With Biokinesis, you should be able to either make yourself into an ork, or hell, remake the Krork and register as an Old One to them.
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Ork? Troll? What's the difference? They're both green. [Warhammer40k/Post-Worm CYOA]
- Thread starter Rooster
- Start date
- Location
- Poland
True, but it wouldn't be as funny. Besides, would you want to walk around green and ugly when you don't have to?
- Location
- Leeds
The Krorks killed the Old Ones.
No, the enslavers did that.
A cunnin' plan is hatched
- Location
- Poland
He was stunned. Absolutely paralyzed.
There were trukks, there were war buggies, there were bikes. A lot of bikes in fact.
Hell, there were mega armors.
But no tanks. Not a single one.
That was unacceptable.
"You git! Where are the tankz? Don't you know how to make one? What are you, a grot?" Marduk yelled at the nearest Mekboy.
"Sorry boss. We had two, but they blew up. They iz blasted to zog now. Nothing left."
"Then make some more! I want a tank!" The new Warboss spun on his heel and started walking away.
"Errrr-" The boss whipped around, and glared at the Mekboy.
"Wot now?" Marduk barked, annoyed.
"We don't have any bitz to bash a tank togetha. We used dem all up."
"Gorkin shit! Just go buy dem from other Orks."
"We don't have any teef eitha." When the Mekboy said this a beat passed between them, before the next logical thing happened. Logical for Orks that is. The Mek really saw that coming, just like he saw the fist flying towards him.
"There! Now you have teef. And if it's not enuff, den go stomp the boys."
"Thaff ffmart boss! Buf I wus gonna say we don haff any boys to buy bitff fom!" The Ork slurred his words out now that his jaw was missing most of his teeth.
"You can't do anything right, ya git! A'iight. I have a cunnin plan so you better listen good! We don't have tanks and humies have tanks. We'll just go and take dem."
Hearing this the other boys around started getting excited. They always loved beating humies up. And if there was looting afterwards, then even better!
"No, ya gitz! We will go all sneaky like! Here's what we gonna do: I'll need some bitz, black paint, and the sneakiest son-of-a-morking Kommandos we have..."
WAAAGH!!!
Commissar Baltus was having a terrible day. More like a terrible week. Or month. Or life.
The Orks were up to something. He could feel it in his bones. And he also had the matter of the unknown psyker to settle. He wasn't going to rest until he hunted him down. Who knows what matter of demonic horror he could unleash if left alone.
No, it was his Emperor-given duty to stop all enemies of mankind. Praise the Emperor!
As he was loyal servant of the imperium he was prepared to fight off the Xenos till the last man, but when he saw the figures approaching on the horizon he really couldn't believe his eyes.
The first instinct was to shoot it, since it could be the fell forces of the Warp playing a trick on him. He rubbed his eyes, once, twice, then said a prayer to the Emperor, and yet the illusion refused to disappear.
Those really were Space Marines walking towards his base.
Big, hulking soldiers, and the most revered members of the Adeptus Astartes. And not just any Astartes. The black armor and mismatched pauldrons clearly identified them as the Deathwatch. Could it be that they arrived to help fight the greenskins? Why were they walking? What happened to their transport?
And more importantly why wasn't he informed about it beforehand?
He really had to send in a greeting party and get to the bottom of this.
An hour later Commissar Baltus was standing at attention, not a hair out of place on him or his soldiers.
The guardsmen that would embarass him when meeting the Astartes would sorely regret that. He would make sure of that personally.
"Greetings, servants of the imperium! We have found ourselves in trouble and require your aid." The voice of the Deathwatch squad leader boomed out, deep and charismatic.
"Boss. This zoggin armor is itchy! I can't take it anymore! When do we get to stomp the humies?"
The guardsmen all gaped at the words that came out of the other Space Marine.
"I apologize for Brother Alexander. As a member of the Deathwatch he is a specialist on dealing with Orks and his training immersed him deeply in their speech patterns. There is no finer slayer of Orks around. Also he suffered a grevious head injury." The leader calmed the soldiers down and looked directly at the Commissar.
"Now. On to more important matters. Take me to your hangar."
There were trukks, there were war buggies, there were bikes. A lot of bikes in fact.
Hell, there were mega armors.
But no tanks. Not a single one.
That was unacceptable.
"You git! Where are the tankz? Don't you know how to make one? What are you, a grot?" Marduk yelled at the nearest Mekboy.
"Sorry boss. We had two, but they blew up. They iz blasted to zog now. Nothing left."
"Then make some more! I want a tank!" The new Warboss spun on his heel and started walking away.
"Errrr-" The boss whipped around, and glared at the Mekboy.
"Wot now?" Marduk barked, annoyed.
"We don't have any bitz to bash a tank togetha. We used dem all up."
"Gorkin shit! Just go buy dem from other Orks."
"We don't have any teef eitha." When the Mekboy said this a beat passed between them, before the next logical thing happened. Logical for Orks that is. The Mek really saw that coming, just like he saw the fist flying towards him.
"There! Now you have teef. And if it's not enuff, den go stomp the boys."
"Thaff ffmart boss! Buf I wus gonna say we don haff any boys to buy bitff fom!" The Ork slurred his words out now that his jaw was missing most of his teeth.
"You can't do anything right, ya git! A'iight. I have a cunnin plan so you better listen good! We don't have tanks and humies have tanks. We'll just go and take dem."
Hearing this the other boys around started getting excited. They always loved beating humies up. And if there was looting afterwards, then even better!
"No, ya gitz! We will go all sneaky like! Here's what we gonna do: I'll need some bitz, black paint, and the sneakiest son-of-a-morking Kommandos we have..."
WAAAGH!!!
Commissar Baltus was having a terrible day. More like a terrible week. Or month. Or life.
The Orks were up to something. He could feel it in his bones. And he also had the matter of the unknown psyker to settle. He wasn't going to rest until he hunted him down. Who knows what matter of demonic horror he could unleash if left alone.
No, it was his Emperor-given duty to stop all enemies of mankind. Praise the Emperor!
As he was loyal servant of the imperium he was prepared to fight off the Xenos till the last man, but when he saw the figures approaching on the horizon he really couldn't believe his eyes.
The first instinct was to shoot it, since it could be the fell forces of the Warp playing a trick on him. He rubbed his eyes, once, twice, then said a prayer to the Emperor, and yet the illusion refused to disappear.
Those really were Space Marines walking towards his base.
Big, hulking soldiers, and the most revered members of the Adeptus Astartes. And not just any Astartes. The black armor and mismatched pauldrons clearly identified them as the Deathwatch. Could it be that they arrived to help fight the greenskins? Why were they walking? What happened to their transport?
And more importantly why wasn't he informed about it beforehand?
He really had to send in a greeting party and get to the bottom of this.
An hour later Commissar Baltus was standing at attention, not a hair out of place on him or his soldiers.
The guardsmen that would embarass him when meeting the Astartes would sorely regret that. He would make sure of that personally.
"Greetings, servants of the imperium! We have found ourselves in trouble and require your aid." The voice of the Deathwatch squad leader boomed out, deep and charismatic.
"Boss. This zoggin armor is itchy! I can't take it anymore! When do we get to stomp the humies?"
The guardsmen all gaped at the words that came out of the other Space Marine.
"I apologize for Brother Alexander. As a member of the Deathwatch he is a specialist on dealing with Orks and his training immersed him deeply in their speech patterns. There is no finer slayer of Orks around. Also he suffered a grevious head injury." The leader calmed the soldiers down and looked directly at the Commissar.
"Now. On to more important matters. Take me to your hangar."
Last edited:
- Location
- Leeds
I think you suffered the head injury for thinking this could possibly be a good idea.
- Location
- Poland
What could possibly go wrong?
Easter
Laziest lazier
- Location
- Bed
Actually if the orks think it will work it's very likely it will that's how most of the bullshat they do works.
- Location
- Leeds
Grab your popcorn and let's find out together.
- Location
- The INTERNET!
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Lord Orkington?
- Location
- St Louis
I didn't realize I needed this but I do.
CrunchySharpie
Professional Harem Consultant
- Location
- Sharpie Factory
Skullcrusherson the 3rd.
edmantgoog
init high just high
perfect
- Location
- pennsylvania
I'm with valor this stuff is funny