Board Thread:Warhammer 40k Roleplay/@comment-2253300-20150713191926/@comment-8464494-20150713231539

The musty cantina swam with the tinny noise of cheep  Lophosian folk music. The establishment was abustle with throngs of locals, celebrating the recent "liberation" of their small berg from the tryanny of House Van Haubark. Outside, rebels and citizens alike fired off rounds into the humid air, whooping and hollaring in drunken merriment. All was alive with joyous celebration, save for two. At a small booth, in the darkest corner of the cantina sat two men. One was small, squat, routund even. His blading, liver-spotted head fixed in its current position. His beady, brown eyes were glued to the offworlder that sat opposite him.

The offworlder was certainly a sight to see, not a sore thumb persay in this rugged and currently lawless territory, but certainly not a figure likely forgotten. He wore a large, black greatcoat, festooned with a maccabre collection of trophies and fetishes. Small animal skulls, collections of fangs and claws, assorted chains of both fingers and ears of a thousand different species, inlcuding man. The sleeves of the coat were long since torn off at the seams, showing off its wearer's taught ebnoy skin. His arms too were covered in various trappings, tattoos, scars of every persuasion, the muscle taught and shining with sweat in the murky light from the overhead lamp. His face however, was perhaps the most peculiar. Covered by a mask, carved from bone, covered in tallies and marks, most prominant of which was a great smiling maw, not unlike those painted upon the noses of Valkeries. But the center of the squat man's attention were the burning yellow eyes centered in the eyes of that mask.

The squat man shifted in his seat, nerviously brushing his hand over his bearded chin. The man oppsite him ran a hand through his bright green mohawk, capturing a small insect in his hands. Calmly, the masked man dangled the creature before his eyes. The small, snapping worm let loose a fearsome hiss.

"Careful." The squat man warned. "Those are poi-"

The masked man raised his mask, exposing only his mouth, and with a quick motion, bit the head off the small creature and spat it to the ground. The squat man watched in disgust then as the masked man ate what remained of the small worm.

"Only if you leave the head." The masked man snarled as he forced his mask back down.

"L-look, if you wanna know something, I don't got anything for you. I'm just a grox farmer." The squat man said, palms outstreached.

"No Sergio," The masked man said, "you're a grox rancher, and a very successful one at that. Especially since these, what do they call themselves? 'Peoples Warriors?' Ran your competitors off their land."

"Which I bought fair and square!"

"From rebels."

"Look, no ones gonna know, by the time this all blows over-"

"You think its gonna blow over?"

"Y-yeah... you don't think so?"

"It's not my place to think, Sergio, I'm just a man with a gun asking questions, and thats all you need to know. Now, I know that you're using those ranches as a front, my question is for what. You tell me, you get to breath just a bit longer and I go on my way, you don't tell me..."

The masked man leaned in close, so that his cold whisper would carry to the middle aged man's ears;

"Then the grox eat well tonight."

Sergio began to sweat more profusely, his knees began to shake.

"Who are you? W-who do you work for?"

"Look, since you seem like a nice guy, I'll toss you a name. Dingo."

"I-is that you?"

"Who knows? I'm just a gunthug who stowed away on some no name hunk of junk and hopped the fast lane to a place known for its troubles. Now if you ask one more stupid question I-"

Dingo halted in his tirade as a band of men surrounded the booth, brandishing autoguns and the colors of the People's Warriors.

"Is there a problem here?" The ringleader, cigar in his lips and tinted lenses over his eyes, snarled.

"Ah Burdo thank the Emperor! This offworlder has be-"

Dingo rose quickly to his feet, and the gunmen pointed their weapons, an intense volly of shouts filled the corner booth. Dingo smiled behind his mask and held his hands over his head, eyes boring into the rebel in charge of this little gang, who stood with his arms crossed.

"I was just asking this associate of yours what it takes to get a job around this town."

At this, Burdo's face craked in a smug, lopsided grin. "I dunno, there are plenty of whores here already, but maybe the madam across the street has room for you, eh?"

At this the rebels too cracked grins and made gests, their laughter mingling with the still merry din of the cantina. Dingo too, laughed, though his eyes betrayed no joy.

"You're a funny man, Burdo!" Sergio smiled as he moved to leave his seat, safe at last from this madman.

With that the masked warrior drew his autopistol, a burst of fire slaying three men. As realiation dawned on the face of the remaining gunman, it was blown away by a blast from a double barrled shotgun, drawn seconds after the pistol.

The cantina fell into panic at the first shots, and then turned to dead scilence. Dingo pressed the barrle of his shotgun to Sergio's temple. The man trembled, murmuring a prayer to the Emperor before his head was turned to so many fragments of meat and bone.

Burdo stumbled back, shaking. He went to draw his autopistol, but tripped over the corpse of one of his men. The gun clattered to the dusty floor beside him. He snatched it up, and flung his arm at the masked murderer that loomed over him. With a casual kick, Dingo sent the firearm from the mans hand and leveled his own at the trembling Caldonian.

"Now that you have a few, positions open, you mind if I inqure about a job in you're little outfit? Looks like you need a steady hand or two." Dingo leaned in, offering Burdo his hand.

"Whaddya say?"