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post #1 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-14-13, 07:51 PM Thread Starter
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Default Manhunt (A Necromunda RP)

The Underhive, a wretched hive of crime and violence. All sorts of scum came here for one reason or another, and the locals always suffered for it. However, a particularly large flood of gangers, bounty hunters and more descended into the lowest pits of the city, for one reason and one reason only. Ripjaw. More specifically, the bounty that was placed on his head, a reward of 1,000,000 thrones. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity could not have passed up by anyone, especially the denizens of Necromunda. These individuals will have to brave through the dangers that Hive Primus has in store for them, from mutant gangs to the plantlife. Not only that, there will also be many conflicts sparking amongst the hunters, most of which will end with violence, only adding to the danger of the situation.

Nobody said it was going to be easy.




All: You are all in the same filthy, cramped and dimly-lit bar (barring A5H-Worm), filled with drunkards and regulars (though the two tend to overlap). But most importantly, this is the last point before the hunter's set off in their search for Ripjaw. While some of the hunters are simply having a last drink before setting off to unknown territories, the tension among them is rising. Like a room filled with a volatile explosive, a single spark of violence could set off the entire building.

Kumil Naktar: You are standing next to the bartender, gazing at the thugs drinking in front of you. Disgusting reprobates. They were not worthy of bringing the heretic Ripjaw to justice. They did not have faith in the God Emperor, something that you had, knowing that he would favor you over these brutes. As you were lost in your thoughts, a group of three men confronted an incredibly large and intimidating man. You keep your hands on your laspistol in case anything gets out of hand.

Aldegar Rafe: You sit at one of the tables in the center of the bar, which is littered with empty glasses that were once filled with Wildsnake. Downing another glass of the potent fluid in one gulp, you slam it down onto the table with a satisfied sigh. While you enjoy a drink, a group of familiar faces approach you, dressed in leather jackets and headbands. They were Orlock scum, the man at the front being someone you recognized, Ogar. He was nothing more than a punk with more bark than bite who you've had the displeasure of meeting before.

"So Aldegar, I see you're looking to take Ripjaw's head too. Are you suicidal or are you just that stupid? I'm betting on the latter option"

Tarquin Hansar: You sit in one of the dark corners of the bar, sipping your glass of Wildsnake, thinking of all the things you could do with 1,000,000 thrones. You could be accepted back into the House, or even become a powerful gang leader if he dealt his cards right. These sweet thoughts filled your head when a group of men approached Aldegar. You knew about his reputation as a violent brute, even sadistic at some points, but you've never actually seen him in action. As one of the men insults the giant of a man, you sit back and wait for the fireworks.

A5H-Worm: You prowl through the ruins of the Underhive, slipping through spaces that few others knew about. You are looking for someone that may have information on the bounty you are seeking. You managed to get the location of this man from a fellow Ratskin that had been watching him as well, suspicious as to what this individual was doing. Finally reaching a good vantage point, you spot a man in another ruined structure. Taking a closer look, you notice he matches the description of who you are looking for. He was a man with various modifications to his bod, most notably that his arm had been replaced with a deadly looking chainsaw. Suddenly, the platform you stand on gives away sending you hurtling to the ground. Thankfully, you land in a rather muddy pit of water, with only a couple bruises. Unfortunately, your sudden landing attracts a horrid creature crawling under the water. Pulling out your shotgun, you ready yourself for the worst.

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post #2 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-16-13, 02:59 PM
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The world was darkness except for tiny spears of light cut through the shadows illuminating floating specks and grey surfaces. Stagnant air was filled with the smell of exhaust, rot, and chemical runoff. A worker stopped on a hanging gantry as something screamed. He tried to peer into the gloom. The thing thumped into a metal wall. Blood splattered onto the thick rockcrete as someone gurgled a cry for help. The worker stared in horror as he saw flesh torn and bone crunch. The sounds of him wrenching added to a myriad of drips and splats, and the smell added little to the already heavy air.
Seeing it A5H-Worm smiled, another fine day beneath Mother Hive. He quietly continued forward at a low crouch, sliding beneath several low hanging pipes. For the past several hours the warrior had trailed an Uphiver. The man had seemed capable but had no respect for the Hive and he now paid the price. A5H took a moment to look toward the corpse, and the feasting sump wolf. He would return later when the beast was finished, and the Hive would once again reward those respectful of Her ways. The ratskin warrior moved again. Today A5H-Worm was not looking for another corpse to pick or animal to slay, today the warrior was looking for a pitslave.

The Underhive was a place of many different forms. A5H-Worm quietly moved through the EverFall where a constant rain of liquids formed pools, which formed rivers, which trickled down deeper into the Underhive. He climbed through an Iron Jungle’s scaffolding. The maze of pipes, rods and pillars created a nightmare for many who wandered into it without preparation. At the Jungle’s far end A5H moved onto one of the many support plateaus. The original function of these massive platforms had been lost long ago. Now they served as hunting grounds, oasis, or village locations for those able to make the climb. Looking at the broken ground A5H-Worm could see no structures. Quickly he dropped back to a hunter’s stance, there was no village here. The warrior prowled between broken rockcrete chunks and discarded containers of long forgotten goods. As he passed a small stream coated in rainbow hues something caught his eye.
A5H slid behind an overturned barrel and quietly freed his blade. He sniffed the air. There was nothing but the familiar heavy aroma of the Underhive itself. A5H slowly pushed himself up. It moved again. He could see fur, a beast? No it didn’t move right. The warrior watched as it moved to a nearby ledge and crouched. A paw pressed out to steady it. No, A5H-Worm told himself, not a paw he could see fingers. The warrior watched through the gloom for a moment longer. It was human and it was no Uphiver. Slowly A5H moved to a crouch. He tapped the barrel with the hilt of his weapon, a very common sound in the Underhive that could be easily missed. The other glanced up. There was a quick bark, another familiar noise given by so many creatures hiding amid the darkness. A5H replied with a single tap of his blade before sheathing it again. He approached slowly and halted several yards short of the other.
“A5H-Worm,” he whispered pulling back his ratskin to expose his face. A thin hand pulled back the dark brown pelt to the pale skin beneath. A5H nodded to the woman brave as she spoke, “Bubbling Slick.”
The two squatted down. A5H pulled a small chunk of rat jerky from a pouch and offered it. “What brings you here,” Bubbling Slick asked quietly accepting the food.
“I am looking for an Uphiver, a PitWarrior.” She offered a pouch as he answered. A5H took a drink. The liquid was thick and sweet, beast milk mixed with deep honey. It was a treat that many of the tribe only received once or twice a year when they moved through the dark sump where the Wasps lived. “I have seen no PitWarrior, but another has,” Bubbling Slick pointed toward a massive pipe column. “There is a dead town in the shadow. Cracked Globe is there, he knows where to look.” A5H-Worm nodded, “Thank you.” As he stood the woman turned back to the edge, and her hunt.

The dead town was an eerie sight. The once filled buildings and streets had been abandoned when the hive had expanded above it. Now all that was left behind by the once city was this dead ruin. A5H-Worm slowly crept through the buildings as though he expected some ghost to walk from the shadows. Cracked Globe was standing in what was once a library. A5H-Worm crept through the broken doorway and found the other ratskin crouched beneath a massive window. Their greeting was quiet as though neither wished to disturb the slumbering spirits.
“Have you seen a PitWarrior,” A5H asked as he tore a small piece of his jerky off and gently placed it on the windowsill. Cracked Globe did the same. “Yes,” he pointed toward a nearby ruin, “It is there. The vile thing simply presumed to enter here without respecting the grounds.”
A5H-Worm nodded. “If it is the one I seek then he shall pay for this failure.” The other ratskin crouched down again, “Be warned he is jumpy. I have seen him lash out for the slightest reasons.” “Thank you,” was the reply as A5H carefully made his way back into the dead streets.

The once hab complex sat above a sinkhole. A5H-Worm looked from a half ruin nearby. He tried to remember the description. The PitWarrior sat in a room working away at something. Nearby a box sat open with several tools tossed around. It was easy to see several patches of metal sunk into his skin. One shoulder appeared to be made of metal pipes and cables. As the PitWarrior moved A5H saw a weapon attached to the false arm. It was oversized with multiple spinning teeth. The ratskin smiled, it was him. Now all he needed was time to prepare.
As the feeling of triumph filled him A5H-Worm heard the crunch. He froze. There was no other warning as the floor beneath him gave way. He fell several feet before splashing into a murky pit of liquid and silt. A5H slowly stood and glanced around the darkened room. Somewhere nearby something sloshed in the liquid. The ratskin spun as he readied a shotgun. He could see the ripples where something moved. There were only a few options, and none were to A5H-Worm’s liking.
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post #3 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-16-13, 05:33 PM
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Aldegar wasn't terribly happy; not happy in the slightest. It had only been what? An hour ago when those shitters had tried to cheat him of his pay for Juni. Sure they had wanted him alive and all he had brought back was the nuckers head, but they had come to him knowing what he was like. In the end they had relented on half the pay, well relented was probably to nice; chosen to remain alive when he started waving 'ole Lucile around. Emperor above he loved that gun, eight fat rounds contained in a squat, heavy metal revolver frame; didn't get much better than that.

But that was the past, and here was the now. And here, here was some damned bar with lights that barely worked and more trash than in some of the back alleys of low hive. They did keep the wildsnake flowing though, so that was at least a plus. Aldegar took a slug from one of the bottles the bartender had given him, downing its contents in their entirety before letting the bottle slip from his hand and onto the floor. The strong burn as they liquid traveled into his body put a smile on his face, giving anyone dumb enough to look at him a show of his missing teeth.

And then Ogar and his cronies sidled on up to Aldegar, and that goofy smile all but vanished. Orlock scum if ever there was a doubt; all about the cut of their clothes and they way they moved. "So Aldegar, I see you're looking to take Ripjaw's head too. Are you suicidal or are you just that stupid? I'm betting on the latter option" Ogar sneered, leering down on the sitting Aldegar as though he had told the hives greatest joke.

He didn't much care for this punk or his friends, now if it had been another from Goliath or one of the Escher women, then things would have been different. But seeing things as they were, Ogar wasn't gonna be getting off all that lucky. Getting up from the chair, Aldegar easily towered over the trio and it was his turn to leer down at the Orlocks.

"You know something Ogar?" He asked, sucking on his remaining teeth in the process. "I think you could use a drink, how about I get you one?" Aldegar said, putting one of his meaty fists on the smaller mans shoulder and holding tight, already he could see pain registering on Ogars features. If either of his buddies decided to try and step forward, he'd make sure Ogar was sipping some 'snake with his face planted firmly in the table, or maybe he'd do it anyway.

Damnation is paved on good intentions; subtle and sugar coated or blunt and honest
A hero is someone who steps up when everyone else backs down.
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post #4 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-16-13, 08:35 PM
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Kumil's eyes swept over the rather underwhelming establishment, head not moving an inch while the mask optics studied each face in turn. Nobody familiar. A den of scum and villainy, living lives devoted to debauchery.

The secondhand air filters within his mask gasped and wheezed as they struggled to process the overload of toxins and smog that covered the area like a blanket. A deft pair of fingers rose to twist the nozzle, trying to find the special spot where they wouldn't leak like an Underhive bread loaf. Eventually he gave up, fingers falling. It would only get worse from here.

Three gangers dissected themselves from the shadows hugging close to the walls, moving with unearned confidence towards another of their ilk at the bar. It wasn't an unusual sight- the place was damn near exploding with uneasy trusts, packs of roving urchins and two-bit con artists banding together like a herd of cattle. And cattle they were, cannon fodder with dreams of thrones clinking through their minds.

These were different, though. Something about them set Kumil's jaw tensing, and so he found the grip of his laspistol beneath the blackened robes, looking for all the world as if he was adjusting the fit of his trousers. His thumb traced the crudely carved inscription on it's hilt, wrist tensed to whip the barrel from it's holster.

The harassed man stood up, a mountain of a man if ever one stood. A mohawk snowcap, dirt-encrusted leather holding taut over his chest. Kumil cast a glance over the tavern once more. The lesser-informed might think him to be Ripjaw if he didn't keep the attention low. He certainly looked the type capable of devastating a pit fight.

Kumil slid the laspistol out prematurely, though he kept the barrel hidden under his clothing as he whispered prayer.


"Mighty Emperor, spread Your divine light to protect me from the darkness."

Kumil thumbed the safety off.

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Tarquin sat slouched in a corner of the dive bar, a lho-stick and glass of wildsnake clasped in is stained fingers. The lean ganger sank lower into his chair as the narcotics worked their magic on his system. Grog and smokes, two of the simple pleasures in life.



The bar was, like every one of its kind in the underhive, a dark dirty place where drinks were cheap and life cheaper. Tarquin hadn’t yet set foot in one where the floor wasn’t sticky and stained and the seats had their original coverings. He thought his was perhaps once grox-hide, though it had long since been stained and worn into nothing. As he practically pushed a finger through the semi-solid layer of filth on the table's surface, Tarquin was glad of the fact he had a layer of bodysuit between his skin and the bar. He was half surprised its contagion indications hadn't flashed in warning yet though.



Scanning the patrons Tarquin was on the lookout for trouble. He didn’t think there was a single bar in the whole Underhive which didn’t have a night go by without a fight. On a good day someone would just get knifed, quietly, quickly and with minimum fuss. On a bad day the whole place would erupt in violence and you’d be lucky to get out with all your teeth.



Of course it was always the big, stupid bastards who started the fights; just like that big Goliath ape who was staring down the Orlock. He could practically see the gears turning in the big man’s head as he gazed simply at the smaller Orlock. His response was inevitable, grabbing the Orlock by shoulders and throwing him into a headlock.



Tarquin simply sank further into his chair and eased one hand to the pistol on his thigh. Things were going to get messy.

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post #6 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-21-13, 06:53 PM Thread Starter
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The entire bar went silent as Aldegar grabbed the Orlock's shoulder in an iron grip, with no sign of letting go. Ogar grimaced and glared at Aldegar right into his eyes. The mountain of a man knew exactly what he was going to do to this pain in the ass. Getting ready to slam the Orlock man's head straight into the table, Aldegar heard a shotgun being pulled out from behind a bar. It was the bartender, who had seen more than once the results of a disagreement in these sort of environments.

"You let that man go and continue enjoying your drink, or you'll get both barrels from my friend here"

After a few minutes of contemplation, Aldegar pushed Ogar away with a sneer and sat back down. Hours passed in the bar until it eventually closed down and the patrons cleared the building. The gangers were now set for the hunt. The stakes were high, but the reward was even higher.


All (except A5H-Worm): Post your reactions to the above

Kumil Naktar: You make your way through the cramped streets and narrow alleyways, looking for the man who who was willing to give you a mapped route that would lead to where Ripjaw's last known location, deep in the wastes of the Underhive. After walking aimlessly for a while you see a flashing neon sign where you have been told to go to. This was where you were supposed to meet the man. Looking around, you take sight of a rather shady looking man wearing a hooded coat. Walking over to him, he looks in your direction and beckons you.

"Greetings friend, I've got the map you wanted. Question is, you got the thrones for it?"

Aldegar Rafe: Somewhat miffed that you couldn't teach Ogar a lesson, you think about all the things you would do to him if you ever saw him again as you stroll towards your destination. Going through a small alleyway, something catches your attention in the corner of your eye. A shadowy figure comes out from behind a street corner, followed by another one, and another one. You turn around and notice that others have also gathered behind you. You finally get a clear look of the assailant, they were just a group of punks armed with a wide variety of improvised weapon, pipes, clubs and knives. The eldest looking one, a ruffian that you assumed was the leader, had in his grips a crude stub gun. You grin and crack your knucles, showing off your missing teeth. Looks like you got a golden opportunity to let off some steam.

Tarquin Hansar: The stink of the Underhive almost makes you gag in disgust. You pass through the decrepit buildings, filled with gangs of violent youths and the destitute. Suddenly, you hear an explosion and make a dive for the inside of one of the old buildings. Taking a peek at where the explosion came from, you notice shots being traded between two forces. Pulling out your lasgun and prowling forward, you take a clearer look. A gang of Escher had suddenly attacked a group of Goliath fighters. You sit back and formulate a plan to get through. These guys were so tied up in their own problems that they would probably die before reaching Ripjaw.

A5H-Worm: The monster kept swimming through the water, before suddenly leaping out and aimed at your throat. Letting off a shot from your gun, the eel-like creature's head explodes into bloody chunks of flesh and brain. You climb out of the water and check your equipment, everything seemed fine. You then hear lumbering footsteps approaching your location, and you quickly hide in the shadows. You see your target emerge from a doorway. The collapse of the platform and the shotgun blast had attracted him hear. Pacing around the room you're in, the man revs up his chainsaw and holds up his autopistol. His eyes dart around, expecting someone to jump out from the shadows and attack him. He lets out a deep chuckle and flashes a sadistic grin, looking forward to the fun he would have.
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The thing’s wake swirled as it moved beneath the surface. A5H-Worm purposely presented the largest target he could. Predatory instincts in the underhive varied from beast to beast, but many lashed toward center mass. Another swirl appeared closer. It was stalking.
There was a sudden slosh, and murky water rolled. A5H took a breath and pulled his shotgun in.
The water erupted as black eyes and ivory teeth appeared. The thing’s aim was high, possibly toward A5H-Worm’s head or neck. The warrior didn’t hesitate to think, he fired.
The heavy shot erupted from the barrel on a pillar of flame. Each pellet was roughly the size of a pinky’s tip. They shredded through the soft interior of the creature’s mouth, and ripped through the skull.
A5H rolled to one side as the water eel’s corpse splashed back into the water. The tail began spasm sloshing water and stirring muck into the water. A5H watched for a second before jumping toward the broken floor above. He gripped the jagged edge and swung himself up.

Instinct sent the ratskin rolling into a darkened corner where he flicked open the shotgun. As A5H-Worm searched the room a fresh shell was slid into place. It didn’t matter how unaccustomed to the underhive one was or crazed he may be there was no way to mistake a weapon firing. A quick inspection revealed his blade and pistol were still in place.
A5H-Worm skulked into the shadows as he heard the footsteps. The room was piled with worthless trash from years of neglect. The ratskin looked for an exit. There was a single door and the open pit. A5H moved across the floor as the footsteps closed. Quietly he slid beneath a rotten cloth covered with small debris. The ratskin peered into the room from the blackness and watched.

A heavy man stomped into the room. He held an autopistol in his real hand as he moved through the room. There was a spark of madness in his eyes as the heavy chain arm rumbled to life. The pitslave swung around expecting a fight. He probed the darkness in anticipation. He began to chuckle in a deep tone that parodied the rumble of his false arm. The chuckle turned to laughter, and the rumble into a full roar. An obvious display meant to cause terror. In the shadows A5H-Worm remained silent and still. He had watched far worse displays from the horrid things that inhabited the deep hive. This time it wasn’t some creature intent on guarding its territory, or hunting on its known territory. This time it was some crazed man looking for a fight. For the time A5H would wait, and the pitslave would continue his idiocy.
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((Sorry for the length.))

As the fight flickered away before it had even had a chance to shine, Kumil holstered the laspistol, tucking his robes about him to further guard against the dust and grime of the Underhive, striding across the bar's rotted floorboards as quickly as his feet would take him, pushing open the door to emerge in the night.

His destination was one provided by certain contacts. Contatcs which happened to be a few gangers that he had found while perching atop a shabby habitation complex. Quick las-shots had plucked two from life's grip, and lanced through the last's legs to keep him stable. When Kumil had scuttled down to the streets, the lone survivor had been more than willing to tell him everything he had needed to know.

Of course, this was Necromunda. Information was guarded, and all he got was a name. But any lead's a start.

A neon sign blazing the words 'Meat on the cheap' through the darkness was his landmark. It took hours of wandering, backtracking, and gritting his teeth in frustration before he was able to find it. When he saw the manner of persons flitting through the doorway and around it's walls, he sneered. A whorehouse. How quaint.

Just as he was ready to cast aside this fool's errand, a thin voice cut through the noises of ill-begotten romps in the building.

"Greetings friend, I've got the map you wanted. Question is, you got the thrones for it?"

He whirled on the man, spotting a shrouded figure clutching the shadows like another would hold it's clothing. Stepping closer, his eyes narrowed, spotting some manner of writhing flesh beneath it's hood. He feigned an itch at his chest, reaching into his robes and scratching the grip of his las-pistol while his voice rasped out.

"Thrones are no issue. Show me what you offer. I can give no tender until I see what it is I am procuring for myself."

The hunched man reached into his pocket with a hand seized by random spasms, jerking out a folded and stained scrap of parchment. Kumil's fingers clawed the map from his grip, a twitch of his cheek sending the built-in lamps of his mask into glorious illumination, causing the hooded man to squint, stepping back from the blinding light.

All seemed to be in order. Kumil raised his head from the parchment, ready to thank the man and give him his earned coin. But he spotted something, just before the man had time to shirk down his hood completely.

He ripped the las-pistol from it's holster, ramming his slight form into the man with all the adrenaline-fueled strength a zealot can muster, managing to push the man back into an alley and then against the wall, out of sight and mind for those prowling the streets. He ripped back the man's hood and saw them.

The thing's forehead was distended, flesh pulled apart, dry and cracking while the veins beneath pulsed in some warp-damned beat, pressing out like they threatened to burst. All over his thrice-damned flesh was scaled like the waterbeasts of Holy Terra, and his maw was marred by small, writhing..things. They swam just beneath his skin, over his lips. Kumil couldn't bear the sight of them, for it blurred his eyes and made his mind dull and throbbing with some unthinkable pain.

With a wail of "MUTANT!", the las-pistol fired, and the creatures burst from the man's burned and destroyed head, scuttling off into the darkest corners of the Underhive. Kumil put five more shots into the creature, and fled the scene, only stopping in alleyways once his breath whistled within his mask, or if he had forgotten the path set by the map.

Later, upon reflection, he would find a silver lining: he didn't lose a single throne.

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post #9 of 9 (permalink) Old 10-27-13, 08:24 PM
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The little shit Ogar tried to glare back up at Aldegar, but a tightening of the big mans grip ended that little tough guy attempt rather quickly. Motion out of the corner of Aldegars eye prepared him to put the little man through the table, but the cocking of a shotgun suddenly put a different spin on things.

"You let that man go and continue enjoying your drink, or you'll get both barrels from my friend here" The bartender said, the even tone of his voice giving testament to the fact that he was no stranger to trouble and this was definitely not the first time a fight had broken out here. Snarling in frustration, Aldegar shoved Ogar into one of his two cronies and turned to glare at the bartender for his interference.

"With the payout for Ripjaws head, last I need is two new holes because of that little shit-stain." The bounty hunter said, jerking one thick finger over his shoulder. "Besides, the swill here is getting harder to swallow anyway." And with that Aldegar made for the door and out into the foul underhive air.

"But what happens to the little fragger when I find him out here though, now thats gonna be a different story altogether." Rafe muttered to himself as he turned a corner and stalked down a small alleyway. Halfway down, a bunch of dumb kids came out of the shadows, the sound of boots from behind indicated more had surrounded him.

The entire lot of them looked to be armed with knives and pipes and, if his slightly inebriated vision wasn't fooling him, rocks from the damned ground. "You kids really don't want a piece of this, not when my bloods up." Aldegar said, cracking his knuckles while eying up the oldest of the group and most likely to be their leader. Tough looking nucker, the big man thought as he smiled.

Before any of them could react, Aldegar tore Lucile from the holster on his hip and put a fat round into the kids gut. The youth hit the ground with a yelp, clutching the wound in pain while his cronies looked from him to Aldegar and back again.

"Unless the rest of you want to see where I'll put a bullet in you, I'd say collect your friend and see if you have enough scratch between you to get him saved." Aldegar declared, continuing down the alley without giving them another thought.

Damnation is paved on good intentions; subtle and sugar coated or blunt and honest
A hero is someone who steps up when everyone else backs down.
Popularity is what people strive for when they lack the strength to be themselves.


Seriously, is it really that hard to write reviews without spoilers?

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