Boss of Da Doom’eadz Merc Kompany, Grimgrod Tinbusta is a struggler grasping for any sort of power, using brute strength and savvy cunning to get where he needs to be.
“Ain’t nothing left but to start over. Lotta you runts fink we’re done, that without Da Kaptin, we’re good as ded. Well, I’m ’ere to tell you sorry gits that you’re wrong. Sure we mighta lost our Dakka, our Kroozerz, and ‘ell, we may ‘ave even lost the battle. But, we’re ORKZ Zog it! You good for nothing grots must’ve forgotten, that we ain’t ever beaten! We’re gonna come back bigger, better, and smarter than before, and show those bugs that they ain’t won yet!”
|Rules|
Height: 10’3”/ Age: 20-25 Years/
Grimgrod had always been seen as a joke to his superiors, and even to some of his inferiors. Many Orks would’ve heard stories of the infamously bad luck that tailed the Nob like a loyal Squig, and found it easy to bully him into jobs no one else wanted to do. So during the brutal tyranid attack that wiped out the Circuit Jawz, Grimgrod had survived by being made a lousy messenger. To tell the tale of good ole Kaptin Zagbad Grimgul.
It was only after he first regaled the death of his mighty Kaptin that Grimgrod finally decided he had enough. Something in the young Nob finally snapped, and from then after his misfit mob and him flew through the stars, tackling former Circuit Jawz, absorbing them into the fold, and brutally assaulting lost territories. This new tribe was dubbed the Doom’eadz, with Grimgrod as their Warboss. Only time will tell what plans he has for the former allies and enemies of Zagbad.
Skills: ‘Diplomacy’, Close Quarters Combat, Amateur Mek Know How, Tracking, and Sneaking.
Goals: To pick up where Zagbad left off, but instead of being a measly pirate, Grimgrod wants true domination. He wants to prove every git who doubted him wrong, and crush the Hivefleet who did in his Kaptin first as a demonstration of his superiority. Not to mention a need to show that Blood Axe thinking is right.
Allies:
The Heg Ravens
Da Gear-Klaws (Begrudgingly)
Da Mad-Kapz
Appearance:
Standing at 10 feet and 3 inches tall, Grimgrod is much smaller than his former Kaptin, but still a hulking behemoth. Lightly armored, the heaviest implements the Ork carries are his taloned cybernetic legs and arm, while the rest of his attire is military wear based upon imperial foes. His helm holds a skull like visage, a visor hiding everything but the monster’s gleaming red eyes. Across his form, is a color of blue and black, a camouflage pattern with a bit more subtly to it than the average Ork would care to wear. Around his neck is a flag turned scarf taken as a final farewell from his Kaptin, which Grimgrod now uses as a sign of his era and the passing of the torch.
His shoulders meanwhile are armored by a typical checker patterned plate and a looted astartes pauldron. It’s been outfitted with spikes to present a more fashionable appearance, one befitting greenskin sensibilities.
Equipment
Snik & Snakk: Two overly long knives that Grimgrod keeps on his person at all times. They’re great for slitting throats, picking locks, and generally giving anything a good stab.
Da Hush Hush Stabba: Grimgrod is a Blood Axe, and Axe Boyz never play fair. Within his bionic arm is a secret blade he can extend from underneath his palm, and then cleanly retract. Some gits need that extra nudge to understand that they’re deceased.
Da Final Say: A large revolver that Grimgrod uses when he realizes the time for words and headbutts are over. Snagged off a Beast Snagga who gave him lip, Grimgrod’s put the weapon to far greater use than its previous owner.
Da Kultural Exchange Bouquet: Grimgrod has an assortment of throwable weapons and explosives in his arsenal, and when in a real pinch, will decide to use all of them. Flash Bangs, Stikkbombs, 'Sploding Squigs, and Tankbusta Bombs are all deployed in a wired ‘Bouquet’, usually as a parting gift courtesy of the Doom’eadz.
Studguf’s Kustom Nanites: After Zagbad was deemed dead, Grimgrod attempted to replicate the past Ork Kaptain’s strange ability to both harden his skin and weapons to a steel like quality, a technique the Kaptin failed to teach him. After months of tensing his muscles and concentrating really hard, Grimgrod abducted and forced a Mek to instead make him an artificial copy. When faced with a knife to the throat, Studguf obliged, and Grimgrod was gifted with a similar ability to Zagbad. It’s still a sore spot however.
We’re finally back with the eminent release of the aeldari codex
Warham reveals a couple of curious details in the warp spiders preview article: firstly, we now know what Lhykhis embodies: khaine’s “willingness to risk everything” not very imaginative but ok we’ll take it.
Also we get one more nugget of aeldari mythology that will be super hard to find in a couple of months bc it won’t be anywhere else: Liekiss’s sword was blessed by Ahnakh-Yth, who seems to be a weaver goddess, first-born to Morai-Heg???
As far as I can tell, the name means… nothing really, just sounds Hindi like Vhattarkan. So I’m glad we’re branching out Gav.
after 5 years.... several false starts and endless rewrties, rethunks, deletions, the destruction of several devices, the trashing of a couple of notebooks, negotiations to make it a comic instead, and some introspection............. i may just have the first ever nenific chapter to publish..............
So the Lexicanum Page for Iybraesil was updated fairly recently to add that Iybraesil name could be a reference to Hy Brasil, an Irish legend of a mysterious Island that disappears and reappears.
I had not heard of this before, but had found your previous post of Iybraesil being based on Yggdrasil of Norse Myth.
To which, what do we think is the most accurate? Hy Brasil is also referenced as the name of Brasil on Terra.
Ah an academic question :3
To my understanding (and maybe Gav Thorpe’s) the myth of Morai Heg was inspired by the Norse mythology of Odin hanging himself off, or otherwise mutilating himself on, Yggdrasil to obtain mystic knowledge.
Iybraesil - the name, with its connections to Morai Heg, is likely a reference to that mythology.
As for Hy-Brasils and Iybraesil, we haven’t really seen any thematic connections in the codexes or books; Iybraesil has never been described (period) as vanishing or being covered in mist or anything like that, so I would call it a tenuous connection for now. As far as we know, Iybraesil is peacefully sailing over segmentum solar.
The Terran Hy Brasil was just Brazil, right? I seem to recall that the last Siege book mentions the jungles of Hy Brasil had burned away.
We can come full circle though: In my notes, Nenime was born in the ‘Brazil equivalent’ of Iybraesil, for what that’s worth lol.
Nenime raised an eyebrow at Grimgrod. "Where would we even find such an ork?"
Grimgrod scoffed, already catching on to what she meant. It was infuriating, knowing how easily pegged he was for this task. It was risky, but a good potentially one on one brawl was something Grimgrod had been hankering for recently. Not to mention how much of a benefit taking the Snazz Ladz into his tribe would be.
Still, he stared at the image of the towering Snazzclaw, comparing the Freebootah’s strength to his own. “I can do it, but I’z gonna need a little help. We’re gonna need to do this roight, and it’s gonna take some cunning.”
Grimgrod reached into one of his satchels and pulled out a blank piece of ragged paper, while with his other hand he retrieved a Paint Squig. “Lemme write up a plan, ‘n we can get somefing worked out.”
Grimgrod grumbles a bit as she looked around his arm, but allows Nenime to glimpse the quickly forming yet messy copy of the Ork encampment. It wasn’t perfect, but for an Ork, it was eerily well drawn, the splotches of red from the drooling paint Squig creating a recognizable sketch of multiple areas.
“First, a few ‘o my lads and I are gonna go in and join in the git’s base. We’re mercs as yoo know, so Snazz shouldn’t be think’n too ‘ard on why we wanna join the WAAAGH-“ Grimgrod yells the word, the paint Squig in his hand squealing as his grip tightened, before he relaxes and carries on, “-and if things go well, I’ll be right there when you and your gals come in.”
The Ork paints a few tiny Eldar helmets on one of the workshops, bearing the green of Nenime’s people.
“Once I’m there, and I start making a ruckus, I’ll need a distraction. Something big and loud. It’ll take Snazz’s focus and from there I can gut the nitwit like a Eatin Squig for supper.”
He circles around the Eldar heads, and draws an arrow towards a set of workshops. “The distraction will be simple. Gubbins are prone to exploding, and it doesn’t take much to set ‘em off. Once your lot are in, you work your magic, wreak the place, and then leg it like typical pansies.”
Orange explosions are drawn over the workshop, the paint spilling into the ground as Grimgrod dabs at the pace. “Fast enough to keep ahead of any Boyz, but slow enough so the lads think they have a chance at your ‘ead. That’s when I take the reins and steer this lousy bunch after you into space.”
He laid the map onto a table, and despite his helmet, the way he settles his hands on his hips as he looks at the ink stained page indicated a sense of pride. He turns his head towards her, and asks,
The plan was to her taste after all. "Ol' reliable shock and awe. A few nightfire missiles should do the trick. Throw in some shade runners while they're down. Yes, that'll do nicely indeed."
Her mind was already running with possibilities. Nenime crossed her arms. "Very well. Prepare you crew for departure."
“Ain’t got many, so it’ll be quick….gonna be count’in on you for all ‘o this. I’z gonna win, but things gotta go a certain way else…” Grimgrod swished his thumb across his neck with a ‘snik’ sound. After that, he looked to his boys and hollered, “You lot heard her, we’z got places to be! Radbad, get Studguf on the talkie box and tell him that ships need to be ready, fast.”
“Aye boss, I’ll be roight on it, quikka den a Squig aftah a-“ Grimgrod’s other companions grabbed onto Radbad, pulling him away while Grimgrod lagged behind. The Ork lumbered away slowly, one of his hands resting on the door frame as he made his exit, but he stopped.
“Gonna be trusting you Arenan. He might’ve been able to charge ahead without thinking, but I’m not that sorta Ork. Still dunno how you two worked so well together…….times wasting, see yoo after I’z won.” With that he left, almost soundlessly walking away despite his size. It must be a trait inherent to his bionic legs.
Nenime raised an eyebrow at Grimgrod. "Where would we even find such an ork?"
Grimgrod scoffed, already catching on to what she meant. It was infuriating, knowing how easily pegged he was for this task. It was risky, but a good potentially one on one brawl was something Grimgrod had been hankering for recently. Not to mention how much of a benefit taking the Snazz Ladz into his tribe would be.
Still, he stared at the image of the towering Snazzclaw, comparing the Freebootah’s strength to his own. “I can do it, but I’z gonna need a little help. We’re gonna need to do this roight, and it’s gonna take some cunning.”
Grimgrod reached into one of his satchels and pulled out a blank piece of ragged paper, while with his other hand he retrieved a Paint Squig. “Lemme write up a plan, ‘n we can get somefing worked out.”
Grimgrod grumbles a bit as she looked around his arm, but allows Nenime to glimpse the quickly forming yet messy copy of the Ork encampment. It wasn’t perfect, but for an Ork, it was eerily well drawn, the splotches of red from the drooling paint Squig creating a recognizable sketch of multiple areas.
“First, a few ‘o my lads and I are gonna go in and join in the git’s base. We’re mercs as yoo know, so Snazz shouldn’t be think’n too ‘ard on why we wanna join the WAAAGH-“ Grimgrod yells the word, the paint Squig in his hand squealing as his grip tightened, before he relaxes and carries on, “-and if things go well, I’ll be right there when you and your gals come in.”
The Ork paints a few tiny Eldar helmets on one of the workshops, bearing the green of Nenime’s people.
“Once I’m there, and I start making a ruckus, I’ll need a distraction. Something big and loud. It’ll take Snazz’s focus and from there I can gut the nitwit like a Eatin Squig for supper.”
He circles around the Eldar heads, and draws an arrow towards a set of workshops. “The distraction will be simple. Gubbins are prone to exploding, and it doesn’t take much to set ‘em off. Once your lot are in, you work your magic, wreak the place, and then leg it like typical pansies.”
Orange explosions are drawn over the workshop, the paint spilling into the ground as Grimgrod dabs at the pace. “Fast enough to keep ahead of any Boyz, but slow enough so the lads think they have a chance at your ‘ead. That’s when I take the reins and steer this lousy bunch after you into space.”
He laid the map onto a table, and despite his helmet, the way he settles his hands on his hips as he looks at the ink stained page indicated a sense of pride. He turns his head towards her, and asks,
Within the now tumultuous territories of the late Kaptin Zagbad, a new tribe of Ork Freebootahs has made itself known. Sailing through the Solar Segmentum in small yet numerous mobs, these Orks are seen to attack those who’d take advantage of Zagbad’s disappearance, the buccaneers assaulting these trespassers gleefully. Most reports describe them as wearing bones over the typical piratical garb, faces painted white with a skull like visage. Interestingly, they appear to be following the old pact that Zagbad had made with a Corsair Princess, and have only been sighted attacking those who’d dare wreak havoc in his former territory. Even their flag is that of a modified Circuit Jawz Jolly Ork, their name ‘Da Wight Mawz’ eerily similar to that of the shattered former tribe.
Attempts to speak with any Boyz of the tribe has been difficult thanks to typical Ork nature and the fact that they retreat into the void as soon as perceived intruders have been massacred. However, a consistent factor with all of these sightings has been the appearance of an Ork Kroozer that had belonged to Zagbad. Who steers it through the stars now is unknown…
Grimgrod slowly dragged himself through the void, his clawed hands latching onto the numerous pipes and handholds that thankfully covered the ruined Space Hulk. Many wondered why an Ork of his status would make a trek out into space in a barely held togetger space suit, but after he had received multiple shouts from different Orks in the Solar Segmentum, he couldn’t ignore the signs.
So he had traveled towards one of the recent causes for alarm, which was a drifting hulk. It had sailed into the region without much fanfare, and yet on its haul had been something that aroused the curiosity of multiple Orks, Grimgrod included. Pushing himself along, his metal talons hooked onto the haul, and he was finally made to make his way towards another suited Ork. The boy appeared to be simply staring awestruck, his breath fogging up the glass of his helmet.
Growling, Grimgrod grabbed the lad by his air tube, yanking him backwards with a soundless yelp.
“Wot da ZOG are yoo starin at so bluddy ‘ard, eh!?” The Ork Warboss snapped, shaking his furiously. This entire collection of events had rapidly soured his mood, and seeing more stupefied Boyz was only worsening it.
“It’s ‘is Jolly Roger Boss, Zags!” The Boy exclaimed as he swayed back and forth, eyes spinning dizzily. Grimgrod roughly pulled him aside, and stomped forward so he could see the other side of the Hulk’s hull. Once his talons stepped onto the edge, he peered over, and had to suppress a gasp.
Painted across the expanse or metal was a massive symbol, a green jagged skull and bones that gleefully stared up at Grimgrod. The signature was unmistakably a certain Freebootah’s mark, but Grimgrod had saw the Ork die himself. Holding onto the edge of the crevice, he reached into his satchel, intent on contacting an expert on this matter. What he couldn’t do however was let a particular Princess know about this….
Nenime raised an eyebrow at Grimgrod. "Where would we even find such an ork?"
Grimgrod scoffed, already catching on to what she meant. It was infuriating, knowing how easily pegged he was for this task. It was risky, but a good potentially one on one brawl was something Grimgrod had been hankering for recently. Not to mention how much of a benefit taking the Snazz Ladz into his tribe would be.
Still, he stared at the image of the towering Snazzclaw, comparing the Freebootah’s strength to his own. “I can do it, but I’z gonna need a little help. We’re gonna need to do this roight, and it’s gonna take some cunning.”
Grimgrod reached into one of his satchels and pulled out a blank piece of ragged paper, while with his other hand he retrieved a Paint Squig. “Lemme write up a plan, ‘n we can get somefing worked out.”
A commotion breaks out from opening doors into the canopy, with a small mob of Orks funneling into the room, being led by the familiar form of Grimgrod Tinbusta. The young Warboss looked to have put on a few pounds of muscle, still seemingly growing into the role at a steady pace.
He stomped towards Nenime, the Orks behind him far more recognizable and strange than the last group he had been seen with. One appeared to be some sort of surgeon, entirely garbed in a crude but sealed white surgeons gown and mask, obscuring his features. Another had a mechanized appearance, a glowing reactor thrumming in his chest as he sauntered beside his boss. A wide smile gracing his metal face.
Lastly, a nob with scaled skin, fins, and gills walked at the back, grimacing at their surrounds as water filled breathing equipment pumped fluid through his lungs. They’d all slow to a stop when Grimgrod reached Nenime’s section of the canopy.
The Ork stared at the Corsair Princess, those ruby red eyes boring into her as he crossed his arms, an air of tension still cloaking their interactions.
“Nasty crash yoo got on yer hands Arenan.” Grimgrod commented casually despite his tight posture, his eyes looking down to the planet fallen Baham’Uth with a quiet intensity that hinted at visible interest.
“Some might say.” The Corsair princess replied, turning away from the view.
The canopy immediately went dark. Interest or no, Nenime had a different destination in mind for Grimgrod.
A holographic globe kindled to life within the darkened chamber, a perfect rendering of the pale shrine world Isobelis. But Nenime’s attention was on the curios gathering of Orks.
“Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered,” she grinned. “Zags?”
Grimgrod looked at the globe, eyes locked onto the hologram as Nenime spoke, but he flinched upon hearing Zagbad’s name.
The Cybork spoke up, jollily saying, “Naa, all ‘o Zag’s Boyz are either ded or gone, I’z-“
Grimgrod slammed a fist down on the Cybork’s head, the lad stumbling as the blow dazed him. Grimgrod snarled at his dizzy underling before turning his gaze back to Nenime.
“Wot ‘e said. These lads of mine I scrounged up from wherever I could. Nothing left of Zagbad.” He’d murmur the last bit a tad sullenly, before continuing, “So wot do you have in store for us? Space has been quiet since the Nids swept through, not much to fight or loot outside of scraps, so a distraction would be nice.”
Nenime nodded quietly; whirling, the Isobelis hologram zoomed and settled.
The hologram displayed a veritable scrapyard. Belching ork kroozers swarmed a massive cathedra warship - evidently a relic, as it lay anchored to a pair of basilica spires.
Crude workshops covered the ruins. Torn metal flowed to damaged cruisers or rising weapon platforms.
The corsair princess swept her hand over the image, "This here's Quickgrin Snazzclaw. These are his Snazzlads. Dead or gone, I need them out of here, Grim. Thoughts?"
The cybork opens his mouth to share his own interesting insight, but a smoldering glare from Grimgrod makes him wisely shut it again. After that Grimgrod turns his eyes to Nenime with a refocused gaze.
“Big operation, and the name alone makes me think of Badmoonz. They’re bound to have a lotta Dakka, lotta teef, and a lot to prove if my hunch is anything to go by.” Grimgrod mused, tapping one of his metal feet as he thought. “Dead would just scatter the lads, and you’d end up with a bunch of boys running around like a headless grot.”
He stroked his mask chin in thought, face turned back towards workshops, an idea beginning to take root in his head. “If you want em gone, they need a change in leadership, an Ork who’s not so attached to that scrap heap…and you’d need them overwhelmed, so there’s no time to argue against a new boss immedately.”
In the Segmentum Solar, soaring within a region of space once guarded by the late Kaptin Zagbad Grimgul, a horrific battle raged. Nob Gogstomp Spleentwister mashed the controls of his rickety command throne, fist slamming into the buttons with thunderous slams.
Emergency sirens screamed throughout the bridge, bathing the room in a flashing red as Orks scurried around. Multiple boys were patching a breach in the window with power tools, while others were screaming at her terminals. Explosions outside in the void lit up the bridge every few seconds, and Gogstomp could easily spy the tyranid bio-ship floating towards the Gog-Stompa. His grimace turned into a snarl, his claws digging into the ship controls in a furious panic.
The Razorfiend released a volley of organic missiles from its rippling carapace, and when those bleeding torpedos slammed into the Gog-Stompa’s hull, all Orks in the bridge toppled over from the sheer force. Gogstomp held himself in place thanks to his grip on the controls, righting his balance easily before screaming,
“Why ain’t any ‘o yoo firing da gunz!?” Most of the Orks around him kept desperately repairing, but one turned and blurted out,
“Da bugz blew em up aftah dat last round Kaptin, we ain’t got any more gunz ta use!” Just then a chunk of scrap tore free from the ceiling and fell on the Ork, reducing him to a red smear with a loud crunch.
“ZOG ME, I’z knew dis wozza bad idea from da start! Should’ve torn da wheel from yoo when I’z ‘ad da chance!” A fur wearing nob roared, the infamous second in command Bogpunch vaulting over ruined consoles and rushing over to Gogstomp. “Wot are we gonna do now eh, wot now!?”
Gogstomp nearly fell over when Bogpunch slammed into him shoulder first, the impact eliciting a sickening crack from the bigger Nobz ribs. His claws still hung onto the console however, and he shoved into Bogpunch violently, pushing the Ork off him and sending the nob crashing into a group of Boyz.
“We’z gonna board em, loike any Ork will do you bloody nitwit! Get da ships ready or else-“
“B-BOSS, BOSS, look!” A boy screamed, pointing at the window. All the Greenskin’s heads turned, and outside in the depths of space, a green tear had opened up beside the Razorfiend. As the Tyranid ship bore down on the Gogstompa, the green portal grew larger, until out of it sailed a ghastly Kroozer. The ship burst free from the rip and smashed into the bio-ship at a ridiculous speed. As metal bore into flesh, carapace cracked open and blood flowed outward into the void.
The Razorfiend shuddered in agony, tail thrashing uselessly as the Kroozer cut it in half and continued on, now drenched in the purple ichor of the now dying ship. All the Orks watched the blackish vessel in awe, and one brought a claw to his cheek in astonishment.
“Dat’s….Dat’s Zagbad’s Kroozer…”
Multiple Orks whirled on him, a ruckus ensuing as they each tried to figure out what just happened. But Gogstomp remained silent, watching the Kroozer float through the void and leave them behind. He swore he could hear something….it was as if someone was laughing.
“Bogpunch, get Grimgrod on da phone….somefing weird’s goin ok.”
A commotion breaks out from opening doors into the canopy, with a small mob of Orks funneling into the room, being led by the familiar form of Grimgrod Tinbusta. The young Warboss looked to have put on a few pounds of muscle, still seemingly growing into the role at a steady pace.
He stomped towards Nenime, the Orks behind him far more recognizable and strange than the last group he had been seen with. One appeared to be some sort of surgeon, entirely garbed in a crude but sealed white surgeons gown and mask, obscuring his features. Another had a mechanized appearance, a glowing reactor thrumming in his chest as he sauntered beside his boss. A wide smile gracing his metal face.
Lastly, a nob with scaled skin, fins, and gills walked at the back, grimacing at their surrounds as water filled breathing equipment pumped fluid through his lungs. They’d all slow to a stop when Grimgrod reached Nenime’s section of the canopy.
The Ork stared at the Corsair Princess, those ruby red eyes boring into her as he crossed his arms, an air of tension still cloaking their interactions.
“Nasty crash yoo got on yer hands Arenan.” Grimgrod commented casually despite his tight posture, his eyes looking down to the planet fallen Baham’Uth with a quiet intensity that hinted at visible interest.
“Some might say.” The Corsair princess replied, turning away from the view.
The canopy immediately went dark. Interest or no, Nenime had a different destination in mind for Grimgrod.
A holographic globe kindled to life within the darkened chamber, a perfect rendering of the pale shrine world Isobelis. But Nenime’s attention was on the curios gathering of Orks.
“Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered,” she grinned. “Zags?”
Grimgrod looked at the globe, eyes locked onto the hologram as Nenime spoke, but he flinched upon hearing Zagbad’s name.
The Cybork spoke up, jollily saying, “Naa, all ‘o Zag’s Boyz are either ded or gone, I’z-“
Grimgrod slammed a fist down on the Cybork’s head, the lad stumbling as the blow dazed him. Grimgrod snarled at his dizzy underling before turning his gaze back to Nenime.
“Wot ‘e said. These lads of mine I scrounged up from wherever I could. Nothing left of Zagbad.” He’d murmur the last bit a tad sullenly, before continuing, “So wot do you have in store for us? Space has been quiet since the Nids swept through, not much to fight or loot outside of scraps, so a distraction would be nice.”
A commotion breaks out from opening doors into the canopy, with a small mob of Orks funneling into the room, being led by the familiar form of Grimgrod Tinbusta. The young Warboss looked to have put on a few pounds of muscle, still seemingly growing into the role at a steady pace.
He stomped towards Nenime, the Orks behind him far more recognizable and strange than the last group he had been seen with. One appeared to be some sort of surgeon, entirely garbed in a crude but sealed white surgeons gown and mask, obscuring his features. Another had a mechanized appearance, a glowing reactor thrumming in his chest as he sauntered beside his boss. A wide smile gracing his metal face.
Lastly, a nob with scaled skin, fins, and gills walked at the back, grimacing at their surrounds as water filled breathing equipment pumped fluid through his lungs. They’d all slow to a stop when Grimgrod reached Nenime’s section of the canopy.
The Ork stared at the Corsair Princess, those ruby red eyes boring into her as he crossed his arms, an air of tension still cloaking their interactions.
“Nasty crash yoo got on yer hands Arenan.” Grimgrod commented casually despite his tight posture, his eyes looking down to the planet fallen Baham’Uth with a quiet intensity that hinted at visible interest.
Grimgrod Tinbusta @creeping-kommando - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
