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Author Topic: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions  (Read 4353 times)

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Offline Gutstikk

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Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« on: September 8, 2010, 07:11:18 PM »
This is the campaign fiction thread for "Knuckles on Necrodermis campaign: The Ork Forum vs Necron Forum.

Hopefully you'll get a chance to fight a number of battles during the course of the campaign, and take part in several of the peripheral events. This event in particular is a chance for you to tie it all together! During the campaign you're likely to find a nemesis or two, suffer humiliation at the hands of your enemy, reap rewards for your many successes and possibly rise to glory on the backs of your allies!

What I'd like to see appear in this thread is stories that occur in-between the battles. Did your army have a long trek from one end of a system to another and find something to pass the time? Did you have to overcome a mutiny while convincing your minions that the Necron's archeotech was worthy of an Ork? Did your Necron cell struggle to awaken in time, or does your Necron Lord retain enough self-awareness to attempt to double-cross one of his ancient rivals? What did his scheme entail?

Basically I'm hoping to flesh out each of the nefarious antiheroes who take part in this campaign by collecting some stories that are set outside of a battle. Sure, there's bound to be some fists flying or circuits getting pulled, but I'd like to know what your army is up to when it isn't fighting [or in the case of the Orks, when it isn't "really" fighting].

Try to fit the whole thing into one post if you can. I believe a post has a 20000 character limit ;), so this should be more than possible. PM me if you need assistance.
« Last Edit: September 26, 2010, 06:59:31 AM by Gutstikk »

Offline Gutstikk

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions [opens 9/26]
« Reply #1 on: September 26, 2010, 06:56:44 AM »
The campaign is now open, and so to is this thread. Even if you have no desire to particpate in any actual games, please note, you are still permitted to join a team with the express intent to participate solely in the fiction element of the campaign. I look forward to seeing what all of you turn out! Direct your questions to myself, NecronCell2131, or OD from TV.

Offline Foxfire

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #2 on: September 26, 2010, 10:34:49 AM »
Apologies for bad grammar...so far this entire story is Ork (though it will lead into a Necron story eventually), so there's a lot more apostrophes than makes for easy reading.  If anyone has any complaints/wants to get through it, but just can't, pm me.  If I get enough, I'll clean up the dialogue.

Pogg and the Mealwagon   

   It had been seven of the planet’s long days since the rok had made landfall, and not a single one had passed without some form of internal conflict spicing up the otherwise uneventful day.  The lot of them had been promised proper fighting against the silverboys the humans called Necrons, but so far they’d had no luck.  Their ‘land-navigata’, Lotz, had done a poor job of steering them near where any of the action was, and Lotz was no longer their land-navigata as a consequence.  In point of fact, Lotz was actually halfway through the digestive tracts of three different face-bita squigs by way of punishment, and it would have been inordinately difficult to do his job from that position in any case.  Right now, the warband was camped just outside of its rok and waiting on the reconnoitering deffkoptas they’d dispatched to bring back news of the enemy’s location. 
   The Orks had a variety of ways to pass the time, but a widespread favorite was to go over to the Mealwagon and either grab a drink or something greasy and heavy enough to satisfy their hunger.  The Mealwagon was a rather impressive establishment, if perhaps for all the wrong reasons.  First of all, it benefitted from the ingenious idea of bringing the food to the boys, for the Mealwagon was itself a treaded vehicle, capable of bringing all the Orks’ favorite foods to the front lines in even the least forgiving of combat situations.  What was more, as far as eateries went, it was exceedingly well-armed, with four massive guns posted on swivels at each corner of the wagon’s open cabin, as well as a forward-facing lightning cannon which was kept charged most of the day to keep the fryers hot.  The cargo area, where boys would usually be seated on their way to battle, had been cleared out to make room for the ovens, grease-fryers, cutlery sets, bowls and plates needed to keep the food coming, though a trailer tacked onto the back of the wagon was required to keep a healthy stock of ingredients ready at hand. 
   This would have simply been a classic example of Orkish ingenuity if the wagon’s driver had not been a Runtherd, who in fact had not abandoned his charges, but enlisted them in helping prepare the meals of the boys.  Strangely, these gretchin were spared the usual ill-treatment by the boys, presumably on account of the fact that the main chef–none other than the driver of the wagon–was so fiercely protective of his serving and cooking staff.  True, he stomped one himself from on rare occasions, but the job was otherwise cushy enough that there were always willing replacements.  In general, though, the rule at the Mealwagon was that violence was only acceptable toward other customers, and then only if it led to a good fight.  After all, fights were good for business; losing the staff was not.
   So it was nothing unusual when an Ork walked under the tattered tarp hung over the field before the Mealwagon and walked through the mob as best he could to get to the head of the line.  He offered one of his weedier teeth in exchange for a mug of fungus beer and the promise of a few refills and took a seat at the bar which the gretchin had set up off to one side of the open-windowed serving area.  A big Ork with gnarled skin leaned in from the other side of the counter and eyed him grumpily, dismissing the grot who had poured him his first drink. 
   “Get ‘round pretty good wif dat limp,” he growled, wiping out the inside of a grimy mug with a rag which looked equally dirty.  “‘Ad it a long time?  Got no teef fer a job from da Dok?” he studied the massive pistol at the boy’s side and squinted his beady eyes at the holster.  “Nice gun.  Spent all yer teef wit a Mek instead, eh?”  The boy, finally raising his head from his drink to glower at the barkeep, snarled in return.
   “Maybe.  Whatzit to ya?”
   “Nuffin’.  Ev’ry boy’s got ‘is way.  I don trust doks meself, but da meks giv’me good upgrades on da wagon and fitted it out real good so’z I could use it fer my biznis.  Lotsa teef come in, you start a biznis.  Grots work fer cheap, hand dem teef right back over if ya scare ‘em, tho you don’ wanna do dat too much er dey quit on ya, scamper off ta sum uva place.  Anyway, dey could fit ya wit a leg wot works right, if you doesn’t spend everting on yo ‘quipment.  Speakin’ o ‘quipment, wot’s special ‘bout da gun?”  He raised a scarred brow, but the boy seemed disinterested.
   “Nuffin special, jussa slugga.  But I’m ded accurate wif it.  Got a nice holsta an all when I won a contest.”
   “Targit shootin’?”
   “Git shootin’.”
   There was a brief pause after that, and then both of them burst out laughing.  The bartender gave the boy a refill.
   “So, whaddya called, slugga boy?”
   “Pogg da Gunhand.  Prevyusly Pogg da Lame.”
   “Thought dat’d be a betta name fer ya.”
   “Yeah, well I ent gotta run so far when my slugga can kill stuff from furda away.”
   “Slugga’s aint dat loud, do, an’ dey aint dat killy.  Need ta save sum teef and get you a shoota er sumfin, if you’s gonna be dat kinda boy.”
   “Could always put me up dere wit dem big shootas.”
   “Nah, deyz mostly fa show.  Just ta keep da boyz behavin’.  Aint got no need fer a ded accurate gunhand.”
   “Huh.  Well den, I’m Pogg.  Whaddya call yerself?  I heard da Ork who works ‘ere is Gritts da Runtherd, but he’s da masta chef, an yer a barkeep.”
   “I’m da masta chef AN da barkeep.  I does what I want, it’s my ‘stablishment.”
   “Dat it is.  So, dis rok brought loadsa boyz, but dere’s a few dat stand out.  Main reason I came ‘ere today wasn’t to gab wit ya.”       
   “Eh?” Gritts furrowed his brow, now.  This Ork had an agenda...an ulterior motive for spending teeth and paling around.  Gritts had a higher tolerance for cunning than most, working with gretchin as he did, but that also meant he knew not to trust it.
   “Big Boss B’Liznaq an ‘is main crew.  Heard dat he always takes ‘is main crew down fer da battles.  Heard sum of em was here right now.  Wonderin’ if a barkeep could lemme know sumfin about who I’m followin on dis Waaagh.”
   “Wot, you want in wit dem?  Shouldn’t be too ‘ard, Boss loses some of ‘em every battle, but it ent da boyz wot get famous if datz wot you want.”
   “Tell me.”
   Gritts snarled, and then eyed the area under the tarp warily.  Briefly, he nodded in a direction behind Pogg and to the left, and the slugga boy casually turned a glance that way in answer. 
   “It’s only da Nobz wot get famous, but most of em iz here today.  Over at dat table you got da Maraudas, Nob bikas wif a bad reputashun, an dere leader, Jagga da Pirut.  Tricky one, dat.  Smarta den sum.  Dey say he became a boss fru guile, ‘stead a killiness.  Not dat he couldn’ta done it wif killiness.  Aye, he’s da big one...a full boss now, but he knows ta behave when B’Liznaq stomps fru.”
   “Wotcha know ‘bout how he became a boss?”  Pogg gave the bikers an appraising glance, deciding he was impressed before studying Jagga da Pirut.  Massive, with a vaguely crustacean-looking claw attached to his right arm, which was otherwise covered with overlapping armored plates which were apparently built as part of the claw.     
   “‘Parrently, he challenged da boss from ‘is old warband to a race...”


~Seven years ago~
   “Ha ha!  I’z da fastest in da land, nobody gets in fasta, no one kills mo’ den me!”  The six other bikers, all good mates of Jagga’s, didn’t know what to say.  The Boss was straddling his new bike just ten yards away.  There was no way he hadn’t heard, and no way Jagga didn’t know it.  One or two of them considered telling him to calm down and shut up, but the rest sort of wanted to see what would happen in answer to this apparent challenge.  “Pinca Gunga,” so named for his mechanical, crab-like appendage which he wore into battle, was a prideful ork (as most bosses were) and wasn’t above killing a boy or two to get his point across.  He could crush a Nob’s head with that claw, and they all knew it.  Jagga was the first person to ever call him out so directly.  The other bikers were either worried or amused (depending on how attached they were to Jagga as a biking buddy), but the outspoken nob had a sly look on his face as he saw the boss freeze, and his hand tighten on the handlebar of his new bike.  It was clearly a better model than what his nobs were sporting, but it was also bigger and heavier.  He had ridden with the bikers this past battle, and he had not been the first to get into the thick of it...Jagga had.
   “I’d challenge anyone to race wif me an see, if dey doubt it.  I’d dare ‘em!”  At that, the boss could not listen silently anymore, and walked his bike around, staring down angrily at the mouthy nob.
   “I’ll take yer challenge, Jagga.  You stupid git, my bike is betta den yers!  No way you can go fasta!”  Clearly, Gunga thought that his nob would know better than to actually win.  After all, the boss would kill him if he did, and then none of the other nobs would dare to get stuck in before him anyway.  But Jagga accepted his challenge, smiling toothily and indicating a long, empty stretch of road before them.  The race was on, and many boys and nobs gathered to watch it.
   The first time over the course, and Jagga beat Gunga by three lengths.
   “Yer too ‘eavy, Boss!  Can’t be fasta den my bike like dat!”  In a fury, Gunga thought about killing him, but with so many other orks watching the challenge, he wanted to make sure he had achieved a proper win before dispatching his unruly nob.  Getting an idea, Gunga smiled wickedly and stripped off his heavy armor–he hadn’t stopped wearing it even after getting his armored bike...it had contributed somewhat to his clumsiness on his newly-bought contraption–and placed it on the back of Jagga’s bike.  Jagga smiled ruefully and Gunga laughed in his face. 
   “Round two!” he cried, and quickly they raced back the way they’d come, back up the track this time.  This time, Jagga won the race by two lengths.
   “Yer still too ‘eavy, Boss!”  Gunga snarled and ground his teeth.  Pulling out his favorite shoota along with several dozen pounds of ammunition, he through these onto Jagga’s bike, and growled menacingly. 
   “Round tree!”  This time, Jagga only won by one length, and Gunga was furious.
   “Still too heavy!”  Stripping his prized claw from his arm, he put it on the back of Jagga’s bike.  They raced down the track, and this time Jagga visibly lagged...he seemed to be busy with something other than steering his bike, and the weight was dragging on him besides.  Gunga, caught in the thrill of being ahead, did not look back until he had crossed the finish line ahead of the mouthy nob.  Now he would get his equipment back and krump him good for ever challenging the fearsome Gunga’s battle prowess.  Turning around, the boss had no time to do anything but stare dumbfounded as Jagga hurtled by, tearing off the bigger ork’s head with one swipe of the massive claw, which he had affixed to his own arm on the way down the track.
   “Yer too stupid, Boss.”  Jagga sneered, and then dumped Gunga’s gear off into the dusty road.  He had no need for a souped up shoota or extra armor.  He trusted his bike with his life, he trusted its guns and its armor...he trusted its speed.  Soon, under his direction, the rest of the mob would learn the value of keeping up.  He bellowed out a triumphant WAAAGH, and the boyz and other bikers answered in kind.  Soon now, he’d give the order for the boys to save up their teeth to afford trukks, bikes, trakks or coptas.  Anyone who couldn’t catch a lift would be left behind.

   “Dat is cunnin’.”
   “Yup.  He seized control ova da mob an’ mechanized ‘em.  Dey was mo’ o’ less speed freak dere for a while, an he paid speshul ‘tention to his bikas, enlistin’ tree more an namin’ em da Maraudas.  One a da mos’ respected ork units in da system.  But when he joined B’Liznaq’s WAAAGH, he couldn’t trick ‘em so easy.  Tried ta gain control ova da whole WAAAGH, an’ when B’Liznaq was smarta’ den him, he got angry an’ challenged ta personal combat.  Dat aint so sma’t, but afta destroyin’ ‘his bike an’ breakin’ his body, B’Liznaq was so impressed dat he footed da teef fer repairs an made ‘im second in command o’ his own personal force.  Dat, an he didn’t want Jagga off runnin’ an army uv his own.  Eitha’ way, it made ‘is own force stronga’ by addin’ in da Maraudas.  Dey might even be stronga dan the Da Dredz, B’Liznaq’s personal guard.”
   “Da Dreds?”
   “Ya, da Dreds.  Dey’s da nobs in da mega arma over dere.  Dey da Boss’s personal elite.  Ride around in da Dred’sTredz wif da Boss ‘imself.”
   “Lotsa nobs in dis force...any boys?”
   “Oh ya.  Over dere you got da infantry leadas.  Dey don’t ‘sociate wif da bikas or meganobs much.  Sum boys say its cos dey ent good enuf fer da bosses’ personal squads, an maybe da Maraudas an’ Dredz feel dat way.  In troof, do’, da infantry nobs got mo’ influence instead o’ prestige.  Dey’z da heart an’ soul of da force, an B’Liznaq knows dat.  Da one wif da big sword is Baz da Butcha, da Flashgit is Trogg da Trigga, an da one wif beaky shoulda pads an da claw is Wuftoof.  Dey lead da Butcha Boyz, da Ledhedz, an da Tinskinz, respectively.  Heart o’ da force is in da Boyz.  B’Liznaq doesn’t always tote da infantry nobs around like he does ‘is Dredz, but he takes care of ‘em, pays ‘em lotsa teef an’ knows how impo’tant dey are fo’ morale.  Whole band is like a well-oiled machine, an B’Liznaq’s da Mek wot’s holdin it tugeva.”
   “Huh.  Interestin’.  So I’d be unda one uv dose tree?”
   “Yeah.  Skillz like yers, I’d suggest da Ledhedz, do' Trogg is one crazy git, might jus’ get ya killed.  Den again, if yer as good as ya say, he’ll make sure you get a shoota, maybe even a nice one.”
   Digesting all he’d heard, Pogg nodded his head and thanked the barkeep.  Gritts smiled and gave him one more drink on the house: after all, a little extra courage before approaching the nobs never hurt, and if Pogg became a Ledhed, then he’d be closer to the Mealwagon and more likely to show up more often.  In the end, it all came down to bizniss.
« Last Edit: September 26, 2010, 10:42:17 AM by Foxfire »

Offline OD from TV

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #3 on: October 4, 2010, 02:19:28 PM »
Well being a fan of fiction, I couldn't resist puttin down a couple words here.  FYI, my first match in the KoN was 'Interrupted' where the Eldar attempted to take me down.  This short piece takes place a few hours after the conclusion of that skirmish/battle.

************************************************************************

“Tell me again pointy ear, why did you and your boyz attack us?”  Big Mek Bogdurk asked the Eldar menacingly.  The Eldar, Da’qua Renia of Iyanden was hanging from the wall, shirt stained with his own blood.  He was barely conscious at this point, already going through hours of torture at the hands of a vicious Painboy and his Orderlies.

“I already told you what you want to know.”

“Oi!  That’s why I already told you to tell mez again!” Bogdurk said in a rage punching the Eldar squarely in the chest.  Da’qua Renia screamed in pain at the injury, only to the delight of Bogdurk and the other view Orks and Gretchen in the room.

“Our seer, she saw you and your kind in this system waking up the sleeping ones, the Yngir.  We had to try and stop you, you’re actions will doom us all.”  Outraged at this Bogdurk began choking him.

“What do you mean doom?!  The legends of Morgargdurlurkgulsh ardregsnikslag are lies!”

It was at this moment the Painboy decided he needed to interject, otherwise he’d loose his newest patient and the Eldar were so fascinating to experiment with.  “Bogdurk, let him go, Boss said I getz to keep da pointy ear alive, and if you’ze kill him you’ll have ta deal with da Boss.”

Frustrated Bogdurk let the Eldar go.  “Tell me pointy ear, tell me, what’s so scary and bad about dis place?  Da humies have been ‘ere for Mork knows how long, and dey never had any problems.”

Coughing up blood, Da’qua Renia looked at Bogdurk.  “The Yngir weren't interested in these mon-keigh, but they are interested by us, they are after all part of the reason why both of us exist.  The ancient ones brought both our races up to aid in their battle against Yngir.  It took millennia, perhaps longer to finally drive the Yngir into status, and if they awaken in force, the stars themselves will run red with blood.”

“You’ze be lying pointy ear.”
“Why?!  Why would I lie?!  What possible benefit could there be to lying about this?!  You are about to bring destruction upon yourselves and the rest of the galaxy!”
“You pointy ear, are lucky that I'ze don’t want ter piss off da boss, otherwise I’d slash dat tounge outa yer mouth.”

Bogdurk began to walk out the door, already dismissing the possibility that the Eldar seer could have seen the truth in her vision.  Rather he was already beginning to think about the new stuff he was going to build out of the scraped Eldar war engines.

************************************************************************

Peace
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Offline moc065

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #4 on: October 5, 2010, 10:36:52 AM »

The Mighty Green Machine Necron Cell 100111, is considered part of the most 3vil race in the Multi-verse and here you will find some of their data log entries from over the mellinia.

SupREME-10 was given the task of recording the History File for "The Mighty Green Machine" (TMGM) and as personal scribe to El-Deceivio he has ensured that the data is perfect at all time, as his Star God rules with a Grip that is colder and even more brutal than SupREME-10's Metalic Fist.

Data Entry 00000010 100111 0000 0001 -- Cell Order of Command.

CellFOCCast  Title   Picture
1001110111111  El-Deceivio (Deceiver)   
1001110111110   Dealer of Death (Nightbringer)   SupREME-10 has never been in the presence of El-Deceivio's Star God Brother, thus there is no official entry at this time.
1001110101010   SupREME-10 (Necron Lord) 
1001110101011   SupRINM-11 (Necron Destroyer Lord)   
1001110010000   Necron Flayed Ones   Unit entry being updated.
1001110010100   Necron Immortals   
1001110010101   Pariah   
1001110001001   Necron Warriors    
1001110011101   Necron Destroyers   
1001110011111   Necron Wraiths   Unit entry being Updated.
1001110011000   Scarab Swarms   
1001110100110   Necron Heavy Destroyers    
1001110100111   Monolith   
1001110100100   Tomb Spyder   

Data Entry 00000010 100111 0000 0010 -- Cell Order of Progress.

     El-Deceivio is the ultimate in command with TMGM; but there are times when he will allow SupREME-10 (second in command) to assume the field of battle on his own. These occasions are normally when the Star God is required elsewhere in the Multi-verse to ensure that "balance" for the Bio-mass races is never achieved. The third in Command is SupRINM-11 but he is more of a Close Combat Specialist where -10 is more of the tactician. -11 enjoys the killing fields a little too much at times as his hatred for bio-matter can be skewed to the point where he actually requires frequent uploads of new software in order to continue his killing spree's. -11 is the reigning Champion of the "Arena of Death" in the 200pt weight class, while -10 normally only watches the matches to enjoy the death of bio-mass and earn profit. -10 has competed in the "Arena of Death" on occasion; but his tactical genious is so envied that he is sure that his rivals generally stack the odds against him in an effort to stiffle his ever growing list of accomplishments. -10 normally travels with a host of machines from 100111 as seen below; and thus the odds of actually forcing him to ever shut down are reduced significantly.
 
     
     Although -11 does travel on his own more often, he never goes very far from his Star God so most rivals shutter even at the thought of facing him, as one never knows when El-Deceivio might engage in battle "Just for the fun of it". The Metalic Fist of TMGM has been felt around the multi-verse for quite some time now; but lately it appeaers that the number of Machines within TMGM has actually increased, thus ever more frequent encounters with TMGM should be feared and expected by all bio-mass.

Data Entry 00000010 100111 0000 0011 -- Cell Log as detailed by SupREME-10

     When the Necron Cells had last gone into stasis, they knew it would be for millennia, and therefore they took strides to ensure that when they awoke things would be as they should (perfect).  However somewhere along the line something went wrong.  The Necrodermis Generator was offline, and due to the unaccounted variables of polar shifts, seismic instabilities, and continental drifts, this piece of technology was unaccounted for. Without a functional generator, it would prove difficult for their army to repair at the speeds necessary to engage in long-term conflicts. Were such a device to fall into the hands of any other race, a succesful defense against the long-term machinations of the Necrontyr might possibly be developed. Fortunately, there was just one presence in the area with enough mass to prove problematic - that of the Orks.
     The chrome green colossus known as El-Deceivio aka 100111 0111 111, saw the flaw instantly as he awoke from status; thus he called his warriors to rise and retreive the "Necrodermus Generator". He also sent out relays to as many other Necron Cells as he could in the hopes that somehow his communica would be received and answered so that multiple Necron Cells could work in unison to not only retreive the "Necrodermus Generator" but also to erradicate the multiverse of these impudent green upstarts.
     Therefore El-Deceivio took his first course of action Annihilation/Dawn of War vs Imperial Guardsmen as he not only saw an opportunity to let the Imperium know that The Mighty Green Machine had Awaken, he felt that he needed to give his forces something to test themselves against as the Krorks would not be an easy enemy to quell in their search for the Necrodermis Generator. He decided to take control of the forces himself, and to allow SupRINM-11 the chance to show how he has been secretly developing the Close Combat units of The Mibhty Green Machine. The two forces went into the Battle as equals and it was a hard fought battle no doubt; but TMGM had 8 of its functioning groups survive while only 3 of the IG units were allowed to return to the Imperium to warn them of the impending doom.
     After that first Victory, El-Deceivio decided that he would give his second in command a chance to prove his worth and to show how TMGM could use their more shooting units just as well as -11 had proven the CC orientated units to be. Thus SupREME-10 met the enemy Harald Deathwolf in battle bonus mission 1, "Interrupted..." . This started out as a "Kill Box" as the Imperium had obviously recieved the warning from those few IG that survived the last encounter with TMGM. -10 was undaunted even though he faced not only the Space Wolf known as The Stormcaller; but he also faced Login Grimnar in CC battle. -10 proved that his shooty forces were up to the task, and although he did require a software upload after the battle, SupREME-10 proved once againg that no 1 machine is nearly as important as the orders given by El-Deceivio, and those orders were to hold out for 5 parsecs and not give up too many of the developed Necron battle stratagems to the Imperium. The Goal was to win the day and show some unity of force without giving in to the imperiums lure; thus the rest of the Necron Cells would be given the time needed to continue to self repair and eventually arrive en masse as dictated by the Star God's.
     After two Glorious Victories showing the strength of both the Necron CC and their Shooting, El-Deceivio decided that it was once again time for him to take the helm of command personally. And he would do it vs the Krorkz themselves. Thus he set the stage of battle with  Seize Ground/Pitched Battle - "It's Them" vs none other than one of the Notorious Krork armies that were easily located. El-Deceivio did not engage the enemy personally; but instead he chose to break their will by showing themm that his forces could stem the krork advance and then pound on the best krork units in sight with minimal damage. He did partake in two of his C'tan powers; but that was only to give the enemy a taste of things to come. In fact the Krorks were so overwhelmed by his presence on the battlefield that they actually ran away to get more Krorks after only 1 full round on interaction. Hopefully all of the enemies that face TMG will not be so cowardly; but none can blame them if they are, as El-Deceivio is quickly proving that Necrons are the most 3vil race in the Multi-verse. And that not only should they be feared; but that they have not been idly in stasis, that they have developed their skills on the battlefield in both Shooting and Close Combat.
     The Tablet was found, and SupREME-10 was so desperate to do the bidding of his Star God, that he puched protocal aside and grabbed a reduced force (1550pts) to try and retrieve and hold the tablet eventhough it was in the hands of some Crimson-Imperial Marines. He worked his forces very well to obliterate the enemy forces; but even though the battle went on longer than most, the Space Marines resilience had them contesting control of the tablet at the end of the battle. El-Deceivio was not impressed, SupREME-10 knows better than to take a force into battle until they have been cleared by him personnally, and been breifed as to the overall mission goals. Thus El-Deceivio will put SupREME-10 into stasis for a few battles and force more compliancy software into his system ad El-Deceivio himself regains the lost ground SupREME-10 has relinquished. All enemies must be made examples of, and nothing short of a complete victory will be tolerated, regardless of how uncanny an enemy might be. Yes, it is time once again for El-Deceivio to assert his dominance on the battlefield, and to crush enemies within his cold metalic fist.
     El-Deceivio  grabbed his 1750 pt CC force and quickly traked down the trail of those that had heard of the Tablet, some unfortuanate Imperial Guardsman got In his way; but he hardly even paused to erradicate before moving on to continue his hunt for the Space Marine General that had actually seen the Tablet. And when he finially caught up to that Space Marine General with his low tech Drop Pods, El-Deceivio made very short work of the 1700pts Drop Pod Marine force as he sent his CC machine in to stomp them into the dust. Thus El-Deceivio was able to not only secure the tablet once and for all; but he has good hope to restore the Necrodermus Generator to its full function. And he once again asserted that The Mighty Green Machine is an integral part of the most 3vil race in the multi-verse. It should go without saying that SupREME-10 was dealt with swiftly and harshly for his upstart effort to Secure the Tablet on his own, in fact, this report took longer than usual to assemble as -10 was still downloading new upgrades and software for quite some time after his punishment was dealt.


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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #5 on: October 13, 2010, 01:37:19 PM »
This will be the continuing story of AWTY Dakkatoof and his adventures on

Many decades have passed where AWTY and his roving band of orks have carved a bloody reputation all through the imperial space. Still liking to ally with Tau he also has occasionally had to give them a good krumping once in a while to make sure he gets paid well. Once he landed and wiped out an entire chaos demon army, looted the planet and left just when a blood angel army was arriving. Again AWTY laughed. His reputation grew, his name brought terror into the hearts of any human who heard his name. Soon his army was so large he soon needed space barges and multiple cruisers to move his army from one planet to another.

One day after krumping some space marines off a planet his spy grot came to him and told him the other warbosses was headin to someplace called “Morgargdurlurkgulsh Ardregsnikslag”.“Good work, here is your reward” and AWTY threw the grot a space marine bolt pistol. “Since this is such valuable information have some lunch on me” and AWTY then reached in to the pen and threw a squig at the grot. He watched for a minute as the grot kept hitting the squig with the pistol while trying to make it fire, and the squig kept trying to eat the grot.

AWTY turned and walked over to the battle wagon Big Red and asked Big Mek Gitburna what the heck was Morgargdurlurkgulsh Ardregsnikslag. Gitburna’s eyes widened and replied "Morgargdurlurkgulsh ardregsnikslag, is the fortress of ancient, terrifying power, land of waiting death, pain and destruction. The home of the undying silver boyz. It is also the place where we can find living metal.”
“So what” AWTY replied,
“Boss, if we could make our stompas and our cruisers out of that living metal we would be able to take over the universe and the rest of outerspace too”
“So where is this place?”
“Let me talk to the ships weird boy and he can get us there real fast”
Just then a shot rang out, and AWTY turned to see that the grot had finally shot the squig and was looking mighty proud of his new pistol.
“Go ahead and start the arrangements and I will get the waagh started.”
“Right boss, going there right now.”

AWTY put the prod in productivity and got the army teleported to the ships. While he was yelling and kicking he glanced over and saw the spy grot had skinned the squig and made a holster for his bolt pistol and was sitting there happily chewing on the last of the squig. AWTY yelled for him to get back to work.

Once on board the cruiser World Killa AWTY met with his nobs and the meks, telling them this waagh was about getting pieces of living metal to make a living stompa so that the waagh AWTY would be unstoppable with lots of fightin and lots of eatin. The word soon got out to the crew and the army and the waagh was born. Due to the energy of the waagh inside the ship the weird boy was able to get AWTY and his army to Morgargdurlurkgulsh Ardregsnikslag a week before the other orks.

AWTY took the lead, never being the type to join a used war, he liked to start the war and have others join his waagh. So AWTY had his army teleported to the surface of the planet. Seeing that he had not left any boys behind he and his biker gang got onto the teleporter and the mek pulled the lever. With a swirling motion and a swishing sound AWTY was teleported to the planet and started looking for trouble.

First battle report can be found here. The Orks Have Landed

After making Gitburna very happy with pieces of an exploded monolith he roamed the countryside looking for more robots to break up. He really wanted a living stompa as he was fond of the one he had on that moon near Cadia but those darn imperial guard tanks had blown it up (left a really big crater too) and he was determined to make one that those big tanks of the humies would not be able to turn into a crater.

About a week later the other ork armies began to arrive, and soon after spy grot came to pay a visit. “Boss” the grot started “one thing they is all talking about is a tablet thing that gives directions on how to make the living metal.”
“What tablet thing are you talking about?”
“It’s like a book only different, that has the secret code stuff to use to make the necrodermus generator make living metal.”
Just then Gitburna strolled up and asked “what about a necrodermus generator?”
The spy grot explained again about the tablet that was like a book only different, and that the book could tell how to make the living metal.
Gitburna looked excited, “boss we has got to find this book!”
AWTY looked at him and said “if we find this book then I want the first stompa to be named after me”
“That’s fine boss, but we gotta find the book first.”
AWTY looked down on the spy grot and reached over the fence by the squig pen and grabbed a small one. Then took a blade that he had found sticking out of his leg and threw both the blade and the squig at the grot “have some lunch” he said to the grot and walked away.

While out with a truck load of boys looking for the book he was surprised by the necrons. “Maybe they know where the book is, lets ask them” and gunned his bike towards the biggest necron he saw.

Battle Report here: Its Them Interrupted

After the battle AWTYs pain boy found him laying on the ground next to his smashed bike. The pain boy noted that AWTY was missing the lower half of his body and with a nod to the mek, with a swirling motion and a splashing sound AWTY was teleported back to the cruiser to get proper fixed up.

Gitburna was really happy and was having his boys pick up the pieces of the exploded monolith and having them carried back to the main camp. A few of the smaller meks came over and were wondering what that sound was from the next valley. Gitburna went to the top of the hill and looked. There he saw the metal warriors exiting from the ground. “That must be the entrance to their factory” he exclaimed.

Without a warboss to make things complicated Gitburna got with his fellow mek Waagut and they decided to lead a patrol to a place where they could find more of them undying silver boys. So over the hill they went, heading straight for the entrance to the tomb.

Battle report here: The Orks Are Taking Over

After the fight Gitburna found himself with more of the metal from another exploded monolith. The secret underground entrance was empty, just a big pit in the ground. “Maybe they was looking for something” he thought. “Too bad Waagut had got his cybork shorted out.” Waagut hadn’t been killed as reported, after the nightbringer hit him his cybork parts shorted out and he stiffened up and fell down. He only looked like he was dead. Gitburna had gone over to see his friend (and take his teeth before the pain boys got them) and found out he wasn’t all the way dead. Using the battery from the truck nearby he gave Waagut a shock and his parts started working again, and he staggered away. “If Waagut was a bit healthier he could help me figure out how to start building this living stompa.

He also went looking for Slingblade, but he was missing again. “I hope they sell him to the arena” he said out loud. He then went over to his new pile and sent the blue shirt nob back to the base camp and told him to move the whole camp here and make sure to bring the big pile of living metal.

On the Ork space cruiser World Killa AWTY Dakkatoof had just finished getting his cybork put back on and made to work. He ad a little more cybork than last tome but at least he could walk now. “Right then boys, lets get back down to the planet and get into the fight” AWTY spoke to his biker gang. The nobs rolled their bikes to the transporter and circled around the platform. AWTY rolled on into the center and yelled at the mek to pull the lever. With a circling motion and a gurgling sound the nob bikers and AWTY were sent down to the planet.

Meanwhile down on the planet

Big Mek Gitburna was trying to figure out how to weld this living metal stuff together. He had the wreckage of 3 necron monoliths as well as many small bits and pieces of all the toasters that they had killed. Yet no matter what he tried the stuff would not stay together. He was getting a bit frustrated that his dream of a living stompa would take longer than planned.

Just then a truck drove up and skidded to a stop just before running into Gitburn. A nob with a blue shirt got out and started yelling at him. “We think we found that book thing you was looking for” he said with a smile. Gitburna looked away from his welding project and turned to face the nob. “Where?” he asked. The nob replied “in the valley a few hills from here, but there is a problem”. “What problem” Gitburna said with a scowl thinking he was about to get extorted for more teef. “Them humies has beat us to it, and are digging it up right now”, the nob pointed in the general direction of the book, not so much as to indicate direction but to show off the rather large klaw that the nob had.

Gitburna was thinking, he thought he was thinking so hard that his brain was smoking, until he looked down and saw that he had left his burna on and had just cooked his squig. “Lets go get dat book before the humies can muk up our plans for da living stompa” all the while torn between wanting the book in the hope that it told the secret to welding living metal, and wanting to eat the freshly cooked squig. Gitburna started yelling for everyone to mount up and roll out, there was krumpin to do. He grabbed his cooked squig and jumped into the battle wagon with the flash gits and Badrukk. The whole army disappeared over the hill before Gitburna could take the first bite.

With a flash of light and the sound of running water AWTY and his bikers materialized into form. He looked around, nothing, not a single ork for as far as the eye could see. Of course he was in a valley so the hills didn’t help, but the fact of the matter was that the Ork army had disappeared. AWTY sat on his bike and wondered what to do next. Suddenly he heard booming coming from across the hills. “That’s gunfire boys, lets get stuck in” and the biker gang revved their engines and headed towards the sound of the fight, hoping they could get there before the fighting ended and they missed out on krumpin something.

Battle report here:AWTY Returns

AWTY surveyed the battlefield, the boys had got the book thing that the meks had wanted so much, yet the only mek who might have been able to use it was now being tended by the pain boys. They had told him that it was only a head wound and that they were going to fill in the cracks of his brain with grot, squig, and snotling brains that had been ‘specially mixed for makin orks smarter.

Not to mention that two of his four battle wagons were out of action, one had been blown to smithereens and the other seriously damaged. The kill kannon was still working and the flash gitz were paying some meks to fix up “their” battle wagon. The other was going to be a little more work, as the meks who normally rode in it were all chopped into little parts. AWTY also needed to find some more burna boys, they were a looney lot, but useful in a fight. He rode around looking for some boys that had gotten bigger so he could recruit some replacements for his biker gang.

He still had his old friend Waagut who had been a mek before AWTY had ever used his first choppa. Maybe he can use the book to make a living metal stompa. So he gave the book to Waagut and went about getting his army back together.

A little while later Waagut came up to AWTY, “we need the necromundus generator” he said.
“The what?”
“The necrodermus generator, it makes the living metal, and is what makes the metal boys fix themselves, and makes the monoliths work, and causes the machines to run, and makes the destroyers fly, and makes…”
“OK, Ok” AWTY interrupted. He knew Waagut could ramble on for a very long time. Once AWTY had even died of thirst waiting for Waagut to finish a sentence. “So where do we find this generator?”
Waagut answered “you know that hole we found while you was on vacation?”
“I heard about it, haven’t been there to see it myself”
“That’s where it is boss, we gots to go back and dig around some more, Gitburna left it unguarded so we could go get this book”
“Just what I like, fighting for the same thing twice, makes it more fun”
“Well boss, we should get going before the metal boys find out we have the book”

AWTY ordered the army to pack up and move, what could not be fixed or carried was transported to the cruiser. Hopefully Gitburna would be in better shape soon, he really wanted a living stompa, he had a few scores to settle.

After mining what little metal the boys could find at the last battle site, AWTY was getting anxious. He was just getting ready to out on a patrol when his other big mek Waagut came walking up to him.

AWTY looked at Waagut, “what do you mean a generator?” Waagut exclaimed back “boss, we needs this generator to make the livin metal, so we can build a living stompa, then build a whole bunch more, then take over the world, then take over the planet system, then take over the universe, then take over….” “OK, OK, I get it” AWTY interrupted, he remembers he once died of thirst listening to Waagut talk, that mek could go on and on about something. He had even seen regular meks shrivel up and mummify while listening to him.

“I is goin to go look for it now, you stay here and make sure all the repaires get made to the stuff” AWTY directed. Then he drove his bike, followed by his nob gang into the sunrise.

Waagut looked around and got to wondering how to make it all work. He got the battle wagons working and made sure the various boys were paintin stuff red, and was about to start on a project. When the spy grot came into the camp. The spy grot asked where AWTY was and got told he was away. So the spy grot expecting lunch went up to Waagut and started talking.

“Dem humies has done found the generator, and those eldar are the responsible parties.” Waagut knew, as he was wise for an ork, that the pesky eldar were always meddling in the affairs of waaghs, and often times made them go the wrong way. So he asked the grot where, and was told. Waagut then without paying the grot a lunch went over to the shop and made a radio message.

The Tau had been looking for AWTY to hire him again, this time Waagut hired the Tau. “If you help us gets the generator, we will help you fight the dark eldar that are bothering you” he said over the radio.
“We will assist you now, with your promise to help us later” said the Tau commander. “We will be planet side in mere moments, please send the coordinates. Waagut typed in some numbers from the top of his head where he figured the spy grot had mentioned, and then turned off the radio. As he stepped out of his shack he tripped on a guard squig, so he kicked it and it went flying towards the spy grot. He thought for a moment that the grot looked far too happy for a grot about to get eaten by a squig.

“We can’t wait for the boss, we needs to get there now, mount up and ride” he yelled. The whole camp was mounted and over the nearest hill before anyone could see the spy grot pull a bolt pistol and shoot the squig. Spy grot knew there would be no one to bother him for a long while, he was going to enjoy this lunch.

Battle Report Here: Orks Get A Generator

After the battle while Waagut was readin instructions and the generator was making necrons one by one, and the boys were standing by killing them as they came out. AWTY and his nobs drove up and asked what had happened. Waagut explained he took the army and borrowed the Tau, who AWTY now owes a favor to, and got the generator. Waagut would have spoken at great length to get the point accross, but AWTY interupted. "So builds me a stompa now!!" AWTY yelled, "and I wants it named after me cuzz it was me who got all the stuff so the meks like you could build me a living stompa." He paused and looked around, all the other orks were looking at him, AWTY decided he had been hanging around Waagut too long and was starting to say too much at once. So he yelled at the top of his lungs so that even the necrons could hear him, "GET TO WORK!"

There was a flurry of activity as all the meks started moving and banging around pieces of metal. AWTY was satisfied for now that his living stompa was under construction.

Continued in the next thread (exceeded size)
Here
« Last Edit: October 30, 2010, 04:29:13 PM by SKEETERGOD »
"It needs but one foe to breed a war. And even those who have not swords can still die upon them" (Lady Eowyn)
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Offline Hekkastor

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #6 on: October 14, 2010, 07:21:19 PM »
Here's my little entry to this already great thread. Hope you enjoy.

Big Mek Droppkicka was having a very, very good day. His smile formed an off-white wall of fangs and tusks, the type of smile that told the other boyz to stay a good three hundred yards away from his workshop in fear. Today was Race Tuesday, regardless of the fact that this particular day was actually a Wednesday, because Big Mek Droppkicka didn't care so long as he got to drive at mind-melting speeds.
His bulbous muscles propelled him forward with a speed that would have made an Eldar blink and do a double-take. His eyes, red dots of pure destructive glee focused their attention on the the place he had called home. It was a semi-functional Trukk, loaded with a bit from every army he had ever fought, and then some. The open top of the trukk spewed fumes equal to stench with those of Nurgle himself, and the fires of a ramshackle forge ate at their coals eagerly. On his cluttered workspace stood his greatest achievement, a skateboard.
The chunk of industrial metal had fully rigged tank tracks, and a motor, surprisingly small and efficient by Ork standards. The Big Mek had even found some powerful gun to rig onto his vile creation, and a he went as far as to add a miniature deffrolla to the front to take care of those pesky little Gretchin and snotlings. When all was said and done, the thing was as long as a human surfboard  and as bulky as a Space Marine bike, but it could tear through terrain at one hundred and twenty miles and hour, and that's all that mattered.
Droppkicka's boots would be strapped down, and he placed a well shot bolt through his footgear and between his toes, to further anchor him to his ride. Last Race Tuesday (which had been yesterday, and hence actually a Tuesday), he had fallen off his board and gone flying for a good hundred yards, which had been fun as all hell until he landed. No repeating that, he figured. Not until he could find a way to not land. He would work on it.
The fellow boyz, excited to know that it apparently Race Tuesday again, ran back to their on huts, and brought out anything that wheels and a motor attached to it. Crude segways, scooters, skateboards and the traditional Ork bikes coughed unholy fumes in preparation for a stampede of insanity.
From inside a stationed battle wagon emerged the gang's pseudo-boss, Dakka Hawk burst forward with the original Ork skateboard, prepared to wage hell against anything that happened to stand in his way. His form, as bulky as those of mega armored nobz by his sheer muscle mass, stood a good nine feet tall, and his shoulder span was large enough to hold a rack of mismatched, bloody trophies. His cybork body surged forward, his pistons emitting steam. He was more than prepared to take the title of grand champion racer again, and his Klaw clenched and unclenched in anticipation for the upcoming fun.
Dakka Hawk and Big Mek Droppkicka decided that organization was for puny humans, and without further delay, started racing. The fact that not of the Orks were on a starting line, and that a race hadn't been declared quite yet, or even that there was no agreed upon finish line, didn't register in their heads for a moment.
Wave after wave of greenskins tore their vocal cords screaming into the winds as each blasted forward at inhuman speeds in any direction their vehicles would take them, order be damned. Voice after voice ushered forth a maniacal parade of adrenaline-drugged fury that blasted across the surface of the dust plane where they had made their temporary home.
Adrenaline surged, and every Ork mind in the vicinity blanked and was caught in the tide of a speed obsessed mentality that pushed them forward and forward, to speeds greater than what any ramshackle vehicle such as theirs could ever achieve. Ramping off of any object they could find, grinding on any rail unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity, creating glorious tricks and flips far above the ground, the Speed Freak showed no signs of stopping.
Dakka Hawk thrust his body into a triple flip, exhilarating vertigo gripping his body until he slammed back down to the earth with flawless form. Again and again, he soared to mind numbing heights, blasting bullets into the open sky in ecstasy. he felt the winds shred into his skin, and felt the harsh fingers of industrial fumes grab hold of his clothes. From his iron lungs, he let forth a roar that would frighten a sound marine. Without any thought in the world, he hammered his way past his obstacles, his eyes smarting from airborne debris.
Neither the Dark Eldar nor the Legions of Chaos could dream to achieve such simple minded, all consuming joy. Truly free, and the Orks tore into the planet, scaring it with wanton destruction and their sadistic love of simply smashing amphetamine parrot to pieces.
Ruins were desecrated, buildings smeared off their foundations. Plascrete and plasteel gave way and broke under the hadns of the Ork horde. Only after this senseless

A Necron Lord slammed his palm onto his forehead, and let out a foulr stream of curses that none of his lobotamized soldiers could understand. Why was it that he could never campaign against unprotected hive cities? This was going to be a hard fight, and one that he knew the orks would enjoy much more than he would. But the Nightbinger's word was law, and the Necron Lord dared not disobey.
This planet would be left a violated, ruined husk by the time this war was over. That, at least, the Necron Lord could look forward to.
Amazed, he watched as the Ork cult's leader rose ever farther of the ground. Even from a mile off, protected and hidden by Necron archeotech, he heard the Dakka Hawk's battle cry, an insult hurled at the Necron Lord himself not that Dakka Hawk cared if his adversary even heard it.
the Orkish voice rung clear as day: "I'MMANA BITE YER SHINY METAL ASS!"

« Last Edit: October 14, 2010, 07:27:45 PM by Hekkastor »

Offline OD from TV

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #7 on: October 16, 2010, 01:10:40 AM »
You can't have a good campaign without some stories to go along with it, so here, in commemoration of my battle earlier today is another tasty bite sized Fiction piece titled "Mek Civil Waaagh or Da’qua’s Escape"

************************************************************************

   “URG!  I grow tired of asking you Pointy Ear, WHY DID YOU COME ERE!” Bogdurk again bellowed into the tortured ear of the once proud Eldar.  It had been days since he had been captured, and were it not for a ‘friendly’ Painboy (if you could call a Painboy friendly) he would have certainly died long ago.

   “I’ve ... already...told...yo u,” he said gasping for air between the blood pouring over his mouth.  “Please, kill me.”

   This statement was not lost in the mind of the Big Mek and the gears began to turn further in his mind.  “You want to die Pointy Ear?  Before I let you I think I’ll take that shiny.”  With that he grabbed at the Soulstone Da’qua Renia had taken to wearing on his belt, but Bogdurk at that moment took more than Da’qua’s dignity, he took his only hope for his own survival from She Who Thirsts.

   “Oh you wan dis back Pointy Ear?  Well why don’t you - ” Bogdurk was interrupted mid sentence as an explosion rocked the building he had taken as his headquarters.

   “OI Whats goin on!” Bogdurk shouted.  Scarcely a moment went by before another explosion rocked the ground they stood upon.  A horribly unlucky Grot quickly ran in and screamed “We’ze unda attack!”

   The Grot was unlucky as Bogdurk’s immediate reaction was kicking him into the air head first into a wall.  “I know’ze we unda attack!  WHO’ZE Attackin us!” He screamed at the unconscious Grot.

   Just outside a massive kannon shot screamed thru the air before exploding into the wall of Bogdurk’s newly acquired home and workshop.  Da’qua Renia unfortunately was chained to the other side of this wall and subsequently was buried in the debris.  However unfortunate for the Eldar, Bogdurk could now see that they were being attacked by his fellow Orks led by a rival Mek, Skablarg.

   “What!  Skablarg!?  You stupid git!  I taught you everydin about bein a Mek.  I can’t wait ta stomp ya with my new Toy!”  Bogdurk quickly ran down the stairs to his still unfinished Meka Dread not noticing Da’qua Renia moving out from under the bricks.  Clutching onto the Soulstone left on the floor, he grabbed a Shoota and went to make his escape.

************************************************************************
Peace
~OD


***EDIT/New Post:
Not wanting to double post, this is My mission 3 Fluffy-ness, Da'qua's Discovery

************************************************************************
Da’qua Renia crept up the mountainside, hoping that he didn't run afoul of any more Ork patrols.  Earlier he had tried the Shoota he had stolen only to find that it didn't work.  He hoped his kin would return to do battle with the Orks again soon, they were getting too close.  The fight between the two Ork rivals was at least entertaining, but very short lived.  Da’qua Renia knew that something important must have happened for the Orks to stop fighting each other, and he wanted to know why.

He had followed them close as he dared, his chameleon cloak long ravaged with bullet holes and torn patches that he wouldn't risk death or worse re-capture by being careless.  When the Orks brokered their peace they speed thru the mountains as fast as their ramshackle vehicles could, with many Orks following as fast as they could on foot.  When Da’qua Renia finally peered over the mountain top he was shocked at what he saw.

The valley was covered in impossibly old ruins, dating back to the age of the Old Ones, and the Ork bodies lay piled about while foul Nurgle Deamons played with their corpses.  In the distance he Da’qua Renia saw Bogdurk and a bunch of his Orks running towards a pedestal.

"Oh no." Whispered Da’qua Renia, knowing that whatever secret knowledge contained there would be priceless to the Orks, and devastating if the forces of Chaos learned it's secrets.

"Come on Boyz!  Its just up ahead!" Screamed Bogdurk as he and his Boyz ran thru the ruins towards the pedestal.  Sitting atop was an ancient tablet almost glowing with mysterious power.  He was so focused on that tablet that he almost didn't notice the large shadow over head or hear the flapping of undead wings.  He did however observe the maggots which fell on top of him as the Deamon Prince dive bombed into the Orks.

Millennia ago his name was Gabriel Botacha and fought side by side his brother legionnaires in the Great Crusade, but that was a lifetime ago, back when he was little more than a Space Marine.  He was more Plague than man now, with diseased leathery wings growing out of his back, pustules always bubbling and bursting across his body, and a maw ever flowing with crawling maggots of misery.  He smiled as he cut down the Orks like they were wheat in a field.

Bogdurk, baring witness to the carnage and realizing the futility of his charge decided that he didn't want to die just yet.  Activating his experimental teleportation device he had cobbled together from looted bits of Warp Spider and Necron bodies, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a swirling mass of chaos, colors that bled from one to the next while warp-spawn swam about and around him.  One particularly foul looking warp-deity barely had time to look at the Big Mek before the two collided in the Immaterium.

Da’qua Renia almost smiled at the scene of carnage, witnissing what he thought was Bogdurk's death at the hands of the Deamon Prince.  He knew he didn't have much time and needed to make contact with his fellow Eldar to launch a strike against the Death Guard to retake and destroy the artifact.  At that moment he felt the hairs on his skin stand to attention, and heard the familiar thrum of a Warp Jump Generator about to disengage into real-space.  He turned and saw the flash of blue electricity surge about as Bogdurk escaped from the Warp screaming with steam rising from his body.  Bogdurk ran, cursing in strange alien tounges straight into a tree.

Da’qua Renia looked at his former captor convulsing on the ground not knowing exactly what happened.
« Last Edit: October 23, 2010, 02:57:35 AM by OD from TV »
Truly beautiful work. That's the kind of stuff that makes a true mekanik cry tears of joy.
OD, you once again prove that your are still the freakin Da Vinci of plasticard

Offline SKEETERGOD

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Re: Knuckles on Necrodermis - Campaign Fiction Submissions
« Reply #8 on: October 30, 2010, 04:25:55 PM »
(continued from above as it exceeded size limit)

Construction of the living metal stompa went at an amazing pace. Every time a new necron warrior came out of the generator it was immediately tackled by a few boys and thrown into the special melting pot that had been made according to the instructions read by Waagut. The fresh new metal was then poured into small pots and poured over the larger pieces of former monolith that had been recovered from the field. This technique seemed to weld the stompa together nicely, as well as make all the know whats, thingies, gadgets and gizmos required for the internal workings. The living stompa was being born.

After a few weeks that seemed like a month the stompa was ready and Gitburna wanted to take it for a test-drive. Therefore, with it fully loaded the living stompa went out for trials. With only a small learning curve the many grots and meks of the crew soon had it walking, and the various gun crew soon figured out how to aim, fire, and reload the various weapons. Launching the death coptas took a few tries, but with enough volunteers there were soon some successful launches. The surviving volunteers then became special crew of the stompa, and with a little training learned how to direct fire from the guns without getting blown up themselves.

After a week of trials AWTY grew impatient and ordered the army onto the cruiser so that he could get back to finding out where the space wolves were and take over their planet. The majority of the army went back to the ship using the teleporter, however some of the larger units had to be picked up by transport. With most of the army already on the ship, all that was left was one more load, the stompa.

The stompa with its fresh crew, fresh ammo, and a large stock of spare parts and being driven by Gitburna the stompa was ready to get loaded. Gitburna looked around at the empty mek yard, most of it had been either loaded on the ship or was inside the stompa. He climbed into the commanders seat and with a loud growl and a few kicks got the stompa moving to the landing zone.

Battle Report Here: The Stompa

AWTY paced back and forth across the bridge of the World Killa. “Where is dat mek, and what did he do wit my stompa?” The ork bridge crew were silent. The weird boy moved some levers and dials, “Boss, the undying metal boys done blew it up.” AWTY turned red, which is very hard to do with a green skin, but he did it. He moved to the viewer and looked at the picture the weird boy had on the screen. There he saw the necrons moving off the field and the wreckage of the stompa laying scattered across the area. The body of big mek Gitburna lay on the ground a little ways away, surrounded by 5 wrecked destroyers.

AWTY was despondent, for the second time in his life his dreams of universal domination had been thwarted. First were those cursed space wolves, and now his big mek couldn’t even drive the stompa to the landing pad so the shiney boys had blew it up, just like the space wolves did the last one. AWTY was about to start killing his bridge crew when he heard a voice. “We can rebuild it boss,” came the voice of Waagut, “we still gots da book.” AWTY turned green again, without even pausing to swallow the bile that had been rising in his throat he yelled out “Right boys, back to the planet we got some shiney metal to krump, and if Gitburna ain’t all da way dead, I is gonna kill him.”

And so the waagh on Morgargdurlurkgulsh Ardregsnikslag continues. A waagh that would make any normal ork happy, but AWTY wants to krump those space wolf marines and eat their hearts, and use their bones as tooth picks. That will have to wait, as there is still a living stompa to build.


The End...

For Now, BWAHAHAHAHAHA...sno rt
« Last Edit: October 30, 2010, 04:30:27 PM by SKEETERGOD »
"It needs but one foe to breed a war. And even those who have not swords can still die upon them" (Lady Eowyn)
     We orks are not about being the hero; We orks are about being the mob.
                         
Quote from: angel of death 007
Skeetergod: (adj) A crazy fascination for all things combustible mixed with an unhealty lust for red paint. see also Speed Freak

 


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