Outside the Farm

In the grim dark future that was the 31st Millenium, there was only war… and the inevitable boring post that most soldiers would experience in their short and brief lifetime. It was a universal experience for any soldier in those uncertain times. Despite the constant war that was happening all over the galaxy, there was also the matter of holding territories captured or conquered. From the advanced Necrons to even the simplest of primitive creatures who had barely gotten out of their celestial cradles, holding ground was a certainty that even war could not quite match.

This was certainly the reality the two Orks would find in themselves dealing with on the frigid world they held. Under heavy snow and bitter cold they stood guard, watching the frozen tundra for any signs of life. “How long do we have to stand guard here, Grobgol?” muttered one of the guards as he huddled close to the fire box, while waiting for the squigdogs inside to cook.

“As long as it takes, Nozgard,” The bigger of the two replied, growling as static filled his radio no matter how many other channels he switched to. Smashing his fists against the box, he gave it a good hammering, yet the radio remained broken. Throwing up his hands in frustration, he then threw the damn thing on the snow before slumped on his seat. With nothing to do, he peered out of the darkness, waiting for the damn blizzard to die down. “We’ll get cycled back to the fighting… eventually,” He muttered, sighing into his palm.

Growling, Nozgard would turn to their companion and shout, raging about their current situation, “Is this the reward Warboss Magnsik gave us for being perfect soldiers? To stand guard on worlds that have no fighting?!”

This would earn him a cuff on the back of his head, nearly sending the helmet he wore into the snowy ground as Grobgol glared at Nozgard. The smaller of the two would rub the back of his head as he glared back as he was forced to listen to his companions lecturing, “You shut your trap! The boss is far smarter than either of us combined! In fact, he has more thinking in his pinkie than even the General! Who else could have taught us that beating someone till they give up is way harder than just killing them?”

Baring his bigger tusks, Grobgol would then ask his diminutive companion, "And do you really think that I, of all orks, don't give you a good scrap!? Why I ought to wallop you here and now instead of waiting in the field!” He then grabbed his axe and brandished it over Nozgard, who shrunk under him.

“Of course, everyone in this fortress can give all of us a fight, but there’s that fighting and there’s a proper scrap!” Nozgard would reason, pushing his companions weapon aside as he muttered darkly, “It’s been ages since we had a that kind of fight, not since the boss ran away,”

Grobgol snorted as he tucked his weapon away, crossing his arm as he fired back, “He certainly did not run away. This is just his contingency plan for maybe one of those fighting retreats and what not he does. He always comes back, he always does… but it is strange that we have so many Generals popping up…” There was hesitation in his voice however, especially with the state of the fortress they were guarding.

The fortress had definitely not seen any fight in weeks, with its walls plated with fresh metal and bullet holes long patched up, the fortress was practically immaculate. Conflicting orders were being sent on the radio, so they simply resorted to just doing the last order the Warboss told them and that was to guard this fortress. No one from the top brass sent an order from the Warboss as they made it clear that it was their order and not the boss's order.

Taking a look at the fortress behind them, he then added, “And it’s not like this is all useless. Where do you think we make bombs?” With tall smoke stacks belching corrosive and polluting smoke and snaking tubes running all over the citadel in the middle of the walled fortress, it was clear that it wasn’t just a fortress but a chemical plan as well.

Nozgard chuckled, nodding as he replied, “Hah… yeah, Boom Boom Fridays are fun.” Scratching his back, he then complained, “But when are we going to punch some 'umies in the face? Hah, I swear some Nobs are getting so bored that I’ve heard rumors that there’s this pair of very big 'umies that’ve been killing and looting nearby worlds! I think his name is… Morus? No, wait! It’s Horu-!” before they even uttered the name of the being, however, they quickly found themselves muffled by the large hands of their companion wrapped around their mouth.

“Don’t you dare say that name!” Grobgol hissed out, looking around in fear before letting them go with a sigh of relief, “Do you want us all to get hunted down and killed without even being able to fight back?! I want to die a proper scrap like you do, but speak that name and you’ll find that both of us would be bleeding out here on the snow! There’s a scrap and there’s that, and I will not take part in a slaughter,” He then scolded his companion, shaking his head at them in dismay.

Nozgard in turn would massage his jaw as he gave his companion a look of surprise and disbelief, “Do you seriously believe in that load of bullcrap? And what’s it all that simpering and trembling? It's not like they're real, I’m merely telling a story here! Lightning up the conversation if you will,” He questioned his bigger companion in exasperation, “For an ork your size, you’re awfully superstitious!” He shouted angrily at the other ork.

Crossing his arm, Nozgard would then tell him, “There’s no way that they’d be a thing, not when Warboss Magnsik showed us that even the biggest 'umies could bleed.” All 'umies bleed, like the Boyz and like everyone else. “There’s simply no way that some two bit 'umies who they said the Boss, our boss you zoggin moron, already beat should be still alive, or at least not running around slaughtering the Boyz!” He argued.

Grogbol shook his head in the negative as he reached for one of the many pockets his flak jacket was equipped with. “They’re still around and I have proof! I know you don’t think they’re real, but a buddy of mine swore it on his favorite bolter,” He insisted as he fished out a plate which he proudly showed off to his companion, “He’s even got photos of it as he was part of the clean up. Here! See?” He asked, pressing the pictogram close.

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Nozgard stared at the finely drawn scene of orks torn to shreds and the head of one General missing before looking up at his companion, “You know Grobgal… ‘ummies can just carve that, right?” He asked, reminding the man that any pictogram could be doctored. It was an all to common thing these days, having their pet humans “doctor” such commemorative and documentary depictions of scenes to make their masters look good.

Grobgol scoffed, looking at his friend in offense as he tucked his photo back in his pouch. “Bah! They’re real and you can’t convince me otherwise!” He fired back as he stood up, walking into the snow field where the harsh wind blew hard, making even the biggest mushroom caps wilt in the blizzard, “They’re out there… just waiting,” He insisted, warning his companion.

Said companion would simply scoff at him, but Grobgal remained undeterred as he continued, “They say that to catch a glimpse of them is certain death for there is no escape once they are there, for the slaughter is about to start.”

Nozgard, meanwhile, merely listened on, content to just let his companion run his mouth as it proved to be far more entertaining than just standing there. “What the…” That was until he saw a large figure at the edge of his vision. The briefest flash of black and white and before they could even turn there they were gone, with only quickly fading boot marks on the snow, “Grobgal, I’ll just look at something, just keep talking, ok?” He called out as he walked towards where the footsteps stopped.

Grobgol waved him off as he then said, “Two figures shall appear before the mist. One of Black and White with a great big eye upon their chest and the other of dreaded and stained Silver with some manner of furry beast upon their shoulders.”

Nozgard would frown as he knelt down, inspecting the fresh tracks. It’s was if someone ran up to the wall and just… jumped over it, but as he turned he’d find the wall would be easily four times his height and made of loud metal, a fact that he made clear as he bang his fist against the steel plates.

“Taller than most Nobs, but still smaller the the Warboss and his General, they shall stand, as silent as the dead,” His companion shouted as he continued his tale as Nozgard frown deepened. Comparing the shoe mark to his own… he found it was much much bigger.

“... I don’t like this,” He muttered as he turned around and jogged back to the gate, passing by his companion as he banged the passwords on the gate.

As the whirring of the gate filled the air, Grobgol would raise his voice, “Oh if you think that’s terrible then wait till you hear what more I have in store!” As the gate started rising up, Nozgard would freeze as he saw green blood spray over his feet. There was fighting nearby but… why was there no shouting? This didn’t make sense! “With their great sword and claw alike, they rip through armored orks and tanks equally, crushing them and slicing through without so much as waking a grot,”

His question would be quickly answered as the gate opened up enough and there before the snow grounds were the headless bodies of orks, their bodies still twitching and flailing about and forest green stained the snow. “Grob…” Ge whispered, his eyes pinpricks as he slowly backed away.

“With armor thicker and better than our great foundries, they are clad, stopping any and all strikes and shots upon them,” His companion shouted and there, in the distance he’d see them as gun fire filled the air. Nozgard could barely believe his eyes as he blinked before the poor ork disappeared into fine mist, their guns clattering down on the metal floor as a great giant of silver turned towards him, their terrible red eyes boring it to his very soul.

Nozgard swallowed, all the hairs of his squig hair standing as the figure disappeared in another blink of an eye. They were there, right? Why couldn’t he see them any longer? Where were they?!

Grobgol would still remain oblivious as he shouted, “I swear I will have those Zoggin idiots for discharging shots! We have trigger discipline for a reason, people!”Shaking his head, his companion would continue on, “Now, where was I? Ah yes…”

Catching himself, Nozgard quickly reached out to his companion, shaking him, “Grob! Grobgal!” they had intruders in the midst!

“Just let me get this part done, I’m nearly finished!” Grobgol growled out pushing him aside even as Nazgard heard a choked scream. His heart beating wildly as more and more of his companions, orks looking around in confusion suddenly dropping dead like flies. “Thank you,”

“Running would do no you good, for it is merely a delay for the inevitable, for they are far faster than even the speediest of Truks.” One by one they fell, Alarms blaring as Nozgard finally found his nerves and slammed the alarm, it was clear that there was danger but it would be too late. They were here. “If you think hiding could help you then think again cause they say that the very heat of your breath clues them onto to your position.”

“Even if you stand and fight, there will be no chance for they will simply appear before you and the last thing you’ll see are those terrible glowing eyes before it’s all over,” Grobgol then chuckled before frowning as he just noticed the alarm blaring. Why wasn’t there any shouting? Shrugging, he then finished his story as he looked back, “But like you said, it’s not like they should be a real thing, right?” Only to find an empty fortress with its gate wide open.

“Nozgard…?” he called out merely for his voice to echo in the now empty corridors of the fortress, “Guys?” He smelt blood… but no one was there. Where was everyone?

“I’m afraid, my little ork, you're the only one left.” A voice would call out from behind, making Grobgal turn and freeze as he came face to face with a giant being clad in armor whose singular red eye glared back at them. With their green stained claws, they loomed over them and Grobgol, in his short existence as an Ork, finally got to experience an emotion he’d only heard from humans as he looked up and beheld the two red eyes filled with burning hate; fear. “And as you can see, I’m very much real.”

Grobgal was about to shout, only to find himself out of breath- and why was the world around him spinning?