Journal: Entry for SilverWarder
A Knife in the Darkness - Part the first
Author: SilverWarder Send a noteboard
Posted: 01/07/2010 08:40:03 AM
Views: 3668
A note on the universe -
This is 40k fanfic. For those who aren't in the know, this is what you'll need to know. It is tens of thousands of years in the future (the forty first millennium - we're currently in the third millennium). Mankind has gone to the stars, fallen into a dark age after that diaspora, risen again to the stars under the guidance of a man known only as 'The Emperor' who was betrayed, nearly slain, and is now an undying corpse in whose name his Empire is run. A second dark age is upon mankind. Technology is no longer really well understood and is mostly learned by rote. The rotting near corpse of the Emperor is worshipped as a God and manking is beset on all sides by things trying to devour it whole.
One of the chief opponents is Chaos. The great enemy. The servants of dark, VERY real gods who inhabit what we would call hyperspace. Through their agency many of the same men who brought about the current dark age through rebellion and war ten thousand years ago are still alive and still filled with hatred that has lasted far longer than anyone should ever live.
Into this terrible universe, a tiny band of ne'er do well underhive gangsters are trying to survive a favor they once did for some offworlders. Ah. The underhive. A 'hive' is much like the modern world in some ways. Different in others. It is a megacity, frequently holding billions, built up from the planet's crust. The upper parts are lovely, the equivalent of Manhattan or the like. The middle parts are working poor and middle class (think Jersey) while the very lowest parts make Harlem or Chicago's South Side look like a wonderful place for a holiday as they are less controlled, more crime ridden and just meaner than anything we have on Earth today. They are also in much worse repair as the city above slowly crushes them flat.
A Knife in the Darkness - Part 1
In the near total darkness, a faint rushing whisper hissed gently in the black iron crucible of what had once been some ancient manufacturing plant. The delicate dust fall that caused the noise leaked from a shattered culvert high above to sift down onto the top of a high cooling tower. There it formed a pyramid of glittering silicate before continuing to filter down the rusted sides like a wedding veil over a desiccate corpse.
Darting from cover to cover, lithe forms approached the tower, shapes only in the wan light. Reaching the foot of the plinth, several of them moved toward the huge mound of granular glitter. Others took up positions to cover them, the dark shapes of weapons barely visible in the distant, flickering light leaking from behind an old refinery stack far away across the dome.
The figures by the dust produced crude shovels and began to carefully dig, emptying the shining powder into a sifting box one had set up on the metal decking.
Disaster struck. Again.
Exene Thrush cursed, diving behind the ancient tower as heavy bolter rounds tore holes the size of dinner plates in the rotted metal. Hitting the ground in a roll, she came up firing, her green cased plasma pistol sending sun hot bolts in the direction of the muzzle flashes. There was a masculine cry and the firing stopped. She tucked her tongue into the corner of her sensuous, purple painted lips - showing hard concentration as she tracked another target. The covering Daughters of Dystopia opened up; shells and energy flying around the ancient dome like stray fire from the ghosts of long absent work by the ancient machines. Briefly the entire dome was lit by muzzle flashes as more of their ambushers joined the fray.
Exene could make them out now. The leading ones were hulking giants of men; each weighing in at over twice what one of her own girls would. Behind them, more slender forms dashed from point to point, stopping occasionally to fire. Moebius and Brob'nag? She cursed aloud again. What the hell was going on?
One of the girls on the other side hefted a giant weapon really too large for her and centred it on the dusty tower. A grin lit her face as readout lights reflected on the silver rings through her eyebrows, lips, ears and a single nipple intentionally left exposed by her low cut leathers. Heckle centred the Lascannon on the tower and let fly yelling out, "Take this you stinking purple bitch!"
There was a tremendous explosion. The tower cracked and sighed, staggering like a ganger on too much White Snake, and then the world came apart.
Exene woke to the cold splash of water on her face. Hard Candice glared down at her. As always, her eyes were like flint chips in her stony face. The leader of the Daughters tried to sit up.
"Nope." Candy pressed her back down. The ganger's gentle pressure was assisted by the searing pain in her side and hip. Black spots touched with pink and green nether lights danced before her eyes but she clung to consciousness by the tips of her scratched purple nails. "Hip's broke. We'll carry you out. Be a while afore you go dancin' again."
"The girls -"
"Is fine. Nobody hurt as bad as you. Two Brob'nags won't be goin' home though. Not never."
"What happened." She was still groggy. Thinking was tough. Exene put all her force of will into gathering her scattered thoughts. "I thought I heard Heckle."
Candy chewed a lip thoughtfully. "Maybe. I heard someone sounded like her just before the dust tower blew and took out the main support when it fell. Roof came down. 'Twas all Sindy could do to get you out." Sindy was their newest juve. And the ways things had been going lately, likely their last. "The two 'nags bought it when the roof fell in."
"I think I might have gotten another one." It was starting to come back.
"Mebbe. You should see this. Pulled it off a 'nag. Mebbe the leader. Looked important." Candy handed the injured gang leader a sheet of bloodstained plastic. Thrush's eyes squinted to make it out in the unsure light from the small lantern nearby. Her face went cold. Her eyes icy. Understanding dawned.
"Get me out of here. Now. I have to send a letter and it needs to leave yesterday."
CADIA:
The starlit sky flashed with the light of a thousand meteors. Bolts from the hand of an angry god. Giant shapes blotted the stars as the glowing sparks streaked toward the planet's surface. Striking in rapid sequence faster than a snare drum roll on a parade ground they ripped across the isthmus, a rain of glowing death. They tossed trees with 5 foot boles thousands of feet in the air, ripped holes in the ground big enough to swallow a titan, reaped death and destruction unimaginable. In seconds a thousand square miles of verdant wooded plain was rendered down to molten rock, black glass and shattered wreckage. The Hand of that god was felt and seen.
It was acknowledged.
It was feared.
But it was resisted, nonetheless.
Out of the blasted waste of the isthmus they came. Striding forward. Giants emblazoned with the Eye of Horus and the Star of Chaos.
Giant knights, walking fortresses, pinnacled towers on legs met them. The hammers of the Gods returned to the land so newly silent. The knights fell. The fortresses burned. The giants continued their march. Behind them came their legions. Tiny armored carriers rolling on their tracks, jump packed fiends in red and black armor long fused to their corrupt bodies. The boiling hordes of Chaos.
From atop a near hill reared another, minuscule threat. The giants turned. One could almost see the laughter of their crews as they faced about bringing their weapons to bear on the pitiful, tiny tanks that dared to roar a challenge with their sad little battlecannon. Void shields flared and strained under the onslaught of the Leman Russ tanks. The giants poised, taking their time to prepare, letting the fools savor their deaths.
All according to plan.
Entrenched deeply in the hill opposite the Leman Russ platoon, Lieutenant Verrus smiled as he spoke a line from an ancient play. "Come ye wrath or come ye wrack. At least we die with harness on our backs!" He stroked the fire trigger as he spoke the words.
Two Baneblades and a Shadowsword can do a lot of damage to a titan whose back is turned and whose shields are weakened. A volcano laser, four battle cannon, and eight heavy lascannon are not to be trifled with. Of course, it is impossible to ambush with superheavy tanks.
Impossible was a word that the soldiers of the 4th Danika did not believe in.
The lead giant fell.
So did the shells of the artillery companies. The targets were now in the killing fields.
* * *
A shell hit ripped apart most of a tactical squad, random bits of brave men sailing through the air. The edge of the blast also caught a black coated Commissar – the man who commanded this sector of the battle. It tossed him back, tearing the jump pack from his back and leaving him bent and broken on the ground.
His troops surged forward in anger, their own jump packs carrying them over the nearest attackers and into the back ranks of supporting marines. Hand flamers spewed fire, bolt pistols cracked. Storm shields flared to life with a crackle like lightning. The heretics fell back before the assault. But Chaos troops also can be clever and brave. A mad dreadnought rushed from behind them towards the hapless guardsmen.
Heironymous Cracken tried with all his might to get to his feet. His will was iron. His broken body was not. Shattered legs would not take the weight, broken ribs ripped at lungs and blood leaked from his mouth, nose and ears. He knew he had to stand. He was the only one who could stop that dreadnought!
A lesser man would have lain there and screamed, or perhaps passed out. A good man might have managed to stifle the screaming and remain conscious. A great man would have managed to get an arm under him and sit up. Heironymous Cracken made it to his knees.
As the dreadnought charged, the assault troops fell back. Several fell to its fire as it closed quickly. They had jump packs but there was no cover near enough. The weapons fire would rip them apart. It did not look good for the guardsmen as there were no reserves nearby that they knew anything about. Nothing in the battle plan. This sector was in serious trouble.
Cracken fumbled with his personal com-link. His radio man had fallen. He would have to hope someone would be near enough to relay his call. He spat blood to clear his mouth and did his best to talk clearly around his bubbling lungs. "Cracken to Command. Sector 4 in jeopardy." He choked up more blood, "We need immediate support. Cracken to Command, respond." The hiss of static filled his ears. "Repeat," the voice was weaker now, "Sector 4 in serious jeopardy. If you can hear, send support!" Suddenly a voice in the clear came through loud and strong.
"Is that Commissar Cracken of the 4th Danika, by any chance?"
"Yes." He barely got it out. "Who- " The pain was rising in the Commissar. It was all he could do to get those two words out.
"Brother Lucien, Dreadnought four of the Cleansing Flames. Hold tight and keep transmitting Commissar, I have some brethren who've got a debt to re-pay!" Cracken would have been happy to hear that. But he had already blacked out by the time the Astartes ancient had replied.
This is 40k fanfic. For those who aren't in the know, this is what you'll need to know. It is tens of thousands of years in the future (the forty first millennium - we're currently in the third millennium). Mankind has gone to the stars, fallen into a dark age after that diaspora, risen again to the stars under the guidance of a man known only as 'The Emperor' who was betrayed, nearly slain, and is now an undying corpse in whose name his Empire is run. A second dark age is upon mankind. Technology is no longer really well understood and is mostly learned by rote. The rotting near corpse of the Emperor is worshipped as a God and manking is beset on all sides by things trying to devour it whole.
One of the chief opponents is Chaos. The great enemy. The servants of dark, VERY real gods who inhabit what we would call hyperspace. Through their agency many of the same men who brought about the current dark age through rebellion and war ten thousand years ago are still alive and still filled with hatred that has lasted far longer than anyone should ever live.
Into this terrible universe, a tiny band of ne'er do well underhive gangsters are trying to survive a favor they once did for some offworlders. Ah. The underhive. A 'hive' is much like the modern world in some ways. Different in others. It is a megacity, frequently holding billions, built up from the planet's crust. The upper parts are lovely, the equivalent of Manhattan or the like. The middle parts are working poor and middle class (think Jersey) while the very lowest parts make Harlem or Chicago's South Side look like a wonderful place for a holiday as they are less controlled, more crime ridden and just meaner than anything we have on Earth today. They are also in much worse repair as the city above slowly crushes them flat.
A Knife in the Darkness - Part 1
In the near total darkness, a faint rushing whisper hissed gently in the black iron crucible of what had once been some ancient manufacturing plant. The delicate dust fall that caused the noise leaked from a shattered culvert high above to sift down onto the top of a high cooling tower. There it formed a pyramid of glittering silicate before continuing to filter down the rusted sides like a wedding veil over a desiccate corpse.
Darting from cover to cover, lithe forms approached the tower, shapes only in the wan light. Reaching the foot of the plinth, several of them moved toward the huge mound of granular glitter. Others took up positions to cover them, the dark shapes of weapons barely visible in the distant, flickering light leaking from behind an old refinery stack far away across the dome.
The figures by the dust produced crude shovels and began to carefully dig, emptying the shining powder into a sifting box one had set up on the metal decking.
Disaster struck. Again.
Exene Thrush cursed, diving behind the ancient tower as heavy bolter rounds tore holes the size of dinner plates in the rotted metal. Hitting the ground in a roll, she came up firing, her green cased plasma pistol sending sun hot bolts in the direction of the muzzle flashes. There was a masculine cry and the firing stopped. She tucked her tongue into the corner of her sensuous, purple painted lips - showing hard concentration as she tracked another target. The covering Daughters of Dystopia opened up; shells and energy flying around the ancient dome like stray fire from the ghosts of long absent work by the ancient machines. Briefly the entire dome was lit by muzzle flashes as more of their ambushers joined the fray.
Exene could make them out now. The leading ones were hulking giants of men; each weighing in at over twice what one of her own girls would. Behind them, more slender forms dashed from point to point, stopping occasionally to fire. Moebius and Brob'nag? She cursed aloud again. What the hell was going on?
One of the girls on the other side hefted a giant weapon really too large for her and centred it on the dusty tower. A grin lit her face as readout lights reflected on the silver rings through her eyebrows, lips, ears and a single nipple intentionally left exposed by her low cut leathers. Heckle centred the Lascannon on the tower and let fly yelling out, "Take this you stinking purple bitch!"
There was a tremendous explosion. The tower cracked and sighed, staggering like a ganger on too much White Snake, and then the world came apart.
Exene woke to the cold splash of water on her face. Hard Candice glared down at her. As always, her eyes were like flint chips in her stony face. The leader of the Daughters tried to sit up.
"Nope." Candy pressed her back down. The ganger's gentle pressure was assisted by the searing pain in her side and hip. Black spots touched with pink and green nether lights danced before her eyes but she clung to consciousness by the tips of her scratched purple nails. "Hip's broke. We'll carry you out. Be a while afore you go dancin' again."
"The girls -"
"Is fine. Nobody hurt as bad as you. Two Brob'nags won't be goin' home though. Not never."
"What happened." She was still groggy. Thinking was tough. Exene put all her force of will into gathering her scattered thoughts. "I thought I heard Heckle."
Candy chewed a lip thoughtfully. "Maybe. I heard someone sounded like her just before the dust tower blew and took out the main support when it fell. Roof came down. 'Twas all Sindy could do to get you out." Sindy was their newest juve. And the ways things had been going lately, likely their last. "The two 'nags bought it when the roof fell in."
"I think I might have gotten another one." It was starting to come back.
"Mebbe. You should see this. Pulled it off a 'nag. Mebbe the leader. Looked important." Candy handed the injured gang leader a sheet of bloodstained plastic. Thrush's eyes squinted to make it out in the unsure light from the small lantern nearby. Her face went cold. Her eyes icy. Understanding dawned.
"Get me out of here. Now. I have to send a letter and it needs to leave yesterday."
CADIA:
The starlit sky flashed with the light of a thousand meteors. Bolts from the hand of an angry god. Giant shapes blotted the stars as the glowing sparks streaked toward the planet's surface. Striking in rapid sequence faster than a snare drum roll on a parade ground they ripped across the isthmus, a rain of glowing death. They tossed trees with 5 foot boles thousands of feet in the air, ripped holes in the ground big enough to swallow a titan, reaped death and destruction unimaginable. In seconds a thousand square miles of verdant wooded plain was rendered down to molten rock, black glass and shattered wreckage. The Hand of that god was felt and seen.
It was acknowledged.
It was feared.
But it was resisted, nonetheless.
Out of the blasted waste of the isthmus they came. Striding forward. Giants emblazoned with the Eye of Horus and the Star of Chaos.
Giant knights, walking fortresses, pinnacled towers on legs met them. The hammers of the Gods returned to the land so newly silent. The knights fell. The fortresses burned. The giants continued their march. Behind them came their legions. Tiny armored carriers rolling on their tracks, jump packed fiends in red and black armor long fused to their corrupt bodies. The boiling hordes of Chaos.
From atop a near hill reared another, minuscule threat. The giants turned. One could almost see the laughter of their crews as they faced about bringing their weapons to bear on the pitiful, tiny tanks that dared to roar a challenge with their sad little battlecannon. Void shields flared and strained under the onslaught of the Leman Russ tanks. The giants poised, taking their time to prepare, letting the fools savor their deaths.
All according to plan.
Entrenched deeply in the hill opposite the Leman Russ platoon, Lieutenant Verrus smiled as he spoke a line from an ancient play. "Come ye wrath or come ye wrack. At least we die with harness on our backs!" He stroked the fire trigger as he spoke the words.
Two Baneblades and a Shadowsword can do a lot of damage to a titan whose back is turned and whose shields are weakened. A volcano laser, four battle cannon, and eight heavy lascannon are not to be trifled with. Of course, it is impossible to ambush with superheavy tanks.
Impossible was a word that the soldiers of the 4th Danika did not believe in.
The lead giant fell.
So did the shells of the artillery companies. The targets were now in the killing fields.
* * *
A shell hit ripped apart most of a tactical squad, random bits of brave men sailing through the air. The edge of the blast also caught a black coated Commissar – the man who commanded this sector of the battle. It tossed him back, tearing the jump pack from his back and leaving him bent and broken on the ground.
His troops surged forward in anger, their own jump packs carrying them over the nearest attackers and into the back ranks of supporting marines. Hand flamers spewed fire, bolt pistols cracked. Storm shields flared to life with a crackle like lightning. The heretics fell back before the assault. But Chaos troops also can be clever and brave. A mad dreadnought rushed from behind them towards the hapless guardsmen.
Heironymous Cracken tried with all his might to get to his feet. His will was iron. His broken body was not. Shattered legs would not take the weight, broken ribs ripped at lungs and blood leaked from his mouth, nose and ears. He knew he had to stand. He was the only one who could stop that dreadnought!
A lesser man would have lain there and screamed, or perhaps passed out. A good man might have managed to stifle the screaming and remain conscious. A great man would have managed to get an arm under him and sit up. Heironymous Cracken made it to his knees.
As the dreadnought charged, the assault troops fell back. Several fell to its fire as it closed quickly. They had jump packs but there was no cover near enough. The weapons fire would rip them apart. It did not look good for the guardsmen as there were no reserves nearby that they knew anything about. Nothing in the battle plan. This sector was in serious trouble.
Cracken fumbled with his personal com-link. His radio man had fallen. He would have to hope someone would be near enough to relay his call. He spat blood to clear his mouth and did his best to talk clearly around his bubbling lungs. "Cracken to Command. Sector 4 in jeopardy." He choked up more blood, "We need immediate support. Cracken to Command, respond." The hiss of static filled his ears. "Repeat," the voice was weaker now, "Sector 4 in serious jeopardy. If you can hear, send support!" Suddenly a voice in the clear came through loud and strong.
"Is that Commissar Cracken of the 4th Danika, by any chance?"
"Yes." He barely got it out. "Who- " The pain was rising in the Commissar. It was all he could do to get those two words out.
"Brother Lucien, Dreadnought four of the Cleansing Flames. Hold tight and keep transmitting Commissar, I have some brethren who've got a debt to re-pay!" Cracken would have been happy to hear that. But he had already blacked out by the time the Astartes ancient had replied.
Re: A Knife in the Darkness - Part the first
There is a LOT of purple prose at the beginning of this. I'd cut out some of the adjectives, and it will read a lot smoother. This problem is reduced in the second section and pretty much gone by the third, but it's quite noticable in the first section.
Your description of the battle scenes are well done, although it's hard to be emotionally invested yet as I don't know why they are fighting or who I'm supposed to root for. Your third section was my favorite, and I immediately liked Cracken, but I don't even know if he's supposed to be a good guy or a bad guy.
I like your world-building at the beginning too. It sounds like an interesting setup. I would recommend perhaps putting this exposition into the story somehow though, especially since it might help the transition to the battle scene by giving us a little more info on what's going on. Maybe a scene before this one involving the big bad or important good guy ruminating on how things are going to go down?
Just trying to give a helpful critique. It's a good start, and I admire your guts to put something like this up for all of us to read. I just put one of my old fanfics up online and I was quite surpised at how nervous I was about it. It's funny how attached we can get to our work
Your description of the battle scenes are well done, although it's hard to be emotionally invested yet as I don't know why they are fighting or who I'm supposed to root for. Your third section was my favorite, and I immediately liked Cracken, but I don't even know if he's supposed to be a good guy or a bad guy.
I like your world-building at the beginning too. It sounds like an interesting setup. I would recommend perhaps putting this exposition into the story somehow though, especially since it might help the transition to the battle scene by giving us a little more info on what's going on. Maybe a scene before this one involving the big bad or important good guy ruminating on how things are going to go down?
Just trying to give a helpful critique. It's a good start, and I admire your guts to put something like this up for all of us to read. I just put one of my old fanfics up online and I was quite surpised at how nervous I was about it. It's funny how attached we can get to our work
Re: A Knife in the Darkness - Part the first
I agree with Belal's girl. Less adverbs and adjectives, more orientation as to what's happening and who the characters are. And in terms of vocabulary, remember that clarity is more important than big words.
I'll also add that a lot of the dialogue was quite good. There's great potential in the dialogue and the battle scenes.
If you're looking to improve writing ability, I would highly suggest The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White. It should be every writers bible for technique.
In terms structuring, plotting, pacing, characterization, etc I don't know of any one authoritative book, but definitely read information about it wherever you can. You'll find a lot lessons on writing. Just take what you read with a grain of salt, because some people don't know what they're talking about. There are some basic rules that are pretty universally acknowledged though. Steven King's On Writing was the last thing i read. It was kind of "eh," and it assumes you already know about the basic elements of characterization, flawed characters, building conflict, rising action, climax, and resolution before you read it. Interesting read, though.
Sorry for the long comment, i don't even know if you're looking to become a serious writer or if you are posting just for fun. My rant may have been for nothing...
I'll also add that a lot of the dialogue was quite good. There's great potential in the dialogue and the battle scenes.
If you're looking to improve writing ability, I would highly suggest The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White. It should be every writers bible for technique.
In terms structuring, plotting, pacing, characterization, etc I don't know of any one authoritative book, but definitely read information about it wherever you can. You'll find a lot lessons on writing. Just take what you read with a grain of salt, because some people don't know what they're talking about. There are some basic rules that are pretty universally acknowledged though. Steven King's On Writing was the last thing i read. It was kind of "eh," and it assumes you already know about the basic elements of characterization, flawed characters, building conflict, rising action, climax, and resolution before you read it. Interesting read, though.
Sorry for the long comment, i don't even know if you're looking to become a serious writer or if you are posting just for fun. My rant may have been for nothing...
Re: A Knife in the Darkness - Part the first
Thanks folks -
Yes I would agree completely that the adjectives are a bit much in this first section. It was written long long ago and I'd have hacked most of them out save that I've been encouraged not to re-write it.
Being fanfic - it does make some assumptions that the reader knows some things about the universe. Rest assured that Chaos are the *Bad Guys* in big letters. Cracken and company are ordinary joes up against terrible odds.
I like to jump straight into the action - a lot of the character stuff will get dropped in as I post more sections. Since folks took the time to read and comment, I guess I will - if nothing else so BG can find out more about poor Heironymous.
:-)
Thanks again for the feedback. For The Count - I actually am a published writer, but this early stuff is old and a bit tired. You'll see better as the story goes on as it's been written over about ten years.
Yes I would agree completely that the adjectives are a bit much in this first section. It was written long long ago and I'd have hacked most of them out save that I've been encouraged not to re-write it.
Being fanfic - it does make some assumptions that the reader knows some things about the universe. Rest assured that Chaos are the *Bad Guys* in big letters. Cracken and company are ordinary joes up against terrible odds.
I like to jump straight into the action - a lot of the character stuff will get dropped in as I post more sections. Since folks took the time to read and comment, I guess I will - if nothing else so BG can find out more about poor Heironymous.
:-)
Thanks again for the feedback. For The Count - I actually am a published writer, but this early stuff is old and a bit tired. You'll see better as the story goes on as it's been written over about ten years.
Oh, this is a fanfic?
Looking back, I realize that you did say that in the beginning, and I must have missed it. In that case, disregard the stuff I said about how the world building exposition should be incorporated into the story. You're allowed to get away with not doing that in fanfic, since it is assumed that your audience is already familiar with the work.
I thought this was an original work, so I was a bit confused why there was a big info dump in the beginning instead of a gradual revelation of information.
Since it's a fanfic, I may also give you a pass for the stripperific outfit on the female character, if it's canon
You wrote it over ten years? That's an impressive scope for a fic. I'm impressed
I thought this was an original work, so I was a bit confused why there was a big info dump in the beginning instead of a gradual revelation of information.
Since it's a fanfic, I may also give you a pass for the stripperific outfit on the female character, if it's canon
You wrote it over ten years? That's an impressive scope for a fic. I'm impressed
Yes, it's finally approaching completion
Honestly though the fact that it's taking ten years is largely because I occasionally have been very unmotivated (or just too busy) to write.
Indeed, for roughly the last five, until Amy's leaving, I've had very very little quiet time of my own at all and that's about the only time I can write.
The outfits on the girls are very much derived from the art and miniatures they're based on. They're decidedly ridiculous (and so for the most part are the outfits of the other gangs regardless of gender). In fairness the artist was going for a sort of Harlem/Sin City kind of feel and pretty much succeeded. At least these girls, while stripperific, are also quite kick butt. The Brog'nags all dress like a cross between WWF and something out of an S&M catalog so at least it's gender neutral.
Anyway - see what you think of part II. I'll eagerly await the commentary.
Indeed, for roughly the last five, until Amy's leaving, I've had very very little quiet time of my own at all and that's about the only time I can write.
The outfits on the girls are very much derived from the art and miniatures they're based on. They're decidedly ridiculous (and so for the most part are the outfits of the other gangs regardless of gender). In fairness the artist was going for a sort of Harlem/Sin City kind of feel and pretty much succeeded. At least these girls, while stripperific, are also quite kick butt. The Brog'nags all dress like a cross between WWF and something out of an S&M catalog so at least it's gender neutral.
Anyway - see what you think of part II. I'll eagerly await the commentary.