Savage Tide

         Amongst the seething mass of Orks in the valley, one stood out amongst the others. Standing more than a head taller than the rest of the hulking force, Mekboss Scartoof roared orders to the smaller slavering savages. The Mekboss was a particularly large Ork, clad in massive plates of armor, cobbled together from various source. The plates were bolted to the Mekboss' body, making almost more machine than flesh. Doing away with the traditional bladed mechanical claws, Scartoof preferred his own "Kustom Burna"  as it was called. Powered by the Mekboss' personal mixture of fuel; these flamethrowers were especially brutal, leave behind clouds of acidic gasses that clung to whatever moved through it.  Accompanying the Mekboss' flame spewing amalgamation of parts, Scartoof bore a heavily modified Mega-Blasta.

         The Mekboss' war camp was writhing with activity, tiny and frail Gretchins scampered under the heavy, steel reinforced heel of the larger Orks. Some of the more unfortunate creatures were crushed into the ground by savage brawls that broke out. Such squabbles could be started over the simplest of reasons; disagreements as to whether the Ork god Gork was brutally cunning, or cunningly brutal. Or perhaps whether some useless piece of scrap metal really made their Shoota better. Anything could be used as an excuse for shedding blood. Roaring engines, spewing thick, acrid smoke from makeshift exhausts echoed around the camp. Mekboys putting their surprising knowledge of technology to use, repairing or building the Mekboss' heavy treaded Wartrakks.

         The constant commotion of the war camp was broken by the deafening engine of an Ork made Warbike. This was not the sound of a vehicle in disrepair, not to the Orks. Orkish vehicles were ramshackle things, like all Ork constructions, designed to make as much noise as possible. The more noise it made, the more the Orks enjoyed it.

         The Warbike, much to the disdain of it's owner, was turned off at the center of the camp; where the Mekboss continued to bring some semblance of command to the howling turmoil that were his Boyz. Drawing himself away from an especially bloody carnage, the Mekboss stomped toward the returning Ork. Heavy steel and iron banging together in a discordant orchestra of wild design.

         "Well, well, you's back is ya? If you's back, dat means you an' da Boyz stomped dem Dedd Meks." The Mekboss snarled at the smaller Ork.

         The Mekboss' scar chiseled jaw was bigger than the returning Ork's entire head, a single, gigantic tooth jutted out from the Mekboss' lower jaw. Decorated and covered in steel and stained with blood, it was his namesake. Now, the tooth allowed bits of spittle, and pieces of whatever meal Scartoof had recently consumed, to fly out in globs.

         The Mekboss leaned in at the smaller Ork, "So where's da rest of ya Boyz?"

         "Well," The smaller Ork hesitated, "Dey's dead, boss."

         Slowly, the Mekboss pulled back from the surviving Ork, not before blowing a lungful of putrid breath at his subordinate. At his full height, the Mekboss was more than imposing, thicker and more massive than any of the other Orks. In a surprising turn of events, Scartoof began to chortle, loud bursts of guffawing bellowing from the Ork's cavernous lungs. Seeing the Mekboss laughing was bizarre sight even to the Orks, all attention in the area was focused on Scartoof and the smaller Ork. Some of the Boyz even stopped mid bloodshed, limbs missing or hanging by threads. The chortling stopped as quickly as it started, dropping a heavy silence across the camp, only broken by the sound of distant gunfire.

         "Dey's dead?" The Mekboss' roar of a voice demanded.

         Not expecting a reply, the Mekboss continued. "If dey's dead, den why is you 'ere?" With unnatural speed for something so large, Scartoof snatched the smaller Ork up by his head.

         Thick slab of a hand fully enveloping the Ork's skull. "If you ain't stomped dem Dedd Meks." The Mekboss' sentence was punctuated by the sound of a boulder of a fist colliding with thick, leathery skin.

         "Den dat means ya lost da fight!" Another brutal impact, the sound of cracking bone and the gurgle of windpipes filling with blood enunciated for the Mekboss.

         "An' if ya lost." The brutal, smashing fist was met with wet slapping of a sack filled with fresh meat, no more bone to hinder the blow.

         "Den." Another crushing blow.

         "You's betta be good an dead!" A gushing of fresh blood seeped from between the giant Ork's fingers. The smaller Ork fell limp, twitching briefly as it hung from beneath the massive closed hand.

         Mekboss Scartoof discarded the now corpse, the only thing remaining of his victim's skull was the sunken, boneless skin. The dead Ork's face was smashed inward, and distorted to almost unrecognizable proportions. The Mekboss turned his attention to the watching masses, gesturing with a trunk-like finger to the corpse.



         "Let dat be a lesson t'da rest o' yous Boyz." He roared, spittle and chunks of some unknown mean spewing out in great, slavering waves.

         "If ya comes back, ya best be comin' back as da winna! Ya 'ear me? Yous Boyz win, or ya's die!" The resounding war cry this bloody display summoned washed over the dozens of nearby Orks.

         The war cry swept far across the entirety of the gathered Orks, causing ever more distant Orks to lift their own bellowings. The wave of sound stretching to the very distant reaches of the Mekboss' force. Adding to the raging clamour was the sound of steel on steel, distant Orks banging whatever they could find together to make as much sound as possible. Engines roared like vicious wild beasts, contributing their own voice to that of their owners.

         Amidst the wild howling, the Orks began their fighting and squabbling anew. Invigorated by the display of might and power, they tore at each other with fresh enthusiasm. A number of the Gretchin were even pulled in to the gory celebration, being used much like ragdolls; kicked, flung, even torn apart in some cases.

         From between clawing nails and swinging chainswords came a Mekboy, one of Scartoof's engineers. Dodging and weaving through as much of the bloodshed as could be avoided, he ran The Mekboy came sprinting, as quickly as it could while carrying weighty, sizable tools, built for maintaining Ork weapons and vehicles.

         "'Ey Boss!" The Mekboy called out, stopping suddenly and sliding through the frothy mixture of fresh blood and mud.

         "Wots you's want, Thakka?" The Mekboss spat at the newcomer. "It bes' be good news fer ya t'be botherin' me 'ere." The Mekboy nodded quickly, reassuring the Mekboss, lest he end up like the fresh kill.

         "Spit it out den ya gob!" Scartoof snapped, nearly smashing aside a Gretchin with a great sweep of the pillar that was his arm.

         "Da Big Mek's wot sent me, boss. Say's ta me t'tells ya dat ya Wartrukk's ready fer fightin'." Thakka gibbered on, trying to pass on his message as quickly as possible. Watching carefully for the boss' reaction, the Mekboy practically cowered where it stood as the boss mulled over the ramifications of the news.

         Scartoof's mood changed in the blink of an eye, his demeanor turned from agitated and enraged to primal thrill and agitation. Without so much as a word to the Mekboy still waiting for his approval, the Mekboss stomped away, into the mulling masses of green skin. Each step spraying up a copious amount of whatever mixture of substances now covered the grounds of the camp. Raising up elated war-cries in his wake, the Mekboss made his way unhindered to the ramshackle warehouse where the Big Mek worked on the Boss' personal vehicle.

         The outside of the warehouse was a mishmash of jagged and rusted scrap metal. Some of it painted in clashing colors; the last remaining proof to the existence of whatever the metal once belonged to. Rudimentary symbols were bolted on top of the heaps of metal, faces depicting the Ork gods Gork and Mork. The inside of the warehouse was in no better shape, bits of scrap metal practically covered every visible inch of hard ferrocrete floor. Large lightning rods were set up around the building, generators sent crackling arcs of electricity from rod to rod, leaping through the air like a mystical force. The light they provided was inconsistent, but enough for the Big Mek to work by. The Big Mek himself bore two large lightning rods strapped to his back, a personal generator supplying the energy they required. In the center of the cluttered building stood a massive truck, steel bars welded solidly, but carelessly together.

         The Wartrukk was made for speed, designed to deliver the Mekboss and his Boyz to the battle as quickly as possible. There was little in the way of armor protecting the riders, what armor was present protected primarily the engine, and other important parts of the trukk. The engine it's self was a marvel of Orky knowledge, in reality it was several engines pieced together, working in some warped definition of unison, to push the massive vehicle forward. Several runners were bolted to the sides, allowing more Orks to ride, clinging to the trukk as it sped through whatever carnage it may face. The face of the trukk was painted with rudimentary designs, teeth, simple black and white checkers, as well as the mark of the Mekboss himself; A simple depiction of Gork and Mork in the mouth of an even larger Ork. Mounted to the front of the war vehicle was an array of blades and spikes, allowing the driver to join in the bloody fray at his leisure.

         "Boss!" the Big Mek shouted as Scartoof entered the warehouse, knocking aside bits of metal and scrap. "Ya Dakkatrukk's good an' shooty now boss." The Big Mek continued, wandering over to the trukk's side, slapping a heavy hand on one of the massive, forward mounted guns.

         "Deze 'ere shootas, dere bullitz is 'splosiv, make da humies an da Dedd Meks wot you shootin at boom good an' propa like. Lotsa noise, lotsa bits and gubbins." The Big Mek beamed with pride over his construction. "An' ya skorchas," The Big Mek clambered onto the machination, to a twin barreled turret on the top.

         "Ya burnas be usin ya own speshul burnin' brew." The Big Mek dropped from the vehicle with a heavy landing, scattering some bits and leftover plates.

         "Do it still go fast like?" The Mekboss questioned, eying the new additions.

         "It's red innit? Den it go fast, don' it?" The Mek Boy retorted, Orks were never much for witty banter.

         "So, you's sayin' da Dakkatrukk's fasta' AN' more shooty?" Feral excitement flashed across Scartoof's grizzled maw.

         "Fasta', ded shooty, an' louda'." The Big Mek slammed a fist on the side of the trukk, the resounding bang echoed off the walls of the warehouse.

         "Dat's a trukk perfekt fer da Mekboss Scartoof!" The Mekboss almost cheered, a sinister grin pulling around his over sized fangs. "Get it reddy ta be stuck in. We's gonna stomp dem Dedd Meks good an' propa'."

Chapter 1: Royal Host

http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1995956-Royal-Host

Chapter 3: Astra Militarum

http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1996159-Astra-Militarum