South Island Wargaming, New Zealand.

South Island Wargaming, New Zealand.

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 Post subject: Burn it all Down - A Necromunda Campaign
PostPosted: Thu Jul 31, 2014 12:57 pm 

Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 10:14 pm
Posts: 8
Howdy y'all,

Yep, it is that time. With the return of our club room the time has come for the long awaited Necromunda campaign. In this thread you will find short stories, fluff and other miscellaneous material relating to the campaign. Feel free to jump on in and post your own junk as well.

First a little background on where we are all fighting and if anyone really cares, why. I do apologize for any and all bad grammar, mistakes and just awful sounding sentences. I just whipped this up and so it will be teeming with them.

Ahhh, Primm City, hell of a place ain’t she? Neither part of the great hive, nor some backwater cesspit in the wastes below. Founded generations ago during the great collapse that saw one of the richest domes uncovered. She soon became a bustling trade center, archaeotech from the newly discovered domes streamed through it on its journey to the great hive. While guilders, mercenaries and scum from all walks of life flowed the other way, to search wastes for riches, glory or whatever the hell degenerates like those seek in life. It didn’t matter what they sought, still doesn’t, it all meant just one thing. Money.

There was money to be made, taxing the archaeotech that came through by the tons, to selling anything and everything to the wanderers and wayfarers heading deeper into the wastes. And like carrion to a corpse, corruption soon followed. The great houses would be damned if they would allow a profit to be made without having a slice of their own.

Gangers and bangers flooded the city and drowned it in blood; the houses so constrained in the great hive were free to extract their pound of flesh. Old grudges were brought to bear and there were even instances of infighting between gangs belonging to the same house. All to carve up the city for themselves, or at the least to deny it to their enemies.

Finally one house was able to gain an upper hand. In setting the other great houses upon each other and playing all sides, Delaque was able to consolidate its gains and strike their weakened rivals, taking them out one at a time. Knowing full well that they would not be able to fully control the city, they bargained with the other houses, allowing each a slice of the pie. Their five rivals would each control a small portion of the city and in return they would give a share of their profit back to Delaque. The other houses begrudgingly accepted, for even a small slice was better than no slice at all.

A sense of normalcy returned to the city. The archaeotech once again began to flow through, with greater and greater finds, and so too did the wanderers and the wayfarers recommence their traverse into the depths. With their strength returned and grudges not easily forgotten the other houses bided their time and waited.

Generations passed and the tense peace was kept...until now...

 Post subject: Re: Burn it all Down - A Necromunda Campaign
PostPosted: Thu Jul 31, 2014 1:07 pm 

Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 10:14 pm
Posts: 8
And since I am a most benevolent leader, have a short story to get y'all in the mood.

Burn it all Down
Part I

Ahkilar arched his neck and looked up past the acidic rain that had begun to fall. The slight irritation of it dug at the folds and furrows of his bald and scared head. He looked far past the falling rain, up into the deep dark murk that coalesced around the twinkling lights that denoted the ceiling for this decaying city; and he cursed.

Throwing the last of his cigarette into the growing detritus along a sewer grate, he turned to his companions and motioned for them to follow him under the cover of a nearby street stall. The vendor, selling what appeared to be counterfeit archeotech, looked up. The glimmer of hope in his eyes quickly faded at Ahkilar’s dismissive growl. Spit and Flambe soon followed him under, their great coats steaming from the vain attempts the rain made to eat away at the material.

Ahkilar nodded his head at a building a few fronts down and uttered a single word to his companions, "Soon." They both looked over at the store front that Ahkilar had indicated and bobbed their heads in understanding. They knew what was needed of them.
A scum-sucker by the name of Cohagen owned the joint and had been short this week on the protection owed to the Midget Kickers. Spit, Flambe and himself had been nominated by the boss to show their disappointment. Nothing major, for it was the little weasel's first offense; just enough to make sure that the message was received loud and clear.

And speak of the thrice cursed devil, around one of the corners leading off into the labyrinthine back alleys and dirty side streets waltzed Cohagen. Ahkilar caught the others attention, spat in the direction of the cowering vendor and left the cover of the stall. The acidic rain rolled down his pale and aggravated scalp as he crossed the thoroughfare, soaking the collar of his undershirt where the great coat couldn't protect it. As he was crossing the near empty street, the irritation from the acid playing in the back of his mind, he felt an unaccounted anger towards this Cohagen.

He was nothing but a whelp, waltzing down the gantry towards the entrance of his store, standing no taller than Ahkilar’s shoulder. He was whip thin with a balding irritated pate, face covered in countless sores and blemishes no doubt caused by the rain and the pollution that clogged this quarter of the city. There was nothing overtly offensive about the little man; he looked to Ahkilar like the millions of others packed within the decaying city. Nothing to get his nerve all played up over. However at the same time everything about him offended Ahkilar. Cohagen’s mere being was an affront to him, bile rose in his throat, his heart began to pound within his chest; he set his jaw and ground his teeth, a sneer playing across his face. Here he was, waltzing down the gantry with what looked like not a care in the world, even smiling. Ahkilar felt his blood begin to boil at the wretch’s indecency. His hand curled into a fist around the iron duster he had in his coat's pocket, the blood pounding at his temples.

COHAGEN!” He shouted, as he strode the last few feet across the artery towards the still smiling weasel, the beating in his head like a drum, the acid scalding his thoughts. The little man stopped dead in his tracks and looked up the length of Ahkilar and his two comrades, and the smile fell from his face.

Quickly wetting his lips and trying to regain some composure, “With what pleasure do I owe-” the insignificant rodent began.
He did not get to finish.

As soon as Cohagen had opened that little hole that was his mouth, the hatred Ahkilar was feeling had become too much to bear. His fist carrying the duster flashed out and connected with the weasels jaw. With cool gratification Ahkilar felt the bone snap under the blow. The little man’s head whipped back, sending out a trail of blood and broken teeth to fall on the filth encrusted gantry. Cohagen followed, landing in a heap and moaning pitifully. Ahkilar stepped back as both Spit and Flambe descended upon the mewling creature and began to beat it mercilessly.

With trembling hands Ahkilar lit up another cigarette, the anger and hatred he had felt but a moment ago slowly leaked away. Breathing deep, he turned away and looked over the few people who were braving the rain. Huddled into their coats or underneath umbrellas they all gave quick glances towards the lesson that was being meted upon Cohagen, and moved on. It was a normal occurrence that they had all seen hundreds, if not thousands of times and had probably been inflicted upon them as well. As such they were cowed into looking the other way or else receiving the same treatment, for why make life any more unbearable than it already was? There was no such thing as heroes down here. Ahkilar’s Anger flared up again; he hated them all. They were pathetic, nothing but cattle, to be taken advantage of by those who had the guts and the muscle to want more than what this cesspit had to offer. To be milked for all they were worth and then discarded.

Enough,” he hissed, as he turned back to Cohagen. Spit and Flambe stepped back and admired their work. The bleeding and bruised whelp looked up from his misery straight into the light dampening goggles of Ahkilar.

Have you learned?” he enquired of the creature, as he wound up and gave it a kick in its chest. It squealed and nodded its head in acknowledgement and tried to speak; bubbles of blood and spit forming at its mouth instead.

Good” Ahkilar said, as he began to smile, pulling upon the last of his cigarette the anger once again receding. Flicking the butt at the now immobile Cohagen, he turned and began to stride down the gantry. Goddamned, he thought, do I love this job.

 Post subject: Re: Burn it all Down - A Necromunda Campaign
PostPosted: Sun Aug 03, 2014 12:59 pm 

Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 10:14 pm
Posts: 8
The time draws close my pretties, close....

And so have part 2 of the story. Who knows I might even finish part 3 by the end of the week, eh?

Burn it all Down

Wrapped in a blanket of darkness the child cackled. They would pay, she thought to herself, they would all pay. A smile played across her scarred and broken features as she stared out from the inky blackness of a side alley to look upon a bright and gaudily lit bar. She narrowed her eyes and watched as three figures split away from the throng of patrons crowded around the entrance. She flicked her gaze back to the bar and licked her cracked and ruined lips with the stump of her missing tongue in anticipation. But it was not yet time, the voices told her. Wait, they whispered. And she heeded.

However the voices had remained quiet concerning the fate of the departed trio. The twisted smile the girl carried grew, the cackle returned, a dry rasping sound that cut through the ambience of the deserted alley. She watched as the shadows of the three figures merged with the murk and disappeared. The cackle died, a predatory smile stitched itself upon her broken features as she began to scale one of the walls of the alley. Using the countless wire and cable fixings as footholds, the scarred girl pulled herself onto the grating of a higher level gantry that would mask her movement from the countless eyes below. The heels of her bare feet beat down hard into the cold steel rungs of the gantry as she lit off after her prey.

The rain hissed and spat as it once again began to fall and eat away at this cesspit of a city.
Whisking, winding, climbing and descending, the voices whispering words of advice and encouragement into her ear all the while, the girl stalked her quarry. She could clearly make out the three figures now; two male and one female, all decked out abundantly in leather and gang colors. Ignoring the rain they had stopped underneath a flickering holo-lamp. She watched as the heavily pierced female, with a short and cruel blood red mohawk, motioned two fingers towards her mouth. The larger of her two companions reached deep inside his jacket and pulled out three cigarettes, while the smaller one materialized a lighter and struck a flame.

She looked over her marks, studying each one. Taking in how they held themselves, the gestures they made, the power that each limb held. Deciding who would give her the most trouble, who would give her the most fun, and more importantly; who would be first.

Him, the scarred girl thought, the weedy one first.

Standing at an average height he was by no means small, though compared with his current company it is all that he could be described as. His arms where they stuck out of his stained and studded jacket looked whip thin, and his pants clung cloyingly to his lean, lanky legs. Even in this dark and decaying end of the city he wore a heavy set of light dampening goggles. His gaunt and aggravated face was riddled with angry sharp tattoos that coalesced around his mouth, giving him the constant expression of a bloodthirsty leer. The fingers of his free hand were in constant motion.

He would be fast, he would be on edge, ready at the drop of a hat to deal out pain and suffering that has so often been meted upon him; all this and more told her. There would be power behind those lithe arms and the knife, or the ugly snub nosed las-pistol he flaunted, never too far from those dancing fingers. She would need to be careful. She would need to be patient, to bide her time and wait for the right moment to present itself.

Throwing the spent butts of their cigarettes down into the residual trash that surrounded a grate, the trio moved from the light of the flickering holo and continued on their way, deeper into the murk. She waited a few heartbeats before making her own way forward. Clambering past the street lamp the girl dropped from the shadows onto the now deserted thoroughfare.

The voices pounded at her skull, for they knew that it wouldn’t be long now; stab, rip, rend, they repeated, over and over in greater and greater intensity. She closed her eyes, and ground her teeth as she tried to choke back another spasm of laughter. She clenched her hands into fists, her ragged nails cut deep into her palms and the familiar warmth of blood oozed between her fingers. The voices roared and her blood beat to their tempo, hammering at her temples. It took all of her concentration, all of her will, to keep herself back; to keep herself in some semblance of control. The world went black as her senses died; she no longer felt the bite of the rain where it ate away at her bare shoulders and scalp, festering in and around her lank greasy hair. The sharp bite of acid and the cities scent of crowded desperate humanity, which she likened to the smell of rotten decaying meat, left her nose. She could feel her mind beginning to slip, when her body was wracked by a sudden spasm of pain as the voices of the old ones beat out their sermon.

Finally, appeased by her suffering, they abated to a low growl, and her senses returned to her, giving her some form of clarity once more. Her eyes opened and she and her bruised, battered and broken body focused again on the hunt.

Keeping to the darkest of shadows she ghosted the three gangers further and further into the labyrinthine slum that was the Warren.

 Post subject: Re: Burn it all Down - A Necromunda Campaign
PostPosted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 8:31 pm 

Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 10:14 pm
Posts: 8
Well Howdy, it surely has been a while has it not? So it is about damned time that I update. Engorge yourselves with the first volume of Primm's City's Newspaper.

The Bullett of Primm
Publishers: Snake Pit Press Issue: 1 Date: 48.15.98

Dome Uncovered!
Dome 337/KZ13 has been uncovered by the recent hive-quake. Already Guilder slave teams have been sent down to the breach to shore up the opening. Guilder representative, Odacious Krag, reports that the entrance to the dome should, within the week, be up to operating standards. With the rights for the salvage operation soon going out for tender.

Dome 337/KZ13 is reputed to be one of the many mining domes that were once part of the fabled Flint’s Fist Mining Company, which held one of the largest ore monopolies seen within the walls of Hive Primus. Buried several hundred cycles ago in the midst of one of the largest hive-quakes on recorded history, the dome is sure to bring prosperity back to our fair city.

Blood in the Streets
A heated religious discussion between two groups of masked miscreants and ne’er-do-wells turned bloody last night, when a fierce but quick gunfight broke out. The altercation took place down at the Level 9 Bar and Boutique and left one dead and at least two others wounded.

Krykan Jr, brother of the deceased and leader of the Hangmen, had this to say; “Those sump-sucking Wyverns, them and their holier than thou bull ****. We’ll see who is holier when my righteous fist is shoved up that Purity bitch’s ass. No one kills my scum of a brother and gets away with it.”

One thing remains certain though, there is sure to be more blood spilled between these two gangs.

Sickness in the Outlands
The outlying settlement of Reprobates Hope has been left reeling from a recent outbreak of bludlung.The sole medical practitioner in the town, affectionately known as Crazy Urma, has been swamped with cases of the debilitating disease. Though he ain’t too worried, having this to say; “Bludlung’s good for the soul see, weans the weak from the strong, eh. Why back when I was a wee lad, we’d eat bludlung for breakfast. Folks these days are just plain ol’ weak and will bellyache over nuthin.”

The disease, spores from a parasitic moss, lodges itself in the victim’s lungs and slowly suffocates the bearer as it grows. Once fully grown the red moss is forcibly coughed up by the bearer, giving the disease its name.

No fatalities are known of at this time.

Enforcers Stretched Too Thin
The South District Enforcement Team has noted a high rise in criminal activity over the past few weeks, due in no small part to the uncovering of Dome 337/KZ13. On several occasions patrols have come under heavy fire from organized criminal groups caught in nefarious deeds. In all of these cases the patrol teams had to withdraw due to faulty weaponry and being vastly outnumbered.

Sergeant Daniels, Sergeant of the Southern District Enforcer Precinct has been reported as saying; “The Southern District has too few Enforcement Officers. We are stretched so damned thin that we can barely keep the peace between two bloat-rats, let alone large scale organized criminal gangs. This is off the record, right?”

Due to these recent embarrassments Deputy of Enforcement Operations within Primm’s City, William Rawls, has promised that the public need not worry, these mistakes will be righted. It will just take time.

But how long can our besieged boys in blue hold out for?

Misogyny Abound
The Dollhouse, a home for bereaved and orphaned female children, has been attacked by masked miscreants, that has resulted in the death of one Summer Summers and the abduction of a young girl. Spokeswoman for the Dollhouse, Cordelia, says that she and her girls have been receiving all manner of threats over the past few weeks, from death threaded hate mail to hurled bricks through their premises windows.

“This however is a whole new kettle of fish.” Cordelia had to say, “We are used to the misogynistic jack that you and your breed have to throw around. But those religious nutjobs, they take the meaning to whole new level. They firstly abduct one of our girls to use as some fetished sex slave most likely and then they kill Summer. And those lazy assed pigs won’t do a damned thing about it,that's for sure; it is up to us to get our own back. And we will, you can bet your scrawny assed scrotum on that.”

The masked ne’er-do-wells were believed to belong to the religious resurgence group The Hangmen. When asked about their alleged exploits against the Dollhouse, their Senior Brother, Krykan Jr., was quoted as saying; “What of it?”

Hivequakes Nothing but a Nuisance
Over the past few cycles our beloved dome has been beset by an increasing number of hivequakes. Most of the quakes however have caused little to no damage to our fair city, doing no more than littering our city with dust. When broached on the subject, our contacts, who were in the midst of packing up and moving, reassured us that there was nothing to be feared. That, “These small scale quakes happen all the time; it is nothing more than Primus adjusting itself in the strata. Nothing to worry about whatsoever…Now, could you hurry up and pass me that tape there?”



Young Small Juve wanted for a ‘special’ mission. Tubes and Tunnels to be explored. Apply to RUFUS at Hank’s Hole.

+ + +

RAT and SKEET chef needed. Experience not required. Apply to RAPHAEL at the Silver Cloud Lounge.

+ + +


One false eye. Return to P.O. Box 34

+ + +

Have GUN need TARGET

P.O. Box 177 and 5

+ + +


Used Slave. She’s real PRETTY…or used to be, had her tongue cut out.

Free Postage via the Night Trains


Krykan Jr. regretfully announces the passing of his eldest brother, The Kraken. Father of the revivalist Church of the Hanged Men, he was lauded by his community for his charitable and kind disposition. Cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds to the torso and head.

+ + +

Krykan Jr. also has to sadly declare the death of Brother Glory. The member of the Hanged Men revivalist church has met with an untimely end, when his body was burned to an incandescent crisp.

+ + +

The Dollhouse brings sad news with the death of their long time benefactor and proprietor, Summer. She was found dead down along Martyrs Way; her tongue missing and her body brutally defaced. Members of the Dollhouse remember her as a hard, but fair matron who will be sorely missed.

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