Arry's Ancestor .... Continued.

Chopper sat on top of a tall platform, suspended in the air by a networfk of girders and rails, bolted and welded in place by workmen of a ken, far superior to that of common man in today's times. Millenia ago they grafted to create and combine alloys from compounds long forgotten, mended by their idiot offspring with inferior iron and steel.

The platform groaned and heaved with every tiny movement, so Chopper stayed stock still and gazed into the blackness. His eyes attuned from a youth spent in the dark, waiting and biding. He would miss nothing when it came.

The Underhive holds fears for all men. Chopper was no different but he marshalled his emotions and directed them where needed, like a veteran general commanding his elite regiments. At the moment, the Fear and the Rage welled inside. Fear born of the battle to come; and Rage at the reasons for being there. The Guilders, the Ruling Houses, the Bounties, the Outlaws ... The Outlaws ... The Outlaws ...

Chopper grits his teeth in the shadows and the platform rocks gently ...

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Some time before, Charlie had been a miner, like everyone in the House of Orlock at some time. They held the most lucrative water-contracts and used their primary access to the Hive's most precious resources to cheapen their smelting and foundry operations. Charlie mined for water, for tin and for copper, for iron and for archeotech ... hidden vaults full of rare, prized and forgotten technology.

The best archeotech is found deep in the Underhive, near the sump ... where the beasts and the crazies and the sick dwell. When found, it is brought to Guilders who arrange all trade and licensing throughout the Hives on the planet of Necromunda. They buy their licenses to license from the ruling house of Helmawr.

Whenever Guilder licensed expeditions to the Underhive run into trouble, in the form of outlaws and stick-up men, they put out bounties on the rogues. Most of the time this is enough to deter them back into hiding at least. Yet, when they band together ... the denizens of the Underhive, the Muties and Scalies ... they often stand their ground, uncaring or unknowing of the bounties placed on their heads. Too stupid or too ignorant ... too brazen and too desperate, they descend upon larger settlements and sate their hunger.

Charlie used to be a miner. Then the Scavvies came. The Orlock mining settlement was equipped to defend itself from the usual scum that proliferate in the low down dark; but near the sump a vicious and tenacious being, known up-hive only as the Scion of the Pale King, had been dragging the lost and disassociate scavengers and freaks together. They feasted on the flesh of the first few parties that they came across and grew stronger. They took weapons left behind by the dead and organised themselves into a strong raiding party, then they came.

Chopper had come a long way since that day. A day that marred his soul and gave his face a grimaced and dire cast. Only a handful of the Orlocks escaped on that evening, with a much younger and fearful Charlie casting a glance back over his shoulder as they ran from the settlement. They weren't even being chased. The desperate and hungry scavengers had stopped in the street to feast on the fallen ... some still screaming as they were devoured.

_______________________________________

In a tunnel, off to Charlie's left, he spots movement. He doesn't move. He only waits and prays that these are the ones that he wants. He hopes that they are skin-blistered and flesh-rotten. He wishes for the stench of necrosis and disease. Instead, he smells kerosene and hears the chanting of a Redemptionist Hymn ... No matter. The bounty on these cultist scum are just as high as for mutants. He stands and bellows a war cry, as his dirt-grey and rust coloured cloak is tossed from his shoulders, revealing the dirty axe and bolter that is the sign of Orlock Vengence this deep down. The whole area seems to scream as the broken and twisted scaffold screeches under his sudden shift in movement.

The fight begins and the Redemptionist Hymn comes to an abrupt halt. The cloaked cultists spread out at the bellowed challenge of the crazed and embittered Orlock. They recognise the Guilders' pet terrier and head around the flanks of the collapsed dome, out of sight of the positioned marksmen, high up on the left.

Chopper sees this and counters by calling to his team of young fire-brands to head around to the right, with a flamer escort to back them up. This gang of wannabe bounty hunters is almost beneath his contempt but it was the best he could round up at short notice. He will serve as the distraction. Chopper jumps from his position on high and heads straight down the middle with his two shotgun weilding bodyguards.

The Cultists are making a bee-line for him, aware of his fearsome reputation. They want to finish him before he can utilise his famous and deadly bolter. Two crazed extremists run towards him with massive weapons, screaming in some High Gothic that Chopper can't understand. He calls to his boys to open fire but their paltry guns and poor discipline sees them fire high. Chopper is outraged. He's almost delighted when the Redemptionist leader steps out from behind a bulkhead and flames the both of them with purging fire. They flail uselessly at the flames, before dropping to try and extinguish them.

Chopper ignores the Leader and heads straight for the massive club-weilding crazies. A rictus grin of pleasure cracks his dread face. He charges and is punished for his arrogance. A club cracks down upon his right hand, and suddenly he finds it hard to raise his pistol. Only the screams from the Redemptionist Cult leader, as he goes down under a hail of bullets from Samuel Stubbs, keeps him laughing in the face of adversity. He's still laughing as another blow from a mighty swing takes his legs out from under him. He lands on his back, stunned. The two crazies close in for the kill ...

... and are distracted as they see the team of juves and a flamer pop around the corner they had previously disappeared from. Chopper raises his bolter and fires, taking the ear off of one of the Fervent Few, making him scream with anger and rage ... There are screams all around now as people are getting into combat, left, right and center. Blood-Oaths are exchanged and fulfilled. The last crazy puts the boot in on Chopper before being is over-run by the Orlock Juves with swords, flails and pistols. Chopper grins as his eyes shut ... the last thing he sees before he loses conciousness is his, recently hired, flamer dousing the Redemptionist Leader in flames, screaming "How'd you like that? A taste of your own medicine, you son of a bitch!"

He can't help but laugh as the darkness takes him and hands drag him away to safety ... He can't help but laugh, because crying is not an option. Saved by those that he disdained so much, that he couldn't even be bothered to learn their names.

_____________________________________

Bullet Nose looked up from the fire at the stoney faces of us Orlocks all around him. We all knew the stories of Chopper and his deeds. We knew of his bitter campaign of retribution against the Scavvies and his fearsome reputation as a bounty-hunter. We didn't know that he was a mad old bastard with a death wish. We didn't know that he didn't care much for those he went into battle with.

"So, like ... Chopper didn't respect his gang?" Vinny spoke up, breaking the silence. We were all pretty aghast. Loki was looking up at me with one puppy dog eye, seemingly asking me to tell him it wasn't so. I couldn't. I knew the old drokker.

Bullet-Nose shook his head ...

"No, Vinny-Spire-King. He was blind to the courage that he gave to his men. Ignorant of the way that they followed him and unknowing of the reasons why. He paid them, they followed him. Pay is necessary to bind a man to service but it does not explain loyalty, or the lengths and depths we go to, to follow those that have won our respect."

"Chopper had not yet learned this ... the need for vengeance still burned too strong in him ..."

Bullet-Nose was right ... The mad, one-eyed, old bastard told me everything, so many years ago. It was his stories that stopped me from getting into gangs when I was young. Never was desperate enough to need to fight until now, when I've nearly lost everything and those that I rely on suffer...

Arry's Ancestor ...

It's been a while and yes, it's been quiet. The lads have been itching for a scrap and I don't blame them. This is one of those times when you know trouble's just around the corner, with a length of two by four and a murderous expression. It's only natural to get grouchy and irritable. A few fights broke out between them but it just served to break the tension... Boys will be boys and all that ...

... I asked Bullet-Nose if he knew any secret spells or incantations, you know, any of that Ratskin mumbo-jumbo that might help their morale but he laughed at me and just walked away. Bloody Ratskins.

We're all sitting around, grumpy because we can't do anything. You've always got to have a full camp when you're expecting touble. Let up for a second and it'll come crashing down on you, like an upper level in a Hive-Quake. Another night of dross and the same old crap, same old stories: Vinny, banging on about being King of the Spire... Donny trying to get the lads going in a hymn to the Emperor (some of those hymns are actually pretty good but when you're hearing them for the fourth time in a day ...) ... and Loki flipping his new eyepatch up to scare locals (at least that still gets a laugh, hur hur!).

That's when Bee-En walks in with this massive thing chucked over his shoulder ... a wreck of an animal, it was ... all shell and claw. Never seen anything like it. Mutie, for sure.

"What's that?" I ask him ...

"Hatchet-Hand, not want to know ... Just want to eat!" ... That damned dirty, scar faced grin of his. Then we're all outside except Donny, who's a little bit funny about what he eats, around the grill pit, watching Bee-En take the shell and tail off of this thing ... The legs go and clatter somewhere in the dark, as he lobs them over his shoulder. The guts get lobbed in the fire, where they hiss and stink for a second, before actually smelling kind of nice. When the thing's finally on the spit and cooking, we all realise that this thing might actually taste alright.

I popped open a couple of bottles of Wildsnake. I'd kept them back for a while and the boys have been tense as anything so I thought to let them blow off a little steam. When it gets handed to Bee-En, sitting there solemnly, he leans back with a big sigh and says ... right in front of everyone, like! He says a name that I haven't heard in a few years, got a holo of him somewhere around here ...

"Chopper Charlie." Everyone turned and looked at him. Everyone knows Chopper Charlie. He was a legend among the Orlocks for a long while. Some of his tales were still being told when I was young and he was an old man by then. My Grampa Charlie. They've dried up of late but everyone gets told a story or two about Chopper when they're young. It wouldn't be an Orlock's bedtime without it, though everyone was stunned when Bullet-Nose mentioned the name.

"I meet him once ... at a Renegade camp. My Father's Badskin Tribe. I was very young then. He was old, like my Grandfather. He sat long one night with my Father and they swapped stories. They knew each other from a time, long past. This fire reminds me of that night. The head rags and everything ..." Bee En indicated our house attire. We wear bandanas and tabards, decorated with out family or gang markings, depending on where our allegiance lies strongest. There's a mix of markings in my gang. We're not too strict about gak like that.

"Chopper was a Hatchet Hand, like you Hatchet-Hand!" The boys laughed at Bee En's pet name for me... They almost never get to hear him speak ... they looked like little children, even Vinny. Donny had come outside to listen and was drinking something strong looking ... vapour was coming off of it.

"He was a very funny man. He told long stories about Grandfather and Himself, defending the Uphivers from the Fire-Spitters (Redemptionists, a fire cult ... Bee-En calls Donny a fire spitter) and the Grey-Skins (Scavvies ... they're a bit ... diseased ...). They lost many men but kept on fighting. They drank much, to the memories of their lost friends. They fell asleep. Chopper woke up and walk away, swearing and shaking his head. The Wildsnake is bad for the mind. Be careful Hatchet-Hand."

He made the boys laugh that night. Mostly at my expense but I didn't begrudge it to him. The lads were getting merry as hell and it'd been a long time since they'd even stuck their heads outside the bar.

"What did he look like?" That one from Loki, who'd never actually spoken to the Fearsome Ratskin.

"Like Hatchet-Hand ... but more bent, more broken. Scarred from many fights. One eye sat in his head, looking out at everything like it was ... big joke. He had eyepatch like you." Loki beamed at this and all the other lads threw their bandanas at him, groaning.

"Do you remember any of the stories he told?" This from Donny, who remembered all the stories Grampa used to tell, just fine. My suspicions started to be raised then.

"As it happens, Fire-Spitter ... I listened well: and I remember every, single word ..."

He took a deep breath and began ...

Arry's Rant No. 1 - A peacetime commentary of Old-Terra. (AKA: "The Offending Fruit!")

Well, It's been ages since our last fight.

Given the strange temporal distortions between out two worlds/universes/times I've been experienceing some weird side-effects ... sometimes feeling as though there are two or more different versions of myself; each acting independantly and all I do is watch and interpret what they do. I need to pull myself together ...

... To do this, I barricaded myself in my room and have tried to learn as much as I can about your world. It's odd, so it is. The things you guys concerned yourselves with. Your music was crap, for the most part; and your taste in fashion left a lot to be desired ... except during the 1980's. You guys had down pat by then. I don't understand where it started to go wrong.

Maybe it was this internet thing. Seems like it broke everything. I mean, the fact that i'm able to talk to you through it means that it probably doesn't work like it should. You should really get a mech-adept on it. His prayers could probably fix this up a treat and get everyone back to the 80's where they belong. Big Hair and Leather. That's where it's at.

I have been watching, with interest, the developments during your time in a place called "Ukraine". Some of the image-capture of the celebrating troopers must be disheartening for the Defense Forces positioned there. You have to wonder if the Ukranian Gang has the heart to retake it's holdings. The Pro-Russian Gang's position is strong and I understand that they might have heavy back-up on the way.

To my mind, the Ukranian Pro-Russian Rebels are opportunists. At least, their leaders must be. The opportunity to 'cede from a gang that allows big hair and leather to a gang that is much less fond of it is usually only taken up by those who are afforded some level of wealth or opportunity to further themselves, usually at the expense of their own people. The freedom to don leather and have big hair is a valid one and should be defended at all costs. My gang supports the Ukranian people and if we were on Old Terra at the time, we'd be hoping that they sort out their political issues asap and not give the Russ gang the excuse it's using to support the rebellion and attempt to gain territory, as this would be a loss to big hair and leather planet-wide. More should be done to prevent a territory grab that impacts the status quo in that region, by means of support to the weaker gang during his time of difficulty, otherwise you could end up with an already powerful gang having a greater strategic advantage for some future incursion.

____________________________________________________

One thing that cracked me up when I found out about it was this football game that you lot play. We have a ton of ball-games on Necromunda. Death-Ball, Slaughter-Ball, Splatter-Ball and Mash-Ball, to nam but a few. I can't believe that you guys are able to sit down and support one team full of black guys, while at the exact same time hating all the black guys on the other team. You'll get all happy when a black guy scores what you call a "goal" as long as he's wearing ... the "right" colour of shirt!!! Blows my mind man ... blows my mind.

On Necromunda, there's a million and one reasons why you might want to kill a guy, shout him down, insult him or clear his gums but I've never met anyone dumb enough to think that the colour of a mans skin is a worthy excuse. Now, we don't have monkeys on Necromunda ... so it took me a while to find out why a black guy might have an issue with being called one but after doing some research on this internet thing (not all bad, I guess) I understood the insult.

You see, Man and Monkey share a common genetic heritage. This means at some point we were the same animal. A different one from that which either of us now are. At some later stage, we diverged and occupied two different genetic niches that enabled us to survive in our own different ways and in different environments ... One would grow to be Monkey, the other to be Man. However, Monkey is seen as less advanced than Man, so attempting to reduce any one group of Men as inferior or less advanced than the other, on a genetic basis is very insulting indeed. We should remember that when a man tries to break another man based on his skin color, the only one showing his true colour is the one doing the breaking. That colour is yellow and it runs in an oft, hidden streak down his spine.

When you throw a "banana" onto a pitch in front of a black man, you call him inferior but mark yourself out as insecure ... hidden in a crowd trying to intimidate a man, using all the force of your race and hatred, while he bravely steps out in front of you and all your ilk to perform the one act that he has spent his life trying to perfect. You are scum in this moment and you should know it. You are the less advanced one, You are the Monkey. You have let down your people.

So it made me laugh. It cracked me up and it bent me double when I read about the guy who ate the banana! Turning a symbol that had been used for years to discriminate against black people into a symbol of tolerance, patience and humor. This can be overcome. This can be stopped. This will not stand. This can be funny at the expense of the perpetrator.

Thank you to Dani Alves of FC Barcelona. He will never score a more important goal, nor one with further reaching implications.

WE Are ALL Monkeys

This is a link to a match report containing pictures of the event. Also through this, I believe you can link to Neymar's We Are All Monkeys, support site. Which I recommend that you do.

Just Regular Routine ...

It's been an eventful week here at Arry's 'Ole. It's not the name I chose but a drinking den gets it's name by reputation... and mine stinks. Haven't seen hide nor hair of any real threat, but the settlement did come under attack from a load of scavvies. Bad business and we picked up a few bruises and scratches. Plague zombies everywhere, so it looked a little hairy for a while but the lads kept their nerve and ended up wiping out those fearless cretins, then breaking the will of the attacking Scavvies.

The Bolter's been a real comfort to me during these times. It's an old, old thing. Some days it works fine ... Others, it throws a fit and jams up, refusing to work at all. So we're meant for each other. It worked fine against the Scavvy horde. I didn't even get to fire at the leader that time, he ran away. My boys are getting canny and we put up a wall of fire that stopped any of them from getting close to us, where I was positioned.

Donny turned up with the flamer and surprisingly, didn't use it. I would have thought he'd have enjoyed burning some of these sickos. It was a bit hairy on his side of the defense, too. Almost all of the Scavvies managed to get into combat there before we forced them into retreat on our side but as I said, it was all cuts and bruises in the end. You can never count yourself too lucky with those plague-ridden dirtbags, so we got off light by losing no-one to disease.

Then there was the Eschers ... Don't know what they were up to down here and we Orlocks usually get on fine with Hive Primus' only female-led house. Maybe they were just blooding their juves, I don't know ... You'd think with the Delaque gang just down the way, they'd go for them. Their houses are oil and water. Some ancient history there that I'll go into at a later date for you all. I realise that Old-Terra probably wasn't run by millenia-old feuding families, so I'll need to explain to you at some point how that works ... or doesn't.

So the wailing began outside the bar, the taunting. We really weren't game at all. It's not in our blood to fight women and it took a couple of blasts from a bloody plasma weapon at the bar before I lost my rag and told the boys to get their gear together.

They were pretty keen to get at us, but sacrificed cover on a few opportunities to get shots off. They got first blood by taking down Hobo but our cohesion and discipline soon paid off. It was me and Bones, firing into a pack of them that their leader was escorting that broke her nerve and made her bolt for it. I was told by Marky Fish that while he was picking off their Juves with the las, their's were jamming on them Must have come through a dust-fall to get here. Donny went up the middle and basically kept it clear. There was a stalking contest between him and their flamer-heavy. Neither came out on top but the Escher bolted right after their leader anyway, making it a moot point. Most people steer clear of Donny, so he hasn't had a chance to use our most expensive bit of kit.

Everyone's fine. Even Tiny Tim put in an appearance, though he doesn't seem like himself at all. Sometimes, he just stares blankly into space. Other times, he just wanders off in the wrong direction. I can see it frustrates him not to be the way he once was but he's lucky to be alive after a stubber round to the head. I'd retire him, but he's got no-where to go. Reads Donny's Literature every day. Drokking puritan, Donny.

There's tell that there're all kinds of weirdoes hanging around, clad in leather and spikes. Big, muscley types. Nearly every day someone brings back news of some other gang sniffing around in the area, in the hope that i'll be grateful to hear it. Pft! As if ! ... All I want is to sit back and enjoy a glass of the finest gak I can get me dirty old hands on and hope that no-one comes looking to blast me out of my chair.

No ... It's an ever increasing prospect and I don't relish it. Our holdings have gained the interest of more than a few shady types. Some of them are probably just desperate to get their hands on a few creds. I don't worry so much about those guys. They break easily and as long as we stay out of arms reach, we can usually probably outshoot them. The ones that I'm worried about are those from uphive. House gangs like the Escher the other day and the Delaque we fought that did for Pete. Then there's the Goliaths. Those chem-pecks are packed up to the eyeballs on physical stims which grow their muscles disproportionately large. All these guys looking for some idiotic vision of glory, trying to carve out territory and take it for themselves. The Enforcers don't care about us enough to stop them from coming. The Underhive means nothing to them, or their Guilder paymasters, so the Under-hivers turn to stubborn old drokkers like me to defend them in their absence, because our laws weren't written for us.

Law ... The only law we know is: Stick first and leg it before anyone catches up with you.

Inbetween Times ...

So, it's not like we fight week in and week out. A lot of stuff goes on inbetween every action. We couldn't afford to keep getting into scraps without resupplying our ammo, (which we have little enough of ...) maintaining our kit (which is old and rusty ...) and resting up (because I'm getting old and rusty too...). There's a lot of resting up goes on.

Bones has been nursing that shoulder wound ... he's fragile but is keeping himself busy by sorting out his auto-rifle, which misfired badly on him in our last fight and cost him the better use of one of his arms. He reckons it'll heal up fine, but I'm not so sure. Anyway he's configured it to fire faster, but it has a hell of a kick. I'll be keeping him back to make best use of that kit.

Loki's been using his new-found status as the gang's lucky charm (Lucky Loki One-Eye) to get himself into trouble with a couple of the local girls. Fair play to him for managing without an eyepatch. I've been meaning to make him one.

Tim's erm ... he's been in and out of conciousness, but he woke up the other day for good. He blinks really slowly and doesn't speak too good. When he gets frustrated he gets really riled up and he's a big guy, so he takes some calming down. Donny's been giving him "The Literature,"  which seems to go some way to easing the poor kids stress. Tiny Tim. I hope he's going to be okay.

Vinny, Donny (he's feeling much better now) anda couple of the Juves went out to collect all the gear we ordered from the trading post. They're the only fit people we've got knocking around at the moment. I got banged up pretty bad in that fall; and the fire put some blisters on my back which keep me awake at night, but other than that I'm pretty lucky to come away with no lasting damage... Or so I keep telling myself. I've been practising with the Atchet. I've been getting a lot of practice with the Atchet. It saved my life the other day...

Hired a couple more people for the crew. Not too many experienced people knocking around, but one guy calling himself Marky Fish seems useful. It's hard handing him a new (-ish) las-gun so soon after I gave Pete one. He seems sensible and has kept out of everyone's way mostly. The other guys are just young 'uns. Keen as spice-radish, the lot of them ... and oh yeah ... one of them's a girl. Tarka. It's just weird having girls in the gang, but she's as hard as any of the lads we've got knocking around so she's in. No quibble. Then there's Bronson. Big lad but young and aggressive. Likely to go looking for trouble at the first opportunity. I have no doubts it'll find him... Lastly, Snake ... a tatty Delaque with hair. He's ... not what I'd hoped we'd attract but we need every able hand, so he's in but I've got my eye on him.

Then there's the bar and other interests. We've got some other holdings now ... The settlement pays us to keep the Delaque off their back, which is easy money as long as they don't show up. There's also a couple of workshops and a new mine that I started (can't get it out of the blood!) which we needed to do, as it turns out that running a gang soaks up credits faster than a mine does. It's good to work with the pick and shovel again. Hard Labour's the one good sevice I can actually offer the Emperor.

Then there's the Guilder Laslow. I hate the bastards but this one seems okay. Okay, as in; corrupt in our favour. We've been using his Guild Seal to legitimise a few projects we've been working on. I won't go into too much detail, as you're all probably law abiding drokkers, with no moral ingenuity. Needless to say, he takes a cut. Hopefully we can make some better deals with someone else ... I'd like to cut him out altogether.

Bullet-Nose sits in the bar, drinking alone ever since he came out of the Doc's at the settlement. The Ratskin's face is a mess. That bullet really tore him up bad. I offered to pay him extra for the job but he just looked at me blankly ... which is drokking unnerving, these days. I gave him the agreed 15 credits. Bee-En, I call him to his face. He doesn''t mind ... I think he kind of likes the name, but he's clearly in a lot of pain. He drinks for free and no-one tells him any different. He's a bit of a hreo to the gang, though I doubt he knows it. No-one talks to him but me and Donny. The Emperor alone knows what they find to talk about but I've heard every crap line from Donny's gob, so I steer well clear of them when they're together. We're getting through a lot of Wildsnake...

Neta's well ... if any of you care. She's taken on Tarka and gives her jobs to do around the bar, which Tarka surprisingly does without question ... They seem to get on, so I leave them to it for the most part. I think it's good that she's got someone to talk to these days. Hasn't really been the same since we left the old mine.

I feel as if i'm the only one that's worried. Everyone else just gets on with things but I pore over accounts and dockets, organise the bar and the collections, allocate people to go and guide people up-hive with their loot and archeotech. I negotiate deals with traders and kick out drunks ... or at least get Donny to do it until my back heals up.

Gah ... I've had enough. you've probably had enough. Sometime soon something's going to happen, I can feel it in my bones.

The Punishers.

Delaque ... Now, I don't have anything against any of the major Houses really. I'm not one to cast aspersions on a man dependent on where they're born, or who's forced their oath... But Delaque, man ... they just creep me out...

... To be honest, I think that's kind of the point; and probably why they make a habit of shaving their heads, wearing those silly dark glasses even though it's dark as gak down here. They creep around, they steal stuff, they sabotage and ambush. Sneaky drokkers to encourage that kind of thinking. Me and Donny asked around and found a couple of those old scavenger types. The only old people you ever seem to meet in the Underhive, as they're so adept at staying out of trouble. You often find these guys selling blood-stained weapons and bullet-pocked armour... Looters.

Donny's a big guy and mean lookin', despite the battering he took, so it didn't take long to work a little information out of these two. He basically just loomed there while I asked the questions. They weren't even answering me, just looking directly over at Donny and kept talking 'til he nodded his approval. We knew roughly where the Delaque were setting up camp.

I asked Donny to stay behind and look after things in my absence. He's not one for creeping around and I figured we should take on the Delaque at their own game, as they probably wouldn't be expecting us. Orlocks don't usually go in for hiding and biding ... but I ain't your average Orlock. Well, maybe I am but that sort of thinking don't get you no-where, does it!?

I picked out five of The Boys. A couple of the young 'uns to see how their nerve holds and a few older heads to try and keep things nice and tight. Vinny seemed particularly game and Loki was itching to use that sword I gave him, so I made sure to take these two. Can't take Vinny anywhere without Bones, so he came along. I also grabbed Pete and Tiny Tim. Both calm heads.

As we were leaving the bar, that's when the Ratskin approached me. I was kind of shocked and I told him to bugger off. He says, no. Tell's me he knows EXACTLY where the Delaque gang is. Tells me their name and that they've got a water-still in their camp. Donny looks right up at me from behind the bar and says,

"Blow it up!" ... So that's what we left to do.

We got there and I started to feel a bit worried. I told you Delaque give me the creeps and this was a dark and dingy hole, indeed. The Ratskin muttered all the way there and it took a while to clear the tunnels leading there but when they opened up I could see the water-still directly in front of me up a couple of levels. I could see all of their sentries from where I was standing, there were more of them than I'd hoped... at least as many as there were of us. That's also when I got a look at the Heavy Stubber ... Bloody scary thing, so it is!

Most gangs in the Underhive have a heavy stubber. It's nice and reliable for a heavy weapon and most of us don't know how to maintain a better gun. It's just a disgusting, metal-spitting, death monster. If it weren't for Donny's over-religeous tendencies, I'd have bought him one ... as it was he just had that flamer... and we hadn't even brought him with us. I suddenly realised why I'm not cut out to be a Leader of a Gang. I'm a businessman, not tactitian or a fighter. Sure, I knock a couple of heads from time to time. You can't run a mine or a bar without having to clear a few gums... and because I had gone into this fight unprepared ... It was also because I was stupid.

I wondered if the Ratskin realised this as he ran off on his own into the darkness. I cursed all Ratskins in that moment and got the lads to spread out, sending Vinny off with Loki to scale a building on the right and make a diversion, Pete back by the tunnels that we came through with his las to cover the retreat, Tiny to edge forward and draw some fire from the stubber and Bones came with me to the left where we climbed up into an abandoned building with a walkway that lead to our objective. I had picked up some frags at the trading post, so with my Bolter and those I had a pretty decent chance of getting in there and blowing that water-still up before any reinforcements arrived... Shows what I know.

They saw us as we got into position and that stubber immediately got Pete pinned at the back of the field. That gave Loki and Bones a quick chance to shoot at the water-still, but their shots just bounced off and Bones' gun jammed. I heard him cursing at the weapon as he struggled to clear it. This was turning into a bad, old day. I ducked my head out to try and finish this quickly and saw what must have been their gang leader tearing towards us across the walkway. I don't know if he'd seen me, so I stepped out and let him have a chest full of bolts, which knocked him flying over the rail and off the walkway. There was a lot of blood.

That's when I heard the screams. The rest of their gang had heard the shots and come running for us from another part of the camp. I swore to myself and got as far into cover as I could, when that stubber swung around to get a look at me. Fortunately I got out of the way, but he spotted Tiny and opened up on him. I saw him catch one in the head and I swore he'd had it.

I didn't know at the time, but Loki had spotted a weapons cache and had gone haring across a length of pipe to reach it, charging two of the Delaque, Punishers. He stabbed one and hacked him down from such a height that I believe he must have died, the second one smashed him in the face with an autogun and knocked him out, bursting his eye. Loki, and Tim had been put down, but I had my own problems...

The other Delaque began to arrive and they clamoured to get to us. Surprisingly noisy for Delaque. I think they were pissed at having been out-slunk ... so I didn't have any problem working out that they were all headed straight for me. Well, I had just blasted their leader to shreds. One of them climbs up and looks surprised when I charged towards him, hacking down with me 'Atchet. I beat his paltry club aside, parting his fingers from his hand and kicked him down from where he came.

There was gunfire behind me. Bones had given up on trying to fix his gun and started towards where more of the Delaque were coming up but he was too slow. He was shot and downed from the top of the ladder. I put a few more shots in their direction, alone now. I had no idea what was going on with Pete, with Vinny or with Loki.

But Pete was hit, trying to get out of range of the stubber. As he crawled away he must have distracted a couple of the Delaque from me, which might have saved my life at the expense of his. They cut his throat when they caught up with him. that just left me the idiot at the top of the ladder...

I walked towards him, blasting as I went. I caught him in the hip somewhere and sent him spinning down to the deck as well. I was screaming unintelligable things that I can't remember, when the heat bathed my back, melting my coat to my vest ... I dived down from the walkway, not even seeing the heavy with the flamer who burned my back. I must have run at that point, I woke up later in a pool of liquid. Not as badly burned as I thought, but hitting the floor must have knocked me scatty.

It was that Ratskin in the end that managed it. Somehow the bastard had managed to find his way onto the same building as Vinny and Loki, from underneath them and using them as a distraction he was able to get one shot off at the water-still with his las. It went up like a pyro's delight, Vinny said. The Ratskin was shot in the face directly afterwards and Vinny dragged his body out of there. Just as well, too. The Bastard lived, though I don't think he's too happy about it. The settlement's doc said he must have a skull like iron. The bullet richoched off it and tore his face up pretty bad.

The boys have taken to calling him Bullet-Nose of the Lazy-Las. Not to his face though. He's still resting up. We all made it out of there except Pete, who Donny and I burned out back of the Bar last night in front of everyone fit enough to pay their respects. I'll miss that guy. One of the most decent people I've met since coming down this deep.

Tiny Tim's got a plate in his skull and will be layed up for a while. Loki lost his eye, but it's all strapped up and he's been practising with his pistol to make up for the loss in depth perception. Really doesn't seem affected. Bones has got some issues with his shoulder. Only time will tell if it heals up or gives him problems in future. Vinny's fine. Not a scratch. Didn't do much except keep the enemies heads down while Loki did some damage and get Bullet-Nose out of there ... dammit. I promised myself I wasn't going to call him that...

On a side note, Vinny approached me after we ... finished with Pete. He looked genuinely sad and promised me that he'd do better in future. I haven't seen him touch a drop and he's been practising with sword and shotty, both. Seems to be losing weight and gaining determination. I hope I'm right... Certainly hasn't been bragging since the night of the fight.

I thought the mood would be bad here. I certainly feel the loss; and looking around at my scarred and battered gang after their first fight, I feel very old and uncertain. Yet they can still laugh and tell jokes, pat each other on the back ... I guess it's because the road from the settlement has opened up again and the settlers are thanking them ... and me. We certainly hurt the Delaque enough to stop them from being too active for a while but this can't be the end.

A few young guys have just dropped by asking after "The Orlock Gang." They got told, " 'Arry's 'Ooligan's Are 'Iring," by Donny and told to wait downstairs for me. So here I am, typing out this stuff to you for ... who knows why? I should probably go and check out the likely new lads. i think I need to be prepared in case the Delaque show up. We're a man down already and we were already a bit thin on the ground to begin with.

Catch you next time ...

Arry's Anrgy Ooligans. Meet The Boys.

The Boys ... yeah ... I feel bad about the Boys. They're mostly from around here, the younger ones at least. Genuine Underhivers. Most of the older guys are from uphive. They've all got their own stories and tall tales to tell. I've heard them all, listening here at this bar. A lot of them don't really know what they're in for ... But I've got a pretty good idea ...

Donny Furnace. - The Heavy

Clearly, I knew Donny before. We're cousins, although he's from the crazy side of the family. His old Dad stopped him from running off and joining a redemptionist cult when he was younger so he's as puritanical as they come. Loyal to the Emperor and willing to purge, with fire, anything that he sees as "unclean." I think it's fair to say, there's no-one other than Donny I'd want watching my back. In the Underhive, Blood runs thicker than Sanity. I just wish he knew how to maintain that flamer of his properly. It's liable to kill us all elsewise.

One Named Pete. - Ganger

I really like this guy. One of my favourite regulars as he never starts a fight but knows how to finish one, so I made him a barman. He's crafty too. Knows exacttly how to water down the grog so that the punters can't taste the difference. Gave him the gang's only lasgun as I want someone with a cool head and a reliable weapon.

Urgh ... Vinny Machine. - Ganger

This guy ... Everyone knows Vinny. Biggest braggard I ever met. He was Orlock champion of King of the Spire about 10 cycles back. Then he assaulted someone from the House Elders and had to leg it downhive. Significantly older now and a really heavy drinker, so I doubt he's still got it. Otherwise, he picked out a shotgun, a pistol and a sword at the trading post so maybe the dog hasn't had it's day yet.

Hobo Jones. - Ganger

The guy stinks to be honest, hence the moniker, otherwise we don't really know much about him. He's a real down and out but no-one has ever been able to shift him from the bar on their own. Comes and goes at his own pace but seems quite placid. He's kind of teamed up with Vinny and picked out a shotty at the trading post. I'll be needing these two to accompany Donny into close range so that he can use that flamer of his.

Tommy Bones. - Ganger

Vinny's buddy. Bit of an old crim from somewhere down the line. I won't go into too much detail about the chems he used to partake in or the illicit trade, there-of. Understandably he doesn't really want too much guilder attention. He and Vinny have a lot to talk about from back in the day. I like the drokker, he's always ready with a dirty joke and a bit of banter.

Tiny Tim. - Juve

Always hanging around outside the Bar, begging. I genuinely feel bad for this kid as he's going to have his work cut out. He's kind of big, which is going to attract a lot of attention; but he's gobby as they come so I reckon he's game.

Little Loki. - Juve

Loki ... I actually caught this little bastard nicking from the bar after close one night. He was only after booze and scraps when he could have easily knobbled my cash register and got out. Either stupid or ballsy. Time will tell. I kitted him out with a sword and a pistol as he's eagre to get some scalps. I wish him luck, I really do.

Wee Barry. - Juve

This kid was never going to be long for this world. It's a wonder he's made it this far. Underfed and malnourished. He kind of gravitated towards me when I bought this bar. I always keep him hanging around and he helps me take in deliveries in return for food and a place to stay. A really good kid. Probably the only honest one I ever met.

Diminutive Dave. - Juve/Old Man.

To call this guy a juve would be a bit of a stretch. He must be about 40 cycles old now. I told him to bugger off but he just won't listen. He's got no place here. I hope he ups and leaves one night for his own sake. he has to train with the kids 'til I let him have a big gun.

The Ratskin ...

We don't know his name. He doesn't really speak except to ask for drinks. Always pays with credits ... which is rare for a Ratskin. Usually they want to trade you something ... pickled (probably politest way to put it) ... in exchange for a drop of brain-wreck. When we were gathering up people to come with us, he offered his service as a scout for 15 credits. Only reason I agreed is that he always seems to stick close to the settlement. He's been drinking here since I opened up. Wonder what his game is ... No matter. I need every man ... or Ratling that I can get.

Me, Arry. The Leader?

Yeah ... I suppose I'm a leader ... but only until this is all worked out. Can't see any other drokker standing up to organise things and we're getting desperate. I don't think Neta would be able to look me in the eye if we upped and ran. No ... I make my stand now. I'm tired of moving on.