Platork

“Consider,” the elderly ork said, holding up a shoota to the assembly, “Dakka.” The other orks murmured in agreement. He reached behind him and picked up a double-barrelled kustom shoota, holding it up for all to see. “Now consider; moar Dakka.” The crowd this time were more enthusiastic in their assent, some clapping, some calling out. “Now,” he said, fixing them with a wink and a wry smile, “da MOST Dakka!” 

With a dramatic flourish, he gestured grandly to a huge pile of guns a pair of grots had just pulled a canvas cover off of. The room exploded, orks bellowing their wild endorsement. Some flexed, others mimed firing guns into the air. Fistfights broke out, orks pummelling each other in rapturous accord. Eventually, it all became too much and they all went for the pile of guns, grabbing what they could and spilling out into the streets. Roving bands of nascent philorksophers boiled through the scrap-city, shooting everything in sight and writing the teachings of Platork in bullet holes for all to see.

Comments

CvS said…
Zoë -

I'm late to your game, but after reading what you've put down here find myself compelled to reach out in unqualified salute. Your brain is a good brain, as evidenced by your gooder words, and the ideas you're exploring here are a tantalizing breath of fresh air that makes me willing to risk imagining a future state for this body of lore we all love but sometimes have to sheepishly shrug at. I'm constantly fascinated by the way a small, winking story told by a small, winking subculture over a pile of (probably carcinogenic) white-metal miniatures has willed itself forward into an expansive world that's been put in a position to reverse-worldbuild in response to the swell of enthusiasm it's found. I hope that thinkers such as yourself continue to be a part of that cart-pulling-the-horse exercise in converting lumpy, flash-laden lead into high-precision plastics.

tl;dr: you rule.
14/11/2022, 21:48
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