Brief 8:
Orkz & 'Umanz
Arena of Stolen Heroes
Day 1
“Granz, what is this bullshit? Why is Lucas doing this?” Said Sven Skyguaard.
“I don’t know, but something ain’t right. Lucas has always been a fuck, but he was our fuck. Even if we aren’t Space Wolves, Lucas would never betray the Empire.” Replied Granz through their laser-linked coms.
“Yeah, something’s fucked.” Agreed Sven.
The ruins of a once-industrial civilization surrounded them as they surveyed for a defensive position. Lucas had been vague, but the need for resources and shelter was clear. The team would have to fight for survival, and hopefully, they could uncover what was going on with their old friend.
A screech came from a nearby structure as metal was being ripped from the walls. The team moved into an alert position as they realized scavengers were near. Granz signaled for an aggressive posture as they approached the ruins to investigate.
“NO, YA DA LITTLE PIECE, AN' I TAKE DA BIG PIECE.” Echoed across the sands.
Speaking via the coms, Grans said, “Looks like we have a little gift, boys! Orks are on the menu!”
——
Pop-pop-pop.
Bolter rounds whizzed by as Grans huddled behind a crumbling stone pillar. His Xeno Phase Axe and Stormshield waited for their opportunity to taste Ork flesh.
The ambush had surprised the Orks, dropping three of them before they could scatter. Like roaches, they moved into the ruins to sculk about, leaving the Death Watch to enact a search-and-destroy maneuver. Grans knew that the filthy Orks would be little competition if he could stomp them out or prevent them from collecting resources. If they had the opportunity to settle, the bloodshed of the arena could make them into a real issue.
So when Grans stumbled upon an ammo cash, he knew there was no better trap for an Ork than bullets. That said, the big one still gave him pause. If he was a lucky man, one of his support gunners on the high ground near where they entered the ruins would take out the big bastard.
Behind him was a rotunda with a patchwork dome held aloft by a series of stone columns. The ammo crate sat within the rotunda as he waited for his prey. It took only minutes before the scrape of a boot on the worn tile stirred Grans into action. As quick as a blink, he charged around the pillar and straight into a monstrous Ork Nobb with a massive rusty chopper.
Well, you can’t unfuck a whore. He thought as his trap was sprung, and his only option was to go balls deep in the one green skin he had hoped to avoid.
Leading with his Stormshield, Grans slammed into the hulking green figure. It felt like running shoulder-first into a boulder as the Ork refused to budge.
With lightning-fast reflexes, the Ork brought his chopper down on Grans’ blade arm, but he was too close to the creature for it to be more than a bash on his shoulder with the chopper's hilt. Bruised, Grans jumped back to give himself space.
“Punny 'umie.” Laughed the Ork as they began to circle, “Ya be Slobbz furst kill ‘n dis sand land.”
The Ork charged, swinging his chopper without finess. The scrap-crafted axe relied on Ork muscle to bludgeon its targets against its dull blade. Ready for the blow, Grans took it on his Stormshield as a direct block, which sent a shock up his arm as the feeling faded to numbness. He knew he couldn't afford many of those blows head-on, so he backed away from the Ork without counterattacking.
"Ha! Stoopid 'uman. Why ya run from Slobb?" The Ork said through a cackle.
Grans stepped in and began to trade blows with Ork. His Xeno Phase Axe was as useless as the Ork's chopper in close range, but he couldn't let it charge him again as it was too big to fight brawn to brawn. Grans' skill began to outmatch the overwhelming power as they faced off, but this Ork was the tribe leader for a reason.
Smashing an Ork boot into Power Armored leg, the Ork forced Grans to stumble, opening an opportunity for a devastating overhead strike from the massive chopper. Off-balance, Grans could do little else but fall with the blade and pray that he remained whole when the strike finished its arc.
Scrap smashed into power armor as his breastplate took the brunt of the blow. Grans, absorbing the momentum, bounced across the tile floor before landing against a column in a pile of sand and golden dust. Motes of the dust, kicked into the air by his landing, gave Grans an idea. It would be risky and force him to abandon his shield, but it could turn the tide of the battle.
The Orks approached with a face-splitting grin, and its chopper held high. Each step echoed victory, and a promise of blood spilled across the sands.
Grans attempted to crawl to his knees but stumbled, crashing back into the sand. His Stormshild fell from his arm and clattered onto the ground.
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Almost.
Scooping up a handful of sand and dust, Grans attempted to crawl onto one knee. His head hung as though he waited for the axe.
The Ork continued to advance without noticing the trick as it focused on a "defeated" opponent. Standing over Grans, the Ork raised its chopper above its head when Grans sprung his trick.
With a thrust aimed at the Ork's face, golden dust and sand particles flew. The Ork couldn't shield its eyes and perform the finishing blow. Being a savage Ork, it decided to strike blind, causing a reverberating crash as the scrap chopper bit into the tile.
Gotcha!
Once the sand left his hand, Grans rolled away from the impending blow. Missing its strike sent the Ork into a rage as it tried to reach for its eyes and swing its empty fist towards Grans.
Now blind and disarmed, Grans found it easy to slip under the Ork's guard to deliver a finishing blow to its ribcage.
Grans stepped back to watch the Ork stumble to its knees, then fall to the ground, nearly split in two.
“Hmmm, maybe they should call me the Ork Splitter?” He mused as he approached the incapacitated Nobb to retrieve his weapon.
——
Unseen, an Ork Git skulked about. Without alerting his prey, the Ork lit his recently acquired stick of dynamite and dropped it into the rotunda. Killing a Nobb and a stoopid 'umie would surely get him a name.
BOOOOOOMMMMMM
——
Ouach. Urted!
The explosion caused by Git 7 echoed throughout the ruins, causing Ri-Kie the Bomb Squiq's ears to ring with pain. Ri-Kie was having a terrible day. First, da boot sent him into the swirl where he was the only Squig. Then the stoopid 'umans hit him with a bolter round. And now stoopid Git made his ears hurt.
“Dem gud job 'der. I fink ya 'av earned a name for dat one.” Lieu said to the Git, who was still staring over the ledge.
“But dey not dead yet!” Questioned the Git as the incapacitated leaders below bled onto the stones.
“'Oo made ya numba two? Not Slobb. 'E made me numba two, and I say ya need a name. A booma name, like Ri-Kie."
Ri-Kie, shy from the attention, slid back into the stairwell, which was how they had gotten to the top of the structure. The Bomb Squig wasn’t sure he liked all the attention that came with finding WAAAGH! At least smart Ork Lieu had taken him to the top of the largest ruin. It was even bigger than the rotunda!
“Nah, not like 'da Squig. I no booma Ork. I groova Ork!” Git 7 said as he began to dance to the sound of bolter fire.
SMACK!
Lieu belted the Git across the face.
“Ya no git ta choose yer name. Ya git ta be Karl. Name for great Booma’Jug. Many Orkz die by Karl. We take da name an' give ta ya.”
Karl didn’t look pleased but replied, “OK, but when I do big fings, I git ta be Karl Da BoomaDanca!”
“You no earn two names. But ya go do big fing, den maybe ya git two names.” Lieu replied with more than a little grumble, as this stoopid Ork had just gotten his first name.
Ri-Kie stuck his head out of the stairwell when the noise of armored boots scraping against stone echoed from the other side of the structure. Another 'umie had arrived.
Lieu moved over to Ri-Kie and brought his green grimace down to Ri-Kie’s level.
“Dis ya chance Ri-Kie! Showz dese worthless Git’s how it's done.”
Big booma! He thought as his face locked with determination.
He had one job. Booma. Ri-Kie hadn't liked the attention much, but he liked his thing. His bundle of Grot Dynomit.
Ri-Kie didn’t wait for further instructions. He didn’t need them. His target was coming up the other side of the stone structure, and Ri-Kie must Booma him.
Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat sounded across the stones as Ri-Kie approached. His target was waiting around the corner. There was no other option. The Bomb Squig knew, from deep within, that he must Booma the stoopid 'umie.
“RIIIIPPPPPPPPP” screamed Ri-Kie.
——
Sven waited at the bottom of the stairs. After hearing the explosion that rocked the ruins and the Orks arguing above, he needed to be cautious. These tricky Orks must have found a case of dynamite and decided it was better than the scrap they used as weapons. But knowing the Orks, it could be a box of sticks that they decided looked like dynamite. Fucking Ork powers made unbelievable shit work. Pfft, like painting something red could make it go faster...
His caution paid off as a squeal came from the top of the stairs. A Squig, covered in explosives, rounded the corner with lust and excitement written on its face.
Sven raised his plasma pistol, but it would be too slow. Even if he killed the Squig, it would land right on top of him. His only hope was…
BOOOOOOMMMMMM
The explosion rocked Sven back into the wall.
“Fucker” he spat as his hearts pounded.
Blood was racing through his veins as a quick diagnostic told him that he was ready for a fight but not at peak condition.
The Squig's early detonation had unintentionally saved Sven’s life. The dumb thing blew its load early. But now it was time for Sven to get some.
Sven headed deeper into the ruins, looking for a close encounter of the xeno kind.
——
Lieu stood atop the structure, watching Orks fall incapacitated all around. Karl had jumped down onto the ammo pile and the Nobb in hopes of scoring another booma. Only to find bolter rounds whizzing after him. Three 'umies had opened fire on the newly named Ork, who had responded by dancing between the blasts. Karl collected the ammo and chucked it back up to Lieu, before dancing his way to the Nobb, who he pulled back to safety.
“BoomaDanca, indeed.” Lieu agreed as he bestowed Karl with a second name.
On the other side of the structure, a big 'uman with a power claw had followed Git 5 into a building. Sounds of battle clanged from the shack, and Lieu knew that the Git wasn’t the winner when strange sounds came from the building. Gaging and choking had no place on the battlefield. Poor Git 5; he was going to have a severe concussion after his time with the 'uman.
Reading the battlefield, Lieu took to skulking about with his pilfered ammo. He decided a tactical retreat was best to regroup and take the 'umanz by surprise next time.