But something much more louder overcame the drums. Artillery fire went off extremely nearby. Then, the glorious Ork himself had appeared. A giant of muscle, smoking a cigar in his toothy mouth. It would've been hilarious if not for the fact that he was riding a beast of a motorcycle. The tires had spikes acting as a grip, leaving poсk marks in the earth. The engine was extremely loud, overcoming even the emu's war cries. It rumbled the earth as it approached at a high speed. Exhaust pipes were large and ended at an angle, billowing noxious fumes from the concoction used to even run the bike. A snotling was chained up on a pole, screaming it's lungs out as the pole swayed from side to side. The Ork himself was none other than Brutagar Facestompah. Notorious for being a literal pirate. He definitely fit the part, as he wore a great pirate hat and an overcoat that struggled not to rip itself apart against the slabs of muscle on him. What topped the right and proper Orky cake was the rather large guns situated at the front, which with a press of a button went off. The devastating recoil meant Brutagar could barely control the bike, but that made it all the more fun to him. He mowed down hordes of the Emu's, running any ones he missed over as he made his way through, not bothered one bit by it.