Warboss Nutkraka was furious. Already, he had bludgeoned an orderly to death for having the foolishness to deliver a negative status report in person.

All across the Gutwrencher, plasma batteries had fused into twisted lumps of blackened slag. What was left of the front-portside firing crews was all but unrecognisable. The forward energy lances, each one of them glowing borderline critical, lay inert and impotent. Swarms of Gretchins and Mekboyz rushed to appease the ailing ship. Most of those systems would never recover, such was damage wrought by the catastrophic collision.

Nutkraka' personal guard, ensconced in majestic golden armour, dragged the hapless orderly's corpse from the Warboss' sight. Trailing behind them was a long streak of blood and Ork skull fragments.

Even now, a full two hours after the disaster,Nutkraka's rage had not abated. The Warboss was a towering mass of rippling green hide and muscle. Heavy streaks of regal silver flecked his shaggy coat, denoting his seniority. To those with a less discerning eye, his crude power armor, a deep ebony chased with fiery-red and burnished gold, erased all doubt of his supremacy amongst the pack. He lashed out at a passing Gretchen, who ducked and fled with a shrill squeal of terror. Everyone else on the bridge withdrew another few steps.

They knew better than to approach the Warboss when his blood was up.

The instigating factor behind this insurmountable fury was not the destruction visited upon the front of his vessel, nor was it the casualties suffered. No, Warboss' reasons were far more personal. The fire control station adjacent to his command throne had exploded: his coat had been singed. The skin on his arm, once proud and full, was now patchy and scorched in places. The smell of burnt hair made his nostrils twitch, infuriating him further. This latest insult dealt by the puny Humies was personal. It would not go unpunished.

"Oy, where are me Nobs?" Nutkraka snapped, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Six heavily armoured warriors clattered hastily into the room. Like Nutkraka, they wore heavily gilded armour, though theirs was far less ostentatious than his own. As it should be, Nutkraka thought with a sneer.

Each Nob's armour was individual; the variations subtle and nuanced. Some wore a more simplistic combination of red and black, others a deeply reflective bronzed-gold. They had all been marked and carved to reflect past triumphs during a WAAGH! in a style custom the point where no two were alike.

Indeed, the only thing each Warboss had in common was the weapons they carried. Most of them carried Assault canons, long-barrelled bazooka pieces capable of unparallel destruction, whilst others wielded monstrous choppas, the ubiquitous symbol of Alpha-Ork status. Warboss narrowed his eyes at them scornfully.

"Ey, Where's are HumieEater and SmallToes?" Nutkraka growled, "They wantz a smash to the heads eh?"

"Boss…" Nob Skullbreaka kept his head bowed and his voice grave, "I'z sorry to say both da Nobs got burnt when ship exploded."

"Then they are fools and incompetents gits!" Nutkraka crowed dismissively, "Replace them with Ork boyz who's got big dakka and choppa."

"Yes boss, I'z doing it now." Skullbreaka grunted.

Appeased by this show of deference, Nutkraka folded his arms across his chest, and began to pace in front of his assembled Nobs.

"Da Humie ship has crashed on the planet below us. Scans show that much of their ship remains intact. Survivors, most likely few, are likely. No doubt da Humies will try and run into the surrounding area, like the puny cowards they have proven themselves to be. One of you will bring some of da Boyz and smash them while we stabilise matters here. Who wantz to go?"

All six Nobs stepped forward without hesitation. Nutkraka snuffled, bemused, and then selected one at random. It was Tinyblower, one of his own kin.

"You, Tinyblower. Step forward."

Tinyblower, one of the youngest of the Ork Nobs present, un-slung his cannon and stepped forward. His bronze armour was a relatively unscarred, compared to the others behind him: a reflection of his comparative inexperience. The other Alpha Orks' thick hide shifted in displeasure, but sensibly kept it quiet. Nepotism was all too common in their society.

"Do you accept this position?"

"I do, Boss," Tinyblower bowed.

"Good."

Nutkraka turned away as the Nobs filed out, then twisted around.

"Oh, and before me forget, Tinyblower, do something for me, will you?"

"Name it, Boss," Tinyblower said, pausing in the bridge's entryway. "And it shall be so."

"The Humie Cap'n."Nutkraka's eyes glittered maliciously, "Bring me his head: I want to use his bones to sharpen my teeth."

Across the bridge, far away from the assembled Alpha-Jiralhanae, BrainMasha eyed this exchange with barely concealed ambition.