Master Sergeant Durgrash sighed and leaned heavily on the chipped stone buttress of the Mannish fortress that was, for the moment, home. He rolled the halfling-weed cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, hawked noisily and spat over the wall.
"One little mistake." he said, addressing the empty scrubland outside the fortress. "One little mistake, and I get sent here." The scorn he put into the final word could have seared the paint off a tank. "Still," he said, lips quirking into a half grin, "As mistakes go, it was a pretty good one. Those Special Undead Service boys, and their boasting that undead orks make the best snipers. Ha!" He fondly patted the cover of his Barrett Light 50 where it hung down over his greenish grey heavily muscled shoulder. "Sixteen pints and I still shot as well as any of them. They shouldn't'a been egging me on, grinning like that." A neutral observer might have pointed out that the rictus grins on the faces of the undead orks weren't exactly by choice.
"Matched their every shot." Durgrash continued. "Well, all bar that last one anyway." He sighed again. That last dark-damned shot. Ok, so he had blown off most of Captain Thrakaskakur's torso. He was SUS, it wasn't like it was a mortal shot. And they sewed his arm back on. Well, most of it. And if that staff car hadn't been parked next to the Huey it wouldn't have got blown up when his errant round had gone into its gas tank.
Damn it, he'd been there right from the day then-Gunnery Sergeant Ashnak had marched through the gates of the fortress at Nin-Eden. He'd been there, on the Fields of Destruction for the Last Battle itself. He slapped his hand against the cut down polearm he wore at his side, some bastard offpring of an oversized meat cleaver and a saw. "Good fighting." he muttered. "Fighting Agaku. Fuckin' A!"
"And now this." he muttered, turning to glance over his BDU covered shoulder at the ruined Man fortress, and the marines within. "Wouldn't be so bad if there was more real Orks here." he said. "We could have some fun. Eat the runt. Pit gangbangs. Hmph. That lot couldn't even manage an orkball game. Elves. Dwarfs. Halflings. Halflings! What is the Corps coming to when we have Dark-damned halfings joining up. Brave new Corps my hairy arse." He stuck a finger up one grimey nostril, rooted around and wiped it on his camo trousers.
He turned to stare morosely over the wall again. Scuttlebutt said there was supposed to be a new el-tee coming in soon. "Probably a squeakie, knowing my luck." he muttered. "I could be out the sales and demonstration teams, starting a few wars, whipping up business, but noooooooooo. Here I am, in the arse end of nowhere, with a bloody Omega company." His pointed and somewhat notched ears drooped. "Worst of the worst. The rejects of the Corps. Hmph!"
His eyes brightened as he saw two female mannish warriors running towards the fortress, primitive weapons in their hands. "Well now." he said, perking up and drawing the Desert Eagle from the holster at his waist. He let them get a bit closer, then brought it up and BOOM! The lead female man stopped like her chest had hit a brick wall. The rest of her kept going, which resulted in a fairly impressive backwards seeming summersault. The landing left more to be desired though. The other threw herself behind a boulder with impressive speed, the second round sending stone chips into the air. Grinning through the discharge he heard her shouting something, but he didn't understand all that much of their lingo. Something about ... holes in the air? Well, whatever it was, it might be worth a look. Much more of the boredom around here and even he would crack. He was even starting to think of the piece of ass on that little halfling that came in last month ... and not basted with red peppers and onions either. With a laugh he marched down off the wall. It was good to be a Marine.
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Anyone else think a freeform game based off "Grunts" by Mary Gentle might be fun?
Edit - on reflection this might be better in the Players Wanted forum. Could I request a mod move it please?