Chapter IV: ORKY (Part I)

The foreboding warning of Snik Pineshrieker had initially not set off alarm bells in my head, primarily because I didn't inherently see the problem in a single supply train for the camp being raided.

Only a few days later did I come to understand that, of course, Ork settlements didn't believe in vital things such as 'food storage' and 'rationing'. After all, I quickly realized in this time of crises that Greenskins could apparently photosynthesize for a substantial amount of time before needing food- unlike most other races.

And here was my downfall so clearly defined- for all the philosophy I spouted, all the emotions that broiled within, all the planning and observation and preparedness, even being contacted by a near-deity; I had failed to account for something I hadn't even seen before. This camp had not once failed to provide food supply over the long years I had been stuck here; perhaps because of its military prowess, or lack of 'fighty' neighbors for dozens of miles. But luck would always flip the coin to the opposite side eventually.

Those in the village who were not Greenskins began to suffer from a food shortage. It was slow, at first. And obviously, those running the portions of camp with non-Greenskin labor apparently didn't care enough to inform everyone else of this soon-to-be starvation crisis. A thousand reasons why this was, but only one result occurred.

Desperation.

"M-My Liege!"

I awoke groggily, on the first day of this realization, to the urgent screeching of Strosk, my de facto second-in-command, who was shaking me plentifully and propelled me to my wavering feet. I stumbled out of the tent yawning, listening to the reports of Strosk about today's occurrences. I had spent a few days away from the camp to gather more intel on the ruling Ork gangs of this camp, to prepare for my eventual overthrow of its ruling hierarchy.

"What is it now, Strosk?"

"The 'umies aren't bein' productive today! Deyz keep slouchin' around and moanin' and groanin', tryna slack off from da work! I'z tried 'ta yell at 'em to get 'ta sloggin', but deyz won't move no matta what!"

I furrowed my eyebrows in tired curiosity. I had already implemented rest days (days where certain humans/Greenskins didn't need to do any work) to increase productivity and apply these laborers in rotating shifts. It was more efficient than working them to death and spending their energy on short-term gain, and it sure as hell bolstered their happiness with my 'rule'.

I had no clue when exactly I'd been appointed as the unofficial leader and 'big boss' of this camp outside the camp, but it seemed to occur without words, and thanks to the efforts of Strosk, Elma and (shockingly) Baske and Malte, both of whom had managed to convince a large portion of the human slave population in this camp to migrate to my pithy settlement.

As I casually made my way towards our work camp, listening to the ramblings of Strosk, I felt an uneasiness and dread that paired with the words Strosk spoke. As if I were anticipating some unseemingly revelation that was beyond my rationale.

And… I did.

("Cloudy", by Brand X Music)

As I emerged outside of the camps, horror and guilt accompanied my thoughts once a terrible sight came into view.

Most of the human workers were slouched over their workstations, pale and thin-bodied, working haplessly despite their decaying state. In contrast, the Greenskins of goblins, gretchins and snotlings were continuing in their labor without any kind of issues, seemingly uncaring or mildly bothered by the starving human labor only feet or mere inches away from themselves.

My god… what had I done? Why had this occurred? Why wasn't I informed of this?!

I looked wrathfully down at Strosk, my enraged gaze trying to defer guilt onto the one below me; and simultaneously looking for an answer to this egregious situation. Strosk could interpret the gaze and shivered, raising his hands and adopting a very submissive and weakling demeanor to appease me.

"My liege! Wot's got ya so grumpin'? Don't kill me, PLEASE!"

The sudden change from concern to pleading for his life was jarring, but not so much as the mass starvation I was witnessing before my very own eyes. I couldn't believe it. Two, three, four- however many fucking years I'd spent here, I'd made absolute surety to look over my human laborers, especially my own villagers.

Dejectedly, I fell to my knees, staring emptily at the withering bodies of those who'd been alongside me for time untold. Only a few days- any longer and I would have arrived to corpses.

I knew what caused this. My own… fucking… stupidity. Why… WHY did I put a Greenskin in charge of a mixed-slave population? Like they would be the ones to manage efficiently. I had been too passive and uncaring about the management and health of the camp; operating almost solely on Greenskin-like behavior. It was my own fear, my own desperation and lust for more power that led me to forget the fragile nature of my own race.

I picked myself up from the ground, grabbing Strosk by the shoulder and tightening my grip unwarily out of spiking determination and seething regret.

"I've been served food while my laborers are perishing…?" I muttered, aimed at Strosk to give me more information on how this tragedy had even occurred. I'd only spent a few days away from camp…

"Obviously, big boss! Youz da leada, youz get 'ta eat! We'z run outta crumbs for da slaves some suns ago, and now deyz becomin' an ungrateful lot!"

"Give them my food." I ordered him. His face contorted in utter perplexity.

"You wot, Lord Enos?! Youz wanna give deez slum-dwellin' pinkskins ya hard-earned nomz-"

"GIVE- THEM- ALL- OF- MY- FOOD!"

Once more, an inherent and dormant power burst out from my body and wove itself into the fabric of my words, having a physical outward effect of sending minor shockwaves through the dirt underneath me. Strosk was clearly affected, stumbling and falling backwards on his arse, scraping and bowing to me in utter fealty.

"As youz command, King!"

More days passed. The slaves had been slow-fed the meat and vegetables from my stockpile; suffering from malnutrition, these humans would actually die if I gave them an abundance of food to feast upon immediately; how I knew these things, I wasn't sure, but I attributed this unknown wisdom to Malal, and decided to throw some meat and fruits into a bonfire to give thanks to him. I wasn't sure if this was heretical to the God I believed in, but considering the circumstances of this insane world I was sure He would be understanding of my predicament.

I was now lacking a source of food myself; all the food that was being scrounged or gained was immediately sent to my human laborers to keep them well-fed. The guilt of being so negligent to their conditions had sent me into a mental spiral of despair and internalization of self-loathing. This also meant that I was slowly beginning to starve myself, though I did my best to hide it from everyone else.

Even at the nights by the cliffhang, proffering Azur for a magical solution to my hunger, he shook his meaty head in response to the questions I asked.

"Sorriez, Enos! Dunno any spellz 'ta get rid o' da tummy ache!"

I should've expected such. As much as I wanted to share my recent revelations with the entity, Malal, that I'd spoken with, I was too deprived of sustenance to foster any meaningful thoughts in my head and talk with Azur.

Alas, there came a day where I could no longer abide by the dying food source in the camp. I came to Snaggi, humbly asking for any morsels of food he happened to have stockpiled. A troubled frown came over his gnarled face, and he dug through his belongings and eventually unearthed a cooked human arm. Its hand was cut off, leaving only the stump of the seared arm that gruesomely resembled an oversized tomahawk steak; its flesh showing signs of being smoked like jerky meat.

My stomach turned at the sight, though my hunger roared for its contents, uncaring for the morality of cannibalism. I stared at it, fighting between the hesitation of stooping to such a horrific low, and the innate carnal desire of feasting upon this meat to keep myself alive.

"Where did you… procure that?"

"Yooz gonna take it or fackin' wat?"

"...Do you have… a difference race perchance?"

"DIS AIN'T A MERCHANT STALL! GET THE FAHK OUT!"

Meandering out of Snaggi's elevated hut, I stared at the limb in my hands, having a disconnect with reality; this situation was so morbid and horrific that it was becoming almost cartoonish.

I couldn't dare take this back to the outer camp worksite, and so hurried to a nearby cove near the western wall. My desperation grew. I was horrified at this prospect, feeling as if I were re-living the trauma of watching the Greenskins tear apart and consume the villagers all over again. This was… desecration beyond reconcile.

I could stand it no longer; It had been at least seven days since I'd eaten at all, especially meat, and the temptation of such sustenance before me was too much for my sapped will. Shamefully, I tore the cooked arm from his grasp, retreating quickly to the cliffhang I found comfort in as the evening dusk settled in over the rock-barren landscape.

I gazed down at my morbid meal, a mixture of horror and primitive hunger throwing my emotions through the washer.

I bit into it.

…

…

…

It…

Tasted like… pork.

I could barely restrain myself from tearing into the cooked flesh, ravaging its contents with wild abandon for both my morality and my sanity. I was hungry. Hungry. HUNGRY.

Yet with each tear into the arm, I felt a monsoon of guilt and sin toiling through my insides. What horrors had led me to this utter low point in my second life. What terrors had galvanized me to discovering the depths of my shameless depravity. What misfortune led me to this camp, adopting its behaviors and customs as if they were my own, with only slightly-less savagery than the Greenskins.

This arm… belonged to someone. Probably one of the other… slaves at the camp.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!

I hurled the arm into the air, limping feverishly back to my little community. I was losing my sanity, and the chunk of human meat that had granted me enough energy to make it back quickly tore through my psyche with slow-gnawing guilt.

I was a desecrator, and each day in this godless encampment was turning me more feral with each atrocious act.

"'UMIE!"

A boiling surge of irritation and rage began swelling from my toes to my head, and I swiveled my torso to bear witness to one of the biggest Orks I'd seen around the camp- Locke Spinerippa, an enforcer and Big 'Un of the Backbreaker Boyz who'd made his presence known to me late into Strosk creating a worksite outside the main camp. We had negotiated a form of tribute to the Backbreaker gang in exchange for not being bothered by the other gangs of the settlement, and that was what'd likely kept us undisturbed for a number of years.

That time had ended. He stormed up to me, towering over my 7 foot demeanor with his easily 9 foot stature. He brought his menacing gaze upwards to see Shrak's decayed and fly-ridden upper torso still hanging from the tree, and the Ork bellowed in raucous and cruel laughter.

"YOOZ CUNNIN' IF YOO COULD KILL DAT LI'L SNEAKY BASTUHD! BEEN A THORN IN ME SOIDE FOR MONTHS!"

His gaze fell back down on me, reverting back to the usual snarl-grimace characteristic of most Orks.

"IF YOOZ WAS ORKY, I'D 'AVE LET YA TAKE 'IS JOB AS DA COLLECTA! 'SA NOICE AND COM-FEE OKK-YEW-PAY-SHUN! BUT YOOZ A PINSKIN! AN' YA KRUMPED ONE O' ME COLLECTAS! SO NOWZ OIM RAY-ZIN' DA TRIBUTE TAX TO…."

The belligerent Ork's yell-speaking faded out of my mind with a vibrant hum. I was losing my mind. My grip on reality. My convictions and vengeance. I had never truly understood just how debilitating and soul-churning it was to starve. I had never fully comprehended just how dependent the human race was on sustenance. I could physically feel my inner systems shutting down, and where frustration and loathing would have been for this Greenshit speaking to me, I could only feel tiredness and exhaustion.

Sanity slipping, I pondered a rather outrageous thought- sizing up the Ork in front of me in a different kind of way. He had plenty of muscle and fiber on him.

I wonder what he tasted like.