Big Mek Wurrgutz

Ok, I failed to do the whole webcomic thing, which is fine I think (third comic does exist, and is in late stages of development). Anyway, enough excuses, here is an update. Some fluff and crap, you know:

Mek Wurrguts was working diligently on his latest project, a fighta for his favorite snotling, when he heard the clatter of a Nob busting through his door and shouting for him. He sighed, dropped his wrench, and walked into the shack he used as a storefront. As he picked his way through the piles of scrap, he heard the sharp sound of the Nob shooting holes in his roof with impatience. He stepped in through the door and saw a large Nob by the name of Gorteef busy trying to shoot his name into the ceiling.

“What is it ya git?” He snapped “you gonna buy summat or jus’ shoot ‘oles in me roof?” The Nob stopped shooting and sized up at Wurrguts. He wasn’t used to another ork (besides the boss) yelling at him, he was quite accustomed to doing the yelling himself. Ever since his arm was replaced with a chain-klaw he was used to getting far more respect. After seeing how much bigger Wurrguts (and more importantly, Wurrgutses’ power klaw) was the Nob immediately abandoned all thoughts of a violent revenge. The Nob was the leader of a crew of eleven other boys, and their associated trukk. He had only recently become the leader (after the somewhat suspicious death of the old Nob) and was therefore eager to assert his dominance.
“et’s dem bugs, dem gene-sneakers keep rippin’ up me trukk and chewin’ up me boys an’ I’m sick of the lot of ‘em, zoggin bugs. I fink I need some moar dakka” The mek scratched his chin, trying to think of the most expensive solution to the cocky young Nob’s problem. He finally decided that something along the lines of a wartrakk, loaded up with a big shoota or two would set the Nob back a few bags of teef.

“I got just da fing, ere, come around back an’ I’ll show ya what we got.” Wurrguts motioned for the Nob to come around the counter and join him. The Nob instead opted to cut through the counter with his klaw. Wurrgutz growled at him, and then barked for a grot to fix it. One of his assistants quickly ran up with a welding torch and began welding it back in place. Wurrguts led the Nob a few feet to his most recent buggy. Equipped with a twin linked big shoota, big loud exhaust pipes, squig-leather seats, huge speakers, and a snazzy red paint job Wurrgutz was sure the Nob would find it acceptable. The Nob immediately took a liking to the buggy. Walking around it and inspecting it.

“How much would dis be then?” he asked.

“Bout firty teef or so.” The Mek replied. The Nob whistled, and a grot came scurrying up carring a heavy pack of ammo and teef. The grot then began counting out the teef as Wurrguts passed the keys on to the Nob. The Nob the headbutted Wurrgutz (similar to a handshake amongst the ‘ell Raysas tribe) and walked towards his new buggy with an excited grin on his face. Before he could get there however, there was a loud explosion from the back of the shack, and a second one as the buggy’s fuel tank exploded sympathetically. The grot who had been welding the counter back in place accidentally tried to weld his fuel line to the metal, and ignited the fuel tanks out behind the shed, next to the buggy. Wurrgutz covered his face and was blown into a nearby pile of rivits. After the dust settled Wurrgutz stumbled back onto his feet and cursed. The buggies’ frame was still recognizable, but it was otherwise completely destroyed. Gorteef also survived, and when he came to he howled in frustration. He lashed out with his boot and kicked his stunned ammo runt across the yard. Then, in his bloody rage, he started towards Wurrgutz. Wurrgutz saw the attack coming and smacked the Nob’s head aside with his bionic arm as the great ork barreled towards him, steering his headlong charge into a nearby pile of scrap. The Nob scrambled out of the rubbish and turned to face Wurrgutz, shoota in hand.

“calm down ya git” barked Wurrgutz “you didn’t want that pile uh junk, you wants…” The Nob stared at him angrily for a moment, then calmed down a tad and holstered his shoota. Wurrgutz looked around the yard quickly for some alternative. “Dat ‘un!” He motioned towards a rusted out, dilapidated old Skorcha Trakk. Wurrgutz walked over to it, “ets a beauty izznt et?” he beamed, “but those zoggin’ runts been lootin’ parts off et, but a coat ah new paint an’ it’ll run fine.” He said as he approached it. “Well, that and an enjun… Only firty teef then.”

“Ya zogger, ets not worth five teef, yew trying tuh sell me dat pile uv junk? Et’s not even da proppa kolor!” The Nob barked. He kicked at the tracks in his disapproval. Wurrgutz scowled, and posed his counter offer of twenty teef. The Nob then kicked it again, leaving a sizable dent in the fender.

“Ah’ll tell yew wot.” Said Wurrgutz, “yew kum bakk tomorrow an’ it’ll be fixed up good an’ proppa fer ya. Give it a snazzy new enjun, shiny red paint, yella flamez, and a big zoggin’ skorcha. All dat fer the low prise of twentee-five teef.” The Nob frowned at Wurrgutz, and nodded.

“Right, I’ll be bak. And it better be proppa wen I do.” The Nob then stomped off towards the smoking crater that was once the mek’s shack. The entire back wall had been blown off, but it was otherwise undamaged, until the Nob got there and chopped a new doorway for himself of course. Wurrgutz sat down on the battered hull of the skorcha for a moment, staring at the rising column of smoke from what was his workshop. Soon the moment of peace passed and he got back on his feet, grabbed his spanner, and began refurbishing the ancient vehicle.