Tales of the 13th Necromunda- Oddball

 

Nobody in the 13th Necromunda could agree on when OddBall officially became OddBall. Some said it was the day Tech-Priest Moriarty finished “improving” the engine and the tank accidentally reversed out of a manufactorum breach faster than most Chimeras could advance. Others said it was when the barrel got longer. Much longer. Long enough that enemy auspex crews began reporting it as something else entirely.

Commander Donald never corrected them.

Donald had the look of someone who enjoyed being underestimated. The leather aviator helmet and goggles weren’t regulation, but they stayed. He claimed the goggles helped with glare. The crew claimed he liked the way people reacted when he leaned out of the hatch, smiling, like he knew a secret they didn’t.

OddBall’s first real test came during a running fight through the lower hab districts of a nameless hive city. The 13th was outmatched, facing heavier enemy armor moving to seal the streets ahead. The sensible move would have been to pull back and wait for artillery. OddBall did pull back. Just not the way anyone expected.

The engine howled. Moriarty’s handiwork kicked in. OddBall reversed down the avenue at full speed, loudspeaker blaring music that echoed between the ferrocrete walls. The barrel, absurdly long and unmistakable, swung as if daring the enemy to take a shot. They didn’t. Auspex readings didn’t make sense. Visual confirmation was worse. No one wanted to be the crew that challenged a gun that might have been a mega-cannon. Or worse.

When OddBall stopped, it fired.

Not high-explosive. Not armor-piercing. A shell burst in a brilliant splash of color across the lead enemy tank, paint cascading down its hull in bright, unmistakable streaks. Another followed. Then another. Fire discipline dissolved into confusion. Targeting optics were fouled. Vox traffic spiked with shouted questions and half-formed warnings.

By the time the enemy realized what they were facing, the rest of the 13th had repositioned, artillery had dialed in, and OddBall was already gone, music fading as it disappeared back down the street the way it had come.

Afterward, someone asked Donald why he bothered with the loudspeaker.

He shrugged and said it kept everyone calm.

OddBall returned with fresh scrapes, more stories, and a growing reputation. It never destroyed the biggest enemy tank. It never needed to. It scared them, marked them, distracted them, and left. In the 13th Necromunda, that counted as a victory.

The Battle for Rynn's World has begun!

Yesterday I played the first mission from the 2nd edition Warhammer 40,000 box set, because apparently I enjoy emotional risk.

~300 points.
30 Gretchin vs 5 Crimson Fists Tactical Marines.
Pure 2nd ed rules. No safety nets.

The game ended in a 1 VP tie, which somehow felt right.

Highlights:

• A Blood Axe Grot mob rallied after being broken, proving that courage is optional but spite is forever.

• The grots were alarmingly brave and chose to swarm directly over terrain instead of going around it, like proper lunatics.

• My Crimson Fists failed every single 3+ armor save I rolled. Every. One. Apparently their chapter tactic is “hope.”

• I was violently reminded that grenades in 2nd ed are not a suggestion, and that four turns can vanish in the time it takes to argue about a measurement.

End state:
I had 2 Marines left.
The Orks had 2 damaged Grot units (1 broken).

Best part: everything was fully painted and based, which means the dice gods punished me accordingly.

10/10. Would absolutely fail saves for the Emperor again.

Colonel Lord Alaric Pembroke-Valen- Commandant of the 88th Vermilion Regulars

Origins and Family Lineage

Lord Alaric Pembroke-Valen hails from one of the oldest noble houses on Valoris Prime, a lineage steeped in military tradition. His family traces its honor directly to Sir Hadrian Pembroke-Valen, a junior officer who served with distinction in the Macharian Crusade and is listed by name in the marginalia of the Lord Solar’s own muster rolls.

Where many noble families merely claim connection to the Crusade, the Pembroke-Valens can produce authenticated relics—oath-scrolls, duelist’s commendations, and even a battered fragment of the original regimental standard. Such provenance carries immense weight among the aristocracy of Valoris Prime and sets expectations for every child born into the line.

Alaric was no exception.

He is the seventh Pembroke-Valen to command the 88th.

---

Early Career

Alaric’s path to the colonelcy was traditional:

• Educated at the Valoris Prime Officer Academy, where he excelled in history, swordsmanship, and battlefield theory.
• Served as a platoon commander in the 88th’s 5th Company, earning a reputation for icy calm under fire.
• Rose to company captain, commanding with impeccable discipline and a gift for maintaining formation integrity even under grueling fire.
• Chosen as heir to the commandant’s mantle after the death of Colonel (Lord) Severin Pembroke-Valen, his uncle, during the Gethos Reclamation.

His ascent was not the result of dramatic heroics but of competence, steadiness, and an unbroken record of achieving objectives with minimal disruption to doctrine—qualities the 88th values above all.

---

Personality and Command Style

Lord Alaric is, first and foremost, a professional soldier.
Not flamboyant, not ostentatiously charismatic—simply authoritative, disciplined, and deeply, almost spiritually committed to the traditions of the regiment.

He is often described as:

• Measured in speech
• Unshakeably calm
• Exacting but fair
• Impeccably mannered
• Quietly proud
• Politely intolerant of disorder

He avoids theatrics, preferring a sharp word, a colder stare, or a pointedly raised eyebrow to correct subordinates. His disapproval is legendary, not for volume but for precision.

In battle, he is deliberate and methodical—never rash, never flamboyant, always positioning his lines with clinical care. When forced into close combat, he shows flashes of the Pembroke-Valen duelist tradition, wielding his power sword with controlled, economical efficiency.

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Relationship to Regimental Tradition

Alaric is the living embodiment of the Vermilion ideal.

He is not a fanatic, but he is a believer—deeply so—in:

• Lineage
• Uniform discipline
• Formation warfare
• The dignity of the regiment
• The unbroken chain to the Macharian Crusade

He conducts the annual Macharian Day remembrance personally, wearing the crimson dress coat of the founding era. He inspects the regiment’s relics weekly. He knows, verbatim, long passages from the regimental chronicle.

Yet he is not blind to the demands of the current age. He permits innovation—but only if it is orderly, tested, and does not threaten the regiment’s identity.

He is the reason the 88th’s traditions continue not as empty ceremony, but as living doctrine.

---

Opinions of Other Regiments

Lord Alaric is never openly insulting—but his opinions are unmistakable.

On the 13th Necromunda (“The Rat Catchers”)

He would never criticize them directly, but he tends to phrase observations like:

“Ah. Yes. Their… enthusiasm is commendable.”

And:

“The 13th exhibit an unusual aptitude for… adaptive logistics.”

He respects their courage, but their disorderliness puts him in physical discomfort.

On the Azure Auxilia

“Reliable fellows. Rough edges, but earnest.”

On the Green Company

“If only they would remain still for inspection.”

On the Onyx Guard

“Somber, but dependable. One always knows where they stand—usually in a straight line.”

---

Field Reputation

Among the 88th, he is seen as:

• A master of defensive and attrition warfare
• The ideal Vermilion officer
• A direct continuation of the Macharian-era ethos
• Someone who would rather die than break formation

Across wider Imperial forces:

• He is respected but considered very “old school”
• His regiment is known for unwavering discipline
• His lines are famously difficult to dislodge
• He is often requested for holding actions, siege lines, and parades

No one questions his competence.
Some quietly question his flexibility.
But his results speak for themselves.

---

Equipment

• Power Sword: An heirloom dueling blade, converted into a masterwork power weapon. Its hilt includes a micro-engraved family lineage going back over a millennium.
• Plasma Pistol: A rare, impeccably maintained weapon gifted by the Governor Militant of Valoris Prime as a symbol of office.
• Dress Coat: Vermilion of the deepest dye, said to follow the exact pattern used during the Macharian Crusade.
• Signet Gorget: Bearing the motto “Iure Stirpis, Facto Igne.”

---

Closing Summary

Lord Alaric Pembroke-Valen represents everything the 88th prides itself on:

• Discipline
• Lineage
• Precision
• Restraint
• Tradition
• Unshakeable bearing

He is not a caricature or a tyrant—just a man who embodies a regimental culture centuries in the making.
A commander who believes deeply in the values that made the 88th great and intends to pass them, unsullied, to the next generation.

A Wellington of the 41st Millennium.
With a plasma pistol.

88th Vermilion Regulars- Background and history for building the army.

 

The 88th Vermilion Regulars are a proud line-infantry regiment specializing in disciplined volleys and parade-ground precision.

Founded during the Macharian Crusade, the 88th Vermilion Regulars are one of the oldest continuously serving regiments in Segmentum Pacificus. Raised from the noble families and martial academies of Valoris Prime, their officers trace their commissions to the personal muster rolls of the Lord Solar himself.

The 88th retains the traditions of those glorious days—crimson coats, duelist’s etiquette, strict line drills, and the unshakable conviction that they represent the finest soldiery the Imperium has ever produced. In their eyes, modern regiments lack polish, discipline, and lineage.

"To march in vermilion is to inherit a legend—and to be judged by it."

 No regiment is more conscious of its heritage. Few are as proud. None are as insufferably certain of their own superiority.

---

The Uniforms of the 88th Vermilion Regulars and Attached Auxilia

1. The Vermilion Line (Core Regiment – “The Reds”)

Command HQ, Command Squad, 1 Infantry Squad, 1 Heavy Weapons Squad, Ogryn Squad, Rough Riders, Sentinels, the Leman Russ MBT, and the psyker.

Color inspiration: British redcoats of the Peninsula and Waterloo.
Scheme: Deep crimson coats with buff straps and cuffs, black greatcoat collars, dark grey or blue trousers.
Helmets & gear: Black or gunmetal with brass trim; a white stripe or regimental “V” on the shoulder pad.
Iconography: The stylized “V” of the Valore Korps, framed in laurel wreaths or a winged skull motif.
Lore hook: The original 88th from Valoris Prime—elite, haughty, and infamously dismissive of their allies’ tailoring.

---

2. The Azure Auxilia (Dutch and Belgian Analogue)

Two Infantry Squads.

Color inspiration: Deep Prussian or French blue coats with lighter blue trim.
Scheme: Blue coats, tan or khaki webbing, black helmets.
Lore hook: Attached forces from a sister world—Volturn IX, a feudal planet with a tradition of mercenary soldiery. Brave and reliable, yet viewed as provincial by the Vermilions.

---

3. The Green Company (Nassauer Analogue)

Ratling Sniper Squad, Storm Troopers.

Color inspiration: Dark rifle green, black straps and boots, silver detailing.
Scheme: Very dark green coats with dull metal armor and blackened brass fittings.
Lore hook: Recon and marksman detachment. They serve as the regiment’s scouts and skirmishers, often fighting in loose order (much to the Colonel’s eternal irritation).

---

4. The Onyx Guard (Brunswick Analogue)

1 Veteran Infantry Squad, 1 Heavy Weapons Squad.

Color inspiration: Black coats and armor with white skull or bone insignia.
Scheme: Black greatcoats, gunmetal trim, pale undershirts for contrast.
Lore hook: Grim, zealous soldiers from a world recently devastated—fighting in mourning black. They may have ties to a fallen Valore domain, earning them a place in the 88th’s campaign host.

---

5. The Commissariat

Black and red in the traditional, timeless pattern.

---

The 88th Vermilion Regulars — Founded in the Age of Macharius

Founding Era

The regiment was raised during the Macharian Crusade (392–399.M41), one of the greatest Imperium-wide military expansions since the days of the Great Crusade. Worlds across Segmentum Pacificus were tithed to provide elite regiments for the Lord Solar’s campaign.

Home World

Valoris Prime, a proud aristocratic world with a strong dueling and officer-cadet culture, contributed several regiments—but only the 88th still survives in its original form. This longevity is central to their identity.

Lineage

The regiment was sponsored by the noble houses of Valoris Prime. Many of the earliest officers were younger sons of aristocratic families, academy-trained duelists, or scions seeking glory in a crusade destined for legend.

Their commission scrolls trace directly to the Macharian Muster Rolls, a fact they bring up constantly when dealing with “upstart” regiments like the 13th Necromunda.

They maintain elaborate commemorative ceremonies, hereditary officer lines, preserved relics (banner fragments, medals, oath papers), and a regimental chronicle dating back to 399.M41. Lord Colonel Pembroke-Valen claims descent from one of the original founding officers.

An Old Style of Warfare

Their doctrine reflects the tactics of the Macharian Crusade: rigid line infantry formations, dueling-style officer traditions, brightly colored parade uniforms, and an unwavering belief in order and proper soldiery.

This makes them naturally disdainful of:

·       “scavenger regiments”

·       “irregulars”

·       “gang-born auxiliaries”

·       and especially the 13th’s creative approach to logistics.

Color Schemes

During Macharius’s crusade, regiments often bore flamboyant and distinctive heraldry. Thus bright red coats, polished brass, and striking banners are not merely decorative—they are historical tradition.

“We wore vermilion when we conquered the rim with Macharius. We shall not stop now.”

---

Regimental Motto:

“In Vermilio, Victoria.”
In Vermilion, Victory.

 Officer Corps Motto:

“Iure Stirpis, Facto Igne.”
By Right of Lineage, By Deed of Fire.

---

Army Composition (2nd Edition)

The army consists of:

·       1 Command HQ section with 3 Infantry Units

·       1 Ratling Sniper Team

·       1 Ogryn Squad

·       1 Storm Trooper Squad

·       1 Command Squad with 1 Infantry Squad

·       2 Heavy Weapons Squads

·       1 Leman Russ Battle Tank

·       1 Rough Rider Squad

·       1 Sentinel Squad

·       1 attached Commissar

·       1 attached Psyker

 

88th Vermilion Regulars

 

The Company Banner.

88th Vermilion Regulars- “In Vermilio, Victoria.”

Founded during the Macharian Crusade, the 88th Vermilion Regulars are one of the oldest continuously serving regiments in Segmentum Pacificus. Raised from the noble families and martial academies of Valoris Prime, their officers trace their commissions to the personal muster rolls of the Lord Solar himself.

The 88th retains the traditions of those glorious days—crimson coats, duelist’s etiquette, strict line drills, and the unshakable conviction that they represent the finest soldiery the Imperium has ever produced. In their eyes, modern regiments lack polish, discipline, and lineage.

To march in vermilion is to inherit a legend—and to be judged by it.

No regiment is more conscious of its heritage. Few are as proud. None are as insufferably certain of their own superiority.

Using these guys 

And these guys

Tales of the 13th Necromunda - “Liberty’s Hammer”

A tale of the 13th Necromunda, during the uprising on Virellia Secundus.

“You ever hear the story of Liberty’s Hammer?”

The old veteran didn’t wait for a reply. He just leaned back, boots on the barrel, smoke curling from the stub of his lho-stick like the memory itself was burning in real-time.

“Virellia Secundus. Hell of a place—smelled like burnt promethium and broken promises. The Combine had its boot on the people’s neck so long they forgot what standing upright felt like. And then… the 13th showed up. Just rolled in like thunder with patched armor and bigger guns than manners.”

He chuckled. “They say the first shot came from a rust-bucket named Old Smokey. They say the last one came from the skies—courtesy of a madman called "Duck". Truth is, nobody really remembers how it all went down. But they remember what it meant.”

He tapped the side of a dented tin canteen—etched with a crude rat skull.

“It meant hope had teeth. It meant tanks didn’t care about tyrants. And it meant that just once, in a city choked by its own chains, the people won. You want the real version?”

He winked.

“Too bad. All we got is the legend. And it goes like this…”

The city of Pyrehold was burning.

Not from riots or war—though those would come—but from the smog towers of the Virellian Combine, an Imperial sub-faction that had grown too greedy, too cruel, and too comfortable with Enforcer batons and local repression. Taxes were extracted in blood. Water was rationed to loyalists. Gangs were either broken or absorbed into the Combine’s private regiments.

And then came the broadcast.

A coded vox transmission cut through the jamming field at midnight local time, crackling through forgotten channels and pirate relays:

“To the people of Pyrehold, This is Lord-Captain Alaric Danver. Stay hidden. Stay strong.

We bring liberty—and tanks. The 13th has landed."

The Combine didn’t take it seriously. They would soon learn.

The Resistance Ignites

The uprising began in the smog-wreathed underhabs. Locals with jury-rigged stubbers and stolen laslocks emerged from sump corridors and trash tunnels to hit patrols and checkpoints. Gangs once sworn to silence now wore the Rat Catcher badge over old loyalties.

Atop the high spine bridge leading into Pyrehold proper, “Old Smokey” rolled out of a cargo tram, smoke belching, lascannon glowing. With a thunderous BOOM, it vaporized a Combine checkpoint, then reversed into an alley where its sponsons raked a pursuing gun-skiff into molten ruin.

Meanwhile, “Ma Bell” fired her first salvo not at the enemy—but at their communications hub. The vox-spire shattered under precision rocket fire, collapsing in a twist of plasteel and flame. One of her gunners—a wiry ex-vox tech named Jinx—shouted, “That’s for charging us by the syllable, you frakkers!”

The locals called it "The Second Declaration."

“Freedom Ain’t Free, But It Has a Hellhammer”

The Combine counterattack came swiftly—APCs, power-armored enforcers, and even a corrupted Knight-class walker bribed into service.

The 13th responded with full fury.

“Maus”, the superheavy tank, emerged from the shadows of Sector 9 with all guns blazing. It played a game of cat-and-mouse with the enemy Knight across the ruined Promethium District. When the Walker turned to fire on retreating rebels, Maus executed a perfect pincer movement from a cratered parking tower. Its main cannon fired point-blank into the Knight’s side, punching through like a giant’s fist through wet paper.

The walker exploded into a pyrotechnic bloom visible for miles. People cheered. Then ducked. Then kept fighting.

The Unseen and The Unsung

While the tanks and transports made war loud and visible, Ghost Alley lived up to their name. One shot, one kill—three bodies never seen. During a critical exchange on the roof of the Capitolum Archive, a Ghost Alley sniper set up a perfect overwatch. So perfect, in fact, that he noticed another figure—a silent black-armored Vindicare Assassin—in a mirror position.

They locked eyes. The assassin gave a curt nod.

Good thing the Unseen wore gas masks. Else the assassin would have seen the sniper’s terrified grin.

And the Sky Cried Freedom

At the apex of the battle, the 13th called in their new friends.

“Duck” Dodgers—Imperial Navy Fleet Officer voxed down from high orbit.

“Targets confirmed.

                    Packages away.

                                    Happy Emancipation Day, dirt-side.”

Orbital strike lances rained from above, obliterating Combine armor, HQ, and retreat corridors in radiant pulses of light.

Then came the final broadcast:

“To the people of Virellia Secundus:

The yoke is broken.

The tanks roll for you now.

We are the 13th Necromunda.

Rat Catchers.

And we bring the boom.”

Epilogue

The 13th didn’t stay to rule. That wasn’t their way.

They left the planet’s fate in the hands of the locals, gifting weapons, training, and one rebuilt Leman Russ affectionately called “Betsy.”

She bore a hastily painted motto on her side panel in bright red ink:

“Don’t Tread on Me.”