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The Great Crusade > The Enemies of Mankind > Tale Of Waste Landers


Title: Tale Of Waste Landers
Description: fluff for the codex


Battle Brother Loken - December 17, 2008 11:59 PM (GMT)
http://z15.invisionfree.com/The_Great_Crus...?showtopic=1906
theres the WIP army codex and now heres the fun bit i like
the fluff

Jonathan stood over the body of his dead brother. Those filthy damned raiders had cut him open and stuffed his own guts down his throat. It felt like only yesterday Jonathan as an eight-year-old boy watched as his mother and two sisters get beaten bound and cared away by slavers. That had been twenty years ago, and over that twenty-year span three of his brothers, and his father had been killed fighting raiders, or slavers, or whatever the filth the plagued this wasteland wanted to call themselves. And now look were he was, standing over the body of his last family member. Sam was the only reason he had stayed here. Now that he was dead there was nothing left here for Jonathan.

He looked up at the house he had spent the last twenty-eight years of his life in, it’s peeling paint, it’s broken windows, it’s door hanging on now by only one hinge. He waked up the three wooden steps to the front door, as he opened the termite-infested piece of scrap wood its last hinge broke. He let it fall he didn’t care anymore. He went inside, and the place was a mess, the raiders lived up to their name, tables we turned over, cabinets destroyed, everything was on the floor. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in there. The rest of the house was the same, but that didn’t matter as long as they hadn’t gotten into his footlocker. He walked down the hall to his room, and there it was, his footlocker, lying on his bed battered and beaten but unopened. He undid the lock and opened it up; he pulled out his rifle, which was the only thing worth keeping in this house. He went to the kitchen grabbed the kerosene, poured it all over, struck a match, and burned the place to the ground. Turning around he stared into the barren wastes that once were lush and beautiful hills.

Vars sat on the sand bag bunker staring of into the wastes. Behind him fifteen some odd people huddled around the converted flat bed. Over the last week and a half Vars, Richard, and Jack had been working day and night to get that thing ready. Two gun ports behind the divers seat, with light mounted machine guns in them, thick armor on the side to keep the passengers safe, and an armored front with a slit a few inches wide to see out of, all and all a fairly good job for such a short time frame to do it in. Although really what is the point Vars knew what kind of weapons the slavers and raiders had. This armor wasn’t going to hold log, and the truck was too heavy in the back. To fast of a turn and they were all going flying, plus the wheels weren’t meant to drive over the lose dirt of the wastes; hell they can barely handle the few paved roads that are left after the bombs dropped.

Vars heard his name being called; he turned to see the civilians, if you could call them that, getting into the back of the truck. He picked up his machinegun and walked the few yards to the drivers seat. He got in and tuned the truck on. As the little scrap metal village disappeared into the horizon Vars tried to remember exactly how to get back to Hell. Laughing to himself he though about why the founders of the underground complex decided on that as a name.

The rocket exploded into the side of the truck, punching through the armour and sending sharps of metal everywhere. Vars was thrown from the truck and smashed into the ground. A second rocket slammed into the wheels of the truck, throwing it into the air and tossing the passengers right and left. Most ended up underneath the truck crushing them instantly. Blood stained the ash and sand and the cries of the survivors filled the air. Vars ran over to help a woman whose leg and been caught underneath some of the armour panels of the truck. He knew the moment he saw her that she could not travel either way, back to town or to the safety network tunnels, he did the only other thing he could think of, and as Vars aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger he felt no remorse for the woman’s life he just took. Now he and the few survivors had to start their trek to the safety of the tunnels before nightfall, that’s when the orks came out and no one lived through that.

John’s eyes flew open to the sounds of screams and yells. He felt the back of his head, it was bleeding, must have hit a rock when the missile hit the truck and he was thrown. He sat up and stared up at the sun; it was at about midday, maybe a little after. Lifting his head caused a throbbing ach in the back of his skull. He dropped his gaze again, and as his eyes fell he saw a grotesque sight. Most of the party that had set out in the truck was either crushed under it, or slowly dieing from shrapnel wounds. He sat there and watched Vars stand up and hobble over to a woman whose leg was caught under the Truck bed, which had been blown off by the explosion.

He looked on as Vars pulled out his gun, and put one round into her head. He was shocked that he didn’t feel anything for the woman “well maybe” he thought to himself “it because I would have done the same thing to her as well.” Then hoisting himself to his feet he picked up the mounted light machineguns that had been thrown from its stand, like the truck bed, by the explosion. It was a glorified assault rifle really, standard rounds, thirty to a magazine, handle and grip. Nothing to it, this could have been the very gun that he had lost to raiders 6 months ago. Except that on had his fathers name carved into the side, this one was not marked. Well save the scratches that just come with time and use. He looked around and saw that there were eight survivors in all. Himself, Vars, Jack, Richard, and the four survivors from his little town, Katherine, Ron, then the two ex-mercs Sledge and Scrap. They had come fully armed, and ready to kill, before leaving John and mocked them for bringing guns. Now though he was glad they were armed to the teeth.

i know its alot for one sitting but how did you like it
leave some C&C and i hope its co writer will post and give himself some credit
i do action he does the rest
o and i write the stats ;)

yakovich - December 18, 2008 12:06 AM (GMT)
Dude i don't need any credit you asked me to help so i helped that's all
this fluff was your idea
so take the credit, and i also liked how you split it up into paragraphs
makes it easier to read

Battle Brother Loken - January 24, 2009 07:37 AM (GMT)
a bit mroe of a fluff update

He had been a boy then only about 17 winters old, he lived in the small town and attended the military school near there. At 18 he went to the Capitol for the first time to see the Czars palace. It was this day that he would never forget, because this was the day it all started to go insane. Things that looked like gray teardrops fell from the sky and smashed into the streets and buildings of the Capitol. Out of them stepped what Vars could only describe as monsters of men, each of these “men” stood around 8 feet in height and were as broad as 2 men clad in gray plate like armour. They demanded to be taken to whoever was in charge of this planetary system. Instead the Czar came out to see them and they introduced themselves as Word Bearers. The Czar was amazed with the strangers genetic build up and in secret commissioned our scientists to began taking our soldiers for testing and modifaction. The peace did not last long though, soon the Czar had his soldiers, hulking brutes who stood 11 feet tall and 3 times as broad as a man. They were no longer human but monters in the personal serveice of the Czar.
The war was over fast due to the Warp Storm that hit causeing the Word Bearers to flee if the wanted to get of the planet. But then the horror started, a civil war the Czar and his army on one side and the rebels and the old military on the other.

Battle Brother Loken - January 29, 2009 11:36 PM (GMT)
poor vars
i gues i never really wanted him to live anyways

It was this day that the bombs fell, killing the farmlands and the forests, whipping out everything not loyal to the Czar. The fragments of humanity left had to rebuild in a waste that a human without a gas mask could not breath in. Soon little outposts and towns popped up and grew and people felt at peace again. A new enemy came in the years to follow, the orks stormed the plains and laid siege to the entire planet. For the first time in 2 decades the Czar came to the aid of those he sought to destroy all those years ago. In the end the orks were pushed back but not totally destroyed and formed war bands in the wastes.


Vars was snapped awake from his daydream by the heavy hand of Sledge and his shoulder.
“We got tah get a move on or me and Scrap is guna leave yah behind, got dat mista soldier man” Growled Sledge with a slight smirk on his face.
“We go when I say we go and right now we need to look for anything of use in the truck,” replied Vars
Sledge grinned and pulled his custom 4-barreled shotgun from its holster on his back and pointed it at Vars’s head. “We go now, got it or I just might mess up yah pretty little face”
Suddenly the entire group was up at arms, everyone pointing guns at Scrap and Sledge and Scrap and Sledge with their custom weapons pointing right back. There was a moment of silence and the Sledge lowered his gun and walked away towards the cliffs, Scrap followed his example spitting in Vars’s direction as he did so.
“Let ‘em go and die here I say” grunted Scrap.

John knew that they would need Scrap and Sledge if they were to get out of this alive and now did not understand why Vars had just let them go. So he did something he never thought he would do, he turned his rifle on Vars and fired. The shot caught Vars square in the forehead splattering blood and brains all over the sand and ash.
“I am leading this parade now and we need Scrap and Sledge so I say we go with them”
The others followed him without question or even looking back at the body of Vars who now laid in a pool of his own blood.


some C&C would be great :D

Uzthizzar, Librarian-Sorceror - March 1, 2009 01:35 PM (GMT)
:blink: Soooooooooo
Where are these 'Waste Landers' meant to come from?
Was it meant to sound like something from a Fallout game or not?




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