Author's Note

This is a part of the Jest Days of Christmas, where I update something every single day of December. Go check out the link for the full list and check back everyday for a new update!

Armorin' All Up!

When I awoke it was not with a titanic surge of strength, or an explosion of power, but rather a lethargic grapple with the ground. Clawing my way from the earth like a zombie who woke up on the wrong side of the tombstone, it took a few minutes for me to escape. Once I did, I sat there in the divot I had created in the center of the tower and scratched my head absently.

I yawned, and looked around, taking stock of my surroundings just like I always did. The rubble and detritus were long gone, and the door was secure once more. Despite me shoring up the tower, and patching a few holes to make it more homey, I could still hear the rain outside.

“Still raining, eh? How miserable,” I muttered to myself.

Rising to my full height, I released another long yawn and shook the dirt out of my pants. I then adjusted my armor, retied my boots, and trundled over to the door. Halfway over and I could already tell that I hadn't gained an inch of height despite just how good, and close that last fight had been.

“Zogg,” I spat bitterly.

Confirming my height, I took a few more measurements before finding that no, I had not grown at all. My arm felt better, and the stitches had fallen out so that was good but I had hoped I’d awaken to be the size of a warboss.

A little bitter, but still not feeling too bad, I opened the door and began walking down towards the forge. Along the way, I noticed that the small group of parasprites that seemed to follow me around had grown slightly. Adding a new member, the rather rotund and green-eyed bugs sat under a nearby overhang, watching me.

I gave them a wave, to which they bobbed up and down as if waving back to me. I’m fairly certain they made that weird chittering noise too, but I couldn't hear them over the sound of the rain. Thinking of the rain, I stopped at about the midway point between my tower and the forge and looked up.

Though it was still coming down pretty hard, the sun’s rays were creeping through gaps and openings amongst the cloud cover. It wouldn't be long before the storm finally dissipated, but from the look of it, I was still in for another half day or so of rain. Though a little on the cool side, the rain wasn't enough to make me so much as shiver, even with my rather minimal coverings.

I turned my gaze downward and made my way over to the forge, intent on using it. Once I got the thing hot, I gathered up the broken remains of Pig Sticka, and the iron ingot that I had been gifted. I was about to set to work reforging the blade when I realized something.

Did I really need to make a sword? I could make an axe, or a warhammer, or maybe…

I had to stop before my brain started going through every weapon in existence. Focusing on what would be most effective, I tried to imagine making a chain axe, or a chain sword, but the idea didn't coalesce in my mind. Writing that off for now, I decided to shift my focus and feed the parasprites while I thought of what I wanted to make.

As I walked over to the small outbuilding between the forge and my tower, the parasprites gathered, drawn by the promise of food. The little buggers were surprisingly easy to train, and already they had gotten used to being fed whenever I walked towards the shed. Popping inside I grabbed the carcass of a wolf that tried to jump me on my way back from the chimera fight.

I tore off its limbs with several short, sharp cracks. After that, I tore apart the rest of its body, until I had created enough individual pieces to feed all the parasprites a good-sized portion with a few extra bits. With that done, I turned back around to find that they were sitting on the dilapidated fence a few feet away, their big bug eyes staring at me.

“Whose hungry?” I asked, waving a chunk of meat.

The parasprites bobbed excitedly up and down while making chirping noises. I chucked a chunk at the first one, before going down the line, watching as each of the bugs swallowed the meat whole. They then flew back to their perch after a short waiting period where they presumably digested their food.

That was until about the halfway mark when a parasprite suddenly started making a weird gagging noise as if they were going to produce another of their kind. Then instead of horking out a copy of themselves, they spat out a hunk of metal nearly as big as my fist. Inside the twisted mass was a discarded fork, a broken shovel, bits of wire, and even what looked like a fire poker that one would use for a fireplace.

“Wot da hell?” I murmured.

Picking up the half-digested mass I turned it around in my hand, studying it closer. Somehow all these different kinds of metals were fused together, confusing me. They were also bigger than the entire parasprite was, which was also confusing but that was probably some kind of magic.

I glanced down at the parasprite in confusion and noticed that it was staring back with a nervous look on its face. Like a dog that had been caught peeing on the couch, it was wincing already, readying itself to be disciplined. That was not something I intended on doing, however, and instead of hitting it, I reached down and began to pet the thing.

“Whose a gud little bugaboo, yer are. Yes, ya are," I cooed.

The parasprite flinched and was tense for a second before chittering and pushing itself against my hand. After a few seconds of petting the creature, I reached back and produced another small section of meat. I then dropped the treat into the maw of the parasprite and watched as it gobbled it up excitedly.

“Keep it up,” I declared.

The rest of the parasprites looked from me to their companion, then to the mass of metal, and back to me. I could see the gears churning in their primitive little heads as they put two and two together. After a few seconds, they all took off in every direction, no doubt seeking out more metal to procure for me.

I chuckled as I watched them fly fearlessly into the wind and rain. With the block in hand, I set off back to the forge, intent on making something useful out of the scrap I had been given. I had decided to just let the idea of making a new weapon rest at the back of my mind while I made the rest of my armor.

I knew instinctively that I had enough metal for one arm, and enough leather for both arms, given my recent success hunting. To that end, I used all my metal, save for a sliver of the original Pig Sticka, and created enough armor to cover my right arm. Thick, heavy, and studded with intimidating spikes around the shoulder, it was the very picture of Orkish armor, minus the paint. The gauntlet also sported several large spikes, each big enough to be a weapon in its own right.

Looking at it, I felt immensely prideful, but also rather foolish as I was now completely out of metal. I still had the spiked gauntlet though so I wasn't completely unarmed, but I still felt a bit silly for having wasted all of my metal. I had been in the zone though, and for some reason, I couldn't help but burn through all of my supplies.

I was about to head out in search of prey or metal when a trio of parasprites returned. They then spat out three blobs of partially digested, fused-together scrap and sat there expectantly.

“Ya are gett'n more useful by ‘da day,” I exclaimed.

Retrieving a snack for each, I gave them a little pet before scooping up the metal they had left behind. That was enough for a dagger or short sword I realized, so I set about forging just that only to stop. The fluttering sound of tiny wings was nearly deafening, overpowering the dull boom of thunder and the constant pitter-patter of the rain on the hole-riddled roof.

More metal was deposited, more snacks were handed out, and more pets were given. At the end of it, I had a fair-sized mound of the stuff and a small pack of happy parasprites sitting back on their perch. A glance at all the scrap confirmed to me that they had likely found a stash of rust-covered arms and armor somewhere.

By the looks of it, they were a mix of blues and golds, meaning that my little bugs had stumbled upon the castle of the two sisters, or perhaps an old battlefield. Either way not only did I have enough for my other arm, but also a helmet, and even a weapon or two. It was quite the haul once they were all done puking on the forge floor, and I was thankful for their efforts.

Starting things off, I created the other arm and then got it all linked together to create a full, functioning suit of scrap plate armor. It was incredibly heavy, with some pieces likely weighing more than the average full-sized adult pony. They probably didn't need to be quite that thick, but I was strong, and I was going to be facing off against the worst the galaxy had to offer so the bigger the better in my opinion.

The helmet wasn't quite so easy, as orks had rather large, and prominent jaws that complicated matters. I also wanted to keep my jaw functional in case I wanted to bite something, so a helmet grille or bucket helm was out of the question. After a a bit of fumbling around I was able to create exactly what I was thinking of, a giant iron jaw heavy enough that even I felt the weight of it.

At the end of it all, I expected to have little to no metal left, but I actually had quite a bit of the stuff. The tiny sprite ingots as I was calling them, were dense, and after a bit of work provided me with quite a bit of material to work with. Leaving me with enough to create a long sword, and a short blade, or perhaps something different.

Swords, or really any bladed weapon would require frequent maintenance, and they wouldn't be the toughest things in the world. Orks were hard on their tools of war, plus slashing weapons historically sucked against armored targets. Sure a force sword, or something like that got around it, but in reality, a normal sword would kind of suck.

“Wot iz gud against armor?” I thought aloud.

Then it came to me, the medieval flanged mace was especially good at crushing armor, and killing the wearer. A mace would also require no maintenance, would be easy to make, and would be far more effective against a space marine than a choppa. A larger variant like a maul or great maul would be an effective crowd clearer, and it would be easy to make.

Setting to work, I made a large, heavy mace and a smaller short sword forged with a sliver of the original Pig Sticka. With those two weapons in hand, I felt almost complete, it just lacked one final thing to really tie it all together. Looking around, I tried to think of what that may be, only for my gaze to settle on the door to the tower.

“Aha,” I exclaimed.

I jogged over, grabbed the freshly reinstalled door, and tore it off its hinges. I then set to work adding a set of handles, and a bit of reinforcement. Once it was done I had a large wooden tower shield nearly as tall and as wide as I was.

“Oooh dis feels goood,” I muttered.

I swore I could feel Gork and Mork smiling down on me from whatever heavenly realm they inhabited. I felt ready, whole, and able to face off against just about anything with a good chance of beating it to a pulp. With my blood pumping, and my fighting urge piqued, I set off into the woods with my shield in one hand, mace in the other, and short sword strapped to my belt.

I let the forest take me once more, though this time I felt as though I was going nowhere slowly. Every other time it had been like there was a destination, only I didn't know exactly where it lay. During my time out I could sense that I had been getting closer until all of a sudden, I stumbled upon it.

Now, however, it felt like I was well and truly lost.

“Hmmm,” I muttered.

My booted feet splashed through a puddle, my enormous foot displacing its entire contents and leaving behind a small crater. After a few more steps, I slowed to a stop and began to look around in an attempt to find a target. I could feel a strange tug drawing me towards the swampier area of the wood, but that draw was not like the one I had felt before.

Where the forest simply moved the ground under my feet and drew me there by moving itself, this was like something calling out to me. Except the call was almost like a high-pitched whine like the kind you’d hear if you listened to really loud static. It wasn't a perfect metaphor, but it felt fitting, as the noise was like a call and yet not at the same time.

Disquieted, I continued on, tromping through the swampland in search of something that could challenge me. I walked for several more minutes before stumbling upon a cragadile half hidden in the muddy waters. It looked to be fairly big, especially when compared to the one seen in the show, but even then it couldn't hope to rival me in size.

Resembling an enormous alligator with a thick, rocky hide and tusks that pointed upward from its bottom jaw, it was intimidating. Or at least it would be if I wasn't bigger then it by a fair margin. Still, it was a tough critter, and would at least put up a fairly decent fight, I assumed.

I stopped myself before releasing a war cry and decided that I would use this creature to test my armor. If it could take the thunderous blow of an enormous lizard then I’d feel confident in its protective qualities. Unsure of if the fight would even be a good one, I decided to put off the decision to actually engage the thing in true combat.

For now, at least, I’d simply let it wail on me for a bit.

With that thought in mind, I stepped forward and banged my mace against my shield several times. The loud thunk noise woke the cragadile and prompted it to slowly turn towards me. Once its gaze settled on me, the thing flinched back, as if intimidated by me. Though unsurprising given my size, and the dull grey scrap armor I was covered with, that reaction finalized my decision to not actually fight it.

The critter would be my sparring partner and that was it.

“Come on then,” I mocked. “Let’s see how tough ya are.”

That seemed to egg the cragadile on, and with a bellow, it charged me. Out of the shallow water hole it had been wallowing in, the critter ran up onto dry land. Once it did I realized that it was indeed not nearly as large as I had hoped, though it was still bigger than the one in the show. Though not massive, it was still quite strong, and heavy, with each of its footsteps causing a small tremor.

I watched as it stopped suddenly and turned, using its tail like an enormous club aimed right at my raised shield. The impact was immense, and though it shook me to my core, I stayed standing. Even more impressively, the shield stayed together and didn't seem to be damaged by the attack.

After the hit, the creature took a step back, as if shocked by the fact that it had not been able to injure me. A little worried that it may just run away, I smacked it upside the head, enraging it and ensuring the fight would continue for a bit longer.

Sure enough, it charged a second time, this team rearing back onto its back legs and attempting to crush me with its bulk. The belly flop attack would likely crush flat most other foes, but I was not most, and I met it with shield raised once more. The thump of rock-hard flesh meeting wood was enough to rattle my bones and make my boots sink into the mud but that was all it accomplished.

I held it aloft for a second, testing my own strength before tossing it off.

The cragadile’s rage gave way to confusion, though it continued its attack without prompting this time. When it came at me with its claws, I opened my arms wide, allowing it to rake its sharp talons down my form. Though strong enough to annihilate a tree or probably soft stone, it did nothing to my armored carapace.

I gave it a slap in order to keep it fighting, as I could tell it was beginning to grow confused again. This pissed it off enough that it kept scratching biting and using its tail on me for a few minutes. Each strike and attack it launched was deflected, blocked, or simply absorbed by the armor, rattling me each time but doing no real damage.

By the end of it, the cragadile was exhausted and lay panting in the mud, its tongue sticking out of its mouth. Seeing this, I just chuckled and dropped my mace into a belt loop. Then, while it was too pooped to resist, I leaned down and pet the thing on its head.

It made a confused yelping noise before swiftly relaxing.

“'Oo iz a gud scaley boy? Ya iz!” I exclaimed.

The enormous lizard wiggled its body happily before rolling onto its back. I leaned forward and began to rub the soft scales around its midsection. It felt weirdly nice, almost like cool linoleum.

I was about to continue petting it and maybe give it some chin scritches when I heard a scream. Loud, high-pitched, and feminine it echoed from somewhere far in the distance. Piercing enough to even be audible for what was likely miles, the cry not only carried but was also familiar.

“Rarity?” I muttered.