Introducing Diggerz Wiv Attitude

They walk back through the dark streets of the fourth level, keeping their hands on their purses as they pass through the narrow alleyways in order to return to the staircase that they came up. It becomes obvious that news travels fast through the city fast, as all those that they pass on their way stop and stare at them as they continue walking, with several of them sniggering and muttering to each other.

After five minutes, they find their way back to the staircase and start to descend down into the lower levels of the city. As they continue downwards, they can see that the state of the levels is getting worse and worse. There are a few drunken dwarves on the staircase, many of them lying unconscious in pools of urine and vomit. The stench starts to become unbearable. In addition to this, the lighting of the area deteriorates as the group head downwards. Whereas on the upper levels there are torches at regular intervals, down here they are only sporadic. Although the half-elves have no problems in seeing due to their infravision, and Winnacer, his helmet, Faewen'il and Rowan are left to stumble along in the half-dark.

They are descending the last flight of stairs down to the bottom level of the city when they can see a couple of figures heading down the stairs a few paces ahead of them. They immediately see that the pair consists of a dwarf and a Bohavian. This strikes them as interesting immediately, as they have not seen anyone other than dwarves since they left the uppermost level of the city. The two are talking together in Bohavian. From the sound of the voice, they realize that the Bohavian is Porter.

Winnacer calls out as he hears Porter's voice:

"Hey, Porter," he shouts.

Porter and the dwarf turn round and see the others coming down to meet them:

"Well that's a surprise," Porter says.

They all look at Porter's new traveling companion. They see that he is a rather unsavory looking character, dressed in a long coat that bulges ominously. The dwarf is looking a little nervous at the party's approach.

Winnacer nods at the dwarf and speaks to Porter:

"Who's your new friend?" he asks.

"Oh, this is Thrandor," Porter replies, "he's ... um ... helping me find my way around."

He turns to the dwarf:

"Thrandor, these are my 'friends' that I was telling you about."

The dwarf just nods at them all.

"We were just heading down to the 'Black Rock'," Winnacer explains. "Care to join us?"

Porter nods:

"Yeah, might as well. That's where we were heading too," he replies, "and, if what Thrandor says is true, it sounds as if it's better to travel in large groups down here."

Porter and Thrandor join the group and they finish descending the staircase.

"The 'Black Rock's' five minutes that way," Thrandor says pointing westwards, his hand shaking a little as he does so.

They start heading in that direction. They soon realize that no one that they have spoken to has been exaggerating regarding the state of life down here. It is truly disgusting. The majority of torches here have long since burnt out and so everything is incredibly gloomy. The stench of urine, excrement, vomit and fear assaults their noses however much they try and shut it out. Empty 'Suck' vials crunch beneath their feet regularly. Every building that they see around them seems to be tumbledown and covered in graffiti daubed in red paint. More alarming still is the fact that many of the buildings seem to have been burnt out judging from the soot-stains around the doors and windows. Several buildings show signs of bullet-holes in their sides as well.

It is all very quiet down here compared to the bustle of the upper levels, but the sound of small feet running is always present. They see what appears to be an unconscious drunk slumped in the doorway of a building a short way ahead of them. As this has been a fairly common sight on their journey, they don't think it anything strange until they get closer and smell the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh. Looking at the drunk more closely, they can see that the 'drunk' has been dead for several weeks, the dagger stuck in his throat being the most probable cause, they think.

They carry on walking, treading carefully over the pools of dried blood and vomit on the floor. All of a sudden there is the sound of a gunshot in the far distance which makes them all jump a little. The sound is followed by an agonized scream and then the all-enveloping silence descends once more.

They continue onwards, treading more carefully all the time as they maneuver through the narrow alleyways.

Then, suddenly, there is movement all around them.

Dwarves appear in the upper windows of the burnt-out buildings that they are passing and others appear to the front and rear of they.

They are surrounded.

In the split-second that it happened, they see that there are ten dwarves surrounding them; three in the upper windows of houses in each of the buildings to either side of them, two in front of them and two behind them. All of the dwarves' faces are obscured by red bandannas that cover their noses and mouths. The six dwarves in the windows are aiming calivers (small muskets) at them, the matches ready and sparking, the four on the ground blocking their advance and retreat are all carrying battleaxes apart from one, who is pointing a caliver at the party and has a battleaxe at his side.

The one with both an axe and a caliver is obviously the leader. He shouts out to them in a strange Bohavian patois:

"LISTEN UP GOOD, LANKEE MUTHAF***AS. DROP YO' WEAPONS AND HAND OVER YO' CASH OR WE GONNA HAVE TO GET ROUGH WITH YO ASSES."

Thrandor tosses his pouch to the ground quickly before putting his hands in the air, trembling nervously.

Porter, however, is not so easily intimidated and immediately shouts back to the dwarven bandit leader:

"Excuse me, but unless you want to explain this to Emsee Hammer yourselves, you'll stop right what you are. 'Cause if I have to talk to Emsee about it, you'll be wearing your weapons up your ass."

The bandit leader hesitates a little at this. THe party members can tell that the other bandits aren't too sure as to what to make of this either. However, the dwarves continue to train their calivers on the party.

The bandit leader sounds a little unsure of himself as he replies:

"How d'yo know Emsee?" he asks. "What's yo business wid him?"

Porter's eyes widen into saucers as he points to his chest, saying:

"MY f***ing business with Emsee..."

He turns his hand around and points it at the dwarf before continuing:

"...is none of YOUR mutherf***ing business, understand? Now, I've got to get to the Black Rock on the double, 'cause if I'm late, Emsee is gonna get pissed. And if Emsee gets pissed, I'm gonna have to explain that I was delayed because I had to spend a couple of seconds wiping the street clean with your ass. Now, can my crew and I carry on now, or I'm going to have to break a sweat ... and your neck?"

Aithne murmurs:

"You're kind of cute when you're angry," she says in a very low-pitched voice to Porter.

As Porter continues his furious rant, he can see the bandit leader starting to back down a little, holding up the caliver away from him. As Porter finishes, he signals to the rest of his not-so-merry men and they put their weapons down also, slinking back into the buildings from where they appeared:

"Oh," he says a little meekly, "so you're on you're way to see him at the Black Rock? Errm ... I'm sorry ... I didn't know you knew him."

"Well ... errm ... I guess we'll see you at the Black Rock later then."

The dwarven leader then starts to lighten up a bit:

"Should be quite a show tonight, huh?"

The dwarf then waves to the party members and then slinks away into the darkness from whence he appeared.

When the dwarf departs, Porter speaks in a low voice to the others:

"Evidently this Emsee fellow is a badass gang leader with the Bloods, and not someone to be trifled with. When we get to the Black Rock, you'll have to name-drop your priest buddy's name who helped him out. Hopefully that'll get us in, 'cause otherwise we may be biting off more than we can chew."

Winnacer nods in agreement:

"That was the plan. Let us pray it is enough."

Thrandor stops shaking a little and meekly picks up his pouch, secreting it about his person once again.

Porter gives Thrandor just a bit of scolding:

"What are doing giving up like a chump like that? People will take advantage of ya you're whole life if you let'em. You're with my crew right now, so you won't have a problem, and I'll put in a good word for ya with the Hammer. Now what's this "show" that guy was talking about?"

Thrandor shakes his head a little nervously:

"I-I'm sorry," he stutters. "It's just that I'm used to working on my own, and I ain't got the muscle to fight off the big guys. I keep tellin' ya, I'm pretty near the bottom of the food chain down here an' the only way to stay alive is not to stick your neck out."

He pauses:

"I dunno what he meant by 'show' either. I ain't never dared come down to the 8th before. It's a battleground. I don't know that much about Emsee. All I know is he's one of the big gangleaders."

He shrugs.

They then continue onwards. After just a couple more minutes, they can hear quite a lot of commotion coming from ahead of them. Moving cautiously so as not to run into the middle of a situation that they can't handle, they carry on to see, from the huge lump of coal hanging on a chain from the side of the building, that they have finally reached The Black Rock.

The party members are very surprised to see, however, that there is a huge crowd of dwarves standing outside the inn. There must be around 50 of them in the crowd at the moment. All of them are youngish looking, with hardly any of them having beards. The other thing that they have in common is the fact that they are all wearing red bandannas somewhere - either around their heads, or round their arms. Every single one of them is armed to the teeth, with more than half of them holding calivers, thankfully without their matches lit. They all seem to be carrying either battleaxes or large hammers as well.

The dwarves seem to be waiting in line to get into the inn, the doors of which are currently shut and blocked by a couple of enormously muscular-looking dwarves holding huge axes and glaring menacingly at the crowd. The crowd of dwarves are chattering loudly amongst themselves, jostling each other in the line. The conversation is broken by the occasional cough or sneeze. As the party members look at the dwarves, they can see that several of the dwarves seem to be suffering from similar ailments to those in Litultovitze, although not to the same extent.

As the party walks forwards towards the crowd, the hubbub dies down immediately, as all eyes turn towards the party and the dwarves fall silent. They don't look particularly friendly towards the party, but none of them are looking that hostile.

Yet.

"This doesn't look good at all," murmurs Aithne.

"Can you talk them out of it?" she asks Porter, batting her eyelashes at him.

Winnacer crosses his arms in front of him and looks at the mob of dwarves assembled in front of the building, nodding appreciatively. He leans over to speak to Porter:

"I hope you haven't made too many plans for tonight. These gentlemen look like they are ready to fight and information is never free."

He looks over at the others and sees nobody else making a move to the door. With a shrug, he confidently walks over to the door guards, arms still crossed in front of him.

Neither of the guards says a word as Winnacer approaches them, nor do they move a muscle. The pair of them looks up at him with sneers on their faces, a look that asks 'what do you want?' in any language.

The LawBringer looks down at the pair of them and starts to speak:

"I am Winnacer Duene Stradheim and these are my associates. We are here to speak with Emsee Hammer. Tell him that we are contemporaries of FaithHealer Geisler. From the look of things here, he may want our help in the hours to come."

The pair of them continues to stare up at him without replying, although a slight look of confusion comes to their faces. Winnacer realizes that they don't understand a word that he is saying.

"He doesn't speak the language," Rowan murmurs to Aithne, then adds, "In more ways than one...."

He holds a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, ostensibly to keep out the stench and evil humors.

Porter gives Thrandor a nudge:

"Time to earn your money, go over and translate for him."

Nervously, Thrandor walks over and starts to bark at the guards. The guards look at him as if he is slightly mad and then the one on the right starts to bark back at him in response, pointing to the line of dwarven lowlife as he does so.

Thrandor nods weakly and turns back to speak to Winnacer:

"He says that everyone here is waiting to see Emsee Hammer, of course, and that you'll have to wait your turn like everyone else and get to the back of the line, or else there'll be a riot."

"Again."

"He says that the doors are opening in ten minutes, so have your money ready. It's five silvers each to get in."

Fae sighs heavily. This was probably going to be a LONG proverbial night...

With nothing better to do, she listens to the mutterings about her from the gang members around them. Her one hand fumbled near the clasp of her cloak as she made to read the guard's mind, a bored expression on her face.

She discovers that the guards are thinking that the lankees are either very, very tough or very, very stupid to be down on the 8th level and coming to the Black Rock this evening.

Upon realizing that it looks as if there is no way of getting into the tavern other than joining the line, the party members all head off and join on the end. The dwarves all stare at them as the party members pass them on their way to the rear, muttering to themselves, with some of them spitting on the floor. The party notices that not all of the dwarves are male, as there are several females in the crowd, looking equally as mean as their male counterparts. The party members join the end of the line. The dwarves in front of the party members just turn around and stare at them all. Dwarves seem to be arriving all the time and the line grows longer behind them. A group of ten dwarves arrive together after five minutes wearing red bandannas around their necks. From the fact that seven of them are carrying calivers and three have axes, plus the nervous looks that they are throwing in Porter's direction, it's pretty easy to guess that these are the ten masked dwarves that tried to ambush the party earlier.

A few minutes later and the partymembers can tell that the doorguards have opened the doors at the front of the line, as the queue starts to surge forwards and the party members all have the uncomfortable feeling of being jostled by the dwarves. The door guards start to shout out at the crowd in order for them to stop pushing, which seems to have little effect upon the dwarves.

From their position midway in the line, the partymembers can see the two door guards grab one of the dwarves at the front of the line before they start to beat the living daylights out of him. They obviously pummel him unconscious, because the dwarf falls to the ground, whereupon the pair of them kick him in the head over and over again until the dwarf's face is little more than a bloody pulp.

Aithne has to look away as the dwarf is beaten. Her stomach roils threateningly and her face grows more pale than usual. She says nothing but she looks ready to either bolt, or draw her sword and wade in.

Most of the dwarves in the line, however, find this little piece of entertainment to be wildly amusing, laughing at the beaten dwarf's misfortune. It serves the door guards' purposes as well, as the jostling stops and the dwarves in line calm down, and they begin to file into the tavern in order.

The party members continue to shuffle forwards slowly as the line makes its way into the tavern. After 15 minutes, they get to the front of the line, stepping over the body of the beaten dwarf, who is obviously quite dead now. The door guards continue to sneer at them as they get to the front of the line, then pass to allow the party into the tavern.

As they get in, they see that the tavern is quite brightly lit inside compared to the gloom outside. It is a lot bigger than it appears from the outside, going back into the rock quite a long way. They can see that there is seating for probably 200 in the tavern, all consisting of small chairs around small tables. At the far end of the table there is a raised stage area, brightly lit from all of the torches on the walls around it.

They are quite surprised to see that the place is staffed totally by halflings, with each of them looking as tough and scabby as their dwarven clientele. There is a particularly gross and rotund halfling sat behind a desk at the entrance. He holds his hand out as each of the party members pass him. Having already determined that the entrance fee is five silvers each, they hand him the required amount and then continue onwards. Just after getting past the entrance, they are stopped by another greasy-looking halfling who speaks to them in bad Bohavian:

"You got any weapons on you?" he asks roughly.

"Most of us have got swords, yes," Winnacer replies, not liking the thought of having to give up his weapon at all in this place.

"Got any shooters?" he asks.

"No," the young Lord replies. "We don't have any firearms."

The halfling shakes his head:

"That's bad. This ain't no kindergarten, y'know? You gotta protect yerselves. You wanna buy any?"

He reaches behind him and pulls out a long thin canvas bag. He pulls the canvas back to reveal that it contains a caliver, similar to the ones that a large proportion of the populace seems to be carrying.

Winnacer seems interested in the firearm:

"How much is it?" he asks.

"Two 'undred gold," the halfling replies. "That's what the price on the street is at the moment."

He reaches into a bag and pulls out a tiny package wrapped in paper and a small iron ball:

"The powder's five silvers a load, and the shot's a copper a piece."

He looks up at Winnacer again:

"So, you interested?"

Winnacer lifts the caliver offered to him by the halfling, carefully inspecting the craftmanship. As he does so, he can see that it is a very fine piece of work indeed. The fact that there are no powder flash marks in the pan shows that it is a new weapon that has never been fired before, rather than a second hand model.

He checks the quality of the weapon to find that it is excellent indeed, better even than his father's musket he used to fire whenever Klauf wasn't around to stop him. The abilities of Opava's metalsmiths have obviously not been exaggerated at all.

Running low on money now, he dips into Gronk's donation money, figuring that he can make up the difference later. Remembering how much Gronk loved guns and mayhem, the LawBringer figures that the DemonSlayer would be pissed at Winn is he passed up the opportunity.

"I'll take it," Winnacer says to the halfling. "I'll take the caliver and 40 shots."

The halfling nods:

"A wise decision," he replies before handing over the caliver and starting to count out the required amount of powder charges and bullets."

"OK," he finishes, "that's 200 gold for the weapon, 20 gold for the powder and four silvers for the bullets in total."

Winnacer hands over the money and takes the shot, stashing them away in his pouch.

Winnacer looks down at the gunne, a small smile coming to his face for the first time today. He says to nobody in particular:

"Happy Birthday, Winnacer."

Porter watches Winnacer purchase the weapon with a degree of envy. His purse had been lightened due to the Blue Marks failing to pay him, and he could not afford even the two hundred gold price of the caliver. He'd have to figure out some way to score some coin, as it seemed this group didn't have any idea how to do it on their own.

They then all walk into the room and take a seat, trying to get your legs under the dwarf-sized table. They have just got themselves comfortable, finally, when there is a loud bang from behind them and them are showered with splinters and wood-chippings as a shot plows into the table. With hands on weapons, they look round quickly to see who the culprits are. They see that there are eight dwarves at the table behind them, one of whom is holding a smoking caliver.

The party sees that the dwarves are all gesturing at them:

"Move," one of them shouts.

"Can't see," another adds.

"Big headed lankee bastards," yet another shouts as he gestures to the party members furiously to get out of his line of sight.

Not wanting to start a riot just yet, the party members sigh deeply before getting up from the table and moving to a vacant table at the rear of the room. The dwarves mumble to each other while the one who fired reloads.

The room continues to fill until all of the seats have been taken and it's standing room only. The room is starting to get very hot and sweaty now, the stench of unwashed dwarf assaulting the party members' noses. A team of halfling barmaids comes through the crowd, taking orders and delivering drinks. The party can see that the barmaids are bringing little vials of 'Suck', complete with straws in the main, with a few flagons of frothing ale for the traditionalists amongst the audience.

As one of the barmaids brings a tray of drinks over to one particularly rowdy table at the front, one of the dwarves gooses her. The halfling shrieks and then smashes the dwarf in the mouth with a knuckleduster. Now it's the dwarf's turn to shriek, as he starts to spit bloody, broken tooth-fragments out of his mouth. The dwarf's 'friends' find this to be hilarious and tip the barmaid well for her entertainment.

Another barmaid comes to the party and takes their order, returning a few minutes later with their drinks. They take their drinks and sit back and simply watch events unfold.

The tavern is filled to capacity now. The door guards have locked the doors and are now standing by the bar, giving the occupants the evil eye. The hubbub inside the place is amazing and it gets so loud that the party members can hardly hear themselves think any longer. As the 'Suck' and alcohol starts to really take effect, the dwarves get more and more rowdy. Empty vials of 'Suck' start to fill the air as the dwarves fling them at each other.

Half an hour later and things have degenerated still further in the Black Rock. There are now scuffles breaking out all around the tavern. The two door guards are working for their money as they continually have to wade through the crowd and grab hold of the worst of the trouble-makers before banging their heads together.

Over in a corner, the party members see things getting further and further out of hand. One dwarf accidentally takes another's 'Suck' and so the other dwarf casually pulls out his axe and hacks the dwarf's hand off. The now one-handed dwarf starts to scream in agony as he holds the bleeding stump in his remaining hand.

The one-handed dwarf's friend intervenes in the squabble by lighting the match of his caliver from his cheroot and then shoots the axe-wielding dwarf in the stomach, spattering blood and organs across the table.

The now disemboweled dwarf obviously has friends on another table, however, as the one of them takes a handaxe and hurls it through the air to see the axe embedding itself in the back of the skull of the gun-toting dwarf.

Things continue to escalate in a matter of seconds, as more and more of the dwarfs get involved in the conflict. Tables and chairs start to fly through the air, along with axes, knives, daggers, clubs and flagons. Several of the dwarves start shooting their calivers into the fray, seemingly not too particular as to who it is that they are aiming for. As the mayhem continues, the party members notice that the barmaids are continuing to run through the battleground, casually dodging the tables, chairs, bullets, other missiles and occasional body parts that are flying through the air. The door guards are running around frantically through the crowd, seemingly hacking dwarves to pieces with their axes at random.

Winnacer stands out of the way of the fray. He scans the crowd with Spravedelna's sight until he is satisfied that all present are malignant. He watches the riot with some bemusement, as there is something to be said about criminals doing his job for him. The Paladin does his best to stay alert and away.

Aithne watches the sight around her with a growing sense of horror. She has her hands on her swords and is ready to jump into the fray at any second, on a hair trigger, as it were. She is hard-pressed to believe that this seems to bother none of her companions and is almost as horrified by them as by what is occurring around them.

Fae, in a rare moment, is sharing the same bemused look as Winnacer regarding the fracas about her; though her hands are resting near her spell components just in case.

"What a lovely night out," she says to noone in particular.

Porter lays his hand on Thrandor's shoulder, saying:

"I'll admit, this is more craziness than I've seen in a while, but we'll be alright. Stay confident, we're going to need you to help get us into see Emsee. Personally, I don't know what the hell is going on here, and I'm wondering if a good bribe might get us to see Emsee now before I have to fight off a couple dozen of your brethren."

Thrandor is practically cowering with fear under the table, pressing up against the rest of them for safety:

"This is 'orrible," he stutters. "I'd 'eard that it was bad down 'ere, but I never knew that it was THIS bad. If I'd 'ave known, then there's no way I'd 'ave agreed to come down 'ere for five gold. Right now, I'd just settle for gettin' out o' this place alive. I ain't gonna 'ave nothing to do with tryin' to speak to Emsee. Not if he's like these other animals."

Just as it looks as if the whole tavern is going to turn into one enormous battlefield and the party members start to feel as if they would have been safer sitting in the center of the ratmen's guard cavern, a garishly-dressed obese halfling bounds onto the stage with a megaphone in hand and starts to bellow into it. The halfling is shouting in dwarven, and so they can't make out what he's saying, but whatever it is that he said ends with the phrase:

"IT'S HAMMER TIME!"

Immediately the room falls silent as dwarves take their hands from around the throats of other dwarves that they were in the process of throttling, put away their axes and guns and drop the chairs that they were just about to hurl so that they may sit on them. There is not a sound in the place as all eyes look to the stage.

All of a sudden, four dwarves emerge from the rear of the stage. All four of them appear very similar, having close-cropped black hair, well trimmed goatee beards and are dripping with expensive jewelry, most notably the heavy golden chains that each of them wears around their necks, so heavy that the party members wonder how the dwarves manage to move under the weight. Each of them has the name of the famed dwarven tailor 'Thorgrim HillFinger' emblazoned across the front of their jerkins, over which they are wearing black leather jackets.

Of the four dwarves, two of them are carrying a megaphone in one hand and a caliver in the other. A third is carrying a large drum, while the last one, curiously, is carrying two disks of slate. The two with the megaphones walk to the front of the stage, while the other two take up positions at the rear.

As the four dwarfs make their appearance, the crowd goes absolutely ballistic as they start cheering wildly. Several of them fire their weapons - at the ceiling this time, thankfully.

The two dwarves with the megaphones stand at the front of the stage scowling at the audience for more than a minute until the cheers and sound of gunshots finally dies down. He then puts the megaphone to his lips and bellows out to the crowd:

"F*** yo, yo lowdown, piece-o'-shit, dirty muthaf***ing diggerz," he bellows in a strange pidgin Bohavian patois.

The party members all look a bit worried at this, just waiting for the crowd to start shooting at him. However, to their surprise, the crowd seems to love it, and start cheering and bellowing and shooting their guns all over again.

He waits for the din to subside and then bellows again:

"Let me introduce yo' diggerz to ma crew," he continues.

The crowd roars once again.

"On da beat box we got Beatmaster Beardy B."

The crowd starts cheering as Beatmaster B. waves to them all with drumsticks in hand.

"An' next we got DJ Dancin' Damli on the discs o' slate," the dwarf on the megaphone continues.

The roars continue as DJ Damli holds his hand up.

The spokesman then turns to the dwarf next to him, who they see has eyes as wide as dinner plates and is obviously 'Sucked' off his head.

"An' here we have ma main man, Ice Pick."

The roaring of the crowd increases as Ice Pick stares at them. He then picks up his megaphone and speaks:

"Word," he says, for reasons known to himself.

"Gimme some skin, ma main man," the spokesperson says and then he and Ice Pick give each other a high five.

"An y'all know me," the spokesperson continues, "I'm Emsee Hammer, the meanest muthaf***ing digger in all Opava."

The crowd goes berserk, screaming and shouting and stamping their feet as well as letting off their calivers at the ceiling.

Winnacer leans over to Porter:

"These guys talk like Booker T. Maybe he could explain what these guys are going on about. I certainly don't get it."

"An we is 'DIGGERZ WIV ATTITUDE'!" Hammer shouts out, sending the crowd roaring even louder.

As Emsee says the words, Beatmaster start to beat his drum furiously while DJ Dancin' D starts to rub the discs of slate together.

Then, Hammer starts to speak over the row:

"Yo'll lookin' mighty ill tonight," he shouts.

"Respect," adds Ice Pick.

Yaz nods in agreement:

"He's right," the druid says, "they're not looking very well are they? I guess they got the same shit that they did in that village."

Winnacer nods, trying to understand what's going on.

"We gonna be layin' down some big phat flavas fo' yo' diggerz tonight," Hammer continues.

"Word," Ice Pick says again in response.

The crowd is still going totally nuts.

"Black Rock Tavern, Opava," Hammer shouts out next. "In da place to be."

"Uh huh, uh huh," adds Ice Pick.

"All da diggerz in da house say 'AYE'!" Hammer continues.

"AYE!" shout out the dwarves in unison, shooting off more guns as an accompaniment and holding their axes aloft.

"My megaphone soundz good tonight," continues Hammer.

"One time," adds Ice Pick.

"My megaphone soundz good tonight," repeats Hammer.

"Two times," adds Ice Pick.

"My megaphone soundz good tonight," Hammer says, yet again.

"Three times," adds Ice Pick.

"Now I gotta go say somethan to ma DJ," Hammer says, wandering towards the back of the stage.

"Uh huh," says Ice Pick, still looking totally zonked as he stands before the audience.

Beatmaster B then starts pounding his drum more maniacally than ever before, while DJ Dancin' D. rubs the slates together furiously.

Hammer returns to the front of the stage:

"All da diggerz in da house sing "HI!" Hammer says.

"HI!" shout the audience.

"All da diggerz in da house sing "HO!" Ice Pick adds.

"HO!" shout out the audience.

"Sing HI HI," Hammer continues.

"HI HI," chant the audience obediently.

"Sing HO HO," adds Ice Pick.

"HO HO," the audience mimicks with gusto.

"Sing HI HO," Hammer adds.

"HI HO," chants the audience.

"Sing HI HO, HI HO," continues Ice Pick.

"HI HO, HI HO," repeats the audience, showing no signs of getting bored with this game.

"Sing HI HO, HI HO, IT'S OFF TO CLAIM WELFARE WE GO," Hammer shouts.

"HI HO, HI HO, IT'S OFF TO CLAIM WELFARE WE GO," the crowd roars.

"Uh huh, uh huh," adds Ice Pick.

Hammer then launches himself into a mad rant, spewing out words in time to the Beatmaster B's drumbeat at an alarming rate. Ice Pick's sole contribution to the proceedings is to repeat the occasional word that Hammer says in a deep gravelly growl, seemingly choosing the words at random.

The words to the 'song' are difficult to follow exactly, as Hammer switches in and out of dwarven and pidgin Bohavian all the time. It appears, however, that it is a damning indictment of the social conditions in Opava.

The 'song' lasts for a little under five minutes before coming to an abrupt halt, at which point the crowd goes wild, letting off their guns once more.

Just pausing long enough for Ice Pick to shout 'respect' and 'uh huh, uh huh' a couple of times, they continue with a song that seems to be entitled 'Whistle While You Deal', which is another piece of furious social commentary regarding the needs for dwarves to deal 'Suck' in order to exist.

Beatmaster B keep the beat as Hammer neatly segues into the similarly sounding 'Gonna Score Me Some Suck' and continues his ranting for a further five minutes.

The dwarves' set continues for a further 45 minutes, during which time they sing about dealing 'Suck' a lot before Hammer starts a long succession of songs about guns, of which 'Only Elves An' Pussies Don't Got No Shooters' is that one that sticks in their memory the most.

Halfway through the set there is a change of pace as Beatmaster B, slows down the tempo and Hammer raps the love song, 'My Bitch Got Beard'.

This seems to calm the dwarves down quite a bit, as they all sit back and hold up the matches from their calivers in the air.

Right after that, Beatmaster B cranks it up again and Hammer's stream of vitriol continues with 'F*** the Crips', which sends the crowd mental once again, leading to the dwarves to start shooting their guns with enthusiasm once again. This then leads into the subtly different 'F*** the Nyemetz' which is similarly well received by the audience.

As the last 'song' ends, Hammer grabs his megaphone once again and shouts out to the crowd:

"You've been a terrible audience, diggerz. F*** you an' good night."

And with that, the four of them run off the stage and through a door behind them, slamming it shut as they do so.

The crowd goes nuts once more, screaming and shouting and stamping for 'Diggerz Wiv Attitude' to return for an encore, but the Fab Four obviously aren't listening, as they don't return and the garishly dressed halfling extinguishes the torches around the stage.

As soon as they realize that they aren't getting any more, the dwarfs start to finish their drinks and resume their fighting. Luckily, however, the majority of them are now too 'Sucked' out to have much chance of being able to hit anything with either their axes or calivers any more, and so the death rate is much lower than it was earlier.

As the crowd starts to thin, it becomes obvious that the halflings are getting ready to close up for the night. The obese owner shouts out to the stragglers:

"We've 'ad yer money, now piss off 'ome."