Ironfang Fortress, Globb Muchcoin's lair, was the largest and strongest Ork stronghold on the planet. Rather than a castle, it was a mountain range of steel, forcibly welded and riveted together from countless derelict starship wrecks, industrial furnaces, and immense metal plates. At its summit stood Globb's signature monument, a colossal tusk statue cast from solid gold, glittering with vulgar defiance beneath the murky sunlight.
At that moment, millions of Ork Boyz swarmed across the fortress walls and platforms like an enraged hive. They brandished all manner of crudely made weapons and let out deafening roars.
Grob Muchcoin himself stood on the pedestal of his Golden Tusk statue, peering through an enormous telescope at the boundless green ocean slowly approaching along the horizon.
He was a size larger than an ordinary Ork Warboss, clad in Power Armour cobbled together from assorted trophies. One of his arms had been replaced with a Gatling Gun that was still belching black smoke. A row of gleaming metal teeth studded his lower jaw-the source of his name, "Muchcoin," and a symbol of his wealth and status.
"Gretchin... all of 'em Gretchin..." he spat through clenched teeth, his voice thick with disbelief and towering rage. "A bunch of rubbish I normally use to wipe me boots, load as bullets, and feed to Squigs, and now they dare surround me Ironfang Fortress?"
This was the most blatant insult imaginable to him and every other Ork.
"Boss!" A loudmouthed Ork Warboss ran up beside him and bellowed, spittle flying. "The Boyz can't wait no more! Let us charge out and stomp those little runts into pulp!"
"Charge out? You idiot!" Globb backhanded the Warboss, sending him spinning twice on the spot. "Can't you see how many there are? More than all our crap put together! And... and