The Dorty Double Dozen

What a special treat we have today, fellow creeps. As the first of the battle reports from the amazing Knavecon weekend in Ireland, we are proud to present:

And 'friends', in

The sidekicks, in order of appearance, are... oh forget it, read the damn report!

The motley band of space reprobates stood in a clearing of the sweltering jungle. They could barely discern their target through the thick foliage but they knew it was there. They had memorised the position and the layout (well, some of them had. Ok, two of them that had bothered to listen and they only had a rough idea). Between them and their target was the final stretch of dense, alien growth. Their approach would have to be stealthy, using all their skills and guile to remain undetected until they could enter the compound.

Paleobotanists determined this whole area was once a giant fish tank

Jean-Edouard de Monteclair checked the stitching on his bodice and used the mirrored stock of his pistol to check that his eye-patch was looking fashionable rather than piratical. He glanced at his man at arms, Daniel Fabhill and considered whether his tall pointy hat was leading edge style he had somehow overlooked. He laughed to himself and shook his head, as if such a thing could happen! He cupped himself one last time and prepared to set off.

But first, proper devotions to the Sun-God
Crook-Ra must be observed...

L’Oreal Wangst stroked his space pussy, erm Gyrinx, and flexed his finely honed physique. He centred his self within it's protective cocoon deep in the core of his being. The symbiotic link to his weapon fizzed with feedback; it turned L'Oreal on. He ran his hand over his Synskin clad thigh and a small tremble of excitement travelled up his spine. He was ready to take on the scum that had got him into this mess. Nothing was going to stop him!

Fim belched. It sounded like a water cooler filling with air. Fim didn't know what a water cooler was so he couldn't make that comparison. He stroked the dorsal fin of the hunting dog-fish and it quivered with pleasure and let out a long gurgling growl, it's attention never shifting from the plantlife ahead of them.

The 2 dozen figures moved into the jungle, fanning across the approach to Mercenaries base. They knew there was going to be resistance but they were unsure exactly what ape it was likely to take. As some of the party approach the wreck of an outlying shack a figure sauntered out onto the roof. He seemed to stunned to see figures approaching through the undergrowth. He pulled out his pistol and started shooting. More figures followed and very quickly the silent approach was ruined as bullets and blast flew in all directions.

The guy on the left wants to see some rich warm kroovy. The one next to him wants to see some premium mustache oil

A mysterious figure appeared out of the foliage on the the other side of the approach and fired at the approaching heroes. Then another appeared. L'Oréal and Jean-Edouard were the quickest of wits and returned fire. At first the figures vanished and reappeared a short distance away but the accuracy and weight of fire soon told and the two mysterious beings were left with smoking holes in their dicks.

The plants on this planet spit Predators at you. This death world was clearly designed by an awesome 7yr old

The Noble Lord Hyron Ezekiel and his bodyguard, Captain Jediah Dunn, observed the fire from the roof of the shack and both were quietly relieved that it was being directed at someone else. He could see the pilot and his armoured companion arguing over the best way to deal with situation and tutted at their amateur approach. Hyron signalled to his bodyguard and they slipped into the flora.

Hansen Van Stern was not having a good day. They'd barely started on the mission when the scum in the shack had suddenly started shooting. The noise was ridiculous! He longed for his safe cockpit with his comfy helmet on. You didn't get this kind of noise in space. His first mate, Wotan 'Torchy' Bachman, was cursing and jabbering from inside his smelly old suit of power armour as he struggled to get his flamer to light. Hansen again pointed out that some of their own team appeared to be taking shelter under the awning at the front of the building but 'Torchy' just kept shaking his head and pointlessly patting down his armour in an attempt to find some matches.

When stealth is required you can always count on a (hyb)ork to stand on a roof and kill things noisily

Kiruk and Schnook had just about had enough. The patriarch had hired them out to this group of meatbags in the hope that they'd be able to impregnate a couple and drag them back to the coven. Not one of the other adventurers were concerned about two Hyborks coming along for the fight but as far as they knew they were the first stealers to ever appear in this backwater area of space. Of course being Genestealer/Ork hybrids they found it hard to make sense of these thoughts, so, instead, climbed onto the roof  of the shack and started slaughtering the meatbags they found there. The funny little hairy meatbag and his bubbling metal companion joined in but Kiruk made sure he kept the last meatbag for himself. Just a little kiss....

Having dealt with the strange xenos in the jungle and the enemy mooks in the forward position the heroes advanced to press home the attack.

If you've never had your butt sniffed by a giant fish-hound then you're both in for a treat

More of the xenos jumped from the undergrowth and sent their eldritch blasts towards Captain Vere Webb of the Godbreak 84th, and his clerk Anthers, as well as Fim and the strange duo that was Mork'n and Acieed. They dived for cover, all except Fim, who, while making a noise that could only be described as irritated, he cooly took aim and destroyed another of the xenos hunting party. Assassination Servitor 0101, AKA 'Binary Joe', took out the other one in very flashy attempt to look unflashy. His converted Cyrus pattern demolition droid, Mongo, clapped his giant hands (almost killing Acieed with his wrecking ball in the process) and congratulated his master 'Well done boss!'

A bunch of mooks evacuate a tent after George let rip with a chili broad bean big burrito burst

No sooner had they dealt with the xenos hunters, the party noticed a group of human mercenaries standing around their camp fire, open mouthed. They quickly regained their wits and raised the alarm as fire from the Heroic group of wierdos started zeroing in on their position.

More mercenaries appeared from their encampment and suddenly shit got real! The Mooks raced to the bunkers that guarded the entrance to the landing pad complex and started to pour fire into the good guys. One lascannon shot miraculously bounced from Samdai, the techpriest, and small arms fire zinged and pinged all over the jungle, tearing the foliage to shreds and sending bark splinters flying.

Giant ground-sphincters were an ever present danger

In the other Bunker, a Goon with a Heavy Stubber let rip at the oncoming fighters. Hansen Van Stern suddenly found himself full of holes and flopped to the ground with a very surprised look on his face. The Noble Lord Hyron, witnessing this uttered a very quiet 'Nope!' and ran aw....erm made a very wise tactical withdrawal. Torchy and Comissar Staffork both tried desperately to hide behind the same tree while taking pot shots at Mooks in the bunker.

Ook sipped another super-hot double shot full-fat mocha Frappachappachino and sighed heavily. The humans were pinned down in the bunker, cowering behind bushes, and the entire flank was held up. He threw the cup over his shoulder, rubbed his hands together and charged at the bunker emitting his high pitched, ululating war cry. Within moments he had cleared the bunker, bits of mercenary decorating the walls and floor in a bloody Jackson Pollock expressionist style. Time for Espresso!

On the other flank the Heroes had managed to deal with most of the mercenaries but at the cost of some of the party; they were starting to feel the pain as the enemy numbers increased. They were almost at the edge of the complex. Fim was stuck in combat with a particularly stubborn mercenary but the rest could see the target just ahead.

A general retreat was called as the tent-fart grew in intensity

As Jean-Edouard approached the concrete blocks marking the beginning of the mercenary base complex, a host of armed and angry space mooks jumped out of cover and opened fire on the heroes making their way through the open.

Of all Jean-Edouard's failed entrepreneurial schemes, 'giant jungle Tetris' was the one he regretted the most

As well as the mooks occupying the landing pad there were more in an adjacent tower.

"From up here, the humongous killer ants look like giant killer ants..."

More of our happy crew were felled and confusion reigned as they dived for cover behind the concrete. Only L'Oréal and Jean-Edouard had the bollocks to charge into the teeth of the enemy fire.

"Last one in gets lead-poisoning!"

On the other flank, Fim, Ook and Staffork entered the complex only to be faced with the evil floating Ballsack that was leading the mercenaries...

Don't you hate it when your ballsack peeps out and everyone can see it?

Never turn your back on a massive scrotum with hands

Unknown to the surviving fighters, the crease faced villain was actually a master of mind control and set about trying to take over one of the party. He reached out for a mind to grab and found Staffork.

"Sittin' in me shack finking about balls."

Staffork felt really funny. He suddenly felt all wrinkly. He prided himself on his moisturising regime and he wasn't used to the prunish itch. He reckoned it was that power armoured git's fault. He turned his pistol in Torchy's direction and with a rather unpleasant grin squeezed the trigger. Several times.

Robo-magos go sleepy bobo

On the opposite flank the other members of the crew had broken through the first set of defences and were heading for cover under the landing pad. Samdai took several shots to his CPU and slumped to the floor. His cloud of nano-ticks quickly swarmed over him and attempted to repair his systems. Mongo crashed through the concrete barrier and climbed the tower to set about some of the mooks with his wrecking ball. One of his opponents was particularly slippery and kept him busy for several rounds of incredibly inefficient combat.

The interstellar soup-van brings out all the odd-bods

Bullets and blasts of laser fire crowded the air. Close shaves and luck ran out as Daniel fell to the ground in a bloody mess. L'Oréal dodged and flipped but the sheer volume of fire was just too much for even his super-tuned xenos reactions. In slow motion, screaming in defiance and exalting some heathen god to avenge him, he fell to the ground in as 80's a fashion as he could manage.

The GM really put a piece of himself into this game...

Seeing the evil Boss-sack trying to make his way to the elevator to head for the safety of his dropship, Samdai moved to intercept him. Revving his mighty, motorised symbol of office he suddenly felt all queer. The Boss-sack licked his tumescent lips and grinned. Samdai was his to command!

Nobody puts Scroty in the corner

Samdai turned to face the nearest of his compatriots and raised his roaring axe above his head. He brought it down on Acieed's helmeted head with so much force that he almost split him in half. The Boss-sack scratched himself and floated over to the elevator.

"Did you remember the boarding passes?"

"I thought YOU had them?!"

Having dealt with the Ogryn bodyguard, Fim, Ook and a recovered Staffork headed for the landing pad as the Boss-sack floated towards the dropship. Samdai recovered his wits and determined to follow.

Jean-Edouard was the quickest of all though and with a cheeky salute jogged up the ramp of the drop-ship and headed to the cockpit. Jabbing at buttons and yanking on controls he managed to get the dropship fired up and took off, shakily, into the air.

"Lizard, do you know how to drive stick?"

Ook scratched his head as he wondered what the silly fop was going to do with an unarmed dropship. Realisation slowly dawned on him and he whooped and hollered at Fim and his Fishdog in order to get them into cover. Samdai glanced over his shoulder at the simian's strange noisiness, decided to ignore it and advanced once more towards the Boss-sack and his last two mooks, intent on ending their fleshy existences. A whining, whooshing, whirring roar from behind him caught his attention and as he turned his photo-receptors popped out in alarm at seeing the exhaust nozzles of the massive jet engines pointing directly at him and the Boss-sack. The air rippled with heat and the giant floating scrotum started wailing horrendously as he too came to the conclusion that this was going to hurt.

Jean-Edouard slammed the thruster forward and the dropship bucked as superheated gasses vented from the rear of the ship directly into the face of the Boss-sack. His massive bulk was instantly cooked as the outer layers of his skin peeled away and his liquid innards boiled and expanded in the heat. The instantaneous increase of heat and pressure caused both mooks to burns to smoky meat popsicles within milliseconds. Samdai's metallic face, had it been capable of expression, would have carried a look that wholly encompassed the phrase "Oh Bugger!". Finally the Boss-sack exploded in a shower of super-heated white goo, covering Ook and Samdai in putrid gunk.

"This whole place smells like hot balls"

It was over. The Boss-sack that had screwed the adventurers lives so badly and been thoroughly dealt with, though it had come at a cost. The survivors hustled onto the the dropship carrying a lifeless L'Oréal and a twitchy Samdai who was still very hot to the touch, and without so much as a backward glance they took off and headed once more to the stars.

This concluded the game, and in another universe, concluded a chapter in an ongoing online WiPster role-playing adventure. Stay tuned for future games and models inspired by the antics of this plucky band -  and big thanks to the other players who helped them survive at the cost of their own miniature lives, and the brilliant GM'ing of Mr Whiskey Priest esq. without whom not one single set of balls would have been turbo-fried.

EPILOGUE(S)