I walked down the line of impromptu nest boxes, taking a moment to inspect each one. I had given the Grots orders to construct themselves a bed out of the crates and scrap cloth we had hauled in. The results were…. mixed. I'd shown them all a clever way to dismantle the boxes into a more manageable size, in such a way that a small cubby was left below the bed where you could stuff your goodies, where sneaky hands would have to lift you and your bed to get at them. And while a few clever or hard working goblins had done as I'd shown, most had just lined the box with cloth, and spent the remaining time taking a nap. I noted those that followed instructions, adding them to the growing list of potentials. I'd found some material that could pass as paper and pen in the warehouse, but wasting such precious material on goblin names and descriptions seemed a poor solution to the problem.
But, seeing as I was quite the clever Orky, I had a solution. One of the more industrious and clever Gretchins had been given a sewing kit and cloth, and was now making little arrow and star patches, perfect for keeping track of rank and rewards. That is, until the Grots started counterfeiting them, but with numbers as they were, odds were low any could get away with it to any real degree.
A few Grots were still at work, mostly adding little decorations and such. I had made it EXTREMELY clear that the bed you made was yours, and the only bed you'd get. No stealing or swapping. Now, if any were smart enough to hire or bully a helper into assisting, I wouldn't say anything, but so far it seemed nobody had bothered. Most of those still working proudly displayed their work, putting their best foot forward with plenty of compliments to me, and how I had shown them such a wonderful way to make a new bed, as well as somewhat genuine gratitude for having their own beds. Few Grots could claim such a privilege, even as rudimentary as the constructions were.
I gave small bits of praise to the more successful workers, and gave the lazy nappers a good kick to their bed to get them awake, sometimes breaking in the unsteady crate sides and causing the bed to collapse in on itself. A careful hint at my expectations without using brute force to enforce a strict requirement. Those that worked well would get rewarded and those that didn't would get ribbed a bit, but would mostly just fade into the background, lacking any distinction or high rank in the herd hierarchy. That was the plan, at least. There was little point in trying to force the goblins into something they just weren't meant to be.
After a complete inspection, the herd was rounded up and back into formation, with plenty of sleepy mutters that I pretended to ignore. Once everyone was somewhat attentive, thanks to the occasional smack to the back of the head from Grikkle, I started my speech.
“Boyz, listen up and listen well. We’z about to do sumffin big. I’z giving you lot a chance to get a taste of dah good life. You all is used to workin’ plenty, but few of you know how to make otherz work propah. Well, dis is your chance. We’z goin’ raidin’. Dah plan is to nab as many Grots and Gretchins while dey is sleepin’. Dem gitz gonna be slavez, and do all dah work, and you’z just gotta make sure dey do it. Dat means sittin’ ‘igh and fancy while all dah ‘ard stuff gets done.”
I let the words sink in. The bigger Grots had already done this for themselves, but the smaller ones had likely never had real slaves. Sure, they'd probably kicked a few of the smallest Gretchins in the butt and sent them on a task, but a dedicated slave core should definitely appeal to them. And I needed them to see sticking with me as something well worth the effort, enough that they don't just up and run, and make me start over with a new group. And having a caste of slaver Grots would give me their loyalty, while also keeping a group of workers handy. The early output would be pretty low, but that wasn't important at the moment. A solid, willing horde was everything right now.
The curious and confused looks slowly turned to shock, greed, and even more confusion. I wasn't sure if the slow processing speed was due to the Ork stupidity, or the absurdity of some random Ork making an entire clan of tribeless Grots into slavers. I didn't let them think for too long, dropping the next bomb right away.
“But before we can do all dat, we’z gotz to get you lot ready. No Grots of mine is gonna go out wiffout some stompy weaponz.”
And so it was time for the most important test of them all. With a wave of my hand, I gave Grikkle the order. The goblin kicked off the lid of a closed crate, then shoved it over, spilling the contents on the floor. Dozens of trashed weapons crashed to the floor, scavenged from the warehouse and from my previous search of the compound. Rusty Choppas, half dismantled Sluggas, hefty iron clubs, and even a few bits of what was once some sort of laser weapon, with plenty of coils.
“Now, you lot is gonna show Grikkle here wot you can do. If’n you can make a Slugga from dis here pile, it'z yourz. If not, you’z gets a Choppa or klub. If you make a gun, you getz your name on it, and like dah beds, anybody dat tries to take it, I'z gonna Krump good.”
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And with that, Grikkle dumped two more crates, leaving enough materials to arm every Grot twice over. The stage was set. Those with useful talents would be getting the best weapons, no matter their size. They'd be primed for a bit of power leveling, to use a familiar term. Orks grow from adrenaline, and stomping someone bigger than you would be the best way for getting big fast. And if they won because of a weapon advantage, well, who can blame them? And maybe they'd fight some bigger Grots with broken legs and arms to even the playing field. I'd be giving them as many advantages as I could to get my specially selected Grots up to size, and make it clear how that success was achieved. Loyal, tough Grots used to following specific instructions that have yielded high results in the past, what better way to keep morale high, and limit desertion? If there was one, I had yet to think of it.
The on rushing horde of greenskins was slightly terrifying as they charged at the pile of weapons. Grots and Gretchins scrambled over parts, clawing and smacking each other with gusto. While the quarrels were counterproductive, there is only so much I could do to give the smaller goblins an advantage, and just being bigger was a sign of success in and of itself. And so I merely watched the scramble, eyeing the fights with mild amusement. Oh, who am I kidding. I could have lined them up and let them try their hand. I just wanted to watch them beat the shit out of each other.
And that is exactly what they did. One even managed to get his Shoota functional during the scramble, and used it to scare off his competitors. This particular Grot was one I'd already marked out previously, and his success merely solidified his new position. I put down my knife and the remaining cloth that I had been cutting into straps just long enough to tie a Grots hands behind his back, and waded through the fight to the Grot, carrying a star patch and a knife. The Grot flinched back as I reached out, but I only put the star on his shoulder, and proffered the knife.
Wotz your name, Grot?” The goblin stared at me, understanding dawning as he took the knife. "D-Deek Grutsmaks, Boss." I smiled He carved a crude name into the guns stock, and proffered it to me. I took the weapon, and examined the name. A smile split my lips at a thought. This little Grot deserved a better name. I tossed the Grot my sewing kit and retrieved my knife. “Well den, Deek, if'n you wantz to be dah first of my pers’nel Grots, you'z gots tah get a new name. 'Ow bout dis?" I scratched Deek Quik-Fix on the reciever of the weapon and handed it back to him. Never has a tribeless Grot been more proud. And to prove his pride, he sewed the star straight on his arm. Well, it might have been due to the lack of a shirt, but I liked the think of it as a gesture of loyalty…. It was probably the shirt. Damnit.
The struggle lasted a bit longer, and I had to intervene twice when Grots got really serious over what bits of scavenged gear were theirs. Both quarrels had been bigger Grots claiming some shiny another, smaller goblin had just found. I kept my word, and smacked em good, then returned the bits. Though I must say, it was truly fascinating to watch the little gobbos patch together shit, and make it work. The occasional use of a blowtorch was necessary for welding and slight adjustments, but far less than I would expect. To my dissapointment, many of the fascinating modifications and repairs ended in failure, and after nearly ten minutes, there were only three passable successes, the rest resulting in failure after failure, one so bad, an unlucky greenskin got his head blown off from an accidental discharge. Heh… discharge…
Figuring the rest of the Grots were just making asses of themselves, I put a stop to it all. Those that had succeeded were given a star badge and their name on their gun. I was actually fairly happy at the number, especially since these weapons had hardly any ammo for them. Proving their capability, and having some enforcers would go a ways in helping keep things in check.
One foolish Grot had the genius idea to ‘accidentally’ club a smaller, gun wielding Grot, then exclaim that it was a shame he had gotten knocked out, but it was better someone use the wretch’s weapon. He made a spine-tingling screech when I broke his arms and legs by grabbing both sets of limbs, and stretching until they snapped at the joints. I tossed the shattered but still living body into a Squig pen, leaving him to be slowly eaten by a hundred tiny, baseball sized creatures with big teeth and long, long hair. That got the lesson through REAL quick.
As for the clubbed Grot, he was still breathing, so I tossed him over my shoulder along with his gun. He'd wake eventually, and damnit, but I was keeping my promises. That much I refused to surrender to what I was slowly becoming. Besides, having a reputation for brutal honesty would be nothing but a boon. The Grots would be more trustful of me, and any Ork that thought me as a pushover would get a pleasant surprise when a horde of goblins shot him in the back.
I surveyed my troops, each looking eager to really test their weapons. And I was more than happy to oblige them. I grabbed my bag of makeshift cloth bonds, slipping it on a hook on my belt, then gestured wide to gather their attention. “It'z time to prove what we’z can do! Let’z go get us sum gitz to do our work for us!’
Cheers rang out as I trotted out of the cave, an eager grin on every face. It was time to see if the ragtag bunch of Grots would stick around, or make a run for it. A glance behind me showed Grikkle with his pistol at the back. He winked at me, a gesture I returned. There would be no desertion in MY ranks. Not that would live to spread word of my work. A bullet to the back would make all the little problems solve themselves. Things were shaping up just fine. Juuuuuust fiiiiiine…. fuck, I jinxed it, didn’t I...