Post by Dash Sean the Ragemonster on Sept 2, 2016 21:06:23 GMT -6
"Dave! Look alive out there!" came the voice, familiar and yet somehow so foreign, from so far away. Light exploded in front of his eyes, and for a moment he was too stunned to move. Then he saw something moving toward him, and with that he realized where he was. That thing was a soccer ball, and it was headed toward him, and he was in a game, and there were no orcs or elves or camels or guys named Jeff with bathroom problems. He wasn't wearing tattered basketball shorts; he was wearing his uniform. He had his cleats on. All eyes were on him as his brain let go of the controls and a lifetime of practice took over. He ran with catlike grace and received the pass, one timing it into the goal and past the helpless defense. The crowd roared, his teammates swarmed him, and Dave let out a yell of pure joy. He was home, he was doing what he loved, and he was loved.
Yes, he thought, after all these years I'm finally playing in regionals. I scored the winning goal, and everyone is celebrating. So why can I see myself?
Dave was feeling something that nobody had ever felt before. He could feel himself both in the center of the celebrating athletes, but also as a perspective slowly pulling away. He was jostled and hugged on the pitch, but he got further and further away from himself. Soon he could barely make out the body he could still feel. Then the stadium itself was little more than a dot. Clouds flew by, plummeting down towards the earth and he rose ever upwards and his sensations from the ground seemed to be fading.
He was having trouble thinking straight (though, to be fair, thinking about things not called soccer or theft wasn't his strong suit) as he seemed to be in space now and zipping away from Earth, but he remembered something his father warned him about... something called "The Narrative" and how important it was to not get left behind by it. And if The Narrative was about his adventure in Drunk Disney Land, and he was back home and playing soccer (and could he even feel anything anymore? Barely, like a whisper of a wish) did that mean that it had left him behind? Was he just some bit player in somebody else's epic story? Was his screen time over? Is this what happens to throwaway supporting roles?
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, something shifted. Just a little, but in a mind like his that's a lot. A small switched flipped. If Dave had a brow, it would have furrowed, and if he had eyes they would have locked themselves into a glare. One thought filled his mind. One idea became his consciousness. One word supplanted his very being and screamed itself into the void of space.
"No."
His backward momentum stopped like an overenthusiastic dog who had reached the end of his chain. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed, Dave hurtled forward. Past planets and then the moon and then the clouds retreated back into the sky as the stadium approached. Never slowing, it was seconds before his perspective slammed back into his head with both a thud and a clang.
Dave's eyes snapped open.
2
The Orcs never stood a chance and it was a slaughter from the start. It was also impossible, and all the Orcs knew it. Owlbears travel in mated pairs, with maybe some cubs, but never form raiding parties. It was as if some unnatural force had driven them together, or at least that's what they thought until they saw what they would refer to only as "The Big One."
Standing on his hind legs, and reaching an impressive and probably not normally possible sixteen feet in height, The Big One was actually roaring and gesturing to the other Owlbears. It was giving out orders, they realized. One on one an Orc stood a decent chance against an Owlbear, as they matched ferocity with ferocity. Orcs were not, however, orderly soldiers who used anything close to tactics in a fight. With their leader directing them, the Owlbears were making quick work of the camp. They probably would have killed every single Orc, too.
Dave stumbled out of the tent he'd been sleeping in, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he saw the chaos and carnage all around him. That clang and thud had been the armored body of Gro Grunth'nik, the Orc Chief, landing next to him as he slept, jarring him awake.
"Why are my dreams normal and reality... this?" Dave asked of no one in particular. He saw his new Orc friends getting mauled. There was no way they could win this fight straight up. It's be like that time the Varsity squad had a friendly with the team fielded by the guys on Frat Row who claimed that they were "so damned good in high school but those schools wouldn't give me a hint of a scholarship because I'm from a small town in Maine." No, even if he used his powers and his guns he'd be overwhelmed in minutes. He needed something... something different. He needed a plan. He needed to save these Orcs.
No, not "these Orcs," he thought. "My friends" sounded far more like it. They were the only people he'd met since this whole thing started who treated him like a person, and not some moronic lunatic who needed to be talked down to and given a nice condescending pat on the head now and then. He wasn't a "useful idiot" to the Orcs, but maybe he could still be useful.
In the back of his mind, in the place where that switch had flipped, something new happened. His neurons fired in a fun and exiting pattern and he noticed that nobody seemed to be able to get to the really big... whatever those things were, the one that looked like he was giving orders. He decided that it must be their dad or something, and if his father ever taught him anything about the tactics of war, it was that if you kill the head the body will either die or just get really pissed and kill you twice as hard and then burn your body in a sacrifice to their dark gods in order to assure their fallen leader a path to heaven.
Dave locked his eyes on the big... what, teddy bear with beaks? He carefully made his way through the fracas, dodging battling forms and ducking axe blows until he stood in front of what he had officially started thinking of as "Bear Daddy." Busy with directing the slaughter, it hadn't even noticed Dace until he yelled up to it.
"Hey, Bear Daddy," Dave bellowed, "In the immortal words of my Uncle Cardon, I have some serious misgivings about your parenting skills and the lessons you are teaching your children!"
The beast looked down at him, puzzled that anything could even reach it, and then spoke in perfect English, "a fine claim, though are you sure you want those to be your last words?"
Suddenly, the world exploded. The darkened camp was lit for a second by a bright flash followed almost imperceptibly later by the loudest bang any of the Orcs had ever heard. Orc and Owlbear alike cowered and shut their eyes.
When they opened them again they saw, in the flickering light of the few remaining fires, Dave, shirtless and barefoot, standing with his right arm extended forward and up. In his hand was what looked like a talisman of some kind, maybe a holy symbol, and a whisper of smoke wafted from the end facing The Big One.
Everything seemed frozen in time. The concentration on Dave's face, the beads of sweat trickling down his tightly muscled torso, the tension in the hand holding the silver object, the stunned look on the face of The Big One, and the tree trunk of an arm that was even then rearing back to strike, all were frozen in time forever, a tableau of eternal stillness.
Until it wasn't anymore and The Big One toppled backwards, blood gushing from the hole in it's head. Still, no one moved, all too stunned by what they had seen.
"See, there you go," said Dave, "getting yourself shot in the head for HURTING MY FRIENDS!" he yelled the last three words, advancing on the very dead body, and aiming his gun at it, "WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE ARE YOU SETTING?" *BANG* "BY GETTING SHOT AFTER YOU ALREADY DIED," *BANG* "FOR HURTING," *BANG* "MY," *BANG* "FRIENDS?" *BANG*
Dave whirled around and looked at the other Owlbears, who now seemed far less ferocious and more timid and scared, "YOU GET ONE CHANCE," he hollered, "NOW DO THE SMART THING AND RUN AWAY!" Dave fired the gun into the air, to punctuate his point.
The Owlbears, suddenly not very sure why they had been working together in the first place and definitely very terrified of the small, almost naked human with the magic rock, broke ranks and fled into the forest.
A cheer rose up among the surviving orcs, and there was much macho dancing around, until it stopped all at once. Gro Grunth'nik's body was being carried to the middle of the camp by his openly weeping wife, who had several injuries of her own.
<My husband, your Chief, has died in glorious battle> she managed between sobs that shook her entire body, as if she had memorized the words years ago but hoped to never have to use them, <his soul will go to Paradise, where he will eat and drink and do battle for all eternity against the forces of evil!> There was a rousing cheer from the assembled orcs, before they all shushed each other back into reverent silence <So now, my brothers and sisters, I will take his body to the sacred place, and there I shall sit in my vigil until I can sit beside him once more. Farewell.>
The assembled Orcs moved aside as the woman dragged her husband's body away. <Isn't anybody going to help her?> asked Dave to the closest Orc.
<No, of course not,> the Orc replied. Then, seeing Dave's expression and remembering that he was foreign, he added <It is our way. The Chief and his wife are married for life. Only she can take him to the sacred place, and she will> the Orc fidgeted, clearly unsure about revealing the intimate details of their ways to a relative stranger, but he seemed to make a choice and continued <she will stand by his body until she dies and she can join him. It is the greatest honor a woman in our tribe can have.>
Dave took all this in silently, before mustering, <I don't want to be rude, but that sounds like it really sucks.>
The Orc considered for a moment before replying, <Ya know, I never actually thought about it but yeah, that is a bit of a bad deal for her. Still, it's tradition, so what can you do?>
<Well, you could become Chief yourself and change the tradition,> offered Dave, looking hopefully into the eyes of an Orc that he just now realized he'd not even spoken to before.
<Oh, I can't be Chief,> the Orc said, managing a small chuckle, <Already got a job: Jeff Wrangler. I keep tabs on all the Jeffs in the tribe and make sure that they aren't acting in ways that are contrary to their inerrant Jeffness.> Dave gave him a quizzical look and he continued, <well, you've got Awesome Jeff, he's fine on his own and you don't have to worry about him much. But Sad Jeff can't be going around the camp singing happy songs, or it might upset Always Singing Happy Songs Jeff, which could flip their personal Jeffnesses and that would cause just a mountain of paperwork. It would be,> he leaned in close, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, <a total 1 to 1 Jeffversion and if that happens what's to stop Shitty Jeff from improving himself or Always Riding a Horse Jeff getting off that horse and taking a shit like a normal Orc? Our entire society would be torn up in a matter of days.>
Dave was about to reply when a voice boomed out, halting any and all conversation. A large Orc in tattered armor was standing next to the body of The Big One. <My brothers and sisters,> the Orc said, spreading his arms wide, <While we have lost a beloved Chief, we have gained something as well. When all seemed lost, we gained,> and he pointed directly at Dave, <A HERO!>
A huge cheer arose from the battle weary but very much alive Orcs. The speaker continued, <With his advanced battle tactics and powerful magic, this small human has proven that his mastery of our tongue was no fluke of dumb luck. He was sent here by his god to save us, to inspire us, to LEAD US!>
An even bigger cheer arose and soon Dave found himself being lifted up on the shoulders of Orcs and carried to the Chief's tent, where he was deposited on the throne. The Orcs crowded into the structure as best they could and all of them, even the ones outside, dropped to one knee. The Orc who had been speaking earlier was at the front of the crowd, and he addressed Dave with a tone of reverence, <The people of this tribe have selected you to lead us, as our Chief, until they day you die in glorious battle. We place you on our throne and kneel before you, but we will not force you. If you accept, we will be yours, body and soul. If you refuse, we will disband, our dishonor too great that he who saved us rejects us.>
Dave thought about this for a few minutes. He'd been a leader before, mainly a team captain but how was that any different from leading an Orc tribe? Plus, they had treated him so well the previous night, and his old companions (as he was even now thinking of them) had been nowhere to be seen while his new friends were getting slaughtered. Also, he had that huge bag of treasure that he could use to let them all live like kings! Or chiefs! Or whatever! A future where he was looked up to, instead of a past where he was looked down upon.
The Orcs, of course, could not head Dave's internal monologue and a few started to fidget, getting nervous. The Lead Orc (as Dave had named him in his head) spoke again, <Master, tell us your choice.>
Dave stood up and said the most important words of his life. Raising a fist to the heavens, he yelled, <WE ARE ORCS! AND I AM YOUR CHIEF!>
The cheering and celebrating melted into the rest of the night, all thoughts of sleep long forgotten. Many casks of fine ale and spirits, saved for only the most special of occasions, were opened. The fires were stoked and more slabs of meat cooked up. While he didn't partake of the booze, Dave gladly celebrated with his people well into the early morning. It was past sunrise when a group of Orcs he had come to think of as the "town council" approached him.
<Chief Dave,> said the one called Grip'null, <there is one more thing we ask of you before this night is over.>
<Go ahead,> said Dave, tired but still beaming with joy at his new place in life.
Grip'null smiled and continued, <Well, since you are not of our tribe originally, then our ways are not yours and our gods are not yours. Our gods did not deliver you to us, as they know as little of you as you do them. Our gods and our ways failed us, and we hope you can replace them with the gods and ways that were our salvation tonight. Please, exalted Chief, tell us of your gods that we might worship them!>
Dave thought long and hard about this request. He'd never been a religious man, always trusting in training, practice, and healthy living to get through life. He knew, in a way, that demons and angels were real, but were they real here in NC-17 Narnia? Then he thought of his uncle. Cardon McHowell had been a religious man, though not in the typical "Christian/Jewish/Muslim/Hindu/Whatever Trump Worships" way most people were. Dave's father always described his older brother as more of a "spiritualist," but during his many visits to their estate, Cardon had spent a lot of time talking to Dave about the details of his religion, and how ancient and mystical it all was, and who his god was and how the whole religion worked. Apparently it was a small sect, but Cardon was a very devout follower. While he never converted Dave, he taught him a lot. Though Dave was by no means the smartest man in the room even when alone, he was a great listener and had a fantastic memory. It wasn't so much that he was stupid, see, it's just that his brain was the muscle he worked out the least.
Dave looked at their expectant faces, and decided that if he didn't have a god of his own to offer, he'd give them the god of his uncle. Maybe that god had been watching over him all along. Maybe. Dave smiled. This would be the first thing he'd done to repay these wonderful Orcs for making him their Chief and bestowing such honor upon him. Thinking back to uncle Cardon's many speeches on the subject, Dave spoke:
<Well then, allow me to take a few moments to introduce you... to Gorfinax.>
Yes, he thought, after all these years I'm finally playing in regionals. I scored the winning goal, and everyone is celebrating. So why can I see myself?
Dave was feeling something that nobody had ever felt before. He could feel himself both in the center of the celebrating athletes, but also as a perspective slowly pulling away. He was jostled and hugged on the pitch, but he got further and further away from himself. Soon he could barely make out the body he could still feel. Then the stadium itself was little more than a dot. Clouds flew by, plummeting down towards the earth and he rose ever upwards and his sensations from the ground seemed to be fading.
He was having trouble thinking straight (though, to be fair, thinking about things not called soccer or theft wasn't his strong suit) as he seemed to be in space now and zipping away from Earth, but he remembered something his father warned him about... something called "The Narrative" and how important it was to not get left behind by it. And if The Narrative was about his adventure in Drunk Disney Land, and he was back home and playing soccer (and could he even feel anything anymore? Barely, like a whisper of a wish) did that mean that it had left him behind? Was he just some bit player in somebody else's epic story? Was his screen time over? Is this what happens to throwaway supporting roles?
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, something shifted. Just a little, but in a mind like his that's a lot. A small switched flipped. If Dave had a brow, it would have furrowed, and if he had eyes they would have locked themselves into a glare. One thought filled his mind. One idea became his consciousness. One word supplanted his very being and screamed itself into the void of space.
"No."
His backward momentum stopped like an overenthusiastic dog who had reached the end of his chain. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed, Dave hurtled forward. Past planets and then the moon and then the clouds retreated back into the sky as the stadium approached. Never slowing, it was seconds before his perspective slammed back into his head with both a thud and a clang.
Dave's eyes snapped open.
2
The Orcs never stood a chance and it was a slaughter from the start. It was also impossible, and all the Orcs knew it. Owlbears travel in mated pairs, with maybe some cubs, but never form raiding parties. It was as if some unnatural force had driven them together, or at least that's what they thought until they saw what they would refer to only as "The Big One."
Standing on his hind legs, and reaching an impressive and probably not normally possible sixteen feet in height, The Big One was actually roaring and gesturing to the other Owlbears. It was giving out orders, they realized. One on one an Orc stood a decent chance against an Owlbear, as they matched ferocity with ferocity. Orcs were not, however, orderly soldiers who used anything close to tactics in a fight. With their leader directing them, the Owlbears were making quick work of the camp. They probably would have killed every single Orc, too.
Dave stumbled out of the tent he'd been sleeping in, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he saw the chaos and carnage all around him. That clang and thud had been the armored body of Gro Grunth'nik, the Orc Chief, landing next to him as he slept, jarring him awake.
"Why are my dreams normal and reality... this?" Dave asked of no one in particular. He saw his new Orc friends getting mauled. There was no way they could win this fight straight up. It's be like that time the Varsity squad had a friendly with the team fielded by the guys on Frat Row who claimed that they were "so damned good in high school but those schools wouldn't give me a hint of a scholarship because I'm from a small town in Maine." No, even if he used his powers and his guns he'd be overwhelmed in minutes. He needed something... something different. He needed a plan. He needed to save these Orcs.
No, not "these Orcs," he thought. "My friends" sounded far more like it. They were the only people he'd met since this whole thing started who treated him like a person, and not some moronic lunatic who needed to be talked down to and given a nice condescending pat on the head now and then. He wasn't a "useful idiot" to the Orcs, but maybe he could still be useful.
In the back of his mind, in the place where that switch had flipped, something new happened. His neurons fired in a fun and exiting pattern and he noticed that nobody seemed to be able to get to the really big... whatever those things were, the one that looked like he was giving orders. He decided that it must be their dad or something, and if his father ever taught him anything about the tactics of war, it was that if you kill the head the body will either die or just get really pissed and kill you twice as hard and then burn your body in a sacrifice to their dark gods in order to assure their fallen leader a path to heaven.
Dave locked his eyes on the big... what, teddy bear with beaks? He carefully made his way through the fracas, dodging battling forms and ducking axe blows until he stood in front of what he had officially started thinking of as "Bear Daddy." Busy with directing the slaughter, it hadn't even noticed Dace until he yelled up to it.
"Hey, Bear Daddy," Dave bellowed, "In the immortal words of my Uncle Cardon, I have some serious misgivings about your parenting skills and the lessons you are teaching your children!"
The beast looked down at him, puzzled that anything could even reach it, and then spoke in perfect English, "a fine claim, though are you sure you want those to be your last words?"
Suddenly, the world exploded. The darkened camp was lit for a second by a bright flash followed almost imperceptibly later by the loudest bang any of the Orcs had ever heard. Orc and Owlbear alike cowered and shut their eyes.
When they opened them again they saw, in the flickering light of the few remaining fires, Dave, shirtless and barefoot, standing with his right arm extended forward and up. In his hand was what looked like a talisman of some kind, maybe a holy symbol, and a whisper of smoke wafted from the end facing The Big One.
Everything seemed frozen in time. The concentration on Dave's face, the beads of sweat trickling down his tightly muscled torso, the tension in the hand holding the silver object, the stunned look on the face of The Big One, and the tree trunk of an arm that was even then rearing back to strike, all were frozen in time forever, a tableau of eternal stillness.
Until it wasn't anymore and The Big One toppled backwards, blood gushing from the hole in it's head. Still, no one moved, all too stunned by what they had seen.
"See, there you go," said Dave, "getting yourself shot in the head for HURTING MY FRIENDS!" he yelled the last three words, advancing on the very dead body, and aiming his gun at it, "WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE ARE YOU SETTING?" *BANG* "BY GETTING SHOT AFTER YOU ALREADY DIED," *BANG* "FOR HURTING," *BANG* "MY," *BANG* "FRIENDS?" *BANG*
Dave whirled around and looked at the other Owlbears, who now seemed far less ferocious and more timid and scared, "YOU GET ONE CHANCE," he hollered, "NOW DO THE SMART THING AND RUN AWAY!" Dave fired the gun into the air, to punctuate his point.
The Owlbears, suddenly not very sure why they had been working together in the first place and definitely very terrified of the small, almost naked human with the magic rock, broke ranks and fled into the forest.
A cheer rose up among the surviving orcs, and there was much macho dancing around, until it stopped all at once. Gro Grunth'nik's body was being carried to the middle of the camp by his openly weeping wife, who had several injuries of her own.
<My husband, your Chief, has died in glorious battle> she managed between sobs that shook her entire body, as if she had memorized the words years ago but hoped to never have to use them, <his soul will go to Paradise, where he will eat and drink and do battle for all eternity against the forces of evil!> There was a rousing cheer from the assembled orcs, before they all shushed each other back into reverent silence <So now, my brothers and sisters, I will take his body to the sacred place, and there I shall sit in my vigil until I can sit beside him once more. Farewell.>
The assembled Orcs moved aside as the woman dragged her husband's body away. <Isn't anybody going to help her?> asked Dave to the closest Orc.
<No, of course not,> the Orc replied. Then, seeing Dave's expression and remembering that he was foreign, he added <It is our way. The Chief and his wife are married for life. Only she can take him to the sacred place, and she will> the Orc fidgeted, clearly unsure about revealing the intimate details of their ways to a relative stranger, but he seemed to make a choice and continued <she will stand by his body until she dies and she can join him. It is the greatest honor a woman in our tribe can have.>
Dave took all this in silently, before mustering, <I don't want to be rude, but that sounds like it really sucks.>
The Orc considered for a moment before replying, <Ya know, I never actually thought about it but yeah, that is a bit of a bad deal for her. Still, it's tradition, so what can you do?>
<Well, you could become Chief yourself and change the tradition,> offered Dave, looking hopefully into the eyes of an Orc that he just now realized he'd not even spoken to before.
<Oh, I can't be Chief,> the Orc said, managing a small chuckle, <Already got a job: Jeff Wrangler. I keep tabs on all the Jeffs in the tribe and make sure that they aren't acting in ways that are contrary to their inerrant Jeffness.> Dave gave him a quizzical look and he continued, <well, you've got Awesome Jeff, he's fine on his own and you don't have to worry about him much. But Sad Jeff can't be going around the camp singing happy songs, or it might upset Always Singing Happy Songs Jeff, which could flip their personal Jeffnesses and that would cause just a mountain of paperwork. It would be,> he leaned in close, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, <a total 1 to 1 Jeffversion and if that happens what's to stop Shitty Jeff from improving himself or Always Riding a Horse Jeff getting off that horse and taking a shit like a normal Orc? Our entire society would be torn up in a matter of days.>
Dave was about to reply when a voice boomed out, halting any and all conversation. A large Orc in tattered armor was standing next to the body of The Big One. <My brothers and sisters,> the Orc said, spreading his arms wide, <While we have lost a beloved Chief, we have gained something as well. When all seemed lost, we gained,> and he pointed directly at Dave, <A HERO!>
A huge cheer arose from the battle weary but very much alive Orcs. The speaker continued, <With his advanced battle tactics and powerful magic, this small human has proven that his mastery of our tongue was no fluke of dumb luck. He was sent here by his god to save us, to inspire us, to LEAD US!>
An even bigger cheer arose and soon Dave found himself being lifted up on the shoulders of Orcs and carried to the Chief's tent, where he was deposited on the throne. The Orcs crowded into the structure as best they could and all of them, even the ones outside, dropped to one knee. The Orc who had been speaking earlier was at the front of the crowd, and he addressed Dave with a tone of reverence, <The people of this tribe have selected you to lead us, as our Chief, until they day you die in glorious battle. We place you on our throne and kneel before you, but we will not force you. If you accept, we will be yours, body and soul. If you refuse, we will disband, our dishonor too great that he who saved us rejects us.>
Dave thought about this for a few minutes. He'd been a leader before, mainly a team captain but how was that any different from leading an Orc tribe? Plus, they had treated him so well the previous night, and his old companions (as he was even now thinking of them) had been nowhere to be seen while his new friends were getting slaughtered. Also, he had that huge bag of treasure that he could use to let them all live like kings! Or chiefs! Or whatever! A future where he was looked up to, instead of a past where he was looked down upon.
The Orcs, of course, could not head Dave's internal monologue and a few started to fidget, getting nervous. The Lead Orc (as Dave had named him in his head) spoke again, <Master, tell us your choice.>
Dave stood up and said the most important words of his life. Raising a fist to the heavens, he yelled, <WE ARE ORCS! AND I AM YOUR CHIEF!>
The cheering and celebrating melted into the rest of the night, all thoughts of sleep long forgotten. Many casks of fine ale and spirits, saved for only the most special of occasions, were opened. The fires were stoked and more slabs of meat cooked up. While he didn't partake of the booze, Dave gladly celebrated with his people well into the early morning. It was past sunrise when a group of Orcs he had come to think of as the "town council" approached him.
<Chief Dave,> said the one called Grip'null, <there is one more thing we ask of you before this night is over.>
<Go ahead,> said Dave, tired but still beaming with joy at his new place in life.
Grip'null smiled and continued, <Well, since you are not of our tribe originally, then our ways are not yours and our gods are not yours. Our gods did not deliver you to us, as they know as little of you as you do them. Our gods and our ways failed us, and we hope you can replace them with the gods and ways that were our salvation tonight. Please, exalted Chief, tell us of your gods that we might worship them!>
Dave thought long and hard about this request. He'd never been a religious man, always trusting in training, practice, and healthy living to get through life. He knew, in a way, that demons and angels were real, but were they real here in NC-17 Narnia? Then he thought of his uncle. Cardon McHowell had been a religious man, though not in the typical "Christian/Jewish/Muslim/Hindu/Whatever Trump Worships" way most people were. Dave's father always described his older brother as more of a "spiritualist," but during his many visits to their estate, Cardon had spent a lot of time talking to Dave about the details of his religion, and how ancient and mystical it all was, and who his god was and how the whole religion worked. Apparently it was a small sect, but Cardon was a very devout follower. While he never converted Dave, he taught him a lot. Though Dave was by no means the smartest man in the room even when alone, he was a great listener and had a fantastic memory. It wasn't so much that he was stupid, see, it's just that his brain was the muscle he worked out the least.
Dave looked at their expectant faces, and decided that if he didn't have a god of his own to offer, he'd give them the god of his uncle. Maybe that god had been watching over him all along. Maybe. Dave smiled. This would be the first thing he'd done to repay these wonderful Orcs for making him their Chief and bestowing such honor upon him. Thinking back to uncle Cardon's many speeches on the subject, Dave spoke:
<Well then, allow me to take a few moments to introduce you... to Gorfinax.>