A month or so IRO posted an inventory of all his Orks so far, which inspired me to look back and do the same thing. Of course a side-effect of this is that there’s a lot of models that have fallen by the wayside and never got the paint they deserved. I’ve been working on this army since the mid-2000s, they were my first 40k army and they’re still probably my favourite faction. This year I’m aiming to focus on my Warhammer 40k Ork army, although there might be the odd fantasy Orc sneaking in here and there. Last year I battered through 37 greenskins of various shapes and sizes (and bizarrely enough, so did IRO). Some of my unpainted orks date back more than a decade so for now the focus of my efforts has switched from “Convert or Die” to “Clear The Backlog or Else!”. Meanwhile I’ll be trying to clear my way through more of the heap of unpainted models that have been gathering dust on and around my painting desk. IRO has already been hard at work putting together his awesome kitbashes, including laying the foundations of the great greenskin fortress known as New Ork Leans. Well here we are, another year older and not a bit wiser and it’s time once again for Orktober and my now annual Ork painting challenge vs fellow blogger and all-round top-bloke the Imperial Rebel Ork. “Don’t you worry mate”, he declared, “We’ve found it!” Murdakk treated his old buddy to his friendliest scowl. “Fort you said we wur goin’ where da best fightin’ is?” said Furst Mate Bashem uncertainly. “I’d recognise dat pit anywhere! New Ork Leans! We’re back boys!” Looking straight down from their vantage-point in the heavens the Orks could see a city directly beneath them, it’s rusty towers emerging from leaning mounds of junk, it’s outer walls ringed by roadways littered with burned out wrecks and its scrap-lined streets busy with the distant figures of thousands of orks. Obligingly a mob of sweating grots pushed the Mad-Boss closer to the window.Īhead lay a planet shrouded in dark clouds of filthy smog, the atmosphere occasionally lit by flashes of green lighting. At once a fearful grot scurried to throw open the shutters and allow the assembled orks to see out through the window. Parking his massive bulk in the Kaptain’s chair he growled “Get sensors online”. “You”, he jabbed a finger at Flickit, “New Bugelit. “Shaddap,” Murdakk muttered, squashing the little grot flat with one armoured boot. “Mad-boss, Mad-boss, whatcha going to do? Whatcha going to do when he yurk…”. Caught quite literally with his pants down, Bugelit hopped desperately back from the drops and reached his station just in time to burst into a rousing chorus of Murdakk’s famous anthem. “Kaptain on da bridge!” yelled Flickit the grot, smirking to himself as he spotted the predicament of Bugelit, the Mad Boss’s personal grot-herald. “Let’s get to da bridge, find out where we are. Bashem had all the qualities Murdakk liked in a first officer – being both hard of thinking and an expert in the field of shouting. He turned to Bashem, his second in command. “Sounds roight borin’ to me”, he muttered, “Gettin’ to fight dose weird gits is da best part of space travel.
He’d heard that the Imperium, cowardly gits that they were, used a thing called a Geller Field when transversing the Warp in order to keep their ships from being overrun by the howling creatures of Chaos. All around the ship still echoed to the sounds of wailing grots, decompressing metal and the sudden cracks and bangs as overenthusiastic boys fired a last few shots at dying daemons or their slower and duller-witted mates. “Roight!” he said to no-one in particular, “Let’s find out where we are den!”. Down in the bowels of his ship Mad-Boss Murdakk da Mighty put aside his favourite shoota, giving a last idle kick towards the dissolving carcass of a thing with many eyes and wings which had, until a moment before, been trying to tear off his face with it’s many suckered hands. Cut off from their natural home, the daemons which had been attacking the ship began to collapse, wailing and giggling, their unnatural forms crushed by the uncaring hand of harsh physics.
WARHAMMER 40000 ORKS DA RED GOBBO ON BOUNCA MINIATURE FREE
Like a goblet of phlegm coughed up by the green gods themselves the space hulk Wurldbreaka tore free of the immaterium and thundered back into real space. The boundary between reality and the Warp shivered and bulged before, with a flatulent squelch, tearing itself open.
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