quite bad blood

The Furies were smarting over the loss of their (never once used, but sentimentally important) tunnels. They couldn’t find the mutants but the Brute Squad was easily locatable for a quick ambush.

As is so often the case, the Brutes were not fighting at full efficacy. Willem was sitting the battle out. He must have learned something about leading from afar from Brom. In any case the Furies backed the Brutes against a wall like pigs in a barrel. No wait, that’s a horrible simile. Meh.

The big problem Engill and the girls faced was one of ammunition. No one brought any. After the initial volley of fire, which dropped a couple Van Saars, three fighters were reduced to using strong language and Eldur’s bolt pistol had exploded. Cornelus was still standing but they’d scared off one of his companions. Cornelus turned to the tower that Notra was occupying with her heavy stubber and unleashed fiery death, dropping her easily. More return fire put two more Eschers on the ground and the ambush was looking like a really bad idea.

But just when all hope seemed lost, Engill managed to rally her troops. Shotgun shells and bolts of plasma raced through the gloom and the downed fighters staggered to their feet. Notra got shot again, as did Isa but not before they dispatched the few fighters lying on the ground with quick stabs. Cornelus got shot and there was no one left to fight. The Furies had emerged victorious.

In the aftermath Frode (one of the Brutes) died. Everyone else involved in the fight was bitter as hell. Grudges have been formed, not least of which is Fried, who was Frode’s twin brother. Vengeance has been sworn. And the violence can only increase.

-KRJ