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Author Topic: Die by the Sword  (Read 1859 times)

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Offline Underhand

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Die by the Sword
« on: February 18, 2012, 12:17:56 PM »
Set in the Underhive of Hive Primus, Necromunda.

More to come.

Comments and criticism sought.  There hasn't been enough of that in this thread lately.


========================================================

Grendel glared around at the fearful occupants of the dingy room that was the front bar of Kurlar's Hole. He slammed Sutler's head down onto the grimy metal lounge table a second time. 

"Either one of you little cowards tells me who took the cargo, and where it is now," he said, drawing his stub gun with his right hand, pressing the barrel against Sutler's neck "or I'm going to take your little friend here, and I'm going to beslubber him."

The threat was met with pensive looks and uncomfortable shuffling, but no answer was forthcoming.

"Right.  Count of three!" He banged Sutler's head on the table once more. "One!"

"Somebody tell him!"  Sutler whimpered, blood snorting out from his nostrils. Grendel slammed the butt of the stubber into Sutler's right kidney.

"Anyone have something to say? Fine!" Sutler's head smashed into the table a fourth time.  "Two!"

"No one here took your stupid cargo, Grendel." said a voice from the back of the bar "You're wasting your time."

Grendel shifted his glare in the direction of the voice, the bystanders in between scattering out of the way like mice, to reveal the speaker,  the grey bearded Orlock, Clade Bolt.  Standing still as a statue, he was  dressed in the grease stained factorum overalls that were the default uniform of the members of the partially legitimate criminal enterprise who called themselves the Boltmen.   His callused  hands were hooked into the low sung tool belt at his hips which held screwdrivers, socket wrenches and his signature boltpistol.

Grendel's glare bore like a diamond tipped rock cutter into the eyes of the Orlock "Then tell me who did, Clade." 

"I don't know, Grendel." Bolt replied, meeting Grendel's gaze, glare for glare.

Ordinarily, entering a Gang controlled drinking establishment and brazenly beating a junior member of the gang to a pulp as Grendel had been doing to Sutler for the last few minutes would be considered an elaborate way of committing suicide, but the current circumstances were not normal. 

For once, Grendel was operating in a semi legitimate capacity in service of a Guilder, and had been given a Guild badge as a mark of that authority.  Killing an agent of the Guild would always be seen as a challenge to the authority of the Guild, warranting swift  retribution in lieu of payment of the blood price of the dead agent.  And while in Grendel's case, that price would not be high, and probably easily affordable by Bolt, his death would raise questions as to why he was even at the establishment at all, and whether there was more to his killing than simple retaliation against an unprovoked attack on a gang member.  And if Grendel's suspicions were correct, then those were not questions that Bolt would want to have to answer.

When no answer was forthcoming from anywhere else, Grendel reverted back to script.

"Three!  Too bad Suttler!"  Grendel's ham like left fist gripped the rear of Suttler's overalls, ready to rip them apart.

"Clade!"  Sutler squealed in panic.

"That will do Grendel!" Bolt's right hand hadn't strayed even a centimetre toward the boltpistol at his hip, but legend told of dozens of dead men with gaping holes in their chests who had never seen that right hand move to that boltpistol.

Grendel fixed his gaze on Bolt, the stub gun in his right hand still pressed against Sutler's neck, his left fist, filled with the heavy cloth of Sutler's overalls, twisting slowly, causing a button to pop off at the hip.

"Give me a name."

"Pag Blackface."

"He's one of yours."

"Not for a while now.  He was unreliable.  No one has seen him in the last three days, since before that Guilder convoy got hit.  He could be your man."

"Where?"

"As I told you - no one has seen him."

"Then you're giving me nothing." the fabric of Suttler's overalls began to tear.

"He had a few friends, and no one has seen them either.  They knew the Blackrat Pits well." Bolt's gaze never left Grendel's eyes "I have nothing else I can tell you."

"The Blackrat Pits.  Thank you Clade."  Grendel pulled Suttler up from the table, positioning him between himself and Bolt's boltpistol.

"Get the beslubber out of my sight Grendel."  said Bolt, the thumb of his right hand gently stroking the trigger guard of his boltpistol in a calming fashion "If you come back here, you'll beslubbering regret it."

"Rest assured,  Clade," Grendel snarled, manhandling  Suttler with him towards the door of the bar "If I don't find anything at the Blackrat Pits, I'll be coming right back here, and we'll see who has something to regret."

"You wouldn't be talking like that if you didn't have that badge."

"But I do have the badge, Clade."

He threw Suttler to the floor and strode out of the bar.  Towards the Blackrat Pits.
« Last Edit: February 18, 2012, 07:40:49 PM by Underhand »

Offline Hanith

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #1 on: February 18, 2012, 01:36:52 PM »
Not a bad read at all. My only problem is:

Quote
Still dressed in the grease stained factorum overalls that were the default uniform of the members of the partially legitimate criminal enterprise who called themselves the Boltmen, he stood like a statue, his hands hooked into the low sung tool belt at his hips which held screwdrivers, socket wrenches and his signature boltpistol.

That sentence needs broken up into something a bit more readable. As before, that is my only complaint; besides that, it is some good fiction that would do well to have a follow-up.
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Offline The Nightwalker

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #2 on: February 18, 2012, 06:56:23 PM »
I like it. Well written, and interesting. I will be looking forward to the rest of the story.

Offline Underhand

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #3 on: February 18, 2012, 07:43:55 PM »
Not a bad read at all. My only problem is:

Quote
Still dressed in the grease stained factorum overalls that were the default uniform of the members of the partially legitimate criminal enterprise who called themselves the Boltmen, he stood like a statue, his hands hooked into the low sung tool belt at his hips which held screwdrivers, socket wrenches and his signature boltpistol.

That sentence needs broken up into something a bit more readable. As before, that is my only complaint; besides that, it is some good fiction that would do well to have a follow-up.

Thank you, it felt a bit clunky to me too.  It's changed now. 

Glad you like it.

Offline Guildmage Aech

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #4 on: February 18, 2012, 08:03:12 PM »
Good story, was just getting into it at the end thou. I do like necromunda spin off stories.
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Offline jeffbarkley

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #5 on: February 22, 2012, 12:30:14 AM »
Liked the story..Very well written.

Offline Underhand

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #6 on: February 26, 2012, 08:07:05 AM »
Thank you gentlemen.

Next bit.

Comments and criticism sought.


Grendel stepped out of Kurlar's Hole onto the ill lit, irregularly paved, puddle filled mess that was Watergas Street.  Splashing through the dirty street water, his right hand gripping the hilt of the cutlass sheathed at his hip, he barged past the motley throng of traders, con artists, slaves and urchins who clogged the thoroughfare.  Shoving aside those who were too slow of foot or wit to move out of his path of their own accord, he made for the corner where Watergas street intersected with Crackmouth Lane.

=====================================================

On that corner, Kelan Cotreck, underfixer for the Water Sellers guild, struggled to unjam a faulty battery from one of the many malfunctioning streetlights which ran the length of Watergas street.  A  powdery green acidic discharge spattered onto his heavy work apron and protective goggles as he yanked the jammed battery fee.   Grendel stomped past him. 

Without breaking stride or acknowledging Kelan in any way, Grendel muttered a single word as he passed.

"Bolt."

Hidden behind the dark tint of his goggles, Kelan's eyes flickered toward the still open double doorway of Kurlan's Hole, from which several faces peered out, following the passage of Grendel across the busy street and as he disappeared up Crackmouth Lane.

Keeping one surreptitious eye on the doorway, Kurlan selected a new battery from his satchel and rammed it home, bringing the streetlight back to life.

====================================================

Inside Kurlan's Hole, the front bar room was filled with noisy, confused chatter, the excitement and relief following Grendel's intrusion and the confrontation with Bolt adding to the volume.  Boltmen, hastened through the crowd,  some towards the crumpled form of Suttler, others, with weapons drawn towards the open doorway through which Grendel had just exited.  Only Bolt hadn't moved, standing silent at the same spot where he had confronted Grendel a minute before.

He stood imobile, like a ferrocrete pillar, one hand at his right hip, thumb tapping on the handle grip of his boltpistol, the other stroking his beard in thought.  Furious at the sleight of Grendel and furious with himself, he gazed into the middle distance, the cogs and gears within his mind whirring into overdrive to make sense of this new development and to work out his next move.  His thoughts gathered, his plan made, he stepped towards another of the grimy metal bar tables and slammed the palm of his callussed right hand down onto it with force.  The sonorous ring of the impact caused every head in the dimly lit room to turn towards him.

"Listen up!" He shouted at the now silent crowd "If you're not with me, then get out! Now!"

Chairs were overturned, and cups and tankards were knocked across the floor as every occupant of the room who wasn't a Boltman scampered for the door.  Bolt paused to let the room clear.  His glowering eyes chasing the last of the civilians, who was actually the barman of the establishment, out the door. 

In a voice that was lower in volume, but still piercing with intensity he addressed the Boltmen.

"Gizzler and Fraker, "   he said, pointing to two of his men who were kneeling over the unconscious body of Suttler.  " get him out of here and get him patched up.  Pogger and Klem, stay here.  The rest of you, pack up, go home, and get strapped.  We meet up at the factorum in two hours."

Gizzler spoke first, bitter anger tainting every word.  "We are going to kill that bastard, right Boss?"

"He'll get what's coming to him," Bolt snapped  "and you'll bloody well  shut up and do what I told you to do."

Gizzler quailed under Bolt's glare and nodded in acknowledgement "Yes Boss.  I didn't -,""

Bolt smothered the fire of anger which had momentarily exploded all over Gizzler.  Anger clouded judgment, and lead to bad decisions, and he was coming to think he had already made enough of those in the last few days.  Calmer, he said back to Gizzler "I know you didn't.  How is he?"

"Not great."

"Alright, get him to the Doc.  The rest of you get going."

The rest of the Boltmen made for the door and scattered onto Watergas street.  Gizzler and Fraker picked up Suttler, a viscous mixture of blood, saliva and snot dribbling from his mouth and nose, staining the front of his overalls, and carried him outside.

Only Bolt, Klem and Pogger remained after they left.   Klem, the largest of the Boltmen took up position at the double doorway of Kurlan's Hole, bolt pistol in hand.  He closed the doors to only a crack, leaving just enough room to see out down the street in both directions.  He peered intently outside looking for anyone watching the building  "We can't let that go unanswered, Clay.  That bastard can't come in here and do that to one of ours.  He has to pay."

"All we have to do is sit tight for another two days." said Bolt, failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice "If Grendel is stupid enough to come back here, then I'll blow his heart out the back of his chest myself.  Otherwise we don't have to do a thing.  He must have less than six months left before he's a dead man anyway."   

Pogger, Bolt's second in command spoke.  "Either way, what about the cargo?"

"We aren't leaving it here.  Help me bring it up from downstairs." 
« Last Edit: February 28, 2012, 04:55:49 AM by Underhand »

Offline Mithami

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Re: Die by the Sword
« Reply #7 on: March 6, 2012, 06:22:45 PM »
As usual, I don't have much to critique about your work, Underhand, very well written, very well done. Don't really have anything to suggest, but if I do later, I'll let you know. Good work.  ;)

 


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