Down at Tactics browsing the $1 Warhammer pile I found a very cool statuette of a tiny little Gnome who, in his hand, held an oversized knife in threatening display. Beside the gnome were two little green men, who I could only assume were meant to be Orcs. The figurines had all been painted already, most likely by a small child or an ape at the zoo. I saw that, if given the right training, spare time, energy and motivation, I would have done a way better job on the paintwork. However, I knew I had exactly $3 in my pocket, and with the three little men being a dollar each, the coincidence seemed charged with too much Divinity to ignore. On the walk to the checkout, the Warhammers were practically shaking out of my hands, for I was so excited to get home and finally play my very first game of the tabletop classic, Warhammers.

On looking at the rules however, I realised they were very complex and hard to follow and that I would need to purchase many many more little men if I ever wanted to play the same game that the guys at Games Workshop say they play. I thought, well, I might not be able to have a proper game of Warhammer just yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with my new toys! I closed my bedroom door and set the scene:

In the medieval land of Warhammers, no one (especially gnomes!) is safe from Orcs: those short yucky green blokes with big bug eyes and sinful thoughts. Next to a shack made out of a mushroom there lived a small gnome named Benjamin who, one morning, was busy practicing his Runic Calligraphy by carving a cool ‘S’ into the stump of a tree. As he chipped in the last notch he was shocked to realise that he had accidentally opened up a great big GnomeHole to the horrible land of Gnome Hell: a place reserved for only the most Despicable Gnomes, sent there by the GnomeCops to suffer eternally in the company of the Orcs, who lived there too in a permanent state of ecstasy. The sound of grunting and general Orc Vibe was getting dangerously stronger, and by the time Benjamin had even managed to close the GnomeHole (by painting a little face on the ‘S’ as to turn it into a happy snake), right out of the hole fell two mischievous and boned up Orcs, landing together CLUMP on the ground. Surprised not for long, they Straight away continued their Orc antics of Orc fucking and Orc procreating on the poor Gnome’s Gwoodgwork table, where Benjamin would often relax and participate in his gwoodgwork. When Orc One attempted an inverse missionary position, placing his Left Bortoc and Right Bortoc on the corresponding Bortocs of the the face-down second Orc, Benjamin felt very jostled, and further jostled did he feel upon seeing their vibrating Orce Cheeks knock several of his half-gwittled Elves to the floor. As Benjamin ran to pick up one of his fallen gwoodgwork babies, he saw that his elf’s helmet had been irreparably dented – and this was not okay.

“Gnet your Stankigng Orc Orces oarf my GnordDnam Gwittling Table!!!” Benjamin growled, retracting his gnife, “…Or Oirl be Gwittling a Gnew Orc OrifiCe in’yr Stangkign Orce’cheeks.”

Shocked and startled, the two Orcs came to a stop, sand-papery Bortocs flushed and smoking from the hot friction of their engagements. A tense silence followed between the angered Gnome and the unwelcome guests; Orc One looking at Orc Two who, crossing his Orms, turned his head to meet the gaze of Orc One, also now crossing his Orms. The two Orcs came to a non-verbal consensus by flexing their Orcbrows in Morc-code. Then, turning their heads in unison to look at Benjamin, they opened their jowls simultaneously in preparation for their response…

“Horce Borceness orce it’f Yorce horce Orses wee Rubbin Weraborce?”

At this point my date was knocking on the door, so I quickly put the Warhammers down and made sure to separate the Orcs before questions could be raised. Oh hey, I said. Good to see you. She walked into my room, not looking at her feet, and suddenly jerked one back. ‘Ow!’ she said, and plucked the little gnome from her foot, it’s gnife now missing. You think that hurts? I said. Imagine how Benjamin must feel. Ha ha.

‘Benjamin?’ she frowned. ‘Oh,’ she said, holding the crippled Gnome to her eye. ‘A Dwarf?’

Yeah, I replied. A Dwarf. I painted it myself.


Words by Rainy Colbert. Art by Danyon Burge.
This article first appeared in print volume 88 Edition 3 SOAP.

By Pelican Magazine

Pelican Magazine acknowledges the Whadjuk Noongar people as the Traditional Custodians of the land—Whadjuk Boodja—on which we live, write, and work. We pay our respects to Elders past and present. // Pelican is the second-oldest student publication in Australia and the only independent paper at UWA. If you like having opinions, writing, drawing, and/or free tickets to local events, then Pelican is the place for you! We print SIX themed issues a year, and run a stream of online content. // Email your 2024 Editors (Abbey Wheeler and Jack Cross) here: [email protected] // Where to find us: Upstairs in Guild Village. Address: M300, 35 Stirling Highway, Crawley 6009 WA // Pelican Magazine of the UWA Student Guild & The University of Western Australia.

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