Warlord Grimjakk

     Warlord Grimjakk walked through the remnants of his once mighty army. The smoke from the still burning warbuggies and 'tracks drifted accross the trenchlines where so many of his hardest boys had been cut down by the humans. He had won the field, but he knew that he couldn't expect to keep it. The "beakies" would be back at first light, and his boyz were just too beat up, too spread out to put up a good fight. He knew that they were watching him, muttering amongst themselves where they sheltered in ditches or behind wrecked trukks. But it wasn't his fault, was it? His plan had been perfect. It was the damned Deathskullz who had scarpered off... and the BadMoonz who hadn't gotten their fat butts into position with their heavy weapons... and the Blood Axes who got all their fancy hoomie tanks blown up... and the Evil Sunz... and the Goffs... and... and...
     Grimjakk's head itched. He hated that, but it was a sure sign that somewhere deep in his brain, an idea was trying it's damndest to take shape.
     He heard somethng scrambling up from the ditch behind him, and turned as Toady, his personal banner carrier finally caught up with him. He looked at the freshly mended banner that the Gretchin was holding, and wondered just what all those runes really said. His long coat had the same symbols and runes running down both lapels. He couldn't read them himself, but the grots claimed they were really impressive.
     Suddenly the itch in Grimjakk's brain gelled into full-fledged inspiration. His head snapped back as if he had been punched full in the face. His arms twitched. His eyes blazed. His mouth worked, teeth gnashing and spittle flying from his lips, as a low growl began to work itself into a full throated roar. He sprang forward, tore the banner from the pole held by the terrified gretchin, ripped it in two and stomped the pieces into the mud. He tore his fine coat and shirt off of his back and shredded them, still howling at the top of his lungs. Then he took his Grox horned helmet and smashed it against the hull of a crippled battlewagon.
     Grimjakk fell silent.
     Orks began to crawl out of the ditches and craters, attracted by the noise. Orks from a dozen tribes and five clans gathered in a circle around the panting, bare-chested Grimjakk. Blood Axes, Evil Sunz, BadMoonz, SnakeBitez, and DeathSkullz stood silently waiting for their Warlord to speak.
     Grimmjakk's voice was soft and cold, but his eyes burned like coals. "Gork & Mork 're tellin' me that they's had enough of this clown shit."
     Grimjakk slowly reached down and picked up his shoota and axe. "I'm gonna go kill some hoomies. Now. Tonight. Any of you "gurlz" wanna come?"
     For a moment nothing moved except the fires feeding on the wrecked vehicles. Then one BadMoon stripped off his clan back plate and threw his banner into the mud. Immediately a dozen other orks started stripping off clan badges and colors. A sound began to build among them as as they began to move. The sound became a chant as more orks began to move. Grimjakk smiled as the chant continued to grow into a battle cry. It was good to be an ork.
     "WAAAAGH GRIMJAKK! WAAAAAAAAAGH ORKS!"
End.

Warlord Grimjakk

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