“Dis all yourz, ‘Ead Grot Grikkle. If they’z gonna be under you, bettah start it off right. Remembah, if you’z can't ‘andle these wif dat gun, then you’z not going nowhere. Do dis right. Do it ‘ard. WAAAGH!”
Grikkle, primed up by my inspirational speech, charged out of the crevice and towards the ramshackle hut. He fired a trio of shots into the shack, the bullets actually breaking the front wall down. Gretchins toppled out of the tiny, two-story hut, sleepy eyes widening in fear. They started scrambling around in terror, as if the sky were about to collapse. But Grikkle handled it in splendid Orkish fashion.
“Shut it, you gitz! Dah next one dat makes a peep gets krumped, got it?!” This, punctuated by another short volley, which somehow actually hit one Gretchin in the leg despite being aimed nearly thirty degrees to the right, put a quick stop to the scramble. The little goblins took a moment to take in the situation, and most quickly fell into the pack, hiding in numbers. But there were two Grots that were a good deal bigger than Grikkle, and the biggest stepped forward, pulling a sharpened pipe from a tattered belt.
“Whose you, to be makin’ all dis ruckus? It'z not even wakin’ time, and you’z already come to surrendah to Rotgut Durgamush? Har Har Har!” The slightly fat Grot slapped his belly to punctuate the laughter, but even from my hiding place, I could hear the hint of fear in his voice. Sure, size was a big factor, but the lesser greenskins are cowards at heart, and seeing a foe with a massive weapon advantage had him almost shaking in his boots, despite his laudable bluff. But it just wasn't that Grots day. Grikkle marched straight at the would be leader, gun angled in his rough direction. Rotgut, having put on a brave display, wasn't quite ready to back down, and waved his pipe threateningly. “Come on then, if you’z got dah ner-”
The crisp, beautiful crackle of gunfire interrupted the posturing, followed shortly by a warcry from my favorite little goblin. Rotgut, ill-prepared for the sudden attack, backpedaled wildly, fleeing from the rushing goblin. Grikkle kept firing his Slugga, the slightly oversized weapon needing both hands to hold steady. The bullets all went wide, but those few that hit near the old goblin boss put bursts of speed in the fat Grots tiny feet.
The two ran about the cave, hollering and screaming in equal measure. Grikkle soon ran out of ammo, but that didn't comfort the tiring Rotgut any. And slowly but surely, Grikkle ran the Grot down. With a blow to the back, the goblin was sent to the ground, only to have his head smashed into the floor as blow after blow from Grikkle’s pistol landed on his back. The goblin screamed for mercy, but Grikkle kept smashing the metal butt of his gun on the exhausted Grot.
The little bastard refused to die, thanks to the incredible durability of greenskins, and the relatively weak upper body strength of the average Grot. Their thin limbs were great for dexterous work, and their toughness let them survive most of the harshness that comes with living with Orks, but this meant fighting with blunt weaponry was a brutal affair.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The lack of adrenaline and Orkishness in me had me somewhat sickened by the sight, so I distracted myself with a quick review of my situation. I pulled out the bags beneath my oversized shirt, and laid out the contents. Two Sluggas, both in relatively good shape, each with two extra thirty round magazines. Well, /around/ thirty rounds each, as they all varied slightly in length and shape, as did the guns themselves. Next was a pair of Choppas, one a nice, heavy steel beast of a cleaver, the other a scrap iron hulk that looked like it had been smashed and welded together, rather than forged. Lastly, a bag of goodies containing some teef, a few balls of twine and string, a hammer, a tiny hatchet and knife that were weapons sized for a Grot, but would do as rudimentary tools, and finally, four small Bag Squig stomachs filled to near bursting with crude nails.
All in all, not much of a start for a burgeoning Super Ultra Ork Boss, but it'd do. And I'd like to see anyone think of a better name for what I was aiming at. I'm the cleverest Ork-man that ever was, and nobody can say otherwise. I grabbed the head of a Grot that tried to sneak past, and threw him back into the cave. The git landed hard on a stony patch of earth, but he deserved it, trying to escape during our company merger.
Grikkle finally finished beating a dead horse, and ambled over to the watching crowd, strutting like a peacock. He had a boldness to him after the fight, an almost glowing nature that practically dripped aggression and testosterone, or whatever the Orkish equivalent is called. He stepped right up to the group, a nasty grin splitting his face. “You’z all MY Grots now! You do as I say, or you’z feed dah Squigs! Now, none of you is gonna be runnin’, cause deres no place to go. I know a Tribeless Gathering when I spots it, and now dat you gotz found, you pay dah price! Anyone dat say othawise, you can just slit ya throat now, an’ save us dah trouble o’ cleanin’ up!”
Naturally, nobody took him up on his generous offer. Loyalty was not the strongest quality of greenskin culture. Fear worked plenty well though. I watched with more than a bit of amusement as he shouted them all into what could be considered a formation, if you were gracious enough to call the squarish blob of goblins by such a term. Grikkle motioned me forward, which irked me slightly, the Orkish bit of me seeing it as an order, and something no Grot would dare try to someone like me, but the human part was firmly in control. It was currently feeding what could be roughly called the Orkish thinky bits a steady stream of daydreams, showing it the grand slaughters it would enact once the REAL thinky bits were finished. And for now, it was satisfied, so I was mostly unhindered by sudden bursts of excessive violence. For now….
I stomped my way out of the crevice, Slugga in one hand, and Choppa in the other. I smiled in a way I hoped was ruthless like as I approached, giving the corpse of Rotgut a good kick, the mangled body splitting in half from the blow. Another image fed to the Orky bits, and kept carefully away from the more ‘sensible’ and ‘socialized’ thinking parts. Grikkle gave me a proper introduction as I neared the group, shouting at the top of his wee little Grot lungs. “Now look here, yah gits! Dis here is dah Bosses Boss! I say jump, you jump! He say jump, you become a 'Opping Squig gotz it?!”
A round of “Yes, Boss!” followed Grikkle’s pronouncement, which turned my smile soft and warm. Which for a Grot is something far, FAR more terrifying than a fighty grin. A satisfied Boss is one likely to stop for a Grot snack, or start thinking with what little bits of their brains aren't focused on killing, both being highly dangerous to the lesser greenskins. And so the little goblins were MORE than willing to get to work on my little projects. First things first, I was in need of a new sleeping spot.
A few words to Grikkle, and the entire band got to work tearing their already tattered hut apart, salvaging what little material Grikkle deemed worthy of being used in the new construction. Seeing things were proceeding with as much speed as can be expected of sleepy Gretchins, it was time to put my muscles to use. A tiny shack was nowhere near enough material for what I had planned. And lucky for me, there was a warehouse filled with plenty of useful bits right outside my doorstep. With a long stretch, I prepared to do what no self-professed Runtherd or Weaboo would ever admit. Manual labour.