Hey folks. Small update I recently hosted a Ashwaste necromuda game on the bleakspur board I created last year 2019 pre covid. It took a year to make and then i had to wait a year to game on the thing. PDH aka Peter and Requiem 82 aka Ben and shiboleth aka Jonathan came over to game on it. It was a good game a bit slow to start off with and then once in he action wiite a lot of fun. I had previously made a random events table and created models to represent these.
Each player had his own objective mine was to enslave as many folk as possible Peter's was to capture a rare stc template from the spire top . Ben's was to assassinate a rival assassin and Jonathan's was to extract a medical sample from his long lost son.
I was originally going to write up the narrative stories for each player but my laptop died with most pictures from the game . The remaining pics are are posted hear for posterity . I should also mention Npc models were provided by Nicholas pihlstrom Bjarni Dali and John blanche
Far north of the World Sump Ocean past the ancient sunken shipyards of the Quinspirus Cluster and
the desolate rad pits of the Blitzguard lays a forgotten Spire newly revealed by a millennia long Ash
storm. None can say what long begotten relics of Necromunda’s Technocracy lay within its rusting
and radiated interior or what eldritch horrors lay in wait for the unwary traveller.
By no measure was the thing a Hive. Barely a pinnacle compared to the manmade mountain
monoliths of Necromunda. But here north of north out on the edge of the storm plains, where
nomads reign beyond the remit of the clans and houses there were few structures to rival its size.
Derelict and forsworn, barely a soul in sight, its engine heart long since stalled. Promethium no
longer pumped through destitute and calcified pipes. A pitiful mass of machines and architecture
thrust up like a dirty stiletto through the ochre haze of the horizon. Bayonetted black against the
twilight smog like an ominous shadow.
It began as a rumour hushed in dim tents on the radtrail, but like anything of value, the rumour
spread through the spider network of traders and tunnels until it reached the dry docks of the
Quinspirus cluster.
A new hive.. ? A rust relic emerged from the Ash storms somewhere north of the world sump ocean,
a technocratic treasure of a bygone age. Like moths to the lantern, Guilders and Warlords from afar
moved quickly to lay claim to the derelict citadel. Most faltered at the first, lost in rad storms or
engulfed by the shifting dunes. But some persisted desperate to lay claim to the Phantom
fortification. A tentative foothold in this impermanent place before the apparition descends back to
myth shrouded in discouraging electrical storms.
You are not the first and your reasons to be here are you own, but as it lays before you now, a
brooding monolith of a dead era. You cannot escape the faded majesty of what was.
The few shanties that have built up around its toxic rim are sparse and windblown temporal things,
clinging to what now passes as life in the shadow of the spire. Your respirator coughs and gargles
struggling to keep you alive in this toxic acropolis of death. The wind begins to howl as you check the
blips emerging onto your Auspex. Your arrival has not gone unnoticed. Unclipping an ammo pack
from its housing you take note of a makeshift waster sign that translates as “BleakSpur” and you
couldn’t agree more.
The Technomancer story
Nicholas pihlstrom generously sent me this model it's one if the best I have ever seen too. Partly Inspired by laputa i thought it would sit really well with Bjarni Dali's Techno runts that he had previously sent me . I also added a converted skitari model I made years ago for the last game I hosted the harrowing of Tephra.
I had tried narratively organise the game before it started so it would make gaming flow and give a reason for the characters to be here.
So exiled and hunted from palpatine hive forbid progressive thoughts the technomancer fled to the most desolste polar regions to continue his experimentation in an ancient abandoned Araneus prime geothermal facility. Subsequently retrofitted into an imperial scholarship progenium . Now crawling with ancient monsters and feral mutated orphans. A pan mutation that causes the centuries old orphans to never grow old. Their tutors long dead tbey embrace a savage semi nomadic lifestyle.
The two adopts Bjarni sent would work as ferals adopted by the magos to help plant seeds . The larger mutated manchikd skittarii is also an orphan discarded like junk from his noble heritage by uncaring inspire nobility. Jonathan's character would attempt to woo back his progeny to take a genetic sample to alleviate a terminal condition.
The Technomancer was not alone in his machinations to restore Necromunda to its former Araneus Prime glory. He had at his disposal a Famed upspire Assassin the Hunter. Built by Ben specifically for the game he had been eliminating obstacles in the Technomancers path to restore the world to greenery. Unfortunately he had also become a target for another famed assasin velvet. Who had received a bounty to kill the Hunter from the fixer of fixers Mydas.
No good assasin works alone so the Hunter has back up a gunslinger hired for the last job and returned to bleakspur for payment
The Hunter
TBC...
Jonathan's story
The Ailing Duke
Your retinue arrived on the outskirts of the ramshackle shanty town two days ago, the price you paid to the guilders was worth it. You may finally be in reach of your goal. You never regretted the decision to throw your own son out the spire until the churgeon told you how terminal your illness was, and how the only hope for a cure lay within your families gene pool. Like any uspsire noble worth his house, you killed your own siblings before your 16th birthday. Your parents were assassinated in inter house politics and you have been by yourself ever since, which suits you fine. When your concubine gave you a heir, you were mildly amused – it will be good to have your line continue you thought but nothing more. When the mutations began to show though, you knew there could only be one option, Banishment, Lord Helmaw forgives many sins but Mutation is not one of them. The Inquisition hunts without mercy those who show corruption and your house would be ruined, the taint may even lead to yourself and you liked your life enough to not want it to end in an imperial black ship or worse one of Helmaw’s death squads. NO the only answer was to cast aside your own into the wilds. He was given to a smuggler who was paid handsomely to forget where he came from or to tell where he was going which was fine right up until your recent diagnosis.
Now within touching distance of your goal – the spies you hired informed you that the child was gifted to Ashwaste nomads who travelled as circus in the long deserts of Necromundas polar regions, How the child came to be here- in but long forgotten this newly reported spire is a mystery. You only need a vial of his genome and you will be on your way home, but those feral youths who hide in the shadow of the spire, living like animals in the ochre dirt are scuppering your plans, there are too many to fight – so you wait.
Two days later your patience is rewarded with a violent ashstorm- all but the most solid of shanties are blown to the wind, the children take shelter in the lower regions of the spire – you noticed they don’t travevel very far up the spire and your spies report that your mutant child is based in the middle section of the Fortress. – he is wearing the robes of the machine cult and is assisted by two runts- they seem to be planting seeds on the spire and fixing water pipes for some unknown reason. Now is your opportunity and you and your retinue push forward in haste as your spies re[ort a slaver warband is also moving in.
Jonathan's target was his long lost son from whom he needed to extract a DNA sample. The mutant man child was not an adept for the rogue mechanicum magi. And wanted nothing to do his duplicit father. The warband tried several times to play a lullaby to win over the orphan only to be shot at by him in return. In the end the duke caught up with his protege and as the child realised whom he was embraced his father only to be punched in the face for his troubles. The duke then duly extracted the DNA sample from the blood on his noble glove and fled the the bleakspur with renewed Hope's for a cure.
The orphan
Peter's story
The Explorer
You have been here 3 days now- the have plotted safe routes into the most deadly environments on Necromunda and this is no exception- The newly discovered Bleakspur is too tempting an opportunity to miss- the guilders would pay a high price for a safe route into that archeeohive.
You had heard rumours in the guilder camps and caravan pitsops of a mad machine cult Magi experimenting against the laws of nature and trying to create a new biosphere in Necromundas vast polar desert ecosystem. but like all rumours they were just that, but now you wonder if they are true- everyone know nothing grows on necrumanda well nothing that wont kill you as soon as look at you, but for days now you have seen the signs of rebirth and regrowth, Green grass or ad hoc wild flowers not seen outside a noble biome – small creatures too – to small for the dusters to notice but an observant man like yourself sees these things- they are clues to what is going on here , but was is going here? A lone spire surrounded by a shanty full of feral children- but something else- you have spotted three machine cult adepts on the spire – they seem to be growing seeds and fixing water pipes- they are controlled by an unseen figure deep in the middle section of the spire that si perpetually locked in shadow – and something else – something sinister lurks in the spires and in the bowls – you don’t see exactly what but the movements of the ferals give you a feeling that something else is a foot ..
You wish to move into the spire and find its secrets but the ferals are no joke – they would skin a man alive as soon as he sets foot within the shanties- and you have seen it done before - or the rad zones would catch me off guard – no to be cautious is to be alive – you will wait.
Two days ago you noticed a a noble cararvan arrive – they seem to be afraid to enter the shantie too- you watch them for some time and decide they are no threat if you keep your distance- you too are being observed and not just by the spire a lone gunwomen is camped on the outskirts of the shanties – its seems you are not the only one with a n interest in Bleakspur-
From your observations you figure Bleakspur to be some sort of weather manipulation device ancient and no doubt heretical but interesting none the less – it seem to be able to generate its own weather – often just ashstorms smog but sometimes more powerfull things like plasma storms – its is intriguing and you can only imagine what archeotek lays in its spires.. –
You wait for your opportunity marking rad zones as you cautiously watch the ferals.
A day later and you are ready to go- a violent ashstorm was generated by Bleakspur and it has wiped away the shanties leaving only the most sturdy structures standing- the ferals have retreated inside but have avoided entering the bowls directly – they also do not seem to dare move any higher than the lower regions-
Either now is you opportunity the – Gunwoman has gone and the nobles are on the move – you move swiftly avoiding the rad zones until you find yourself standing at the foot of the behemoth.
Ben's story
The Assasin's Prey
Be. wrote a evocative pre game into to his characters
“I don’t like it”
Velvet said, or rather, half shouted. It was very noisy.
The thin,
bespectacled man sat opposite her in the booth gave no indication he’d heard
her. Perhaps he hadn’t. He continued studying the sheaves of paper in front of
him on the table, and seemed to be comparing various details with a data-slab
readout. A glass of water stood, untouched.
Velvet considered
repeating herself, but then the head lifted, and an eyebrow arched at her.
“And what exactly is
it you’re not happy about?” Mydas asked. Despite the loud pulse music and the
hubbub of the crowd, he didn’t raise his voice. He rarely did. Luckily, the
assassin had exceptional hearing, and still caught the words.
“Seems
straightforward enough, price agreed, and no quibbling! My sort of deal” Mydas
added.
“It’s alright for you
to say that, sitting about on your arse. I’ve read the details, I got a bad
feeling from it”
Mydas frowned at the
swear word, and went back to his papers. He sighed and lifted a bit of
unidentifiable meat off of one sheet, grease already staining it. “Golfag,
please try and keep your food to yourself”
The hulking, dark
skinned Ogryn stopped mid-chew at hearing his name. He turned his head to
regard what Mydas held up, and then half opened the huge sandwich he was
consuming.
“In dere boss” a deep rumble suggested.
With a grimace, the
accountant flicked the offending morsel back into the sandwich, which closed
like a Catachan Mantrap, and was swiftly returned to the Ogryn’s mouth for
another huge bite. Golfag chewed and grinned happily. Another bit of the
filling dropped out the bottom of the sandwich.
Mydas sighed, and returned his attention back to Velvet.
“Fine. Tell me what bothers you. I’m not paying you any more, there’s barely
any margin in it anyway, my fee is quite minimal, I assure you. The travel cost
alone to this place was astronomical”
“I don’t know,
exactly. Just a feeling, that it’s not going to go well.” Velvet shouted over
the music. “Why the hell do we have to meet here, anyway? This is not a nice
place you got”
“It’s perfectly
good.” said Mydas “Everyone is occupied, no-one can hear us, and most
importantly, the creds are flowing” He
went back to his papers and slab once again.
It was true. The Slut Drop bar was a great place to be inconspicuous.
The loud music, dance area and the wide range of alcohol and stimms on offer
meant everybody there was suitably occupied. The girls in various states of
undress dancing on tables also helped. The only really alert people were the
usual large men on the door, and strategically placed about the place, in case
trouble occurred. Flare ups were common, but were normally swiftly dealt with.
“Whatever, you perv. What about some back up?”
Mydas glanced up at
her over the rim of his glasses. This was unusual. The young woman before him
was normally the pillar of confidence and swagger, and happily operated on her
own. For her to ask for assistance really did mean she was concerned. His quick
mind ran the numbers against who he knew to be available. No. Whichever way he
cut it, Mydas would make nothing at all if he got more people involved. She
would have to go it alone.
Mydas knew how to
motivate his operatives. Velvet hated being challenged, so he said:
“Well, if you can’t
do it, I’ll have to find someone else. Maybe you can hang around here, do
security. I could ask Haley…” He let the words hang, knowing the two women did
not get on.
Mentioning the
ex-enforcement officer had the desired effect. Velvet glowered at him.
“You bastard. Fine.
I’m off.” She slid along the booth bench seat and stood up. “I’ll get it done.
I always do” With that, Velvet shouldered her rifle case, and looked one last
time at the pair still sitting, one pale and thin, the other, dark and
muscular. “See ya!”
She spun on her heel
and headed for the main doors, pushing through the crowded walkways. A man,
quite worse for wear, whistled at her as she passed and tried to grab at her.
In a foul mood already, Velvet turned to confront the fool, but as she did, a
large shadow rose up behind the man, and a deliberate movement caused the
fellow to crumple to the floor.
“Thanks Golf. I had him covered though”
The Ogryn shrugged and said “I come too”
“Aw no, you heard Mydas. He wants you here”
“Don’t want you ‘urt”
Golfag did surprise
Velvet at times. Whether he did actually listen and didn’t let on he
understood, or whether it was more instinctive, she couldn’t tell, but there
were moments where he grasped the situation well, and clearly saw she’d been
unhappy.
Velvet reached up and patted his cheek “It’s ok babe, I got
this. I’ll be back before you know it”
The broad face
scrunched up in unconvinced thought, and she could see he wasn’t easily
accepting this, so she tried a different tact.
“You gotta stay here,
the other girls need you. Look, that one over there, that group of men are
getting out of hand” Velvet pointed behind Golfag’s back.
With a deep frown,
the Ogryn turned to look, and saw nothing too amiss. Just the usual hustle and
bustle, the conversations, the cheers and whoops, the music pounding, the
drinks flowing and the girls dancing.
He turned back but
Velvet had gone… wait, there she was, at the door. Before he could move, she
blew him a kiss and disappeared.
Then I wrote a short game intro for them.a
You have been hear a week – sat on the outskirts of the feral youth infested shanty town, your mark sits somewhere inside that dirty spire mocking you- or at least that what you would be doing if the roles were reversed. You have been trying to decide the best approach, the shanty town is good cover from potential snipers but the ferals would complicate things too much – no you will wait and see what advantage turns up-
You spotted the noble retinue arrive like clanking circus three days ago- they have spies and have taken a great interest in whatever lays in the middle section of the bleakspur – your target on the other hand rarely gives away his location- form time to time you glint the infamous ocular lenses from the peaks of the spire but only for a second then its gone- back In the shadows-
The nobles could cause a problem but for now they don’t know you’re here and they may be a good distraction for the ferals .. You will wait
Two days later and more tourists are turning up, this spire was supposed to be a well-kept secret – it looks like it’s now on the guilders maps –
The hierophant and his witch finder were no less noisy – ranting and squawking like the up spire canticles – the cartographer was less noisy – he walks like a man who knows the land – you would nt be surprised if he had already spotted but no matter – they are not the mark.
Your observations are rewarded when you spot three machine cult adepts fixing water? pipes in main of the spire- they seem to be taking orders from an unseen figure somewhere in the middle of the spire but who or what remains unknown. As you watch them you yourself feel watched.
On the 10 day the opportunity you had waited arrived – a fierce ash storm blew in form the plains wrecking all but the most sturdy of the shanties- the ferals had taken cover with the edges of Bleakspur – they seem not to want to enter the bowels of the rotten spire- not even to wait out the storm – with the storm abating you recognise your chance to move in unnoticed – and maybe just I time as another clanking war party (slavers moves into view)
Many tales are told of this legendary encounter but what is truth and what is myth is left to interpretation. All I can say is that the velvet got paid.... or did she ?
Neil's story
The Slavers
“Kantus squinted towards the dust storm forming on the horizon.
My own slavers failed terribly in game catching no one and high tailing away with only two members left. A poor showing for such a fearsome looking bunch. Until next time.
My target was any one alive.
But kinda hopefully to grab some of the feral children. Which didnt happen. Splir my attack between Peter's gang and Jonathan's which was probably a bad idea as they were pretty tough cookies.
Summing up I wont be making a visual narrative like I usually do Do to missing too many photos as my.laptop died with them on but I will pop yhe rest of them up on here for posterity and you can make what you will of the game from those images.
Ben aka Requiem 82 on insta is blogging his narrative flow so be sure to check it out.
https://instagram.com/requiem_82?utm_medium=copy_link
A few notable events included Peter's guy falling through a roof and impairing himself . An Assasin nearly falling to there doom during a hive quake an ash storm drops and a giant spider to name but a few.
Game pica below
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