Kalidar War - To Reach Orktown: In the meantime, Gratzdakka's Kommandoz had returned to Hive Meradon and delivered him the price he sought: Adept Brasslock. The captured Tech-priest had suffered greatly. His captors had beaten him repeatedly, so that most of the voyage through the Kalidarian desert he had been unconscious. Once in the fallen hive city, he also had to suffer from the grim attentions of Ork Painboyz that had stripped him of most of his augmetics. Realizing that removing his Mechadendrites would end with his death, the Orks had settled for simply cutting the artificial limbs off.Brasslock nearly died on their operating table when they wrenched out his right arm, damaging his secondary circulatory system, but the attending Mekboy had reacted quickly and saved his life. Crude, Orkish oil was now running through his machine components, a vile offence at the perfection of the Omnissiah's sacred creations. Once the Orks' curiosity had been satisfied, Brasslock was unceremoniously dumped in a cage, feverish and sore, for the Orks' examination had been done without any sort of anesthetic.Night was falling when two big brutes, the biggest Orks Brasslock had seen so far, came to fetch him. They grabbed him and effortlessly carried him through corridors and up stairways until they reached the remains of the Governor's Palace, rich furniture now broken, priceless rugs irremediably stained by filth and feces and the walls covered in crude Orkish glyphs.On and on the two Nobz carried him until they reached the central chamber. There, seated on a throne fashioned out of the skulls and helmets of defeated foes sat the enemy Warlord, Gratzdakka. His bulk was so muscular that it put even the two Orks that had brought him up to shame. The enemy Warlord had a singular appearance, for more than any other Ork klan, the Blood Axes tried to ape the ways of the Imperium. This immediately became clear upon setting eyes on Gratzdakka.The Warlord was wearing a fine-tailored uniform composed of a distinctive long-coat and high cap clearly inspired from the uniform of Imperial Commissars, while his massive feet had been stuck into steel-capped boots of black leather that had been polished so much they would have been approved by a drill-sergeant of the Mordian Iron Guard.His chest was covered in so many medals that it was almost comical and his massive fingers all bore at least one fat golden ring. More of the precious metal was capping Gratzdakka's long, sabre-like teeth and the necklace of teeth hanging from around his thick neck, while above him two massive Power Axes had been crossed to recreate the emblem of the Blood Axes klan. Even Gratzdakka's attending Gretchin were dressed in the same manner, bringing him food or polishing his boots.As Brasslock was thrown at Gratzdakka's feet, the Gretchin hauled at a long chain, bringing forth an almost naked fat human slave -- a translator. The Ork clearly wished to parley. On a signal from their lord, more uniformed Grotz approached bearing a bundle they emptied before Brasslock: several objects fell to the floor, some priceless artefacts, others merely junk, as the Orks had little understanding of what passed as wealth in human society.Another gesture from Gratzdakka and another Ork brought in three human captives, all female, their dresses torn and a chain wrapped around their necks. The Ork was trying to bribe him! Furthermore, Gratzdakka was offering him a place amongst his Mekboyz, promising him to restore his body to his former glory and even improve upon it through the Orks' "superior" technology.All this could be his... if Brasslock agreed to share his knowledge. Brasslock's two guards carried him to the great curved window located behind Gratzdakka's throne. From there Brasslock could see an industrious courtyard, Greenskins of every size toiling around the unmistakable shape of an Imperial super heavy tank: the Shadowsword Lux Imperator. Gratzdakka clearly wished to claim the tank as his personal Battle Fortress.Brasslock stared in horror at what the Orks were doing with one of the tanks under his charge. His soul wept at the desecration of the purity of the machine. When Brasslock flatly refused Gratzdakka's proposition, there was none of the fits of rage the Tech-priest expected from such a violent species as the Orks.Instead, the Warlord calmly stepped down from his throne and approached his prisoner. In broken Low Gothic, Gratzdakka said "Now that is a real, real shame. I tried to be nice, little human. I tried. You fix that," it said, pointing at the Shadowsword, "You get this. That's how you trade in the Imperroom". With something akin to regret, Gratzdakka called for his chief-Weirdboy: "Take him away, and get Greeneye! Tell him it's weirding time!"