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

"Blood of Skaven-Rat runs in lake-rivers, souls fresh for the mouth-maw of the Horned One!" Jujue shouted in a jubilent cheer, presiding above a waterfall of scarlet that splattered down from the hanging stalagmites above, from where the sacrifical chambers of this Undercity were housed. Carried upon his rotting palanquin by four mute, decomposing stormvermin, did he survey the cheers and dancing of ecstatic rats down below from his cathedral balcony. Upon the plaza of mud, dirt and corpses, scantily clad Clanrats became daubed in blood, their crowds numbered in the many thousands where they competed merely for a taste of sanguine water. The legions of piteous screams were soon surpassed by the roars of cannibalistic ecstacy.

"Surely, surely!" Began the Plaguelord, raising his pinkish arms toward the cavern ceiling. "Horned Rat shall hear-hear, yes! Possess the Ark for Pestilens and destroy Lustria! It is written in the Liber Bubonicus!" Rivers of blood soon stained the murky waters of the under-ravine like a biblical plague from the Liber Chaotica, where the prized relic sat behind the peering monocles of those unwelcome Skryre folk. Ruby ichor washed over the Ark's massive hull. However, beside a few flickers of jade spark from the corrugated steel - causing a few warlock-students to rise from their clawed feet - the Ark remained oddly inert.

And Hebi - Jujue's pupil and aide to Skryre - noticed this from within the Ark, and became bitter.

"Master is going mad with power..." The priest hacked to his retinue of monks amidst the clanking of stolen gromril and churning of an engineer's warpfire. "...What difference do-does Horned Rat care about lives of little slave-rats? But Skryre, they not successful either-true. Has-to be-be something else, yes."

"What does master Hebi imply?" A rotting figure among the draped monks gargled with a hint of worry, his horrid mutations hidden by his snot green cowl. "Lord Jujue may have us replace-killed if he believes that we are not loyal."

"We think outside the box, thrall, yes-yes." Replied his buboe ridden master with a loud rasp. "We go to heart of the Ark, we survey and find the key."

"But-but Skryre guards the heart! It was part of deal-contract, they let not even Jujue through." Another monk raised his concern.

But Hebi only gave a teethy grin from his naked beak. "Then we force a change of agreement." With that, Hebi reared himself toward a circular arch that lead into the Ark's network and moved. With the monks that followed him thereafter, it seemed as though the sweating engineers above were oblivious to the intrigue, deafened by metal roars of machinery and macabre cheers from beyond the ship.

...A third party watched the dissent from an ethereal realm, a sharp smile shaping from his ever-grinning maw...

--

Anglermaw gave a slight twitch of his jaw with each sore clank of corrugated metal. They'd barely delved down the staircase of dirt and rock before their first encounter. Carrying a half broken cart illuminated an oddly welcoming shade of honey yellow from the torch. The Sea-Rat had almost forgotten the true colour of a flame, more accustomed to the hue of jade warp-fire from his pistol.

"Drapins' are all grey-brown, can't tell which clan these are." He whispered back in reply to Falderan, peering his ruby eyes over a small mound. It didn't really seem to matter; as soon as Anglermaw had finished his observation, the trio dropped like furred flies. Their deaths silent and oddly merciful in contrast the parade of screams the group were drawn to. He and Mokte joined the Elves while they surveyed the dead, little needles caught in their furred necks. Of course it was those Skinks who did the job.

"Effecient." Noted Anglermaw. Mokte only smiled from within his golden helm, barely paying these hated creatures any attention. Hans did not even look down, his attention totally drawn to the whistle Celedron carried. But the journey toward the Undercity did not end so simply. Three nameless Rats were irrelevant, not with the combined might of Skryre and Pestilens to face.

Without a word, they moved on -- the fungal lamps above began to dim as they progressed. It was half an hour before they came to a standstill. A large wall of broken wood and metal pikes from the entrance, decorated by the heads of rival clanrats, daubed in the rudimentary symbol of Skavendom. Anglermaw's keen eyes and Mokte's curious snout recognised the prevelant musk. There were creatures within the fort, their numbers unknown.

What was clear however was that if the party wanted to progress any further, they would have to conquer this outpost first.

The cacophony of screams and chanting elsewhere on the Ark drew aggravated winces from Skreptch's twitching maw. It was difficult to concentrate with the berating noise. Still he tried to get moving with his goals. Reading over the schematics in front of him and formulating theories that he scribbled down in the odd symbols of literacy that was used with queekish. As the screams went on he slammed his fist and demanded his slaves bring him his bean spices. Frightened slaves in the minimum of clothing brought over a moderate sized bowl filled with an assortment of beans and roots. A faint green glow radiated from it like glowing seasoning. For someone as high in prestige as Skreptch he had his favorite snacks, being an assortment of root and beans from distant Araby seasoned in the most useful warpstone. The added crunch and tingling sensation from the substance giving him more lucidity in his thoughts and calmness on his aggravated mind. However, after over an hour of this he was contacted by a quivering clanrat.

"My Lord." He says softly. Snapping off a twisting root Skreptch turned.
"Better be good scum rat!" He snaps as the piece of root falls from his mouth only adding to his annoyance. The rat winces and looks up with his twitching snout. Fear musk expelling from him non stop.
"Lord Hebi would wish to speak-talk to you directly." He says bowing. Skreptch gritted his teeth. He had already catered so much to the Pestelens rat and his pitiful attempt to work the Ark. What more could he want? Despite wanting to expel his rage maybe this was for the better. Maybe Hebi wanted to apologize and leave. Admitting to being wrong and Skryre, no Skreptch's superiority was absolute. He smirked at this thought.
"Fine. Bring him in minion-rat." He says turning back to his work and picking the piece of root that fell from his mouth off the floor. He snorted and ate it once more.

As the group made their way through the tunnels the sounds grew more vibrant with each step. Screams and metal were more prominent in the air and an odd humidity filled the air. Not the musky heat of the jungle but more dry heat. As they soon came across an apparently fortified position Fal took point in looking. The fort, if you could call it that. Was a ramshackle barricade of wood and stone that looked like it was made by peasants in a pathetic attempt to hold off an approaching Beastmen strike. Something Fal had seen in many country towns. In the darkness it was hard to make out specifics but there were several lamps of orange flame over it. Providing enough lighting for adequate scouting. Fal noticed three spear heads up top. They moved so he knew that meant at least three Skaven guarding it. But knowing the rats there were likely many, many more out of sight. Returning to the group he informed them of what little he learnt.
"Sounds like we need a distraction. To lure them out." Celedron says softly. The sounds of screams ahead and muttering from inside the fort hiding their soft discussion.
"That could work. Get a grasp on their numbers." The two Elves look to Anglermaw. "How friendly do you think they'll be to you?" Fal asks.

Flickers of snotty, pestilent green marked the arrival of Hebi and his retinue, virulent embers twinkling within the stale, metallic atmosphere while Skreptch's guard lowered their halberds. To ask why these stormvermin did not confistcate the Priest's censer was to question the very psyche of Skaven elite -- their lives far more important than the slow, agonal death that awaited if they even tried to touch Hebi's weeping growths. The convent numbered eight hairless rats, including Hebi himself, his underlings encircling Skreptch's workdesk. A smile crept over the Priest's maw once again as his bloodshot eyes gleamed over the intricate studies of the Ark. It's schematics, anatomy, power source, even the theory that it's warpstone core harboured the soul of a Grey Seer. All of this completed by the tireless formulae Skreptch himself had dedicated his time -- Unworthy of such a narrowminded Skryre rodent.

"Master Skreptch..." Hebi began. "I come to bring-offer a... divergence, to the contract Lord Jujue had agreed upon." He grinned, his phlegmatic tone carried an element of facetiousness. "To awake the Ark, you must allow us to talk-commune with the soul inside. Jujue is-is not aware of this meeting. He should stay-keep in the dark."

A collective shudder vibrated across the retinue of ascetics. They knew all well the dangers of crossing a Plaguelord. Jujue was a rotting trophy of stubby limbs and bloody pours melting his furless skin, but he could turn any rebellious rat into a living pile of rancid goo and clawing, desperate arms. Those learned in the Plague lore knew of fates worse than slavery.

--

"Ha, yeah." Anglermaw nervously chuckled. "They'll recognize me alright-yeah. Probably with the price-money on my 'ead an' that." He kept his still intact claw by his side, scratching at the wetted holster of his warplock. An evil warmth enveloped his claw tips, compelling him to give his neck a cracking swerve. 'Better get this 'un done with.' He conceded in silence, with only a bitter grunt from his beak as he impulsively moved toward the rickety fort. The outer structure was simply a large fence, scaling the height of around thirteen feet at least, it's length covering the cave walls from left to right. It was hardly a threat to a mobilized host -- one good cannon blast or charge from Lustria's many beasts would send this shambolic fort crumbling to the ground. But as far as the group and their mission were concerned, it was a direct obstacle.

A quiver wobbled over Anglermaw's beak as he drew closer to the honey glow hanging above. Death awaited him regardless of this ruse. All it took was one clanrat worth his paw, and the knowledge of the Sea-Rat's mutiny to note the pirate crown he adorned. Mokte observed Anglermaw's footsteps attentively, watching with scrutinous eyes the slight act of betrayal from the Skaven. The Sea-Rat's bounty was something the Saurus neither knew nor cared for. Bestial utterances in the Queekish tongue gnashed and spat from above, the figures of their speakers hidden save the protruding halberds jumpng and swerving in the air like puppetry.

"Rikka-rak!" Anglermaw hissed toward the balcony, his sharp voice travelling through the cave network. His reply was marked by silence, the jittering movements of the corrugated blades stopped in their tracks. Their voices hushed and whispering.

"Rikka-rak!" He shouted once again. A fast pitter-patter of footsteps descended down -- an armoured figure thrust his furred beak through the bar of the closed portcullis that barred the group's entry.

"You n-not-not of Skryre or Pestilens, R-rat. You no squirt-make musk of loyalty." The Captain snivelled, his teeth bared toward the Sea-Rat's figure. "B-begone! N-no place i-in Undercity for minor-thrall clans, unless you-you here for sacrifice."

Seconds passed as Anglermaw digested the mangy creature's words, a squadron of sneering ratfolk surveying the silhouette of this stranger. Mokte peered still from the boulder as he heard them speak...

...In Queekish.

"I ain't 'ere for kill-kills an' stuff-yeah." Anglermaw replied with a gulp while his hand caressed the warplock's holster once again. "Ah' come on business, diplo-rat o' Clan Skurvy, me. Got's a deal to make, yeah. I need to pass an' talk with the big-wigs." Even in his native tongue, Anglermaw's unique, cajun vernacular made his articulation of the Skaven tongue seem so much slower, at least compared to the fast natterings of his kin-rat.

"Curse the Ratman." The Saurus grumbled in defeat, his grip upon the tightened until a noticable crack upon both sides of his cover. "He speaks the tongue of his folk. What could he be planning?"

The Stormvermin nashed his teeth at the thought. "Grr! I believe not-not. No musk, n-no beg. Y-you think better-brave than me?"

Anglermaw raised his arms into the air -- his warpstone hookarm emitting a glow that made the guard-rat's eyes widen with awe. 'W-warp stone. Yes-yes! Precious!' Primitive thoughts of bloodlust coursed through his hyperactive mind, the influence of that chaos rock was enough to erode his orders.

Skreptch stood at his full height as the Plague Monks entered. Their repulsive smell a foul odor to even the Skaven's own sense of decency. It was the smell of death and mucus. A smell like the filthiest of plague quarters from the most foul of man-thing cities. His nose twitched and eyes watered for a moment as he shook off the smell as they got within visual range from their hoods. As they came in the multitude of engineers and clanrats looked up and kept their distance. They kept their heads low out of fear for what the Plague Monks could do if they felt offended. Even by Skaven standards they were known to be insane. But unlike his fellows Skreptch kept tall and glared down to them. A smile that formed mockery of a friendly welcome on his furred snout.

Skreptch listened with eager delight as he played out the scene in his head before they arrived. They'd ask for forgiveness for disturbing his most noble and smart plans. Then they'd admit to Skryre's and Skreptch's own superiority to their own clan. But as the message was said Skreptch froze. His eyes widened beneath his goggles as he pondered what was said. They were not trying to ask for forgiveness or beg. They were trying to come in and take over. The only thing they said that didn't fill him with a scathing rage was that it was behind the back of Jujue. A betrayal of his for was still a good thing no matter what. But this offer couldn't stand.

"You-you think best to deal-treat with me? To want more from this deal now?" He says with a snarl. His fangs bearing. "After I already be generous Lord-Master and allow you to chant here? You now want more-more?" As his voice filled with growing spite and aggression the Halberd in his hand begins to spark with energy. The lightest parts of his fur start to stand up as the turbine on his back whirs faster. "You better not be thinking yourself above your station lesser plague rat." He says directly targeting Hebi's rank. "I could-should flail you know and Jujue would be grateful for killing such a traitor-foe." He leers down. What he said was what all Skaven were. Each one trying to usurp those around himself. Though he'd say what he needed for now. Like all of his kind.

The conversation between the rats got the others nervous. Fal, like Mokte took note of Anglermaw's body language. He seemed nervous. His tail was kept low and legs having a nervous tick. Though the lack of yelling and fast movements made it seem calm for now.
"Quiet." Fal snaps at Mokte. "Keep it down." From behind them Celedron looked over to the base of the wall. He noticed the wood. Where some seemed damp other bits seemed rather dry. Dangerously so considering the proximity of those torches. A cunning smirk formed on his mouth.
"Falderan, where to the Skaven seem to have their attention?" He whispered. Fal looked to the wall.
"Mostly on Anglermaw from what I can see. Why?" He asks.

Holding the small artifact that linked to Hans Celedron began speaking words of power softly. Words in Elvish that were lost to those not fluent in it's arcane dialects. He whispered into his palm and a small flame about four inches tall appeared.
"What're you doing?" Fal says quietly.
"Getting them moving." Celedron brushes his hand past the flame as it turns to faint embers and atop the winds of Aqshy. Flying through the open space between them and the gate they embers would be unnoticeable to the naked eye. But once they hit the wood they began to reform in cracks of dry timber. Celedron smiles as the embers begin to glow brighter and brighter until they start to burn under the far corner of the fort.

Hebi bit his pink lips as Skreptch reminded the priest of his lesser station. Aside from a few jitters across his congealed whiskers, he refused to bite. He knew he could not; to leave now without a better deal would see him silently denounced as a leader in the minds of his retinue, all of whom craved Hebi's position as much the priest himself lusted for Jujue's. The priest was silent for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts. It was clear that Skreptch was no coward -- his position within Skryre meant he could not so easily be disposed of.

"Please, calm Lord Skryre." Muttered Hebi with a lowering of his free claw. "Let us-us not jump-leap to any bad conclusions, I only seek strong-better bonds between us." His retinue gave a perturbed look at eachother as the Priest finished -- they could not tell whether Hebi planned to cajole or outright kowtow to the Skryre-Rat. He had much more to lose, after all. "Jujue believes the Ark can be activated through prayer and sacrifice. We know this is not the case. Thirteen thousand hard workers have died for a fail-dud. I-I have come to a theory-plan! The Ark must be jump started, yes." Hebi's tone swerved from simpering to stalwart as he spoke. As though he truly believe that this hypothesis - made moments ago in reaction to Jujue's failed appeasement - actually held a modicum of truth.

--
Hans let out a struggled gasp as the whistle was activated, and a dancing shade of cyan escaped from his jaws, imbuing the magical flame. It seemed invisible to the two Skaven as they nattered at eachother, save for the sudden, faint smell of burning firewood. The Stormvermin was losing his patience, Anglermaw's hook still loomed in the air. With the armoured Rat's eyes firmly glued to the jade glow, he'd already lost interest in the conversation.

"W-where did diplo-rat get warpstone hookarm?!" The Stormvermin sputtered, kneading his halbered at the rusted portcullis. "I want it, give it to me-me and I let you through. Slaves forbidden to keep warpstone!"

Anglermaw bit his lip in frustration, the musk of superiority squirted from the Stormvermin invaded his rodent nostrils like a rancid odour. He wasn't going to capitulate so easily, however.

"Wait-wait!" Another of the armoured squadron shouted above the balcony, pointing directly at the Sea-Rat's glowing figure. Anglermaw's attention was suddenly drawn to the shape above -- their musks became resoundingly pungent, perhaps even Falderan and the others could now catch it's smell. "That's no diplo-rat, fool-fool! That's Sunami Anglermaw-maw!" He screamed, his voice a terrible concoction of bitterness and excitement stirred into one. "He lost the Skryre Ark before-for! Money-prize on his head!"

'Zu-nahmi Ank-ma-magh.' Mokte put the pieces together as he heard the name, even as it was marred under Queekish. "They've found him out." He grunted beside the others, stroking the pommel of his obsinite cleaver, observing the magical embers coalesce together from the corner of the fort. Anglermaw felt the burning wood overtake the overpowering musk.
'Horned Bastard-rat!' He hissed under his breath. Anything now resulted in a blown cover.

The Stormvermin laughed manically, biting at the corrugated portcullis with his sharpened incisors. "I-I am going to eat you, traitor-rat. Then I'm going to take-give your head and hook to master Skreptch, yes-yes."

"Is that so..?" Snarked Anglermaw, clutching at the handle of his warplock. "Luckily for me-yeah, I got more warpstone on me than just a nice lookin' hook."

"L-like what-what?" Spat the voracious Skaven.

Anglermaw's reply was silent. With a dangerous slight of hand, he whipped the wreathing warplock from it's patchwork holster, levelling it toward the gnashing figure above. A bolt of jade fire escaped the jolting muzzle with an echoing 'zwoom.' Pieces of the woodwork became levelled ashes swimming through the air, as did the Stormvermin who recognized him. His clan drapings became blackened, his skin rendered to lapping soot. His companions reaction was profound, speedily racing away from the lobby, while his panicking brethren finally took note of the Aqshy born flames, now a churning inferno.

Anglermaw recharged his warplock, the earlier contemplations of comprimise fading away.

Skreptch's own ego is all that halted his hand from casting a mighty bolt to eradicate the Priest. Hebi's sudden show of submission and counter offer made Skreptch feel superior. As he spoke and made suggestions of the Ark being jump started as he put it, the Arch Warlock pricked up at this.
"How did one of Pestelens and prayer come up with such an idea hmm?" Skreptch glares down at him suddenly suspicious of those around him as he himself had some up with a similar theory. Was it possible he had someone under his command who was a traitor? Or was is theory right and just now these stupid-lesser plague rats have come to the conclusion he had contemplated many days earlier. "Explain." He says looking more curious as his fur was noticeably less on end and his staff and back calmed down.

"Son of an Averlander whore." Fal muttered between clenched teeth as they all noticed Anglermaw's cover being blown. Chaos then emerged as the flames in the corner of the fort erupted and soon a whole segment was burning. Screams of rats inside and a smell similar to sour milk and dirty clothes filled the air with smoke and ash. A loud bang and ringing sound ran out as they looked forward to see the head of the Skaven Anglermaw was speaking to gone and a gooey stump remaining as the surrounding panels were covered in gore.

Up top rats moved in a panic. Many fleeing from seeing one of their own leaders killed and many more panicking from the fire that quickly spread.
"Call for help-help!" A clanrat cries. Another larger one pushes him aside and goes for an alarm bell.
"Out of the way coward-fool." He says with a snarl as he goes to ring the bell. As he reaches up another Skaven, panicked by the shooting crashes into him and sends him forward as his head hits the bell. A ringing 'dong' runs out softly but deep. The panicked Skaven, wearing little more than a small bit of cloth and clearly a slave squirts the musk of fear. The larger rat turns and snarls. Red viscus leaking from his head. "Traitor slave rat!" He says as his vision is blurry. Lunging out of vengeance to kill the one who hurt him the slave narrowly dodges. Before this sudden fight can continue rancid smoke starts filling the platform as the slave coughs. The larger rat looks back to see the whole platform on fire. Squirting fear musk he tries to flee but in his dazed state tumbles over the railing and lands beside Anglermaw. His back cracking and he coughs up blood as he seems alive if not badly wounded.

"Not very subtle." Fal says as he looks to Celedron and then the hole in the barricade.
"Use the flames as cover and move quickly." Celedron says making a break for the hole in the side. Soon the whole thing was in flames and as Celedron and the others made it to the makeshift entrance they moved in. Blazing wood surrounded them.
"Better not get us killed with this plan." Fal says as the sounds of panicked rats surround them. Celedron chants some more words and channeling a small amount of magic from Hans fires a blast of wind from his palm. Shooting through the barricades lower rooms it emerges behind into a the rest of the tunnel with numerous twisting paths lit by lanterns of flame and some a glowing green and baleful light.

The sounds of fleeing Skaven can be heard all around as they make their way in and turn a corner to hide in a dimly lit side tunnel. Running past them and either not noticing or caring were numerous Skaven with parts of their fur or whole bodies ablaze. Fal almost felt bad for them as they screamed and yelled in pain.

Hebi chuckled, cajolement and praise wading back and forth like a skirmish of subtlety. "I am simply a slight more forward thinking, yes-yes." He turned to his retinue for a second, themselves nodding and grunting in approval. "Better to learn from the failures of others, even the master-lords. We need only give the heart a little tickle-hurt. N-nothing to chink the warpstone, no-no Lord Skryre."

Another collective murmer of approval came once again from the group of monks, awakening yet another smile from the Priest's ulcer ridden maw. "Just a magical, little pinprick is all it would take, but it is your call, after all..." He gave a lick of his gnarled, rotting teeth at the thought.

But before Hebi could appease the Arch Warlock any futher, the air became horrendously chill as a winter's night. The candlelight beside Skreptch's desk became a flicker of air, replaced by a wafting smoke. A monk attempted to open the door handle in sudden trepidation, but it refused to swing ajar. Even the woeful natterings outside the office became distorted whispers -- speaking in a tongue that was neither Skaven or any no-fur they'd encountered in Lustria. "The Ark belongs to no one, that's what they say isn't it?" Hazed a disembodied voice, one that did not chitter in Queekish. "Do you both want to know how to activate it? I can make it possible, all I need... is a pact."

Anglermaw gave a hateful glimpse at the writhing Skaven that landed beside him, quivering in agony and despair. He let the creature be, however -- his attention drawn far more to the flaming breach ahead. He scurried off, rendezvousing with the others, even as the deafening gong of the alarm bell threw off his concentration. Mokte had been sent into a bloodcrazed flurry. He cared little for the burning rodents as they ignorantly brushed beside his crimson flesh.

"Our cover's blown, Elf-folk. When they 'ear of this, whole under-city will be on alert." Anglermaw said, surveying the legions of screaming labourers and mobilized clanrats, spears and rudimentary blades bared at these invaders by fearful rodents.

"K-keep weapons r-raised-put, slaves!" Hissed the Captain, who positioned himself behind a wooden barrier as to prevent himself from becoming another pile of gloop. "Defend outpost while I-I go inform masters of attack! D-don't die-die too early!"

With that, he scurried into the distance, leaving a troupe of frightened Clanrats in his wake. Little more than a legion of meatshields sacrificed for the sake of his own safety.

"I-I smell danger-death!" Screamed one of the spear holding creatures, jittering in terror at the sight of Mokte, charging the host.

"Sotek thirsts, Ratfolk!" He boomed, a circular swing turning shields into scattered splinters and mangy rodents into furred giblets. He waded through the host again and again before the Rats dropped their weapons and scurried into the smaller tunnels alongside their burning brethren. Within a matter of a few moments, this outpost manned by a legion of bloodthirsty Ratfolk had been sacked. The Saurus licked away the ichor from his blade with a safisfied growl. "The path to Hell is open free." He proclaimed in victory.

"A bit too easy though..." The Sea-Rat thought aloud to himself. "...Won't be as easy down there, will it?"

"RUN-FLEE!" A legion of chittering voices screamed together. "Tell great clans! Danger come-come to Undercity!"

Skreptch listened to the proposition, intrigued by what was said but as the deal was starting to be offered he felt a chill down his spine and the warpstone unit on his back sizzled and slowed for a moment. His fur stood on end as the air ran cold. His eyes wandered as the numerous warpstone generators began to sizzle and fluctuate energy. As if something was interfering with them for a moment. The resulting voice came out from no distinct location and Skreptch felt his heart rate accelerate. Grasping his weapon at the ready he looked about. Seeing the Plague Monks own confusion and smelling the corrupted musk of fear from them he knew it wasn't their doing.
"Who's there-around? What pact?" He asks with ever growing nervousness of what he had encountered. Around him the other Skaven were frozen with fear and quivering.

"Blasted beast." Celedron snapped as Mokte went on his rampage. "We could have gotten through while they were in a panic if it wasn't for his fanatic frenzy." He commented as they witnessed the Skaven Captain ran down. Celedron snapped to form a fireball but it was too late. "Blast it." He glared back at Mokte. "Savage fool." He said turning down the tunnel. Fal stood forward and shared Celedron's annoyance.
"We should get moving. The chaos from this attack won't last long. If we don't push up now we risk losing whatever element of surprise we had." Celedron nods.
"Agreed. But before we do I have one thing to test." Fal looks with a cocked eyebrow. Celedron began chanting words beyond his understanding as the sizzling air dampened with magic. A faint shadow began to emerge from Celedron's feet as magic was siphoned from Hans. Fal looked away from it feeling disgusted. This shadow crept out from the mage and enveloped them. A faint film of shadow covered the bodies of Fal, Anglermaw, Celedron, Hans and Mokte. Celedron chanted for a moment more as is eyes rolled back before he stopped and pinched the ridge of his nose.

"What did you do?" Fal asks looking at the faintly visible aura around himself.
"I tapped into the wind of Ulgu. Will help us be one with the shadows. Though it's frail. We must stick to the shadows and out of direct light or vision. Keeping moving and remain in the dark or it'll fade." Fal looked to the others.
"I can still see them though?" He asks confused.
"Those effected can see through it. I don't know how long it'll last though and if anything else could break it. I suggest we move now."
"Would have been helpful earlier." Fal says snarkly under his breath. Celedron scowls and moves ahead. Sticking to the shadows as they move like the fabled Shadow-Walkers of Ulthuan.

Hebi's lips gurgled with an ooze of glowing phlegm, perhaps the only form of illumination as the Ark's chambers became darkened. While his thralls cowed to the voice, the Priest was struck with a sense of curiosity. He did not fear it's presence; he revered it. Hebi clutched his rotting censer in both claws, pressing the gnarled pole upon his fleshy pink crown. 'Oh, masters of the realm beyond.' He thought with a sense of pride, even while his comrades shuffled and spat at the freezing chill, that even their broken, rotting nerves could feel.

"I am a watcher from the Realm of Chaos; I resign my services to no God, but to serve the end goal is my purpose." The disembodied creatures echoed with greater clarity. "Your experiments with the Ark entertain me -- your clans delve in both practical and superstitious matters, but they are futile in the end. The spirit within is deafened."

"Ha! So Jujue WAS wrong!" Interrupted the bitter Priest with a carved smile, much to the chargin of his fearful folk. "I thought-knew Horned One cared not-not for slaves, better quarry-blood found up in the temple-cities above-ground!"

"Perhaps your masters would be more fruitful in their endeavors if they understood what incantations are preventing the Ark's reactivation." The voice continued, ignoring Hebi's malicious satisfation at the failures of others. "A Slann who reigns above the mountains - from the hidden recluse of Tzlipectl - he manipulates the winds surrounding the dreadnaught, placing it in a magically induced slumber. No matter what action you take, it will be inert!"

--

"Ya'no, being smothered in mists gets me nervous after ma' mutiny." Commented the Sea-Rat as they moved onward, invisible to the swathes of fleeing Ratfolk. Their suffering meant nothing to him anymore; any camaraderie he once had to the Ratkin was lost at Sartosa. "I's like being int' sea, Stromfels looming close." He gave a twitch as his body became wreathed within the shadows.

Mokte's visage on the other hand was still very much blatant, guided toward the Ulgu shade by Nahwa's whistle. It called out to him, as did Hans' own voice under the Slann's possession. Like an ethereal curtain now parted, the Saurus witnessed his fellows moving forward. A beckoning wave from the Man-spawn shell compelled him to join.

As the magical darkness descended over the chamber like a mist of pure malevolence the musk of fear erupted from all around. All slaves, engineers and gunners in sight and not within the chamber were filled with dread. Like a tarp over flames the warpstone infused machines around were muffled and rumbled as their light dimmed. As if it were feeding the darkness. Skreptch's own back began to dull in sound and his bladed weapon sizzled with energy in response to the presence. The mentioning of being one with Chaos made the already paranoid rat ready to strike.

"Not one of Horned Rat no." Skreptch says keeping his bravado up and through possibly arcane means keeping the musk of fear restrained. But what it said regarding the spirit within intrigued the Arch Warlock. One of his theories were of a similar nature from rumors and this may prove them right. A sense of pride beamed within him as he then caught ear of Hebi's denouncing talk of Jujue. If nothing else he could appreciate the mutual hatred for the high ranked Plague Priest. But that led little to Skreptch wanting Hebi to remain alive. He remained on guard as the disembodied voice spoke some more. Further into the details of their scheme.

"Magic-toad thing? Reptiles use great spell to stop-hinder my. Skryre's glory?" He says with a snap of his fangs. Angered by the thought he was being sabotaged by someone outside blasting range. "Lizard filth must die-die. Kill them we must. Break their control on the Ark yes-yes." He says with a growing frenzy in his voice. A blood lust and urge to take out his frustrations. Before his excitement gets too overwhelming however he stops himself. He had not gotten to his position by going along with everything told to him on face value. "You Chaos-daemon. Not with Horned One. Why-why you help us? You know the power of Skryre? How you know reptiles do this?" His natural paranoia coming in and making him ask questions. Outside influence was not something the Skaven were new to. But even Skreptch knew of he treachery of Daemons and other worldly forms if this truly was what it claimed.

A permeating jade glow masked the arcane inferno behind the group as they were smothered under the cowl of Ulgu, trampling over the charred and gored remains of Ratfolk. So many slain outside such a minor ramshackle outpost, spread throughout the width of the tunnel. Anglermaw struggled to feel sympathy for the fellow Skaven, even as his footclaws gouged into their fur and pressed upon their skulls. The Skaven were never a race known for comradery, but his mutiny had a truly profound effect on his psyche, his dissociative mind had barely an urge to look down at the kinsfolk he helped burn. Screams of terror and frantic orders still rung within the narrow murder-holes dotted around the tunnel like gnawed holes of Wissenland cheese.

But the scurrying rodents were harmless -- overcome by a foe that they believed to be an army. In their flight, they'd hardly considered what ragtag group comprised their enemies. Hundreds of the Ratfolk ran back down to the blood river, including the craven Captain who'd sacrificed a troupe of his warriors to save his own life. They flooded the beserk parade with a frantic tide of their own with irrational chitterings of a siege.

Of course - for the group - that could wait, the Undercity's evil glow enveloping them all as the Skaven architecture was laid bare, gazing toward 'The Pit' from far above a rickety stairway that spiralled down toward the squalorous ravines marred by the hue of rodent waste of various kinds, ranging from excrement to dozens of decomposing clanrats who had outlived their use. A myriad of swinging, shambolic bridges hung over the looming stalagmites, the entrance holes churned with dripping slave blood that poured into the still oasis that the hive had been built around. Within the centre was that fabled dreadnaught -- The Ark, connected to the city by a wetted hastily made bridge. A marine titan comprised of corrugated plate and the sorcerous warpstone that powered it from within. It's visage evoked a grind from the Sea-Rat's incisors as he attempted to still a chitter of excitement. The most powerful bulwark of the Underseas -- the beast that turned seas into aquatic graveyards of putrified shipwrecks and buboe ridden corpses of Man and Elf alike.

It was inert, just as Nahwa had said it was. From the back and forth marchings of both Skryre engineers and Pestilens priests alike, it would only be a matter of time before they'd trigger something inside it's crystalline bowels. Maybe Uretchen would awaken; the Ark has no master save him, and perhaps the Sea-Rat himself.

"The Ark's not gonna sink itself." Muttered Anglermaw, reluctantly slipping the warplock back into it's holster. "'You think that smog 'll help us get into it? I'd think none of us would like a hundred spear-halberds at our throats."

--

"I have become aquainted with your folk a while now, ever since my Champion's tomb had been sacked." The Demon began, it's emaciated image flickering like living shadow as it emerged from within the steel walls. "I assist you because in truth, I am impressed by such insane engineering. A citadel upon the sea powered by a living soul, truly a deranged marvel worthy of the Gods." It praised, a bang of wood pressed upon the grated floor rang as the silent Hebi turned to face the demon, replete with utter reverence as it spoke.

"However, this bastion of decay has yet to reach it's full potential, realised only under the gaze of a greater god than your Horned One." It smiled, sauntering over to the pair of important Ratfolk with it's lankey limbs.

A syncronized gasp emerged from the onlooking monks. 'Heretical! Inconcievable!' They thought among themselves, unable to show their fury at their master who dare pray to this pretender. 'What God is greater than Horned One? No-none!'

"The Slann's craft with magical lore is well done, but I had expected him to hide his tracks somewhat better." The Demon continued, raising it's etheral hand in the bleak air like a long, crooked stick. A cerulean tendril suddenly permeated through the room, manifested into the waking world by the Demon's own aptitude with the winds. He gave Skreptch, Hebi and the curious monks a few moments to digest this revelation, enough for the slurred, Saurian chant to recite itself fully.

"Do you believe me now?" It asked with a terrible grin.

The messy yet somehow efficient buildings of the Skaven were as offensive to Celedron as their vile scent. Their shanty like constructions were of such shoddy quality Celedron saw the entire region as little more than a fire hazard. Wooden planks and beams nailed in place and bridges held up by dozens of varied sized beams. Clearly the Skaven desired speed in construction over quality and beauty. This continued to prove how the Skaven were the opposite to Ulthuan. The closest thing to beauty they had were the glow of the lamps and braziers about the caverns. Though Celedron realized what they were from the smell and strange tingling in his head. Warpstone. A foul substance of pure magic often used by the foul Sorceresses of the Druchii and Chaos worshipers. He had seen it in very small amounts in his studies. A natural phenomenon that was a blatant bastardization of nature itself. Ironic given how it formed more or less as a natural bi-product of magic. He led the group by the front with Falderan by his side.

Fal kept himself slightly ahead. A good three feet so he could keep his eyes out all the while avoiding being too close to Celedron and thus Hans. The most he paid attention to them the more uneasy he felt. Even the unnatural warmth from the warpstone lights around didn't fill him with the same level of unease. Though they were a close second. The tunnels were getting thinner of air as they got lower and the churning of metal and machines increased. By the time the group could see the descending Skaven city they wondered how they could get down into the bowls and to the form of the Ark below.
"Looks like we found it." He looks to Anglermaw. "But how do we get to it?" They ask as the scuttling of Skaven around filled them all with caution. They were hidden with magic. But this was not in anyway a perfect disguise.

If one thing could be agreed with between Skryre and Pestelens it was that the Horned One was the greatest and true God of all. This claim of another being better brought a hot rage to the breast of Skreptch. He bit into his lip so hard blood leaked down his chin. He held back his rage and resisted the urge to attack the Daemon. He knew even at this point he would later crush this Daemon-thing before it had the chance to betray them. But for now it presented good intel. This combined with the compliment of their, or more so Skryre's ingenuity gave a great boost to the Arch Warlocks already engorged ego. Stopping the biting before he tore part of his lip off Skreptch licked the blood and glared at the Daemon as it gave insight into the Slann's actions. Once proof was given in the form of a visual showing of the winds of magic the Slann had used to restrain and hold back the Ark Skreptch slammed his weapon's base into the ground.

"Damn Reptile-things. Always interfering with Skaven plans. Making a fool of my-Skryre's genius." Skreptch snapped taking it as a personal insult. "We should strike them back. Kill their magic user and stop this insult to Skryre superiority." He with a jittery stance. He seemed hyper on a sense of vengeance. However, a thought came to mind. One of logic and reason over fanatic frenzy. Skreptch turned to the uncanny, somewhat formed silhouette of the Daemon. "Can't you use your Chaos and Daemon fool-servants to kill the Lizard-things? Can't you help us-us?" Starting to see a way to repair the Ark and fix his reputation Skreptch was overlooking numerous red flags given by the Daemon in order to act on a chance to fix his problems. He wouldn't attend any combat personally of course. But his most loyal and fearful underlings, maybe even Hebi, would be perfect for assaulting the Reptiles in his name.

Hebi raised himself as the blue waves lapped across his body. He swatted at the tendrils that separated across his clawed fingers like a river's divide. The Priest was curious, if nothing else -- the revelation that The Ark was being actively kept in stasis by a toad-thing hidden above the ground was quite a revelation one like Hebi should have come to expect much earlier. It only made his loathing of Jujue worsen -- if a Plaguelord of his station was incapable of translating the winds, he had no place masquerading with the holy Ratmen of Hebi's like. He crooked his beak toward the living shadow looming above as the tendrils faded into nothing; an expression of intrigue shaped across the Priest's face at Skreptch's question.

"We scratch your back-fur, you scratch ours, no?" Hebi wondered, placing his free claw across his cloaked chest with a sudden hacking of lime phlegm. "How do you intend to kill-silence the Slann-Toad in this Tzli-pec-tiil? Surely there is another way-scheme, yes-yes? The Vermintide is not yet."

"All great plans mature with a modicum of patience." The Demon swung it's bulbous head toward the curious pair, lowering it's waving neck toward them like the body of a snake. Hebi strode back a little to keep space, while his retinue cringed in fear and disgust. Horned One only knew how the Skryre-Rat felt. "Our floundering guests of honour have yet to arrive, sent on the Slann's behalf to dismantle this precious ship. But in their arrogance, they know nothing that they hold the key to the Ark's reactivation. I can undo the lock; I can help you raze Tzlipectl."

Hebi's expression of intrigue suddenly warped into a scowl of confusion. "Guests? Key?" He hissed aloud, the idea of trespassers within the Undercity brought him back to reality, his reverence turning into the jittering frustration shared by Skreptch. "What-what are you talking about? What is this pact you spoke of? How you start-will the Ark-ark?"

"Lord-Master Skreptch! The Undercity is breached!" A whining voice cried out, followed by a cacophany of banging steel and the cringeworthy scraping of claws upon metal. It was enough noise for the Priest to swish his maw toward the closed entrance, the commotion outside was no longer silent. "Master Skreptch! Come out-out! We must make direction-journey back to Skavenblight!"

Hebi turned his beak back toward the shadow, but the creature was gone, subsuming into the darkness without warning as though it was never truly among the Ratfolk.

The Daemons words and tales of schemes only deepened Skreptch's suspicions and concerns. It had something in motion but was keeping information from the Skaven. Not even secretly. It all but said it knew more with it's wording. A sign of pure arrogance and superiority. Skreptch perked up with word of guest and intruders came. But how? If there were those trying to break in he'd hear about it. Jezzail snipers were around the city and atop the Arks highest points. Forming a dangerous field of murder in any open, or what passed for open in a Skaven city, area. Then there were the Rattling Gunner teams on the Ark. Surely no one would be stupid enough to assault it head on? He thought the Daemon was maybe trying to cause panic amongst them but before he could give a response the doors swung open and a fearful voice of a messenger in Skryre robes reveals there has been a breach.

Skreptch looks to the messenger and back to the Daemon with shocked eyes, hidden behind his visor. But when he turned back the Daemon and it's ethereal energies and mist were gone. Maybe never there to begin with and simply a hallucination by warpstone. Skreptch looks back to the messenger who brought the word of intruders. He went to question him but cries for him to come out took priority.
"Problem now. Leave Plague Monks." He says with a glare that could kill. "Move!" He snaps at Hebi and his Plague Monks wanting them out of the chamber as he makes his way to the door. The messenger kneeling in fear with tail low. Moving past Skreptch uses his staph to smack the Skaven in the snout. Blood drips down but he remains low and squirting the musk of fear. So much so a small puddle forms beneath him as drops of dark blood add to it. Reaching the doors Skreptch emerges. "What's the problem-issue? Why leave leave?"

A discontented growl revertebrated from Hebi's scarred throat like a worn engine as Skreptch brushed him aside. His crowd of concerned monks looked on, their claws clasped beside their melting beaks, shaking in alarm. "Lizard-things have comprimised us, yes-yes." Murmured one of the worried troupe, looking back to their master in a desperate reach for support. "Perhaps we run-scurry back to Old World too-too, Master Hebi?" He continued, kneeling at the Priest's draped groin in beseechment. "We tell Great Clans of merciless invader-enemies! Lords will-will r-retaliate, yes?"

Hebi simply shook his head, gesturing the whimpering Skaven to rise. "Not-not a chance." He bluntly replied. "We go to Skavenblight and leave the Ark at Lizard-feet, there will be Hell to pay-pay -- for Skryre and Pestilens alike." Hebi dangled the glowing censer over the head of his thrall -- a looming flail of death which invited the ghostly familiars of flies, grubs and a menagerie of other disgusting pests to chew upon the glowing heart within. Hebi swished his beak back toward the way he came and took his leave. "We'll scamper-return back to the Cathedral, Jujue must've been alerted to this outrage."

"T-there w-was f-f-" The bloodied rodent struggled to collect his words, warped under a panicked frenzy. From his beak came naught but petrified clicks upon his fangs and infantile mewling while his blood stained upon his fur. Soon, the engineers and their curious students left their posts in wonder at the scene, previously deafened by the howl of evil machinery. A moment after, the Stormvermin guardsfolk soon sauntered forward, their dwindling patience reaching a breaking point as one levelled their corrugated halberd an inch from the slave-rat's twitching neck. Hebi pricked his ears up as the scene continued, pretending to make his way outside the Ark; his steps were slow, but painfully sure.

"Well-well?" Spat the armoured Skaven. "Speak up now-now!"

"F-f-fire!" Sobbed the distraught creature, jumping away from the blade in terror. "They burned down the post with foe magics! Many Skaven burned-cooked and Lizard-thing tore brave clanrats to pieces!"

The mention of magic was enough to still the pattering of plague-ridden feet. "...Magics..." Hebi whispered among the alarmed hissing of Skryre and Pestilens folk. "Where are the enemy-foe now? Do they occupy the post?!" He swished back toward the ever increasing crowd within the Ark's hull.

"G-gone." The Rat sobbed again, blood cascading down his once pink nose. "Gone!"

Hebi was astounded, but he needed little more information about the threat from above. "I make for the Cathedral, Jujue has surely been informed. If magics are afoot then Lizard-things have-have breached the city indeed."

"B-but Master-L-lord." Stuttered one the seven followers with a walking bow as they quickly moved outside the Ark onboard the decrepit wharf. "Should we inform Jujue about our guest?"

"No." Spat the Priest. "If he was worthy-powerful, the Daemon would have-have approached him."

--

"Rat knows 'ow were getting in." Replied Anglermaw as the groups misty forms waded through the makeshift streets. Each level was merely a great mound built atop one another, at the peak a cathedral of glowing, zapping green, it's gothic architecture unique among the many miserable shanties below. A host of armoured Skaven poured from a great portcullis, marching beside a rotting ogre which stabbed it's prosthetic limbs upon the stonework while it's slavers dragged the beast forward. The stench was horrendous. All Undercities stank of death and rat droppings, but the putrid odour stemming from the pit was enough to make even Anglermaw pinch his nose. Mokte was desperate not to show weakness; as horrendous as the smell of rotting cadavres was, he would not grasp his snout.

Hans on the other hand was indifferent -- he no longer responded to his sense of smell, if he had one anymore.

"That's an arcane musk." Mentioned the Sea-Rat as the rotting host moved by, coming to a crossroad with a furless Priest and his robed retinue. The Captain of the guard and the leading Priest both nattered at eachother in their native, chittering tongue before they both moved on.

"What were they saying, Sunami..?" Wondered Mokte, still wreathed within cloud of Ulgu, despite being in plain sight of the host.

"Summat about the mobilizin' the Rat's and striking at the Lizardfolk. By the Sigmar Rat, these Pestilens lot really think there under a proppa siege." Concluded an astounded Anglermaw, scratching at his beak. "Everything's too quiet, yeah. The Pit should be packed wi' slaverats."

"They will march on Tzlipectl." Interrupted Mokte, raising himself back up. "We should make for the Ark quickly."

The panicked explaining of the situation from the horrified Rat got Skreptch's already boiling blood ready to pour over. But it was the mentions of magic that got both him and the other Engineers attention. They were using some form of sorceress flame to attack them? The Lizards truly thought they could bring magic to use against the arcane sorcery of Skryre? What a foolish idea. He grinned as thoughts of victory and domination to prove his superiority over Pestelens gathered in his mind.
"Of course. We must act now-now." Slamming his staph he called for his most trusted, or as trusted as any Skaven underling could be, apprentice Technusk. "Technusk! Come-come." He commands as the rasping, respirator wearing rodent comes stumbling up.
"Yes my." He rasps. "Lord lord?"
"Skryre and Undercity under attack by sneaky Reptiles." Skreptch chitters glaring at his Engineer. "You must take Skryre weapons and find them to kill-destroy these intruders. No one can hide in undercity from we-we." Bowing and presenting his neck in an act of submission Technusk accepted his mission.
"Of course Master-Lord. Such a wise and smart choice. Shall I use Warpfire to flush them out out?" Skreptch nods with a grin.
"Yes-yes. Burn out their magics and foul caster. Warpstone flame will help show-reveal."

Technusk gave yet another bow before scurrying off with his weirdly off balanced body. Several Clanrats followed him as word was sent to prepare the weapon teams for his force. In the armory a dozen pairs of rats covered head to toe in protective gear carried large metal tanks and hoses. The gear was made of metal and some form of leather that gave them all a cybernetic look not unlike the Engineers. In pairs of two one held a front nozzle several feet long as a long hose connected it to the large tank carried on the back of the rat behind him. Green fumes seeped from the putrid tanks that would cause hallucinations and death in any unfortunate enough to get prolonged exposure to the substance. As word of their mission came the weapon teams gathered their gear and in several minutes the were on their way. The lumbering footsteps and jingling of metal gear clanked as they made their way to their assignment.

As the small force made their way into the Skaven Undercity the aftermath of their attack was being shown with more clarity. Mass numbers of Skaven moved in groups of twelve or more. Fal could tell they were squads despite their barely formed formations. Narrowly keeping a rough shape as they moved the Skaven were clearly mobilizing. When Anglermaw revealed they seemed to be fearing a siege Fal smirked.
"Let them think that. If they plan to fight a large horde they'll be open to a small group like ourselves. Celedron agreed as he rubbed his temples. The longer he kept up this spell to hide them the more strain he felt. The warpstone that lingered in the air was like a taint to the Winds of Magic. Attracting foul energies that tingled behind Celedron's magically honed senses. None seemed to pick up on this as Mokte spoke in his broken and at best patchy Riekspiel.

"The city? Moving on it would be pointless. Or if the did it would only help our mission. As long as they don't know our numbers and assume differently they'll make mistakes. Mistakes we can exploit." Celedron was interrupted by a roaring sound and blaring heat. Peering to a bright glow coming from a side tunnel he nearly collapsed grabbing his head. The miasma around them all flickered for a moment. Fal could feel a tingle of dark magic erupt. But even though magic was a subtle inkling to him the heat was prominent. Looking down the tunnel green flames shot up again.
"Move-push. Find the interlopers." Says a raspy voice that appeared muffled. Clanrats leapt from the way the flames came and scurried down the tunnels.
"What the hell is that?" Fal asks looking to Anglermaw. Celedron comes to his feet as he feels a violent throbbing in his head.
"Warpstone?" He asks confused. Clasping the artifact he channels more magic from Hans to keep up the miasma. The flickering form stabilizes and keeps them hidden.

A gnarled fist came down upon the arm of Jujue's palanquin, the Plaguelord's mind set aflame by outlandish thoughts of paranoia. The news of the siege had gotten to him ages ago -- the bubbling, still living pile of snot that gurgled beside Hebi within the court of Pestilens was proof of that as gelatinous claws squelched at the corrugated armour wrapped around it's once solid form. Hebi was tardy, almost too late. Enough to spur immediate thoughts of conspiracy within the made of noble Ratfolk, especially one of Jujue's station. The exposed gunt of the Plaguelord seemed to vibrate while he gave a discontented snarl at the presence of his Priest, the underling. The pitch of his roar became exasperated when he realised that aside from the usual rodent jitters, Hebi refused to flinch -- The unfurred one stood defiant with his rod of jade as foul familiars fed upon the censer's seeping core.

"You're late-late!" Wheezed the immobile creature. "Must be plan-scheming coup during siege I bet-wager!" Jujue clenched his weeping fists yet again, kneading them upon the wooden arms 'til the ears of the court were defiled with a abject screeeech. "Little rats have been telling me you've been talking to the Skyre-lord. I-I want to know what schemes you've both been wagering against me! What evil-sneaky pact you make in shadows?"

The Priest's retinue had already left him the moment they'd sauntered within the court, huddling themselves with the pox-ridden stormvermin; zombie-like enforcers of Jujue. Hebi was a dissident; association with a plotter like himself was both political - and literal - suicide. They'd turn their melted tails away from him for their own safety. Cowards, all of them.

"H-Hebi speak-confides with enemies in the Dark." One of his former retinue hissed slyly into the left hole that once held the form of Jujue's ear, the other snot draped figures forming a semi-circular kangaroo court that overlapped with Jujue's groaning retinue. "He hungers for the Ark, as does unworthy Skreptch, yes-yes. He think-feels your sacrifice to the Horned One was... a dud."

Jujue's vibrations became alarmingly violent for a second -- his body wreathed with a jade flame coursing across his stubby figure, enough for the snivelling sycophant at his side to back off in fear. Then they dissipated. "Explain yourself-self, traitor!" Jujue spat again. "What-why does my right paw question his master's will?!"

Those words were enough to make Hebi seethe with fury. They were indeed true, no doubt, something the Priest hardly bothered to hide as his opinion of Jujue became public knowledge. The monks were his underlings, however. Their lives had been given to Priest by Lord Skrolk himself on pain of death. But Skrolk was not here -- he had been summoned to Skavenblight by the council concerning other matters. Now such pact-treaties were void. Now they owed their allegience to the bloated slob upon his creaking palanquin, for it was he who decided their lives now, not some decaying Wizard on the other side of the world.

"Not even upon the threats of death by rival-clan assassins have I ever turned my back-tail upon the sovereignty of Clan Pestilens!" Hebi snarled back. "Never have I doubted the superior magics of our Clan! I conspire with no Rat, I seek only to corrupt-control the Ark in Nurglitch's name. A pox-plague upon the dud-sacrifice! Thirteen thousand slaves quartered for naught but a river of blood!"

The court gasped in disapproval, a torrent of denouncements in the queekish tongue hurled toward the Priest as he insulted the integrity of his Plaguelord. Jujue was left speechless, wreathing flames once again coalescing across his body while his paranoid mind urged him to turn Hebi into another pile of writhing gloop. The Priest knew what was coming, but he did not beg for mercy as other Skaven would. He held his censer high above himself, and the many familiars that fed upon it's core were suddenly stirred and began to buzz like a swarm of locusts, shielding him from whatever projectile his better dared throw.

"Cease. I'm not going to kill you, Hebi, or make you another jelly-glob to gobble." Spoke the Plaguelord, the flames once again dissipating. "Put away your fly-swarm. I've got something in mind for you, if you think you're so-so smart."

The magical swarm began to lessen in size, Hebi's mind strangely becalmed by Jujue's show of mercy. He couldn't tell if it was just a ploy to weaken his will, but he held some curiousity for whatever the dubious Lord had in mind. "You serve Pestilens? Fine. I have a task-ploy for you. I redeem you as my agent in the ranks of Skyre. My slave-thralls have told me that you've had some relationship with the Arch-Warlock, Skreptch."

Jujue's newfound retinue were astounded, if not mildly frustrated. They sought the position of Priest for themselves, though all seven were too indecisive - and perhaps too afraid - for the role. Hebi hung his furless head down; the swarm of familiars hurling themselves back into the seeping core was a sign of his capitulation.

"I'll be on my way, then." Hebi announced, raising himself once more in defiance. "Stay-keep those monk-rats away from me. They dishonour me with their lie-falsehoods."

--

The Sea-Rat threw Hans and himself crashing into the dirt in skittish reaction to the sudden churn of sorcerous flame, huddled under the ruby figure of their Saurus companion. Mokte's cold-blooded reflexes made him slow to react, but his move away from the spewing fire was certain -- at least until their bodies flickered before the Fire-throwers in a sudden, stark image. Anglermaw swung his head from the earth, peering toward the crumbling asphalt that kindly hid their figures when Ulgu's favour had run it's course. Hans breathed violently while the essence was once again spewed from his gaping mouth, his face wrinkled with pain as he now struggled to breathe, forcing Anglermaw to cup his good paw over the fellow's mouth to dull the grunts.

"Warpfire. By Sigmar Rat, these lot must be mad." The Sea-Rat replied to Falderan's question, still hidden under their scaled behemoth. "Mean-sour stuff, too. I can tell by the smell-musk." A splash of sticky flame lapped across the collapsed rubble as he spoke, kneading his hookarm over his nostrils to still the malignant odour; like infernal venom wisping through the air. "Skryre tech-weapons, these. Could turn trolls int'a soot, gotta get outta here or we'll be burned alive."

Mokte crouched below the Skaven and his warm-blooded friends, the Sun cleaver firmly grasped across his scaled palms while he surveyed the shambling host of Pestilens vermin and their decomposing beast lurching toward the tunnels. It fueled him with that primal Saurian fury; he carried the icon of Tzlipectl within his claws and yet he was unable to defend his city. Nahwa's link to them had been lost, he could tell by the frantic gasps of the Human, clutched under the Sea-Rat's claw -- the whistle that once held sway over his waking conscience dimmed when the last strobes of darkmatter were bled dry. They were surrounded, no doubt; he dreaded to think what had become of the Skink retinue after their descent and if they had been caught under the Rat-borne hellfire.

It was the sound of a 'beep' that made Anglermaw's ear tweak with dread, swinging himself in the direction of that noise, as well as the gargled nattering that came under the mask of a nearby fire-thrower. "Enemy-targets spotted!" Beckoned a Skryre rodent in the queekish tongue -- one patrolling Skaven became many, for not even Ulgu could save the group from the ingenuity of the Skaven, their targeting reticles creating an outline of each figure as they hid.

"Ah scat, they've spotted us."

As flames gushed nearby small trickles of blood ran down Celedron's nose and ears. The unstable flames disrupted those harvesting the winds of magic as they blew past. Flames even more unstable than vile warpstone, the very essence of Chaos. The smell of ozone and the tingle of magic overwhelmed the mages senses. Bringing him to tears as his hold on their magical concealment fell. The world spun like he had been spinning for several minutes while intoxicated on the foulest ale. Stumbling back he was barely able to keep his balance as he hit a wall and tried to regain focus. Anglermaw began to explain what the weapons were and this only furthered his unease.

Fal however only had the slightest side effects like Celedron. He felt a strange queasiness and headache but would shake such feelings off. The heat was a bigger concern. As it rushed past him the smell reminded him of the burning city of Sartosa. As Anglermaw took the pained Han's down Fal went to assist Celedron.
"Of all the time for you magic to flicker out." He glares down the tunnel from a corner. "It's the flames isn't it?" Celedron nods and pants.
"Yea, not quiet sure how but it's causing severe magical backlash. I fear use now may cause a miscasting." He says with genuine fear in his voice. From down the tunnel the flames stopped and chittering, muffled voices demanded speed as the sound of vents and clicking metal was heard. Fal had his sword drawn but before he could consider a plan a echoing howl came from a tunnel as well as shouting voices of attack. Fal recognized the roar as like the Rat Ogre they had fought some time ago. The thought of another while it had support of dozens or more Skaven unnerved him. As a muffled voice called out from the tunnel another jet of fire shot by. This one went almost three meters further. They were moving up as Fal narrowly hid behind the wall as glowing flames singed the trim of his coat.

Down the tunnel Technusk glared into the flame lit darkness to see the forms of a Saurus and some humanoids. Squirting an excited musk he let out squeals of delight that he quickly covered up by biting his lip.
"Now move up. Fast-quick. Kill intruders and burn them to ash-cinders." He says between raspy breaths. The excitement and barking of orders took a toll on his already mechanical voice. Three weapon teams moved up and continued to shoot fire. As they moved up slowly Technusk called for the other teams to converge on their position.

Down a tunnel a pair of throwers looked to one another and grumbled.
"We go back see? But where is?" One asks his tank holder. The others shrug.
"Down tunnel. Look for flames?" The other tank holder suggests.
"Yes-yes. That work clever smart." His gunner replies. The other gunner freezes and perks up. Sniffing the air he shivers. "What is it?" Asks the first gunner.
"Somethi." He starts saying before the sound of foot on stone followed by the clink of metal. His eyes turn back to see his tank holder have his own low quality dagger in his neck and his tank making a whistling sound.
"Daaaah!" shouts the other gunner turning to face the dead holder. Turning the nozzle on his thrower he reeks the musk of fear.
"No wait!" The other gunner shouts but too late as his 'ally' fires his flames at two silhouetted figures in the dark. Leaping away the two are gone back to the shadows as green flame shows two small and slender reptilian bodies. The flames engulf the tank in a second and before any of them have a chance to lament their situation it explodes. Filling the tunnel with metal, bone and rubber fragments as green flames erupt. The one that shot quickly regrets this as his own weapon detonates and the four former Skaven are blown to pieces as the slender reptilian bodies leap past, through the debree and flames as the roof caves in. The explosion reverberating through the tunnels.

"Gnyah! Look what I've found here-here!" Hissed the looming Warpfire-thrower, levelling the spitting nuzzle of his wreathing tank over the Rat-made ditch as the no-fur figures became mapped by his visor. "It-it seems that we have-have found-spotted our intruders-" Before the Skaven could finish his sentence and lather the ditch with magical fire, a dark flicker swung from within the pit, like an inverted pendulum lodged into the respiring tubes that coursed across the Firethrower's form. The poor creature could not even scream for his life as his ironclad body was parted in two by Mokte -- through sheer force was the mangled Skaven sent flying through the air like a bedazzling strobe of jade fire, landing beside the now startled group of specialists, gazing down at the body of their fellow.

"T-The ditch!" Spat one of the Firethrowers, flinching his heavy weapon in the direction of the attack; the need to inflict white-hot agony now replaced by the fear for his life. "Enemy-things inside of the rubble. Quick-quick, burn-torch things!" He chittered erratically, blowing the warpfire in smouldering clouds to keep his verminous fear at bay.

Anglermaw raised his head above the ditch, relieveing the poor Hans to gasp at his own leisure by the dirt. He whipped the warplock from it's rudimentary holster, the weapon itself now beginning to spark and jitter thanks to the concentration of volatile winds. The weapon became heated in his hand, and he half-feared the wreathing stone that powered it from within would probably burst into a deadly load of glowing shrapnel. He dug his hookarm into the uneven cover. From their muzzled voices, the rest of the squad were in the flaming distance, but they were closing for definite.

The Sea-Rat gave a glance toward Mokte, who seemed to chant some untranslated prayer to the strange Gods of the Lizardmen. Anglermaw shook his head, dreading to think if the words were fueled by the desire for strength or deliverance. They were outnumbered, and there were no Elves to save them now, Horned Rat knew where the rest of the Lizardmen were.

The vision of their enemy cleared and with nothing to lose, Anglermaw raised his vibrating firearm in the direction of the weapons team, themselves perturbed by the sudden fact that a Skaven fought alongside the forces of order.

"Have a taste a' this!" Shouted the Sea-Rat, the lime glow of his weapon beamed forth with an audible 'VWOOM' that echoed within the Pestilens Pit far more terrible that any shot from that weapon had been in the past. The figure caught in the warplock's range was torn to jolted pieces; the cannister that harboured the Skaven's daemonic warpfire ichor had consequently burst, collasping the murderhole behind the rest of the firethrowers that took cover from the devastation. Anglermaw dug himself deep into the ditch again after that, gazing once more at his weapon, evil bolts lapping across the nuzzle.

Mokte became stirred from his hissing prayer, rearing his head toward the direction of the cathedral as though possessed by the strange entities of the jungle above. A contingent of allied Skryre and Pestilens Stormvermin moved up, their formation broke from the main host thanks by the great orb of green from the burst fire tank. There were at least twenty of the creatures. Thirteen ironclad Skryre rats for seven strange shamblers lathered in sickly green. Two of the 'living rats' dueled Mokte together, and paid the price for their insolence as they were both halved by the cleaver with one fell swing. But the others soon rushed thereafter, like a line of halberds held in mangy hands, they forced the Saurus back into the ditch. Even as Mokte's cleaver seemed to channel a strange, honey like essence coursing through the hilt, the odds still looked bleak. It didn't help that their magical conduit was currently hyperventilating on the ground.

"Can't just let them back him up." The Sea-Rat gnashed to himself, brandishing his warplock at the sight.

The reverberating explosion cracked from further down the tunnel. Technusk turned to see the flare in the darkness of green as the collapsing of rocks was heard.
"Blast fool-fools. Why they no help." He gasps between breaths. Further up the tunnel and advancing on the enemy were three more pairs of throwers. Blasting a constant stream of flames that kept Fal back and Celedron suffering severe migraines. As they pushed up the sound of wheezing erupted as a tank burst from Anglermaw's shot. A tank blew up causing half a side tunnel to collapse. Glowing debree the colour of sickly green faded to leave hot rock and metal shards in the way. The situation was looking dire and the Skaven numbers continued to grow as Stormvermin came screeching from the dimly lit tunnels to engage Mokte.

Fal took in the area. The tunnels were collapsing when the tanks exploded but by now the others were dangerously close. He couldn't risk going for them without being in firing range and risking their open chamber crumbling down. Grabbing Celedron by the collar he threw him to the side and into the ditch were Hans and Anglermaw were tucked away. As the rats fired at where he was Fal kept hidden behind the stone that heated to a sickly temperature. Hearing two of them click from a lack of fuel they stopped firing but the third gave out a metallic clank. The sound of panicked squeaks told Fal all he needed. The weapon failed. With blade in hand he quickly moved. Rushing up to the rats as they primed for another wave he let out a fierce cry. A war cry the god of murder himself would appreciate. As he raised his blade the shrieking form of a massive ghostly bat seemed to engulf them. The nearest Skaven let out a muffled shriek as the blade swept passed him and cut the tubes connecting to the tank. Green fluid oozed out as time seemed to slow for the Rat. As it turned to witness Fal twist his blade a moment of peace occurred before before his chest burst open and the rodent collapsed. The tank bearer ran but barely got a few feet before his head was severed from it's frightened neck.

As Celedron was thrown he took a minute to recover from his daze. Sitting up and looking to Hans he felt heat gush past. Peeking from the ditch he saw Fal rush once the flames stopped. With a ferocity that was unmistakably Drukii he watched a pair of Skaven be cut down. The other two moved in an attempt to target the Elven berserker in their ranks. But Celedron noticed a change in the air. The moment of reprieve from no flames let the frantic winds settle enough around him. Celedron couldn't cast much in the way of a powerful spell but with what could be used with the wind of Qhaysh he could assist. Chanting words of power as a trail of blood ran down his nose he used the turbulent winds to power his spell and with a moment of no chaotic flames he could focus enough to pull off his spell. Small tendrils of magic began to creep into the armour of a weapon team that prepared to blast Falderan. Like small worms they creeped through armour and then like needles stabbed into the rats. The Skaven jittered and twitched as they began to flail around. Trying to scratch off painful stings from beneath their gear and saving Falderan for a moment as he took sight on the team with the failed weapon that locked up.