Game Four: Da Camp Raid
Skargrim was fumin’. Da ambush at da Digga village still stung, and da Ironback Krumpany weren’t goin’ to slink back to Mektown lickin’ wounds like grots. Instead, dey patched up what they could, sharpened their choppas, and plotted revenge.
Spyin’ on Da Boyz
Da yoofs were sent ahead to watch Boolit Toof’s mob. Sure enough, da Morkers had thrown up a ramshackle camp and were busy celebratin’ their victory. Barrels of grog were rolled out, one of da boyz had been appointed brew boy, and da drink was flowin’.
Boolit Toof himself stretched and told his mob he was goin’ fer a walk. Dis was da chance. As soon as da Nob was out of sight, da Ironbacks would strike.
Da Surprise Attack
Da Boolit Toof Boyz was in no state to fight. Snail was snorin’ in da trukk bed, Booger was takin’ a leak against da buggy’s wheel, and Melvin was happily pickin’ berries off a cactus.
Suddenly da Ironback trukk roared into camp, Pigploppa’s spear gun thunderin’. Shots whistled past Melvin, who dived fer cover—but dropped his precious berry stash in da sand. His wail of anguish was drowned out by gunfire.
Chaos in Da Camp
Da battle turned brutal quick. Skargrim’s ladz smashed into da drunken Morkers, fists and blades swingin’.
But Boolit Toof’s skorcha buggy spat back fire, belchin’ a plume that washed over da Ironback trukk. Skargrim himself was caught in da flames, his armour smoulderin’. Da boyz put him out, but not before da boss was left with a nasty burn to go with his limp.
Slagnut, clingin’ onto da trukk, managed to hang on and keep fightin’. Chaz weren’t so lucky—he slipped straight under da buggy’s tracks. A sickening pop and da lad was gone, his skull crushed like a ripe melon.
Pig Gone Mad
Den came true chaos. Grog spurred his Cyboar through da melee, tryin’ to trample da Morkers. But a stray slugga shot clipped him, throwin’ him from da saddle. Da maddened machine-pig went berserk, tusks thrashin’, slammin’ into anyone close—friend or foe.
In da midst of it, da Ironback trukk misfired its boosters and careered wildly, smashing through a hut and collidin’ headfirst into da rampagin’ pig. Da Cyboar exploded in a fireball of twisted steel and roast pork, showerin’ da battlefield in greasy chunks.
Da Rout
In spite of da carnage, Skargrim’s boyz had da upper hand. In groups of three-to-one they battered Boolit Toof’s lads into da dirt, krumpin’ one spanner dead and flattenin’ huts left an’ right.
When Boolit Toof returned, he stopped dead at da sight of his camp in ruins, his trukk immobilised, and a roasted Cyboar carcass smokin’ in da sand. Even he had to admit da Gorkers had been more cunning dis day.
“Fall back, ladz!” he roared, leadin’ his mob limpin’ into da night.
Skargrim surveyed da wreckage. He’d lost Chaz and da Cyboar, true—but he’d gained teef, loot, and da laughter of his boyz. To him, dat was a win.
Post-Game: Slagnut’s Challenge
Back in camp, changes was brewin’. Da yoofs, Slagnut and Topknot, were growin’ into proper boyz. Slagnut had shown bravery time and again—even if he weren’t da brightest. Now, watchin’ Skargrim limp and nurse his burns, he thought his chance had come.
“Oi, old fart!” Slagnut snarled. “Time ya retired, don’t ya fink? Let me run da mob, show ya how it’s done!”
Skargrim grinned, teeth flashin’ in the firelight. “You heard ‘im, ladz. Bear witness—Slagnut wants a go.”
Da Ironbacks formed a circle, eager fer blood. Slagnut charged like a squig, swingin’ wild. But Skargrim stepped aside, cracked his fist into da back of da yoof’s head, and dropped him face-first in da dust.
Roars of laughter filled the camp. Slagnut twitched, moaned, and dragged himself away, humiliated but alive. He nursed his wounds in silence, broodin’.
One day, he swore, he’d rise again. Next time, he’d krump da old git for good.
Waaagh! to you good sir, Waaagh! to you 
