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Plague and Pestilence- The Backstabbing of Clan Skintaker; my clan is assaulted by their Pestilens allies, preceded by some unrest
Topic Started: 7th June 2015 - 11:39 PM (326 Views)
Vlens Skintaker



Plague and Pestilence
The Empire Falls



Prologue One: Steel as Flesh

The device had failed again. The globe of warpstone was just too unstable. This time they had only lost two acolytes, but a skaven never knows, next time the whole cavern could be Voided. Warlock Engineer Skritis tutted irritably, clacking his massive Bronze and warpstone claw against the Ebon Throne on which he sat. Immediately, 13 slaves rushed forward, genuflecting before his power and glory. "Yes-yes, O great Master?" one of the slaves chittered excitedly. "Slave-scum! Ready my wargear! We go to fetch the final Orb!", the Engineer snarled. The slave spoke again. "But-but Master-" he never finished his sentence, a single stroke of the titanic claw on Skritis' arm dashing his brains out, the gore puddling and steaming gently on the stone cavern floor. "GO!" The shout echoed like a cannon-shot through the cavern. The terrified slaves scurried out of the great chamber in panic, squirting musk as they went. The last slave glanced back, then the CRACK-BOOM of the Warlock's Warplock snuffed out it's lazy life. The 11 remaining laves were galvanized by the death and hurried onwards, away from their fell Master. Away from their Master and towards their doom.

Prologue Two: One of Seeing

Lightning curled around the Grey Seer's clenched fist. It played across his white fur, ran down his black snout, and sparked of his long, tapering horns. It was like a pet serpent- loyal only to hi, and LASHING out at his foes. The smoking corpse of yet another Empire-Man-thing twitched in it's iron restraints, sizzling with the lick of the white-hot brand of power held in the Seer's hand. The final man-thing, a Captain, by the looks of him, curled in agony, the renewed torment catching hi unawares, unprepared for the sudden shock and burning pain. First his hair began burning, then his skin began to fry and flake off, the lightning dancing across his flesh, tearing it into ruin. Grey seer Skritch Vilefang was in complete control, total mastery of the art of the storm allowing him to bend reality to his will and bring utter oblivion to his enemies. Te lone drawback was the inevitability of expensive Stormvermin guards being caught in the blast. "Fool-things! Drop-throw your Spear-weapons!" He grated through his scarred, mangled throat. As long as his guards managed to keep there idiot tail out of his way, the man-things of Wissenland would never know of the plight of the tiny hamlet that lay ahead. The tiny hamlet that lay on top of the Orb of pure warpstone reputed to have been cast down from the heavens by the Horned Rat itself.

Prologue Three: Three for Slaying

Burgomeister Heinrich Gratz knew tat there was something happening. He just couldn't say what. He knew that men were disappearing, probably dying. He just couldn't say why. On the morrow, however his Town guards would raid the catacombs ad uncover the whole truth. With that comforting thought in mind, he rifted off to sleep. He would never wake. The town guards in the Barracks were all tired, and the only one who was still awake to feel it was Captain Johann. He la in his cot, awaiting sleep's coming, when he saw the shadow, rising over his bed, clutching something that glinted. The guards never saw any more. Amber Wizard Geoffrey Bentzer jerked awake. he feverishly glanced around his tiny cell, seeing only his cot, his end-table, and the poor manservant. But wait...Old Stefan was taller than that, and what were those robes he was wearing? As the stiletto opened his throat from ear to ear, the wizard still hadn't fully awakened, and now he never would.

Prologue Four: Flesh as Steel
The beast hungered. It always hungered. It hungered. It knew only hunger. Hunger and agony. Hunger. HUNGER. The tendril of flesh and steel lashed out from the darkness, whipped around the protruding leg of the shattered victim, and dragged him away screaming into the darkness. The shrieks of the rest of his family lingered still. He breathed them in, tasting their delicious insanity. He rasped "A fine meal, my Child. A fine meal indeed...we simply must get some...morreeeee..." The master moulde slithered out of his niche, dragging his lash behind him in a closed fist. "Come, my friend, a feast awaits us in Weilerberg..."

Prologue Five: Wind of Plague

TO BE CONTINUED!!! (5/13) Note- the topic is not what it says. Instead, the Empire is assaulted.

Prologue Six: Tongue of Silver, Eyes of Green-VERY gory

When Grunik awoke, he saw blackness. All around him, a vast, fathomless darkness, filled with lurking, creeping horrors. He was loyal! The most steadfast supporter of Warlord Skintaker! Well..except for that one time, with the poison, but he hadn't known! Why him? Why would this happen to HIM, o all people?! Yes, it was the poison episode. Or maybe it was the warpstone, skimmed off over the years. Or maybe...now he remembered clearly! He murmured feverishly, shaking in his fur. "No....whyyyyyy....", as he recalled the knife. His knife, that one. A trusty weapon, or so he had thought as, in a fit over delirious rage over his sub-clan's flaying, he had slipped it between two ribs from behind the Flayer Lord. The knife had punctured something, of that he was sure, but it had not been enough. The great Lord had simply risen, turned,and, with a single swipe of his razor-sharp Warp-blade, severed the offending hand. The last thing Grunik recalled was the snarl as the Warlord's envenomed fangs sunk deep into his neck. And now he was here, awaiting the Punishment. The tortures, the agonies, the endless torment of the Flayer's tender ministrations, along with the inevitable Master Moulder's experiments...he shuddered at the thought. As he was lost in his reverie, the cell door crept slowly open, letting in the relative brightness of the cavern to illuminate the dank room. His Punishment came now.

The first thing to go was his other hand. The knuckles were smashed, then removed with the rotting fangs of a plague rat. The skin was carefully prized free over many hours, before the meat was excised and devoured.The whole time, Grunik kept himself from screaming or releasing musk. That came when the warlord arrived. "Well, well, ally-friends of me-mine, what have-have we here...? Why, it is a TRAITOR-BETRAYER!" The warlord suddenly roared, frothing and ending flecks of spittle flying. "His silver tongue has told-said me many a time that he-it was LOYAL-TRUE! Well, now, let us see-observe how much more silver fits in that lying mouth..." Now Grunik screamed. Now he released musk, at least until the carefully applied molten metal muffled his agonies, and stifled his screams, but stopping just short of killing him. The torturers of Vlens Skintaker were masters of that art. The next torment came when the Lord returned, dragging his last clan-son with him. Or at least, what was left. A skinned corpse hung in his powerful grasp,taunting the Chieftain with it's obviously unbearable pain, before it passed to the realm of death, but the Warlord's torture went beyond death. The soul of the unfortunate son was now trapped in Vlens' blade, to feel the agony inflicted with every caress of that weapon across unguarded flesh. And now the chieftain's eyelids went, before his shoulders and calves were striped of skin and fat, exposing raw, pulsing, wet muscle beneath, That, too was not spared the agony. Spikes of crude iron were driven into the biceps and hamstrings, the wounds were salted, the strands and tendrils of fiber were pulled away. Finally, the mewling, flayed body of the former Chieftain lay exposed on the torture-slab. Now the real pain would begin. The organ were played upon, the stomach cut open, three giant rats placed unconscious within, and stitched shut. The heart was implanted with barbs, so that every beat brought unbearable torment to the owner.The last to go were his eyes, the fearful orbs that had, up 'til now, been filled with agony, were driven in with spikes of raw warpstone , the pure mutating power of the material rending his soul warping his very flesh, as spines erupted from his skin, his flesh puddled and his liver leaked out with his blood. The rats, now awakened, tore their way free of his stomach in a shower of rending and gore. The beast, no longer a skaven at all, was led away by the Master Moulders. Led away to battle, where, when the agony finally ended in death, his soul would be caught again, to feel the next victim's pain. Such was the lot of Clan Akintaker's foes.
Edited by Vlens Skintaker, 8th June 2015 - 01:24 PM.
Clan Skintaker-We use every part of our enemy!
Khorne Bloodbound- WE ARE SUPREME IN MELEE DIEEEE wait oh god is that one single Retributor with 1 wound left? RUNAWAY *CRUNCH* too late
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