Necromunda

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I was a bit bored, so I wrote out this short story. There's a possibilty of a continuation in a story form or a RP, if I can be bothered getting one together . I'm not too fond of the main character's name, so it might change.

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Necromunda. The air has been polluted so badly by the fumes of the machines being used to bleed the planet dry of it’s resources, that it’s people have been forced to live in huge, towering complexes known as Hives. On Necromunda, the chief Hive is known as Hive Primus, the largest on the planet.

It is within Hive Primus that the Nobility live, right at the top of the Hive, in the Spire, situated above the poisonous fumes. Below the Spire lies the Hive city, where the general population and lesser houses, virtual gangsters, reside. It is tough and monotonous to live in the Hive City, and it is sometimes dangerous, considering it lies within the poisonous cloud, with only a wall to separate them. Even below this there lies the Under Hive and the Sump, buried beneath tonnes of ash.

Down here, there are no laws but for the point of a gun. Gang’s run free down here, reeking havoc amongst themselves. Outlaws hide out down here, with only the fear of a brave enough bounty hunter to take them in. Life down here is cheap – in both senses of the word.

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The alley was damp and dark, but for the deep glow of a fire the passage would have been pitch black.

A man stood silently, staring into a battered barrel alight with flames. His dark hair was long and hung just above his shoulders. It had been roughly tied back with a bootlace, but most of the hair hadn’t been caught and it hung loosely around his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, decked out in an assortment of armour. It had come from an amateur bounty hunter, freshly blown down from the Hive City. He had been some sort of mechanic, and he’d managed to fit the pieces together from several scrap off world combat rigs. The end result looked crude, but was in fact very effective. It had no helmet though, and it hadn’t been effective against the shotgun blast that tore off his face.

A long, tattered great coat with Flak armour shoulders blew softly in the wind. The flak armour was a thick cloth affair, with diamond shaped stitching and was designed to absorb las-gun blasts. Strapped to his back, there was a large, crude axe that looked like it had been forged from iron piping.

The man tilted his head to one side as he watched the flames flicker. His eyes never left the fire, even when another man carefully stepped into the alley. A gun was now in the man’s hand though, a custom made pump action, double barrelled shotgun and it drew bead on the man.

“Hello, Bale” He said when he was in clear view. He stared at the gun in the man’s hand as he walked forward. “Now, now friend. It was just a disagreement on Hold’s half. No need to shoot me for it.” His voice was steady, and almost held contempt for the gun, but the gun was also steady, trained in on the man’s mid-section.

“Hold made me leave, Smoke. He doesn’t need you to send his apologies – or anything else.”

Smoke chuckled “Apologies is it? I would have thought it was you who would be making the apologies. After all, you did beat the man down and embarrass him in front of the rest of the gang.”

“He had it coming. Darre and Let would still have been alive if we hadn’t charged the warehouse like he ordered.”

“What would you have had us do? We needed ammo and better weapons. The warehouse was ripe for a raid. Hold led well.”

Bale grunted “He led like a fool – and from the rear, if you didn’t notice.”

“Don’t insult his courage. He led us on many successful raids before this, using the same tactic.” He stepped forward once more.

“Stay there, and don’t come any closer.” Bale’s voice was low and soft, but it held a fountain of strength behind it. That strength came from years of survival in gang warfare. The man stopped in his tracks and lifted his chin. “I’ve brought a message from Hold.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke “Would you like to see it?”

Bale didn’t speak, nor indicate for the man to show the message, but the man nodded anyway and reached into his back pocket. The explosion of the shot gun firing could deafen most ears, but Bale’s never wavered as he fired two more rounds into the man. The man was hurled back, each round sending him further down the alley. Bale approached the body and shot one last round into the head. The skull burst like an over-ripe melon and Bale leaned down and rolled the man over, lifting the las-gun out of his back pocket.

“Hold can’t read, never mind write a message.” Bale said unto the bloody corpse.


Cautiously he stepped just out of the alley. For a long time, he waited in it’s shadow, watching the surrounding environment, before he walked on, slipping the gun into it’s holster under his jacket.

Bale had been prepared to let his former gang continue on, but it’s leader, the man Hold had seen it fit to have him killed. He’d have to return the favour. In the Under Hive, it was considered bad business to let an enemy live. As Bale walked, he slipped spare shells into the breach until the shotgun was refilled. The shotgun had been looted as well as the armour, this time taken from a nobleman’s body guard. He checked the las-gun as well to make sure if it was fully charged. He moved purposefully through the dark street, quickly marching through the dark streets. It was always dark in the Under Hive.

Bale knew where he was headed, and he had no intention of stopping for anyone or anything. A biker gang flew past him on their huge chopper’s, eyeing Bale as he walked. They didn’t bother him though, and they hurtled on. Bale ducked under the lip of the large sewer pipe and walked in. It was darker in here than on the street, but it was the only way to get around in the Under Hive or the Sump. After several turns and twists, Bale came to a large hole in the pipes. There was a short drop onto a rubble.

Bale’s eye caught site of the fire his former gang had set up, and he could see seven faces in it’s light. They had no names now, because in a few moment’s, they could be dead men. Hold was not amongst them and neither were four other men. Bale circled the seven, moving toward the one of the derelict buildings that surrounded the gang. They had left no sentries, deciding they were safe where they were. He took a one long last look at the men by the fire and then he slipped the frag grenade out from his jacket and pulled out the pin.

The grenade landed by the fire, and in the second it took the gang to look at the explosive, it blew. They were hurled back. Arms were ripped from bodies, legs stricken off by the explosion. Even while the grenade was in the air, Bale had hefted the shotgun to his shoulder, and now he was firing into the smoke. If anything had survived the explosion, they were dead now.

Bale slipped back, heading for the stairs of the building he was next to. Upstairs, he had a good view of the area. Hold would have heard the fight, and he would come soon. After several moments, Hold ran into the area, skidding on his heels to a halt when he saw the bodies of his gang. Bale fired, but Hold moved and the shot passed him. Hold dove for cover as Bale fired again, only this time Bale was aiming for one of the other men. The shotgun shells rained on the men as they tried to get to cover. Only one made it. Bale stepped away from the window to reload. He was low on shells and the shotgun couldn’t be filled fully.

He walked down the stairs as Hold and his last gang member fired at the window Bale was standing at. They were still firing as Bale rounded the corner and fired on their position, firing his last shell’s and emptying smoke’s las-pistol. As the dust cleared, only Bale and Hold still stood, pulling the triggers of empty gun’s.

Bale’s mouth turned up at the edges slightly as he walked forward, unfastening the axe. Hold bent down to pick up his companion’s chain-sword – half sword half chain-saw and took a slow step forward, eyes narrow and steady. Bale slipped the shotgun into it’s holster and placed two hands on the axe. Hold started the chain-sword, the whirring teeth humming loudly.

Hold stepped in and slashed wildly for Bale’s midsection. Bale leapt back and swung the axe downward, but Hold sidestepped quickly, and sent his returning slash for Bale’s head. Bale ducked swiftly, hammering the top of the axe into Hold’s stomach. Hold grunted, and leapt away. The blow had winded him and he stepped back again to put some distance between him and Bale. Bale moved forward though, forcing Hold back into the melee. Hold sidestepped quickly though, holding the chain-sword in front of him. Bale slammed the head of his axe against the chain-sword. The teeth grinded with the iron, sending sparks flying, as Hold’s defence was batted down. Hold swiftly twisted his wrist’s to bring the sword back up again to block Bale’s next axe blow. Hold screamed and slashed down at Bale’s head. Bale brought his axe up horizontally, blocking the teeth with the handle and kicked Hold in the midsection. Hold fell back, and Bale stepped in, slashing his axe at his head. Hold blocked one handed, his other on his stomach. He barely kept his grip on the sword as it was batted aside easily. Hold hurled himself to the ground to avoid the axe, and as he tried to return to his feet, a boot hammered into his face and his head cracked against the rubble strewn floor. It took a moment for his sight to clear, to give him a good view of the axe that came hammering down into his face.

Bale placed a booted foot on Hold’s dead shoulder and pulled his axe free of the skull. He glanced around him, looking at the dead bodies. He felt some remorse for his former gang. Scavvies would pick their bones clean of meat soon, and Bale would be an extra course if stayed where he was. Casually, he made his way to the opening in the pipes and took one final look before he entered it’s dark tunnel once more.

 

Very nice. Great characterization, good atmosphere, good job with the combat scenes, except for a couple of details. Shotgun shells at long range? Unless 40,000's shotguns are a lot differant, you might want to make them shotgun slugs.
Also, shotgun shells don't rain on their targets, only the shot or slug would.
And finally, at the beginning, you should make it clearer who's who. I didn't really know who was talking until Smoke was already dead, since you don't say that it's him in the trench coat.
But all that's minor. All in all, a great story. I hope you have a sequal lined up...

 

Skippy cool! What gang does Bale belong to? Sounds like either Goliaths or Orlocks...

 

Kam: What can I say? My knowledge on firearms is extremely limited .

El Timtor: Originally I had him drawn up for an Orlock gang, but it turned into a small un-named gang as I wrote it. BTW my knowledge on Necromunda is limited to the Kal Jerico graphic novels and little bits from here ant there.

 

Still quite good, though. I myself only played Necromunda maybe six or seven times.

 

Heh, that's a sight more than me!

 

Pretty good... I hope you will post more!

 

This is a completely different story, but in the same setting. It's totally possible for the two to join though. It just depends if I feel like doing that some time

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Red wandered down a long, decrepit corridor an old apartment building in the Sump, identical to the thousands inside the Hive City. Red was a tall man, and lithe in appearance, with short cropped blonde hair and an easy smile. He wore a long red coat from which he got his name, with a double breast and golden buttons – several of which were missing, along with the coat’s silver trim. He wore scruffy trousers and a set of well walked boots but he was certainly better dressed than most of the scum in the Sump.

At his side lay a holstered bolt-pistol, completely hand made to Red’s personal fit in both weight and size with the added feature of a perfectly moulded grip for Red’s hand. Red spun the silver ring on his finger as he walked, idly swinging the case in his other hand whilst whistling tunelessly. The case was a bulky affair, thickly covered in armour plating with the symbol of house Cattalus ingrained on it’s side. Red stopped outside one door, looked left and right and chapped lightly on the door, loosening the pistol in it’s holster as he finished his whistle. It would do no harm to be prepared.

There was a hole in the wall beside the door, and an eye suddenly appeared there to glare at Red, Red flashed a grin at the eye as he lifted the case to the peep hole. The eye disappeared and the door slid open. The mechanism must have been jammed because it barely made it past half-way before it stopped. Red slipped in side on looking for the owner of the eye. The doorman was a positively huge Ratskin Renegade – obvious due to dark red brown of his skin. He stood out with his long hair and a tribal tattoo over his right eye. Red gave him a nod as he moved further into the room. The door slid closed behind him. The place was on the verge of falling and only the desperate would dare to live in such a place. The rest of the complex would likely be empty.

The room was small, enough for a bed, a table and little else. The bed must have been taken out, but you could see the marks in the dust and dirt as to where it once stood. There was a window though, that looked out onto the street of rubble and half torn down buildings. A man sat behind the table his eyes staring intently on Red. He was bald and heavily built, with cold, dark eyes. Red gave him a lower nod, almost a bow as he approached the table. He dropped the case on the table and smiled. “As I said, I managed to get it for your master.”

“Open it.” The man said, his eyes still set upon Red.

Red had been worried about this part for some time after he had gotten hold of the case, before he’d managed to disable the locking mechanism through long hours spent with a number of tools. Red flicked the catches and lifted the case open spinning it around to show the man behind the table the contents. Eldar Mesh Armour, light and agile and strong. The man’s master must have been a collector of such rare items – and he was taking a great risk to get hold of them as well. Such a practice could be seen as Heretical by any die-hard official. He must be one of the noble houses in the Spire – only they would be foolish enough to take the risk.

It had taken Red many risk’s of his own to get hold of the armour as well. Having it stolen from the noble house Cattalus for one. Dealing with some nefarious characters from the gang houses in the Hive City to get them to help him steal and finally paying off those gangers with promises of the wealth he would get them once he had sold it. Luckily though, the plan had gone off without incident and House Cattalus had no idea who was involved with the robbery. All that was left was to get the money, pay off the gangers, go get drunk and perhaps keep hold of the cash for more than one night.

The man glanced at the armour and nodded. Red shut the case and flipped the latches back into place. The big Ratskin Renegade moved to pick up the case, but Red placed his hand over it. “The money first.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he motioned to the Ratskin who placed his hand under the table and lifted another case, smaller in size but far more desirable to Red. The Ratskin flipped it open quickly and flipped it closed just as quickly after Red had ogled over it for a few seconds. Red lifted his hand from the armoured case and wrapped his hand around the handle of the other.

“A pleasure doing business with you. Give my regards to your master, whoever my generous benefactor may be.” He smiled and turned to go for the door. He depressed the mechanism and prepared to step out before he came face to face with a stony jawed, buzz cut individual, on his breast lay the house Cattalus symbol. Behind him stood half a dozen other men. Red’s hand slammed the button again and the door slid instantly closed as a dozen shots hammered against the door.

Red dived back “Helmawr’s rump! We’re deep in the Sump pit now!” he half shouted as the bald man pulled an expensive looking lasgun from under table, uprighting it as he did so. As the table toppled, Red noticed the heavy bolter that had also been hidden under it. The Ratskin Renegade instantly took hold of it and swung it toward the door. They had definitely prepared for trouble then, thought Red as he drew his bolt pistol, swinging it toward the door as the Cattalus men overrode the lock mechanism.

The Ratskin was the first to fire, blasting into the buzz cut and the man behind him. The bald man was blasting his lasgun into the gap but the men had taken cover away from the open doorway, only slightly leaning round to take aim. The heavy bolter was deafening to the ears as it tore away the half open door and blasted through the walls. There must have been more than the half dozen men Red had seen as the return fire was massive, but none of the men could get off a descent shot as the heavy bolter was not the sort of thing you want to risk standing in front of.

Suddenly, the Ratskin was struck in the shoulder by a shot from a stump gun and his hand slipped from the heavy bolter. The Cattalus men flooded in, a dozen or more. The Ratskin dived to the side, to avoid the deadly torrent that flew at the three of them. Red followed suit, cursing as he collided with the wall. The bald man took the brunt of the bullets though, as he stood in the centre. Blood sprayed everywhere as he was hurled back, crashing into the wall with more bullet’s cutting into him. Red was on his feet again, somewhat dizzy he flashed his pistol up and blasted it at the men before they turned there attention to him. Two men fell and even before their bodies hit the floor Red had spun.

His eyes focused on the small window. He took three running steps and dove. The case was held out in front of him as he smashed through the glass. He was screaming as he went through, praying he would survive the fall. As his eyes caught sight of the ground three floors down, his voice caught in his throat. It took him the time it took to fall two floors for him to manage to utter a scream again.

He hit the ground hard, side on and there was a distinct sound of broken bones. Red almost lost consciousness, but as blackness descended, he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He slammed the piston in it’s holster and took hold of the case as he started to get to his knees, then he crawled before he finally managed to stand. He was badly injured, he knew it, but he’d be dead if he didn’t get away. He forced himself to move, as quick as he could. The leg he had landed on felt numb, and he could get little movement out of it. His arm was hanging uselessly at his side, and his head felt like it had just been sandwiched between two very hard rocks.

He could see the tunnel he was heading for once in there, there were four different tunnels he could take, and each of them split off onto four more tunnels. Red’s leg was struck by a las-shot. He barely felt the shot, but the leg fell beneath him and he stumbled. He righted himself though and threw himself through the tunnel turning into one of the split off’s. He didn’t care which one, he just wanted to get away. He chose randomly with the next one as well. Hopping along and dragging his numb foot until all he could do was fall to his belly and drag himself across the putrid tunnel floor. Exhausted, injured and coated in muck, dust and ash Red fell out of an entrance to the tunnel unconscious.

He awoke several hours later, surprised that he was still alive – dead from his wounds or sucked dry by Hive spiders - but even more surprised that his body hadn’t been looted at all and he still had a grip on the chest. He still felt half-dead though, but some feeling had returned to his leg. There was huge burn where the lasgun had struck though, and it seared with agony. Pain was good though. It meant he was alive, and he could continue to do so.

Slowly, and using all of his strength, Red made it to his feet. He stumbled as he walked, but he kept himself partially steady. He was complete fodder for a smallest child if they came across him and he couldn’t hold his pistol while he held the case, and he’d be damned if he’d abandon that.

He walked on, trying to figure out where he was, his vision was so blurred though. He desperately needed medical help – some of the richer gangs managed to employ outlawed surgeons and doctors and he knew he could find one of these. The gang who had helped him rob House Cattalus might help, but they also might just take the cash and leave him for dead. Unless he didn’t have the cash with him. Then he could blackmail them with it’s location. He’d still be at risk once they had the cash, but it was better than nothing.

With the plan in his mind. Red set about hiding the cash. Considering he hadn’t been robbed he felt sure this place was not visited regularly, and he could hide it here and feel relatively secure about it. He looked around wondering where it could be hidden. Noticing a small sewer grate he knelt down, wincing as he did so and lifted the grate up. The grime beneath it had filled up and mixed so heavily with ash that it was sand like. Red tested it for a long time to see if it was strong enough to hold the case without it sinking into it before he was satisfied. Replacing the grate into place, he placed a heavy piece of rubble on it before returning to the tunnels.

With any luck – something Red felt he had plenty of, even if it did not feel like it right now - House Cattalus would not know it was Red involved and be satisfied with the return of the armour. Red felt tired and sore as he walked but he had a goal in mind and he was forcing himself to reach it.

 

*applauds* Quite nice... I look forward to the next episode.

 

I really like this, haven't played necromunda myself but it's good. Only played 40K. Still keep it coming.

 

Even better then the first one. I can't wait for the nest installment. It would be interesting for the stories to come together, but it certainly isn't necessary. As long as you keep writing these, I'll keep reading em.