Once Ian had cleaned himself up he climbed up the three levels to the Bifröst’s deck level. Although he felt better on the outside after his chem-shower, he needed to get something to eat and then to climb into his rack for a couple of shift cycles to shake the fatigue he felt throughout his body.
Ian waved down the length of the bar to get the barkeeps attention, “Chigger! I need a couple of “rats-on-a-spit” and a nice tall glass of water!”
The barkeep nodded his head in acknowledgement and put down the metallic cup his was cleaning with his shirt. Ian settled into the barstool at the Spider’s end of the bar. From here he could scope out the main room of the Bifröst. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Amber. It had been over a week since he had held her in his arms.
“Come to think of it,” Ian said to himself, “where is everybody else?”
“Here ya are kid” Chigger said as he set the food and drink down in front of the Van Saar medic and tinkerer.
Ian spun back around and dived into his meal. It wasn’t gourmet, but it sure beat the synth-soy crap most down hivers had to scrape by on. Besides, the faster you got it into your gullet, the less you had to think about it. Once he had shoved the last bite into his mouth he leaned back to look up at the monitors showing one of the closed circuit channels of rat races the local Guilders ran. The rodents for the next race were being shown on screen and Ian leaned back to get a better view.
“Hey Chigger! Put me down for ten guilders on number 4!”
The barman nodded in Ian’s direction and turned and scribbled on a data slate under the counter. Once his bet was secured Ian leaned back to get a better view of the dingy screen above the bar. If nothing else it would provide a nice diversion until Amber returned from whatever errands Dyrke had her running.
Before the race could start several factory workers from nearby Hive City came stumbling in to the front room of the Bifröst. The front rank got pushed to the floor as several ranks behind them continue to surge further in.
“Cash only!” Chigger yelled from behind the bar. At the voice of their boss, and owner of the bar, several Goliath bouncers moved to evict the new trespassers.
“They’re about to start killin’ each other out there!” One of the denizens said as he climbed out from under the tangle of bodies now on the floor.
“Who’s trying to kill each other?” the barman called back.
“Some Escher gang calling themselves ‘The Black Cats’ or somethin.”
That caught Ian’s attention and he turned to face the crowd. “Who are they facing off against?” He asked as he moved up to face the now defacto leader of the mob.
The man looked nervous and glanced at one of his compatriots as if to see what he should say. “A bunch of lads and a lass dressed a whole lot like you.” He stuttered.
Ian moved back and forth to look for a way around the throng of humans now crowding the front door of the bar. There was no time to run back to his hab to grab his lasgun. He’d have to make do with his las pistol there on his hip. Before he could find a path through the distinct sound of gun fire began echoing off the surrounding area outside. This caused two things to happen simultaneously.
The first was that the mob of civilian factory workers began to panic and surge forward further into the Bifröst. The second was that the surge met the four Goliath bouncers blocking any further progress. The resulting melee prevented Ian from making any more progress through the front door. Seeing his way blocked he took off running for the backroom where Chigger had a door to the back alley.
Once he cleared the back door he made a sharp right to get back to the street in front of the pub. Several more bystanders were huddled behind whatever cover they could find. The gun battle was in full force. Just as Ian broke from the alleyway a huge explosion knocked him back, flat on to his rear end.
Once he had shook his head clear he jumped back to his feet and raced back out into the street. By now it was mostly deserted. Hargrave and Xander were blasting away at two retreating Esher. There were two more of the scantily clad women sprawled out in the street in the direction the other two had fled. It was then he caught a glimpse of a tri-color body suit piled in a heap. He ran to the body.
As drew near Ian immediately recognized the victim. There was a pool of blood underneath the head, with long strands of red hair covering both her face and whatever the injury was. Amber’s body-glove was shredded and fresh cuts were bleeding everywhere. He saw her chest moving slightly so she was still alive, but it was impossible to tell just how injured she really was. While supporting her head he slowly rolled her onto her back, her thick locks were matted thickly with blood and dirt from the street. As he rolled her over it covered her face, but he was too distracted by all of the wounds covering her arms, legs, and body. He began with her torso. Each wound he examined was superficial. There might be a couple of new scars, but nothing deep enough to warrant further attention for now. Next he examined her arms and legs. Same results and he began to breathe easier. Perhaps the concussion of whatever it was that caused the explosion merely knocked her senseless.
Gently he began to move the hair from his love’s face. It was then he discovered the source of all of the blood. Her right eye was completely missing with the tissue beyond clearly visible and ripped to shreds. The bone was pulverized and she was still bleeding profusely. He swallowed hard the panic that quickly rose into his throat and scooped her up in his arms.
Without calling to the other Steel Spiders he ran back down the alley to the back entrance. He did not have a lot of time, and was not willing to try the front door to the Bifröst. He kicked open the back door and rushed through the common room to the Spider’s private entrance. By the time he had made it to the ladders Renny was there to help him get her back down the three levels to the where the sanatorium was.
When he burst through the curtains that made up the door to his work/hab space the kid he and the other Spider’s rescued sat up. Seeing that Ian had a wounded person in his arms the kid cleared off the table closest to the doorway. Between the three men they gently laid Amber down. With his hands now free he immediately picked up sanitizer and clean rags to dress the gaping wound. Next he picked out what little stims he had available. There was no way he was going to save her eye (he wasn’t even sure where it was), but he might be able to save her life. Once he was satisfied that he had done everything he could for her face and head he moved on to cleaning out the less serious injuries that covered most of the rest of her body. He had to keep his mind completely clear so that he could focus on the tasks at hand.
As he finished stitching up a pretty deep cut on her left thigh he felt Renny smacking his right arm with the back of his left hand. Ian’s eyes followed his friends hand up his arm to his shoulder and then his face. Renny was staring at something across the table.
Following his friend’s gaze across the table his heart froze in his throat. The kid who they had rescued from the Cawdor had a bright cobalt blue light coming from both of his eyes. His mouth was set in grim determination. Then Ian realized that the kid’s hands where touching Amber’s face and shoulder. The hair on the back of Ian’s arms stood on end as the smell of ozone and a tingling sensation filled the room.
Ian watched, frozen, as the wounds that he had not dressed yet were slowly beginning to heal right before his eyes. He was both sickened with fear by what he was seeing, and too stunned to react.
Moments turned into minutes but neither Ian nor Renny could move. Then the blue light faded and the kid looked down. His hands were shaking and he raised them before his face to examine them.
A low moan came from Amber’s lips which drew Ian’s attention away from the Wyrd. She was coming to. He quickly looked over the rest of her body. There was no evidence of any trauma on her skin, only the tattered body-glove that covered her gave an evidence of what she had gone through.
Amber slowly reached up and pulled the rag bandage from her face. Ian was shocked to see both of her green eyes now looking back into his. His lifted his hands to brush the blood soaked hair away from her face so he could touch her cheek.
“What the hell just happened?” Renny said taking half a step back.
Ian slowly helped Amber up to a sitting position. She was obviously still disoriented. Once she was up he started to look her over once more. He could not find a scratch on her. No scars or anything.
“I… I don’t know,” the kid muttered. His hands still shook slightly and there was a fear in his own eyes.
Renny and Ian glanced at each other, neither was sure of what to say or do.
“Thank you,” was all Ian could stammer out.
“I don’t know how you did it… but, I am in your debt…” Amber said as she stood up from the table.
The kid slowly backed away holding his hands up before him, afraid that he might touch her again and what might happen. He never took his eyes off of his own hands. When his back finally touched the wall he practically leapt out of his own skin. Amber slowly lifted up her right hand as she slowly approached him, with her palm facing out to show that she wasn’t going to hurt him.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
“Ja-ja-jak-Jakob, m-my friends call me Jake.” The kid responded.
Amber gently took Jakob’s hand. His eyes snapped up to look into her face.
“Thank you Jakob,” she said looking back and then she gently shook his trembling hand.
“That is a handy skill you have there Jakob,” Ian said as he walked up behind Amber.
Jakob looked from face to face of the Van Saar gangers. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded.
“Ian!” Boanerges frantically shouted as he ran into the medical bay. “You need to come quick! Amber’s been…”
Boanerges nearly fell over stretcher near the door when he saw Amber standing there with a smirk on her face.
“How… I saw you in the street… you were…”
Amber looked over at Jakob who had a terrified look on his face. After hesitating a moment she motioned towards Ian.
“Ian brought me around the back. I was… knocked out by the concussion, but nothing serious. Ian cleaned up the scratches, but nothing to worry about.”
Making contact with Amber Ian said, “Yea, not even a scratch really. The blast must have scragged a rat or something.
Boanerges looked around the room like they were all daft. “But… I…, never mind.” And with that he left shaking his head.
“I better head back topside to see if any other Spiders need my help. Jakob, really, thank you.”
20100204
[Ian - 26 / Jakob 2] - When two paths meet
Ian looked down into the recovery forge where the fanatics supposedly dragged their captive off to. The floor of the place was only five hundred by three hundred meters. Several grinders and sifters lined the back wall with long dysfunctional conveyor systems branching out like strands of a spider web to various spots on the factory floor. At the end of each conveyor system were a variety forges where the scrap metal or plastics could be melted down so that the various impurities could be removed and the rest shaped into cube ingots to be resold to the various factories uphive that kept Necromunda running.
From each of these stations their also ran a trough across the floor to take and dump the material that could not be recycled, into a central pit two meters square. Around the rim was a walkway with handrails, and on one side an improvised dais.
There were three guards roaming the factory, one on each end of the floor, and the last one was standing on the dais pretending to give some kind of speech.
Without a word Dyrke signaled Ian to stay put and cover them as they advanced. He was to cover the speechmaker and take the shot only if necessary. The wounded heavy, Gelder, would have to stay put with him.
From Ian’s vantage point he had a clear line of site to all three of the Cawdor Redemptionists. It would be a reach for his lasgun to the two on edge of the factory, but he could make it happen if he needed. It all depended on the situation that came up. He watched as Rogers approached the man on his right, Renny the man on the left, while Dyrke took the center. Each man got within three meters of their respective targets. For several moments all three waiting until it was clear, then Dyrke leapt from his position and planted his axe firmly down into the color bone of his target. This signaled the other two to launch their attacks as well. Rogers was a little more subtle as his power sword slipped easily between his target’s shoulder blades and out his chest. The man just looked down dumb founded before collapsing to the ground. Renny drew both of his las pistols and leveled them at the back of his target and pulled the trigger several times. Ian froze solid as his ears perked up for the tell tale sign that the rest of the Redemptionists nearby had become aware of their presence. Dyrke shot a glance over at Renny who just shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t know what they were all worried about.
After several minutes Ian allowed himself to breathe again. From his position Dyrke signaled Ian to reverse his over watch position so that he could watch the approaches from the rear while the rest completed the rescue of their target.
Ian picked up his lasgun and kit and did as he was told. Gelder was fine enough to leave in place. Being out on the edge of the action usually gave Ian the jitters. He did not like to be left flapping out in the breeze. After ten minutes Dyrke was already calling Ian down from his perch. Dyrke wanted him to give the man a once over.
He looked awful. His body-glove was ripped to shreds. What was left of it was indicating that he had been exposed to a liquid form of a nerve agent. Immediately Ian instructed Dyrke, Renny, and Rogers to clean their hands as their suits were showing indications of exposure around their hands and wrists as well. Pulling a few rags out of his med kit bag he wiped the man down as best he could, but his eyes were glazed over (where they glowing blue?), and he was mostly unresponsive to any kind of verbal interaction, but he could follow simple physical guidance. Without knowing how much time they had Dyrke pulled the man to his feet and led him by the arm towards the tunnel leading out of the Redemptionists dome. Ian helped Gelder to his feet and quickly followed, leaving Rogers and Renny to pull up the rear.
The long trip back to the Bifröst was surprisingly uneventful. The half dozen men that wound their way up hive barely turned a head.
-=-=-=O=-=-=-
As they climbed up the last ladder to their home Ian felt the tension drain out of him. They had been gone a little over a week and all he wanted right now was a hot chem.-shower, a tall glass of water, a decent meal, and to lie in Amber’s arms; in that order. With the help of Renny, Ian dropped both Gelder and the guy they had rescued onto two of the tables in the Steel Spider’s medical bay. Looking around he noticed that Amber was not around.
“At least her gear is still here,” Ian thought to himself.
Gelder was pretty stable. Just a change of dressings and he should be ok. The wound had penetrated deep into his abdomen, but it looked like he would recover well enough. The kid they had rescued he was not as sure about.
Ian had made sure that all of the chemical crap had been cleaned off of him and he had been given a new body glove just as soon as it was possible, but there was still something not right with the kid. All the way back the kid rolled his eyes into the back of his head and babbled on about having to find it. Some lost book or some other nonsense. He had seen people delirious on some form of chem., or another, but this was different. The Van Saar suit was no longer showing any indication of foreign chemicals in his system, and when his eyes rolled back they would glow a soft blue. When that happened the hairs on the back of Ian’s neck would stand up.
He had never seen one, but this had ‘Wyrd’ written all over it. The roving priests from the Redemptionists cult like the ones they had just rescued this kid from, would love nothing more than to get their hands on this one. Ian was sure the Enforcers would also like to know about it. But he had felt sorry for the kid. There did not seem to be anything wrong with him… besides, the blue light could have been from his own exposure to the chemicals he had handled while tending to the kid. Yeah, that was it,
“Just chems playing with my head” Ian told himself. Once he made sure his new patients were comfortable he gathered up his hygiene kit and headed for the showers.
20100121
[Jakob 1] When you reach bottom...
Jakob just stood there covered in a chemical soup, starring up at the throng of hooded men surrounding the pit he now found himself in. To a man they were howling, calling for his incineration, and frustration that the igniters had failed to ignite the liquid as it was sprayed all over him. Whatever it was, it stung his eyes, and dug into every crevice of his body. The Van Saar body glove that was designed to protect him from such exposures was shredded by his captors and barely covered any part of his body.
“Blasphemer!”, “Heretic!”, “Burn him!” were all heard from the men on the walkway above. Finally, a man with robes and a hood covered in crimson flames, silently raised his hands. He patiently waited as the mob fell silent.
“My righteous companions!” he shouted as he looked around to make sure he had their complete attention. “For reasons unknown to me at this time, the Almighty Emperor has decided to spare this poor soul. Perhaps he is worthy of redemption!” Immediately the crowd called for another attempt at the pouring forth of the cleansing flame. The leader raised his hands once again, calling for their silence.
“Who here would dare question the Emperor’s will? I will go and meditate upon this turn of events, but rest assured, this man will either be redeemed, or he will be purged of his evil ways with the cleansing flames of the undying Emperor!” With that the crowd erupted in raucous approval.
Slowly the crowd began to disperse. The whole time the flame covered man just stood staring down at him. Jakob could almost feel the hatred and contempt from his shrouded eyes. Finally he was left alone in the pit, still covered head to toe in the chemicals that had been intended to incinerate him. In their frenzy and frustration of trying to purge him, the zealous Cawdor had left the nozzles on longer than usual, and he now stood calf deep in whatever it was. Apparently there was no drain to take the slop away.
It wasn’t until he was alone that the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past few hours finally failed him. His knees buckled and he fell down on all fours. As his hands and knees impacted the chemical pool it splashed up filling his mouth and nostrils, and covering his torso once more. He was suddenly so exhausted he didn’t bother to try and clear his mouth or face and just hung his head there, using what little strength that was left in his limbs to keep himself from falling over and thus submerging himself further in the goop. The chemicals were thick and dripping slowly off his body and out of his mouth and nose. He just did not have the strength to do anything about it.
“A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into Jake”, he said to himself. “Mother always said you lived a charmed life. What’s wrong Jake… not feeling so charmed right now? You’re less then two weeks out of the house and you’ve ended up in the hands of the Cawdor who would like nothing more than to roast you alive. Well, at least whatever this mess is, it isn’t flammable. Wonder how much time this little development’s bought you.”
Jakob shifted his weight so that he could sit with his back against the wall. Although the sickly sweet stench from the chemical pool was overpowering he had to find a way to rest before his arms gave out and he found his face submerged in it. With a heavy sigh he looked around at his surroundings. The walls were smooth sheets of plas-steel, four meters high, by two meters wide, and lined with a walkway at the top. He resigned himself to the fact that he just didn’t have the strength to attempt such a leap. Besides, it was not like he was used to exerting himself even before this little ‘journey’. The nozzles that had sprayed him down were recessed in each of the four corners, and small enough that it was not possible to use as a way to climb up. Almost imperceptibly he noticed that the scraps of his body glove had changed to an emerald green. Indicating that the chemical slop he was sitting in was a minor neurotoxin. Nothing he could do about that right now.
“The next time I hear that still small voice telling me to wander down hive I really need to have my head examined… if there is a next time,” he said glumly to himself. “Still… I was so sure that I would find something... proof that the Emperor was just a man, that the Machine Spirit is a fallacy. Even better, something to confirm what he was hearing was real and that he was really not delusional. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told my family.”
A smirk actually came across his face along with that last thought. The Van Saar were nothing if not devout in their belief of the Machine Spirit. The Emperor played second to the Machine Spirit, perhaps not in lip service, but most definitely in practice. When he had shared this new found revelation with his older brothers and sisters they turned pale and had looked around to see if anyone had overheard the conversation. Then they and had tried to convince him that he was delusional. When they failed to convinced him to come around to their point of view they had subjected him to a severe beating. Not enough to cause any kind of permanent injury of course, but they had gotten their point across. The reception was even worse when he told the same story to his father. His father sent him off to a private apprentice shop, one that specialized in the guidance of young minds in the ways of the Machine Spirit.
“Go, teach and train others… take nothing with you…, the voice said to me. How can I be sure that I don’t just have some kind personality disorder? Just who… or what… is ‘Ijam’ anyway?”
He had searched the family’s archives for any kind of reference to ‘Ijam’ and found nothing, so he arranged to gain access to the House Van Saar resources. Still the information eluded him. When those resources had been exhausted, at the cost of several disciplinary actions for not reporting to his duties at the factory on time, he began to search any external resource he could get access to. While Hive City’s libraries were not as expansive as those of the Spire Houses, it had taken him several long months to work through it. By then he had learned to keep his mouth shut about his new found beliefs. Then an idea came to mind, what about the “Underhive”? There was no way he was going to be able to gain access to the Spire, so there was just no where else to go. Suddenly he felt compelled to go in search for some lost archeotech that would show him what he was looking for. Surely somewhere in the bowels of Hive-Primus he would find what he was looking for. When he approached his father about his intentions he was scoffed at. But when his father realized how determined Jakob was he reluctantly allowed him to go. The only caveats were – he was to go alone, he could not expect any support from the family once he descended below, and that when he returned he was to put all of this foolishness behind him and settle into his rightful place.
“You didn’t have it so bad. A job in management, no sweating it out on an assembly line, a decent place to live, and paid security guards and servants. What did your father call it? ‘Wanderlust’? Why did I ever leave? What did I hope to find? They’d all cling to their precious superstitions; even if I found evidence of this… ‘Ijam’. Bah! I was a fool.”
As he sat there the fumes slowly overcame him and he passed out.
“Blasphemer!”, “Heretic!”, “Burn him!” were all heard from the men on the walkway above. Finally, a man with robes and a hood covered in crimson flames, silently raised his hands. He patiently waited as the mob fell silent.
“My righteous companions!” he shouted as he looked around to make sure he had their complete attention. “For reasons unknown to me at this time, the Almighty Emperor has decided to spare this poor soul. Perhaps he is worthy of redemption!” Immediately the crowd called for another attempt at the pouring forth of the cleansing flame. The leader raised his hands once again, calling for their silence.
“Who here would dare question the Emperor’s will? I will go and meditate upon this turn of events, but rest assured, this man will either be redeemed, or he will be purged of his evil ways with the cleansing flames of the undying Emperor!” With that the crowd erupted in raucous approval.
Slowly the crowd began to disperse. The whole time the flame covered man just stood staring down at him. Jakob could almost feel the hatred and contempt from his shrouded eyes. Finally he was left alone in the pit, still covered head to toe in the chemicals that had been intended to incinerate him. In their frenzy and frustration of trying to purge him, the zealous Cawdor had left the nozzles on longer than usual, and he now stood calf deep in whatever it was. Apparently there was no drain to take the slop away.
It wasn’t until he was alone that the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past few hours finally failed him. His knees buckled and he fell down on all fours. As his hands and knees impacted the chemical pool it splashed up filling his mouth and nostrils, and covering his torso once more. He was suddenly so exhausted he didn’t bother to try and clear his mouth or face and just hung his head there, using what little strength that was left in his limbs to keep himself from falling over and thus submerging himself further in the goop. The chemicals were thick and dripping slowly off his body and out of his mouth and nose. He just did not have the strength to do anything about it.
“A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into Jake”, he said to himself. “Mother always said you lived a charmed life. What’s wrong Jake… not feeling so charmed right now? You’re less then two weeks out of the house and you’ve ended up in the hands of the Cawdor who would like nothing more than to roast you alive. Well, at least whatever this mess is, it isn’t flammable. Wonder how much time this little development’s bought you.”
Jakob shifted his weight so that he could sit with his back against the wall. Although the sickly sweet stench from the chemical pool was overpowering he had to find a way to rest before his arms gave out and he found his face submerged in it. With a heavy sigh he looked around at his surroundings. The walls were smooth sheets of plas-steel, four meters high, by two meters wide, and lined with a walkway at the top. He resigned himself to the fact that he just didn’t have the strength to attempt such a leap. Besides, it was not like he was used to exerting himself even before this little ‘journey’. The nozzles that had sprayed him down were recessed in each of the four corners, and small enough that it was not possible to use as a way to climb up. Almost imperceptibly he noticed that the scraps of his body glove had changed to an emerald green. Indicating that the chemical slop he was sitting in was a minor neurotoxin. Nothing he could do about that right now.
“The next time I hear that still small voice telling me to wander down hive I really need to have my head examined… if there is a next time,” he said glumly to himself. “Still… I was so sure that I would find something... proof that the Emperor was just a man, that the Machine Spirit is a fallacy. Even better, something to confirm what he was hearing was real and that he was really not delusional. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told my family.”
A smirk actually came across his face along with that last thought. The Van Saar were nothing if not devout in their belief of the Machine Spirit. The Emperor played second to the Machine Spirit, perhaps not in lip service, but most definitely in practice. When he had shared this new found revelation with his older brothers and sisters they turned pale and had looked around to see if anyone had overheard the conversation. Then they and had tried to convince him that he was delusional. When they failed to convinced him to come around to their point of view they had subjected him to a severe beating. Not enough to cause any kind of permanent injury of course, but they had gotten their point across. The reception was even worse when he told the same story to his father. His father sent him off to a private apprentice shop, one that specialized in the guidance of young minds in the ways of the Machine Spirit.
“Go, teach and train others… take nothing with you…, the voice said to me. How can I be sure that I don’t just have some kind personality disorder? Just who… or what… is ‘Ijam’ anyway?”
He had searched the family’s archives for any kind of reference to ‘Ijam’ and found nothing, so he arranged to gain access to the House Van Saar resources. Still the information eluded him. When those resources had been exhausted, at the cost of several disciplinary actions for not reporting to his duties at the factory on time, he began to search any external resource he could get access to. While Hive City’s libraries were not as expansive as those of the Spire Houses, it had taken him several long months to work through it. By then he had learned to keep his mouth shut about his new found beliefs. Then an idea came to mind, what about the “Underhive”? There was no way he was going to be able to gain access to the Spire, so there was just no where else to go. Suddenly he felt compelled to go in search for some lost archeotech that would show him what he was looking for. Surely somewhere in the bowels of Hive-Primus he would find what he was looking for. When he approached his father about his intentions he was scoffed at. But when his father realized how determined Jakob was he reluctantly allowed him to go. The only caveats were – he was to go alone, he could not expect any support from the family once he descended below, and that when he returned he was to put all of this foolishness behind him and settle into his rightful place.
“You didn’t have it so bad. A job in management, no sweating it out on an assembly line, a decent place to live, and paid security guards and servants. What did your father call it? ‘Wanderlust’? Why did I ever leave? What did I hope to find? They’d all cling to their precious superstitions; even if I found evidence of this… ‘Ijam’. Bah! I was a fool.”
As he sat there the fumes slowly overcame him and he passed out.
20091218
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.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
“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’.”
20091211
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 8th 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.
20091006
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...
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.
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
I am also almost done with another prelude piece that continues the story of Ian and his gang the Steel Spiders...
-=-=-=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...
20090313
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.
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
-=-=-=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
20080428
A Second Chance
Somewhere in the fog between being awake and asleep Ian could hear someone calling his name. He just couldn’t figure out if it was a dream or not. The fatigue could be felt throughout his entire being and he desperately wanted to slip deeper into unconsciousness.
“Ian! Come on… get up! Dyrke wants to see us right now! Ian!”
Ian rolled over onto his back and then struggled to an upright position. When he opened his eyes he found it difficult to focus on the shadowy form at the foot of his bed. He put a hand down to steady himself as he rubbed his eyes in an effort to clear them up.
“Are you coming?”
Ian nodded and looked down to the other side of the bed. He started to reach out to wake Amber.
“Just you,” the figure said, now in a whisper.
Ian nodded again and then slipped his feet over the side of the bed. When his feet hit the cold plascrete floor it sent a jolt through his system that kick started the adrenaline. His mind was still a little foggy, but now his blood was flowing.
The Steel Spider’s medical bay was still dark. Ian guessed that it was about halfway through lights-out, the orchestrated sequence of lights to give Necromundan’s a sense of day and night. Fortunately he kept his Infra-goggles on the small table by the bed. It seemed like a waste to use precious battery power on something as frivolous as looking around his own room in the dark, but he would rather waste the batteries than wake Amber up.
As the goggles systems warmed up Ian looked around the bay. The six tables were all empty as the Spider’s were enjoying a peaceful season beneath the Bifrost. The workbench along the back of the room was undisturbed, and the half dozen partially finished projects littered it from one end to the other. He loved to tinker with gadgets but once Dyrke had found out that he was as good with humans as he was with gizmos, most of his time was spent fixing up the other Spiders. Still, he often found time to roam around the market place on the bridge span above. Always on the look out for that one piece he could use to complete his little projects. Right by the door, hanging on improvised pegs in the wall, hung Ian and Amber’s kit. Ian’s snatched up his woefully under equipped medic bag and lasgun and then took one last look over his shoulder. Amber sighed in her sleep and rolled over. Ian smiled to himself and headed straight for the gang’s briefing room. He was lucky. Most gangers rarely get to share a life with another.
Ian was the last to arrive. Sitting around the room were Renny, and Rogers.
“About time!”
Ian knew from when he first joined the Spiders. He was a good guy to know. He was the quiet type around the bunk house, but was ferocious in combat. He was an oddity among the Van Saar because he favored close combat and carried a Bolt Pistol and a Power Sword. Renny had recently been elevated to a full fledged member of the gang and fancied himself as a gun slinger, carrying a las pistol on each hip. He was also good at ringing out a few extra credits on his rounds.
“What’s all this about Rog?” Ian asked as he sat down.
Before
“What this is ‘all about’ is you doing as your told Ian,” Dyrke locked eyes with Ian as he strolled into the center of the room. It was more to make sure he had the group’s attention than anything else. Once he was satisfied that he had achieved just that he continued.
“This here is Gelder,” he said motioning toward the stranger with a wave of his arm. “I hired him from the Union Houses on my last trip uphive to report to the elders. He will be working with Boanerges in the shop.” Ian looked the man over, he carried a Plasma gun in a ‘Y’ sling across his shoulders, and a Bolt Pistol on his hip.
“While I was there I was given an assignment by Elder Korvan.” Ian had no idea who that was and looked around to see if there was an semblance of recognition from the others. “It would seem his son has decided he wanted a little adventure downhive here, and while he was sowing his oats, got himself captured by House Cawdor. This was confirmed by a ransom demand while I was there. It would seem that Elder Korvan would rather not pay this ransom, and would prefer to not publicaly engage in his son’s release. He has given us the privilege of accomplishing this task for him.”
Dyrke began to walk back and forth between the assembled gangers.
“That is why I’ve woken you all up in the middle of the night,” he said making eye contact with Ian once more. “I have placed Cacee in charge while we are away, and he is the only one who is to know where, and why. Any questions?”
Ian watched his leader for any hint of how long they were going to be gone, but he gave nothing away.
Dyrke looked around the room and saw that no one was willing to ask anything more. “Alright, we’re leaving right now.”
-=-=-=o=-=-=-
During their trip downhive Dyrke had filled the rest of his quintet in on their mission. Apparently the Elder’s son, Solby, had some kind of “spiritual revelation” and was on some kind of personal spiritual journey, for whatever reason that had led him to the underhive. It was not clear how, or why, he was now in the hands of the Cawdor, but they apparently were not pleased that he was passing through their territory.
What was known was that a Cawdor gang known as “The Harbingers” were now holding the Elder’s son, and that they had holed up after their last fight. Not just anywhere though. They had staked a claim in a recently discovered dome. Ian could not help but feel some sense of irony. It was the same dome he had implored Dyrke to strike out for not a fortnight ago.
-=-=-=o=-=-=-
The “Steel Spider’s” quietly approached the entrance to the Cawdor’s territory, a reinforced plas-steel door that served as a choke point. It was located smack dab in the middle of what had used to be an old industrial shipping hub. Old servo-lifts, and dismantled cargo carriers littered the landscape. Dyrke call his team close.
“There’s only one sentry, but the door looks to be locked tight. We’re going to have to blow it open. That’s your job Gelder,” Dyrke said. The new comer just nodded his acknowledgement. “Ian, you’re his cover man. Rogers, Renny, and I will move through to take out the sentry and secure the area. Once the door is blown we collapse on the doorway and move in to get this kid back. Any questions?”
Ian was not happy having to babysit the new guy, especially because he was so green. He had no idea what to expect of him, or how he would react once the shots began flying. As they came within sight of their goal the men broke up into their two groups.
As they approached Gelder wanted to stay on ground level but Ian shook his head sternly and pointed up to an overhanging gantry. It would provide a clear shot at the doorway, the sentry, and block of what appeared to be empty habs. Ian thought the latter looked as good as any for the Cawdor’s barracks.
Ian practically had to restrain the man. While Ian was trying to be cautious and ensure a clear shot, Gelder was anxious to get his shot on the door. Ian could hear the plasma chambers heating the stored plasma cells. The scent of charged ions was unmistakable. As Ian glanced over to try and point his partner to a better firing position the distinctive hiss of a plasma gun discharge filled the air.
“Crap!” Ian thought to himself and immediately sighted back on the sentry. The hooded man’s image leapt into view of his Infrared sight. One of his little gizmo’s created back on his work bench back under the Bifrost. Before Ian could squeeze of a shot with his las gun the sentry was banging a set of metal bars together. The alarm was raised and they were about to have some company.
“Zzzaaap!”
The las bolt knocked one of the metal pipes out of the Cawdor’s hands causing him to flinch and duck for cover. “Calm down Ian,” he said to himself. “Breath,” Ian said counting to three to himself.
“Zzzaap!”
“Son of a…,” Ian cursed himself out loud as his second shot sailed wide. It wasn’t even close. “You gonna take out that door Gelder? Or am I going to have to do it with this lasgun!
As Ian went to take another shot he saw the red led indicator blinking on the charging chamber.
“Piece of junk!” Ian cursed to no one in particular as he cycled the charging handle. “Gonna have to look at those connectors again.”
The smell of super heated plasma and the hiss of Gelder’s plasma gun filled the air again. “Take that!” Ian heard the heavy say.
Suddenly the area around the two men was peppered with incoming shots as the Cawdor responded to the attack in force. Gelder groaned as he was hit. Ian couldn’t tell how bad it was, but when the heavy collapsed to the floor he went right on over the ledge. Ian looked on in horror as the man fell three levels and landed with a solid thud.
“That’s not good,” Ian thought to himself.
There wasn’t time to worry about it. Several more shots began landing in and around him. To get more cover Ian went prone and began searching for targets. BY this time Dyrke and the others were among the closest of the new arrivals. But then he spots a juicy target.
Towards the back of the pack is man draped in deep blue robes and a full face hooded mask. If there had been flames or some other telling mark, Ian could have sworn it was a Redemptor. “Come to papa,” he thought to himself, and squeezed off another shot from his las gun. This one struck home and he saw the Cawdor leader drop to a knee grabbing his shoulder.
“
“That was close.” Ian flinched as several large caliber rounds hit the railing to his left, chips of paint a metal flayed across his arm. It took a second but Ian found the source of his troubles, a bounty hunter. But before Ian could return fire the Cawdor were falling back to regroup.
“Come on! I’ve got the door open and we’re getting out of here!”
20080222
I know, I know...
... it has been what... nine months since my last short story? I am working on the next series... I just don't have a timeline of when they will be posted... soon... I hope
20070831
Opportunity Knocks
“Five, only five,” Sergeant Julius thought to himself. “Malcavoy had better come through with the others, and quick. It’s a good thing there’s not much going on down here… yet.”
“Where do you want to establish the Garrison Sergeant?”
Julius, he still hadn’t gotten used to the name, stirred himself from his thoughts. He knew exactly where he wanted to position every thing. He just didn’t have the man power to do it very quickly. He set down the pile of rebar he was moving into position for an outer wall and whipped the beading sweat from his face.
“Your standing in it Froster. I need you to demo that hab-block over there,” Julius replied pointing to a row of five old tenements, long abandoned. “We need to clear it for fire lanes. And this time, see if you can leave us some useful materials. We can’t be bringing down everything we need from above.”
Froster nodded and moved off to complete his assignment. Julius looked around. With nothing apparently living in the newly rediscovered dome they had their pick of locations. The Enforcer Sergeant had settled on a three hundred by two hundred meter island that was completely surrounded by a river of industrial waste run-off. The toxic river had surprisingly little fumes. Perhaps it was because there was an equal amount of breeze that also blew through the dome. The sole bridge connecting the small island to the rest of the dome was still intact, and it was apparent that this little island had once been a sort of central trading post for the outlying regions. It also just occurred to him that the viscous sludge flowing past was not acidic, the metallic piers that jutted out from the island and “mainland” still stood. If the liquids had been corrosive they would have long been eaten away he thought.
As it was, he and his five man patrol were busy clearing out an area to firmly establish their new Patrol base. With the bridge coming across at a narrow finger it was easy to determine where the first guard tower would be located. The second would enclose one of the piers on the river, while the third would face the rest of the island. In time the Enforcer’s precinct compound would be a reassuring presence to those who walked by. But that was still sometime in the future. Until the Guilders arrived with the first shipment of supplies, materials, and servitors, the work would be slow going. Even so, he needed to establish presence patrols.
“Kyle! Come here!”
The Enforcer picked up his shotgun he had leaning against a post where he had been digging, and scampered over.
Returning the man’s salute Julius informed him, “Grosse and I will be heading across the bridge. I need you, Hicks, and Froster to keep watch on the approach. No one is to cross until our return.”
“Understood,” was the only reply before the man went off to obey his orders.
“Malcavoy, you sure can pick good men,” Julius thought to himself.
“Grosse!”
Fifteen minutes after his conversation with Kyle Julius was ready to head out with Grosse and their assigned Cyber Mastiff, affectionately called ‘Logan’ – well, affectionately to at least Grosse that is. As they performed their final checks on their kit Froster could be heard calling out, “Fire in the hole!”
BAWHOOM!
The ground trembled under their boots as the demolition charges went off. Looking over to where the hab-block that he wanted removed used to be, all Julius could see was a rolling cloud of dust. Yup, things were moving along nicely.
It felt the ground beneath it rumble. It came from a different direction than the new opening.
Sniffing the air it could not detect anything. Nothing registered out of the norm. With a quick signal it sent others to investigate.
Perhaps the flesh things moved more quickly than it anticipated.
The hair on the back of Julius’ neck stood straight up at the same time he noticed the foot prints in the ash dust that covered the street before him. It was too quiet, and the air wasn’t moving.
Following the four sets of foot prints with his eyes the Enforcer Sergeant could tell they led to an old gambling den. For the first time the stench of death was close by, and not some faint, indistinguishable odor. This was close, and Julius was sure it was coming from the other end of these tracks.
Grosse sent ‘Logan’ forward. The synthetic dog moved forward sensing the air for any sign of trouble as it went, but it made it to the porch without incident. Once on the porch it caught the scent of a trail and signaled such back to Grosse. Logan also signaled which direction it seemed to go off in, and then went back to sniffing around the porch. After sniffing into the doorway and the broken front window it began to return to its handler.
Halfway back it halted, turned to face back the way it had just come, and the distinctive sound of its synthetic growl began to rumble in its throat. Both Grosse and Julius heard it and readied their weapons.
In the distant shadows both men could see something moving behind the gambling den, on both sides. Logan was constantly growling now, and Grosse had to call to the construct twice to get it to return to him.
Julius signaled them to move forward. He wanted to use the building as a means to narrow down the approaches. As they made the porch Julius had Grosse take the right corner, while he took the left.
“I have two coming my way,” Grosse called over his shoulder.
“Same here,” Julius replied. “Can you make them out?”
There was a slight pause, “not for sure, but they shuffle like plague zombies.”
‘Great,’ Julius thought to himself. ‘My own patrol, he said. Establish a new dome.’
The Enforcer Sergeant peered around his corner to try and get a better look for himself. ‘Maybe I should have thought twice.’ Sure enough, two man shaped things, shuffling steadily towards them.
“I only see the two, plus your two, we should be in good shape. We take shots and fall back as we go. As long as we stay out of arms reach we should be good.”
“Got it,” Grosse replied.
THWIPING!
“What the hell was that?!” Gross called back as he snapped his suppression shield to the front.
“What was what,” Julius called back.
“Something just ricocheted off my shield, almost like they shot something at me.”
‘That’s not right. Plague zombies aren’t supposed to do that,” Julius thought to himself.
THWIP, THWIP, THWIP!
around the corner the two zombie-like things were fairly close. Calling over his shoulder to his partner Julius wanted to know where they were at.
“These two have set up an overwatch position. Almost like they want to keep us from running away,” Grosse answered.
‘Not good. That is not good. Another example of what they’re not supposed to do. They are not supposed to display these kinds of tactics.’ Julius prepared himself. “You’re going to have to hold your side, return fire and keep those things occupied.”
“Ok, wait…” Grosse looked over his shoulder, “…what are you going to do?”
“Ahhhhh!” was the only reply as Julius took off at a full run charging the things on his side.
Glancing down at his Cyber Mastiff, “What are up waiting for?! Logan! Attack!” and the handler motioned for the dog to follow Julius. With a start the cyber mastiff was off to fulfill his handler’s command.
Using a pile of petrified scrap to cover his approach Julius managed to slam into the nearest thing with all his might, and it barely moved. As the Enforcer ready himself to let loose some shots with his bolt pistol Logan lunged from behind and clamped its jaws around the things throat. With a growl and a jerk of its head the Cyber Mastiff snapped the zombie’s neck and it lay still.
Immediately Julius shifted his aim and leveled his bolt pistol at the next zombie’s head. As he was squeezing the trigger he realized that it was cradling some kind of weapon. It looked like a heavy slug thrower, maybe even an ancient bolt gun.
BLAM!
He didn’t give it any more thought, he just pulled the trigger. The small explosive round detonated and the things head shattered.
He watched the thing fall and could not escape the fact that the things he knew about the plague, and what it did to its victims, did not seem to line up with what his mind was registering.
The sound of gun fire brought his mind back into the present. From the other side of the gambling den Julius could here Grosse was fully engaged in a gun battle with these… things. In an effort to flank the assailants he continued around to his left. Stopping at the back corner of the building he peeked around the corner.
Two zombie-like things were engaged in a firefight with Grosse on the far side of the building. He’d have to cover some open ground to get at them, but there was yet another pile of scrap to cover his approach. Logan’s computer brain was not programmed for patience, and it took off running.
‘At least its smart enough to use cover for the approach,’ Julius thought to himself has he sprinted for the cover.
Logan had slowed enough that Julius caught up at the scrap pile. “Looks like we can turn the tables on these things,” Julius said looking down at the Cyber Mastiff.
Logan looked back up and him and seemed to reply with a quiet synthetic ‘Woof’. Julius chuckled and shook his head slightly to himself.
“Come on boy, let’s get ‘em!”
The pair of Enforcers bolted from behind their cover charging head long at their enemies. This caused the pair of zombies to turn their attention to the new immediate threat.
The nearest one adjusted its fire to the new targets, but it missed completely. The second zombie stepped back to get a better angle at Julius and the dog. When it did so Grosse had a clear shot and he took it. Out of the corner of the charging Sergeant’s eye he saw the other zombie jerk sideways and collapse.
Before Julius could close into reach of his power maul Logan was launching into the air and knocking their combined target to the ground. The thing tried to fight off the powerful construct, but it was just too slow.
‘I’m going to have to remind Grosse to sterilize that thing before we let it just walk around the compound again,’ the Sergeant thought to himself.
CRACK!
Some sort of slug whistled close enough to force Julius to flinch. Turning towards the new threat he could see the last zombie had recovered enough to return fire once more. This one was close enough to assault right away, but before he could even flinch Logan was on top of the monster, rending it apart.
Before either Enforcer could move to help out the dog it had finished the target off. As they approached it looked up at its handler and simulated panting, and even wagged its synthetic tail.
“Come on, we best get back to the compound. If this is a sign of things to come around here, we are woefully under prepared,” Julius said glumly.
“Froster, Kyle, Hicks! Front and center!”
The three men picked up their respective weapons and ran to meet their patrol Sergeant. Each man was stripped down to their waist and the sweat was pouring off them. Looking around Julius noted some dramatic improvement to the perimeter. It was not a permanent solution, but it was good. As he turned back to address his men, a fourth, similarly clad Enforcer walked up.
“Sarge, this is Yake. He arrived while you two were out for your walk. He’s been assigned to our little corner of ‘heaven’,” Froster said. “Yake, this is Sergeant Julius.”
Julius recalled the man’s file, “Your our assigned sniper, are you not?”
“Check sir,” the man replied and produced a slightly modified Bolt Gun. The barrel was slightly longer than the standard issue weapon.
“Welcome to patrol sector One Charlie Seven Six Enforcer.” Julius motioned for Logan to bring something up. “You gentlemen need to get back in your battle rattle. It looks like we are going to have some company.”
Logan dropped the zombie body it had been dragging in the middle of the assembled Enforcers. To a man they each turned pale.
“And it gets better,” Julius said interrupting their thoughts. “They were using this,” he added, dropping the captured weapon on the corpse.
Froster turned to his Sergeant and said, “But I thought…”
“Exaclty,” Julius replied.
“Where do you want to establish the Garrison Sergeant?”
Julius, he still hadn’t gotten used to the name, stirred himself from his thoughts. He knew exactly where he wanted to position every thing. He just didn’t have the man power to do it very quickly. He set down the pile of rebar he was moving into position for an outer wall and whipped the beading sweat from his face.
“Your standing in it Froster. I need you to demo that hab-block over there,” Julius replied pointing to a row of five old tenements, long abandoned. “We need to clear it for fire lanes. And this time, see if you can leave us some useful materials. We can’t be bringing down everything we need from above.”
Froster nodded and moved off to complete his assignment. Julius looked around. With nothing apparently living in the newly rediscovered dome they had their pick of locations. The Enforcer Sergeant had settled on a three hundred by two hundred meter island that was completely surrounded by a river of industrial waste run-off. The toxic river had surprisingly little fumes. Perhaps it was because there was an equal amount of breeze that also blew through the dome. The sole bridge connecting the small island to the rest of the dome was still intact, and it was apparent that this little island had once been a sort of central trading post for the outlying regions. It also just occurred to him that the viscous sludge flowing past was not acidic, the metallic piers that jutted out from the island and “mainland” still stood. If the liquids had been corrosive they would have long been eaten away he thought.
As it was, he and his five man patrol were busy clearing out an area to firmly establish their new Patrol base. With the bridge coming across at a narrow finger it was easy to determine where the first guard tower would be located. The second would enclose one of the piers on the river, while the third would face the rest of the island. In time the Enforcer’s precinct compound would be a reassuring presence to those who walked by. But that was still sometime in the future. Until the Guilders arrived with the first shipment of supplies, materials, and servitors, the work would be slow going. Even so, he needed to establish presence patrols.
“Kyle! Come here!”
The Enforcer picked up his shotgun he had leaning against a post where he had been digging, and scampered over.
Returning the man’s salute Julius informed him, “Grosse and I will be heading across the bridge. I need you, Hicks, and Froster to keep watch on the approach. No one is to cross until our return.”
“Understood,” was the only reply before the man went off to obey his orders.
“Malcavoy, you sure can pick good men,” Julius thought to himself.
“Grosse!”
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
Fifteen minutes after his conversation with Kyle Julius was ready to head out with Grosse and their assigned Cyber Mastiff, affectionately called ‘Logan’ – well, affectionately to at least Grosse that is. As they performed their final checks on their kit Froster could be heard calling out, “Fire in the hole!”
BAWHOOM!
The ground trembled under their boots as the demolition charges went off. Looking over to where the hab-block that he wanted removed used to be, all Julius could see was a rolling cloud of dust. Yup, things were moving along nicely.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
It felt the ground beneath it rumble. It came from a different direction than the new opening.
Sniffing the air it could not detect anything. Nothing registered out of the norm. With a quick signal it sent others to investigate.
Perhaps the flesh things moved more quickly than it anticipated.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
The hair on the back of Julius’ neck stood straight up at the same time he noticed the foot prints in the ash dust that covered the street before him. It was too quiet, and the air wasn’t moving.
Following the four sets of foot prints with his eyes the Enforcer Sergeant could tell they led to an old gambling den. For the first time the stench of death was close by, and not some faint, indistinguishable odor. This was close, and Julius was sure it was coming from the other end of these tracks.
Grosse sent ‘Logan’ forward. The synthetic dog moved forward sensing the air for any sign of trouble as it went, but it made it to the porch without incident. Once on the porch it caught the scent of a trail and signaled such back to Grosse. Logan also signaled which direction it seemed to go off in, and then went back to sniffing around the porch. After sniffing into the doorway and the broken front window it began to return to its handler.
Halfway back it halted, turned to face back the way it had just come, and the distinctive sound of its synthetic growl began to rumble in its throat. Both Grosse and Julius heard it and readied their weapons.
In the distant shadows both men could see something moving behind the gambling den, on both sides. Logan was constantly growling now, and Grosse had to call to the construct twice to get it to return to him.
Julius signaled them to move forward. He wanted to use the building as a means to narrow down the approaches. As they made the porch Julius had Grosse take the right corner, while he took the left.
“I have two coming my way,” Grosse called over his shoulder.
“Same here,” Julius replied. “Can you make them out?”
There was a slight pause, “not for sure, but they shuffle like plague zombies.”
‘Great,’ Julius thought to himself. ‘My own patrol, he said. Establish a new dome.’
The Enforcer Sergeant peered around his corner to try and get a better look for himself. ‘Maybe I should have thought twice.’ Sure enough, two man shaped things, shuffling steadily towards them.
“I only see the two, plus your two, we should be in good shape. We take shots and fall back as we go. As long as we stay out of arms reach we should be good.”
“Got it,” Grosse replied.
THWIPING!
“What the hell was that?!” Gross called back as he snapped his suppression shield to the front.
“What was what,” Julius called back.
“Something just ricocheted off my shield, almost like they shot something at me.”
‘That’s not right. Plague zombies aren’t supposed to do that,” Julius thought to himself.
THWIP, THWIP, THWIP!
around the corner the two zombie-like things were fairly close. Calling over his shoulder to his partner Julius wanted to know where they were at.
“These two have set up an overwatch position. Almost like they want to keep us from running away,” Grosse answered.
‘Not good. That is not good. Another example of what they’re not supposed to do. They are not supposed to display these kinds of tactics.’ Julius prepared himself. “You’re going to have to hold your side, return fire and keep those things occupied.”
“Ok, wait…” Grosse looked over his shoulder, “…what are you going to do?”
“Ahhhhh!” was the only reply as Julius took off at a full run charging the things on his side.
Glancing down at his Cyber Mastiff, “What are up waiting for?! Logan! Attack!” and the handler motioned for the dog to follow Julius. With a start the cyber mastiff was off to fulfill his handler’s command.
Using a pile of petrified scrap to cover his approach Julius managed to slam into the nearest thing with all his might, and it barely moved. As the Enforcer ready himself to let loose some shots with his bolt pistol Logan lunged from behind and clamped its jaws around the things throat. With a growl and a jerk of its head the Cyber Mastiff snapped the zombie’s neck and it lay still.
Immediately Julius shifted his aim and leveled his bolt pistol at the next zombie’s head. As he was squeezing the trigger he realized that it was cradling some kind of weapon. It looked like a heavy slug thrower, maybe even an ancient bolt gun.
BLAM!
He didn’t give it any more thought, he just pulled the trigger. The small explosive round detonated and the things head shattered.
He watched the thing fall and could not escape the fact that the things he knew about the plague, and what it did to its victims, did not seem to line up with what his mind was registering.
The sound of gun fire brought his mind back into the present. From the other side of the gambling den Julius could here Grosse was fully engaged in a gun battle with these… things. In an effort to flank the assailants he continued around to his left. Stopping at the back corner of the building he peeked around the corner.
Two zombie-like things were engaged in a firefight with Grosse on the far side of the building. He’d have to cover some open ground to get at them, but there was yet another pile of scrap to cover his approach. Logan’s computer brain was not programmed for patience, and it took off running.
‘At least its smart enough to use cover for the approach,’ Julius thought to himself has he sprinted for the cover.
Logan had slowed enough that Julius caught up at the scrap pile. “Looks like we can turn the tables on these things,” Julius said looking down at the Cyber Mastiff.
Logan looked back up and him and seemed to reply with a quiet synthetic ‘Woof’. Julius chuckled and shook his head slightly to himself.
“Come on boy, let’s get ‘em!”
The pair of Enforcers bolted from behind their cover charging head long at their enemies. This caused the pair of zombies to turn their attention to the new immediate threat.
The nearest one adjusted its fire to the new targets, but it missed completely. The second zombie stepped back to get a better angle at Julius and the dog. When it did so Grosse had a clear shot and he took it. Out of the corner of the charging Sergeant’s eye he saw the other zombie jerk sideways and collapse.
Before Julius could close into reach of his power maul Logan was launching into the air and knocking their combined target to the ground. The thing tried to fight off the powerful construct, but it was just too slow.
‘I’m going to have to remind Grosse to sterilize that thing before we let it just walk around the compound again,’ the Sergeant thought to himself.
CRACK!
Some sort of slug whistled close enough to force Julius to flinch. Turning towards the new threat he could see the last zombie had recovered enough to return fire once more. This one was close enough to assault right away, but before he could even flinch Logan was on top of the monster, rending it apart.
Before either Enforcer could move to help out the dog it had finished the target off. As they approached it looked up at its handler and simulated panting, and even wagged its synthetic tail.
“Come on, we best get back to the compound. If this is a sign of things to come around here, we are woefully under prepared,” Julius said glumly.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
“Froster, Kyle, Hicks! Front and center!”
The three men picked up their respective weapons and ran to meet their patrol Sergeant. Each man was stripped down to their waist and the sweat was pouring off them. Looking around Julius noted some dramatic improvement to the perimeter. It was not a permanent solution, but it was good. As he turned back to address his men, a fourth, similarly clad Enforcer walked up.
“Sarge, this is Yake. He arrived while you two were out for your walk. He’s been assigned to our little corner of ‘heaven’,” Froster said. “Yake, this is Sergeant Julius.”
Julius recalled the man’s file, “Your our assigned sniper, are you not?”
“Check sir,” the man replied and produced a slightly modified Bolt Gun. The barrel was slightly longer than the standard issue weapon.
“Welcome to patrol sector One Charlie Seven Six Enforcer.” Julius motioned for Logan to bring something up. “You gentlemen need to get back in your battle rattle. It looks like we are going to have some company.”
Logan dropped the zombie body it had been dragging in the middle of the assembled Enforcers. To a man they each turned pale.
“And it gets better,” Julius said interrupting their thoughts. “They were using this,” he added, dropping the captured weapon on the corpse.
Froster turned to his Sergeant and said, “But I thought…”
“Exaclty,” Julius replied.
20070817
Opportunity Knocks
Ian was almost running. Chigger had passed along a juicy tidbit of information. Some Guilders who had been passing through yesterday had let slip that a new dome had been discovered, one that promised a “’treasure trove’ of archeotech that has not been seen in the underhive in many a century”. He wanted to make sure Dyrke heard about this, and quick.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, in his haste, Ian bowled Amber over. The pair ended up intertwined on the floor of the hallway.
“Um… are you ok?” Ian asked as he stood up, and then helped the woman to her feet.
“Yea, I’m good. Where you off to in such a hurry?”
“I need to see Dyrke. Is he down here?”
“Check the main room. I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Catch you later for dinner,” Ian said over his shoulder as he jogged off down the hall.
“Looking forward to it,” was her whispered reply.
Ian’s mind was having a hard time wrapping around the words coming out of his leader’s mouth. He had grown to trust this man with his life, but it just didn’t make sense. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This kind of thing does not come knocking very often.
“But, Boss…”
“I said no Ian. We are in control of a vital resource for House Van Saar right here and we are not moving.”
Ian adjusted himself and waited further reprimand. When it didn’t come he allowed himself to exhale. Dyrke dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. Turning back to his thoughts Dyrke realized that there would be other chances to contribute to this new find. It would just have to be from afar.
“Anyone here”, he called out as he knocked on the small counter.
“We meet once more Enforcer, or should I say, ‘Sergeant’ Fist.”
Fist turned to meet the familiar voice. “Judge Malcavoy,” Fist said as he assumed a parade stance, “a pleasure to see you again.”
“Yes,” the judge motioned for his two Cyber Mastiff companions to sit and assume a guarded stance. The sound of the gyros was slightly unnerving, even for one who trains around the beasts regularly. Fist shifted in his stance slightly. “It would seem that you have continued to prove yourself, despite my first impressions of you Enforcer. You have proven me incorrect in my assessment. A rarity, I assure you.”
Fist was about to thank the Judge but was not allowed the opportunity. Producing a large envelope from somewhere within his commissar-like overcoat the Judge continued.
“I have taken steps to arrange for you and your Patrol’s equipment. Also, enclosed within this envelop you will find a dossier of each man I hand selected.”
Fist ripped open the envelope as Judge Malcavoy continued.
“Unfortunately time did not allow me to assemble all of the men before you are to depart. I will personally see to it that they arrive as quickly as possible. The ones who were readily available I have waiting outside.”
Fist reviewed the roster and each man’s specialty. ‘Heavy Stubber, good. Grenade Launcher’, Fist would have preferred a flamer but it would be fine, it would have to be apparently. ‘A sniper? Interesting. A Handler with Cyber Mastiff, excellent. A pair of assault trained Enforcers and a trio of standard shotgun Enforcers – they should form a good core. This is odd…’
“Sir, this is an excellent mix of men and equipment. But I wonder,” Fist hesitated a moment. He did not want to come across as questioning his superior’s decision. “Why a demolitions expert? In my experience…”
“Your experience is barely worth noting,” Judge Malcavoy interrupted. “Froster is an excellent man, and you will find that he will be able to get you through any obstacle. Any more questions?”
Fist hesitated. Even if he did he wouldn’t speak up now.
“Oh, and there is one more thing. You will no longer go by the name ‘Fist’. It is to crude and is not a proper reflection of one who represents Lord Helmawr.”
Fist looked up, slightly confused.
“Your name is now ‘Julius’. A more proper and appropriate name don’t you think?”
But before Fist could respond the judge turned on his heals and left. The Cyber Mastiffs turning inward followed on the heels of their master.
“Oh, and you won’t be carrying that barbaric shotgun anymore either,” he called over his disappearing shoulder. “I have left you a present there on the counter.”
Fist stood their dumbfounded. Was there nothing this man did not feel he could control? He started to wonder if he would ever enjoy any sort of free reign, even as a Sergeant. He began to loathe this unwanted mentor.
Turning to the counter was a rectangular military style container; the locking clasps were facing him. Not knowing what else to do he slowly opened up the box.
Inside, held with form fitting insulating foam, was a Power Maul, two power cells, a slightly decorated Bolt Pistol with ‘Julius’ and his new rank etched and stenciled into the side, and two full clips of ammunition.
“One can never overlook the generosity of others", Fist thought to himself. "Opportunity does not come knocking all that often.”
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, in his haste, Ian bowled Amber over. The pair ended up intertwined on the floor of the hallway.
“Um… are you ok?” Ian asked as he stood up, and then helped the woman to her feet.
“Yea, I’m good. Where you off to in such a hurry?”
“I need to see Dyrke. Is he down here?”
“Check the main room. I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Catch you later for dinner,” Ian said over his shoulder as he jogged off down the hall.
“Looking forward to it,” was her whispered reply.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
“No.”Ian’s mind was having a hard time wrapping around the words coming out of his leader’s mouth. He had grown to trust this man with his life, but it just didn’t make sense. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This kind of thing does not come knocking very often.
“But, Boss…”
“I said no Ian. We are in control of a vital resource for House Van Saar right here and we are not moving.”
Ian adjusted himself and waited further reprimand. When it didn’t come he allowed himself to exhale. Dyrke dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. Turning back to his thoughts Dyrke realized that there would be other chances to contribute to this new find. It would just have to be from afar.
-=-=-=0=-=-=-
Fist dropped his half full duffle bag at his feet and looked around. The cramped room was piled high with boxes. Looking around he couldn’t see anyone. “Anyone here”, he called out as he knocked on the small counter.
“We meet once more Enforcer, or should I say, ‘Sergeant’ Fist.”
Fist turned to meet the familiar voice. “Judge Malcavoy,” Fist said as he assumed a parade stance, “a pleasure to see you again.”
“Yes,” the judge motioned for his two Cyber Mastiff companions to sit and assume a guarded stance. The sound of the gyros was slightly unnerving, even for one who trains around the beasts regularly. Fist shifted in his stance slightly. “It would seem that you have continued to prove yourself, despite my first impressions of you Enforcer. You have proven me incorrect in my assessment. A rarity, I assure you.”
Fist was about to thank the Judge but was not allowed the opportunity. Producing a large envelope from somewhere within his commissar-like overcoat the Judge continued.
“I have taken steps to arrange for you and your Patrol’s equipment. Also, enclosed within this envelop you will find a dossier of each man I hand selected.”
Fist ripped open the envelope as Judge Malcavoy continued.
“Unfortunately time did not allow me to assemble all of the men before you are to depart. I will personally see to it that they arrive as quickly as possible. The ones who were readily available I have waiting outside.”
Fist reviewed the roster and each man’s specialty. ‘Heavy Stubber, good. Grenade Launcher’, Fist would have preferred a flamer but it would be fine, it would have to be apparently. ‘A sniper? Interesting. A Handler with Cyber Mastiff, excellent. A pair of assault trained Enforcers and a trio of standard shotgun Enforcers – they should form a good core. This is odd…’
“Sir, this is an excellent mix of men and equipment. But I wonder,” Fist hesitated a moment. He did not want to come across as questioning his superior’s decision. “Why a demolitions expert? In my experience…”
“Your experience is barely worth noting,” Judge Malcavoy interrupted. “Froster is an excellent man, and you will find that he will be able to get you through any obstacle. Any more questions?”
Fist hesitated. Even if he did he wouldn’t speak up now.
“Oh, and there is one more thing. You will no longer go by the name ‘Fist’. It is to crude and is not a proper reflection of one who represents Lord Helmawr.”
Fist looked up, slightly confused.
“Your name is now ‘Julius’. A more proper and appropriate name don’t you think?”
But before Fist could respond the judge turned on his heals and left. The Cyber Mastiffs turning inward followed on the heels of their master.
“Oh, and you won’t be carrying that barbaric shotgun anymore either,” he called over his disappearing shoulder. “I have left you a present there on the counter.”
Fist stood their dumbfounded. Was there nothing this man did not feel he could control? He started to wonder if he would ever enjoy any sort of free reign, even as a Sergeant. He began to loathe this unwanted mentor.
Turning to the counter was a rectangular military style container; the locking clasps were facing him. Not knowing what else to do he slowly opened up the box.
Inside, held with form fitting insulating foam, was a Power Maul, two power cells, a slightly decorated Bolt Pistol with ‘Julius’ and his new rank etched and stenciled into the side, and two full clips of ammunition.
“One can never overlook the generosity of others", Fist thought to himself. "Opportunity does not come knocking all that often.”
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