Ork Hollow Shellz Kommandos T1

Dey put da masks on and everybody went quiet. Not quiet like stoppin.' Quiet like BEFORE.

The Hollow Shellz come from a world that forgot how to exhale - a jungle wrapped in perpetual spore-fog, a sky that's green for reasons dat ain't da sky's fault. Every boy on dat planet breathes it from da day he pops outta da ground. Somethin' in dat air kicked da Orky brain sideways. Didn't make 'em softer. Didn't make 'em weaker. Just made 'em... different. Dey stopped shoutin.' Started whisperin.' Started makin' masks.

Nobody told 'em to. Da first Nob picked up an old beetle shell off da jungle floor, strapped it to his head, and said "NOW I'S HOLLOW". Da rest followed. Every Kommando carves his own now - horned plates, insect jaws, shells of things dat used to buzz before dey got stepped on. He don't take it off. Not when he sleeps. Not when he kills. Not when he laughs, which he does muffled, behind da mask, so it sounds like da laugh is comin' from someone else's throat.

Dey move through da fume like dey was born of it. Dey don't run at da enemy - dey appear on top of him. A Kommando drops outta da spore-cloud wiv a blade da size of a door, and he don't roar first. He just does it. Dat's da horrible bit. An Ork dat don't warn you ain't supposed to exist. But here dey are. Ritual, patient, silent on da way in - and when dey hit, dey hit like an Ork always hits. Wiv everyfing.

Tier 1 is four shell-wearin' killers. Da Warboss stands big in his half-cape and horned mask, carryin' a jagged nail dat goes through armor like it forgot armor was a ting. Da Veteran's kitted for angles - blades on da back, cleaver in hand, pistol for when da blade ain't close enough. Da Shaman wheezes through his hooks and rings and incense-sticks, probably sees stuff nobody else sees, and still swings da staff like a bat when it's time. And da Bomba? He don't talk. Just carries da spiked egg-mine up to wherever it needs to go and hugs it goodbye. Dat's a tier 1 squad. More shells comin.'

Perfectly suited to any sci-fi greenskin army in need of a stealth or infiltration unit wiv actual atmosphere to it. Run 'em as kommandos, run 'em as assassins, run 'em as da reason your opponent's back line suddenly ain't a back line no more. Any skirmish or squad-scale force dat wants a different flavor of green will find a home for dem.

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