Warboss Gorzod

I’m Gorzod Da Skullkrusha, Warboss of da Bad Moons, da meanest, loudest, an’ flashiest Ork to ever roar a WAAAGH! Me armor’s a clankin’ fortress of looted steel an’ jagged scrap, every dent a trophy from a foe I’ve smashed. Me choppa’s a mountain o’ razor-sharp iron, stained with da blood o’ a thousand enemies, an’ me kustom shoota spits death loud enough to wake da dead. I’ve fought across da stars, krumpin’ Cadian regiments ‘til their shiny tanks were rubble an’ their soldiers were screamin’ wrecks. Now, I’ve brought me WAAAGH! to dis soft, humie city—San Fran-sisko—an’ it’s fallin’ apart under da weight o’ me green tide. It started with a portal tearin’ open in da city’s guts, a jagged rip in da sky spillin’ green fury onto their streets. Me vanguard—ten thousand Orks, all snarlin’ an’ armed to da teef—burst through like a storm, warcries rattlin’ da glass towers ‘til they shattered. Da humies were caught flat-footed, their little lives snuffed out before dey could blink. We hit hard an’ fast, lootin’ their shops for shiny gubbinz, smashin’ their wagons, an’ turnin’ their homes to burnin’ husks. Da air filled with da sweet stink o’ smoke an’ panic as me boyz rampaged, choppas gleamin’ in da firelight, shootas cacklin’ with glee. I took me warbuggy straight to dat big red bridge dey call da Golden Gate. Humies thought it was untouchable—hah! We turned it to scrap in a heartbeat, rokkits blastin’ its towers to dust, trukks plowin’ through its cables ‘til it crashed into da bay. I led da charge meself, choppa swingin’, laughin’ as da humies fled screamin’ into da water. From there, we rolled into da city proper, hittin’ a place packed with stalls an’ boats—Fisherman’s Wharf, dey said. Me Nobz went wild, tearin’ through walls like paper, while me Slugga Boyz looted everythin’ dat shined. Gitsmasha, me biggest Nob, ripped a humie soldier apart with ‘is claws, roarin’ loud enough to shake da docks. Now, I’m perched atop da ruins o’ Coit Tower, a busted stump o’ stone high above da chaos. From ‘ere, I watch me boyz carve up da city like a fresh squig. Black smoke coils into da sky from a dozen fires, glass towers crumblin’ as rokkits slam home. Da streets are a mess o’ blood an’ bodies—humies in uniforms cut down, others in rags beggin’ for lives we ain’t gonna spare. Me vanguard’s relentless, ten thousand Orks stompin’ through, leavin’ only death an’ echoes behind ‘em. I chew a squig an’ grin—dis is what a WAAAGH! feels like. Dese humies are weak, nothin’ like da Cadians I fought in da grimdark. Back den, I faced lasguns dat burned an’ tanks dat roared, soldiers who stood their ground even as we broke ‘em. But here? Da humies got no spine. Their “Nayshunal Guard” rolls up in toy tanks an’ flimsy lines, tryin’ to hold a perimeter ‘round da city’s edge. Pathetic. Me boyz crash through ‘em like a tide o’ green, warbuggies spinnin’ wheels over their wrecks, Deffguns rippin’ their ranks to shreds. I’ve got two hundred thousand more Orks waitin’ in reserve, ready to flood through once we’ve locked dis bridgehead down. Dey won’t stand a chance. “Oi, Gitsmasha!” I bellow from me perch, voice carryin’ over da gunfire. “Leave some fer da rest o’ da boyz!” He looks up, blood drippin’ from ‘is claws, an’ laughs—a deep, guttural sound dat promises more carnage. Me Orks are a machine o’ war, armed with choppas dat cleave steel, shootas dat spray storms o’ dakka, an’ rokkits dat turn buildin’s to ash. Dey don’t just fight—dey revel in it, chantin’ me name as dey crush everythin’ in their path. I want a real fight, somethin’ to make me scars itch an’ me blood sing. Word’s spreadin’ ‘bout a humie champion, some fool who’s rallyin’ their broken soldiers, tryin’ to stand against me. Good. I’ll meet ‘em on da battlefield, me choppa drippin’ with anticipation. I’ll carve ‘em apart in front o’ both armies—snap their bones, rip their head clean off, an’ hoist it high. Da humies’ll break when dey see their hero fall, an’ me boyz’ll roar loud enough to shake da earth.