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!"

Rotgor Badgut's Orks Roll On!

40K Campaign Mission 2.0 and 2.1 - Orks vs Nurgle
This past weekend, Nathan and Mike Churchill faced off on the field of battle for the first time. At the top of the leader board with most Campaign Points and most Experience points, Nathan's securing of critical data files in Mission 1.3 afforded him access to a new section of the map, which led to the encounter with the new Chaos forces. Over the course of the day, two battles were fought between Rotgor Badgut's Orks and Bubonicus' Death Guard Army.

The first mission was a small 500 point skirmish representing two scout forces making first contact.



     
Mike's Zombie Horde and Plague Marines advance on the Greenskinz!

The Green Tide swallows up the Nurgle Army...one by one

The second was a much larger battle of 1250 points each, with multiple objectives (victory points, hold objeives, and kill most valuable unit) determining the victor. Mission 1 ended with the Orks wiping out the Nurgle forces to a man, with half their army still intact for a Wiped Out! result. The secondbattle ended on turn 6, with Nathan winning both Victory Points and Most Valuable kill objectives. In the end, a lone dreadnought and immobilized Rhino remained on the Chaos side, with Nathan still having better than half his army on the board.



What follows is Nathan's account of 40KC M2.0 and M2.1, between his Orks and Mike Churchill's Nurgle/Zombie horde:
"Dem 'oomie zommies iz a lot tuffa dan 'oomies. Uglier, too. Die jus' da same."
Rotgor Badgut scoffed at the piles of corpses littering the battlefield, almost all were the corpses of the enemy: a legion of bloated, disfigured monsters aligned with the foulest of chaos gods- Nurgle. The enemy had appeared suddenly from the darkness, ambushing a scouting party and beginning a skirmish that escalated into a long, hard-fought battle. Rotgor paused as his tour of the field brought him to the position where his Boyz made a final charge against their new enemy. The earth was scarred, burnt, and around the smoldering wreckage of a Rhino, the assorted, disfigured parts of chaos-deformed Plague Marines, and other former-humans were mixed in amongst what was once a squad of Stormboyz, now little more than a pile of greenskins who fell like an Ork should, in battle. "Battle", Rotgor thought, was a poor word for the events of the day - today had been a slaughter, and the whoops and cheers from the victorious Ork horde reassembling itself nearby were testament to that.

There had been much combat, many killed, and still more kept coming. The significance of the rock that Rotgor fought for began to slowly creep into his mind as he watched a Grot drag away the tattered remains of a Nurgle banner. Khorne had made its presence known, and now Nurgle, too, was creeping forth from the warp to stake a claim on Ghedda Prime. Ghedda's mysterious energy source was still unknown, but if more than humans sought this power, if the minions of such bloodthirsty, warlike gods were after the secrets of Ghedda, then Rotgor was resolved, he must possess it. He would become the greatest Ork Warboss the humans had ever seen- he would become the greatest Ork Warboss the universe had ever seen, and, as his declaration to the humans, and the universe, he would have his revenge.

A crowd of Grots were now encircling the banner of Nurgle, each tugging on the ends until it tore into several pieces, which the Grots also began to fight over. Rotgor grinned...He could intervene, teach the Gobbos a lesson about their place with his Powerklaw, but the Gretchin had served uncharacteristically well and they were entitled to their trophies, after the last battles, all the greenskins were as far as Rotgor was concerned. As the Runtherd approached, the Gretchin quickly stashed their trophy-tatters into whatever pockets or hiding places they could find and gathered into loose formation, staying a few steps away from the Squig-hound as the Runtherd led them quickly back toward the rest of the army, himself hoping to avoid a lesson on Grot supervision from Rotgor.

A light breeze carried the lingering odor of the battle across the field and into Rotgor's nostrils. It smelled like smoke; like gunpowder; like blood; like death; like combat- it smelled good.

"We'z ready, boss." A Nob grumbled from behind Rotgor. Rotgor nodded, he couldn't recall the Nob's name, but at the rate he was losing them in combat, he didn't care to.

"Get 'em movin', we gotta lot mo' 'oomies to kill, and prolly a lot mo' o' these new squishies too."

The Nob scurried away, barking orders in the distance. Behind Rotgor his ever-growing warband, hardly depleted by their latest skirmishes, began to mobilize on the hunt for their next battle. The Boyz were becoming accustomed to victory, and each conquest put Rotgor Badgut another step closer to the secrets of Ghedda Prime... and away from Ghedda Prime.

The Green Vengeance Army moved on.

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!”