The idea is to allow Necromunda 'quickies' with players choosing to risk their best combat fighters down in the pits for potentially handsome experience and financial reward. The dangers of losing of course will put off some! I found the scenario sifting through a 'settlement events' pack for Necromunda on the Yakromunda website - which is an amazing resource! Gangers go in for the fight, accompanied by the gang leader as 'minder' and the one who puts the bets on. There is a random events table to roll on before the fight commences, which affects the betting with results such as the leader getting pickpocketed and losing all his creds, to fighters being under the weather and suffering stat mods, or even just legging it and not showing up! The fighting is limited to hand to hand combat weapons only (and no sword or power weapons), so its purely a dirty bludgeoning match. I'm hoping to use the game board from Martin's Spartacus set to stage these as it would look immense!
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| I'm going wear your spleen like a hat! |
Players simply pick a ganger to fight, and grab someone to play the pit fighter (randomly generated from the Outlanders book). No campaign points available for this one on account of its scale, but players could build up legendary reps for their combat specialists here, so it should make for good sport if enough of the lads go for it. No doubt Craddock will rule house if he puts an Ork boy in there! If it catches on and people build reps for their boys, we could have ganger on ganger pit fights and cut out the pit slave. Other campaign players who want to watch could bet gang credits on the outcome...
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| Now this is just awesome. |
I wrote this bit of fluff below to set the scene. Quaego is back, although a bit damaged. When I sent out the faction offers to draw the players into the campaign 'camps', Tam's leader got jumpy and shot poor Quaego in the face!
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| This ones got balls of steel! |
PIT FIGHTER
Quaego
leaned in close, too close for your likin’. His swarthy bulk was oppressive in
the close space, seeming to loom over you like the walls of some implacable
edifice. The ever present stogie hung as
always from one corner of his stygian visage. The other half of his face was a
monstrousity of soldered plates, cable and whirring gears. A trigger happy ganger had fragged him in the
grid a few months back. Would have killed any normal underhiver outright – only
reasonable outcome, to be sure. Seemed
it took more than a double tap to the head to put down a lump of meat like
Quaego though.
Now here
you were again, feelin’ like a bug stuck to flypaper as he set to asking you
his questions. Always with the fucking questions! The red glow of the
artificial optic telescoped in on you with a sterile whine as you weighed the
question in your head.
‘Well,’ a
shovel like hand scooped the stump of
the stogie from his lips as he exhaled a cloying, acrid cloud, like the
smokestack on an Imperial munitorium. ‘You sure your man is up to this?’ The
baleful glow of the optic swept up and over your shoulder to dwell on your
boy. Your eye couldn’t help but be drawn
by that deprecating gaze. Through the
jumble of jostling, sweaty bodies you found Icy standing against the far wall,
drinking in the spectacle playing out below. The lad was trying hard to look as
mean as a man could, but was coming off looking like a great big streak of piss
instead. You stifled a grimace at the sight of the little bastard.
Icy wasn’t
much to look at. You might of guessed he was only nineteen or twenty. He didn’t
even know himself. You’d picked him up after finding him wandering alone
through the old ruins by Butler’s Gooch.
He wore threadbare clothes scabbed off corpses and didn’t have so much
as a two bit stubgun to protect himself. Mean little cunt with a blade though.
Kept his head down when the lead was flying and would wait for his moment. The creepy
little bastard was a fucking surgeon with a blade when he got in close. Could
give a man a DeVannian necktie in a heartbeat. The lads started calling him
‘Icy’ after they saw that, on account of how it left you feelin’ once you saw
his handiwork.
Useful as
he was, Icy was startin’ to give the rest of the lads the heebie jeebies. It
was time to get shot of him, and you didn’t fancy being the one to break the
news to him. The thought of waking up with your tongue yanked through a new
hole in your neck wasn’t a particularly edifying one. So it came down to this:
either you emptied a round into the little bastard’s head whilst he slept, or
you made a few creds out his demise down here… You lifted your bottle of Scuzz
and took a long hard draw as you eyeballed the juve.
‘He don’t
look much, but he’ll do just fine.” You wish you sounded surer – even you could
hear the doubt in your own voice. Quaego’s glowering optic burned into Icy,
drinking him in and not much caring for the taste.
‘I don’t
want another ten second wonder out of you. If the crowd aint happy,’ Quaego
took another heavy drag on the stump of the stogie, savouring the silky smoke
that seemed to wash away the taint of Icy, ‘then Quaego aint happy.’ The stygian giant’s two heavy eyes – natural
and machine – swept back to you. He paused for a moment, and that fucking
oppressive stare of his seemed to press you down into the very floor. ‘No one
disappoints Quaego twice.’ You gulped hard at the implication, and hoped to
whatever Gods were listening that the gains would outweigh the risk.
‘He’ll
fight. My man’ll put on a show, rest assured. Give him the best you’ve got,
you’ll see.” Another drag on the Scuzz, and you could hear your own pulse
hammering in your ears, even over the bestial cacophony of the arena. Shit! You
always let your mouth run when you got nervous. Now look where it was fucking
getting you! Quaego seemed real pleased though.
That great buckled face of his twisted into a leering grin as he swept
an impossibly trunk like arm around your reluctant shoulders.
‘Good’, just
for a moment those heavy eyes danced. ‘I should never have doubted you! The boy
will do us proud – now lets go place us our bets…’ As giant gangster led you
off into the stalls, you wondered how the juve was going take the news. Seemed
honesty would be the best approach.
‘See how I said we were coming down here to
watch the pit fights tonight lad? Well, that’s not quite on the mark. You see, I
will be watching the pitfight son, but
you’re not. No, you’re going to be in it…”
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