Grazkin of the Death Skulls rolled his eyes as the envoy from the Imperium of Mankind knelt before him, eyes averted.
“Not anuver one. Give it 'ere.”
The trembling human held up a scroll bound in chains and closed tightly with the wax seal of the Departmento Munitorum to the enormous Ork in front of him. Warboss Grazkin cracked open the seal, tore off the chains then squinted, “Reve – revevev – rev - ah fraggin' Mork, the writin' on dis is all small an' blocky. Why do ya 'umies stick all them curly things on da letters? Read it to me.”
“Ah… ah… certainly. Ahem!” The terrified envoy took the scroll and cleared his throat.
- “Revered Warboss Grazkin:
- Since the joining of the Holy and Ancient Imperium of Mankind with you and your fellow Orks’ Waaagh! hordes, our now mutual enemies, the OTHER hated xenos races of the galaxies, have felt our combined wrath to a satisfying degree. This “Trinzity O Mork, Gork 'n Empz!” as you put it (Please see appendix XII for a clarification as to why the Holy Emperor’s name should be first in your new pantheon) shows that you are indeed capable of seeing the Light of the Immortal Emperor which you no doubt realize has caused us boundless joy. However, while the Ork race’s prowess in battle is, indeed, legendary, we ask you and your fellow war-bosses to consider once more our proposed “friendly-fire avoidance” tactics and-”
“Aww skip dis!” Grazkin said. “It ain’t nuttin but whinin', is it?”
“Ah, well, ah…” The envoy gulped.
“Jus' get to da important bits!”
“Right away my Lord!” The flustered human continued:
- “-which brings us to the matter of several questions regarding the well-being of our Lord And Savior:
- I. The Most Holy Scion of Humankind MUST (must!) be fed at least one hundred psykers per week. Our continual sighting of the Astronomicon means that your sacrifice of “weirdboyz” is doing an admirable job of sustaining Him, although we cannot *quite* pinpoint the location of His beacon within your current star-system. If you could provide exact co-ordinates, this would help the positioning of our own battle fleets immensely. If you are running out of Weirdboyz, our own sub-human psykers would be more than happy to substitute their own blasphemous energy for that of your freakish kin! Simply rendezvous with any Black Ships in the area and let them know how many you need.
- II. The Emperor sheds a tear for each of His children that falls in battle for His Righteous Name. Please do not forget to collect these sacred objects and bequeath them to the waiting Adeptus Custodes who, we are sure, will be very near whenever your Kruzer moves anywhere, at any time, for any reason. Perhaps this would all be accomplished more easily if you would permit a few of our humble Astartes to visit the Lord of Terra in person?
- III. Please do not paint the Emperor red (The speed of his righteous fury is already so swift that it will not make him go faster).
- IV. Nor yellow. (His Dakka is already supremely beyond what any of us, human or ork, could possibly comprehend)
- V. DO NOT TAKE THE EMPEROR NEARBY, AROUND, OR INTO THE EYE OF TERROR.
- VI. Caring for the Sacred Savior of the Galaxy can be tiring work. If you have any trouble whatsoever, please contact us with all possible haste and we will gladly take this heavy burden from your hands.”
“Is dat all?” Grazkin asked. The envoy looked at the rest of the scroll, which unspoiled for several more feet.
“It’s… the gist of it?” He hazarded.
“Well. Them is all good suggestions.” Grazkin scratched his chin. “Maybe we’ll t'ink about doin' some.”
The envoy brightened up. “Really? That’s wonderf-”
“But after you bring us more stuff. Like dose… what do 'umies call ‘em? Big stompy tings?”
The envoy tried to guess. “Ah…tanks?”
“Nah, not dat. More stompy!”
“Dreadnaughts? Well I… I suppose the Adeptus Mechanicus could give you some empty Dreadnaught shells.”
“Nah!” Grazkin waved an arm. “Bigger! LOAD of dakka! The size of one o dose buildin's 'umies live in but taller. Lots taller.”
The envoy frowned for a moment then a look of disbelief spread over his face.
“You can’t mean… titans?”
“DAT'S dem!” Grazkin beamed. “You gots ten handy?”
Fear momentarily forgotten, the envoy sputtered, “But those…ten titans are worth more than a hundred worlds! A thousand! They are the most sacred battle-vehicles of the-”
“Wait I jus' forgot. Dem Bloodaxes are comin' over for the next Waaagh! Give us double-ten, I wanna show 'em off.”
The envoy opened his mouth to protest again until he noticed the large choppa Grazkin had just pulled out of the sling on his back. The warboss used the handle of a blade three-feet across to scratch an itch on his back.
The envoy choked on his words and instead came out with a strained “Twenty titans. The Imperium will see what it can do, Lord Grakzkin”
“Dat's WARBOSS Grazkin to you umie!” The ork roared.
“Yes Lord! I mean Warboss Grazkin!” The ashen-faced envoy scurried off.
Grazkin leaned back, a satisfied smile splitting his ugly face.
Ever since he and the boyz had looted their Emperor, them 'umies had become downright *polite*.