Ork Monks

There once was a Weird Boy named Zem Gains.

Zem Gains was a weird one, even among the Weird Boyz. Zem Gains often pondered on the nature of the warp, the waauugh and psyker powers. As well, whispered wisdom on the forces of Chaos. The nature of the Chaos Gods.

Zem Gains came to the conclusion that the Orks were muckin' about all wrong. Orks are always looking for external fights. But wot is a better fight than another Ork? For that matter, what Ork is as big and tuff as themselves? And if the victory of an Ork is just the victory of pleasure and violence and death, what Ork succeeds when what they accomplish just feeds Chaos an' Daemons? Humeys and Eldar an' them bitey buggas don't even come close to Daemons.

The Orks weren't free, they wuz chained to a universe wot was profittin' of them. Zem Gains concluded finally that the forces of Chaos were the biggest, toughest forces in the cosmos. And as thus, they were the only forces worth fightin'.

Zem Gains sat and meditated for weeks. As Weird Boys are prone to long bouts of seclusion anyway, none of the boyz minded much, or cared. Funny thing was, tho, Zem Gains started gettin' really big from doin' nothin'. And that ain't right. Before long more boyz started asking him who he was fightin' to grow so big an' tough? Zem Gains calmly informed them that tha biggest enemy an Ork can fight iz his own drive to violence an' their desire to kill. He wasn't choosing not to fight, he was fightin' his overwhelming desires to kill and destroy and dominate. Consciously. Waging war against his own weakness, eatin' mushrooms and soaking up cosmic rays. And winning.

Hmmm, he's brutal, but also cunning.

Zem Gains got so big, other orks began to see him as competition. Once you get big enough, them other big fish start seein' you as a threat to rule. And so, inevitably, Zem Gains got just a hair bigger n' tha biggest local ork Nob. Closest thing to a Warboss named Nub Bite'a.

Every shell fired, Zem just avoided, loike he knew exactly where tha boss was going to shoot. Every swing of the choppa hit air as he ran outta shots. Zem Gains then up and broke Nub Bite'a's choppah and armor with some well placed blows, all but leavin' the boss naked. Try as he moight, Nub wasn't strong enough to punch, kick or e'en bite to do damage. Protracted long enough that Nub just ran out of energy an' fell over, exhausted and hungry. Not a gouge or broken bone on'im. No noble or honorable fight, no violence, no resolution, no death, no passion, no major expulsion of warp or tricks.

Nub "won," via actually being the one to punch and kick and bite. But it didn't matta. Zem still gained from the fight. The War Boss went on leadin' the boyz, outwardly in charge, but everybody knew it was the Weird Boy callin' the shots if he wanted it. A handful of orks even decided to hang out with Zem, curious.

Well, long story short, that Weird Boy spawned a culture of aescetic Orks. Easily mistaken for Ferals, they deliberately abstain from killin' conquering an' the joys of carnage. The biggest joy and victories they get is vexin' the whole damned universe through non-confrontation, avoidance, and if necessary, passionless and quick dispatchin'. Trading out choppas and shootas for personal shields, teleportas, they use vehicles to either flee from range or get right into melee with tha biggest commandin' officer on the field, or strategic target. What melee weapons they make are their pride an' joy, the result of practice and obsession an' craftsorkship.

Do it sound loike they just are scared sissies? Oh no no no.

The Ascetic Orks is no wusses. They fightin' enemies bigger than you, every day of their lives. Mortals ain't worth the ripples they make in da warp.

You want to make an Ascetic Ork tha happiest fing for a light year, you put'em on a planet with Daemons on it. Soz the Weird Boy can pick out 'iz prey, pursue and end it. Quiet as a sleepin' squig, violent as a disease. Quick and decisive, minimizin' drama.

Theys even made schools wot specialized n'daemon killin'. Usin' logic ta smash tha puzzles n'nonsense of Tzeench. Usin' Ork Tek to bust up daemons an' slap around immaterials. Literally. Gloves wot let'em punch ghosts, mate! Some enterprisin' tek boys even learned how to rename Daemons an' stick'em in empty cans, only lettin'em out soz weaker Ascetic Orks can foight'em for a laff.

They made schools for their Pain Boyz and Squig Herderz wot focus on reversin' plagues. Cuz orks is smart; if folks ain't sufferin', folks ain't praisin' Papa Nurgs, roight? Of course this means sometimes they invade planets and sow discord by.. distributing plague cures. By force. Even if it results in carnage, it ultimately reduces the mortality and suffering by billions of lives and decades to centuries of prolonged misery.

No Chaos God suffers more against the Orks than Slaanesh, who draws power from passion and feeling. The only feeling they train'emselves to have is joy at starvin' chaos. Low brutality, low indulgence. Brutally cunnin' in fightin' the Chaos God of Passion.

They hate Chaos, so much.

Nah, ya git, e's cunnin' but brutal.

is this over?
because I think we should make Ork Ascetic alternate career ranks for Rogue Trader.

I'm not familiar enough with the game to do it myself because otherwise, I'd give it a shot.

can we do this or am i fucking nigger tier retarded?

Oi, hold yer squiggoths ya grot. Ah can't drink and toype at tha same toime. Bloody hell.

bumpin fer writfaggotree

But as ye'd expect, Orks ain't very good at predictin' where Chaos iz gonna stroike an' plop into da material. They also ain't very good at playin' with it. Jes the nat'a of Orks.

So over toime, they sympathetic Tek Boyz came up with a cunnin' solution. They take some cleva agents, roight, an' they disguise'em. Yep. Tha Orks go undacova on Hive Worlds.

Usin' a combeenashun of stealth, educayshun, camouflage teknology and good ole fashioned sublty, tha orks study otha races to blend in wi' their civilization. Didju know them pink humeys can't even tell an' Ork from one of dem if you paint'em pink? These Ork Spois are agents wot monitor an' report on daemon activity in da humeys Imperium. Theys can speak all fancy if they need. Only they ain't envoys, loike The Beast had. They kin speak all hoigh gofik if they need. Spois of da Orks study local pop-u-layshuns, ta betta smash'em where they need ta be smashed ta go afta Chaos, an' leave nothin' more.

One toime on dis one world, a humey asked Slick Gutz the Spoi if he were 'yuman or not. Da big 'andsome teef, tha hoight. Tha smell. Slick Gutz cleverly mentioned e' was one o' the royal senpai'ly. They gave'im a soft bed n'everythin'.

Tha Ascetics call dat goin' out on Safari, n'produce all koinds of doc-u-men-trys.

Them hoomie grots dun' know was kommin'.

I guess Ascetics iz the closest Orks get to bein' Rogue Traders an' the Inquisition of Ork koind. The biggest threats to their lives ain't otha races, but orks. Humeys ain't wurf concern about if youz avoid detecshun; them not knowin' you're there can even flush out tha ones doin' daemonic incurshuns. Eldars, well, they's tricky. An' they don't muck about with Chaos too awful much.

But 'yumeys? Oh, by Gork n'Mork, they's a magnet, they is. 'Ow theys civilizayshun ain't blown itself apart in warp snot 'iz a bloody miracle, it is. Tha Emprah keeps 'iz boys too protected an' stupid ta foight daemons prop'aly. Assbackwards!

Zem Gains az' probably tha most zealous followas of any ork waugh boss, but they few in numbah. Ork Culchah iz 'ard enuff ta teach wi'out tha whole class up an' offin'emselves foightin'. Das just na'chah. So wot they do iz open entoiya asteroids n'extreme planets where spores can grow. Tha orks on Schools that don't learn, get fed ta Squiggoffs before they can kill or foight very much. Tha orks wut git with tha program get sent out da kindergarten an' graduate ta hoigher classes. They's a self-determined lot, so only da cream o da crop iz gonna figure out 'ow ta move up in Ascetic Society.

Ya gotta be cunnin'. Cunnin' and brutal an' cunnin' an' brutal again. Not every ork is more'n cunnin' and brutal, at best.

Tha Zem Boyz iz the Ascetics wot do tha best foightin', an' the most num'rous. Some schools of Zem Boyz focus on a diff'erent Chaos God wot to prepare for. Huskas are Zem Boys wot focus on Khorne; They weapons focus on breakin' things an' sometimes stealf. They loik breakin' weapons an' armor an' vehicles. Pluckas are Boyz wot focus on tha birdy games of Tzeentch. Of all the Ascetics, they learn 'ow to smash mind games with 'eadbutts, an' some'ow, they learned ta escape fate. They call it tha WeirdWorkz. Wut you moight call 'pre-cog-ni-tives'. Typically Weird Boys wot read the warp to remember wut an enemy is about ta do.

Tha other Schools iz smalla, since they iz not as important.

Slaanesh iz a joke. A whole chaos god of touchy-feely? Oh, that's a laff. Aw boohoo, oi stubbed mah toe, save me, flittery minstel wi' genda oidentity disorda! If an Ork iz already self-controllin', then the Quiet Ladz iz the boys you call to deal wi'um. The Quiet Ladz tactics specialize in not givin' their enemy satisfaction. Some of'em seem unorthodox, weird or pointless, but the purpose ain't frustration, it's confusion' an' a swift, unexpected deff.

Da Youfs are slightly more numerous n'tha Quiet Boys. As you may guess, they the ones whom specialize in fighting Nurglish Chaos. Specifically, toxic, plague-ridden or necrotic enemies. Much as the Ascetics disloike reliance on war machines, it keeps'em 'ealfy. Da Youfs is focused on puttin' the happy sufferin' out their misery. Youfenizin'em, you moight say. W' poison, flames, n'acid. Put dem sick puppies down. They also the only school 'at focuses on heavy armors o'er stealf or quickness.

>the royal senpai'ly
kek

(I meant to write FAMILY, but brainfarted somewhere.)

It's fine, it just means you're a newfag who doesn't know about the filter.

I assume it was senpai'ly (f a m ' l y w/o spaces) and the word filter acted up?

si.

Yep, thought so.

Oh noes!

Diz iz zoggin' brilliant! Keep in wiff it!

There aren't many records of Zem Gains actually leading his introspective Ork rabble into too many battles. For obvious reasons. For the acetic Orks, with their war against all things Chaos, it's not how many fights, it's the quality of the fights. Every day they spare the universe unnecessary suffering, self-indulgence, violence and combat is a day they kill the Chaos Gods just a little more.

But sometimes, an Ork must Ork. And the Orks do not handle things all that introvertedly, especially not all the time. Sometimes, you just gotta sink your teeth in.

So what better target for the Orks to test their mettle and expend their zealous determination on than a planet with nothing to lose? Zem Gains directed his new waaaaugh to deploy onto a Daemon World. An immaterial outpost of the Warp, wrought with daemons. The daemons were expecting a violent and brutal opponent, and the Orks certainly delivered. They were not expecting them to be efficient.

Zem Gains bellowed a mighty waaugh, and his boyz bodies blazed with energy. Like green lightning bugs in a spring forest, they danced across the battle field, blinking in and out of space. Teleporting in front of large machines, striking mobility parts and weaponry. The cascade of waaugh energy penetrating through endless meters of armor, setting off the ammunition and fuel inside to produce horrendous explosions. Plasteel and adamantite were ignored as mundane substance, while the burning green singed the immaterium.

Zem himself is a fearsome one with curious abilities. During his battle with the Khornate Daemons, any that bore ferrous metal would find their own weapons strongly attracting to their own armor. Turning their offensive power and defense into a liability, the monstrous monk set upon daemon after daemon, each blow landing like an artillery shell of force that blew lesser minions skywards, smashing flesh from spirit. The more he moved, the more battlefield debris clung.

alright where's the Rogue trader homebrew at? Unless this is like, undercover GW beta stuff theyre working on.

What the ascetics lack in armor, they more than make up for in sheer grit, maneuverability and just plain luck. And nowhere is that more prevalent than in their warboss.

Despite being outsized, barely coming to the monster's knee, Zem's blows had the capacity to penetrate the absurd thickness of blackened steel and iron, cutting and burning to the warp unstable substance beneath. Artillery shells, salvo, aerial bombardment; these were the things a greater daemon was expecting. Not a creature whose very blows folded immaterium with green warpfire. Faced with blows that wouldn't stop at the armor and wounds that refused to close. He was brought to knees, then pelvis shattered, then spine burst apart before trying to retreat- only to find the barrier between the materium and the immaterium had been shut. Courtesy a tek device. There was no escape.

Bash bash bash, in went the ribcage, the shoulder blades, and finally the skull bashed in until green warpfire blew out the demon's nose, ears, eyes and mouth, brain and all its contents going up in the skull like coals before the leader on the field, the lord of the planet, lost all bodily stability. Horribly weakened, his very essence stolen away into a device crafted specifically to seal them into bondage, forbidding them a reincarnation in the warp. A grissly trophy. The first of many.

The doomed world became UNdoomed by the ascetic orks efforts, losing its hellish and psychadelic nature as cruel, banal reality sloughed off the feverish imagination. With its most fearsome commanders guarded like trophies, the lesser minions could only die and reform elsewhere, the barrier between spirit and substance hardening up like a callous.