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Interrogation; TP Chptr II Prt III
Topic Started: 24th September 2006 - 08:15 PM (350 Views)
Morkskittar
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The Tunnel's Resident Rodent Ecologist

Interrogation
The Pitfighter
Chaptter II
Part III

Rakkin came to slowly. Soft scents drifted over his nose, and a soft burble of voices filled his ears. It was so quiet... and peaceful. He could stay here forever... He felt as if he was floating on clouds, and could look down upon the world to see...

The smoke of foul fumes. Rakkin suddenly sat bolt upright, coughing. What was that smell? The Moulder blearily opened his eyes and saw a cloaked figure pocketing a vial. Smelling Warpstone Salts. Very potent.

Rakkin growled deep in his throat. What was he doing here? Why was he strapped to a chair? Who were these cloaked figures? One of the figures spoke then.

"So you have come to-to." The voice didn't sound like a Skaven at all; it sounded mechanical and automated. His mind moving at the pace of a snail crawling over a pit of slime, he registered this. A Voice-Distorter. Clever.

"Who-who are you?" The question snapped Rakkin out of his reverie. He tried to move his head to see if there were any Skaven to his sides, but found that he couldn't move his neck. Probably more straps.

The speaker gestured, and the rat with the smelling salts stepped forward and placed the open vial under the Moulder's nose. Rakkin tried not to inhale the acrid fumes, but he had to breathe eventually. He hacked and spluttered as the foul stuff entered his lungs. The shadowy rat drew back again.

Rakkin's eyes swam. That stuff was awful. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but couldn't. The Moulder sighed, then sneezed. In between that sigh and that sneeze, he remembered. His eyes widened suddenly, then narrowed into slits.

The spokesrat laughed. "Now you're up-up, eh? Who are you-you?"

Rakkin pondered this. Should he answer this interrogator's - was it the Underlord? - questions and maybe live, or should he remain silent. It didn't take the Moulder long to figure that one out. They would kill him anyway. His lips remaineed locked.

The speaker let out a disappointed sigh. 'I am disappointed, Rakkin... I really am." From his cloak the Skaven drew two tools, both razor-sharp. Rakkin's narrowed eyes strained with effort of not windening them. The interrogator let out a villanous chuckle. He was going to enjoy this...

***

Rakkin was suspended in pain. It was all around him; it enveloped him. He couldn't escape. No-one had ever told him that pain had such high walls. he could't leap over, dig under, walk through, or break down the walls. He dimly sensed the realm of reality beyond those walls, but it was far away. The wall was thick.

Pain was colrful. there was red, yellow, blue, violet, orange, ochre, peach, ruby, gold, silver, bronze, mauve, black, white, magenta, cream, crimson, teal, puce, turqoise, and countless other colors, some that the eye couldn't even see. It was like being surrounded by a rainbow... albeit a sharp one.

The Moulder felt as though he should be bleeding all over these colors, but his body remained whole. At least in this colorful realm. No cuts, bruises, scrapes, or scabs. No blood. Nothing.

Gradually, Rakkin felt the paint begin to ebb away. He turned his head. It could move now! Experimentally, he moved his arms. They were free! His legs could move too.

He soon realized he had another problem to face: he was suspended. He couldn't touch the ground. Momentarily puzzled, he whirled around. He came to the realization that he was suspended in a very thick liquid. He could swim through it.

And so he swam, until he hit one of the walls. It felt like a bolt of lightning had sturck him as his paws touched touched the wall. Rakkin pulled back hurriedly, and swam back to the middle of his enclosure. As he pondered his situation, a voice spoke, coming from everywhere, yet from nowehere.

Go! Return to your body and do as my servant tells you to do! The voice was imperious and commanding, but had no definite pitch. Rakkin went rigid. I must obey...

The Moulder felt the strange presence knock down the walls, and pain washed over Rakkin again.

***

The Moulder came to after what felt like hours. The pain he had felt after the invisible being had helped him had been worse thanthat other pain; he was in the real world and he knew it.

The Underlord (or whatever he was) still stood over him. "Are you ready to-to confess?"

Rakkin was confused. Confess what? It wasn't like the Underlord was an Inquisitor... Yet the Moulder felt compelled to obey.

"The note is at the intersection of Pigge and Deadratte streets under the third haystack from the left. Loose-loose floorboards cover it up." Rakkin snapped his mouth shut. Did he just say that?

The spokesrat turned and nodded to a companion. The companion bowed and scurried out of Rakkin's line of sight.

He returned about half an hour later with the parchment Rakkin had known he would find. The rats in the room hadn't moved or spoken.

The leader took the note and read it. An aura of joy became palpable as he read it.

"Someone wants to know-know if the Underlord will be at Hell Pit, eh?" The rat chuckled. "I believe we shall have to reply." He held out his hand, and a quill was thrust into it. The rat scribbled a reply, then handed the quill bak to its owner and the note to the runner. The runner bowed and left again. Rakkin smiled. My patron won't know that I've betrayed him, at least, thought Rakkin. Did these rats really think he was foolish enough to use the same place every time?

The rat turned to Rakkin. "Everything you could possibly tell-tell me you have told." The rat sounded disgusted. "So little..." He twitched a finger.

A rat stepped forward. As quick as lightning, he drew a shining knife and slashed Rakkin's throat. The Moulder gurgled as the warm blood flowed down his robes and his vision went dark. He couldn't die now....

Suddenly the oddest feeling came over Rakkin. He felt a tingling at his throat. He heard muffled gasps from his audience. "Again," he heard the spokesrat growl. Again, he felt the blade slash againt his throat. Again, the tingling. The blood stopped flowing. The rat slashed Rakkin's throat again. It healed.

"Enough of this-this." the spokesrat sounded bored. A bright light flickered in Rakkin's vision, and suddenly intense heat battered him. His eyes widened as the flames consumed him and the Underlord laughed.

***

Hours later, all that remained was a blackened chair and an overturned cage. The room was devoid of all life... except for a small, mutated rat sitting in the corner, his red eyes glowing with anger.

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Pub Fight Deaths: 334. Pillz and Pyllz are © by Morkskittar.
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Complete Works of Morkskittar / You Have Just Lost the Game 'zodi
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Lord Lughtigern
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The Mad Ratter.

... :huh:

Is he dead..?

Why do you torment us by stopping to rest there?! <_<

A story that is easy to get involved in, fun! Keep it up! ^_^
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Links you should try out:
Denizens of the Deep - Rules for Underground Campaigns
Warhammer Skirmish - The Lazy Man's Mordheim
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