TribeMeet UK 2022 - Fluff & Story

Stoof

Yakmarines 2nd Co. Word Priest
Yak Comp 2nd Place
Tribe Council
Jun 1, 2016
4,186
14,898
278
Ellon, United Kingdom
Whoop whoop! Time's a-tickin! Event attendees and enthusiastic bystanders are welcome to post their gang histories, fluffy bits and ongoing stories for the event here!

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Water - or something similar to water, anyway - dripped from above onto the gritty concrete floor of the mustering cell. Flashes of neon light flickered through the crack between the doors to the arena.

He sat on the cold steel bench and adjusted the compression coils on the hydraulic system powering the large spiked mace replacing his left arm, just as he had for fifty fights. His ears pricked up as the announcer started outside - the general crowd noise muting as they began paying attention.

With a groan the doors began to open and bright light flooded in. He picked up the battered autopistol from beside him, checked there was a round chambered and stood. The announcer reached his crescendo, and the crowd began cheering and stamping - it felt like the whole hive was vibrating, a feeling that never got old.

He strode into the light feeling a not entirely natural surge of adrenalin as both his natural and augmetic systems prepared for combat. Looking around, he saw the other three fighters striding from their corner doors - all equipped as him, pistol and weapom arm, all less experienced than him. The new generation, some were calling them.

The announcer - MC Manc - in the centre stepped onto a metal platform attached by chains to a hovering airship above and was quickly whisked up into the relative safety of its gondola.

The air shimmered and a huge, holographic "10" appeared rotating above the centre of the arena. The crowd began to count down as the fighters turned to wave at the crowd and psych themselves up.

7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheering as a buzzer sounded the start of the bout. Some guns fired, but nothing hit home and he was already focussed on his first target - a slight but quick fighter, winner of several bouts, who was shooting obliquely at the fighter directly opposite and not paying close enough attention to him. As usual, he ignored the fact he was holding a pistol and barreled into the smaller fighter, whose right arm was a pair of shears. He brought up the mace, waited a fraction of a second as usual to allow the crowd time to notice - and smashed it down. Bits of skull, brain and concrete plinked from his shin plates as the hydraulic mace ended the hopes and dreams of his first target.

The crowd erupted in wild cheering as the announcer Cortina called the fatality, and he indulged himself in a heroic wave as he turned on the spot before facing into the arena and looking for his next target.

Opposite was a huge experienced brawler, the right side of his head and torso all augmetic, with a huge drill arm. Beside him lay a smoking plasma pistol - overheated - and he was trying to grab hold of a much smaller fighter. The small fighter was new, with only his left forearm replaced with a chain blade. The small one was firing round after roud from a stub gun, having no noticeable effect on his hulking attacker.

He strode over towards their fight, happy to let the big one kill the little one before he got there. The big fighter finally grabbed the small round the neck and hauled him writhing into the air before holding him out in order to aim his drill at his sternum. The litte one however managed to swing his chanblade accurately, severing almost through the arm holding him. With a spurt of hydraulic flud he dropped to the ground and immediately sprang up, chain arm held out. The big fighter's eyes and mouth opened in shock, but instead of a bellow of rage, blood and thick black ichor poured from his mouth down his chest as the chainblade ground and churned in his chest cavity.

The small fighter withdrew the blade - it was jammed solid with cabling and wires. The big fighter fell with a heavy thump, eyes still swivelling to follow the action but otherwise out of the fight.

The small fighter stood for a moment before turning to look at him as he strode onwards. Half way across the arena now, and the little guy had a jammed weapon arm and no bullets. The crowd, surprised at the downing of the big guy, now roared in expectation as he approached.

The little fighter didn't seem phased though, simply kneeling down. He began to run at him, raising the mace for a solid first strike - a few yards to go - and the small fighter pulled something from the oily ichor. Something steaming... the plasma pistol. The fighter raised it and he saw the green glow of the plasma coils activating... he tried to dive to the side but the servos in his legs needed a second to slow... the plasma gun flashed...

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"Wow, Cortina! What a fight! The new boy wins it!"
"That's right Manc! Old Grex there was the sure thing for this fight, even against Big Driller Dexy!"
"And now he's smouldering in the dust Cort! I doubt the mechs can build him a new brain!"
"Certainly can't Manc, certainly can't! They'll have old Dexy going again though!"
"Oh yeah Cortina, we'll be seeing him again soon once he's been through the pits!"
"End of the line for BoJo there as well - mace to the face! So there you have it carnage fans! Two head-bursters in one fight! Now, with the warm-up fights done... onto the main event...!"
 

Stoof

Yakmarines 2nd Co. Word Priest
Yak Comp 2nd Place
Tribe Council
Jun 1, 2016
4,186
14,898
278
Ellon, United Kingdom
"I don't know... Seems drokked to me." Sonja shook her head and poked at a scrap of exposed shoulder flesh of the pitslave in front of her. The skin made a soft squelching noise, and she quikly recoiled her finger.
"Nah, nah, is in toppy-tip condition, yes!" chriped the fat little man in once-luxurious robes - now oil staned and patched. "Will fight well, perhaps visit Moira, her service good, good as new, yes!" he added excitedly.

The pitslave blinked its one human eye - a milky-yellow affair, a telltale sign of fluid cleansing filters that desperately needed changing.

She stood back to observe it again. It had a big round buzz saw as a right arm, a bionic right eye, both bionic legs, and a large part of the torso was either fully or partially augmented. It was certainly a good price, but the parts were rusty and worn, the flesh components were succumbing to necrosis in several places, and the reactions desperately needed tuning up. She waved her hand in front of its face and it followed her movements... two seconds after they'd happened. She looked at the fat little man and raised her eyebrows.

"Is nothing, a good service, all be fine after that, yes!" - his wide grin grew.

"Two hundred and fifty" she said.

He looked like she'd shot him - "Nah, nah, price advert was five hundred! Nah! You rob me!"

"Two hundred and fifty" she repeated.

"Two fifty? Never, never, I sell just hees arm for that! Four hundred! And I not eat so good this week!"

"Three hundred. And I didn't ask where you got it, did I? Would you like me to ask that?"

His grin faltered slightly, telling her all she needed to know - the pitslave was at best with him after being lost in a dodgy card game, or was stolen - both came with the distinct possibility of future problems.

"Three hundred it is" he said glumly.

Sonja grinned and grabbed his little arm, shaking his hand, slapping a 300 cred chit into it - all she'd actually brought with her.

"Great doing business with you. Now, let's get you to Moira's".

The pitslave creaked and, she was almost sure, smiled slightly.