Da Ol' Den Dayz

   Sniksnazz sighed absently to himself and prodded the fire in front of him, brightly glowing embers rising in an out of time dance into the black sky. He was the oldest living ork in the camp, many years older than the Boss himself, and had been elected to serve as a sort of historian, passing on the tales of the “Ol’ Den Dayz” to the yoofs and any boys who would listen. To the majority of the klan, he was a novelty; too wounded to fight anymore yet somehow allowed to remain in the village. Most considered is tales to be nonsense and many saw his continued existence as a waste of resources.

   Sniksnazz had not volunteered for this position. A searing plasma blast has vaporized his left arm, leg, and ear, leaving nothing for Da Dok to stitch back on. He knew from the legends that the old doks could have fashioned him new limbs from metal and wire; great crushing blades that could snip a boulder in two or pipes that spewed fire and lightning. At present, however, the only replacements available to him were crude metal mockeries of his lost appendages, his new “hand” being a mere hunk of sharpened scrap suitable for nothing more that skewering a passing squig for a snack.  His leg was a metal stump from the knee down, which ensured Sniksnazz would not join in another glorious Waaagh! again.

   His fire was surrounded, as always, by many yoofs, eager to hear tales of when the klan was great and strong and of when entire worlds burned and sank beneath the pounding of their gunz and armies were left as bloody mountains of ruined corpses after their boyz unleashed a torrent of choppa blows against them. It was an important facet of their Kulture; memories of epic wars and conquests. To a warlike race like the orks, there were no greater pieces of information. The klan had always had a historian, each passing down the old legends orally to the next unfortunate candidate.

   “Tell uz a story,” Gobbad pleaded, “One ‘bout da Ol’ Den Dayz. We wanna hear one.”

   The other yoofs nodded excitedly. Hearing Sniksnazz’s stories was a privilege among the new warriors and it inspired them to emulate the actions of their mighty forefathers. Sniksnazz surveyed the circle of eager faces and sighed.

    “A’right.” he acquiesced. “Wut else am I good fer?”

   Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to replay the same tale he always told, holding out his arms in dramatic gesture.

   “So long ago,” he began, “da klan flew through da sky in Da Hulk.” He waved a hand toward the starry night above. “We went from planet to planet gettin’ in good scraps. Den we’d load up all da loot we could carry and take off for annuver world. ”

   This was met with many wide eyed looks of astonishment. A passing Nob snorted his disbelief.

   “Bosh!” the armored giant said, a glare in his red eye. “Ain’t no ork ever flew.” The yoofs dared not argue lest they receive a blow to the head for their insolence. The group sat in silence until the Nob stamped off.

   “Anyways,” Sniksnazz continued, “our Boss must’ve been called Den in dose dayz. Dat’s why we call ‘em Da Ol’ Den Dayz.”

   The yoofs leaned in closer, eager to devour every word the old ork uttered.

   “One day, we comes across a nice planet full o’ ‘umies. Dey got big cities and a strong army so Den decides to stop Da Hulk ‘ere and ‘ave a go at ‘em. Back in dose dayz, da klan had big gunz and bombz and tanks! Even da godz demselves walked with us, but dey were made o’ metal and had ‘uge gunz and rokkits for arms. Dere feet shook da ground and dere gunz lit up da sky. Dey wuz so tall, you couldn’t ‘ardly see dere heads!”

   This was Sniksnazz’s favorite part to tell. He had few joys left in life but observing the blank looks of fascination on the faces of each new crop of yoofs never failed to amuse him.

   “We had gunz as long as ten boys stacked ‘ead to foot. Whole armies died, blown to juicy gobs, when dey fired. We ‘ad fightaz too, flying around, dropping bombz on da ‘umies on da ground. Dere were ‘uge tanks called Waggonz dat carried da boyz to where the fightin’ was best and shot up anyone in da way.”

   The last bullet and drop of fuel had long since been exhausted and indeed not even Sniksnazz himself had ever heard the satisfying roar of an engine built for speed and power or the ear-shattering blast of artillery. The recoil of a handgun in one’s grip, the exhilaration of speed, the joy of watching your enemy fracture into bloody shards from a well-placed explosion, all were utterly lost to this klan. Only the words of an old cripple remained. For the young and the curious, they stirred a memory within.

   “So,” Sniksnazz continued, “we fought with da ‘umies fer a long time. It was da best fightin’ da klan ever had. Dey ‘ad dere own tanks and gunz and put up a real good fight. Es’splosions shook da ground and cracked da mountains and the sky turned red with fire.”

   The old ork’s words were accompanied by a good deal of sweeping arm gestures and sound effects. “BOOM! BLANG! KER-BLAM!!!!” he shouted. “Da godz stamped on da ‘umies’ tanks and crushed everyone dey saw.” He brought his booted foot down on a clump of dry earth in front of him and shattered it in a burst of dust. “KA-SMASH!” he bellowed.

   The yoofs were enraptured. All the klan had for making war now was spears and stones and war-squigs. Certainly nothing to simulate that excitement pouring forth from the aged ork before them. Unbeknownst to any of the campfire circle, several orks from the camp looked up from sharpening blades and tending fungus to marvel at the crazy ork dancing about and shouting like an idiot.

   Sniksnazz stopped to compose himself. “So anyways,” he began again, “after a good long scrap, we finally put da ‘umies to rout. Dey ran, screaming like grots from a killa squig, away and left all dere big gunz and loot behind. Now dat wuzzn’t good enough fer Den. We coulda loaded up all the spoilz and took off again but no. Den wuzzn’t done fightin’. Now, it woulda been too easy to shoot up the rest o’ da ‘umies, ‘specially since dey gave up most of dere gunz so wise ol’ Den sayz we’re gonna take it to ‘em with nuttin’ but choppaz and klawz. Da boyz thought dat sounded like great fun. Make sport o’ the rest o’ ‘em.”

   “So da klan left all dere waggonz and bikez and big gunz back at Da Hulk and got to it. Da ‘umies were hidin’ in dere fortress like cowards and our boys had ta get in and take a blade to ‘em. After a few more days of fun, Den came out w da ‘ead of the ‘umie Boss on ‘is pole. We were headed back to Da Hulk when…”

   Sniksnazz paused for dramatic effect.

   “WAAA-BOOSH-KA-BOOOOOM!!!!!” he roared, leaping off of his seat and throwing his arms wide. “It was da biggest es’splosion ever! All da boys went flying!” He grasped a handful of pebbles and debris and threw it in a wide arc. “Like dis!”

   The yoofs sat upright in horror, heads snapping back as if responding to an unseen force.

   “The klan wuz scattered and thrown into da wind.” Sniksnazz continued. “No one knows what happened to Den. All our brave boyz and Nobz. Most o’ us were just blown into dust.”

   He sat back down heavily. This was his least favorite part of the story.

   “Wut happened?” Thragnaz inquired. Sniksnazz gave him a hard look.

   “Beakies,” he said gravely. “Dey blasted Da Hulk from space. Blew up all our good stuff and gunz. Cowards. Hidin’ up in dere ships.”

   The circle of young orks exchanged glances. This was the first many of them had heard of this enemy.

   “So it’s been many, many years but the klan is back togedder and we’s strong again. Been tryin’ to finish off da ‘umies ever since.”

   “Wut about da beakies?” asked Herdgrub.

   “Don’t know,” replied Sniksnazz, “but one day we’ll find ‘em and pay ‘em back.” This statement was met w resounding shouts, the thumping of fists against chests, and the clanging of weapons.

   “All I know ‘bout ‘em is dat dey’re cowards and wear red and white armor from ‘ead to toe,” the wizened ork grunted with distain.

   He looked up at the sky again, watching the climbing sparks circle one other and disappear. Beyond the reaches of their orange glow were the stars. Orks have no interest in astronomy, but if they did, they would have noticed a particular dim, red star in the eastern sky was growing increasingly bright with each passing night.

   “If only tings could back to da way dey used to be,” the old ork said to himself. “We’d crush all da ‘umies and beakies and take over dis whole world…”

  

  High in the cold void above Xhorik, a massive Space Hulk swam silently through the dark. It was covered in guns and spikes jutting out in all directions and painted bright red. From the command chair inside, an Ork warboss eyed the planet before him w greed and ambition.