Stormfront Skirmish - Campaign Game #6

The Scrapspire Collective
vs.
The Ebon Shroud

______________________
Outcasts vs. Venators

The winds howled through the ruins of Dust Falls, thick with ash and static charge. The Scrapspire Collective and The Ebon Shroud moved cautiously, weapons raised, shadows flickering in the sickly glow of failing lumen strips. The storm was coming. But first, there was blood to be spilled.

The first to fall was Sting, a newly hired Escher of The Ebon Shroud. Hive Scum Kol, steady despite the swirling dust, squeezed the trigger of his autogun. Three shots rang out. Sting crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A 66 on the injury roll. A death that set the tone for the fight.

Watching his comrade die, the Venator Champion Marvin with the grenade launcher faltered. His hands shook, his grip slackened—then he turned and fled into the storm. But as the battle raged on, something snapped him back. Maybe it was the sound of his leader, Pythia, barking orders. Maybe it was the realization that he was still alive, and running wouldn‘t change that.

Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet, raising his grenade launcher. His eyes locked onto Kol, the hive scum who had gunned down Sting. With a sharp thump, the krak grenade sailed through the swirling ash and detonated on impact. The explosion ripped into Kol’s chest, sending him sprawling lifelessly into the dust. A brutal payback.

Erynn Ashveil, leader of the Scrapspire Collective, watching the chaos unfold, gestured forward. “Drokk, go. Break them.” The Ogryn grunted and charged ahead, but as he lumbered forward, an incendiary charge ignited at his feet. Flames engulfed him. He roared, slapping at the fire, but it clung to his flesh and armor. He spent the rest of the fight trying to douse the blaze.

Erynn cursed and tightened her grip on her power axe. If her bodyguard couldn’t cut a path, she would. She surged forward, the axe crackling with energy as it tore through armor and flesh alike. One Venator fell, again with a 66 on the lasting injury table, then another. Her fury was infectious. Donny, a freshly recruited Hive Scum—better known for his cooking than his fighting—saw her relentless charge and found something in himself. He let out a yell and waded in, Stub Gun barking, Butcher‘s Cleaver flashing. The Collective surged forward.

One by one, The Ebon Shroud fell. Soon, only their Leader Pythia remained, holed up in a crumbling hab, Plasma Pistol clenched tight in her hands. The storm intensified, lightning lashing the ruins, turning the battlefield into a nightmare of flickering shadows and choking dust. But there was nowhere left to run.

The Scrapspire Collective moved in from all sides. They stormed the building, the fight a brief, brutal thing. When it was done, Pythia lay bloodied in the dust. The storm howled, the wind shrieked, and the Hab District of Dust Falls stayed in the hands of the Scrapspire Collective.