Arry's Ancestor ...

It's been a while and yes, it's been quiet. The lads have been itching for a scrap and I don't blame them. This is one of those times when you know trouble's just around the corner, with a length of two by four and a murderous expression. It's only natural to get grouchy and irritable. A few fights broke out between them but it just served to break the tension... Boys will be boys and all that ...

... I asked Bullet-Nose if he knew any secret spells or incantations, you know, any of that Ratskin mumbo-jumbo that might help their morale but he laughed at me and just walked away. Bloody Ratskins.

We're all sitting around, grumpy because we can't do anything. You've always got to have a full camp when you're expecting touble. Let up for a second and it'll come crashing down on you, like an upper level in a Hive-Quake. Another night of dross and the same old crap, same old stories: Vinny, banging on about being King of the Spire... Donny trying to get the lads going in a hymn to the Emperor (some of those hymns are actually pretty good but when you're hearing them for the fourth time in a day ...) ... and Loki flipping his new eyepatch up to scare locals (at least that still gets a laugh, hur hur!).

That's when Bee-En walks in with this massive thing chucked over his shoulder ... a wreck of an animal, it was ... all shell and claw. Never seen anything like it. Mutie, for sure.

"What's that?" I ask him ...

"Hatchet-Hand, not want to know ... Just want to eat!" ... That damned dirty, scar faced grin of his. Then we're all outside except Donny, who's a little bit funny about what he eats, around the grill pit, watching Bee-En take the shell and tail off of this thing ... The legs go and clatter somewhere in the dark, as he lobs them over his shoulder. The guts get lobbed in the fire, where they hiss and stink for a second, before actually smelling kind of nice. When the thing's finally on the spit and cooking, we all realise that this thing might actually taste alright.

I popped open a couple of bottles of Wildsnake. I'd kept them back for a while and the boys have been tense as anything so I thought to let them blow off a little steam. When it gets handed to Bee-En, sitting there solemnly, he leans back with a big sigh and says ... right in front of everyone, like! He says a name that I haven't heard in a few years, got a holo of him somewhere around here ...

"Chopper Charlie." Everyone turned and looked at him. Everyone knows Chopper Charlie. He was a legend among the Orlocks for a long while. Some of his tales were still being told when I was young and he was an old man by then. My Grampa Charlie. They've dried up of late but everyone gets told a story or two about Chopper when they're young. It wouldn't be an Orlock's bedtime without it, though everyone was stunned when Bullet-Nose mentioned the name.

"I meet him once ... at a Renegade camp. My Father's Badskin Tribe. I was very young then. He was old, like my Grandfather. He sat long one night with my Father and they swapped stories. They knew each other from a time, long past. This fire reminds me of that night. The head rags and everything ..." Bee En indicated our house attire. We wear bandanas and tabards, decorated with out family or gang markings, depending on where our allegiance lies strongest. There's a mix of markings in my gang. We're not too strict about gak like that.

"Chopper was a Hatchet Hand, like you Hatchet-Hand!" The boys laughed at Bee En's pet name for me... They almost never get to hear him speak ... they looked like little children, even Vinny. Donny had come outside to listen and was drinking something strong looking ... vapour was coming off of it.

"He was a very funny man. He told long stories about Grandfather and Himself, defending the Uphivers from the Fire-Spitters (Redemptionists, a fire cult ... Bee-En calls Donny a fire spitter) and the Grey-Skins (Scavvies ... they're a bit ... diseased ...). They lost many men but kept on fighting. They drank much, to the memories of their lost friends. They fell asleep. Chopper woke up and walk away, swearing and shaking his head. The Wildsnake is bad for the mind. Be careful Hatchet-Hand."

He made the boys laugh that night. Mostly at my expense but I didn't begrudge it to him. The lads were getting merry as hell and it'd been a long time since they'd even stuck their heads outside the bar.

"What did he look like?" That one from Loki, who'd never actually spoken to the Fearsome Ratskin.

"Like Hatchet-Hand ... but more bent, more broken. Scarred from many fights. One eye sat in his head, looking out at everything like it was ... big joke. He had eyepatch like you." Loki beamed at this and all the other lads threw their bandanas at him, groaning.

"Do you remember any of the stories he told?" This from Donny, who remembered all the stories Grampa used to tell, just fine. My suspicions started to be raised then.

"As it happens, Fire-Spitter ... I listened well: and I remember every, single word ..."

He took a deep breath and began ...