The power klaw is the favoured weapon of any Ork big enough to bolt one on, a massive powered pincer that crushes and shears with brute, gleeful force. Sheathed in the same crackling energy that Imperial power weapons boast — though the Orks neither know nor care how it works — its great jaws snap tanks in half and pluck warriors apart like overripe fruit.
It is a gloriously unsubtle weapon, cobbled together from scrap and driven by the peculiar certainty of Ork belief, for a klaw works in large part because its wielder is utterly sure that it will. The bigger and louder the Waaagh!, the more surely such contraptions function, roaring and sparking in cheerful defiance of any sane engineering. What should by rights explode instead simply works, because a thousand Orks believe it must.
The power klaw is the mark of an Ork of standing — a Nob, a Mek, or a Warboss whose sheer size lets him heft its bulk and swing it about with abandon. In the churning brawl of an Ork assault it is the great equaliser, letting its bearer grab the biggest, meanest thing on the field and tear it messily apart to the raucous, howling approval of his mob. To an Ork, there is no finer feeling, and no clearer proof of who among them is truly the biggest and the best.
The armoury continues
