Tuesday 26 May 2009
Retuck's Return
Retuck’s body lay crumpled on the pavement, blood strewn across the rubbled ground, and pooled around his mid-drift.
The streets were uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps rumour of the rat-men had spread and fear was keeping others away, or perhaps there had been another large finding of wyrd stone which had drawn the crowds.
The body was alone. Retuck’s crimson robes moved in the slight breeze, the dusky sun was being its decent and was now obscured by the abandoned orphanage, casting the area into shadow.
Retuck’s eye opened suddenly. It squinted against the light. A groan escaped from his blood-encrusted mouth as he gained consciousness and realised his plight. Slowly and more cautiously the skaven opened his second eye.
He had no idea how long he’d been lying there.
He thought back to the battle with the humans, their swords and ferocity. They had been powerful. His mind wandered to his warband, had they been hurt too? Or worse maybe… or perhaps they had fled safely leaving him for dead?
“Those humans will pay” muttered Retuck bitterly.
He slowly slipped his right fist out of the fighting claw and moved it to feel his stomach. It was not good. The gash was large, and although blood no longer gushed from it, yellow puss and grit were already forming a crust. Infections in Mordheim almost always lead to death. He would have to get it cleaned as soon as possible if he was to stand a chance at survival. He rolled onto his back, and summoned his strength to lift his left paw, fighting claw still attached, and sliced off his robe sleeve. With his free paw he loosened his belt. He folded the sleeve, placing it on the wound and used the belt to secure it. He concentrated, yet the only movement he could muster in his legs was a slight wiggle of his toes. It was going to be a long, painful crawl to the sewer, but the other option was to accept the fate of being torn apart by rats, cats, carrion, or worse, at the hand of man. Night in Mordheim was a dangerous time, especially for the weak.
He rolled onto his stomach, and with a wince began heaving himself forward.
Defying all odds, Retuck had survived. It took him 4 hours to crawl the short distance to the sewer camp. His mob, had been tending their wounds, and squabbling over whom would take the warp stone to Rotclaw when they saw their leader. They quickly greeted Retuck, and cleaned his wounds before letting him rest. Begrudgingly Retuck ordered Hirt, a strong cunning black skaven, to take charge until he recovered and regained full health. The hunt for warp stone must continue if they were to avoid unleashing Rotclaw’s wrath.
------
It was a smoggy, hot and sticky day, almost two weeks from Retucks return. The air seemed heavy and felt thick as it entered the skaven’s throats. Hirt and the mob crept between the crumpled buildings. This area of Mordheim had received a lot of damage during the shower, few buildings stood taller than Nool the ogre, forcing him to crouch.
Hirt, determined to prove both to the Mob and Rotclaw he was deserving of his new responsibilities, was determined to find warp stone. Two weeks and he’d found none. He was getting desperate.
“You sure it waz here Sakery?” Hirt snarled at a young, scrawny verminkin. The youngster had heard rumour of a building rife with warp stone in this area being protected by strange lizard beasts. Drawn to Mordheim for riches and power Sakery had travelled far to get there, only to realise on arrival the cut throat savage day to day life, something he had not bargained for. After hiding, and lurking, barely managing to scavenge enough food he had listened and gathered information, until he came across Retuck’s war band. Cautiously he’d approached Hirt, who had first assumed he was a spy and launched at his throat with his sword, but Sakery bribed his trust with promises of Warp stone. The cunning gamble had paid off, and if the rumour was right he would be allowed to join the war band, and find safety in numbers, perhaps even advance up the ranks…however, if no warp stone was found …
“Yes yes yes, Hirt…sir…I am sure. Just that building, the tallest one, the old brewery, Lizards with warp stone, that’s what I heard.” Sakery stuttered, crossing his tail for luck.
* * * * *
Retuck was woken from his slumper when the mob returned. He lifted his claw to his forehead and wiped away the sweat. “Success Retuck” sneered Hirt, as he placed two pieces of warp stone down on the damp ground. “Grabbed it and ran we did silly lizards. Silly lizards” he continued to jeer.
“They were quite scary beasties, showered us with darts sharp as teethskes and had a lizard-ogre just like Nool, fear made me, made us look like a FOOL … We ran away we did, and found the precious stones as we hid…” sang Fishnag happily, not realising the rest of the mob, including Retuck was listening. Fishnag trailed off and ducked as Hirt lobed a dagger aimed at his head. The dagger spun and bounced off the concrete sewer wall. Nool roared, moving to stand between Hirt and Fishnag.
“So, you were lucky indeed Hirt”, this time it was Retuck who was jeering. He stood up. “You were lucky you all survived, IDIOTS”, he yelled. “No longer shall I lie here, and let you risk the mobs progress, I shall lead the next hunt, and remind you how to find warp stone, striking fear into the hearts of anyone who opposes us”. With that Retuck sat back down. “Hirt, take the stone to Rotclaw, perhaps that will remind you of the cost failure.”
Hirt scowled, picked up the warp and sulked off into the shadows, one day, one day he’d be the leader, of that he was determined.
The streets were uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps rumour of the rat-men had spread and fear was keeping others away, or perhaps there had been another large finding of wyrd stone which had drawn the crowds.
The body was alone. Retuck’s crimson robes moved in the slight breeze, the dusky sun was being its decent and was now obscured by the abandoned orphanage, casting the area into shadow.
Retuck’s eye opened suddenly. It squinted against the light. A groan escaped from his blood-encrusted mouth as he gained consciousness and realised his plight. Slowly and more cautiously the skaven opened his second eye.
He had no idea how long he’d been lying there.
He thought back to the battle with the humans, their swords and ferocity. They had been powerful. His mind wandered to his warband, had they been hurt too? Or worse maybe… or perhaps they had fled safely leaving him for dead?
“Those humans will pay” muttered Retuck bitterly.
He slowly slipped his right fist out of the fighting claw and moved it to feel his stomach. It was not good. The gash was large, and although blood no longer gushed from it, yellow puss and grit were already forming a crust. Infections in Mordheim almost always lead to death. He would have to get it cleaned as soon as possible if he was to stand a chance at survival. He rolled onto his back, and summoned his strength to lift his left paw, fighting claw still attached, and sliced off his robe sleeve. With his free paw he loosened his belt. He folded the sleeve, placing it on the wound and used the belt to secure it. He concentrated, yet the only movement he could muster in his legs was a slight wiggle of his toes. It was going to be a long, painful crawl to the sewer, but the other option was to accept the fate of being torn apart by rats, cats, carrion, or worse, at the hand of man. Night in Mordheim was a dangerous time, especially for the weak.
He rolled onto his stomach, and with a wince began heaving himself forward.
Defying all odds, Retuck had survived. It took him 4 hours to crawl the short distance to the sewer camp. His mob, had been tending their wounds, and squabbling over whom would take the warp stone to Rotclaw when they saw their leader. They quickly greeted Retuck, and cleaned his wounds before letting him rest. Begrudgingly Retuck ordered Hirt, a strong cunning black skaven, to take charge until he recovered and regained full health. The hunt for warp stone must continue if they were to avoid unleashing Rotclaw’s wrath.
------
It was a smoggy, hot and sticky day, almost two weeks from Retucks return. The air seemed heavy and felt thick as it entered the skaven’s throats. Hirt and the mob crept between the crumpled buildings. This area of Mordheim had received a lot of damage during the shower, few buildings stood taller than Nool the ogre, forcing him to crouch.
Hirt, determined to prove both to the Mob and Rotclaw he was deserving of his new responsibilities, was determined to find warp stone. Two weeks and he’d found none. He was getting desperate.
“You sure it waz here Sakery?” Hirt snarled at a young, scrawny verminkin. The youngster had heard rumour of a building rife with warp stone in this area being protected by strange lizard beasts. Drawn to Mordheim for riches and power Sakery had travelled far to get there, only to realise on arrival the cut throat savage day to day life, something he had not bargained for. After hiding, and lurking, barely managing to scavenge enough food he had listened and gathered information, until he came across Retuck’s war band. Cautiously he’d approached Hirt, who had first assumed he was a spy and launched at his throat with his sword, but Sakery bribed his trust with promises of Warp stone. The cunning gamble had paid off, and if the rumour was right he would be allowed to join the war band, and find safety in numbers, perhaps even advance up the ranks…however, if no warp stone was found …
“Yes yes yes, Hirt…sir…I am sure. Just that building, the tallest one, the old brewery, Lizards with warp stone, that’s what I heard.” Sakery stuttered, crossing his tail for luck.
* * * * *
Retuck was woken from his slumper when the mob returned. He lifted his claw to his forehead and wiped away the sweat. “Success Retuck” sneered Hirt, as he placed two pieces of warp stone down on the damp ground. “Grabbed it and ran we did silly lizards. Silly lizards” he continued to jeer.
“They were quite scary beasties, showered us with darts sharp as teethskes and had a lizard-ogre just like Nool, fear made me, made us look like a FOOL … We ran away we did, and found the precious stones as we hid…” sang Fishnag happily, not realising the rest of the mob, including Retuck was listening. Fishnag trailed off and ducked as Hirt lobed a dagger aimed at his head. The dagger spun and bounced off the concrete sewer wall. Nool roared, moving to stand between Hirt and Fishnag.
“So, you were lucky indeed Hirt”, this time it was Retuck who was jeering. He stood up. “You were lucky you all survived, IDIOTS”, he yelled. “No longer shall I lie here, and let you risk the mobs progress, I shall lead the next hunt, and remind you how to find warp stone, striking fear into the hearts of anyone who opposes us”. With that Retuck sat back down. “Hirt, take the stone to Rotclaw, perhaps that will remind you of the cost failure.”
Hirt scowled, picked up the warp and sulked off into the shadows, one day, one day he’d be the leader, of that he was determined.
Fiends of the Fen Week 3
The constant warfare and battle had taken their toll on Scabious Pestilous and Bilious multiple head injuries had left them all confused and slow. The recent skirmishes had been tough and even with the hideous and know bloodily scared Hilda von Trapp, Witch and member of the mistresses coven in the band the struggles recently had been the hardest yet. He was also worried about his position in the band both of his Lieutenants were know his equal in his combat possibly more so however they were in awe of him and the grizzly token of his victories he carried, the body of Konrat Harker. The band had been defeated three times within the past week firstly against the Samurai warriors of Nippon. Then the lizardmen had attacked the pure brutality of the Kroxigor overpowering and driving his snivelling minions into retreat. Finally they'd been overpowered by the freakish clowns of a circus they'd tried to pillage. nurgle would be laughing at that one for sure. Fortunately he was still in the Mistresses good books her hatred of Witch Hunters meant their killing of one would greatly aid him in succouring his safety from her and Mordheim was far less perilous than the Mistreses displeasure.
Suddenly he heard the howl of one of his hounds, recognising the peculiar notes from Lassie the hound Pestilous yelled out "What's that Lassie you smell Druchii do you? Lets feast upon their bones then". Swiftly the band rushed forwards bow fire knocked out the dogs and left them whimpering on the floor fortunately neither was badly injured. Rushing through the bowfire the warband was counter charged fortunately the brutal might of his minions swiftly overpowered the Druchii. Spindleshanks had overpowered the leader and with the falling of him the Druchii suddenly retreated as swiftly as the ambush had occurred. The leader and a swordsman were not so lucky and the two prisoners provided a fine feast for the band.
Suddenly he heard the howl of one of his hounds, recognising the peculiar notes from Lassie the hound Pestilous yelled out "What's that Lassie you smell Druchii do you? Lets feast upon their bones then". Swiftly the band rushed forwards bow fire knocked out the dogs and left them whimpering on the floor fortunately neither was badly injured. Rushing through the bowfire the warband was counter charged fortunately the brutal might of his minions swiftly overpowered the Druchii. Spindleshanks had overpowered the leader and with the falling of him the Druchii suddenly retreated as swiftly as the ambush had occurred. The leader and a swordsman were not so lucky and the two prisoners provided a fine feast for the band.
Saturday 23 May 2009
Warriors of the Mystic East Suffer Further Ignominy
Hideyoshi awoke with a splitting headache and a sharp pain in the side of his face. The last thing he remembered was one of those bastard clowns smashing him in the face with one of those crude clubs of theirs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he surveyed the dingy room of the run-down basement that he had woken up in. He was not very reassured by what he saw - at one end of the room Akira was slumped against the wall with bloodied bandages covering his chest, at the other Shingen was fidgeting in the corner, looking nothing like the brave warrior Hideyoshi new.
"Could someone tell me what happened?"
One of Hideyoshi's recently hired spearmen spoke up. "Those fools gave us quite a beating sir, we had to pull back to save you and the others, and we lost Katsuyori and Jiro."
Hideyoshi cursed the gang of clowns. This town's strange inhabitants had disgraced his men for the last time! Despite his injury, Hideyoshi had no intention of returning home without completing his mission.
"Shiro, send for someone to replace Katsuyori, we need to get ready to continue our mission as soon as we can. And tell the dwarf we'll still be needing his services."
The spearman turned round and left the room, leaving Hideyoshi to plan how he would avenge his defeat.
"Could someone tell me what happened?"
One of Hideyoshi's recently hired spearmen spoke up. "Those fools gave us quite a beating sir, we had to pull back to save you and the others, and we lost Katsuyori and Jiro."
Hideyoshi cursed the gang of clowns. This town's strange inhabitants had disgraced his men for the last time! Despite his injury, Hideyoshi had no intention of returning home without completing his mission.
"Shiro, send for someone to replace Katsuyori, we need to get ready to continue our mission as soon as we can. And tell the dwarf we'll still be needing his services."
The spearman turned round and left the room, leaving Hideyoshi to plan how he would avenge his defeat.
Crossing the Pond
Tilpoca clacked some beads across on his abacus as he worked out the calculation. He was squatting down by one of the pools in the city. His calculations were to work out how much longer it would take to construct the new building. In front of him the work teams were working tirelessly. Stegadons were hauling massive carts filled with great slabs of stone. They were met by groups of Kroxigors, who would lift the stone from the cart and move it into place. Darting among them were scores of skinks, overseeing all and directing the larger reptiles.
Tilpoca’s calculations were interrupted when a shadow fell over his tablet. Looking up to see who was blocking his light he was most surprised to see Izquitzin, one of the highest ranking Skink Priests in the city.
“Tilpoca,” the old skink said in a raspy voice, “walk with me.” Tilpoca set down his abacus and stood up. Falling into step beside the priest the two walked away from the construction site. “It has been known a long time that you were destined for greatness, you have been marked by the Old Ones.”
Izquitzin was referring to his albino skink, a sure sign of great destiny among the Lizardmen. “Has that time come?” Tilpoca asked eagerly.
“Yes,” rasped the priest, “Our great lord has spoken of an important event happening across the great pond. We cannot send forth an army to deal with this, instead a subtler method will be used. You will lead a small group of handpicked Skinks deep into the heart of the pale skins. This tablet will lead you to the place where the event will happen. You should stay back until the sign reveals itself. Once it has, move in and investigate.”
Tilpoca took the gold tablet and studied it. He’d seen maps of the land across the great pond before, taken from the interlopers. This was in the region known as the Empire. Tilpoca couldn’t speak the language of the Empire, but he could speak some other languages of the surrounding land. He should be able to communicate with at least some of the locals should the need arise.
“I will do so.” Tilpoca assured Izquitzin.
“Good. Now come and meet the warriors under your command.”
There were a dozen skinks all told, including Tilpoca. Two were the Great Crested Skinks, famed for their great skill as Hunter. The remaining were split into three groups, two groups of archers and a group with javelins and shields. It was a solid exploratory group, one which would be more than sufficient for their task.
A brief discussion with the two great crests, Tililxocatl and Quanquitoc, and they had the journey planned. They would cross the great pond on teradons. The winged lizards would be the easiest way to cross such a vast expanse of water. Food could be an issue, as the teradons could only carry so much weight, but they would swoop down to fish as they flew, so the skinks should be able to use javelins and arrows with vines tied to them to gather some fish of their own.
With that settled half a dozen teradons were brought forth, the expedition checked their gear one last time, the teradons were loaded up and with a flap of wings Tilpoca and his people were airborne and heading out to cross the great pond.
Tilpoca’s terradon practically crashed into the beach. Half asleep at the time the albino was thrown violently off and rolled across the sand. Hauling himself to his feet he saw that the others were faring little better. The journey had been the most difficult one any of them had ever made. They had eaten little, as fishing from the back of a terradon was extremely hard work. Also they were all sleep deprived as you couldn’t sleep too comfortably on a terrodon either. But, they had all made it. They’d crossed the great pond.
Slowly the rest of the skinks made their way over to him, signs of fatigue and malnutrition were clearly present. Looking over at the terradons they were all at least half dead after the ordeal. It would be a miracle if all would survive to carry them home when this was over. It made the decision a lot easier.
“Quanquitoc, take the Striking Jaguars and kill the terradons,” Tilpoca ordered, “We’ll feast on them tonight and regain our strength. Tilixocatl, Take the Hidden Snake and scout out for a suitable place to spend the night. Keep a watch for pale skins, we don’t want our presence revealed.”
The two great creasts nodded, gathered their groups and set about their tasks. TIlpoca pulled out the gold tablets and began studying the various maps to try and work out where they had landed. The first part of their ordeal was over, they’d crossed the great pond. They still had to navigate through the land of the pale skins to one of their cities, wait for whatever was going to happen to happen and then deal with the consequences.
Tilpoca’s calculations were interrupted when a shadow fell over his tablet. Looking up to see who was blocking his light he was most surprised to see Izquitzin, one of the highest ranking Skink Priests in the city.
“Tilpoca,” the old skink said in a raspy voice, “walk with me.” Tilpoca set down his abacus and stood up. Falling into step beside the priest the two walked away from the construction site. “It has been known a long time that you were destined for greatness, you have been marked by the Old Ones.”
Izquitzin was referring to his albino skink, a sure sign of great destiny among the Lizardmen. “Has that time come?” Tilpoca asked eagerly.
“Yes,” rasped the priest, “Our great lord has spoken of an important event happening across the great pond. We cannot send forth an army to deal with this, instead a subtler method will be used. You will lead a small group of handpicked Skinks deep into the heart of the pale skins. This tablet will lead you to the place where the event will happen. You should stay back until the sign reveals itself. Once it has, move in and investigate.”
Tilpoca took the gold tablet and studied it. He’d seen maps of the land across the great pond before, taken from the interlopers. This was in the region known as the Empire. Tilpoca couldn’t speak the language of the Empire, but he could speak some other languages of the surrounding land. He should be able to communicate with at least some of the locals should the need arise.
“I will do so.” Tilpoca assured Izquitzin.
“Good. Now come and meet the warriors under your command.”
There were a dozen skinks all told, including Tilpoca. Two were the Great Crested Skinks, famed for their great skill as Hunter. The remaining were split into three groups, two groups of archers and a group with javelins and shields. It was a solid exploratory group, one which would be more than sufficient for their task.
A brief discussion with the two great crests, Tililxocatl and Quanquitoc, and they had the journey planned. They would cross the great pond on teradons. The winged lizards would be the easiest way to cross such a vast expanse of water. Food could be an issue, as the teradons could only carry so much weight, but they would swoop down to fish as they flew, so the skinks should be able to use javelins and arrows with vines tied to them to gather some fish of their own.
With that settled half a dozen teradons were brought forth, the expedition checked their gear one last time, the teradons were loaded up and with a flap of wings Tilpoca and his people were airborne and heading out to cross the great pond.
Tilpoca’s terradon practically crashed into the beach. Half asleep at the time the albino was thrown violently off and rolled across the sand. Hauling himself to his feet he saw that the others were faring little better. The journey had been the most difficult one any of them had ever made. They had eaten little, as fishing from the back of a terradon was extremely hard work. Also they were all sleep deprived as you couldn’t sleep too comfortably on a terrodon either. But, they had all made it. They’d crossed the great pond.
Slowly the rest of the skinks made their way over to him, signs of fatigue and malnutrition were clearly present. Looking over at the terradons they were all at least half dead after the ordeal. It would be a miracle if all would survive to carry them home when this was over. It made the decision a lot easier.
“Quanquitoc, take the Striking Jaguars and kill the terradons,” Tilpoca ordered, “We’ll feast on them tonight and regain our strength. Tilixocatl, Take the Hidden Snake and scout out for a suitable place to spend the night. Keep a watch for pale skins, we don’t want our presence revealed.”
The two great creasts nodded, gathered their groups and set about their tasks. TIlpoca pulled out the gold tablets and began studying the various maps to try and work out where they had landed. The first part of their ordeal was over, they’d crossed the great pond. They still had to navigate through the land of the pale skins to one of their cities, wait for whatever was going to happen to happen and then deal with the consequences.
Sunday 17 May 2009
Fiends of the Fen
Pestilous, Scabious and Bilious wandered down the street and into the market wondering what was causing all the screaming and wretching. He and his warband were trying to acquire a Holy Relic to boost the resolve of their minions especially the cowardly Ungor.
Scabious chuckled evilly as Pestilous began snivelling since the Elven Mage had stabbed him with the sword he had become nervous and terrified of sudden movement which had slowed them all down. "We'll never find a Relic there aren't any nowhere"
Bilious snorted and tryed to glower at pestilous difficult when he always looks out of the left shoulder and can never actually see the other to. "Stop yer yollering you idjit if the mistress here's about it we'll suffer."
"Sharrap" replied Pestilous. Then one of the Ungor Tostig this one was Scabious thought ran up dragging something.
The entire composite creature immediately decided that whatever the Ungor had and was so excited by they wanted. Quickly they clobbered him and then recognised it for what it was Konrat Harker the notorious Witch Hunters body. The band had killed him in the struggle under the streets they all grinned what better icon for the servants of the Witch of the Fens than the torso of a Witch Hunter.
Scabious chuckled evilly as Pestilous began snivelling since the Elven Mage had stabbed him with the sword he had become nervous and terrified of sudden movement which had slowed them all down. "We'll never find a Relic there aren't any nowhere"
Bilious snorted and tryed to glower at pestilous difficult when he always looks out of the left shoulder and can never actually see the other to. "Stop yer yollering you idjit if the mistress here's about it we'll suffer."
"Sharrap" replied Pestilous. Then one of the Ungor Tostig this one was Scabious thought ran up dragging something.
The entire composite creature immediately decided that whatever the Ungor had and was so excited by they wanted. Quickly they clobbered him and then recognised it for what it was Konrat Harker the notorious Witch Hunters body. The band had killed him in the struggle under the streets they all grinned what better icon for the servants of the Witch of the Fens than the torso of a Witch Hunter.
Wednesday 13 May 2009
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