Auditions and Introductions

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at Harley. I’m not dressing up and playing a clown!”

Harley found herself getting annoyed. She was having a really hard time explaining exactly what she was thinking. Jes was large for an Escher. Her 1.7 meter frame was layered with thick muscles. In most of the other Houses one might take her as strong of body, but weak of mind. Not so, Jes and her sister Dea were technically savvy and knew how to do “stuff”. But for someone so smart, Jes sure was dense.

“You should have seen them Jes. The cameras couldn’t track ‘em! They were everywhere at once. ; Beautiful,” Harley said and let her voice trail off. ;

“Then what are you talking about?” The muscular Esher sighed as she put down the bolt assembly to the heavy stubber she was working on.

“We start with getting a bunch of lasses together who are open minded and are willing to learn things. I want our new gang to be able to slip into a downhive settlement looking like we’re just a bunch of entertainers, all the while we’re scoping them out and picking their pockets. You remember that traveling freak show when we were snot-nosed juvies?”

“Yea I remember. They got shut down by the Guilders right after that slag-bucket of a scavvy got lose and destroyed a small factory before the Enforcers took it out. But what does that have to do with what you’re talkin’ about?”

Harley shook her head, “yea, well, not like those freaks Jes. I’m saying like dancers and jugglers. I’m not talking about trying to be like some pretty little up-hiver who couldn’t smack a Van Saar in the face, I’m talking about deadly cats that can dance circles around their prey and strike from any angle.”

“Yea ok, I could buy that… but Dea and I ain’t exactly light of foot.”

“Yea, but you guys can contribute in other ways. My benefactor helped me do a little research on those… what did she call them… Eldar something-or-other. Anyway, some of them dress all in black, and wear masks like this.”

Harley pulled her hand out from behind her back and extended it towards her friend. In her hand she held a mask. Jes took it and was unable to conceal her grin. It was a boney death mask with accents to make it look more sinister.

“Quin says their heavies wear these and suits to go with it. We won’t have any fancy suits, but we can deck ourselves out in other ways. ”

Jes ran her olive colored fingers over the mask, feeling the contours and creases.; “So, Dea will have one too?”

“Yea, sort of a calling card for you both. How soon do you think we can round up some more girls?” Harley said.

“Come on”, Jes said, “I know a few who are itching to get downhive. I’m sure Tanna and Malina can get us a few more heads to fill in the gaps.

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“Alright! Zip it!” Jes yelled above the din. Dea moved to the opposite side of the small shack that made up “The Swill Pool”. The “Pool” had once been a moisture condenser mounted on the roof of the dome somewhere far above. When it crashed to the floor during a hive quake it didn’t take long for the locals to strip it of all salvage, leaving a surprisingly intact shell, which in turn became a small building in the middle of the street. An odd location for a building to be sure, but in the “no man’s land” between Escher and Goliath territory in Hive City, nobody was going to move it.

The volume barley dimmed until a tall strapping woman walked through the front door. She wore black knee length boots and skin tight pants. The pants were half yellow, half red with each leg a different color. On her hips she wore a synth-leather belt and holster, the latter was strapped to her right thigh, the deep brown a sharp contrast to the bright yellow fabric below it. The holster was empty. On her torso she wore a bright blue sleeveless half-shirt revealing chiseled abs contoured biceps. Both of her arms were fully extended at a slight angle out to her sides. In her right hand she held a spotless bolt pistol. Her left hand grasped a lethal chainsword, currently idle. On each wrist she wore a wide fabric band in the colors of the opposite leg. Around her neck she wore a thick bright orange choker that matched the color of a trim plush mowhawk on the top of her head. The choker was studded with small spikes spaced a few centimeters apart. It was impossible to determine the woman’s facial features as they were concealed behind a full face mask in the shape of a wicked grin. The mask was painted all in white. A slightly pointed nose and bright red lips surrounding an exaggerated toothy smile. Over the left eye was a bright green diamond that extended both above and below. As all eyes turned to the newcomer the masked woman thumbed the throttle on the chainsword which immediately belched out a throaty roar. When the reverberation from the sword died down there was not a voice to be heard.

Harley looked over the assembled mob and nodded slightly. Not a bad assortment. All told four women had responded to Dea and Jes’ overtures of adventure and profit. Just as she was ready to speak, a second group of women entered from the far end led by Malina and followed up by Tanna. In between were just three juves, but that wouldn’t matter. The Underhive had ways of making you grow up quick, or it would cut your life short. One way or another they wouldn’t be underfoot for long. Harley nodded again, satisfied with the turn out. In all there were now eleven women ready and eager to strike out and seek their fortune in the Underhive.

Without a word both Tanna and Melina vaulted on top of separate tables. Each woman drew their sword and pistol. Slowly, and in wide arcs, they each began to gracefully swing their swords with the pistols in counter balance. As their routine continued the cadence got faster and tighter. All the while both women deftly danced and launched simulated attack strikes with sword, pistol, and feet. Just as the tempo began to seem unsustainable both dropped into a feline-like crouch with their outside leg fully extended to the side, their pistols full extended above their legs and their swords pointed down and to the outside behind their respective owner’s heads ready to strike. Right on cue both Dea and Jes spewed forth a cloud of flame from their mouths, which burned with a dull whoosh and caused the women to duck involuntarily.

“Now that we have your full attention,” Haley said as she slowly lifted the mask from her face having holstered her weapons during her ganger’s martial display. “I don’t know what lies my girls here have told you, but we’re obviously not aiming to be like all of the other House Escher gangs.” She paused for dramatic effect, and to assure that she still held their attention. “We will move from settlement to settlement entertaining those wretches. We will distract them from their miserable existences, all the while seeking opportunities to strike out in the interest of House Escher.”

Harley let her eyes wander from face to face and could see that she was making an impression. She nodded over to Jes who pulled out several crates out from under the bar. As the Heavy plopped the fully loaded containers one at a time on the table she threw open each lid. Inside the first were a seemingly random assortment of pistols, the second contained several swords, axes, and other melee weapons, the last one held brightly colored clothes. No two outfits were alike. Several of the Escher moved to start picking through the crates.

“Not so fast ladies,” Harley shouted. “There are some things you need to know first. First, you have to earn our calling card.” She looked directly at the three juves as she held her mask aloft for emphasis of what she was referring to. “And that includes the House Escher calling card,” this she said as she reached down with her free hand to lift out a sword from its crate. She then held that aloft for to make sure she had made her point to the juves. “But no matter what your role in our little Troupe, you are a part of the act.”

“Each of you will learn to both dance and how to perform acrobatic routines. You will learn to juggle, pick pockets, and any other act I can dream up. We will move from settlement to settlement to perform our little act and bring some cheer to the miserable existence of those wretches. All the while we will keep our eyes open for opportunities and strike out in the interests of our glorious House when the timing is right. If this is not your cup of wildsnake you may take your leave, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Haley let several moments pass as she looked into the eyes of each of the women. None made as much as a twitch.

“Very well then, welcome to the ‘Troupe of the Masque’.”

The Beginning of the Dance

Harley sat fixated on the vid-screen. The pictures were grainy and would fade from black and white to color, and then back again, but her imagination was captured. Lord Helmawr had dispatched a vid reporter to tell the glories of the famous Necromunda 8^th Regiment, the “Spiders”. The reporter had started her report listing the many honors and glories won on far flung battlefields when several blurs of light flashed onto the screen and men began dying.

The sounds of lasgun shots and small explosions began to drown out the reporter, who was now desperately trying to get out of the way. The blurs of light were everywhere. Then it happened.

For a fraction of a second one of the blurs stopped long enough for the lens of the camera to get a clear shot of one of the assailants. Harley rubbed her eyes because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. When she dropped her hands again the figure was gone. Then the screen went black and cut back to a newsroom somewhere up in the Spire. Another reporter went on to extol how courageous their Regiment was and that they had driven off the demon spawned xenos, but her mind had drifted and she was in her own world.

For weeks after the image would replay in her mind. It would come to her in her dreams., when she was awake, and it didn't matter what she was doing. A lithe figure poised upon her (whatever it was, it was obviously female) left foot, the right was drawn up to the inside of the left leg. Both arms came across the torso. The left arm came across the stomach and clasped some kind of alien pistol, while the right was behind her head holding an elegant sword that shimmered. The clothing was flamboyant. The legs, arms, and torso alternated back and forth in pattern and color. The left leg was a solid dark blue throughout, while the right leg had a checkered pattern of red and yellow. Upon the torso the patterns switched sides, while the arms followed the pattern of the legs. Upon the dancer’s legs and hands, for that is what came to Harley’s mind when she thought of her ~ that she looked very much like a dancer, were matching knee length boots and gloves. They were brown and made of some sort of animal skin. But it was her face and hair that kept Harley’s rapt attention more than anything. Her hair was a vivid red and orange in the shape of a plush Mohawk, with the sides of her head shaved. Upon her face she wore a mask. The left side was all in white and had the image of a smiling alien face, while the right a deep black that seemed to be weeping and upon the cheek a glittering diamond colored tear.

Finally she knew that she could not resist it any more. She arranged to meet with her closest friends. Let the enemies of House Escher be warned. The “Troupe of the Masque” was going on tour.

Background piece - redeux

Due to changes in the Nomad-like character (for the complete story click HERE) i have adjusted the story so i am reposting it...

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

The common room was busier than normal at the Sludge Spill Inn tonight, especially considering the ash storm outside had been raging for the better part of three days. Rumors had been running rampant around Hive’s End about an impending PDF sweep. Old Vira had said she heard mention at the Nomad bazaar of one of old Helmawr’s shuttles being shot down out in the wastes and the old Lord was out to inflict some retribution on the ‘illegal’s’ who choose not to seek his protection within the Hives.

Shanty towns like Hive’s End are easy targets for Helmawr’s goons. It did not matter that all they wanted to do was etch out a living from the industrial wastes and that it was unlikely that such a town could produce much more than a heavy stubber or two, let alone something with as long a reach as a las cannon or missile launcher. Such toys were more likely found among the Imperial Fists Space Marines or one of the Nomad bands that make their living moving between the hives and out in the wastes.

“Old Vira has the locals stirred up pretty good,” the inn keeper said to himself. “I’ll have to remind myself to give her a round on the house later.” The man stood behind the bar with one of his heavily booted feet on a box under the bar, looking out over the bar room he liked what he saw. No less than a dozen customers sat around the room.

Most of the population around town was leery of the young bar keep, but he did not let that bother him. Unlike most of the denizens of Necromunda’s Ash Wastes he was not native to this inhospitable place.

Before the Enforcers had come calling he and his mates had created quite a little fiefdom in the Underhive of Hive Primus, and although he had not been the leader of the ‘Iron Skulls’, he had been a trusted and proven lieutenant. There had been many a time he had out drawn his opponents to get his shots off, blazing away with his twin semi-automatics. That was before the heavy hand of Lord Helmawr and his police force, the Enforcers, had declared him and his gang outlaws. He was the last of the Skulls now, and that was only because he had braved the wastes. As formidable as the reach of the Enforcers is, even they thought twice before venturing outside the protective walls of the hive. Once he had made it to Hive’s End he found that his skills with his pistols could be useful, and after the last raid by some Nomads had killed the previous owner of the Inn, Ramic was quicker still to move in and stake his claim. No one had challenged him. Not until today that is.

“We need to get Cootus and round up those good for nothing punks from ’round town an organize!”

“You’re crazy!” a second man shouted over the first. “You can’t fight the PDF. Y’all be kilt!”

“Who said anything about getting killed!?” Ramic shouted over the first two.


The overlapping murmur of conversations took a noticeable dip as several people turned to look at the Inn Keeper. Ramic deftly swung his 1.8 meter, 72 kilogram frame up and over the bar and landed with both feet firmly planted on the plasteel sheet floor.

Ramic did not like where this was heading. He had already gone toe to toe with Helmawr’s forces and he felt fortunate to still be alive to tell about it, but he was not about to allow these sickly shanty scum to incite baseless paranoia in his place, especially since it would most likely lead to damaged property and goods – his goods.

“Korval, best to keep such talk to yourself.” Ramic said as he turned his head from man to man in the room. The black bandanna on his head accented the crew cut hair and square jaw of the former Orlock ganger. To make sure he made his point Ramic pulled his respirator down so it hung around his neck, thus no longer distorting his words.

“If you want to drive everyone into a panic you can just mosey on down to the Vira’s Acid Bath House.”

“What t’chu ginna do ‘bout it Rammey?”

The room went quiet. Ramic shifted his weight, placing both feet shoulder width apart, then moving his hands slowly to his hips as he spread his vest apart to reveal his the pair stubbers within a set of quick draw holstered and worn high on his hips to allow quicker access.

“I will do what I have to Korval. Best to keep your hands right there on the table where I can see ‘em too.”

Korval seemed to weigh the inn keeper’s words carefully and stood as if to leave. As he turned to his right he slowly drew his hand up to his own holster. When his hand made contact with the pistol grip he snapped it out and spun to draw down on Ramic, but before Korval could complete his maneuver Ramic had cleared both of his pistols from the holsters and had snapped off three shots from each. All six shots impacted their target and Korval fell backwards, upended the table he had been sitting at on the way to the floor.

Ramic kept both pistols drawn at waist level as his eyes scanned the room for anyone else who might feel lucky. All eyes were on him when a sudden gush of wind brought in a fresh cloud of ash and debris through the front door from the wastes beyond. A few of the people within the Inn were caught by surprise and began coughing profusely. The end result was that everyone was now looking at the three new strangers who had just walked in. It was not the appearance of potential customers that confused the people already there, it was the fact that these wayfarers had ventured out in the midst of a pretty good ash storm.

The industrial wastelands of Necromunda were not to be traveled lightly in what might locally could be considered ‘good’ weather, but to move about in the middle of one the sudden storms that often spring up – usually lasting for several days – was to invite death to your door. It did not matter if you were going several kilometers, or across town. The chemical clouds and resins that make up the Ash Wastes were known to strip a man down to the bone if he were not properly protected, let alone being exposed for a prolonged journey. It was nearly impossible to predict what kinds of hazards were stirred up when Necromunda got her dander up, best to stay indoors, keep your head down and your respirator handy. But the three strangers that now showed up on Ramic’s doorstep had obviously come from some where outside the walls of the little Shanty town of Hive’s End, because he knew everyone in the small shanty town, and he had not seen these people before.

The man in front wore a heavy ankle length duster that flowed smoothly despite being made of a heavy fabric. His head was completely covered by a deep hood that was attached to the duster. His eyes were covered by a visor with a narrow single lens that went from temple to temple. His nose, mouth, and neck were covered by a single yellow scarf. Wrapped around his torso, underneath the jacket, was a royal blue tunic that draped to the length of the coat. Across his chest, underneath his left arm was a leather shoulder holster that held an as yet unidentified weapon, which matched another similar holster on his left hip. The grip of the weapon on his hip was pointed to the rear and was underneath the duster. Across the waist was a wide leather belt with an emerald colored gem buckle. On his right hip, slung slight low, hung a tubular pouch that contained something within. The boots he wore were also made of leather and came to just above his knees. Across his back was an ornate sword with a long grip. Over top of this he carried a small haversack that was full, and on the left side was strapped a long rifle wrapped in cloth similar to that of the duster. Those who have spent any amount of time outside the massive hives of Necromunda would recognize him as a Nomad Scout.

The second one through the door was adorned in a pair of heavy combat trousers that had apparently been salvaged as there were several holes revealing another layer of heavy fabric underneath in order to protect the wearer from the hostile elements. Upon the feet was a pair of mismatched combat boots. The head was wrapped in a similar fabric to what was underneath the pants, surrounding a pair of goggles and a dual filter respirator that covered the face. Atop the head was a Planetary Defense Cap. The torso was adorned in a waste length jacket with a heavy zipper up the front. It had a set of pockets on the arms as well as on the chest, which revealed that the wearer to be that of a woman. Upon her back was a pack similar to that of the nomad, and a shotgun with an improvised harness was slung from her right shoulder. The bandoleer of ammunition across her other shoulder and chest, along with the hodgepodge of clothing showed her to be a resident of some, as of yet unfamiliar, Shanty Town.

The last one to enter Ramic’s humble little Inn was not all that impressive to look at. He stood around one and three quarter meters tall, and he was not particularly big to look at either. The boots looked familiar but he could not place them. The heavy pants were similar to that of the woman’s, but above the waist he wore a threadbare shirt that was barely covering some kind of bodysuit. He was unarmed except for the heavy staff in his right hand. It was made of some kind of organic material that was interlaced with grains of metal – like the two materials had somehow grown and matured together. What was disconcerting was that he did not appear to be wearing any sort of respirator or eye protection, but this was not what gave Ramic pause. It was the sound of something he had not heard since he felt compelled to leave the hive. It was the sound that many a person who had gone against the rule of Lord Helmawr came to dread. From among the strangers wove a mechanical construct known as a Cyber Mastiff. He could not believe that he was seeing such a thing out in the wastes, and wondered why it was on his doorstep now, that was when he remembered where he had seen this man’s boots before – the Enforcers.

Slowly eyes moved between the three strangers and Ramic. No one was quite sure what to expect.

“Greetings friends. What may I get you?” Ramic offered without putting his pistols away just yet.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Notes:
The Inn keeper is (Ramic) and is the 3rd supporting character
Nomad is known as Luinon
The woman is known as Yeve
The last man is our ‘Hero’ Jakob

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

I am also almost done with another prelude piece that continues the story of Ian and his gang the Steel Spiders...

For notes - Charecter descriptions

I typed up a brief "story" to work out how i felt the characters are supposed to look for a different story line i am working on. I am planning on continuing the story line i have posted before, but this is to get my fingers warmed up to begin again.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The sudden gush of wind brought in a fresh supply of ash and grit, while stirring up the substantial amount of particles already in place. If it were not for the protective masks everyone was wearing not a soul could keep from coughing. Without exception, the entire room’s attention was drawn to the now slowly closing door of the small trading post. It was not the appearance of potential customers that confused the people already there, it was the fact that they had apparently ventured out in the midst of a pretty good ash storm.

The industrial wastelands of Necromunda were not to be traveled lightly in what might locally be considered ‘good’ weather, but to move about in the middle of the sudden storms that often spring up without warning – often lasting for several days – was to invite death to your door. It did not matter if you were going several kilometers, or across town. The chemical clouds and resins that make up the Ash Wastes were known to strip a man down to the bone if he were not properly protected, let alone exposing yourself for a sustained journey. It was nearly impossible to predict what kinds of hazards were stirred up when Necromunda got her dander up, best to stay indoors, keep your head down and your respirator properly in place. But the three strangers that now showed up on Ramic’s doorstep had obviously come from some where outside the walls of the little Shanty town of Hive’s End, because he knew every one in town and he had not seen these people before.

The man in front wore a heavy ankle length duster that flowed smoothly despite being made of a heavy leather-like fabric. His face was covered by a full face respirator and a deep hood from the coat. Barely poking out from beneath the hood was the unmistakable brim of a hat from Lord Helmawr’s planetary defense force, which matched the mid-shin length boots he was wearing. Strapped to the man’s back were both a stuffed medium sized pack, and a completely wrapped long rifle. Those who have spent any amount of time outside the massive hives of Necromunda recognized him as a Nomad Scout, and apparently a fairly well seasoned one by the way he carried himself.

The second one through the door was adorned in a pair of heavy combat trousers that had obviously been salvaged as there were several holes revealing another layer of heavy fabric beneath to protect the wearer from the hostile elements. Upon the feet was a pair of mismatched boots. The head was wrapped in a similar fabric to what was underneath the pants, surrounding a pair of goggles and a dual filter respirator that covered the face. The torso was adorned in a waste length jacket with a heavy zipper up the front. It had a set of pockets on the arms as well as on the chest, which revealed that the wearer to be that of a woman. Upon her back was a pack similar to that of the nomad, and a shotgun with an improvised harness was slung from her right shoulder. A bandoleer of ammunition went across her other shoulder and down across the chest, along with the hodgepodge of clothing showed her to be a resident of some, as of yet, unfamiliar shanty town.

Ramic felt ill at ease. If it came down to protecting his wares he doubted any of his current patrons would lift a finger to help him as the denizens of the Ash Wastes Shanty towns were well known for their lack of bravery, and even more for their lack of tolerance of outsiders. More likely they would take cover and pick over whatever was left. He peered down over his own single filter respirator, currently draped around his neck, at his own attire. He had barely modified his gang colors that he brought with him when he fled Hive: Primus. Although he now wore a heavy laborer’s jump suit underneath his rust colored Orlock vest and trousers, it was obvious to which house his allegiance had been to. His boots were standard house issue, as were his fatigue like pants. Although his face was now often protected by the respirator and goggles (usually planted firmly above the white and black bandana he always wore on his forehead), it was obvious where he was from, something that did not endear him to his new neighbors.

Before the Enforcers had come calling he and his mates had created quite a little fiefdom, and although he had not been the leader of the ‘Iron Skulls’, he had been a trusted and proven member. There had been many a time he had out drawn his opponents to get his shots off, blazing away with his twin semi-automatics. That was before the heavy hand of Lord Helmawr had declared him and his gang outlaws. He was the last of the Skulls now, and that was only because he had braved the wastes. Although the formidable reach of the Enforcers is vast, even they thought twice to venture outside the protective walls of the hive cities. Glancing from hip to hip he felt confident that he could hold his own if he was pressed to do so, despite the bulge from the right leg under the Nomad’s coat. That is until he caught sight of the last man to come through the door.

The last one to enter Ramic’s humble little store was not all that impressive to look at. He stood around one and three quarter meters tall, and he was not particularly big to look at either. The boots looked familiar but he could not place them. The heavy pants were similar to that of the woman’s, but above the waist he wore a threadbare shirt that was barely covering some kind of bodysuit. He was unarmed except for the heavy staff in his right hand. It was made of some kind of organic material that was interlaced with grains of metal – like the two materials had somehow grown and matured together. What was disconcerting was that he did not appear to be wearing any sort of respirator or eye protection, but that was not what gave him pause. It was the sound of something he had not heard since he felt compelled to leave the hive. It was the sound that many a person who had gone against the rule of Lord Helmawr came to dread. From among the strangers wove a mechanical construct known as a Cyber Mastiff. He could not believe that he was seeing such a thing out in the wastes, and wondered why it was on his doorstep now. He was not as sure that he could take that thing down, magnum loads or not.



Notes: Nomad is known as Jar’d
The woman is known as Yeve
The shop keep (Ramic) is the 3rd supporting character
The last man is our ‘Hero’ Jakob