Lazar sector Gazette: Workshops and vent shafts

It takes no time before the 2nd cycle starts. The demands of the wealthy up-hivers must be met. The restless hive bottom stirs, awakens and gets back to business. Many questions to be answered…

Who will end the cycle with less aches and pains? Who will retire and prepare for the third cycle with more territories? Who will have the most kills their name?

There is only one way to find out, all in the roll of the dice and a FIIIIIGGHHHT!

Workshop Shoot Out

The Shootout
Not much was happening in the small ramshackle village of Lilzar. Ghor Bakyn and Haarker were on a patrol. Just like the days of old, hands resting on holstered guns, fingers ready to draw when needed. It was times like these that nerves like cold hard plasteel were needed.

Then, out of the haze of the heat rising from the floor bellow them, four Weasels emerged, just as surprised to see them. Now it was a battle of wits, as soon as someone so much as flinched all hell would be let loose.

Out numbered Ghor and Haarker kept it together. Remaining focused, their minds knowing that closing the gap could help them.

However, the Venators lost their discipline and one of their number went for a holstered pistol and let off a few rounds!

Retaliating back Ghor unloaded his bolter impacting a Weasel! Two rounds hit home, too powerful for the armour the venator was wearing. Despite the rounds smashing into them and rendering them unconscious, they were to later find not a trace of damage bar some very bad bruising and a concussion that would see them miss the next game. They weren’t sure of a deity to thank, but one was surely watching over them!

The two small groups of fighters exchanged shot after shot. Eventually, with their ammo running low and now assistance arriving anytime soon. Ghor and Haarker chose the path of retreat and sloped into the shadows to make good their escape.

Meanwhile, beneath the floors of the great mechanicum halls of the Lazar Sector, the hulking Goliaths of the Iron Hides gang were investigating some strange noises.

It was an unspectacular shift, not different to any other. In fact, it was just plain ordinary.

Boss, the Iron Hides leader, was walking around the outskirts of their newly acquired fighting pit.

“Boss, what was that?!” exclaimed Milkor “there are weird noises coming from beneath my feet!”

And there were, soon, the entire gang were alerted and on their feet listening to the curious scraping sounds. It didn’t sound like mechanical grating noises they were used to. More like giant nails being dragged across vent plasteel.

Some searching of the area found a hatch that lead bellow to the corridors and tunnels that form warrens of facilities ductways and vents.

Boss ordered his boys down into the tunnels to explore, after all, who would come and watch the entertainment in the fighting pits if they knew there was something lurking beneath.

Lurking there was. A strange band of mutants. People, at least they looked humanoid… mostly. Some had strangely shaped heads, some had three arms. They all seemed to be following a heavily robed psyker.

Stubborn and brave, the Goliaths pressed ahead, closing the gap between themselves and the Genestealer Cultists of the Faith of the Six cult.

Battle commenced, cultists let ripped with autogun fire before a mining laser joined in. The Goliaths pressed ahead in the cramped, dark tunnels.

As they got closer, larger, hulking beasts that rivalled the bigger Goliaths for size shambled out from the shadows. Suddenly turning into fast, hissing beasts.

The withering fire from cultist fire arms started to take it’s toll, suppressing the advancing Goliaths allowing the Aberrants to close the gap and get into hand to hand combat.

Boss, seeing that the foe were stronger than he had first thought, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that he could probably just make do with sealing down the hatches to the area and deal with anything that managed to find a way through in the spaces above.

Better to be alive and live to fight another day… and hope that perhaps it just becomes someone else’s problem.