I fell to my knees in awe as a wave of power and emotion rushed through me, along with a vision of strength and conquest, where Greenskins of every kind took to the air on my creations, with myself at the lead. The pure, unbridled awe that filled me was beyond description, and brought such a powerful motivation that I was on my feet, and was halfway to the forge before I even knew what was happening. All thought of planning was cast aside, and the DOING began, all at the bidding of Mork. I screamed orders at the ugly Grots, kicking two that dared get in my way. Food and drink was quickly fetched as I pulled out a pre-heated bar of iron from the massive series of furnaces that lit the cave. With practiced ease, I started my work, bending iron to my will.

  Minutes turned into hours as I prepared all the necessities for my project. While I could hand-craft a rocket, having machines and Grots to speed the process was vital if I was to fulfill the great design shown to me by the great God Mork. A dozen machine frames were welded together, with cogs, pumps, wires, and all sorts of gubbinz and thingamajigs being shoved inside before the whole frame was enclosed in metal, the occasional hatch being added to allow for future repairs and modifications.

  It felt like the very hand of Mork was guiding me in my endeavor, an almost palpable sensation in my thinky bits, putting a general idea into my head, which I brought into reality. Some things I built had purposes that were beyond me, such as a machine to cool a freshly formed iron plate as it came out from under the massive concrete roller, which I'd made in a smoothed out promethium barrel. Each minute was filled with the wonder of making, and knowing that Mork was preparing me for the great plan. It was a wondrous moment, so full of joy and excitement that I worked harder than at any other point in my life, to the point where I needed a constant supply of freshly cooked Squigs and Fungus Beer to keep moving, my entire body being pushed to the limit.

  The Grots grew weary far too fast, even those tasked with keeping the others in line sneaking off to take naps. But I bullied whoever I could find into the minor makings, especially the more boring ones. And when even the smallest and most fearful had been pushed beyond their limits, often sleeping directly at their workstations, the work was finally complete. With extreme reverence, I pulled a rough lever, and marveled at the result. Small engines roared to life, pumps, cogs, and motors working in tandem to keep the massive series of machines running. A massive sheet of red-hot steel was nudged out of a thin gap inside a furnace, and onto a conveyor belt. It was then run through a series of machines that did some sort of strange magic to it, massive clanging and crashing as if a thousand hammers were smashing against the massive metal sheet. I watched with curious fascination as the metal was slowly shaped and transformed, and after nearly ten minutes, it was lain at the end of a conveyor belt, where a torch was at the ready to carve the sheet. A second sheet was already on the way, having been rolled under the concrete cylinder, and proceeded along the same path, being cooled, reheated, shocked with electricity, and hammered by massive presses.

  I moved to the finished sheet, and stared at it intently, thinking of how I would use this first sheet of metal. Many ideas filled me, too many to handle, and for several minutes, I merely stared at the metal, resting my body as my mind did its work. I was not the only one admiring the new machine. Hedsnagga had woken from his nap, and was busy inspecting the series of machines with an approving eye. He nodded repeatedly at each section, finding not a single flaw. Finally, he turned to me, and with a massive grin, he said, “You’z got talent, Boy. I be finkin’ you’z ready for you’z first Jalopy.”

  Pride filled me, and I basked in the glory, stretching to my full height for all to see, even if the only witnesses were half-dead Grots that couldn't muster the strength to move to more comfortable sleeping places. I stood before the other Mek, enjoying the intensely satisfying sensation of being recognized as a potential peer. But that is where Hedsnagga was wrong. I had no need to prove myself to this fool. I was blessed by Mork himself! However…. I smiled and nodded to the Mek, responding to his uppity request with a simple grunt. I would humor this Mek, and show him my superior technique, and bring him to heel, all in service to Mork’s Plan!

  I would not be staying in this small workshop forever, and we would eventually bring this great Waaaagh! to Armageddon. As such, I would need a way of transporting my machines and Boyz. A vehicle was in order. One filled with weapons and machines, capable of pumping out a massive amount of ammo, even as it created even more. Thoughts of tiny, Grot-run vehicles filled my mind, the little buggies roaring too and fro, looting and scavenging the enemy wrecks for valuables, and refilling the metal reserves of my main fleet of forge Trukks, a hundred massive vehicles that pumped out guns and ammo in massive numbers to fuel the Waaagh!

  This thought seemed blessed by Mork himself, as a series of plans and concepts pushed themselves on my consciousness, providing designs and ideas to aid in my creation. But they also pushed back on my grand vision, focusing heavily on the creation of a single Trukk, and the proper outfitting of the Stormboyz, whose leadership I would have to take over. A powerful compulsion to not grow too focused on a single plan filled me, warning me of my limits, limits that would need powerful weapons, and many bloody battles to reach beyond. The wisdom was so beyond my ken, that I knew it had to be from Mork, and I trembled at the thought of disobeying. With this compulsion in mind, I began to prepare myself for the ordeals ahead, pushing my blessed body beyond its limits, for surely, I was blessed by the Gods themselves, and no physical limits could hold me back.

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  I woke to a body so sore, I worried I was dying. Every inch of me was one massive ache, making it impossible to tell what parts were seriously damaged, and which were just severely over-worked. But even more than my body, my very soul felt stretched and ragged, having fought tooth and nail against the waves of stupidity and idiocy that practically oozed from the Orkish side of myself. Nearly every thought I’d had in the past two days had been utterly insane, and the quality of workmanship had been at a level so dismal, I half expected a Grot could do better. Things had gone from bad to worse when Orky me had refused rest after eighteen straight hours of work, intelligence falling from dismal, to absolutely horrendous. One does not design weapons or make plans when they are about to collapse from fatigue, but Orky me clearly didn’t understand the risks, even after three failed attempts at making an Energy Field, each involving a massive explosion, one nearly taking my head, which had been saved only by shoving a Grot between me and the ball of fire.

   But all in all, I can say that I was proud of the results. Not only had I managed to somewhat steer the sinking ship that was Orky me, but I’d also returned to my normal self, or rather, something that more closely resembled my original self. I still felt a compulsion to go and beat the shit out of everything in sight, but I was able to quell the sensation by promising even greater carnage once my work was truly finished. And speaking of work, it was time to see just how well the last two days had gone.

   I slowly dragged myself out from beneath the metal hovel that had been erected near the forges, blinking furiously as sleepy eyes were exposed to the bright light once the leather flap was moved aside. I stumbled out of the temporary shelter, and gazed upon the wreckage-strewn floor that was once a somewhat tidy workspace. Half-finished projects, failed experiments and discarded gizmos covered the ground in such incredible amounts, one could barely see the stone floor. But amongst the failures and trash, there were three new, wondrous creations.

   With well-deserved pride, I strode up to my new Trukk, running a hand along the rough exterior. The vehicle was an absolute monster, more akin to a tank than a truck. It boasted five Grot-operated turrets, two on the sides and one on the rear, along with a much larger, tank-like armament that fired 65mm exploding rounds. The entire vehicle was enclosed in plates made from my previous machine, with only two doors interrupting the thick metal carapace. In total, it could hold six Boyz, plus the driver and gunners. It could almost be called a Battlewagon, but it was too small, as I had been unable to make an engine capable of that amount of power, despite several attempts. While it lacked any distinguishing markings ( so far ), or any truly innovative additions, it was MINE, and far from my best work. I could hardly imagine what monstrosities I could make once I was in control of the creation.

   After double-checking everything was in working order, which took far longer than one might expect, I moved on to my next creation. This particular piece of work had been the most difficult, and had ended in almost complete failure. What had started as a fully mobile suit of armor had devolved into a pair of armored, semi-powered legs that somewhat assisted in carrying the massive carapace that would cover my upper body. The carapace covered most of my chest, and one arm, as the other had exploded when I’d tried to add a twin-linked Shoota to it. The remaining arm also had a bit of powered motion to it, but it was barely enough to offset the additional weight. While it lacked finesse, it had a built-in chainsword that /usually/ worked, which would no doubt make for a brutal melee weapon, if I could land a hit. Much of the armor and Kustomizations had to be removed, due to a lack of powered motion, but eventually, I was able to get it to the point where I could /probably/ move in it, with only a small amount of reduced agility, all without leaving a single hole for fire or bullets to enter, besides the large opening for my head.

   All in all, it was a massive improvement over my naked body, but an almost complete failure when compared to what I’d been trying to make. But this failure was somewhat offset by the third and final creation. A fully automated munitions factory, all built on a wheeled chassis that could be hauled behind my Trukk. Feed it scraps of any sort, and it would melt down the metal, then through a process that I couldn’t explain, it would separate the desperate elements, tossing reformed blocks of non-munitions grade metals out the back for use elsewhere, while hoarding the useful bits in several cauldrons, which were then fed into the rest of the process, where bullet casings were formed, filled with explosives, then the bullet was sealed over the end. It wasn’t very fast, but it didn’t need to be, since it would run all day and night, so long as enough proper metal and fuel was added. It could make four different sizes of ammo, one for the Trukk's main kannon gun, one for the Grot-sized turrets, one for normal weapons, and finally an explosive variant that was slightly bigger than the norm, which would be used for my next creation. But I was mentally exhausted, and didn’t have it in me to do more work. It was time to relieve some stress. I stared at the semi-functional suit of armor, and grinned. I grabbed one of my side-projects, a double-barreled Shoota along with a sack of extra magazines, and woke a few Grots to help in getting in my armor. It was time for the maiden voyage of my new creation.