“Make sure you gets all d'ere teef” The warboss barked.
All around him were the remains of many daemons. Daemons of Khorne, the bloodgod, who had died as their deity had wanted. This day, they had also died just as Tuska, the Daemon Killa, the warboss, had wanted. How many days Tuska and his boys has been imprisoned here, Tuska couldn't recall. Not that an ork of his position and stature could count much past the number of axes in his hands. That's what gretchin were for, counting, smacking, and grabbing the teeth after a battle.
“Oi that's a right big one” one of Tuska's many scarred and cut followers remarked regarding the bloodthirster under Tuska's iron plated and well worn boot.
“Get back to lootin and stop yew babblin afore I stomps your 'ead too!” Tuska roared.
It had been a long battle. For as long as he could remember Tuska had awoken at the foot of the mighty fortress only to find him and his boys surrounded by daemons of unspeakable horror. Unluckily for them, orks don't default to speaking when surrounded. Tuska and his boys would battle their way up the already bloodied slopes of the battlements and into the keep. Tuska watched his boys die gruesome deaths, organs spilling out on top of friend and foe alike as corpses gathered on the floor. In the end it was always Tuska, with his axe in one hand, power klaw in the other, that stalked into the throne room. Soaking in blood, looking like some kind of grotesque half living, half dead abomination with nothing but rage in his eyes. Tuska wasn't angry because his men had died and he wasn't angry that he'd lost an ear, an eye, some fingers. He was angry because it was his nature and it was the nature of this place. He was angry, and he wanted blood. He was angry and he wanted skulls. He was angry and he wanted to kill. Tuska still remembered roaring and charging the blood thirster, letting the rage take him, letting the fearsome ork warcry of “WAAAAAAAGHHH” echo off the walls as they shook under the cataclysmic impact of warboss and blood thirster. Tuska fought hard but he was wounded, he was tired, he was mortal. In the end the blood thirster landed a fatal blow. With his dying breath Tuska cursed the blood thirster.
The next thing Tuska could remember was waking up, back on the bloody ravaged plains outside the keep. His boys were all around them. He knew the humans had some fancy word for a situation like this, when they experienced something familiar. Tuska didn't need any fancy words. Tuska only needed revenge. For days, weeks, months, years, maybe even eons Tuska and his boys awoke to the same horrific plain. Each day they fought and died. Sometimes more died, sometimes less. In the end though, Tuska always made his way, dripping with blood, into the throne room. Missing a hand, missing a leg, skull exposed, it didn't matter how terrible his injuries or how many daemons assaulted him, Tuska fought his way back. Tuska fought hard and Tuska died. If he had been a lesser being he might have given up, he might have let the daemon win. Tuska was not a lesser being however, he was an ork. He was not any ork, he was the Daemon-Killa, a name he had earned outside the warp time and time again. More than that, Tuska was mad, he was furious, and he wanted blood.
“Boss, there's a hole in 'da air” Deadpanz, the groups Wierdboy remarked. “I'm sure there's more things for crumpin on the other side”.
“Gets the teef and 'da loot and then we'z gonna see about all that” Tuska said stomping down on the toothless skull of the blood thirster.
Maybe Khorne underestimated Tuska, or maybe this was his plan all along. Tuska didn't know, Tuska didn't care, and he certainly didn't give it anymore thought than what to do when the portals leading back to the materium appeared. Tuska was still angry and he still wanted blood. Tuska wanted skulls.
Tuska picked up the flaming crown that had fallen from the blood thirster's head and roared out to the orks
“Boyz, we gots killin ta do. We'z fighting for blood and skulls. We'z fighting cuz we'z orks.” He then turned and thought very, very, hard for an ork. He felt the presence of some stronger, more vicious being in the back of his small mind.
“You can haz da skulls, but da teef is mine” He mumbled towards the distant horizon.
