NECROMUNDA
CAMPAIGN – BLAKE’S PIT
As hinted
at before the Necromunda Campaign is based around an area called ‘Blake’s Pit’
deep in the underhive. The pit is the Hive heat sink, a shaft sunk down into
the planet’s mantle to capture geothermal heat to power the hive’s countless
factories. The walls of this near bottomless shaft are crowded with factories,
setlements and tunnels. As the eons wore on, the hive spire grew taller and as
the heat sink rose higher and higher, those settlements on the lower levels
were left forgotten and abandoned by the hab complexes upper hive. But life
down there did not end. As the hivers moved out, the underhivers crept in. One
such strata of the heat sink was taken by a gang leader who rose to such
prominence that he gave that place his name: Blake – and so, for that part of
the world, the shaft became known as Blake’s Pit. You will never find a
more wretched hive of scum and villainy. You must be cautious…
With the opening of the Grimshaft, Blake’s Pit offers the
only route to this new lode of resources and wealth. With money surging into
the town, two magnates have risen to make their bid for power: Boss Blake,
grandson of the eponymous Blake who gave this place its name, and Papa Tango, a
shadowy gangster and racketeer behind most of the region’s watering holes and
illicit gambling dens. Both harbour ambitions of making Blake’s Pit their own,
and as their gather their forces, the gangs of these parts are aligning
themselves to either side. All of you who call yourselves gang ‘leaders’ of
these parts have a had a visit from the representatives of either faction
(check your inbox for the PMs). Neither side cares to discriminate – they’ll
take shaven headed Delaques, Van Saars with their ridiculous beards, even slimy
scavvies or shunned outlanders. Even the arbites aint above a bribe or two in
the right circumstances!
Read your PM, respond to the one you want to side with. You
may even elect to ignore both and go it alone, but that is a lonely and
dangerous path to tread… Get your replies in lads, this campaign is about to
hot up!
All players were sent these two approaches in their PMs. Hopefully, they'll respond to one and 'pick' their side... First up, Papa Tango's pitch:
“So you see
how it is right? You get it?” Quaego took another huge draw on the stogie, his
eyes narrowing on you again in that disconcerting way of his. The man’s bulk
was immense – the broad expanse of his chest seemed to fill the booth, whilst
the swarthy hand gripping his synthale bore more than a passing resemblance to
the grip-claw on a forklift loader.
The evening
had begun the same as most. After haggling over some exorbitant contraband kit
down at the trader post, you and some of the lads had headed up to the Titty
Twister to burn some creds and score some action. Quaego owned the joint. Well,
maybe ‘owned’ was stretchin’ the truth some. Quaego ran the ‘Twister for the
Papa. He kept the business runnin’ - guarded the merchandise, pimped the
whores, and cracked a few skulls when heads needed bustin’. You tried and
failed to stop your eyes restin on those two great meathammers the man had for
hands. Aint no messin’ with Quaego. Tonight was the first time he’d asked you
anything other than ‘whatcha havin’?’, and it was feelin’ real hard to say no.
 |
| No one messes with Papa Tango's boys! |
Quaego blew
out a long, reeking plume of smoke. Came to be that sitting in this booth was
like sucking on the exhaust manifold of a rhino, but you didn’t even notice.
The black giant’s eyes never left your face, and right then it felt like that
bastard was in your head watching every thought that popped out.
“Like the
Papa says”, Quaego’s voice was like gravel, and deeper than the pit. Yours
would be too if you had a chest the size of a fucking cathedral. “Blake thinks
he owns this town. Squaring to set himself up as some kinda Governor.” The
towering pimp leaned in close, his massive bulk making a major fucking
violation of your personal space. “Aint nothing makes that man any better than
you, me or some damn dirt-grubbin’ ratskin!” A share of the venom drained out
of him some, Quaego slumped back in his bench and took another draw on the
stogie. Only now did you notice how ridiculously small it looked in those
massive hands. Not the time or the place to be havin’ a fucking giggle to
yourself though.
“When a man
like that sets himself to power, the likes of you and me end up being bad for
business. Real quick we got people gunnin’ for us, and we end up dead or forced
out for pastures new. Word is hes got the arbites in his pocket. Squarin’ up to
hold the guilds too. A man with a racket like that aint got no time, or need,
for an honest man workin’ his share”. Quaego at least had the good fucking
grace to crack something close to an ironic grin on that one. Stood to reason
that a man running a big business down here didn’t want no armed gangs raidin’
his assets. Something else was comin’ here, you were sure. Quaego leaned in alarmingly
close again, his fetid breath hot on your face. Here came the pitch.
“Papa Tango
aint standing for no self-declared governor ruinin’ our show down here. He’s
got the credits, and he’s recruitin’. Aint no orders – this aint no army – but
you join us then just occasionally the Papa asks you to do a job for him. A few
months of work and this whole thing just blows over, everything back to normal.
In the meantime,” Quaego’s face broke into a leering grin, revealing two neat
rows of chromed teeth, “you and your boys get all the creds and whores you
could ever need.” Quaego leaned back in his bench, lifting the stogie for
another self-satisfied drag, eyes never leaving your face. Beads of sweat
trickled down your brow as your wore your own grin like a mask. This was some
seriously heavy shit. The lads would go wild for what Quaego had laid on the
table here, but getting tied in with the Papa was no fucking joke. Once the old
bastard noticed you, he owned you for life. Seen it happen too many times
before. But the money, the fucking money… Quaego puffed out another toxic plume
of smoke. The booth was getting so thick with it, you were struggling to make
out the pimp’s face across the table.
“Well boy,
whats it to be? You with us?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
To join
Papa Tango’s faction and get your share of the mountain of creds, reply to this
message. During future campaign missions, you will be called upon to fight for
the Papa. Doing so will earn you considerable wealth, although the challenge,
danger, and moral outrage may be great.
And now, here's the pitch from Boss Blake's man:
“Now, what
we got here is failure to communicate.” Silas kicked his chair back and strode
slowly across to the office’s single grimy window. He stood there with his back
to you, and as the silence threatened to draw out to uneasy lengths, you began
to notice how uncomfortable your chair was. It was never comfortable being in
the oppressive grasp of authority. Now Silas may have liked to call himself
‘sheriff’ of these parts – even though he was as crooked, corrupt and bent as
the next man, and a long way off representin’ anything approachin’ the law –
but truth be told the man found himself in the envious position of representin’
the power round these parts: the
eponymous Blake. So when Silas called
you up to his office, it seemed the done thing for a man to go and show his
face where it was wanted.
“Some
people you just cant reach,” thank the Emperor he was speakin’ again. Aint no
way to hold a meeting; nobody talking, just lots of starin’ and waitin’. “So,
you get what we had here last week, which is the way he wants it. Well,” Silas
nodded out the window to the motionless figure hanging stung up outside, “he
gets it”. From where you were sitting, you couldn’t make out the ganger’s
rotting form, with his bulging eyes, gorged lolling tongue and voided bowels,
but you’d had a right good fucking look on the way in. Silas turned from his
vigil and regarded you with a sour eye.
“I don’t
like it any more than you,” mindful of the ever present risk of snipers, Silas
stepped back from the window and lowered himself back into his unpadded
plasteel chair. “Times be changin’ round these parts. Evidence is swinging from
a pole right outside” More mental images of pooping eyes and purple faces. Real nice. “Boss Blake is gonna make
somethin’ of this place, like his Daddy, and his Grandaddy before him. Now that the Grimshaft is open, people gotta
reason to come through these parts again. We got guilders, prospectors, hell we
even got green hivers! We got a chance here to make somethin’ of this place
again.” Silas paused to carefully extract a flask and two tumblers from a
particularly deep desk drawer. Working the lid with measured precision he
poured out two perfect fingers of Veit, pushing one across the desk towards
you. He watched like a sentinel droid as you drank; it was the good stuff, real
smooth. Silas was going up in the world if he could afford shit like this.
 |
| Don't cross the Boss! |
“Boss Blake
wants to clear the place out”. He paused, staring at you in that fucking
disconcerting way of his, as if he was inside your head listening to your
thoughts before you even had some for yourself.
“Its no good for business having ‘unlicensed’ gangs fucking up all our
new trade. Boss Blake aint got the time for no competitors out there neither.
You see, he don’t want a slice of the pie, he wants the whole fucking pie.” Silas’ hands were working the flask. Another
finger of Veit – one for you, one for him. Only time in your life this man had
given you anything other than a week in the cells.
“The way I
see it, you’re either part of our solution here, or part of the problem. You
come do a bit of work for the Boss, we fit you out with some nice equipment and
creds, and put a bit of work your way. In a few months’ time, job done and this
all blows over, leaving you and me richer and both of us a whole lot happier.”
Silas takes the stopper off the flask for another finger. “So what d’ya say,
boy? You in?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
To join
Boss Blake’s faction and get your share of all the lovely new kit for your
gang, reply to this message. During future campaign missions, you will be
called upon to fight for the Boss. Doing so will earn you considerable power,
although the challenge, danger, and moral outrage may be great.
Quite cheesy, and admittedly heavily influenced by Joe Abercrombie's Red Country, but fun to write. I wonder if anyone will notice the Cool Hand Luke rip offs?
