The Squiggly Beast That Could: A serialized Orkoid Adventure

[Dumah]

The Squiggly Beast That Could:

Episode 1

 

“Wot’s dis?”

 

Squigkikka did a double take. The little beastie he had just pushed out the doorway behind him was sitting on the eatin’ table in his scrap hut. It was grinning at him, tongue lolling down to its knobby knees. He looked at it suspishus-like, narrowing beady red eyes at the blue-skinned ball of teeth and claws. This squig was like no other that Kikka had raised; it was unnervingly docile, but mischievous like a grot. He couldn’t count the number of times it had gotten into places it shouldn’t be able to – though to be fair, he couldn’t count very high in the first place.

 

Numbas is fer pansies and mekboyz.

 

The squiggly beast barked at him and Kikka barked back, spraying it with spittle. The little beastie shrank back and whimpered, pressing up against the corrugated metal of the wall. It clutched its tiny arms to its body and it took a solid minute for the ork to realize that was strange. Ow’d ‘e get arms?

 

“Da zog…”

 

In all his years of growing and raising squigs, the ork boy had never seen one with arms before. He stomped closer to get a better look at the beastie but it slipped through his arms and pattered across the floor towards the doorway. Kikka growled in irritation, crashing into the wall and putting a sizable dent in it before he could shift his momentum.

 

“Oi!” he bellowed and charged after the squig.

 

The ork boy stopped in the doorway and looked this way and that. All around his hut, herds of squig were grazing on mushrooms, small animals, rocks and each other. There were red ones and blue ones, green ones and yellow; too many for Squigkikka to pick out the miscreant who had made a fool of him. He tried to spy the little spindly arms in the crowd but it was hopeless. The nearest gaggle of squiggly beasts had stopped grazing and stared at him with a mixture of dread and hostility. Kikka puffed himself up big-like and asked them wot they wuz lookin’ at. He brandished ‘Urtyboy for good measure, waving the implement menacingly. Most of the squigs scurried off, scrambling over each other in fear of the spikey stick the ork used to keep them in line and punish the truculent ones that don’t like to listen. Beyond the broken posts marking the edge of his territory, a few other orks were loitering by a copse of trees, staring hard at Squigkikka. He felt a flush of aggression building in his brain and he was right close to bellowing a challenge before he recognized the glyphs painted on their camouflaged gear.

 

“Sumfin interestin’?” one of the orks asked him, casual-like, and reached for the handle of the choppa at his waist. His partner straightened up and flexed ham-like fists. They were looking for a scrap but Kikka knew better than to challenge Kommandos. He knew he could take either ork one on one, but them sneaky gitz didn’t fight fair.

 

“Nah,” Squigkikka spat and turned his back on the Kommandos.

 

Abruptly, the ork boy tripped over something blue and ovoid. He lost his footing and fell face first into the spongy mass of a mushroom patch. One of the toadstools exploded in his face and he pawed at his eyes to clear them of iridescent goo. He could hear the Kommandos laughing at him and his fury rose to a fever pitch. He was a hairsbreadth away from charging at the gitz and taking them both on when his brain caught up with his eyes. Kikka realized that the blue squig who had tripped him was standing right in front of him. It was happily licking the fungus from his face, flailing excitedly with its spindly arms.

 

“You zogger,” Squigkikka bellowed, frightening the beastie away. He scrambled to his feet and took off after it, heedless of the other squiggly beasts. The ork boy plowed through the milling creatures, bowling many over and crushing more than a few in his blind fury. He swung ‘Urtyboy over his head in tight arcs, fixing to bury it in the blue beastie’s hide. But the squig was too nimble for Kikka and the ork boy began to tire. Before long, he had lost sight of his quarry in the thick vegetation and his anger began to flag. He was about to give up the chase when he caught a whiff of squig spore and, following his exceptional sense of smell, came upon a small cave sunk into a hillside. The entrance to the cave was covered in thick brush and hanging moss but a small portion near the ground had been burrowed through. Kikka smiled maliciously and got down on his hands and knees to crawl in after the little beastie.

 

He made it halfway through before becoming stuck. Squigkikka thrashed with his stumpy legs, trying to drive himself deeper but his shoulders were too wide to fit through. He heard a bark and a snuffle and, in the low light of phosphorescent lichen, could just make out the little blue squig he was after. The beastie grinned at him with a gob full of snaggle-teeth.

 

“Go on den,” Squigkikka shouted, bearing his tusks in a fearsome scowl, “I’ll krump ya!”

The squig whined and sidled closer. Kikka braced himself for a fight. When the beastie darted in close and opened its mouth wide, the ork boy bellowed WAAAGH and snapped with his own fearsome jaws. He missed.

 

Kikka braced himself for death, determined to meet his end like a proppa ork should, but the little blue squig only licked at his face, wagging its stumpy tail. “You iz ded,” Squigkikka growled, somehow more humiliated than if it was eating his face. That was when he began to feel a dozen small mouths taking tentative bites out of his legs. The other squigs had followed him.

 

“O zog.”

 

Gitlikka da Squig smiled happily, still wagging his tail.

Edited March 25, 2021 by Dumah

[Dumah]

The Squiggly Beast That Could:

Episode 2

 

The crash and crump of mortar fire had become a regular occurrence this close to the front lines. Even so, Gobblet the gretchin flinched at every impact. His ork overseers laughed at him and the grot felt his temper rise to a familiar simmer. Instead of acting on his hard feelings, he searched for an out of the way nook to hide himself in. Long experience had taught him that raising your voice to an ork was as good as volunteering yourself as dinner.

 

“Out uv da way, runt!”

Gobblet was sent flying by a glancing impact with something large and very green; so green that it was almost black. A boss nob that Gobblet didn’t recognize was stalking down the trenches, leading a mob of killy-looking kommandos. Unlike their wilder brethren, they marched in disciplined ranks, bellowing only occasionally and sneering instead of slavering. There was something eerie about their calm demeanor and the way their beady red eyes fixed on you with laser focus. Gobblet shivered and pushed himself further into the trench wall, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

 

But, alas, it was not to be.

 

“Wot iz you doin’?” someone barked in his direction. Gobblet pretended not to hear and considered making a run for it. Before he could think twice about it, an enormous fist closed around his skinny neck and wrenched him from his impromptu hiding place. “Speak up, runt!”

 

“Oh, uh, hiya boss,” Gobblet stammered, squirming beneath the stare of an infamous runtherd named Squigkikka. The ork boy glowered at Gobblet and belched, showering the grot with sour breath and spittle. “I wuz just lookin’ fer ya-”

 

The ork boy furrowed his brow and then cackled madly, tossing the grot none-too-gently onto the ground at his metal feet. Gobblet didn’t know how the Runtherd had lost his legs but the cog and piston replacements made for exceptional kicking devices. Some said that the accident, or battle injury – whatever it was that did it – left the ork with a screw loose or two. Gobblet couldn’t comment; he did his damnedest to keep his head down and mind his own business. And he was very good at that…usually.

 

“I gotz a job fer ya,” Squigkikka grunted. Oh zoggit. Doing jobs is what gets grots killed. Until now, Gobblet hadn’t noticed that the ork boy was holding one hand behind his back and the gretchin flinched away as the ork boy showed him what was clutched in his massive fist. Instead of a slugga, like he expected, Kikka was holding a fat blue squig by its trussed up legs. The beastie yipped at Gobblet and lashed at his face with a thick, prehensile tongue. Gobblet stared in wonder at its upside-down face. He had never before seen a squig that looked quite so happy.

 

“Take dis,” the runtherd commanded. Gobblet reached out tentatively but pulled back when, at the last moment, he noticed a few things were out of sorts: the squig had a pair of arms, for one – they were trussed up like its feet but its long fingers waggled gamely – and two, there was a bomb strapped to the little beastie’s back.

 

“I don’t fink-”

“I said TAKE IT!” Squigkikka bellowed. There was a mad light in his eyes and Gobblet was suddenly more afraid of that than a potentially explosive demise.

The grot took the squig gingerly in his arms, nearly dropping the considerable weight but managing, with the help of one knee, to hoist it up onto his shoulder. The squiggly beast panted blithely and gibbered with excitement as its saucer eyes roved over unfamiliar surroundings.

 

“Wot do I do wiv it?” Gobblet squeaked, struggling to keep hold of the wriggling mass of explosive fungus. The runtherd smiled cruelly and Gobblet felt his heart plummet while his anxieties flew sky high.

 

***

 

They watched from the hillside, hiding amongst the trees and bushes on a thickly wooded slope as they waited for the bomb to go off. Gobblet was beside himself, twitching with nervous anticipation and fighting the incredible urge to flee. He wrung his hands anxiously and glanced all around at the hiding spots of the ork boyz from the Backstabba Brigade. Those kommandos were a breed apart from other greenskins; they hardly made any sound when they moved and their tempers were remarkably restrained. That didn’t make the gretchin feel any better. He was currently far from the safety of the WAAAGH and there were precious few big bodies to hide behind and no trenches in which to cower.

 

“Oi,” a gravelly, deep-bellied voice hissed from the cover of a nearby bush. “Shut yer gob!”

 

Gobblet snapped his snaggle-teeth shut, belatedly realizing he was whimpering out loud. The gretchin peered into the bush that had spoken, barely able to spot the still form of the carefully camouflaged ork that crouched within. The kommando glared at him from the shadows and Gobblet shuddered. He took a deep breath to master his anxiety and settled in behind a convenient rock, giving him a good vantage of the building below: a squat structure sitting at a confluence of trails in the middle of a dried out river basin. Its architecture was hideously drab, with no glyphs or banners to announce its occupants or their achievements. Those humies were a screwy, humorless lot – they were doing the saps a favor by blowing up their bunker. At least, that was the plan.

 

A short time ago, Gobblet had unburdened himself of the squiggly beast. He had set the timer carefully on the bomb it carried and, with some coaxing, managed to send it bounding down the hill where it was quickly lost to sight.

 

“Sumfin’ ain’t right,” the boss nob announced, climbing down from the tree he had perched in.

 

“Shoulda heard da boom by now,” one of the kommandos observed, clawing his way from a mud-filled hole. The other boyz sounded off in agreement as they appeared out of the woodwork. The boss nob turned to his boyz and grinned like a proper wildboy.

 

“Da ‘ard way it iz,” he chuckled, hoisting his crackling power klaw high. His boyz responded in proper ork fashion, raising their weapons in kind.

“WAAAGH!” they bellowed and charged down the hill.

 

The Backstabba Brigade dodged and darted from cover to cover as tracer fire lit up the gloom. Gobblet stared, agog at their sudden, wild abandon. It was equal parts terrifying and impressive. He was almost inspired to join their mad charge…almost.

 

A familiar bark and snuffle sent a chill up the grot’s spine.

Gobblet looked down at his feet and there was Gitlikka, the squiggly beast that should have had a bomb strapped to its back. Only, it wasn’t there anymore.

 

“O zog-”

The bunker exploded spectacularly, taking the humies, orks, and several meters of forest in every direction with it. The gretchin had just enough time to wonder how he was going to escape blame when a piece of shrapnel punched through his back and ruptured his racing heart.

 

Gitlikka pawed at the body, confused. But then he smelled something wonderful and wandered off to investigate.

Edited March 25, 2021 by Dumah

[Dumah]

The Squiggly Beast That Could:

Episode 3

 

“Ease!”

The crack of displaced air rippled through Lieutenant Morik’s body, vibrating his bones as the artillery piece he commanded sent its stonk down range. He counted in his head, reaching four God-Emperors before the ground shook beneath his feet, and smirked with satisfaction as he imagined the carnage the high-yield explosives were wreaking on the brutish xenos scum they were fighting.

 

“That’ll teach those green bastards!” Private Sota crowed. Morik rolled his eyes at the youth’s fresh-faced ardor. Oh to be young again…

“Lock that up!” Sergeant Gandray barked at the boy. Sota stiffened where he stood next to the magazine and swallowed hard, sending his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Gandray turned to Morik and lifted one eyebrow. “Orders sir?”

 

The officer grinned at his XO, sharing a knowing look with the non-com. “Thank you jingal.” He turned to the youth and fixed him with his best parade-ground glare. “Reload: five rounds, high-ex. Double time!”

 

“Yes jezail!” Private Sota shouted, using his commander’s honor-title in a show of deference.

The boy turned to his task with alacrity, lugging more heavy shells to the waiting magazine while Gandray watched him like a hawk, waiting to pounce on the first sign of incompetence. Satisfied, Morik turned to the maps spread on a small camp table and bent towards plotting the next fire mission. His vox operator stood close at hand, relaying reports from spotters in the hills ahead. That land feature and a light brigade of Orwellian Chasseurs was all that stood between Morik’s battery and the rolling tide of Orks surging across the countryside.

 

***

 

Sota was so absorbed in his task that he failed to notice the next shell he lifted was lighter than the others and softer too. He was halfway to the magazine before his brain caught up with his senses.

 

“What-?”

The artillery shell barked and licked him on the face with a pink, prehensile tongue. Sota gasped and stared into the face of death – a blue ball of gnashing teeth and beady eyes that narrowed above a piggy snout. Sota dropped the squiggly beast, emitting a high pitched squeal and tumbling backwards into the dirt. The squig bounded towards the guardsman, yipping and slavering as it reached for him with spindly arms tipped with trefoil talons.

 

“Xenos!” Sota bawled, feeling the alien beastie’s weight push him further into the soft loam beneath. It opened its jaws wide and the guardsman whimpered, frozen in the face of his imminent demise.

 

The squig licked his face again, and danced a happy jig on Sota’s broad chest.

 

“What in the seven hells,” Gandray began before trailing off. Sota and the squig both turned to look at the sergeant. The non-com fumbled with the strap on his hip holster and Sota’s eyes widened as the older man finally freed his las pistol and took aim at the abomination perched on his torso.

 

“Sarge, don’t-”

The las bolt took Sota high in the shoulder, flash-heating flesh into vapor and burning an angry welt into the side of his neck. The guardsman howled in pain and rolled onto his side, unseating the slavering ball of blue fungus. The sergeant continued to fire on the beastie, but Sota’s body was in the way and the creature was far too nimble.

 

“Frag it!” Gandray swore as he missed wide with his last shot. The indicator light on his pistol’s gripped read zero charge. He holstered the weapon and ran after the squig, nearly tripping over the writhing guardsman in the process. “Shake it off, trooper,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s just a flesh wound!”

 

Any response Sota might have offered was drowned out by the raucous barks and gibbering of the squig as it made a bee line for the yawning breech of the magazine ahead. Gandray’s heart jumped into his throat and he lunged for the beastie, managing to grab its stubby tail as it lunged for the opening. The flush of victory he felt was short lived as the tail slithered out of his grasp, leaving a foul-smelling, slimy residue coating his callused hands. Gandray hit the ground hard and ate a mouthful of dirt. Above his head, he glimpsed the fat bottom of the squiggly beast wriggle its way into the inner workings of the artillery gun.

 

The non-com swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it. Around him, other guardsmen were coming to alert, roused by the commotion, and Gandray spotted Lieutenant Morik pushing his way through the small crowd that had gathered around a blubbering Sota.

 

“Let’s have it sergeant,” Morik demanded. The officer planted his fists on his hips and Gandray knew, by the omission of his honor-title, that he was in for a dressing down.

“Well, sir,” he began, trying and failing to ignore the maniacal giggling echoing from the magazine behind him, “it’s like this…”

 

***

 

“Make ready!”

 

The artillery crew tensed, poised on the cusp of action. Sergeant Gandray sidled closer to his superior and pitched his voice low. “Are you sure about this, jezail?”

The lieutenant didn’t deign to look at him, still angry with his XO. “We’ve wasted enough time,” he hissed. “We need this cannon firing!”

 

The sergeant knew that his friend was right; the lapse in their fire ran the risk of allowing a breakthrough in the defensive line. Morik had already taken an earful from their irate company commander and Gandray knew that his friend’s life hung in the balance. Officers had been executed for less. Lieutenant Morik looked at the young woman seated in the gunner’s seat and chopped his arm through the air. She nodded, lips pressed into a grim line, and turned to her controls.

It was quite unlike any fire mission Gandray had taken part in.

 

The gunner cried “ease!” and depressed the firing mechanism. Gandray dropped his jaw, allowing pressure to equalize in his skull as the weapon fired. The explosive blowback he anticipated never occurred and the sergeant allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease somewhat. A wriggling blue ball of xenos flesh shot from the cannon and arced away, high in the air, wailing as it disappeared beyond the rolling hills ahead.

 

Guardsmen chuckled and Morik and Gandray allowed themselves a brief, relieved smile. “Right then,” the non-com bellowed, recovering his command confidence. “Reload, and make ready – we owe the greenies some back-pay!”

 

A hush fell over the gunnery crew, their eyes fixed over the sergeant’s shoulder. Gandray frowned and looked to his CO; Morik’s face was deathly pale and the baton he habitually clutched in his right armpit fell from a limp grasp.

“Too late,” the lieutenant whispered.

 

Gandray turned in time to see the hills ahead become a different shade of green. An endless tide of slavering lantern jaws and beady red eyes ran pell-mell down the slope, heading straight for the artillery park.

 

“Oh frag…”

 

To be continued…