Heart of Artima
Prologue Uzslag grubfang Grimork rose, striding across the iron deck of his prized ship, The Fist. He strode over to the scavenged railing and looked over the hold, where the Boyz were eating, polishing weapons, fighting, and generally preparing for the task ahead. He yanked the steel scissor platform from the ceiling of his command deck and punched the worn microphone into life with a meaty green claw, waiting for attention from the Boyz below. But even the scream of the cobbled together speaker system couldn't defeat the constant rumble from the mob in the hold. Grimork turned and growled at the closest of his grot slaves and it hurried forward with his beloved custom shoota. He snatched it from the tiny grot, knocking it over as it retreated, bowing insanely as it moved away. Uzslag shouldered the blood red shoota and fixed the cross-hairs on a point in the general direction of were the shot was intended to go, and squeezed the hand made trigger tightly. The large caliber shot atomized a grot rushing over the bunks with a piston and the mob looked round to face the warboss in his command room above the hold.
"Boyz!" his harsh voice rang out through the speakers, although he didn't need them, they made him feel altogether more civilized. "Da time az cum, for uz to rise and crush da humies" a loud roar consumed the ship as the orks relished the thought of victory. Grimork raised his augmented arms high in the air as a sign for quiet, while the Boyz quietened down. "Gork and Mork spoke to me, in a dream, day told me, I shud go, and find the grey humie planet, and crush it. And day told me thiz cuz i iz the biggest and the shootiest of all the orks." Grimork roared over the deafening thunder of the Boyz bellowing, chanting and beating anything the could get there claws on, as they did this, the ship shook as it touched down on the hard gray earth of Artima IV. The mighty iron doors all around the hold opened up and the hold emptied out, the one million fighting orks and vehicles rushed out chanting and screaming, Grimork strode back to the command deck of the Fist were the Techboyz and Weirdboyz worked at panels and oddly concocted machines. Grimork gazed out over his army, over three and a half million orks rushed out over the gray landscape as other assault carriers landed on the surface of the gray planet disgorging there load. Grimork smiled, his iron teeth glinting in the dull light of Artima IV.
The local PDF held the orks at bay for over a week, orks being orks, they did not vouch for the stealth approach. The PDF had time to prepare and dig in. But by sheer weight of numbers the orks pushed through, as the days passed the populace of Artima capital and the surrounding settlements were pushed out into the highlands. Now, after a month of bitter resistance a handful of survivors make a last ditch attempt to survive, sending distress calls out to anyone listening. Even in this dire situation the survivors still keep their faith true to the one god emperor and wait for rescue and liberation.