| Bodacious' Fluff from HotW; online campaign at asur.org | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: 29th April 2007 - 12:45 PM (656 Views) | |
| Bodacious | 29th April 2007 - 12:45 PM Post #1 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
Hey, I've written a substantial ammount of fluff during the online campaign of asur.org and since most regular UE.netters didn't get to experience the majority of it, I've made this topic so I could post and organise some of the more memorable episodes. I'd hate to lose this somewhere on the net. So without further ado: ![]() Chapter I: Mission Briefing Vaskit Moldfang felt a cold breeze ruffle his backfur when he read the note. It was a cold, damp night in the marshes of the man-things. Vaskit had been taking a leak near some bushes away from the boats when these heavily armored, black-furred messengers had arrived. It had been a very tense moment for the river rat leader. If he wasn’t squirting the musk of fear already, he would surely have had to do so at that time. These guys were the scariest skaven Vaskit had ever seen in his travels these years. When they had handed him the note, however, Vaskit had been comforted immediately. These rats haven’t come to fight, they meant business. Business, THAT was something Vaskit could handle. Though he had to admit: no business he ever participated in before, could have prepared him for what he was reading now. Greetings Vaskit Moldfang, Leader of our River Kinsman. You have been summoned to Skavenblight, our grand capital, to rejoin your clansmen once again and aid our city in the coming battles. Your specific talents and knowledge of our adversaries infrastructure are vital to ensure the supremacy and inheritance of The Master Race. You are to depart from your current location immediately. If you do not decide to obey these summons willingly, Gort and Krell are here to ensure that you do so nonetheless. Regards, Skavenblight Recruitment Office. Vaskit eyed Gort and Krell another time, but the huge brutes seemed to be made from steel and showed him no weakness. “Very well.” Vaskit concluded with a sigh. “I could use a change of pace. Where to lads?” Either Gort or Krell grunted at him while both of them reaffirmed the grip on their rusty, cruel halberds. “So, to the boats then?” Vaskit squeeked with an uneasy grin. ------------------ Vaskit stepped out of his boat and planted his feet in one of the many riverbanks of the blighted marshes. There was no breeze now. It was a damp, dark and misty place as it had always been. Gort and Krell were climbing out of the small boat as well now. Vaskit wasn’t exactly paying attention, but the splashing and swearing gave him an accurate report on their progress nonetheless. This had been the first boat-trip for the two grumpy stormvermin. The trip to Skavenblight had taken them less than half the time it had probably took Gort and Krell to find Vaskit too. Somehow though, Gort and Krell were hating the leader of the river rats and his shabby boat more with each passing hour. Shortly after the soaking stormvermin had regained their posture, Vaskit signaled them to stand beside him. Gort approached the river rat with a look on his face that screamed bloody murder at Vaskit, but due to years of military training and groveling before his superiors, the black furred terror managed to restrain himself. “What is it, commander?” “Hold-hold these lenses before your eyes.” Vaskit handed Gort a pair of fragile looking glasses. “Is that your city?” Vaskit asked the stormvermin, pointing through the mists. Gort didn’t understand what the crazy master moulder was hinting at, but as soon as he looked in the right direction, Gort saw a huge spire of green light radiating in the distance. As his jaw fell to the floor, amazed by the arcane sight of his beloved city, Vaskit chuckled beside him. “I take that as a yes-yes then?” ------------------ Walking through an enormously tall hallway, Vaskit, Gort and Krell approached the warren where the recruitment office was situated. Still enjoying the look on Gort’s face after he had shown him the warplenses, Vaskit knocked on the door. The lenses had been stolen from a skyre laboratory by the river rats once. They were apparently designed to visualize the magical energies of warpstone. They came in extremely handy when one was searching for the rare substance, but regrettably the lenses weren’t strong enough to detect warpstone energies behind solid rock. This unfortunate detail had almost cost Vaskit his hide after he had attempted to sell them to a warpstone mining clan in the mountains. Though seeing as Skavenblight was almost built out of the stuff, the lenses more than served his purpose of locating it through the mists. Vaskit had saved a couple of wares like this one in his boat. Wherever he was headed, he hoped that he would be able to take them with him to wherever Skavenblight would assign him. “The-the door is open!” Shouted a clearly agitated voice of an elderly skaven. Vaskit twisted the screechy doorknob and entered a room chock-full of scrolls and scurrying scribes. A hunchbacked old skaven sat behind a central desk reading a disproportionately large scroll from behind his own pair of glasses. “Vaskit Moldfang, reporting for duty.” Vaskit squeeked at the old scribe. “Good-good of you to come Moldfang.” The scribe said, without even pausing to look up. “I presume you had a com-comfortable journey to our beloved cap-capital.” Gort and Krell looked like they were about to explode, but Vaskit quickly responded. “As comfortable as can be expected, sir.” “Very well. Gort and Krell, well-well done. You may be excused.” Gort and Krell, visibly relieved, gave one last filthy look at Vaskit and proceeded back towards the hallway. “Sir, if-if I may be so bold as to ask the-the specific purpose of my summons here?” Vaskit squeeked. “The letter mentioned my talents and knowledge were needed to support our cause.” “Oh that’s right-right indeed.” The scribe squeeked back from behind a big pile of paperwork. “Report to the mapping room and ask-ask for Rork. Here are your orders by the way, sent-sent to you from the Skavenblight command center. You are excused as well Moldfang.” Vaskit was already unfolding the note as he walked out of the office. Vaskit Moldfang Advise mapping team on Reikland area Report to Grakko Hellbroth of Clan Moulder Asume command of Moulder Assault Force XXVIII Move to Cripple Peak Seeing all his healthy skaven paranoia confirmed, Vaskit took some steps away from all the busy skaven running through the hallways as he reluctantly gave in to his instincts. ------------------ Vaskit grumbled quietly as his personal attendants were covering up the last holes in the wall. It had been several days since he moved in, but there were still some tiny rays of light creeping in his new warren. He had been assigned here by the military officials of Clan Rekik, the so-called masters of Cripple Peak. Apparently mining massive amounts of warpstone decreases one’s mental capacity almost as much as it increases the size of one’s wallet Vaskit thought to himself grudgingly. Curse those eastern rats and their ignorant minds! Vaskit almost squeeked these last thoughts out loud it seemed as some of his attendants were starting to give him nervous glimpses again. Cursed was also the day that disgusting cesspit of a master moulder, Grakko Hellbroth explained the council’s plans to him. “GonRatulations Vaskit! You’ve been fortunately chosen to represent and lead all Skavenblight and Clan Moulder troops at Cripple and Warpfire Peak! You’ll leave tonight, accompanied by our clan’s finest host of especially trained warriors and warbeasts!” “But-But Sir, How can-can I be the representative of Skavenblight and Clan Moulder both when it-it has been years since I have actually had-had contact with any of-of you?” “That’s none of our concern, deserter! This order has been specifically given by the highest in Clan Moulder command and you have no grounds whatsoever to agrue with it. Hurry along now, Kreksa will show you to your army.” That damned fool. Grakko had still been a lowly, no-talent suckup back when Vaskit was still in with the moulders, but apparently since Vaskit’s dreadfull experiment with a some strange southern animals caused him to leave the clan, Grakko had been advancing through the ranks. The enormous mountain of fat that sat before him had no resemblance whatsoever to the meager pit-boy back when Vaskit last saw him. Somehow Vaskit doubted his moulding skills were at the foundation of this newfound luxury. Sadly enough, the fact that Grakko was ordering him wasn’t even the worst thing about this situation. It was the orders themselves that worried Vaskit the most. They had told him to assume command of a ragtag assembly of Clan Moulder and Skavenbight forces at the most hostile area skavenly imaginable. Cripple and Warpfire peak were home to two of the most powerful clans beside the ones that were located at the capital. Clan Rekik and Rictus had been mining warpstone and trading slaves for ages now in that area and had grown out of Skavenblights control. Their never-ending war amongst themselves was cause enough for worries alone without even considering their distrust against western representatives and the treacherous territory. Grakko made it sound so lovely, but Vaskit saw through their plans all too easy. The peaks were under dwarven threat, but due to the fact that all western forces were needed at Skavenblight for fighting off the elven invasion, he had been the only one they could think of that was expendable enough to send off in aid. Flattering indeed. Well, seeing as he was in no position to divert his situation or flee for that matter, Vaskit was going to have to make the best of it. At least he had some other rats to order around now and more resources than he had ever had in his days amongst the river rats. After his journey through the underways and his arrival at cripple peak he had been able to arrange for comfortable accommodation as well as some mobile moulder-research facilities. Vaskit had even been surprised by the condition of his force. The rat ogres and giant rats assigned to him had been well fed, so apparently Clan Moulder at least had a smidgen of interest in the battlegroup making a good impression at the peaks. Looking at the dimming rays of light penetrating his new lair, Vaskit knew it should be about time for his first meeting with the other forces at the peaks now. He suited up in his most dignified and imposing Clan Moulder wardrobe and barked at his slave to send word to his bodyguard. The Moulder Lords at skavenblight would be pleased with his performance Vaskit thought as he checked his reflection in a piece of silver armour. He had always been a charismatic leader for a skaven and just as he had so quickly gotten the river rats on his side, so would he persuade the Cripple Peak Council tonight. Vaskit radiated with self-confidence now and he actually managed to crack a smile as he departed his warren with his warleader cape waving gracefully behind him. ------------------ EDIT: expect the following chapters to be posted in a bit ![]() Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 29th April 2007 - 03:57 PM Post #2 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
![]() Chapter II: Battle Momentum Looking out over his warhost, Vaskit knew the day was going to be a success. His speech before the assembled armies of the peaks went amazing. They were throwing stuff at him when he went on, but afterwards he could tell by the sheer awe and adoration on their faces that his new strategy was a winner. As he had agreed with the emissaries of Clan Rekik and Rictus, Vaskit would lead all non-local armies against the dwarves of Karak Izril and Karak Haraz. Early intelligence had told that the new arrivals at the peaks far outnumbered the dwarves there and those two holds were ripe for the taking. Seeing as the lower levels of these holds had been fractured and emptied during the time of the Doomsday Device and the Great Exodus, the invading forces would have an ideal entering point. Even now as his slaves stood ready to blast away the massive dwarven support beams, Vaskit could not see this attack failing. Grinning from ear to ear, Vaskit let down his right paw and the room bathed in fluorescent green light of warpstone induced explosives. As the dust and the rubble of the exploding beams settled, a perfectly climbable staircase into the first dwarven hallway appeared before his warhost. Vaskit already saw dwarven steel shimmering at the back of it. Battle lust replaced his patience and Vaskit let out a high pitched skaven battle cry. As the horde advanced along the rubble and Vaskit saw the first line of giant rats and slaves hit the dwarves, Vaskit noted with satisfaction that it was going well. The dawi had prepared nothing unexpected and some of them even succumbed to the sheer numbers of Vaskit’s highly expendable frontline troops. Feeding his excitement, Vaskit signaled his packmasters to send in the special rat ogres he had taken along. The dwarves sent out a volley of gunfire at them from the back of their ranks, but the ogres charged on regardless. Rabidly hacking a path through their own kin, the orges hit the dwarven frontline with full force. Vaskit couldn’t believe how well things were going as he saw torn-off mithril plates tumble through the air. His allies hadn’t even arrived yet and he was already wiping the floor with these tin-canned stunties. Speaking of his allies… Vaskit was kind of curious as to what was taking them so long. The plan was to blow a second hole in the floor as soon as Vaskit’s army had made it out of the first one. Vaskit’s army however, had already moved halfway across the chamber by now and yet there was still no sign of the other skaven generals. The warleader’s focus snapped back to the battle instantly though as soon as he noticed a giant hacked-off claw rocketing towards him at an alarming speed. Ducking out of the way, the giant paw impaled an unlucky member of his bodyguard that was standing behind him. Vaskit quickly regained his posture to check the source of this affront to his safety. He didn’t have to look long though. A shiny dwarf with an enormous beard was standing in the middle of the dwarven line chopping at his rat ogres with a giant axe. One of the big orges had already lost a hand to this mad dwarf and the rest didn’t look to excited to fight him either. Being denied the rat ogres, the shiny dwarf instead took on Vaskit’s giant rats. Noticing the effectiveness of this dwarven champion, Vaskit took a moment to reconsider his position. The dwarven line had not moved back all that much after some close re-examination. His prized ogres had taken a serious beating. His expendable troops were coming dangerously close to being expended. There was still no sign of his allies. Vaskit almost forgot to shout the actual command back to his force, but when he did, the tunnel they came in through was reached in almost no time at all. ------------------ Having regrouped in the tunnels beneath Karak Izril, it seemed the dwarves had given up pursuit. It was no secret that skaven ran many times faster than the short-legged dwarves, but for them to give up this soon was new even for Vaskit. He had sent some scouts back through a side tunnel a while back to see what was taking the dwarves. “Excuse me, sir.” A deep-voiced skaven squeeked from behind him. “Your bodyguard has arrived, sir.” Vaskit quickly rotated to see a huge white-furred, heavy-armored skaven standing behind him. The burly rat was also flanked by a great number of likewise armored rats all sporting a proud white pelt underneath their armored plates. Finally! The Verminguard had arrived. Vaskit was just about to respond until an enormous crumbling noise erupted from the dwarven hold. The whole cave shuddered and shook under the power that was released by the blast. “Welcome fangleader.” Vaskit responded, grinning wide. “You are just in time to witness our glorious triumph over the dwarves of Karak Izril.” ------------------ Cleaning the blood from his blade, Vaskit kept trying to resist the constant urge to burst out in maniacal laughter. Sitting atop a big pile of dwarven corpses he was watching over what was now a sacked dwarven hallway. The enormous room, large enough to hold several armies at once, was being sacked and redecorated by Vaskit’s troops as well as those of the other clans that had arrived in the nick of time today. Reports had been coming to him from other victorious warparties in Karak Izril as well as some of the most positive reports from Karak Haraz Vaskit had ever heard in his short life. The strikeforce of Karak Izril had successfully penetrated the lower levels of the city and the forces on the surface were holding their ground as well. The legions at Karak Haraz hadn’t even met with resistance from the dawi though. Their troops had encountered only women and children apparently left behind as the majority of the dwarven forces had been moved to the nearby desert region of Mourkain. Vaskit almost regretted his choice to lead his forces to Karak Izril instead. He had fared well nonetheless though. After the others had erupted from underneath the dwarven armies in this level as well, his army was able to charge back out of their own holes and assault the surprised dawi from behind. Vaskit would relish the look on the face of that mithril-plated thane as his newfound bodyguard of elite verminguard hacked through an entire regiment of his kinsmen. Seeing as the dwarves retreated to the upper levels, Vaskit knew he would encounter this big-axed warrior again. “Excuse me-me, sir!” A high-pitched voice squeeked from behind him. Violently torn out of his private musings, Vaskit swore to the horned one that he would do something about his underlings sneaking up on him as soon as skavenly possible. “Skavenblight fell-fell sir! The dirty elvesthings drove out our forces!” The messenger squeeked frantically behind him. “NEVER SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!” Vaskit screamed out as he swung around his man-thing sized sword to meet the messenger’s head. Crappit. He would have to clean his blade all over again. “Oh well, **** happens.” Vaskit thought to himself as he started searching through the pile of bodies to find a beard that wasn’t completely soaked in blood yet. ------------------ Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 29th April 2007 - 10:48 PM Post #3 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
![]() Intermission: Fun With Moulding "Lord! Lord!" Thane Grakan Leadbeard watched carefully as one of his runners came bursting in to his throne room. It didn't take long for the great commander to recognise the warrior with the flushed face. Grokki Hammerhead had been sent on a scouting mission into skaven territory not too long ago. "My apologies lord for my hurried entrance, but I carry with me vital information on our foes' machinations." The runner said, while leaning on his knees and trying to catch his breath. Horror scarred his face. "Many of our finest warriors have died to bring you this." "Why do I not hold it in my hand yet then yer foolish beardling!" The thane replied in rage. "Hand it over at once!" The runner ascended the throne of his commander and handed over a small and tattered piece of parchment. It looked tainted, diseased and worn from it's contact with the ratmen and it's hurried journey through the underways. Grakan hesitated a little with unfolding it, but when he did... all his nightmares and fears were suddenly confirmed. The image in front of him was too horrible to contemplate and represented the unspeakable reality behind the rumours that had been spread by the survivors of Karak Izril and Karak Haraz. Grakan was now actually surprised that the dwarves had been able to hold their former fortesses for this long. Curse these rat-men and their damned ingenuity! There was absolutely no way his troops would be able to defend their capital after this. This information had to be kept secret from the public. "Destroy it Grokki." The thane commanded. "We must make sure of it these lies will not reach our people's homes ever again." ![]() ------------------ Vaskit Moldfang Field Research Notes It apears the improved builds are as lethal as they are vulnerable. The current build eliminated 10 test-subjects during their test-runs, but had to be reinforced extensively. The cause of this drawback could either be the build's more vulnerable skin in respect to the standard model or that the test-subjects have more experience in combatting this version. Further research will have to be conducted. Improvement on breath odour may be needed as well since several few test-subjects still managed to resist the urge to ejaculate stomach content. ------------------ Vaskit Moldfang Research Notes After prolonged testing at Karak Eight Peaks, it seemed the new breed had such potential for awe-inspiring terror that it had become impossible to find new test-subjects. Our scientists have vowed to continue with searching the dwarven hold however untill some test-subjects are found that do not flee at first sight. A related experiment has meanwhile employed the left-over parts of the Rattapotamus project. Attached to this report is a scribe's impression of an early test run in the tunnels of Karak Eight Peaks. ![]() ------------------ Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 30th April 2007 - 09:55 AM Post #4 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
![]() Chapter III: Scry The assault on the Dwarven capital had been conducted in true Skaven fashion. It had started with the building of new war tunnels beneath the hold. Great tunnels that, with their enormous width and length, stood as true testaments to Skaven supremacy. These tunnels were fit for armies, not mining carts, and they had been put to use as such. The eleven Clans of the Mountains had erupted into the lower levels of the great Dwarven hold as if a leak had been sprung. Wave upon wave of clanrats, monsters, siege engines and slaves had been piled up on one another until they had finally reached the main chambers. The Dwarven defenses had been effective, but still not enough to put a serious dent in the Skaven forces. As they had taken Karak Izril and Haraz, they would take Eight Peaks as well. Not all credit for this massive conquest could be handed to the might of the Skaven alone, of course. The surprise on Vaskit’s face had been very noticeable when they found desert chariots standing in the upper ruins of Karak Izril a few days ago. A great warhost of the desert folk apparently had a grudge to settle with the dwarves of the mountains as well. With his background as a trader, Vaskit knew a profitable alliance when he saw one. Contact with the golden host had been made promptly and a plan to assault the Dwarven capital forged soon afterwards. Now, the mighty Skaven horde stood victorious in the main chamber along with their nehekharan allies. The alliance was a distrustful one, but that was to be expected in the Skaven camp. In fact, things had been running smoother than Vaskit predicted. He had found that none of the desert dwellers had accidentally wound up in the slave pits yet and no diseases or any major infighting had broken out in the bordering camps. It would still take a while to poke the last of the dwarven defenders out of their warrens, so luckily most of the troops could still be kept busy. Vaskit’s eye was now on a more serious dilemma though. The reports from Skavenblight had gone from bad to worse in the past couple of days. Even now, the best Grey Seers of the mountains were frantically attempting to establish a magical connection with the capital’s defenders. Vaskit could feel the warp-magic tingling in the air as he entered the newly appointed casting warren of Karak Eight Peaks. The very air he breathed felt heavy and saturated in his throat, dense with warpstone fumes and magical energies. In the center of the room five seers moved in a circle. Chittering arcane chants and hymns to The Horned One as they made elaborate and lightning fast arm-motions. In the middle of the circle sparks of green-tinged lighting scattered around and at times vaguely assumed the image of Skavenblight from afar, but then faded out of focus as soon as it had come. As he still stood awestruck at the imposing ritual, another seer approached Vaskit from the side. “As you can look-see general Moldfang, our warp-ritual is not precisely give-generating the desired result-effects. The disturbance is likely caused-caused by the big swarm-gathering of weird-thing warhosts in the north it is, yes?” “That-that, or The Great Horned One himself has give-given up hope-hope for our capital” Vaskit added grimly. “Drattah, please-please order-tell your piests to scry-scry on the temple.” “That is weird-strange request general, yes? No rat is permit-allowed in temple and defenders will have fled-retreated far from there now.” “I want to look-see if the rule-council has really fled-left place, Drattah. The magic of the Horned One will be strong-strong in that spot-place. Will make easy to scry.” “Very good-well General.” With that, High Prophet of the mountain clans: Grey Seer Drattah, barked new orders to the circle of seers in the middle of the ruined dwarf chamber and like a well oiled machine, the motions of the priests switched patterns without them even breaking concentration to look back at the two commanders. Vaskit began to wonder whether the seers were even capable of a normal response at the moment. It seemed as if the ritual had taken complete possession over their bodies and their minds had been reduced to nothing but cogs and gears in a grand communication device. The vague and distant image of the city that had he had seen before, appeared once more in front of him before quickly morphing into a birds-eye view of the temple. The whole experience of the larger than life image of the great tower spiraling down almost infinitely beneath them took Vaskit off-guard for a moment. Luckily the general was still clear enough to realize and remember his goal. “See-show me the gate-gates.” Drattah kept his gaze focused on the image and barked some arcane gibberish back at it. The viewpoint descended down the length of the spire and came to a grinding halt at a portcullis where a big massacre had apparently taken place. The road to the temple seemed empty, but the albino guards that should have been at their posts lay slaughtered on the ground. Sounds also came now. First came a crackling noise which was more likely to come from the magical connection than the current scene, but after that the real sounds came. Even though he couldn’t see them, Vaskit heard the sounds of enormous lumbering giants echo through the streets and tunnels along with the war screams of both ratmen and elf. “Quick-quick! Show-show the council room-chamber.” Vaskit said it out loud, but it seemed that Drattah had already began his arcane commands. Whether this had been due to a parallel line of thought or the prescient powers attributed to raw warpstone consummation Vaskit did not know, but soon the long table and 13 seats of the council came into view. It took a while for the image to clear, but when it did, the image of a skeletal Skaven figure laying prone on the floor before the door was burned in the air. It only held for a moment as the image warped from the brooding, ominous stillness of the council chamber, to the loud, chaotic extreme of the warp. Drattah started screaming high-pitched commands to his underlings at this point, but Vaskit was paralyzed with fear. The image exploded and a giant flame broke free out of the circle. Totally disintegrating two of the five seers that were still frantically waving their arms around it. The flame was about to continue through the chamber, but Drattah screamed a final command and the chain between the remaining three seers broke loose and the flame died out just as it was about to reach Vaskit’s position. “The council’s protect-wards… I missed-forgot…” Grey Seer Drattah was still looking dizzy as he gazed back at the last of the fading cracks in reality. “Many thank-thanks for this information, Grey Lord. The rule-council has finally come to an end-end here then. I will-will arrange for a gather-meeting with the warhost leaders, but I can most likely tell-advise you to start pack-packing soon-soon. The Legion of the Twisted Claw will-will succeed where the defenders have fail-failed. The sacred birthright will be ours-ours again!” ------------------ Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 10th May 2007 - 08:18 AM Post #5 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
![]() Chapter IV: Back To The Mountains Council member Vaskit Moldfang grumbled as he tried to wrench his sword out of a piece of dwarven chainmail for what must have been the 20th time today. The stunted people had never been his favored opponents, but yet it seemed they had been all his army was capable of finding in this war. From the Cripple peak to Skavenblight, to the Nehekharan deserts and back to the peaks, his path had been littered with dwarf-things. There had been reports of the elf-things of the forest sighted in the worlds-edge mountains, but it seemed they had just retreated back to the deserts as the Skaven Warhost had arrived. Curse them, Vaskit thought. Curse them and their woodsy ways. The council had been barely reestablished and already his aid was needed in the eastern mountains. The situation in Warpfire peak had been particularly dire. The wood elves had marched straight through it on their way to Karak Eight Peaks and had marched straight back once their fickle whims had decided to assault the great desert-thing city of Khemri. Clan Rekik had been ill prepared for both assaults and had decided to just withdraw it’s troops to the innermost tunnels and resume their mining activities once the green tide had passed. Seeing as the asrai hadn’t been particularly eager to plunder Rekik’s massive caches of warpstone, the plan had been fairly effective until an unforeseen event had caused a great resurgence of dawi. Clan Rekik lay under siege for a few weeks now and hadn’t been able to resume their mining activities as they had planned. This obviously had upset several important rats who were become dependant on the clan’s services. Under the pressure of the other Council members, the warhost of the peaks had been sent trailing back and now, after weeks of constant battle, the furry tide had come within sight of warpfire. Vaskit, of course, was elected to resume command of the host again and lead his collection of Clan Moulder monstrosities back through the World’s Edge Mountains. He had protested as being a council member, he would have preferred a stay at the capital over a trip to the mountains. The Horned One alone knows what the others would be doing to his seat and powerbase during his journey. Luckilly, Vaskit had been able to secure the aid of several other council members for the foray. Warlord Skritchfang, the Storm-Chief of Clan Rictus as well as Warlord Bloodfang of Clan Bloodfang had accompanied him on the journey. At least this battle would soon be over. As Vaskit finally tore loose his sword from the unlucky dwarf, he paused a moment to oversee the battle. His own rat ogres were busy rounding up the last tiny clusters of dwarves in his area. Meanwhile at the front of the battle, the banners of Skritchfang and Bloodfang could be spotted waving frantically at the front of a unit of the elite verminguard as they tore through the last line of dwarven ironbreakers. Vaskit almost doubted whether he should even bother to send in his pets, but his packmaster’s instinct overrode this thought immediately. There is always a reason to send in your pets. ------------------ Note: In between chapter III and this one, I have also worked on this story as a colaboration between most of the Skaven Faction from HotW. It's supposed to fit right in. Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| SneakyRodent | 10th May 2007 - 09:06 AM Post #6 |
![]()
Claws of the Horned One founder member
![]()
|
:lol: How true! I have to say Bodacious this is truly exceptional stuff. I've not commented on your previous tales yet for fear of clogging up the thread, but it's high time I put my stamp of approval on your work. You have encapsulated the Skaven perfectly, especially Clan Mors. I have to ask, who is responsible for the creation of the hybrid pictures? They're really good!
|
|
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 [/size]
(Scrivener on the Scum And Villainy2 characters of me, DamnedPrince and himself) | |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 10th May 2007 - 10:55 AM Post #7 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
Thanks sneaky .*feels proud* I photoshopped the hybrid pics with some random pics of hippo's from the net and some skaven from the warhammer artwork collection site. It was part of a propaganda thread I started after my battlegroup (the legion of the twisted claw) took Karak Eight Peaks. Dwarves being scared of hippo's was kind of a running joke during the campaign due to this article being posted somewhere in the beginning and several people expanding on it: Having established my character as a master moulder, the hippo-ratogre hybrids were a natural step for some light-hearted propaganda teasing .EDIT: I plan on adding one more chapter after the final fictions of the loremasters at asur.org concerning the skaven have been released. I want to fully finish off the arc properly, so I'll need to know the official campaign fictions to make sure nothing contradicts. Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
| SneakyRodent | 10th May 2007 - 11:27 AM Post #8 |
![]()
Claws of the Horned One founder member
![]()
|
Haha..thanks for the explanation! It makes a lot more sense now, because I couldn't for the life of me think of where you got the inspiration for a Ratopotamus! (not that I didn't think that it was genius, and well deserving of the Master Moulder title!)
|
|
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 [/size]
(Scrivener on the Scum And Villainy2 characters of me, DamnedPrince and himself) | |
![]() |
|
| Bodacious | 14th May 2007 - 03:08 PM Post #9 |
|
Doomwheel Fanatic
|
Thanks again sneaky . If anyone's still curious about the alternate timeline: here's the wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronicles_of_the_Dark_Empire .Now then for the final chapter that displays the last movements of the Legion of the Twisted Claw and Vaskit's most recent inventions. This chapter marks the end of this series, although there may still be (if we're Lucky with a capital L, that is) a mention of Vaskit's deeds in the final, official fictions at asur.org, I'll stop writing on this now. It's been great seeing Vaskit transforming from a nervous river rat during the first chapter to a raving mad machine of war in the last and thanks to everyone who took the time to read this behemoth (at least for my standards) of a fluff piece. Final thanks go to all the great people at the skaven faction that (even unknowingly) inspired me to keep writing. Thanks guys .![]() Chapter V: Inheritance The battle at Warpfire was one of the shortest reclamations ever conducted by the Vaskit’s legion. The dwarven garrison that had kept Clan Rekik locked inside their warrens hadn’t been equipped to deal with the massive warhost marching upon them from the north. Leading the attack were General Skritchfang and himself. Assisted by the clans of Warlord Bloodfang, Chieftain Neek, Seerlord Bilefus, Warlord Timui, Warlord Vittik Whitefur and Chieftain Norat, the tidal wave of ratmen that descended upon the surrounded dwarves had become almost disproportionate. Vaskit seriously doubted the so called ‘success’ of the operation. After the battle was done and Vaskit had been able to reach a safe vantage point to survey the butchering of the last pockets of dwarves, it had become clear that significantly too few of their own troops had been killed. The massive gorge in which the battle had been held was filled to the brim with a sea of fur and claws and there was simply no way the barren wastelands around them could ever support such a massive host. Clan Rekik’s forces didn’t seem to eager to share food or lodging with them and had sealed themselves in their mines again. Vaskit and Skritchfang debated the issue at length, but the only option that seemed to be left to them was splitting the force and try to conquer both of the nearby dwarfholds. The armies would have to let the black hunger fuel their battle lust; loot and pillage their food off of the backs of the dwarves that lived there. So thus, by the Council’s decree, the legion of the twisted claw was divided under General Skritchfang for Karak Drong and Moldfang himself for the volcano hold of Karak Haraz. The road had been tiring and harsh, but they had arrived at last. The dark gorge between the fiery rivers of Karak Haraz’ front portal teemed with the nightmares of all that made their homes behind it. Monsters of uncountable variety, though all had elements of their masters traits incorporated in their design. Vaskit had made sure of that. The monsters were the hardest to feed and thus placed at the front line of the assault. Every rat in the army was hoping that the out of control beasts would be the first to fall to the axes of the dwarves so that the rest would be able to feed off of their massive carcasses. Some of the largest Vaskit had created were even now tackling the front gate. Massive Beasts that were created to be triple the size of the average rat ogre. The need to support such massive bodies had considerably shortened their lifespan, but for the purposes that these ones had been designed it couldn’t truly be considered a drawback. The creatures sported bizarre elongated craniums and neck muscles the size of tree trunks. Held back by a large team of packmasters, the beasts stood grunting with their faces down. Then, on the sound of a bell in the distance, The beasts were set free and they raced headfirst at the giant dwarven gates. Twelve times the living battering rams crashed against the doors and twelve times great damage was inflicted upon them. Just when Vaskit was about to give the last signal to the bell-ringer, the fractured portal was pushed down from behind. Smiting entire regiments of unlucky ratmen in the process came the shiniest dwarves Vaskit had ever seen, marching confidently towards his far-off position. Some silver armoured, fat dwarf was shouting crude orders from a carried platform in the middle of the throng, but Vaskit simply couldn’t be bothered anymore. The doors of Karak Haraz were open and Vaskit gave the thirteenth signal. It was feeding time. ------------------ Cheers, Bodacious. |
My Blog - My Army Diary - Twitter: @DaanofWar - Steam: DaanofWar
| |
![]() |
|
|
|
| « Previous Topic · Fan Fiction and Fluff · Next Topic » |













.
.