The Bloodpact Saga
Chapter 1: The Seal of Decay
“Diz plaze iz hell…” the Kaptin muttered carelessly. The planet’s three suns had all reached a prominent enough horizon to shine light upon the wastes of the long dead imperial world. Bordrukk sniffed, as he put his cigar back to his mouth, sucking in the damp and acrid smoke that exhilarated his senses. His exhale blew a cloud of dark smoke, which for a second obscured the sight that was before him. He stared blankly upon the ruins of an old Forgeworld; the ground littered with factories and temples stretching beyond his sight in an overtly orderly, square-shaped fashion. “Umies…” He sighed; their precise and lavish constructions were so intensively built with great care and planning but were just as easy to demolish as any Ork Town, and Bordrukk would know; for as a Blood Axe Mercenary, he had served armies that had laid waste to both.
It did not matter where Bordrukk looked; it was eternally the same symptom. There was not one building that he could see that seemed worthy or indeed capable of yielding any significant loot. The buildings were grey, and even as the suns rose further into positions lofty enough to provide light upon the wrecked earth below; the sullen tone remained, as if the buildings were eternally cursed with the bleakness of decay. All was in ruins. He perceived an emptiness broken only by rubble and broken statues: the fallen remnants of their architects’ whim. Lying, snapped in two, they appear as if in protest to the indignity of a decaying death. Not that this presented itself to the Ork Kaptin in anything other than Goosebumps.
The discordant noise behind him took him away from his thoughts and he glanced around at his squad of Kommandos, busy as they were doing nothing but joking and shouting amongst themselves. “Shut it, yoo lot.” He growled at them. His small unit were a pretty disciplined lot, but they were still Orks, and prone to clownin’ abowt quite often, and usually at the wrong time. “But dere’s noffink ‘ere!” muttered Dreggitz, Bordrukk’s best ‘snikka’*. Bordrukk offered him and the rest of the unit a scowl. He rarely needed to do more than this, although it was hard not to simply share the statement, especially as he had also lapsed into a state of disbelief at their position.
(*Snikka: a term used to describe an Ork, usually a Kommando, that is adept at close quarter fighting and particularly when in reference to Kommandos, the ability to dispatch foes silently and quickly).
His mind was focussed on his orders. He had been ordered to hold his position, but it had been a good while since those orders had been given. His Boss, Gargutz, had been gone for a long time. He was finding it hard to understand how and where Gargutz had gone. It was pretty clear, at least to him; the place was a complete dump. Bordrukk had no idea what his new employer could have possibly found here. As far as he was concerned, the ‘umies may be a useful resource, but whatever it was that had happened to them had left nothing of interest to the Orks. The place looked so under the thumb of time that he had no idea how long this place had remained, for the planet itself seemed to have left it in the condition it was the day that it had begun to crumble.
Bordrukk stubbed out his Cigar on his left bicep, and looked around at his mob. They stood immediately to attention; they knew the expression on his face well. Ork Kommandos were a solid unit, they spent their lives together, and they knew each other so well that they barely needed to speak. Most communication was made via glances, various bodily gestures and hand movements; most of these had very slight variations. The unit knew them instinctively, even Ugzag, the yoof of the unit who had only been with them shortly before their campaign had resumed. The Kommandos were also fiercely insular and deeply mistrustful of outside authority, and particularly of orders: especially the boring ones that they didn’t like doing.
Bordrukk nodded at the unit. They responded in kind, formed up into a loose skirmish formation, and moved out. He knew exactly where they were heading; he had seen what had so fascinated Gargutz, and he had decided that their next action should be determined from this position. By this point, they had spread out, and were easily hidden to the untrained or focussed eye. Kommandos are adept at sneaking. It is believed that the Orks learned this from humans, whilst others believe Orks have always been capable of such techniques when hunting. It is hard to imagine that such big and brutish creatures were capable of such subtle movement.
The Kommandos had their craft practiced into a precise art. The second that their ship had landed upon the earth, they had all been out, searching buildings in small groups, and securing the area. Upon establishing a safe perimeter, they began to blend into the surroundings. Ork hands are particularly useful for crushing rock and debris, as well as grabbing huge handfuls of dirt and grit, which are then applied liberally upon the Ork’s person, used to form a colouring layer over cloaks and clothing, and a small amount of Fungus Brew or Ork saliva, added to a handful of crushed dirt and grit, mixed into a paste and applied to the skin. Kommandos are not squeamish about any camouflage; they are only seen to be noticeably less calm without it.
Their progress was always slow; Bordrukk didn’t believe there was ever a moment where the Kommandos shouldn’t benefit from the element of surprise. Dagsnik and Gulgor scouted ahead, whilst the majority of the unit slowly moved through whatever terrain laid ahead, using cover and moving silently. After some progress, a strange noise could be heard. To a Feral Ork, the sound would be the call of a Squig that had won a territorial fight with another Squig, but to the unit, it was a call that a body had been found. Bordrukk knew the caller; the subtle grunt in the voice identified the alerted sentry as Nazdakka, the oldest Kommando in his unit.
As they closed on Nazdakka’s position, the scent of death lay in the air. The old Kommando was crouched, leaning a slight upon the barrel of his Big Shoota. He stared at the Boss, who had already met a different gaze. The body hung upon a strange stone pillar by ancient binds, and seemed to remain in place by the merest of certainty; as if the wretched corpse itself also suffered from the same curse of timelessness that plagued the whole planet. The victim upon the strange pillar was once human. Its robes at one time could well have been a crimson red, but were now a lifeless shadow that bore little of the colour it had once been. The corpse was little but a decaying ske.leton; the lifelessness of the air, as bitter as it was, existed to delay the process of decay upon the few remaining shreds of sinew; all that remained to keep the pathetic corpse intact.
Bordrukk looked in fascination at what lay before him. He had seen things like this before, and it disturbed him that the humans, so quick to dismiss him as a mere savage, could do this to its own kind. The pathetic creature’s face was deformed; its jaw agape as if protesting in death at the indignity of decay. Gazing into the corpse’s eyes, Bordrukk wondered what had become of this human. He never did understand such brutality. Even in his own culture, the brutal displays of destruction and aggression of his fellow Ork failed to take hold in his mind. He had given everything he had to reach a position of isolation, to fight, hunt and kill. He wondered why the humans so often did the job for him.
Even an Ork could not miss the symbolism of the body that hung before them. It was as an example to others. Usually when a Warboss made a similar gesture, he’d knock the snot out of some uppity Nob. If the Nob was lucky, it would live, and it usually wouldn’t. But Orks did nothing so odd to the Ork’s corpse. An Ork was free in death; the battle was over, and the score, whatever it was, would be settled and laid to rest.
But at once, the question was answered. Ugzag the Yoof produced a strange item that seemed to have fallen from the corpse. It immediately caught his attention. It was a strange, thin and metal rectangular object. It glowed as daylight, a precious metal of high quality preserved by the thin air. Upon it were markings. Bordrukk immediately recognised it as Imperial Gothic, the language of the humans, more specifically, that of the Imperium. He did not understand the writing, but he did not need to. The symbol at the bottom of the plaque was familiar enough. He had encountered it before.
The Orks had sacked a planet he had been involved in a few Waaaghs back. The planet had changed hands numerously at that time, and the Imperial Forces had only recently crushed a Rebellion by settlements that had been tainted by chaos. Bordrukk had been part of a Mob that had raided a strange temple and slaughtered an odd collection of humans. The leader wore an elaborate white power armoured suit, and upon it was a symbol – an II. It was the symbol of the Inquisition. He now knew much about them, and knew that they enforced the will of their dominant religious figure, and tortured humans who had dismissed the teachings of their ‘God’, the Emperor of Mankind.
Bordrukk had not the wit to read the writing, but he knew this victim had been accused of some misdeed in the eyes of the Inquisition. The writing upon the plaque was as clear as day:
Bordrukk now knew that the humans had cleansed their own planet. As he looked around he began to wonder why. The situation disturbed him, but there was little he could do. It was then that a whistle rang in the air. It was a call, from one of the two scouts Dagsnik and Gulgor, a call to their location. Bordrukk gestured with his arms to move out, and the whole unit left the corpse to its eternal punishment.
Dagsnik and Gulgor lay up ahead, and they pointed towards the footprints of a suitably large group of Orks that they had been tracking. Bordrukk had noticed the prints of a number of Orks next to the strange corpse, and they had obviously headed this way. He looked upon his two scouts with a look that suggested his thoughts to be “Wat Uv It?” the two scouts responded by pointing to his left, in the corner of the building in which they now stood. It was a mural, depicting a strange creature. He had seen one or two of them before, and they were unnatural things that appeared as if out of nowhere. This one however, was different. It was a large, horned creature, with a strange humanoid face; it was stern yet equally fierce. It wore dark armour and held a large sword. The creature sat upon a throne, which itself sat upon a huge mound of skulls, surrounded by water. The water was red, as was the symbol below it. He had seen it before, and he knew the name for which it stood. He looked at it in disbelief. “Khorne” the Kaptin spoke with a tone of disgust. The mural slid to the side, and revealed a darkened staircase leading into the bowels of the planet.
Kaptin Bordrukk looked up at his mob. They returned a similar glance. Bordrukk looked into the opening that had only suddenly appeared; he saw nothing but an inky blackness. The more he looked into it, the more odd he felt. The opening seemed to widen, as if it was about to engulf him. He felt a strange feeling in his mind, and without any gesture, he began to move, cautiously, towards the opening. Hesitantly, the mob followed and they all descended into the darkness…
“Diz plaze iz hell…” the Kaptin muttered carelessly. The planet’s three suns had all reached a prominent enough horizon to shine light upon the wastes of the long dead imperial world. Bordrukk sniffed, as he put his cigar back to his mouth, sucking in the damp and acrid smoke that exhilarated his senses. His exhale blew a cloud of dark smoke, which for a second obscured the sight that was before him. He stared blankly upon the ruins of an old Forgeworld; the ground littered with factories and temples stretching beyond his sight in an overtly orderly, square-shaped fashion. “Umies…” He sighed; their precise and lavish constructions were so intensively built with great care and planning but were just as easy to demolish as any Ork Town, and Bordrukk would know; for as a Blood Axe Mercenary, he had served armies that had laid waste to both.
It did not matter where Bordrukk looked; it was eternally the same symptom. There was not one building that he could see that seemed worthy or indeed capable of yielding any significant loot. The buildings were grey, and even as the suns rose further into positions lofty enough to provide light upon the wrecked earth below; the sullen tone remained, as if the buildings were eternally cursed with the bleakness of decay. All was in ruins. He perceived an emptiness broken only by rubble and broken statues: the fallen remnants of their architects’ whim. Lying, snapped in two, they appear as if in protest to the indignity of a decaying death. Not that this presented itself to the Ork Kaptin in anything other than Goosebumps.
The discordant noise behind him took him away from his thoughts and he glanced around at his squad of Kommandos, busy as they were doing nothing but joking and shouting amongst themselves. “Shut it, yoo lot.” He growled at them. His small unit were a pretty disciplined lot, but they were still Orks, and prone to clownin’ abowt quite often, and usually at the wrong time. “But dere’s noffink ‘ere!” muttered Dreggitz, Bordrukk’s best ‘snikka’*. Bordrukk offered him and the rest of the unit a scowl. He rarely needed to do more than this, although it was hard not to simply share the statement, especially as he had also lapsed into a state of disbelief at their position.
(*Snikka: a term used to describe an Ork, usually a Kommando, that is adept at close quarter fighting and particularly when in reference to Kommandos, the ability to dispatch foes silently and quickly).
His mind was focussed on his orders. He had been ordered to hold his position, but it had been a good while since those orders had been given. His Boss, Gargutz, had been gone for a long time. He was finding it hard to understand how and where Gargutz had gone. It was pretty clear, at least to him; the place was a complete dump. Bordrukk had no idea what his new employer could have possibly found here. As far as he was concerned, the ‘umies may be a useful resource, but whatever it was that had happened to them had left nothing of interest to the Orks. The place looked so under the thumb of time that he had no idea how long this place had remained, for the planet itself seemed to have left it in the condition it was the day that it had begun to crumble.
Bordrukk stubbed out his Cigar on his left bicep, and looked around at his mob. They stood immediately to attention; they knew the expression on his face well. Ork Kommandos were a solid unit, they spent their lives together, and they knew each other so well that they barely needed to speak. Most communication was made via glances, various bodily gestures and hand movements; most of these had very slight variations. The unit knew them instinctively, even Ugzag, the yoof of the unit who had only been with them shortly before their campaign had resumed. The Kommandos were also fiercely insular and deeply mistrustful of outside authority, and particularly of orders: especially the boring ones that they didn’t like doing.
Bordrukk nodded at the unit. They responded in kind, formed up into a loose skirmish formation, and moved out. He knew exactly where they were heading; he had seen what had so fascinated Gargutz, and he had decided that their next action should be determined from this position. By this point, they had spread out, and were easily hidden to the untrained or focussed eye. Kommandos are adept at sneaking. It is believed that the Orks learned this from humans, whilst others believe Orks have always been capable of such techniques when hunting. It is hard to imagine that such big and brutish creatures were capable of such subtle movement.
The Kommandos had their craft practiced into a precise art. The second that their ship had landed upon the earth, they had all been out, searching buildings in small groups, and securing the area. Upon establishing a safe perimeter, they began to blend into the surroundings. Ork hands are particularly useful for crushing rock and debris, as well as grabbing huge handfuls of dirt and grit, which are then applied liberally upon the Ork’s person, used to form a colouring layer over cloaks and clothing, and a small amount of Fungus Brew or Ork saliva, added to a handful of crushed dirt and grit, mixed into a paste and applied to the skin. Kommandos are not squeamish about any camouflage; they are only seen to be noticeably less calm without it.
Their progress was always slow; Bordrukk didn’t believe there was ever a moment where the Kommandos shouldn’t benefit from the element of surprise. Dagsnik and Gulgor scouted ahead, whilst the majority of the unit slowly moved through whatever terrain laid ahead, using cover and moving silently. After some progress, a strange noise could be heard. To a Feral Ork, the sound would be the call of a Squig that had won a territorial fight with another Squig, but to the unit, it was a call that a body had been found. Bordrukk knew the caller; the subtle grunt in the voice identified the alerted sentry as Nazdakka, the oldest Kommando in his unit.
As they closed on Nazdakka’s position, the scent of death lay in the air. The old Kommando was crouched, leaning a slight upon the barrel of his Big Shoota. He stared at the Boss, who had already met a different gaze. The body hung upon a strange stone pillar by ancient binds, and seemed to remain in place by the merest of certainty; as if the wretched corpse itself also suffered from the same curse of timelessness that plagued the whole planet. The victim upon the strange pillar was once human. Its robes at one time could well have been a crimson red, but were now a lifeless shadow that bore little of the colour it had once been. The corpse was little but a decaying ske.leton; the lifelessness of the air, as bitter as it was, existed to delay the process of decay upon the few remaining shreds of sinew; all that remained to keep the pathetic corpse intact.
Bordrukk looked in fascination at what lay before him. He had seen things like this before, and it disturbed him that the humans, so quick to dismiss him as a mere savage, could do this to its own kind. The pathetic creature’s face was deformed; its jaw agape as if protesting in death at the indignity of decay. Gazing into the corpse’s eyes, Bordrukk wondered what had become of this human. He never did understand such brutality. Even in his own culture, the brutal displays of destruction and aggression of his fellow Ork failed to take hold in his mind. He had given everything he had to reach a position of isolation, to fight, hunt and kill. He wondered why the humans so often did the job for him.
Even an Ork could not miss the symbolism of the body that hung before them. It was as an example to others. Usually when a Warboss made a similar gesture, he’d knock the snot out of some uppity Nob. If the Nob was lucky, it would live, and it usually wouldn’t. But Orks did nothing so odd to the Ork’s corpse. An Ork was free in death; the battle was over, and the score, whatever it was, would be settled and laid to rest.
But at once, the question was answered. Ugzag the Yoof produced a strange item that seemed to have fallen from the corpse. It immediately caught his attention. It was a strange, thin and metal rectangular object. It glowed as daylight, a precious metal of high quality preserved by the thin air. Upon it were markings. Bordrukk immediately recognised it as Imperial Gothic, the language of the humans, more specifically, that of the Imperium. He did not understand the writing, but he did not need to. The symbol at the bottom of the plaque was familiar enough. He had encountered it before.
The Orks had sacked a planet he had been involved in a few Waaaghs back. The planet had changed hands numerously at that time, and the Imperial Forces had only recently crushed a Rebellion by settlements that had been tainted by chaos. Bordrukk had been part of a Mob that had raided a strange temple and slaughtered an odd collection of humans. The leader wore an elaborate white power armoured suit, and upon it was a symbol – an II. It was the symbol of the Inquisition. He now knew much about them, and knew that they enforced the will of their dominant religious figure, and tortured humans who had dismissed the teachings of their ‘God’, the Emperor of Mankind.
Bordrukk had not the wit to read the writing, but he knew this victim had been accused of some misdeed in the eyes of the Inquisition. The writing upon the plaque was as clear as day:
Exterminatus Hereticus
II
II
Bordrukk now knew that the humans had cleansed their own planet. As he looked around he began to wonder why. The situation disturbed him, but there was little he could do. It was then that a whistle rang in the air. It was a call, from one of the two scouts Dagsnik and Gulgor, a call to their location. Bordrukk gestured with his arms to move out, and the whole unit left the corpse to its eternal punishment.
Dagsnik and Gulgor lay up ahead, and they pointed towards the footprints of a suitably large group of Orks that they had been tracking. Bordrukk had noticed the prints of a number of Orks next to the strange corpse, and they had obviously headed this way. He looked upon his two scouts with a look that suggested his thoughts to be “Wat Uv It?” the two scouts responded by pointing to his left, in the corner of the building in which they now stood. It was a mural, depicting a strange creature. He had seen one or two of them before, and they were unnatural things that appeared as if out of nowhere. This one however, was different. It was a large, horned creature, with a strange humanoid face; it was stern yet equally fierce. It wore dark armour and held a large sword. The creature sat upon a throne, which itself sat upon a huge mound of skulls, surrounded by water. The water was red, as was the symbol below it. He had seen it before, and he knew the name for which it stood. He looked at it in disbelief. “Khorne” the Kaptin spoke with a tone of disgust. The mural slid to the side, and revealed a darkened staircase leading into the bowels of the planet.
Kaptin Bordrukk looked up at his mob. They returned a similar glance. Bordrukk looked into the opening that had only suddenly appeared; he saw nothing but an inky blackness. The more he looked into it, the more odd he felt. The opening seemed to widen, as if it was about to engulf him. He felt a strange feeling in his mind, and without any gesture, he began to move, cautiously, towards the opening. Hesitantly, the mob followed and they all descended into the darkness…
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