The Beard Bunker

“What's this?” Sirrus Bizniz asked the nervous-looking mek. Of course, Sirrus knew perfectly well what it was: it was a battlewagon. A big pile of armour on wheels and tracks, designed to transport orks too wimpy for a traditional charge. Sirrus liked his enemies to see him coming. He liked seeing the fear in their eyes as he got closer. The question was not what the battlewagon was, the question was how the mek would try and sell him on an idea that didn't mesh with his Klassik Goff vision for the Metalwaaagh. “Tour bus,” said Zibbitt. This was, to be fair, a pretty strong opening. “Just for transport between battles. We made it big and tough to show that you is the boss.” This was clearly rehearsed. Bignooz had put Zibbitt up to this in case it didn't go down well. It was satisfyingly chunky, and the black paint job was pretty dread, but it felt wrong to see something so big look so toothless. “Needs dakka,” Sirrus said eventually. Zibbitt’s brows furrowed. “You want to ...

Mantearer (also spelt Manteara) were playing brutal rokk long before Sirrus Bizniz ever popularised the genre on Boff's Rok , slamming away at their instruments in bars full of orks too keen on getting drunk to realise they were in the presence of greatness. Lead gittarist 'Toofbag' Torgrum eventually took the initiative and took to smashing his gittar over the heads of anyone who wasn't listening during their sets. This kind of violence was met with a mixed response, ranging from 'vaguely amused' to 'extremely keen,' and led to Mantearer gaining a reputation for the most brutal mosh pits in da Scene. Toofbag's propensity to start fights with everyone meant that the band soon had to invest in armour just to get through the opening songs, which in turn resulted in ever larger objects being thrown at them. Mantearer soon found themselves in a harms race, which they ultimately won when Sirrus Bizniz helped them surge in popularity to the extent that th...

What? Why? The thing about ork warbosses in 40K crusade is this: they become unstoppable beasts. This is highly entertaining, of course, but they do have a way of making every game about themselves. Consequently, as the boss' Waaagh grows , I find myself using my other warboss models to represent his leff-tenunts. I could just say "here's a random boss," but it's way more fun to have a name and a personality. And so, one thing led to another and... well... ladies and gentlemen, for your consideration I present: the Boss-o-Matic 9000. This extremely stupid series of random tables incorporate an ork name generator, a squig name generator, a gretchin name generator, and then goes waaaay further than necessary by generating a personality for your boss, including his quirks and hobbies. Today, my brain worms iz green. I've already had a fair bit of fun using this to generate a couple of leftenunts for my fellow Bunker dwellers to fight; generally if my opponent can...

Years ago, on the ork world of Boff's Rok, a po-faced mek named Krom came straight out of Bonkton with nothing but the wrench in his hand. He started out spannering for the Drop City Burnas, then managed to land a spot on Rezzgit Wurrlybitz' Formula Waaagh team out in Skid Row. It was here that Krom gained his first slice of notoriety: in his third year, he made a shokkjump drive and fitted it to the team's dragsta. This resulted in quite a lot of fighting when no-one could agree on whether tellyporting was cheating (most people came down on the side corresponding with the bets they'd placed). Sensing he'd just painted a target on his back, Krom snuck out and made for Mek Town, hoping to disappear into the crowds. He resurfaced a few years later, having 'inherited' Gurdur's Garridge following an 'unfortunate' tellyporta accident in which the top half of Gurdur 'went to find Gork and Mork.' Over the next few months, Krom built a reputation...

Even as a yoof, Brrt was obsessed with dakka and explosions, and he could never get enough. Shootas: not enough dakka. Big shootas: still not enough dakka. Warbikes were pretty good, but he needed more. He was convinced an aircraft would be the way to go. Not least of which because fighta-bommers also did that amazing thing where they dived down and dropped bombs on things, which Brrt found to be compellingly fast and loud. There was one problem: the Boss. Sirrus ' initial interest dried up after almost all of Brrt's early experiments resulted in crashes. It made air power look expensive and ineffective, and the boss didn't like those two things. He also didn't like scientifically rigorous sample sizes, since that meant even more expense. Choppas were cheap, and ladz were plentiful. The crashes did look undeniably metal, but ultimately, the boss had responsibilities. A thoroughly disappointed (and vigorously concussed) Brrt was told to go back to his big shoota, and ke...

When Black Squiggoth's best frontman Buzzy Buzzborn returned from his dynamite fishing trip and arrived at the Wurrgong Stage, he gawped at the devastation he found.

Until now the Metalwaaagh had momentum, but it didn't have speed. As I continue to collect this fledgling army I'm slowly filling out a patrol detachment. I've done my 3 troops and 2 heavy support... now it's time for the fast attack: 10 stormboyz, and a squadron of deffkoptas. Today's post will cover who these idiots are, then finish with how this army's done on Crusade.

As Sirrus Bizniz' metalwaaagh expands, so does his need for things that smash face. Doc Feelgood and his Grötley Crüe acquitted themselves well in the initial tour, so he's come up with a cunning plan: any fangrot can now buy themselves a V.I.G. badge if they bring a wheelbarrow full of teef to Sirrus. Grots with V.I.G. passes are allowed backstage to talk to members of their favourite bands, will be treated to fewer slappings, and most excitingly, will be allowed to ride to war with the legendary Grötley Crüe in kans of their very own. The teef, in turn, will help fund the ever-growing fleet of the metalwaaagh. Everyone's a winner. Except the poor gits who the grots half-inched the teef off, but that should at least keep everyone on their toes. Three grots have already achieved this incredible scrounge-quest, and Doc Feelgood has quite industriously slapped three more kans together for them. Is he thrilled about welcoming random, ultra-stealy gits into his krew? No. Is h...

Sweary Bozz did a lot with tone of voice; it helped compensate for the limited vocabulary. It wasn't that he didn't understand other ork words, it's just that he found he could express himself perfectly well by saying 'zog' and just sprinkling the feelings on top. He could, for added flavour, add the word 'off' on the end. For anything else, there was 'bog' and occasionally 'git.' 'Bozz, did you know Metal Orker is playing tonight?' one of his mates would say. 'Zog off!' Bozz would answer, a surprised grin spreading across his face. 'Can you get us tickets? I know you and Sirrus Bizniz go way back.' 'Zog off,' Bozz spat, realising he was being used, and discouraging said cynicism with a crisp headbutt. Lacking Sirrus' aptitude for articulating what was just so very metal about this band or that band, Bozz never had much influence of his own, but Sirrus recognised a fellow superfan. Bozz went to just as man...

Sirrus Bizniz believes rok is for everyone, even grots, particularly if they're going to spend teef on rok merch. After all, that touring fleet isn't going to build itself. 40K crusade demands that I track individual units, but honestly I just see the grots as one amorphous pool of fangrots. Mr Bizniz mostly sees it the same way, but occasionally one grot or another might catch his attention for doing something uncommonly metil. Where most runts flee at the first sign of a loud noise, grots of kultur are instead drawn by the sound of rok. They become highly animated, headbanging and scampering about underfoot, although most avoid the orks' mosh pits. Some orks make fangrots feel unwelcome, claiming rok is proper musik for proper orks, whereas others are either indifferent or oddly charmed by the wee screeching loons. Either way, one thing is certain: having a small army of fangrots scrounging teef to buy rok merch has only swelled Mr Bizniz' coffers, and provided an a...

The clanking three-piece outfit Grötley Crüe got their start in Runt Hill. It's just out past Skid Row, where the speed freaks test their dragstas. There at the periphery of Mek City, on a dusty hill too rubbish for proper orks to bother living on, the grots roam free. It's undoubtedly the least impressive neighbourhood on Boff's Rok , and yet it's the hometown of a truly unusual little grot. Nikkit Stixx was originally an oiler working for Krom Bignooz, but after one too many unfair slappings he scampered off for the hungry freedom of the outskirts. Somehow surviving the journey out of Mek Town, he took to salvaging parts from the wrecked dragstas littering Skid Row. He could never quite replicate Krom's ability to create actual working machines; nothing ever seemed to come together right. Frustrated, he took to drowning his disappointment with shroomgrog. He was soon hopelessly hooked, and didn't care. His little workshop fell into disrepair. One night, blaste...

No one, not even the boss himself, can remember what his original name was. He'd move from campfire to campfire, telling the lads to "pay attenshun" to Da Plan for the next raid. He'd tell them it was "sirrus bizniz." So after a while, that's what they called him. "Here comes Sirrus Bizniz," they'd chorus. The lads didn't know what was wrong with drinking and rokking out the night before, and then winging it on the day. Of course, they conceded, that was probably why he was the boss. But who is Mr Bizniz, and where does he come from? The artist latterly known as Sirrus Bizniz hails from  Boff's Rok . A populous and comparatively advanced ork world, all sorts of subkultures await listless yoofs. Among them: Goff rokk. As soon as young Sirrus heard the wailing of atonal guitars and the pounding of the drums he was filled with a sense of awe. He got obsessed, spending all his time in drunken mosh pits and immersing himself in the subku...