...which is why you need to remove the poison glands before you stew it, otherwise you end up paralysed.
Sorry to interrupt you there, Granny Bilgeputter, and thanks for keeping the listeners entertained during that short hiatus. But we're back, live at tonight's arena for the final KnockRat quarter-final!
Sorry for the wait, violence fans, you know how the weather can be in the Underhive. That acid rain was off the charts!
Bleeearrroooooo, Jarri, I'm going to be tripping for days!
That's our Blaargh, listeners, straight out to play in the LSD-ownpour. I certainly hope you've not followed his example, we've one heck of a battle for you tonight. When the action heats up, you're going to need a clear head to follow the chaos!
You got it, big poppa spider, I'll fetch the chamomile!
First up on the grid we've got Pug's Uglies! A big cheer for these returning bruisers, o-grinning and bearing their miserable lives with the patient good humour only the lobotomised can muster. Pug himself humiliated a Spyrer team in the qualifiers to bring his buds to the quarters. Can they repeat their previous performance, walking slowly towards the enemy before breaking them effortlessly over their knobbly knees? We shall see!
Tonight's match is going to be as vicious a battle for dominance as you could wish for. The Ogryns are starting on that broad middle section, the Cawdor are coming at them from north and south, and after a mere five rounds, we'll be counting up the wounds remaining from each team on that middle scoring region.
Haque's holy order have split their forces, with more or less a quarter of the gang picking their way in along the boardwalks from each corner of the table. I see Verger Mortlock has set up his heavy crossbow to provide a bit of covering fire, and the Ogryns had better keep their heads down - it's just about the only weapon capable of taking one out from a distance!
As you'd expect, the heavies are tucked in behind barricades and pipelines along their central vantage points. Not much in the way of ranged weapons there, just their Loboslave Bug with the notoriously unreliable Storm-welder and a few grenades here and there. But the Cawdor will need to close in order to score, and close-up is where the ogryns really shine.
Like my fingers!
Cawdor's got the bodies, the Uglies have the oomph - let's let 'em rip!
Round 1
Exactly as you'd imagine, those Cawdor are putting their flipflops to the framework, moving up double time in order to get their burners and blazers in range. Only Mortlock is hanging back, hugging cover from a hanging beam and launching krak rockets from range.
Rainbow trails!
And certainly a light touch in effectiveness. There's a point where it's not so much indirect fire as it is wild guessing, and the verger is way off with his speculation there. That leaves the ogryns to move to intercept positions in safety, we're not seeing any more action yet and it's on to turn two!
Putative scores: Ogryns have 15 wounds in the centre, Cawdor nil
Round 2
Ready to receive boarders? The Ogryns sure are - Bug is lining up the awesome power of his storm-welder to blast those advancing apostles. If only he had it facing the right way and had remembered to turn it on first, that could have been a crippling broadside!
All the moths can have their dinner now, Jarr! Canvas in the gutterpipes!
That's... exactly right, Blaargh, the Cawdor are playing true to form and unleashing the bomb rats. Our predictive AI model has a graphic for the most likely outcome here, let's take a peek:
Statistically, nine out of ten match-crucial rodent plays do indeed result in own goals. Disappointingly, that's not what we're seeing tonight - in fact, the rat's made a beautiful little dummy round the loboslave and straight into big Lug there. He's not hurt, but he is on fire, and that's real crowdpleaser there, nothing says Underhive like a blazing man running about on a precarious walkway.
Sadly, that's left the rat-lobber wide open to a charge from Ogryn Underboss Thug. A quick two-handed open slap to the sides of the head and the initiate has been deafened for life, by dint of having his cranium flattened into a three-foot-wide pancake.
Elsewhere, screaming prayers and wielding their scourges, these zealots are able to whip themselves for a bit of extra speed here and there, and that's exactly what we're seeing.
Each of them had four faces and four wings. Their legs were straight!
They Cawdor are using the extra moves to get their flamers into play early. Deacon Gabriel Lectern has sprinted up the field and put some early hurt on the Ogryn centre. Pug himself is entirely unscathed, but right beside him, Loboslave Lug has been firepiked out of the game. It won't take much of that to see the Ogryns struggling to keep up, but the Cawdor don't have any scorers on the field quite yet!
Putative Scores: Ogryns 11 wounds in the scoring zone, Cawdor nil
Round 3
In those early rounds, the Cawdor have been dashing up the field like arcoflagellants after a heathen rabbit, and they're just starting to get into position. Deacon Grue and a pair of his hench-goons are about to stage an insurgency on the Ogryn positions, but they're not quite there yet.
For naturall Bloud is in like manner made of the fruits of the Earth; and circulating, nourisheth by the way, every Member of the Body of Man.
No time for Hobbes' Leviathan just now, Blaargh, the Cawdor are taking a pounding! Heading over that especially narrow bridge, two of the faithful have fallen foul of Doug and his blasting charges. One of them is just about hanging on, but the other is our first skydiver of the night! Look at him go, straight down like the new cordless elevators over at Trackett's Shaft.
The Cawdor return play is a burst of flaming godliness from a blunderpole. Now the fat's really hit the fire - there goes the Underboss! It's safe to call him fat now he's three floors down and picking up speed, his burning buddy Mug has also staggered over the edge and isn't far behind him, and you've just really got to hope Mr Krustoflores has an understanding insurer.
What's that wavelength? Aboyoyoyoyoyoing!
Strange to say it, but Blaargh is more or less on the right track for a moment there, folks - Loboslave Bug has given up on his welder and is just pounding the floor for all he's worth! There's a lot of movement going on there, the gantry is oscillating more than the loyalties of the Alpha Legion.
It's raining Cawdor! The blunderpoler is over the edge, as is Verger Mortlock. The good verger hasn't connected a single shot so far, but he's taking a very definite lesson in not missing from Madam Gravity - yes, that's a bullseye, face-first into a a chimney stack. Lovely shot!
Across the board, though, the Cawdor are struggling to make an impact. I'm seeing flame weapons running dry, stubbers clicking on empty and autoweapons jamming on dodgy bullets. Father Cautery has used up every kind of ammo his combi-gun has without the Ogryns even noticing, and you've got to wonder how they're going to shift the chunky chaps without a bit of ranged encouragement. I'm expecting close combat any second now, watch this space!
Putative Score: Ogryns 6, Cawdor 4
Round 4
The choir of the faithful are singing away like mad, surely we're going to see a Cawdor miracle - and yes! There it is! The Chainsaw Carol, as rendered by Deacon Grue as he leaps into the air, held aloft by a halo of golden light to charge no less than the Ogryn Boss with his eviscerator!
Halllellelluelliellialiallia, Jarri!
You've certainly got to admire his stones, Blaargh. It's one hell of an attack from an unforeseen quarter, it's caught Boss Pug completely by surprise, and look at that maniac go! It's a frenzy of sharpened gears to put a vat grinder to shame.
If only Pug wasn't clad in two-inch thick carapace armour on top of his rhinox-like hide. He's not just surprised, he's also not injured in the slightest. He's reaching out a big placid hand to calm his psychotic attacker and disaster! A well-meaning gesture, certainly, but Pug has completely forgotten that he's wearing an industrial rotary saw over his right hand, and, well, that's quite a severe tonsure the Deacon's now sporting.
A fair bit of supporting fire from the lesser Choristers, though, and Pug is pinned in place as yet another Cawdor makes it into the scoring zone. Not so Mug, despite a very game charge from Father Cautery. He just can't get the Loboslave to appreciate the finer points of his halberd, and Mug is stamping on the floor again and knocking the good Father to the floor. Will he get up in time? We're seconds away!
Putative Scores: Ogryns 6, Cawdor 3
Round 5
Lime slipping! The peel repeal the weal, Sheila!
As Blaargh says, this could absolutely go either way, folks, the Cawdor have the bodies to take this. Getting them in position without getting flattened by the Ogryns is the problem, as is taking out those seemingly-impregnable brutes with a dearth of big guns. And oh my! That's not going to help at all!
Sudden Death
Gabriel Lectern, hivers and salivas, look at that for a last minute save. He's reloaded his firepike, jumped into position and with a single lucky blast, he's managed to singe Pug's hide! What an upset for the Ogryns!
Whippoorwills (Escher, Stylus) vs THOOK (Cawdor, Bubonicus)
Stairway to Heathen (Chaos Helots, Jhnlk) vs Murder Meat (Corpse Grinders, Kasfunatu)
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