The first explosion made Eljara reach for her weapon.
Sean looked over the edge of the ruined manufactorum balcony.
A column of green fire climbed into the night.
Then burst into something that might have been a skull.
Or a fist.
Or an accident.
**SEAN:**
“Not bad.”
Eljara stared at him.
**ELJARA:**
“That was artillery.”
**SEAN:**
“Aye.”
“Fired vertically.”
“Aye.”
“Into their own celebration.”
Below them, thousands of Orks roared approval.
Sean listened.
**SEAN:**
“Seems to have gone down well.”
—
The valley had become a feast.
Burning wrecks marked its edges.
Looted armour plates had been hammered into stages.
Squigs turned over fires.
Barrels of fungus beer moved through the crowd.
Engines screamed.
Drums pounded.
Guns fired into the air.
Two buggies raced between spectators who moved aside only at the last possible moment.
A Nob stood on a captured Chimera, telling the story of his victory.
Every third sentence was challenged.
Every challenge made the victory larger.
Eljara watched.
**ELJARA:**
“There is no structure.”
Sean pointed.
**SEAN:**
“Race track.”
Another direction.
“Fighting pit.”
Another.
“Food.”
“Drink.”
Then towards an enormous idol assembled from tank armour, aircraft parts and stolen machinery.
Two crude faces had been welded into it.
**SEAN:**
“Religion.”
**ELJARA:**
“That is a pile of military salvage.”
**SEAN:**
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
—
A roar travelled through the valley.
One section screamed:
“GORK!”
Another answered:
“MORK!”
The first booed.
The second threw things.
A third shouted both.
Something exploded.
Everyone cheered.
Eljara closed her eyes briefly.
**ELJARA:**
“This is theology?”
**SEAN:**
“I’ve attended conferences with worse methodology.”
Then he stopped smiling.
His fingers touched the railing.
It was vibrating.
**SEAN:**
“There.”
**ELJARA:**
“What?”
“The beat.”
“There are at least twelve different rhythms.”
“Aye.”
“That isn’t a beat.”
Sean tilted his head.
**SEAN:**
“Listen underneath them.”
—
She heard drums.
Engines.
Boots against scrap metal.
Guns.
Hammered armour.
Thousands of voices.
None aligned perfectly.
Then, for a moment—
they did.
One sound caught another.
Then another.
Then hundreds.
The valley struck the same instant.
The crowd jumped.
Weapons rose.
Engines answered.
The next shout was louder.
Eljara frowned.
**ELJARA:**
“They’re generating it together.”
**SEAN:**
“Aye.”
“And it’s changing them.”
“Aye.”
“And because they’re changing, what they produce changes too.”
Sean smiled.
**SEAN:**
“Now you’re listening.”
—
Below them, two Orks who had spent ten minutes arguing were suddenly roaring the same chant with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
**ELJARA:**
“They were fighting.”
**SEAN:**
“Still are.”
“They were competing.”
“Still are.”
“They were insulting one another.”
“Probably still doing that.”
She watched them scream the same name into the night.
**ELJARA:**
“But now they’re doing it together.”
Sean looked down.
**SEAN:**
“Seems so.”
A huge bell rang.
It had once belonged to something Imperial.
Now an Ork struck it with the axle of a truck.
The crowd answered.
Someone dragged an engine block towards the idol and threw it at its base.
**ELJARA:**
“An offering?”
Sean considered.
**SEAN:**
“Could be.”
“Could be rubbish.”
“Aye.”
“Could be both.”
Sean nodded approvingly.
**SEAN:**
“Now you’re learning.”
—
Eljara waited for the religious part to begin.
It did not.
Because apparently it already had.
Or perhaps it never stopped.
Orks ate beneath the idol.
They drank.
Fought.
Sang.
Raised trophies.
Shouted the names of Gork and Mork.
No priest announced that the feast had now become sacred.
No silence separated worship from pleasure.
**ELJARA:**
“That may be what bothers me.”
Sean looked at her.
**ELJARA:**
“I keep waiting for a boundary.”
“Between?”
“The feast and whatever they consider sacred.”
Sean looked across the valley.
**SEAN:**
“Maybe they don’t have one.”
—
A group began dancing.
At least Eljara assumed it was dancing.
There were shoulders.
Boots.
Shouting.
Collisions.
Several Orks fell over.
They rose laughing.
Sean’s fingers began moving against the railing.
Eljara noticed.
**ELJARA:**
“Don’t.”
**SEAN:**
“Don’t what?”
“You’re following it.”
Sean looked at his hand.
Then at her foot.
It was moving too.
She stopped.
**ELJARA:**
“I was compensating for structural vibration.”
**SEAN:**
“Of course.”
—
Then the sound changed.
Something higher.
Sharper.
Wrong.
Near the centre of the gathering, Orks pushed a Weirdboy forwards.
Green light flickered around his skull.
He grabbed his head.
The crowd shouted louder.
Eljara straightened.
**ELJARA:**
“That one isn’t celebrating.”
Sean stopped tapping.
The Weirdboy screamed.
The valley answered.
Pressure moved through the air.
Not merely sound.
Something behind it.
Lights flickered.
An engine started by itself.
Green sparks raced across the idol.
For a fraction of a second, its crude faces seemed larger than the metal that made them.
The crowd went wild.
Eljara stared.
**ELJARA:**
“That wasn’t merely social.”
**SEAN:**
“No.”
—
The Weirdboy collapsed.
Someone poured fungus beer over him.
He sat up, furious.
The nearest Orks cheered.
Within seconds he was roaring with them.
Eljara watched the crowd.
**ELJARA:**
“They created the conditions.”
“The noise.”
“The numbers.”
“The excitement.”
“The psychic pressure.”
Sean nodded.
**ELJARA:**
“And then what emerged from those conditions intensified the celebration.”
**SEAN:**
“Aye.”
She traced it with one hand.
**ELJARA:**
“The gathering creates the state.”
“The state changes the gathering.”
“The changed gathering strengthens the state.”
Sean rested both hands on the railing.
**SEAN:**
“And around it goes.”
—
A fresh discharge ran between two antennas.
The Orks roared.
**ELJARA:**
“They can feel it.”
**SEAN:**
“Looks that way.”
“Not metaphorically.”
“No.”
“For them, the collective experience has physical consequences.”
Sean glanced at her.
**SEAN:**
“Must be handy when your theology comes with lighting effects.”
She almost smiled.
Then looked back down.
**ELJARA:**
“That makes the question harder.”
“Why?”
“Because the experience is real.”
Sean raised an eyebrow.
**SEAN:**
“Would it have mattered less if it wasn’t green?”
—
Below them, one Ork declared that Gork had caused the lightning.
Another punched him and insisted it had obviously been Mork.
Within seconds they were fighting.
The crowd began taking bets.
**ELJARA:**
“They can’t even agree what happened.”
**SEAN:**
“Humans manage that without the green lightning.”
“The event is real.”
“Aye.”
“The interpretation varies.”
“Aye.”
“One calls it Gork.”
“Another Mork.”
“A third perhaps simply remembers the best night of his life.”
Eljara became quiet.
**ELJARA:**
“That sounds uncomfortably familiar.”
—
A fighting pit filled.
Two Orks entered.
The crowd pressed close.
Someone hammered a sheet of metal.
The fighters charged.
Sean watched the spectators.
Not the fighters.
Every blow passed through the crowd.
Every near miss drew a collective breath.
Every reversal threw bodies forwards.
Sean pointed to a smaller Ork at the edge.
He mimicked every movement.
Dodged when the fighter dodged.
Raised a fist when the fighter struck.
When one combatant hit the ground, the spectator screamed as though he had landed the blow.
**ELJARA:**
“Vicarious participation.”
Sean sighed.
**SEAN:**
“You can make fun sound like paperwork.”
“But that is what it is.”
“Aye.”
“He experiences something through another body without forgetting that the body isn’t his.”
Sean looked at her.
**SEAN:**
“So he hasn’t disappeared.”
“No.”
“He’s becoming more involved.”
Eljara watched the spectator.
**ELJARA:**
“Perhaps a different version of himself.”
Sean smiled.
**SEAN:**
“Better.”
—
The winner climbed from the pit.
He shoved a cup into the spectator’s hands.
They screamed into one another’s faces.
Then drank.
Eljara watched.
**ELJARA:**
“That is remarkably intimate.”
Sean coughed.
**SEAN:**
“I wouldn’t tell them that.”
“Touch. Rhythm. Shared excitement. Recognition.”
She gestured towards the crowd.
“The celebration lets them experience belonging physically.”
Sean nodded.
**ELJARA:**
“Not ‘I know I belong to this group.’”
A pause.
“More like…”
She searched.
**ELJARA:**
“‘I feel the group happening through me.’”
Sean looked down at the valley.
**SEAN:**
“That’s better than paperwork.”
—
Then the chant changed.
One word.
“WAAAGH!”
The valley answered.
“WAAAGH!”
Engines revved.
“WAAAGH!”
Guns fired.
“WAAAGH!”
The idol flickered green.
Thousands of Orks began looking in the same direction.
Towards the vehicles.
Towards the weapons.
Towards tomorrow.
Eljara’s expression changed.
**ELJARA:**
“The celebration is becoming mobilisation.”
Sean’s smile faded.
**SEAN:**
“Aye.”
A Nob climbed onto a vehicle.
He shouted about a nearby human settlement.
The crowd exploded with delight.
Meks started engines.
Ammunition appeared.
Several Orks continued eating while preparing for war.
**ELJARA:**
“So this is what the feast produces.”
Sean looked at her.
**SEAN:**
“Careful.”
“What?”
“You’re turning the night into maintenance.”
—
She frowned.
Sean pointed towards the retreating crowd.
**SEAN:**
“They weren’t pretending to enjoy themselves so they’d fight better tomorrow.”
“No.”
“They enjoyed it.”
“Yes.”
“And now that joy has found somewhere to go.”
Eljara considered that.
The feast had not secretly been training.
The gods had not merely been propaganda.
The fights had not simply been drills.
The experience mattered in itself.
Which meant whatever grew from it could be stronger.
**ELJARA:**
“That makes them more dangerous.”
Sean watched the vehicles come alive.
**SEAN:**
“Probably.”
“Because nobody has to pretend.”
“No.”
“The enthusiasm is real.”
“Aye.”
“The belonging is real.”
“Aye.”
“And the violence can grow out of both.”
Sean’s expression hardened.
**SEAN:**
“That’s usually the dangerous part.”
—
The great bell rang again.
Nearly the entire valley answered.
For several seconds there was no visible division between celebration, religion, identity and intention.
Gork and Mork.
Food and fight.
Laughter and violence.
Past victory and future war.
Everything inside the same roar.
Eljara watched.
**ELJARA:**
“We keep asking what happens when the individual disappears into the crowd.”
Sean waited.
**ELJARA:**
“But perhaps that isn’t what is happening.”
“No?”
“They aren’t becoming less Ork.”
Sean smiled grimly.
**SEAN:**
“No.”
“They’re becoming more so.”
—
Eljara folded her arms.
**ELJARA:**
“A crowd doesn’t necessarily erase the self.”
“It may amplify part of it.”
“The competitive part.”
“The joyful part.”
“The loyal part.”
“The violent part.”
“The religious part.”
Sean added:
**SEAN:**
“The part that wants another drink.”
Eljara looked at him.
**SEAN:**
“Anthropologically significant.”
—
Another chant rolled across the valley.
For several seconds Sean said nothing.
Then Eljara looked at him.
**ELJARA:**
“You felt it.”
He did not pretend otherwise.
**SEAN:**
“A bit.”
“Even from here.”
“Aye.”
She stared down at the gathering.
**ELJARA:**
“That may be the most disturbing thing about it.”
Sean shook his head.
**SEAN:**
“No.”
“What is?”
He listened to thousands of voices become one sound.
**SEAN:**
“That for a moment, it isn’t disturbing.”
—
Nothing below them was solemn.
Yet calling it merely profane no longer seemed enough.
The laughter.
The gods.
The bodies.
The crowd.
The psychic force.
The pleasure of being part of it.
All had become difficult to separate.
**ELJARA:**
“If thousands of people create an experience together, does that make it less real?”
Sean looked at her.
**SEAN:**
“Why would it?”
“Because everyone influences everyone else.”
“So do people in conversation.”
“Expectation changes what they feel.”
“So does love.”
“Culture tells them what the experience means.”
Sean shrugged.
**SEAN:**
“That happens almost everywhere.”
Eljara fell silent.
—
The next cry struck them like weather.
“WAAAGH!”
Sean waited until it passed.
**SEAN:**
“Maybe the question isn’t whether the crowd made the experience.”
Eljara turned.
**SEAN:**
“Maybe the question is what the crowd made.”
Below them, the festival was becoming tomorrow.
Vehicles moved.
Weapons followed.
The valley slowly emptied.
Yet the fires, overturned barrels, fighting pits and battered stages remained.
Evidence that thousands of separate beings had gathered and created something no one of them could have made alone.
Something joyous.
Something sacred to them.
Something physically real.
And something that would soon become catastrophic for somebody else.
**ELJARA:**
“So communion doesn’t tell us whether what follows is good.”
**SEAN:**
“No.”
“Intensity doesn’t tell us.”
“No.”
“Even a genuine experience of transcendence wouldn’t tell us.”
Sean shook his head.
**SEAN:**
“No.”
Eljara watched the last of the great crowd disappear into the night.
**ELJARA:**
“Then the difficult part begins after we admit the experience mattered.”
Sean nodded.
**SEAN:**
“Usually does.”
A few Orks remained by the fire.
One began beating the table.
Another answered.
Sean tapped the railing once.
A beat came back from below.
Probably coincidence.
He smiled anyway.
**When a celebration lets us feel more intensely who we are together, how do we know whether the crowd has enlarged us — or simply made one part of us loud enough to drown out all the rest?**
—
**Game:** Warhammer 40,000
**System:** Wrath & Glory / Imperium Maledictum
**Campaign:** Mythveil Chronicles
**Theme:** The Bacchanalia · Month IX · Week II — The Ecstatic Feast
**PLAY EPIC. FEEL THE STORY.**
Enter the living worlds of Mythveil Chronicles, where celebration can become belonging, worship, ecstasy — and sometimes tomorrow’s war.
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