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Author Topic: Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'  (Read 2327 times)

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Offline Admiral Dred

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Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'
« on: September 6, 2011, 11:27:09 PM »
Here is my last minute  ::) entry for the competition.  I am only entering Grade 9 so dont expect that much, but I hope it is decent and entertains ya'll. 
Please give any tips on how I can improve, thanks! ;D ;D


Grom, the Almighty Squig Rassla'
   Long, gross and thundering guffaws erupted from the feasting tent.  Every few seconds a grot or two was tossed around in some sort of competition, or squashed accidently as an ork set down his drink.
   The snakebites were obviously celebrating something.  Now, to say orks are celebrating is one thing.
   An entire different thing to know what they are celebrating.  Perhaps a victory was grabbed in a particularly fun battle, or maybe they are conversing about the shiny new dread they had just 'finely crafted.' 
   But then the local nob stepped up onto the table.  His massive steel boot crunched all beneath it, including some forever unfortunate snotlings.  The resonant thud of the foot hitting the table billowed the tent fabric slightly.  A cruel scar separated his face.  His jaw was low and wide.
   The room grew silent. Slowly.  The nob snorted patiently, grunting and moaning as drunk orks chuckled ceaselessly.
   "Shut up, ye grot-headed grox herders."  The slilence quickened in its  encompassment of the room as the intimidating figure glared menacingly around the table. The nob hefted a massive weapon.  It bristled with chains, blades, teeth, spikes and blunt objects.  The giant green elite split a dark but pleasured grin, gargantuan yellow teeth filling the drooling mouth. "Because ye wouldn't want da wrong end of this, lodged in da back side of yer head, would ye know?"
   A nearby grot shook his head furiously, but was slapped over the head by an offended ork.
   "Stop that!"  The nob spat.  "We got da newly rassled squigs for eating grots up."
   The hurt grot skulked.  The orks, however cheered at the notion of newly rassled squigs.
   Squig rasslin' is a popular snakebite sport.  Apart from their other, gruesome hobbies, squig rasslin' is a dangerous undertaking, from the capturing of the squigs, to getting them in the pen, to finding a willing ork (in surprisingly short supply for this sport) then for the actual rasslin'.
   The squigs need to be big.  Big teeth, big mouth, big claws and a big attitude are all important factors for the squig judges.  Minute critters are set to the feeding houses, where they get healthy dinners of snotlings, until it is ready for proper inspection.
   Once a squig has been painfully branded with a stamp of approval the event is set.  The massive beasts are dragged into a wide pen, filled appropriately with spiky objects and trash, while a crowd gathers.  The bikers rev their metal monstrosities to the get the crowd into a raucous, quaking and hearty cheer.  The gretchin speakers get pegged with rotten food items and the gladiatorial main card begins.
   The massive pen gates clatter open and the fresh contestant, armed with rasslin' equipment and suitable ard' stuff, stalks into the vast arena.  Some of the crowd cheer, others boo, hoping to see the greenskin contender get minced by the fearsome creature on the other side.
   The two fighters launch into each other, the squig gnashing and growling, the ork punching and roaring.  The point of the sport is not the kill the squig, but to rassle it, and take it home as a nice new pet.  Some bosses and big 'uns have had an attack squig or a pet squig companion, but not of these calibers.  These behemoths are the the product of the fierce snakebite tribal forests, only the harshed and biggest of them bound to survive.  These 'pets' serve loyally in battle, and served formally as a snakebites creative 'bosspole'...
   The nob lurches over to the back of the tent, his missing leg the trophy scar of a entertaining rasslin' event.  His new wooden appendage make a distinctive clack as he strode uneasily into the rear room.  The orks restarted their conversation, though quieter now, as they were expecting something.
   They were quite right, the nob pulling out three great iron cages.  Each one rumbled steadily as the creature inside struggled to break free.  The feasting boyz gasped at the size.  There was a deep crimson red squig, slightly more calm the the other two, but by no means passive.  He slavered at the surrounding snotlings. 
   Next, came a vibrant green one.  This one was playful, by orky standards of course, gibbering and bouncing around in the cage.  His blue tongue flopped around, splattering foul drool through the cage bars.
   And finally, the feisty one.  A fiery orange hued squig, an ornery fellow who seemed to want nothing more then get out of the cage and crash the party, picking up some fungus brew on the way...  The tough orange skin had a black mottling, contrasting with orange, like chunks of brimstone sitting atop violent lava.  This had been the prize squig no doubt.
   "These 'ave been freshly captured and judged.  We are looking fer three gladiators to rassle 'em.  It's obvious you are too much a bunch of drunk waste workers to do any real work, aren't ye now?"
   The proud orks were immediately and embarrassingly humbled.
   "No takers, eh?  Well I fer one will be ente-"   
   "Yer not quite so right there, mate."
   The nob grunted, puzzled.  "Who is dat?" He implored.
   The stranger emerged from the shadows, a wide smile on his sly face.  "Grom." The ork Grom was a tall lean ork, corded with heavy muscle, slathered in blue war paint and flecked with scars and healing wounds.  He had some kommando clothes on, denoting his former line of work.
   "Grom?  Grom what?  Or is that it then?"
   Grom sighed.  "Grom, ambassador of the Blue Skulls tribe.  I reckon yer having yourselves a fine time over here."
   "Sure."  snorted the nob. 
   "Who are you then?"
   The nob puffed out his chest and showed his teeth.  "Rex Grotcruncha, contender fer warboss status."
   "Well anybody can crunch grots." Grom teased.  The crowd nodded.
   Rex grimaced slightly.
   Grom continued.  "Snakebites eh?  You gotsa learn a little thing about Blue Skulls technology..."
   He span around and magically pulled out a fearsome fire arm.  About 7 feet in length, the massive shoota said something about the blue skulls looting ability.  It had 4 barrels and brandished an overkill ammo chamber.  "Alright, ye primitive screw heads... Listen up.  You see this? This is my BOOMSTICK!"  The tent echoed with astonishment.  Grom chuckled at the shock, but moved on.
   Grom eyed the three cages.  "These squigs, right?"
   The nob Grotcruncha nodded.
   "I will rassle all three."
   The orks burst into an uproar.  Grom stood calmly and confidently.  "At at time."
   One ork stood up slobbering and twitching with rage.  "Yeah right you git, what are you? A professional squig rassla'?"
   Grom chuckled and lowered his gun, aimed at the locks.  He destroyed the cages with a freakishly accurate hail of rocketing bullets, slamming into the iron with the power of an automatic cannon.  The squigs began to ravage the area, and orks got busy rounding them up.  Utter chaos enveloped the tent, though Grom didn't mind.
   "Actually," Grom smiled and popped a cigar in his mouth.  "Dat is exactly what I am."



It was the day of the event.  A small squad of Blue Skull nobs accompanied Grom to the arena. 
   The pen walls were covered in cheering orks.  The squig cages, repaired and re-squigged, were lowered into the pen slowly.  The joints coughed dust as the rusty cage door clacked open.  The three ravenous squigs began screaming around the pen, kicking up dirt and gravel.  They bounded of obstacles and devoured the bait grots. 
   Rex Grotcruncha caught the crowd's attention. "The challenger, and his ill fate, await in da arena.  This is gonna be a good bit er squig rasslin'.  Begin da slaughter!"
   The challenger gates slid away and Grom strode into the killing grounds.  Ever nonchalant, he lit cigar and took a long drag.  "Well, little pups.  Lets have a go at it, eh?  Da orky way."  He chuckled and drew a long zappa-spear.  Non-lethal, but can submit a large squig with enough strikes. 
   The green squig charged swiftly and bit heavily at Groms position, but a good dodge prevented injury.  The next gnash clipped Grom, but the large former kommando was un-phased.  He bonked it on the head before jolting it with his weapon.  It shrieked and bolted away.  The red and orange one came in next, but the orange was faster and leapt to the contestant.  A heavy handed fist dropped the blazing beast to the ground, but the red raced in next, tacking Grom and sending him down. His unarmed hand was pinned.  The zappa-spear repeatedly struck the red squig, using his free arm, and knocked it out.  Its limp body flopped over. 
   Grom hefted the squig away and attacked the orange squig.  The dazed beast blinked, realized the incoming weapon, and dodged narrowly.  Grom twirled about, smacking an incoming green squig away before prodding the fire toned creature with the electric pole.  The orange beast twitched then faltered, becoming unconscious.  Grom dropped the spear and decided to take the final squig with his bare hands.  He wrestled the creature down, though not without a fight.  The squig bit his arms several times, and kicked the Ambassador in the face with a satisfying crunch.
   The crowd cheered uncontrollably at the violence.  Grom eventually pinned the gnawing animal and choked it out.  Grom rose, bloodied but with three new pets.  The crowd burst into boos, whoops or groans as the victor stood clear. 
   

        Grom the Squig Rassla' decided to stay in the tribe as the new warboss.  On his back were human skulls, Tau helms and the occasional carnifex tongue, roped along as trophies.  But his new bosspole were his three prize squigs, on the left, Da Green Grox Gutter, in the middle, Da Orange Orky Obliterator, and on the right, Da Red Ripper Racer.  His squigs told the story, and made it so that this Snakebite Tribe bowed down to him as The Almighty Squig Rassla'.
« Last Edit: September 15, 2011, 11:20:26 PM by Admiral Dred »
Sense just doesn't make sense, if you just happen to make sense of it all.
I use Calgar as terrain/objective.   8)
I'm only missing 4 teeth so I should be doing fairly well in Ork World.
When in doubt, C4. --- Jamie Hyneman

Offline Admiral Dred

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Re: Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'
« Reply #1 on: September 6, 2011, 11:42:53 PM »
Also there is a movie reference in here, its quite clear.  See if you can guess it.
Sense just doesn't make sense, if you just happen to make sense of it all.
I use Calgar as terrain/objective.   8)
I'm only missing 4 teeth so I should be doing fairly well in Ork World.
When in doubt, C4. --- Jamie Hyneman

Offline SKEETERGOD

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Re: Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'
« Reply #2 on: September 7, 2011, 08:17:37 AM »
Pretty good story, I did catch the army of darkness reference. The writing is good and the story is good, the only thing I recommend is to split it up a little more to make it easier to read, other than that I liked it.

It is always good to see ork stuff, I enjoyed the read, good stuff!
"It needs but one foe to breed a war. And even those who have not swords can still die upon them" (Lady Eowyn)
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Skeetergod: (adj) A crazy fascination for all things combustible mixed with an unhealty lust for red paint. see also Speed Freak

Offline The Nightwalker

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Re: Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'
« Reply #3 on: September 7, 2011, 10:30:03 AM »
Good story, I enjoyed it. Definately different then the rest of the stories in the competition.

The one thing I would change, is I would put more spaces between the paragraphs. Should make it easier on the eyes.

Offline Admiral Dred

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Re: Admiral Dred's Bosspole Competiton, Grom the Squig Rassla'
« Reply #4 on: September 7, 2011, 06:36:14 PM »
Nice one Skeeter!  That is movie is about as corny as they come  ::)

Thanks a lot for the advice, though it was more an physical anomaly then a written. 

Thanks again and thanks for the competition!
Sense just doesn't make sense, if you just happen to make sense of it all.
I use Calgar as terrain/objective.   8)
I'm only missing 4 teeth so I should be doing fairly well in Ork World.
When in doubt, C4. --- Jamie Hyneman

 


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