06-12-2015, 09:12 PM
Tartaros followed the rest of the group through the gate, occasionally stopping to shift scrap and the occasional body into one of the many pits scattered around the outside of Backscratcher's burnt factory-turned-fortress. Even the lowest of these little bastards deserved some kind of burial...
During their slow journey through the wastes, it seemed oddly silent. The whole area seemed, well, abandoned. Until the marines came across what seemed like a camp perched on a hill of scrap, a bonfire raging at the top like some sort of damned lighthouse. In the air there was an mistakable smell of alcohol, though it seemed to be the only sign of a landmark in the metallic hellscape. The group had no choice but to move forward into it...
Okor made his way to the camp first, and peered around the tent, there were dozens up dozens of scrappy, malnourished men, lying and sitting on ruins and makeshift benches, passing around jugs of a pure white liquid, gulping it down and laughing like maniacs.
"Utterly foolish in their ways...", the plague marine thought to himself, "Easy pickings..."
As the marine turned to head back towards the rest of the group, a crunching was heard, one of the gang of drunks had stumbled out of the tent! The man turned his head to Okor, his face contorted into some odd mixture of a drunken stupor and pure shock.
"OI! BOSS! IT'Z ONE O' DEM "BLACK LEEJUN" ONES! GET IT!"
As Okor smacked away the man, the rest of the gang rose from their temporary shelters and charged at the plague marine, swinging makeshift clubs and shivs, with the largest, a large, hulking being clad in rusted plate screamed at the top of his lungs.
"GET THE BUGGER! BEFORE HE BRINGS HIS MATES!"
Needless to say, the plague marine wasn't there for much longer. Instead limping away past down from the camp as fast as he could.
Tartaros and Galel, noticing the raging mob, clambered down the scrap heap after Okor, desperately firing into the horde as the Luna Wolf shouted, "It's no use! Leg it!"
As Okor slowly scrambled away, being pelted with rocks and spears, he came across a small hovel in the landscape, riddled with barbed wire and barely large enough to fit the marine's bulky form. As he trundled into the hole and away from the mob, he pointed towards the rest of the group, signalling for them to find cover.
Tartaros and Galel scrambled down the hill, desperately searching for a hiding place. Finally finding an abandoned metal shack, they dived through the door, hiding as the raging mob continued sprinting down the hill.
After a few minutes, there was silence... the mob had finally passed. Okor stumbled towards the shack, pulling a half-lodged spear out of his shoulder blade. He grumbled under his breath, "The area is clear, let's leave while we can..., before limping along further down the hill.
Galel and Tartaros limped out of the shack, the sorcerer wiping flakes of dirt from his armour, both following the plague marine through the tangled landscape.
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After hours of wandering throughout the metallic, blazing landscape, the group finally come across a large steel gate, guarded by several stormtroopers stationed all around some sort of makeshift tower, gripping their rifles tightly, their eyes darting across the darkness for any sign of activity. Fortunately enough however, astartes can be rather easy to spot. Hearing the light clanking of metal against stone, the group turned their blasters towards the noise... surely there was another one of those damned droids on the loose... as the soldiers prepared to fire, a group came forward. Three large and bloodied... erm... men? Well, it was better than another droid... The beings trundled forward, all carrying some form of blade or another, slowly strolling through the wreckage of the filth-pit that is tier 7.
"They're part of that group...", the squad leader throught to himself, [i]"those monsters... t-the Black Legion..."[i]
As the group approached, one of the troopers placed out a hand, while the rest of his squad raised their blasters he uttered but a single word.
"Halt."
The marines halted, hardly noticed the words spoken, of course to most of those in tier 7, the language of violence is universal... suppose the language of its threatening such a thing is too. Finally, the pale giant looked ahead, towards the stormtrooper.
"Greetings! We come fo-"
"I-It's those... things! FIRE!"
Before Okor could finish his sentence, a hail of blaster fire was brought down upon the group, tearing through chunks of armour before they could so much as even attempt to turn away. A gruff voice could be heard screaming at the top of its lungs from behind the group...
"RUN FOO! RUN FOR IT!"
As the marines ran, spraying bolt and plasma fire and being pelted down with blaster rounds, a small, brown, being crawled out from under Tartaro's armour cooler... Mr. T. Sockpuppet! The marines turn their heads with in shock as the marines make their way into a nearby rusted elevator shaft.
I pity the foo' who think Mr. T can be take out that ea-, Mr T was cut off by a blow to the head by a low-hanging pipe, ARGH! WHAT WAS THAT?!
Galel chuckled to himself, petting the sock puppet, "Ah... what a little one... so, adorable... In any case, it seem this shaft could make do for getting closer to that museum, hrm?"
Okor wiped a small drip of some sort of clear fluid away from the burnt holes in his armour, grunting in frustration, "It seems that those soldiers are hardly the most friendly of people... no matter now. We have have ourselves and exit.", the rotting giant points towards a closed of hunk of rubble, leading upwards towards a bright light.
Tartaros shook his head, "Well, nice to see you again, Turea-"
"That's MISTER T to you, foo'!"
"Right right, nice to see you, Mr. T... Now... this little tunnel here should lead us up out of this place. Out to our "meeting place", I hope."
"So, you lot planning something or other?"
Okor ran his desiccated hand down his visor. This "Mister T" was a fool, however, Tartaros seemed to trust it enough... Yes, yes. Now, let us go."
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Eventually, the group managed to crawl their way through the few kilometers of rubble in the tunnel, coming into the bottom a decrepit elevator shaft. The source of the light seemed to be the large incandescent bulbs fluttering through the place... As for the elevator itself, it seemed to have collapsed long ago, leaving nothing but a half-crumbled box and moss.
"Damn... so, how you lot gonna get up outta here?..."
"It's simple, we climb."
Galel drew his plasma pistol, firing it towards the ancient remains of the concrete box, blowing it apart before clambering through the cramped internals, and making his way to a rusted ladder.
The sorcerer chuckled to himself, "So simple... this is too easy sometimes. In any case, you should probably follow me..."
With that, the group began their slow ascent towards their mark...
During their slow journey through the wastes, it seemed oddly silent. The whole area seemed, well, abandoned. Until the marines came across what seemed like a camp perched on a hill of scrap, a bonfire raging at the top like some sort of damned lighthouse. In the air there was an mistakable smell of alcohol, though it seemed to be the only sign of a landmark in the metallic hellscape. The group had no choice but to move forward into it...
Okor made his way to the camp first, and peered around the tent, there were dozens up dozens of scrappy, malnourished men, lying and sitting on ruins and makeshift benches, passing around jugs of a pure white liquid, gulping it down and laughing like maniacs.
"Utterly foolish in their ways...", the plague marine thought to himself, "Easy pickings..."
As the marine turned to head back towards the rest of the group, a crunching was heard, one of the gang of drunks had stumbled out of the tent! The man turned his head to Okor, his face contorted into some odd mixture of a drunken stupor and pure shock.
"OI! BOSS! IT'Z ONE O' DEM "BLACK LEEJUN" ONES! GET IT!"
As Okor smacked away the man, the rest of the gang rose from their temporary shelters and charged at the plague marine, swinging makeshift clubs and shivs, with the largest, a large, hulking being clad in rusted plate screamed at the top of his lungs.
"GET THE BUGGER! BEFORE HE BRINGS HIS MATES!"
Needless to say, the plague marine wasn't there for much longer. Instead limping away past down from the camp as fast as he could.
Tartaros and Galel, noticing the raging mob, clambered down the scrap heap after Okor, desperately firing into the horde as the Luna Wolf shouted, "It's no use! Leg it!"
As Okor slowly scrambled away, being pelted with rocks and spears, he came across a small hovel in the landscape, riddled with barbed wire and barely large enough to fit the marine's bulky form. As he trundled into the hole and away from the mob, he pointed towards the rest of the group, signalling for them to find cover.
Tartaros and Galel scrambled down the hill, desperately searching for a hiding place. Finally finding an abandoned metal shack, they dived through the door, hiding as the raging mob continued sprinting down the hill.
After a few minutes, there was silence... the mob had finally passed. Okor stumbled towards the shack, pulling a half-lodged spear out of his shoulder blade. He grumbled under his breath, "The area is clear, let's leave while we can..., before limping along further down the hill.
Galel and Tartaros limped out of the shack, the sorcerer wiping flakes of dirt from his armour, both following the plague marine through the tangled landscape.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After hours of wandering throughout the metallic, blazing landscape, the group finally come across a large steel gate, guarded by several stormtroopers stationed all around some sort of makeshift tower, gripping their rifles tightly, their eyes darting across the darkness for any sign of activity. Fortunately enough however, astartes can be rather easy to spot. Hearing the light clanking of metal against stone, the group turned their blasters towards the noise... surely there was another one of those damned droids on the loose... as the soldiers prepared to fire, a group came forward. Three large and bloodied... erm... men? Well, it was better than another droid... The beings trundled forward, all carrying some form of blade or another, slowly strolling through the wreckage of the filth-pit that is tier 7.
"They're part of that group...", the squad leader throught to himself, [i]"those monsters... t-the Black Legion..."[i]
As the group approached, one of the troopers placed out a hand, while the rest of his squad raised their blasters he uttered but a single word.
"Halt."
The marines halted, hardly noticed the words spoken, of course to most of those in tier 7, the language of violence is universal... suppose the language of its threatening such a thing is too. Finally, the pale giant looked ahead, towards the stormtrooper.
"Greetings! We come fo-"
"I-It's those... things! FIRE!"
Before Okor could finish his sentence, a hail of blaster fire was brought down upon the group, tearing through chunks of armour before they could so much as even attempt to turn away. A gruff voice could be heard screaming at the top of its lungs from behind the group...
"RUN FOO! RUN FOR IT!"
As the marines ran, spraying bolt and plasma fire and being pelted down with blaster rounds, a small, brown, being crawled out from under Tartaro's armour cooler... Mr. T. Sockpuppet! The marines turn their heads with in shock as the marines make their way into a nearby rusted elevator shaft.
I pity the foo' who think Mr. T can be take out that ea-, Mr T was cut off by a blow to the head by a low-hanging pipe, ARGH! WHAT WAS THAT?!
Galel chuckled to himself, petting the sock puppet, "Ah... what a little one... so, adorable... In any case, it seem this shaft could make do for getting closer to that museum, hrm?"
Okor wiped a small drip of some sort of clear fluid away from the burnt holes in his armour, grunting in frustration, "It seems that those soldiers are hardly the most friendly of people... no matter now. We have have ourselves and exit.", the rotting giant points towards a closed of hunk of rubble, leading upwards towards a bright light.
Tartaros shook his head, "Well, nice to see you again, Turea-"
"That's MISTER T to you, foo'!"
"Right right, nice to see you, Mr. T... Now... this little tunnel here should lead us up out of this place. Out to our "meeting place", I hope."
"So, you lot planning something or other?"
Okor ran his desiccated hand down his visor. This "Mister T" was a fool, however, Tartaros seemed to trust it enough... Yes, yes. Now, let us go."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eventually, the group managed to crawl their way through the few kilometers of rubble in the tunnel, coming into the bottom a decrepit elevator shaft. The source of the light seemed to be the large incandescent bulbs fluttering through the place... As for the elevator itself, it seemed to have collapsed long ago, leaving nothing but a half-crumbled box and moss.
"Damn... so, how you lot gonna get up outta here?..."
"It's simple, we climb."
Galel drew his plasma pistol, firing it towards the ancient remains of the concrete box, blowing it apart before clambering through the cramped internals, and making his way to a rusted ladder.
The sorcerer chuckled to himself, "So simple... this is too easy sometimes. In any case, you should probably follow me..."
With that, the group began their slow ascent towards their mark...