Have you ever tried to lull a pet to sleep on your lap? Depending on the animal, it can be extremely difficult. The slightest movement will wake them up, and they’ll start scratching at the door, wanting to get out. One must cultivate extreme patience, and an iron will to master this technique. And unfortunately, I lack both of these attributes, which made lulling the Orky side to sleep quite the chore.

It had been nearly a day since the incident, and I’d been essentially bedridden, with both arms and my left leg crippled to the point of non-functioning. I’d like to say I handled things like a champ, but in reality, I had just sulked for the past few hours, intermixed with lengthy naps. But naps can only take you so far, especially when your whole body is a mass of dull pain. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the whole spike through the eye, but it was enough to render me completely useless.

It had only been after several long naps, and three failed meditation attempts that I regained a semblance of reason. And that is when I noticed that my ability to reason had surpassed the last day by far. I was able to recognize the stupidity of how I handled the rocket, and more importantly, my utter disregard for proper preparation. I’d been alive for over 48 hours, and what did I have to show for it? I could craft rockets, and probably weapons and armor, but I was almost completely naked, without a single tooth to my name, if you don’t count those in my mouth.

This lack of regard for my own well-being, along with the extremely poor plans I had apparently thought of in the previous day was extremely alarming. I struggled to focus through the pain, and on the source of the problem. It was rather obvious, once I really thought about it. I was part Ork. Orks aren’t smart. Orks like to fight, but are extremely lazy. My lack of activity, combined with my sudden ability to properly reason heavily suggested that whatever Orkyness had made itself a part of me had varying levels of influence. Testing was required.

The first order of business had been to cordon myself off from the rest of the world, and began a very indepth review of the past days. It soon became clear that any thoughts involving serious fights quickly led to increased levels of Orkyness, while focusing on non-violent activities did the opposite. After hours of trial and error, I was able to sort of cordon off the sleeping beast, using a very… unusual method. By focusing very hard on various songs from my youth, such as the score from The Little Mermaid, along with The Lion King and Mulan, I was able to force the Orky side to what could be considered a form of sleep. This was a rather poor method, as it required me to interrupt any line of thought that woke the beast with a rather lengthy mental recital, making any form of planning that involved violence very difficult. There was also something extremely degrading about acting as a nursemaid to a sleeping Ork, singing it children's songs until it fell asleep. But we all have to make sacrifices.

If I was unable to focus on violence, then someone else would have to do it for me. This, combined with me being essentially bedridden, made the lack of useful servants extra clear, emphasizing my stupidity in failing to find Grikkle after the visit to the Dok. I’d done my best to rectify this, bullying one of Hedsnagga’s goblin squads into fetching my goblin rokket along with Grikkle, something that should prove simple, as they had actually heard of the famed ‘Flyin’ Gobbo’, and his staunch defense of his rokket, which he had somehow managed to retrieve and defend during the kerfuffle. The story they had told me filled me with pride, and a determination to not forget the goblin again. I’d also told the squad leader that should he fail to retrieve the rokket and goblin, then his cozy position with Hedsnagga would be over, and if he returned, I’d eat him alive, one limb at a time. I think I succeeded in that particular bit of diplomacy, as the entire group had fled soon after, heading in roughly the right direction.

Since then, I’d spent most of my time testing how far I could go regarding violent thoughts before waking the Orky side. So far, the results had been disheartening. Even thinking about the creation of weapons stirred the beast, its influence creeping into my thoughts, making the results of my mental imaginings very…. Orky. But a small amount of influence was a small price to pay for preparing for the inevitable. Once I allowed myself to be slightly tilted to the Orky side, I was able to make reasonable plans. I began by focusing on previous revelations about how best to survive, namely, becoming the biggest and baddest, finding a position that requires little violence to survive, or finding a new home that didn’t have as many dangers. The last one seemed a prime option at the moment, and since I wasn’t able to do anything useful in pursuit of the first two options, I opted for information gathering. This line of thought was what led to the extremely boring tales that were now being told to me by an older goblin, who was extolling me about all the great achievements of our current warboss.

Bigtoof was apparently a real brutal boss, who had forged this massive group of Orks into a larger Waaaaagh! under the banner of a certain Overfiend of Octarius. The name didn’t ring any bells, but when the goblin mentioned the goal of attacking a planet called Armageddon, and ‘Do wot dat git Ghazghkull couldn’t do wif a million boyz’, I couldn’t help but panic. Anyone who knows anything about the Orks knows about Armageddon, a massive Human world embroiled in a conflict whose forces numbered in the millions. It was one of the biggest and most important battles of the Imperium, barring Cadia and the Chaos threat. And I was being told we were on a collision course for said planet.

This… did not go well for my fragile mental state. I panicked, and the thought of a massive conflict, combined with my laxed guard, quickly led to a rise in Orky levels, so much so that almost all the previous thinking was pretty much rendered pointless. A slow, unstoppable wave of consciousness rolled over my own, mixing and crushing all resistance, not unlike a monsoon sweeping a beach clean of human habitation. There is something absolutely horrifying about watching as your consciousness is literally dissolved. I could only imagine it was somewhat akin to rapid aging, where you could literally see your body grow old, mind growing slower by the second. Panic, and the need to survive rallied me, but I knew I couldn’t win with brute force. It was time for some Morkyness to combat the Gorky threat that loomed ahead. Rather than fight the change, I put all my effort in directing the wave, pushing a series of mental images at the rising consciousness, trying with all my might to imprint some form of intent on the wave of violent madness.

Most of these attempts merely skidded off the dull mental state, which lacked enough knowledge and context to understand the usefulness of my aims. But what DID stick was enough to give me some small hope for the future. A single image of me, covered in a massive suit of armor, capable of its own motion and equipped with a massive rocket pack, leading a swarm of Rokket Boyz, along with an even larger wave of tiny, rokket-laden Grots scouting the way, finding any and all resistance, and kicking up a massive amount of noise with heavy Shootas, leading me and the real force of Boyz to the enemy.

And as my conscious faded, mixing with the turbulent mass of violence and stupidity, a smile split my face to watch the sheer delight that filled the Ork soul at the thoughts that it embraced with an intensity that burned too bright to look at. Strands of thought seemed to float out of the shining soul, filled with child-like plans to fulfil its new goals. I tried to touch them, but whenever I got too close, the thoughts grew hazy, and I seemed to merely pass through. I wasn't able to touch the thoughts, but I had proved I could influence the whole.The whole situation resembled what I could only imagine it was like to be the conniving advisor as he cons the foolish king into moving in the right direction. And despite my impending mental death, I wasn’t afraid. I’d found a way to make my mark, and I’d be back during the lulls in war. I’d be back, and I knew now how to handle my stupid side. I’d poke and prod it in the right direction, all without having to face the pain and horrors of war. Things would all go Just. As. Planned.