The Council of Thirteen is in an uproar. Kritislik, after coming down from a warpstone fueled trance, began babbling for the council to assemble. He confided the reasons secretly to his slave, who sold the information to Clan Mors for a warp token, who was spied on by a Clan Rictus informant, who in turn confided in a companion that was really a Clan Skurvy double agent. By the time news reached clan Skurvy, spies from Eshin had relayed the message to their client Clans Skab, Moribidus, and Carrion; but not before a Pestilens monk threatened the truth out of them. All the while Moulder rats scurried underpaw, their ears hearing all, and delivering it to Clan Moulder. And through the Far-Squeaker, Clan Skryre heard from Kritsilik himself when he forgot to turn his end of the device off. By the time the Council was assembled, every Clan leader was very much aware of the situation, and Kritislik knew they knew. But he also knew that they knew so he knew to create a fake message for them to know while only he knew the truth, a truth he would divulge now. “Council” the Seerlord croaked, coughing phlegm and bits of warpdust. “I wake-wake from a deep-dark sleep. I hear Horned Rat. Portents in the sky, yes-yes! A time to strike-take victory for Skavendom! A threat to our plans yes! A Man-Thing. Horned Rat reveal-show to me the pitiful thing!” He waved his staff around, chicken and rat bones rattling together as he slammed it on the ground. Forming from the flecks of warpstone infused snot he coughed up, an image of a blonde Imperial, barely in his prime appeared. He appeared scholarly, carrying himself like an upper class of the Empire, and his clothes bespoke of his noble lineage. The image flickered as he began to walk, book slung under his arm, his other hand lightly tapping the pommel of his dueling sword. “This!” shouted Kritislik! “This Man-Thing! Horned Rat speak-say this Man-Thing’s name!” Lord Warlock Morskittar rolled his eyes “Well? What is the Man-Thing’s name?!” he was in no mood for Kritislik’s theatrics, especially now that he knew that the announcement wasn’t the discovery of a cache of warpstone infused bombs. Kritislik gave Morskittar a glare before continuing. “Yes! Man-Thing’s name. It is Anonym! Anonym Ungenannt! Horned Rat say Man-Thing in Man-City of Nuln, will leave for Man-Thing City in Alty-dorf in week! Under Green Moon must he be slain! One month from now!” ”Then I shall do it, yes-yes!” Lord Kratch hissed, rubbing his paws together. ”No-no!” shouted Verminkin of Moulder! “I want this Man-Thing! I will peel-peel his skin for good parchment!” ”FOLLOW THE PLAN!” shouted Kritislik, his booming voiced amplified by warp-magic. “The Horned Rat decreed it must be assassin!” he turns to Lord Sneek of Eshin. Sneek nods quickly to avoid Kritislik’s angry gaze. “Yes-yes! Send best assassin! She is-” ”You send-send a breeder to kill-kill the Man-Thing?! You insult Horned Rat!” Morskittar practically screeches, reaching for his pistol. ”Don’t be silly-stupid.” Sneek waves a paw. “Best assassin. Female, yes. Breeder, no. She trained to kill-slay. She will do.” The rest of the Council meeting devolved into arguments and secret power plays, and half-truths as each clan plotted to steal glory for themselves. If Sneek managed to kill this Man-Thing it could jeopardize their own positions on the council! Anonym had to die yes, but Kritislik said ‘an assassin’. He never said ‘an Eshin assassin’. Sneek had dispatched a message to his assassin, but halfway through transition, it was stolen, and eaten by a clanrat of Kritislik who wrote his own message, and had it sent to that same assassin. In his attempt to mimic Sneek’s handwriting however, he spilled ink all over the message. In transit, it was nearly burned by a runaway exploding Doomwheel, covered in sewage, buried, dug up again, lost, found, and rewritten, and re-rewritten by a dozen hands, all detailing a place where they wanted the assassin to ‘guide’ the Man-Thing to where THEIR assassins would lie in wait. ================================================================= She had been training for this moment. She was an oddity since birth. As a female, she fought her way out of the breeding pits, devouring her lesser kin, tore at the throats of the unworthy skaven that tried to affix her to the incubation vats, and escaped into the Warrens, where she grew and developed into an effective, albeit clumsy killer. Her albino white fur only made her stand out, forcing her to adopt more unconventional means to survive in the dark where her pale fuzz shown brilliantly against the baleful green of the tunnels. It was an Eshin Gutter Runner that found her, atop the bodies of unfortunate Skaven thinking she’d be easy prey. It was clear to him that she was worth something. And she was, as the gutter runner sold her to Lord Sneek for a hefty sum. Though a weak female, she was the fastest assassin produced by Eshin, faster than any of the males, and could silently kill skavenslaves without a sound. She was whipped, and beaten, trained and molded into the perfect killer for Clan Eshin, obeying the commands of Lord Sneek without question, following each order to the letter, not matter what they may be. She was the shadows She was night. She was Doom-Squeak. A name she chose for herself. Enough practicing on pathetic vermin not fit to live! It was her time! Time for a mission! For the glory of the Horned Rat! She finally received her mission. It looked pretty beaten up, but given the length of the command it must have been important. Lord Sneek has finally deigned to give her something worthwhile! She quickly unraveled the suspiciously long scroll, filled with ink blotches, stains, sewed on addendums, and extra notes. “SKWEEKDOOM” ”THE CouNCIL uf 13 Demand u HUNT-HUNT! There is a Man-TH1nG of named Anonym! ANonYM croo`shal to COUNCIL PLAN2S. Fynd the MANthing. Crush-██! Take MAN-THING to MAN-THING CITY in MIdden!NO! +ake Man-Thing to B█RDER WIth stunnted Thingz! NO! T4ke Man-Thing to Altydorf! No! No! Place with 8! No! Ogre Things! NONONONONONONONONONO! Man-Thing must go to 1NN by 7he 2oadside!” Sneek’s orders are confusing. Was it code? Or possibly a trick to undermine her first mission?! Doom-Squeak put the scroll away. No point in dwelling on it. It gives her enemies time to advance. She will find the Man-Thing. And then she will follow the next order...once she deciphers it. ================================================================= Anonym. That’s the name father gave you. You wear it with...well not pride. You wear it with something. Your family had sculpted you and your siblings to advance the family. Your sisters married off to nobles and wealthy merchants for money and connections. Your eldest brother is a captain in the army, bravely fighting greenskins in the south. Your younger brother sent off to the Altdorf College of Magic the moment he showed signs of the tainted arts. You and your curiosity is got you sent to the Engineering schools in Nuln, where you excelled in building the bizarre contraptions of your professors and even making a few gadgets of your own. Such mastery over machine gives you and your family recognition in Nuln’s courts. Your family is proud of your achievements. Your achievements. Not you. Your parents were always cold. Distant. Seeing you and your siblings as tools more than children. Much of your life you rarely saw them, being herded from teacher to aunt to uncle to other teachers, all to ensure you’d excel. Even now you receive an invitation to attend a party your parents are attending in Altdorf. It isn't a letter from your mother or father, but rather an impersonal invitation, mass printed and given to hundreds of potential guests, a blank area left for your name. Your father filled the blank with your name. He spelled it wrong. It's clear they aren't exactly eager to see you. No, they just want you to show off to their peers and possibly the Emperor himself. You don't really look forward to seeing them. Still, you do look forward to seeing your brother again. Last you heard he has become a Gold Wizard, studying under Herr Gelt. Your mind lurches back into reality when the wagon lurches, the surly looking driver shouting obscenities at the equally surly looking horse. “Pardon th’ ride herrs” he grunts. “Th’ old girl’s upset I ent takin’ th’ main road. Thass’ cause o’ rumors’ I dun heard ‘bout bandits n’ mutants hauntin’ th’ road to Aldorf. Never you mind none though, we be makin’ good time, an’ still be restin’ at Shadenplatz.” You look quickly back to your traveling companions. None look any more comfortable than you on the rickety wooden wagon, a few your fellow classmates, a merchant who looks far too wealthy to be with you, a hunched over stranger enveloped in a ragged looking cloak that has seen better days, and two men that look as bad as the driver, like someone took a wad of meat, carved it into a relatively human shape, stuffed it in itchy wool, then rolled around in pig slop for a day. One of your companions looks off at into the dark, imposing forests that surround you. “Is this road any safer? I heard beastfolk like to ply this road.” The driver spits onto the road. “Pah! Beasty-mens dun come ‘round this time o’ year. Theys all up in Middenland a prowlin’ fer mates. Th’ road’s clear trust me” You wonder how your scraggly driver knows about the behaviors of beastmen. You abandon that question when another lurch threatens to bring your breakfast surging up your throat. One of the students failed to hold it back, peaking over the side and covering the side of the road in half digested sausage and porridge. The driver scrunches his nose. Watch where you still that garbage there. There may be no beastmen but there are plenty of animals attracted to that kind of smell. You peer into the dark. imposing treeline unable to shake the feeling you are being watched. Thankfully there is nothing there and the ride is relatively uneventful if not stomach-churning. Shadenplatz can hardly be called a street. A handful of cottages surrounding an Inn that threatens to teeter over had it not been for the single wooden pole tenuously propping the lopsided building up. As many such hamlets you've seen, the tavern on the bottom floor is filled with leery folks that look like they were the subject of generations of dedicated inbreeding: mismatched teeth that forced their mouths open, eyes that were far too big for their skulls and bulges from their sockets, one side’s ear bigger than the other, and bulbous noses bent, twisted, and scarred from who knows what kind of abuse it has endured. They follow your band as you eat your supper in relative silence. They may not have the best manners but they do have a good way of spoiling their guests. An overabundance of food is piled on your table. Sausages, roasts, cutlets, and soup left open for everyone to take their fill. It's amazing how much food such a small town has, but you can't help but appreciate their hospitality. Special attention by the patrons seems to be given to the cloaked stranger who abandons utensils to shovel food into the darkened hood with gloved hands. “Easy therr stranger” growls the Innkeeper, a walking wall of muscle and warts, the tavern’s menu tied to his apron, an accent as thick as your driver’s. “Eat too quick n’ ye gun’ tear up yer insides. Not good for the body, makes it all soft n’ stringy” he grunts. That gets a wave of laughs from the surrounding patrons. The stranger seems to realize how ungainly they look, awkwardly picking up a fork and prodding their food like it was the first time they ever held a fork. You don't really question the strange choice of words. You're so stuffed you struggle to keep your eyes open. You offer an extra mark to the Innkeeper who politely refuses. “Thass real kind o’ ya Herr Anonym but ye dun’ worry none abut pay. There be plenny opportunity fer it later.” Again a strange choice of words. Despite slurring all his words, he said ‘opportunity' perfectly. Not your concern. The bed calls. The floorboards creak, the wind causes the entire room to shake but you don't care. The bed at the end of the room calls to you. Like heavenly silks, you pass out in the loving embrace of the rough mattress, not even bothering to remove your shoes. Muffled words rouse you from an interesting dream. “The hooded un’s gone. Nuffin’ in th’ bed ‘en we looked.” “Dun matter none. We got plenty fer the great meat tree.” You attempt to move but your limbs refuse to move. You attempt to rise but you can't even do that. You struggle to pry your eyes open, drowsiness fleeing as you recognize the new smell. Blood. Your eyes snap open. You are bound, you and your companions. Well, one of them at least. The driver and his ‘escorts' were not bound with you. The hooded stranger was not among your number. In fact, it’s only you and a classmate. But that's not what had your attention. The entire hamlet had gathered in the woods, dragging your bound bodies with them to...something. It was a giant writhing mass of hooves and legs, pig, goat, and horse, and a toothy cavernous maw that gnashed and crunched, red blood spilling from its lipless mouth. It suddenly screeches as one of the villagers takes a cleaver, popping off the thing’s limbs and taking great cuts of its flesh. Its shriek is deafening. Yet the villagers are unperturbed, one of them reaching for your classmate, the man screaming as he was thrown into the open mouth. With a sickening crunch, the screaming stops as the creature chews the hapless student, the massive wounds it received healing in an instant, the limbs the butchers removed growing back. The meat tree grows great from your flesh” chuckles your driver. You turn to see him. He looks even more grotesque now in the low light. His accent is gone. No longer hunched over, he stands a full head taller than you, eyes shining with a malicious intelligence. “The warherd’s bounty pays off well. We shall eat like gods! Your sacrifice brings us a bounty of meat.” “Sacrifice!” the crowd shouts. “Yes. Sacrifice. Except” he turns to you, holding your chin. “You are a fine specimen yes. The leader of the warherd will be interested in you. Very much so.” “MAN-THING NOT FOR BEAST THINGS! MAN-THING PART OF PLAN!” screams a high pitched voice. A white blur dashes from the shadows, cutting free the bonds on on your legs, delivering kick to your once driver, and tossing a wickedly sharp knife into the ‘meat tree’. Once again it opens its maw to scream, craving flesh to close its wound. “Quick-quick! Man-thing must get up!” It’s the hooded stranger! Not the voice you were expecting. “My arms are still bound! Free me!” you shout over the din. The villagers are starting to realize what is happening and close in. “No time stupid thing!” Instead the stranger grabs you, hurling a green ball flying in the direction of the tree. It’s screams are silenced as it is engulfed in green, searing flame, the surrounding villagers caught in the growing emerald plume. A wave of heat carries you into the air flying right into a tree. Your vision swims as you see your stranger remove their hood, waves of white hair pouring out, and two round ears pop out from the head. Wait what? “Man-Thing sleep-sleep again?” the clearly female stranger sighs as it peers down at you. As your eyes roll in the back of your head, you swear the stranger has the head of a rat… ================================================================== Doom-Squeak could hardly contain her excitement! She did it! It seemed quite uncertain more than once that failure was imminent. The stupid mutant-things that poisoned her target and her were unexpected. But she knew the signs of poison. She knew what they did to her. Unknown to the stupid mutant-things she had taken an antidote to their sleeping brew. And it purged all the poison from her body. Of course it would! She concocted the potion herself! There was no way she got it wrong then spent the next two hours sleeping in the attic while her hyperactive metabolism forced the poison out naturally. That's just how long it takes for the antidote to work! And good thing to. She had just enough time to save the Anonym Man-Thing from being beaten by the tree-thing. Then the stupid Man-Thing went to sleep. Doom-Squeak had to carry the Man-Thing into the forest, away from Mutant-Thing’s burrow. A difficult task that Doom Squeak only managed with an ogre potion. She didn't brew that concoction so of course it only worked for a little while before it wore off. Worthless. She collapsed in an exhausted heap when she was certain enough distance between her and the burning burrow. Then she summoned the last of her strength to undo the inferior leather bonds that held Anonym Man-thing. Then she realized that Anonym could overpower her and escape. But at the same time she would need to have him move himself. The solution? Bind only his arms! Perfect. Ripping off spare sections of her cloak, she fashioned some makeshift rope and wrapped it around her captive. With that done, she could finally analyze the confusing Council orders...right after a nap. She instinctively curled up into a ball near the closest source of warmth: the Man-Thing. That golden fur on its head was surprisingly soft and smelled nice. That would help her rest...her….eyes…… The screech of the feather things in the leafy-things made Doom-Squeak rise with a start. It was no longer night. Doom-Squeak had slept through the night! Exposed! By sheer luck, her thousands of enemies did not exploit her moment of weakness. She looked back at the Man-Thing. That beautiful golden fur. It was insidious! There must have been something in that hair that made her fall asleep that was the only possibility! But who put it there? The Man-Thing? No, it was too stupid to plot against a superior Skaven mind. Perhaps another one of her enemies? Yes! That had to have been it. She had to keep her distance from the man thing and that thrice damned gorgeous yellow fur. She kicks at the Man-thing, hurting her foot more than the Man-thing. The Man-Thing made no movement. Was it dead? Doom-Squeak knelt down, prodding at the Man-Thing with a paw. Then she poked the squishy, fur-less face. And then she poked again. And again. And again. Suddenly it’s eyes snap awake! Doom-Squeak jumped back, glands squirting the musk of fear instinctively. “Ack! Stupid Man-thing make me squirt-spray musk!” ================================================================== Your vision is blurry even with your glasses. The first thing to greet your open eyes is a white, slim blob jumping away from you. You try to move your arms, only to find they are still bound. Wait, bound? Memories of the night before slowly creep back as your mind begins to regain function now that the brain-addling poison no longer clouds your thoughts. That’s right. Your arms and legs were bound by thick, leathery ropes. Considering what disgusting acts occurred in that town, it may not have been rope they ties you with. Looking down you see your legs are free, but your hands are still tied. Not in the same odd smelling bonds from before, but dirty looking cloth that looks ready to tear at a moment’s notice. “Man-thing must get up now. Up!” The feminine creature commands. Your vision is still hazy. A byproduct of the drug or the blow to your head? You aren't sure. As the curvy blob comes closer, it starts to take form and you recoil. Walking towards is what at first glance appears as a shapely woman. However as you have time to take in her body you can see it is far more deviant. Body covered head to toe in white fur, a giant link tail swishing back and forth behind her legs, ending in large rodent feet. Her head is wrapped in black and brown cloth, though you can easily tell underneath the soiled clothing and white fur she has the head of a rat. “B-beast” you shout, crawling back. The rat-woman makes what might be a sound of annoyance. “Stupid-dumb Man-thing. No more sleep-sleep. Time for up-wake” she chides, poking a clawed finger into your head painfully. “Come-come, not safe here! We go now!” She grasps your arm binding, tugging at them until you force yourself up. “Where...where are you taking me” you blurt out, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth. “Man-thing be quiet!, your new captor snaps. She tugs at you, goading you forward. It’s so weak that if you chose to stand still, she’d never even budge you; but you're too addled to resist, falling in step behind her. ‘I never should have left Nuln’ you think ‘I should have just stayed in Altdorf and sent a gift.’ Instead you are poisoned, nearly fed to a monster, and prisoner to some evil beast...thing. She pulls you deeper into the forest, your thoughts beginning to clear. “Where are you taking me?” you ask, voice dry and hoarse. “No talk Man-Thing!” she shouts back. She is entirely focused on the forest around her, glancing nervously at the sun, at the trees, the bushes, the grass, the road, head snapping between them so quickly it’s amazing she doesn’t make herself dizzy from the constant spinning. Finally you speak up. “We’ve passed the same tree three times now” “Stop-stop talking” the ratman-no, ratwoman snaps “know where I’m going! Not-not lost!” You pass the same tree four times. Five. Six. You’ve been walking in circles, your hungry, your tired, and she has no idea what in Morr she is doing! You stop in place, and the Ratwoman nearly trips over herself when she feels resistance on your bindings. She spins around, glaring daggers at you . “Man-Thing” she shrieks, “you don’t stop-stop till I say so!” You stamp over to her, and she visibly quails as you loom over her, a paw reaching for something in her cloak. “We’re lost beast! Admit it! We’ve been walking in circles for hours now!” She pulls out a pouch of something but drops it when you take another step forward, anger bubbling up within you as you begin to vent “I'm tired, I'm hungry, these binding chafe, I’ve been drugged by mutants, watched all my friends die, almost fed to a monster tree, and kidnapped by a rat-beast that doesn’t know up from down!” You chafe at your bindings, feeling them tear under you as you attempt to free yourself. The rat-woman darts under you scooping up her pouch, reaching in and throwing a handful of some powdery substance in your face. Rage subsides as you are suddenly calm. You forget why you were angry. You forget what you were doing. You forget lots of things. But you don’t care. ============================================================= That was too close! Doom-Squeak congratulated herself on subduing the man-thing but she couldn’t allow that to happen again. She was an adept fighter yes, superior to anything this Man-Thing could throw at her, but her skills were focused on surprise and subterfuge. Her amazing dexterity and power would be of no use in a straight confrontation. She could win yes, but she didn't want to hurt herself. Yes that's why. It wasn't because she was frightened by the Man-Thing to the point her musk glands squeezed themselves empty. That’s just stupid-dumb. With the Man-Thing subjugated by the calm-peace dust she could figure out what to do next. Her stomach gnawed away at her insides. Food sounded like a good idea. It wasn't the Man-Thing’s idea. It was her’s. She tied her prisoner to a tree, instructing him to stay, then leapt away, searching for a quick meal for herself...oh yeah the Man-Thing needs to it to doesn't it? That will take longer. What do Man-Thing’s eat? She spotted a four legged beast. Doom-Squeak employed her masterful skills of stealth to creep up on it, until it perks up in surprise sniffing the air. She sniffed and grimaced, realizing she still smelled of Fear-Musk! Damn that Man-Thing for scari-SURPRISING! Surprising her and making her squirt the musk of fear! It makes to run, but she was already up. With the grace of a master assassin, Doom-Squeak hurled a dozen jagged knives at the fleeing creature. Two of them hit, truly she was a master to have such impeccable accuracy. It whines in pain and falls when her distracting knives distract it, making it miss the rock under foot, causing it to tumble into a ditch. Doom-Squeak crawled over to the ditch, wary of how the big food-beast might jump up and attack her. It was proper to be cautious of the treacheries of the surface world after all. She peered over to see the thing dead, its neck broken by the fall. Doom-Squeak smiled as her sense of pride inflated, knowing she killed such a swift beast on her own. This should offer plenty of food for that dumb Man-Thing. ================================================================== “We give you the Gift of Flesh, and you give us tribute of meat. That was deal” grunted the goat headed creature. The innkeeper and impromptu representative of Shadenplatz fiddled nervously with his apron, the charred remains of the Meat Tree still smoking behind him. The surviving villagers not consumed by the inferno stood awkwardly about as the Herd circles around them. “Ah well that’s what we were goin Ta do y’see. We had a number ‘o sacrifices last night y’see and then ah…” he tried to not make eye contact with the Beastman, only to meet the withering gaze of another. When the harvest failed, Shadenplatz faced a crisis, as no grain meant no food for themselves, no feed for the cattle, no crops to sell, and nothing to ferment into ale to trade with the merchant caravans. The town was ready to die when the Herd came from the forest to answer their prayers. They gifted the village with the fleshy pod they called the Gift of Flesh. In a single night, the planted pod grew to its full size, giving the village an endless supply of meat. The larders were stuffed with food, prime cuts brought money flowing back into the town, and the screaming soon became easy to ignore. In return they fed the tree fresh blood tonsate it and regrow the bounty of flesh. At first tossing it chickens and pigs was enough, and the few warts growing on the tree handlers was ignored. But the tree became hungrier, no amount of bird or pig could sate it. As its howls rang through the village, the villagers’ skin became like molding clay, warts, growths and deformities growing like wildfire. The handlers were unfortunate enough to mutate into a mass of limbs and melted skin. In desperation, the innkeeper threw the piles of flesh into the tree’s shrieking maw. It finally grew silent. And then the Herd returned. In return for the Gift, they demanded payment in kind. Meat was offered, wine, ale, gold. None were accepted. Instead they wanted men. Taking the most nubile young men unaffected by the tree’s mutation, they melted back into the forest.est. Again and again they came. Every year, demanding the same, the herd ever growing in size, and their demands harder to fulfill. Now they had no tree, no sacrifice. And the beasts glowered down at them with aliens eyes. It was hard to tell if it understood him at all; and if it did understand, whether or not it cared. “The sacrifice” it growled. “Where is it?” “The sacrifice? But the tree-” “The tree is not important” a throaty, feminine voice cut him off. Carried on a palanquin of four deformed creatures was a large, muscled beast...woman. She lay on a lacquered wooden platform, lined with pillows. She sported a head that was goatlike much like the other beastmen around her, sporting horns that were thin and polished, curling upwards; a humanoid body rippling with barely contained muscle, and a gauze of purple silk just barely covering her massive bust. Further down her legs became animal-like again, white fur with lines of purple dye streaking down toward s her crotch, which was covered by a brown leather loincover, runes of gold etched into the tanned flap.. “It was your responsibility and what happens to it is on you and you alone. What happened to the sacrifice?” “Gone-stolen! Y’see we did prepare the man fer ya, till sumun else stole ‘im away and burned our tree.” “Who was this other person” the creature demanded, voice booming. “It was hard to see, she move so fast” he produced a curved knife. “It did drop this however.” The beastwoman snatched the knife and snapped her fingers. A pair of grotesque looking mutants trundled up, their bodies human-like, but their faces distorted like someone attempting to shape a boar’s face and stopped half way. They chafed at the iron chains around their necks, the misshapen things held in place by a burly looking minotaur. She brought the knife to them and they sniffed the handle. The creatures bleated a shrieking cry and pulled hard at their bonds until blood leaked around their necks. “I will fix your mistake” the beast woman growled. “Then we will return to consider your punishment” she lies back on the palanquin, the mutant creatures bounding off into the forest. ================================================================== By the time the euphoria wears off, The rat woman returns with a mangled deer carcass, its limbs and head bent in all the wrong angles, dirt mixing with two knife wound in ita things quarters. Most of the meat is ruined. “There Man-thing, food!” She glares at you impatiently. You aren’t sure what she wants you to do. “Eat Man-thing! Eat!” “How” you growl. “With your paws dumb Man-Thing!” “My paws are tied you twit!” You shout back. The rat woman blinks and realizes her predicament. Cautiously she takes a knife and cuts a strip of meat from the corpse, mangy fur and skin still attached. She brings it to your face. “Eat now” “I'm not putting that in my mouth!” “Why not?!” “It’s not even cooked” “Cooked?! Man-thing is so picky” the rat woman grumbles and trudges back into the treeline. A lot of angry squeaking noises, cracking of branches, and ruffling leaves, your captor returns with a bundle of twigs, sticks, and thin logs. She drops it all in an uneven pile, still grumbling as she strikes a piece of flint. Minutes pass and she has a small fire going. Jabbing a piece of venison onto a wicked looking knife, she holds it over the flames as she lazily reaches for the carcass with her free hand, ripping a chunk off and stuffing it into her maw. She stuffs a hot, charred looking chunk old venison in front of you, raw red peeking under the layer of burned flesh. “Eat now Man-Thing” “I have a name. It’s Anonym-” “Don't care!” She about at you, waving the half charred strip of flesh in your face. The temper is coming back. Knife be damned, you are a graduate student of the Nuln Engineering schools, not some damned toddler. You bat it aside, swinging back up to your feet, the rat-woman jumping back in surprise. “No see here beast, if you're going to kill me then do it, I will not tolerate this humiliation any longer!” “Not so noisy-loud!” The rat-woman hisses. “No, I’ve been bound, poisoned, and pawed between mutants and heretics alike, and I am damned sick of being treated like a hock of ham! You’re angry, scared, distraught, and balanced precariously between all three, your tantrum is the only thing keeping you from spiraling out. You take a step forward, and the rat woman steps back, reaching for the same bag as before. She is surprised when her hand comes up empty, and puts a finger to her snout. “Ammo-thing quiet now-now! You hear it?!” You stop. The coin drops as you realize she’s on guard for something more dangerous than a tied up scholar. You clamp your mouth shut. The only sound you can hear is the chirping of birds...and...voices. Suddenly the foliage erupts as more rat things jump out, wielding jagged, rusting weapons. Your blood runs cold as your ears are overwhelmed by their shrieking warcry: “DIE-DIE MAN-THING!” “I knew it” you shout with a shaky voice. Then the rat woman grabs you by your collar and pulls far harder than she ever has. “Run-Flee Ammo-Thing” she cries back. Survival instinct kicks in as your legs start to move on their own, putting some distance between you and the mutants. The rat woman throws a glass ball behind the two of you, releasing a green fog. You hear the rat men choke and gasp, but don’t bother turning your head to see the results. Only when the ratwoman stops do you stop. Your body catches up with your mind, and your legs feel like they are on fire, and your chest tight that demands air. “What was that about?!” you rasp out between ragged breathes. The ratwoman, while clearly winded, isn’t as worn out as you, as you can see her shapely chest rise and fall quickly. “Enemies. Yes-yes” she mutters to herself. “They seek to kill the Amno-thing and destroy my triumph. But I will not let them. Oh no. I will complete-finish my mission. I will claim all the glories, yes-yes.” “Mission?” you ask. She stiffens and looks at you. “How do you know my mission?!” she nearly shrieks. “Do you read minds?!” ================================================================== Morskarr was in the blood haze. He trampled twigs and tore through branches, the scent of burning flesh driving him on. He and his litter-mates of clan Krakatch were going to kill the man-thing and steal the glory of Eshin. It was only proper. And once the Man-Thing was dead, Morskarr would kill his littermates to ensure only he received credit for the kill. He even had a speech prepared for when he returned victorious with the Man-Thing’s head in paw. He was do lost in thoughts of glory he didn't see the glass orb until the gas exploded out. “Warp gas” exclaimed one of his litter mates. Vectrek, he was always stupid like that pointing out the obvious. He was gagging on his own blood now, letting the gas slip into his snout. Better Vectrek than Morskarr. The Man Thing was gone, taken away by the treacherous runner. Who sent a breeder to do a Skaven's job? As soon as the gas cleared, his warband would pick up the trail again. Or at least he would have had the ugly beast-things explode from the bushes opposite of them. They uttered a terrifying noise that almost made him squirt his musk of fear. For only a moment. Then the realization that the creatures were outnumbered ten to one. Fair odds for the Morskarr. With a shriek of rage, he and his clanrats charged at the ugly beast things, curved and rusted blades pointed forwards. The creatures bleated and barreled into the warband. A rat squealed as it was trampled underfoot, another gurgled as it was gored by a wicked horn. Their sacrifices create an opening for Morskarr. He thrusts his spear into the closest monster, cackling with glee as he twists, letting its smelly intestines drop to the ground. The skewered monster makes an agonized sound before teetering to its side. It’s companion makes another noise, and behind you, something replies. More beast things! A Dozen of them! You have been tricked! Surrounded by beast things, glorious victory is quickly becoming a horrible trap! Someone must have set you up, but who?! Was it Vectrek?! You glare at the twitching rat corpse. It must have been Vectrek! That body must be a double while the real Vectreck pursues the real quarry! Well he was not going to die for his littermate’s betrayal! He was going to do that! “Kill-Kill beast things!” He screamed in a raspy voice. He repeated it again and again, waving his spear in the air as his clanrats rushed in a berserk fury, confident in their still higher numbers. Morskarr knew better. They would die to keep him safe. Yes. As they charged to their well-deserved deaths, Morskarr scurried back into the undergrowth to pursue the hated Man-Thing. Morskarr would get his glory! Even if he had to kill his entire clan to get it! ================================================================== Once she had tested the Man-Thing to make sure he had no mind-reading powers, Doom-Squeak took the Anno-Thing down a well worn road. “You knew this was here all along?!” “Of course stupid Man-Thing. Doom-Squeak told you she knows where she going!” she snapped at the Man-Thing, now confident he couldn’t read her thoughts. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t let the Man-Thing know that. Well no, she did know where she was going, she just had to figure out where that was. She was certain she had to find a stream. Holderbach River the Man-Things called it in their hard speech. Such a stupid way of talking. She smelled wet earth, and rotting bark. They must be close! She strained her ears to listed as she dragged Anno-thing along, the pesky Man-Thing gasping and panting all the while, that luxurious, hypnotising blonde fur fluttering as he-FOCUS! She caught herself being caught in the treacherous Man-Thing’s trap again! Curse those golden locks of fur! It was absolutely beautiful and she couldn’t stop looking at-NO-NO! She did it again! Stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop! “What are you doing?” Doom Squeak turned back, her head bruising from repeatedly smacking her head against a tree trunk. “We near water Man-Thing, Tree-Thing told me” she lied. “You beast folk communicate with trees by hitting your head?” “Yes-yes” you wave a paw, demanding he follow you. A clearing of brush later, and you see the stream. This must by Holderbach river, and, down the stream, a Man-Thing burrow. The Man-Thing gets down, and sighs happily as he cups his hands in the water to drink. Weak Man-Thing. The least he could do was pretend he wasn’t thirsty like Doom-Squeak was. She’d greedily suck water down when the Man-Thing wasn’t looking. That’s the proper way to do it. Instead she took out her orders, scrolling through the instructions by her master. ‘SKEEKY DUM. U SHAL TAKE-TAKE MAN-THINNG TO MANTHING BURROW ON HOLDERBACH WATER-THING. THERE U GO TO-NO-NO! stay-stay at man-burrow. Stay-stay” ‘GET RUM ON BOTTOM. RUM 2’ How bizarre. Why would she need to keep the Man-Thing at the Man-burrow. Well if the mission demanded it. She fished more powder from her belt and held it up. “Man-Thing” she called. Anonym looked up, and got another dose of that powder into his face. ================================================================== The Matriarch groaned in frustration. Her arm was sore from all the swinging she had to do. She was so used to having her thralls do it for her. Now far too many of them lay dead, laid low by the frenzy of the vermin people. She dispatched the noisy things with her own axe for the affront of making her hooves touch the filthy ground. Their blood now coated her blade. Another crime she would make them pay for. The Rat-people have set her plans back even further. First the sacrifice meant for her had escaped, now she finds the damned vermin are involved. They must want the Sacrifice for something. She held her axe above her, the dwarf runes on the haft blazing in the sunlight as she rallied her surviving thralls. The stupid beastmen shuffled to her, their mouths stuffed with rat-flesh. “My Sacrifice has not been found. No one eats until it is in my possession.” she grunts. The gors and ungors bow in submission, spitting out their meals and charging into the woods, sniffing out the trail of the human. Her trackers were dead. This would make the hunt more difficult. The Matriarch smiled. She supposed a real challenging hunt could be a nice change of pace. ================================================================== The innkeeper didn’t even give Doom-Squeak the slightest sign of suspicion that she kept herself covered like a plague victim. When she demanded for Room 2, the innkeeper just shrugged. “Taken” he grunted. “You get room 12.” “No-no” Doom-Squeak rasped in her best impersonation of a Man-Thing voice, which sounded like she was speaking Reikspiel with a sausage in her mouth. “Need room 2 now-now-now!” The Innkeeper rolled his eyes. “Taken” he repeated without even looking up. “Standard fee, 20 marks” This impudent Man-Thing! This must be her enemies plotting against her again. Putting this stupid Man-Thing in charge of the Man-burrow and stealing her nest chamber! Didn’t they know this was an important mission straight from the Council? At least she thought it was. She vowed once she returned to Skavenblight, she’d hunt the traitors who were obstructing her path to glory and make them pay. For now, she grumbled and fished around in a pouch for the stupid flat metal things the surface dwellers used as currency. She slapped a handful of them down without even counting and picked up her ‘luggage’. The sack made a groaning noise as she tried to heft the heavy thing over her shoulder. Curse the Burrow-keeper for making her climb stairs! Curse Anon-Thing for being so heavy. But her most hateful curses were for the treacherous things that took room 2 from her. To them she wished a most agonizing death. ================================================================== Brundhauser scratched his hairy chin with the side of his knife. Him and the rest of his company had taken up the entire ground floor of the inn while they moved southward. Word was there was bad things happening up north. The Northmen were getting agitated again and coming south as a big horde. No mercenary worth his spit would be anywhere near that hot mess. Mercenaries need to live if they want to collect pay after all. Boss Vulpiano had a good head on his shoulders. With all the soldiers moving north, there’d by plenty of folk wanting to pay to keep their towns safe from the Border Princes, and the Greenskins that were getting stirred up by the war in the north. Much safer fighting the snotskins. They were predictable at least, and easy enough to kill if you put enough shot in them. With those Northmen? They were liable to grow a new head if you blew the first one off. He heard some commotion outside regarding room 2. That was his room. His and old Manschon. He gave it all of three seconds concern before quickly forgetting it and returning to his more pressing matter concerning the traveling itch that seemed to move across his body. ================================================================== “You used that powder thing on me again didn’t you?” you growl at your captor/savior. “No.” the ratwoman says flatly before stuffing a piece of cheese in her mouth. Followed by “Yes” another piece of cheese. “Perhaps.” “If you wanted to stay in an inn all you had to say was I’d get to sleep in a warm bed and have real food. I would have complied.” It’s true. You would have. A soldier may be able to sleep in the wild and go for days without food, but not you. You are accustomed to getting three square meals a day. Somehow the rat managed to sneak down to the kitchen without being seen, and bringing back a feast’s worth of victuals. Now your only problem is how quickly she’s packing it away. You reach for a loaf of black bread, only for her to snatch the whole thing and stuff it down her maw, chewing even as she takes an uncorked bottle of plum wine and downs the entire thing. She slams the table with a fist as she strains to swallow the entire thing. You are afraid that she’ll choke, but she recovers moments later to grab three hard boiled eggs and starts tearing into them, shells and all. “It's not like I plan to escape. I have no money, no supplies, and as far as I know I'm in the ass end of Ostland. I’ve been nearly murdered by heretics, chased by beastmen, and nearly murdered by more of your kin.” “Not mine-mine” she says, specks off egg and shell saying as she speaks. “Different clan. They don't follow plan.” “Regardless, of I go out on my own I will likely die. Better you than face the outside world alone…” you sigh. Insane as it sounds to you, this Beast woman is the only reason you still live. The world has truly go e mad that you are safer with a creature of the dark than the safety of your own people. Well whatever keeps me breathing, as your Uncle used to say. Right until that night he choked to death trying to drink an entire jar of pickle brine. Maybe not the best role model, but he and the est of the family, including you, were raised to be practical. To think in the now. No point in dwelling on how far you are from the comforts of the college dorms surrounded by your books and pistons. No point in panicking over the fact this ragged clothed beast woman is dragging you across the whole damn Empire for some nebulous purpose that cannot be good for your health. Actually you should ask about that. “Why are you taking me to all these places” you ask. She looks up from her binge and wipes her mouth with a paw absently. You use this opportunity to get a slice of ham before she starts again. “Council plans” she states simply. “They command. I obey. They want Man-Thing.” “For what?” “No-no!” she slaps your head. It feels like a light tap. “Man-Thing must not learn of plan! Man-Thing get taken for plan! Not place of kidnapped to know of plan! Not place of Doom-Squeak to know-know. Just follow-do what orders say!” “Your name is Doom Squeak?” the ratwoman freezes. “How did you learn my secret name?” “You just told me…what’s that smell?” ================================================================== Doom-Squeak was in a panic. The Man-Thing knew who she was! This was terrible. It was clearly smarter than she thought, managing to trick her into divulging her identity so soundly! A cunning mastermind! And a cunning mastermind meant he was plotting to escape! It’s the only possibility. She reached down for her pouch when she realized the calming powder was running low. She would have to use something a little more potent. She slowly reached for another pouch, containing an exotic mixture of dried plants and other particulates that her master had given her. He claimed it was a mix of rare plants and ‘other stuff’ from the far off land of Ind, a powder that could put even giant-things to sleep. There was one thing that her master warned about the powder. In her panic, she forgot. It didn't matter. Her life was in danger now. She had to act. A handful of the orange stuff in paw she hurled it at Anonym. He coughed as he tried to brush the stuff out of his face. “This again?!” he sputtered between hacking coughs. As the stuff began to settle, the Man-thing looked at her with frustration. Then he collapsed onto the table, fast asleep. Doom-Squeaks heart managed to slow down an iota. The danger had passed. Her nose twitched and she sneezed. That was when she remembered her master's warning to not use the powder unless in a place with a lot of open air. The world began to spin as Doom Squeak got up on shaky legs, her body threatening to give out under her. Treacherous sneaky Man-thing must have plotted this. To make her use the powder on him, thus fooling her into using it on herself. Curse the blonde furred one! Curse that soft, inviting golden fur. She had to open a window and air the room out! But maybe...a few moments wouldn't hurt…. She crept over to the sleeping Man-Thing and perched her head atop his. That soft golden fur felt wonderful as it tickled her chin, and it still smelled amazing. She closed her eyes and started snoring almost as loud as the Man-Thing. ================================================================== Murc Craktooth spat onto the dry earth. He hated being on the surface, with it's open sky that made his feet all tingly to look at. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed in the tunnels with his breeders where there was no terrifying sky and the comforting green glow of warp lanterns lulled him to sleep. But the Great Horned Rat's plans were not made on idle wishes. He was called by his warlord to steal glory of killing the Man Thing Anonym. Granted Rictus was a clan of Stormvermin, and the plan required an assassin. Technically they were assassins by sneaking up on the Man-Thing, and using the sneaky punch daggers of the Eshin gutter runners instead of the traditional polearms of the Stormvermin. He had been assured by his masters that operatives had used subterfuge to position the Man-Thing in one of the large Man-Burrows called The Roadside Hog. He would be placed in the most perfect position to die at the hands of his disciplined warri-Assassins! For this they were assassins. The Council said it had to be assassins so they would call themselves assassins for this mission. A clever loophole in the plan, one that Murc would have appreciated if he wasn't part of the assault-murder! Murder. Assassins don't assault. Room 2. It would be the burrow-window with the Skaven rune for ‘2’ scratched into the glass. Murc had to stifle a laugh at the joke. The stupid Man-Things couldn't tell elegant Skaven script from simple erosion. How this race managed to conquer the surface befuddled him sometimes. With a hiss, he ordered his cadre of warri-assassins forward. They milled about in confusion, blades drawn and their noses twitching in a gesture of apprehension. Murc groaned. They still thought like Stormvermin. They thought he was signaling an incoming ambush. They were the ambush! “Get over here quick-quick” he hissed to them “Down-down! Don't let the surface dwellers see-spot us!” In ones and twos the large black furred stormvermin gracefully plodded across the open ground, only occasionally tripping on their black, sneaky rags. One grunted and fell into a wagon. He masterfully pulled himself free, collapsing into a pile of black cloth and steel plates as the obscuring cloak made him miss the step off the cart. Wearing the cloaks was a stupid plan. When Murc returned, he vowed tofind the idiot that made him think it was a good idea and have the runt flayed for this idiocy. He motioned them to move for Room 2. In typical Skaven strategy, he ordered his underlings forward. In an frenzied rush, the entire pack ran on all fours towards the window, clambering over each other to wrench it open. A majestic sight indeed to see his clan-brothers so eager to spill blood. Less majestic when a large ‘BANG’ reduced many of their heads to pulped brain and chips of bone. The bodies of the storm-gutter runners fell backwards into a pile of twitching bodies as a smoking hand cannon was pulled back into the window. He heard the voice of a Man-Thing. “That'll teach ya to try and nick my stuff Augusto ya rat bastard! Oh you actually are rats...” This was not in the plan. There were two Man-Thing heads poking out of the window to see their handiwork. There was supposed to be only one! Someone lied to him! This was a trick! A trap! Someone sent him to the wrong target so he would be mislead! This wasn't a simpering Man-Thing he was told to kill, but hardened warrior surface dwellers! Lights bobbed up and down as men started running out. And they all carried some very large metal weapons. Puny, but impressive. His fear glands released in surprise. Yes. That was it. Surprise. Surprise at being discovered. He was not afraid of the man-things. They were inferior creatures! He just weighed his odds and knew his contribution to the Great Horned Rat would be more useful back home hunting down traitors. That was all. And once he was certain no one back home was trying to undermine him, he would return with an army of stormve-assassins, and kill the Man-Thing proper! ================================================================== Doom-Squeak woke first, her Skaven physiology working the sleeping drug out of her system faster than the Man-Thing. She spat out a gob of the Man-Thing’s golden fur that was in her mouth. It didn't taste as good as she would have wanted. An entire night had passed at the Man-Burrow with nothing happening. No. Not nothing, an objective was completed. She learned that the Man-Thing was far more cunning than he appeared. She could respect that. It made the Man-Thing almost as good as a Skaven. Almost. The order must have been so that Doom-Squeak could learn more about the Man-Thing in relatively safe environment. Such foresight her masters had. Plans within plans. One day she hoped she too would reach such intellectual heights. That reminded her. There was still plenty left in the mission she had yet to read, let alone decipher. Unrolling the now very well worn scroll, she looked at the...odd script. “DUMSKEEK-SkeEk UPON NiGHT wen green-moon bryte-bryte: U MUsT take-t ke man Theeng and █████████ the ██████████████at it! U must █████████with a ████████████donkey████████████████take orc-things and ███████████████████████████████████████████████████████ No-no all that was dumb-dumb! Sqooeec doom must take-take manthing back to Nuln! There wait fo4 clan Skab and ████████in a tub! That is also dumb-dumb! ████████████████v Fool! Stop-stop writing dumb plan ████████████████████████v ███████████████████████you█████████████ You waste-waste writing-space! █████████████████████te you!██████████v ███████████████████o███████████████k ██████████████ ███████807^&^^[Or█████i██████████████mk███████████ █████████████████████████████████ Doom-Squeak scratched her head as she tried to make ears and tails of the message. No matter what angle she looked at it, nothing made sense. Wait. All skaven lords had their own secret codes and ciphers. Obviously a brilliant master assassin would make use of several ciphers to hide his true intentions. Even if traitors and backstabbers could decode one, they would only find another secret code underneath! Brilliant! Of course, Doom-Squeak was just as brilliant. She grabbed a piece of charcoal and wrote every cipher script she knew about long the walls. She methodically began to make connections only a brilliant Skaven mind could conceive. And many connections there were. The crossed message involving taking him to Karak Eight Peaks? Of course not! The message actually said ‘IXVT SNAD FROXVCYTLPUD’ which...which was obviously code for ‘OOGI BEEGO SYNTHGAKCT’ of which was merely the stepping stone to ‘Make preparations for’. Doom-Squeak congratulated herself on decoding the first step of the message. It took much charcoal and writing, and even some of the bedsheets, but she had deciphered the message! There was no possible way she made any mistakes or used the wrong code! She was Doom-Squeak! Master Assassin! She wouldn’t make the mistake of a novice night runner! Now then, what did she need to make preparations for? She held the charcoal firmly in hand and continued her investigations. ================================================================== Brundhauser poked the rotting rat corpse with a stick. Then for good measure he poked it a second time. It was still a rat corpse. “Think it’s dead?” he asked his companion, a broad shouldered Kislevite stuffed into an Imperial State trooper’s tunic. The Kislevite stroked his waxed moustache as he too procured a stick and proceeded to poke it. “It is clear to Ivan that this is rat” he said nodding sagely. Brundhauser nodded and gave the corpse another poke. “Looks like I owe Vulpiano twenty then” he spat in the dirt “we ain’t going anywhere anytime soon are we?” “No, we are not” Ivan shakes his head. “Innkeeper proper spooked. Wants to pay boss security. Man’s got surprisingly deep pockets.” “Oh yeah? How deep?” “Man’s got Arabyan gold stashed away.” “Ranald’s balls, really?” “Cathayan flats too.” “That far eh?” “That’s what he offered. Apparently a late guest last night that was wanting your room paid in gold flat rectangles. They had Cathay runes on them. Also much bigger than Empire coin. Got best room in inn.” Brundhauser sniffed at that. “Oh so we’re gettin’ paid to keep the peace eh” he tossed his stick away, and pulled out his sword, a Spada d’anca, and resumed poking the corpse with Tilean steel. “If they die as easy as these things, this oughta be the easiest payday we’ve ever made.” “Ivan agrees” the Kislevite nodded sagely. “Though Ivan wonders why these rat things come through your window.” ================================================================== You had a very odd dream. Something about noodles and rats gnawing at your skull, the chittering vermin scratching around in your skull. But at the same time it wasn't your skull as you observed it from afar. When the oddity of the dream struck you, reality melted back into your consciousness and the dream faded into the dark recesses of your mind where it refused to come out. The scratching and chittering persisted despite this being the waking world. At least you thought it was. Lifting yourself off the table and brushing the slice of Hochwurst off your cheek, you blink several times to make sense of what you were seeing. Blurry shapes started to take shape and become mildly shaped objects that skittered across your vision, like some bizarre dance of the colors. Then you re-adjust your spectacles. The beast woman that calls herself Doom Squeak was muttering to herself as she drew all over the walls with scratchy looking runes, Arabyan numbers, Reikspiel characters, and Indish glyphs. Occasionally she'd poke a clawed finger at one of the tunes and then trace it to another, scrubbing something onto a scroll of an oddly large stack of greasy looking paper. You stammer out an “Um” and Doom Squeak spins on you. Her eyes are already completely red, but you have a feeling if they were like a human's eyes, they would be bloodshot. “What's” you ask moments before you hear a high pitched sound. It’s faint, but growing in volume every second. There's that smell again. Doom Squeak tackles you, screaming in some bizarre tongue you cannot understand, her pink paws covering your eyes as the force of her impact sends you both sprawling to the floor. She rolls away as her momentum carries her into the wall. She spins around and slaps her palms over your face. “Don't look-look!” “Why not” you manage to say despite your lips being forcefully closed by the panicking rodent woman. “Man-Thing cannot look-see writing. It secret. Also haunted. Bad-bad luck for Man-thing to see ghost writing! Look away!” “That is the dumbest reason I've ever heard. Look you don't have to worry about me writing in your secret code I don't even know half those langauges.” “No-no not secret codes! How do you know that? Who told you?!” “You did” You grasp her hands and toss her off. “Fine I'll wait outside, and stop calling me Man Thing. My name is Anonym!”, you shout over your shoulder. “Wait-wait” Doom-Squeak hisses at you. “Where you go-go Anon-thing?” “Down for more food. You ate everything” you point an accusing finger at the table of scraps. “Yes” Doom-Squeak muses, tapping her nose. She glared at him, darting forward. From somewhere she produced a rusty dagger, and waved it menacingly. “Get-get food. Then come back quick-quick” she snarled. “Don't try to flee-run. I find you once. I find you again.” You stand down the fear welling inside you, throwing up your hands. “I will not run” you say a little too hastily. Much you your shame, your voice cracks a little. “Look I promise to bring back food alright? But you” you tentatively push the dagger away with a finger. “you stop using that powder on me.” Doom-Squeak grinds her teeth together as she thinks for a moment. Then nods. “Deal Man-Anon-Thing. Go now. Quick-quick!” ================================================================== Doom-Squeak watches Anonym depart, cursing the Man-Thing. He somehow knew she was hungry! To fuel the magnificent machine of her Skaven body, she needed far more foodstuffs than a Man-Thing. She had gone without food for as long as Anonym and her body would tolerate this starvation no more. She needed to feast! Gnawing on her tail did little to sate her growling belly. That was also a good excuse to get him away. Doom-Squeak needed to focus properly if she wanted to decode Lord Sneek’s message. And that glorious blonde fur that smelled of paradise and wonder didn’t help. She wondered briefly if that smell was really so wondrous, if the Man-Thing’s fur was calling to her not because it looked good, but because some innate part of her body demanded she do...other things. She didn’t want to dwell on that. She had seen the breeders, feral and unthinking. She was above their base compulsions, though it helped that she only was ever around her targets long enough to kill them. To drag her quarry across Skavendom alive was...well she didn’t know a word for it. She was a killer, not a wordsmith. Still, better to keep the golden fur out of her mind while she worked. She had no doubt she could keep her mind on her work, but it certainly helped that the Man-Thing wasn’t around to distract her. And learn Skaven codes. That was why. ================================================================== You arrive downstairs to see the pandemonium on the bottom floor. Furniture is getting moved out, the walls are getting barricaded, and the windows boarded up. All around, mercenaries are moving back and forth ferrying weapons and supplies this way and that. One bumps into you, not even having enough time to turn your way to spit a curse. “What in Morr happened while I was out?”you blurt to no one in particular. By luck, the innkeeper heard you. “I don’t recall letting you into this place” he eyes you suspiciously. “Erm yes, actually I’m the one you sold that room on the second floor to last night. I might have sounded a” you stammer, weaving what you hope is a convincing enough lie. “You see I had been a bit ill and I needed to sleep under a roof and get some proper warmth. Putting my humors back into balance and all that.” The innkeeper eyes you up and down. Then shrugs “Alright then. We had a break in last night. Beastfolk.” Your blood runs cold at the mention of the chaos creatures. No doubt they had come for you, like the ones yesterday. You just hoped you didn’t have such a revelation written across your face or things would get very awkward. Last thing you want is to get thrown out on your ass for bringing chaos beasts to this place. “Anyway, these boys” he gestures to the men in armor and brightly colored clothes moving about “Spooked em when he shot a few of the mutants trying to crawl through the window. Same room you wanted last night actually. Didn’t get them all though, and I know a few things about fighting beastmen. They’ll be back with more. What we saw was just a raiding party mark my words. Tonight, we’ll be seeing most of the herd, and no ways any of us will outrun that thing. Best to do is meet ‘em head on and break em with fire and steel” That cold feeling in you gut just got bigger. “Say are you a fighter by any chance?” ================================================================== Skitterskich clung to his glass orb with all the delicacy a twitchy skavenslave could muster. That is to say, it bounced and jinked, the thin barrier separating the poisonous fog from the rest of the world making very unsettling noises everytime it tapped against his claws. Which only served to make him more nervous. Clan Skryre had many like him, clutching orbs of poison gas to kill-kill the Man-Thing Anonym and claim the credit and glory for themselves. At a bark from their master the Engineer Warpfink Rottooth, the scrawny ratmen pulled themselves out of the sewer pipe, and into the open space that was the surface world. The slaves squeaked nervously as the open spaces played merry hell with their senses. Without the closed packed dirt of the warrens to scrape against their whisker, their bodies were convinced at an instinctual level they were exposed and bad to retreat to the closest hole they could find. That hole however had several angry looking Skrye engineers hauling warp fire and rattling cannons, the wicked brass guns pointed directly at them. Why was so much deadly weaponry needed for a single Man-Thing? Skitterskich kept such questions to himself. He knew it was not his place to question the actions of the masters, no matter how stupid it seemed. Warpfink pulled at his elf-skin whip, winding it taught in his paws so he menaced the slaves to keep moving. This was as close as the Skaven could come to the Man-burrow. Or at least the closest tunnel Skryre knew that no other clan knew. They would still need time however to reach their quarry. Time they might not have. Spies told Warpfink that other clans had sent their own assassins trying to steal the credit and glory, when that glorious deserved to be stolen by Skryre! He whirled the whip around, letting it crack in the air. “Run-run fouls! Scurry-scurry fool-meat” he growled. “Enemies move for Man-Thing! Must beat them there!” ================================================================== Doom Squeak scratched runes and codes and connected one to another, scratching out lines that lead to nonsense and gibberish. After many hours of exhaustive deciphering, during which she unwittingly made a number of mistakes due to exhaustion, she finally managed to translate a sentence that wasn't garbled. TAKE MAN THING TO PILLARS Pillars? What pillars? There was only one place in Skavendom that could mean: The City of Pillars? But that would drag her through Green Thing territory if she went on the surface...and dwarf things if she went below. Why would Sneek wat her to take the Man-Thing to the City of Pillars? No. Stop-stop! Her task was to decipher the will of her master and she had done so. At no point was she expected to question why. Just do. “We have a problem” Anon shouted, throwing the door open. Doom-Squeaks musk glands squeeze tight as she leaps up onto the bed. ================================================================== You ran up to your room with a sense of dread tying itself into your gut. These men were on the lookout for ratmen. You were escorted here by arat man! Well...rat woman but still! If they find Doom-Squeak they will think you a spy and lynch you as a traitor to your race! No chance for explanation. These are mercenaries. They make their living on stab first, ask no questions. “We have a problem” you shout a little more loudly than you intended, throwing the door open. Doom-Squeak gives a squeak of surprise you can barely hear and darts onto the bed, a familiar, but still unknown acrid stink hits your nostrils. “Man-Thing don't do that-that!” the rat woman sheiks. I had almost kill-kill you!’ “We might die still” you reply, ignoring her threat. “there was an attack” you then relay everything you learned to the beast woman, her eyes becoming giant ruby orbs in her sockets. The smell just got stronger. ================================================================== No-no-no-no-no-no-no! She knew it. Doom-Squeak knew her millions of enemies were plotting against her, but she did not expect them to strike now so directly! Curse whichever clan they belonged to! Horned Rat why must life be so unfair?! Her glands squeezed until they were painfully empty, any shame of the stench they created overwhelmed by the fear that clawed at her insides like a ravenous wolf-rat! Yet it was in this haze of bowel clenching fear that her brilliant mind was at it's most calculating. In moments she had formulated a plan. Then she discarded it as quickly remembering there were no ogre things or exploding paper dolls in the Man-Thing Empire. Both were critical to that plan… Wait-wait! She had a new one! A brilliant plan! She wasn't sure what exactly the plan entailed; but the fear was dissipating, being replaced with the same anxious excitement all Skaven felt when participating into the long favorite game of conspiring against a common enemy. That meant whatever it was would be good. “Man-thing” she shot back at Anonym. The Man-thing frowned. “I told you not to call me that.” “Go back down. Gather-collect food-things. We leave-leave this burrow when sun falls and moons rise up-up.” ================================================================== “Yes-yes. Man-Thing dies tonight” Warpfink chittered to himself. Many warptokens would be paid to him in tribute and his access to breeders would be the envy of all in the clan. “Find Man-Thing. Should be in room two!” “Bu-but master” one of the pathetic thralls whimpered. Warpfink turned his eyes on the slave, and the skaven recoiled in fear. “Speak-speak! Quick-quick slave!” the engineer demanded. The slave managed a whimper before the air stank with his fear-musk. “What room is room two?” ‘How could the slave be so stupid?’ Warpfink thought. He pointed to the man-burrow about to point the room out when-wait...which one was room two? He was certain that the burrow would at least have numbers on the windows to mark which window was room two. Warpfink was lied to! This betrayal would not stand-stand! He grinded his teeth in frustration! He had a dozen poison wind globes, but no target! How would he know which room to strike? He gnawed at the end of his tail, oblivious to the skaven slaves shivering behind him as he worked out the problem. His solution came suddenly, and noisily! “THAT’S IT! YES-YES!” He pointed to all the windows. “Throw globes in all windows, choke all the Man-Things” he cackled. “You will not kill-kill man-things! I will!” Who dares speak to him in such a disrespectful tone. Warpfink whirled around to see a black furred stormvermin staring him down. His armor was covered in clan heraldry he didn’t recognize. Who was this? “Death of Man-Thing Anonym belongs to Clan Rictus!” the stormvermin declared, paws and paws of clanrats and other black furred Stormvermin behind him wielding rusted blades and wicked carving knives. Warpfink whistled and the Skryre apprentices turned their bulky guns around. “That’s a good-good joke funny rat” he chided in a silky, phlegmy voice. “But the joke is done-done. Go back home. Leave this job for Skryre. Don’t want to upset powerful clan yes-yes?” He smiled when he saw the large stormvermin flinch for a moment when he realized he was standing against one of the Thirteen. “What’s this about killing the ‘Man-thing’?” The two skaven turned to see a large, imposing beastwoman stride towards them, hateful dwarf axe in hand, a the treeline coming alive with goat-headed beastmen behind her grunting, saliva dripping from their mouths at the scent of live prey. “That sacrifice” the breeder-beast said “belongs to me.” That must have been too much for the skaven slaves, because it was at that moment that poisoned wind globes flew in all directions. ================================================================== You watch the rat woman pace back and forth nervously, chittering to herself as her claws danced in her palms. She barely notices you save the occasional glance in your direction. You had spent the good portion of the day gathering what little food and ale you could buy off the innkeeper that wasn't being stockpiled, while Doom Squeak had pilfered ‘essential’ supplies from Ranald knows where. With a full stomach, you found your temper cooling down and able to think more rationally about your situation. You have been kidnapped twice now. Once by mutants seeking to feed you to a monster tree, and another who refused to tell you what she is planning. If she is indeed planning anything. You’re position may or may not see you strong up depending what province your in, and your association with your beast woman captor will very likely see a witch hunter locking you away to never see the sun again...provided a Sigmarite zealot doesn't burn you first. Your best bet is to accompany the ratwoman, and hope to all the gods you can make a clean escape before it becomes impossible. Doom-Squeak’s her ears suddenly perk up. Her nose turns up as she starts sniffing the air. “What’s wrong?” you ask, afraid of the answer. “Gas” Doom-Squeak replies, tone hardening. “We must go-go!” She takes the last of the food and stuffs it beneath her cloak. “Up Man-Thing-” “At least call me by my name! Anonym” you huff, but still getting up as she commands. Doom-Squeak shakes her head in frustration “Ammo-Thing, Anno-Thing, Man-Thing. Don’t care. We must go-go! Now-now!” ================================================================== Brundhauser peeked up from his broken window and fired a shot off from his pistol into the mob of rat men. He ducked back down to reload, narrowly avoiding a hot green flash of light, the angry mote hitting the a glass bottle and showering the area in hot beer and setting fire to the woodwork. He swore as he ran out of the room, coughing through the poisonous smoke. Down the hall, he spotted his company, who set up a barricade around the inn entrance. Halberdiers kept the mob of chaos filth at bay while company men, sell swords, and angry patrons fired shot, arrows, and slung bottles into the writhing mass of bodies. “How in Morr am I going to fix all this?!” the innkeeper exclaimed as he strung another arrow to his longbow. A ratman with a rusted dagger bounded over the wall of polearms and hissed at the other defenders. A bottle to the face knocked it senseless long enough for a drunk dwarf merchant to brain it with his hammer. “Harden defenses” Vulpiano declared over the din. “This rabble is fighting itself! Let them burn themselves out before we engage!” Brundhauser finally found his voice. Hacking out another gob of phlegm he shouted “They're firing into the windows! Fire in the hallway!” Many of the patrons who had been standing back were ushered to gather water and sand from the cellar to put the flames out before they spread. Brundhauser went upstairs to get the upper floor guests off their arses and help with the defense. First door he came across, he kicked it in with his heavy ironed boot. “We’re under attack! Get yer...wha?” He gawped at the sight of a feminine looking rat beastie, hunk of cheese hanging out of her mouth, helping a blonde human out the window. Maybe it was too much drink and he was hallucinating. Yeah that was it. He had more important stuff than dealing with weird eye tricks. Which was odd. Normally when he started seeing things the ladies had a lot less fur on them… ================================================================== You are Anonym and you can't believe what you are doing. Scaling down from the second floor and down into a hay bale is something you expect from a Detlef play, not real life! Yet here you are, dropping down sword in hand like you're Errol Fleinenbach. Or at least you would if if was a sword and not a broken hunk of wood that splintered off the roof when it could no longer support your weight. Doom-Squeak falls with all the grace of an acrobat...and lands right on you with the grace of a grumpy mule. You collapse in a heap, air forced out of your lungs. “Get. Off” you gasp. Doom-Squeak inhales deeply before lifting herself off you. “Up now-now” she hissed, gesturing to the mob of fighting rats. “Before traitors see-spot us!” You don't have much time to contemplate what that means. All you can do is wobble to your feet. The sudden shock threatening to bring your meal up the wrong end. “Give me a gods damned minute” you groan. “No meenoot stupid Man-Thing!” Your temper begins to rise again, undirected rage focusing on the ratwoman. “I said stop calling me Man-Thing you stupid rodent!” you shout at her. Hot rage becomes cold fear as you see Doom-Squeak running at you with a killer's intent, holding a sword way too big for your liking. She stabs forward and you tense up, preparing to feel the pain of a rusty blade jabbed into your diaphram. It never came. Instead she wrenched the blade out of a ratman behind you. The creature clutches at its gut, trying to hold its guts in as you take the thing's sword and stab it in the neck. Adrenaline gives you focus and you pull the sword free running after Doom-Squeak away from the melee. ================================================================== Three weeks. You repeat that to yourself. Three. GODS DAMNED weeks. Doom Squeak guided you down rivers, along roads, through secret tunnels, and smelly canals. You camped in the wild, listening to Doom-Squeak ramble about how her plans are going just as she predicted, despite the three cases where more ratmen-Skaven she called them-ambushed you. And now? You're in the middle of nowhere! You are quite certain you aren't in the Empire anymore. Maybe the Border Princes? But not likely. As far as you can see, the land is a mass of dried cracked dirt, dead barren trees, and bleached bones long cracked open and drained of marrow. Your only real shade comes from the tall pillars of sandstone worn from biting sandstorms. You grab at a flask Doom-Squeak procured for you, drinking a single helpful of precious water. Sigmar how does anything survive out here? Where does Doom-Squeak find these supplies? Why go through so much trouble? So many questions that she's reluctant to answer. Maybe she's afraid of her own race? You have certainly fought them enough times. All the ambushes and night attacks and sudden swarms all blend together in a horrible maelstrom of fur and biting teeth in your mind, you can't remember one fight from another anymore. Or maybe it's this damn heat boiling your brain in its skull. Thoughts of the fighting make you look to your sword, still dangling from your hip in its makeshift scabbard, that same sword you looted off a dying Skaven hanging from it. It was a simple, but well balanced dueling sword. The hilt had a skull with sharp fangs for teeth pointing away from the blade so you could brain someone with it. The guard encased the entire hand with iron patterns of bats and skulls. It's lighter than your duelling sword but it hurts deeper than that blade ever could. Like it actually thirsts for blood. Actually you know for a fact it does. Whenever you sink the weapon into living flesh, the gems on the guard glow red and the victim shrivels in seconds until there is only a dried husk remaining. What that Skaven was doing with such a weapon you have no idea but it had saved your life on plenty of occasions; and it doesn't show a sign of scratching. Not for lack of use. You've certainly had plenty of practice with it now. You don't even blink when the blade glows red, sucking the blood of countless skaven, and the fighting becomes a haze of red as you slash, stab, and hack at your foes with relentless abandon. At least that's what Doom-Squeak says. You don't recall much aside from your dueling practice paying off. According to her you “get crazy-hungry and go stab-stabbing all things like hungry slave in puppy-nest”. You don't know what that means. You are broken from your reverie by your constant nagging companion shouting at you. “Anno-Thing! Hide now-now! Time for sneaky!” her usual annoyance with you began to evaporate over your journey together. You hope it's because she sees your prowess in battle and respects you for it, but you doubt that. “Why?” you ask. “We in Broken Skull land!” “Broken Skull?” “Green-Thing tribe dumb-dumb” she growls at you. “Must be quiet!” “You aren't being very quiet” you point out. “You did kill those goblins back there.” “That was different tribe” Doom-Squeak retorts a little too quickly, looking away. You have since identified this as her trying to formulate a convincing lie. “And you're still yelling now.” Doom-Squeak doesn't respond. Instead she grabs you and pulls you into a crevasse with her. ================================================================== Doom-Squeak gritted her teeth. How dare that golden furred Anon outsmart her again! It was as if he was created specifically to taint her. She has had to put up with the Man-Thing for three sweeps of the Rat's Horns across the surface, putting up with that soft, silky voice that was like music when he spoke, those huge beautiful eyes that made her legs weaks, and resisting the temptations to rub her face against that tantalizing soft fur of evil gold! Worse was the humiliation she had to endure daily as the Man Thing almost became as good as her at fighting off the attacks from her enemies dedicated to seeing her fail. Of course that was only because the Man-Thing cheated with that magic poker at his side. Her enemies however were worse. They came in waves, trying to kill her before she could complete her rightful duty. These traitors to the Skaven cause deserved death, and they would receive it. Just not from her because she clearly had more important things to do. Like escorting the Man-thing and making sure Anon's clumsy hacking and lucky strikes didn't get him killed by the traitorous vermin. There was no cowardice. Only sensible logic that told her to take Anonym and run, using up more of her rapidly dwindling tools of death and distraction. Curse the Man-thing for being so difficult. Curse the traitors, curse the clans, and curse her damn body for demanding so much of her at the most inopportune times! It wasn't her fault that she killed those goblins, alerting an entire tribe of them to her presence! It was her damn stomach that desired fresh meat! The only small mercy was Anon wasn't there to watch. She didn't want him to be disgusted of her. Why that mattered she wasn't quite sure, but it was suddenly very important that the Man-Thing wasn’t there to watch her gorger herself on goblin meat. Then she caught the scent of more Green-Things. They were coming! Big ones too! The Horned Rat wasn't with her today. She tried to get herself and Anon into hiding before the orcs arrived. She got into another fight with him over it. It was because the Man-thing was so dumb-dumb, and not so he could serenade her with that seductive voice. She squeezed the Man-Thing into the corner and followed in, pressing her body against his to mask her scent in case the greenskins made her squirt the fear musk. The first Green Thing she had ever seen tromped by. It swung a massive axe in one meaty fist that looked large enough to bisect her with a casual swing. The orc was currently using it to scratch its buttcrack as it made a half-hearted attempt to search for the killer of those goblins. Thankfully the heat or that it was just stupid convinced the thing to head back to its camp. Relief washed over Doom-Squeak as she slowly crept out of the crevasse, watching the orc disappear back into its territory. She turned to signal Anonym that it was all clear when she saw the stain on his leg-clothes. What did he call it? Pants. A huge wet spot covered his pants! Doom-Squeak then realized her glands had squeezed tight the moment the orc had reared its ugly head. Oh Horned Rat, the shame-shame of it all! ================================================================== “Now see ‘ere. A WAAGH! ain't no WAAAGH! wivvout Gork. Cuz Gork is kunnin’ an, brutal.” “Datz Mork ya numskull! An’ a WAAAGH! needs more den da blessinz uv Gorkamork ya got ta have da gobboz so ya got somefin fer eatinz when ya ain't-” “‘Ang on a minute Gofgor. Did ya just say Gorkamork?” “Yeah, everryun knowz dat Gork an’ Mork iz just two differen’ facez uv Gorkamork.” “I never ‘eard uv dat.” “Datz cuz yer name is Stoopid Git.” “Oi say dat again ya squig-sniffin snot” the orc named Stoopid growled, pulling out an axe that was more a jagged hunk of rust than a real weapon Boss Bogrit watched his underlings bicker away over another pointless topic, running a thick, calloused finger along his massive choppa. He considered the solution to his pending headache as he made a few practice swings at Stoopid's skull. As he prepared to hurl his weapon, he was distracted by the shrill cry of “BOSS! BOSS!” With a growl he turned to face the new source of his annoyance, a puny green goblin wearing the scraps of a Brettonian tabard. Stoopid gets to live another day. The puny Iksnik quails under his leathery scowl. “Da scoutz found a buncha gobboz from da Bad Sun boyz killed boss. All propa snik snik.” Bogrit grumbled, a deep voice like crushing stones. “So why iz I shud be carin’?” “Sorry boss, but it weren't our boyz wot killed em. Da choppa ain't propa orky. Dey stink o’ ratboyz. We'ze got ratboyz lurkin our land...I mean yer land boss! Yer land! Please don't hit Iksnik!” Bogrit stood up. Stinking Skaven. One of the worst enemies of greenskins. They were a cowardly lot that wouldn't give a good fight. They didn't stand their ground properly like a stunty or fight properly like a human. No. They slicked in the shadows and refused to come out fighting unless you cornered them. “Right, up an’ at em ladz” Bogrit shouted. The closest of his greenskins looked up from their various tasks of being lazy. “Weze got rattiez in our land. An dey dun killed sum gobboz from da Bad Sun Boyz. We wuz supposed ta kill em!”, he shouted, and many returned his outrage. How dare the Skaven steal a perfectly good enemy for them to kill? That required-what did the stunties call it? Restitution! “Get da Sniffy-Squigs! We iz goin’ rat-huntin’.” ================================================================== The wastes were an unforgiving land. By day, it was scorching heat that threatened to dry the very liquid from your eyes. But by night, it became cold enough to freeze the blood. You throw some more sticks into the meager fire, desperate for whatever warmth it may give. “Man-Thing so weak-weak” Doom-Squeak chides, returning with fill canteens. It really is amazing how fast she is able to find water even in this hellhole. “No fur for warmth like Doom-Squeak” she teases, tossing one to you. You catch it and take a swig, feeling relief as the still warm water moistens your parched throat. “You can talk” you retort. “I swear we’d be long out of this blasted place if you could go ten paces without needing to cool off.” Doom-Squeak huffed. “Only travel by day because Anon-thing can’t look-see at night.” “Neither can you” you retort. Doom-Squeak swivels back to face you. “Yes-yes I can! Doom-Squeak see in night!” “No you can’t” “I can!” “Can’t” “Can-can too!” “Nope.” “YES-YES!” she shrieks, her voice becoming a silly squeak. She clasps her paws over her mouth. “What happened to staying quiet?” “Man-Thing tricked me again…” Doom-Squeak mutters to herself miserably. She plops down next to you, deflated. She attempts to stifle a yawn, but fails utterly. You get a good glimpse of the rows of sharp teeth the Skaven girl hides behind her soft looking lips, enough to make your gut churn with trepidation. You’ve seen those chompers tear through flesh, and you hope to Ranald, Sigmar, and all the other gods she never turns that on you. “Sleep-sleep time now” Doom-Squeak says and curls up around you. This wasn’t out of any sort of affection. She knew you were cold, and realized you dying from cold now would bring great shame to her. Still, it felt nice that she considered your health, and her body felt very soft. Like lying down on a goose-down pillow, only it was warm, and you could hear a heartbeat when you rested your head near her chest. You tried not to think about the very human like breasts she had though, it made you think of...things...and they were getting harder to suppress... ================================================================== Time was running out. Grey Seer Postulax paced around his room as he read his many spy reports over and over, the papers and scrolls scattering across his floor and getting stomped into the dirt as he finished them. No-no, this wasn’t right! The Man-Thing Anonym had to die by the hands of an Eshin assassin under the baleful eye of the Green Moon in Altdorf! The Horned Rats plan would come to fruition then, and Inevitable Victory would be that much closer! Yet why was that stupid female in Green-Thing lands? Why was she taking the Man-Thing in the exact opposite direction of Under-Altdorf? He had always known it was a terrible idea to send a breeder to do the task of a male! Sneek must have planned this! Sending an incompetent furball that had no clue what she was doing instead of a skilled assassin that could follow a few simple order! Granted he had been the one who had ‘altered’ the orders, but not to this degree! His plan had merely been to lure the breeder and Man-Thing to his home in Under-Nuln, hand the Man-Thing to his own Eshin killer and seize proper glory. Instead a new Clan war erupted in the north, and it was only spreading. Skavenblight was closing its doors to keep the fires of war out, and the larger clans were whole scale slaughtering the warlords clans that they had grievances with in the past. He had underestimated the stupidity of Doom-Squeak. Still, no sense in crying over dead elf-slaves. He could still salvage this. He snatched up a quill, dipped it in his warpstone-infused inkpot, and scribbled a hasty letter to his agents in the City of Pillars. If all went as planned, the Man-Thing could still die. Granted it wouldn’t give the glory he had originally planned, but it was better than being flayed for his obvious betrayal. With a bark, he called a skaven runner, and shoved the missive into the shivering rat’s hands. A few orders, and a nip on the slave’s tail for emphasis, he sent the runner scuttling off into the tunnels to the City of Pillars. Postulax then pushed open a secret compartment, containing a dwarf-thing safe, filled with his secret weapon: mounds upon mounds of hoarded warpstone snuff. His teeth chattered and mouth watered at the site, but he bit his tail. He would consume it all yes-yes, but not now. Only when it was time to enact his final plan… ================================================================== Doom Squeak was first to wake as usual. The first rays of the sun meant a steady rise in warmth, and soon it would be too much for her. But for now, it would be fine. Anonym wouldn’t freeze, and she would have light to do her work. With great reluctance, she untangled herself from the Man-Thing, and fetched her stack of papers from her travel pack. She was nearing the City of Pillars, and she had translated another line. UNDER THE GREEN LIGHT OF THE MOON. That could only mean when Morrslieb was in the sky waxed fully, and covering Mannslieb. That was only a handful of days away. What did she need to do? She ground her teeth in frustration as she consulted her cipher book for the millionth time. With perfect precision, and not at all making a mistake at the very base level of translation, she managed to take the jumble of letters, and re-write a legible command. ‘In the City of Pillars, under the green light of the moon’ BREED THE MAN What. Doom-Squeak read and re-read the message. The words didn't change like magic as she had hoped. They stubbornly stayed the same, three words that ignited base emotions within her. Surprise. Outrage. Shock. Confusion. Disgust. Arousal. She went over her process again, making the exact same mistakes that she never realized. The same conclusion stared back at her in the face BREED THE MAN. Why would the Dreaded Lords of Decay send a trained assassin to not kill a target? Why send her to breed with-wait. That was it! That's why they sent her! She was female! Not a breeder, but still female! They didn't assign her this task for her skills as a knife in the dark, but for what she was physically. It made too much sense! The Council was more than just Eshin. It was all the clans, even the Horned Rat! Skryre had long coveted devices designed by Man-Things! Moulder often dabbled in hybridizing rat with other creatures! Pestilens sought out human plagues, even the Grey Seers had on more than one occasion spoke enviously of Man-Things and their control over magic. Even if everything possessed by Man-Things was inferior, they ruled the surface while Skaven did not! They must have surmised the Anonym Man-Thing to be the perfect surrogate for a hybrid race of Man-Thing and Skaven, and Doom-Squeak…unaltered unchanged Doom-Squeak would be the perfect breeder to combine pure Man-Thing and Skaven inside her to produce the new Master Race… It was disgusting! It was abhorrent! It was maddening! It was so damned arousing! Yes he was an inferior, abominable Man-thing, but that just made the taboo so much more tempting! Doom-Sqeak was still female. She was a slave to Skaven instinct. The same Skaven instinct she had ignored for so long, now called her to be a Breeder. To have a powerful male use her body to plant the seed of a new generation of young warriors. To lay and birth over and over until her body created a legion of prodigy that would rise up and conquer the world! But Anonym was a Man-Thing! So what if he was a Man-Thing? Man-Things were inferior! Not fit to breed with! But what if…? Yes….what if this one was not? Doom-Squeak gnawed her tail hungrily as her thoughts quickly became more and more lewd. That golden furred creature holding her down, spreading her legs and...oh Horned Rat~! ================================================================== You awaken to the sound of chittering and the rustling of papers. Bleary eyed, you turn your head from the rough ground to see Doom-Squeak rolling around in a pile of scribbled notes, rubbing several loose leafs in her face as she squeaked and giggled to herself. “Doom-Squeak?” you ask tentatively. The Skaven shoots up instantly, paper flying in all directions. “Than-Thing! Er Man-Man, Mate-thing, no-no! Man-man-thing!”, she stammers. “Wake now? About time, l-lazy man-thing” she seems flustered. “We must go! Time is short-short!” “Short for what?” you ask. Doom-Squeak puts a paw to your mouth. “Too much talking. Always talk-talk too much! We go now-now!” She grabs your hand and pulls you a little too hastily. ================================================================== Where was that blasted assassin? Postulax had assembled a thousand upon a thousand claws of warriors for this. There was absolutely no chance the Assassin could slip away this time! The entire city was on alert, the clans had mustered their forces, looking for a breeder Eshin and a Man-Thing. Wolf-rats were dragged through the streets on barbed chains by Moulder packmasters to sniff out the traitorous female, and Skryre sentries installed massive guns all through the city, jutting massive cannons and ratlers from the open mouths of dwarf statues, relics of a time this place belonged to the dwarf things. The traps were laid, and the bait laid out. So where in the Horned Rat was that blasted assassin?! “Oh mightiest of Gray Seers” trembled a wretched rat slave, shivering and baring his neck to Postulax. “Your forces have spotted intruders coming from the north tunnels! Yes-yes! They have forced their way past the sentries, and killed many guard-rats yes-yes!” Postulax pulled an orb of green flame into his hand from nothing, glaring at the quivering slave. “What?! Just one stupid-dumb breeder kill-slay so many skaven on her own!?” “No-no great master” the slave gibbered quickly in an attempt to save its life. “It is an army! An army of many Skaven clans! They come to Pillar-City from many-many tunnels! They will meet at the North point and-” Postulax was about to vaporize this bringer of bad news when he heard the first explosion. Though it was clear across the city, he could feel the vibrations, even in his own reinforced chamber, far from the fighting. Taking a pinch of warpstone powder from his robes, he snorted it into his nostril and seized up as his spirit left his body. He soared across the city and saw, much to his horror, not one or two, but seven whole Skaven armies, each flying the banner and colors of a different clan. A quick glance around and Postulax could see a representative from each of the major clans was present. Moulder rat ogres tore through ranks of clanrats as Skryre brought nightmarish weapons that spat green fire and lightning, melting armor and flesh alike. Then to throw warpdust into the fire, Mors launched a counterattack, Queek screeching at the head, lopping off heads left and right. Just as Postulax thought it couldn’t get worse, the ground shook as a wall collapsed, gnarled roots shooting into the City of Pillars, digging into dwarven buildings, and flattening entire paws of clanrats. A dozen horns bellow as a Beastwoman steps out. She raises a wicked looking axe into the air, howls, and a tide of gors and ungors stream out, foaming at the mouth as they stampede into the warring clans. Postulax returned to his body, cursing and flinging his magic in every direction. The messenger slave had long since departed, knowing his master would be displeased once he broke out of his trance. ================================================================== Doom-Squeak remembers the City of Pillars well. When under the tutelage of master Sneek, she had learned every niche and corner of the Skaven burrow, knowing every paw-length by heart, even secret places that Master Sneek didn’t know. This was one of those places. This place may have once served the Dwarf-things for some weird moon-ritual or something. Who cares, it wasn’t used anymore. What was important was that it was out of the way, and the hole in the roof let the light of the moons shine down upon a massive altar of oddly warm stone that never changed temperature with the rest of the room. It was always warm. Doom-Squeak would regularly come here to sleep in a warm place when enemies were raiding her known burrow-holes. She made sure never to mark it to ensure none could find it. Now the Man-Thing knew of its existence. Anonym is breathing heavily, the climb not something much harder on the frail bodies of Man-Things. No, this one wasn’t frail. Doom-Squeak knew that now. Weeks of travel has proven he is indeed powerful. Perhaps that is why he was chosen for this... The smell of the man thing’s musk hits her nostrils. The golden fur runs raagged with drops of sweat. The base instinct of the Skaven race roared within her. It demanded she give into her instincts. The bright green of Morrsleib fell upon her; and her body shivers. Rationality, fear, and so many higher functions of the brain suddenly cease. The Breeder is free. ================================================================== You finally pull yourself to your feet, lungs burning from the exertion. Oh Sigmar you thought those weeks of fighting Skaven would have made you more prepared for this. “Doom-Squeak” you gasp out. “How much farther must we go?” You look up and find Doom-Squak gone. You step forward, making your way out of the dark gloom and towards the light of the Dark Moon coming through the ceiling. You call out again for your companion, but get no reply. A knot in your gut starts to form as a small voice in the back of your head tells you to run. Before you can make good on this however, you are tackled to the stone floor. In one quick motion, your scabbard is torn free and tossed aside, belt flying off your pantaloons with it. You struggle with your assailant, and succeed in flipping yourself over. Straddling you is Doom-Squeak staring at you with hungry, feral eyes. “Doom-Squeak?”, you ask in a timid voice. Doom-Squeak says nothing as she presses her face to your head, sniffing deeply from your sweat soaked hair. Her eyelids flutter as her tail snakes its way into your pants, pulling them down like it was another limb. “Doom-Squeak what are you doing?!” you shout. “Breed-breed” Doom-Squeak mutters. “What?” She throws your pants aside. That warm pink tail slides up your thigh and wraps around your semi-flaccid member, stroking your length in a way you have never experienced. Up and down the tail goes, your cock growing in size as blood rushes to it. Doom-Squeak rips open her ragged robes, pulling at another one of those damned powder sacks that falls free. She pulls it free, inhaling the bluish-green dust. She giggles with glee and pulls your into her chest. She makes a high pitched growl as she wedges your face between her fuzzy breasts. You call out to her again, arms finding purchase on her shoulders. You attempt to push her off, but she has gained new unholy strength. You free yourself for just a single second before she pulls you back in. “Breed the man. Breed the man” she moans. “Breedthemanbreedthemanbreedthemanbreedtheman! She rambles over and over as her tail twists and pulls at your cock, sending all crazy kinds of sensations through you. Her powder bag falls across your face and you take a facefull of the stuff. The world clouds into a haze of red and pink. You see only the feminine body straddling you, the breasts waiting for your lips, the hips perfect for bearing young, and the wet dripping vagina that is begging to be bred! Doom-Squeak yelps in surprise as you push her off with power your didn’t know you had. She snarls in frustration before she sees what your are doing. You grasp her legs, parting them aside as you line your throbbing member with her waiting snatch. With a sense of completion you thrust forward, penetrating the Skaven underneath you. It’s like sticking your dick in a stove. Doom-Squeak is burning hot. And it feels amazing. She trills in delight. “Oooh man-thing! This feel-feels nice. More. Do it more, quick-quick” she commands, reaching your waist, pressing into you and trying to set your pace. You’ll have none of that! You hold her by her arms and hammer into her, like a stubborn farmhand churning butter, you churn her insides with your dick, wet liquid splasing across the warm stone altar. Doom-Squeak moans and squeaks, clawed toes curling in on themselves as you force her legs apart even further. Her pink lips turn red and hot, the thrusts turning into wet squelches as her body prepares for your seed. “Mine” you growl and bite her neck, marking the beast as your property. The assassin rat accepts her place, gibbering “Yes Man-Thing. Doom-Squeak is yours! Breed Doom-Squeak! Breed-Breed Doom-Squeak! Powerful Man-Seed for powerful pups! Breed!” ================================================================== Postulax has never felt so alive. Consuming his entire stock of warpstone in a single draw had filled his frail body with godlike power that he abused with reckless abandon. His spirit soared over the battle, striking handfuls of traitorous vermin down. With every sweep of his hand, a blaze of warpfire spontaneously ignited, enveloping Skaven and rat in righteous flames. A fist crashing down summoned warp lighting reducing those caught in the blast to glowing ash. Skryre machines exploded in dazzling light and noxious fumes. Moulder beasts came apart in fountains of blood and gore! With this power, he didn’t need that stupid Doom-Squeak to complete his own plans. He could-wait. His conciousness sensed a pair of souls hidden away somewhere. In the City of Pillars no less! He looked up and there she was! Doom-Squeak! Her aura was unmistakable. And she was-oh Horned Rat! How could a Skaven debase themselves so to mate with a Man-Thing?! This was an abomination that he would crush with righteous fury! He bought his hand up, ready to crush this heretical coupling when the roof exploded. Postulax watched helplessly as the roof of the City of Pillars came crashing down, a laughing Giant tumbling into the city as hundreds of orcs and goblins rode it into the city. He had only moments to contemplate on his failures, and the failures of the Skaven race for its constant backstabbery, before the giant crushed his hideout, his physical body reduced to paste. And then his astral form dissolved, soul sent screaming to his god. With a mighty ‘WAAAAGH!’ the Broken Skull tribe joined the war. ================================================================== Doom-Squeak had no idea how close she was to death. All she knew was her climax, and the shaking of the earth beneath her. It was her first mating, her first taste of reproductive pleasure, and she wanted more. And just her luck, the Man-thing was going to give her more, and more, and more! “Faster Anon-Thing” Doom-Squeak pleaded, riding the high from her orgasm. “Mate-mate! Mate-mate!” “You’re my woman” Anonym shouted back, oblivious to the war occurring beneath him. “You’re mine! Your body is mine! Your womb is mine! I’m the master! Say it! SAY IT!” “Master Anon-Thing” Doom-squeak gasps, her legs turning to jelly, her mind blanked by the lust-powder. “Master Anonym! Doom-Squeak belongs to master” she cries out as she climaxes, her pleasure magnified by the feeling of that powerful man-seed filling her, the fulfillment of her base instinct rewarding her senses with a rush of pleasure. Anonym pulls away, his own climax magnified by the lust powder, turning what would have already been a mind-blowing experience into an earth shattering sensation. Moments pass. Moments that feel like hours. Anonym turns to the shivering rat-woman. “No more following you. I’m going home.” he declared. “Y-yes master” Doom-Squeak whimpers. “And you’re coming with me.” he commands. “Y-yes master” “Good girl” Anonym smiles. He looks down at his still hard member, the concoction addling his brain still clouding his mind. “But for now” he pulls Doom-Squeak to him, parting her legs and inserting himself into her again. Under the glow of of the Green Moon, he claimed Doom-Squeak again, and again, and again. ================================================================== Your head is pounding, your body aches, and your groin feels like it’s on fire. You don’t want to move, but the hard bed forces your to shift you weight until you are on top of the soft again. Then your mind starts to piece things together. With monumental effort, you force your eyes open and see the soft thing you grasped was Doom-Squeak’s bare breast. You fall back with a start, falling off the stone altar. You rub your sore behind as you get up on shaky legs. Doom-Squeak is still asleep upon the altar, covered in your dried fluids. What happened last night? You shake Doom-Squeak awake, the Skaven girl stirring slightly. She opens one eye, and groans, turning away from you. You sigh and start to look for your clothes, your nudity suddenly taking priority in your anxious mind. As you manage to collect all your clothing, Doom-Squeak gasps and shoots up, gazing at you with such intensity you fear she is ready to pounce. She then crawls over, throwing herself at your feet “Master-Anon! Doom-Squeak is sorry for not clean-lick you! A thousand apologies- a million apologies most well-endowed, masterful master of masters! I will begin now-now!” She crawls over to your, tongue lapping at your knees. “Wait” you stammer as she approaches your member. She has your tip in her mouth when you push her off. “Wait one damn minute! What-what was that last night?” Doom-Squeak squirms in humiliation. “Doom-Squeak is sorry oh great master. Doom-Squeak was commanded by sneaky Council to take you to City of Pillars to breed Doom-Squeak!” What. “Doom-Squeak slightly encouraged Master Anonym with lust-powder from Ind, but Master proved his might. Master is now Master of Doom-Squeak. Doom-Squeak will follow master, please do not be mad at Doom-Squeak! Will clean-clean master! Will serve-serve master! Will pleasure-breed for master! Please-please do not be mad!” “Shut up for a minute” you command in a firm tone, and Doom-Squeak again kneels down, bearing her neck in what you have learned is the Skaven gesture for subservience. Something stirs in your gut as her recollection pulls the fog off your memories. You being to remember, and that stirring becomes a burning desire. A lust that you didn’t know you had, but now demands satisfaction. Looking down, you see you definitely need satisfaction. You look to Doom-Squeak, still waiting for your judgement. “Very well. I will accept your apology Doom-Squeak” you say “however, you are not forgiven! Not yet” her ears droop at these words. “To make up for your past crimes, you will guide me out of this hellhole” her ears perk up. “And, you will clean me. Thoroughly. Now” you point to your erection. Doom-Squeak looks up at you with hope in her eyes as she crawls to you. She lets you grab her head as you guide your cock past her waiting lips. A smile plays across your face as she starts sucking gently. ================================================================== You are Anonym, head of the Ungenannt Family Trade Company. Years ago, you were just another pawn to your parents’ ambitions. But thanks to some under the table work, they had unknowingly signed a majority share of their trade company to you, only days before being discredited and exiled to the Border Princes for conspiring to assassinate Emperor Karl Franz. It was only the wealth of the family that had their sentence to death reduced to simple exile. Your siblings were devastated, but not surprised. They knew father’s desires ran unchecked and would see him killed. You had since wasted no time taking over the company, your illicit connections seeing profits soar and competition ground into the dirt. Some might say you really take after your father with your ruthlessness, but you know your limits. You won’t push as far as he tried. No, a comfortable life in a plush, very well fortified manor in Marienburg is enough for you. And as an added bonus… A rap at the window calls you away from the game of book balancing that comes to all merchants. You pull the curtains aside and pull the massive glass pane open. A white furred Skaven female pounces upon your, wrapping her arms around your neck. “Master Anonym! Doom-Squeak is back-back!” she declares. “Doom-Squeak” you reply, returning her embrace, feeling every curve of her body as your press her close. “What have you learned?” Doom-Squeak with some reluctance, pulls away from you. “Master Anonym. Doom-Squeak spy on Skaven. War is still raging. Green-Things launch WAAAGH! Against clan Mors. Beast-Things fight with clan Moulder. Clan Skryre fighting Clan Pestilens. Grey Seers not trying to stop fight. They make fighting worse so more clans buy Grey Seer service. They take-take lots of warpstone. Make other clans jealous. Lotsa warlord clans fighting Grey Seers now. Try to steal-take warpstone. Skavenblight lock gates, wait for fighting to stop.” “So I won’t have to worry about more Skaven attacking me for a long time.” Doom-Squeak shakes her head. “No-no master. Master never attack by Skaven again. They are so busy with war, they forget Master, all the fool-meat conspirators dead-dead.” You smile, and sigh in relief. Another loose end tied up. “Also find secrets on Man-Thing burrow Shastenburg. Will bring Witchhunter Man-Things on them.” That bad? You knew that roach Shastenburg was dabbling in the occult but to warrant the Order? That was damning indeed. Well that would mean one more detractor put in his place. You smile and pat Doom-Squeak on the head. “Will master reward Doom-Squeak now?” You sigh. Of course she wants that. Not that your complaining, the moment you saw her half-naked body you were planning on this anyway. You push the documents off your desk, you’ll have a servant organise the mess tomorrow anyway, and throw Doom-Squeak onto it. You undo your pants, freeing your throbbing member. You lift Doom-Squeak’s tail and thrust into her pussy, puffy and wet with anticipation. She squeaks with joy as you fill her with your entire length. “Yessss” she hisses. “Breed-breed Doom-Squeak again.” It’s been years and Doom-Squeak is still determined to bear your children. Oh well, no reason to stop trying. You fuck your little Skaven gutter runner until the oil in your lamp runs out. ================================================================== In the Realm of Chaos, the deity the Skaven calle the Great Horned Rat roars in frustration. The portents had come to pass. The Man-Thing Anonym would cause great upheaval in Skavendom unless killed. In their rush to gain glory, the Skaven clans destroyed each other attempting to kill this otherwise unimportant Man-Thing. Skavendom was on the midst of a great Skaven Civil War once again as the clans went to war over slights. All started over their attempt to gain glory and kill a single accursed Man-Thing! And now the Man-Thing had a prized assassin as his personal breeder! The Horned Rat pulled through the myriad lines of fate and souls, searching for the wayward creature calling itself Doom-Squeak. The center of it all. She was to be the lynchpin to a great victory for Skavendom. Instead she was bent over, being claimed by the Man-Thing again in the disgusting manner the Man-things mated. Worse still for the Horned Rat was the flickering light. Soulfire ignited inside Doom-Squeak as new life began to form. All his plans ruined, and still his ‘loyal’ worshippers still slaughtered themselves in a conflict whose cause none could remember. The horned god rubbed its paws into its blazing skull in frustration. Why must his followers be so dumb-dumb? END