After his success with the latest mage armour project, Vadug had settled himself into doing what more dominant Orks do best: watching their lackeys toil away. Even if all of the ramshackle and hastily repaired vehicles in the mek bay were in complete working order, there was always a few Orky know wotz that could be applied to make them fasta, shootier, or otherwise more killy than the vehicles of the humans. During the raid on the Imperial Spacecraft, Vadug had assigned several of his more trusted meks to take apart some of the more dangerous, and therefore in an Ork's mind more useful, weapons such as their 'plazma gunz' or whatever the humans named them.<br/><br/>"Now this iz nutin' more than gud." The Bik Mek muttered as casually observed his lackeys upgrading or otherwise trying to add weapons to the various vehicles. Burly orkz strapped sheets of rusted and dented metal to trukks to armour them, while dextrous Gretchin were assigned to fix the undercarriages of battlewagonz, some orkz were even busying themselves with strapped or otherwise welding on new weapons to make their favourite vehicles more killy.<br/><br/>"Howz da flymekz doin?" Vadug asked his monstrous bodyguard, who had concerned himself more with a worn tankard filled with golden-brown squig ale.<br/>"Last I checked, da gitz were werkin' and most a dere gubbinz were fixed." Came the growled reply.<br/>"Gud, I doubt da Katin would be 'appy if none of da fightaz or bommaz were fixed up."