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Welcome to Da Race
What started as a booze-up at the bar has spilled out onto the street and become a road race. Jump into your flashest racer and pit your Orky driving skills to the test against some of the craziest speed freaks in the galaxy.
All racers welcome, just make up your own ork driver, tell us about their vehicle and crew and anything else we might like to know and write him into the race along side the boyz from the Guzzlin’ Grox. Each round a randomly determined event will occur so watch out for those too. But most of all enjoy the race.

: op below. :
Welcome to Da Guzzlin’ Grox
the greatest and greenest Ork Tavern on Armageddon. All da ‘ardest boyz, da toughest Goffs, toothiest BadMoons, speediest EvilSunz, lootin’est DeffSkullz and stinkiest SnakeBites drink here. Even some of the sneakiest BloodAxes have been know to sneak in on occasion. It’s a proper melting pot of ork society where tales are told, deals are done, scores are settled and most importantly plenty of drink drunked.

Rumour has it that tonight Ghazghkull himself will be paying a visit to Da Guzzlin’ Grox to celebrate another blistering ork victory, and it looks like everybody and his squighound has come out in the hope of rubbing elbows with such greatness.

So send your best lad to the bar with a fistful of teef and pull up a stool. We’re all in for a real treat at Da Guzzlin’ Grox Brew House Bash.

Da Roolz



Da Drinks



If that all makes sense then Da Guzzlin’ Grox is open for business.


Open for Business

“Smirking! Get da door!” SkagNet cast a heavy browed eye to the window. Still daylight, though the sky had grown a purplish grey. Who was beating the door down at this hour? “We ain’t even open yet.” He grumbled. He spat in a cup and rubbed out a rusty brown stain before tossing it in the tin-bin with the rest of the flagons ready for use.

“Where d’you want dese, guv?” The unfamiliar voice startled SkagNet, it was another grot.

“Where’s Smirking?” SkagNet gruffed. “Who’re you?”

“I’m wif da band.” the grot shrugged. He dumped a large speaker in the middle of the floor and turned for the door.

“Oi, not dere!”

The grot didn’t wait around for instructions but just ducked out as the band shambled in with more gear, instruments and cables and amps. They looked like a bunch of punks, real ‘eadbangers, all tight red trousers and the kind of sneakers that wouldn’t get past Tiny the bouncer.

“You Da Axe Swinga’s or Rippa Squigs Revenge?” SkagNet asked, not sure that he cared.

One of the newcomers stopped, must’ve been the lead vocalist, he wasn’t carrying anything. “It’s Squig-Rippa’s Revenge innit.” He corrected peevishly.

“Yeah, wotevea.” SkagNet rolled his eye. He’d long since lost his last toss to give.

“Da Axe Swingas ain’t coming, Boss.” It was his other grot assistant Smidge, back from the cellar with a fresh keg of Fungus Beer. “I heard dat dere tour Wagon got blowed up.”

“Wot!” SkagNet was furious, “but da WaaaghBoss is comin’ tonight! We can’t be an act down when Ghazghull arrives, not wif Da Gak-Rippas up dere all night strangling squigs!”

“Oi, it’s Squig-Rippa’s Revenge!”

“Kan it yer git!” Snapped SkagNet, “I’ll give a Zog if yer good-enough. Smirking!”

Smirking arrived laden with a coiled multi-core cable and began connecting things up.

“Smirking, Da Axe Swingas?”

“Zogged Boss.” The grot concluded matter of factly.

“But dey’re on da bill fer tonight!”

“Na, I booked Grunt Fume.”

The band git scoffed noisily and spat. Clearly he wasn’t a fan.

“Grunt Fume, eh?” SkagNet hadn’t heard of them.

“Played da Rusty Hull last Krumpins Eve.” said Smirking, “Dead good, dey are! Propa Goffik Rock! Just right fer da Boss.”

“Goffik Rot!” Sniped one of the other band members, a bit too loud for comfort with the microphones gone live.

“Is dere gonna be trouble, you lot?” Barked SkagNet from behind the bar, “I don’t need no backstage shenanigans tonight! Or else!” He waited for a chorus of agreement from Sqiug-Rippers Revenge but they just started into a rowdy sound check.

“Right, Smidge, get da fire on.” SkagNet pumped a couple of squirts of Rokkit Fuel from the pump on the bar into a can for Smidge to help get the fire going. It was nearly opening time.

Tiny arrived, ducking in through the back doorway. “Alright guv?”

SkagNet threw a hasty pint of Fungus Beer in a mug up on the counter for his tardy doorman. “Yer late, Tiny. Drink up an gerramove on.”

Tiny quaffed his brew in two great gulps and took the big front door key from behind the bar.

“You got yer brass knucks wif ya?”

Tiny flashed his two great ham fists neatly girdled in well worn brass.

“Good lad.” Nodded SkagNet “There’ll be a lively crowd tonight.”

Tiny gave the band the stink eye. He didn’t like their sort, or their footwear.

Smidge slipped back behind the bar, none the worse off for some slightly singed fingers. Smirking joined them, the sound check apparently complete.

“Round of Bloodweiser’s guv’na.” Came the first order of the night, the band looking to wet their whistles before the show.

“Alright Tiny, open ‘em up!” SkagNet gave him the nod and the heavy doors were thrown open.

Smirking was already pulling pints for the band as the first of the night’s punters came in laughing and carrying on. The Guzzlin’ Grox was officially open for business.

One of the first patrons entering Da Guzzlin'Grox... is not even entering himself. First of a little grot slips by the puzzled looking Tiny to announce his master. He is dressed in what seems to have been a Mordian parade uniform once, together with a much too big Comissars hat. The little guy coughs affectedly before announcing "Him shinyness, Shinyhat Teethgrappler... the third... from da Bad Moonz clan"
Only now enters his master, a relatively lean Greenskin dressed in... maybe the weirdest clothing Smirking and the others ever saw, predominantly in his clans black color with some yellow akzents were the fabric has suffered holes and rends and completed with a big, cylindrical hat. On his right eye he wears some kind of little glass thingy while leaning on a small cane he seems to carry around just for show - just like an unholy amount of golden rings at his fingers - some with what looks like small Eldar gems crudely set inside. All in all he looks reeaaaaallly flashy. While first impression and instinct leaves the orkish watcher puzzled why nobody has already taken all his worldly belongings from the not really muscular ork, an evergoing crackle in the air around his cane as well as the pulsating light from the gems in his rings might point to the reason for this as well as his... excentric behaviour. He is a weirdboy, and judging from his age and appearence one rather competent in not blowing up - which is something to say whith the likes of him.



"Dere, dere dere. Whata fine yet rustic Eee-stab-lushment youv got dere. Greedings too yours, good sire. Might weez ask youz for a cuppof Moonshiner to warmz our heart and Bonez?"

(No worries, not every ork has to talk like a British East Ender, you can have American orks too. Or maybe Aussies or Kiwis!)

The ork's name was Busta (Evil Sunz), and he came into the Brewhouse in a foul mood, looking for a proper fight. You see, he had just lost a trukk race to his arch rival, Speedsta, and now he was down to his last few teef.

"Don't even have enuf teef for a proper drink." When he got up to the bar he growled. "Gimme a Fungus Brew!" He slid his last toof across the bar and then when the drink came he raised it up to his mouth and poured it down his throat, spilling a lot of its contents on the floor in the process.

"Shah, what happened to just needin a good trukk or trakk? These yoofs be driving aroun all these shock jump dragstas and fancy nonsense. Da Meks be chargin what now? 55 teef for one? Dat cost more teef than der worth, useless junk." He muttered to himself.

When he saw one of the grots skulking about he shouted out. "Hey, you worthless grot, git this ork a propa drink for I give yah the boot!"

He threw his mug at one of the grots and smirked.

There was a thunderous POP! outside that made the few earlybird orks in the bar jump and swivel their heads in hopes that the source might be the opening salvo of a good fight. SkagNet knew the sound all too well. It was the sudden appearance of the shockjump dragster owned by Fungis Rotbreff, a freebootin' brewboy, and the wholesale purveyor of several of his wares.
Fungis sauntered in the back door like he owned the place and sidled up to the bar.
"Oi, Skagnet you ol' grubba, 'owz bizness?"
"Doin' well fanks, what'reya drinkin' tonight then eh?"
"I'm feelin' the top a the world tonight, fancy a Moonshiner if it's a fresh keg." SkagNet poured the drink himself, the head bubbling over the brim and lubricating the mugs passage across the bar as he slid it over to the one-eyed madboy. "In fact," gesturing towards the band, "da Squig Rippaz is one a my favorite acts."
SkagNet merely shook his great scruffy head and pretended he didn't hear.
"How's yer stores? You ready fer a real raucous night? I heard a rumor that maybe even ol' Ghazghkull hisself might be makin' a 'pearance tonight."
SkagNet became suddenly cagey. "Yeah, we's doin' all right."
"You sure? If Ghazghkull does walk through that door, yer gonna wish you 'ad somefin' ta serve 'im that'd make 'im want ta come back. Imagine if your joint got known as his favorite waterin' hole. That'd be somefing, eh? Every ork in da galaxy'd start heading dis way just to 'ave a pint with the big boss."
"What're you on about then?"
"I got somefing extra special. Back on Vig-ee-lous, I found a new kind a fungus growin' in da drops. And da ale I brew from it is on a whole nuvver level. Managed to save some spores and cultivate a bit 'ere too, grows well on dis planet." Here he got a strange twinkle in his one visible eye. "One sip'll kill a snot or a grot outright. One mug'll knock a boy out cold. But if you's a nob, or you can handle yer ale like I can, den you get a good and proppa orky feelin'. Makes you wanna fight all night. Dat's what you wanna be servin' to da Prophet of da Waaagh, and nuffin' less, I tell ya."
"What makes you fink I wanna serve this lot a buncha beer that'll make 'em even more fighty, eh? I just wants ta make some teef and keep my joint from burnin' to da ground every night."
Fungis looked extremely offended. "You don't serve dis to just anyone. 'Ere, I've got a half keg in da dragsta. In fact, it's what I use ta power da dragsta. I'll be right back." As he sauntered off, SkagNet glanced over to catch Smidge and Smirking giving him a wary eye. Apparently they had heard the exchange and the grots in the bar usually were the first to take the brunt when the orks started getting too rowdy.
Fungis came back in and set a small wooden barrel on the bar in front of SkagNet.
"'Ere we go, you're a big lad so I'm sure you'll like it just fine. 'Ave a nip and you'll see what I mean..."

[Oh joy. someone jumped in on this goodness!]

Busta lost sight of his mug as it sailed toward the nearest grot, not sure if it hit the grot or not. He turned to see what else was going on at the bar and sneered at the newcomer and his "fancy" shock jump dragsta and his seemingly fancy ways.

"Da Prophet? Ain't no prophet comin ta watch sum fanzy musik, and drinkin. Nah, Prophet left Army-Geddon. Probably not fighty enuf anymore for iz taste. As a matter of fact I ain't seen a proper warboss come round these parts in some time now. Up to da Nobz now ta keep da boyz fightin, till sum un git big enuf ta lead a real WAAAGH again. Course sum of dese Nobz call demselves warboss. But wez all knowz dey jus Nobz."

Busta leered at the rock band playing in the background. "Eh shut up. I'm tryin to talk ere! Heard enuf of youz yappin bout Shootas Blood an Teef already!"

Busta grabbed a nearby grot and threw him in the direction of the rock band.

End of Round 1 random draw.
Bonus drinks this round have been
Snakebite Malt
and Rokkit Fuel.
(Shame nobody picked them this time)

And the cursed drink was
Bloodweiser!

Uh oh… weren’t the band on the Bloodweiser?

****************

SkagNet eyed the door trying not to look worried. It was still early in the evening after all. A couple of punters looked like they were settling in for the night and a fairly sizeable mob of storm boy yooffs had just blown in for a round at Da Guzzlin’ Grox but they weren’t for staying long. He was glad to have caught their pub-crawl early on. Nobody liked drunk yooffs.

Nobody liked seeing a grot standing still either for that matter.

“Oi, Smidge!” SkagNet threw a manky towel at the lazy git. “Go round up da empties before dese yooffs start suckin’ on da taps!”

Smidge hopped to it but truth be told there wasn’t really a shortage of flagons in the big bin at the bar and once he got past the rowdy yooffs it wasn’t like there was a ripe harvest of empties out there to be picked either.

*KLANG*

A mug clobbered the hapless grot around the ear. He picked it up and turned back for the bar in triumph considering it job well done.

“Oi!” a shrill grot voice commanded his attention. It was the wierdboy’s grot assistant. “Him Shinyness will ‘ave anuvver one.”

Smidge blinked stupidly.

“Anuvver Moonshiner fer da Boss!” he sneered down his long nose. Smidge had half a mind to clobber the self-important little blighter with the empty mug in his hand but he knew better. The big shiny fella wasn’t much interested in the dealings of the grots but it never paid to draw an ork’s attention.

Smidge returned to the bar and sulkily poured a stingey measure into a greasy little crock. He returned and practically threw it into the fancy grot’s hand. The smug little git stared Smidge right in the eye as he put the drink to his own lips.

Smidge just rolled his eyes. We wouldn’t fall for that one again. Right then the world flipped upside down. An angry ork had him by the ankle and appeared to be yelling at the band.

Smidge was tossed like a rag-doll up on stage. He bounced off the bass-player and landed in a heap of cables. The band’s roadie-grot was giving him the stink-eye from the mixing desk, indicating that Smidge best not be trying to cut in on his job. Smidge spotted a couple of empty mugs that were littering up the stage and gathered them up in an effort to placate the territorial little grot. There was a good quarter pint of Bloodweiser left in the drummer’s mug which Smidge happily polished off.

The song rattled to an unceremonious end and nobody cheered.

The lead singer burped wetly and groaned. He didn’t look too good.

Smidge made a sharpish exit stage right heading back to the bar but the wierdboy’s assistant stopped him again.

“Oi! I thought I ordered a drink fer Him Shinyness!”

Smidge was about to reach up to collect the empty mug from Shinyhat Teethgrappler but he began to feel rather unwell. Was it something he had eaten? Or drank perhaps? His head was buzzing and he got a sudden rush of the cold sweats. His eyes crossed as the room fell out of focus. Not even the shrill voice of the other grot screaming right into his face was piercing the veil of nauseating mist that had descended upon his senses.

“Wot da zog iz wrong wif you!?” The grot git yelped. He waved a hand before Smidge’s glazed eyes to no avail. Frustrated he tried poking Smidge hard in the belly with a boney claw.

The sudden jolt in the gut was all it took. Smidge simply opened his mouth and let it all out. With one great explosive hurl Smidge became a fountain of vomit.

The grot’s fancy parade uniform was unspeakably fouled. He stood dripping in filth, utterly gobsmacked.

More than a splash had found its way to the previously shiny boot of the wierdboy who might have had something to say on the matter but at the same time there was a commotion up on the stage. The band were barfing too. The guitar was already a soggy mess, the bass player had slipped in a puddle of sick. The drummer was bent double over his kit and the lead singer having failed to relinquish the microphone was blessing their eardrums with some truly barftacular sounds.

It was quite a show. There was a general guffaw from the onlookers and even a few cheers. They were a tough crowd.

“Gork’s Gizzard!” Grumbled the miserable vocalist. He spat and slicked his slimy hair-squigs back behind his ears. “What kinda gak infested squig-slop dey servin’ here at da Guzzlin’ Grox?” He burped loudly into the microphone. “I had better drinks from a Grox’s rear end! Da Gaggin’ Grox iz more like it!”

SkagNet glowered at the the puke-stained punk wringing a dirty rag in his fists so hard it almost bled.

“Smirking, da Bloodweiser!”

“Boss?” The grot behind the bar had gone for the mop he hadn’t expected another drinks order after that display.

“Cut da Bloodweiser, Smirking. Da Keg’s gone to rot!”

SkagNet tried not to meet the eye of Fungis Rottbreff watching him pointedly from across the bar as Smirking shuffled the half-keg of Bloodweiser out the back door. He had a sinking feeling that this was gonna cost him some teef.

***************


So that’s the effects for round one. Had anyone been on the bonus brews I’d’ve mentioned some bonus or other that you’d be able to include or benefit from in this next round. As it goes only the barfing band is affected and going forward this round Bloodweiser is off the menu.

So let’s see what you all get up to next. Feel free to drop in another boozer if you’re so inspired. Looking forward to seeing the story develop.

Don’t forget to order another drink and happy guzzlin!

Busta didn't bother to look back to see where the grot landed as something caught his eye on the floor of the slop house. It seemed that a spare toof had fallen out of one of the grot's pockets.

Busta greedily snatched it off the floor and turned back to the bar just as the music came to a stop. It seemed that he had made his point.

"Ha, tha grot must have been carrying a spare toof for his master. Well it's my toof now. Maybe Mork's luck has returned to me." He chuckled to himself and ordered another drink.

"Rokkit Fuel Rockit Fuel, fill err up. Might av a race later tonight!"

When the bar tender called out about the bloodweiser, he looked back and saw the band throwing up. Busta smirked and called out toward the band.

"Serves you right for drinkin weedie humie brew. Hur Hur Hur. That song sound like squig dung in my ears too!"



Busta turned back to the Evil Sun that had pulled up in the Shock Speed Dragsta. He pointed a finger at him. "You...might av one of DA NEW speedstas, but I can still win a race driving one of da old trakks. Da ones dat was ere da FIRST time Ghazuskull attack Army-Gadden. Dat's right. A propah trakk, that can beat da new fangled fings. Got solid treads ta keep yah from spinnin out in the wastes, and its painted red, which makes it go supa fast! An mi Nob sits up on da big gun and dakka youz if we start fallin behind. Hur Hur...

"Yah shock jump wouldn't stand a chance gainst me, da mighty Busta!"

"Bwahahahaha!" roared Fungis at the atrocious spectacle on stage. "See, dis is why I love dis band, but you gits shoulda stuck wiv summa my brews. Bloodweiser indeed! You can't trust a Blood Axe as far as you can frow 'em, and drinkin' dere grog? You must be outta yer minds!"

"Coulda happened to any of da barrels, you know dat as well as anyone" retorted SkagNet loudly, hoping to placate any of the other patrons who might have been unlucky enough to have also ordered some of the offending ale.

There was another ork shouting in Fungis's direction, apparently keen to race but maybe later; right now Fungis was having the time of his life.
"It don't happen ta my brews I tell ya, stick to da Fungus Beer and good Ol' Scrumpy. Ever since I hooked up wiv Gulgog's Waaagh, 'is lads has been drinkin' it by da trukkload. You just gotta make sure dem rotten Skullz pay fer it instead a nickin' it out from under yer nose."

Skagnet shot him a look that said "can it" and headed to the back room to find a mop.

"Speakin' a which" Fungis said, swiveling his half-empty mug of Moonshiner in the air and then guzzling the remainder of its contents, before slamming it down hard on the bar to get some attention, "'bout time fer anuvver one. Oi, Smirking! Gimme a pint a Scrumpy!"

Toothgrappler tried his best to not heed any visible attention to Smidges indisposition, even though he could of course not ignore the staines on his footwear and pet grot. The moment Smidge had gotten it out of his system, the grip of weirdboys walking cane seized his throat and put him a little closer. Turning the grot around with the stick, Toothgrappler the third searched for the least despoiled side of the servant before pushing him to the ground and using the protesting grot as living wiping cloth to clean up the worst of the vomit. True to form he did not care to make any further fuzz about it, instead just pushing away the little bugger after he was finished and ordering his own grot "Gosh Fancycap, lookz like ya should refresh yourself a bit, Ol'Chap. Hurry up, will ya? Here, let me help a wee bit..." The soiled grot in his uniform put on a little scared look and was in the trying to protest "Thanks boss, but thars really no need..." before the tip of the walking cane was dipped on his shoulder in a friendly matter followed by a flash of light and the clap of air as Fancycap the grot disapeared with a little "fooomp" sound.

An instant later the guests near the door might have heard a panicked screaming from outside near the oily shimering puddle of "mostly water" - to be precise a good 10 yards above it - followed by a big splash.

Toothgrappler the third himself searched and found eye contact with SkagNet exclaiming in a posh accent "Patron! Weez would fanzy some Rokkit Fuel to get dem spirits flowing now!"

 Gulgog TufToof wrote:


There was another ork shouting in Fungis's direction, apparently keen to race but maybe later; right now Fungis was having the time of his life.

After downing his fresh rocket fuel brew, Busta felt alive, he was burning up, and he wasn't about to have a race than he would just settle for the next best thing.

"Eh you just gonna ignore me! Huh den try and ignore this!"

Busta jumped up onto the bar and then made a diving leap toward Fungis, aiming to land right on top of him and crush him. If he could just pull this off, than he might be able to...put the boot in an really give him a good kicking.

In the back of the bar, some grots hummed a familiar bar bashing tune. Everyone seemed vaguely familiar with it...and it sounded something like this.

Fungis had to admit that last pint of Moonshiner was pretty tasty but a bit rich for his current circumstances to drink all night. He was running out of loose teef in his satchel, and the last dok he even half-trusted for an extraction was old FlashGob who's tent had been hit by an 'oomie air raid a few weeks back. That was okay, if the next few rounds he had to nurse a Scrumpy or fungus beer he could still get a proper buzz on with the few teef he had remaining. Plus, this batch of the ol' Scrump was pretty tasty too, if he did say so hisself.

He lifted the mug of Scrumpy to his lips and tipped the bottom skywards to finish it off. He heard a sound like boots landing on the bar a ways down, but was too focused on extracting the last few drops of cider. The next thing he knew, the mug was forcefully thrust into his maw and lodged itself between his now locked-open jaws. The blow knocked him backwards off his bar stool and something heavy came down hard on top of him. Blows started landing about his head and shoulders and his ork instincts kicked in, finally recognizing the attack for what it was.

Smidge was already hiding under the bar for a brief respite from what was already unfolding as the worst night of his life when Smirking, sensing the impending ruckus, ducked under to join him.

SkagNet had to admit, it was an impressively executed flying kick, but this was intolerable in his bar. This was the kind of thing that would have the whole place throwing blows instead of buying beers. He had seen this coming from a mile away and was already reaching for his grabba stik before Busta's boot even made first contact with its unsuspecting victim. Below the bar, Smidge and Smirking instinctively obliged their master's unspoken will by undoing the latches at either end which kept the tool suspended as SkagNet's grip tightened around the familiar friend. Normally, he only engaged a single battery cell for keeping grots in line and the second cell was reserved for combat, but he flipped both switches and the jaws sprung open and crackled with blue lightning. Both cells were enough to kill them 'oomies in flak jackets with surprising efficiency, but he half-hoped that it wouldn't be enough to kill an ork since a bartender killing his customers was probably bad for business even by ork standards. Still, this level of insolence this early in the evening showed utter disregard for the level of respect he felt that he and his fine establishment were owed.

Barely weathering the assault, Fungis regained his wits but couldn't see very well around the base of the mug protruding from his mouth. He flailed blindly and managed to make reasonably solid contact with his right fist. Having snuck in the back door, he also had the advantage of not being scrutinized by Tiny like the other patrons. With his free left hand, he pulled a small (by ork standards) slugga from his billowing pirate shirt and emptied all six rounds from the clip with zero consideration for where the slugs might go.

The Goff Yoofs who were almost out the door thinking that nothing exciting was ever going down in this particular establishment that night heard the shots, collectively shrugged, and returned to the long bench where they had previously been perched and raised their index fingers to signal the need for another round.

Due to lack of appreciation for his talents, the lead singer of Squig-Rippa's Revenge was also just about to call it a night and tell the band to shove off for another venue, but six freshly-bored holes in the ceiling allowed eerie shafts of Armageddon's multi-colored moonlight to shine in like spotlights which converged on him. Hearing the bar taking up an orky fight song as old as the ork presence on Armageddon filled him with sudden inspiration. He signaled the band members not to pack it in, but rather to take up the tune, which they did with gusto.

Busta clearly had the upper hand, pummeling poor Fungis with proper ork savagery. Fungis for his part was mostly trying to deflect the incoming blows with his right forearm while holding the barrel of the now empty slugga in his flailing left hand hoping to land the butt of the handle on something squishy.

SkagNet ambled down to the far end of the bar and swung his grabba with the kind of proficiency that was testament to his many years as a runtherd. Just as Busta brought up both hands for a killing smash into Fungis's face, SkagNet hooked the grabba under Busta's raised arms, and pushed the red button that both clamped the jaws around Busta's rib cage and delivered a paralyzing jolt of electricity. The look of sheer rage and triumph from a split-second before was frozen on Busta's face as he was deftly scooped up and unceremoniously dumped onto the second-nearest barstool where he sat rigidly upright, temporarily unable to budge.

As Fungis sat up and almost got his bearings, SkagNet wheeled around and gave him the same treatment, catching him about the waist instead, and depositing him on the stool right next to his would be murderer.
SkagNet turned off the juice, used the grabba to pick up Fungis's slugga from the pool of blood in which it lay and tromped back behind the bar to face the two miscreants.
Shouting over the band which had worked itself and the crowd into a frenzy, he addressed Busta: "Oi, if yous wants ta fight, take it outside!"
and then to Fungis, waving the slugga angrily in his face, "and you! Next time, and every time, you come in da front door and get padded down by Tiny just like everyone else!"

He tossed the pistol into a box full of them under the bar and leaned in to address both the half-paralyzed orks simultaneously. "Is dere gonna be any more problems outta you two tonight?" Neither moved a muscle. "Roight then." and he turned to resume his post behind the bar, stowing the grabba in its place where the grots relocked it before resuming their duties as well.

Fungis was still paralyzed from the waist down, but he was regaining feeling in his arms. This was exactly the kind of harmless dust up that every ork lived for, so there were no hard feelings, quite the contrary in fact. It even felt as though his financial troubles had just been solved. He reached up and felt the perimeter of the base of the mug still crammed between his badly bleeding gums, gripped tightly with both hands, and yanked it out so hard that it slammed down on the bar. He half-spit, half-vomited a stream of blood and teef into the mug and then, grinning maniacally from pointy ear to pointy ear and swirling the mix, turned to his assailant. "So, you wants ta race do ya? Well, dat was a proppa scrap, and I'm feeling more alive alluva sudden dan I have in a very long time, fanks to you." Here he dumped the contents of the mug onto the bar, raising the ire and disgust of SkagNet and his two assistants. "Tell ya wot, your rounds for da rest of da night are on me, and if yer still standin' at da end of da night, den we'll race, and den we'll see who's fasta!"

Busta instinctively tried to break free from the bartender's grabba but to no avail. He groaned in dismay as he felt the orky aggression draining out of him, coming on like a bad hang over after a night of hard drinking. He still had his anger though, and this time it was fixed squarely on his captor. (The scrap with Fungis all but forgotten now).

"You sayz wez causin problems? If it weren't for me den you'd av lost alf da yoofs by now. Ded boring this place iz, unless yah let the ladz scrap a lil ta livin it up!"

"Am I right boyz?" Busta yelled out to the crowd with bravado.

When he was finally let go, he slid off to the bar, getting ready to place his next order, eyeing up other orks for the next scrap...hoping to kick off a scrap even bigger after the next round. He finally caught the eye of the strange looking weird boy, and wondered if he would be the next one to start something crazy. "Eh youz a weird boy right? Do sunfin weird for us eh!"

He nodded to Fungis. "Good trick you had with the slugga. Sneaky bit of Morkin cunnin I say. Jus too bad tha bar tender didn't git hit. Hur Hur, yeah yeah, you keep buyin da drinks...I finks dey'll be more scrappin tonight. Dat'll be gud. Den at day wez git ta racin!"

End of Round 2 random draw.
Bonus drinks this round have been
Fungus Beer
Ol’ Scrumpy

And the cursed cups this round have been filled with Snakebite Malt. (Which nobody had, so good job for avoiding that.)

Cheers for all the enthusiasm on display folks. And good job to Fungis Rotbreff for selecting the finest tipple in the bar this round. You and your Deffskullz crew are getting a good buzz and really getting the atmosphere going.
Random Bonus to you - You find a bag of teef that some punter has dropped. It’s not a great amount but it’ll stretch to a bonus round for the lads. Nice one!

*********


SkagNet flipped the big breaker switch that turned the lights on in the cellar beneath the bar.
Stacked in the corner were twelve kegs of Bloodweiser just sat there laughing at him.

“Hmpff.” He hmpffed, remembering the ork who’d come through only a few days ago with a waggon-load of the stuff going cheap.
“Zoggin’ BloodAxe git!” He grumbled wrenching the pipe connection from the offending barrel. He tapped another of the barrels and took a swig. His face wrinkled and he spat the loathsome stuff out before connecting it up. It was nasty grog but it didn’t make his stomach turn. Must’ve been a bad barrel. He connected it up and eyed the others suspiciously.

Something brown and viscous was dripping down through the floor-boards. That reminded him. He grabbed up a mop and switched off the lights on the way out the door.

Smidge was still looking a bit grey when SkagNet handed him the mop.
“Swab it!” He ordered.
Swabbing was grot’s work after all.

The band were taking a break and the bar was getting busy. SkagNet waded in to help Smirking get the drinks out. He was pumping pints of Scrumpy for a crew of Deffskullz that had come in. The stuff was a big hit and Fungis had joined them for a round. SkagNet was happy to avoid the old Freebooter’s scrutiny for the time being though he had to admit he was glad of the quality booze he’d supplied.

The odd fella in the lofty hat appeared and said something in his funny voice. SkagNet grinned toothily as if he’d understood the wierdboy. He’d thought he caught something about Rokkit fuel which was all he really needed to know.

SkagNet’s hand fell upon the fuel pump and selecting a much larger flagon than he had really intended to he pumped the handle hard, much harder than he usually would. The wierdboy looked on with an uncanny glare. By the time SkagNet had shaken the grip of the wierdboy’s mind, or had been released from it at any rate, the flagon of Rokkit fuel was at least three times the measure he’d normally have served. Toothgrappler tossed a fairly hefty toof his way so SkagNet wasn’t complaining.

Smidge returned in a fresh-ish tunic and apron.
“Oi, Smidge!” SkagNet slammed a tray into the grot’s hands. “Bring a round of Bullgrox to da band. Dey sound like a set of damp squibs up dere. Dis place needs some livin’in’ up.”

As if right on cue one of the patrons obliged. He clambered up onto the bar and proceeded to leap down upon Fungis who had just finished his pint. It was a bit early for these types of shenanigans but then again not altogether unexpected. The trick was to let them duff it out, let the lads get a good look and drum the atmosphere up. It was all good fun…

Then the shots rang out, all six in quick succession.

“Oh fer Gork’sake!” groaned SkagNet. He went for the grabba sick underneath the bar feeling his old joints creaking as he bent down to reach under. He was getting to old for this gak.

**************

That’s the start of round 3 folks. I’ve been using the band as my own set of drinkers and choosing their drinks before (the boy does) the random selection each time. I’ll maybe drop another bit of story to introduce some more activity for round 3 beginning here. Maybe we’ll get another customer or two in through the door too.

Once again we have a full drinks menu to choose from as nobody caught the curse last round.

Cheers!

[This has been a real joy writing this collaborative work of orky fiction. I hope we can keep this going with more short stories in the future!]

[I also may introduce some more characters to start representing an entire ork mob!]

SkagNet tossed the grabba stick at Smirking who went to stow it back beneath the bar.

Another grot arrived in from the back room. It was Finga. He was late. As usual.

SkagNet gave him one heck of a stink eye that said ‘get to work yer shiftless grot git!” and threw a tray at him with a little more force than strictly necessary.

But Finga was a feisty little grot and quick on his feet. He neatly side stepped the flying metal discus and casually unhooked his mouldy old apron from the wall.

“Alright Smirking.” his squeaky grot voice chimed over the general hubbub. “You hear about Da Axe Swingas?”

“Zogged, mate.” Said Smirking from beneath the bar.

“Shame.”

SkagNet was still glowering at his tardy bar-grot, not that Finga had a zog to give.

“I ‘eard it wasn’t Humies.” Finga continued, “I ‘eard it woz da Axe Grindaz, well wot’s left of ‘em after their lead singer got choppa’d down at Da Hull.”

“Nasty bizzniss, dat.” Smirking agreed still pulling pints of scrumpy for the Deffskullz.

SkagNet didn’t have time for the entertainment news he made a step towards Finga with the back of his hand raised meaningfully. Finga picked up the tray, which was a start.

“Dat rivalry’s always been a nasty one.” He went on, “Remember when SkullLunkz switched and started drummin’ for da Grindaz an’ ol’ GorrMoff hizself went an’ krunked him live on stage!”

SkagNet had heard enough; Da Guzzlin Grox wasn’t going to run itself! There were mugs to collect and drinks to run. He charged forward to put a hand on the scruff of the gobby little git’s neck but Finga just slipped the tray neatly under SkagNet’s peg-leg foot. The tray and leg came out from under him and the ork landlord fell in an undignified heap behind the bar.

“No time fer lyin’ about Skaggerz,” Finga scolded with a big grin, “dere’s plenty of work to be done.” He stepped neatly over the ork’s flailing arm and went to go say hi to Tiny at the door.

[New Characters:

-Awe-Sum: Nob
-Watrik: Yoof]


SkagNet had heard enough; Da Guzzlin Grox wasn’t going to run itself! There were mugs to collect and drinks to run. He charged forward to put a hand on the scruff of the hobby little git’s neck but Finga just slipped the tray neatly under SkagNet’s peg-leg foot. The tray and leg came out from under him and the ork landlord fell in an undignified heap behind the bar.

A mob of orks known as the Thunder Tumblers had just arrived to witness the spectacle, and one of their number, a yoof with an odd look in his eyes, started laughing uncontrollably and pointing at Finga. "Hahaha, dat grot not listenin. Wot you fink your da Red Gobbo now? Har har."

The Yoof's name was Watrik, and he had the look of a spanner in the making. He pulled out his whirly wrench and reached out for finga to try and grab him and pull him in. "Hey grot, let me show you my latest invention. It has two uses, its a fixin gubbin but also a face whacker!" Watrik pushed a button and the wrench started to whirl in a circle quickly.

Busta noticed that the rest of his mob had arrived and motioned to them with the sit down. "Eh boss, da drinks is flowing gud now. We had a bit of krumpin before, but yah didn't miss anyfing big yit."

Awe-Sum pushed his way through the smaller orks in the mob until he reached the bar. Once he reached Busta, he immediately slammed Busta's head into the bar and held it there.

"Yeah but you was missing out on mob business. You wuz supposed ta be tryin out Watrik's rokkit launcha. Dat's importan cuz we gonna need a lot of dakka ta take down the ol Lemon Rusts. But I'll tell yah what Busta. I'll let you off easy tanite. Just sing da song, an buy me a drink. Nothing fancy, just regular, ol fashioned fungus brew. Den buy yahself one, an bring one over ta Waatrik."

Awe-Sum slammed Busta's head into the bar brutally, before letting go.

Busta winced in pain. "Oi, my head hurts. I thougt dat was supposed ta come after the drinkin, not before!"

Awe-Sum glared at Busta, until the lumbering remembered what he was supposed to do. He ordered the drinks and then launched into the self serving brew song of his Nob.

Who krumped 1000 zombies on Morkheim?

Orky Awe-Sum

Who gave da free booterz da boot real ard?

Orky Awe-Sum

Who stole a space ship all for himself?

Orky Awe-Sum

Who krashed da eternal train Grotpiercer into a mountain?

Orky Awe-Sum

An who krumped a big ol deamon with iz bare hands?

Orky....Awe-Sum?

Busta practically asked the last lyric of the song out loud as he finally served the drink to himself and his boss.

By then a slight silence had descended on part of the bar as orks listened in on the song, intrigued by the supposed deeds of this new Nob.

The silence however was interrupted by the sound of another grot...but no one could figure out where it came from or who.

"None of dat happened. It's all made up! He's making it up!"

More laughters and jeers filled the room. Awe-Sum looked flustered. "Oi, who said dat? WHO SAID DAT!"

Nice one. Hope I wasn’t stepping on your toes stealing Finga for SkagNet’s work rota. I saw you were bringing the lads in and thought the bar could use an extra pair of hands.

[No problem at all! You wrote Finga perfectly. Please keep writing for that character!]

Squig Rippas Revenge broke the silence with a rowdy intro ripping into their last tune of the evening. It was a popular cover of the well known “Kick’em When Dey’z Down” which everyone enjoyed stomping along to. The other band, Grunt Fume had arrived and were enjoying a pint of Bullgrox Bitter as an army of grots unloaded their gear from what appeared to be a large BattleWagon out the back. It’s exhausts were creating more noise than than the band on stage who were turning everything up in an effort to be heard over its heavy bass rumble.

SkagNet’s eyes watered at the size of the amp the band’s grot road crew had just brought in.
“Oi! Ladz…” he faltered, clocking the bulk of green flesh that passed for a bass player standing by the bar. “I mean, dis here’s da Guzzlin Grox, it ain’t Gorkapalooza.”
The band didn’t so much as blink in acknowledgment. Smirking was serving up a fresh round of Bullgrox with enthusiasm and SkagNet couldn’t help but wonder if his helpful grot hadn’t bitten off a bit more than The Grox could guzzle this time. The extra noise seemed to be drawing in more of a crowd. Smidge staggered past carrying more empties than he could see over and Tiny had his hands full trying to manage the door. Even Finga had appeared out there and was attempting to help him with the pat-downs.

The mountain of gear being hauled in was growing as the band downed yet another round of the hard stuff at the bar, getting steadily more animated. Squig Rippas Revenge we’re really ripping the bag with their last number and Grunt Fume’s road manager, something between a Mek-boy and a Runtherd was eager to set up and giving them some serious stink-eye.

The place was filling up too. Both of the orks who he’d just recently stunned in order to quell an early bust-up now had their own respective mobs around them. The atmosphere was starting to make SkagNet’s brain hum palpably, though it might have just been the lingering after-effects of that wierdboy’s last drinks order.

SkagNet watched the gathering storm in growing alarm. At least if Ghazghkull did show up, thought SkagNet with some trepidation, he’d be in for a proper show.

Toothgrappler smiled profundly as Skagnet handed him the large flagon of Rokkit fuel and took a first swig as he paraded it back to his seat. The drink definitly had some chest hair, especially after he had gulped down the first pint - a third of his flaggon. But while it made his heart race and some veins on his temple swole, this evening still seemed to be missing some... "je ne sais crois". But before he had even time to give in to these melancholic thoughts, Busta and Fungis saved the day. Kicks flying, punches thrown, even the angelic music of ringing bolter shots... This was... something else! He could feel the energy building up in the room, flowing through his veins and into his body. A slight crackle and some sparks build up around his walking cane and his top-hat began to spin slowly counterclockwise, while he watched both orks getting at each other, taking in the spirit of the Whaaaag! with deep breaths through his nostrils. A shame that Skag Net broke it up so fast. Nonetheless, now this evening promised to be a memorable one.

"Splendid, Gentlemen, just splendid!" he toasted to both of them clapping with a broad smile. Then he gulped down the rest of his rokkit fuel and just casually grapped the mug of blindsnake malt one of Skag Nets Grots was intent on bringing to another Ork for his very own third drink, without minding or caring what its owner would think about it. As Awe-Sum and his little mob arrived and the former slammed Bustas head into the bar, Toothgrappler shuddered under another tickling surge of power. Climbing on top of the nearest table he raised his mug shouting to the audience, but mostly towards Busta who had urged him to do something weird

"A toast me jolly chaps!", raising his walking cane and slamming it with a resounding crack on the table, which released some of his stored energy in the form of lots of little sparks and mini-lightnings that raced across the room, zig-zagging around from one drink to the other. Whatever beverage was hit was suddenly crowned by a gostly, blueish fire. "In da Words of me good ol' chap Orkenstain : Nicht lang schnacken, Kopf innen Nacken!" *** Which he promptly followed up by just guzzling down all of the burning blindsnake malt in one big gulp, setting his spinning tophat on fire in the process, challenging every Ork in the room to just try and drink his flaming beverage.



*** (German: "don't talk so much, just throw your head back")
[Hope that fits... still new to this

The Thunder Tumblers all whooped and hollered as the band broke into a kickin tune. Busta and Waatrik immediately jumped into a swarming mosh,pit and started pushing and punching every ork in sight.

Busta whooped and yelled.

Awe Sum meanwhile was content to kick back his giant mug of fungus brew already forgetting his momentary humiliation over the pub song. He gestured to Fungis.

"Eh ther Fungis! My boy Busta ere said yah pulled a gud trick sneaking that lil slugga in ere. Wot Mek you git that from eh?"

He nodded to the respectable looking weird boy. "Dats right, my mob always fight ard, even if its jus knuckles. Pass tha fire drink ova ere, I'll try sum of it!"

As the other band arrived Awe-Sum cracked a large toothy grin.

"Shah dis gonna be getting gud. Right up der with da time Da Six Shootas got into it with da Goff Rockerz."

Fungis ordered another pint of Ol' Scrumpy and said to SkagNet, "Fanks for da fresh pint... and dat lad" here he indicated Busta, "his drinks can come outta dis pile for da rest of da night along wiv mine," and pushed the pile of bloody teeth across the bar to the disgruntled barkeep.

Regaining feeling in his legs, he swiveled around on his stool and surveyed the scene. It was becoming apparent to Fungis that this was going to be a night of ork legend. Given the rapidly swelling number of orks in the warehouse-sized space of Da Guzzlin' Grox, he was half tempted to tellyport back to his tent in da dragsta to grab some more barrels to sell to SkagNet but he couldn't bear to miss any of the obviously impending action.

Tiny was getting overwhelmed checking orks at the door, but at this rate, it wouldn't matter before too long - there simply wasn't much room left for anyone else to cram in unless they were hanging from the rafters.
His eyes landed on a sea of blue and white in the midst of the seating area just back of the crowded stage and its swirling mosh pit. "My ladz," he thought to himself. If a real bench-clearing bar brawl did break out, it would pay to be among friends. Friends who knew where the camp's supply of ale came from. As he stood up, he had to steady himself. Either this was a particularly fine batch of the Ol' Scrump, or the jolt from the grabba hadn't completely worn off yet.

He staggered towards the mob of DefSkullz seated at a long bench in the thick of it all, and felt something click against the toe of his boot that slid a few feet away. "Well I'll be," he thought as he pushed aside a couple of yoofs and picked up a decent-sized drawstring squighide full of teef, "it is my lucky night!"

There was one seat left at the Skullz bench, and it was unoccupied for good reason, a smell that would keep even most orks at bay. Fungis recognized the massive bulk of ZoggAll, "ZoggAll 'Evvyfing" according to the small mob of Squighog Boyz who followed this DeathSkullz nob with religious fanaticism. This was the kind of ork that could be a warboss if he cared about leading others, but so far as Fungis knew, all he cared about was taking down bigger and meaner game for the thrill of it. Fungis didn't see the other Beast Snaggas meaning ZogAll was out on his own tonight, so Fungis squeezed in alongside him.

ZoggAll looked down, recognized Fungis, and gave a slight nod and a grunt of acceptance at the intrusion of his personal space.

Fungis wondered what could possibly have brought this reclusive figure out for a night of drinking with the general public. He and his mob seldom even came into the DeathSkullz camp and mostly stuck to themselves after a quick trade and resupply. Fungis typically sold them two kegs when they came into camp; one for the impending roam about, and one to polish off that night around the camp fire while telling hunting tales and plotting new locations to find even bigger beasties. He also said a quick prayer to Gork and Mork that ZoggAll's colossal smasha squig was securely chained somewhere far from his new dragsta. The noise outside the bar was equally loud as the noise inside, those things didn't see too well, and the dragsta would make an easy target to a raging squig given that it was painted an almost fluorescent shade of Bad Moon yellow on account of the tastes of its recently deceased previous owner. Which reminded him, there was going to be a race for the afterparty. This was gonna be a good evening indeed; he might even be the owner of a new Trakk come morning.

He turned to the amassed Skullz and shouted loudly over the band, "Evenin' ladz, what'reya drinkin' then?"

"Scrump!" they all shouted back in unison raising their mugs.

"Bloodwisah!" shouted a madboy at the end of the table who was turning an awfully unhealthy shade of not green.

The Skullz all shook their heads, and then realizing that their mugs were raised for some reason, decided that there must have been a toast of some kind made. All together, they shouted, "'Ere we go!", slammed their mugs on the table, brought them to their lips, and guzzled the contents, slamming the empties down mere seconds later.

"Dat's da stuff!" shouted Fungis, "tell ya wot, next round fer dis table is on me!". That should absolutely buy him some additional protection should another fight break out he thought, but then his curiosity about his nearest drinking companion overcame him. "So Zogg, wot brings you out to da Grox tonight then eh?"

"I'z been followin' Grunt Fume on tour." The look of astonishment on Fungis's face must have been obvious, for he continued, "I don't knows why, it's like I'z posessed. When deys really starts kickin', I mean really kickin', I feelz it in me bones. It's better'n huntin' even." Here Fungis's eyes grew really wide with disbelief. "Fer now at any rate. I'll get back to it sooner or later I reckon. How 'bout you then, eh?"

"Tonight'll be da first time I ever heard 'em; I came out fer da SquigRippaz. Plus, I 'eard 'ol Gazzy hisself might drop in."

ZoggAll gave an understanding nod and resumed drinking from the mug in his left hand. He may not have been the social type, but at least he was old and wise enough to know to order two at a time when a place got crowded like this.

There was some kind of ruckus a few tables over and some shouting, and in between gulps, a spark hit Zogg's half-full mug and blue flames began to lick from the surface of the liquid inside. He shrugged and downed the rest. "You's buying the next round, roight." It was a statement, not a question.

Fungis raised his finger hoping to catch the attention of someone serving drinks but it was futile, the place was packed. Da SquigRippaz ended their set and in the interim between bands, he jumped up on the table. Catching SkagNet's eye (who thought he was starting more trouble), he motioned for a round for the table and toothlessly mouthed the word "Scrump".

One from da Skrap Book for the old band before they take their last bow for the night.



Great bit of action this round. I loved the contributions from each of you. Looking forward to seeing where the night goes from here. We’ve done the draw for this round and I’m writing up the story so watch this space for the next round beginning soon.

But first I had to draw these guys!

End of Round 3 Random Draw
Bonus drinks this round:
Bullgrox Bitter
And Old Scrumpy (Again!)

Cursed for one round- Fungus Beer!
Oh no! The old standby! SkagNet your bar’s running dry!

*********

The place was packed! SkagNet was grinning from ear to ear. Even that godshite frontman from Squig Rippa’s Revenge asking for his dosh wasn’t going to bring the old ork down.

“Ere lad.” SkagNet chucked him a bag of teef. “Yous did alright.” he beamed. “You ladz stayin’ for a few more?”

The band-git pocketed his earnings and shrugged, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. That last round of Bullgrox had given him a good beer-buzz and he was in the mood for a scrap. There was one fella in particular here whose mouth needed showing some correctional attention. “Sure, give us a fungus brew.” He wasn’t sure he could handle another Bullgrox, that stuff made your head buzz, and your fists itch.

SkagNet made to pull the pint but the pressure was down. A few pumps and still no beer.
“Hang about.” He apologised, “Just gonna fetch a fresh keg.”

SkagNet found Smirking already down in the cellar. “Sup, Smirking?”

“We’z outa fungus brew, Boss.” The grot replied delivering the near-catastrophic news with such a matter-of-fact tone that SkagNet almost didn’t catch it.

“No more… WOT?” Surely that couldn’t be right! He’d seen loads of the stuff just the other day! He’d ordered short off Fungis Rotbreff cause he needed to use up his surplus stock.

“Na, Smirking, lookit dis,” SkagNet went to where he knew the surplus kegs were stashed, “See, dere’s plenty o’…”SkagNet stopped as the red painted label on the barrel spun into view. Bloodweiser. He turned another and another, just begging da gods for a good-honest green toadstool label to appear on the next barrel. But it wasn’t to be. He’d made a mistake, a terrible mistake!

“It’s all Bloodweiser, Boss.” Smirking was standing back a bit, at a safe distance to allow SkagNet to blow his top.

SkagNet’s mind was racing. He had a packed bar, on the one of the biggest nights of his life and all he had to serve was a cellar full of human-brewed swill. Sure there was Scrump and Bull and a respectable amount of da ‘ard stuff, but that wouldn’t do, not with this lot. You needed to water it down with a good steady supply of fungus brew or there’d be a riot in short order. A proper krumpin’ one!

The ork spun around with a desperate look in his eye. “Smirking, hook up da Bloodweiser for now. You know dey always serves any old muck at dese fings, when da bands play so loud you can’t even taste yer own teef.”

Smirking, raised an eyebrow but did as he was told.

“An’ maybe crack open dat special brew wot Rotbreff left behind da bar. Only fer da big ladz mind!”

“Maybe if I go fetch Fungis down ‘ere…” Smirking suggested tentatively.

SkagNet though about his booze supplier down in his cellar and what he’d make of the amount of cheep gak on sorry display. “Nah! No don’t do dat!”

Fink, SkagNet! Fink!

“Never mind, Smirking. Jus’ go up and pretend nuffink’s wrong.” SkagNet concluded, the perspiration visibly beading on his wrinkly brow.
“I’ll send Finga out to fetch a batch of WaaaghSteiner from FatStax’s place.”

They returned to the bar and put a brave face on it. Smirking went back to serving up the Scrumpy for Fungis and the Deffskullz while SkagNet started pulling pints of “fungus brew” for the Thunder Tumblers round.

“Oi! Finga!” SkagNet collared his wayward charge and dragged him beneath the bar. “I gots a job for ya, on da downlow!”

Finga was interested.

“We needs more fungus brew. An’ I can’t ask Fungis Rotbreff or he’ll be dead smug an’ charge me twice da price for his worst rot! I needs ya to run along to FatStax brewery an’ fetch up six kegs o’ WaaaghSteiner. Go as kwik as ya can!” He flashed the big hefty tooth that the wierdboy had given him, which Finga considered would be ample reward.

“Quick as I can?”

“Dead kwik!” SkagNet confirmed, “Paint yer heels red if ya have to!”

“Sure fing, Boss.”

SkagNet appeared back at the bar and slipped a “Half price” sign on the Bloodweiser tap. That oughta take some of the pressure off in the meantime.

He could see that Toothgrappler was providing something of a half-time show between the bands. There were toasts and cheers and even flaming beer steins.

SkagNet took up the cheer, all smiles and laughter, for all the world the happiest ork in town. If anyone had noticed the old switcheroo downstairs they didn’t seem to be complaining. He might just get away with this yet.

Grunt Fume took the stage and there was a palpable murmur of excitement around the crowd. They looked proper riled up and ready to really kick it tonight.

There was a loud POP! outside. It sounded like one of those Shockjump Dragstas that Fungis came in. Sounded like it was leaving.

“Yaowright, ev’rybodies aow!” Grunt Fume’s slab-of-a-Frontman greeted the crowd in his barely intelligible drawl as the drummer slammed into the intro groove like a brick-fisted pit-fighter.
“I wonna see dose ‘ands up!” he growled, “get dem git-fingas out in salute to dat grisly owld sod Ghazza da Git!”

Howls of defiance accompanied a showing of git-fingered salutes as SkagNet watched on aghast. What da-zog was happening here?
He looked to Smirking for an explanation but the grot was elbow-deep in one of the big steins, wiping out the inside very intently.

“Dis one’s called “Yarrick’s Got Yer Nipper!” The opening chords of the song hit harder than a ThumpGun and the crowd lost their gak. They were clearly loving it.

SkagNet glanced to the door anxiously. He couldn’t stop the band now any more than he could stop Ghazzkull coming through the doors if he wanted to.

It was going to take more than a half-dozen kegs of fungus beer to get this train-wreck back on-track.

*************

[Bad luck the Thunder Tumblers getting served up the old Bloodweiser on the sly. And for some reason also bad luck Fungis Rotbreff, your fungus brew is about to be slagged off by every unlucky ork in the building and on top of that Finga just nicked your Shockjump Dragsta to go fetch some more booze from a rival brewer! Not sure how that adds up to a win for ordering the old scrump but thems the breaks.
Sorry I wasn’t able to make more of Toothgrappler’s toast. I trust it’ll find a way into the rest of our story yet.

So that’s the beginning of Round 4 folks. Don’t
Forget to show your appreciation to the bands and watch out for that wierdboy-fire on your pint.

Note for this round: ordering Fungus Beer will get you Bloodweiser, which you may or may not notice, or complain about, or enjoy anyway. It’s up to you.]

Awe-Sum, Busta and Waatrik toasted each other and guzzled the...Fungus Brew?

Awe-Sum licked his chops.

"Something doesn't taste right with this Fungus Brew."

Waatrik nodded. "Yeah...its got more SU-SUGAR in it. Nice sweet taste."

Busta nodded pensively. "Not bitter enuf for me, but who cares eh?"

Awe-Sum nodded and then waved to a nearby grot. "Right grot, just keep dat good ol fashion Fungus Brew comin ere!"

Awe-Sum gestured to Busta and Waatrik. Rite, now that youz all propa drunk, go out an cause a ruckous eh? Den I'll jump in if da fight gets good enuf"

Busta laughed heartily as he plunged back into the mosh pit kicking shoving and punching at every opportunity again.

Meanwhile Waatrik decided to antagonize the weird boy. He just couldn't help himself. He pulled out his whirly wrench, activated it, and shoved it in the weird boy's face. The tool was attempting to deliver a nice hard smack of metal to the weird boy's face.

Waatrik had his typical crazy look in his eyes. "My gubbinz hahaha look at it, take a good close look at it weird boy, its a face smacka!"

Da Thunder Tumblers...and Grots pose around their trusted Wartrak

His top hat still rotating and burning brigthly, Toothgrappler did not see Waatriks special wrench coming and got knocked right of his - polished, shining black - shoes, falling from the table he was standing on onto bis back.
His pet grot who had just returned a moment before slid decently to the side behind the most solid looking piece of cover he could find while down from the spot the weirdboy had fallen, a resounding crackling, buzzing... and hearty chuckle errupted. Toothgrappler came back up, his eyes glowing and slipping out of his jacket. Handing it to the nearest guest with a "Would ya hold dat for a'minit, sir " which left the adressed rather puzzled. The weirdboy rolled up his sleeves, some blood on his face where the wrench had broken his lip and did a number to his nose. Raising his fists in a weird looking manner like a human 19th century boxer while smiling broadly he adressed his opponent "Dats a fine lil gubbinz ya got dere. Lemme take another closer look atit will ya? "

The next moment a buzzing electrical crackling fist was aimed towards Waatriks chin, yet failed to really make an impression apart from "charging" him up even more as if the weirdboy was fuelling waagh energy right into the only ork here that had so far had the guts to look for some scrab with him.

[Feel free to describe a little fight. Toothgrappler WILL go down after a hit or two and won't stand a chance in a fight. But "charging" Waatrik might get funny and afterwards he will buy him a drink and be grateful for the fight]

[Don't worry I'll make this hilarious...now its time for some proper bashing]

The blow literally knocks Waatrik about six feet up into the air and sends him flying into the mosh pit, which inadvertently causes the half unconscious ork to "crowd surf" all the way to the stage. The crowd literally throws Waatrik onto the stage and he lands right into the lead singer, causing the lead singer to stumble right in the middle of the song and drop his microphone.

The band stops playing...confused.

The microphone tumbles to Waatrik's feet as he gets up, his head still in a daze from the Weirboy's mighty blow.

Waatrik picks up the microphone. He notices the crowd and the band are all looking to him expectantly.

"Ummm, yeah. Zog the music, let's all krump each other!"

The feedback of a dropped microphone screeched over the speakers causing everyone in the bar to cringe in horror. Waatrik's suggestion to start krumpin' was obviously well received by many in the crowd who started looking around for reasonably-sized targets to throw a punch at.

It was not at all well received by Zogall 'Evvyfing.
"Zog da musik?" he said shaking his head in disbelief, "ZOG da MUSIK???" He sprang to his feet, kicking the bench backwards out from underneath him, sending the bench, Fungis, and the other five or six other orks who shared it sprawling to the floor. "I'LL ZOG YOU! I'LL KRUMP YOU GOOD!" he shouted over the din, pointing menacingly at Waatrik.

Fungis didn't believe Zogall capable of such speed, and had never seen him show any kind of emotion. Quite frankly, this much rage from a beast this size was somewhat terrifying. The crowd parted left and right (either willingly if they saw him coming or violently if they didn't) as he marched single-mindedly towards the stage.

The band were stunned, and Zogall made it halfway to his target before Tiny (quite literally) beat him to the punch. There was no hope trying to stem the tide of orks mobbing through the front door so Tiny had given up and was enjoying the only other privilege (besides the free Fungus ale) of being employed at Da Guzzlin' Grox - watching the band from the wings of the stage. Crowd surfing was tolerable, but he had seen it enough times before- it was trouble every time a patron ended up on stage.
He took three long strides, his right fist cocked back, and once he got within striking range of center stage, let fly with all of his considerable weight.

Waatrik took a blow to the chin the likes of which Fungis had only seen in battles when the nobs were throwing down with the larger of them beekie boyz. As the brass knuckles connected, Waatrik's face was temporarily thrown out of shape and he flew off the stage, landing atop the crowd once more, who passed him along, his body floating this way and that as his limbs flailed.

The drummer, guitarist, and bassist picked up where they left off, treating the intermission like a grand pause. They finished the track and threw more fingers in the air at the now extremely rowdy crowd.

Three roady grots struggled under the weight of a massive two-string bass that they delivered to the bassist, relieved to carry the lighter one he had previously been playing off stage. Whereas the opening number was fast and thrashy and got the pit going, the first few bass notes of the second track of the night signaled that what was coming next was pure relentless doomy sludge. The bass was so tuned down that the smaller string was at the bottom of the audible end of the spectrum, and the larger string couldn't be heard at all, but you felt it as though someone had grabbed your spine and was shaking you from within. Fungis wondered if the walls of the joint could withstand such a sonic assault.

On cue, as if possessed, Zogall continued his pilgrimage forward through the crowd, until he was at the very center of the maelstrom in front of the stage. He was head and shoulders above anyone else in the pit, and despite being battered on all sides by drunken moshing orks, he stood like a pillar, nodding his head in a trance.

Well, thought Fungis, if this place does come crashing down, perhaps next to Zogall was the place to be. He too waded his way into the pit, and kept his place beside Zogall as best he could, pushing and shoving occasionally to get back to the relative peace in the eye of the storm. As at every show, there were orks who brought their mugs into the pit, sloshing beer this way and that. As one unlucky ork turned and sped by him, Fungis siezed the opportunity, grabbing the still mostly-full mug and shoving the ork deeper into the swirling crowd. He guzzled the contents and pitched the mug up on stage so as to eliminate the evidence. "I been hangin' 'round dese Skullz too long," he thought to himself, and then, "ugh, Bloodwisah!" and let out a deep unsettling belch.

Nice work everyone. Just a quick housekeeping note on drinks selected this round.

I have Fungis down for Bloodweiser as he pilfered one off a passing ork.

Could I get a quick drinks order for Toofgrappler, Busta, OrkyAwe-sum and maybe even Zoggall?

There’s no need for a narrative write up (you can if you wish) it’s just to give me an indication for bonus/curse purposes for the end of the round.