Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka
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thraka is the most badass ork ever, if you dont think so your either a girl or a faggot.... faggot (or both?).
Makari
Once upon a time (read: 2nd edition) Ghazghkull had a personal standard bearer, Makari the Gretchin. He was quite fond of Makari. Makari had no battle application, he had no guns and poorer fighting ability then a Guardsman. But he had a banner, a BIG banner, that he waved about eagerly. In fact, so eagerly he often got shot at, but Makari was a special Gretchin. He was ridiculously lucky, so lucky in fact, he had an unmodifiable 2+ save (equivilent of a 2+ invul save). So walking into the most dangerous battlezones in the whole of the grimdark Universe was one plucky little Gretchin with a banner, standing side by side with the most powerful Ork in existance.
Then Games Workshop decided that big bad Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka having a personal Gretchin wasn't grimdark enough. So big G sat on Makari by accident and fed him to a squig.
Fuck. That.
The Truth about Makari
Orks are creatures of war and death. Deprived of it they waste away as other species would deprived a vital part of their diet. It is the slowest and most agonising death an Ork can face. But that is not to say that Orks do not have a kind side, a decent side. A side that allows them to feel fondness of others.
"Oi, Boss, where ya goin'?" asked Graknob, before a sharp smack to the back of the head from one of his fellow Nobs silenced him. Ghazghkull Thraka, greatest Ork Warlord the Orkoid race has ever seen, did not even stop in his plodding steps as he walked away from his main tent in the camp. Some of the boyz had objected to moving the Waaagh off course to visit this small, unknown, out of the way planet. 'Itz already been smashed, why we'z goin' here?' some had asked, but never loud enough for the boss to hear. The Nobz waited for their mega-armoured warboss to be out of earshot before answering the new member of Ghazghkull's retinue.
"'E's off rememberin'" said one, an old Ork named Griksnak who had served their boss for many many years.
"'E can remember jus' fine round 'ere. What's 'e rememberin'?" asked the curious Nob, uncaring of the death-stares he was receiving from his fellow Nobz.
"Think 'bout it dis way, ya git. Us Orks love ta fight, yeah?"
"Yeah, even a snotling knows dat!"
"But da boss keeps sendin' us 'gainst da 'umies. Dis is cuz 'e hates dem. Now, why'd da boss hate 'umies?"
Graknob remained silent for a few seconds, pondering the question he was asked. "Cuz dey got ugly faces?"
The other Nobz just shook their heads. "'E lost someone ta 'em." Graknob looked around, confused. Everyone knew it didn't matter if an Ork died, he just got belched back into another body. He couldn't understand the feeling of loss.
Ghazghkull had shed most of his mega armour by the time he got to the top of the hill. Being an Ork, the act of removing armour seemed... unusual, to say the least, but it seemed appropriate to approach this site somewhat vulnerable. After all, he was meeting with the one being he knew would never harm him.
"'ey. Uhh... not sure what's I suppose'ta say 'ere. Jus' wanted tah, y'know, say 'ello. See how ya's was. Dose 'umies who got dat lucky shot off on ya? Yeah, dey dead. 'Dere planet is dead. Got lotsa da bastards. 'Ope dat helps out somehow. Wells... I's be goin', den. I... I misses ya, boy." Ghazghkull Mag Thraka turned and began walking down the hill again, leaving the grave he had been speaking to behind. A grave that simply said:
Makari
Banna Wava
Everyone knew Orks were belched back into another body after they died. Not Gretchin though. No Gretchin could ever replace Makari.