Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » (CLOSED) Warhammer Fantasy: Doom Awaits (PART TWO)

The group tailed Mokte down a wavey cobbled road away from the villa, adorned with a gallery of mosaics upon the ground, their visages now lost to time and the trodding of clawed feet. Strange reptilian beasts swam in the bronze sky, unlike any creature seen in the Old World, but even their squarks were drowned by out by the ongoing gutteral chime from the city plaza. Supa-kheti had been obliged to retain his smoking pipe as he was carried over the wide shoulder of his dear beast, Bolonez. A grey haze emerged from the Skink's wrinkled maw, the chemicals within the smoke were becalming, like a sweet incense.

Anglermaw's stomach whined while the group continued to tread toward the plaza, and a part of him knew that it was not the engorging of various meats of animals he did not know. He felt a little insignificant under the colossal shadows of these great geomantic pylons that loomed toward the sky, their stasis in the air governed by the will of a giant toad-thing. The structures overcast the skies; it seemed like dusk had approached too soon, and Anglermaw himself had dreaded to think how little his stomach had shrank in the hours he'd spent asleep. The Black Hunger might have passed, but it'd be a few hours before the cravings soon returned.

Skinks of many iridescent colours poked their little beaks from the many terraced hovels and favelas to take a curious peak at their unlikely heroes -- these outsiders from the far east. Trepidation wallowed within their minds at the sight of the Sea-Rat, their hated enemy, causing many of the onlookers to shrink their heads back within their hiding holes, and those wandering the streets to scamper into the confined alleyways. Few spoke in whispers and hisses toward the uneasy companions, but their words were too quiet for the echoing shriek that continued, and spoken in a language that was alien to the foreigners -- Mokte could care less to translate.

They soon came down a hill of mosaic, free from the maze of homes. Like an artificial valley of clay adjacent to the great temple of Nahwa from which they descended, the group had finally come to the great square. The way within was lobbied by four great arches on all sides of the square, and a large circular carving upon a centre platform that embossed the likeness of a wide, chubby figure wearing a primitive headress. It seemed to be Nahwa, ironically, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the figure who took his place among the rows of Saurus guardians that stood snarling and disciplined was an alpha of their brood. Whose skin was almost crystalline, carrying on himself a glittering armour of golden idols dedicated to the Old Ones, and a single sided cleaver that glowed like honey wherever the sun shone. He was hoisted upon a raptor beast, pressed down under a metal brindle that seemed more uncomfortable than practical. Behind him was a small figure, a human figure, still coated by stained Marianburger felt. Of course it was none other than Mister Brunswick.

But Mokte's attention was drawn to the beastly figure that rode in front, cheered on by the Saurus that shouted in unison: "Boq! Boq! Boq-ah!"

"...Chichime..." Croaked Mokte, his impetuous march had stopped at the snarling sight of the great Saurus.

"Chi-chi?" Wondered Anglermaw aloud. "What's got you in'na fit-yeah? Thought you lizard-folk were thick as fleas."

"He is the Old Blood of Tzlipectl." Mokte growled. "Warmaster of the Saurus. But my kin-spawn see me as a devil by my looks. I am different, but I am not marked like the greatest of Saurus, so I am corrupt in their eyes."

The screeching and shrieking from above had its source revealed once they made it outdoors. Looking to the sky large winged beasts flew over. Terradon's similar to what they had been flown here on flew over head. They were a good three dozen meters above but their wingspans were massive. As their shadows flew over them both Fal and Celedron noted their width. Around eight meters between wing tips. Their large bat like wings let them glide over the temple city without rival. Though with a glance up Celedron noticed they were other types of beasts too. One had a more spear like beak and had an even larger wingspan with two thin, ribbon like tails behind it. Some smaller species were seen flying over. Caught up in the frenzy. Some were small birds and others smaller reptiles.

Through the streets Skinks stared at them and chittered in their primeval tongue. The Elves cared little for what they said. Likely their words were shock or disgust at seeing Anglermaw. Maybe even fear. Standing every so often were the larger Kroxigors. Often seen carrying large baskets of food or supplies. Sometimes large bits of construction like wood or stones. Being hurried through the city the many thousands of eyes on them faded into the background. Despite the alien nature of the Lizardmen and the brutal force of nature that was Lustria the group couldn't care much for the glares. They knew they wouldn't be attacked at this moment even if many of them wanted to rip the warm bloods to bloody shreds.

Arriving at the rather ceremonial looking walkway a feeling of concern riled up stronger then ever as rows of vicious looking Saurus Warriors stood in regimented formation. It was impressive to the eyes of the Elves as each could compare it to their own nations military presence and sense of formality. Mixes of spiked clubs and thick spears were wielded by the dozens of massive warriors. Each one hunched but still standing six to eight feet tall of pure muscle. Out front was an individual atop a savage looking Cold One. Large, green reptiles the Lizardmen used as mounts, at least this is what Celedron thought seeing one mounted atop it. The Saurus in the front was more ornate than the others. Physically larger and with a more unique looking weapon that gave him a sense of rank and prestige. They heard it being referred to as an 'Old Blood'. At least in translation a simple name. Likely in reference to it's age. It sounded as if it held quiet the rank amongst the troops. But as it moved forward the Cold One snarled. Fal and Celedron kept back and noticed Hans behind them. Fal's eyes widened upon seeing the Human. He was still alive. Which was good, but he seemed different. Celedron looked at him curiously as well. The words of Nahwa repeating in his mind as Mokte and this Old Blood went to engage in conversation.

Anglermaw grinded his fangs side to side, bearing them in his curious gaze of this 'Chichime'-thing. The Old Blood raised his cleaver above with his armoured fists, hiding the pale figure of Mister Brunswick. Those Saurus that watched on raised their spears upward in return and howled with their baritone voices a deafening cheer at the sight of their champion; the greatest and most deadly of their kind. Shrill screeches joined in the accapella, for Chichime was adored by the Skinks of Tzlipectl also, battering their squamous chests as rabid as any meandering Saurus. The slinky, fragile bodies of these warrior lizards belied their firey valour. Anglermaw covered his furred ears, or at least made an attempt -- the hairless stump that used to be his left claw didn't provide much cover from the beastly roar.

"Sigmar Rat! This your master-lord?" Wondered the Sea-Rat with a sour hiss. "The whole city's coming out to see, droves I tell you!"

Of all the cold-blooded creatures present - unleashing their resounding tribute - Mokte and Supa-kheti were the only two silent, the red Saurus' vision became contemptuously locked toward Chichime, ignorant of the many curious skinks that scampered to the parade of beasts in the square. "There are no kings in these lands..." Mokte replied, a scowl hidden by the grating of his golden helm. "...Chichime is the champion, greatest defender of Tzlipectl. But he is too proud, he is not worthy of being Nahwa's fist."

Anglermaw chuckled, his voice wet with dark humour. "He'd kill us all if he'd be given chance, wun't 'e."

Mokte nodded. "He'd eat your little limbs for a snack, one by one, as you still lived, while wearing my skin as a jewel. The less said of Elf-spawn, the better."

"Good thing the big Nahwa is makin' sure we all breathe, then."

Chichime dismounted from his scaled steed, beckoning his human companion to follow suit, the latter slowly ambling down from the scowling lizard, which would've ripped Hans piece by piece had it not been influenced by the soothing resonance of Nahwa. A vivid path of flower petals marked the Old Blood's trail as a group of Skinks danced and threw the colourful leaves behind the warrior, kneading the bared tusks that were his gnashing teeth across the beak of this blighted lesser. Mokte remained statuary, even as a wary Anglermaw backed off from the staring contest. Chichime continued to level the blight-spawn and these other hated warm-bloods, wandering back and forth from Anglermaw to Falderan as a circle of Saurus warriors surrounded the group. He bore his fangs at the raggedy Elf, snapping his jaws as he came back to the Sea-Rat, who took cover from the reptilian spittle with an audible 'Augh!'

Then he returned to the blighted one, bearing the obsinite blade in both claws -- but Mokte still refused to lower his crest. The seconds that passed seemed like grueling minutes...

...Then Chichime presented the greatsword to him, bowing his crystalline crest humbly as it glinted in the tropical sun. Mokte stumbled, his staunchness quickly became confusion.

"Take... Nahwa blesses you, honoured-spawn, chosen crusaders all."

The level of fanfare and ceremony that had been shown by the Skinks was something to respect. Celedron had been ever surprised by the Children of the Old Ones since he had arrived. They showed more finesse and personality than he expected reptiles capable of. This level of cheering and gaudy ceremony was something he had seen occasionally on Ulthuan. As warriors returned from grand battles across the great ocean, as scholars returned from expeditions, as historians came out from the most mysterious reaches of Ulthuan's own lands. They would be greeted in a similar manner. Cheers and flowers thrown from maidens and children. It was a time of beauty in these days of foul war and cruel weapons. But the one who commanded this praise, Chichime seemed to have earnt it by his stature alone.

Fal took in the situation. He had been in a similar situation after assisting a local force in killing a savage Manticore that came down from the mountains in Nordland. The people of the towns didn't have much to throw but he received many eager stares, winks and suggestive 'gifts' thrown at his feet by maidens of the Empire. He wouldn't be afraid to admit he took some of these offers up. And probably did even more when drunk that he couldn't recall if he tried. But without the more suggestive undertones this Saurus was clearly a hero. And from the mouth of their hosts he was the strongest around. Behind him though he took note of Hans. Keeping an eye on him and seeing his conditioned. He seemed well off. As Chichime got close and snarled at them Fal kept his stance. He knew not to show weakness in front of animals or warriors.

The next action brought a moment of pause from both Elves as Chichime knelt down and offered his blade to Mokte. Both seemed to freeze as if time stopped before looking to one another. Celedron seemed more confused. From what they had gathered Mokte was seen as a lesser being. A flawed specimen not unlike how Celedron looked at Falderan. But now. The cities champion of all people was offering his blade. From the sounds of it with Nahwa's blessing. Mokte seemed equally as confused. The reptilian features didn't show emotion as well as the Elves or Humans. But there was a visible look of confusion. Especially in the eyes. They watched from their seemingly assigned positions to what would come next. Fal letting keeping watch of Hans out the corner of his eye.

The crowd fell solemn at the sight of Chichime's humility, though their silence this time was one out of respect, not out of hostility for the outsiders. The Saurus warriors thudded the poles of their spears upon the clay floor, defacing the carvings of lizards and gods that lay chiseled upon the stonework. Mokte felt no choice other than to acquiesce to the offering, taking the cleaver by the hilt, and a bloodthirsty grin shaped upon his bared jaws -- the weapon glowing a honey yellow in his hands. Then he too slammed the sharp obsinite on the ground, nodding his to the once aloof Old Blood as he gripped the claret hilt from up side down. Anglermaw could see that the weapon was almost the size of Mokte himself -- the size of a small Ogre, and could most likely chew such a monster into blood ribbons if Mokte wanted.

His demanour so wildly flipped, Chichime tread back to the Elves, ignoring Anglermaw as the Skaven slinked by the Red Saurus, he'd had enough of being berated by so-called superiors and sanctimonious Lizard-things, what reward would the Ark's destruction herald for him, he wondered?

"Blessed Elf-spawn. Ye welcome in the temple of Nahwa..." Chichime spoke, his words in the crude dialect of his kin. Although the Elves could not understand the tongue he spoke, his mannerisms reflected far more than the barks that he uttered, taking a glowing trinklet from the hands of the Student, Hans, whose face was cold with a many mile stare. Chichime handed the glowing jewel to the pair, the grumbling voice of Nahwa manifesting from the chinks within. It was like a flute which was impossible to play; there was no hole to blow into, but a perpetual wind chimed, the whistling sound bearing his Majesty's tone.

"Look upon the vessel of your friend for but a moment. Tell me what you see..?" Spoke the ominous voice, the forlorn figure of Hans Brunswick sauntered forward, as though commanded by the icon. His face was utterly stoic, lips and wrinkles unmoving like a grey corpse. A teal glow enveloped his blank eyes like the fluorescent orbs of Nahwa's own temple. Strange crevices marked his face like deliberate scaring embedded into his skin -- lines coursed from his eyes, their significance uncertain, save the formation of a third eye atop the Reiklander's forehead. He neither spoke nor stuttered, even in the company of friends, in Falderan's. Instead, he simply glared stoneface at the glowing jewel, his master's spirit locked within.

"I could not save the sanity of Hans Brunswick; daemonic apparitions had raped his mind with terrible visions of suffering, Shyish aura had eaten away at his psyche." Nahwa mentioned, a scurrying troupe of riderless, saddled Cold Ones intruded upon the plaza as he spoke, surrounding the outsiders. They had been summoned as steeds, summoned the key word; their brains had been perforated by magic to allow the warm-bloods to mount. Perhaps the Red-Crested champions of Tzlipectl knew this, perhaps they were among the contingent of herded steeds...

"...Thus I was forced to remake his mind. While he still retains his memories, the fellow - Hans Brunswick - has been utterly erased. He stands here little more than a magical conduit, a volatile vessel for you to exploit in your quest..."

Chichime gave a small bow to the pair, then turned back to the Skaven, allowing the Elf-spawn to sink in this revelation of their former companion. The Old Blood gazed down to Anglermaw, and a Skink servant bearing the arms of the Sea-Rat pitter-pattered forth, averting his eyes from the evil warpstone. He lay the weapons on the floor for Anglermaw to gleefully rearm.

"Ah, yes-yes. Back in business, I tell ya." Anglermaw chittered with a smile across his beak. "So we settin' off then? Can't wait t' kill some Pestilens."

The revelation was startling to both Fal and Celedron. Celedron had never seen such manipulation of magic with a living vessel before. Keeping one alive with magic was something he knew of but for one so broken it was more like using the body as a simple conduit. He knew items could be enchanted and imbued with runes to give them certain abilities or contain raw magic that could be manipulated for a short time. These conduits however were rarely used as the magic within would slowly ebb out and it the material wasn't right could immediately shatter. A newer technique in the grand scheme of things. One that Celedron had witnessed the starting of. But to see one working and with a living vessel no less. This was truly intriguing.
"A shame, there was nothing less of him but Nahwa used him as a conduit. A means to share magic and his own presence with us. At least that's what I have gathered." Celedron says analytically like a scholar would examine a relic he discovered.

Fal bit his lip as he heard what occurred to young Hans. His hand quivered on his blade and a long sense of loyalty flared up. Something he hadn't felt since his time in the state troops. When he was sworn to defend the people of the Empire and hold back those forces of evil that would harm those who could not defend themselves. But this hit him elsewhere. Magic was used on Hans that essentially tore away what he was. Magic forced upon his body to create a bastardization of what was natural. He related to this. All he saw in Nahwa's actions were the same experimentation done by his Father to his Mother. A seething hatred filled within him. In the back of his mind the shriek from his blade echoed. Hungering for blood and vengeance. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to draw his blade and make his way to slaughter the mighty Nahwa in his chambers. Celedron's comment didn't sit lightly with him.
"You talk about him like he's a tool. Like your kind talk about those in the Empire." He glared to the Loremaster. "Like the people I protected with sword and faith. But now look. He's barely alive and more like a magically powered flesh puppet. Borderline Necromancy." He looked to Celedron with spite. Celedron hesitated and looked back with worry in his eyes. He could see a deep rage.

"Have you ever seen what that does? When a Vampire or Necromancer raises the dead and sends the loved ones of people who had lost them back to kill? Have you had to cut down men you fought with as they had their bodies defiled by magic and risen again to serve their new masters will?" Celedron stood as proud as he could but he took note of the comparison. "As Nahwa said. Hans is gone and now his body is basically being defiled for the toads game. Seeing such a thing. Makes me sick to my core for more reasons than one." His hand gripped his blades handle and several Saurus went into a defensive stance. Growling as they felt his growing hostility. Fal lowered his hand as tensions grew. Celedron looked at him with a mix of pity and disgust.
"Druchii blood runs through your veins. That blade of yours bares the taint of the necromantic. You're as much of an abomination as him. Basically an experiment too and using the very power you claim to despise. So, you're worse than that. You're also a hypocrite." The two Elves stared each other down and Saurus sat ready to intervene. "But if we don't move with what we're given the Ark will kill thousands. Could you live with that too?" Celedron says trying to make Fal see reason. A fury and blood lust that he felt in the past was running through his veins. He wanted to put Hans down and out of his slavery then gut Nahwa for what he had done before giving Celedron a scar to remember him by. But he felt what the Asur said was true. Despite every ounce of his existence and emotions telling him otherwise. He held onto his rage and moved to the Cold One. He mounted the snarling beast as he gave it a stern kick to the side to which the beast stayed passive. Fal knew they wouldn't attack. He had learnt that much and now had a need to shed blood. "Lets find that Ark and end this bastards plans." He says as Celedron cautiously but dignified mounts his own Cold One.

Supa-kheti observed from the sidelines, mounted atop his docile beast -- it was not his place to shoehorn himself within group, their lives forfeit to the will of Nahwa. Even so, a feeling of dissonance twitched within his old stomach, like a subtle disagreement with a bad meal, ready to retch down the privy, beak first. It had been awkward to give away Mokte so easily, his good friend in these twilight years. It'd hardly occurred to the Shaman the slim chance of his return -- or if any of these warm-bloods would in fact live. Did Nahwa - blessed be his name - truly value the life of a Saurus champion with that of a Rat-spawn usurper, one that he allowed to wander the streets of Tzlipectl so freely?

Mokte's conscience was blatantly clear, however, mounting his scaled steed as he spotted the Elves climb theirs firsthand. Any trepidation felt by the Shaman was lost upon him -- The Red Saurus knew his place; it was good to be an equal of the venerated spawn, the great cleaver still glowing as it was caressed by the rays of the tropic sun. He felt a cold slither prod at a chink within his armour, gazing down to find Chichime's snarling teeth protrude from below. There was still some clear contention between the two.

"Kai'qua Chichi-me." Mokte greeted with a nod.

"Chaq'qua Mok-te..." The Old Blood replied with a lick of his fangs. "...Come back with that blade or upon it. Heart of Tzlipectl lies inside." Chichime uttered in the Saurian tongue, sparing the blighted one no reply before returning to his retinue of spear wielding kin. Mokte's spirit was filled with righteous fire, his yearning for bloodshed so great that he took no notice of Falderan's grief.

Supa-kheti - on the other hand - did. He'd spotted Falderan's heated protest from atop the ever-curious Bolonez. He'd seen how the rogue had compared Nahwa's touch to that of Necromancy, a notion that was abject heresy to those who understood the tongue of Man. It was fortunate these Saurus guardsmen could not comprehend the Elf's words, Anglermaw's place on the pecking order was contested enough. Celedron had chastised him like a misbehaved step-child for his foul words, blighted and undesirable.

Like Mokte.

The Shaman spurred his lumpy steed toward the pair, mounted atop their Cold Ones. Hans had lifted himself upon Celedron's lizard without warning -- it was the Loremaster who possessed the glowing whistle, after all, by extension Hans' will. Supa-kheti observed those thoughtless, dead eyes as he came between the lizards, themselves slaves to Nahwa's manipulation.

He cringed for a second before he spoke. "M-my friendsss, please d-don't quarrel." Supa-kheti muttered with a stifled sniff from his pruned snout. "The S-skaven thrive on hatred and feelingsss of evil. Y-you must come to terms, at l-leasst for now. You may think what Nahwa has done is terrible, but he would not condemn the life of one..." His sentence was paused by a violent cough. "...if he knew so many more would be saved. Pleassse..."

The last to mount was Anglermaw, clambering atop his metal saddle while he watched the dead gaze of little Brunswick. Those cerulean eyes returned the Sea-Rat's curious glance with a glare that was void of past companionship they'd both felt. Perhaps, as Anglermaw awkwardly reared his matted beak in worry, the Sea-Rat had come to feel something within the pit of his stomach he'd never experienced within his tumultuous life. Grief, for the first creature that he'd truly cared for, be them furred or not. He shared in Falderan's frustration, but his loathing was directed elsewhere. He blamed Zeigfied for this, he blamed the contemptible clans of the Underworld for their meddling, and his impetuousness became spurred by vengeance, not by the joy of bloodshed.

He scanned the great gates of Tzlipectl, their parting queued by a resounding horn that no creature could ever blow. It was the floating engines that made that tune. "I swear, they'll all pay." The Skaven muttered, as all sound became drowned out by the resonating boom, and by the cheering of Lizard-folk soon after.

"Xiliquncani!" The Old Blood screamed, raising his gold-clad fist into the air. His fanatical brethren joined in soon-after. The mounted Cold Ones raced passed the savage choir, passing the great gates outside Tzlipectl, abrupt as though they were ordered like machines. Their directions were eerily clear, striding upon a set path to rendezvous with Chi-noee and Qua-zital.

Falderan looked down to Supa-kheti. His eyes contained the anger of someone betrayed and eager to leave this place. He huffs before speaking.
"Oh please, I know a look of contempt. We're all just pawns to be tossed aside once we fulfill our purpose. I'm aware our lives mean nothing to your 'Great Nahwa'." He says with exaggeration on Nahwa's name. A Saurus guard snarls at him recognizing the word and not approving of the warm blood speaking it. "But if he thinks I'm gonna role over and die for his scheme he has another thing coming." Falderan didn't wait for a response but turned his gaze to the road and went out with the others on his reptilian mount. Celedron looked back to the Skink before following without a word. The Cold Ones movements were drastically different from a horses. They rocked more and the fact they only had two legs gave less balance and Celedron found himself being bounced side to side as they ran.

The rendezvous point was located just over an hours travel from the city. It was a considerable distance from the point of assault but a safe distance to prepare their forces. The location was a small and over grown settlement of the Lizardmen. A walled are the size of the plaza from back in Tzlipectl. It was extremely run down and the center section where once there was a large fountain had caved in. Massive gashes were in the walls and columns of stone were left fallen. Evidence of past battles showing true as the damage done was intense. A large side chunk of the wall was blown in. The stone overgrown with vines and moss but oddly rounded as if it had been melted through. The center plaza was bathed in the sunlight of Lustrias morning heat. The humidity was intense especially with the old, moss filled water source in the center. Inside and waiting around the plaza were Chi-noee and Qua-zital as well as their associated teams.

Having brushed aside some of the moss with their snouts several Cold Ones drank and snarled at one another. Their Saurus riders stayed nearby their mounts as they waited for the reinforcements to arrive. A dozen Saurus riders wearing gold ornate gear and holding obsidian spears and shields carved off an odd red stone and polished to a shine. The Cold Ones were armoured along their heads and backs. No overly gaudy banners were present given the nature of the mission. Qua-zital wielded his slammer and more appropriately sized spear and feathered helmet. His Cold One had a similar feathered design on its headdress and noticeable claw marks down it's tail. Qua-zital remained mounted and kept an ear out for approaching forces.

Chi-noee kept to the shadows. He and his group of his ten best Chameleon Skinks kept invisible to the Shadows and up the walls of the building, keeping a look out to the surrounding area. They all looked much like the others. Their wrists with bands of gold and a small pouch of darts on their waist. A blowgun in hand and on their right shoulder were three prepped darts. On their left was a frog. They varied from reds to blues to greens. But all had a venomous look and likely deadly touch to anything other than the Chameleon Skinks. Chi-noee was not as fortunate. The poison of the frogs could have some effect on him so he contained a different creature. On his left was a slug like creature with a sickly green colouring and smell not unlike mold. He wore a small helmet with a frill on the top as a symbol of rank. But he wore less than Qua-zital and his forces given their roll as scouts.
"Cha noie, helavru." A Chameleon says from the roof as it nimbly and silently leaps down. It's words indicating the approaching forces of Mokte and the warm bloods.

Supa-kheti frowned, saddened that his words could not simmer Falderan's attitude. His heart sank when the Elf mocked Nahwa's benevolence, he who had brought these warm-bloods into his temple; he who had directed the elderly Shaman to take the outsiders to his villa and display hospitality to these honoured guests -- not even the Skaven was exempt. The frail Skink reared his beak in silence, prodding Bolonez' crocodillion jaw, urging him to wade through the sea of blue scales.

"Back home, we go, my friend... I must pray for their safety, for our safety. Nahwa willing." The uphill trudge was forlorn, the squawking of birds above gave some reprisal to the Shaman's wavering spirit. He dared not stomach what would happen if they had failed, Nahwa's terrible epiphany last night was not lost on him.

The reptilian steeds strode across the grassy lowlands of Sotek, their trail marked by a cascading waterfall, plummetting down the hilly depths. It's hardly occurred to Anglermaw how far they all were from those Elf-things and that makeshift dock of theirs -- there were hardly mountains and cloud tops to be seen during that search for the false musk, but under the green Hell, it was hard to get a good glimpse of sky either, masked by vivid array of ferns and bushes that'd likely kill a man-thing with just a light slither of those prickley petals. Anglermaw brooded on the surviving Marienburgers and the battle with Pete. He wondered if they had actually returned in one piece back to port, or had the Mournghul outran them first. How would they react to news of Vanderbarzen's death, or the slaughter of Elf-things at that blasted Ziggurrat. Irrelevant little musings, Anglermaw found, when his steed caught a rogue stone across it's raptor claw, flicking the bumbling pile of rock down a bottomless cliffside. An audible exhale escaped his rodent beak, clutching at his ragged uniform with his free hand -- so close to a long, watery death.

"Bet we're close..." The Sea-Rat hissed, their steeds once again subsumed by feathery canopy of green. "...Can't smell the musk anymore, usurper bastards."

Mokte was experienced in the mounting of these beasts, the constant bobbing of their spiney backs did not provide discomfort for him, nor did scouting these natural aqueducts fill his cold blooded heart with dread for his life. Fear was simply an emotion the Saurus could not experience, but he knew this. He dwelt upon it's concept, unlike his pure brethren. He was curious of the world that surveyed the great pond, the feelings that the warm-bloods experienced and how they were compelled to contradict the 'Great Plan' that Supa-kheti would allude to from time to time. It was the Shaman who warned Mokte not to act upon his curiosities.

'Eeet sssimply iss not the Sssaurussses way...' Supa-kheti would always mention with a dumbfounded tone, struck by Mokte's extraordinary sense of will.

His steed rasped like a dying vulture, the pair coming to an abrupt halt as they came down a hilly cliffside, baked bronze under the maroon sunset. Those behind followed suit, giving sight to the long decayed ruins of this ancient plaza -- long since returned to the gnarly, clasping hands of the Lustrian jungle. Anglermaw stared wide-eyed at a cape of vines that masked a defaced mosaic; the green fingers seemed to wrap across the crumbling walls as the seconds passed. His attention was stolen away once more by his Cold One, however, stomping across the rocky earth while a scent passed through the air. It was not a Skaven musk, reptillian silhouettes - slinky and beastly - emerging as shadows upon the ground.

"We are here, finally." Mokte announced. "Our path to the rats is close ahead."
"A zap 'o warp lightning close ahead, more like." The Sea-Rat grumbled to himself, his steed once again moving forward without any clear spur. Uncertainty crept down his rodent spine. The Red Saurus had passively taken the forefront, but from the noxious vapours that swam into his beak from trees which spoke in that ear-gouging tongue, he knew none of them were off the hook just yet,

Chi-noee emerged from the shadows as the arriving Cold Ones came inside the interior plaza. The heads of the other, less docile Cold Ones perked up with an alien curiocity and bobbing. They swayed like serpents and bared their teeth. One letting out an aggressive cry as Anglermaw came into view. His scent putting them on edge but the sight of him nearly drove the beast to strike. A stern pull on the side of its armoured saddle from the Saurus rider barely kept it calm as it glared at the Skaven and to a lesser extent the Elves as they emerged. Chi-noee welcome them and Qua-zital calmed the surrounding Cold Ones and called in the fellow riders who approached with caution at the warm bloods. From the numerous cracks and holes in the walls the various Chameleon scouts came in and gathered around. Their nimble frames bending in manners that would surely harm a man at that angle.

Fal and Celedron were quiet for most of the trip. Taking in the wilderness and always being on guard for potential attack. The events of the morning did nothing to elevate the tensions and the approaching battle only added to their concerns. Once they arrived and were welcomed they saw the scouting force that was before them. Small in number but apparently elite in skill they gathered they were not to be underestimated. Dismounting Celedron moved his hips and stretched his legs in a manner Falderan had seen nobles prance after long rides. Such uncomfortable mounts were not something they were used to, nobles or High Elves. Fal simply stretched his legs without any flamboyant display of discomfort.
"Not like those silk laded steeds on Ulthuan?" He mocks and smirks. Celedron rolls his eyes and doesn't give a response. Fal's smirk fades as he sees Hans and he quickly averts his gaze.

"Mokte, our scouting has revealed to us the rat-spawn's nest. We entered through the numerous tunnel systems from the mountain side and managed to scout in enough to find a large chamber. Deep and containing a great source of water. Likely connected to the world pond to the East." Chi-noee relays his information to Mokte with a stoic bow in their native tongue. "To avoid detection we were unable to go further in. But we saw numerous rat-spawn on the outer cliff sides. Sparks within of their dark sorcery and constructions. Stealth is advised for entry and once inside caution is advised as the dark caves are where the rat-spawn thrive in numbers untold." His expression with stern as he backed off. Qua-zital came forth on his Cold One.

The Cold One snarled at the warm blooded creatures but kept docile under it's riders command.
"Outer territory seems to show us with possible entry points from ancient cave systems. One of which the Cold Ones showed fear in approaching. The scent within and dampness make me suspect a holy Troglodon within. This cave may lead into the hiding place of the vermin and if the occupant is there and alive then they may not know of it. If the caverns connect at all." Chi-noee has a look of shame.
"Scouting was not efficient with the time we had. Only light information we could gather. Their exact numbers and capabilities are unknown." Fal and Celedron listened on without understanding the language. Celedron picked up on a few commonly used terms such as words referring to the Skaven but he could make hide nor hair of any sequence of words beyond and educated guess. This was if his translation was close at all. Both waited to have important information relayed to them.

Mokte nodded, digesting what fruitful information he could from Chi-Noee's report, each sentence returned with a slight bow of his crest - perhaps even a 'yes' in the Saurian tongue for the most pivotal pieces. Whatever contortions were shaped upon his rough, scaled lips were hidden within the shadow of his golden helm, glinting in the bronze sunset. Mokte looked back at his rag-tag companions, he saw a mixture of curious intrigue and confusion upon their faces. Celedron seemed to devour what exotic words escaped the maw of Chi-Noee, whereas Anglermaw and Falderan seemed disinterested. What the Red Saurus could not decipher, however, was whatever blank thoughts coursed through that little man's mind, tailing behind Celedron like a lost dog.

Mokte turned his head back to the Red-Crested Skink. "Thank you, Chi-Noee." He finally replied, this time in the tongue from the east. "When Lord Nahwa summoned the Elders for council, he spoke in the language of the warm-bloods, so all present understood the dangers we faced. We must do the same, if only for clarity's sake." He finished his words with another bow of his crest, gouging his obsinite cleaver upon the dirt with a subtle thud. It was enough to stir a response from the docile steeds, reacting with a slight bark of disapproval to the noise. It did not stop the dismounted Sea-Rat from sauntering toward the Lizardmen, disregarding these scaly, bipedal geckos that saw him only as a devil.

"So, we're all ont' same page then-yeah?" Anglermaw blathered, creaking his furred neck back and forth to relieve some clear discomfort, likely from the constant bobbing of those steeds. "Probably want me at t' front, ah bet. A good meat shield fo' the lizardfolk. Don't worry, I know a Rat tunnel when I see one."

The information had been relaid to the warmblooded followers as accurate as the reptiles could in a secondary language which tended to lack terms with the more 'primitive' words of men. Mokte relaid the information to the Elves and Anglermaw. The description of the entry reminded Falderan of Skaven city, if it could be called that, under Sartosa. Memories of the vile Skaven hordes beneath the surface and the hundreds slaughtered in the tight tunnels brought concern to Fals mind. If their numbers were as high as then they would be outnumbered a good hundred to one and this sounded like it was an operation by multiple 'clans' which from what Fal gathered were the larger groups of Skaven. The numbers would surely be a threat and who knows what monstrosities like the horrid Rat Ogre beast could be within. The Skaven were nothing if not creative after all.

Celedron took the news of the Skaven occupied caves with a look of disdain. The vermin tended to gather in high numbers and so his magical skills would come in quiet handy. Though the wording of this 'Troglodon' was concerning. It sounded like one of the large Lustrian predators the Lizardmen seemed to admire, if their architecture and 'art' were anything to go by. This beast could prove useful but also a great threat if it focused it's aggression on them over the Skaven. Once they heard the reconnaissance Celedron stepped in.
"So what is the plan of attack. This sounds like something that would give a frontal assault low odds. Sounds like suicide, a stealthy approach would seem more valid in this case. Though discovery would be deadly." It was then that Anglermaw spoke up. Celedron stepped in with a backwards glare. "Is it a safe bet to let the Skaven navigate us through a Skaven lair?" The Saurus growled. They only understood that the Elf spoke of the Skaven which they despised more than even the Elves being here.

Fal spoke up.
"I would be suspicious too." He says as they all look to Anglermaw. "However, he's no friend of them. Even in the laid under Sartosa, where Anglermaw was apparently once a leader he was treated as an outsider. He wants vengeance and from what I can tell those who are in this rat nest are his foes just as they're ours." He glared at Anglermaw. "But despite the fact I can agree with his desires for revenge. If he betrays us I'll kill him myself without a moments hesitation." Fal's comments were both reassuring and threatening to the Skaven. It was a reassurance to him but also a promise of swift payback if the slightest sense of betrayal was sensed. "He is the only one of us who even has a chance at navigating those tunnels."

A forced chuckled emerged from Anglermaw's snapping beak; an ambiguous smirk lay chiseled across his matted lips. It seemed like something devious lay dormant within the Sea-Rat's mind. It wasn't lost on Mokte, who held the hilt of his cleaver tight in apprehension, yet he could not bring himself to put down this egocentric little Rat. To do so was to contradict Nahwa, a thought that the Saurus refused to bear.

"Suicide, probably, 'specially when delvin' into Pestilens' hub, yeah." Said Anglermaw, kneading at his warpstone hook as he stood confident in the center, surveyed by a number of ravenous Saurus who saw the Sea-Rat simply as a midday snack, stayed only by some unearthly adherence to their Lord's will. "But ye see, the foundation of the Ratfolk are weak, I know that from experience. Take a few screws outta the war machine, 'un every 'ting collapses on itself."

"An infiltration?" Interrupted Mokte with a scoff. "I see, right at the forefront, your distraction to the Ratfolk will pave our way to send these 'Pestilens' into a panic."

Anglermaw bit his lip, taken aback. "A distraction?! No, no. Sorry Mok-thing, but I nearly ended up Shark-muck the last time I-"

"'Tis the will of Lord Nahwa, Skaven!" Mokte shouted him down, a group of Saurian peers cheered atop their spiny steeds, accompanied by the meandering chant of 'Boq! Boq! Boq!' "I say this on Nahwa's behalf, that the Rat, and he of two bloods, who dare denounce the Lord and his graceful altruism." Mokte pointed to Falderan, the direction was clear, like a Witch Hunter's accusation of arch-heresy. "They will pave our way to storm the cave. They shall stand at the front as we course through the shadows like ghosts of vengeance. Should they die, at least Tzlipectl shall be safe. Who stands against this?" Snarled the Red Saurus, averting his gaze back to the hateful Sea-Rat, whose sharp grin serrated into a bitter scowl.

"You're one wretched bastard lizard..." He taunted among the commotion.





"My voice bears a great pain..." Hissed Plaguelord Jueju, clutching at his salivating beak. Phlegmatic ichor coursed down the Master furred throat, tinted in a vile mixture of mossy green and dried blood. Loud hackings and alarming gags escaped alongside his attempts to speak, like some ghastly form of strangulation that took place in front of his curious pupils, peering plague monks that sat eerily silent across rows of rotting pews. There was no attempt to comfort or aid the Plaguelord -- his suffering was seen as a blessing from the Horned Rat, they revered his pain, they sought it for themselves. It was no secret that Lord Jueju was handpicked by Nurglitch as substitute to Lord Scrolk himself. Now he had important business to attend to in Skavenblight, his equal was here to assume operations regarding the Ark.

There was one who stood out in the jade church, one who did not bear the snotty dye of Pestilens. A slave diplomatic, bearing only ragged cowl across his body like a worn, Tilean toga. "Skryre comes offering many gift-rewards for ownership of the Ark, yes-yes, Master-Lord Jujue." The servile creature sniveled, bearing in his hand a scroll enscipted in Queekish. It was simply an extension of their contracted alliance, but Jueju merely spat in the poor creature's direction.

"This partnership with Ikit's bastards interests me little-small." He croaked. "Skryre built the Ark, yet they can't even activate it again? They say the Ark is alive -- blessed-cursed by Horned Rat. Perhaps it's better-good to sacrifice the slaves to appease it's spirit then, Pestilens killed thousands yesterday, that can be done again."

As Mokte and Anglermaw butted heads with their discourse Fal found himself becoming more distanced from the Lizards. Every word they said made the reptiles seem even more alien to him. When Mokte mentioned they would essentially charge the front gates and be slaughtered but allow the Saurus to sneak in. Fal grimaced and glared at Mokte.
"As I told that little guy back in the city. I have no plans to die for this mission. I will not charge in their as a sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered for you or your feral friends." Fal says unblinking at Mokte as the other Saurus and Cold Ones snarl and barely hold back aggression. The Skinks hiss and snap their jaws with razor sharp teeth. Tensions were high as Chi-noee stood forth. He cared fa more for the lives of his people over the warm blooded invaders but he also knew of the tactical importance of this mission.

"The stealth of the Warm bloods is greater than that of the Saurus." He hisses. The Skinks have blowpipes ready as they look upon their chief. "This mission is too important for us to waste such assets as stealth. For success we should send them in through the most stealthiest of methods. My Skinks can assist them in navigating the tunnels and if we strike at key points, we weaken the vermin spawn. Hurt them without detection and bring chaos to their ranks." The air was tense and Celedron had his blade at the ready. He would be willing to fight now should tensions tip over. Fal looked over to Chi-noee and heard the Skinks words. It was clear Mokte was a bit too eager to get rid of them at this point. The tense stand off resumed for the moment as Fal was ready to bring out his blade.

Deep in the Skaven's disturbingly vast undercity within the underground of Lustria resided millions of rats from various clans. The city was built connected to a massive underground lake and river system the size of the vast rivers above and flowing through underground caves all the way to the sea. This city was one of the largest and most key trading points Skavenblight had to Lustria. A massive dock with hundreds of ramshackle ships and towering above them all was the ark. A massive vessel that dwarfed the others. The other ships were mostly the size of sloops, many seemingly stolen from men and adjusted with the Skavens mad 'improvements'. Some larger ships were wood and metal hybrids the size of brigs and similar warships. Hundreds of flame and warpstone lights decorated the vast city. Located aboard the ark itself was one of the most powerful individuals in the city. A high ranking Arch Warlock named Skreptch stationed in the city and given the job of repairing the ark, despite the more specific details of it's construction being kept even from him due to the Skaven's secretive nature.

Standing inside the ark's primary, cathedral like chamber Skreptch had a large operation established. Inside the massive amphitheater like room was a large bell held up by pillars that had warpstone infused runes running up their sides. In the four corners of the chamber were large metal cylinders in a spring like shape. Green, warpstone energy sparked out of the visible openings and energy sparked off it. Large metal metal cables attached all over them and moved into the walls. Energy radiated from it and the crackling power was felt in the air radiating around the room. Dozens of engineers wearing metal armour sat around and tinkered with the various cylinders that sat in the corners and yelled at slaves. Standing near the middle by the bell was Skreptch. He stood in the middle of numerous desks on a large pedestal and walled off with a make shift lab. Adorning the makeshift walls were schematics and plans for the ark. letters and scrolls covered his desk as well as dozens of small contraptions and many pieces of precious warpstone.

Skreptch himself looked rather different to the other Skaven. Even the Engineers around with their armour plating and goggles. Some having strange backpacks and wielding glowing halberds. Skreptch wore a suit of armour that went over his legs and torso. His fur, what could be seen was a messy brown and covered in a layer of grease that made it seem almost black in the right light. His head had plating coming up the back of his neck and over the top of his head while a set of goggles shielded his eyes. The goggles and front side of the helmet had a split down the middle and hinge along the back showing it could flip. Along his back was a large backpack.A metal cylinder on the back that whirled with noise and sparked green energy. Two large disks about two inches thick came off the back behind it and numerous small tubes and cables attached to it and various points on his armour such as down his waist to his legs and gauntlets. The right gauntlet was noticeably thicker than the left and had a raised part of the metal along he top with a small hole at the front above his middle finger. In his right hand was one of the more impressive parts of his equipment. A large staph with twin blades on top. Each blade was roughly forty centimeters tall and appeared to be made almost entirely out of warpstone with a sleep steel, or similar metal back and reinforced blade. It was around two inches wide and the adjacent was a good three inches apart but equally tall and designed. Between them was a small metal coil and several tubes that connected it to his back back. The coil of metal in the middle housed the same warpstone glow as the large constructs in the chamber and on his back. The blades sparked and radiated energy.

Laying beneath him and cowering was a slave. The very slave that had, barely an hour ago spoken to Jujue.
"Plague Lord think he better-smarter than me-me?" He says with a snarl. "Skryre make ark, Skryre superior to Pestelens. We know how it work-function." He says almost talking to himself as he looks at the slave. "Sacrifices not make work-function. Ark is damaged but we can fix-repair." Skreptch says, his voice like a task masters whip. Compared to the slave he radiated superiority. His mouth salivated and saliva spat out as he spoke. "The fool-fools will not have the ark. Let them try-try." He smirks and glares at the slave. "Leave now, bad news you bring-deliver." He says waving his hand as the frightened slave crawls to his feet and scurries off. After having his superiority questioned by the self righteous Plague Monk he was annoyed, or more so frustrated. It was true he didn't know how the ark worked. It wasn't he who built every part of it. He had some say in it but the ark was a joint effort of over a dozen Arch-Warlocks and apparently some from the mysterious Grey Seer clan. Rumor says even the great Ikit Claw had a role in it, this was never proven though. But as is common with those in Skryre no one told anyone else the full extent of their piece. So most of the ark was a mystery to all other builders on it. As was the nature of Skaven and their self important ways. Skreptch had his part mainly on the weapon systems but was now in charge of repairing it after the incident on it's way from Sartosa. Something was wrong with the magic and science used in it's construction. And Skreptch would figure it out and become greater than any other member of his clan. Even the legendary Ikit. However despite the fact he wasn't sure how to fix or even how the ark truly functioned he didn't like being talked back to. He wished to take his anger out on Jujue however with him away the messenger would suffice. Rising his staph he pointed it to the fleeing rat. With some words of power the staph crackled and a bolt of green lightning shot out and lit up the dim room. It cracked across the air before impacting the running slave. Energy blasting through his body and piercing his back. His head exploded into a mess of gore as his clothes were fragmented and veins burst. The smoldering body fell to the floor as his brains were shot several feet ahead. The blast of energy caused numerous Skaven in the room to jump and Skreptch grinned. He felt better after that. He relaxed and his staph simmered down as he walked back to his desk to continue his work.

Anglermaw's body seized. Confusion enveloped his mind like a grey smog across his thoughts. Indecision seemed rampant across the group, even among the servants of the Toad-thing. It didn't help that Falderan's hand seemed a little tense across that sword hilt of his. The Sea-Rat let out a sigh, Mokte's ruby form still levelling over his own. The Red Saurus listened in to Chi-noee's advice, the only fellow among these lot whose words held weight upon his simmering mind. He thought upon them, and held no need to argue. It would've been the last thing Nahwa himself desired -- of course, none actually knew what Nahwa wanted with the Ark. Supa-kheti learned nothing from the psychic mediations they had both shared, such questions were replied with silence. It was bitter, knowing the supposed fate of Tzlipectl if the Ark's reactivation came to pass.

Mokte conceded to Chi-noee with a nod, rearing his scowling head away from the warm-bloods as he spoke. "My apologies, you are right. But this 'Ark' of the Skaven's. It'd be stationed in the heart of the Undercity, would it not? When the rats below notice us, there shall be Hell to pay. Not even great Chakax himself can stand alone against a million head on." His words were solemn, rife with discontentment at an impossible foe. The Saurus riders did not share his fears, surveying the complex, wholly ignorant of the odds. Suicidal, almost, as Celedron had mentioned -- Saurus did not question; they were hardly capable of such thought.

"What's a million rats under the barrel of warp lightning cannon?" Anglermaw interrupted reassuredly. "Look 'ere-yeah. If this 'ere is some partnership between the clans, there's gonna be summat big-huge down there t' exploit, see. Big weapons, big explosions, lots a dead-cooked Pestilens and Skryre. Then boom, path t' Ark is right there."

A loud, rhythmatic chitter erupted in the air, like some reaction to a freezing chill, despite the cliffside's blatant humidity. The glowing whistle held by Celedron changed it's hue, the bright cerulean shade became blackened and corrupted, radiating a dark aura. But this change was subtle in comparission to the gnashing of teeth. It was Hans, gasping for air despite his statuary figure. Sweat coursed down his temple, and he shuddered to escape the nonexistant frost, but even still, his arms remained hung by his hips.

"P-p-phaos akh Z-Zeigfied..." He gagged for a second. "Khar'a g-ghyran."

"What is your friend saying?" Wondered Mokte, turning his head back in direction to the warmbloods, toward the struggling little man who stood beside the Loremaster.

Anglermaw was worried, uncharacteristic for a Skaven, a trait that even a curious Mokte noticed. An instinctive chitter passed through the Sea-Rat's beak as he moved forward. "Mister Brunswick? You alright there, yeah...? W-what's the matter?"

Hans did not reply, but his struggled gasps for air only worsened.

--

"So..." Wretched the Plaguelord upon his rotting throne, sputtering a lime shade of phlegm across the bleached skull of an Amazon chieftess. "...Seems Skreptch doesn't take kind-good to my words. Pestilens only give-offers advice. If the Ark is alive, then it was be woken, not fix-repaired."

"M-master Skrolk said that this partnership with Skryre was of utmost importance, High priest." Mentioned a jade dyed thrall, a lesser plague priest by the name of Hebi, his furless, burnt skin now coated in boils and buboes oozing like running snot across his form. "The Ark cannot be powered without the engineering of it's make-creators."

"The Skryre Rats are too reckless for the Ark, Hebi." Mentioned the lounging Jueju, positioning himself upon his throne with more comfortable posture. "A tool-weapon of world domination, and they hand it to a thrall clan? Skurvy must've paid a Warlord's ransom." A retinue of four gash-ridden stormvermin stood by his side, his seat was not actually a throne at all, but a mobile palanquin. Jueju's mastery of the plague magics had left his limbs bloody and gnarled, his feet had curled into painful, dripping stubs. No longer was he able to move of his own accord. It belied his mastery of the pox winds, and a heated rivalry with his supposed equal, Skrolk.

"You heard the reports, didn't you, Master-Lord?" Hebi asked, sauntering a slight toward his better. "The survivors of the Skurvy wreck, they saw that Captain Anglermaw contested against his thralls at the battle, he was thought dead and disgraced. What if he comes back for the Ark?"

"He won't." Jueju bluntly replied. "I have read the pages of the Liber Bubonicus, I have scoured the ink for any Skaven foe that may contest us. I found Skreptch and Ikit Claw among those pages, but Anglermaw's name could not be found. He is dead."

Hebi nodded, clutching at his censer, as though it alone prevent his legs from snapping upon themselves. "What are your orders for the moment, Master?"

Jueju grumbled. "Have the plague monks sing the gospel of the Horned One within the Ark's engine, and take thirteen thousand skavenslaves to be quartered upon the sacrificial altars. Their pleas for mercy will serve as the backing chorus, the Ark demands this."

Nahwa's will was the only thing that prevented the group from falling on each other with club, sword and tooth. The only thing preventing the blood bath was the Lizardmen's frankly purposeful devotion to their Slann master. The flinging of words and stares was more of a threat than any battlefield, from a political sense of course. Celedron made his side known as they spoke. The words of Chi-noee being roughly translated.
"Espionage would be the most efficient method. From what I've gathered the Skaven don't get along at the best of times. So causing some discourse within their base of operations can cause enough turmoil to bring the entire place crumbling down in civil war. If Anglermaw is to be believed." He says looking over to their 'friendly' Skaven and receiving a nod. "We know the damage such things can do. The history of the Druchii is filled with such examples." He adds as Fal scowls in his direction. He didn't know if it was a jab at him and his trustworthiness or if it was a comment in relation to the conversation. He did prefer the Asur's response and Anglermaw's additions.
"Do you think you could help with this Anglermaw?" He asks cocking an eyebrow but never letting the Saurus leave the corner of his eye.

Hans' mumbling rose up and Celedron felt a chill down his spine. Something that was past off as nervous as he didn't noticed the faintest tendrils of dark magic wave over the area like a faint mist. Unnoticed by all and even by Celedron only slightly. As Hans spoke he didn't notice it at first but once Mokte pointed it out he took intrigue.
"I don't know, it isn't a language I'm familiar with?" Celedron says concerned as he notices Hans' mindless mumbling. "Falderan does it sound familiar to you?" He asks as the mixed blooded Elf looks over concerned.
"The language isn't from the Empire. Least no dialect I know." He says having a bad feeling in his gut. The words didn't sound similar or consciously bring anything to mind. But deep in his subconscious memories from striking out against Beastmen had a similar tongue. But at this point none of it was coming to him. "Must be some arcane nonsense. You can't feel anything?" Celedron shook his head.
"No, but it may be simply Nahwa relaying a message?" He looks to the small whistle in his hands to try and gleam any bit of reason from the words. The surrounding Cold Ones growled in discomfort. Something in their primeval instincts told them something was wrong.

In the vast bowls of the ark Skryre clanrats came back with word of a large horde of plague monks with their pestilent robes and foul smells and hygiene even by Skaven standards.
"Why does Jujue send a group to my site-ship?" Skreptch hisses as an engineer named Technusk relays the information. His right eye was replaced with a glass orb and on his back was a small tank the size of two fists. A pipe pulled around to the from where a small mask sat over his muzzle giving him wheezing sounds as faint green vapors poured out the small holes in the front of the mask.
"They claim to want to chant, pray for the Horned One in order to awaken the ark. This does work with the original treaty for our alliance." Technusk bowed, nervously chittering behind his mask. His panicked eyes looking to his masters feet. Skreptch was annoyed but knew it was something agreed upon. Despite the fact he despised the paranoid ravings of the plague monks he had to appease them with this ask. After all, who was he to deny voices to the Horned Rat? Plus on the odd chance their chanting failed and in fact angered the Horned One in his domain, well maybe divine retribution could be achieved. This thought brought a sinister smirk to the Arch Warlocks snout.
"Bring me a slave messenger!" He orders. A moment later a fearful slave ran up wearing little more than a basic robe over himself in an old creamy colour.
"Yes lord-master?" He says fearfully. Skreptch writes a small note on a scroll and hands it to the slave.
"Deliver my orders to the armory. I want rattling gunners brought to the chamber balconies and to remain hidden. Ready to move on my orders." The slave bowed and took the order with a series of fearful compliments as he ran. Skreptch turned back to Technusk. "Let them come in. Deliver this message yourself." He says as Technusk bows.
"Yes my lord." He then runs off with a dawdling motion as he headed to inform the approaching monks. Skreptch snorted. If he was going to have a potential enemy so close. Well he'd be ready to gun them down on a moments notice. Caution and paranoia is how he got to this rank after all.

A thoughtful tut smacked across the Sea-Rat's beak from Celedron's suggestion. "Eh-yeah, I s'pose I'm gonna be snooping at the front, anyway." Anglermaw said while he crossed his arms, pondering just how they were going to reach the Undercity before catching the attention of a murder-post. "I guess in truth, ah'm key to entry, but like I say, there's a price on my head." He grumbled, agitated as they were sandwiched by two major threats. Confronting Pestilens was inescapable, Mokte and his slinky Newt-thing friends made sure of that -- the Saurus was becoming impatient as he too felt this stall was attracting a far greater malus.

Hans grunted again, now clutching at his collarbone, visibly marred by the abstract crevices upon his skin. The Cerulean glow from his eyes - his link to Lord Nahwa - began to flicker and dim. Mokte noticed this, and alarm suddenly coursed like a sensation of frost across his crimson scales. The Student wretched again, salivating as repeated that sentence again with further struggle.

"Enough of this wait, every second wasted is a second the Rats could activate that Ark!" The Saurus snarled. "We should have dwelt on decisions before we reached this tunnel." Mokte reprimended as he beckoned the host to move inside.

"Yeah, too bad your little mates were busy throwing rock-stones at me to think." Anglermaw snarked without a chuckle. This was not the time for humour, but action.

"...I see you still, in the mountains... miles from our skirmish..." Spoke Hans, his once meek voice and struggling tone twisted in a parody of Zeigfied's own. Anglermaw gritted his teeth, the eerily sombre whisp that the Chosen spoke, it was riddled with comtemptuous pride. "I made my promise to contend with you, I shall see you below.."

Anglermaw twitched again, looking back toward the cavernous entrance of the Undercity, a wall of thick moss and vine belied the open passageway. A horde of voices wailed like frenzied wraithes from the rocky bowels, their cries for mercy carried upon the wind. The Sea-Rat became filled with trepidation, and he reared back to Mokte, who stared in mutual suspense.

Of course, there were no Demons beneath the earth, not from the realm of Chaos anyway. The voices they heard were simply the legions of unfortunates quartered and sacrificed within the plague abbeys of the Horned Rat. Their last pleas, carried to the surface.

The last moments of deliberation between the numerous parties was kept out of by Fal. He stood by and waited for the bickering and snarky comments to be done as actions were needed. Celedron stood in as things got heated between lizard and rat.
"Indeed it is time to move. However, it was hardly out fault for no planning be made." Celedron said with the usual condemnation of the Elves. "Though now is not the time to bicker. We must act and can discuss whose fault these delays are later." Orders were barked by Chi-noee and Qua-zital as the pair got their associated forces ready as plans were made. Everyone moved out and the sounds of reptilian grunts existed the temple as Skinks and Cold Ones made their way out. Quickly going eerily silent in the foliage.

The entrance to the Undercity at first seemed rather inconspicuous. A common enough looking cave entrance with massive amounts of flora growing over it. If it weren't for the distant, high pitched cries from deeper inside it would seem like anything else. The screams of those being tortured and sacrificed for blasphemous rituals rang out of the cave as the sounds rebounded in the tunnels. They could be a thousand acres away but the way sound travels fills the tunnels with their eerie calls. Celedron, Fal, Chi-noee and his ten Chameleon Skinks gathered at the entrance. Chi-noee and his force would split into three groups. One of three and led by himself and two more of four individuals each. On the way discussions were made and their goals were not to engage but silently sabotage as much as possible. Loosen bolts, cut pulleys, damage supports. Anything to hinder and harm the Skaven in any way as long as they remained stealthy and out of sight. Fal, Anglermaw and Celedron were designed with directly dealing with the Arc.

"Is the lizard coming along?" Fal says referring to Mokte. He took note of the Cold Ones as they left further into the jungle. Their exact orders not clear to him but he suspected it would involve them either finding another way in or keeping the exit safe for them they emerged. In the trees ready to ambush like the shockingly stealthy creatures they were. Celedron looked back at the group.
"And Mr. Brunswick here." Celedron refers to Hans who followed along mumbling softly. This worried Celedron but he didn't think too much of it. "Though he's a little loud." He looked to Fal who looked to Hans concerned. Something else was wrong with him and this put the mercenary off.

Mokte gave his shoulders a crack, hauling the glinted trim of his cleaver. Anglermaw made the first step within, parting the curtain of moss from the entrance it hid. He gave a subtle gulp at the resounding cries that echoed through the network. The voices cascaded; the dying moans of a hundred skavenslaves were replaced by two hundred more. Then three hundred more...

...And then a thousand more...

The Sea-Rat shook his head, knowing the futility of going back. "These be Pestilens territories, alright." He mumbled with a sigh. Mokte sauntered beside, his head held proudly high toward the rocky pit in front, illuminated by fluorescent, jade fungi upon the ceiling. They were cold, a far cry from the humidity of the blaring Lustrian tropics, the profound chill was instant the moment that they all parted the vine wall. Perhaps it was a taint, either of the Ratfolk's make, or that of Chaos. Hans ceased in his gibberish, and the cerulean glow once again lit from his eyes. Anglermaw remained perturbed -- his hatred for the usurper would not let him rest on that voice.

"Do you know the way down, Skaven?" Mokte asked, removed of his earlier disgust toward the Ratman, if only for necessity's sake.

"Can't say I do, yeah." Anglermaw replied, scratching at his pirate crown. "It'll be straightforward enough gettin' there, dread t' think where they'll 'ave 'em murder holes an' posts."

The screams did not stop as they brooded together...

"Best follow the voices, then." Finished the Saurus, clutching his great claver across his palms, ever ready for a battle as the group wandered toward the rudimentary staircase of stone and moss. Leading down a bottomless cavern.

The first few steps forward were the hardest. Moving into the darkness lit only by the faint glow of fungi along the ceiling. The screams of thousands of slaves being slaughtered echoed through the tunnels. Once the group moved in the Skink teams with them were quickly found to be missing. Already and silently like the very shadows themselves they were gone. Hans was noticeably quiet too. Celedron was calmed by this but the eldritch glow of his eyes. Though it radiated magical energies the visible glow was little more than a faded cinder. Unnoticeable to a passing eye. Fal followed suit with his hand on his blade. Ready to pull it the instant they fell under attack.

Deeper into the tunnels brought louder sounds of pain and torture. However other sounds began to take hold. As they moved along for about ten minutes the sounds of whistling steam and clanking metal were heard. Rattling of chains and squeaking of metal that reminded Fal of the iron works of Nuln. Peering around a corner the group would peer ahead to see torch light. Holding the torch were three Skaven wearing shabby robes that's original colour was long gone. They now looked like a grimy grey with wet blotches of a source none wanted to imagine. Chittering and moving around a large wooden cart they looked about the wheels. Usually there would be four but one was notably in the corner and the cart was on it's side with the back right wheel missing.

"No you fool-idiot. You broke the wheel and now we stuck-held." The one holding a torch says. Another with a metal pipe looks at the broken wheel.
"Not my fault. You must have not paid attention to navigating. Me push cart good." Another Skaven comes around holding a lantern.
"We still have nearly three hundred meters till the drop off point. We late and the overseer will whip-punish us. Me not be beaten cause you two dumb-stupids." The Skaven resume their bickering as the sounds of steam and metal clinking are heard further down. Down the tunnel, about a hundred meters are several torches or similar light sources on the walls. Likely the entrance to the city parts. Inside the cart Fal could notice numerous poorly cut wooden logs. Each one the length of an arm and narrowly avoiding falling out. Fal turned to the others and whispered.
"Three of them, barely equipped and seemingly transporting wood or something." However the following sounds of thumping and impacts on the floor drew their attention. Peering back around the Skaven were on the ground and the lantern sitting on the back of the broken cart. The torch was on the ground and rolling as the flames flickered. Looking ahead Fal saw the faintest glimpse of scrawny legs returning to the darkness and down a small side corridor. Fal smirked as he realized the Skinks doing and walked out. The Skaven laying dead with small darts in their necks.