Game Eleven: Da Showdown at Da Skid
Boolit Toof was no longer boss. His mob was now Lump’s Ladz, led by the young upstart who’d shot the old boss and taken his crown. Lump had spent every teef they had on a gleaming new buzz-choppa and a set of shiny, kunnin’-lookin’ armour.
He’d beaten Boolit Toof. Now, he wanted to beat Skargrim.
So he sent a challenge: a time, a place, and a promise. “No tricks. No scrap. Just fightin’.”
Da Engines Start
Both mobs rolled up outside the Skid. Engines revved. Dust churned. Da Ironback trukk rumbled into place—its loudspeaker ready to blast Goff Rock across the dunes.
Then… silence.
Grub, the new yoof, had forgotten to plug it in.
Lump’s Ladz, undeterred, roared their own engines louder, drownin’ out da desert with noise.
“WAAAGH!” roared Lump. “Let’s show ‘em who’s boss!”
Da Clash
The two mobs charged. Vehicles screamed forward, guns barked, and Orks bellowed.
Skargrim hurled himself from his trukk onto the enemy skorcha—only to get uppercutted by the gunner and sent flyin’ into the sand. He rolled to his feet, spittin’ dust and swearing.
The skorcha swung ‘round and unleashed hell, torchin’ two of Grog’s cyboars. One flaming pig crashed into another, and the stench of burnt bacon filled the air.
Krankshaft wheeled the Ironback trukk in a messy three-point turn. “Hold ‘er steady!” Pigploppa barked, takin’ aim. The spear gun fired—THUNK!—right into a buggy’s engine. The thing exploded, hurlin’ Orks (and Skargrim) through the air.
A rogue squig clambered into Lump’s skorcha, chompin’ wildly until Nuffink kicked it out into the sand.
Slagnut tried to leap from the Ironback trukk but tripped mid-jump and faceplanted in the dirt.
Skargrim, recoverin’ from being thrown from yet another vehicle, staggered up and swung his power choppa straight into an enemy Spanner named Smells—right in the groin. The howl echoed across da Skid.
Old Rivalries Rekindled
From behind the chaos came Boolit Toof—aged and wounded with eyes full of hate. He charged at Slagnut, bellowin’ revenge.
Slagnut met him head-on, slammed his rusty hook across the old boss’s face, and sent him spinnin’ into the dust. Pickle the grot rushed in to help, tripped over a rock, cracked his head, and passed out cold.
Boogaz, one of Lump’s lads, leapt onto the Ironback trukk, beatin’ Krankshaft senseless and bootin’ Pigploppa and his piglet clean out the gunner nest. He took the wheel, doin’ wild doughnuts while screamin’ “WAAAAAGH!”
Da Nobs Clash
Lump spotted Slagnut and charged. His shiny armour gleamed, his buzz-choppa roared, and with one brutal swing he laid the ork low, stompin’ on poor Pickle as he went.
Skargrim saw red. He thundered across the field, power choppa raised high.
The two Nobs met in the sand, lockin’ arms in a test of brute Orky strength. They rolled, bit, headbutted, an’ cursed each other to Gork and back.
In the end, it was Skargrim who won. He slammed Lump into the dirt, standing over him like a god of war, power choppa ready for the final blow.
But fate had other plans…
Smudge, one of Lump’s gunners, swung his Big Shoota around and opened fire. A storm of bullets ripped across the dunes. Skargrim jerked, stumbled, and fell beside the barely breathing Lump.
Da Aftermath
Lumps lads cackled as Boogaz tore through the battlefield in the stolen Ironback trukk.
But this joy was cut short when Grub, the forgotten yoof, picked himself up and fired at a lump’s own trukk’s wheels, immobilisin’ it.
Melvin and Smudge charged out, kicked the poor lad’s head in, and left him a bloody smear in the sand. Grub would not live to regret his decision on account of being dead.
Both mobs were mauled. Both were furious. But Lump’s Ladz stood longest. The Ironbacks broke off, leavin’ the field—and their trukk—behind.
Victory went to Lump.
Post-Game: Pigploppa’s New Arm
Pigploppa, half-blind and half-deaf from the day’s fightin’, dragged himself to Mektown’s Painboy. Where is eye used to be was a bloody crater.
“Fix me eye,” he growled.
The doc nodded, then promptly ignored him.
When Pigploppa woke up, his arm had been replaced with a telescopic limb instead—a strange extendable contraption “for better pig-herdin’ range.”
It didn’t help his eye one bit, but it did let him smack grots from across the camp. The runtherd was delighted, forgetting all about his eye. He paid the doc and even tipped him an extra toof for a job well done.
