DEADZONE HOBBY PROJECT:
A Wall of Flames.
Helgi knew they had to be quick. Reports showed that The Plague were near. He was prepared for that. They take bullets just fine. Whoever called this region home had scampered, right quick too by the look of it. Mounds of ammo, medical supplies, food…this would serve the rest of the brothers well. Suplies were not low, yet, but this looked like a long haul.
The earth shook, like the pipes beneath the hastily built Human settlement had made a profoundly terrible decision at meal time. Distracting? Certainly, but not deadly. Then, the shooting started. Accurate fire from out in the ruins covered the advance of hulking green skinned brutes. Gorans, commandos…Marauders. Helgi did not know, or care,if they were fighting for their own interests or as hired hands for the GCPS. A bit of fire power should sort them out. After a few barked orders, the lads finished stowing the haul for transport. Karl took up a good firing position. A long burts of heavy fire obliterated a Goblin sniper who was unwise enough to break cover. The Marauders scampered to grab loot of their own. A few advanced to fire on the Forge Fathers. Their shots could not strike home and another of their number was dropped by a burst of fire from Olwin. In the next instant, the air boiled as a grean maniac hosed Olwin with fire. Olwin staggered back and nearly faltered. Helgi watched with pride as the young lad recovered and readied his weapon to cut down the Goran scum. High above him, another Goran took am and pulled the trigger. The rounds caught Olwin in the helmet, his faceplate awash in blood, he fell slumping to the ground amidst the sputtering remains of the flames he had overcome.
It was at this momment Helgi saw the Marauder leader vaulting towards him with the cold glint of a seasoned warrior in his eyes. At first he thought the brute had missed, then he saw the blood flowing freely from the elboe joint of his armor. The brute smiled then, the smug bastard was smiling at him. Helgi’s hammer took the smile and a few teeth off the Marauder. Battered and bkeeding they looked at each other, waiting fir an opening. Suddenly, Starker came pelting in to the rescue. The Goran brushed him aside but, outnumbered now, he took a defensive stance. Then it came, that mad bugger with the flamethrower decided to mix his desire to show loyalty and win a promotion into one bright act of insanity. The first blast of flame incinerated the Goran Sarge and Helgi. Starker was still tring to sort out what had happened when the second blast caught him and painted him, helm to boots, in caustic, white hot flame. He never even had time to scream.
Seeing the last of his brothers fall, and his leader, Karl surged forward, too late. Perhaps he could at least avenge them. He ran,full speed, shifting his Hailstorm in his hands, towards the Goran. The fool was giggling and trying to ready the flamethrower. The blow crumpled the green brute’s sternum and he went down gurgling and rasping as his shattered chest cut his lungs to ribbons. Karl stood panting over the body, listening to the earth rumble beneath him. He came back to his senses to hear the clack of weaponry above and around him. The Marauders opened fire and Karl, suspended for a moment by a latice of firepower which tossed his body back and forth like a mad dancer, fell at last to the ground; his blood and that of the crushed Marauder flowing into the fissured ground.