Kruizzin' Round
Sometimes, a ship carries substantial amounts soil to other worlds. Sometimes, they are raided, only to be left to drift in space in disgust by whoever sought valuable goods. They sometimes get rammed by a space hulk afterwards. But the chance of a ship getting rammed in such a way, that it ends up right next to a ship transporting salt water, now that happens maybe once in five millennia.
Naturally, any inhabitants would wish to make use of such a rare event. In the case of the Big Rok, the most natural response was to install ridiculously powerful lighting in the area, set up some shops and get people to come to the Big Beach. However, as was naturally orky, there were always a few gits with differing ideas.
"First matey Snogrot!"
"Yeh, kaptin?"
"See anythin'?"
Snogrot looked around from his elevated position on the ship's mast. Why their metal ship needed a mast, no one knew, but it was there. He lifted his binoculars and, unlike the remainder of the crew, used them for things other than watching half-naked daemonettes and eldar sunbathing on the beach, separated by a concrete wall. Well, okay, he did glance in that direction, but only briefly. Other than the beach, the salty waters contained only a small, warpal island, covered in papa Nurgle's favourite vegetables, the ones that bit back.
More troubling was the monstrosity clinging to it like a metallic leech. Bristling with gun batteries, the battleship was about as large as their entire assembled fleet and had a small waaagh of freebootin' gits on board. The boss only liked records he himself achieved, though, so an order was given. Sink dat stuff, 'nuff said.
"Dey'z be right there, kaptin! No movin or stuff."
"Gud," he raised his orky speaka', "right den, listen up, ya gitz! Dem freebootaz are muckin' about 'ere, pesterin' da' beachgoeaz and just bein' a bunch of zogz. So let'z stomp 'em real gud and feed 'em to da' islandy bitz. Start yer enginez!"
Seven ships, five orky, two human, each with potent guns of its own, set off to meet the monster. For a while, it seemed the moment of surprise was theirs, but then, the batleship stirred and slowly left its dock. Countless green heads could already be seen roaring at its guns. Inexplicably, it also had several tall masts, with nothing but ladders hanging off them.
"Kaptin', it be movin'!"
"Fankz, Snogrot. Alright, boyz, circle it! Shoot some, then get ready for boardin'," he then raised his talky-majig and contacted the main oarz-boy, "Tekbrain!"
The mek was more than happy behind the steering wheel of their ship, utilizing the new, shiny grabby thing in his cybork arm, bought using a minor fraction of his Metul Punchiez earnings.
"Yeh, kaptin?"
"Position us fer da' big clobberin'. Keep on their side."
"Roger dat, kaptin."
A series of flashes erupted along the monster's side, as its wide array of guns opened fire. The air was filled with bullets, rokkits, primitive cannonballs and even unfortunate grots. Lobba' was the first ship to receive a major beating, but still kept on sailing, retaliating with a set of formidable cannons. Grinda' and 'Erda' attacked the other side of the behemoth, one with barrages of rokkits, the other used the most expendable ammunition around, grots. Fired from the fiendishly unreliable shokk attack guns, they re-emerged from the Warp inside of the enemy's armour, crew quarters, or even heads, always with devastating results. Vulcha' finally got close enough to unload its cargo, several squads of daredevils in the form of angry stormboyz, their jetpacks roaring louder than a legion of warp beasts, their choppas more than ready for some good old boarding action. Then there were the non-orky allies, Sea Devil and Aquamarine, comparatively small boats bristling with rapid-firing autocannons, their speed proving more useful than pure armour.
And then there was their own craft. 'Ard 'Ead. With a single command, Gorasho set things in motion:
"Tekbrain, rammin' speed!"
"Aye, aye, kaptin'!"
Snogrot managed to get off the mast just before the mek smashed a big, red, shiny button. He clung onto the bucket on his head, the best replacement for a helmet he had at the time, as the spectacle began.
The additional rocket engines that popped out of the sides of their ship were too many for most beings to count. Their cruising speed increased from 'Oy, dat'z not bad at all.' to 'Oh, zog, dis be too fast, slow down, slow down!'. The front of their ship, shaped like a thick spear, pierced through the larger ship's armour with a massive crash. Their mast snapped in half at the impact and flattened a few freebootaz into pulp.
As soon as he regained his footing, the kaptin shouted into the speaka' once more:
"Alright, ya slobz! Let'z get luggin'!"
With a battlecry, the polees boys, most of them in 'ard armour, spilled onto the enemy cruiser, choppin', stompin' and shootin' any git in their path. Gorasho lead the charge himself, missing every shot, but decapitating at least two gits with every swing of Bessy.
They charged towards a large open area, dominated by the trio of masts. A green horde was present, the different sides of boys fighting each other in a furious frenzy. In the middle of it all, a nob rampaged through the ranks, wielding a large, curved blade. A black hat was on his head, a skull and crossbones hastily attached to its front, upside down. Most prominent, however, was the large black beard he possessed, swaying majestically with each furious strike. Still had both eyes, though, unlike a proper freeboota'.
Gorasho shouted at the soon-to-be foe:
"Kaptin Squigbeard!"
"Ah," the other nob turned with a toothy grin, "kaptin Pain! Gud to see ya'! I was gettin' bored choppin' yer boyz up," he looked over at Bessy, the chain choppa's movements spilling blood onto any nearby object, "youz call dat a choppa'? Ain't nothin' speciul 'bout it. Try fightin' with some real metul!"
"Zog you," the Warp hath no fury like an ork whose weapon you had insulted. Looking around, Gorasho snagged a cutlass of similar qualities from a dead ork and sheathed his beloved Bessy, "youz wanna' fight old-timey style? Right then, come an' get zogged up!"
The surrounding orks made the wise decision of clearing some room for the two kaptins. Just as they prepared to charge, music, loud, orchestral, epic in scope, filled the air.
"Oh, not again."
"Wot da zog?"
Squigbeard pointed towards the island, where a small army of nurglites had assembled, each carrying a makeshift instrument and playing as if it was their last day on da' Big Rok.
"Dem smelly gitz always be playin' music. We'z tried shuttin' 'em up, didn't work."
"Right, uh," he scratched his scalp, "we gunna' fight now?"
"Dey'z not gunna' shut it fer a while. Let'z get luggin'!"
The kaptins charged and their blades met with a thunderous clang. Great prowess in propa' swashbuckling was shown as they duelled like big, green, oafish champions. Back and forth they pranced about, flattening any git unfortunate enough to get in their way. The fighting around them actually started dying down, as the two warring hordes started chanting their respective kaptin's name. Bets were almost immediately placed, using teeth knocked out during the previous brawl.
Squigbeard suddenly jumped to the nearest mast and started climbing up, Gorasho in hot pursuit. They continued their battle on the way up and especially once they reached the top, balancing precariously on its thin, useless limbs. The nurglite orchestra intensified, with trumpets being added to the mix.
"I gotta' admit," the freeboota' shouted, an inexplicable wind pushing his majestic beard to the side, "you'z not bad, Pain!"
"Betta' than you, dat'z fer sure!"
"Heh, maybez. But I'z got a secret weapun," he quickly disengaged from combat, and revealed a small trumpet of his own from a concealed pocket, "get a load of dis!"
He blowed on it, creating the most pathetic sound imaginable, worse than a grot's pistol and squeal combined. Gorasho almost laughed, but then he noticed it, far below. The sea itself was stirring.
The monster rose from the depths, massive beyond measure. A giant, round head, with a thousand small eyes all over, its maw big enough to swallow one of the human ships whole. Its teeth alone were the size of a propa' kan. A dozen appendages rose from the water soon afterwards, tentacular and fierce. One crashed down onto the deck below, flattening over a dozen orks. Squigbeard laughed as another of the tentacles gently pressed against the mast.
"Ya' like 'im, Pain? I'z call 'im Squiggiathan, Lord of da' Watery Bitz!"
"Zoggin' 'ell," he activated his talky-majig, "clobba' dat thing, now!"
"Squiggiathan can't be clobba'd, Pain! 'E'z da 'ardist squiggy there iz!"
Without warning, the freeboota' jumped onto the nearby tentacle and the other kaptin followed suite. They immediately assumed their fighting stances.
"Well, you'z ain't dat 'ard, Iz bet!"
"Let'z dance da' jig o' deff and find out, then!"
The epicness was too much even for the nurglites, as the kaptins duelled above the monster's gaping maw. Rokkits and grots flew through the air once more, this time aimed at the gargantuan abomination, while the massive brawl resumed below them. As the orchestra tried to intensify its music to match the spectacle, they literally started falling apart, their lungs bursting, their limbs flying in every which direction.
Squiggiathan did not seem to particularly care about the onslaught as one of its appendages almost casually split Aquamarine in half with a single strike. The kaptins duelled with ever-increasing ferocity, neither the better swordsman.
Ugu was busy chasing around a small squad of enemy orks, while Snogrot worked his brain to assess the situation.
"Bigga' squig... needs bigga' gun." was his brilliant conclusion.
For a moment, he turned on his orky sense, often only theorised by imperial scholars who constantly muck about with ork knowledge. The innate knowledge of where another ork would put something really, really killy. That sense, along with basic eyesight, led him to a sign. 'Supa' Mega Beamy Deff Gun of Deffy Killin'. Certainly seemed promising.
He set out to follow the signs, Ugu hot on his heels, chewing on a discarded leg.
Gorasho suddenly noticed a weakness in his enemy's tactical decision-making. No safety harness. With a toothy grin, he shouted:
"Oy, Squigbeard," he casually tossed away the lesser weapon and drew good old Bessy, "I'z jus' wanna' say dat I'z a cut above."
He immediately swung downward, cutting through even Squiggiathan's mighty scales. The monster roared in fury and thrashed its appendage, causing the old freeboota' kaptin to lose his footing, his last, shouted word was:
"Paaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiii-!" cut short as the squig-beast mercilessly chomped down on him.
"Yer old-timey choppa' suckz!" cried the kaptin, clinging onto Bessy, still embedded in the monster's flesh.
The monster grew furious, its faster movements finally sending the kaptin flying, luckily towards the giant ship. Even more luckily, right onto a group of freebootin' gitz, who were just muckin' about in terror. As he slowly got up, feeling a bit of pain in his back, he looked back at the monster, still very angry and very much alive.
A massive racket sounded to his right. He turned and his jaw fell. Part of the battleship had been unceremoniously shoved aside to make room for the biggest damned gun this side of the Warp. Sporting over a dozen haphazardly constructed barrels, each connected to an even more dangerous beamy generator, it was the most magnificent example of pure orky engineering. Snogrot waved over to him from the pilot sea and he waved back in an awed stupor.
The barrels discharged in unison, raining extremely killy, beamy deff upon the Lord of da' Watery Bitz, burning right through its scales and flesh, causing it to emit the most horrendous of roars. During its thrashing, it even managed to destroy the poor old 'Erda', complete with all of its remaining grot ammunition. A tragic waste.
The spectacle was not meant to last, as all of the great gun's barrels simply melted due to the sustained heat. But their job was done, as the abomination's final pathetic cries could firmly attest to.
Once its carcass was finally dragged to the beach, though, another surprise was witing for them. Well, lots of surprises. Hundreds of them. From the monster's ruptured belly emerged other, tiny squigs, no larger than the ordinary ones, each clumsily rolling around on the shore using its tentacles, being just plain adorable. The daemonettes and eldar took advantage of the situation, united for the first time in a common interest. To hug all the squishy things.
Gorasho looked at the scene with mixed feelings:
"Huh, cutez, I guezz. But doez dat mean we'z shot a mum? Worrr, dis day got grim and dark, ey?"
"I guezz, kaptin. But look on da' bright sidez, these thingz could be delico... delica... tasty."
"And I'z know just da' place ta' test dat out."
Joe was quite delighted that evening, and so was the clientele. Unexpectedly posh that night, considering where they were. He had even added a new fish tank behind the bar, so that the customer could see his meal was freshly and mercilessly slaughtered for the sake of mindless consumption. Worrr, this grim darkness is getting to me, too. A daemonette was busy just staring at one of the poor sea squiggies, who seemed to nervously return the gesture. The wailing of his kin probably didn't help him relax.
"And then, lotsa' dem daemony gurlz jus' took 'em home with 'em. Iz suppose they could be petz or something."
"I'd rather not think about what they intend to do with them," Miriana shuddered, "or their tentacles."
"Speakin' of tentaculz," Joe finally burst out of the kitchen with a good number of bowls, each filled with a peculiar liquid, "look at today'z speciul! Joe'z Sea Squig Supreme of Gud Tastez! Still workin' on da' name, but gud eatin'!"
Dismembered tentacles, bits of well-done meat, even the odd tiny eyeball. The farseer was the first to muster the courage and nibbled on one of the appendages. With a surprised look, she then just slurped the whole thing up like a noodle.
"This is delicious, actually."
The rest of the group dug in with reckless abandon, even Ugu, displaying an utter lack of empathy for any marine subspecies of his kind. What a black heart, in that one, undoubtedly tainted by the unspeakable horrors of... oh, Emperor, not again!
"Yeh, dis ain't bad at all," Miriana again loudly slurped up its entire length, "somethin' missin', though."
"Cream, kaptin?" Snogrot held a small bottle of the Rok famous White Cream of Creaminess, the finest of its kind.
"Oh, yeh, dat'll do!"
In a corner, a large group of daemonettes giggled at the display.
Elsewhere, within the confines of the Warp, countless Daemonettes were very, very busy. One could say they had their hands full, if they wanted to present a lewd joke in a punny, vaguely clever way.
Oh, sorry.
Had to balance the grim darkness, you know?