| Escape From the Palace; TP Chptr III Prt II | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 24th November 2006 - 08:54 PM (345 Views) | |
| Morkskittar | 24th November 2006 - 08:54 PM Post #1 |
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The Tunnel's Resident Rodent Ecologist
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Escape From the Palace The Pitfighter Chapter III Part II Rakkin wanted to kill something. He wanted to kill something very slowly. He wanted to take something, stick a heated metal stick through its skin, and slowly roast it over a warpstone-fueled fire while slowly skinning it. He wanted to hear its screams of pain, to smell the delicious smell of roasting flesh, to feel palpable pain thicken the atmosphere. He wanted to kill something. The problem was, nothing wanted to die. Of course, if the thing Rakkin was killing wanted to die, it would defeat the purpose. But he still wanted to kill something. Rakkin was mad. The strange marsh-dwellers had revered the former Pitfighter almost as a God, yet they treated him like a child. None of them would talk to him; they would all look at him fearfully, bow down very low, and scuttle away. At least they let him see their faces now. But then again, after seeing some of them, Rakkin almost wished they had kept their hoods up. His strange saviours were hideous. They were a sickly green color, covered in warts and boils that burst all over the place, which caused there to be massive rivers and streams of sickly pale pus running down the crevasses of their wrinkled face like water runs down mountains. The very streets of the strange city they lived in was covered in a viscous layer of the foul body fluid. They never seemed to run out. The beasts were bi-clopses, as most creatures were, but tri-clopses, with three eyes evenly spaced around a very spherical head. A mouth with rows of razor-sharp teeth wound all the way around the face, but not in a straight line; no, they couldn't be that normal. Their mouths were like fingerprints, varying vastly from creature to creature. Some had almost straight mouths, while others, like Rakkin's guide, Borag Ulgard, had a mouth that went up and down its face, almost reaching its chin at the lowest points, and going far past its eyes at its highest. When they talked, the vile pus they leaked flowed into their mouths, and their heads bobbed irregularly and in a horribly fascinating way. Huge globs of red saliva mixed with blue blood and pale yellow pus flew out of their mouths as they spoke. The stalk that connected the top of the head to the rest of the body was torn and cut viciously, and you could see far down their massive throats when they talked, watching their fluids ooze slowly down their throats. They were like the disciples of Clan Pestilens, but much more... unspeakable, though they carried no hint of sickness. Rakkin had not seen any part of them but the face, and he now had no desire to. The Moulder had quickly gotten bored of the small part of the city they kept him in, what they called a 'Faravael,' or palace. The Ushrael's Palace. From a safe distance, so as not to be hit by flying globs of mucus, Rakkin had grilled the beings that watched over him as to who or what 'Ushrael' was, under the guise of testing their knowledge. He learned frsutratingly little, yet what he managed to wring out of the living horrors was odd enough. It seemed that Ushrael was the first of their race, which they called 'Ushlarag,' after the great Ushrael. Long ago, he had died and gone to the Ushlarag equivalent of heaven (Rakkin didn't even try to imagine what this would be like). However, he had died before his time, and thus his god, known as 'Zah Ytraxil,' had erturned him to the land of the living. He had returned to help his people, but they didn't believe that he was the Great Ushrael. They cast him out, and Ushrael had been forced to leave. The founder of the race then took on several other forms to get back into his society, from marsh serpent to hawk to dog, but had failed. After many years, he had stopped trying to return and instead wandered the earth, taking out his anger on those who wandered into the marshes and swamps. Until recently, he learned from Borag, the Ushlarag had been ignorant of their creators return. Then, the Ushlarag leader, Gorag Ullaragal, had had a dream in which Zah Ytraxil appeared to him, telling them that Ushrael would return to complete his mission. And, Borag had added, he had. It seemed that they believed that Rakkin was the latest form of Ushrael, finally returned to him. They did not question him about his mission, they just seemed to try to avoid him. But despite Rakkin's supposed 'near divinity,' they wouldn't let him out of his 'palace,' which was really a massive tree filled with pus. Rakkin was constantly covered in the foul stuff now; he had given up trying to keep it off. His nostrils had gone numb after living with the stench for so long, and he was losing his sense of touch. And he was angry. He wanted to leave. The last time he had tried to leave, two guards carrying crude halberds had blocked him, claiming that the outside city was not worthy of his presence. He had responded calmly, saying that the great Ushrael wanted to see the populace. They would not let him pass. Rakkin had turned back after that, not wishing to blow his cover. But now, however, Rakkin's temper had boiled over. He was angry. He didn't care what the Ushlarag or whatever they were called thought, he was getting out. he couldn't stand being covered in bodily fluids, he was sick of the food, and he was sick of the treatment. If they didn't let him leave, then they would have one very angry Skaven to deal with. The Moulder strode out of his palace purposefully, not noticing the curious glances of the few Ushlarag around him. When he reached th gate, he was surprised to find no guards there. The Moulder paused, hesitant, for half a second. Is it a trap? He then realized he didn't care. Laughing madly, Rakkin strode through the open gate and into the city of the Ushlarag. Complete Works of Morkskittar Pillz |
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