A/N: I'm having horrid writer's block and I wanted to try my hand at a Tiny Hammer story. I have a bunch of hand written stuff, so I people are interested, I can update with some frequency. I promise I'll keep working on "Heresy", it's just going really slowly. Stick with me, folks! I haven't give up.
Now, I consider myself a rational person, but what happened to me one weekend in late July passed all belief. It's quite easy to think you've gone completely mad when your hobby comes to life, but believe me, I am just as sane as anyone else, I promise. So don't think I'm totally off my rocker when I tell you this.
It was Saturday morning, just barely 7, when I was woken by an obnoxious noise that was a cross between a gunshot and an airplane. I sat up, bleary eyed and exhausted, and slid into my fizzy sheepskin slippers that were a gift from my mother before I moved out. I looked towards my desk, where my newest models had been drying overnight. Much to my horror, it seemed that my Blood Raven assault squad had come to life and was now jumping off my desk to the floor and back up again. I shook my pillow out of its case and quietly snuck up on them. I managed to catch three mid-flight before the others noticed me. I was faced with 7-inch tall men standing with guns at the ready, and it was all I could do to keep myself from doubling over with laughter. When I leaned over to look them in the eye, my handmade aquilla necklace fell forward, and I could hear them gasp. They lowered their guns as the sergeant snapped a few words and they jumped off my desk in formation.
"Hey wait!" I ducked my head under the desk where they had disappeared and did a double take. All my Blood Ravens had somehow managed to get out of their boxes and had started to set up a base camp. I noticed the assault sergeant talking to the Captain, gesturing to me. I caught the words "saint" and "emperor" and I blinked in confusion. The captain quickly erased my confusion with his next words.
"Brothers," he began. "The Emperor has granted us a saint and we must protect her at all costs!" I sat up as they let out a cheer, scanning for a shoebox. Finding one, I ducked back under.
"If I'm a saint. You'll listen to me," I said, brandishing the box. "And I say back in the box!"
~ ~ ~
My next unpleasant surprise was waiting for me in my ruined city terrain. I took one look at the orderly files of guardsmen marching towards a grassy swale and burst out laughing. At the sound of my voice, the jerked up, guns at the ready.
"Up here, little guy," I said to my now very lively Creed model, who was chomping on a now faintly smoking cigar. When he saw me, he glared, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. I went to pick him up to look him in the eye, but the soldiers nearest to me fired at me, sending a line of painful scorch marks across my thumb.
"Hey!" I squawked. "That's not nice!" I grabbed the pair of tanks, holding the guns facing away from me and shook them threateningly. "Don't make me hurt you with these." Their response was to open fire.
"Jesus!" Tucking a tank under either arm, I ducked under the table and scuttled back into my room. I poked my head under my desk, where the Ravens were setting up camp again despite my insistence that they stay in the box.
"Um, excuse me?" I began hesitantly. "Can you help me? I have a bit of a guardsman problem."
~ ~ ~
Having the Blood Ravens on my side proved to be very useful. A few choice words from the captain and my guardsmen were grudgingly on my side. I rubbed my eyes blearily and went to the kitchen to grab some bacon and coffee. When I opened my cupboard to get the coffee grounds I heard a tinny roar and say a green creature. I compulsively slammed my hand down on the skittering creature and it oozed unpleasantly around my hand.
'Oy, tha' humie just killed da boss." Orks. I had orks in my bloody pantry.
"Out!" I snapped pointing at the clean countertop. "And if I find you in the cupboard again…" I made a violent slashing motion over my throat to end my sentence and I reached back up for the coffee. Much to my relief, most of my food was untouched, including my coffee and I took it out and began to heat the griddle for my traditional Saturday meal of Bacon and eggs. After I was finished, I turned around to deal with my orks. I keep meticulous army lists, and while my ork army was my oldest and largest, I still knew exactly how many models were in it. And I was short the gretchin.
"Where are the gretchin?" I asked, one hand on my hip. One ork whistled and looked bashful. The gretchin rappelled and slunk to their master's side.
"New rule," I sighed. "No gretchin in the cupboards."
~ ~ ~
My final surprise was probably the most pleasant. I had always though the Tau were by far the most thoughtful race in Warhammer 40k and my first run-in with them did little to dissuade me from my opinion. They had managed to get on my couch and were trying to figure out how the remote worked. I could hear them talking quietly among themselves. A battlesuit was stepping on the buttons and a water caste reporter was taking notes. The fire caste warriors were fascinated by the World War II footage on the History Channel and were perched on the edge of the thick foam couch.
I cleared my throat to catch their attention and they froze.
"Uh, guys," I began, kneeling in front of the couch to keep their attention. "You're being really calm, which is nice, but I'm gonna need to relocate you. See that table over there?" I said, pointing to an empty coffee table pressed against the wall. "It's all yours."
TBC