Job's a good 'un

Sometime after the last battle...

In our last game, Warboss Nozbok had been turned into a smouldering crater by a land speeder. When we rolled on the Necromunda injury chart, he ended up with an Old Battle Wound. I decided we couldn't just leave Nozbok with this, so we had two options - either just give him a cybork body, or randomise it via the GorkaMorka doc tables...

“Right den boss! Job’s a gud ‘un, if I sayz so misself!”

(I rolled a 6 on the Da Big Day table in Gorkamorka. Result: Job’s a Good ‘Un - the Doc has successfully completed surgery… now to find out what surgery it is…) 

Doc Skarback stepped backwards from the surgery table, and observed his patient.

Nozbok pushed himself up from the table, and swung his legs over the side.

(Nozbok has to roll on the Doc’s Surprise! Table, as he has an Old Battle Wound…)

“ Jobz a gud…..un? Dat so…. Doc? Coz I is not breefin…right”.

Skarback pulled a stethoscope out from a pocket, and pushed one end against Nozbok’s chest. He listened for a while, then pocketed the stethoscope again.

“Dat’s cos you was breathin in dat melty air, boss. Not gud for da lungz, but I suppose it was natural for yoose to try. Difficult to stop breathin. Dundn’t do your helf no gud, stoppin breathin.”

Nozbok lunged at the doc, but the oddboy dodged out of his way, and the warboss ended up leaning against the wall, struggling to breath.

“Just a bit of nigglin, boss.” continued Skarback. “Sort itzelf out in no time. I has given you a brand new shiny lung, made of metal, with da bellows control ‘ere - now lookit, da meks helped with dis, its nice and new like - what you doses is turn dis dial, and your breathin is more regular, yes? And if yoose turns it more, it gets fasta? Yes? Like when you wants to run about a bit - though I woud recommend dat you don’t do as much runnin for a bit - let it settle in. Den yoose can turn it down again, for da walking or da sittin, gorrit? Nice and easy boss - made it so specially for you!”

(Nozbok rolled a 2. This isn’t the worst result, but it isn’t great - an Iron Lung. The Doc has patched his lungs up with metal plates. This gets rid of his Old Battle Wound, but he gets out of breath a bit easier - basically he ends up with -1 on his move whenever he runs or charges so he can still walk 4”, but only runs or charges 6”. Oh well, could have been worse!)

Nozbok looked dubiously at the Doc, and adjusted the dial until he could breathe somewhat more properly than before.

“Arright Doc. I guess it was just set too low before, eh? Keepin me down till you got all de teef and such? Dat it?”

Skarback smiled like a shark “ Yoose knows me too well boss. Godda keep gettin teefs, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get da shiny bits from da meks, and who knows what I would have ‘ad to do for you? Din’t take more than cost of parts mind, cos yoose is boss - wouldn’t do dat for any of da ovvas. Now den - walk up and down a bit - yeah, dat looks good. Right, yoose can take your armour and stuff and go boss. I will be down in a couple days to check in, seize how yooze doing and dat. I will send da grotlets, Bodge and Charit down with ya to carry your gun and ovva things, so yoose can take it easy for a bit”.

Outside the doc’s surgery, a mob had formed. News that Nozbok had been experimented on had got around, and all and sundry wanted a look-see to find out what the outcome was. When Nozbok strode out on his own two feet, with just some slightly more bulky plates around his chest than before, there was a murmur of disappointment. The ladz had been hoping for something a bit more exciting, like a squig brain, or a monowheel, or a telescopic thingy, or whatever.

Nozbok scowled at them. “Right den. Gerroff with you, and get sorting your stuff. Wee’ze leaving soon. Godda catch up with dem beakies again, give up a good smashin”.

“Like what you were doing before, boss? Or was dat sum ovva ork, who had iz lads all shot up like, and got imself in with Doc? Oh wait, no … dat was yoose” 

The speaker was a bulky ork, dressed in the black, white and red of the Goff Clan, though somewhat more ostentatiously dressed than would normally be expected for a Goff. Big Boss Throkk was mean and hard (and made sure other orks knew it).

“Shurrit Throkk, you miserable git. Your ladz were a bunch of useless gits, cowerin’ in da bushes. You ain’t no better dan dem” Nozbok took a menacing step towards the Goff, his power fist clenched.

“I ain’t gonna shurrit. Not to you - we’ze gonna ‘av it out. I sayz you is weak, Nozbok. I sayz I is strong, and ded ‘ard, and yooze is going down. I challunges you boss”. With that, Throkk drew a curved saber, glowing red in the late evening sun. 

Instinctively, the rest of the orks formed a circle around the two orks… 

With a growl, Nozbok swung at the Goff with his powerfist, but the effects of the iron lung were clearly slowing him down, and his attack was clumsy. Still, the sudden lunge had clearly surprised Throkk, who had been anticipating an easy kill, and backed away, desperately parrying with his power sword. 

The crackling fist was deflected at the last second, its energy field grazing Throkk, blistering his skin and causing him to howl in pain. Sensing the lunge had put Nozbok out of position momentarily, he speared the sword forwards into the Warboss’s chest, but the blade skittered across Norbok’s armour in a flurry of sparks. Growling in frustration, he didn’t notice a sudden change in Nozbok’s stance, and the power fist smashed him to the floor in a clatter of armour plates and broken teeth. (We had three rounds of combat - Nozbok inflicted one wound on Throkk, Throkk won the 2nd round but failed to wound, and then Nozbok won the third, and KO'd Throkk).

“I said shurrit, Throkk. Not dat you’ll be talking much with dat busted gob.”

Nozbok raised his voice “ Anyone else want a bit of it? No? Right den.” He stomped off down the street, a posse of boys falling in behind. 

“What’s dis den?” Doc Skarback leant down over Throkk’s comatose frame. “A wounded lad, outside my door? Whateva is da world coming to? Well, he must be a kustoma, otherwise he wouldn’t be ere.”

 

Skarback shooed away a nearby squig that was lingering closeby. “Best get him inside before he gets eaten. Now den, where’s my best hammer?”

—-------------------

Some time later, and some good distance away, another group of Orks were settling down to contemplate their options. The issue of contemplation was a message they had received earlier that day via a messenger squigeon, which had promptly been eaten. Only hours later, while the two orks reclined back against a wall in the late afternoon sun after a tasty meal, did they remember the reason the meal had appeared in the first place.

“Ere, Squiggy - dere was a note with dat squigeon. Yoose had a read yet?” The speaker was a short ork, almost wider than he was tall, though the reason for this was that his body had almost entirely been replaced by bionic bits. The only organic parts of the ork visible were his great gurning face, complete with extensive beard squig and a flamboyant hat. While boss orks are generally larger than their underlings, Blorkbeard the Freebooter, so named after the aforementioned squig beard, made up for it in other ways. Not only was his cybork body “dead ‘ard”, but he had a reputation as a cunning and mean spirited individual, and many suspected the bionic bits concealed an array of hidden weapons that could be turned on any challenger.

His companion, Squig Bonnet, started as if he had been asleep. The squidgeon had been a particularly good meal, he thought. Patting down his coat pockets, he eventually withdrew a torn scrap of paper that had been in a cylinder attached to the squdgeon’s leg.

“Right den…urr…let me see ‘ere” he started, squinting at the note, and tracing the lines of crude text with his finger.

“Oi Blorkbeard, ya miserable git…” he started.

“Oi” growled Blorkbeard, pointing his gunfist at Squig Bonnet, clearly insulted by the fact his underling was badmouthing him.

“Sorry boss, I’z just reding what it sayz - not my words, like”. Squig Bonnet cleared his throat and continued to read.

“Right - Oi, Blorkbeard, ya miserable git. I’z got a job for you, if you is up for a fight. We’ze got sum beaker here, wolfy ones, dead ‘ard, and dead fighty. Already given some of the lad a smacking about, so dey’re proper smashy. If ya want’s in on the brawl, get ya miserable bionic backside over ere to my camp, pronto. They’z got plenty of gunz, bits and whatnot, and dere’ll be plenty of teef in it for you as well as your take of the spoils. It’s signed by Nozbok boss. Probably means it, as a bad moon. He’s got plenty of teef. What’dya thnk boss?”

Blorkbeard ran his gun hand through his beard, and stared into the distance. Beakies would be a good fight, that was true. Mainly he’d spent the last few years raiding, teaming up with one band of orks or another, smacking about other orks, or some of the local settlers. Only recently had things started to escalate, as imperial forces had arrived on the planet, with columns of guardsmen marching up into the hills. Beakies might be a nice change though.

  

“Aye, could do, Squiggy. But we’ze got some local business to attend to first. Won’t do to leave things not finished here - and we’ve rounded up all these ladz for a fight with da humies down at Jim’s place”. With that, Blorkbeard pushed himself away from the wall, and strode up the nearby rise, until he could look down into the next valley. He unhooked a telescope from his belt, and, resting it in his hook hand, stared down the tube. 

In the distance, at the bottom of the valley, a river wound slowly through the jungle. A clearing marked the crossing point, with a cluster of walled buildings, and a road winding up from the valley bottom to the next rise. Squinting, he could just about make out figures moving in the lazy afternoon heat. Jim’s place. A former trading post, from before the Imperium had come in force. Now the humies were using it as a supply base. Could be some good stuff there, he thought.

Lowering the telescope, he turned to Squig Bonnet.  “Betta take care of business, Squigy. Anyhow, da ladz would be disappointed if we didn’t. Letz round ‘em up, and get smashing. Den we can make our way over to Nozbok.”