Rotgor Badgut - Ork Warband Nob

            Stomping mightily through the encampment, Nob Rotgor Badgut inspected the progress being made on his orders. From every hut, hall, and dark corner, the sounds of a hard labor could be heard. Clanking hammers, hissing torches, and clattering air ratchets worked relentlessly to ready Rotgor’s Boyz for war. The acrid smell of gunpowder and solder filled the Nob leader’s nostrils, and he grinned widely in approval. Walking past a Gobbo who accidently dropped a wrench, Rotgor kicked the poor sod twenty feet into a blast furnace, laughing mightily at the sound of blistering, popping Goblin flesh and high-pitched wailing. Everything was proceeding as planned. Shootas and sluggas were made ready; wheels were affixed to trukks and buggies; armored plates welded onto lumbering war machines. Soon, Rotgor thought as he absent mindedly picked his teeth. Very soon.

            The Nob leader walked further down through the encampment to a large clearing at the center of the fort. Here lay the ultimate prize, without which all other efforts were pointless. Sitting in a crater in pieces was the wrecked hull of an Imperial light destroyer. Not a particularly large craft, by any means, but big enough for Rotgor and his Boyz, and most importantly with the capability to travel through warp space.  Grots scrambled over the hull like ants in a kicked over anthill. Over every inch they clambered, riveting plates in place, patching holes and making the great flying machine ready.

            Rotgor walked up to another Ork, this one larger than the others and clearly someone the Nob had great respect for. This Ork directed the Gretchin effort, pointing and bellowing orders, flipping through page after page of blueprints and notes, inspecting pieces of machinery as they were brought to him. This was a Mekboy, and Rotgor’s working foreman. “Will it fly?” grumbled Rotgor, skeptical given the ship’s state of disrepair. “It will fly”, muttered the Mekboy, still pointing and kicking the occasional gobbo for good measure. “We may need a few things to make it work better”, the Mekboy added. The Nob looked at his foreman sideways, his brow furrowed, then looked back at the ship. “Tell Rotgor wat ya need”, he said without emotion. Then, scowling, he raised a great muscled green fist at the tail of the vessel. Pointed at the Dark Angels heraldry painted on it, he continued, “’And paint over dat. Dem ‘oomies will not beat da Boyz annuva time!”