N18 Life of a Scum (Necromunda Diaries, Celiaus Campaign)

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

Gored poured down the street. The Delaques had been ambushed. Flickering lights licked the sky and started showing little drops of almost moonlight.

“This was it.” thought the Delaque gang leader, Fortaite.

“Hello.” said Hissania, for Maquie De Pant.
“Hello sweet chalice.” the skies the limit thought Oakshield, spyrer master.
“Interesting civilisation we have got here.” whisper Elfen. The reactive shells of his IOrrus suit firing.
“Go.” thought Oakshield. “Hurry up, foolish men.” she waited in hiding. It was a long time until her sword was charged, but she knew from the others, exactly what was happening. Their was a lasgun and another pointed at her.

Three months later the spyrers stopped hunting. They had a death toll and they were experienced. And they left the sorry remainers to their fates. It was hard and tough, being at the bottom run of existence. They quietly cried and remembered how they were downtrodden. Some no longer wanted to hire outlaws, some did. And one fateful day a goliath gang bought a heavy stubber and a scum from the trading post.

“Not much action around here.” said the scum, Franklin Toot.
“Don’t shut the door before I smash your head through it.” said the Goliath gang leader.
“Off we go.” said his ex-juve friend, a great ally, and trading post fixer.
“You are good, son.” said the Goliath gang leader.
“We have seen faithless further afield” said the scum. “And there is-”
“If we wanted info, we would get the Ratskin Scout. You are for the gunfights and shootouts. Plus they captured Tink, our best ganger.” said the Goliath gang leader.
“Wet pants.” said the ex-juve, sniggering at the scum.
“I have been waiting for job for ten years.” said the scum, grabbed some glowsticks and some recaff from the stool bar, by the trading post. They walked on.
“How much is a reload on that autopistol and flamer?” said the gang leader of the Goliath’s. He called himself Druskin, a tough man with a grenade launcher and an axe, massive and deadly.
“About a cred each from the guild or I can find them about. Not a stretch to me, I can negotiate. I used to be a bounty hunter, til they kicked-”
“Shut up.” said the gang leader, Goliath was a strong muscular house. Proud of their strength and this one was especially fast.
“Don’t spare the lash.” giggled the ex-juve and laughed.
“Fine, on my way, you should pick up a grapnel you can afford it, I could advise nothing else, but if you need to get someone out of capture-”
“Right, let’s try, we will be one off another gang.”
“Good start mate.” whispered the tittering, jovial ex-juve.

The spyrers never came back. Another gang did come around. A very posh, very well to do, Ratskin gang. They had powerful weapons, and strong weaponry. Autoguns, lasguns, clubs and so on. Very few bothered with more traditional or primitive weapons. It was a hive collapse. Out went the lights.

“Well looks like we got out captured back.”
“Guess I’m not needed.” said the scum, Mr Toot.
“Shut up, but yeah.”
“Thanks.” said the other ex-juve.
“Thank you friend.” said the first ex-juve Mr Toot had met. They high fived, and he sat down in his soiled mess at the small lodging the scum guild could afford. And lit a glowstick and thought. And thought. Quietly he left for a walk. He had enough for now.

Franklin Toot
Scum Handflamer and Autopistol.
+1 Toughness Crack Shot Dodge Quick Witted +2 Leadership

 

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

Part Two.

"So sickle hands, what colour is a rainbow, down a toilet?" said the pit slave. He had a metal hook that he would throw people down with. It was shaped like a sickle, or that's what he told the hiring people. He hated his life. He hated women all types, all the inbetweeners. All the settlers, all the drunks and above all the Archeotech searchers and finders. Rich for the rich, he would say only to himself. Nightmare of pawn street. He lived in an old shack near a chess shop.

"So? What were you saying, what on earth are you talking about?" send the wyrd telekinetic, sitting on the sofa, in this hovel.

"Never you mind, Brightlight, never you mind."

Four days later the original spyrer gang came down. Or were rumoured to be hunting again. It was simply the Jakara, she had come back for blood. She had a score to settle with the Delaques. They had given her an old wound, that niggle and niggle, hurt her brain and her mind. Made her regress to that of a child somedays. Her new gang was full up and ready.

"Shush." she thought.
"Ready on Mark Six." he said, her Yeld.
"Ready on Seven Mark, distance, swooping." cried the second Yeld.
"You there hun?" said the distant malcadon.
"Shut up brat." screamed the Jakara, spyrer master, as she ran into the fray. Her shield bouncing the heavy slug fire away from her face. "I see it all now. We have out victory."
"Yes master." said the malcadon, dropping down three stories, a large building, into the enemy firing lane. Running fast he avoided them and closed in fighting back to back with the Jakara, her monofilament sword, cracking the back of both the Delaques.
"Sweet Victory." he said, and kissed her.
She laughed and blushed.

Two months later. The scum walked down the street, the newest and freshest scum. He had worked for a boring Goliath gang before. A shootout, yawn he thought. Bitter milk was all he had, plus a free chess set, five finger discount. And a very grumpy pit slave with a claw called sicklehands.

Scum NearMissingInAction +2 Ballistic Skill, Gunfighter, +2 Leadership

 

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

"Flashpoint." said the Arbiter gang.
"I hate this stupid job." said the shotgun leader. He had walked seventeen miles to get his executioner rounds and other ammo. What a was of stupid life, all of them had been told. Seven dead. Another seven guilders dead. And one irate Jakara. She had been injured twice now with a gaping chest wound she would not heal.
"Now they are playing Lord of the Spire." The intercomm, flashed servo-net scan. Five hundred meters past dome Vint and Dome Nightwish.
"Crap." said the unit as one.

"Never have I ever met such a beautiful temptress." said the gang leader of the Delaque, looking through his long telescopic sight bright and shining. Grey and old he was down in his fuzzy mind. "Oh my merciful cocktrice."

"You should cut that out." Said his Bounty Hunter. He was very very old but kept himself fit. Born of the undying and never left his shack. Far and away he felt the spirit of his faith. His old house Cawdor a minor memory. Now he felt like a Van Saar. But really he was straight shooting, masterful fighter with his sword and knife. Chainblade running, he whirled it at the Delaque.

"These are outlaws, if you want a job worth-"

"Be quiet retch. This if for war, we have a gang war and we are unkillable. We are unstoppable, we have the greatest income and my power maul and gas bombs are unstoppable." said the gang leader. He hoped no one knew he was partially deafened from the malacon's web spinners some time ago.

"I see." said the Bounty Hunter.

Leaving the bounty hunter called Shock Mevlan, reported to the servo-net, extreme perversion and tipped of the arbiters about his gang, their weaknesses and warned them to let the spyrers leave. They did not reply.

All the goliaths gangs, came to the centre. This whole thing had been put on, and sicklehands sprinted to the top, climbing rung after rung. The malcadon chased him.

"Love conquers all." thought Oakenshield, the spyrer master.
"I will see you later. Tempress." yelled the macaldon over the lasfire and heavy stubber rounds.

"Shoot you fool." screamed the Delaque gang leader. And the Bounty Hunter argued enough to drive him crazy that he was a melee fighter and that the shotgun would be a better weapon and deploying around here was a nightmare. In the end, sicklehands hurled off the malcadon and he was injured.

The Jakara cried and cried.

The arbiters slaughtered the Delaque gang and the rest of the outlawed Goliaths.

The guilders watching from far away, in a series of new caravans, flicked off their spy cameras.

"Who needs this rubbish?" they said. A cawdor convey moved downhive and all was well again, somehow. The spyrer hunt finished a month later and they were never seen again down hive.

Bounty Hunter +2 Weapon Skill Sprint +1 Wound

The End

 

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

"I drunk my spitoon!" said sickehands. I am tired of living this way, he thought. Why on Terra why oh why is there so much urine in my spitoon.

The Delaque leader, leader of the Richest Sletmen, can running down the street.

"Fires are coming." he shouted as he ran past. His huge gang in their swirling pink-purple coats came running down through. Hot was the buzzing noise and grinding of the surrounding industry. The goliaths gangs had reformed and were now purging the weak and sorry for themselves. Sickehands stayed indoors and drunk more of his old spirits. One for me, one for my friend, one for a way out of this in the end. And giggled and laughed.

The blackout shattered the towering lights from the intersection, the pathways and the paths through the domes. Very few people ever recalled a nightmare so terrible. In the darkness a haunting sound. Razorwire ferns had started to pop up. Huge bloody monsters crawled out of ground. And two elf rangers arrived and were torn apart by a Goliath with a powerfist. More like a powerclaw he thought and boomed out laughter.

"Nice hand." said an Escher gang just finishing their meal at their settlement after the purge. Thanks said Spotty Shearers, he was a pit slave and loved decapitating fat or strong men. Revenge would be his. Never said a word.
The Escher giggled and made a house of cards. They were going to raid the goliaths for a gambling den next week. Foolish women thought the Pit Slave and rubbed salt on his tearing ligaments.

Painful was the sudden shock in the bank as the Cawdor came in, each with one Ratskin scout. Each with a similar idea. Five autoguns and a flamer, never forget the looks on the outlaws faces. They looked like guilders. Jackpot thought the goliath leader known as Weapon Draskin, although he had forgotten his name by now.

Long into the day they wondered. When will the lights turn back on?

Pit slave rules Iron Jaw, Parry. +2 Wounds Claw Stubgun with Dum-Dum Bullets

 

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

So eventually sicklehands is recruited for the guard, forgiven his crimes and gifted salvation. He has his claw hand replaced with a discrete bionic. And is given a simple bolt pistol and a combat knife. A pair of new boots and a career as a crusader for the inquisition. He finds a few loop holes in laws and eventually retires in the upper reaches of the midhive.

One day a snake lands at his window and says it is time for you to go to him in his head. And he walks all the way down the road. Then runs and runs. Eventually he makes it to a safe house.

The servo=net says "They always run. Alert. Deploy cybermastifs." A real enforcer comes on the mic across the district. "Yes, sir."

Desperate sicklehands, ties his belt. Breaks two cybermastifs and dives down the garbage duck. Falls headlong and is in a labyrinth for years. There he finds an old man tying shoes laces. He says, I made need you one day Paul, whoever you are. It sounds eerie to him.

The pipes burst, and then the old man is gone. Washing himself in the broken pit and pipe, he was a long way and laughs and thinks this is like some old flick in a movie. Now to see some dirty girls again, now I am a psychologist, a lawyer and fitness expert, I suppose I will survive. And things did get harder for sicklehands. But not as hard as his heart felt when he say his spiteful sister again Oakshield in his old dome downhive.

POSTWORD FAN+__+CENS+RED

 

[HollisterKanoWilliam]

"A spider ate." said sicklehands.
"He was tired." said his sister, once again captured for looks and her ferocity. Rare a woman, though sicklehands.
"Never again shall I have to put up with you taking my glory." said sicklehands. Long days past and they just watched each other. Sicklehands thought he was a spider. And thought he would be eaten by a giant rat.

Sicklehands never really did become this lawyer or psychologist, he was rejected. He did not realise that ever.

"A spider ate." said sicklehands again to his sister. She had come down hive. A mistake, a holiday, such a holiday.
"Good." said the old telekinetic wyrd's best man. He was a telepath and very fat. He had stalked both these two and the missing malcadon. He was very well to do, but strange. Very distant and lost in his heart. He never knew pain, for he avoided it at all costs. He slipped his sword out of its' backsheathe.

Sudden pain flared through sickehands and the sword cut him through his malfunctioning arm. Then another strike and the sister, Oakshield was dead. A posh failure or success, who cared, thought Gant the Spymaster of the Delaque. Watching both through an red-dot laser scope high up on a hill. He swapped to his hotshot laser rifle. Firing second after second. He shot sicklehands through the ear, close call he thought. And finished this swordsman forever.

Working for the bounty hunter's trained by the Delaque, but friendly with the guilders running errands for the Cawdor House. He made his last bed that night before he moved on. Something told he that business was finished for now but one day, he needed to watch his back if he was to go uphive.

The rolling blackouts finished with a few months and fresh money and water spread like gushing sewers, and wind into the hive.

In the end the rich bounty hunters in the area were wiped out, all dead. Vate Atsleep found the dead body of his bounty hunter teacher send to him via transport. At the morgue he checked the now faster servo-net and wandered where the Van Saar priest was in all this. The redemption had been sighted and things were getting tough in the place where the domes were not overlapping as much. Freedom was being chanted in the streets.

And a little Ratskin scout who was working for the paper, a lasgun and a maul. Wrote up a few notes. A strange harlequin, walked in and said.
"I will teach you to gamble but only do it for the right reasons."
Thank you thought the lonely but grateful Ratskin. And then the beautifully attired eldar or aeldari said finally, drawing a pack of cards with chess pieces on them.
"I owe you for solving some issues for me, if you ever play chess uphive, then you never lose unless you have to. Or else I will hunt you down."
"How much for the lessons?" said the Ratskin Renegade with a glowstick addiction and 5 credits to his name.
"Priceless." said the Harlequin, and they played.

Twenty years later, lost in a sewer with a gang of Escher's fighting some Van Saar. Sicklehands met this Ratskin Renegade called Aces Hocker and they fought. Sicklehands punched and tried to throw but the Ratskin was faster, clubbing him around the head until finally one Escher juve arrived and shot him in back for friendship, mid combat.

Aces felt his spirit soar and then his own gang bottle out. Sadly he left and was never seen again. Neither was sicklehands.

Ratskin Renegade +1 Weaponskill +1 Toughness Sprint (Lasgun Club)

[ That was the end of the campaign, emotions ran high and really we made a complete mess of our homes, or the players did rather, and so did I trying to keep track of the story. Happy hunting! ]