Missives from the Mire

[ninefinger]

Not sure if anybody else is working on any background for their gang or gangers, etc.  

Feel free to toss any stories, anecdotes or after battle reports in here as the campaign progresses.

And to kick us off - some observations from a spot where everybody knows your name:

 

Spoiler

Reginald Hrenk stood behind the bar, polishing a piece of glassware.  Across the Imperium, bored bartenders stand with dirty rags, polishing dirty glasses, with the same look that Reg wore.  His unnamed bar stood almost in the shadow of the Enforcer’s precinct house, and everyone knew that Reg didn’t allow any trouble.  It was a quiet spot to grab a drink and ease whatever pains the shift or the cycle threw your way.

These days, Reg was doing a brisk business, and the pains seemed to be growing larger with every passing hour, despite the steady flow of drink.  Less than a half a dozen cycles ago, that klaxon had sounded and the sector locked down.  3 cycles ago, the avenue lighting switched into an emergency power mode.  They came and went, occasionally flickering back to full strength.  But with the darkness, came dark rumors.  As Reg heard it, there were cannibals and sump crocs ready to burst out of the underhive and flood the streets.  There was no way in or out of the quarter and no one knew why.  A couple of enforcer captains were taking the communication blackout as an opportunity to settle old scores between them.  The moisture in the air kept getting thicker, and the local gangers kept getting edgier.

It sounded like some exploratory efforts had been undertaken.  Local gang leaders sending out scouts and runners, investigating every nook and cranny, all the forgotten passengers that had once led into the warren of underhive below Medon’s Mire.  So far, no one had found anything, apart from new ways to be damp.  Supposedly, some technically minded band of Van Saar had posted up near the gate where the mag-train used to run, and where performing technical abominations, trying to coerce the machine spirits to release the locks.  And the local Magos was turning a blind eye.

Things were getting desperate.  Which was good for business, but only to a point.  Reg set down his dirty glass, and checked the loaded shotgun under the bar.  He hadn’t had to fire it in years, but the Mire used to be a lawful place.  A good bartender can read a room, and he could tell, it was only a matter of time.  Soon enough, even an enforcer presence wouldn’t keep his bar quiet.  If things got bad enough, even the still of Wild Snake might not do it.  He considered locking up, but where would he go?  Best thing to do, in Reg’s mind, was carry on, keep raking in the credits, and stay within arms reach of the shotgun under the bar.

Folks would get it sorted, or they wouldn’t.  In the meantime, there were drinks to serve, and glasses to clean.

 

[Krovak13]

The Enforcers from Precinct House Epsilon 9 have long been known for their heavy handed and ruthless tactics against the scum of the underhive. Led by Captain Rader of the Subjugators, the Enforcers carry out the Emporer's Justice with discipline and fury in equal measures. To be taken by the Enforcers of Epsilon 9 is considered a death sentence, regardless of the charges leveled. Over the centuries, so much blood has been shed in the name of justice, that, though the official designation is Precinct House Epislon 9, the building and those who work within it have become known simply as The Crimson Court. Now, with The Crimson Court stuck in the Mire with the scum and villainy all around them, they load their weapons and charge their shock batons once again to march forth and bring law and order to the underhive -for what little time remains. 

[sankaku_jime]

The Orlocks of the Weyland-Yutani Combine have been on a long voyage across the Ash Wastes in search of the orgin of a wayward distress call from an unknown source. Out on a routine supply run their ridge hauler convoy was redirected by members of the guild of coin from it's orginal route to investigate a strange distress beacon far out in the Wastes and far from any roads. Deep in the Wastes on their search they've encountered nomads, exotic creatures, and even a hostile group of cold traders searching for the same beacon. The gang finally arrived at source only to discover an ancient and massive ship of presumably xenos orgin, it's shattered pieces strewn across the sands. Salvaging what little they could carry and hiding the rest deep under the sands the gang headed to the nearest settlement, Cassandra's Reach, to resupply. Once there they made their way deep into the Mire to report their findings to the local representatives of the guild of coin. Finding themselves trapped along with everyone else when the mag lift stopped working they now desperately attempting to escape in order to reap the rewards of the wreck they left buried in the sands.