Rotgor Reflects...

Another original piece by none other than our resident Ork Warboss, Nathan James:

"Han' me dat ting and den bring da plate ova' dere."

Baznik Dakaskab, a Mekboy, barked to his grot assistants, who quickly fetched him his welding torch, not forgetting to light the flame, lest they be punished for forgetting to spark the boss' tools. Baznik Dakaskab was a skilled Mekboy, possibly even one of the greats. After all, he was skilled enough to be chosen to serve as the lead mechanic to Rotgor Badgut, and to anger him was to risk the wrath of not only a mighty Mekboy, but the boss himself (despite Rotgor's well known secret soft-spot for hardworking grotlings).

"You gonna be unstoppin' in dis, boss. Mo' dakka for dem 'oomies!" Baznik said in the direction of his latest project.

Rotgor Badgut grinned a toothy grin, patiently standing inside what was easily a ton of metal plating. It was a glorious day; Rotgor had become a warboss, and every warboss deserves mega armor. Every warboss deserves to stand as tall as a dreadnought and possess enough might to annihilate a terminator squad with a single swing.

A final touch of soldering inside an arm was met with a nod of approval by Baznik immediately followed by the powerklaw at the end opening and closing as Rotgor manipulated the controls. Baznik smiled contently, but discreetly, and exchanged his soldering iron for his welding torch from the nervous gretchin at his side, and picking up the metal plate that several of his grot assistants were straining to keep over their heads. The plate was placed over the last opening of the arm, the pistons and gears inside becoming silent as Rotgor stopped his 'test drive' to allow the Mekboy to work.

Sparks flew, and Rotgor watched, the sparks in the sparsely lit shack conjuring the unpleasant memories of his last battle. It was a dark, bloody affair: searchlights scoured the field, Dark Angels poured massive amounts of firepower into the Ork lines, their tracers and plasma bursts filling the air of the night; the noise acted to drown out the screams from the carnage that had been unfolding on the opposite side of the field. Both Rotgor and his nemesis, Maelderon Bloodspiller, were converging on a Dark Angels outpost, hoping to secure data on Ghedda Prime from the Angels - and kill a few dozen of them. The battle was going well for the attackers - alas, a bit too well for Rotgor's nemesis.

Though Rotgor's cherished combat grots had charged headlong into a minefield to clear the way for Rotgor's unit of Boyz, and though a Tankbusta rokkit had penetrated the Dark Angel's bunker, the data disc, and the battle, were not to be held by the Green Vengeance Army on this night. The forces of Chaos grasped the beast of battle by its savage horns, and refused to let go. A squad of charging boyz, energized from their glorious defeat of the last defenders of the Angels' bunker - battered and broken by bolter-fire; an entire squad of stormboyz - killed to a man; an entire squad of tankbustas - felled in moments at the hands of Chaos Obliterators; to say it was a poor day in the verbal history of the greenskinz was a mild understatement. By the time Rotgor locked eyes with Maelderon, the battle had long been decided, despite the fact that a Dark Angel lieutenant, and even a Rhino, had met their end at Rotgor's powerklaw that night, a full strength squad of bloodthirsty Khorne-worshipping marines is too much for one single Ork. So he ran, dodging turret fire, and hoping his brethren had the sad common sense to do the same, to live to fight and claim their vengeance another day.

"Boss, yer ride is 'ere."

An 'ard Boy stood in the doorway of the shack in full war paint, the unmistakable drone of a Trukk engine rumbled behind him. Rotgor snapped back to the now, and turned to face the Boy, a veteran of the last battle, answering him with a nod. The 'Ard Boyz had proven themselves in battle, again slaying the Berserkers of Khorne, and thus they would now accompany their general onto the field of battle. Rotgor turned to Baznik, who replied with a proud grunt, admiring his final weld in the monstrous amalgamation of salvaged tech and Orkish ingenuity that composed Rotgor's new armor. Rotgor took his first suited step forward, an impressive, loud, pounding footstep that brought a bit of warlike glee into the hearts of all who witnessed it, and caused the crowd of gretchin gathered behind Dakastab to begin chittering with excitement. Rotgor took his second step - and paused.

"Bazz'D," Rotgor called back to his trusted comrade, who stood behind, frozen with fear in the possibility that the new warboss may disapprove of his latest construct (despite addressing him by nickname).

"Boss?" Baznik replied in little more than a whisper (at least in Ork terms).

"Iz too slow."

Baznik scratched his head for a moment, straining his Ork brain for a solution. Rotgor had barely maneuvered his armor around to face his Mekboy mechanic when Baznik's eyes lit up.

"I fink I'z got an idea. Youz gonna like dis 'un, Rotgor. Youz gun' like dis a LOT!"