darkSpyro

In the case of a story I go to bed and just play it out in my head. I just have two characters talking or plotting a generic mission until something about it just works, and if not, there's always tomorrow. Or just picture a scenario, which for me happens naturally. Last night I recall, in just a fraction of a second, a picture of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka and Commissar Yarrick duking it out in one last stand to decide the fate of Armageddon flashed in my mind. Now I could just dismiss the image, or I could imagine what would happen if that were Commissar Johnbonne? For starters, he'd throw away that bolt pistol and charge headlong into the Beast of Armageddon. He may even remember to rev up his chainsword, which he's held up in the air as he yells unintelligible ramblings about some kind of purple dragon and kebabs! The Beast has encounted the Commissar before, so he doesn't question the 'umie's Orkiness and throws himself at the small man. With hair flowing in the acrid winds of The Poo-Gas Wastes, Johnbonne's tongue wagged as he uttered a battle cry to match Thraka's own. "COMO EMPEZAR UNA PARTIDE NUEVA!", he bellowed as he struck Thraka's hydrolic power armoured knee, before headbutting the collossal ork in the crotch. Bringing down the titan to size, the Commissar climbed up the various mechanics and veiny muscles of the giant, leaving his chainsword lodged and grinding through the beast's knee. He wasn't a particularly good climber, but his bloodlust forced him to scrabble up the enormous mass of muscle to reach his face. Thraka clawed with his robotic pincer, determined to cut this 'umie down to size, but achieved nothing in his mad swinging.
"YOU'Z MUCKIN' ABAART 'UMIE! YOU AY BIG ENUFF TA STOP ME--, AAAAAGH!" Screamed the big green galoot, as Johnbonne challenged the Ork's statement by grabbing a hold of his huge tusks and pulling them apart. He freed them from their gummy captor, and proceeded to clamber onto the Ork. Ghazghkull furiously swiped about, but the Commissar could not be turned from his course. He thrust the two dentures into the Warboss' temples and leapt off with the grace of a Callidus assassin. As he stood and wiped the oozing innards of the Ork, which fell forward and face down, the tusks borrowing deeper into his skull until they burst out of the other side, he looked up to see the horror of man and Ork alike. All was still until he opened his mouth, and after that cold pause where Armageddon was - for once - at peace, the frenzy raced through his mind, and burnt at his eyes. "ANY GIT 'OO WANTS TO JOIN MY FLEET, SAY NOW OR I'LL CRUMP YER 'EADS IN!" Yelled the Commissar. And that's how the 22nd War for Armageddon was won.