feed yer buzzsawz ta yer forehead," Gorzang stared grimly at his slightly smaller counterpart for a few seconds before his expression softened. "But I like what yer doin’. Keep up da good work. Finish up yer Shokk Attack Gun and ya can join me next battle. We’ll see how yer tinkrin’ holds up dere.”
Orktober 22nd: Unremarkable Mass
In a galaxy which had been at war for eons, fighting countless battles where entire planets were razed and battleships as large as cities were destroyed, perhaps it should not be surprising that the debris of these chronic conflicts had long ago begun to accumulate. This debris, like any object floating in space, behaved according to the forces of gravity surrounding it. Given enough time and enough debris, these objects would form clouds and belts, some clusters even growing large enough to form their own gravity well and some semblance of an atmosphere.
The SkrapKeep was one such cluster which had become big enough to be accurately called a planetoid. And while orks were not exactly known for their record keeping, it was generally known amongst the SkrapKeep’s orkish inhabitants, that their kind, along with all the fungal ecosystem they brought with them, had lived and thrived on this planetoid for a very long time. As the orks’ natural tendencies push them towards looting and infighting, the SkrapKeep continued to grow both artificially and naturally, its mass always increasing over time.
So it was that the orks barely took notice when their planetoid was impacted by an object of unremarkable mass and shape. It was but one of a dozen other impacts that day and the orks had countless other items to occupy their interests. On a skrapworld, objects can go unnoticed for a very long time. Thus the creatures borne on this object of unremarkable mass and shape had all the time they needed to grow and multiply into a threat that would capture the attention of the SkrapKeep’s Warboss.
“Your Bigness, there’s somethin’ you should know. I’ve been noticin’ a drop in the numbers of gretchin- more than usual I mean -and so…” CountaGrot winced as his Boss absentmindedly pulled a Slugga off a nearby Boy’z belt, aimed in the direction of the speaking grot without turning his head from the project he was working on, and pulled the trigger.
When Gorzang wordlessly dropped the pistol to continue working, CountaGrot continued, completely unharmed, “And so I looked into it and I think we have a problem bigger than just disappearing grots. There are rumors of bugs. Of-of the big kind with choppa-arms.”
“Whaddo I care if some runty little gitz get sliced up by bugz?” Gorzang asked, making a shooing motion with his one free hand, still focused on his project.
“W-well, your Bigness, these bug infestations tend to get out of hand if they’re ignored for too long. They might even try to take over the SkrapKeep eventually.”
Gorzang finally looked up from his work and rose to his full, considerable height, causing CountaGrot to gulp, “T-that’s not to say that they actually could–”
Gorzang interrupted the grot with a dark, sinister note to his voice, “No one takes da SkrapKeep from me. ‘Ave da TekSnatchaz look into these rumaz of bugz. In da meantime, I orda ya to ‘elp da ‘vestigation by stickin’ yer nose in all da buggiest places ya can find.” Gorzang laughs to himself, quietly miming slicing motions in front of his face and making comical yowling noises as the scene plays out in his head. The Big Mek is still laughing as CountaGrot disappears down the hill.
* * * * *
​
Deep beneath the surface of SkrapKeep, a being stirs in the dark, awakened by a synaptic trigger. The orkoid biomass search-hunts for Tyranid hive. It gathers with kill-intent near spawning grounds. Deanimate orkoid biomass as priority. Accelerate muster-spawn. Innumerable shapes become agitated in the darkness surrounding the being as it rises and begins to pulsate. A soft light begins to glow from inside the being's undulating thorax, a light which is extinguished in a wave of heat and fluids as a half-dozen fully mature Hormagaunts spill out onto the hive floor.
[Note: we agreed that it's pretty silly that there is a Tyranid Tervigon that heals Termagants but not Hormagaunts, which are my friend's favorite unit. Since he was already basing his entire army on Hormagaunts, we thought it would be cool if his Crusade Warlord was unique: a Horvigon.]
Orktober 23rd: Still Kickin’
Peering from the second-floor window of a partially collapsed ruin, Gorzang aims at the huge Tyranid in the distance with a determination he does not usually bring to fights. The Screamer-killer was currently living up to its name, screaming acid onto the Nobz’ ShadeTrukk that had just finished skidding to a halt in front of the creature. The screaming was briefly interrupted as the grot Gorzang had flung exited the Warp and and became fused halfway into the creature’s carapace.
“Nobody attacks SkrapKeep and lives,” Gorzang yelled, pounding his chest with his free hand, “Nobody takez Gorzang Grotflinga’s hoard! I will burn dese bugz ‘nests until da skrap melts aroun’ dem! I will–” Gorzang’s rant is interrupted by a pained gurgle as an unseen Lictor emerges from the shadows and impales the Warboss on its lengthy arms, flinging the large ork down to the first floor and onto a pile of rubble far below.
Gorzang’s TekSnatchaz react immediately and leap into combat, but their heavy Deffguns make for poor melee weapons.
As Gorzang lies bleeding on the rubble, his vision fading, his damaged Shokk Attack Gun malfunctions and briefly opens a Warp tunnel into the ground, blanketing the whole area in purple energy and gouging a column of empty space where once there was solid matter. When the rubble shifts to fill the void, Gorzang is sent tumbling further down the pile and his upper half is covered in crumbled rockcrete.
As Gorzang lies motionless underneath the rubble, listening to the ongoing sounds of combat around him, he becomes determined that he will not die here. It fuggin’ hurt, but he has sustained worse wounds than that bug dealt him. Forcing himself to open his eyes, he sees in front of his face a dimly pulsing ancient relic, some kind of energy cell, seemingly activated by his gun’s malfunction.
Grunting with pain to reach deeper into the rubble, Gorzang grabs the energy cell and shoves himself up and out of the pile, staggering slightly as he lurches to his feet. As he places the relic into his toolpouch, he watches one of his bodyguard fall from the second floor, or rather, part of him. The Lictor’s most recent victim was very obviously missing all of his arms and legs.
“Oi, Grissul, ya still kickin’?” Having always been fond of his personal bodyguard of Lootaz, Gorzang limps over to inspect the maimed ork. When Grissul hacks up blood, Gorzang smirks, “You’ll be a’ight, me an’ da Painboyz will fix ya roight up.”
Grabbing the heavily bleeding ork by the head, which elicits a pained scream from Grissul, Gorzang throws his comrade’s torso onto his shoulder and limps away to safety, dragging his broken Shokk Attack Gun with the other hand. With a glance backwards at the fight, he notes with some satisfaction that the invading bugs were considerably less numerous than before. Da Boyz should be just fine without him.
* * * * *
​
“Da way dey keep goin’ on about it, y’u’d think I hadn’t even been dere at da battle.” Gorzang quietly grumbles to an unhearing Grissul, who had long since passed out from the Painboys’ attentions. Gorzang’s own flesh was already starting to knit itself back together and hardly bothered him anymore. With Grissul’s breathing remaining steady, Gorzang was wasting no time cobbling together new limbs out of skrap for the unconscious ork.
“Didja see KeenJaw’s Kannonz blast da teef right off dat big ‘un dat bursted out uh da ground?” Excited orks blurted celebratory exclamations about the battle all around Gorzang and if he wasn’t so busy he’d be of half a mind to shut them all up.
Side-eyeing the gossiping orks and murmuring under his breath, Gorzang adopts a high-pitched, mocking tone, “Buzz, buzz, I’m KeenJaw, I prolly shot me own mouff off tryin’ ta watch da grot come outta da Shokk Attack Gun.”
Handing the final, finished robotic limb to the Painboyz, Gorzang continues to rant to himself as he walks away to the garage, “Fuggin’ joke of a Mek is what KeenJaw is- I’ve seen grots tinka betta than ‘im. I’ll remind ‘em all dat Gorzang is da best Mek in da galakzee.”
Walking up to a young Mek that was lying underneath a quad bike working on it, Gorzang grabbed the unsuspecting ork’s leg and sent him sliding fifteen feet into a toolcart. Looking back at the Mek, who was now sitting up and rubbing his head, Gorzang said sternly, “Dis RumbulQuad iz mine now, gettit?”
“Y-yeh, Boss, no prollem. But, wha-whatcha gon’ do wiv’ it? You’z so big, I don’ t’ink you’ll fit.”
“It’z not me dat needs ta fit.” Pausing a few moments to think, Gorzang continues, “Ya eva hear of a Shokk Attack Gun mounted on a bike?”
“Na…na, Boss, but I loike da soun’ of it.”
“I hadn’t heard of one neivva, but I’m buildin’ one anywayz. I reckon Mork wantz me ta build all dis stuff. An’ Gork made me da biggest an’ da bashiest.” Grinning evilly at the nervously laughing younger Mek, Gorzang tells him, “Now scram and bring me one o’ dem Zzap towerz. Grissul’z gonna need a powah source when I hook ‘im ta dis Quad.”
My Big Mek on Warbike proxy- RumbulMek Grissul. What can I say? I have a soft spot for not letting Legends units be forgotten.
Thinking to himself as he worked on the Quad, Gorzang’s mind kept returning to the relic still in his toolpouch. He reckoned he could make some real killy improvements to his own Shokk Attack Gun with an energy cell like that. Just as soon as he got Grissul up and rumblin’, he was gonna build a weapon that would remind KeenJaw and all the rest why Gorzang Grotflinga was the Warboss of SkrapKeep.
Bonus future chapter:
The SkrapKeep’s Warboss, Gorzang Grotflinga, was not above scraping through the skrap that made up his home; if anything, the Big Mek thrived when doing so, incessantly looking for ways to improve his tribe’s vehicles and weapons and regularly searching elsewhere for new skrap to add to his planet-sized hoard. In the course of the tribe’s usual excavations of the planetoid, it was not unheard of to find something unexpectedly useful.
This time, however, the orks had unearthed something big and green, something ancient and unknown, something truly valuable. Orks can be dense, but even they recognized that this find was different, and over the course of the several days it took to extract the huge object from its tomb of skrap, an almost spiritual fervor had built up in Gorzang’s tribe. This fervor was one which the Warboss did not discourage and perhaps even believed himself.
Using a team of ramshackle cranes, the large, green, mechanical creation had been lifted from the pit in which it had been buried. With more than a little jerking and dropping, the cranes laid the vaguely orkoid-shaped creation sitting partially upright against a skrapdune.
While discussing how to repair the machine, Gorzang and his Meks found it to be surprisingly easy to interface with, at least compared to the fiddly humie tech they often looted. “Well, it’s not some kinda Dread– ain’t no room ta fit a Boy in dere. Jus’ lotsa gubbinz and computaz,” KeenJaw remarked, his disappointment heard even over his buzzsaws.
“I reckon dis machine is one o’ dem botz wot pilot itself,” Gorzang theorized, whacking a blinking screen to clear the static.
“Dat can’t be, Boss, dis t’ing’s as big as a Gorkanaut an’ not even da humiez ‘ave dat kinda tek.”
“Dat’s cuz da humiez don’t respek Gork and Mork an’ dey ain’t green neitha.” Gorzang paused suddenly, his eyes alight with a realization, then waved in KeenJaw’s direction, “Tell dem grotz ta bring over da genny- looks like it jus’ needs a jumpstart.”
With the machine hooked to a generator, Gorzang beckons the crowd closer as the show is about to begin. Loudly clanking a huge switch to engage the power, Gorzang intones to the assembled orks, “Dis gift from Gork, or possibly Mork, changes everyfing. We’z got our hands on da tek of da godz and we’z gonna use it ta make sure da whole galaxy knows that their skrap belongs ta Waaagh Gorzang and any o’ dem dat stand in our way will get krumped. And then their bitz will be ours anywayz!”
As he speaks, the hums and clicks of the machine behind him grow slowly louder until its eyes light up a bright amber color and the huge machine sits up, sending skrap tumbling all around it. In a harsh, deep, mechanical bass, the machine haltingly speaks as if having to force each word out, “Krorkanaut. Online.” Gasped murmurs spread among the assembled orks.
“Oi! Big ork fing!” Gorzang yells up at its head as he leaps onto the Krorkanaut’s knee. “You’z mine now an’ if ya got a problem wit’ dat, I ain’t got a problem makin’ parts out o’ ya.”
Without acknowledging Gorzang’s words, the clicks and whirrs inside the Krorkanaut increase in volume, occasionally issuing grinding sounds that Gorzang recognizes immediately to mean something is broken inside. “Memory. Damaged… Processor. Damaged…Network. Absent… Request. Command. Structure.” With this, the Krorkanaut meets Gorzang’s gaze.
“Command? I’z da Boss ‘ere and I’m da one dat fixed ya up. Yer gonna fight fer me. Dat is– can ya fight?”
In response to the question, the Krorkanaut begins to stand- quickly for something so large -and sends Gorzang scrambling to the ground. It grabs a sledgehammer the size of a trukk from its back and swings it deftly through the air as if it were weightless. It is immediately clear that whatever damage stunted its speech and memory has not affected the machine’s agility. The Krorkanaut only pauses its fluid motions once to send a devastating arc of electric energy out of an emitter on the head of the sledgehammer, slicing into the scrapdune nearby and causing a cascade that sends the closer members of the crowd scattering. As if to punctuate the test of its abilities, the Krorkanaut slams the gigantic hammer into the ground with a force that sends metal flying in several directions, one piece of which cuts one of the fleeing ork boy’s legs off at the knee.
“Bwahahaha, dat’s some propa bashin’. Ya swing dat hamma like magik.” Gorzang rubs his chin, deep in thought,” I’mma call you… Da Holy Hamma-mansa.” Turning away from his new toy, Gorzang shouted at the gathered orks and gretchin, “We ‘ave da powah of Gork an’ Mork wiv us!” Raucous cheers issue from the crowd as Gorzang pauses for dramatic effect, his grin growing wider with each moment, “But I’ve neva met anythin’ dat couldn’t use a few upgradez. He needz more dakka– get ta work!”
My in-progress build of my first Gundam model that I plan to proxy as a Morkanaut. The build quality of this thing puts GW to shame.
* * * * *
Gorzang’s tribe set to working on their Holy Hammermancer with a focus they rarely brought to projects. The autonomous machine yielded to their modifications without protest. And while they were incapable of fixing the Krorkanaut’s internal computers, the orks soon had the machine bristling with weapons.
In the course of working on first extracting and then improving the Krorkanaut, many of the younger Mek boyz had come to revere the Holy Hamma-mansa to the point that their interactions with the machine resembled religious rituals. One particularly charismatic Mek named Gowlar had begun to call himself and the other spiritually minded Meks the “Tek Munks” and between them they made sure the Holy Hamma-mansa never wanted for maintenance.
On the eve of the machine’s first battle, the Tek Munks gathered around the giant machine and it in turn looked down on them impassively. “May ‘is ‘amma strike brutal!” Gowlar cried, lifting a huge wrench into the air.
“Bash ‘em!” the Tek Munks replied in unison.
“May ‘is planz be kunnin’!”
“Krump ‘em!”
“May 'is dakka be killy, in Mork’s name, aimin’."
“Aimin’!” And with that Gowlar clanged the wrench on the Hamma-mansa’s leg armor just as the call to Waaagh echoed through the camp. The Krorkanaut, seemingly reacting to the growing energy of the coming battle, stood up straighter and let loose its own bellow- a deafening warhorn that could be heard for miles.