Gulguz’s world was consumed by a symphony of violence. The staccato of wanton gunfire was punctuated by random explosions and undergirded by the mechanical beat of the humies’ lazguns. Soaring above it all was a chorus of keening wails, bellowed insults, and unintelligible war cries. His own joyous roar joined the choir as he charged the humie cogboys. With a series of mechanical movements the cloaked human leveled its lasgun, but Gulguz snapped him out of those routine motions by batting the gun away with his slugga. The cogboy only had enough time to express shocked surprise before a choppa hewed his head in two. Gulguz wasn’t finished. He jerked his trusty slugga towards the now-dead humie’s still very much alive mate and squeezed the trigger. The resulting shower of blood and metal bits brought a smile to his face. Oh, yeah. Gulguz was having a delightful time.
“Dis iz some roight propa’ scrappin’!” He exclaimed. These cogboys were putting up a good fight for humies. Gulguz had doubts about raiding this humie voidship when he first heard about it, what with humies being generally frail and afraid to engage in some proper hand to ork fighting and all. When he shared this assessment with his nob, Durkeg, he received a thump on the head and was helpfully reminded that nobody cared what a lowly slugga boy thought. After all, Waaghboss Kruzzla had come up with this plan and he’d always led the waagh to good fights and loot, so there was no reason to doubt him now. Gulguz had to agree on that point (mostly because his brain was still reeling from that thump), Kruzzla had provided excellent scraps before, despite being a Bad Moon. Gulguz had learned to not hold that against the big boss, not everybody could be a proper Deathskull like himself.
“Oi! Gulguz!” Durkeg bellowed as he eviscerated a screeching humie. “Yoo and Deffrugg go dat way and find us some loot. Dese ‘umies gotta be ‘idin’ it somewhere.”
“Okay, boss!” Gulguz replied. He turned to Deffrugg, who just finished hacking a cogboy’s robo-tendrils off before blasting a hole in its face, and said, “C’mon! Yoo ‘eard da boss.” Normally upon being told to leave a fight before it was over, Gulguz would become quite remiss. Violently remiss, as a matter of fact. But Durkeg ordered him to do what Deathskulls loved almost as much as a good brawl: Nickin’ ovva gits’ stuff.
With Deffrugg in tow, the pair ran off in the vague direction that their nob gave them. Their path twisted and turned as they charged headlong into the bowels of the humie vessel. Gulguz had no fear of losing his way because every time a fork in the corridors appeared in their path, he turned right, figuring that was the better way to go because ‘right’ meant the same thing as ‘correct.’ When it was time to return to the rest of the ladz (hopefully laden with loot), he’d just go right twice at every intersection. It was all so beautifully simple.
“Can’t ‘ear da fightin’ no more,” Deffrugg said. “Fink we shud go anuvva way?”
Gulguz glared at him without slowing his pace. Deffrugg was unusually gangly for an ork, and none too bright. “And miss da loot?” Gulguz asked rhetorically. “Yoo want to go back to da boss and tell ‘im we didn’t find nuffin’ ‘cuz yoo’ze a skyvin’ git?”
“No, it ain’t like dat,” he protested, “I’ze just finkin’ dat all da ‘umies’d be where da good loot iz, on akkount of dem not wantin’ us ta nikk it.”
Gulguz considered this before snorting dismissively. “Yoo should leave da finkin’ to me ‘cause yoo’re no gud at it. If a ‘umie ‘ad sumfing real gud on ‘is kroozer wud he want all da fightin’ bein’ right next ta it? Da dakka and da exploshuns might blow da gud stuff up and den ‘e wouldn’t ‘ave it no more if ‘e somehow krumped us. Dat means dat da ‘umies wunt be where dere gubbinz an’ loot iz.”
Deffrugg thoughtfully stroked a chin smeared with myriad hues of blue. “Dat makes sense,” he conceded. “‘Umies wud try sumfing sneaky like dat. Like grots, dey are.” Gulguz nodded in agreement. It was a well-known fact that humies were bigger, pinkier grots.
After a few more right hand turns through increasingly cramped and poorly-lit corridors, they came upon a room with a ceiling that was at least as tall as a deff dread. Heavy blast-shielded doors lined the walls and blinky lights flashed along the floors. Jackpot. If there was going to be valuable loot anywhere, it would be in a big vault like this one. “Which wun of dese doors looks like it’z ‘idin’ da best loot?” Gulguz asked.
Deffrugg rubbed his chin contemplatively again—Gulguz idly noticed some of the blue paint was starting to flake off—before pointing to a door near the middle of the room. “I’d reckon dat wun.” It was absolutely covered in those peculiar little strips of paper that humies loved so much, all held in place by red wax. There was also a warning sign affixed to the door, and Gulguz attempted to read it. He’d learned bits and pieces of the strange humie written language over his life, mainly to help with the process of ransacking. “Armory” was his favorite humie word, relatedly. He sounded the letters out individually and, with great mental difficulty, concluded that the sign said, “Xeno Aberration.” He had a vague understanding of the first word after hearing it shouted so much on the battlefield, but the latter word was wholly foreign to him. Hopefully it meant “killy”or something. “Open it up, den,” he ordered Deffrugg.
The other ork fiddled with the control panel beside the door for a while, pressing buttons and flipping switches at random. Continued resistance from the machine frustrated Deffrugg and he opted to smash it with his fist instead. The sudden sound of pneumatics and grinding gears rewarded Deffrugg’s short temper and the massive door slowly began to rise. Gulguz rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “‘Ere we go!” he cheered.
As soon as the door lifted enough to permit an ork’s massive frame, he muscled his way past Deffrugg to see what was inside. Maybe it was a big pile of humie guns that could be made better with some orky know-wotz—or even a pile of fishboy guns! That sign did say “xeno,” after all, and everybody knew that fishboys made real shooty guns. It could also be a skrawnie tank, and a mek would pay good teef for one of those. He’d finally be able to afford a proper deffgun if he had that many teef to spend. He was practically vibrating with glee at all the possibilities, and then, he was profoundly confused.
Instead of some exquisite guns or magnificent dakka, he was greeted by the sight of a kaleidoscopic rainbow with smears of brown coating the floor from wall to wall. Before he could process that peculiar image, the foul smell of an overflowing drops assaulted his nostrils and thousands of high-pitched whines raked his ears. A glance at Deffrugg indicated that the other ork was equally perplexed, if not more so. Gulguz reached over the shin-high fence that separated the door from the psychedelic mass and grabbed one of the balls of color.
It was furry and tiny, and it writhed in his inescapable grip. Relatively large eyes, made even wider by what Gulguz assumed was fear, stared back at him. “Wot’re yoo?” he asked in the humie tongue, not really expecting a response.
“Am fwuffy,” it cried. “Am fuw huggies an’ wub!”
“Yoo wot?”
“Deffrugg!” Gulguz barked. “Look in da ovva rooms.”
“Why do I got ta do dat?” Deffrugg growled.
“‘Cuz I said so,” Gulguz grumbled, raising himself to his full height. “An’ yoo ain’t got da know-wots to figger out wot all dis is wurf.” Deffrugg might have been lankier, but Gulguz was bulkier. Not bulkier by very much, mind, but enough to make Deffrugg think twice about a fight. His slow brain must’ve reached the same conclusion, because he snarled and stomped off. They might come to blows real soon if Deffrugg kept getting ideas in his head. Gulguz expected it’d be a fun fight when it happened.
A trickling sensation on his hand brought Gulguz’s attention back to the weird little creature. “Oi,” he snapped as he raised it back to eye level. This time it didn’t stare back at him. Or talk. It didn’t do much of anything at all, really. The trickling sensation turned out to be the blood leaking from every orifice on its head. Must’ve crushed it to death without thinking when he was gearing up for a scrap with Deffrugg. Oh, well. He snagged another one, a green one this time because green is best. “As I was sayin’,” he continued, “yoo wot?”
“Am fwuffy,” it whimpered. “Pwease, big scawy gween munsta, nu num fwuffy. Fwuffies am fo’ huggies an’ wub, nu fo’ nummies.”
“Wozzat?”
It gawped stupidly at him, as if he asked it to explain something that was clearly self-evident, like the value of more dakka in a fight or why red ones go fasta. His question was so mystifying It seemingly forgot it was terrified of him. “Big scawy gween munsta nu know about wub an’ huggies?” It asked in an annoying squeal that sounded like a mix of shock and pity.
“No. Arr dey killy?”
“Nu, huggies an’ wub am dah bestes’ feewings ebew! Huggies an’ wub make hurries go ‘way an’ gib dah bestes’ happiness in fwuffy’s heawt. Fwuffy show 'ou. Fwuffy gib ‘ou dah bestes’ huggies.” It started to squirm, and Gulguz interpreted that as a sign it wanted to be put down. Curious for now, he obliged and dropped it at his own feet. The little green thing yelped when it hit the ground in a heap but quickly scrambled to its feet. It threw itself on his leg, attempting to wrap its stubby limbs around his bulk. Pathetic to watch, really. The thing couldn’t even get remotely close to reaching all the way around, and he could barely feel the thing squeezing. “Iz dat it?” Gulguz asked.
“Whuh?”
“I dun feel no betta’,” Gulguz stated. “Feel worse now dat ya got muck on me boot.” He glowered at the creature gripping tightly to his boot. “Zog off!” He kicked and sent the thing careening into the crowd of its brethren, which started chain reaction of screeching and projectile spewing. “Zoggin’ runt,” he snorted. He snatched another one out of the throng, a blue one this time because blue was a proper lucky color. “Can yoo do anyfing ovva dan ‘’uggies an’ wuv’?” he sneered.
It squirmed nervously and tried not to meet his gaze. Unfortunately for it, Gulguz positioned it right in front of his face, making sure it didn’t forget about the array of teeth that were each larger than it. “Uh…fwuffy, uh…,” it stammered.
“Iz dat a ‘no’?”
“Am dancie fwuffy!” It exclaimed. “Fwuffy dancies fo’ scawy gween munstah!” Gulguz knew as much about dancing as he did theoretical physics—orks weren’t keen on any activity that wasn’t violence or couldn’t eventually lead to violence, as a rule—but even he could tell that it was extremely charitable to call the thing that it was doing a dance. The creature rose on its hind legs and started to flail its stubby legs wildly, huffing and puffing as it exerted itself. The uncoordinated jig continued until Gulguz heard a faint snap and the creature collapsed, squealing about “wowstes’ weggie huwties ebah” or something. To its credit it kept wriggling its remaining legs in the air while lying on its back. “Pwease don’t gib fwuffy foweba sweepies, big gween munsta!” it begged. “Am just a wittwe babbeh, onwy fo’ huggies an’ wub! Nu, nu, nu, nu! N-“ Guzlug cut off its wail by stomping it good. That left another stain on his boot. Bloody hell.
Maybe the issue was that he should’ve picked one with blue AND green on it. Those were the colors that made a proper Deathskull, so one without the other brought no orkyness and no luck. It wasn’t hard to find a creature that fit the bill. The zoggin’ things had combinations of every color he knew, and many, many more that he didn’t. Curious to test his theory, he snagged a green tail and pulled out its owner. He tuned out its wails just as he had done for the entire room of these pathetic things. The rest of its body was beakie blue and it had tiny growths on its back that vaguely resembled wings. “Pwease, gween munsta don’t gib mummah fwuffie ow mummah’s babbehs huwties ow foweba sweepies! Munmah’s bestes’ babbehs wiww go foweba sweepies if dey do not num mummah’s bestes’ miwkies.” These things’ groveling was really starting to grate on him.
He appraised this one more carefully than the others. Colors weren’t bad, certainly. Its longer hairs were a shade of green that one might see on the runtiest of ork yoofs. Not the best but at least it was orky. Its blue fur, meanwhile, was starting to develop brown vertical streaks. At the upper end of one of the streaks he observed a tinier gray version of the thing he was currently pinching by its scruff. The unbelievably tinier creature desperately clung to the bigger (a relative term, mind,) one, and was currently spewing half its bodyweight downwind.
He’d heard about things like this before. Some xenos emerged all tiny and useless, needing a bigger xeno to look after it. Downright stupid if you asked him. From their very first breaths orks came out ready to ‘ave a go with whatever was nearby, frequently other orks. To waste all that time muckin’ about with a little thing that couldn’t even hold a choppa was just foolish. He’d also heard that xenos with this type of life-cycle got real mean when their little xenos got threatened…An idea took hold in his brain after much deliberation. Maybe that motivation was what was missing in getting these things to be real killy.
With a movement more tender than any ork has ever been, he ripped the littler one from the side of less little one. Through dumb luck he hadn’t crushed the thing between his thumb and forefinger, but it sure was screeching like he did. Between odd series of cheeps and beeps, like it was a mekboy’s finest explody machine or something, it choked out words like “mummah,” “hewp,” and “bestest babbeh.” Gulguz ignored it because he was much more interested in the not-as-little one’s reaction.
Unfortunately, it didn’t get more vicious or angry or grow right big and pointy teeth. It just caterwauled about pain at first. Gulguz did rip a pretty big chunk of fur out of it when he seized the littler one, in all fairness. When it eventually realized that it was missing one of its little offspring, it started looking around stupidly for it for a bit, and then it finally found it suspended in between Gulguz’s fingers. “Babbeh!” it exclaimed, “Why babbeh take mummah bestes’ bwue fwuff an’ gib dah wowstes’ huwties? Babbeh jeawous babbeh’s fwuff nu as pwetty as mummah’s fwuff? Ugwy babbeh nu take sowwy hoofies if babbeh comes back to mummah nao. Come back to mummah wiff mummah’s fwuff! Stoopi’ gween munsta wet mummah’s ugwy babbeh go! Please?”
Gulzguz understood very little of that babbled rant, but what he did get was that this thing was dumber than a grot and wasn’t lethal in the slightest. It hadn’t even tried to kill him for abducting its spawn. Pathetic.
Gulguz was deeply disappointed in these creatures. They weren’t good loot or trophies to be rubbed in other lads’ faces. He dropped the blue and green thing to the floor and flung its spawn carelessly over his shoulder. Maybe the other vaults had good loot in them. “Oi, Deffrugg! Find anyfing good?”
“Nah,” he replied, sounding as equally disappointed as Gulguz felt. “Dese ovva rooms got zog all.”What had started out as a lovely outing for some good old fashioned ransacking had turned out to be a huge let-down. Maybe hacking lots of these things to pieces would make him feel better. A stikkbomb right in the middle of that large clump of them in the corner would be good for a laugh too. “Maybe we cud get a Snakebite to look at ‘em,” Deffrugg suggested.
“Wot?”
“Yeah, like a Snakebite beastsnagga or runtherd or sumfing,” Deffrugg said. “Dey got lotz-a know-wotz ‘bout animul wotsits. Cud see sumfing in ‘em dat we don’t.”
Loathe though Gulguz was to acknowledge that any idea of Deffrugg could be good, he had to admit it had merit. Snakebites were generally a weird lot so they might find something valuable in these furry wastes of space. “All right,” Gulguz sighed, trying not to sound enthusiastic, “might as well.” He bent down and snagged another one of the furry things from their enclosure. It was blue on green this time, like a proper Deathskull. It just had to be lucky with this coloration. “Yoo’re coming wiff me,” he growled.
“Nyu daddeh?”
It took every ounce of self-control within Gulguz’s being to not smash this thing against a wall. It just would not shut the zog up. A constant stream of “fwuffie wub nyu gween munsta daddeh, eben though new gween munsta daddeh am munsta an’ gib fwuffies foweba sweepies” drilled into his skull like the business end of a megatrakk scrapjet. “Fwuffie gib gween munsta daddeh aww dah bestes’ huggies an’ bestes’ wub an’ daddeh wiww know how gud wub an’ huggies feew an’ den daddeh wiww gib fwuffie dah bestes’ sketties fo’ weawnin’ daddeh about huggies an’ wub an’—“
“Shut! Yer! Gob!” Gulguz roared in its face. “Mork! Yer annoyin’. I oughta shove a stikkbomb in yer teef, so’z I dunt hafta lissen to yoo no more.”
Although it fearfully spewed muck and another fluid, it didn’t seem to register that all the talking was the problem. “Eeek! Scawy munsta daddeh pwease nu num fwuffie ow make fwuffie num stikkbombie, am onwy wittwe fwuffie onwy fo’ huggies an’ wub an’—“ it stopped suddenly, as if the only two neurons in its brain finally connected. “Wait…Mowk? Am dat nyu namesie?! Yaaaay! Fank ‘ou fo’ nyu namesie, daddeh, Mowk wubs nyu namesie!” It then started to babble and gurgle some more. Gulguz tuned it out.
“Do ya fink it needz ta be in wun piece?” he asked Deffrugg. The other ork’s grimace indicated that he was strongly considering the proposal. It might be quieter without its tongue. Well, not at first. There’d be liable to be a whole lot of high-pitched wailing, but eventually it would stop and finally shut up. Tongues were necessary for speaking, and if you didn’t have one you couldn’t form words. They’d learned that interesting anatomical fact after a squig bit their mate, Durgrunk’s, tongue off when he tried to eat it whole. They all had a good laugh about that one, even Durgrunk thought it was funny after Da Sawbonez gave him a new one. Deffrugg sighed, “Yeah, prob’ly.”
“Zog.”
After innumerable double-right turns, they were back in the hanger bay where they started. Gulguz had to say, it looked much better than when they left. The mob’s auxiliary crews had been busy fortifying the beachhead that he and the ladz secured earlier. Loads of spikes, big dakka towers, waaagh banners, the works. The oddboyz had even set up all manner of shops according to their peculiar proclivities. It was amazing what orks could do with very little time and lots a’ scrap.
It didn’t take long to find the shacks where all the Snakebites congregated. The smell of squig dung was hard to miss. Gulguz sauntered up to the largest, rustiest shanty of corrugated steel and bellowed, “Oi! Is ya in dere?”
“‘Oo’z in dere?” Deffrugg asked.
“I dunno,” Gulguz admitted. “Figured it’d be a nob or a Snakebite wiv know-wotz ‘coz ‘e’s got da biggest shakk.” It was sound logic, Deffrugg had to agree. “Oi!” He bellowed again. “Get out ‘ere!”
“Yoo got sum cheek,” rumbled a voice from inside. A big ork emerged, weather beaten and draped in furs taken from the backs of xeno animals on dozens of planets. The multi-bladed choppa in his hand was made from equally exotic bones and serrated teeth stained with years’ worth of blood. His scarred face glowered down at Gulguz. “Yoo betta’ ‘ave a gud reason fer buggin’ me, ovvawise I’z gonna skrag ya but gud,” he growled.
Though this other ork could certainly kill him—and had already expressed an intent to do so—Gulguz didn’t show any fear. Mostly because he didn’t have any. If he dies here, so be it. His next go around would turn out better. So, he maintained his swagger as he brandished the furry creature he and Deffrugg brought back. It had been quiet for some time now because Gulguz positioned his hand over the things mouth and it eventually figured out that he couldn’t hear it yammer on. Now that it was unmuffled, it apparently decided to make up for lost time. “Fank ‘ou fo’ takin’ youw not-hoofie off Mowk’s tawkie pawt gween munsta daddeh, am su hawd to tawkies wiff youw not-hoofie dewe.”
The beefy Snakebite pulled an expression somewhere between confusion, anger, and a sneer. “Wozzat?”
“Hewwo, big gween munsta mistah, Mowk am suuu happies to meet nyu nicie gween munsta!” it prattled, unconcerned about the giant maw of pointy teeth mere feet away from him.
“Iz yoo ‘avin a larf?” he asked.
Gulguz answered before the stupid animal could. “Nah, we’z tryin’ ta figure out if dis fing iz useful. We found lotz a dem deep in da ‘umie ship when we went lookin’ fer loot, an’ dey’ze all wot was dere. If it was dakka or sumfing teknologikul I’d know but it ‘ent so I don’t.”
The Snakebite seemed intrigued. “‘Ave dey done anyfing killy?” he asked.
“Nah,” Gulguz answered. “I tried ta get dem gud an’ riled but dey jus’ mucked about an’ cried like kikked grots.”
“Give it ‘ere,” he said before jerking it out of Gulguz’s hand. The Snakebite began to examine it most closely. He turned it over in his meaty hands, prodded its sides, peered down its gullet, and so on and so on. Gulguz and Deffrugg were watching a true expert at work, and they could appreciate that when there was a chance it could bring them loads of teef. The creature, meanwhile, was displeased about this turn of events. It kept wailing, “Bad upsies! bad upsies! Nu wan’ bad upsies fwom big gween munsta mistah! Pwease gween munsta daddeh sabe Mowk fwom bad upsies! Nu wan’! Nu wan’!”
“Why’z it callin’ itself ‘Mowk’?” the Snakebite—named Vipa, apparently—asked.
“Dunno. Just started doin’ dat.”
Vipa grunted noncommittally. After some more appraisal, he reached a verdict, “Dis fing is right bloody weird.” Gulguz had already reached that conclusion by himself the moment he saw it. Some help this ork was. Vipa continued, “It talks, fer starters, an’ it’z got da weird bits down ‘ere,” he gestured to some odd protrusions between its rear legs, “I’ze only seen weird bits like deze on ‘umies.”
“Wot?” Deffrugg interjected. “I killed loadz a humies an’ I’ze neva’ seen bits like dose.”
“Dat’s ‘coz da ‘umies try an’ ‘ide ‘em, and ‘coz dey dunt die if ya chop ‘em off, so dere’s no reason to go fer ‘em,” Vipa explained. “Also, not all da ‘umies got ‘em.”
“Why’s dat?” Deffrugg asked. This was probably the most curious he’d ever been about anything that wasn’t dakka or loot.
“‘Coz ovva ‘umies—da smaller, screamier ones—got diff’rent bits down dere. ‘Umies need da too types a’ ‘umies ta make a new ‘umie. Ugly biznizz dat. Propa disgustin’.”
“‘Ow’d yoo know dat?” Deffrugg asked.
“‘Coz Da Sawbonez got me to ‘elp ‘im try and make ‘umies less grotty a while ago. Betta ‘umies would give us betta scraps, he fort.” Vipa grimaced at the memory. “Didn’t werk. But dat’s besides me point, dis fing is bloody weird ‘coz it dunt seem killy at all. A snotling could skrag it, I bet. Ain’t got no biznizz survivin’ in da wild bein’ as runty as it iz.” Cogs (primitive, tradishinul cogs, of course) seemed to turn in his head. “Unless it’z poisonous, a’ course, and it’s got dem bright colors like loads’a fing’s wot’s poisonous. Oi! Wizzig!” he bellowed over his shoulder, “Get out ‘ere! We’ze got lunch for ya!”
A rather haggard grot appeared from the recesses of Vipa’s shack. Its one functional eye feverishly darted from ork to ork, already anticipating stray kicks, thumps, and other phsyical abuse. The sadistic grins dawning on each ork’s face did nothing to assure Wizzig that this would be a quiet, unremarkable luncheon free of kicks, thumps, and so on and so forth. “‘Ere,” Vipa rumbled as he shoved the quivering Mowk into the grot’s face, “‘Ave a bite.”
“Hewwo wittwe gween munsta mistah!” Mork greeted. “‘Ou wook scawy buh Mowk wiww gib huggies an’ wub an’ pway wiff ‘ou anyway!”
Wizzig looked at Vipa, then at Mowk, then back to Vipa. “Are ya sure about dis, boss?” he asked with the trembling voice of a grot that had been the butt of jokes involving toxins and strange creatures innumerable times before. “It cud be poisonous.”
“I know dat,” Vipa snarled, “dat’s why yoo’ze eatin’ it.” Wizzig grimaced but knew better than to complain. Any grot that got uppity would quickly become a red and green smear on the soles of a boot if they were lucky. Less fortunate grots, especially those that worked for Snakebites, would be thrown to the exotic beasts that ork’s kept for amusement. Better to eat this thing and possibly die than to refuse and definitely die, Wizzig reasoned. This thing looked more pitiful than himself, anyway, and if one thing brought joy to the black, conniving, vestigial heart of a gretchin, it was reveling in the misery of beings smaller than it.
Wizzig took hold of Mowk’s scruff. “Owwies!” it mewled. “Pwease be cawefuw wittwe gween munsta mistah! Youw pointiest not-hoofies gib Mowk wowstes’ huwties! Put Mowk downsies, an’ Mowk can gib bestes’ huggies! Gween munsta daddeh nu wet Mowk gib huggies.” Wizzig, of course, did not hear its pleas. He was too busy contemplating how to properly eat this thing. Perhaps he could start with the face? That would make it shut up. But then again, there was a chance it could bite him back like a face-eater squig. Wizzig was too fond of what was left of his face to risk it. What about the gut? Oh, but there might be poisonous organs or waste in there…better not. How about a leg? This ‘Mowk’s’ kicks seemed pretty feeble, and the best meat of most creatures was found on the limbs. That was a well-known fact. Yeah, a leg would be best. “‘Urry up, already!” Vipa scolded.
Knowing better than to test an ork’s patience, Wizzig hurriedly grasped one of Mowk’s hind legs and yanked. The shank came free with squelches, rips, and a pop, but it was a surprisingly clean break. Sure, there was a lot of blood pouring out of the stump and a bit of visible exposed nerves, but it was almost like it was designed to come off that easily. Mowk was wailing his little heart out, of course. All the orkoids present were quite impressed at how loud it could screech. “Weggie come back!” it bawled between wordless shrieks, “Nee’ weggie to wun an’ pway!” They paid it no mind.
Wizzig’s needle-like teeth sank into the furry flesh and tore off a chunk. He contemplatively passed the meat from one cheek to the other, allowing the unique flavors to dance on across his tongue. Eventually, he swallowed.
The orks stared expectantly at the gretchin, equally excited for both the possibilities of him spasming wildly as he choked on his own spit or merely living. The former would be more entertaining, but the latter could mean that the vault full of these pathetic creatures might be worthwhile. “Well?” Gulguz prompted. “Ar’ ya gonna kark it?”
Wizzig shoved the rest of the leg into his mouth. The sounds of his fevered chewing and the snapping of thin bones contained all the answers that they needed. Gulguz laughed triumphantly and tore off a leg for himself. Mowk’s feeble protests of “pwease nu num weggies, weggies nu am nummies, Mowk nee’ weggies fo’ huggies an’ wub an’ pway” fell on deaf ears. The appendage was barely the size of his smallest finger, so he tossed it into his maw whole. Now that was an interesting taste. “Sweet. Real sweet, dat iz,” Gulguz opined. “Iz dis wot juicy squigs taste like?”
“Nah,” Vipa replied as he mulled on one of Mowk’s forelimbs. “Juicy squigs got a diff’rent flava to ‘em—sav’ry an’ a little sour. Dis iz,” bones crunched as all the orks chewed, “yoonike. Lotz a tastes in da bigga profile I ain’t eva’ tasted, but I’m gettin’ ‘ints a’ ‘umie in dere. Lotza finds dat taste a bit like ‘umie too.” He spat out a clump of fluff. “Dat’s not bad, dat.”
“Huuu! Huuuu! Huuuuuu! Pwease gib weggies back, gween munsta daddeh! Mowk nee’ weggies! Pwease! Pwease! Nu wan be piwwow fwuffy!!”
“Bit weird ‘ow da bonez go all fizzy in yer mouf, dough, innit?”Deffrugg commented.
You know, now that Vipa mentioned it, Mowk did taste a bit like a humie. It would take a rare ork to find that similarity curious, and an even rarer ork might try to pursue that line of inquiry. Gulguz was not a rare ork. Instead, he was excitedly imagining all the teef he could get in exchange for these tasty morsels. Big, shiny, BOOMY dakka was in his near future. “Fanks, Vipa,” Gulguz declared, already giddy with the knowledge that a new shoulder-mounted deffgun would be his, “ya can keep dat wun, mate, an’ I’ll bring ya anuvva wun fer free.”
“Sure fing, but make it wun a’ da wuns wotz got diff’rent bits down dere,” Vipa specified. A clever ork might have realized that Vipa was planning on establishing a breeding pair of these creatures, what with the similarities to humie bits and the fact that Mowk still had the necessary equipment. An even cleverer ork might have realized the threat that Vipa’s request could pose to his his future profits—it simply wouldn’t do to have one’s monopoly on exotic delicacies undermined by a rival producer—but Gulguz was not a clever ork. “C’mon, Deffrugg,” he cheered, “Let’z get lootin’!”