Thunder

Bonehamma the Ork, was happily snuggled into his hole. He called it his hole, but it was actually a shallow cave, residing within a hillside, on the lower reaches of Bos moor.

Bonehamma sat and casually glanced around, admiring his collection which adorned his dank walls, skulls, bones, rotten limbs, battered armour and broken weapons were liberally placed here and there. The grizzled greenskin was very proud of his trophies, it gave him a sense of purpose. After all there was very little to do around here, the moors were devoid of most civilisation, even by Ork standards. Yes, there were roving tribes of beastkin, Bonehamma often watched as they stalked across the horizon, searching for prey, he liked it even more when they got wind of his own scent and attempted to try their luck with him, it usually meant an easy meal and new collection pieces, without the effort of straying too far from the hole, this pleased Bonehamma greatly as he would never openly admit it, but he felt he was getting long in the tooth. Usually at this time of life, an ork of his age would either be in charge of his own war tribe or dead!

This ork however, was neither.

Bonehamma started to feel glum at the thought of this, so he attempted to distract himself with a newly acquired skull. He slowly turned it in his grip, remarking the viscous teeth it bore, and the even more viscous hole in the top of the skull, Bonehamma chuckled to himself, he remembered that he himself, was the cause of that Wound. A powerful swing of his war axe serving the purpose of claiming this prize, Bonehamma could still hear in his mind, the sudden crack of bone as his axe hit home and fell the dogman.

“Speakin’ of sounds…” The Gwer muttered to himself, “wassat?”

He could hear in the distance, a faint rumble.

“Oh goody! Thunda!” He eagerly tossed the now uninteresting skull over his shoulder, then strode towards the entrance of his home. Bonehamma LOVED a good thunderstorm, the way the Lightning angrily streaked along the dark sky followed immediately by the heavy roar and bellow of the thunder, he often imagined a battle above the clouds between 2 colossal winged creatures, clawing and snapping at each other, he’d heard stories in his youth of the Dragons battling the Giants.

When he reached outside, he was rather puzzled.

Instead of a bleak, grey sky of rolling thunderclouds, he saw a clear tranquil blue sky, he stared, confused at the view, first picking his backside, then picking his nose in wonder.

Despite the lack of clouds, Bonehamma could still hear the thunder. It was actually getting louder and louder?!

Then his eyes caught the flash of light, for a second his heart rose at the thought of lightning, unfortunately for him, it was a glint of sunlight, reflecting from something in the distance.

As he strained his eyes to better see, he realised what the glint was,

“Ooh, clanky Man! And anova, and anova, and anova, and… Zoggin’ eck, dats lots of clanky!”

Bonehamma stared in awe, as row upon row of glinting, glistening armoured warrior marched over the horizon. They stomped closer and closer in perfect formation.

The greenskin watched on as the metallic tide grew further and further still, wave after wave of armoured soldiers, appearing in vast lines, striding towards him… HIM!

“Errr, maybes I should sit dis one out eh? I iz not in da mood for a scrap today” he nervously lied to himself, he frantically turned back towards his beloved hole…

Only to see before him even more soldiers, there were at least 20 of them, not that Bonehamma would have ever known, either by his inability to count that high, or the fact that they instantly and savagely set upon Bonehamma, brutally and without hesitation, cutting him down!

Bonehamma, lay there, spluttering his own black blood and painfully eyeing his many cuts, bruises and wounds upon his battered body. As he looked on, he shot a glance upwards just in time to see another armoured warrior deliver the killing blow, the Orks last sound he heard was the crack of his own skull, caving in from the strike of a brutal mace swing, then darkness…

“COME ON SOLDIER, MOVE IT! Plenty more where that came from my lad!” A voice hollered,

“SIR! YES SIR!” Replied the mace wielder as he rejoined his unit, reforming the military formation and marching on with his allies, in the grand army of the Crown.