Disciples of the Dark Lords
Barkabo the Skullreaper
Devotee of Khorne
Pride: Grace (-5 BS, 5 Corruption, -3 INT)
Athletics, Awareness, Common Lore(War), Dodge, Forbidden Lore(Adeptus Astartes), Forbidden Lore(Horus Heresy), Forbidden Lore(Long War), Intimidate, Linguistics(Low Gothic), Navigation(Surface), Operate(Surface), Parry+, Stealth
Ambidextrous, Bulging Biceps, Weapon Training(Legion), Heightened Senses(Hearing & Sight),
Nerves of Steal, Quick Draw, Resistance(Cold, Heat, Poisons), Unarmed Warrior, Lightning Reflexes, Double Team, Sure Strike, Flesh Render, Frenzy
Infamy Points: 3
The fire burned happily. These were not happy times for the squad, however. They all huddled around it with there lasgun packs and feet close to the dancing flames. Their arms stretched out palms to the blaze, only retracted to be rubbed together and blown into, as if it may help fight the cold. It didn’t help.
Amongst the steam jets of hot breathe on frigid air, various coughs and sniffles could be heard from the men. The youngest of them, Cranton Randell, spoke out to break the silence.
“Someone, just say something. I’m going to lose my mind out here.”
“Shut it, Randell!” one snapped.
“Kid’s right, we need to stop thinking about freezing. We could all use a good distraction, anybody got a good story…a joke…?” said Reines calmly.
They all looked at each other blankly and seemed at a loss for words. The cold was quite hard to forget. Reines sighed “Nothing…?”
“Hey, Gazlow, how ’bout you chat us up ’bout that autopsy scar you got there?” sniggered Jarmin, a decent soldier but dedicated instigator. “I wouldn’ want to do you the pleasure of warmin’ your arse with your own shit!” retaliated Gazlow, oldest of the squad. He then slowly reached up to itch the scar that ran from his sternum down to the top of his navel.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t mind it” laughed Jarmin.
“You might as well tell us, Gazlow, the Emperor knows this could be the last chance you get to tell anyone about it.” Reines said reassuringly.
“Well, I guess…” The veteran’s eyes glassed up and looked like liquid orbs in the firelight. His mouth seemed to be slung open as if the event that mutilated him replayed in his mind. He got his confidence up and began.
“They sent us to fight the damn greenskins, none of us really had any doubts we couldn’t hold ‘em off and push them back. We were in this gully a stream of water had carved out. Might have been nice if you weren’t sneakin’ ‘cross it to kill. We was about halfway ’cross when the greens ambushed us. They ran out’t’other side screamin’, shootin’ and figthin’mongst themselves. We held our groun’ but heard suttin’ strange. Chainswords.”
“Chainswords? Must have been the most well equipped Ork horde anyone has ever seen!” laughed Jarmin.
Gazlow held the glassy stare, "Wern’t no Ork wit ‘em. A fuckin’ maniac in power armor. His eyes glowed like fire and he moved like a damn shadow. He came from no’ere. Like I said, they sent us to fight greens, ne’er said nuttin’ bout no freaks. He ripped them greenskin bastards ‘part quicker then they’d known he’as there. He turned on us and growled “Blood…Skulls…” That voice. Made a boy like Randell quiver at the knees and plead for his life. He didn’ heed. He went through most of us, we shot for what it was worth. Not much. Killed all us, ’cept me."
“Did you die too? Do you all believe this sh…”
“Shut the fuck up, Jarmin. Go ’head, Gazlow,” Reines interjected.
“Later, found out the bastard’s name. Barkabo they called him. A crazed thing, couldn’ be controlled. Was ‘startes once, not no more. Killed his own battle brothers. Said he kills everything, takes the heads if he can. He’s a wanderer you see, he looks for battle even if he don’t belong there or have anything to fight for. He just wants to kill. He’s a nightmare walkin’, killin’, takin’ heads for the darkness. The Skullreaper leaves none alive.”
“Then, how did you live?” inquired Reines, with a stunned look.
“Luck, boy. I’d tried to fall back, I stumbled, fell on my arse. After takin’ off Harde’s head, he turned and stared me down. Saw me sittin’ there, gun in my lap, easy target. Walked over, spinnin’ the teeth on them chainswords, laughin’ a laugh that’d make you puke your guts up. He raised his arm, all I could do is hold up my lasgun to try to stop it. Cut clean through the damn thing, grazed me. Cut me down the chest. Rytter, thought him dead at this point, lost a leg but had fight in ‘em yet. He crawled up and stabbed at the freak’s leg with his knife and screamed “Run.” That’s when more greens started pouring in the gully…" He trailed off.
The squad was silent as if they were digesting what they had just heard. They looked around at one another to perhaps read what the others thought or maybe just to find something human to once again relate to. The silence was once again broken by Randell.
“So what did you do?”
Gazlow looked up abruptly, “I fuckin’ ran!”