Just a wee story I wrote: based in 40k universe. Prompt “one moment in time” (it’s in there!). First time I have tried humour as the lead emotion. Well, it’s Orks, you just have to. And Ork talk is quite tricky to write..
A very, very brief and possibly inaccurate history of time
The warriors of the Death Skullz had had a very interesting and productive day. They had been out fighting and stealing and they were sitting round a camp fire all comparing the bitz and junk they had got from the dead bodies and drinking copious pods of beerz. Looting on this planet was “da bomb” and they were lamenting the fact that they would have stolen all the stuff and would have to leave at some point.
The crew cracked out yet another round of fungus brewz (Grot’s grottiest rot gut). Some mangled crowd singing had been taken up. It wasn’t tuneful, it was barely in time, but when inebriated groups get together and sing, all it really needs is a rousing chorus that everyone can go “Hey!!” together at the end.
Big Bazza shifted himself on his elbows and through very bleary eyes; he rose up his head and shouted over the noise of the grot target practise.
“Oi youse skum, listen up. I as got an idea an I fink we should all do it. Cos if you don’t I will shoot ya. So, who’s in!?”
There was an assorted mumbling of “Yeah, ok den boss, I’d like to keep me ‘ead an all dat” and they shifted generally up to sit cross legged in a circle with all the beers in the middle, and looking vaguely in his direction.
Big Bazza looked around “Yeah, ok den youse lousy snots, listen to this. I heard a really nails story an I fink you would like it cos its History, ya see?” He really over pronounced the ‘H’ in history to underline what he was about to say. He took a big breath swallowing a fly in the process, and without even choking much started the tale. “Right den. Ready for dis? So dere was dis planet right, an it was crashed into by a rock ‘ard bunch of lads, right? Den when they sorted out who waz ded and who was not ded, the boyz with all da arms an legz and stuff left on all got up and went to look for bitz and den dey found dis place wiv all da bitz an they made a mekky fing wiv fire comin’ outta its arse, an den day got a.. a.. gun an den dey blew up some hoomies dat dey found and is was great!” He looked around at everyone and pointed a chubby, dirty clawed digit, “An Dat, my friends is History!”
A murky looking Ork raised his head and said “Nah Bazza, that was like yesterday innit!?” He laughed at Bazza and said “Mate, youse really is quite fik, you cannot even tell if yesterday is history or nuffink!” Unfortunately that was the last he said as Big Bazza had levelled his new shiny kustom mega shoota at him and had shot his face right off.
Bazza turned to look at the rest of the group “Right, dat sorted dat out. Ee was disreespeckful an I won’t ave dat kind of fing going on. Whose got any uvver stories den? I want to hear a really good one. Dunt even ave to be History, it could just be like fun yeah!?” and he settled back, but noticeably kept his gun in hand.
A storm boy looked up, dressed in a spotless uniform with shiny boots, a surprisingly clean face, his short hair greased down, nervously raised his hand “if I may be so bold, I do believe I have a story that will not only entertain, but may even make your head explode.”
Big Bazza looked at him and said “Youse called Kevin aint ya? Bin showing a bit o’ promise in da gang, innit!?”
“Yes Bazza, Sir, it is” and he smiled as he had been recognised by the nob boss, he ripped off a dead smart salute.
“Well “Kevin”…” he pronounced it like it was a grimy snot in his mouth “Kevin, let’s see, erm, nah, youse alright an every fink, but I fink youse a lousy scrote, wot wiv dat clean face an stuff and I iz not bovvered by anyfink you ave to say” He levelled the gun right at him. A look of panic crossed Kevin’s face, but Bazza carried on “But…” and he waved his beer pod around “Youse show respeck, innit, an I take dat very serious. I fink I will let youse tell your tale, but if it does not make my ‘ead explode, youse know what will ‘appen, right!?” He patted the gun and set it down on his lap. “First, we should all get sum more beers in, I don’t want my ‘ead exploding and if all sober like!”
Bazza made a vague wave at some passing grots who scuttled off to get the round in “And I now ow many dere are so dunt go nikkin none as I will shoot yer bleedin’ leg right orf!”
“Bazza, youse can’t count” said the Ork to his side; he nudged him with his elbow spilling some of the beer he was still holding.
Bazza looked down at him. “I can count innit. Look.” And he took aim at a grot, shooting him square between the ears. “Wun!” he shouted triumphantly. He looked round and spotted another grot that had seen what was happening and was trying to hide behind an ammo box. Bazza took aim and shot the box, which exploded with various bangs and pops, and took the head off the hiding grot.
“Wun!” Bazza screamed, “Cos I started again innit!!”
The Ork that was sitting next to him looked in awe. “Cor Bazza, you is well clever! Beerz for da boss!”
Once the beer had been bought in with some various, well, let’s call them nibbles, the group settled back. Bazza turned to Kevin, and said in his poshest voice “Why, Kevin, you have the floor, be hour guest”, every consonant pronounced dripping in syrup.
Kevin got to his feet, swayed slightly due to beer consumed, blinked, remembered what he was here for and his life was at stake, filled his lungs and went for it.
“I present to you: the tale of Gork and Mork, bought to you in glorious technicolour, hold on to your hats, I did warn you it could get good.”
“Let me set the scene” he said, “Imagine a time when there was nothing but stars and empty planets, all rife for the taking. Nothing but firmament (that means the empty universe, boss,) and the two brothers came to be. They had the knowing of the fighting and the knowing of the magik. They looked about and they were lonely for their own kind.”
“Erm, Kev?” Said one of the crowd sitting there, “how comes they was lonely? They had each other! Surely they could fight and magiks all the time and it would be great!” and there were cheers from round the fire and rousing shouts of “Gork!” and “Mork” and small weapons were thrown about in a friendly gentle manner.
“Ah,” said Big Bazza, “they hadn’t invented beer yet, they was missing the very important fizz of life innit! Now let the young turd get on wiv his little story.”
“Anyway” Kevin said, slightly miffed, “They said to themselves ‘We should make mighty folks to keep us company, some perfect creatures who can share in our awesomeness’.” He pondered a moment and looked at the collected show of ‘perfection’. He continued, hardly thrown off track at all. “They took it upon themselves to take raw star stuff and squish it up in their paws, drop it on the floor, spit on it a bit and the Orks were born. In that one moment in time, our people were laid down. We got told there and then ‘go to every bit of the universe and take your Orky brothers and build and fight and steal and make” We knew we would take mek and make such things of beauty, such gunz and stompaz. Be amazing things, so strong, so beautiful, and so full of win. They sent us out, us Orks, to own the universe and everything in it.” He wiped away a tear dramatically and turned to Big Bazza. “What do you think boss?” he asked hopefully.
Big Bazza took a few moments, had a swig of beer, and then looked at Kevin. “And that’s how youse think it went daan, is it?” His face crunched up with the effort of thinking. “I reckon” He said “I reckon that’s mostly right, but it wasn’t so fancy. All in, I fink youse can have” and he paused for major dramatic effect “an eight outta ten!” and he looked at everyone with a huge grin on his face.
One small Ork piped up “Cor, Boss, youse really is getting these numbers pinned daan innit!? Youse has to be the biggest boss wiv da biggest brain. Three cheers for Big Bazza!!! Hip hip…”
“How many is that then?” said one huge Ork with a very furrowed brow and clanking with skulls and chain.
The small Orc said “just keep saying hurrah until every fink goes quiet like.”
Everyone erupted in one huge “Hurrraaaaawaaaaaagh!”
“Well now” Big Bazza said, “considering dat big waagh, I fink you, Kevin, can live. But I want a better story, wiv a bit more fightin’ and such.” His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on an apologetic looking grot. “What you doin’ sitting there you snivelling pile o droppins?” and picked the gun up to kill him.
The grot was quick on his feet and got up and scampered round screaming at the top of his lungs “I’ve got a story sir, you’re gonna love it, it’s great, it’s got fighting an drinking an stuff an everything… Please don’t shoot me! Argh” the last word was a squeal as Big Bazza had let off a shot in his general direction. Behind the grot, an Ork called Nosher had taken the shot to the shoulder and was growling and grabbing at his arm. Realising he was oozing from the shot, Nosher picked up his empty beer pod and lobbed it over at the grot who was still running circles around the outside of the group. The pod hit another Ork, Bad Breff, who then got beer all down his face. Not happy with that, Bad Breff roared and stood up so fast, trampling Little Nadgers, who was sitting next to him, Little Nadgers then took a swipe at Bad Breff, with a cleaver he just happened to be holding, and took his leg out from under him, literally. A random leg, now in the mix, got picked up and hurled across the group and it landed on Stinky Bogrot, who flung it away and grabbing his mate sweaty Warkstegg’s face, sunk his teeth right in to its nose, causing a squeal.
An old, pale green weirdboy, Wagrat, with feathers in his hair, which was now standing out horizontally with little sparks leaping of the ends, slit his eyes, mumbled and pointed, loosing a magik curse that hit three different bodies, sending limbs flying in all directions.
Big Bazza was nearly sick with laughing so hard, he was still trying to shoot the grot and had so far missed four times, causing almost mortal wounds to his group, each shot caused the Ork hit to jump up and hit whoever was closest to him with whatever they had to hand.
The Boss stood up and looked round at everyone having a massive fight. This was just as it should be, he thought. “Dats my boyz!” he said, and fell forward into a puddle of blood and beer and snored like a rusty chainsaw.
The grot, who had missed out on any of the violence by being nimble and quick, took the opportunity to clamber up on the back of Big Bazza’s prone body and wave a small and grubby flag, and he shouted out “And that is how the red grot wins!!”