Badzapper and the Contankerous Badmoons; A Warhammer 40000 story~ (Thedecker x Lord Dreamcrusher)

[TheDecker]

In black space, in the very ether of our universe, in this time of which it is Mankind's 40th millennia; There is only war. When distance is immaterial, so is speed, and so to does an idea such as time become a thing that is malleable. Here in space, at home in the infinite continuum, what is there to do? Some conquer, Others meddle, but Ork's? Well, in their own twistedly pure irony, the brutal Orks simply amuse themselves in callous ways. And within the massive complex of a once ruined space hulk, adrift in space, searching for the next big thing which can grab their 'albeit' small span of attention; Were such things called Orks. ​

Within one of the many hall's of the gothic ship, with much of it's wall's repaired by bit's of scrap and much of it's rooms filled with unspeakable living conditions; Stood a large Nob. His large choppa raised over head, a looming threat to be brought down upon a tiny little runt in a moments notice. "Oi, nt'like I were talken back! Werent meaning to, werent meaning to!" The little gretchen cried out, pleading for mercy. "Nt'like I give a grots teef if ye were or ye weren't not meaning on talken back! Ye talked back!" It said with an increasingly agitated grip of it's giant, unwieldy axe. The Gretchen lay on it's back, arms outward in the near universal sign of helplessness, all the way up until the axe finally came barreling down.

As the squishing sound filled the room, the Nob looked over to the runtherd, who should be keeping the tiny tikes in check. Pointing the now very dark red and blood covered axe towards him. Bit's of black fungi and sinew dripping from it's jagged teeth. "Oi, aint you spose to handle dis lot? Hmm? Bes'kick they teef in arder', ta listen' arder. Else I kick'n yo teef arder then ya been kick'n they teef!" the Nob said in a way, clearly too jagged a form of normal Gothic for any human to understand but was clear enough a threat for any Ork smaller to crack back in line. "Ight' me kick in teef real good already, but me kick in teef arder'" The Runherd said, as it brought it's electric prod down on the next nearest Gretchen. "OI, go get fungi beer for da boy'z ere now! Get on, get on. Da'lot of ye get on!" the Runtherd said as he pressured the Gretchen out of the room. One of them grunting in visibly pure frustration as it punted a neardy squig away. Though, no one would pay anymind to the small gretchen expressing frustrations on the smaller squig. Such was the hierarchy; simple, pure and for better or worse infinitely organized in it's chaos. Might means right, the biggest is the boss.


The Nob would then turn to a particular Orc, walking over to the Table he would be sitting on. The Nob would rest his axe into the metal table with a loud thunk, it's jagged teeth chewing into it and steadying the axe, handle outward. "Oi, Badzappa." The nob said with authority. "Youz a craftier Ork'n I is. Whens the last time we'z all ad a goo'scrap?" The Nob's name was Ruckus. And he was in charge of a simple group of Boy'z, one among them being Badzappa. He showed promise, though most if not all Ork's around him would be too dull or live too focused on life in the moment to realize this. None the less. As Ruckus would ask this, he would pay no mind to disturbing whatever it was Badzappa was doing, raising his leg to rest the sol'o'his boot onto the table, next to where his sawblade axe was carved into it.

(PM me a Roll on Intelligence if you so chose to answer the Nob. On if Badzappa recall's how long your segment of Badmoons has been adrift.)

 

[Lord DreamCrusher]

Badzappa was tinkering with his choppa when the Nob came his way and started yappin'. He hadn't been paying much attention to the argument going on, nor the death of the gretchin, but he had glanced up from his work enough to catch the gist of things. Setting the weapon down atop the table for the moment so he could look to Ruckus, Bazappa reached up to scratch his chin while he thought since that made his brain work harder. "Hmm, well dat was 'bout eight monfs 'er so since we scrapped with sum otha Orks on da smokey wastes. Course, if yer meanin' sumfing otha den Orks den it been..."

He scratched his chin some more and did a measure of math that was wholly unnecessary for any typical ork, truly most orks couldn't even count more than the fingers on one hand. It was overkill to give a more exact number but it was also a bit of pride that spurred him on to show off when his intellect was being useful. After all, Bad Moons were all about being ostentatious and showing off what they possessed. Why not include kunnin' in that too? "...twelve monfs, six days, 'n five hours since we stomped us sumfing dat wasn't green. I'm lookin' forward to krumpin sum humies or zoggin' elves. It's about time for da Waaagh!" He picked up his choppa, a heavy and dead-killy example of ork engineering, and smacked it against the table with a loud bang. Conveniently enough this was exactly what he needed to make da sparky bitz work as they crackled to life and channeled lightning and sparks up and down the length of the choppa.