Mokte hid a bloodthristy grin under his helm, sauntering forward to take the vanguard like a berserker whose carnal satisfaction was the battlefield rather than a bedchamber. The glow burning from his cleaver gave a dim light of clairvoyance, not that they would've needed it if Anglermaw knew the way.
"Man, Rat, I don't care for either." Scoffed Mokte. "He'll die as many times as necessary."
Mokte gave his hunched neck a crack as the way forward parted for him, and he gripped the hilt of his weapon in both arms, eager to chop down any stragglers foolish enough to guard this side of the Ark with a downward swing. The metal tunnels were not wide, but they were high enough to give space for a vertical slash. The Stormvermin had not been of any consequence so far and the shot from that sharpshooter above was simply a lucky strike. Not that it mattered, for Nahwa would protect them all, as he had done. It would be wrong to assume that the Saurus had become a slave to the bestial fury that drove the rest of his pure brethren. He had seen himself rather as a paladin -- a holy defender of Tzlipectl and entrusted with it's greatest relic save the Slann himself. There was no savagery here, only rightous zealotry.
He remembered the figure of the Rat-headed chosen burn to crisp below his terradon steed alongside Supa-kheti. How Nahwa had come in the form of that bolt to exorcise evil. As Mokte reminisced upon this memory when the right tunnel had been taken, any previous daunt he felt for Zeigfied died with the cries of agony wisped through these tunnels.
Anglermaw was a little more apprehensive, however. He had his claw back, that was one thing. But he had no weapon to show for it. His trusty warplock had been turned into rubble, it's years as his only enduring companion thrown out of the window in minutes. The hookarm had had it's day, now it was about as useful as a blunt dagger against Stormvermin armour. The path in front was oddly isolated, free from any guardians or fleeing engineers. Had they all retreated to the core for a last stand? They were facing off against the Plague-Rats after all. A cold sensation lapped at a whisker at the right side of his beak. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his claw on it.
"Right-right, all we gotta do now is just head straight on." Said Anglermaw, panting while he scampered. "Past the lieutenant and noble-vermin quarters before we come-reach a stairwell going straight t' core. It'll be bolted shut-shut with Skryre warding, but a mage-thing could melt it easy-yeah."
Or perhaps they would not need to, if the way to the core continued to welcome them like an open hand.
Mokte nodded up front, from then on, only silence. Hans paid no attention, but Anglermaw imagined that he would've reacted with a cautious approval if he still had his conscience. The Sea-Rat hoped that Mister Brunswick could be saved once all this was over, if they still lived of course. Of the folk here, he found the Man-thing to have qualities that had rubbed onto him. Hans' naivety to the world, his character, even his cowardice. The Man-thing was a cute relic, he did not deserve the evil he'd endured.
A few minutes of brooding through the mixture of jade and honey tint swallowed the darkness before the group finally came to a narrow corridor. The walls were perforated with entrances into the rooms of the higher ranking officers that had once answered to the Claw-Admiral. Rotflag had been one of them, Anglermaw had forgotten the rest of the names. Captains did not usually last long aboard Skaven vessels. The doorways were as metal as the rest of the bowels, they did not open with knobs, but rather grinded ajar when the group came too close. To Anglermaw's dismay, he was right. The stair way to the core had been bolted shut. It was a dead end, with no way to open from their side. He could tell from the neon glow across the thick frame that the engineers had renewed the warding. Skryre clearly did not want any mere Rat within the core.
"Bastard Sigmar Rat!" Hissed Anglermaw with a twang of his hairless claw, almost drowned out by the whir of opening doorframes. "That's a grade A warlock ward, I tell ya. There was noffin like that when I was Admiral."
Anglermaw had stopped, but Mokte had ignored him. He raised his cleaver to strike hard at the bolstered frame. The cleaver dug into the semi-circular bolt in the centre, but a booby trapped whir of electricity forced him to pull his cleaver back. Jade bolts lapped across his crimson from, they were oddly harmless. Something inside him knew that would not be the case without the cleaver.
"Damn the Skaven." Mokte growled, looking back toward Falderan and Celedron. "You said a mage could break through easy, Sunami." There was frustration in the Saurus' behelmed eyes.
"I said could, ah din't say can!" Anglermaw replied as he approached the centre. The frame sizzled victoriously in front. "It seems that Skryre have been doin' a little tinkerin' with the Ark since I was gone. They probably have seem big mind-brains down there in the core."
"And we have two mages." Mokte said, his eyes measuring the figures of Hans and Celedron, the Elf clad in a mix of purple and dirt.
The doors whirred again behind them, but the group were distant now from the frames. Anglermaw could not help the reflex, he reared his head back in shock. Nothing. No figures, but his rodent ears caught a sizzling sound in the distance. 'Wasn't the door?' he thought. Skryre-rats were geniuses, but stuff tended to malfunction from time to time. If the frame ward was as strong as he thought, of course he could hear it radiate across the hall like a furnace. But it was not the door. Within seconds, rifles protruded out the ajar frames, warpstone static lapping across their muzzles. Four pairs of jezzail teams emerged from the parallel sides. The fleeing Skaven had ambushed them. Anglermaw ceased to move in shock.
"You're all dead-cooked, ya hear-hear?! DEAD-DIE!" Cried out one of the jezzail members as the four pairs quickly synchronized their shots.
--
Zeigfied's smile curled back into a scowl, a contortion clearly influenced by clarity of will, of single-mindedness. "I don't care which clan defiled me." He muttered out of Skreptch's earshot. "This battle among the Skaven, merely a diversion." He could hear the footsteps of his true enemies patter above the ceiling as Skreptch informed his thralls to make way. He had no interest in serving this foul cyborg, whose very words were drowned by the above trail, his own hearing enhanced thanks to the blessing of the Gods. Then again, even the blood of Skaven satisfied the Blood God, moreso when it was spilled from the blade of his worshippers. This distraction would perhaps satisfy him for now, until he could take revenge on the Sea-Rat, and those pompous Elves that thought themselves victorious when they cut into his immortal body. He'd pay that humiliation in kind.
The brainless hilt gargled, unable to move it's solid tongue steel. It had made the slaves shudder, and yet they smiled. Skaven were a sadistic folk, it was good to know the Pest-rats would pay at least, they would suffer for the attack. The doorway swung upon for Zeigfied, but he turned his beak back as the sound of warped electricity wizzed across his vision. The Ark was indeed awakening, whatever bound it inert was beginning to drop the ball. Then he emerged to the breach, stomping his way to the killing ground with a grin upon his furred face. The bodies dotted across the bridge began crumble as he passed, the injured that had been caught in the flurry of ratling bolts gagged as the very life was stolen from their lungs. There was a new wind here that was neither plague nor ruin. Shyish had intruded upon these grounds.
Jujue eyed the intruder, a cold shiver curdling his once unfeeling spine. "Stop the bell..." He hissed to his slave, and the gong slowly receded. The host of Pestilens backed away, the palanquin slaves had stopped in their tracks. They all could feel it, there was something wrong, very wrong.
"Who-whom do you serve stranger-thing?" The rotting Plaguelord shouted, leaning his mangled form for a better view of the Abomination. "Your name is not written in the Liber Bubonicus."
Zeigfied laughed in reply. "Me? I am a servant of the Gods. Greater Gods, the very deities that dominate your feeble Horned Rat!" The Chosen shouted over in snide satisfaction, causing a few monks among the rank and file to chitter in anger. He was denouncing the Horned One to their very faces! "So come, try and strike me down!" Challenged Zeigfied, brandishing the salivating claymore clasped across both warded gauntlets. "Let me show just how weak the Gods you serve truly are, because any who dare to cross this bridge will suffer, painfully."
The Plaguelord frothed a lime tinted foam. "H-how d-dare you! Heretic!" Jujue wretched, curses in the Queekish tongue poured from his phlegmatic voice. Then he pointed to the chosen. "Kill him! Melt him-him in the acid of plague!" Roared Jujue, as dripping ichor glowed across his gnarled fingertips.
The host of Pestilens charged, echoing the various curses their lord had set upon this creature. But the winds of Shyish whirled like a tornado across the blade. With a roundhouse slash, the wave crumbled into dust, their forms disintegrating into ash. The aristocracy of Pestilens, gone in a flash. More swathes joined the charge, and they too became formless like ash. No blood flowed for Khorne, unfortunately. However, the ashen remains of those caught in the slash were fed to the gurgling maw, moaning in ecstacy as the lifedust poured within. Zeigfied could almost hear the cries of the newly dead. They were going to a very different afterlife -- a very... unpleasant one.
"Noooo!" Wretched Jujue in fury. His eyes now glowed with the flow of plague-bearing power. "This is not meant to be! You die here pretender-rat!" It was clear that he was casting a spell bolstered by the power of the gong, not that Zeigfied had taken notice. Before the Queekish hymms across his lips could bring the spell to spark-
"WHAT IN HORNED ONE'S NAME?!" The pulley slave screamed in terror. Jujue had been forced to rear his head, a struggle upon the palanquin. The figure of a great, pale beast emerged from the hillside, a squadron of raptors and their equally bestial riders joined by it's form. Those furthest from the killing field looked toward the beast in utter terror, namely the stormvermin, for the plague monks were far too suicidal for their own good.
"T-This is hopeless!" A noble chitter cried out. "Save our fur! B-back t-to citadel! Forget the Ark!"
The Pestilens host was being routed.
"Man, Rat, I don't care for either." Scoffed Mokte. "He'll die as many times as necessary."
Mokte gave his hunched neck a crack as the way forward parted for him, and he gripped the hilt of his weapon in both arms, eager to chop down any stragglers foolish enough to guard this side of the Ark with a downward swing. The metal tunnels were not wide, but they were high enough to give space for a vertical slash. The Stormvermin had not been of any consequence so far and the shot from that sharpshooter above was simply a lucky strike. Not that it mattered, for Nahwa would protect them all, as he had done. It would be wrong to assume that the Saurus had become a slave to the bestial fury that drove the rest of his pure brethren. He had seen himself rather as a paladin -- a holy defender of Tzlipectl and entrusted with it's greatest relic save the Slann himself. There was no savagery here, only rightous zealotry.
He remembered the figure of the Rat-headed chosen burn to crisp below his terradon steed alongside Supa-kheti. How Nahwa had come in the form of that bolt to exorcise evil. As Mokte reminisced upon this memory when the right tunnel had been taken, any previous daunt he felt for Zeigfied died with the cries of agony wisped through these tunnels.
Anglermaw was a little more apprehensive, however. He had his claw back, that was one thing. But he had no weapon to show for it. His trusty warplock had been turned into rubble, it's years as his only enduring companion thrown out of the window in minutes. The hookarm had had it's day, now it was about as useful as a blunt dagger against Stormvermin armour. The path in front was oddly isolated, free from any guardians or fleeing engineers. Had they all retreated to the core for a last stand? They were facing off against the Plague-Rats after all. A cold sensation lapped at a whisker at the right side of his beak. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his claw on it.
"Right-right, all we gotta do now is just head straight on." Said Anglermaw, panting while he scampered. "Past the lieutenant and noble-vermin quarters before we come-reach a stairwell going straight t' core. It'll be bolted shut-shut with Skryre warding, but a mage-thing could melt it easy-yeah."
Or perhaps they would not need to, if the way to the core continued to welcome them like an open hand.
Mokte nodded up front, from then on, only silence. Hans paid no attention, but Anglermaw imagined that he would've reacted with a cautious approval if he still had his conscience. The Sea-Rat hoped that Mister Brunswick could be saved once all this was over, if they still lived of course. Of the folk here, he found the Man-thing to have qualities that had rubbed onto him. Hans' naivety to the world, his character, even his cowardice. The Man-thing was a cute relic, he did not deserve the evil he'd endured.
A few minutes of brooding through the mixture of jade and honey tint swallowed the darkness before the group finally came to a narrow corridor. The walls were perforated with entrances into the rooms of the higher ranking officers that had once answered to the Claw-Admiral. Rotflag had been one of them, Anglermaw had forgotten the rest of the names. Captains did not usually last long aboard Skaven vessels. The doorways were as metal as the rest of the bowels, they did not open with knobs, but rather grinded ajar when the group came too close. To Anglermaw's dismay, he was right. The stair way to the core had been bolted shut. It was a dead end, with no way to open from their side. He could tell from the neon glow across the thick frame that the engineers had renewed the warding. Skryre clearly did not want any mere Rat within the core.
"Bastard Sigmar Rat!" Hissed Anglermaw with a twang of his hairless claw, almost drowned out by the whir of opening doorframes. "That's a grade A warlock ward, I tell ya. There was noffin like that when I was Admiral."
Anglermaw had stopped, but Mokte had ignored him. He raised his cleaver to strike hard at the bolstered frame. The cleaver dug into the semi-circular bolt in the centre, but a booby trapped whir of electricity forced him to pull his cleaver back. Jade bolts lapped across his crimson from, they were oddly harmless. Something inside him knew that would not be the case without the cleaver.
"Damn the Skaven." Mokte growled, looking back toward Falderan and Celedron. "You said a mage could break through easy, Sunami." There was frustration in the Saurus' behelmed eyes.
"I said could, ah din't say can!" Anglermaw replied as he approached the centre. The frame sizzled victoriously in front. "It seems that Skryre have been doin' a little tinkerin' with the Ark since I was gone. They probably have seem big mind-brains down there in the core."
"And we have two mages." Mokte said, his eyes measuring the figures of Hans and Celedron, the Elf clad in a mix of purple and dirt.
The doors whirred again behind them, but the group were distant now from the frames. Anglermaw could not help the reflex, he reared his head back in shock. Nothing. No figures, but his rodent ears caught a sizzling sound in the distance. 'Wasn't the door?' he thought. Skryre-rats were geniuses, but stuff tended to malfunction from time to time. If the frame ward was as strong as he thought, of course he could hear it radiate across the hall like a furnace. But it was not the door. Within seconds, rifles protruded out the ajar frames, warpstone static lapping across their muzzles. Four pairs of jezzail teams emerged from the parallel sides. The fleeing Skaven had ambushed them. Anglermaw ceased to move in shock.
"You're all dead-cooked, ya hear-hear?! DEAD-DIE!" Cried out one of the jezzail members as the four pairs quickly synchronized their shots.
--
Zeigfied's smile curled back into a scowl, a contortion clearly influenced by clarity of will, of single-mindedness. "I don't care which clan defiled me." He muttered out of Skreptch's earshot. "This battle among the Skaven, merely a diversion." He could hear the footsteps of his true enemies patter above the ceiling as Skreptch informed his thralls to make way. He had no interest in serving this foul cyborg, whose very words were drowned by the above trail, his own hearing enhanced thanks to the blessing of the Gods. Then again, even the blood of Skaven satisfied the Blood God, moreso when it was spilled from the blade of his worshippers. This distraction would perhaps satisfy him for now, until he could take revenge on the Sea-Rat, and those pompous Elves that thought themselves victorious when they cut into his immortal body. He'd pay that humiliation in kind.
The brainless hilt gargled, unable to move it's solid tongue steel. It had made the slaves shudder, and yet they smiled. Skaven were a sadistic folk, it was good to know the Pest-rats would pay at least, they would suffer for the attack. The doorway swung upon for Zeigfied, but he turned his beak back as the sound of warped electricity wizzed across his vision. The Ark was indeed awakening, whatever bound it inert was beginning to drop the ball. Then he emerged to the breach, stomping his way to the killing ground with a grin upon his furred face. The bodies dotted across the bridge began crumble as he passed, the injured that had been caught in the flurry of ratling bolts gagged as the very life was stolen from their lungs. There was a new wind here that was neither plague nor ruin. Shyish had intruded upon these grounds.
Jujue eyed the intruder, a cold shiver curdling his once unfeeling spine. "Stop the bell..." He hissed to his slave, and the gong slowly receded. The host of Pestilens backed away, the palanquin slaves had stopped in their tracks. They all could feel it, there was something wrong, very wrong.
"Who-whom do you serve stranger-thing?" The rotting Plaguelord shouted, leaning his mangled form for a better view of the Abomination. "Your name is not written in the Liber Bubonicus."
Zeigfied laughed in reply. "Me? I am a servant of the Gods. Greater Gods, the very deities that dominate your feeble Horned Rat!" The Chosen shouted over in snide satisfaction, causing a few monks among the rank and file to chitter in anger. He was denouncing the Horned One to their very faces! "So come, try and strike me down!" Challenged Zeigfied, brandishing the salivating claymore clasped across both warded gauntlets. "Let me show just how weak the Gods you serve truly are, because any who dare to cross this bridge will suffer, painfully."
The Plaguelord frothed a lime tinted foam. "H-how d-dare you! Heretic!" Jujue wretched, curses in the Queekish tongue poured from his phlegmatic voice. Then he pointed to the chosen. "Kill him! Melt him-him in the acid of plague!" Roared Jujue, as dripping ichor glowed across his gnarled fingertips.
The host of Pestilens charged, echoing the various curses their lord had set upon this creature. But the winds of Shyish whirled like a tornado across the blade. With a roundhouse slash, the wave crumbled into dust, their forms disintegrating into ash. The aristocracy of Pestilens, gone in a flash. More swathes joined the charge, and they too became formless like ash. No blood flowed for Khorne, unfortunately. However, the ashen remains of those caught in the slash were fed to the gurgling maw, moaning in ecstacy as the lifedust poured within. Zeigfied could almost hear the cries of the newly dead. They were going to a very different afterlife -- a very... unpleasant one.
"Noooo!" Wretched Jujue in fury. His eyes now glowed with the flow of plague-bearing power. "This is not meant to be! You die here pretender-rat!" It was clear that he was casting a spell bolstered by the power of the gong, not that Zeigfied had taken notice. Before the Queekish hymms across his lips could bring the spell to spark-
"WHAT IN HORNED ONE'S NAME?!" The pulley slave screamed in terror. Jujue had been forced to rear his head, a struggle upon the palanquin. The figure of a great, pale beast emerged from the hillside, a squadron of raptors and their equally bestial riders joined by it's form. Those furthest from the killing field looked toward the beast in utter terror, namely the stormvermin, for the plague monks were far too suicidal for their own good.
"T-This is hopeless!" A noble chitter cried out. "Save our fur! B-back t-to citadel! Forget the Ark!"
The Pestilens host was being routed.
"Well give me a little time to work and." Celedron said in comment to the enchanted door lock before a warpstone bullet flew past him and hit the door with a crackling spark. Fal pushed him and moved to Hans to tackle him into a door frame out of sight of the gunners. Celedron was disoriented for a moment. His mind raced and the world spun around him. "More gunners?" He asks already knowing the answer.
"Ambush!" Fal comments as several more shots come by as he peeked around. Narrowly missing his head. He sat Hans up. "Can you get the door open from here?" He asks. Celedron looks up to the door. It's magical seals sizzling with power.
"If I can concentrate I should be able to cast a counter spell."
"Then get on it!" Fal yells back as the stress of the situation sinks in. Celedron closes his eyes and begins chanting as he moves his hands in precise motions. The low amount of untainted magic down here made gathering power hard but as a dark scent of death crept into the winds the mage pondered the meaning of Shyish winds appearing but worked with it. He channeled these winds and filtered them as he could to power his spell. An ethereal glow forming in his eyes as magical power causes the seal to sizzle. As bullets flung by though his concentration flickered and the counter spell kept being pushed back.It would take some time to form ahead as it was.
Outside at the panicked bridge fight the forces of Pestelens began to scream and scurry about in a panic. A new champion emerging for Skryre and from two flanks new Lizardmen forces came in. From behind the roars of bestial Cold Ones leaped into the flanks of shocked clanrats and stormvermin. Teeth ripped through cloth and flesh as armour only delayed the mighty slashes. The Saurus above stabbed with their spears and gored Skaven as those that could feel fear gave in and ran. From behind Qua-zital came running in with a bloated looking toad with pale greyish hide the size of his head was attached to the side of the Cold One he rode. A foul smell came off it but one that was distinctive even amongst the other fouls scents. His Cold One roared and whipped his tail at a fleeing Skaven, sending it flying and crying out in fear. He looked forward at the now still bell where Jujue resided with his personal guard. The Skink's eyes narrowed and tearing the tied toad from his mount tossed it towards the Plague Priest and his retinue. It hit and base of the palanquin with a squelch as Qua-zital moved from the approaching footsteps. Behind him a massive albino beast over twenty feet long, with long forearms and a fleshy sail across its back let out a roar from it's crocodilian jaw. The theropod stomped with such fury that the ground seemed to vibrate and puddles of liquid thrummed with vibrations.
The beast known to the Lizardmen as a Troglodon charged forward. Past Qua-zital as if he wasn't there it flung it's head forward and spat out a thick clump of foul smelling saliva and bile. The gunk hit a poor stormvermin that was rife with all manner of pestilence and rot. The bile hit him to no immediate effect. A rather foul burning feeling developed across his body like acid burning through his flesh. The smell would knock a man out. But the scent and flailing only helped the fierce Troglodon. Letting out another roar it lunged to the panicked rat with a twisted head. Crunching him in it's massive jaws before being tossed aside due to the foul taste. The beast roared right next to Jujue. Barely seven feet away as it slammed into the palanquin. The bell chiming with a resound thrum as it shook. Seemingly in either pain or annoyance by the foul bell the Troglodon turned it's attention to it and slammed it's full weight into the side. Tail swinging past Stormvermin that tried to fight but were slammed back and had bones shattered. Cold Ones swarmed around them taking out fleeing Skaven. The Troglodon ignored Jujue or simply didn't notice him as it went to knock over the palanquin. The large form with bell attached began to splinter under impacts. Wood broke and the large bell broke from the and with another slam the stand shattered and it fell down. The fallen bell ringer crawled to his feet only to be crushed as the bell slammed into him. The Troglodon roared and turned to a foul smell. That of Jujue once the disorientation of the bells echoes faded.
More screams emerged from the far port side as the second group of Cold Ones emerged and struck the retreating Skryre forces. Four pushing forward to make a push on the Rattling Gunners that tried to fight back in panic. Through either horrid luck of incompetence the guns failed to work as the Knights closed in. One swung around his gun only to have it go off aimed to the left and blasted one of his fellow runners to shreds and several stay bullets hit the side of Zeigfied's armoured plating narrowly. The rat panted and fell back looking up in fear as he had killed a fellow gunner and taken aim at their new help. By accident of course but would it be seen as such? The leadership of the engineer flickered from joy at Pestelens fall to panic as Cold Ones approached and the gunner went off by mistake.
Beneath the Ark in the gunnery array were several slaves put back onto the sabotaged cannon. Being forced with threats of death to work it they took aim at the Cold Ones. The weapon began to charge. Ahead in the above pies Chi-noee and his Chameleon Skink survivor managed to sneak near a doorway to try and enter the Ark's further levels. Several Skaven came from the door and numerous more were about in work as they prepared to fire their weapons. The hissing whir of the cannons almost outdid the roar of the holy Troglodon outside. The two managed to lower their heads enough to see the great beast attack the bell. As one Skaven looked up to see them it pointed. But this wouldn't set. As the sabotaged cannon went to fire there was a glass like shattering and the unstable mass of warpstone exploded. The entire core of the weapon blew up in a fierce display of power and madness. Green lightning sparked off as warpstone chunks, wood and metal flung across the chamber and adjoining rooms. Doorways blew off as a sizzling explosion ran out. The side of the Ark had a hole in it the size of a small boat, melted from the exploding cannon. As the explosion hit all Skaven panicked. The area was rocked and the other cannons were smacked just the wrong way to cause one to turn. Firing upon it's partner and a chain reaction of explosions occurred. Magical heat burst up as two more cannons exploded. The resulting shaking forced the Skaven to flee in panic. But after the first explosion Chi-noee and the other Skink made their escape. Fleeing as Skaven were distracted by their own unstable weapons of war. Heading through the tunnels in hopes of meeting up with their other allies withing.
"Ambush!" Fal comments as several more shots come by as he peeked around. Narrowly missing his head. He sat Hans up. "Can you get the door open from here?" He asks. Celedron looks up to the door. It's magical seals sizzling with power.
"If I can concentrate I should be able to cast a counter spell."
"Then get on it!" Fal yells back as the stress of the situation sinks in. Celedron closes his eyes and begins chanting as he moves his hands in precise motions. The low amount of untainted magic down here made gathering power hard but as a dark scent of death crept into the winds the mage pondered the meaning of Shyish winds appearing but worked with it. He channeled these winds and filtered them as he could to power his spell. An ethereal glow forming in his eyes as magical power causes the seal to sizzle. As bullets flung by though his concentration flickered and the counter spell kept being pushed back.It would take some time to form ahead as it was.
Outside at the panicked bridge fight the forces of Pestelens began to scream and scurry about in a panic. A new champion emerging for Skryre and from two flanks new Lizardmen forces came in. From behind the roars of bestial Cold Ones leaped into the flanks of shocked clanrats and stormvermin. Teeth ripped through cloth and flesh as armour only delayed the mighty slashes. The Saurus above stabbed with their spears and gored Skaven as those that could feel fear gave in and ran. From behind Qua-zital came running in with a bloated looking toad with pale greyish hide the size of his head was attached to the side of the Cold One he rode. A foul smell came off it but one that was distinctive even amongst the other fouls scents. His Cold One roared and whipped his tail at a fleeing Skaven, sending it flying and crying out in fear. He looked forward at the now still bell where Jujue resided with his personal guard. The Skink's eyes narrowed and tearing the tied toad from his mount tossed it towards the Plague Priest and his retinue. It hit and base of the palanquin with a squelch as Qua-zital moved from the approaching footsteps. Behind him a massive albino beast over twenty feet long, with long forearms and a fleshy sail across its back let out a roar from it's crocodilian jaw. The theropod stomped with such fury that the ground seemed to vibrate and puddles of liquid thrummed with vibrations.
The beast known to the Lizardmen as a Troglodon charged forward. Past Qua-zital as if he wasn't there it flung it's head forward and spat out a thick clump of foul smelling saliva and bile. The gunk hit a poor stormvermin that was rife with all manner of pestilence and rot. The bile hit him to no immediate effect. A rather foul burning feeling developed across his body like acid burning through his flesh. The smell would knock a man out. But the scent and flailing only helped the fierce Troglodon. Letting out another roar it lunged to the panicked rat with a twisted head. Crunching him in it's massive jaws before being tossed aside due to the foul taste. The beast roared right next to Jujue. Barely seven feet away as it slammed into the palanquin. The bell chiming with a resound thrum as it shook. Seemingly in either pain or annoyance by the foul bell the Troglodon turned it's attention to it and slammed it's full weight into the side. Tail swinging past Stormvermin that tried to fight but were slammed back and had bones shattered. Cold Ones swarmed around them taking out fleeing Skaven. The Troglodon ignored Jujue or simply didn't notice him as it went to knock over the palanquin. The large form with bell attached began to splinter under impacts. Wood broke and the large bell broke from the and with another slam the stand shattered and it fell down. The fallen bell ringer crawled to his feet only to be crushed as the bell slammed into him. The Troglodon roared and turned to a foul smell. That of Jujue once the disorientation of the bells echoes faded.
More screams emerged from the far port side as the second group of Cold Ones emerged and struck the retreating Skryre forces. Four pushing forward to make a push on the Rattling Gunners that tried to fight back in panic. Through either horrid luck of incompetence the guns failed to work as the Knights closed in. One swung around his gun only to have it go off aimed to the left and blasted one of his fellow runners to shreds and several stay bullets hit the side of Zeigfied's armoured plating narrowly. The rat panted and fell back looking up in fear as he had killed a fellow gunner and taken aim at their new help. By accident of course but would it be seen as such? The leadership of the engineer flickered from joy at Pestelens fall to panic as Cold Ones approached and the gunner went off by mistake.
Beneath the Ark in the gunnery array were several slaves put back onto the sabotaged cannon. Being forced with threats of death to work it they took aim at the Cold Ones. The weapon began to charge. Ahead in the above pies Chi-noee and his Chameleon Skink survivor managed to sneak near a doorway to try and enter the Ark's further levels. Several Skaven came from the door and numerous more were about in work as they prepared to fire their weapons. The hissing whir of the cannons almost outdid the roar of the holy Troglodon outside. The two managed to lower their heads enough to see the great beast attack the bell. As one Skaven looked up to see them it pointed. But this wouldn't set. As the sabotaged cannon went to fire there was a glass like shattering and the unstable mass of warpstone exploded. The entire core of the weapon blew up in a fierce display of power and madness. Green lightning sparked off as warpstone chunks, wood and metal flung across the chamber and adjoining rooms. Doorways blew off as a sizzling explosion ran out. The side of the Ark had a hole in it the size of a small boat, melted from the exploding cannon. As the explosion hit all Skaven panicked. The area was rocked and the other cannons were smacked just the wrong way to cause one to turn. Firing upon it's partner and a chain reaction of explosions occurred. Magical heat burst up as two more cannons exploded. The resulting shaking forced the Skaven to flee in panic. But after the first explosion Chi-noee and the other Skink made their escape. Fleeing as Skaven were distracted by their own unstable weapons of war. Heading through the tunnels in hopes of meeting up with their other allies withing.
Strobes of crystalline green whizzed across the metal corridor as the Ratmen opened fire upon the group. Anglermaw and Mokte were both keen enough to cover themselves behind a thick sheen of steel that acted as an arch behind the warded entrance. Hans had been forcefully tugged out of the crossfire, once again concealed under the arm of the Saurus. After his last encounter with the Skaven sharpshooters, Mokte was not willing to take any chances with another torn shoulder. He did not know the boundries of Nahwa's whistle in this industrial Hell, nor did he want to find out. The Human warm-blood did not put up much resistance, his blank mind removed of any thought of protest. He could not take his gaze away from the glow of Celedron's eyes, the winds of magic channelled through the whistle like an arcane basin.
Anglermaw tried to get a quick glance at the four weapon teams, but each rearing of his whiskers in their direction had been met with a zwoom of gauss propelled warpstone, which banged upon the veil of steel like the thumping of a rabid troll. It wouldn't be long before their cover was perforated into Wissenland cheese, assuming Celedron was able to dispell the Skaven magic before that. He could see the Loremaster articulate his fingers like a tailor weaving an invisible thread across the barrier. Each twang of a jezzail's pellet upon the bolted form would generate a visible spark of arcane matter. Proof alone it had not been dispelled.
Natterings and insults in the queekish tongue wretched in the distance, their translation irrelevant. Anglermaw spat on the grating in defiance, wiping at his teeth with the newly grown paw.
"If I 'ad my Warplock, this wouldn't be an issue!" Said Anglermaw by the opposite pillar, another bolt of warp shard across the corridor made him unwittingly shiver. He crouched down for better cover, but his ruby eyes widened as he glanced above the wall to find centimetre wide slits within the alloy. It wouldn't be long before one shard made a crevice inside Anglermaw's own flesh.
He called out to Mokte, Falderan, either who weren't occupied by the frame.
"Can't those weapons 'o yours do anything special?!" He shouted over with a whine as another wave of bullets flew across.
Mokte clenched the leathery hilt of his blade, rested by a corner of the metal barrier that glowed from the cleaver's resonance. Under different circumstances, he would've charged the teams head on and crushed their skulls under his claws. He had no fear of arrows and black powder. He had face them both before in skirmishes with the upstart Men-spawn that preyed upon the temple-cities. They were theives of amulets and talismans that contained power to combat the Dark Gods, but mistook their intricacies for little more than quaint ornaments. And they had quaked in terror when they realised how poor their weapons were against the natural armour of a Saurus' hide when such artefacts were recovered. But these Skaven rifles were not ordinary, powered by pure evil that had to be exorcised.
The Red Saurus reared his maw in Hans' direction. The Human took no note, his attention still captivated by the whisle, flashing a rainbow of colours that contained deep, wretched hues of green and amethyst. But Mokte held no care for the sparkling display. A thought had crossed his mind.
"Can Nahwa's conduit bolster our weapons, as it had done with the magic winds?" Mokte thought aloud.
--
The timely interference of the Lizardmen made Zeigfied smile with an almost disturbing glee. He knew this was no coincedence, regardless as to how the Skaven clans had been played against eachother. The die had been cast the moment these Ratfolk had drawn first blood. They had thinned out their own numbers for the scaled beasts. Zeigfied stood alone by the drawbridge, almost in complete bliss as he watched the forces of both clans quickly overrun by Saurus raiders and their tamed monstrosity. All he could do was observe the carnage, for the bloodthirsty stormvermin had revealed their true colours and fled for safety in the citadel, and the crazed retinue of the plague were now but granules of dust breathed into the maw of his blade. The purple hue across the metal tongue had become far more noticable, and Zeigfied could feel the presence of Shyish ripple upon his palms. His warm up had been cut short; facing the troglodon would be a waste of precious time. The Ark was coming alive now, he could feel it. All he had to do was saunter back into the core and feed that insolent warlock's soul to his blade.
Jujue had been cast onto dirt, his slaves cut down from beneath his palanquin and send the platform crashing into the dirt. The mobile bell had fared far worse, now crashed into rubble with the pulley slave hidden among the splinters of wood, most likely dead. The troglodon loomed over his form, though more attentive to the traitorous herd of fleeing stormvermin rather than Jujue himself. He could not feel the pain of his fall, but he knew that he was immobilised. His left paw had snapped backwards like a bent spoon, and with his stubby feet, he would not be able to crawl for safety.
The revelation sent a shockwave of fury within the Plaguelord's psyche. He'd come to terms with his fate, terror had suddenly felt alien to him, but he had lost the Ark to a hated rival and his strange thrall. He would die here, and his failure would be known as a cautionary tale to all who served Nurglitch. Jujue could not abide this without a lost show of defiance. Eldritch power still burned within his veins, the winds of magic had been cast in his favour when the bell had rung. That residual energy still stirred within. He could see the distant Ark even with his blurred vision, it's inert form tormented him. If he were going to die, Skreptch would follow him to the Horned One, alongside his prize.
With a belch from his struggled breaths, Jujue held out his paw. A huge torrent of dripping magic ignited from his hand. A few silent hymms quivered from his rotting throat as a broad torpedo of evil magic manifested, aimed toward the Ark.
"N-none take-have it, if I cannot..." Rasped the crippled Plaguelord, dropping his free arm the dirt as the last wisps of life faded from his gargling maw. He had put his lifeforce into the projectile, a final spit of defiance against Skryre.
Anglermaw tried to get a quick glance at the four weapon teams, but each rearing of his whiskers in their direction had been met with a zwoom of gauss propelled warpstone, which banged upon the veil of steel like the thumping of a rabid troll. It wouldn't be long before their cover was perforated into Wissenland cheese, assuming Celedron was able to dispell the Skaven magic before that. He could see the Loremaster articulate his fingers like a tailor weaving an invisible thread across the barrier. Each twang of a jezzail's pellet upon the bolted form would generate a visible spark of arcane matter. Proof alone it had not been dispelled.
Natterings and insults in the queekish tongue wretched in the distance, their translation irrelevant. Anglermaw spat on the grating in defiance, wiping at his teeth with the newly grown paw.
"If I 'ad my Warplock, this wouldn't be an issue!" Said Anglermaw by the opposite pillar, another bolt of warp shard across the corridor made him unwittingly shiver. He crouched down for better cover, but his ruby eyes widened as he glanced above the wall to find centimetre wide slits within the alloy. It wouldn't be long before one shard made a crevice inside Anglermaw's own flesh.
He called out to Mokte, Falderan, either who weren't occupied by the frame.
"Can't those weapons 'o yours do anything special?!" He shouted over with a whine as another wave of bullets flew across.
Mokte clenched the leathery hilt of his blade, rested by a corner of the metal barrier that glowed from the cleaver's resonance. Under different circumstances, he would've charged the teams head on and crushed their skulls under his claws. He had no fear of arrows and black powder. He had face them both before in skirmishes with the upstart Men-spawn that preyed upon the temple-cities. They were theives of amulets and talismans that contained power to combat the Dark Gods, but mistook their intricacies for little more than quaint ornaments. And they had quaked in terror when they realised how poor their weapons were against the natural armour of a Saurus' hide when such artefacts were recovered. But these Skaven rifles were not ordinary, powered by pure evil that had to be exorcised.
The Red Saurus reared his maw in Hans' direction. The Human took no note, his attention still captivated by the whisle, flashing a rainbow of colours that contained deep, wretched hues of green and amethyst. But Mokte held no care for the sparkling display. A thought had crossed his mind.
"Can Nahwa's conduit bolster our weapons, as it had done with the magic winds?" Mokte thought aloud.
--
The timely interference of the Lizardmen made Zeigfied smile with an almost disturbing glee. He knew this was no coincedence, regardless as to how the Skaven clans had been played against eachother. The die had been cast the moment these Ratfolk had drawn first blood. They had thinned out their own numbers for the scaled beasts. Zeigfied stood alone by the drawbridge, almost in complete bliss as he watched the forces of both clans quickly overrun by Saurus raiders and their tamed monstrosity. All he could do was observe the carnage, for the bloodthirsty stormvermin had revealed their true colours and fled for safety in the citadel, and the crazed retinue of the plague were now but granules of dust breathed into the maw of his blade. The purple hue across the metal tongue had become far more noticable, and Zeigfied could feel the presence of Shyish ripple upon his palms. His warm up had been cut short; facing the troglodon would be a waste of precious time. The Ark was coming alive now, he could feel it. All he had to do was saunter back into the core and feed that insolent warlock's soul to his blade.
Jujue had been cast onto dirt, his slaves cut down from beneath his palanquin and send the platform crashing into the dirt. The mobile bell had fared far worse, now crashed into rubble with the pulley slave hidden among the splinters of wood, most likely dead. The troglodon loomed over his form, though more attentive to the traitorous herd of fleeing stormvermin rather than Jujue himself. He could not feel the pain of his fall, but he knew that he was immobilised. His left paw had snapped backwards like a bent spoon, and with his stubby feet, he would not be able to crawl for safety.
The revelation sent a shockwave of fury within the Plaguelord's psyche. He'd come to terms with his fate, terror had suddenly felt alien to him, but he had lost the Ark to a hated rival and his strange thrall. He would die here, and his failure would be known as a cautionary tale to all who served Nurglitch. Jujue could not abide this without a lost show of defiance. Eldritch power still burned within his veins, the winds of magic had been cast in his favour when the bell had rung. That residual energy still stirred within. He could see the distant Ark even with his blurred vision, it's inert form tormented him. If he were going to die, Skreptch would follow him to the Horned One, alongside his prize.
With a belch from his struggled breaths, Jujue held out his paw. A huge torrent of dripping magic ignited from his hand. A few silent hymms quivered from his rotting throat as a broad torpedo of evil magic manifested, aimed toward the Ark.
"N-none take-have it, if I cannot..." Rasped the crippled Plaguelord, dropping his free arm the dirt as the last wisps of life faded from his gargling maw. He had put his lifeforce into the projectile, a final spit of defiance against Skryre.
As Celedron tried to concentrate and weave his counter spell into the warpstone infused seal of foul Skaven sorcery he struggled to get a good grip with the sizzling warpstone bullets passing his head. Trying to focus his mind on the Shyish winds that flowed through the area for whatever reason he couldn't find. Though he couldn't complain as it gave him the power he needed to make progress. Though if he couldn't concentrate on this specific task he would be unable to pick the magical lock. Unbeknownst to him however the whistle that controlled Hans began to glow it's eerie aura. As if responding to the questions raised by Mokte what magic could be spared from Hans was sapped out and like serpents of magical aura slithered across the ground.
Fal gritted his teeth and spat fierce insults in a mockery of queekish. As he snapped in anger his blade began to call to him. The winds of Shyish seeped into the blade to awaken the mighty spirit within. As if it channeled the winds like a conduit the blade began to cry out in Fal's mind. He winced and closed his eyes. The blades voice like that of a piercing cry that he barely shook off.
"You want to be fed?" He whispers to himself. "Little hard now." He glances to the side as a bullet shatters past him. As he looks over he notices the ethereal streams coming from Celedron's pocket. "Any luck?" He asks the Elf. Celedron swings his head back with a look of pure frustration.
"I need those vermin to stop shooting or I'll never open it!" He snaps as he keeps needing to reforge his spell. Fal grasped the handle of his blade and grits his teeth.
"You better work." He says to the blade as he draws it. The ethereal strands begin moving. Three of them in total. Two leap onto the blade and as if pulled by the blade's will Fal draws it back and with the elegance of a dancer pirouettes into the hallway and thrusts his blade forward.
Moving as if possessed and unthinking he acted. His body moving without his mind to control it like pure instinct. Through some means beyond his own their was a few seconds between shots giving Fal the chance. His blade let out a victorious shriek into his mind and for the faintest, split second Fal swore he could see something strange. It appeared for a fraction of a second. The head of a skeletal bat made out of pure purple magic. Faint as the lightest fog it seemed to almost look at him and bursting from the tip of the blade a gust of purple wind shot out. Bursting down the hallway a chill would run down Anglermaw and Mokte's bodies but the Skaven gunners would have a different response. As the breeze past them their bodies ran deathly cold and muscles began to age and rot. Rigor mortis kicked in instantly and the gunners in the blink of an eye dropped dead with wounds that seemed like they aged a dozen years in a second. Fal shivered as he held his blade. His hands numb with chill as he looked down to it. The magical hue fading as he stood in pure surprise.
The final serpent of magic leaped at Celedron when the blade acted. Imbuing into his hands the Skaven warpstone sizzled and cracked. Seeming to melt into the metal as the door cracked. Metal bent and melted before the door blew inwards as rapidly cooling molten metal. Steam shot off it as the warpstone magic imbued dispersed and faded away. Celedron felt a surge of power as this occurred and looked to his hands and Fal in surprise. The two Elves didn't see what the other did but shortly realized something odd occurred but neither complained. The whistle faded and went back to it's dim glow.
Outside the panicked Skaven gunners that could flee retreated into the Ark. Though the speed of the approaching Cold Ones quickly caught the last. Biting into his arm and tearing it from it's socket. Shouting in terror the Engineer turned to run inside the Ark. The Saurus on his mount that ripped into a gunner faced the fleeing Engineer. Raising his spear he tosses it. The blade catches the Skaven in the neck and the fleeing commander goes limp as he hits the ground with a thud. His body laying just off the edge of the bridge. The Saurus and his mount run up to take the weapon back as the molten sounds of explosions from the cannons shake the area. The Cold Ones roar in defiance. The one that retrieved his spear looks over to Zeigfied. The warriors blade sticking out to him. Seeing the Saurus head on the base fills him with a rage both primal and refined. Clashing the reins the Cold One roars and he charges the Champion. Spear raised ready to act as a lance.
The Troglodon feels the tingle in the air as Jujue begins his spell. Having an odd sense for it, it roars and opens its mouth. As crackling energy erupts from Jujue and leaves his body an empty husk the Troglodon scoops him into it's jaws. Flicking around the corpse before tossing it's foul tasting flesh aside. The corpse landing to be impaled on a brazier. The torn neck and missing arm were signs of it's thrashing. His broken neck led his head to falling into the warpstone fire and his body erupting into green flames. Now a cruel effigy of coincidence that would break the remaining Pestelens forces. The broken neck burnt away and his head falling into the flames to spark them up. The display or pure brutality a deserved fate for the cruel Lord of Pestelens if it actually succeeded. Roaring in victory the Troglodon was disoriented by the foul tastes, smells and sounds around it. After removing the focus of Jujue it seemed oddly aimless as it looked for more sound for another target. Eventually honing in on the gate to the Ark and charging it. Not noticing Zeigfied in the way.
As the Cold Ones slaughtered the Skaven that fled Qua-zital rallied his forces to himself. Calling the six that were with him he looked over to see the Chaos Champion. His Saurus blade filling him with more fury than he'd felt even against the Skaven for their existence. But this man was something else. Skaven, Chaos and a defiler of his kind. retribution was needed. His Cold One roared and the others began to form up. As the bolt of Pestelant magic shot from Jujue and the Troglodon finished him they prepared to attack the Champion and enter the Ark. Seeing the other Knight behind Zeigfied charge with reckless abandon and then the Troglodon make way for the commotion he saw it best to move in now.
"Zibar qudri da daah." He cries as they charge in. Moving to make it into the gate and begin the slaughter of their foes at their main objective. Though if they could takeout the Champion there they wouldn't turn down the chance to kill one of the Great Enemy.
Fal gritted his teeth and spat fierce insults in a mockery of queekish. As he snapped in anger his blade began to call to him. The winds of Shyish seeped into the blade to awaken the mighty spirit within. As if it channeled the winds like a conduit the blade began to cry out in Fal's mind. He winced and closed his eyes. The blades voice like that of a piercing cry that he barely shook off.
"You want to be fed?" He whispers to himself. "Little hard now." He glances to the side as a bullet shatters past him. As he looks over he notices the ethereal streams coming from Celedron's pocket. "Any luck?" He asks the Elf. Celedron swings his head back with a look of pure frustration.
"I need those vermin to stop shooting or I'll never open it!" He snaps as he keeps needing to reforge his spell. Fal grasped the handle of his blade and grits his teeth.
"You better work." He says to the blade as he draws it. The ethereal strands begin moving. Three of them in total. Two leap onto the blade and as if pulled by the blade's will Fal draws it back and with the elegance of a dancer pirouettes into the hallway and thrusts his blade forward.
Moving as if possessed and unthinking he acted. His body moving without his mind to control it like pure instinct. Through some means beyond his own their was a few seconds between shots giving Fal the chance. His blade let out a victorious shriek into his mind and for the faintest, split second Fal swore he could see something strange. It appeared for a fraction of a second. The head of a skeletal bat made out of pure purple magic. Faint as the lightest fog it seemed to almost look at him and bursting from the tip of the blade a gust of purple wind shot out. Bursting down the hallway a chill would run down Anglermaw and Mokte's bodies but the Skaven gunners would have a different response. As the breeze past them their bodies ran deathly cold and muscles began to age and rot. Rigor mortis kicked in instantly and the gunners in the blink of an eye dropped dead with wounds that seemed like they aged a dozen years in a second. Fal shivered as he held his blade. His hands numb with chill as he looked down to it. The magical hue fading as he stood in pure surprise.
The final serpent of magic leaped at Celedron when the blade acted. Imbuing into his hands the Skaven warpstone sizzled and cracked. Seeming to melt into the metal as the door cracked. Metal bent and melted before the door blew inwards as rapidly cooling molten metal. Steam shot off it as the warpstone magic imbued dispersed and faded away. Celedron felt a surge of power as this occurred and looked to his hands and Fal in surprise. The two Elves didn't see what the other did but shortly realized something odd occurred but neither complained. The whistle faded and went back to it's dim glow.
Outside the panicked Skaven gunners that could flee retreated into the Ark. Though the speed of the approaching Cold Ones quickly caught the last. Biting into his arm and tearing it from it's socket. Shouting in terror the Engineer turned to run inside the Ark. The Saurus on his mount that ripped into a gunner faced the fleeing Engineer. Raising his spear he tosses it. The blade catches the Skaven in the neck and the fleeing commander goes limp as he hits the ground with a thud. His body laying just off the edge of the bridge. The Saurus and his mount run up to take the weapon back as the molten sounds of explosions from the cannons shake the area. The Cold Ones roar in defiance. The one that retrieved his spear looks over to Zeigfied. The warriors blade sticking out to him. Seeing the Saurus head on the base fills him with a rage both primal and refined. Clashing the reins the Cold One roars and he charges the Champion. Spear raised ready to act as a lance.
The Troglodon feels the tingle in the air as Jujue begins his spell. Having an odd sense for it, it roars and opens its mouth. As crackling energy erupts from Jujue and leaves his body an empty husk the Troglodon scoops him into it's jaws. Flicking around the corpse before tossing it's foul tasting flesh aside. The corpse landing to be impaled on a brazier. The torn neck and missing arm were signs of it's thrashing. His broken neck led his head to falling into the warpstone fire and his body erupting into green flames. Now a cruel effigy of coincidence that would break the remaining Pestelens forces. The broken neck burnt away and his head falling into the flames to spark them up. The display or pure brutality a deserved fate for the cruel Lord of Pestelens if it actually succeeded. Roaring in victory the Troglodon was disoriented by the foul tastes, smells and sounds around it. After removing the focus of Jujue it seemed oddly aimless as it looked for more sound for another target. Eventually honing in on the gate to the Ark and charging it. Not noticing Zeigfied in the way.
As the Cold Ones slaughtered the Skaven that fled Qua-zital rallied his forces to himself. Calling the six that were with him he looked over to see the Chaos Champion. His Saurus blade filling him with more fury than he'd felt even against the Skaven for their existence. But this man was something else. Skaven, Chaos and a defiler of his kind. retribution was needed. His Cold One roared and the others began to form up. As the bolt of Pestelant magic shot from Jujue and the Troglodon finished him they prepared to attack the Champion and enter the Ark. Seeing the other Knight behind Zeigfied charge with reckless abandon and then the Troglodon make way for the commotion he saw it best to move in now.
"Zibar qudri da daah." He cries as they charge in. Moving to make it into the gate and begin the slaughter of their foes at their main objective. Though if they could takeout the Champion there they wouldn't turn down the chance to kill one of the Great Enemy.
Mokte smiled as much as his beastly countenance would allow once the clay whistle shone it's teal glow. He nodded at the resonance, almost as if he was nodding in spirit to Lord Nahwa himself. Ethereal tendrils coursed through both enchanted blades before becoming absorbed within, and Mokte could see how Falderan's unholy weapon shone it's rich hue, whereas the obsinite pattern of his own cleaver had combusted with wreathing magical fire. The Man-Elf had already charged headlong into the jezzail squad when Mokte had the chance to brandish his cleaver. Bolstered by holy magic, the coal black complexion of obsinite had been replaced with a white hot blaze across the one-sided edge, as though it had come fresh off the Blacksmith's anvil. The edges sparked and combusted into the flame, dragon's fire blew oddly controlled over the huge weapon. He had half a mind to crush the ward into molten shreds when he'd seen how Celedron had finally dealt with the frame and smited it apart.
The whistle had dimmed, but the newfound wards of power remained over their weapons. Anglermaw pouted as he watched the display, and he felt an unearthly chill course across his fur like a hand had stroked the prickly ends of his back. He felt utterly useless; these magical boosts made no difference to him, for he had neither a magical weapon nor any aptitude with sorcery. At least he still had his knowledge of the Ark's layout, that kept him alive. When the flurry of shots had subsided, Anglermaw finally felt the courage to poke his beak around the corridor. The bodies of the dead shooters were obscured by a lavender fog that churned across Falderan's figure. He took a breath that was wrought with trepidation, and had half a mind to retrieve one of the rifles for himself, but dread for whatever was inside Falderan's blade made him refrain. He would instead give his neck a crack and turn his head toward Celedron and the newly made opening. In front of it was a large, bannistered staircase. The way down was pitch black, like a monster's open jawframe. Once again courtesy of the Warlocks, Anglermaw thought; Skryre really didn't want any mere Rat down here.
"That way heads straight down to the core." Anglermaw said in Celedron's direction, gesturing toward the staircase with his hairless claw. "Ah don't think they'll be any more dead ends. The balcony will give a full view 'o the warpstone heart. That's what's keeping Urechin intact."
Mokte was becoming increasingly impulsive, he was the first to enter through the newly made crevise.
"No doubt this 'Champion of Chaos' will be down there to prevent it's destruction." Mokte said as he slunk his intimidating form through the opening. The flaming tongue clasped in both claws gave some illumination, but the metal cavern seemed bottomless.
The notion of Zeigfied made Anglermaw gulp. "Well..." He paused, eyeing the Loremaster. "...He's been stopped before, an't 'e?" He said nothing more after this, and he felt a cold sweat trickle down his new hand.
But Mokte did not share in Anglermaw's fear, perhaps because of what he was. Fear was not something the Saurus understood, let alone felt.
"If he wants to fight let him come. Let him come and be exorcised. Again."
Anglermaw sighed. He cringed to the sound of light footsteps upon the steelwork. Luckily it was just Hans, his blank expression seemed as though he was patiently observing, waiting for Celedron to make a decision. But Anglermaw knew the Man-thing's mind was totally void of thought, which made him sick to his stomach.
Zeigfied scratched a bit of purple crust from his armoured chestplate, little more than a fragment of now dead Skaven consumed within his engorged blade. The unfolding of carnage, the ecstasy of terror and panic was a fine display and the Chosen hoped that Gods were watching, slaking their thirsts for primal, unrestrained emotions. Of a fountain of flowing blood and the heads of many unknowing sacrifices. And the souls of those he'd dare to challenge him hurled into the abyss as playthings for the Daemons. His salivating blade moaned loudly, it's serrated teeth snapping at the glowing metal. Zeigfied could not tell if it hungered, or whether the blade had become too engorged. He did not care to observe the ongoing slaughter, for it held no consequence to him. Only the activation of the Ark was necessary and it's deliverance to Chaos. These rats - regardless of the colour their fetid drapes were stained by - would not see the dreadnaught in their hands for much longer.
His jeweled eyes caught the moving image of a snarling Lizardman atop his equally bestial steed. The creature was charging toward the drawbridge, lance couched. Zeigfied would stand firm however, positioning himself in a still battle stance with the Shyish claymore hovering over his head. The Cold One rider got in closer, but Zeigfied did not stir from his stance. Just as the rider was about to plunge the Chosen upon his obsinite lance, Zeigfied swerved out of the way, taking the Cold One's head clean off with one fell swoop. The Saurus rider crashed into the steel frame, but a second swing from the Chosen tore through his scaled crest and into his primal brain. Both beasts quickly eroded in death, their residue devoured the snarling parody of their race. Zeigfied did not feel any triumph, unlike many of his brethren, he was not entirely a gloryseeker. He saw the arrival of the Lizardmen as a distraction, more time for Skreptch to active the Ark and control in the name of Skryre. He had to head back in and put a stop to that. He saw more riders chase him down, visibly enraged by the sacriligous display. How their spawn brother had been eaten by the sword. Zeigfied refused to entertain them, but it appeared Pestilens had other plans, as the defiant missile heralded by a now dead Jujue boomed into the broadside of the Ark, erupting in a bright cluster of smashed metal and sprawling tentacles of green flame. The inert dreadnaught swung violently, bringing the still bay to life as water began to bubble within. The drawbridge tore clean off from the Ark, leaving the breached gateway unable to assail. As Zeigfied took cover from the large shrapnel hurled by the explosion, he realised that his only way back inside was now gone.
The Chosen cursed in his native tongue, surrounded by scattered flames that churned around him and the dead. It became very clear to him that he would be cursed to face the charging Lizard-beasts alone. With both clans of Skaven routed, he hadn't much of a choice.
The whistle had dimmed, but the newfound wards of power remained over their weapons. Anglermaw pouted as he watched the display, and he felt an unearthly chill course across his fur like a hand had stroked the prickly ends of his back. He felt utterly useless; these magical boosts made no difference to him, for he had neither a magical weapon nor any aptitude with sorcery. At least he still had his knowledge of the Ark's layout, that kept him alive. When the flurry of shots had subsided, Anglermaw finally felt the courage to poke his beak around the corridor. The bodies of the dead shooters were obscured by a lavender fog that churned across Falderan's figure. He took a breath that was wrought with trepidation, and had half a mind to retrieve one of the rifles for himself, but dread for whatever was inside Falderan's blade made him refrain. He would instead give his neck a crack and turn his head toward Celedron and the newly made opening. In front of it was a large, bannistered staircase. The way down was pitch black, like a monster's open jawframe. Once again courtesy of the Warlocks, Anglermaw thought; Skryre really didn't want any mere Rat down here.
"That way heads straight down to the core." Anglermaw said in Celedron's direction, gesturing toward the staircase with his hairless claw. "Ah don't think they'll be any more dead ends. The balcony will give a full view 'o the warpstone heart. That's what's keeping Urechin intact."
Mokte was becoming increasingly impulsive, he was the first to enter through the newly made crevise.
"No doubt this 'Champion of Chaos' will be down there to prevent it's destruction." Mokte said as he slunk his intimidating form through the opening. The flaming tongue clasped in both claws gave some illumination, but the metal cavern seemed bottomless.
The notion of Zeigfied made Anglermaw gulp. "Well..." He paused, eyeing the Loremaster. "...He's been stopped before, an't 'e?" He said nothing more after this, and he felt a cold sweat trickle down his new hand.
But Mokte did not share in Anglermaw's fear, perhaps because of what he was. Fear was not something the Saurus understood, let alone felt.
"If he wants to fight let him come. Let him come and be exorcised. Again."
Anglermaw sighed. He cringed to the sound of light footsteps upon the steelwork. Luckily it was just Hans, his blank expression seemed as though he was patiently observing, waiting for Celedron to make a decision. But Anglermaw knew the Man-thing's mind was totally void of thought, which made him sick to his stomach.
Zeigfied scratched a bit of purple crust from his armoured chestplate, little more than a fragment of now dead Skaven consumed within his engorged blade. The unfolding of carnage, the ecstasy of terror and panic was a fine display and the Chosen hoped that Gods were watching, slaking their thirsts for primal, unrestrained emotions. Of a fountain of flowing blood and the heads of many unknowing sacrifices. And the souls of those he'd dare to challenge him hurled into the abyss as playthings for the Daemons. His salivating blade moaned loudly, it's serrated teeth snapping at the glowing metal. Zeigfied could not tell if it hungered, or whether the blade had become too engorged. He did not care to observe the ongoing slaughter, for it held no consequence to him. Only the activation of the Ark was necessary and it's deliverance to Chaos. These rats - regardless of the colour their fetid drapes were stained by - would not see the dreadnaught in their hands for much longer.
His jeweled eyes caught the moving image of a snarling Lizardman atop his equally bestial steed. The creature was charging toward the drawbridge, lance couched. Zeigfied would stand firm however, positioning himself in a still battle stance with the Shyish claymore hovering over his head. The Cold One rider got in closer, but Zeigfied did not stir from his stance. Just as the rider was about to plunge the Chosen upon his obsinite lance, Zeigfied swerved out of the way, taking the Cold One's head clean off with one fell swoop. The Saurus rider crashed into the steel frame, but a second swing from the Chosen tore through his scaled crest and into his primal brain. Both beasts quickly eroded in death, their residue devoured the snarling parody of their race. Zeigfied did not feel any triumph, unlike many of his brethren, he was not entirely a gloryseeker. He saw the arrival of the Lizardmen as a distraction, more time for Skreptch to active the Ark and control in the name of Skryre. He had to head back in and put a stop to that. He saw more riders chase him down, visibly enraged by the sacriligous display. How their spawn brother had been eaten by the sword. Zeigfied refused to entertain them, but it appeared Pestilens had other plans, as the defiant missile heralded by a now dead Jujue boomed into the broadside of the Ark, erupting in a bright cluster of smashed metal and sprawling tentacles of green flame. The inert dreadnaught swung violently, bringing the still bay to life as water began to bubble within. The drawbridge tore clean off from the Ark, leaving the breached gateway unable to assail. As Zeigfied took cover from the large shrapnel hurled by the explosion, he realised that his only way back inside was now gone.
The Chosen cursed in his native tongue, surrounded by scattered flames that churned around him and the dead. It became very clear to him that he would be cursed to face the charging Lizard-beasts alone. With both clans of Skaven routed, he hadn't much of a choice.
The staircase that seemed to enter to the bleakest depths of the world left Celedron agasp. He knew of the chasms the Dwarves called home with tunnels that seemed to enter to the very core of the world in pitch darkness. He had seen and read detailed accounts of Druchii Black Arks with their impossibly large size and fortress towers that would make someone dizzy looking up or down. But this Ark was something else. It combined the impossible, structural size of the Druchii Black Ark with the fearful unknown of the deepest tunnels like where the Skaven lived. The darkness and sounds of crackling electricity only made it more ominous.
Fal peered down and had a similar sense of dread. Strangely it reminded him of the Dwarven holds he had heard about too. But the Black Arks of the Druchii were never seen in his mind. The oily darkness below was given the faintest light by the sparking of eldritch power from warpstone constructions below. Flickering like ungodly flames.
"Follow the leader." He says as Mokte starts barreling down the stairway. As they move down the spiral staircase there's a resounding bang followed by the Ark noticeably moving. A swift rocking that nearly threw Fal and Celedron down the hole to an uneventful death considering all they survived. Grasping the most basic of rails the two held on and Fal yelled out once the shaking had calmed down. "Everyone ok?" He asks getting a reply from Celedron first.
"Barely, what in Asuryan's name was that?"
"No idea but I doubt it's good." Fal adds as he awaits a response from the others as he slowly continues down.
Unaware of the events outside Skreptch was lost in his work. Channeling magic with what Engineers remained to bind the Ark's power and awaken it. Twisting the winds of magic to a foul smog and combining it with unholy tech to reawaken the mighty vessel.
'"Yes yes!" He cries with a wide mouthed grin. Every second that past was another spark of power from the Ark. The several vibrating generators around the room crackled with power and the bell for the core continued to have a steady glow. Runes across it ignited with growing brightness and frequency. "My great work is nearly ready yes-yes!" His arms were outstretched and staph firmly planted. The crackling energy running off it in the vast chamber. Though his time of ecstatic glory wold quickly fade as the Ark was suddenly rocked by a fierce explosion. Skreptch was knocked onto his side with a thud as Engineers were sent flying. His desk thrown around across the floor. Recovering from the daze he looks up. "What was that? What're they doing to my Ark?" He says with a foaming snarl. As Engineers pull themselves up Skreptch spits in their direction. "Keep working! My glory and rewards must be mine. The Ark will be mine!" He shouts with an ever more feral look in his eye. Skreptch was so close and no rat, lizard or Elf would stop him from achieving his goal. All the while unaware of those nearly at his door.
Qua-zital pulled up his Cold One as the mighty, magical blast shot past. Several less than lucky individuals from the second group, three in total were on the bridge and entering the Ark as the blast hit. The explosion shook the dock and sent the Ark rocking to the side. Massive waves shot up and hit everyone with foul smelling water from Skaven excrement and dirt. The explosion killed anything near the drawbridge and the mass amount of shrapnel and debree flew out killing the remaining Knights from the secondary group. A Saurus was bisected while his mount was cut apart by smoldering metal. One Knight from his own group was stopped as a shard cut his Cold One's tendon and the beast fell to the side and crashed onto the deck. The Saurus was little more lucky. Several shards tore up his face and his chest had a great jagged bit of metal stabbing down into it. Stabbing out above his tail. With one last convulsion of blood he died under his twitching mount. With this merely six Knights including Qua-zital remained. With their access to the Ark cut off they turned to the also cut off Champion. Fury for the great enemy burning fiercely inside them they circle him at a distance as the angered Troglodon approaches.
Due to being in the middle directly behind where the blast hit the Troglodon avoided most debree apart from a few small, for it's size, cuts and bruises. Thrown around by the explosion the beast seemed disorientated for a minute. Swinging it's head and snarling as it moved almost drunkenly. Once the debree and explosion quietened it sniffed and noticed the unearthly smell of Chaos. Growling and letting out a roar it pulls its head back and fires a thick shot of corrosive saliva at Zeigfied hoping to hit him and better locate the foes for the next attack.
Fal peered down and had a similar sense of dread. Strangely it reminded him of the Dwarven holds he had heard about too. But the Black Arks of the Druchii were never seen in his mind. The oily darkness below was given the faintest light by the sparking of eldritch power from warpstone constructions below. Flickering like ungodly flames.
"Follow the leader." He says as Mokte starts barreling down the stairway. As they move down the spiral staircase there's a resounding bang followed by the Ark noticeably moving. A swift rocking that nearly threw Fal and Celedron down the hole to an uneventful death considering all they survived. Grasping the most basic of rails the two held on and Fal yelled out once the shaking had calmed down. "Everyone ok?" He asks getting a reply from Celedron first.
"Barely, what in Asuryan's name was that?"
"No idea but I doubt it's good." Fal adds as he awaits a response from the others as he slowly continues down.
Unaware of the events outside Skreptch was lost in his work. Channeling magic with what Engineers remained to bind the Ark's power and awaken it. Twisting the winds of magic to a foul smog and combining it with unholy tech to reawaken the mighty vessel.
'"Yes yes!" He cries with a wide mouthed grin. Every second that past was another spark of power from the Ark. The several vibrating generators around the room crackled with power and the bell for the core continued to have a steady glow. Runes across it ignited with growing brightness and frequency. "My great work is nearly ready yes-yes!" His arms were outstretched and staph firmly planted. The crackling energy running off it in the vast chamber. Though his time of ecstatic glory wold quickly fade as the Ark was suddenly rocked by a fierce explosion. Skreptch was knocked onto his side with a thud as Engineers were sent flying. His desk thrown around across the floor. Recovering from the daze he looks up. "What was that? What're they doing to my Ark?" He says with a foaming snarl. As Engineers pull themselves up Skreptch spits in their direction. "Keep working! My glory and rewards must be mine. The Ark will be mine!" He shouts with an ever more feral look in his eye. Skreptch was so close and no rat, lizard or Elf would stop him from achieving his goal. All the while unaware of those nearly at his door.
Qua-zital pulled up his Cold One as the mighty, magical blast shot past. Several less than lucky individuals from the second group, three in total were on the bridge and entering the Ark as the blast hit. The explosion shook the dock and sent the Ark rocking to the side. Massive waves shot up and hit everyone with foul smelling water from Skaven excrement and dirt. The explosion killed anything near the drawbridge and the mass amount of shrapnel and debree flew out killing the remaining Knights from the secondary group. A Saurus was bisected while his mount was cut apart by smoldering metal. One Knight from his own group was stopped as a shard cut his Cold One's tendon and the beast fell to the side and crashed onto the deck. The Saurus was little more lucky. Several shards tore up his face and his chest had a great jagged bit of metal stabbing down into it. Stabbing out above his tail. With one last convulsion of blood he died under his twitching mount. With this merely six Knights including Qua-zital remained. With their access to the Ark cut off they turned to the also cut off Champion. Fury for the great enemy burning fiercely inside them they circle him at a distance as the angered Troglodon approaches.
Due to being in the middle directly behind where the blast hit the Troglodon avoided most debree apart from a few small, for it's size, cuts and bruises. Thrown around by the explosion the beast seemed disorientated for a minute. Swinging it's head and snarling as it moved almost drunkenly. Once the debree and explosion quietened it sniffed and noticed the unearthly smell of Chaos. Growling and letting out a roar it pulls its head back and fires a thick shot of corrosive saliva at Zeigfied hoping to hit him and better locate the foes for the next attack.
Anglermaw had flung to the side of the staircase, overcome with a sense of vertigo once the Ark had teetered back onto it's side. His claws clung on the fine grating, and he could feel a vibration revertebrate over the staircase like a rumbling, famished stomach of metal. He shook his head in denial of the whir, but a current of green lapping across the wiring of the ceiling confirmed the Sea-Rat's greatest fear. The Ark had awoke.
"We don't have much time..." The Sea-Rat said with a gulp, his tone filled with indignation, and the usual Skaven nattering and chattering was lost upon him, his mind filled with lucid dread.
"...I know what's happening. Whatever had done that bang, it's jump started the Ark." The walls began to lap with coils of electricity. Anglermaw felt the rays wreathe over his body. They were strangely benign, but that did not matter. It was what they heralded that made his fast-beating heart sink.
"Then we must get down there and smash that core to pieces!" Snarled Mokte, with a hand clung firm onto the right bannister as he reeled from the explosion. His pace down the staircase had increased, the burning cleaver marking his way forward. He had become filled with fervour, ready to tear away at this cancer within the Ark and send the dreadnaught crashing into the deeps. Nahwa was with him, that was all that mattered. The Slann, and possibly Supa-Keti, were the only figures worth venerating. The Old Ones had ostracized him for what he was, because he was not pure or marked for greatness like his kin. And if could not offer his life in the name of the most merciful Slann, then how could he call himself a Saurus?
For all his fury, no enemy held him back, no foe distracted the group from their goal. Now there was nothing but the core. The reactivated heart that quickly began to power the once inert Ark. The sounds of industry became louder, like the inside of an Imperial Engineers factory. Another current of jade streamed across the tunnel, each time faster than the last. Each time accompanied by a stronger current of lightning coils that made the hairs upon Anglermaw's neck comically rise.
Hans had followed the Elves at the back across the wide staircase. As the group finally reached the arch of the top mezzanine, Anglermaw heard a thud upon the metal staircase. He reared his head in instinct, fearing more straggler vermin. There was nothing but a fallen body. Hans had collapsed, and he was not getting back up. The Student's face was battered from the fall, and an oozing current of blood begun to pool over the stair from which he had impacted. Anglermaw felt sick. He gave a glance back up the staircase, aided by his Skaven vision.
Nothing.
"Oh for Sigmar-Rat's sake, damn it!" The Sea-Rat lashed out. He went over to Hans. The Student begun to heave, hyperventilating. His eyes were barely open, and they had lost their glow. His pupils followed Anglermaw's gaze, and his body was jittering as though he was terrified, and he gripped onto Anglermaw's collar tightly. Then he reared his head in the direction of the Elves with a nervous swallow. The clay whistle that had bound his will to Nahwa bore no glow. Their link to winds of magic had been shut off.
"D-don't go down there." Mumbled the quivering Hans. "Something H-horrible. Oh Sigmar! S-something entered my mind!" The Student coughed, blood cascaded down his mask of crimson.
It was enough to make Mokte pause, his impulse held back. He turned his head toward the group, witnessing the Skaven tend to their Man-spawn companion. "What is wrong with the conduit?" Mokte inquired curtly. The whir becoming louder as they tarried.
--
Zeigfied scowled, his back to the torn drawbridge. At front, a circle of taunting Saurus riders, Their lances couched in his direction, but they did not race forward to skewer him. To end up as yet another soul condemned to the Realm of Chaos. Instead, they were content to hold their ground and curse him in their strange language. Zeigfied was well travelled for a Kurgan. He had communed with the many tribes of Chaos in their territory. The Norscans, Hung, Khazags and many others now lost to time. He spoke the Imperial tongue with no accent, and knew various insults in Khazalid and Eltharin to enrage the races of Dwarf and Elf. Although he could not understand the grunts these creatures uttered, he knew they were insults. He held his blade horizontally firm, looming over his Rodent head. If any of these riders dare charge, he would send them to the pits of eternal agony, as he had done with their peers.
A large, spiny beast loomed over the riders, swinging it's snapping jaws from side to side. The grunting lizards had parted for it, studying the creature as it passed. Zeigfied tensed himself, a part of him knew of the inevitibility that awaited. The Ark cackled with eldritch lightning behind, darkening the tall cavern with an aura of jade. His prize was awakening, and he could not claim it until this strange denizen of the jungles had been despatched. It spat at him but he did not flinch within the foamy bile. He did not back away as it had caught his scent.
The creature's mouth lunged at him, like the strike of a python. He caught his purple blade within it's closed jaws. Zeigfied tried to wrench the claymore from it's toothy grip, but the creature would not give up. And as the Troglodon tried to swing the Chosen warrior from his blade and into the dirt, Zeigfied stood firm upon the ground. Any mortal man, or even a lesser Champion would have likely been swung metres from the circle with a crash.
But Zeigfied was blessed by the Dark Pantheon. Or cursed in his own vision.
The Saurus creatures roared for the Chosen's parted limbs, they wanted fresh blood. They wanted the troglodon to quarter Zeigfied to pieces. It released it's grip upon the claymore and snapped for his face. He backed away and gave a hard swing of the blade, the aura of Shyish screamed with the swing. But the Troglodon's head skillfully coiled against the counterattack.
A moment of tension passed. It was as if the monster could sense the evil within the Sword, what it would become if only a mere cut penetrated it's scales.
"We don't have much time..." The Sea-Rat said with a gulp, his tone filled with indignation, and the usual Skaven nattering and chattering was lost upon him, his mind filled with lucid dread.
"...I know what's happening. Whatever had done that bang, it's jump started the Ark." The walls began to lap with coils of electricity. Anglermaw felt the rays wreathe over his body. They were strangely benign, but that did not matter. It was what they heralded that made his fast-beating heart sink.
"Then we must get down there and smash that core to pieces!" Snarled Mokte, with a hand clung firm onto the right bannister as he reeled from the explosion. His pace down the staircase had increased, the burning cleaver marking his way forward. He had become filled with fervour, ready to tear away at this cancer within the Ark and send the dreadnaught crashing into the deeps. Nahwa was with him, that was all that mattered. The Slann, and possibly Supa-Keti, were the only figures worth venerating. The Old Ones had ostracized him for what he was, because he was not pure or marked for greatness like his kin. And if could not offer his life in the name of the most merciful Slann, then how could he call himself a Saurus?
For all his fury, no enemy held him back, no foe distracted the group from their goal. Now there was nothing but the core. The reactivated heart that quickly began to power the once inert Ark. The sounds of industry became louder, like the inside of an Imperial Engineers factory. Another current of jade streamed across the tunnel, each time faster than the last. Each time accompanied by a stronger current of lightning coils that made the hairs upon Anglermaw's neck comically rise.
Hans had followed the Elves at the back across the wide staircase. As the group finally reached the arch of the top mezzanine, Anglermaw heard a thud upon the metal staircase. He reared his head in instinct, fearing more straggler vermin. There was nothing but a fallen body. Hans had collapsed, and he was not getting back up. The Student's face was battered from the fall, and an oozing current of blood begun to pool over the stair from which he had impacted. Anglermaw felt sick. He gave a glance back up the staircase, aided by his Skaven vision.
Nothing.
"Oh for Sigmar-Rat's sake, damn it!" The Sea-Rat lashed out. He went over to Hans. The Student begun to heave, hyperventilating. His eyes were barely open, and they had lost their glow. His pupils followed Anglermaw's gaze, and his body was jittering as though he was terrified, and he gripped onto Anglermaw's collar tightly. Then he reared his head in the direction of the Elves with a nervous swallow. The clay whistle that had bound his will to Nahwa bore no glow. Their link to winds of magic had been shut off.
"D-don't go down there." Mumbled the quivering Hans. "Something H-horrible. Oh Sigmar! S-something entered my mind!" The Student coughed, blood cascaded down his mask of crimson.
It was enough to make Mokte pause, his impulse held back. He turned his head toward the group, witnessing the Skaven tend to their Man-spawn companion. "What is wrong with the conduit?" Mokte inquired curtly. The whir becoming louder as they tarried.
--
Zeigfied scowled, his back to the torn drawbridge. At front, a circle of taunting Saurus riders, Their lances couched in his direction, but they did not race forward to skewer him. To end up as yet another soul condemned to the Realm of Chaos. Instead, they were content to hold their ground and curse him in their strange language. Zeigfied was well travelled for a Kurgan. He had communed with the many tribes of Chaos in their territory. The Norscans, Hung, Khazags and many others now lost to time. He spoke the Imperial tongue with no accent, and knew various insults in Khazalid and Eltharin to enrage the races of Dwarf and Elf. Although he could not understand the grunts these creatures uttered, he knew they were insults. He held his blade horizontally firm, looming over his Rodent head. If any of these riders dare charge, he would send them to the pits of eternal agony, as he had done with their peers.
A large, spiny beast loomed over the riders, swinging it's snapping jaws from side to side. The grunting lizards had parted for it, studying the creature as it passed. Zeigfied tensed himself, a part of him knew of the inevitibility that awaited. The Ark cackled with eldritch lightning behind, darkening the tall cavern with an aura of jade. His prize was awakening, and he could not claim it until this strange denizen of the jungles had been despatched. It spat at him but he did not flinch within the foamy bile. He did not back away as it had caught his scent.
The creature's mouth lunged at him, like the strike of a python. He caught his purple blade within it's closed jaws. Zeigfied tried to wrench the claymore from it's toothy grip, but the creature would not give up. And as the Troglodon tried to swing the Chosen warrior from his blade and into the dirt, Zeigfied stood firm upon the ground. Any mortal man, or even a lesser Champion would have likely been swung metres from the circle with a crash.
But Zeigfied was blessed by the Dark Pantheon. Or cursed in his own vision.
The Saurus creatures roared for the Chosen's parted limbs, they wanted fresh blood. They wanted the troglodon to quarter Zeigfied to pieces. It released it's grip upon the claymore and snapped for his face. He backed away and gave a hard swing of the blade, the aura of Shyish screamed with the swing. But the Troglodon's head skillfully coiled against the counterattack.
A moment of tension passed. It was as if the monster could sense the evil within the Sword, what it would become if only a mere cut penetrated it's scales.
Making their way further down the depths the two Elves were met with the metallic thump as a form fell beside them. Pausing to look at the dark form that was illuminated by the vibrant hum of warp energy and the skittering sounds of Anglermaw's clawed paws approaching. When he heard the voice Fal realized it was Hans. His eyes widen as he approaches the panicked and bloodied youth. His mind restored and eye no longer powered by magic. And he was alive. As the boy spoke warning behind his bloodied mask the Elves looked to one another and then down to chamber at the heart located down a short hallway.
"What is it boy?" Celedron asks as he pulls up the flute. Analyzing it he see's it's dead. Little more then a glorified ceramic with etchings of the Lizardmen culture. "It seems the boy is freed from his bindings. What could that mean for us?" Celedron ponders this as Fal for the first time in a while has a relived look. Tearing off a part of Hans's still mostly intact cloak he wraps the bandage around the boys head to try and stop the bleeding. He gives him a look over to see his situation. Hoping this fall and restored freedom isn't the end for him.
The Troglodon curved it's serpentine neck and hissed. The putrid smell of acidic fumes came off Zeigfied. The sizzling of metal and crackling of dark magic gave him a foul odor that would repel even flies. Keeping a distance from the blade it could sense danger from the albino beast with it's twin tails moved back and stalked around it's prey. Meanwhile two of the flanking Saurus nodded to one another. Seeing the Troglodon's caution they clicked the reigns on their steeds and they rushed in. Coming in from behind the Champion they would aim for each shoulder in an attempt to pierce him while he held off the beast. Their speed was blinding as the Cold Ones broke into a sprint in seconds and spears were lowered.
"What is it boy?" Celedron asks as he pulls up the flute. Analyzing it he see's it's dead. Little more then a glorified ceramic with etchings of the Lizardmen culture. "It seems the boy is freed from his bindings. What could that mean for us?" Celedron ponders this as Fal for the first time in a while has a relived look. Tearing off a part of Hans's still mostly intact cloak he wraps the bandage around the boys head to try and stop the bleeding. He gives him a look over to see his situation. Hoping this fall and restored freedom isn't the end for him.
The Troglodon curved it's serpentine neck and hissed. The putrid smell of acidic fumes came off Zeigfied. The sizzling of metal and crackling of dark magic gave him a foul odor that would repel even flies. Keeping a distance from the blade it could sense danger from the albino beast with it's twin tails moved back and stalked around it's prey. Meanwhile two of the flanking Saurus nodded to one another. Seeing the Troglodon's caution they clicked the reigns on their steeds and they rushed in. Coming in from behind the Champion they would aim for each shoulder in an attempt to pierce him while he held off the beast. Their speed was blinding as the Cold Ones broke into a sprint in seconds and spears were lowered.
Mokte stalked back up the staircase, overhearing the words of Celedron. He heeded them with dread, taking note as the last embers surrounding the whistle dissipated. This was not meant to be, and the bitter truth gripped him that Nahwa was no longer watching them from Tzlipectl. A sense of emergency gripped at his once stoic heart while the core thundered again with a gong-like resonance, the sound washed over once again by an electrical current flowing through the staircase. Mokte could not bear the anticipation. Any error now and they would not be saved by Nahwa, it mattered not to him how the link had been severed -- only that it had.
As soon as Falderan had finished wrapping the makeshift bandages across Hans' bloodied face, Mokte thrust his trunk-like arm down toward the Student's level, clawing at the linen shirt for grip with his free hand. A dumbstruck Hans was across Mokte's shoulder within a second, his meek body bore hardly any weight when compared to the Saurus. A still pool of blood splattered across the platform from which Hans' face had collided. He did not challenge Mokte's grip, but he breathed in and out alarmingly, as if he had only just emerged from a panicked swim with death. The Saurus did not justify himself with words, he raced down to the mezzanine. Time was against them.
Anglermaw felt it himself, his own fast pumping blood curdling within his veins as there was no longer anything to stop the Ark from activating. The ongoing whir of the possessed engines grew in tempo, and machinations of the Ark began to scream. The blackened tunnel illuminated in a glow of bright jade, sparks bringing the lamps to life. Anglermaw quickly followed Mokte down without a sentence to spare, and presumed that the Elves would follow on.
The core of the Ark was laid bare for Anglermaw's gawking eyes. From atop the rumbling mezzanine was a very visible layout of the core, as well as the deranged pretender down below, a robed, staff bearing almagation of fur and metal. A crystalline heart was centered in between two cylindrical platforms opposite from eachother, they held whatever entity was inside the jagged mound bound within it's glowing prison. The bottom platform was barely a few feet atop the ground, while the cylinder that loomed above protruded high from the ceiling, hollow like a chimney. Beneath the core was an apparatus of vibrant buttons all designated in Queekish, clearly meant to instruct the dreadnaught on it's journey without the need for a pilot. Sparking currents charged through coils laced across the walls. A few would short circuit with were preceded with a loud bang before the wires hung flaccid above the room. The interior seemed to echo a wail of agony that passed from the core and resounded into other departments. Anglermaw knew that this Human-like sound was not some machine made whir from before. It was alive and wrought with misery; the Ark was alive!
Mokte could not tarry further, his mind was racing to end this now. He raced down the light stairs that almost buckled under his weight. Hans in one hand, his cleaver in the other, barging past two startled engineers and hurling them to the ground with his girth. He did not register the presence of Skreptch as he slammed the cleaver hard into the mound of raw warpstone.
Zeigfied saw how his armour had sizzled under the foul spit of this strange creature, but he gave it no attention. Perhaps the dull steel of the Empire would concede to the corrosive liquid, Zeigfied's armour was annointed by dark runes however. It had taken powerful magic to penetrate. His living blade dripped a foul spittle of it's own make, evaporating within the terrible haze of Shyish. He noted how the beast stalked him, observing his shifting stance cunningly and waiting for the slightest mistake on part of the Chosen. Zeigfied scowled, squinting his eyes at his bestial rival, if not from the foul stink that now steamed over him like a Nurglite aura. His keen hearing, empowered by his skaven anatomy, caught slight vibration upon the rough soil.
One, two, three!
The Chosen swished his head backward to find a raptor and it's rider leaping in for the kill, lance couched to spit the rodent head off of it's Human torso. Zeigfied was startled, and he thrust the Shyish blade upward. The Cold One and it's rider were impaled upon the gurgling claymore. It punctured through the chest of the raptor and through the lower abdomen of it's rider. Both entities disembodied into mist as the entity within the blade pulled them to a Hell beyond imagining. Zeigfied did not note the coming the second rider before it was too late. As he parried the couched lance at the last second, he could not reciprocate the attack with a swing of his own. He was thrown to the ground with a crushing thud as the Cold One collided head first into his thick breastplate. The beast's head was crushed on impact and it's rider was sent flying into the direction of his troop. But both had done what was neccesarry, for Zeigfied was immobilised, and the salivating blade was no longer clenched within his gauntlets.
The troglodon saw it's chance. It set upon Zeigfied and attempted to lock him between it's angler-like jaws and tear off his head. The Chosen held his arms high, and he wrestled with the chattering snout of the monster. Fury and blessings of Chaos flowed through the fibres of his being.
As soon as Falderan had finished wrapping the makeshift bandages across Hans' bloodied face, Mokte thrust his trunk-like arm down toward the Student's level, clawing at the linen shirt for grip with his free hand. A dumbstruck Hans was across Mokte's shoulder within a second, his meek body bore hardly any weight when compared to the Saurus. A still pool of blood splattered across the platform from which Hans' face had collided. He did not challenge Mokte's grip, but he breathed in and out alarmingly, as if he had only just emerged from a panicked swim with death. The Saurus did not justify himself with words, he raced down to the mezzanine. Time was against them.
Anglermaw felt it himself, his own fast pumping blood curdling within his veins as there was no longer anything to stop the Ark from activating. The ongoing whir of the possessed engines grew in tempo, and machinations of the Ark began to scream. The blackened tunnel illuminated in a glow of bright jade, sparks bringing the lamps to life. Anglermaw quickly followed Mokte down without a sentence to spare, and presumed that the Elves would follow on.
The core of the Ark was laid bare for Anglermaw's gawking eyes. From atop the rumbling mezzanine was a very visible layout of the core, as well as the deranged pretender down below, a robed, staff bearing almagation of fur and metal. A crystalline heart was centered in between two cylindrical platforms opposite from eachother, they held whatever entity was inside the jagged mound bound within it's glowing prison. The bottom platform was barely a few feet atop the ground, while the cylinder that loomed above protruded high from the ceiling, hollow like a chimney. Beneath the core was an apparatus of vibrant buttons all designated in Queekish, clearly meant to instruct the dreadnaught on it's journey without the need for a pilot. Sparking currents charged through coils laced across the walls. A few would short circuit with were preceded with a loud bang before the wires hung flaccid above the room. The interior seemed to echo a wail of agony that passed from the core and resounded into other departments. Anglermaw knew that this Human-like sound was not some machine made whir from before. It was alive and wrought with misery; the Ark was alive!
Mokte could not tarry further, his mind was racing to end this now. He raced down the light stairs that almost buckled under his weight. Hans in one hand, his cleaver in the other, barging past two startled engineers and hurling them to the ground with his girth. He did not register the presence of Skreptch as he slammed the cleaver hard into the mound of raw warpstone.
Zeigfied saw how his armour had sizzled under the foul spit of this strange creature, but he gave it no attention. Perhaps the dull steel of the Empire would concede to the corrosive liquid, Zeigfied's armour was annointed by dark runes however. It had taken powerful magic to penetrate. His living blade dripped a foul spittle of it's own make, evaporating within the terrible haze of Shyish. He noted how the beast stalked him, observing his shifting stance cunningly and waiting for the slightest mistake on part of the Chosen. Zeigfied scowled, squinting his eyes at his bestial rival, if not from the foul stink that now steamed over him like a Nurglite aura. His keen hearing, empowered by his skaven anatomy, caught slight vibration upon the rough soil.
One, two, three!
The Chosen swished his head backward to find a raptor and it's rider leaping in for the kill, lance couched to spit the rodent head off of it's Human torso. Zeigfied was startled, and he thrust the Shyish blade upward. The Cold One and it's rider were impaled upon the gurgling claymore. It punctured through the chest of the raptor and through the lower abdomen of it's rider. Both entities disembodied into mist as the entity within the blade pulled them to a Hell beyond imagining. Zeigfied did not note the coming the second rider before it was too late. As he parried the couched lance at the last second, he could not reciprocate the attack with a swing of his own. He was thrown to the ground with a crushing thud as the Cold One collided head first into his thick breastplate. The beast's head was crushed on impact and it's rider was sent flying into the direction of his troop. But both had done what was neccesarry, for Zeigfied was immobilised, and the salivating blade was no longer clenched within his gauntlets.
The troglodon saw it's chance. It set upon Zeigfied and attempted to lock him between it's angler-like jaws and tear off his head. The Chosen held his arms high, and he wrestled with the chattering snout of the monster. Fury and blessings of Chaos flowed through the fibres of his being.
Mokte's grabbing of Hans was a surprise to all but one they should have expected. Since the beginning he was carrying Hans like one would a loosened bedroll. As he ran further in, charging to the core Celedron and Falderan followed suit. Drawing their blades ready for staunch resilience. As they rushed through the final hall the crackling of energy around them got louder as the gong of the core was felt in their very bones as the metal shook with each unholy thud. Bursting into the chamber they were elevated and saw the dark room. It was oddly empty but with several noteworthy pieces. Mainly the four warpstone reactors around the massive core. The core of warpstone and metal in the form of a bell that sparked and to Celedron the magic radiating off it seemed almost like a heartbeat. Staring at it was like staring at a sickly green, beating heart. He felt sick from it and the magical odors in the room. Even Fal could smell them. The amount of warpstone here made simply being in the room a safety hazard. The Elves could start to feel faintly woozy but stood strong. Apart from the constructs the center of the room had a large desk and the floor around a large rounded podium in the center was covered in messed up papers and numerous utensils. Standing in the center was the strangely armoured form of Skreptch.
As the sounds of progress echoed Skreptch had a feral look of satisfaction as his goal was within reach. The cracking of energy around him blocked out the others entering. But the sounds of a bestial roar followed by a resounding crash brought the Saurus to his attention. As the mighty cleaver smashed into the warpstone shards of the precious or cursed depending on your point of view, stone flung out. Skreptch turned wide eyed seeing the beats. The damage being seen done to the Arks core over whelmed his surprise at their arrive.
"No!" He shouted as the core was mildly but still damaged. Rage boiling up inside him he thrust his staph forward. The coil between the warpstone blades crackled and sizzled with power. He thrust his hand forward and energy grew around them. His rage and fury driving his reactions as the backpack he had whirred with energy. Energy was dragged from the impractical amount of warpstone in the room into the staph and a massive unstable blast shot off. A massive bolt jittered the blade and Skreptch fired slightly too much to the right. The metal gear on an engineer acted like a conduit to attract the blast. The rat was obliterated to a few small bit of smoldering mess and a large singe mark melted into the ground. Skreptch cried out in fury and went to fire again. This time his aim would be a little more accurate towards the intruder. "Fools die!" He shouts and fires. Around the room several engineers turn to see Fal and the others. Snarling they charge as a number of clanrats begin making their way over wielding simple weapons and fearing the intruders but fearing their Lords wrath more.
The Knights looked in horror as one of their own was absorbed by the foul blade. Cries of anguish went out but as the second hit and likely took great head damage the rider would live and the mount may. Thrust aside the chance for the Troglodon was taken. The unholy blade was flicked aside and the massive beast had it's open maw around Zeigfied. Trying to slam it's jaws closed and end him it was held open. Prying open the jaws of the beast Zeigfied tapped into some unholy power to somehow overpower the legendary predator. It's claws slashed at the Champions legs and one large talon manages to slash his armoured foot. A noticeably scratch appears. The armour may be resilient but isn't immune to all damage. Large globules of saliva hit all around Zeigfied's face and torso as he stares down it's throat. It's breath rancid and smelling of rotting meat an warmth.
As the sounds of progress echoed Skreptch had a feral look of satisfaction as his goal was within reach. The cracking of energy around him blocked out the others entering. But the sounds of a bestial roar followed by a resounding crash brought the Saurus to his attention. As the mighty cleaver smashed into the warpstone shards of the precious or cursed depending on your point of view, stone flung out. Skreptch turned wide eyed seeing the beats. The damage being seen done to the Arks core over whelmed his surprise at their arrive.
"No!" He shouted as the core was mildly but still damaged. Rage boiling up inside him he thrust his staph forward. The coil between the warpstone blades crackled and sizzled with power. He thrust his hand forward and energy grew around them. His rage and fury driving his reactions as the backpack he had whirred with energy. Energy was dragged from the impractical amount of warpstone in the room into the staph and a massive unstable blast shot off. A massive bolt jittered the blade and Skreptch fired slightly too much to the right. The metal gear on an engineer acted like a conduit to attract the blast. The rat was obliterated to a few small bit of smoldering mess and a large singe mark melted into the ground. Skreptch cried out in fury and went to fire again. This time his aim would be a little more accurate towards the intruder. "Fools die!" He shouts and fires. Around the room several engineers turn to see Fal and the others. Snarling they charge as a number of clanrats begin making their way over wielding simple weapons and fearing the intruders but fearing their Lords wrath more.
The Knights looked in horror as one of their own was absorbed by the foul blade. Cries of anguish went out but as the second hit and likely took great head damage the rider would live and the mount may. Thrust aside the chance for the Troglodon was taken. The unholy blade was flicked aside and the massive beast had it's open maw around Zeigfied. Trying to slam it's jaws closed and end him it was held open. Prying open the jaws of the beast Zeigfied tapped into some unholy power to somehow overpower the legendary predator. It's claws slashed at the Champions legs and one large talon manages to slash his armoured foot. A noticeably scratch appears. The armour may be resilient but isn't immune to all damage. Large globules of saliva hit all around Zeigfied's face and torso as he stares down it's throat. It's breath rancid and smelling of rotting meat an warmth.
Crystalline shards erupted across the reactor as Mokte lunged the flaming cleaver down, the impact carving a deep wound into the glowing, sparking mass of warpstone. eldritch tentacles of lightning manifested for momentary split seconds from the crevice, each time massaging the flame-tongued obsinite. Soon, the jolting fingers wrapped themselves upon Mokte's skin. The vibrations were tremendous, and he felt the earth seem to shake around him as he jittered. Knowing something terrible was about to ensue, he removed his grip upon the cleaver that remained stuck inside the main reactor. Incorporeal limbs seemed to weave from within the mound like ghastly hands made from electricity. Mokte stood dumbfounded as the skeletal limbs of jade zapped across the weapon. Like a boiling temper, an industrial wail increased in volume until it had become a scream. He was half dumbfounded by the reactor's unholy display until he'd finally registered the presence of it's keeper.
With Hans tight within his grip - the Student oblivious to his surroundings - Mokte witnessed the Ratman thrall beside the reactor combust in a hue of flaming green, taking his gaze away from the volatile limbs that consumed his weapon. His bestial eyes widened toward the High Engineer and the bright, zapping residue that surrounded his mechanical form. A primal intuition overcame Mokte as he threw himself out the way, toward the flank of a lesser reactor. It contained a minor amount of warpstone when compared to the main core, but it screamed and zapped all the same.
The inner walls of salvaged gromril burst with arcane fire as the projectile exploded, Mokte covered his eyes to shield himself from the blinding effect. Anglermaw spat a loud curse in the queekish tongue while he observed in awe from above. The demonic flames stuck themselves across the wall, the imprints of skeletal hands formed as the fire quickly lengthened across the neighbouring reactors. A mechanical device above the ceiling moaned in alarm, the parody of a dying bull tearing at the ears of those present within the core. A hue of flashing red consumed the room as the Ark had now become genuinely endangered. With the Ark screaming for it's crew, every remaining Rat aboard the vessel and beyond would heed the call. Best to destroy the Ark now before that happened: Anglermaw thought quickly. He swung himself down from the railing, his fall cushioned by a terrified engineer whose reflex had failed him. The Sea-Rat scavenged a rudmintary weapon half-hidden upon the cloaked Ratman. It was like a short club, only it gleamed with sparks when Anglermaw clicked on a button by the hilt, and he knew that if he tried to touch the deadlier end, it would likely kill him.
He was driven by purpose now. Over the past fortnite, the original spite that had pushed him on had now faded. He did not feel truly Skaven anymore, but renewed; born again. He half-wondered if this was the Toad's doing, his mind blissfully cleansed after that battle with Zeigfied...
...Speaking of which, where was that pretender?
It mattered not. He wasn't here, and that meant he could end this by dispatching the High Engineer to a God Anglermaw silently renounced his faith in. With the others occupied, he stalked over to the Sorcerer, the sparking mace held toward his enemy.
"Ye've ad your fun-laugh with the Ark, whoever you are." Began Anglermaw in queekish. "But times up! The Ark serves no one but Sunami Anglermaw, former Claw-Admiral o' Clan Skurvy!" He announced himself in reminiscent triumph.
Zeigfied continued to wrestle against the troglodon's snapping jaws without fatigue. His muscles were bolstered by unexplained phenomena, they began to bulge across the chinks within his armour as the rank drool sizzled it away. He grunted in defiance while the monster kept him pinned down, snarling and roaring over his body as it wrestled against his gauntleted fingertips to crunch his form inbetween it's teeth. It's Saurian wranglers bellowed in glory, raising their decorated lances high into the air as it seemed any moment now would warrant the death of this Chaos puppet. Then a sound that was neither the troglodon nor the lizardfolk pierced Zeigfied's rodent ears. A booming moan from the Ark, and the terrible hiss of jade sparks buzzing across the bay like an ethereal tower. The bay zapped intensely for the dreadnaught, the still bay bubbled with boiling death -- the Skaven bodies drowned or discarded across began to scorch with green fire that would not douse.
It was then that Zeigfied realised just how paramount his return to the Ark was. He seethed with sudden rage, expelling a bellow of anger from his chittering lips. He could not let this offering to the Gods get away from him this time, and he would not be cast back into the Realm of Chaos as he had in the skirmish with the Elves. A perculiar, auric tint enriched Zeigfied's armour like a visible wind, swerving over his pinned figure. Tiny embers of sorcerous flame manifested from his fingertips, illuminating the toothy maw of the troglodon as he pried open it's wrangling mouth. Zeigfied had had enough, the Lizardmen had shut off his link to the winds once before, but their mage above no longer held sway in this Skaven hole.
"By the power of Tzeentch, I invoke the wind of fire!" Syllables in the Dark Tongue were cast from Zeigfied's fury beak. A scorching fire soon combusted from his hands, weaving across the scales of his enemy, eventually coating the inside of the monster's throat. The flames continued to stream from his fingertips, and soon the dueling ground was overcome by a ring of magical fire.
With Hans tight within his grip - the Student oblivious to his surroundings - Mokte witnessed the Ratman thrall beside the reactor combust in a hue of flaming green, taking his gaze away from the volatile limbs that consumed his weapon. His bestial eyes widened toward the High Engineer and the bright, zapping residue that surrounded his mechanical form. A primal intuition overcame Mokte as he threw himself out the way, toward the flank of a lesser reactor. It contained a minor amount of warpstone when compared to the main core, but it screamed and zapped all the same.
The inner walls of salvaged gromril burst with arcane fire as the projectile exploded, Mokte covered his eyes to shield himself from the blinding effect. Anglermaw spat a loud curse in the queekish tongue while he observed in awe from above. The demonic flames stuck themselves across the wall, the imprints of skeletal hands formed as the fire quickly lengthened across the neighbouring reactors. A mechanical device above the ceiling moaned in alarm, the parody of a dying bull tearing at the ears of those present within the core. A hue of flashing red consumed the room as the Ark had now become genuinely endangered. With the Ark screaming for it's crew, every remaining Rat aboard the vessel and beyond would heed the call. Best to destroy the Ark now before that happened: Anglermaw thought quickly. He swung himself down from the railing, his fall cushioned by a terrified engineer whose reflex had failed him. The Sea-Rat scavenged a rudmintary weapon half-hidden upon the cloaked Ratman. It was like a short club, only it gleamed with sparks when Anglermaw clicked on a button by the hilt, and he knew that if he tried to touch the deadlier end, it would likely kill him.
He was driven by purpose now. Over the past fortnite, the original spite that had pushed him on had now faded. He did not feel truly Skaven anymore, but renewed; born again. He half-wondered if this was the Toad's doing, his mind blissfully cleansed after that battle with Zeigfied...
...Speaking of which, where was that pretender?
It mattered not. He wasn't here, and that meant he could end this by dispatching the High Engineer to a God Anglermaw silently renounced his faith in. With the others occupied, he stalked over to the Sorcerer, the sparking mace held toward his enemy.
"Ye've ad your fun-laugh with the Ark, whoever you are." Began Anglermaw in queekish. "But times up! The Ark serves no one but Sunami Anglermaw, former Claw-Admiral o' Clan Skurvy!" He announced himself in reminiscent triumph.
Zeigfied continued to wrestle against the troglodon's snapping jaws without fatigue. His muscles were bolstered by unexplained phenomena, they began to bulge across the chinks within his armour as the rank drool sizzled it away. He grunted in defiance while the monster kept him pinned down, snarling and roaring over his body as it wrestled against his gauntleted fingertips to crunch his form inbetween it's teeth. It's Saurian wranglers bellowed in glory, raising their decorated lances high into the air as it seemed any moment now would warrant the death of this Chaos puppet. Then a sound that was neither the troglodon nor the lizardfolk pierced Zeigfied's rodent ears. A booming moan from the Ark, and the terrible hiss of jade sparks buzzing across the bay like an ethereal tower. The bay zapped intensely for the dreadnaught, the still bay bubbled with boiling death -- the Skaven bodies drowned or discarded across began to scorch with green fire that would not douse.
It was then that Zeigfied realised just how paramount his return to the Ark was. He seethed with sudden rage, expelling a bellow of anger from his chittering lips. He could not let this offering to the Gods get away from him this time, and he would not be cast back into the Realm of Chaos as he had in the skirmish with the Elves. A perculiar, auric tint enriched Zeigfied's armour like a visible wind, swerving over his pinned figure. Tiny embers of sorcerous flame manifested from his fingertips, illuminating the toothy maw of the troglodon as he pried open it's wrangling mouth. Zeigfied had had enough, the Lizardmen had shut off his link to the winds once before, but their mage above no longer held sway in this Skaven hole.
"By the power of Tzeentch, I invoke the wind of fire!" Syllables in the Dark Tongue were cast from Zeigfied's fury beak. A scorching fire soon combusted from his hands, weaving across the scales of his enemy, eventually coating the inside of the monster's throat. The flames continued to stream from his fingertips, and soon the dueling ground was overcome by a ring of magical fire.
Skreptch was lost in rage and fury. The Arks echoing shrieks only seemed to throw him into more of a berserker rage as he fired another bolt towards the fleeing Saurus. Crashing into the reactor the energies within sparked out the struck the ground. Any other rat who did this to the Ark would be eviscerated by Skreptch. But Skaven were known for double standards when it was they themselves breaking a rule. As he charged another might bolt to blast his foes the taunts and cries of another came to his ears. Perking up and turning in time to block a powered club he saw Anglermaw and once he heard the name snarled.
"The failed Captain. Now a traitor to Skavendom!" He cries as his twin peaked weapon locks with the club. Energy sent sizzling up the shaft would run through Anglermaw's body. An invigorating but in higher doses deadly feeling that would make his whiskers stand on end. "You will for failures!" He thrusts back and twists to fire a far smaller but faster bolt of energy. Likely not enough to kill but surely a concussive blast at the other rat.
As the ensuring chaos hit Fal looked at the dozen or so Clanrats driven into a frenzy by the Ark approached.
"Alright then, lets end this!" He cries as he leaps over the railing and drawing his sword. As he hits the ground with a thud he swings up his blade at the approaching vermin. The first has it's throat and lower jaw cut open vertically. Trying to hold it together it stumbles back as dark blood splatters the ground and gurgling erupts from the throat. Parrying another swipe before turning and running through a secondary Skaven. Twisting back around Fal kept the rat on his blade and thrust it off into others tripping them. With his restored vigor it was barely needing thought for him to kill off these poorly trained 'warriors'. Celedron drew his blade and leapt down to join as an Engineer came behind Fal. Landing on the rat he stabbed down and landed on the rats spine at the base of the neck.
"Stay aware." He says as several more Clanrats pour in and the Elves move with unnatural speed. Back to back they cut down the Skaven swarming them. The rats driven into a frenzy by the Arks unholy cries for help.
A great roar came from the Troglodon as it let go of Zeigfied and thrashed about in pain. It's body ablaze with magical flames and shrieking out in pain. The remaining Knights freeze in shock and even Qua-zital looks on in horror. Albino scales begin to char and turn a pained black as the beast thrashes about. Hot blood being coughed up as it wheezes and stumbles. It's senses shattered by the heat and pain burning under it's scales it stumbled to the sea. One Knight, the one who rammed is killed as the tail of the beast whips him off and he rolls into the boiling water. Crying out as he dies. The mount roars out and runs off into the city leaving only 4 riders left. Stumbling along the Troglodon finds one foot slamming into the damaged dock and after all the damage and fire breaks through. Falling through the planks it grabs out to try and find some support as it's claws tear up wood. A thrashing claw drags down another Cold One and it's rider. Pulling them down too as it falls through into the water. Being finished by the boiling soup below as burnt flesh peels off it's bones. Only one Saurus remained with Qua-zital. The remaining pair of riders look in on horror as their sacred beast dies and their great foe rises having used foul magic to their advantage.
"The failed Captain. Now a traitor to Skavendom!" He cries as his twin peaked weapon locks with the club. Energy sent sizzling up the shaft would run through Anglermaw's body. An invigorating but in higher doses deadly feeling that would make his whiskers stand on end. "You will for failures!" He thrusts back and twists to fire a far smaller but faster bolt of energy. Likely not enough to kill but surely a concussive blast at the other rat.
As the ensuring chaos hit Fal looked at the dozen or so Clanrats driven into a frenzy by the Ark approached.
"Alright then, lets end this!" He cries as he leaps over the railing and drawing his sword. As he hits the ground with a thud he swings up his blade at the approaching vermin. The first has it's throat and lower jaw cut open vertically. Trying to hold it together it stumbles back as dark blood splatters the ground and gurgling erupts from the throat. Parrying another swipe before turning and running through a secondary Skaven. Twisting back around Fal kept the rat on his blade and thrust it off into others tripping them. With his restored vigor it was barely needing thought for him to kill off these poorly trained 'warriors'. Celedron drew his blade and leapt down to join as an Engineer came behind Fal. Landing on the rat he stabbed down and landed on the rats spine at the base of the neck.
"Stay aware." He says as several more Clanrats pour in and the Elves move with unnatural speed. Back to back they cut down the Skaven swarming them. The rats driven into a frenzy by the Arks unholy cries for help.
A great roar came from the Troglodon as it let go of Zeigfied and thrashed about in pain. It's body ablaze with magical flames and shrieking out in pain. The remaining Knights freeze in shock and even Qua-zital looks on in horror. Albino scales begin to char and turn a pained black as the beast thrashes about. Hot blood being coughed up as it wheezes and stumbles. It's senses shattered by the heat and pain burning under it's scales it stumbled to the sea. One Knight, the one who rammed is killed as the tail of the beast whips him off and he rolls into the boiling water. Crying out as he dies. The mount roars out and runs off into the city leaving only 4 riders left. Stumbling along the Troglodon finds one foot slamming into the damaged dock and after all the damage and fire breaks through. Falling through the planks it grabs out to try and find some support as it's claws tear up wood. A thrashing claw drags down another Cold One and it's rider. Pulling them down too as it falls through into the water. Being finished by the boiling soup below as burnt flesh peels off it's bones. Only one Saurus remained with Qua-zital. The remaining pair of riders look in on horror as their sacred beast dies and their great foe rises having used foul magic to their advantage.
Anglermaw glanced at the pulsating cyborg-Rat, whose aura quickly began to oversaturate with the lime shade of magic. Their blunt weapons locked, jittering back and forth in hyperactive rhythm, vibrating like the buzzing of loud wasp which flavoured the masochistic melody that was currently ongoing. The Sea-Rat did not rise to Skreptch's denouncement of him as a failure, nor did he bite as many noble Skaven would when branded a traitor to his race. Skavendom was done with; the mutiny at Sartosa was the last and only straw. He'd been changed by newfound purpose.
"To Hell with the Skaven and the rest of the mangy-things!" Anglermaw hissed over the flickers of lapping warp-sparks. "I'm givin' myself a better destiny-yeah!"
His defiance of Skreptch belied an unsteadiness that he had become to feel under such a raw presence of warpstone, more concentrated than any regular mound he'd been around since before the fateful sail to Luccini. He could smell in it the confines of the Ark, like a mixture of soot and turpentine that poisoned his sense of smell and made his body torpid and clumsy. He could just about notice the electrified beam manifesting from Skreptch's mechanical appendage. Anglermaw's eyes widended like dazzling rubies, and numbing sparks of electricity coursed through his body even before the concussive projectile met with his worn jacket. The blast threw him to the other side of the chamber, swaying through the air like furry ragdoll as his fall was cushioned by a gnarled wooden desk that snapped under his body.
Anglermaw choked violently as he lay blanketed by scrawled diagrams of the Ark. His chest vibrated from arcane electrodes, and it felt as though his ribcage had suddenly decided to squash his vital organs. His makeshift weapon had been cast from his hand, that same claw now used to cling onto the grated floor. The Sea-Rat rose a few seconds after, unsteady on his feet and oblivious to a spear bearing clanrat who charged at him reluctantly.
He did not have the time nor the awareness to escape being spitted by the spear. Luckily, he didn't need to -- The clanrat's jittering head was slammed temple first into the wall by Mokte, and it's head was crushed under the pressure. Then it was flung like a toy into a group of frightened spearbearers. Mokte's cleaver was still caught by the grasp of the ethereal limbs -- he'd made no attempt to recover it. Unarmed, he was just as dangerous. The battle was not a contest, the remaining Skaven were utterly numbed by their surroundings. They fled in terror, leaving only their spiteful Warlord to fend off the attackers. Soonafter, as Falderan and Celedron despatched the remaining stragglers to their uncaring God, Mokte casually set Hans to rest upon the Sea-Rat, cracking his scaled knuckles...
...Meanwhile, Zeigfied had rose to his feet and observed the ensuing chaos with vitriol in his eyes. He felt no sense of accomplishment as the monster writhed while arcane fire burned it inside and out. Bitterness clouded his mind, he could hear the voice of his slaver taunt him, as it had done when he'd been cast to his domain by the Elves. 'You are pathetic...' It had cursed him then, and it had cursed him as he wrestled with the troglodon's maw. '...Unworthy of favour, immortality through spawn-hood is all you can aspire to obtain, Champion.' Zeigfied would be lying if it was anger alone that helped him weave the magic necessary to escape, but also panic. His intelligence stripped away from him and condemned to roam the wastes as a gibbering mass of flesh was not a destiny for the faint hearted. He heaved in adrenaline, a growing sea of fire manifested over the circle. Zeigfied's temples burned as he meandered dizzily by his gargling blade, his orifices began to cascade fresh blood, and he quickly realised that his entire vision was clouded by crimson.
He screamed defiantly as he kneeled over the rough dirt, blood pooling over the muck. He felt his face contort and twist. His beak shrunk to the rest of his face and the rodent fur over his head was swept by the spewing red. The pain subsided as quick as it had come, and his orifices healed. Zeigfied massaged his face, blissfully unaware of his surroundings, and he realised that he no longer bore the head of a Skaven, but the head he'd once had before he was mutilated by the Ratfolk. Even masked by crimson, he knew his features well, and the dreadlocks that hung from the back of his head like spider legs held no doubt. No longer was he a chimera.
He grinned from ear to ear as the gurgling hilt was clutched in his left hand. He rose again to his feet in selfish pride. Arcane fire surged through the rest of his limbs, billowing across the wounds and chinks from his body as if his armour had just come off of the forge. With a silent chant he spewed a ball of flame in the Ark's direction, and a staircase of literal fire manifested like a bridge to the dreadnaught's entrance. He gave a parting smile to the horrified Lizardmen before climbing the enchanted staircase. It would be a few minutes before the magic dissipated, he would have the Ark in that time.
Mokte stood but a few metres away from Skreptch, cracking the rest of his large body while the Ark moaned.
"I hope you've made peace with your Rat God, because you die here." He snarled.
"To Hell with the Skaven and the rest of the mangy-things!" Anglermaw hissed over the flickers of lapping warp-sparks. "I'm givin' myself a better destiny-yeah!"
His defiance of Skreptch belied an unsteadiness that he had become to feel under such a raw presence of warpstone, more concentrated than any regular mound he'd been around since before the fateful sail to Luccini. He could smell in it the confines of the Ark, like a mixture of soot and turpentine that poisoned his sense of smell and made his body torpid and clumsy. He could just about notice the electrified beam manifesting from Skreptch's mechanical appendage. Anglermaw's eyes widended like dazzling rubies, and numbing sparks of electricity coursed through his body even before the concussive projectile met with his worn jacket. The blast threw him to the other side of the chamber, swaying through the air like furry ragdoll as his fall was cushioned by a gnarled wooden desk that snapped under his body.
Anglermaw choked violently as he lay blanketed by scrawled diagrams of the Ark. His chest vibrated from arcane electrodes, and it felt as though his ribcage had suddenly decided to squash his vital organs. His makeshift weapon had been cast from his hand, that same claw now used to cling onto the grated floor. The Sea-Rat rose a few seconds after, unsteady on his feet and oblivious to a spear bearing clanrat who charged at him reluctantly.
He did not have the time nor the awareness to escape being spitted by the spear. Luckily, he didn't need to -- The clanrat's jittering head was slammed temple first into the wall by Mokte, and it's head was crushed under the pressure. Then it was flung like a toy into a group of frightened spearbearers. Mokte's cleaver was still caught by the grasp of the ethereal limbs -- he'd made no attempt to recover it. Unarmed, he was just as dangerous. The battle was not a contest, the remaining Skaven were utterly numbed by their surroundings. They fled in terror, leaving only their spiteful Warlord to fend off the attackers. Soonafter, as Falderan and Celedron despatched the remaining stragglers to their uncaring God, Mokte casually set Hans to rest upon the Sea-Rat, cracking his scaled knuckles...
...Meanwhile, Zeigfied had rose to his feet and observed the ensuing chaos with vitriol in his eyes. He felt no sense of accomplishment as the monster writhed while arcane fire burned it inside and out. Bitterness clouded his mind, he could hear the voice of his slaver taunt him, as it had done when he'd been cast to his domain by the Elves. 'You are pathetic...' It had cursed him then, and it had cursed him as he wrestled with the troglodon's maw. '...Unworthy of favour, immortality through spawn-hood is all you can aspire to obtain, Champion.' Zeigfied would be lying if it was anger alone that helped him weave the magic necessary to escape, but also panic. His intelligence stripped away from him and condemned to roam the wastes as a gibbering mass of flesh was not a destiny for the faint hearted. He heaved in adrenaline, a growing sea of fire manifested over the circle. Zeigfied's temples burned as he meandered dizzily by his gargling blade, his orifices began to cascade fresh blood, and he quickly realised that his entire vision was clouded by crimson.
He screamed defiantly as he kneeled over the rough dirt, blood pooling over the muck. He felt his face contort and twist. His beak shrunk to the rest of his face and the rodent fur over his head was swept by the spewing red. The pain subsided as quick as it had come, and his orifices healed. Zeigfied massaged his face, blissfully unaware of his surroundings, and he realised that he no longer bore the head of a Skaven, but the head he'd once had before he was mutilated by the Ratfolk. Even masked by crimson, he knew his features well, and the dreadlocks that hung from the back of his head like spider legs held no doubt. No longer was he a chimera.
He grinned from ear to ear as the gurgling hilt was clutched in his left hand. He rose again to his feet in selfish pride. Arcane fire surged through the rest of his limbs, billowing across the wounds and chinks from his body as if his armour had just come off of the forge. With a silent chant he spewed a ball of flame in the Ark's direction, and a staircase of literal fire manifested like a bridge to the dreadnaught's entrance. He gave a parting smile to the horrified Lizardmen before climbing the enchanted staircase. It would be a few minutes before the magic dissipated, he would have the Ark in that time.
Mokte stood but a few metres away from Skreptch, cracking the rest of his large body while the Ark moaned.
"I hope you've made peace with your Rat God, because you die here." He snarled.
The battle, or more specifically slaughter of the Clan Rats was a fierce endeavor. Fal and Celedron let their blades dance and carve through flesh and bone as over a dozen Skaven were felled by each. Limbs and viscera covered the area around them with a ring of bodies forming a gory outline of the two's defenses. It didn't take long before Mokte struck and took down a charging rodent. Shattering it's head into a fine paste and sending those that remaining fleeing in horror. The terror they felt for the intruders, at this moment, outweighed the terror of Skreptch.
Turning to see the rats flee they directed their attention to the sparking Arch Warlock. Standing and shivering in a mix of fear and anger the group turned their weapons on Skreptch. The Skaven looked around furiously.
"No. No-no!" He calls out and claws at his face like a stressed dog scratches it's side. "I'm too close! Too close to let the filth of the Lizard-things, Elf-things and most sickening of all traitors! Stop me from my goals. The Ark shall be mine. It shall belong to Skryre. No to Skreptch!" He looks over to the Elves and thrusting his arm forward as magical power is drawn from the warpstone he fires it to them. A massive bolt of lightning the size of a wagon explodes from his staph with a thunderous clap. He's blown back but remains standing as his eyes were wide with fury. As the blast approached Celedron felt an impulse take over and he quickly moved his arms to weave a defensive spell before extending his left arm with palm out flat. Fal over this time leapt to the side just in time to look up and see the blast hit Celedron. He looked in horror as the sparking glow flickered away only to be left jaw dropped. Celedron stood there with a blue barrier encrusted with arcane runes in front of his palm. It dissolved away and even Celedron looked surprised. "What!" Skreptch cries out in disbelief.
Celedron was left wide eyed. He felt a new surge of power within himself. He shook off the energy that coerced over him. It was an incredible boost but he felt something in the back of his mind. A dark presence and something otherworldly. He looked to the various warpstone machinery around him and the core. He nearly threw up realizing what happened. Unintentional he was tapping into the raw magic around him. It saved him but he could feel his soul being eaten away by the true power of pure Chaos.
"We must end this." He begin to weave another spell. Fal doesn't sense the importance of this and looks about. Feeling the energies in the air and his hungering blade he raises it to Skreptch.
"Lets." He says as the dark tingle of warpstone static rubs over him like an oily lover.
Skreptch looked around at his three opponents. Anglermaw was taken down for now but the Saurus and Elves. One of which somehow blocked his attack with a spell? How? How was that possible? He was receiving the powers of the Horned One through the stone unless. Was this vile Elf-thing doing the same? Blasphemy! Using the Horned Ones precious stone for it's purposes! This cannot stand. This won't stand!
"No!" Skreptch cries as he slams his staph into the ground facing towards Mokte. The ground sparks and cracks before a shockwave of energy shoots up and tears apart the ground as it shoots towards the Saurus. Stopping just short but unleashing a shockwave.
Qua-zital was in a state of shock. After the death of a sacred beast they saw the vile Skaven headed Champion mutate and change into an odd head of a Human. What magic was this to allow such a mutation? Foul powers of the Dark Gods no doubts. However before he could muster the courage to strike the Champion through dark means formed stairs of fire and began running to them. Leaping on he used them as physical beams to head to the Ark. Meanwhile the two riders left approached quickly. Their mounts pulling up as magical flames licked their faces. The path couldn't be touched by the without burning.
Turning to see the rats flee they directed their attention to the sparking Arch Warlock. Standing and shivering in a mix of fear and anger the group turned their weapons on Skreptch. The Skaven looked around furiously.
"No. No-no!" He calls out and claws at his face like a stressed dog scratches it's side. "I'm too close! Too close to let the filth of the Lizard-things, Elf-things and most sickening of all traitors! Stop me from my goals. The Ark shall be mine. It shall belong to Skryre. No to Skreptch!" He looks over to the Elves and thrusting his arm forward as magical power is drawn from the warpstone he fires it to them. A massive bolt of lightning the size of a wagon explodes from his staph with a thunderous clap. He's blown back but remains standing as his eyes were wide with fury. As the blast approached Celedron felt an impulse take over and he quickly moved his arms to weave a defensive spell before extending his left arm with palm out flat. Fal over this time leapt to the side just in time to look up and see the blast hit Celedron. He looked in horror as the sparking glow flickered away only to be left jaw dropped. Celedron stood there with a blue barrier encrusted with arcane runes in front of his palm. It dissolved away and even Celedron looked surprised. "What!" Skreptch cries out in disbelief.
Celedron was left wide eyed. He felt a new surge of power within himself. He shook off the energy that coerced over him. It was an incredible boost but he felt something in the back of his mind. A dark presence and something otherworldly. He looked to the various warpstone machinery around him and the core. He nearly threw up realizing what happened. Unintentional he was tapping into the raw magic around him. It saved him but he could feel his soul being eaten away by the true power of pure Chaos.
"We must end this." He begin to weave another spell. Fal doesn't sense the importance of this and looks about. Feeling the energies in the air and his hungering blade he raises it to Skreptch.
"Lets." He says as the dark tingle of warpstone static rubs over him like an oily lover.
Skreptch looked around at his three opponents. Anglermaw was taken down for now but the Saurus and Elves. One of which somehow blocked his attack with a spell? How? How was that possible? He was receiving the powers of the Horned One through the stone unless. Was this vile Elf-thing doing the same? Blasphemy! Using the Horned Ones precious stone for it's purposes! This cannot stand. This won't stand!
"No!" Skreptch cries as he slams his staph into the ground facing towards Mokte. The ground sparks and cracks before a shockwave of energy shoots up and tears apart the ground as it shoots towards the Saurus. Stopping just short but unleashing a shockwave.
Qua-zital was in a state of shock. After the death of a sacred beast they saw the vile Skaven headed Champion mutate and change into an odd head of a Human. What magic was this to allow such a mutation? Foul powers of the Dark Gods no doubts. However before he could muster the courage to strike the Champion through dark means formed stairs of fire and began running to them. Leaping on he used them as physical beams to head to the Ark. Meanwhile the two riders left approached quickly. Their mounts pulling up as magical flames licked their faces. The path couldn't be touched by the without burning.
Anglermaw had been battered by the blast. Even as he rose to his feet, he knew then and there that he was momentarilly crippled. His chest shuddered violently from the vibrating aftershock, and he struggled to balance himself by a nearby platform that overlooked a hive mechanical entrails that coursed to and from the Ark's main core. He could hear the broad wires resonate as the currents coursed across the various departments of the Ark. There was no stopping it now, so why could not hear the whine of Urechin? The dead Seer who would spite and curse the Skurvy Rats for their treachery. Few others but Anglermaw knew the truth, that it was he who ruled the Ark first long before his own mutiny at the hands of the Sea-Rat. Of course, most Clanfolk didn't know it that way. Now that both Skaven were disavowed, it didn't make much of a difference. And now there was this third claimant from Skryre, the architects of the Ark. Anglermaw did not know whether this cyborg had dealings with Urechin or not. That made no difference either. This was the end now. Once the Warlock was dealt with, there would be no other cause for the Ark than it's destruction. He could not salvage it, nor did he want to anymore. The Anglermaw that joined forces with No-furs out of sheer spite was now gone. He thought upon this as he meandered breathlessly away from the study area, his mind numbed from the concussive blast to the pivotal duel about to commence.
Mokte braced himself for impact, crossing his arms over himself to shield the concussive sparks, for unlike Anglermaw he excelled in strength and endurance thanks to his Saurian heritage. The stride of jade made him flinch and shudder as it enveloped him, but did not send him flying across the room as it had done with Anglermaw. He grunted against the struggle, and once the final sparks had dissipated, he felt what seemed like a legion of needles press upon his scales. This sensation had penetrated his flesh, but not any further. Mokte uttered a silent prayer to Nahwa before he let his jittering arms down, clenching his fists together into clubs.
"Your magic has failed you!" Shouted Mokte, and he turned himself away from Skreptch, but to his flaming cleaver still lodged within the core. With all his might, he tore it from the skeletal limbs of electricity. The core screamed as though in agony, and it occurred little to Mokte that this shriek of pain was not mechanical in nature. The scream had a tone, like a ghost that replayed it's last seconds of brutal murder. A glowing substance, like wet mucus flowed from the crystalline wound, the bubbling fluid parodying a stream of blood that soon pooled and dripped over the metal grating, toward the network of wires. The mainframe soon began to smoke from the mixture.
Mokte raised his cleaver over his head toward Skreptch and said nothing more to delay his death, swinging the cleaver downward. But before he could bisect the Skaven in two, an explosion boomed within his ears and he flinched involuntarily.
Anglermaw covered his head away from the startling hue of gold that mingled with the glowing shade of jade. Heavy footfalls marked the presence of a new arrival. As he reared his head away from the impact, Anglermaw saw the clouded silhouette of giant, at least seven feet tall slowly materialise. The Sea-Rat's heart sank, and he knew immediately who it was.
Zeigfied barged his way into the core, his figure marred by the glow of searing fire that lapped across the chinks of his armour. There was nothing now that made the chosen similar to Rotflag. The Rat head was now gone, replaced by a squinting sneer that was full of a single-minded objective. His ghastly complexion was snow white, but his blue eyes made it clear that he was no vampire at least. Long dreadlocks coursed like a mane down his back, spindly wires upon a human head.
"I'm afraid the Ark belongs to no one." Said Zeigfied, announcing his presence. "At least, not when your souls are chafing in the pits of Hell." Zeigfied drew his gurgling blade forward, eyeing his challengers.
Mokte looked to the direction of the Chosen as he came into view. But his words were barely listened to, for Mokte had noticed first about this creature was the gurgling sword he brandished, and the hilt that bore a woeful parody of his kind. Mokte turned away from Skreptch, his eyes filled with sudden rage.
"Fight me, bastard of Chaos!" Mokte roared, throwing himself and his cleaver into Zeigfied's direction. The Cleaver came down hard like a swung pendulum, but Zeigfied's cursed strength warranted a deadlock.
Zeigfied laughed as their blades intersected. "I'll burn you alive, lizard." He said, pushing the Saurus away from him, until both fighters were consumed under a flurry of parries from their screaming blades.
Through all of this, the Ark continued to whine as though in labour. Green lightning coursed high over the powerconductors until eventually they began to short circuit and violently exploded. Large pieces of collateral clutter were thrown from the ceiling. Anglermaw reared back toward Hans in panic, the student's exhausted body still heaving upon the schematics of the Ark. A familiar sense of vertigo crept over the Sea-Rat then and there, and he quickly realised that the Ark was now moving of it's own accord.
"...The Ark serves no one..." A chittering voice echoed from beneath the bowels. "...I... serve NO ONE!"
Then the Ark accelerated, the speed sending waves of still boiling water crashing over the bay of the Pit.
Mokte braced himself for impact, crossing his arms over himself to shield the concussive sparks, for unlike Anglermaw he excelled in strength and endurance thanks to his Saurian heritage. The stride of jade made him flinch and shudder as it enveloped him, but did not send him flying across the room as it had done with Anglermaw. He grunted against the struggle, and once the final sparks had dissipated, he felt what seemed like a legion of needles press upon his scales. This sensation had penetrated his flesh, but not any further. Mokte uttered a silent prayer to Nahwa before he let his jittering arms down, clenching his fists together into clubs.
"Your magic has failed you!" Shouted Mokte, and he turned himself away from Skreptch, but to his flaming cleaver still lodged within the core. With all his might, he tore it from the skeletal limbs of electricity. The core screamed as though in agony, and it occurred little to Mokte that this shriek of pain was not mechanical in nature. The scream had a tone, like a ghost that replayed it's last seconds of brutal murder. A glowing substance, like wet mucus flowed from the crystalline wound, the bubbling fluid parodying a stream of blood that soon pooled and dripped over the metal grating, toward the network of wires. The mainframe soon began to smoke from the mixture.
Mokte raised his cleaver over his head toward Skreptch and said nothing more to delay his death, swinging the cleaver downward. But before he could bisect the Skaven in two, an explosion boomed within his ears and he flinched involuntarily.
Anglermaw covered his head away from the startling hue of gold that mingled with the glowing shade of jade. Heavy footfalls marked the presence of a new arrival. As he reared his head away from the impact, Anglermaw saw the clouded silhouette of giant, at least seven feet tall slowly materialise. The Sea-Rat's heart sank, and he knew immediately who it was.
Zeigfied barged his way into the core, his figure marred by the glow of searing fire that lapped across the chinks of his armour. There was nothing now that made the chosen similar to Rotflag. The Rat head was now gone, replaced by a squinting sneer that was full of a single-minded objective. His ghastly complexion was snow white, but his blue eyes made it clear that he was no vampire at least. Long dreadlocks coursed like a mane down his back, spindly wires upon a human head.
"I'm afraid the Ark belongs to no one." Said Zeigfied, announcing his presence. "At least, not when your souls are chafing in the pits of Hell." Zeigfied drew his gurgling blade forward, eyeing his challengers.
Mokte looked to the direction of the Chosen as he came into view. But his words were barely listened to, for Mokte had noticed first about this creature was the gurgling sword he brandished, and the hilt that bore a woeful parody of his kind. Mokte turned away from Skreptch, his eyes filled with sudden rage.
"Fight me, bastard of Chaos!" Mokte roared, throwing himself and his cleaver into Zeigfied's direction. The Cleaver came down hard like a swung pendulum, but Zeigfied's cursed strength warranted a deadlock.
Zeigfied laughed as their blades intersected. "I'll burn you alive, lizard." He said, pushing the Saurus away from him, until both fighters were consumed under a flurry of parries from their screaming blades.
Through all of this, the Ark continued to whine as though in labour. Green lightning coursed high over the powerconductors until eventually they began to short circuit and violently exploded. Large pieces of collateral clutter were thrown from the ceiling. Anglermaw reared back toward Hans in panic, the student's exhausted body still heaving upon the schematics of the Ark. A familiar sense of vertigo crept over the Sea-Rat then and there, and he quickly realised that the Ark was now moving of it's own accord.
"...The Ark serves no one..." A chittering voice echoed from beneath the bowels. "...I... serve NO ONE!"
Then the Ark accelerated, the speed sending waves of still boiling water crashing over the bay of the Pit.
The boom and subsequent appearance of Zeigfied was at first a moment of confusion and panic before Skreptch saw opportunity. The Champion was here and would act as a good weapon to help strike down his foes. Though something was odd. His head was now that off a no-fur to match his body. The Skaven brow he had was now gone and replaced by something of Human standards that could be seen at attractive. Rearing back to his feet and steadying himself with the staph he winced as the fierce power of Mokte and Zeigfied clashed. The clack of metal echoing out like a boom of thunder. Skreptch gazed back to the Elves that quickly redirected their attention to the Champion. All until Celedron redirected his attention to Skreptch as he looked back to Fal.
"Help the lizard. Kill that abomination again."
Fal and Celedron were taken aback by Zeigfied's appearance. The smoldering hole in the wall and their foes restored look were unexpected to put it mildly. Forgetting about Skreptch for a moment they turned to the newcomer. Fal pointed his blade which shrieked as if in recognition of their foe. Eager to feat upon his soul. Celedron turned to take up his look to Skreptch as the two spell-casters sized one another up. Warpstone around powering them with likely too much power but it was enough to let both stand a chance. Celedron spoke to Fal as he re-positioned. Fal shook himself from his daze and turned to his fellow Elf.
"Think you can handle him?" He refers to Skreptch.
"Easy." Celedron says as his eyes flare with arcane power. Fal makes to run to the clashing warriors ahead as the Ark shakes and moves.
The group stumble to their feet. Narrowly remaining standing as an eerie shriek emerges from the lower levels. Fal keeps his balance and hears the cry. Something unnatural but somewhat alive. Was he hearing things? He wondered. Though Skreptch and Celedron heard more. Connected to the Winds of Magic the two felt the swirling energies of power radiate from the Ark almost like a heartbeat. The cry was clearer for them. It was a panicked voice that spoke and the movement was it trying to run. The room shook and the core sparked. The rhythmic thud like the aforementioned heartbeat resumed stronger.
"No. I am in control." Skreptch snaps and thrusts out his hand. Bolts of lightning fly towards Celedron. Twirling his free hand he casts a simple counter spell that lets the bolts sizzle out before they hit him. Impacting with the same impact as raindrops that fizzle out.
"My turn." He says and fluttering his fingers generates a blue ball of arcane fire he throws at the Rat. Skreptch leaps from the projectile as it explodes behind him igniting some of his schematics and broken desk fragments.
"Help the lizard. Kill that abomination again."
Fal and Celedron were taken aback by Zeigfied's appearance. The smoldering hole in the wall and their foes restored look were unexpected to put it mildly. Forgetting about Skreptch for a moment they turned to the newcomer. Fal pointed his blade which shrieked as if in recognition of their foe. Eager to feat upon his soul. Celedron turned to take up his look to Skreptch as the two spell-casters sized one another up. Warpstone around powering them with likely too much power but it was enough to let both stand a chance. Celedron spoke to Fal as he re-positioned. Fal shook himself from his daze and turned to his fellow Elf.
"Think you can handle him?" He refers to Skreptch.
"Easy." Celedron says as his eyes flare with arcane power. Fal makes to run to the clashing warriors ahead as the Ark shakes and moves.
The group stumble to their feet. Narrowly remaining standing as an eerie shriek emerges from the lower levels. Fal keeps his balance and hears the cry. Something unnatural but somewhat alive. Was he hearing things? He wondered. Though Skreptch and Celedron heard more. Connected to the Winds of Magic the two felt the swirling energies of power radiate from the Ark almost like a heartbeat. The cry was clearer for them. It was a panicked voice that spoke and the movement was it trying to run. The room shook and the core sparked. The rhythmic thud like the aforementioned heartbeat resumed stronger.
"No. I am in control." Skreptch snaps and thrusts out his hand. Bolts of lightning fly towards Celedron. Twirling his free hand he casts a simple counter spell that lets the bolts sizzle out before they hit him. Impacting with the same impact as raindrops that fizzle out.
"My turn." He says and fluttering his fingers generates a blue ball of arcane fire he throws at the Rat. Skreptch leaps from the projectile as it explodes behind him igniting some of his schematics and broken desk fragments.
The blades of Zeigfied and Mokte spun in a dazzling display of intercoursed hue of rich purple and golden flame. Shyish aura belched from the fixed maw of the Chosen's hilt, the deathly smog enveloped the cursed iron of the sword itself until it appeared almost like a glowing rod. In turn did Mokte's cleaver spew projectiles of holy fire from it's edge, and it stuck to the walls and railing from which it was flung and did not douse. Then the swirl of colours merged with a blood red as Falderan entered the duel. But Zeigfied only grinned cruelly, and he did not waver in the face of his second opponent as their three blades intersected, nor did he feel any fatigue. The three of them crowded the bridge from where the group had emerged, and under Mokte's forceful barrage Zeigfied was begrudgingly forced to remain on the defence. It occurred little to the grieving Saurus that one mere wound would be enough to disintegrate him into ash.
More spiteful wails emerged from beneath the core, ringing within Anglermaw's ears as Celedron and Skreptch began their duel. Skeletal snakes of lightning manifested each split-second across the walls, the railing, by the core, everything that was coated in metal and conducted electricity, which was everywhere. Benign sparks coursed across the floor, and the strange vibration upon the grated platform tickled his senses beneath his feet, the sensation crawling up his spine. What wasn't so benign however were the arcane projectiles that whizzed between Celedron and the Cyborg-Rat. Anglermaw watched the first blow from Skreptch connect and dissipate upon Celedron's figure like a breeze. The Sea-Rat couldn't help but let out a faint chuckle. This Warlock was certainly upon his last stand, and it didn't look to be a very heroic one. Then Celedron would reciprocate with a blast of his own, one that was dodged and blasted across the tattered schematics, where Hans lay oblivious to the chaos.
Anglermaw hauled himself over to the Student, the flames were embers for the moment but he knew they would soon envelop the splintered wooden desks and burn him alive. Anglermaw remained clung onto the railing, but no longer to simply soften the pain he felt. This vertigo was familiar, as the Ark slowly teetered from side to side in a disorganised flow. The Ark was still moving, screaming through the undertunnels until it would likely approach the open sea. From there, everybody would be thrown to the ground.
Hans' face was drapped in a bandage torn from his own clothes, richly stained from the nosebleed. Anglermaw spotted the uncovered eye of the Hans wearily observe his vivid surroundings, and the Sea-Rat half-thought Brunswick to be very much conscious, but far too captivated by vibrant hues to notice the danger.
"Hans" Anglermaw called out, reaching his hand outward. "Come on, t-take my hand, gotta get outta here."
"Anglermaw, I don't remember getting here." Responded Hans, almost too calmly. "It's all so bright in this place."
The Sea-Rat shook his head. "This is the Ark, Mister Brunswick, and it'll grant you a fate worse than death if you don't get up!"
Hans remained silent and did not stir from his tranquility, but he sat up from the kindled desks, observing the carnage with the same conviction he'd had under the Slann's possession. Though now that trinket was gone, as was Anglermaw's patience. He pulled at Hans' shoulder, his claw bared, thus forcing a reaction out of the Student, and Anglermaw's jittering gaze faced him down.
"Get up, 'cause if it ain't me gnawing on your burnt hide, it'll be another rat!" Warned Anglermaw, and Hans was compelled to rise out of fear, but still the terror of the situation hadn't occurred to him.
The stirring of the Ark became far fiercer with each passing second, and the ethereal wails once more became deafened by the power of machinery like the whir of an out of control Doomwheel. The gears upon the mainframe began to smoke with green embers, and the vertigo began to worsen as the Ark's acceleration thrust like a torpedo.
More spiteful wails emerged from beneath the core, ringing within Anglermaw's ears as Celedron and Skreptch began their duel. Skeletal snakes of lightning manifested each split-second across the walls, the railing, by the core, everything that was coated in metal and conducted electricity, which was everywhere. Benign sparks coursed across the floor, and the strange vibration upon the grated platform tickled his senses beneath his feet, the sensation crawling up his spine. What wasn't so benign however were the arcane projectiles that whizzed between Celedron and the Cyborg-Rat. Anglermaw watched the first blow from Skreptch connect and dissipate upon Celedron's figure like a breeze. The Sea-Rat couldn't help but let out a faint chuckle. This Warlock was certainly upon his last stand, and it didn't look to be a very heroic one. Then Celedron would reciprocate with a blast of his own, one that was dodged and blasted across the tattered schematics, where Hans lay oblivious to the chaos.
Anglermaw hauled himself over to the Student, the flames were embers for the moment but he knew they would soon envelop the splintered wooden desks and burn him alive. Anglermaw remained clung onto the railing, but no longer to simply soften the pain he felt. This vertigo was familiar, as the Ark slowly teetered from side to side in a disorganised flow. The Ark was still moving, screaming through the undertunnels until it would likely approach the open sea. From there, everybody would be thrown to the ground.
Hans' face was drapped in a bandage torn from his own clothes, richly stained from the nosebleed. Anglermaw spotted the uncovered eye of the Hans wearily observe his vivid surroundings, and the Sea-Rat half-thought Brunswick to be very much conscious, but far too captivated by vibrant hues to notice the danger.
"Hans" Anglermaw called out, reaching his hand outward. "Come on, t-take my hand, gotta get outta here."
"Anglermaw, I don't remember getting here." Responded Hans, almost too calmly. "It's all so bright in this place."
The Sea-Rat shook his head. "This is the Ark, Mister Brunswick, and it'll grant you a fate worse than death if you don't get up!"
Hans remained silent and did not stir from his tranquility, but he sat up from the kindled desks, observing the carnage with the same conviction he'd had under the Slann's possession. Though now that trinket was gone, as was Anglermaw's patience. He pulled at Hans' shoulder, his claw bared, thus forcing a reaction out of the Student, and Anglermaw's jittering gaze faced him down.
"Get up, 'cause if it ain't me gnawing on your burnt hide, it'll be another rat!" Warned Anglermaw, and Hans was compelled to rise out of fear, but still the terror of the situation hadn't occurred to him.
The stirring of the Ark became far fiercer with each passing second, and the ethereal wails once more became deafened by the power of machinery like the whir of an out of control Doomwheel. The gears upon the mainframe began to smoke with green embers, and the vertigo began to worsen as the Ark's acceleration thrust like a torpedo.
As the three weapons interlocked a three-way grimace occurred. The primal fury of Mokte was directed to the Champion but Fal didn't want to risk getting caught in the beasts crossfire if it went into a blood crazed rampage. Zeigfied was similar. He gazed at the two and seemed to relish in the combat. His Human features being returned threw Fal a slight bit. Not seeing him without the feral Skaven head was a bit of a shock. Then there was Fal. Staring directly at Zeigfied's blade as his own wailed. The blades seemed to interact. The same winds twisted around their essence and like rival siblings they interacted. Hissing like intertwined serpents.
"I must admit, you somehow got uglier." Fal mocks as the three blades push apart. Twirling his blade in a flourish Fal moves forward for a faint to the Champion's left shoulder before twisting for his right wrist. This strike was blocked and parried with unnerving ease. Two more clashes of metal rang out as the blades collided and the Elf leapt back. He grimaced at the Champion's defenses. He was fast despite his bulk.
Celedron began to generate a secondary fireball. Blue flames swirled into a form as warpstone energy crackled about. A sickly green hue formed around the fireball as the corrupting energies of warpstone crawled into it. Celedron felt a sickness in his very soul. A feeling like eating bad fish but on a spiritual, not physical sense. As he shook off the feeling he hauled the green and blue ball at Skreptch. The Skaven raised his staff to take the attack. It exploded in front of him singing his whiskers and heating his staff. His paws burnt as energy crackled around sounding like the laughter of Daemons.
"You will not have it!" Skreptch slams his staph into the ground and an echoing thrum radiates from the spot. A pulsing hue of energy radiates up and in his surprise Celedron's blade is tugged forward as well as Skreptch. Pulled into to the point he hit. A force pulled the blade and rats metal frame but after Celedron was pulled off guard for a moment the stumbling Skreptch tosses aside his staph. Disconnecting the tubes from his pack with a hiss of steam. He lunges forward. Celedron may have had the advantage with magic but with natural weapons Skreptch won. At least he had his blade. Though that wouldn't last. The armoured frame of Skreptch was narrowly blocked by Celedron's sword but the impact let the rodent disarm him. Screeching like a feral beast he tackles the Elf. Celedron falls back and grabs his hand around Skreptch's neck to fight off his attack. A fury likely fueled by the horrid black hunger over took Skreptch as he went to kill the mage. Clawing away cloth and snapping with his rodent incisors.
"I must admit, you somehow got uglier." Fal mocks as the three blades push apart. Twirling his blade in a flourish Fal moves forward for a faint to the Champion's left shoulder before twisting for his right wrist. This strike was blocked and parried with unnerving ease. Two more clashes of metal rang out as the blades collided and the Elf leapt back. He grimaced at the Champion's defenses. He was fast despite his bulk.
Celedron began to generate a secondary fireball. Blue flames swirled into a form as warpstone energy crackled about. A sickly green hue formed around the fireball as the corrupting energies of warpstone crawled into it. Celedron felt a sickness in his very soul. A feeling like eating bad fish but on a spiritual, not physical sense. As he shook off the feeling he hauled the green and blue ball at Skreptch. The Skaven raised his staff to take the attack. It exploded in front of him singing his whiskers and heating his staff. His paws burnt as energy crackled around sounding like the laughter of Daemons.
"You will not have it!" Skreptch slams his staph into the ground and an echoing thrum radiates from the spot. A pulsing hue of energy radiates up and in his surprise Celedron's blade is tugged forward as well as Skreptch. Pulled into to the point he hit. A force pulled the blade and rats metal frame but after Celedron was pulled off guard for a moment the stumbling Skreptch tosses aside his staph. Disconnecting the tubes from his pack with a hiss of steam. He lunges forward. Celedron may have had the advantage with magic but with natural weapons Skreptch won. At least he had his blade. Though that wouldn't last. The armoured frame of Skreptch was narrowly blocked by Celedron's sword but the impact let the rodent disarm him. Screeching like a feral beast he tackles the Elf. Celedron falls back and grabs his hand around Skreptch's neck to fight off his attack. A fury likely fueled by the horrid black hunger over took Skreptch as he went to kill the mage. Clawing away cloth and snapping with his rodent incisors.
Zeigfied couldn't help but chuckle at Falderan's snark, whom even in the face of death remained so insufferable. He parried a fierce overhead blow from Mokte, causing the Saurus to fumble over his own force. They had pushed Zeigfied back toward the mezzanine now, and Mokte was barely able to save himself from falling past the railing and back toward the core. The fall would barely have injured him, but rather left him open for any counterattack that the Warlock-thing below, or even Anglermaw, might make upon him.
Zeigfied took advantage of the loss of one threat. He could have broken off his duel with Falderan and struck the Saurus down, but that insidious blade the Man-Elf held had made short work of the Chosen before. Thus Zeigfied focused his blows upon the Man-Elf, and both dueled almost theatrically among the numberless twisting serpents of electricity that coursed across their beings. His blade intersected with that of Falderan's after a brief moment of returning parries, for Falderan's form was as smooth as flowing, unmolested water, and Zeigfied - though at home in heat of a fight - fought with caution unlike the madmen of the north.
He leered over the fluorescent deadlock with a grin, and the hideous gloom of Shyish made it seem as though the flesh slowly peeled from the curves of his lips. "Take a good look at my face then, Man-Elf," Spat Zeigfied, almost a whisper under the flurry of zaps across the room. "It will be the last thing your mortal eyes gaze upon." Then he broke away his stance, goading Falderan to strike again, enough for Zeigfied to find a breach upon his flank. But that idea was immediately cut short as a sudden force, like that of a boulder, sent him crashing into a nearby wall.
Mokte had regained his composure, and cared little for what conversation that went about the Elf and the hated enemy. The Saurus steeled himself, and charged at the Chosen with a hard drop-kick. Zeigfied did not anticipate the blow and was thrown to the floor, but his unnatural endurance gave him the reflex to parry the killing blow, his claymore clenched still as he was prone by the stairway. He forced the Saurus back with a stream of arcane fire from his fingertips, buying him enough time to resume the three-way duel.
While the blow might not have damaged Zeigfied, one could tell from the heavy sneer across his face that it had indeed hurt, and his cautious stance became looser as he sought an offence against either scum.
Hans and Anglermaw were still below, weirdly untouched to the carnage surrounding them, for all other enemies were either dead or had cowered from the danger. The Sea-Rat's mind was blank, instinct had told him that flight was the superior option, and to stay in the core was to welcome death. But in truth, he had nowhere to go. There was nowhere safe for he and Hans to leave, the latter his only, if unwilling friend in the world. Even if they found no opposition among the fleeing clanrats, both of them would likely be swept away as the Ark sped through the tunnels, and once it found it's way upon the open sea, what then? What was big Nahwa going to do now that their link was lost? Maybe he could let spite overtake him as it had done, wait until his companions had exhausted themselves, before ruling the Ark once more, with Hans his servant. But he knew that would undermine all that he had committed to -- to clear his name and receive redemption which none of his evil kind had ever achieved before.
In his moment of serenity, he struggled to ponder if it made a difference or not in the long run.
"C'mon Mister Brunswick," Anglermaw said again, now voicing a plea rather than a demand. "You gotta snap outta this, we gotta sort this out."
Hans rose with a grunt, and perhaps for the first time since the encounter with Lankey Pete, he'd regained some semblance of himself. He observed his surroundings; the raves if the engine within, the dull strobes emitted in the duel above the mezzanine, but he point with a gesture toward Celedron, defending himself from the attack against Skreptch.
"Celedron," Hans muttered, gazing back toward Anglermaw. "We have to help him, please Anglermaw."
Anglermaw conceded with a nod. If there any of the no-furs worth saving, Celedron was likely among them. He scanned the gritted floor for any weapons that could be of use. Within seconds he found a large nugget of warpstone, a sharp piece of shrapnel that flew from the core when Mokte had regained his cleaver. He gave a few seconds worth of pondering if it was enough to incapacitate the Cyborg-Rat, then he gripped the more blunt side of the nugget.
"Pick one of those up from the floor-yeah." Demanded Anglermaw, "Don't wanna end up soot if this doesn't work."
Hans acquiesced, the texture of the nugged he picked up felt more corrosive than sharp, but he wasn't in the frame of mind comprehend the evil material in his hand.
With a deep breath, Anglermaw stalked over to the struggle, and he thrust the large nugget overhead, aiming for Skreptch's spine.
--
No semblence of a coherent voice now rippled from the croaking Slann, who from his palanquin sat within the floating palace of Tzlipectl had observed everything that had transpired within the Undercity. Save only Supa-kheti, the council of Skinks who had previously ruled the city as he slumbered were absent from the chamber, replaced now by a host of temple guard that protruded their spears in the direction of the now inert scrying pool. From those turqiouse waters came no longer the image of the Pit and the Ark, for their manifestations had been hijacked images of despair. Moments ago, the waters had become a cyclone, erupting with foul laughter from the Realm of Chaos, and the smouldering recesses of the pit were twisted into the likeness of Tzlipectl itself. The fates of the city's unlikely Champions were now unknown.
Chichime's honour guard had instinctively charged into Nahwa's chamber at the sound of warped, lizardine screams. The Saurus warriors reared their salivating heads, mindlessly searching for a foe they could not see. They were placated by the sight of their still living Lord, who placed upon them an aura of calm to still their bloodthirst.
Supa-kheti gazed pleadingly toward Nahwa's burgeoning form. "W-What isss wrong, my Lord?" He asked, and suddenly his frail body felt like stone, and his heart sank even before the answer was given.
Nahwa did not entertain the Shaman with a returning glance. "The Ark has awoke," The Slann's voice shivered across the spine of the elderly Skink. "I knew it would come to this, that Demons would pollute the geomantic link. A contingency must be made to counter this evil."
Supa-kheti shuddered yet again. "Could you not overpower this Demon, Lord Nahwa?" He wondered.
Nahwa glanced toward the scrying waters with a dismissive croak. The once clear liquid had become marred by dirt, and foul germs to shape in the water like algae.
"To reinstate the link would be to invite doom into our city," Nahwa confessed, "I cannot aid our champions any further through the whistle. You go in my stead."
Supa-kheti was taken aback, and fumbled slightly upon his cane. "What can I do?" Said Supa-kheti in response. "I am but a meangre servant, a shaman far past his prime. I know nothing but healing and cultivation of wild things. I cannot face Demons."
Nahwa grumbled. "Not physically, no. But you have mastery over the pure winds, the elements to banish evil. Through this, you are my emissary, and the last hope of Tzlipectl. I will open one last portal to the Ark's harbour, for the evils there are now gone and the citadel that looms is derelict. There you shall follow the Ark's trail and smite it into pieces."
Supa-kheti could not help but sigh. He knew of the peril he had been thrust within, but the love of the city, and for the life of his unlikely friend, Mokte, the Shaman would undertake this task, perhaps the last hurrah of his long life. Before Supa-kheti's subconscience had confirmed this, the screech of a terrible beast pierced his eardrums. He could not help but look back toward the exit, the shadow of large membrenous creature prowled the stairs attentively, becalmed by Nahwa's influence.
"Your steed awaits." Nahwa remarked humourlessly.
Supa-kheti mounted the creature as he was guided outside by a group of Saurus, chief among them Chichime, whose crystalline hide glinted below the stars. A spear remained clung to his right claw, and he gave the Shaman a nod of approval. The beast he'd mount was unlike any terradon the Shaman had previously flew upon. Upon it's massive brindle was beheld not a seat, but a platform that was clearly meant for multiple Skinks. It was bedecked with jewels and vibrant gold upon the railing, wards of balance, for Supa-kheti hardly stumbled as the beast beat it's wings and hovered in the air. It's jaws were angler-like, and it's eyes glowed contemptuous jade. Supa-kheti muttered a prayer in silence, that he would be delivered by the Old Ones in their mercy, and that Mokte was safe. A swirling pool materialised upon the night-sky, becoming a figment of a devastated battleground -- the remnants of the Pit.
Nahwa gave him no leave, no thanks of his service to Tzlipectl. The moment Supa-kheti linked his conscience with the great beast, it flew into the portal. The clean air of the sacred pyramid was replaced by a stale rank of Skaven death and excrement as the Shaman found himself among the smouldering ruins. With the portal behind him now closed, he realised that he could deter from his task.
Zeigfied took advantage of the loss of one threat. He could have broken off his duel with Falderan and struck the Saurus down, but that insidious blade the Man-Elf held had made short work of the Chosen before. Thus Zeigfied focused his blows upon the Man-Elf, and both dueled almost theatrically among the numberless twisting serpents of electricity that coursed across their beings. His blade intersected with that of Falderan's after a brief moment of returning parries, for Falderan's form was as smooth as flowing, unmolested water, and Zeigfied - though at home in heat of a fight - fought with caution unlike the madmen of the north.
He leered over the fluorescent deadlock with a grin, and the hideous gloom of Shyish made it seem as though the flesh slowly peeled from the curves of his lips. "Take a good look at my face then, Man-Elf," Spat Zeigfied, almost a whisper under the flurry of zaps across the room. "It will be the last thing your mortal eyes gaze upon." Then he broke away his stance, goading Falderan to strike again, enough for Zeigfied to find a breach upon his flank. But that idea was immediately cut short as a sudden force, like that of a boulder, sent him crashing into a nearby wall.
Mokte had regained his composure, and cared little for what conversation that went about the Elf and the hated enemy. The Saurus steeled himself, and charged at the Chosen with a hard drop-kick. Zeigfied did not anticipate the blow and was thrown to the floor, but his unnatural endurance gave him the reflex to parry the killing blow, his claymore clenched still as he was prone by the stairway. He forced the Saurus back with a stream of arcane fire from his fingertips, buying him enough time to resume the three-way duel.
While the blow might not have damaged Zeigfied, one could tell from the heavy sneer across his face that it had indeed hurt, and his cautious stance became looser as he sought an offence against either scum.
Hans and Anglermaw were still below, weirdly untouched to the carnage surrounding them, for all other enemies were either dead or had cowered from the danger. The Sea-Rat's mind was blank, instinct had told him that flight was the superior option, and to stay in the core was to welcome death. But in truth, he had nowhere to go. There was nowhere safe for he and Hans to leave, the latter his only, if unwilling friend in the world. Even if they found no opposition among the fleeing clanrats, both of them would likely be swept away as the Ark sped through the tunnels, and once it found it's way upon the open sea, what then? What was big Nahwa going to do now that their link was lost? Maybe he could let spite overtake him as it had done, wait until his companions had exhausted themselves, before ruling the Ark once more, with Hans his servant. But he knew that would undermine all that he had committed to -- to clear his name and receive redemption which none of his evil kind had ever achieved before.
In his moment of serenity, he struggled to ponder if it made a difference or not in the long run.
"C'mon Mister Brunswick," Anglermaw said again, now voicing a plea rather than a demand. "You gotta snap outta this, we gotta sort this out."
Hans rose with a grunt, and perhaps for the first time since the encounter with Lankey Pete, he'd regained some semblance of himself. He observed his surroundings; the raves if the engine within, the dull strobes emitted in the duel above the mezzanine, but he point with a gesture toward Celedron, defending himself from the attack against Skreptch.
"Celedron," Hans muttered, gazing back toward Anglermaw. "We have to help him, please Anglermaw."
Anglermaw conceded with a nod. If there any of the no-furs worth saving, Celedron was likely among them. He scanned the gritted floor for any weapons that could be of use. Within seconds he found a large nugget of warpstone, a sharp piece of shrapnel that flew from the core when Mokte had regained his cleaver. He gave a few seconds worth of pondering if it was enough to incapacitate the Cyborg-Rat, then he gripped the more blunt side of the nugget.
"Pick one of those up from the floor-yeah." Demanded Anglermaw, "Don't wanna end up soot if this doesn't work."
Hans acquiesced, the texture of the nugged he picked up felt more corrosive than sharp, but he wasn't in the frame of mind comprehend the evil material in his hand.
With a deep breath, Anglermaw stalked over to the struggle, and he thrust the large nugget overhead, aiming for Skreptch's spine.
--
No semblence of a coherent voice now rippled from the croaking Slann, who from his palanquin sat within the floating palace of Tzlipectl had observed everything that had transpired within the Undercity. Save only Supa-kheti, the council of Skinks who had previously ruled the city as he slumbered were absent from the chamber, replaced now by a host of temple guard that protruded their spears in the direction of the now inert scrying pool. From those turqiouse waters came no longer the image of the Pit and the Ark, for their manifestations had been hijacked images of despair. Moments ago, the waters had become a cyclone, erupting with foul laughter from the Realm of Chaos, and the smouldering recesses of the pit were twisted into the likeness of Tzlipectl itself. The fates of the city's unlikely Champions were now unknown.
Chichime's honour guard had instinctively charged into Nahwa's chamber at the sound of warped, lizardine screams. The Saurus warriors reared their salivating heads, mindlessly searching for a foe they could not see. They were placated by the sight of their still living Lord, who placed upon them an aura of calm to still their bloodthirst.
Supa-kheti gazed pleadingly toward Nahwa's burgeoning form. "W-What isss wrong, my Lord?" He asked, and suddenly his frail body felt like stone, and his heart sank even before the answer was given.
Nahwa did not entertain the Shaman with a returning glance. "The Ark has awoke," The Slann's voice shivered across the spine of the elderly Skink. "I knew it would come to this, that Demons would pollute the geomantic link. A contingency must be made to counter this evil."
Supa-kheti shuddered yet again. "Could you not overpower this Demon, Lord Nahwa?" He wondered.
Nahwa glanced toward the scrying waters with a dismissive croak. The once clear liquid had become marred by dirt, and foul germs to shape in the water like algae.
"To reinstate the link would be to invite doom into our city," Nahwa confessed, "I cannot aid our champions any further through the whistle. You go in my stead."
Supa-kheti was taken aback, and fumbled slightly upon his cane. "What can I do?" Said Supa-kheti in response. "I am but a meangre servant, a shaman far past his prime. I know nothing but healing and cultivation of wild things. I cannot face Demons."
Nahwa grumbled. "Not physically, no. But you have mastery over the pure winds, the elements to banish evil. Through this, you are my emissary, and the last hope of Tzlipectl. I will open one last portal to the Ark's harbour, for the evils there are now gone and the citadel that looms is derelict. There you shall follow the Ark's trail and smite it into pieces."
Supa-kheti could not help but sigh. He knew of the peril he had been thrust within, but the love of the city, and for the life of his unlikely friend, Mokte, the Shaman would undertake this task, perhaps the last hurrah of his long life. Before Supa-kheti's subconscience had confirmed this, the screech of a terrible beast pierced his eardrums. He could not help but look back toward the exit, the shadow of large membrenous creature prowled the stairs attentively, becalmed by Nahwa's influence.
"Your steed awaits." Nahwa remarked humourlessly.
Supa-kheti mounted the creature as he was guided outside by a group of Saurus, chief among them Chichime, whose crystalline hide glinted below the stars. A spear remained clung to his right claw, and he gave the Shaman a nod of approval. The beast he'd mount was unlike any terradon the Shaman had previously flew upon. Upon it's massive brindle was beheld not a seat, but a platform that was clearly meant for multiple Skinks. It was bedecked with jewels and vibrant gold upon the railing, wards of balance, for Supa-kheti hardly stumbled as the beast beat it's wings and hovered in the air. It's jaws were angler-like, and it's eyes glowed contemptuous jade. Supa-kheti muttered a prayer in silence, that he would be delivered by the Old Ones in their mercy, and that Mokte was safe. A swirling pool materialised upon the night-sky, becoming a figment of a devastated battleground -- the remnants of the Pit.
Nahwa gave him no leave, no thanks of his service to Tzlipectl. The moment Supa-kheti linked his conscience with the great beast, it flew into the portal. The clean air of the sacred pyramid was replaced by a stale rank of Skaven death and excrement as the Shaman found himself among the smouldering ruins. With the portal behind him now closed, he realised that he could deter from his task.
Zeigfied's returning taunt was brushed aside by Fal just as his own was by the Champion. As their blades clashed again the decaying winds of death curled around each blade and one another. In a spectral dance of war but oddly beautiful if one could see it. Being knocked back Fal took up his stance beside Mokte.
"It's funny though." He smirks. "Out of the both of us you're the only one that has died to the others blade." Fal's taunt was aimed at Zeigfied's pride. The fact in their last encounter he struck him down and now he taunted the supposed 'invincible' champion for his failures. "But don't worry. I'm more than willing to remind you of that pain. I'll do it again and again till the blasted End Times." A rocking of the Ark shook and around the energies of the reactor sparked. A fierce bolt shot off and slammed into the roof above them letting loose a blinding flash for the faintest second. This was used. Both Fal and Mokte would move in sync with the flash to strike against their foe. At least Fal would hope the Saurus would move too. Lunging forward he went to strike his foes arm and disarm him.
As fangs and hot breath brushed past Celedron's face the animal like ferocity of the Skaven was overwhelming even his fit physical prowess. As fangs missed his face by mere millimetres his attackers whiskers brushed his face. Though before Skreptch could bite down with a deadly hit a twang ran out from his back. A crack and vibration through his body as something hard impacted his back generator. Frozen for a moment as warpstone energy cracked off and heated the metal for a brief second. Skreptch screamed and Celedron flung the heavy rat off himself. He rolled to the side with a thump. His reactor sparking and heating. The Skaven's visor was flicked up and he glared at the attacker. Anglermaw the traitor rat.
"Horned One will feast on you!" He shouts rushing for Anglermaw on all fours. His armour causing his strides to be rather sluggish but the demonic like ferocity he possessed kept him going. He leapt towards Anglermaw as Celedron moved for his blade.
Qua-zital was left in a state of tragic horror as he looked over the slaughtered remains of his fellow Knights. Brutalized by the ferocity of the Skaven and Zeigfied. If Skink's were capable of it he'd shed tears for his fallen brethren. His Cold One snarled at the leaving Ark and the city around them was reduced to anarchy. Fires spread through the wooden constructs and deeper in supports collapsed. But all that seemed so far off. Qua-zital was in a world of his own. That was until a wave of divine energy rushed through him like a breeze. Looking up he saw a large flying creature that seemed very strange even by the standards of the Lustrian beasts. His Cold One growled and backed away. Qua-zital was confused at first but shortly saw the form on top. The Skink Priest Supa-kheti.
"By Nahwa we have reinforcements? The Ark has left and our forces are decimated. Though the vile vermin fared little better." He says in his own reptilian tongue. Indicating to the burning Undercity and many corpses around.
"It's funny though." He smirks. "Out of the both of us you're the only one that has died to the others blade." Fal's taunt was aimed at Zeigfied's pride. The fact in their last encounter he struck him down and now he taunted the supposed 'invincible' champion for his failures. "But don't worry. I'm more than willing to remind you of that pain. I'll do it again and again till the blasted End Times." A rocking of the Ark shook and around the energies of the reactor sparked. A fierce bolt shot off and slammed into the roof above them letting loose a blinding flash for the faintest second. This was used. Both Fal and Mokte would move in sync with the flash to strike against their foe. At least Fal would hope the Saurus would move too. Lunging forward he went to strike his foes arm and disarm him.
As fangs and hot breath brushed past Celedron's face the animal like ferocity of the Skaven was overwhelming even his fit physical prowess. As fangs missed his face by mere millimetres his attackers whiskers brushed his face. Though before Skreptch could bite down with a deadly hit a twang ran out from his back. A crack and vibration through his body as something hard impacted his back generator. Frozen for a moment as warpstone energy cracked off and heated the metal for a brief second. Skreptch screamed and Celedron flung the heavy rat off himself. He rolled to the side with a thump. His reactor sparking and heating. The Skaven's visor was flicked up and he glared at the attacker. Anglermaw the traitor rat.
"Horned One will feast on you!" He shouts rushing for Anglermaw on all fours. His armour causing his strides to be rather sluggish but the demonic like ferocity he possessed kept him going. He leapt towards Anglermaw as Celedron moved for his blade.
Qua-zital was left in a state of tragic horror as he looked over the slaughtered remains of his fellow Knights. Brutalized by the ferocity of the Skaven and Zeigfied. If Skink's were capable of it he'd shed tears for his fallen brethren. His Cold One snarled at the leaving Ark and the city around them was reduced to anarchy. Fires spread through the wooden constructs and deeper in supports collapsed. But all that seemed so far off. Qua-zital was in a world of his own. That was until a wave of divine energy rushed through him like a breeze. Looking up he saw a large flying creature that seemed very strange even by the standards of the Lustrian beasts. His Cold One growled and backed away. Qua-zital was confused at first but shortly saw the form on top. The Skink Priest Supa-kheti.
"By Nahwa we have reinforcements? The Ark has left and our forces are decimated. Though the vile vermin fared little better." He says in his own reptilian tongue. Indicating to the burning Undercity and many corpses around.
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