The Beard Bunker

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...

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...

The Crooked Hand Waaagh! This week: the blue boyz on the left. Image credit: Boris Altemeyer This is the third and final installment of the late great Mr Sarton's orks, and this time, we're zooming in on the dodgy geezers of the army: the Deathskulls. If it's not nailed down, they'll nick it. If it is nailed down, they'll use a crowbar. As with the Bad Moons of part one , or the Blood Axes of part two , you can expect extensive conversions and even more extensive weathering powder. The reason I've left the Deathskulls until last is because, while you're not going to see a masterclass in painting or sculpting, this force is  a masterclass in theming your force. Perhaps more importantly, we're finishing here because the Deathskulls include Bunkah's Wrekkin' Krew, a unit that I think completely sums up Mark's approach to the hobby, and therefore forms a natural conclusion to this whole thing. It's not his best paint job, and it's...