an ork mafioso.
sitting somewhere between or within the ork empires of Wazdaka and the Arch-Maniac, there are stories of a system of worlds called the Tradah Empire. unlike other ork worlds, which change hands and shift borders constantly, the powers at large within this sub-empire have held these worlds for several generations. the crown world and capital planet is Nuff Luck, is a world completely covered in metal and concrete, it's surface pocked with grand towers, vast arenas, and impossible race tracks. Orks bet, fight, and race in the thousands daily, the blood and gore of their violent sports filling pipes and gutters. while most Orks are filled with the need to begin a great WAAAAGH, something denies this in the orkoids of this world, and to fill their bloodlust for battle they have created the ultimate arena from which to sate their hunger.
one of the major forces that influences the operations of Nuff Luck's arenas is 'Da Moff'. they are one of the oldest warbands to have existed on the planet since it was still a ball of dirt. originally a mob known as 'Da Cleaners', they got big on fixing races, using their position as swab boys to get close and into places to sabotage the opposition. they also made profit on turning swab and hair squigs into clothes, and later on moths, who's silk they turned into the suites they're most recognized for (as well as where they derived the name 'Da Moffs' from).
Da Moff are Goffs with a taste for the finer things in life; fine clothes, good food, strong booze, spikey armor, shiny gubbinz, lots of Dakka, and sweet victory. while they have the Flash, they (usually) keep a professional air about them. it's all about respect in Da Moff, as in you better respect them, or it's gonna cost you, usually in teef. you mess with one Moff git, you get all Da Moff mobs paying their respects, personally. of course, all this respect and special treatment doesn't come cheap. in true Goff fashion, only the toughest get in, and then it takes discipline and grit to stay there. oh, and teef, you'll need to be worth your weight in teef to consider yourself good by their nobs. a costly boy might meet a grisly end, respectfully, of course.