Monkeys

She ambled through the village, smiling. This land was quite lovely, the flaura and fauna a wonder to behold. These monkey-people were savages though, but she knew they lived in balance with the land and so she was prepared to not judge them too harshly.

Ahead of her was a crowd of the monkey-folk, standing around scratching themselves and hooting with laughter at something. She elbowed her way through the throng, her size and strength forcing the diminutive monkey-folk out of the way.
What were they staring at? She thought.

There. In front of her was an orc. Sitting there cross legged, his head in his hands and his breathing ragged and laboured.
Her eyes narrowed, this wasn't just a random orc... This was Grim, and something was wrong. Her heart beat faster in a sudden panic - what would cause Grim to sit like this?
She ran towards him, her hooves thundering. "Grim!" she shouted before skidding to a halt and falling to her knees, her hands reaching for his shoulders.
He looked up, his face was pale, his one eye glistening and red, tears streaked from that eye, dried lines beneath it showing he had been crying for a while. Her heart clenched in her chest as she saw the state he was in.
"Grim... Speak to me... What ails you?" she cried with desperation in her voice.

Grim blinked, staring at her. "The... the... the MONKEY PEOPLE ARE THE FUNNIEST THINGS I HAVE EVER SEEN!!!!" he roared, before collapsing backwards in hysterics.

Sakarah sighed and stood up, brushing the dust from her knees.

"Idiot."

The monkey-folk stared in confusion at the orc hooting madly in front of them.
All the orcs they had met were pretty dour and humourless, this one especially so when he first walked into their village.
Within minutes though, this had happened.
The orc had seen their sacred dances and grooming rituals and then collapsed, screaming.

One monkey-man, bolder than the rest, scuttled forwards and paused, looking over at the hysterical orc.
"Wikket be OK?" he asked, scratching his belly in the ritual sign of concern.

The orc looked up, his eye streaming tears. "AAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHA! AHAHA!"

Braxter, for that was the monkey-man's name, blinked in confusion. This was most odd. Had his ritual belly-scratching offended the orc?
Perhaps he needed to show more respect to the big, green orc?
Braxter sat on his haunches and raised his arms above his head, whooping loudly to show respect, tinged with concern.
The orc rolled onto his front and began slamming his fists into the ground, screaming louder.

Braxter sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Braxter sighed with relief, he'd finally calmed the orc down.
The orc sat in front of him, face pulled into an idiot grin but no longer screaming. The orc had even started speaking to him, asking lots of questions about his village and his people. Some of the answers Braxter had given him caused the orc to wince and make strange snorting sounds. Braxter wondered if words had power in orcish culture and if so, were his words somehow hurting the orc?

"My name is Grim." the orc said, pointing to himself.
"I be Braxter!" he'd responded, beginning the magical dance of introduction, waving his arms above his head and kicking his legs out.
The orc winced again and began to snort.
Braxter stopped the dance. Perhaps his people's magic was too strong for the orc to handle?
Concerned now, Braxter ambled closer to the orc.

Just then another of the monkey-folk rushed over, curiosity overcoming its wariness. The newcomer, Fronk was his name, grabbed at the orc's armour with one hand, the other scratching his own rear-end in the normal respectful curiousity manner.
Braxter panicked and lashed out at Fronk. If their people's magic was powerful enough to cause this orc pain then Fronk's sudden curiousity could kill it!
Fronk backed off, whooping with anger. "Gonna drook you in the grocket!" Fronk yelled.
"Not before I grook you in the drocket!" responded Braxter.
In seconds the two monkey-folk were fighting, Braxter's superior size and longer arms giving him the clear advantage.
Before long Fronk retreated, Braxter's manic slaps defeating him. Fronk backed off and sat down, his knees up by his ears and his hands covering his face.

Good, thought Braxter. Fronk was performing the ritual of defeat appropriately. In response he began the sacred victory dance, waving his arms whilst keeping his legs perfectly still, making the loudest whooping noises he could.
The ritual complete Braxter turned around to make sure the orc was alright. The orc was on its back, his chest moving up and down rapidly, horrible wheezing sounds coming from his throat.
Braxter hopped to the orc's side, looking down at his face. The orc's eye was closed tightly.

Minutes later the orc's eye opened again, seeing Braxter's face looming directly above. The orc roared, causing Braxter to leap backwards in shock. The orc continued roaring and began to beat its arms against the floor again.

Braxter turned to the crowd of monkey-folk still peering at the strange orc.
"Any you got idea?"

The armour was hot and heavy and slowed him down. But he liked it anyway because it made him feel big and tough.
It was nice of the orcs to give them all this metal-work to wear and Braxter imagined it would help keep him alive in any fights with the fish-men.

The orc, who's name was Grim, had stopped screaming yesterday. Two days and nights of his strange howling had begun to grate on Braxter's nerves but it was over now.
All day this orc had been aiding the Kor'Kron in drilling Braxter and the other Hozen 'volunteers', it had been tough, none of them were used to working this hard. There had been a manic glint in the orc's eye and a childish grin on his face all the while though, even when he was bellowing orders and instructions. This had charmed Braxter somewhat and made him believe that whatever Grim was trying to do was for the best.

Grim limped over to Braxter, clapping him on a furry shoulder.
"You will make fine soldiers for the Horde."

"We in the wikkit army? Gonna grook all them drookers?"

"Oh yes. You may not have to though, I imagine they may die laughing first."

Braxter nodded in vague agreement. Perhaps these orcs had some sort of secret laughing weapon?

The slickie-men were horrible.
Braxter loved a good slickie as much as the next hozen. Slickies tasted great and were easy to catch, he'd spent most of his life on the banks of the river catching and devouring slickies.
The slickie-men however, were horrible. Giant slickies walking on legs was weird and the idea of it made Braxter uncomfortable.
Perhaps this was why his people fought the slickie-men? Food shouldn't walk around on two legs, nor should it be more than capable of drooking a hozen in the face.

The only redeeming feature of the slickie-men was that they tasted quite nice.

He hung from a tree branch by his feet, shifting uncomfortably at the weight of his new armour. Hanging there he eyed the slickie-men in the distance. The disgusting walking slickies were also in armour, but their armour was blue.
Braxter knew now that his orc friend Grim had been right. The orc's enemies were arming the hozen's enemies.
What Braxter also knew now was that Grim was a rubbish scout. The lumbering orc's limpy leg ruined any intention of being stealthy and the strange armour he wore clanked and clinked. It was made of little links of metal, whereas Braxter's new armour was made of solid chunks of metal.
The orc couldn't even swing through the trees, or grab things with his feet!
Braxter had persuaded the orc to sit down and stay put a way back, so he didn't alert the slickie-men. So now Braxter just dangled by his feet alone, watching.

He was looking forward to grooking these slickie-men. He'd seen the mess the orcs had made of a group of slickie-men raiders who got too close to the village. He was desperately excited to see that again, but on a bigger scale.

Grinning, Braxter grabbed the closest branch with his tail, swinging over to it and grasping it with his hands. He sprung onto the top of the branch, balancing effortlessly before leaping to the next tree and heading back to Grim.
Life was much more interesting since the orcy wikkits had fallen out of the sky!

Braxter stared at Grim. The orc was sat perfectly still.

Sitting so still was a completely alien concept to Braxter. How could the orc just sit there…? His legs were crossed and his arms were resting on his knees, his one eye closed.

So weird! Braxter thought. The orc wasn’t even twitching. Braxter sat down opposite Grim, crossing his own legs and resting his own arms on his knees.
Taking a deep breath the Hozen closed his eyes.
Exactly 4 seconds later Braxter’s legs began twitching. Then his arms and shortly afterwards he opened his eyes and leapt up, dancing in a frenzy of movement.
Sitting still for so long isn’t natural! Braxter shook the strange sensation of stillness from his limbs and looked back to his green-skinned friend.
The orc was still sat there, oblivious to Braxter’s movements. He’d been like this for hours now.

Braxter had watched the orc travel through a swirly hole that one of the Marauder goblins had created. He’d asked Grim if he could go with him, but he’d said no. He’d mentioned that the people he was going to see weren’t ready to meet Braxter and the other Hozen Auxiliaries.

Hours later Grim had returned, through another swirly hole.
He hadn’t looked happy and he was followed by more Marauders, including the one Grim called Chieftain. This Chieftain was female, which was odd. Braxter wasn’t used to females being in charge.
Females were great, but the idea of them giving orders was slightly worrying.

Another orc had joined them. This one was bigger than Grim but looked poorer, dressed in scraps of armour that smelt strongly of Grummy.
This orc also didn't speak. Braxter had tried to start a conversation but the new orc had just stared at him blankly before making some squiggles on a black piece of slate. He'd waved the slate at Braxter, which had made Braxter panic slightly.

That fearful moment over the Hozen Auxiliaries and the pair of orcs marched South, towards the slicky-man village. Grim had promised them a fight, he'd promised that they'd take the village unawares, burn it, kill all the slicky-men and steal their things.
The Hozen had cheered and whooped, dancing in joy at the news. The new orc had grinned, but still not said anything.

A few hours or marching brought them to a hill overlooking the slicky-man village. The huts and spawning pools clearly visible. The stupid, smelly slicky-men had no idea they were being watched!

Grim stood beneath the shade of a copse of trees, impassively watching the village burn.
It amazed him how deadly the careful application of a small, heavily armed force could be. A dozen Hozen, Oragg and himself had razed the entire village, slaughtered all the fish-folk within and made off with everything that looked vaguely valuable and only suffered two casualties. One Hozen had died to a fish-man trident and another had stabbed himself in the foot with his spear while shouting and waving his weapons around excitedly after the fight.
Grim turned, nodding at Oragg and Braxter standing side by side. Both had fought superbly.
He liked Oragg, liked the orc’s habitual silence and willingness to follow orders. Braxter too, the Hozen’s enthusiasm for carnage was contagious.

“Move out. Back to Sri-La.” Grim ordered.
Oragg saluted by way of reply, a smile crossing his grizzled features. Braxter whooped happily, waving an ornate metal shield he had looted from the fish-men.
Minutes later the raiding force began the long march back to their temporary home.

Braxter carefully laid his new shield down on the grass and signalled ‘halt’ to the raiding force. The two orcs stopped and knelt, trusting him. This obvious trust warmed Braxter’s heart and he paused to smile toothily at his green-skinned friends.
This pleasant sensation ended quickly as the other Hozen stopped noisily, banging into each other and arguing. Braxter snarled at them, baring his fangs.
Noticing his anger the other Hozen stopped shoving each other and looked sheepishly at the floor, shuffling nervously.
Braxter gestured ahead and began to crawl forwards, his metal armour tearing gouges from the soft earth. He pulled himself to the top of a low rise, glancing behind himself to make sure the rest were following.
He gestured again, pointing at a strange sight.

Three figures were standing by a fallen statue. The ground beneath them was blackened, glowing strangely. Braxter didn’t understand how the colour black could glow, but it was happening right in front of him.
He narrowed his eyes, idly picking up a small beetle that had stopped to stare at him. He quickly dropped the bug into his mouth, crunching it absent-mindedly.
The three figures ahead of him looked like the human-wikkits that Grim had told him were their enemies, but they looked hunched over and he was almost sure he could see bones showing through their clothing.
“Forsaken.” Grim whispered into his ear. “What are they doing?”
“Dunno. They be on our side?” Braxter replied.
He was sure these Forsaken-wikkits were on the same side as his new friends. He’d seen some shambling around Sri-La in Marauder colours. They smelt funny.
“Never assume anything Braxter.” Came Grim’s whispered reply.

The three Forsaken were up to something. One was scraping the blackened earth into strange, see-through containers, another was waving its arms around, black sparks flying from its hands. The third seemed to be standing guard, a crossbow cradled in its arms.
As Braxter watched he could see the blackened, glowing earth shudder and strange forms began to rise from it. Twisted, glowing forms, all teeth and claws. He felt rage build inside him, anger at his lack of understanding of what was happening. Anger at his fellow Hozen for being so fractious and noisy, anger at his new orc friends for being so bossy…
An armoured hand clapped onto his shoulder-guard, he flinched and looked up, seeing the silent orc, Oragg staring at him.
The silent orc grimaced and shook his head. Braxter took a deep breath, steadying himself.