The First Civil War: A UE Fluff Challenge

Ratty Gnawtail
Doomwheel Driver
Doomwheel Driver
Joined: June 2nd, 2011, 9:32 am

September 29th, 2015, 2:21 pm #1


Around the Imperial year 100, the long lost Clan Pestilens returned to Skavenblight.
Changed by their experiences, Pestilens demanded power and wealth from the Council of Thirteen.

They were refused.

Thus began a war that divided Skavenkind.
For four hundred years, Skaven fought Skaven. Entire Clans were wiped out in their hundreds if not thousands.
Disease swept the Underempire as the loyalists tried to regain control.
Great weapons of Skryre and beasts of Moulder tore through the Pestilens traitors.
Beneath the world, tunnels ran with the blood of Skaven.

For four hundred years the war dragged onwards.
A time of death, heresy, and plague.
For this was the First Civil War!



Welcome to another UE impromptu fluff challenge!

The previous challenge on a Post Ascension World is still open for submissions, but I thought it would be fun to add something else to the mix. As there are only glimpses of earlier Skavenkind in BL books or the army book, the First Civil War felt an interesting period of the Warhammer World to cover.

So, what is this challenge about?

Create your own version of the first Skaven Civil War (not to be confused with the UE's Civil War campaign! :P ) that took place around 2400 years before the End Times. It can be at the outset of the war, it can be during the long stalemate, it can be at the very end of the war when Eshin made it's dramatic return. Of course, everyone will likely have their own interpretation, so i'd say to treat all entries as their own alternative reality. Skaven history is often vague like that anyway.

Rules

- Submit as many bits of fluff as you like in this thread, as long as it has something to do with the First Skaven Civil War.
- Comment on pieces in the comment/feedback thread, not here.
- Respect the forum rules on posting.
- Have fun building your own picture of the First Civil War!

Guide to the time of the First Civil War

- All current Skaven named characters were almost certainly not born yet during this time. Similarly it is unlikely that much of the leaders of Skavenkind are the same as the present in the timeline.
- Typically a lot of Skryre machines are much cruder and simple (with ratling guns and Doomwheels not existing yet.)
- Likewise, Moulder's creations are unlikely to be as perfected as the present ones are, and Abominations will not exist for nearly two thousand years.
- During the war, the southern part of the Skaven empire (not specified exactly where but the Southlands were held. See a Warhammer World map for more details.) was taken over by Pestilens and those who aligned with them, the loyalists to the Council of Thirteen controlled the northern parts of the Underempire.
- Much of the war was a bloody stalemate with minor Clans constantly changing sides as one faction seemed to have an advantage.
- Eshin only returned from Cathay about four hundred years into the civil war where they joined the loyalists and tipped the balance.
- The war ended with a peace deal, where Pestilens joined the Council and pledged their resources and wealth to the ascension.

Again, there will not be any time limit for this challenge. Good luck! :)
Quote
Like
Share

Ratty Gnawtail
Doomwheel Driver
Doomwheel Driver
Joined: June 2nd, 2011, 9:32 am

October 14th, 2015, 8:19 pm #2

The Rise of Vriznk


Prologue

“By the glor-glory of the Horned Rat. May-may He grant-give wisdom and strength to this humble servant. May He give-grant the power to kill-slay the heretic-meat. This one treaty-pledges the souls of the heretic-meat as offering.”

Vriznk raised his head and looked at the cheap icon of the Horned Rat that he had propped up against his crude work bench. In this time of great unrest it felt necessary to reaffirm faith to the Horned One, especially when faced with the heresy of Pestilens. To think, before Pestilens had returned from their exile, Skryre had been viewed as borderline heretical by the Seer Order. Vriznk fought the urge to spit. In truth, Vriznk had never been alive during any of this, the Great Skaven War as it was being called had already raged for more lifetimes than Skaven could be interested in counting.

It was Vriznk who would end this war, it was his destiny. His vast intellect, before ignored by his peers, would catapult Skryre (but more importantly him) to the fore of Skavenkind. He would cast Pestilens back to the swamps or wherever they had come from, he would drink from the skull of this Arch Plaguelord Nurglitch, and even the Council would bow to his genius.

He smiled a brutal fang filled smile. There was always a solution to a problem, a cure for disease. Pestilens were such a disease, a literal vile canker that tried to eat away at the empire of the Horned Rat.

He would be the cure.

The diminutive Skaven was suddenly wracked by a savage cough and spat a wad of polluted blood.

By the Horned One, he swore, I will be the cure!
Quote
Like
Share

rjward1999
Warlord
Warlord
Joined: March 12th, 2014, 6:02 pm

October 14th, 2015, 9:16 pm #3

Far to the South, in a long forgotten temple, Vectolk (he's an immortal, and everywhere :P ) raised his arms in exultation. The pontifex of plague let loose yet another stream of filth poured from his mouth, engulfing the poorly armed clanrats ahead of him. What little armour they wore rusted and split, their flesh sloughing away and bones rotting even as their lungs filled with pus and blood. This was how on should be living! Not huddled away in a small room, trying to divine the will of the Horned one. Instead you should be on the battlefield, enacting his orders and giving mercy to those who are too blind to realise it.

Behind him he heard the sound of slapping footsteps, and turning was greeted with the sight of Plaguelord Vermalanx running towards him. "Listen-hear" Vermalanx squeeked, both rats bowing to each other as a sign of respect. "The main temple has been taken-grabbed" spoke Vermalanx. "We are to proceed-head to the inner chambers-nests, where we find the leader of this horde". As he said this Vermalanx was already heading off down another tunnel which led yet deeper into the monument. Stoking his brazier, Vectolk motioned to his censer bearers and let loose a cry of war that made his lungs go hoarse. Rushing off after Vermalanx, Vectolk and his pack raced to deliver death to the unbelievers.

OOC: maybe our characters will eventually meet up :) . Then I can show you the error of your ways! ;)
Chinese Proverb wrote:He who asks a question is a fool for five minutes. He who does not is a fool forever.
Quote
Like
Share

Ratty Gnawtail
Doomwheel Driver
Doomwheel Driver
Joined: June 2nd, 2011, 9:32 am

October 20th, 2015, 4:47 pm #4

The Rise of Vriznk


Part One: Before the gate of Retz Threepaw
*Warning: The following tale contains fairly graphic violence*

The Grey Seer was taking a long time to die.

Parson Scor smirked as the horned Skaven’s skin was slowly peeled away and several blessed ointments were daubed over his wounds. The Seer should have felt privileged, few Skaven even within Clan Pestilens were permitted to be bathed in the blessed diseases crafted by the Arch Plaguelord himself.

The Plague Parson turned away from the screaming Grey Seer and gazed at the Skaven crafted fortifications in front of him. The warren of Clan Snnrt was a formidable bastion for such a lesser Clan, their many warlords had spent a considerable wealth of warptokens fortifying this area of tunnels. The gate of warlord Retz Threepaw (Scor fancied that the name changed with every new warlord) was a marvel of Skaven defence. Stolen Dwarf metal had been reworked into the gate itself and was festooned with all manner of charms and markings bought off of the Seer Order at great cost. Numerous murder holes littered the wall and gate, Clan Snnrt had paid an equal fortune in the latest Skryre weapons, these jezzails had been a thorn in the side of Pestilens forces trying to breach the gate. From the crude stone battlements above the gate, numerous watch-rats glared down at the righteous crusade that had arrived at their warren.

“Heretics of Clan Snnrt!” Parson Scor began, his phlegm-ridden voice carrying itself over the gate, “you spurn the true path of the Horned One, bless-blessed be his ever name, and crawl-crawl with the degenerate filth that calls itself a Council! You bandy words with the arch-heretics themselves, the Seer Order! They who feed falsehood to Skavenkind! Witness the divinity of these so-called Grey Seers!”

Behind him, the Grey Seer’s shrieks grew louder as he was tied to a large wooden pole, his ruined body a macabre banner. The ropes bit into his flesh, bringing fresh screams that to Scor was a glorious hymn to the Horned One. They had captured the Grey Seer when he and his relief force fell victim to Scor’s genius ambush tactics. There had been some debate amongst the minor paters within the Pestilens force with what to do with this prisoner. Some called for his head, others to make him repent, one lowly monk suggested ransoming. That same monk was fed into the plague cauldron moments later. It was Parson Scor’s idea to make an example of the horned Skaven, a show to the rats of Clan Snnrt that the so-called mouth pieces of the Horned Rat were in reality heretical charlatans.

Indeed, not once throughout the ordeal had the Seer’s prayers been answered. The wretch had pleaded and begged the Horned Rat in such a manner that even Scor’s paw strayed to his blade with the intention of slaying the heretic. That this wretch viewed the Horned Rat as a tool to escape his sins made even the disease hardened rats feel sick. The Seer Order had become a vile contagion that had polluted the minds of Skavenkind, Pestilens would be the cure.

Absentmindedly, Parson Scor traced the long scar across the side of his face that terminated at the empty socket where his left eye used to be. The Seer Order might be the arch-heretics of Skavenkind, but Scor had another in mind to face his wrath.

Upon the pole, the dying Grey Seer pleaded his god for respite, for rescue, even a quick death.

None of these prayers went answered.
Quote
Like
Share

rjward1999
Warlord
Warlord
Joined: March 12th, 2014, 6:02 pm

October 26th, 2015, 10:35 am #5

Through the twisting passages Vectolk hurtled, his pack never far behind. The righteous sound of the bells was in his ears, and the unholy notes spurned him onto greater feats of swiftness than seemed possible for such a being. Turning a corner, Vectolk was just quick enough to leap out of the way of a stream of warpflame spurted from an ambushing weapon team. Some of his packmates were not so lucky however, their bodies being covered in the sludge like substance. As the viscous liquid touched them hideous flames came into being, causing their skin to run like wax and their bones to crumble to a dirty ash.

Squealing in annoyance, the weapon team turned their cannon to face Vectolk, almost ready to unleash another load of the deadly substance. Despite his seemingly imminent death, he launched himself at the two Skaven. Their squeals turning to shrieks, they dropped the warpfire thrower in horror as the handle of Vectolk's censor connected with the firsts head. The result was spectacular, and Vectolk was proud. Where the rotten wood touched the bare flesh the head exploded like an egg crushed in a paw. The resulting gore splattered over the corridor and its inhabitants, dissolving what it came into contact with. The other member of the team screamed and fell to the floor, clawing at his face. Streams of flesh came away in his paws exposing the remains of muscle and bone beneath, and the remains of his eyeballs poured down his face. Per contra, when the sludge fell upon Vectolk and his followers it invigorated them, healing their wounds and revitalising their sore muscles.

Scraping some of the flesh of the barely alive second rats face, he rubbed it between his palms, spoke a few words and began rubbing it into the ashes of his fallen comrades. The fallen Skaven screaming and writhing in pain as his life-force was drained, streams of green energy emerging from his orifices and binding together the remains of Vectolk's fallen pack. Within a few minutes the rat was a husk, and the censor bearers once again stood whole and well.

Beckoning on with a claw, Vectolk and his pack once again strode off down the tunnels, moving towards the centre.
Chinese Proverb wrote:He who asks a question is a fool for five minutes. He who does not is a fool forever.
Quote
Like
Share

Ratty Gnawtail
Doomwheel Driver
Doomwheel Driver
Joined: June 2nd, 2011, 9:32 am

October 27th, 2015, 2:52 pm #6

The Rise of Vriznk


Part Two: The War Council of Five

“Clan Snnrt has fallen” began Warlord Gristl.

The warlord’s large armoured frame rose above the council table. The War Council of Five they were known as. The five representatives of the main Clans charged with holding off the scourge of Pestilens from penetrating further into the Underempire. The large warlord glared at the other four Skaven.

Lisspt Warpeye of Clan Skryre seemed to glare back, though Gristl was never able to tell from the iron mask the rat wore. Trademaster Shrikk busied himself with shipping reports, the Clan Skurvy coward was the least trustworthy of the council, and that was saying something. Nimrev Thricetail of Moulder flicked his tails that served as his namesake impatiently, Gristl bit back disgust at the insane rat. High Preacher Moriskit of Clan Mordkin met Gristl’s glare without any emotion, the rat still claimed that Pestilens were a plot by the great enemy, Nagash. The sixth figure at the table sneered and tilted his horned head.

“Something you want-wish to say?” hissed Gristl at the grey clad Skaven.

Seer-General Fraxcen, sent by the Seerlord himself, bared his throat in apology. Gristl fought the urge to rip the horned Skaven’s throat out; he had never liked the Seer Order. Cowardly and weak creatures, far different from Gristl’s Clan Mors. Doubtless this Seer was already planning a thousand plots to have Gristl murdered, none of which would ever be blade to blade.

“No-no, mighty General Gristl” chittered Fraxcen, his voice as silken as the rich robes he wore. “I just won-wondered how a Clan like Snnrt could ever fall to the heretics.”

Gristl growled under his breath. “The relief force was ambushed and destroyed” he said at last, “Snnrt surrendered several days later after being threatened with a slow-slow and painful death.”

“And?” rasped Warpeye through his crude respirator.

“They were all slain. The scarce-few rats that escaped claimed that the priest in charge of the Pestilens army announced that the Horned Rat deem-deemed them disloyal and impure to follow the true path.”

There was a dangerous sounding hiss from the Seer-General. “Blasphemy! Heresy! Those fool-meat truly believe they are worthy of the Horned One?! That He speak-squeaks to them?! We need-want to act now!”

“And what-what of Grey Seer Briine?” Nimrev Thricetail interrupted. Trademaster Shrikk looked up from his reports, ears pricked. All of the council knew that Briine and Shrikk sought an alliance together. Something about shipping blessed wine.

“Dead” stated Gristl, a little too quickly. The Seer’s eyes narrowed at this whilst Shrikk audibly groaned something about having already bought the wine. “Our reports bel-believe that Briine was captured and tortured to death. Several of the surviving Skaven claimed that prior to Snnrt’s surrender; a Grey Seer was tortured before their gates. Sev-several reports go into great detail, which-which I shall not-not repeat here.” He instead slid a scroll to Fraxcen. The Seer glanced at it and the Warlord felt a twinge of sadistic joy as he noticed the Seer’s face go several shades paler.

The grim Moriskit scratched at the meeting table. “So it seem-seems that Pestilens is use-using fear and religious uncertainty to defeat out strong-strongest forces. To scent-see a mouthpiece of the Horned Rat die in such a way” the rat paused as if imagining the death, “would crush the spirit of once loyal servants of the Horned Rat.”

As one, the red eyes within the chamber swivelled to look at the Seer-General. It was claimed by the Seer Order that the rats of Clan Pestilens were heretics, but what if Pestilens were right? Seated in finery, Fraxcen looked far less a priest of the Horned Rat but much more that of princely Skaven, maybe even one of the Skaven Sultan-Warlords in Araby. The Seer Order had grown fat from their position, perhaps they no longer spoke for the Horned One.

Almost as if reading these thoughts, Seer-General Fraxcen touched the invisible threads of magic in the air and let his eyes glow a menacing green. “The sorcery of Clan Pestilens does not come from the Horned One, blessed be He” Fraxcen growled. “I have spent several lifetimes studying the colours of magic, even fought against these heretics. They use-use the colour of disease, a form of magic barely linked to the Horned One’s power. Though-though a number of Grey Seers will edge into such art, the true power of the Horned Rat lies in the colour of ruination. The colour of disease corrupts all who wiel-wield it, it destroy-rots their bodies and damns their souls. The path of Pestilens is not the path of the Horned One.”

Lisspt Warpeye bobbed his head in agreement, despite having a shadow of the Seer-General’s magical might; the Warlock Engineer had some knowledge on magic. The Seer-General’s tail lashed angrily and Gristl was forced to hide his mirth at the Seer’s displeasure. Both Warpeye and Fraxcen had been bitter foes, the Seer deeming the Engineer’s grasp of magic as practically heretical. The metal masked Warlock agreeing with the Seer clearly rankled Fraxcen deeply.

Warlord Gristl rose from his seat.

“Whether Pestilens are correct or not...which yes-yes they are heretical, the fall of Clan Snnrt carries an important lesson-thing. The enemy seek-seek to destroy our faith in the Seer Order and that of the Horned Rat. This-this is not a war of blades, no-no. This is a war of faith as much-much as blades. We need-want to strike a blow and show-show that the ‘divinity’ of Clan Pestilens is a lie.”

The rest of the council bobbed their heads in approval.

“I propose a counter push” the Warlord laid out a crude map of the tunnel networks in their section, “here, here, here, and here. Report-things suggest that Plague Lord Esrixl Bilebite is leading a large force towards the Bitter Caverns, it seem-seems he is aiming for Clan H’krik’s holdings. A thrust of our forces through Skree’s Tunnels should isolate this army” he again indicated one of the four counter pushes. “Deacon Pyrboil’s armies have fortified the remains of Krom Deeps, turn-turning the Dwarf-thing mine into a formidable defence. Thricetail I know-know has been speak-squeaking about his new siege beasts, perhaps-maybe Moulder should lead this push.”

Thricetail’s face split into a curved smile. “Yes-yes, my siege beasts will rend-tear their defences apart.”

The Warlord briefly dipped his head to acknowledge Thricetail’s pledge before continuing. “Skurvy sneaks have-have reported that these tunnels” Gristl indicated several ancient networks “are like-likely being used as a Pestilens supply line. If-if one of our armies could break-break through; the Pestilens offensive will be cast back. I would recommend the Mors 4th Army under Warlord Snit and-and the Mordkin Ashguard.”

Gristl then indicated the last area on the map. “Finally, I want-wish a counter push to retake Snnrt’s holdings. Not-not only is the warren a strategic defence, but we should reclaim what remains of Grey Seer Briine. If the Seers ser-serving in this area can speak-squeak of how Briine was a martyr, brave-bravely facing the heretics of Pestilens, we can reaffirm the faith of our forces and instil what religious vengeance we can into our war effort.” Gristl’s fur itched in irritation at such a ploy, he loathed the Seer Order’s stranglehold on Skavenkind and this plan would doubtless benefit their influence. Unless...

“I would recommend the counter push be made-made up of Skryre veterans, I’m sure-sure Warpeye has a number of rats in mind.”

The Seer-General hissed his displeasure and made to speak.

“Seer-General” spoke Gristl in a honeyed tone, “I’m sure you don’t want to risk-risk yet more of the 168 or so remaining Grey Seers when Pestilens are clearly aiming to ‘prove’ the Seer Order are not protected by the Horned One. If you want-wish, you can send an apprentice as a spiritual advisor.”

The Seer-General’s paw went to his hidden piece of Warpstone but found Warlord Gristl’s blade instead, he froze.

“I’m glad you agree, Seer-General. Are there any objections to my proposal-thing, council?”

There wasn’t.
Quote
Like
Share

Royos
Grey Seer
Grey Seer
Joined: May 11th, 2012, 10:44 pm

November 13th, 2015, 9:05 am #7

The Sermon.

Condensation slowly dripped from the crude mud brick walls of the assembly hall. The air was warm and rancid from the foul breath of the plague monks. Packed inside the dimly lit hall, their hunched figures swayed back and forth as they muttered their incantations.
At the end of the hall a cloaked figure approached the altar. On seeing their priest the adepts quietened down and waited for him to speak. The priest pulled back the hood of his green robe and exposed his leathery, malformed face to the assembly. And then he began to speak, his voice loud and full of zeal.

"Brothers of pestilence and disease, let me tell-tell-tellz you, I heard the voice of the Great Horned One in my ears just now".

At this a flurry of excited voices quickly broke out across the assembly. The priest raised his hand and the hall became quiet once more.

"Yes, the voice said we are the chosen ones, and that we must go and kill-killz them all just for Him!"

The disease ridden monks burst into exaltation upon hearing the priest's words. They were truly blessed by the Great Horned One, more so than any other clan. The priest continued to preach over their excited voices.

"Yes, yessss, we have His special gifts to give and spread to all. But they deny these precious gifts, don't they? And that's why the Great Horned One does hate them He does. And so we hate them too we does. And now we go to war and we kill-kill them, and every lands will be ours".

The monks began to work themselves into a zealous frenzy. They scratched at their skin and ripped out tufts of fur as individual displays of dedication to the Great Horned One. Some even bit at their bulbous scabs and tore of the flesh which exposed foul yellow pus. Some licked the pus with their tongues, while others smeared it on parts of their bodies. All the while they raised their daggers and venerated the name of the Great Horned One.

The plague priest climbed up the stairs to the top of podium where sat a large bronze bowl containing a powerful form of liquid pestilence that the priest had concocted himself and aptly named flesh eater. The priest drew an ornate dagger and dipped the blade into the noxious liquid.

"And now it's time for the sacrifice" the priest suddenly cried dramatically throwing his arms into the air.

At that moment some hooded adepts appeared from a side entrance and hauled in a big wooden table. Upon the table lay the hulking figure of a creature twice as a big as the largest monk. The creature's skin was pale blue and it was stripped bare. The creature was chained down and lay motionless. It had suffered many small wounds and was greatly weakened by exposure to toxic diseases. It let out a long moan and the assembly of monks squealed in anticipation.

The adepts wheeled the creature up to the altar and then quickly shuffled away. The priest raised the dagger high over the creature's chest and then after an initial pause brought it down hard. But the blade hit something solid and jarred the priest's arm. This was unexpected. The frustrated priest muttered something incomprehensible and tried again. This time the dagger got caught in the bone and wouldn't be withdrawn. Then suddenly, as if awakened from a deep slumber, the creature burst into life. The startled priest clambered backwards leaving the dagger still lodged in the creature's rib cage. It heaved itself up and let out a deep resounding roar which startled every monk in the hall and caused them all to take a step back from the altar. The priest could see that the iron shackles were not going to hold such a brute. He decided to act, he grabbed the bowl of flesh eater and poured it over the creature. The creature's previous roar was now replaced with a high pitched scream as the corrosive liquid churned its flesh into goo. The priest calmly waited for the flesh eater to do its work before approaching the table again. There he found that most of the creature had dissolved into some kind of bubbling sludge which was now dripping off the table onto the stone floor. In amongst the sludge were bits of bone, a tooth here, an iron shackle there, and in the middle of it all lay the ornate sacrificial dagger. The priest carefully wrapped it up in the folds of his cloak and tucked it away. The sacrifice had not gone according to plan but it was still a success. The priest dismissed the monks and sent them back to their dens to prepare for their journey. Soon they would have to leave this place and continue en masse down their newly dug underway, destroying and corrupting all in their path, until they reached Skavenblight.
Quote
Like
Share

Ratty Gnawtail
Doomwheel Driver
Doomwheel Driver
Joined: June 2nd, 2011, 9:32 am

November 16th, 2015, 2:20 pm #8

The Rise of Vriznk


Part Three: Whispers of the Dead

“What-what did you think-think about that?” whispered Lisspt Warpeye as he caught up to the heavily robed Moriskit. The High Preacher of Clan Mordkin slowed his pace and turned his sinister bone mask to regard the far smaller Skryre Warlock Engineer. Lisspt tried to keep his composure, Clan Mordkin were rightfully feared by most of Skavenkind; their wars against the great necromancer had unhinged them. With an exception of the Seer Order, Mordkin were possibly the most devout of Skavenkind, something that had made them little friends even in such times.

“About what?” hissed Moriskit, his red eyes seeming to glow ominously through the eyeholes in his mask.

Lisspt clenched his glands to avoid expelling his fear musk. In order to fight the terror of Nagash, the rats of Mordkin adopted that same terror. Some whispered that there was little that could frighten a Skaven of Clan Mordkin, others that their rituals robbed them of all emotion making them more akin to the undead they fought against.

“The meeting” Lisspt spoke at last, “the Warlord General seem-seems to be moving openly against the Seer-General.”

Mordkin leaned on his scythe that acted as his badge of office. “Why-why is that such a concern?” he hissed, “Sure-surely our goal is above such...politics. We fight-fight for Skavenkind and the Horned Rat. We fight-fight the forces of dread Nagash.”

Behind his own mask, Lisspt couldn’t help but roll his eyes at such talk. “But mighty-great High Preacher” he began, making a point of flattery to soften the following blow, “Pestilens seem-seem to be very much alive.”

The Mordkin High Preacher halted and slammed down the butt of his scythe angrily. “Fool” he growled, turning to face the Skryre Engineer, “fool, you do not scent-see the tendrils of the great enemy. Were it that Skavenkind were not so blind to reality.”

Lisspt said nothing but ground his fangs in worry. “Surely you have fought-fought the forces of Pestilens?” Mordkin asked when he had calmed down slightly. Lisspt too eagerly bobbed his head despite having never actually faced any true Pestilens warriors.

“Then you should scent-know that many of their number exist in a state-state of decay. Their body-flesh falls away and withers, yet-yet they remain ‘alive’. The number of Pestilens Monks grow-grows daily...as do the number of death-deaths from disease; the same-same disease that these Monks bear. It is poss-possible that the dead are revived by these necromancers to act-act as Monks worshipping the Dread One. They eve-even wear corpse shrouds less-less like true Skaven but more-more in reverence to their true dark master-meat!”

“Necromancers?” Lisspt questioned, “What-what necromancers?”

The Mordkin Preacher seemed to sigh deeply, “the priest-meat of Pestilens, they have a grasp-grasp of magic, yes-yes? I am certain they are minor necromancers under Nagash’s control, task-tasked with spreading disease and death to wipe out Skavenkind. They then resummon the dead-meat as mindless Monks. Note-note how un-Skavenly loyal these Monks are, throwing themselves on our blades for their leader-meat. It is not-not natural...”

Despite himself, Lisspt could see some possible logic to Moriskit’s theory but his own pride dragged him away from such ideas.

“Yes-yes, crush-slay the undead. We must stop-stop the Dark One” he quickly chittered before making an excuse and leaving the heavily cloaked rat. He had to find a suitable leader for the attack, and there was one rat he had in mind...

Behind his mask, the corpse-like face of Moriskit worked against the death rictus that constantly pulled at his muscles.

He hefted his scythe and smiled.
Quote
Like
Share

Royos
Grey Seer
Grey Seer
Joined: May 11th, 2012, 10:44 pm

November 21st, 2015, 10:33 am #9

Ambush in the underway.

Festus squinted and held the book up closer to his decaying eyes. Among the gnarled pages of his predecessor's memoirs sat his own name scratched in black ink. Around it were a bundle of notes unintelligible to the untrained eye, but Festus knew his Master's scratchings like his own. Here the passage read:
"Festus... Festus lives! Ahhgh! Again, he lives. Festus must die. Kill him, kill Festus. But how?"

Such a cunning old rat he was. So decayed... After his demise, Festus had honoured him with a great funeral by fire. Hundreds of slaves were burnt to accompany his master on his journey. Festus remembered how the smoke from the burning rats filled the dens, and what a feast it was, a feast for the records. Festus' ascension was one of his proudest moments, thrusting that dagger through the back of his master's neck was a memory that he would take to his grave, and every time he thought of it filled him with power and confidence.

Festus was suddenly interrupted by an underling who informed him the column of monks was under attack and that he best come quickly. Festus's tail thumped the floor with annoyance. He gathered his staff and quickly made his way down the underway where he arrived at the head of his monks. They were slightly panicked but still in good shape. One of his monks reported that they had been attacked but that the enemy had been repulsed and now lay waiting somewhere ahead of the column. Festus pushed to the front of the column and shot a beam of green light from his staff to illuminate the underway. Ahead of them the hall was packed with lesser Skaven, all standing in chains and holding flimsy weapons. Festus could smell the musk of fear, a sign the enemy were weak and vulnerable.

"They're just slaves" one of the monks muttered. Quickly the words were repeated down the lines "just slaves, just slaves".
The monks were furious, slaves had dared to attack them, slaves!

The monks began working themselves into a frenzy. Their eyes rolled, tongues lolled, and their heads swung back and forth displaying distorted faces. The slaves hesitated, they huddled together in groups and wouldn't move forward. Even as the whips lashed at their backs they wouldn't budge. Then Festus gave the signal and the monks charged. The whole column moved forward en masse. The slaves panicked and ran and the monks pursued them, cutting down any stragglers and overcoming their packmasters. The monks chased the slaves but then ran headlong into a unit of waiting clanrats. The tightly packed clanrats stood their ground and fought tooth and claw with the frenzied monks. Many monks took terrible wounds but kept on fighting, pulling down shields and plunging daggers into the faces of the clanrats. The clanrats soon buckled under the sheer weight of bodies. As the monks began to pour through the broken line of clanrats the enemy chieftain panicked and fled. Leaderless, the clanrats also turned tail and ran. But this time the monks left the enemy to withdraw unmolested for they were too tired and battle-scarred to pursue them. Now that the fighting was over, many monks were overcome by their wounds and died. Those who were still able-bodied began to feast on the slain to save themselves from death by exhaustion.

Festus arrived at the front of the line and inspected a captured battle standard. He didn't recognise the insignia, but it was of no concern what lesser clan it belonged to, they were all heretics and they all deserved to die for their arrogance. Festus had just finished sending runners back with orders to bring up reinforcements when his ears pricked up. Something was coming down the tunnel. The noise was getting louder, a multitude of chitters and squeaks. Festus turned to his monks and screeched orders to prepare for battle. But the monks were slow to respond, and before they could form any kind of line they were over-run with a wave of giant rats. The rats tore at their robes and bit at their limbs, some were dragged to the ground and savagely mauled. At first the monks had been caught off guard and although they had taken some casualties, with the arrival of fresh reinforcements they were able to overcome the rats with daggers and clubs. In fact, the monks became so pre-occupied with clubbing rats that they didn't notice the much larger threat until it was too late. Five massive black-furred ratogres suddenly lumbered into the lines and began smashing everything before them. Behind them their packmasters cried, "Onwards, killz them, killz them all". The sight of the hulking malformed rat beasts pummelling heads and slashing off limbs was too much for the monks at the front of the battle who tried to flee but were pushed forward by monks behind them, still eager to get to the front. The whole chamber was becoming a bloody chaotic mess of raging beats and broken bodies. Festus resisted the urge to flee and focused his mind. As the battle raged around him he began muttering an incantation, his belly began to swell and pulse with magical power. The pressure kept building and building until he could hardly restrain it any longer. He signalled to his adepts who lifted him up onto their shoulders. His vision blurred, his hearing dulled, he was unable to see or speak but his adepts pointed him at the enemy. Then with an explosion of power he shot a stream of green vomit, crackling with magical energy, into the enemy. The stream hit an ogre and it instantly fell to the ground convulsing violently. The other ogres stumbled backwards. As they did so one tripped and fell and was quickly swarmed by the monks. They stabbed it with their daggers and soon the tide of the battle looked to be turning in the monks favour, but Festus was too sick to exploit the situation. Instead he was carried back behind the lines to the safety of a side tunnel. The monks unwilling to carry the fight any further decided to barricade the underway and wait for their master to recover. They had much to celebrate. They had successfully fought off an ambush from a lesser clan. And although they hadn't captured the clan's chieftain they had killed scores of their number as well as two of their ogres. Surely they had proved themselves worthy of the Great Horned One.
Quote
Like
Share

Royos
Grey Seer
Grey Seer
Joined: May 11th, 2012, 10:44 pm

November 27th, 2015, 10:43 am #10

Monster training 1.01

The plague priest shuffled down the corridor towards the containment den where the prisoners were being held. An adept followed closely behind the priest dragging a long thickly spiked leather whip. The priest entered the containment area and made his way directly to the large iron cage housing their latest captive, a large rat ogre that the monks had taken to calling 'sulky'. Festus approached the cage to find the beast huddled in a corner. This was the last captive rat ogre they had, the others had all died during training. Festus shouted at the beast to get up but the ogre just grunted and turned away from him. Festus' adept went to the side of the cage and began to repeatedly whip the beast but to no avail. The beast just wouldn't get up. Festus tried a number of things including throwing acid at the rat ogre but each time the beast would only rise for a moment or two before collapsing again. A senior monk then approached and suggested they feed the beast a captured Skaven slave to give it more energy, but Festus was forced to reject this idea purely because it was a good one and he hadn't thought of it himself. Instead he ordered the beast to be fully restrained in iron shackles and then he sent for his special 'zombus' brew. A concoction of powerful contagions designed specifically to transform stubborn creatures into advent followers. Festus ordered a barrel of the liquid brought up and pumped through a tube directly down the throat of the rat ogre. Each time the beast threw up the vile liquid they waited and then pumped more back in until the barrel was empty. Festus shuffled over to where the beast was shackled. The rat ogre was groaning and breathing heavily. "Are you ready to stop being a sulky-sulky and start serving your new master?" Festus said while poking his claw into the creatures face. The rat ogre's eyes rolled back into its head and it let out a long breath. Its jaw dropped open and its tongue fell out. A long stream of green saliva oozed to the ground. Festus pushed his claw deeper into the ogre's face. But the monster remained completely motionless. Festus' adept crawled up beside him, "does this one need to drinks more zombus brew master?" the adept inquired whilst eagerly pointing at the pump.
Festus turned to his adept and some of the waiting monks. "No more zombus, it's just dead meat now, take it away" he said disappointingly.
A dozen monks ran over and began unshackling the dead rat ogre. Festus felt perplexed, he was sure he could tame the rat ogre, but now he was uncertain as to whether it was even possible to train such creatures. He began shuffling back to his den when he stopped and turned back to the senior monk. "Oh, and tell the cooks rat ogre is back on the menu".
Quote
Like
Share