| End of an Era Part 2 of 3 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 26th November 2006 - 06:28 PM (191 Views) | |
| daemonic badger | 26th November 2006 - 06:28 PM Post #1 |
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Veteran/OAP
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Sorry this part and the previous one are a bit short, but the main part of it depends on the Turn Update. I promise the next one will be big and action packed ![]() The first blood red rays of sun were rising over the horizon. Desperately trying to re-light the forlorn land, they washed the landscape over with watery hues of blood reds and yellows. The quality of the first morning light had dyed the landscape pink, warping the normally dull colours of the desert-like landscape. The Caverns burst out of the ground below Lirrit’s feet, a mass of hard sharp rock descending deep underground. The small craggy hill was harsh and devoid of life, save for the impatient warlord standing proudly on top of it. He was gloriously bedecked in his ornate war armour. An iron first enclosed in a steel glove, menacing spikes protruding from the end. His face was all but concealed with plated layers of steel armour and chain mail. By his sides hung a brutal great axe, the sharp edge gleaming to perfection, the handle gripped tightly by a furry, battle scarred paw. If any anyone had seen him from a distance,Lirrit could have been easily mistaken for a Khornate warlord, but close up the long lashing tail, garnished with cruel spikes, and the rough dark fur which was visible wherever steel armour did not cover betrayed his skaven identity. The warlord was completely still, save for the ferocious whipping of his tail. His gaze fell across the sprawling skaven encampment at his feet. Far below the slaves were like ants at his feet, scurrying about to do his bidding. The roar of his furnaces and his blacksmiths were a constant noise, the herald of his impending attack. Before Clan Lirrit had reached this area there used to be a vast forest, teeming with life and bursting with vegetation. A blackened wasteland was all that replaced it now, gnarled stumps and vast logs littered the landscape. The last pocket of wildlife left, to the east, was being attacked by chained monstrous rat ogres, tearing down the trees and carrying them off the main camp. Down below, the armies of Clan Lirrit were arming themselves for the impending attack. Rows and rows of Clanrats proudly stood in formation, the battle chants drifting to Lirrit’s ears. The order had not yet come from the rebellion’s head quarters to march, but that black tiding was expected any day. Shadow-walker watched the warlord curiously from the shadows. The assassin had underestimated Lirrit’s patience, he had expected the warlord to run rampant ahead of the rest of the rebellion days ago. The cruel rocks concealed him from the warlord, but he could clearly see the frustration on the warlord’s face. He flicked the knife in his hands from paw to paw. He briefly toyed with the idea of plunging it into Lirrit’s necks, to revel in the screams and gushing blood, but he knew he would never do it. Not until the war was over, anyway. His usual black hood was pulled even further over his face, only his huge, sharp yellowed canines, and hairless pale chin protruding from beneath its shadowy cowls. The assassin silently stepped out into the light, but did not yet hail Lirrit and the rat seemed to pass beneath the warlord’s attention. “I’m glad you finally decided to step out of the shadows,” The warlord said, his teeth gritted with frustration, his lips cured into a fierce snarl, “Although that always was your speciality wasn’t it?” The cruel jaws twisted into an ironic smile. “Well, come, tell me what you know.” The warlord walked past the assassin to the edge of the praecipe. Shadow-walker moved beside Lirrit and watched with proud exultations the machinations of Clan Lirrit. The assassin waited a moment before replying “We’ve no word on the enemy, no spy was able to infiltrate their base,” “You would be able too,” the warlord said quietly, one paw tucked beneath his chest, the other gripping his chin in contemplation. “I could,” the assassin admitted, “ But it-it would be suicide, I’d never get out alive.” “What would you do if I told you had to?” The warlord tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but he failed to keep the interest out of his voice.” I’d call you-you a fool, for killing of your prize asset on a pointless-useless mission.” “Your right,” Lirrit agreed, “You’d have to be a fool to bite the hand that feeds you.” Shadow-walker offered no reply, but his expression darkened. “Keep moving, you maggots!” the slave driver bellowed, the roar sending the slaves scurrying with their heavy loads. He lashed the cruel whip at his side, the whip being a symbol of fear and authority amongst the slaves. Bruktal smiled happily, he loved his job; good pay, and he got to beat worthless slaves all day, what more could a rat want? His fat hairy paw was dripping with sweat and the whip slithered in his hand every time he raised it. The blasted landscape was brutally churned by the countless wretched paws working it night and day. Behind him a fearsome rat ogre, impressive even when beaten and chained, was pulling the trees from the ground, and the slaves swarmed over it like ants, stripping it bare, wherever the log crashed to the ground. He had once dreamed of a career in creating and taming these mighty beasts, but in the end he’d had to settle for a slavemaster, which he now thoroughly enjoyed. Bruktal spotted a straggler at the back of the group, whining pathetically and nursing what looked like a broken paw. The slave-driver eyes were suddenly clouded with red mist and he ran over to the slave, roaring ferociously. His huge form, suddenly rippling with muscles, darted over to the crouching slave and hoisted him high in the air, giving Bruktal the chance to look at the small pathetic creature eye to eye. “Get back to work you piece of scum, or ill rip your throat out and toss your corpse in the mud!” The rat quailed with terror and merely nodded. Tossing the rat to the floor, the slave-driver walked away, breathing heavily, recovering from his momentary out burst. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the slave writhe momentarily in the mud, and then quickly get up and rejoin the other slaves. “Pac-master Bruktal?” a voice called out from towards the encampment. “Yes?” he snarled and whirled around, “What do-do you want?” The approaching messenger took no notice of the slave-drivers whipping tongue. “Get your slave and rat ogres moving,” he commanded. “The order has come to march.” Bruktal restrained himself from breathing the impetuous messengers to the ground. Better get these scum moving… Lirrit watched intently as his army began to mobilise for war. The elite Stormvermin were already lined up at the head of the army, waiting for his presence. The warlord slowly clenched and then released his metal-clad paw. Shadow-walker silently shook his head. “Why couldn’t you just wait-wait until the order came-came through?” Lirrit drew his axe and raised it to his army, their symbol of war. He turned his head and looked at Shadow-walker, his eyes ablaze with fury “Vengeance cannot wait, it must be satisfied.” |
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