06-04-2015, 11:27 PM
Coruscant, a verse where the wealthy and influential tread on the backs on the poor and unfortunate. From the shining towers of the first tier, to the murky depths of the seventh tier, the strong tread upon the weak. Above, the shining cities put forth an aura of opulence and prosperity to cover a corrupt and rotten core. Below, the filth and violence is laid bare for all to see. Unsurprisingly, it is the lower tiers of Coruscant that provide the most secrecy for those who wish to remain unseen. In the lawlessness of Tier 7, among crazed addicts and violent psychopaths, hidden away from prying eyes, there sits an ancient and forgotten warehouse. Once used as a hideout for a gang of chem-crazed cultists devoted to Diablo, it sat unused for nearly two years before being taken over by a vicious undercity warlord and his gang of addicts and psychos.
"The Backscratcher" as the warlord liked to call himself, is a ruthless and efficient killer, with a penchant for using spiked clubs to 'scratch' open his victims' backs. Those who don't die from their wounds are nailed to the walls of his 'fortress' and left to rot. His crew is well known for their indulgence in dozens of illicit substances, ranging from the relatively harmless 'green cigars' to the cripplingly addictive 'black-purple spice'. Those of his crew who don't intoxicate themselves at every opportunity are even worse than their leader.
Among the Backscratcher's gang, two men are of particular note. First is Mendes, a genetic experiment into the creation of super-soldiers. By far the largest member of the gang, standing nearly six and a half feet tall and weighing a whopping 200 kilograms, he is a hunchbacked giant of a man who's skin barely contains his rippling muscles. Notable for having once wrestled an escaped Ogre to the ground, Mendes had been on the run for killing six Imperial Stormtroopers when the Backscratcher took him in.
The second member of the Backscratcher's gang who is of particular note is Mansarov. Nicknamed 'the butcher' by his fellow gang members, he is a thin but well built man who wields both a repeating blaster and a vibroblade to equal devastation. A former Stormtrooper sergeant, Mansarov is well known as the most charismatic of the Backscratcher's lieutenants. It's said that Mansarov was responsible for recruiting almost a third of the Backscratcher's gang, and that he once killed one of the Emperor's personal guard, though the people who said that also said that Coruscant's lower levels are made of spaghetti.
The Backscratcher, along with his lieutenants, enjoy an easy life of robbery, murder, and rape in the lowest tier of Coruscant. With a gang numbering three dozen members, the Backscratcher's Warehouse fortress is one of the more secure locations in Tier 7. Whether what is about to happen to the Backscratcher's Gang is a tragedy or a miracle is uncertain. What is known, is that on this particular day, the Backscratcher was relaxing, when one of his guards failed to report in on time...
"Ey, boss!" Eddie yelled from atop the southernmost catwalk.. Partitions and crates were stacked up to provide the place with some semblance of different 'rooms', but the catwalks above the floor could see over most of them. From within the 'recreation' area, the Backscratcher looked up. Surrounded by a dozen gang members, each in varying degrees of intoxication, the Backscratcher shouted back. "What?!"
Eddie, one of six men currently on guard duty, glanced out of the window he was standing next to, then turned back to look at the Backscratcher. "Jason hasn't reported in yet, and I don't see Marko at his post!"
The Backscratcher scowled, getting up and grabbing his spike covered club. "Those idiots are off getting high again, damnit! Thanks for the heads up, Eddie, treat yourself to a double dose tonight!" He yelled across the warehouse as he made his way through the veritable maze of crates and wall segments. "Fuckers think they can just get high and slack off in my crew, huh?! Well, I'll show 'em why I'm called the Backscratcher!" He hollered, slamming his club into the side of the building as he passed through an old fire exit. The door that had once fit into the doorway lay on the ground several meters away, dozens of dents, puncture marks, and bullet holes covering it.
Outside, it was cold and dark like always. Despite all the pollutants in the air, heat wasn't all that prevalent in this section of the city. The warehouse's heating unit had failed years ago, and there was no natural light source this far down. Still, it felt slightly colder and darker than usual, for no real reason. Backscratcher paused, looking about. He couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, so why did he feel like something was off? Shaking himself, the Backscratcher kept moving, heading towards Marko's post. As he rounded the corner, he found it empty. Scuff marks in the dirt led off to the north, where Jason's post was located. The Backscratcher gripped his club tighter, angrily stalking forward.
So focused on finding and punishing his errant minions was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the reddish tinged spots that were trailing off to the west. So sure of himself was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the heavy footprints in the dirt just off to the side. As he walked further, he saw two figures slumped in seats at Jason's post. Bottles and needles were scattered about on the dirt, confirming the Backscratcher's suspicions. "Get high on the job will you? Fuck you!" He shouted, swinging his club down onto Marko's head. A sickening thud greeted the blow, and then another, knocking the man from his seat and planting him facedown on the ground. The Backscratcher planted a foot on his victim, and began to mercilessly drive the spiked bat into Marko's exposed back.
It was only after he's split poor Marko's back wide open that he realized that his victim was already dead. Confused, he grabbed Jason, shaking him and finding that he too was dead. Backscratcher panicked, running back to the Warehouse. Halfway there, he heard it. The loud bang of gunshots, the clang of melee weapons, and the whine of blaster fire. The Backscratcher broke into a sprint, sweat beading up on his forehead. "Damnit! How did this happen?!" He shouted at himself as he neared the warehouse. The sounds of combat continued, almost deafening now.
Galel cackled gleefully, swinging his force sword in a wide arc, cleaving one ganger's arm off and slicing into another's abdomen with lethal fury. "Fall like the cattle you are, bow before the power of Change!" He bellowed, swinging his other arm about to point his Plasma Pistol at a pair of fleeing addicts. With a squeeze of the trigger, the weapon flared to life. Ancient circuits directed power from the energy cell through the device, charging and directing a bolt of superheated ionized gas out from the barrel of the gun. With swift and brutal accuracy, the plasma collided with one of the Addicts, swiftly expanding into a cloud of deadly heat, cooking both the initial target and the secondary bystander into charred husks of men.
Okor slid his blade between the ribs of another ganger, watching with morbid interest as he keeled over and began to foam at the mouth. With a grin, he moved on to the next foolish attacker. Having taken up a position in the midst of the main entrance, Okor had cut off the best route of escape, and those who tried to dislodge him quickly found that he was not so easily moved. Intoning the names of dreaded diseases from the sacred passages of the Liber Bibonicus, Okor's fist became slick with rot. The idiot addict that moved to stab Okor soon found himself lifted from the ground by the throat. The putrid stentch of rotted corpses filled his nostrils, causing him to gag and vomit, even as parasites and viruses wormed their way into his body. As Okor tossed him aside, he felt his body convulsing as his immune system began to fail. "Embrace the end of things." Okor murmured as he swung his fist towards another Ganger.
The Backscratcher burst into the Warehouse, eyes wide with horror. A dozen of his men were already dead, and the two dozen that remained were either fleeing or hiding. Mendes, seeing his leader arrive, leaped from his hiding place and bellowed a warcry. "The 'scratcher is here!" He shouted, charging towards the Death Guard. Emboldened by their leader's return, five gangers and addicts joined the charge. The Backscratcher ran towards the fray, only to be grabbed by Mansarov. "Boss, we're boned here! We need to leave!" Mansarov pleaded as Mendes grunted in pain, his bulging muscles no defense against the necrotic power of Okor's fist. The Backscratcher paused, only moving once he witnessed Galel impale Mendes with his force sword, sending a lethal surge of Psychic energy through the brute's body.
Tartaros, ever the latecomer, stepped in through the doorway as the Backscratcher and Mansarov turned to face it. "Bang." Came the last words that either of them would hear as the Luna Wolf squeezed the trigger on his weapon. Bolter shells flew from the barrel of the weapon, rapidly scything into the pair of cowards. Mere milliseconds after entering their bodies, the shells exploded, tearing limbs apart and pulping the innards of both the leader and his sidekick. Turning from the destroyed remains of the Gang's leadership, Tartaros fired upon the remaining gangers. With all escape cut off, the Gangers found themselves falling one by one, their makeshift walls providing little defence against the assault from all sides employed by the Astartes.
Galel sat upon a crate, cleaning core off of his sword and armour with a rag torn from one of the ganger's shirts. He looked down at the floor, where Okor was busy scratching out plans and ideas in the dirt. The battle had gone well, and they had proved that they weren't weak. Perhaps they had been reduced and weakened by Omni and the collars, but they had not lost their spirit or their prowess, the battle had proven that. The Sorcerer finished digging blood out from a crack in his helmet, glancing over to Tartaros. The Luna Wolf had elected to keep watch, in case any other gangs had heard the commotion. Thus far, it seemed that either none had, or they were content to stay put for now. Either one worked for the trio. Looking back to Okor, Galel spoke. "So, we abscond with this artefact, flee the scene on a Land Speeder, and then what?"
"The Backscratcher" as the warlord liked to call himself, is a ruthless and efficient killer, with a penchant for using spiked clubs to 'scratch' open his victims' backs. Those who don't die from their wounds are nailed to the walls of his 'fortress' and left to rot. His crew is well known for their indulgence in dozens of illicit substances, ranging from the relatively harmless 'green cigars' to the cripplingly addictive 'black-purple spice'. Those of his crew who don't intoxicate themselves at every opportunity are even worse than their leader.
Among the Backscratcher's gang, two men are of particular note. First is Mendes, a genetic experiment into the creation of super-soldiers. By far the largest member of the gang, standing nearly six and a half feet tall and weighing a whopping 200 kilograms, he is a hunchbacked giant of a man who's skin barely contains his rippling muscles. Notable for having once wrestled an escaped Ogre to the ground, Mendes had been on the run for killing six Imperial Stormtroopers when the Backscratcher took him in.
The second member of the Backscratcher's gang who is of particular note is Mansarov. Nicknamed 'the butcher' by his fellow gang members, he is a thin but well built man who wields both a repeating blaster and a vibroblade to equal devastation. A former Stormtrooper sergeant, Mansarov is well known as the most charismatic of the Backscratcher's lieutenants. It's said that Mansarov was responsible for recruiting almost a third of the Backscratcher's gang, and that he once killed one of the Emperor's personal guard, though the people who said that also said that Coruscant's lower levels are made of spaghetti.
The Backscratcher, along with his lieutenants, enjoy an easy life of robbery, murder, and rape in the lowest tier of Coruscant. With a gang numbering three dozen members, the Backscratcher's Warehouse fortress is one of the more secure locations in Tier 7. Whether what is about to happen to the Backscratcher's Gang is a tragedy or a miracle is uncertain. What is known, is that on this particular day, the Backscratcher was relaxing, when one of his guards failed to report in on time...
"Ey, boss!" Eddie yelled from atop the southernmost catwalk.. Partitions and crates were stacked up to provide the place with some semblance of different 'rooms', but the catwalks above the floor could see over most of them. From within the 'recreation' area, the Backscratcher looked up. Surrounded by a dozen gang members, each in varying degrees of intoxication, the Backscratcher shouted back. "What?!"
Eddie, one of six men currently on guard duty, glanced out of the window he was standing next to, then turned back to look at the Backscratcher. "Jason hasn't reported in yet, and I don't see Marko at his post!"
The Backscratcher scowled, getting up and grabbing his spike covered club. "Those idiots are off getting high again, damnit! Thanks for the heads up, Eddie, treat yourself to a double dose tonight!" He yelled across the warehouse as he made his way through the veritable maze of crates and wall segments. "Fuckers think they can just get high and slack off in my crew, huh?! Well, I'll show 'em why I'm called the Backscratcher!" He hollered, slamming his club into the side of the building as he passed through an old fire exit. The door that had once fit into the doorway lay on the ground several meters away, dozens of dents, puncture marks, and bullet holes covering it.
Outside, it was cold and dark like always. Despite all the pollutants in the air, heat wasn't all that prevalent in this section of the city. The warehouse's heating unit had failed years ago, and there was no natural light source this far down. Still, it felt slightly colder and darker than usual, for no real reason. Backscratcher paused, looking about. He couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, so why did he feel like something was off? Shaking himself, the Backscratcher kept moving, heading towards Marko's post. As he rounded the corner, he found it empty. Scuff marks in the dirt led off to the north, where Jason's post was located. The Backscratcher gripped his club tighter, angrily stalking forward.
So focused on finding and punishing his errant minions was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the reddish tinged spots that were trailing off to the west. So sure of himself was the Backscratcher, that he didn't notice the heavy footprints in the dirt just off to the side. As he walked further, he saw two figures slumped in seats at Jason's post. Bottles and needles were scattered about on the dirt, confirming the Backscratcher's suspicions. "Get high on the job will you? Fuck you!" He shouted, swinging his club down onto Marko's head. A sickening thud greeted the blow, and then another, knocking the man from his seat and planting him facedown on the ground. The Backscratcher planted a foot on his victim, and began to mercilessly drive the spiked bat into Marko's exposed back.
It was only after he's split poor Marko's back wide open that he realized that his victim was already dead. Confused, he grabbed Jason, shaking him and finding that he too was dead. Backscratcher panicked, running back to the Warehouse. Halfway there, he heard it. The loud bang of gunshots, the clang of melee weapons, and the whine of blaster fire. The Backscratcher broke into a sprint, sweat beading up on his forehead. "Damnit! How did this happen?!" He shouted at himself as he neared the warehouse. The sounds of combat continued, almost deafening now.
------------------------------------
Galel cackled gleefully, swinging his force sword in a wide arc, cleaving one ganger's arm off and slicing into another's abdomen with lethal fury. "Fall like the cattle you are, bow before the power of Change!" He bellowed, swinging his other arm about to point his Plasma Pistol at a pair of fleeing addicts. With a squeeze of the trigger, the weapon flared to life. Ancient circuits directed power from the energy cell through the device, charging and directing a bolt of superheated ionized gas out from the barrel of the gun. With swift and brutal accuracy, the plasma collided with one of the Addicts, swiftly expanding into a cloud of deadly heat, cooking both the initial target and the secondary bystander into charred husks of men.
Okor slid his blade between the ribs of another ganger, watching with morbid interest as he keeled over and began to foam at the mouth. With a grin, he moved on to the next foolish attacker. Having taken up a position in the midst of the main entrance, Okor had cut off the best route of escape, and those who tried to dislodge him quickly found that he was not so easily moved. Intoning the names of dreaded diseases from the sacred passages of the Liber Bibonicus, Okor's fist became slick with rot. The idiot addict that moved to stab Okor soon found himself lifted from the ground by the throat. The putrid stentch of rotted corpses filled his nostrils, causing him to gag and vomit, even as parasites and viruses wormed their way into his body. As Okor tossed him aside, he felt his body convulsing as his immune system began to fail. "Embrace the end of things." Okor murmured as he swung his fist towards another Ganger.
The Backscratcher burst into the Warehouse, eyes wide with horror. A dozen of his men were already dead, and the two dozen that remained were either fleeing or hiding. Mendes, seeing his leader arrive, leaped from his hiding place and bellowed a warcry. "The 'scratcher is here!" He shouted, charging towards the Death Guard. Emboldened by their leader's return, five gangers and addicts joined the charge. The Backscratcher ran towards the fray, only to be grabbed by Mansarov. "Boss, we're boned here! We need to leave!" Mansarov pleaded as Mendes grunted in pain, his bulging muscles no defense against the necrotic power of Okor's fist. The Backscratcher paused, only moving once he witnessed Galel impale Mendes with his force sword, sending a lethal surge of Psychic energy through the brute's body.
Tartaros, ever the latecomer, stepped in through the doorway as the Backscratcher and Mansarov turned to face it. "Bang." Came the last words that either of them would hear as the Luna Wolf squeezed the trigger on his weapon. Bolter shells flew from the barrel of the weapon, rapidly scything into the pair of cowards. Mere milliseconds after entering their bodies, the shells exploded, tearing limbs apart and pulping the innards of both the leader and his sidekick. Turning from the destroyed remains of the Gang's leadership, Tartaros fired upon the remaining gangers. With all escape cut off, the Gangers found themselves falling one by one, their makeshift walls providing little defence against the assault from all sides employed by the Astartes.
------------------------------------
Galel sat upon a crate, cleaning core off of his sword and armour with a rag torn from one of the ganger's shirts. He looked down at the floor, where Okor was busy scratching out plans and ideas in the dirt. The battle had gone well, and they had proved that they weren't weak. Perhaps they had been reduced and weakened by Omni and the collars, but they had not lost their spirit or their prowess, the battle had proven that. The Sorcerer finished digging blood out from a crack in his helmet, glancing over to Tartaros. The Luna Wolf had elected to keep watch, in case any other gangs had heard the commotion. Thus far, it seemed that either none had, or they were content to stay put for now. Either one worked for the trio. Looking back to Okor, Galel spoke. "So, we abscond with this artefact, flee the scene on a Land Speeder, and then what?"