Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
Will of the Council; Morkskittar BL Piece
Topic Started: 25th November 2006 - 01:30 AM (427 Views)
Morkskittar
Member Avatar
The Tunnel's Resident Rodent Ecologist

Will of the Council

Warlord Skarvik of Clan Vissen was fuming. The messenger from the Council of Thirteen had arrived mere moments before bearing a supposedly ‘sealed’ silver tube which was to be given directly to Skarvik. The warlord had been elated when he saw the official markings on the metal, but the contents were far different from the ones he had expected. The Council had simply sent him a short note in Queekish, the language of the Skaven:

I regret to inform you that the hoard belongs to the dragon.

That was all. To an untrained eye, the note would appear to be a useless waste of parchment and ink, devoid of all useful information. A more knowledgeable soul would instantly realize that the message was coded. The ‘I’ was meant to throw a reader off, leading them to the conclusion that the sender was a single entity. Of course, any Skaven worth their weight in Warpstone would notice that the markings on the tube told the reader that it came from the highest possible source, the dreaded rulers of the Skaven, the Council of Thirteen, which was not a single entity. The ’hoard’ referenced in the note would be assumed by most Skaven to be a treasure trove of Warpstone, when in fact it was a name for something else. Skarvik knew that the Council was referring to the task they might have set before him. And the ‘dragon’ was Skarvik’s opponent, Garzitch.

The parchment was currently lying on the dirt floor of the Warlord’s lair in miniscule pieces, crumpled and torn in Skarvik’s wrath. Moons before, Warlord Skarvik and Warlord Garzitch of Clan Therskit had been in Skavenblight, the Skaven capital, seeking favours from the council. The Council had eventually grown annoyed at the Warlords’ begging, and finally decided that they would choose the better Clan to accomplish a task to prove their worth and gain the Council’s support. The losing Clan would be forgotten, and would be banished from Skavenblight, losing the support of the Council.

It seemed that Skarvik had lost. The task was to undertaken by the dragon. As he paced his chambers, the Warlord’s tail slashed the air angrily. He had lost everything, and Garzitch had gained it all. The task, the Council’s favour, access to Skavenblight… everything. The Warlord abruptly stopped pacing. An evil gleam came into his eye. No, they hadn’t gained everything. They would gain everything. If they succeeded. If Skarvik couldn’t succeed, neither would Garzitch. The evil gleam grew as Skarvik realized that if he could successfully force Garzitch out of the running, the way would be open for himself and his Clan to accomplish the task, and thus win the promised favours. The gleam turned into a fire as a plan wove itself together in Skarvik’s mind.

***

Garzitch shook his head, bleakly looking at the crisp parchment in his hand. Back in Skavenblight, he had been so eager to please - it was as if the Council had woven an aura of worship around the city. Of course, considering the three most powerful Grey Seers were members of the Council, it was all too possible.

Garzitch cursed himself for falling into the Council’s trap. What had he thought to gain by pestering the Council? Their favour? Garzitch sighed. His logic had made sense back in the city…

And now he had this impossible task in front of him. The Warlord read the note for the tenth time, making sure he had read it correctly:

The hoard no longer belongs to the dragon under Talabheim.

How Garzitch wished the hoard did still belong to the dragon. Skarvik might be out of the Council’s favour, but he would not be destroyed. Don’t be so pessimistic, thought the Warlord to himself. You still have favors to call in…

***

Skarvik sat on his bare stone throne, pleased with the news the latest messenger had brought. Skarvik had invested a good many Warptokens to discover what the task was, and it had finally paid off. The task was easy enough: Capture the human city of Talabheim. Skarvik almost chuckled at the sheer simplicity of the task. He had expected something more; maybe the untraceable removal of one of the Council’s numerous enemies. But no, all Garzitch had to do was conquer a man-thing city. The Skaven had done it before, very recently with Zundap. How could Garzitch fail?

If the task had been more difficult, Skarvik might have left Garzitch on his own to fail, and risk his loss of favour. But a task this easy was just begging to be done, and done by someone worthy, not someone like Garzitch.

Skarvik would send the first messengers to those whose help he needed soon. Clan Eshin assassins would be useful, and Skarvik had always wanted to command the troops of clan Skryre… the Warlord grinned in anticipation. He would enjoy this. He knew where Garzitch was camped, and he knew his weaknesses. It would soon be time to pay a visit on his enemy’s camp.

***

Though Garzitch saw the futility of even attempting the task, he decided that he would rather attempt the task and die than disobey a direct order from the Council. Those who disobeyed the Council tended to disappear.

The Warlord of Clan Therskit walked out of his lair. He had moved his entire Clan to a hidden cavern near the sewers of Talabheim. His invading forces could easily reach the main sewer within a few minutes. Garzitch’s lair, fashioned out of a small cave, some wooden planks, and countless nails, stood at the back of the camp; the leader’s place in a Skaven Clan. Two strong, black-furred Stormvermin stood guard over the door. The rest of the Stormvermin warriors were camped nearby, along with Clan Therskit’s Chieftans.

Looking around, Garzitch saw one of these Chieftans scuttling towards him, hunched over. Garzitch followed the Skaven’s path with interest, waiting until the rat arrived in front of him before speaking. “What news-news do you bring, Tharzak?”

The rat before him took a deep breath before speaking. “We have found-found evidence of a spy within the vicinity. Unidentifiable paw-marks and traces of dropping were found-found on a ledge nearby.”

Garzitch frowned. Who would bother spying on such a minor Clan unless they knew what was going on? And who knew what was going on? The Warlord doubted that the Council would tell Skarvik what the task was… unless…

Garzitch’s eyes widened in realization. Of course! The Council was going to use this mockery of a Skaven attack on a powerful man-thing city to allow Skarvik and Garzitch to destroy each-other! Garzitch’s tail lashed behind him, stirring the air into a frenzy. Skarvik would come to attack the camp… it wouldn’t be hard to locate. A steely glint entered Garzitch’s eye. He would be ready for the attack.

***

The messenger shook violently as the grey-cloaked figure looked down at him from his ornately decorated throne. Designs carved from warpstone encrusted the armrests and the sides; an image of the Horned Rat was carved out of the glowing stone at the head of the throne. The grey figure looked displeased.

“They fight amongst themselves now? Those two rats are fool-fools!” The figure spat the last word with such vehemence that the messenger flinched and backed up a step. Though his eyes were hidden, the messenger could feel the blazing anger that filled the seated rat. The messenger wanted nothing more than to leave the room alive. The practice of shooting the messenger was still widely used. The cloaked form finally registered the messenger’s remaining presence and sent him out of the room with a harsh command. The messenger was only too happy to oblige, shutting the door firmly behind him as he fled.

Left alone, the Skaven’s aura of anger suddenly vanished, to be replaced with a soft, dry chuckle. All was going according to plan. The Skaven would inherit. The figure stood, turned to face his throne, and lightly pressed an oddly carved shape of warpstone into the throne. With a dry scraping sound, the stone vanished into the throne, and the high throne back swung inwards. The Skaven scuttled through the door, stopping only to close it behind him.

***

The camp was silent. Tharkikk and his Gutter Runner contingent stood motionless, their black cloaks melding seamlessly into the shadows. The metallic glint of their weapons was covered with cloth, leaving the darkness around the cavern unbroken. The only lights came from a few scattered fires that the Skaven of Clan Therskit had somehow managed to light in the damp cave, and a few sentries were visible by the flickering light of the fires.

The Black Skaven didn’t like it. It was far too silent. The sentries weren’t chittering to each other or gambling as they normally did, and there was no evidence that there actually were Skaven in the ramshackle wooden buildings and tents. It smelled of a trap.

Tharkikk glanced to his left, his well-trained eyes instantly picking out Black Skaven Juskit and his group. Beyond them, Garax’s group was only visible as a smudge against the stone wall.

Tharkikk turned his head the other way, his eyes seeing that shapes of Jarvath’s and Nardrak’s units. Every single Gutter Runner in the cavern was tensed, eager to leap into action. Slowly, Tharkikk raised his hand. With his tail, the Skaven twitched a message to his own unit behind him: Do not attack. Taking one last look around, Tharkikk snapped his hand down. Not even bothering to see what their leader was doing, the other four Gutter Runner squads moved out of the shadows near the walls and into the shadows of the inner camp. They were barely visible as the flitted forward, each to their own campfires.

There were seven campfires total. Each group was to take out one, then Tharkikk and Juskit’s group were to take out the next closest fires to them. Tharkikk smiled to himself. That’s two fires that won’t be put out. Tharkikk listened intently. The faint sounds of conflict reach his ears seconds later. Looking at the nearest fire, the Black Skaven allowed himself a content smile. His suspicions had been correct.

The ‘sentries’ around the fires hadn’t been sentries at all. They were all Eshin agents, much like himself, which was curious. Tharkikk would have to report this to his master. Tharkikk squinted in the gloom and saw his Gutter Runners being hacked to pieces. The Black Skaven was impressed. They were highly-trained Eshin agents. Generally, when Tharkikk was impressed by an enemy, it was time to run.

Tharkikk flicked his tail, turned, and fled from the cavern with the rest of his unit.

***

Garzitch stood in the fetid sewers underneath the man-thing city of Talabheim. The Skaven of Clan Therskit were in front of him, awaiting his orders. Garzitch wasn’t very comfortable here; he felt multitudes of eyes watching him as murky sewer-water flowed around his feet.

He had abandoned camp the night before, and had left the Eshin agents of his hired assassin, Jarzlit, behind. Garzitch waited in the stink for the assassin to return with news. The warlord refused to consider the possibility that they had failed to stop the attack. Jarzlit had never failed him before.

What if there was no attack? said a nagging voice at the back of Garzitch’s head. Garzitch ignored the voice, focusing on his surroundings. His intense focus on the water in front of him let the assassin approach undetected.

Garzitch suddenly found a blade at his throat. The warlord froze. He heard the faint rustling of a cloak as the assassin shifted. “Fool-fool,” it whispered into his ear. “One must always pay attention.”
Garzitch relaxed visibly as he heard the voice. It was only Jarzlit returning from the camp. The knife vanished from the Warlord’s throat, and Garzitch turned to look the assassin in the eye.

Jarzlit was large for a Skaven, and had jet-black fur. A massive midnight black cloak concealed most of the assassin’s body and weapons, but in both hands Garzitch could see the dagger Jarzlit had just threatened him with. The Warlord gulped as he recognized the poison of the Weeping Blades upon it.

Following the warlord’s gaze, Jarzlit smiled. “My new-new toy. Got it off-off one of Skarvik’s friends last night.” Garzitch breathed out a sigh of relief. The attack had been repelled. That meant that Clan Therskit’s rear was safe. For the moment.

“Thank you for your service, Jarzlit.” The assassin smiled. “You know what to do now, I presume?” Jarzlit’s grin grew wider as he nodded. “Good,” said Garzitch. “Go.”

The assassin bowed and vanished into the darkness.

Garzitch turned back to face his army. He drew a deep breath. “Forward march-march!” he squeaked at the top of his lungs. The army, suddenly woken out of its reverie, jumped and hurriedly began moving. Garzitch shook his head as he followed at the rear. They were surely doomed.

***

The black-cloaked figure watched from the shadows as Garzitch and his force moved away. As soon as they were out of earshot, the assassin spat into the sewer-water. He hated that damn warlord! Garzitch was so dim…

Jarzlit bared his teeth angrily. The warlord presumed to order him around, even when Jarzlit’s contract had expired. The attack would depend on whether or not Jarzlit managed to assassinate the important man-things in the city above, and the assassin had no intentions of doing that whatsoever.

The assassin stiffened as he saw a shadow move on the opposite side of tunnel. Jarzlit narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness. Without warning, the water in front of the assassin exploded as a sodden, black cloaked figure leapt at him, weapons bared. Jarzlit barely had time to draw his twin blades before the other assassin was on him. Jarzlit blocked the first blow from above, and leapt over the second one sweeping at his legs. Horned One be cursed, he has fighting claws! For the first time in his life, a sense of dread filled the assassin’s stomach. This rat is a master of the art of silent death. He can easily best me! Jarzlit had to put all of his effort to parry the vicious swipes and stabs made by the other rat. The assassin looked around wildly for a way to escape. As his eyes flickered away from the combat, the assassin felt a claw bury itself deep into Jarzlit’s abdomen. He gasped as warm, black blood poured into the foul water. The assassin doubled over, and the next swipe of a fighting claw separated head from neck.

***

Tharkikk stepped back, avoiding Jarzlit’s black blood. The assassin scarcely have the dead assassin another thought as he scurried further down the tunnel, covered in the remains of man-thing meals and their foul wastes. Tharkikk didn’t mind, though. This was what he lived for; a solo mission, just like his old days under the employment or Master Risnik. Now there was a rat who didn’t hesitate to make use of Clan Eshin’s agents.

Tharkikk’s new master wasn’t so compulsive. Skarvik was careful, despite all looks and appearances, and he didn’t trust the black-cloaked agent at all. Tharkikk’s face was impassive under his hood as he scurried on. Of course, his newest master had no inhibitions about Clan Eshin. If he completed his job, he would be well-rewarded.

***

Skarvik stood in the abandoned campsite, his tail lashing angrily. The slain bodies of his gutter runners littered the ground, and there was no sign of life anywhere. His army stood behind him, fearfully awaiting their lord’s decision.

The Warlord made no efforts to conceal his anger; besides the lashing tail, his hands were clenched into fists, his eyes blazed, and his entire body was as rigid as stone. Tharkikk and his Gutter Runners had quite obviously failed in their task. The Warlord began to shake as he thought of it. All he had to do was kill a few sentries! Was it really that hard? Skarvik strode forward, angrily kicking a pebble forward. Garzitch’s forces had already left. There was only one decision open to him.

The Warlord turned to Clan Vissen. “Double march. We must-must catch Garzitch before he reaches the sewers.” Sensing the fury in their master’s voice, the Clan sprang into action, not hesitating for a moment. Twenty minutes later, the chamber was empty.

***

It was too late for Skarvik. Garzitch had entered the sewers of Talabheim long before. The Warlord had walked to front of the army, and he consulted with his chieftans, ignoring the pull of the sewer current. It was quickly decided that the sewer jacks had to be taken out. Beckoning to a clanrat nearby, Garzitch sent the Skaven off to find Jarzlit. A minute later, the rat returned, followed by Vorkith, Jarzlit’s second.

This did not bode well. The assassin bowed, but Garzitch narrowed his eyes and glared at the black-clad Skaven. He had never liked Vorkith.

“Jarzlit has gone-gone missing, my lord,” said Vorkith, putting a faint note of sarcasm into ‘my lord.’ “And I have sent scouts ahead to slay-slay the sewerjacks.” Garzitch kept his temper under control, but only just. Who did this assassin presume to be?

“The tidings from my brethren are ill. They claim that the sewer jacks are already dead-dead.” It took a moment for this to register in Garzitch’s brain.

“Slain? Already? By whom?” Momentarily, the warlord forgot his anger with Vorkith, only to have it return a heartbeat later with the Skaven’s response.

“I know-know not, mighty warlord,” replied the assassin, his voice oozing with sarcasm. “Maybe I should-should use my magical talents to find out.”

Angered, Garzitch simply responded “Yes. Do that,” before stalking away. Vorkith smiled, bowed to the stunned Chieftans standing nearby, and vanished into the army.

***

“Ach, not agin. By Sigmar my luck is bad today!” Dieter Pipens sat across the table from his sewer jack companion, a big brute simply known as Olaf. Smiling, the large man took half of Dieter’s coins and placed them carefully into his own pile. Leaning against the wall of the shelter, Jak watched with a slight smile on his face. He loved watching the two of them play rats and snakes. They changed so much when they were doing something they loved. Too bad they were all stuck in the sewerjack service.

As the game progressed, Jak began to worry. Not an hour ago they had sent the fourth member of their team, Benach, to go get supplies. It should only have taken thirty minutes, but now almost an hour had passed. Jak shivered. He hoped that his friend hadn’t fallen into the slime.

“I’m going out,” announced Jak suddenly. He had a bad feeling about something.

Dieter looked up quizzically. “Out? But why? Nothing ever happens here,” said the man ruefully. He turned back to his game and his face lit up. “Aha! It seems I got you that time, old man!” Jak watched from a distance as Olaf grudgingly passed a meager handful of chips over to Dieter, who triumphantly dumped them into his pile.

There was a splash outside. Jak relaxed. Ben was back. The sewer jack walked over to and opened the door just as Ben slammed into it, his eyes wide. He headlong rush bowled Jak over, and the two of them crashed into the snakes and rats table.

“Hey youse!” said Dieter, standing angrily. Olaf looked at the table sadly. He was doing so well that game…

Benach scambled to his feet hurriedly. Jak stood more slowly, and cast a worried glance at Dieter. The other man had quited down as he saw the frightened look on their companion’s face.

“Things… coming… attack… city…” gasped the man between breaths. “Came… to… warn… you…”

Dieter shot Jak an inquiring look, and Jak shrugged. How was he supposed to know what was going on? The sewerjack walked to the door and listened.

At first, he heard nothing. Just as he was about to turn away he heard footfalls. Lots of them. Jak paled and whirled around. “They’re coming!” Benach screamed as Dieter and Olaf’s faces lost all color. They could hear it very clearly now.

The group stood in silence for a moment, then Jak bolted out the door, and into the waiting arms of a black-cloaked figure. It struck like lightning, slicing Jak’s throat in one fatal stroke. Before the other sewer jacks could react, the assassin had leapt into the room and disembowled Olaf, who fell onto the floor with a heavy thud. Dieter drew a knife and threw it at the figure, but it ducked and the knife struck the heart of Ben, who slumped to the ground, lifeless. Dieter’s eyes widened with shock as he felt a sharp claw slide into his abdomen, spilling his entrails all over the sewerjack station.

***

Tharkikk placed the last sewerjack corpse into position, in the clutches of his fellow comrade. The assassin stood and admired his handiwork. All goes according to plan. His master had been very specific about where to place the bodies. Tharkikk would bet all of his warpstone that his master didn’t believe the Eshinite clever enough to deduce what he was trying to do. Unfortunately, his master was wrong in that respect. Tharkikk smiled. This was undoubtedly some kind of ritual set-up, with the ritual spells possibly triggered by the advancing army of Clan Therskit. His master had promised to reveal himself to the assassin after today. Tharkikk looked forward to it; he longed to call his master by something other than ‘master.’

The splashes of large numbers of approaching footsteps set Tharkikk into motion. With a soft whoosh of air the assassin was gone, sprinting down the tunnel.

***

A cloaked figure stood at the end of the long tunnel that Tharkikk had been running up. Seeing him, the assassin slowed down. As he approached his master, Tharkikk went to his knees - something assassins never did.

“Congratulations, Tharkikk of Clan Eshin,” intoned the figure. “The Horned Rat will accept you as one of his own.” Tharkikk sighed in relief. He had done it! He could join the true Cult of the Horned Rat. The assassin looked up at his master, but the figure was gone. In its place was a silver dagger. Tharkikk barely had time to scream before the blade landed in his neck with a loud thunk.

***

Garzitch raised a hand for silence. He had decided to march at the front - he reasoned that man-things would be easier to deal with then Skarvik if he showed up. As the chittering horde stopped squeaking and sloshing, the sound of an army reached Garzitch’s ears. The rat paled as a short scream sounded behind him.

“Turn around and prepare to fight! Skarvik is upon us!” By that time, it was too late. Out of the darkness came countless Skaven, chittering madly and waving swords in the air. Skarvik’s horde slammed into Clan Therskit like a knife through butter. The disorganized mob was ripped to shreds as Clan Vissen’s army tore into their ranks.

Garzitch valued his life. He didn’t value his chances of survival here. The rat whirled around and ran further down the tunnel, away from the fighting.

***

Skarvik watched as his Skaven cut through Clan Therskit. He smiled, a triumphant glint in his eye. The day was is mine, he thought. Clan Therskit began breaking and fleeing away from Clan Vissen’s superior warriors. A motion at the far end of the tunnel caught his eye. He recognized, even at this distance, the retreating form of Garzitch. Skarvik hissed and leapt off of his perch. Fueled with an unnatural anger, he sprinted forward after his foe.

***

Garzitch turned into a smaller pipe, panting. He usually didn’t have to run so far, or so fast… he paused. Before him were the bodies of several sewerjacks, all arranged into odd positions. Cautiously, the Warlord approached them, his new fear overriding his old. He knelt by one body, his arm reaching out to touch it…

“Do not touch the bodies, Warlord.” Garzitch whirled around. A cloaked figure stood behind him, its face obscured by a hood. The Warlord slowly stood to face his foe. He sensed a smug aura of glee and fulfillment emanating from the figure in front of him.

It spoke again. “It is almost complete. We just wait for one more guest.” Garzitch began hyperventilating, much to the amusement of the cloaked rat standing in front of him.

Suddenly, a rat turned the corner into smaller pipe sharply, slamming into Garzitch. The Warlord was bowled over, and barely had time to recognize the glaring visage of Skarvik. The opposing Warlord apparently recognized Garzitch as well, for he let out a triumphant yell and tightened his hold on the Warlord. Garzitch began spluttering, his air supply cut off.

“Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but there is work that must be done.” Skarvik ignored the voice, but Garzitch heard it as clear as the bell in Skavenblight. Skarvik suddenly stiffened, blood coming out of his mouth. Garzitch saw the dagger protruding from his opponent’s back, and gasped in pain as he felt a second dagger embed itself in his flesh…

***

… and from the blood of two Lords of War,
Opposed in Strife and Peace,
On the eve of a great invasion,
Baldarak, speak to me.


The cloaked figure stopped chanting and threw back his hood as the air in front of him began glowing a bright green. The figure watched as the air thickened and clouds began to form. A face appeared in the air then. Not a Skaven face, though; a Daemon. The Daemon and the figure stood in place for several minutes, the sounds of battle drawing nearer not disturbing them. After a long while, the figure nodded and waved his hand. The clouds and the daemon disappeared. For a long time after that, Greylord Skrisnik stood deep in thought. When the battle finally became too close for the Councilmember to remain safe, he muttered a spell under his breath and vanished in a puff of black smoke.

***

OOC: This was my BL contest entry, and it wasn't accepted, so I decided to finish it and post it here. The last few paragraphs (starting with "Skarvik watched,") were the paragraphs recently added, and changed the story slightly to make it shorter. I am aware that the last paragraphs aren't nearly as good as the beginning ones.

Complete Works of Morkskittar

Pillz
The Eldritch Wastes: A Post-Lovecraftian Online Serial Novel (Author Website)
Pub Fight Deaths: 334. Pillz and Pyllz are © by Morkskittar.
Posted Image
Complete Works of Morkskittar / You Have Just Lost the Game 'zodi
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Thrask Vilepaw
Member Avatar
The Grim Squeaker

Very nice, though perhaps a bit too name filled :P
Official master of parades by Rattsu
BEWARE THE GRIM SQUEAKERPosted ImagePosted Image
Vinshqueek
 
Thrask, for being such a nice squiggly thing!
Giantrat
 
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

8th member of the day
24 hour painting challenge : 30 clanrats in 10.5 hours SUCCESS
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
daemonic badger
Member Avatar
Veteran/OAP
Nice piece! very dramatic, although i felt that the whole thing was to big to be rushed into one piece, i think a 2 or 3 parter would have been better, although i understand why you didn't :P
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
SneakyRodent
Member Avatar
Claws of the Horned One founder member

I really liked it, but then I'm a big fan of detailed stories....the trick is finding the time to read it!

Good job Morkskittar, another work of art :)
Grey Seer Skritchit
Lord of the Ulricsberg
Clan Virulus
Holder of 'Best Post' Award 2007 here
Took part in the glorious Lords of Decay Revolution of April 1st 2012

The complete works of SneakyRodent can be found here

.:WarWolt The Mad Engineer:.
 
Sneaky is Sneaky, why is the sky blue?
[/size]
Quote:
 
We've got a psychic creeper, a tactical master, and a liar who talked himself out of an execution.

(Scrivener on the Scum And Villainy2 characters of me, DamnedPrince and himself)
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
« Previous Topic · Fan Fiction and Fluff · Next Topic »
Add Reply