Here's a little story I wrote a few months back:

Raging on through every orifice in his body, a sort of madness, and an outright hatred, had taken hold of this great Orc, a powerful leader of the Dark Dominion over in the City of Drek whose bitter detestability towards anyone who had so much as crossed paths with him could not be matched. Not even by the wretched villains of Eragon put together. Veins throbbing and bulging to such an alarming extent as his face grew red as the sand that stretched for miles on the main battlegrounds, the great Orc had set his thoughts on conducting a full blown massacre across the nation. Audible cracking of the bones to be heard around the world, and the snapping of the armour of every Space Marine as the wicked soldiers trampled all over them – these sorts of dreams seemed to thoroughly please this great Orc.

His name was Zultoc, son of Balthazar, grandson of King Ophuntus. His particular race had ruled the very depths of hell that lie within Eragon and its surrounding nations for generations, and had overthrown vast swathes of its successors in line as if they were nothing but a pack of sewer rats. They grew increasingly powerful over the course of time, Zultoc being the absolute most loathsome and lethal weapon to date. Zultoc’s family line in particular did not hate the Space Marines especially, no more than they had hated everyone and everything that ever dwelt in Eragon, and some of the corrupted Marines cast under the power of the great Hobgoblin of Klaxton had even made alliances with the great Orc army put together.

One of the Orcs had sent news of a recent passing of an excellent friend of Zultoc’s that morning, which he had no doubt had a feeling a group of Space Marines were the main culprits behind the merciless decimation, their alliances merely accompanying them and keeping watch should a wrathful Orc jump out from the depths of hell and crush the whole lot from behind. Zultoc began to second guess himself that at least half a dozen handfuls of other close accomplices of his had been sent to the graves alongside his fallen friend. Those accomplices in question happened to be from the hobgoblin families. Space Marines detested these to no culmination and would have done everything in their power to make sure that the wretched, miserable creatures lived through the most brutal forms of torture and desolation they could think of.

Indeed Zultoc did not for one second think that the Space Marines were stupid. In fact, he had often acknowledged their cleverness and their remarkable strategy plans for every battle fought over time, and always saw them as cold and calculated people who happened to have a good sense of right and wrong. Certainly Space Marines had always had the good grace to know which is which. Even back in the days where some of the Space Marine families had been doing it very hard and rough, they would always exercise that principle as best they could, but very often they had never seen most of the other races in the nation put it into practice. Particularly our race, the human race, the mortal race. We are a vile, treacherous, self-absorbed species most of the time, and it had become all too plain to see when the Space Marines had seen for themselves what vast swathes of the human population had done to their treasured Empire of Harkstone.

Zultoc himself was not stupid, and clearly saw that he could use the complete foolhardiness and petty nature of our kind to his advantage. His Orc army had employed those groups of humans for the expedition, and had constructed some of the most powerful weapons which had left the entirety of Harkstone in ruins. They had even accompanied those horrid folk in creating some sort of terrific thunderbattle, that of which had come hurtling down on the Harkstone Parliament with a horrendous crash and zeroed everyone in it. Zulton’s Orc army had done it! They had destroyed a very significant element that provided the Space Marines with a much needed source of power and order, the once high and mighty parliament which had served them well during battle up until that point. It is fair to say that most of the Space Marines that stood their ground as best they could were struck dead as a dingbat as soon as they had realized that they were for sure outnumbered. The humans had betrayed them, for one thing.

Dwarves had spread news to the rest of the Space Marine armies, and the ones from the Empire of Harkenstone who had the sense to understand what had been unleashed, and to flee before the Orcs could haul them into this gruesome pickle, of the tragedies which unfolded. They were no less maddened about the aftermath of the battle than the Space Marines. The dwarven leader, Krang, could not guess what had maddened the wretched Orcs, or what had brought the humans to betray their friends in such a manner, but they saw what was up when they came to their better senses, and that the Orcs had meant to murder them at any rate.

In the meanwhile, Zoltoc was sat round the fire in his favourite wood, toasting mutton and swigging a gallon of ale. Not the weak fizzy ale one would typically buy in a supermarket, but a real fiery brew that had boiled in your stomach, and had given the great Orc and his wrathful army a real kick which seemed to heighten all of their senses at once. During a particularly great battle, they even carried a flask full of the stuff that seemed to bring about a whole new level of motivation and alertness within them as soon as they took so much as a mouthful of it, their burning love and passion of war having magnified alarmingly. If a Space Marine had turned up taking a swig of the stuff, questions would have been asked. It would have been enough to actually knock some of them for six on a bad day. This, as you can imagine, puzzled and maddened the Space Marines greatly.

The Orcs’ metabolism was a whole other level, as the Space Marines and alliances alike had come to discover. A gallon of this ale seemed to give the alcoholic heavyweights amongst the Space Marines, who could down a whole gallon or two of this stuff within a matter of milliseconds so it seemed, a beastly temper, which once saw them stab right through an entire roster of great ugly goblins and orks alike, like a freight train that had come crashing through a factory and had mauled everyone and everything in it in the process. You see, the Space Marines could display a real sense of outright brutality, a darker side of their kind which could make an entire Orc empire crumble should a particularly treacherous act of provocation bring them it. Zultoc in particular had had the sense to figure that out for himself.