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[color=darkgreen][size=10]Was that thunder on the horizon? Were those black clouds the bearer of rain and lightning? No to both accounts. Although a good number of pedestrians and motorists were desperately wishing those black clouds only heralded a little rain and electricity at this point. A storm was coming, a storm of untold destruction and green fury. Sidewalk goers turned their heads as a low rumble filled their ears and their eyes came to rest upon an oily black smog rising from the distance. As the storm came closer, the ground began to shake beneath their feet and a new sound assailed their ears. A sound that ripped through the atmosphere at a volume even greater than that low rumble that carried on for miles. A singular cry from many throats, a unified call for fury and destruction. [b]"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!"[/b] It was the signature warcry of a green-skinned barbarian race. Orks. Not just any orks though, ork warbikers. An entire mob of them, led by the gigantic green leader they had been named after. Morgurg Thunderbum headed the pack of destructive green fiends mounted on ramshackle motorcycles sporting spikes, skulls, horns and bristling with firepower that quite literally tore the traffic off the road. Morgurg's personal steed was was built in the style of old fashioned choppers, with a long front end terminating in the massive wheel of a freight truck. Stolen from an eighteen wheeler, Morgurg had 'kustomized' the front tire, studding it through with uneven spikes that tore up the asphalt beneath his path. He didn't actually have a rear wheel either. In place of a rear wheel, Morgurg's bike had a single tank-like tread that did further damage to the road. Although his impressive speed wasn't achieved by these tools alone, oh no. The massive flame-belching jet turbine mounted dangerously close to Morgurg's green a** was what gave him the real lead in his mob's breakneck race through the city. A race that was as dangerous to participant as to bystander. The orks had no sense of traffic laws, and weren't even privy to the common sense that would tell them not to drive on the right side of the road. Oh no, silly 'oomie laws weren't their concern. The green skinned rabble was only considered at who was first, so they weaved and bobbed between vehicles, tearing up the road as they went. Of course, dodging between full on cars and trucks on motorcycle at excesses of a hundred miles per hour or so was dangerous. More than a few orks were wiping out, crashing into oncoming traffic and exploding into brilliant fireballs. The inglorious deaths of their comrades drove the survivors drive to win even higher, as a dead ork just meant one less body to compete with. Of course it would be the nob who won though. He was not only the fastest, but the biggest and strongest. He'd weave onto the sidewalk as pedestrians dived and fled, the unlucky caught on the spiked grill protecting his front tire. Then he weaved across a few lanes of traffic, causing a collision that claimed the life of his closest competitor before flying at a breakneck speed through a red light and into oncoming traffic. Da big 'oomie truck coming his way wouldn't slow him down any though. Oh no, he just reached behind his squat head and retrieved one of the four tankhammers he kept on him. The tankhammer being quite literally a man sized rocket welded to a pole. It was a tool that Morgurg had used to crack open more than a few Leman Russ tanks, and its high explosive nature would easily take care of the truck. That is, if the truck hadn't veered out of the way to avoid the oncoming ork on a jet propelled bike. Morgurg howled furiously that his quarry had evaded him, swinging blindly at the tail of the truck and clipping it with an unsatisfying shower of sparks. Normally Morgurg would let this go, but for some unfathomable reason, he wouldn't take the personal insult of having his prey run from him. Even if his prey ran from him by swerving off the road and into a light post. Morgurg cut the jet engine and made a sharp turn. See, his bike lacked brakes (Wotcha mean slow down!? Hur hur hur.) so Morgurg's method of stopping was turning the bike sideways and skidding to a stop. A move that tore up to road even worse than it already was. What rose from the seat of the bike was a nine foot tall monolith of green muscle and fury. Morgurg could easily have been taller if he stood up straight. Stooped posture was a trademark of his race though. It lent to their intimidating, ape-like appearance. Especially since his tree-thick arms would hang down to his knees. Furious brown eyes peered over rotten yellow tusks as the driver of the offending truck fell out onto the street, bleeding freely from a nasty head wound. Morgurg rolled his shoulders and started stomping his way over there. Held tightly in his grip was that tankhammer, with three more in a pouch on his back. His chest was covered by a ramshackle amalgamation of stolen armor, and over that was an unzipped leather aviator jacket that was two sizes too small and had the sleeves removed. A pair of dark leather pants covered him from the waist down (thank god) but his legs from the knee down were covered in similar random armor plating that had been bolted directly to his body. His lower arms from the elbow down were armored in the same fashion, although his right hand was completely mechanical. A cybork fist he'd bought after losing his real hand. An entire third of his head had been replaced with dok's fixins as well. His left eye was a mechanical, glowing red contraption, the left half of his skull and forehead was a singular metal plate, and mounted near the center of his forehead was another eye, smaller, but similar to the one replacing his left. This great ork of metal and green muscle approached the unconscious driver with fury etched into his flat brow. Before the eyes of all the bystanders, and all his boyz who'd stopped to watch, Morgurg regarded the driver with the bottom of his boot. A sickening pop and squish later, and the three meter tall ork turned to address his fellow bikers. [b]"Oi! Ruff Ridaz! It'z brew time!"[/b] A pleased cheer went up through the assorted boys who abandoned their steeds in the middle of the road, having never been taught the concept of parking before. Morgurg did the same, and returned the hammer to its place on his back before turning around and stomping on the sidewalk up to a familiar tavern. The Black Cherry, the victim of the Ruff Ridas for tonight. Morgurg practically threw the door open, not out of anger, but more because he was a ******** nine foot tall green ape with arms bigger than your entire body. Strength control was not his strong suit. Neither was fitting through doors. It took some fancy maneuvering, a little Crisco, and two boys pushing on him from the other side before Morgurg popped into the Cherry and started plodding over to the bar. A half dozen orks followed their nob in.[/size][/color]

Inte funderat på att sova lite till? blaugh

Weeee aaare fiiiighting dreeeamers... Nanana...
Ehem... God morgon allihop!~

o_O
God morgon. :p

Sov gott. 3nodding

xd

Sexy-sig-no-jutsu! domokun heart