Waa-Marshal Grimskul’s career of bloodshed, shouting, dubious tactics, more bloodshed and throwing squigs at people’s faces began on the sun-baked, wind-blasted dwarf planet the Imperium’s traders know as Barabbas’ Fall.
Said traders have, historically, used the nasty little rock as a meeting point with various xenos races to do various shady deals, and paid a hefty sum in protection money (or, more accurately, handed over a lot of guns, ammo and spare parts) to the local Warboss in order to keep the Imperium’s attentions occupied (or, possibly, to keep the Blood Axes sufficiently mollified to not shoot up both the traders and their alien partners and nick all their stuff).
This case of affairs kept everyone happy, until some spoilsport blow the whistle and brought the wrath of the Imperium down on Barabbas’ Fall, in the form of a detachment of veteran Black Templars who intercepted the Blood Axe tithe-collectors en route to the rendevous point.
Boss Grimsnik, as he was known back then, was in charge of collecting the shiny objects and delivering them back to Warboss Kanskraga. Caught on the hop, Grimsnik’s small warband was pulverised, with the Boss himself being cut down by the Emperor’s Champion, and the collective efforts of the surprised Orks inflicting a single Terminator-armoured casualty on the Marines. The survivors did what Blood Axes do when outmatched; display their fine grasp of stratelogical thinking and leg it.
The Orks dragged Grimsnik back to their drop ship in two separate bits: a body missing some of its more important primary organ systems, and a severed head still spasmodically cursing out everyone who came near it, more or less as a reflex action. They also brought back the top half of a much-battered Terminator suit. They did not bring back Grimsnik’s right arm, ’cause they couldn’t find it.
Grimsnik’s Oddboyz spent the night clustered around this truly magnificent haul, doing the best they could with what they had. They strapped an engine on his back, replacing the missing organs, and hooked it up to the Terminator’s suit’s arm and power fist after they’d riveted them to the Boss’ stumps. While his brain was all right, insofar as it had ever been, his actual head was a mess so they wired it into the Terminator’s helmet and nailed that onto his neck instead.
By a curious quirk of fate, Orkoid resonant kinetics, and Grimsnik’s deranged refusal to fall over and die, he survived, but sharing his brain-space with a seven-thousand-year-old machine spirit infused with the pious hatred of the Black Templars has done something to his mind. Answering only to the name ‘Waa-Marshal Grimskul’, he has a tendency to refer to his elite Nobz as his “battle bruvvas” and their military actions as “purgin’ the zog out of ‘eretics”, and occasionally lurches to a halt mid-stride and mid-harangue if his wires slip out.
He left Kanskraga’s warband quick sharp: Kanskraga found his company disturbing, and Grimskul had a powerful urge to not be based on a planet in case the Emperor found out how many Boyz he had and took some of them off him. Since then, he’s blasted around the southern reaches of the Imperium in a knackered battlekroozer simply called ‘the Scow’, delivering a particularly punishing strike on the ice world of Jericho IV two years ago.
Grimskul is, quite clearly, mad as a basket of Mad Squigs all hopped up on special madness-inducing fungus brew, but he’s not without followers; many of his fellow Blood Axes, accustomed to taking on the trappings of the Imperium, see him as a paragon of the clan’s philosophy, while he welcomes Deathskull (’cause they’re best at looting Imperial tanks and keeping them running) and Goff (’cause they’re black and white and thus dead ‘ard) Orks to his cause. Some freeloading, freebooting Bad Moons joined up after Jericho, sensing the chance to make themselves some teeth and burn themselves some humans. A spaceborn Waaagh is slowly gathering momentum, marshalled by a lunatic with a ghost in his machinery…