You think of traveling to Nint, spending time among the settlers, getting to know their ins and outs, to better show their people The Way, but it isn't feasible at the moment. If you want to establish a Temple worthy of Tzeentch, you'll need cold, hard, cash, and with your skill set, the only way to get that is through the gangs. The coin would be nice, finding out their weaknesses, who among them has a strong-enough mind to escape their shackles, that would be nicer. You take a minute to evaluate your options, before opting to take the time to find the Gold Claws, you doubt the Rib-Splitters would appreciate your brand of violence, and the Hollabak gang doesn't quite sync with your scruples.
You look around, choose a tunnel, and are on your way lickety-split.
Gwynana:
8+2=10
(+2: Extensive Experience)
VS
Zobek Prime Underhive:
3-2=1
(-2: Extensive Experience)
With your ease of travel, the twisted tunnels and patchwork passages of Zobek's underbelly might as well be an Upper Hive's metro-station. You find the gang in a mere two days, and subsist on the plentiful not-so-poisonous mushrooms and fire-grilled big roaches. You can almost feel Tzeentch take note of your efficiency, it's a good feeling.
+1 Favor!When you finally reach the Gold Claws, their encampment isn't quite what you expected. You were thinking they'd be in some kind of village, mooching off the settlers, with maybe a light watch, not this. At the center of an oft-traveled intersection, almost twenty of them have setup camp, gated razor-wire blocks off both the entrances and the exits, their bedrolls are evenly spread beside their weapons, and at least half of them are awake and alert, watching the tunnels for any sign of activity. For a group of gangers, they're well-armed too, you sight the gleam of at least one brand new lasgun among their number.
You scarcely have time to take it all in, before a ganger spots you and calls out,
"OI! WHOSE BE DERE! I GOTS ME MY BELT-FED AUTOGUN AIMED RIGHT AT DA SHADOWS, N' I'M SURE I'D HIT SOMETHIN' IF'N I SHOT! YE'D BEST NOT TRIFLE WIF DA LOT O' US, LEST WE-" Another ganger cuffs him upside the head, he responds with a groan and you can just barely hear bits and pieces of the conversation,
"Maggot-munchin'..." "tryin' da sleep..." "I dina' mean ta, I-I swear!..." "Ye sorry..." "Aiiight, Aiiight, jus' don' tell..." When the conversation ends, the original shouter leaves his autogun at his post, and sulks back to his bedroll. The other, apparently more considerate of his sleeping fellows, calls out,
"Who's out there? Oh, tha' man, da yellin' one? Oh, don't mind him, soft-headed fool's harmless. State yer business, pay yer toll, n' ye can be on yer way, no trouble." You step out of the shadows into the dimmed floodlights, closing your eyes to adjust to the glare, and the ganger whistles,
"Whoo-whee, wha's a pretty lil' lady like yerself doin' wanderin' 'bout all on her lonesome?" You scoff, annoyed more than anything, at this point it's routine,
"I'm an individual of unique talents, and I need to speak with the head of this operation." Though you can't see his face past the mask, the ganger's eyebrows are certainly raised,
"Huh, so tha's how it is? Ye wiff da Hollabaks or ye jus' freelancin'?"You shrug and brandish your sawn-off,
"I'm no courtesan, my skills are a different sort." The ganger nods, respectfully or sarcastically, you can't tell, but his voice sounds serious,
"So yer a hitlady eh? Ye'll get no trouble from me, step right in, n' mind da wire." You nod and pass through the checkpoint. As you walk to the camp, the ganger mentions,
"Me name's Nub,
yer 'round dese parts again, gimme a holler, aiiight?" You nod but don't speak, you've got more important places to be. A few of the woke gangers give you odd glances, but seeing your shotgun, keep their thoughts to themselves. You reach the encampment center, where a few tarps have been setup, making some semblance of privacy.
You cough, announcing yourself, and a slim hand draws back the tarp. A lean and wiry man, bald-headed with a predatory glare stares you down, you blink first and he speaks,
"Who're you? Why're you here? I've got no time to time for hookers, cut the shit, I've got business to attend to," For an instant you're taken aback by his tone of voice, but recover quickly,
"The name's Gwynana, I'm an infiltrator for hire, need someone dead, need someone's secrets, I'm the "man" for the job." The man gives a thoughtful nod,
"Fair enough, I suppose you're lookin' for work?" "That I am." He flashes a mirthless grin,
"You're in good company, come in, take a seat and let's talk."Over the next hour, you talk with the gang leader in his makeshift tarp tent, strange books and data-slates litter the floor, and unlike his men, neither his dress or his gear sport embellishments. From the looks of things, he's aspiring to be an up-and-coming crime lord, and he certainly acts the part. He introduces himself as Chut, secondhand man to Dargot, who's out with the rest of the gang hitting up a settlement, supposedly the rest are here to toll caravans until they hear back. They're expecting him to be back in two weeks, tops, and Chut has a selection of jobs he's been needing someone like you for.
A.)
"I need you to get rid of a punk named Rogan, short, whiny little bastard, green mohawk. He's got his own crew, up and comin', maybe a dozen, they've been raidin' caravans and hurtin' business. We can't have that, 50 Throne Gelt dead, 100 alive."B.)
"These Hollabak types, I don't trust 'em, neither does Dargot. They do straight business and their powder's the best around, but I got a hunch they're plannin' some kinda somethin'. Find out what it is, and I'll dole out anywhere from 20-100 Throne Gelt."C.)
"I need a runner to fetch a package comin' outta Mintu, small settlement, maybe 20-30 there, 'bout three day's away, and bring it right back here, safe and sound. 30 Throne Gelt, no questions asked."D.) You don't think you can handle any of these, (Bail-Out)
E.) This is the moment you've been waiting for! (Attempt to kill Chut)
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Favor: 6/10
Status: Unharmed
Traits:
Mark of Tzeentch: A mark branded on your left breast, it is more than a mark on your flesh, it's a brand upon your very soul. It signifies your eternal devotion to the glory of Tzeentch, but apart from that, confers no advantages.
Spark of Sorcery: You can now perceive the shifting currents beyond the material, and in time, may learn to bend them to your will.
Skills:
Sneaking: 5
Watching: 5
Lying: 5
Equipment:
Patchwork Rags
Sawn-off Shotgun
10 Shells
Steel Knife
15 Throne Gelt
Members:
Cult Leader: Gwynana
Cultists:
7 Devoted Cultists
2 Devoted Child Cultists
Resources:
N/A
Status:
Currently integrating themselves into Nint.
Author
Topic: Underhive Chaos Cult [Warhammer 40k SG][1st Edition][Bad End] (Read 6032 times)