12 April 2010

Brief respite

Rumors had long persisted that the first victims of the Necromundan Plague had been hastily interred in a mass grave just outside the hive proper.  This burial site, known in hiver ghost-tales as Deadwalk Alley, had allegedly taken the lives of more treasure hunters than even the Great White Spider herself.  What's more, the journey to Deadwalk was scarcely three day's outing from Sump's Drift, which meant the list of vanished treasure seekers grew by the month.  Each crew had the perfect plan; the ideal gimmick; the sheer pearls to take their fortune and run.

Almost none of these returned to their homesteads, and those who did soon lapsed into fever and delirium before they could account for their misadventures. 

The burial site was originally an old family plot.  The Rameero clan, lead by patriarch Jorge, had made their home amongst the ruins of ancient infrastructure for centuries.  Their wealth meant that they lived in luxury, made all the more ostentatious by their distance from the hive proper.  This fortune lasted for generations, until one day old Jorge returned home from a rat hunt on a stretcher; borne by the house-servants in a delirious stupor to the estate's own medical staff.  The medicae were helpless to stave off the mysterious disease that had taken hold of the old man, and he soon passed on amongst the weeping, sobbing, sniffling, coughing, gasping, ever-weakening members of his proud clan...

Soon the Rameero homestead was all but vacant, as the myriad servants fled and the family wasted pitifully away in their beds.  Enforcer patrols could make no contact with the main estate house, as the servants had welded the 3-meter-tall main gates shut, and attempts to access the home's communications portal were met at first with delirious ramblings and screams, and eventually silence.

Despite the radio blackout, the Enforcers saw figures moving in the house, staggering between the many windows.  Eventually, the security figures withdrew, after hours of futile attempts to contact the famously wealthy Rameeros.  The proud old manse stood amongst the rusting backdrop of pipes, steel beams, and ash slag, and for years, no one dared speak of the wretched Rameero clan.

However, as is always the case, fact began to mingle with hearsay and rumor, gradually leading to the fantastic tales of walking d- 

"-Dammitall, yer no more likely t'listen teh me than y'are to swear yer own dear sweet ma' was a saintly virgin a'fore she met yer da', ain't ye?!  S'wot I thought, innit.  Well, since there's no sense in yer head, I might as well tell ya them stories are, well... let us just say they aint even a bit o'erblown, as 'twere.

You lot find yer way to the old gates of the old Rameero hivestead, ye'll find an ol'wrought-permasteel gate with the lock shot clear t'bits.  There's yer way inta Deadwalk.

Folks say there's a goodly summa' creds to be 'ad if'n yer could find the first few restin-places o' th'Rameeros; ol' shooters, fancy gadgets, gorgeous ol' gems an' sech.

Look, yeh fragged eejits.  There's summat done gone wrong out there.  Every'n knows it.  If'n th'lot a yer head that way, ya better be loaded fer ursa and have yer wits sharper'n a monomol blade.

If yer slow or an'thin less'n a genius, yer gonna rot on yer feet, looking fer the next fool t'step tru them gates an' marvelin' how tasty his arse looks.

Blasted fools, the lot've yeh.  Only s'much the Emp'rer can do for ye.  It won't be enough."

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