Login |  Register |  FAQ
Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 4 posts ] 


 Post subject: BY THE DUST OF 'EM ALL
PostPosted: Sat Aug 11, 2007 10:37 pm 
User avatar

Joined: Sat Aug 04, 2007 12:02 am
Posts: 1330
Hi everyone,I just really admired a lot of peoples stories here and wanted to add my own Necro story that I've been working on for sometime now.This is only chapter 1 of a long story.
All of the characters and places were taken from our various campaigns over the years.Thanks.



It always smelled horrible this far down hive. Even with his filter plugs and the smoke from the hash cigar, the stink was appalling. Shrugging it off, the hooded stranger made his way down the access tunnel.
The glow lamps pulsed every few seconds, exposing the rusted deck and heavily graffitied walls. Humidity and the rank stench of eons old recycled air told him he had reached the entrance to his destination. Pushing the corroded blast door open, he let a thin smile cross his face. He was home.

He could never understand why the downhivers referred to this place as the North Badzones. This hab-dome was more than three hundred kilometers below Hive City proper. The stranger stubbed out his cigar and switched his las pistols on. One could never be too cautious around these parts. It was only a brief fifteen-minute trek to Badsville, but no sense in being careless. He had no idea whose turf this might be. Or what creatures made their home in the High Wastes.

Ando’s bar ‘n ‘grill was as wild a place as any in the Underhive.
The fat bastard was a tougher than nails bartender, slinging stiff drinks and hurling insults to drunken gangers. Music blared through the double rotten doors as the stranger strode inside, his eyes glancing from side to side, careful not to make eye contact. Making his way towards the hulking Ando, several Orlocks glared at him. He reached into his pockets, placing on the bar top a gold cred chip.

“ What’ll it be stranger? Or I reckon how many.” Ando huffed, his
bionic fingers toying with the cred chip. The Orlocks ceased their mad-dogging as the stranger pulled back his hood. His face was bearded and his pale green eyes burned coldly.
“ Six bottles of Whitesnake will do it….and a bottle of amasec if ya got one…”
Ando smiled, reaching down to pull the cold beers from the rumbling cooler. Handing the stranger the bottle and a dirty glass he asked,
“ Say, don’t I know you?”
The stranger shook his head.
“ Hmm, okay then. Just look like someone I used to know.”
The stranger made his way to one of the dark corners in the bar.
Making mental notes of the different gang elements. Goliath, Orlock, Van Saar and Escher mingled with each other. The codes of House and Hive had no meaning here. He lit his hash cigar and took a swig of amasec, chasing it with Whitesnake. The Orlocks that stared him down earlier were now seated at a table with a grizzled old Goliath. His massive body was covered in scars and faded tattoos. He wore a spiked helmet and wore a chrome skull around his bulging neck. The stranger continued drinking, ignoring any one who gave him menacing looks. To his left sat a good-looking young woman, her pink quiff pulled back high. She wore red leathers and a large sleek dagger was fastened to her thigh.
She cocked her head right towards the stranger and smacked her lips.
“ Do I owe you money?” she asked rudely.
“ Not that I know of.” The stranger replied.
“ Then quit starring at me you fraggen sump rat.” She flatly stated.
The stranger nodded his head, trying not to smile.
Cussing lowly she got up and sat at the bar. He forgot how tough the underhive girls of Necromunda were. Yes sir, deadlier than any girl on any world.

Once his supply of booze was finished, the stranger pulled his hood on, heading for the dim streets of Badsville. He looked over his shoulder a few times, wondering if he was being tailed.
He decided walking right down the middle of the road was the safest way to go. A few juves ran past him, followed by a servitor and a angry shop keep. Eyes followed him in the darkness, but he felt an inch of relief when he reached Dizzys’. The hum of the neon was awkwardly comforting.
The ramshackle inn was pretty vacant, only three rooms taken tonight. Paying his fee of three creds, he shuffled down the hallway to his room, stepping over a few broken bottles scattered about. The room was cold and smelt like stale piss.
“ Welcome home.” He said to himself, lying on the cot to pass out drunk and tired.

The Stranger wasted no time finding out who ran things in the North Badzones. The drinking holes and gambling dens were full of loud-mouthed informants. The trade posts and workshops often had bulletins posted by gang leaders as well. So far in the three weeks since his arrival, he managed to stay out of trouble.
He shaved off his beard and trimmed his hair. Each day he ventured out into the streets of Badsville, trying to map it out in his head.
Drinking and eating at Ando’s bar had graced him with a few friends. Rex Deevo was a notorious drunk. The washed up reporter was truly a good person though, very rare in the Underhive. He quickly became the stranger’s drinking companion. Then there was Linor Dueval. A prostitute that was actually very pretty. She gave the stranger company at night and information for drugs in the day.
Still, they only knew him as the Stranger.

“ What’ll it be Stranger?” Ando sighed.
“ Whitesnake for me…and send a glass of amasec to the Goliath.”
Ando paused before handing him the bottle. They both looked over at the gnarled gang leader, his massive frame barely contained by the straps and carapace he wore.
“ Ol’ Grimskull aint to fond of arse kissin’ lad. If ya needs to gab with ‘em just wait here, I’ll bring him to ya.”
The Stranger nodded, downing his beer.
Grimskull. So it was him then. The years had been good to him.
The Stranger was locked in thought when the mighty shadow of the Goliath loomed over him.
“ Got something on yer mind pretty boy?” snarled Grimskull.
Without even looking at him he said,
“ Aye, you owe me about a hundred and fifty eight creds.”
Grimskull seemed puzzled and instantly grew angry.
“ That so green eyes? Tell me then why I owe ya, otherwise get ready to lick my boots!” Grimskull roared, jumping in the Strangers’ face.
“ That’s what it cost to pay a Ratskin tracker to show me the way out of the Crag and into the Waste Land.” The stranger said calmly.
For a moment Grimskull did not understand . He stared hard at the Stranger. Ando seemed just as puzzled. Then ,he smacked the Stranger on the shoulder and laughed coarsely.
“ Ha! Always thought You died long time ago…”
The Stranger cut him off.
“ No need for Name calling you old bastard.”
Grimskull laughed some more.
“ Does anyone know your back?” Grimskull asked, pulling up a stool next to the Stranger.
“ No, not yet. I plan on keeping that way too. Names’ have no worth any way.”
“Ha! Like hell they do!” Roared the Goliath.” If it wasn’t for my rep these young punks would be runnin’ and gunnin’ like wild scavvies! Ando! Four pints of Second Best for my friend and I!!
We have some catching up to do.”

Grimskull tried his best to place in order the events that had occurred since the Strangers’ disappearance. It wasn’t that he was dumb, just forgetful. Years of gang warfare will do that though.
From what he understood at least, was very informative. Solar Maccarius’ great grandson now ruled Necromunda. Andre “ The Duke” Orman, still ruled the underhives’ black market. The Guild had finally made Remo Valente the prime guilder for the North Badzones. Gangs still ruled, but, the real money was in bounty hunting. Hired guns outnumbered juve recruits in some districts.
As Grimskull continued to yap on about who killed who, the only thing the Stranger could think about was the reason he left in the first place.
“…Malone retired too, got a family.” Grimskull slurred.
“ What happened to that law dog that killed my brother?” The Stranger asked sternly.
Grimskull sighed, took a swig of beer and slammed it down.
“ Rodrigo’s his name. After the battle at the Crag, he got promoted to the Adeptus Arbites. He’s the official “warden” from here to Nemo Way.” Grimskull refilled his pint, continuing.
“ He’s a tough summa b!tch. He outlawed alla’ Stoneville and any one who lives in the Blue Corner. Shite, he even re-outlawed Rickee Ficket. Got a fancy looking Imperial fort over in the Sprawls. “
The Strangers’ choler grew by the second. His mind raced with schemes to get his revenge. Grimskull must have sensed his thoughts, as he firmly grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“ Don’t even think about it. If I was you I would stay away. Rodrigos’ got about forty Arbites, all itching to waste some ‘eads.
Look, if ya want, I can set ya up for some work. It’s a shite job but it pays decent. Whataya say huh? “
Grimskull raised his pint in anticipation.
The silence was murder.
The Stranger stood up and threw on his hood, the green of his eyes burning like jade lava.
“ What kinda work Grim?” The Stranger asked smirking.
“ A PLUS junior, right up yer alley. Stick and move gig. No other scummer gots the grit to do it. I figured we both win here. You get legit work, I get life insurance.”
The Stranger shook his head. Grimskull had a funny way of saying things, especially for a Goliath.
“ Who’s the mark?”
“ Punk named Doyle Blackmane. I’d kill ‘um myself. But, he’s Goliath. Doesn’t impress juves when you kill yer own. Any fraggen way, he runs The Brims gang over in Boehekia. Been yappin’ his chops ‘bout how he’s gonna be the next lord o’ Slagville.
Didn’t like that too much. Besides, the Watchmen are keepin’ tabs on the Destroyers these days. Seems my crew is still a pain in the ass!”
The Stranger chugged his pint and spat on his fist.
Grimskull followed suit, their knuckles smacking together.
“ You got yourself a hit man.”
“ I prefer employee, green eyes..”
“ Shut up and drink your piss warm beer.”
Grimskull laughed hoarsely, the sound rattling the rockcrete walls of the ancient empty saloon.

The air was cold for some reason. The dust seemed to whip about the hab-floor with vigor. He pulled his bandanna over his mouth and adjusted his goggles to the lighting. The gantries and walkways above him moaned and whined. A Ratskin once told him it was the Spirit of the Hive. In his youth he had believed it.
After fighting in a dozen wars in far off systems, he knew that wasn’t true.

The Stranger continued on through the maze of buildings and industrial refineries. He leaped from ladders to walkways, enjoying the familiar sensations of down hive travel. Reaching a water still he craned his neck to read the notice tacked to it. It read: THIS STILL PROPERTY OF PROSPEKTOR KORKY HARREN
The Stranger let a smile crack underneath his bandanna. The old ore miner was still around. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, the cold air rushing past him. Somewhere Uphive a vent must have been cleaned. He paced on, heading for the dim lights of Black Junctions’ watchtowers.

The Junction itself was a huge access tunnel that connected the Badzones to the area known as the Echo. The thing was, a town was built right in front of the damn entrance, so, you had a good chance of running into trouble before actually walking into the tunnel. To make matters worse, at the end of the Junction was Dog Town. One of the most notorious and downright dangerous places in the whole hive. The Stranger caught his breath, hoping he had enough hash to last him the night.

He reached the gate by morning, or what passed for morning in the Underhive. The gate men let him through, then asked his purpose in the Black Junction.
“ Just passin’ through mates.” He answered.
The gate men stated it was their jobs to ask, warning him scavvies and mutants lurked in the Red Wastes nearby.
The Stranger thanked them and plodded on down the avenue.

For being morning, the Junction was alive and jumping. Music blared throughout the streets, vendors shouted their sales, the smells of grilled ripper jack and fried rat filled the air. He lit a cigar, toying with the thick smoke in his mouth. He vaguely remembered where any thing was in this fraggen town.
He wandered around for about an hour, hoping to find a decent weapons dealer. Finally he gave up and asked an older woman in guardsmen fatigues. Her shoulder patch was of the Neromundian 15th.
“ Know a place where an old soldier can get some decent protection?”
The woman nodded.
“ See that bar on the left? Right behind it is Morrissey’s Trade Post. He’s pretty fair. Tell him Lara sent you, hell give ya some extra ammo. Careful stranger, Underhive tends to swallow up soldiers like us.” The woman saluted him and walked on past.

Morrissey’s shop was the cleanest place he had been in since he left Hive City. The pale arms dealer kept the shelves meticulously organized. The Stranger pulled down a shotgun, then a long lasrifle. He whistled to get the slender mans attention.
“Can I help you friend?” Said the sullen face Morrissey.
“ Yeah, do you have a scope for this rifle? Preferably with infrared or night vision. Oh, and rope. Also what close quarter combat weaponry might you have?”
Morrissey raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t understood what the Stranger asked.
“ Scopes are forty cred a piece, rope and grapple hooks’ ten creds….do you prefer axes, swords or bludgeons?”
The Stranger pulled down his bandanna and placed his goggles atop his head.
“ A short hilt sword and nice length of razor-chain will dot it.”
He said smiling.
“ You going deep into the Hive friend?”
“ Nah, but you can never be to careful.”
“ Hmm, yes, down right dreadful these parts if I do say so.”
“ Damn straight….oh, and Lara sends her regards.”
Morrissey shrugged, placing the gear on the counter.
“ Lara eh? Good gal that one. Say friend, would you be interested in a large caliber stub-gun? Fresh coat of polished brass, eight round capacity…very, very light weight. I’ll throw twenty hell shots in if you buy now.”
The Stranger picked up the gun, leveled it on his forearm, checking the cross hairs. He aimed it around the room and set it back on the counter.
“ This will do. How much total?”
Morrissey rang up the items faster than the Stranger could count.
“ Eighty six creds flat. I’m throwing in a few extra goodies as well.”
The Stranger nodded his head and shook the shop keeps hand.
“ I reckon I’ll be back soon.”
“ Happy hunting stranger.”
Hunting indeed. He thought to himself. He had no clue how big the Brims gang was, or how dangerous they were. At least he was prepared.

The Junction was given the prefix “Black”, on account that there was very little light in the giant access tunnel. The tunnel stretched half a click in length and about twenty meters wide. It was the only “safe way” to the Echo. One could try their luck through the Red Wastes or Dead Mans Alley, but most took their chances through the Junction. The average downhive citizen would rather be robbed than become lunch for mutie scavvies, or worse, zombies.

Standing at the entrance, the Stranger curiously watched a guarded caravan. He figured it would be safe to follow directly behind them. Should the caravan come under attack he would drift into the shadows.

His plan was truly put to the test. The glow-lamps were spread out every ten meters, making for an extra cautious march. The caravan guard was heavily armed; two heavy stubbers, a flamer, two plasma rifles and several shotguns. That’s not what sparked his interest though. The cargo must have been worth a fortune. He kept his distance, the rear guard’s bionic eye gleaming in the dim passage. The guard stopped as if he had heard him thinking.
Suddenly the entire tunnel was illuminated as a plasma round was discharged in his direction.

“ He’s no scavv, or a mutie. Roll ‘em over lads, check his pockets.” The mechanical voice hissed.
Four of the guards rifled through the Strangers’ coat as he lay unconscious.
“ He’s armed from his arse to his mouth boss! Look at this! Didn’t think any one still used razor-chains!” A high-pitched squeal said.
“ Well, he ain’t dead. The blast must have knocked him into the wall. Should we just leave him here boss?” asked another.
“ Wake him up, maybe he could be of use to us.” Said the metallic voice.
The guards dragged the limp body of the Stranger through the darkness. Suddenly the sensation of drowning shook him into reality.
“ Piss of bastards!” the Stranger howled, swinging his fists at his assailants.
“ Easy partna’, just water ‘sall.” A wiry man with a scraggy beard proclaimed. He held a bucket in his left hand a shotgun was slung over his right shoulder.
The Stranger staggered to his feet, unsure of himself. He leaned against the mesh fence behind him.
“ What, what happened?” he groggily asked.
“ Seems ya’ smacked yer noggin’ good. Yes sir, lucky you is. Ah-huh.”
The Stranger felt the lump on his head. The old man was drinking from the bucket and then filled a flagon for him.
“ How long was I out?”
“ Couple hours. You go see Vaedon now, he’ll tell what’s goin’ on.”
The Stranger guzzled the water in the flagon and walked over to the caravan tent. The rest of the guards loitered about, drinking and smoking, talking amongst them selves. No one looked at him as he entered the tent. A tall voluptuous woman with a crown of feathers lounged on a couch. Her long legs dangled over the edge as she heedlessly swung them back and forth. Her breaths' rhythm in time with the rising and falling of her flawless, ivory breasts. The Stranger could not stop starring, her charm almost hypnotizing.
“ I hope you hold no grudge against my retainers, they were just doing as they were told.” She said licking her lips.
Slowly he approached her, but stopped short as the colossal frame of a man stepped forward from the darkness.
“ Keep your distance, stranger.” The machine voice barked.
“ Settle down Vaedon, he’s in no condition to cause harm.”
“ Lady, just tell me where I am so I can be on my way. Thanks for not killing me but I really must be going.” He said staring down the enhanced warrior.
She sighed and threw her head back.
“ Your welcome, but, if you should need any financial assistance, my employer would happily accommodate you.” She said, teasing her long black hair. The Stranger squinted, not understanding.
“ You followed us in silence through most of the Junction and you had enough weapons to start your own gang. Rather impressive, even Vaedon here thought so, right ma’ love?” she pouted.
Vaedon mumbled incoherently.
“ Thanks but I’m already employed.”
“ Tsk. Well then, maybe I’ll see you around stranger.”
“ Maybe.” He turned and followed the hulking Vaedon out of the tent.
“ Here is your gear.” Vaedon growled, tossing him a bag.
“ Who is she?” The Stranger asked looking over his shoulder.
“ You don’t know? She is Brianna, the dancer from House Ran’Lo.”
“ What she doing this far downhive?”
“ None of your business stranger.” Vaedon barked.
“ Right. Any ways where are we?” he asked, re-holstering his weapons and checking his ammo.
“We’re right outside Dog Town proper. Boehekia and Coffin Heights are just a few clicks from this point.”
The Stranger donned his goggles and tied his bandanna around his head. “ See ya ‘round.” Was all he said as he marched off into the gloom of the Echo’s maze of buildings and rubble.

The putrid stench of rotting human flesh hung heavy. The path to Boehekia was a macabre one. Only the Emperor knew the number of men and women that had perished here in the Ash Hills of the Echo. Whether from a gang fight or victim to some monstrous hive creature, these hills breathed death. The Stranger remembered the tale of old Charlie Kort. He was an Orlock gang leader some forty years back. People said his gang was ambushed out here in the hills and only Kort survived the battle. He staggered into Girder Falls, wounded, dusty and suffering from delirium.
He spoke of a giant rat that stood on his hind legs, battling his gang and the attackers. Somehow he got away. He told disturbing accounts of how the blasphemous rat feasted on his men while they struggled for life, and how it ripped men in two and dragged the carcasses right into the ashen slopes. Some weeks later old Charlie Kort died from his wounds, only to crawl out of his grave and wander off. Or so the story goes.
The Stranger wasn’t too fond of legends and myths, but there was always some bit of truth to all stories.
The gray slopes seem to go on forever; broken up only by small edifices or ruined out-holes. Every slope seemed to have some odd trinket or discarded bric- a-brac. So far he found a spiked bracelet, a half empty flask of amasec, a pair of blue-shades and the oddest thing so far- a child’s doll. Who would bring a child out into the Ash Hills? And why? These thoughts weighed somewhat in his mind as he dragged on through the stench filled night.

Boehekia. Just saying the name out loud made him spit. The vilest shite-hole in the Echo and the North Badzones. Too many denizens shared the same space. Slavers, fundamentalist mad men of the Redemption, outlaw scummers, “civilized” mutants, drug pushers, wyrds, rapists, Ratskin families and various occult groups, called Boehekia home. In time this settlement would be outlawed too.
He wondered if the stink from the Hills was born here. He strode in through the towns rotting wood gates, keeping his hand on his pistol, underneath his coat. He didn’t expect too much trouble from the locals, as he himself looked like a vagrant, covered from head to toe in dusty, crusty mud.
Boehekia only had one watering hole, a scrap heap shack that was aptly called the Pit. The Stranger wasted no time heading for the bar. The cramped avenue was very much a circus. House Cawdor lap-dogs preaching on one side of the street while the opposition stood on the other, everyone else ignored them, going about the business of selling, trading or arguing.

In front of the Pit three dune-cycles sat parked. He wondered whom they belonged to and how they got them into the Hive. He inspected them a bit closer, noticing a pinstriped yellow B on the cycle’s fuel tank. Suddenly a thunderous crash came from inside the pit. Shots were fired and curses exchanged. A bald headed Van Saar stumbled through the saloon doors, collapsing to the deck & bleeding from a several gunshot wounds.
“ Who else wants it?” boomed a hoarse voice from within.
The Stranger walked around the dead body and into the bar, stopping in front of the swinging doors. Silence filled the saloon as the gathered focused on the hooded, cloaked and dirty stranger at the door’s entrance.
“ Maybe You wanna be next? Huh? You wanna die?”” The bull like neck of the young Goliath pulsed with hate.
“ No, I want a cold beer.” The Stranger said calmly.
The bar flies rang out in uncontrollable laughter, obviously grateful for the indifference in his voice.
The young Goliath began laughing as well, more of a snort really.
“ Your boys better clean that mess up, by Helmawr!” said the barkeep.
“ Yeah, Yeah, that double crossing rat got what he deserved. I’ll have the youngsters clean it later.” Said the Goliath.
The Stranger sat down at the bar, pulling down his bandana and goggles. The barkeep slammed a frost-covered beer in front him, grunting something beneath his breathe.
The commotion had died down and everyone proceeded in getting boozed up. The Stranger eyeballed the Goliaths; there were three of them seated to the left of him and several juves scurrying about.
The biggest of the three continued his boasting with great volume.
“ That’s what happens when you miss with the Brims! You end up dead! Ha! I ‘de like to see someone try and mess with us! You’ll have a belly full ‘o lead and a busted skull!” He continued.
So this was Doyle Blackmane. Young, proud, and strong like a bull but dumb as an ox. He understood why Grimskull wanted him dead, he was young, proud, powerful and full of hate.

He drank for a few hours, baby-sitting his beers and keeping close watch on the Brims as more piled into the sleaze hole bar. So far he counted nine full-fledged gangers, four juves and one heavy. The heavy he worried about the most, carrying a lascannon with numerous “X” markings along the barrel. Doyle had a huge spiked maul strapped to his back and carried two large caliber stub guns. He wore leather and mesh vest and his long black Mohawk was slicked back into a tail. He was a menacing figure to behold, even amongst his gang. The Stranger pondered various scenarios in which to dispatch the gang leader, but they all ended the same way. It was going to be a violent, bloody and grim death for the young brute.

The Stranger mad it a point to leave before the Brims gang was done boozing. He sat watching from the shadows across the avenue as they mounted their dune-cycles and sped off. He waited a few minutes smoking one of his hash cigars and slowly began following the fresh tire tracks in the gray mud.

The Brims hideout was little more than a warehouse, surrounded by some fuel drums, sandbags, a poorly built fence and slime pit used for Emperor knows what. All their dune-cycles were lined up and accounted for. He had hoped they would be passing out drunk soon, but instead they began blasting music and partying. He silently scaled the small building and perched himself on the rusting roof. Quietly he prepped his weapons, checking his ammo and unclasping his holstered pistols. He had hoped to get Doyle alone, but his thugs clung to him like a ripperjack swarm. It was going to be a bloody fight.

Peering through the glass gantry, he fastened the scope to his lasrifle. He followed every movement of Blackmane, waiting for the right moment to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly, they began fighting amongst themselves. In the scuffle he lost track of his target and became a little nervous. Where the hell did he go?

The familiar sound of piss hitting aluminum gave the Stranger a jump-start. He slid across the roof and hunched over the side. There he was, burping and pissing, still holding a bottle of booze.
The Stranger aimed for his forehead and began to squeeze the trigger, but instead his weight proved too much for the pipe that he was leaning on and came crashing down on Doyle. They both slammed into the hard packed ground wrestling in the gloom.
The Stranger leaped to his feet and drew his laspistols. Doyle swatted the guns from his hands and speared the Stranger against the warehouse wall, knocking the wind from him with his massive shoulders.
They cursed and struggled in the shadow of the glow-globes, while inside the rowdy gang members continued their own scuffle over the beat of thrashing guitar and pounding drums.
Doyle began to choke the Stranger, while being kneed in his ribs.
“ You picked the wrong guy to mess with, bub!” Doyle panted.
The Stranger said nothing, struggling to keep himself from passing out. With one hand on Doyle’s wrist, he used his free to hand to reach inside his coat and pulled his stub gun out. He smashed the butt end of it into Doyle’s skull, sending him reeling and stunned for a moment. The Stranger gasped for air while the massive Goliath gathered his senses. The Stranger holstered his pistol, and unfastened his razor-chain from his belt loops. The Goliath gave him a grim and fiendish smile, reaching for the huge spiked club on his back. They circled each other in silence, two wolves waiting to strike at the first sign of weakness.
The Stranger swung his chain over his head and criss-crossed it back and forth. Doyle sneered and waved his club menacingly.
Doyle rushed head long at the Stranger, only to be lashed by the razor-chains singing jangle. Doyle tried again and again, each time his flesh shred to ribbons. The young Goliath did not falter though, his eyes burned with all the more rage. He spat at the Stranger and cursed him for using a chain.
“ Come on green eyes! You can’t swing that fraggen thing all night! Soon I’ll be pulling my spikes outta your head!”
“ I doubt it. You’ll be dead before your gang even realizes you’re not inside.” The Stranger said mockingly.
Doyle stopped smiling. He arced his back and wielded his mace with both hands, slowly approaching the chain-wielding assassin.
The Stranger flung his chain with his left hand, over extending a little too much. Doyle back stepped and whacked the chain to the floor, the two foes beginning a tug of war. The chain was caught in the clubs spiked nails and the Stranger desperately tried to wrench free his weapon. Doyle kicked sideways, his boot heel smashing into the Stranger’s jaw. He reeled ton the ground, rolling to avoid the bone crushing swats of Doyle’s mace. He backed rolled on to his haunches, barely missing a blow from the Goliath’s mace as it clanged the aluminum wall behind him.
The Stranger unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the Goliaths solar plexus in one fluid motion. They both stood still for brief moment, Doyle slowly choking on his own blood. The Stranger pulled his blade free and picked up his laspistols from the ashy ground.
“ You’ll nev…ack! Make… it out….haerk!” Doyle protested through clots of vomited blood.
The Stranger leveled his guns at Doyle’s bull-like head and said,
“ Grimskull sends his regards, sleep good in Hell.”
Doyle gave one last smirk, his bloody teeth glistening in the darkness. The Stranger squeezed both triggers, the white hot flash of the pistols charge burning a hole through Doyle’s skull and lighting up the locality. The Goliath’s body slumped forward, as the Stranger looked over his shoulder, guns smoking.

Quickly he grabbed his lasrifle and slashed the tires on the dune-cycles parked out front. He sprinted for the dust slopes, the Brims gang members hot on his heels. The flash of his muzzle drew them out, finding their leader bloody and faceless. Autogun fire and lascannon shrieks exploded around him as they pursued the Stranger for sometime through the desolate wastes that was Ash Hills. He lost them in darkness, but he ran on until the gray mud turned into a reddish dust and the familiar ruins of the Red Wastes came into sight. He hid himself at the entrance to an ancient mine-shaft and passed out laughing like a mad man.

Check out my blog


Buy my junk

http://www.ebay.com/sch/krug_tr6_138/m. ... pg=&_from=

Last edited by KRUG_666 on Sat Jul 12, 2008 10:54 pm, edited 3 times in total.

Reply with quote  
 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Aug 12, 2007 2:30 pm 
User avatar

Joined: Wed Jul 27, 2005 7:15 am
Posts: 865
Location: Somewhere on the fringe of the Hive
It was a good read. I'm interested in seeing where this is going.

"Always mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy; and when you strike and overcome him, never let up pursuit." ----- Thomas Jacskon

Reply with quote  
 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Aug 12, 2007 8:48 pm 
User avatar

Joined: Sat Aug 04, 2007 12:02 am
Posts: 1330
Thanks! I really appreciate it. I will post more of the story soon, like I said, its long, I've written six chapters so far and my work is very demanding, but soon, this week I think.

Check out my blog


Buy my junk

http://www.ebay.com/sch/krug_tr6_138/m. ... pg=&_from=

Reply with quote  
 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Mar 21, 2009 9:16 am 

Joined: Fri Mar 20, 2009 5:36 am
Posts: 78
i agree a fantastic story so far!

Im temped to save it in word so i can read it later. add some pages numbers and a title... if you dont mind atleast

New necromunda player

Vaan sarr gang- Stray dog PDF deserters

W / L / D
6 / 4 / 0

Gang rating- 2850

Reply with quote  
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 4 posts ] 

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  


Powered by phpBB ® Forum Software © phpBB Group