- Location
- Germany
This is not a crossover with the Lizardmen quest.
I don't think Mazdamundi had an interlude so far?
I don't think Mazdamundi had an interlude so far?
From a Dead World (Skaven Quest)
- Thread starter Xantalos
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Pronouns
- He/Him
And I was not speaking based on it.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Ah, that makes more sense.
...
Well, I actually totally could but the work it'd take would be impractical time wise.
I've generally used interludes to give a quick snapshot of new factions emerging/significant events occurring (Everchosen being chosen, dwarfs deciding to GTFO, mortal nations (re)gaining their godlike leaders besides the ones I wanted to surprise you with (and Ind), Nagash happening. I'd initially wanted to include a lizardmen interlude in there, but discarded it on account of time constraints and also I wanna preserve the surprise for when you guys find out. If something significant happens outside of a turn's results, you'll get an interlude basically meta-informing you of it.
While I am for the most part running Respect Your Elders with the same background general lore and such, it isn't a direct crossover, I'm nowhere near skilled enough to manage something like that.
...
Well, I actually totally could but the work it'd take would be impractical time wise.
I've generally used interludes to give a quick snapshot of new factions emerging/significant events occurring (Everchosen being chosen, dwarfs deciding to GTFO, mortal nations (re)gaining their godlike leaders besides the ones I wanted to surprise you with (and Ind), Nagash happening. I'd initially wanted to include a lizardmen interlude in there, but discarded it on account of time constraints and also I wanna preserve the surprise for when you guys find out. If something significant happens outside of a turn's results, you'll get an interlude basically meta-informing you of it.
- Location
- indeterminate, possibly non-existent
- Pronouns
- Any
Pretty certain it's both, though I'm far from an expert.
I'm pretty sure it's an instinct, though said instinct can be defied looking at Sleek Sharpwit's minions.
Lore: Skaven Psychology (Editing Pending)
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Mixture of both. Skaven naturally have basically no sense of empathy or ability to sympathize with another being's feelings, but are also highly sociable creatures that actually require a lot of social interaction to stay mentally healthy. So on the biological side you have creatures that are psychologically unable to trust or empathize with others that also need to interact with large numbers of their kind to stay stable (see Thanquol making warm corpse beds to help alleviate the stress his newly-found isolation causes). That's already bound to cause issues.
Then their culture is all kinds of messed up. For one, the Under-Empire is catastrophically overpopulated compared to other species - where some might consider a force of ten thousand troops to be a fairly strong army, you throw that away as meatshields without even blinking. This kind of crowding has consequences - real-life rat colonies have been experimented on with high population densities and the results basically consisted of the warrens becoming horrendously filthy, cannibalism becoming rampant, the rats becoming way more aggressive and in some cases eating themselves, and in all cases developing lasting psychological issues that took multiple generations of non-crowded living for the colonies to move past. Couple that with a tyrannical god that eats their souls after they die, a society-wide addiction to crystallized dark magic, and the fact that pretty much every other faction they know of hates them and would exterminate them if they could, and is it any wonder that the common skaven is an ambitious paranoid coward with delusions of grandeur and an intense desire to pursue greater forms of power in order to preserve themselves a little while longer from the betrayal and ignominious death which could and likely would literally come from anyone they know?
Their whole society is almost fundamentally unstable, and it's largely because of the Horned Rat's personal intervention that an under-empire even exists at all. They're a species of basket cases - heck, even Horripila, who've largely managed the horrible hygiene issue that comes with being Skaven, did it by institutionalizing the development of OCD in their clan members.
So yeah, bit of both.
Then their culture is all kinds of messed up. For one, the Under-Empire is catastrophically overpopulated compared to other species - where some might consider a force of ten thousand troops to be a fairly strong army, you throw that away as meatshields without even blinking. This kind of crowding has consequences - real-life rat colonies have been experimented on with high population densities and the results basically consisted of the warrens becoming horrendously filthy, cannibalism becoming rampant, the rats becoming way more aggressive and in some cases eating themselves, and in all cases developing lasting psychological issues that took multiple generations of non-crowded living for the colonies to move past. Couple that with a tyrannical god that eats their souls after they die, a society-wide addiction to crystallized dark magic, and the fact that pretty much every other faction they know of hates them and would exterminate them if they could, and is it any wonder that the common skaven is an ambitious paranoid coward with delusions of grandeur and an intense desire to pursue greater forms of power in order to preserve themselves a little while longer from the betrayal and ignominious death which could and likely would literally come from anyone they know?
Their whole society is almost fundamentally unstable, and it's largely because of the Horned Rat's personal intervention that an under-empire even exists at all. They're a species of basket cases - heck, even Horripila, who've largely managed the horrible hygiene issue that comes with being Skaven, did it by institutionalizing the development of OCD in their clan members.
Even this example isn't true loyalty - the USA just happens to be really good at instilling instinctive dread at the thought of disobeying a superior into their recruits. They'll still step over the corpses of their fellows, but their officers become the figures they wake up at night in a cold sweat because they saw them in a dream.
So yeah, bit of both.
Last edited:
- Location
- indeterminate, possibly non-existent
- Pronouns
- Any
Think you meant disobeying here. Thanks for the info.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Yeah, they're not Malalites
Nice catch.
Sirrocco
Pedantic
Yeah... and the fact that even someone rising pretty high up on the chain can suddenly get told "Oh, hey - we're planning a ritual that's going to need a bunch of blood and death in it, and you got picked... so that means that you and everyone you have ever known are all going to get marched into a horror-pit and slaughtered."
Thinking about it from the perspective of Maslow's hierarchy, most of them have to fight for the bottom tier, they only ever get the second tier by first doing really well and then also lying to themselves, the third tier is constantly tainted by the fear of betrayal, so they try to spend as much time as they can paying attention to the top two tiers so that they can avoid thinking about the stuff below it.
Admittedly, that's probably a terrible map for Skaven to begin with, but it was an interesting perspective.
Thinking about it from the perspective of Maslow's hierarchy, most of them have to fight for the bottom tier, they only ever get the second tier by first doing really well and then also lying to themselves, the third tier is constantly tainted by the fear of betrayal, so they try to spend as much time as they can paying attention to the top two tiers so that they can avoid thinking about the stuff below it.
Admittedly, that's probably a terrible map for Skaven to begin with, but it was an interesting perspective.
We Are All One - Close To Canon - EVA-Saiyajin
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We are All One
Having Skreech Verminking appear in any Skaven's lair would incite feelings of awe, wonder, and fear. Mostly the latter, sometimes more of the former.
For Thanquol...actually, it was pretty much the same for him.
For all that he had been elevated to his supreme and long-deserved position by the Rat King, for all that he benefited from his assistance, he had not spoken with the supreme Verminlord but a pawful of times, with claws left over. For all his ascendant power and confidence, his benefactor was of such terrible nobility, dread and might that he could not help the good Skaven instincts.
That he came so soon after his last visit, in the midst of the Underlord's burgeoning preparation to determine how best to apply his own prodigious might to the assault on the interlopers in the Plain of Bones, did nothing to help his anxiety.
"Ah, it is...surprising to see-smell you so soon." Thanquol murmured as the Verminlord stepped out of the shadows like a mirage of dark ash and fumes, brilliant horns bedecked in an emerald glow. "Something more-related to the dead-things?"
"As it happens-is, no. And normally I would not call-fetch you until much later, but circumstances allow-conspire for an opportunity." the massive rat's voice echoed with weight even as it gurgled like a knife over a tumor ridden throat. For whatever reason, the enigmatic being seemed to speak with what the Underlord could only describe as anticipation. "Your operation-plan to make both shield and trap in the north has had-made most intriguing consequences."
The summoning of a tiny portion of their god's domain was blatantly obvious, so-"Beyond-beside the Hungry Catacombs?"
"Precisely. Come. There is time enough-possible for this, but only if done-handled now." That said, with a spine-chilling creak the Verminlord carved open a hole with one great claw into the Warp. Once more, Thanquol followed the greatest of his deity's children into the void.
Having spent some time in the hellzone the Horned Rat called his home and realm before, it had downgraded from mindbogglingly terrifying to merely extremely frightening. As wonderful as it was to tread in the warren of his god, he'd much rather receive his just rewards of personal supplication in a place that didn't feel like a thousand and one much, much larger rats were eyeing him with malicious intent on every single line of fur in his body.
As the skitter of countless feet, the chatter of rats big and small and the weight of bloody paste and mud and viscous mist played against his fur he drew strength from the indomitable stride of his ally, who tread through earth and walls of rats and ever-shifting and squealing muck with nary a glance. His spine straightened, he recalled the glorious moment of his ascension, of reveling in the power of the molten and ruinous earth. For a moment the chittering seemed to die down, the air cleared somewhat, the howl of air echoing a gargantuan breath a deadly and vicious but caring overlord, before it all pressed in again. The weight was greater, the sound more deafening and all the more subtle in its obviousness at his challenge to the aura of the Infinity Warren. But he had his bearings now. He was the Underlord, the representative of the Horned Rat himself, greatest living Skaven in the entire UnderEmpire, and he would not-
The feeling of fleshy, bulbous rodents running down his spine set his heart pounding as every ounce of his being was devoted to not displaying the turmoil within him. This was going to be a very long walk. Why did he have to acknowledge his surroundings this time around he wondered? The journey seemed so much longer than before.
Either not noticing or not caring of his small companion's great battle of will (sort of), the Verminking spoke up, his voice a rumbling hiss that echoed in the masses of shifting rodents like a massive throat in time to his words.
"All Skaven are of the Horned Rat. We are his children, his essence, his servants. But not all of his servants-subjects are purely Skaven. Not all of the Horned Rat is of the Skaven. Rather, the Horned Rat is everything-anything the Skaven are and embody. He is a great, almighty-encompassing force in the form-shape of a god. Society, ideas, character, civilization, history, and yes, beings. He is all-entirety. That-there is why the Horned Rat is the greatest-mightiest of the gods. Those entities-manifestations that rule over Chaos are mighty, encompassing whole basic ideas and trains of thought-thinking formed from the mind and twisted-shaped into form. But like a tidal wave or an earthquake, those mighty-strong forces are wild, uncontrolled, and time and again lose-drop their strength, wasted against themselves."
The double-segmented, whip-like and quill-edged tail curled around Thanquol's body with deceptive gentleness as it hoisted him unto the Verminking's back. Then they were going up, and the tunnels were suddenly different. The walls transparent masses of rats, giving way to an ethereal maze of flesh that crisscrossed all the way to the dark horizon. At times they were climbing up, then sideways, upside down, along warren paths that defied logic and mixed and intersected with others at incomprehensible angles as often as they ran alongside each other.
The feeling of eyes and ears focused on him never changed, but Thanquol noted that the surroundings did. The rodent structure was at times of flesh, at other times of ooze and rotting vitae, choking ash from burning waste, broken and shattered rubble cobbled into verminous, twitching form.
"The dwarf-things, the elf-things, the man-things, even the lizard-things-their gods are focused into true form and identity, but such has left them bereft-lacking of power. Venerated by fractions, divisions, split into many very-highly distinct beings along very specific existences, singularities of intent-idea able to draw from a select source of genuflection and energy. Unable to manifest signs of power and blessing into both avatars and blessings."
"But the Skaven have-need but one god, and he is everything that the Skaven are. In every action-move, every prayer-exaltation, every concept that is unto the Skaven is unto the Horned Rat. Thus, he is mightiest, greatest, the essence of perfection."
The Rat King was typically of unholy charisma and persuasion, but as he talked now, to the Underlord he seemed a terrible messiah writ in unearthly flesh, every word a chorus of faith and belief, veneration backed by sublime Skaven intellect to create . Listening to his reasoned adulation brought a feeling of calmness near unto bliss despite the dreadful habitat, and Thanquol burned every word into his brain even as the lair of the Horned Rat became increasingly like Skavenblight to his senses: crowded, every corner or glance at the edge of the eye a potential knife in the back or teeth in the throat, but rich with familiar Skaven scents and body-warmth and power. It felt almost like...home.
"And with-along that all-encompassing nature-identity are us, the verminous daemons, alongside the tangible blessings of the Horned Rat. Where Skaven of the earthbound realm-place are his children and life, we are his essence, fragments and avatars of his aethyric self, offspring of the body whereas the multitudes in the Underempire are of the soul and mind. Shaped-formed by the ruling powers of the Skaven and the will-thought of the Horned Rat into the many-varied forms representing all that is Skaven, all that is our god. But as I said-spoke before, all are one. The souls of all-every Skaven belong to the Horned Rat, and in either death or life, if mostly the former, there exists the potential to form new-great daemons from those souls, oftentimes from many-multiple Skaven essences into one conglomeration-thing."
"The latter...the Horned Rat gives unto the living as they give-gift unto him. Daemonhood for a living, mortal child of his is a reward, one granted-allowed by the gift of accomplishment-deed. Whatever that is varies, but inevitably such is rarer-lesser than those beings stitched-patched into a greater identity with others after death. Our cruel and loving god takes freely as is his right-due, but gives to those who earn it."
"I was one of those-them."
Memories of ancient records, perusals into the aethyr, studies about the grand monsters benevolent and not and both beyond the realm of reality come Thanquol's mind. A rumor and record of a Council of 13 long ago dead and taken by the Horned Rat, made unto a single being of power and destiny, both punishment and relented reward by a terrifying god fond of his children for defeating their greatest enemy and taking much land for the UnderEmpire, then failing to capitalize on it.
"There have been others. But I have seen-smelt all of the Skaven before and after, and none like this."
As clouds of tiny still-born, drowned and melted rodents flew pas them in clouds of noxious vapor, the pieces came together. All that Skreech Verminking had been talking about, leading up to-
"You mean-think...Helkic Stain?"
His heart skipped a beat or three at the merest glance of the edge of his ally's grin, full of bared teeth, anticipation, interest, and malice. He was no longer certain that he was necessarily the safest he could be in this realm.
"Two significant displays-shows of tangible faith with a catalyst-sacrifice of devotion. The Horned Rat deemed her worthy of his recognition-notice and the circumstances convenient. The Infinity Warren subsumed into her then out, making this tiny-small portion of it of her as much as of the Horned Rat. We have arrived-come."
The abrupt change in topic prompted Thanquol to take greater notice of his surroundings. The aspect of the Horned Rat's great labyrinth was similar but different. The tunnels of rats and slime and dirt and sound were slightly muted and less tangible. It was like an especially but not quite solidified mirage, an especially clear dream.
More than that, here the presence of plague and pestilence was especially prevalent. The air was filled gas and fog died a myriad of malevolent green shades, floating through the air with unnatural twists, forming noxious shapes and looking closer there were countless, unfathomably large quantities of extremely tiny little ratlike things that looked like a cross between a corpse, an abomination of Moulder and an especially twisted Skaven. Slime and mucus dripped and fell from the walls, and the paws and fangs of rotting, tumor covered rats broke the surface of the puddles that formed squealing in mixed joy and terror. Coughs and hacks and spit echoed down the tunnels rather than chitters and snarls.
Thanquol was uncomfortably reminded of some of his extended ventures in the Southlands...and a few far too long boat trips with members of Pestilens.
Except they at least could be killed and would stay dead.
"This is..." he murmured as he was lifted off by one massive claw and deposited in front of the rat daemon.
"Mm. She will take proper form-shape in time, and like the avatar-segment powers in the north and south this section-area could become hers to administer, a realm of the gods in the realm of mortals. She is already tied-connected deeply to it. As is, we daemons are mightiest in the Warp, but it is in the dominion-realm of our god that we are mightiest, that the land-area does not so much change-shift at our presence-person as obey it. This is good-well, but also a problem-issue. Right now, it can turn back and ruin-wreck those scattered elements of Chaos, and even a strong push, but it's mere presence will draw much attention-focus to it from those in the north. And then they will throw everything they have at it, to blasphemy the sacred and dread-terrible home of the Horned Rat. It is only a matter of time. They will bleed-die in droves, but it will happen. Unless we use-take the opportunity and stabilize-secure the area. Fully controlled and with the support of the Skaven, it could serve as a bulwark-defense for as long as the UnderEmpire requires to deal with the rest of the interlopers in the world-place above. Thus, we cannot wait for her to coalesce-come on her own."
The Underlord realized now why he was here. Well, perhaps. She was his subordinate a very short amount of time ago, if not one he was especially familiar with, and the Verminking has implied that he could not appear especially often even with this unexpected chance where the Infinity Warren was connected to the mortal world.
He spun around, stammering. "I, my-my skill-ability with the arts of Pestilens are almost entirely-largely based around analysis-thought and counter. I have only been-gone in the Horned Labyrinth twice with this venture-move today. I-"
"You are the Horned Rat's chosen-pick." The Verminlord boomed, the gas around his form bursting out in a wave that burned a grinning rodent skull into the air before fading like a dream. The eyes Thanquol could feel gazing at him were suddenly much more focused.
"You will succeed. You need not worry-fear---much---I will prevent the domain itself from devouring you."
The absently added "much" was not particularly helpful at soothing the Grey Seer's nerves.
"Know this Thanquol." was it just him or was the Verminlord getting larger and taller despite quickly exceeding the dimensions of the tunnel? "To be Skaven is good-good, but to be the UnderLord is to be everything-all that is Skaven, and everything beyond it. All are one, all are Skaven, all are the Horned Rat. Remember. You have thirteen hours. You may begin-start."
The way he stated the last sentence suggested it was not, despite the wording, a choice.
At that point the only thing keeping him from scurrying back and forth in fear was the fact that it would be a very bad idea to have the only thing keeping him alive unimpressed, or worse.
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The following events were...enlightening.
As he shook off his fear and confirmed with his own arcane senses that yes, the Warp-den was not going to eat him or worse, Thanquol tentatively extended his senses and began to consider the problem.
For all any but the Horned Rat and his favored Verminking knew, he did so for perhaps hours, coming to terms with the nature of the environment and seeking out some sign of existence beyond the typical.
Though he had little experience beyond dabbling in manipulating plague and pestilence, he had skill in perceiving it. And the Verminking's presence still served as an anchor to steel his nerves.
It was decidedly different gazing when already in the aethyr, but it was far easier looking for Helkic Stain's self from there than the mortal realm. As he scanned and sniffed (with much grimacing and consternation) he pondered just how blatant a sign this was of the plague priests' doctrine being a part of the faith. Yes, the Lore of Burning Earth had a part in it as well, but that was effectively a sub-section of the far more common and practiced Lore of Ruin. A complete aspect of the Horned Rat's realm had been manifested because of the actions of two halves of Pestilens and the Grey Seers, with a Plague Priest serving as the trigger.
Yes, Nurglitch had been accepted as a Lord of Decay after passing the perilous test of the Horned Rat over two centuries ago, but faith, exaltation, worship? There had never been a sign as clear as this one that the ways of plague and pox and pestilence were ingrained into the identity and being of the Horned Rat.
All are one. Perhaps...well, he was UnderLord now. If any Grey Seer had the right and privilege to delve into "rival" doctrines, especially when they were quite clearly proven to be authentic in their holy veneration.
As is, he'd been in the presence of Nurglitch, walked in Bubonicus and Ebolag, and shared cramped quarters with plague monks and priests for months on-board ships, their flies and mucus held off only by constantly maintained wards. This...well, it wasn't completely unfamiliar, now that he thought about it.
Besides his exposure to those aspects of Pestilens and the Infinite Warren, there were certain structural similarities to differing aspects of the Horned Rat. Pestilens was focused on life, the decay of living matter and the rotting of flesh, the idea of the world as a living organism and those beings on it aspects of it. His Grey Seers' doctrine was based on pure physicality and subject, foreseeing the world as a great, fractured piece with the Skaven the ones to gnaw the pieces in a tide and bring it down, laying upon the debris a new civilization. Both were focused on entropy, deterioration, but with different ideals.
The rats and the walls...did they always look so similar? Was it merely a shade? Color? Is the mud submerging the city so different from the mucus dissolving it? Is the gas and vapor flaying one's flesh and bursting one's organs so different from the lightning that flays flesh and sets the body jerking into death throes? Is the rippling, rumbling earth that swallows up the village so different from the rot that leaves it empty of life? Did that terrifying gaze always creep in?
Oh, found her.
There was a confluence about this section of the maze, a central point to the seemingly random gesticulations and jerks of the fog and walls. As Thanquol made his way over in a daze, he failed to spot a satisfied gleam in ancient, emerald eyes following him.
As he neared the practically invisible singularity, the UnderLord's pace firmed, and his eyes narrowed. This was...he stopped, jaw slack and arms dropping to his sides.
He was still for several minutes.
Yet Verminking didn't move or say anything.
Then with swiftness he took up his staff, slammed it point first into the ground, skewing several vapid, degenerate rats that squealed fumes the color of blood, and started to chant.
A long, rising chant of words ancient and terrible, starting at a whisper and edging up in volume every thirteenth word. The malevolence pouring from his mouth seemed to breath even more life into the surroundings as he slowly, haltingly, drew on the realm of the Horned Rat for power and shape.
All are the Horned Rat.
The gases were speeding up, dread maws and bleeding furs and blackened, rotting saliva forming a tapestry of decay and decay in the air. The verminous tides began to melt into liquids so foul the very unnatural air seemed to bleed at their fumes. No, it was bleeding. Bloody mucus and ooze writ with black blood and boils seeping out of what was already the prime of pox and plague.
Yet most ominous was how even as Thanquol looked to be submerged and buried in much while death flashed by him, was the sound. Besides his voice and the noise from the mutating surroundings, as his voice rose, the sounds of decaying and degenerating life slowly died down until naught but his roar echoed down the tunnels. The world seemed to hold its breath, and then tendrils of mist and sludge were hurtling towards a single area, piling into a block of wretchedness that grew and grew and grew.
And yet as it seemed to reach out for the UnderLord, he merely continued his shrieking chant, his arms moving into eye-burning patterns.
Then suddenly it stopped. The muck began to recede, collapsing inwards to form into a great, verminous shape.
Size seemed a suggestion to the flickering, living essence of pestilence. Magnificent horns flailed back out of a mask of bone, stains of vitae oozing across both like living and dying artwork. Sickness and disease hung off it in condensed quantities fit to kill life itself, literally bleeding holes where the eyes might be somehow conveyed an intelligence and diseased malevolence fit to capture the attention of a horde, then convince them to let it cut their throats with their own yanked out teeth. It was vaguely Skaven shaped, but far more deadly in its sinuous, muscular identity, and the air seemed to shriek and die before it, only to live and die again and again and again.
"Rise, Helkic Stain." the Underlord intoned with a terrible calmness. "We have work to do."
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This had been quite the day, Thanquol mused.
The newly risen Verminlord had been surprisingly up to date on the situation, particularly her own. Her orders were thus easily made: Take control, such as it is, of this segment of the Infinity Warren, prevent it from inefficient and unnecessary levels of Skaven deaths, turn it into a uniquely-flavored death trap for any enemies that might defile it, and teach all that she knew and learned to Skrolk and his followers, who had yet to depart the Pestilens site in the Hell Pit.
He had made it clear he didn't care whether she had any particular grudge against the Papulus, merely that he be kept alive and knowledgeable.
He really did have no idea how she would act towards him. On the one hand, he had nearly ruined it and might in other circumstances have killed her. On the other hand, it was only nearly, she had noted devotion for him prior, and...well, she certainly wasn't complaining about her new state.
Regardless, if she happened to want some manner of retribution, well, her knowledge and ability was currently ahead of the one who had nearly ruined his commands (one of two really, but Skrolk was more conveniently located). He wouldn't have spared much of a thought towards the condition Pestilens' second highest member before he'd earned his displeasure. Now? Well, either way he'd make himself useful, and possibly suffer, and maybe even enjoy it given the opportunity he had. A win-win, as far as Thanquol was concerned.
Especially given his...insight, into certain matters.
All are one. All are Skaven. All are the Horned Rat.
Idly, he considered a map of the Dark Lands, focusing on the Ash Ridge Mountains, a series of peaks and volcanoes just to the north of the Plain of Bones.
Off to the side, treatises and notes made by the diseased and not particularly lamented Dawi Zharr on something known as, volcanic lightning.
And in a pile at the edge of his desk, letters and reports stating the same thing in different levels and tones regarding the influx of lightning storms across the world, most prevalent on mountains and ridges and peaks.
A smile curled up, revealing sharp teeth as he considered a recently mastered lore of magic, and a particularly favored spell of one long used and mastered.
Having Skreech Verminking appear in any Skaven's lair would incite feelings of awe, wonder, and fear. Mostly the latter, sometimes more of the former.
For Thanquol...actually, it was pretty much the same for him.
For all that he had been elevated to his supreme and long-deserved position by the Rat King, for all that he benefited from his assistance, he had not spoken with the supreme Verminlord but a pawful of times, with claws left over. For all his ascendant power and confidence, his benefactor was of such terrible nobility, dread and might that he could not help the good Skaven instincts.
That he came so soon after his last visit, in the midst of the Underlord's burgeoning preparation to determine how best to apply his own prodigious might to the assault on the interlopers in the Plain of Bones, did nothing to help his anxiety.
"Ah, it is...surprising to see-smell you so soon." Thanquol murmured as the Verminlord stepped out of the shadows like a mirage of dark ash and fumes, brilliant horns bedecked in an emerald glow. "Something more-related to the dead-things?"
"As it happens-is, no. And normally I would not call-fetch you until much later, but circumstances allow-conspire for an opportunity." the massive rat's voice echoed with weight even as it gurgled like a knife over a tumor ridden throat. For whatever reason, the enigmatic being seemed to speak with what the Underlord could only describe as anticipation. "Your operation-plan to make both shield and trap in the north has had-made most intriguing consequences."
The summoning of a tiny portion of their god's domain was blatantly obvious, so-"Beyond-beside the Hungry Catacombs?"
"Precisely. Come. There is time enough-possible for this, but only if done-handled now." That said, with a spine-chilling creak the Verminlord carved open a hole with one great claw into the Warp. Once more, Thanquol followed the greatest of his deity's children into the void.
Having spent some time in the hellzone the Horned Rat called his home and realm before, it had downgraded from mindbogglingly terrifying to merely extremely frightening. As wonderful as it was to tread in the warren of his god, he'd much rather receive his just rewards of personal supplication in a place that didn't feel like a thousand and one much, much larger rats were eyeing him with malicious intent on every single line of fur in his body.
As the skitter of countless feet, the chatter of rats big and small and the weight of bloody paste and mud and viscous mist played against his fur he drew strength from the indomitable stride of his ally, who tread through earth and walls of rats and ever-shifting and squealing muck with nary a glance. His spine straightened, he recalled the glorious moment of his ascension, of reveling in the power of the molten and ruinous earth. For a moment the chittering seemed to die down, the air cleared somewhat, the howl of air echoing a gargantuan breath a deadly and vicious but caring overlord, before it all pressed in again. The weight was greater, the sound more deafening and all the more subtle in its obviousness at his challenge to the aura of the Infinity Warren. But he had his bearings now. He was the Underlord, the representative of the Horned Rat himself, greatest living Skaven in the entire UnderEmpire, and he would not-
The feeling of fleshy, bulbous rodents running down his spine set his heart pounding as every ounce of his being was devoted to not displaying the turmoil within him. This was going to be a very long walk. Why did he have to acknowledge his surroundings this time around he wondered? The journey seemed so much longer than before.
Either not noticing or not caring of his small companion's great battle of will (sort of), the Verminking spoke up, his voice a rumbling hiss that echoed in the masses of shifting rodents like a massive throat in time to his words.
"All Skaven are of the Horned Rat. We are his children, his essence, his servants. But not all of his servants-subjects are purely Skaven. Not all of the Horned Rat is of the Skaven. Rather, the Horned Rat is everything-anything the Skaven are and embody. He is a great, almighty-encompassing force in the form-shape of a god. Society, ideas, character, civilization, history, and yes, beings. He is all-entirety. That-there is why the Horned Rat is the greatest-mightiest of the gods. Those entities-manifestations that rule over Chaos are mighty, encompassing whole basic ideas and trains of thought-thinking formed from the mind and twisted-shaped into form. But like a tidal wave or an earthquake, those mighty-strong forces are wild, uncontrolled, and time and again lose-drop their strength, wasted against themselves."
The double-segmented, whip-like and quill-edged tail curled around Thanquol's body with deceptive gentleness as it hoisted him unto the Verminking's back. Then they were going up, and the tunnels were suddenly different. The walls transparent masses of rats, giving way to an ethereal maze of flesh that crisscrossed all the way to the dark horizon. At times they were climbing up, then sideways, upside down, along warren paths that defied logic and mixed and intersected with others at incomprehensible angles as often as they ran alongside each other.
The feeling of eyes and ears focused on him never changed, but Thanquol noted that the surroundings did. The rodent structure was at times of flesh, at other times of ooze and rotting vitae, choking ash from burning waste, broken and shattered rubble cobbled into verminous, twitching form.
"The dwarf-things, the elf-things, the man-things, even the lizard-things-their gods are focused into true form and identity, but such has left them bereft-lacking of power. Venerated by fractions, divisions, split into many very-highly distinct beings along very specific existences, singularities of intent-idea able to draw from a select source of genuflection and energy. Unable to manifest signs of power and blessing into both avatars and blessings."
"But the Skaven have-need but one god, and he is everything that the Skaven are. In every action-move, every prayer-exaltation, every concept that is unto the Skaven is unto the Horned Rat. Thus, he is mightiest, greatest, the essence of perfection."
The Rat King was typically of unholy charisma and persuasion, but as he talked now, to the Underlord he seemed a terrible messiah writ in unearthly flesh, every word a chorus of faith and belief, veneration backed by sublime Skaven intellect to create . Listening to his reasoned adulation brought a feeling of calmness near unto bliss despite the dreadful habitat, and Thanquol burned every word into his brain even as the lair of the Horned Rat became increasingly like Skavenblight to his senses: crowded, every corner or glance at the edge of the eye a potential knife in the back or teeth in the throat, but rich with familiar Skaven scents and body-warmth and power. It felt almost like...home.
"And with-along that all-encompassing nature-identity are us, the verminous daemons, alongside the tangible blessings of the Horned Rat. Where Skaven of the earthbound realm-place are his children and life, we are his essence, fragments and avatars of his aethyric self, offspring of the body whereas the multitudes in the Underempire are of the soul and mind. Shaped-formed by the ruling powers of the Skaven and the will-thought of the Horned Rat into the many-varied forms representing all that is Skaven, all that is our god. But as I said-spoke before, all are one. The souls of all-every Skaven belong to the Horned Rat, and in either death or life, if mostly the former, there exists the potential to form new-great daemons from those souls, oftentimes from many-multiple Skaven essences into one conglomeration-thing."
"The latter...the Horned Rat gives unto the living as they give-gift unto him. Daemonhood for a living, mortal child of his is a reward, one granted-allowed by the gift of accomplishment-deed. Whatever that is varies, but inevitably such is rarer-lesser than those beings stitched-patched into a greater identity with others after death. Our cruel and loving god takes freely as is his right-due, but gives to those who earn it."
"I was one of those-them."
Memories of ancient records, perusals into the aethyr, studies about the grand monsters benevolent and not and both beyond the realm of reality come Thanquol's mind. A rumor and record of a Council of 13 long ago dead and taken by the Horned Rat, made unto a single being of power and destiny, both punishment and relented reward by a terrifying god fond of his children for defeating their greatest enemy and taking much land for the UnderEmpire, then failing to capitalize on it.
"There have been others. But I have seen-smelt all of the Skaven before and after, and none like this."
As clouds of tiny still-born, drowned and melted rodents flew pas them in clouds of noxious vapor, the pieces came together. All that Skreech Verminking had been talking about, leading up to-
"You mean-think...Helkic Stain?"
His heart skipped a beat or three at the merest glance of the edge of his ally's grin, full of bared teeth, anticipation, interest, and malice. He was no longer certain that he was necessarily the safest he could be in this realm.
"Two significant displays-shows of tangible faith with a catalyst-sacrifice of devotion. The Horned Rat deemed her worthy of his recognition-notice and the circumstances convenient. The Infinity Warren subsumed into her then out, making this tiny-small portion of it of her as much as of the Horned Rat. We have arrived-come."
The abrupt change in topic prompted Thanquol to take greater notice of his surroundings. The aspect of the Horned Rat's great labyrinth was similar but different. The tunnels of rats and slime and dirt and sound were slightly muted and less tangible. It was like an especially but not quite solidified mirage, an especially clear dream.
More than that, here the presence of plague and pestilence was especially prevalent. The air was filled gas and fog died a myriad of malevolent green shades, floating through the air with unnatural twists, forming noxious shapes and looking closer there were countless, unfathomably large quantities of extremely tiny little ratlike things that looked like a cross between a corpse, an abomination of Moulder and an especially twisted Skaven. Slime and mucus dripped and fell from the walls, and the paws and fangs of rotting, tumor covered rats broke the surface of the puddles that formed squealing in mixed joy and terror. Coughs and hacks and spit echoed down the tunnels rather than chitters and snarls.
Thanquol was uncomfortably reminded of some of his extended ventures in the Southlands...and a few far too long boat trips with members of Pestilens.
Except they at least could be killed and would stay dead.
"This is..." he murmured as he was lifted off by one massive claw and deposited in front of the rat daemon.
"Mm. She will take proper form-shape in time, and like the avatar-segment powers in the north and south this section-area could become hers to administer, a realm of the gods in the realm of mortals. She is already tied-connected deeply to it. As is, we daemons are mightiest in the Warp, but it is in the dominion-realm of our god that we are mightiest, that the land-area does not so much change-shift at our presence-person as obey it. This is good-well, but also a problem-issue. Right now, it can turn back and ruin-wreck those scattered elements of Chaos, and even a strong push, but it's mere presence will draw much attention-focus to it from those in the north. And then they will throw everything they have at it, to blasphemy the sacred and dread-terrible home of the Horned Rat. It is only a matter of time. They will bleed-die in droves, but it will happen. Unless we use-take the opportunity and stabilize-secure the area. Fully controlled and with the support of the Skaven, it could serve as a bulwark-defense for as long as the UnderEmpire requires to deal with the rest of the interlopers in the world-place above. Thus, we cannot wait for her to coalesce-come on her own."
The Underlord realized now why he was here. Well, perhaps. She was his subordinate a very short amount of time ago, if not one he was especially familiar with, and the Verminking has implied that he could not appear especially often even with this unexpected chance where the Infinity Warren was connected to the mortal world.
He spun around, stammering. "I, my-my skill-ability with the arts of Pestilens are almost entirely-largely based around analysis-thought and counter. I have only been-gone in the Horned Labyrinth twice with this venture-move today. I-"
"You are the Horned Rat's chosen-pick." The Verminlord boomed, the gas around his form bursting out in a wave that burned a grinning rodent skull into the air before fading like a dream. The eyes Thanquol could feel gazing at him were suddenly much more focused.
"You will succeed. You need not worry-fear---much---I will prevent the domain itself from devouring you."
The absently added "much" was not particularly helpful at soothing the Grey Seer's nerves.
"Know this Thanquol." was it just him or was the Verminlord getting larger and taller despite quickly exceeding the dimensions of the tunnel? "To be Skaven is good-good, but to be the UnderLord is to be everything-all that is Skaven, and everything beyond it. All are one, all are Skaven, all are the Horned Rat. Remember. You have thirteen hours. You may begin-start."
The way he stated the last sentence suggested it was not, despite the wording, a choice.
At that point the only thing keeping him from scurrying back and forth in fear was the fact that it would be a very bad idea to have the only thing keeping him alive unimpressed, or worse.
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The following events were...enlightening.
As he shook off his fear and confirmed with his own arcane senses that yes, the Warp-den was not going to eat him or worse, Thanquol tentatively extended his senses and began to consider the problem.
For all any but the Horned Rat and his favored Verminking knew, he did so for perhaps hours, coming to terms with the nature of the environment and seeking out some sign of existence beyond the typical.
Though he had little experience beyond dabbling in manipulating plague and pestilence, he had skill in perceiving it. And the Verminking's presence still served as an anchor to steel his nerves.
It was decidedly different gazing when already in the aethyr, but it was far easier looking for Helkic Stain's self from there than the mortal realm. As he scanned and sniffed (with much grimacing and consternation) he pondered just how blatant a sign this was of the plague priests' doctrine being a part of the faith. Yes, the Lore of Burning Earth had a part in it as well, but that was effectively a sub-section of the far more common and practiced Lore of Ruin. A complete aspect of the Horned Rat's realm had been manifested because of the actions of two halves of Pestilens and the Grey Seers, with a Plague Priest serving as the trigger.
Yes, Nurglitch had been accepted as a Lord of Decay after passing the perilous test of the Horned Rat over two centuries ago, but faith, exaltation, worship? There had never been a sign as clear as this one that the ways of plague and pox and pestilence were ingrained into the identity and being of the Horned Rat.
All are one. Perhaps...well, he was UnderLord now. If any Grey Seer had the right and privilege to delve into "rival" doctrines, especially when they were quite clearly proven to be authentic in their holy veneration.
As is, he'd been in the presence of Nurglitch, walked in Bubonicus and Ebolag, and shared cramped quarters with plague monks and priests for months on-board ships, their flies and mucus held off only by constantly maintained wards. This...well, it wasn't completely unfamiliar, now that he thought about it.
Besides his exposure to those aspects of Pestilens and the Infinite Warren, there were certain structural similarities to differing aspects of the Horned Rat. Pestilens was focused on life, the decay of living matter and the rotting of flesh, the idea of the world as a living organism and those beings on it aspects of it. His Grey Seers' doctrine was based on pure physicality and subject, foreseeing the world as a great, fractured piece with the Skaven the ones to gnaw the pieces in a tide and bring it down, laying upon the debris a new civilization. Both were focused on entropy, deterioration, but with different ideals.
The rats and the walls...did they always look so similar? Was it merely a shade? Color? Is the mud submerging the city so different from the mucus dissolving it? Is the gas and vapor flaying one's flesh and bursting one's organs so different from the lightning that flays flesh and sets the body jerking into death throes? Is the rippling, rumbling earth that swallows up the village so different from the rot that leaves it empty of life? Did that terrifying gaze always creep in?
Oh, found her.
There was a confluence about this section of the maze, a central point to the seemingly random gesticulations and jerks of the fog and walls. As Thanquol made his way over in a daze, he failed to spot a satisfied gleam in ancient, emerald eyes following him.
As he neared the practically invisible singularity, the UnderLord's pace firmed, and his eyes narrowed. This was...he stopped, jaw slack and arms dropping to his sides.
He was still for several minutes.
Yet Verminking didn't move or say anything.
Then with swiftness he took up his staff, slammed it point first into the ground, skewing several vapid, degenerate rats that squealed fumes the color of blood, and started to chant.
A long, rising chant of words ancient and terrible, starting at a whisper and edging up in volume every thirteenth word. The malevolence pouring from his mouth seemed to breath even more life into the surroundings as he slowly, haltingly, drew on the realm of the Horned Rat for power and shape.
All are the Horned Rat.
The gases were speeding up, dread maws and bleeding furs and blackened, rotting saliva forming a tapestry of decay and decay in the air. The verminous tides began to melt into liquids so foul the very unnatural air seemed to bleed at their fumes. No, it was bleeding. Bloody mucus and ooze writ with black blood and boils seeping out of what was already the prime of pox and plague.
Yet most ominous was how even as Thanquol looked to be submerged and buried in much while death flashed by him, was the sound. Besides his voice and the noise from the mutating surroundings, as his voice rose, the sounds of decaying and degenerating life slowly died down until naught but his roar echoed down the tunnels. The world seemed to hold its breath, and then tendrils of mist and sludge were hurtling towards a single area, piling into a block of wretchedness that grew and grew and grew.
And yet as it seemed to reach out for the UnderLord, he merely continued his shrieking chant, his arms moving into eye-burning patterns.
Then suddenly it stopped. The muck began to recede, collapsing inwards to form into a great, verminous shape.
Size seemed a suggestion to the flickering, living essence of pestilence. Magnificent horns flailed back out of a mask of bone, stains of vitae oozing across both like living and dying artwork. Sickness and disease hung off it in condensed quantities fit to kill life itself, literally bleeding holes where the eyes might be somehow conveyed an intelligence and diseased malevolence fit to capture the attention of a horde, then convince them to let it cut their throats with their own yanked out teeth. It was vaguely Skaven shaped, but far more deadly in its sinuous, muscular identity, and the air seemed to shriek and die before it, only to live and die again and again and again.
"Rise, Helkic Stain." the Underlord intoned with a terrible calmness. "We have work to do."
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This had been quite the day, Thanquol mused.
The newly risen Verminlord had been surprisingly up to date on the situation, particularly her own. Her orders were thus easily made: Take control, such as it is, of this segment of the Infinity Warren, prevent it from inefficient and unnecessary levels of Skaven deaths, turn it into a uniquely-flavored death trap for any enemies that might defile it, and teach all that she knew and learned to Skrolk and his followers, who had yet to depart the Pestilens site in the Hell Pit.
He had made it clear he didn't care whether she had any particular grudge against the Papulus, merely that he be kept alive and knowledgeable.
He really did have no idea how she would act towards him. On the one hand, he had nearly ruined it and might in other circumstances have killed her. On the other hand, it was only nearly, she had noted devotion for him prior, and...well, she certainly wasn't complaining about her new state.
Regardless, if she happened to want some manner of retribution, well, her knowledge and ability was currently ahead of the one who had nearly ruined his commands (one of two really, but Skrolk was more conveniently located). He wouldn't have spared much of a thought towards the condition Pestilens' second highest member before he'd earned his displeasure. Now? Well, either way he'd make himself useful, and possibly suffer, and maybe even enjoy it given the opportunity he had. A win-win, as far as Thanquol was concerned.
Especially given his...insight, into certain matters.
All are one. All are Skaven. All are the Horned Rat.
Idly, he considered a map of the Dark Lands, focusing on the Ash Ridge Mountains, a series of peaks and volcanoes just to the north of the Plain of Bones.
Off to the side, treatises and notes made by the diseased and not particularly lamented Dawi Zharr on something known as, volcanic lightning.
And in a pile at the edge of his desk, letters and reports stating the same thing in different levels and tones regarding the influx of lightning storms across the world, most prevalent on mountains and ridges and peaks.
A smile curled up, revealing sharp teeth as he considered a recently mastered lore of magic, and a particularly favored spell of one long used and mastered.
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Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
My goodness that's really well-done. Like holy shit, the omakes are pretty much consistently better quality in character interaction and fine detail in describing surroundings than my actual posts are. I'll add it onto the list and such tomorrow.
It's unfortunately not (fully) canon, but ... goddamn. That's really somethin.
It's unfortunately not (fully) canon, but ... goddamn. That's really somethin.
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I wouldn't necessarily say that, you do really good work and I got a LOT of inspiration from your description of the Infinite Warren and the initial stages of the superweapons project.
That's a pity, but it was a long shot in the first place.
Thanks for the compliment, it means a lot!
Kairos123
Insomniac Extraordinaire
Going to have to agree with Xantalos on this one. That omake was brilliant. Thought for sure that the quality would achieve canonicity, even if the content wasn't completely on target. Shame that it didn't, it matched a lot of what had been written and seemed like a logical continuation.
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
Great work Eva, that was really something.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Oh, if it were about literally anything else I'd have slapped canonicity on it without hesitation. It's just that there's ... things going on with the Infinite Warren and Helkic that are already in motion, and that I can't contradict no matter how good an omake is.
As it is there definitely are elements of it that I can and will use in later updates, but not the whole thing. If Thanquol had been left unassigned this turn ... maybe.
I wish there were some way of rewarding omakes without dipping into Skinner's Box, because I've seen what that's done to a lot of quests. Remember Norsca United? By the time the quest came to an end the omakes were flying so thick and fast one roll got a +540 bonus. Now I don't use rolls so that facet isn't an issue, but I still want to reward the tremendous effort put into them without making the rewards ... exploitable, as unfair as that word is to you guys. Outright rewards for omake have a tendency to build cumulatively upon themselves.
There are ... it's semi canon like King Arthur's Federat omake is semicanon. Just because those events don't happen in that specific way, doesn't necessarily mean something like it won't happen in the future.
As it is there definitely are elements of it that I can and will use in later updates, but not the whole thing. If Thanquol had been left unassigned this turn ... maybe.
I wish there were some way of rewarding omakes without dipping into Skinner's Box, because I've seen what that's done to a lot of quests. Remember Norsca United? By the time the quest came to an end the omakes were flying so thick and fast one roll got a +540 bonus. Now I don't use rolls so that facet isn't an issue, but I still want to reward the tremendous effort put into them without making the rewards ... exploitable, as unfair as that word is to you guys. Outright rewards for omake have a tendency to build cumulatively upon themselves.
There are ... it's semi canon like King Arthur's Federat omake is semicanon. Just because those events don't happen in that specific way, doesn't necessarily mean something like it won't happen in the future.
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Well, Verminking was taking advantage of some very particular circumstances including the nebulous flow of time in the Warp/Infinite Warren, if that fits.
Would it help if I were to adjust the timing such that it was more nebulous as to when it happened, as opposed to during the current turn?
Or akin to a metaphysical dream that affected Thanquol but hasn't necessarily happened (yet)? Warp is finicky like that.
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Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Adjusting the timing would help but it'd still be semicanon due to some other factors. Making it a dream would be closer, but I can't predict how much until I see whatever edits you'd make, and in all honesty I'd leave it as is. Just because it isn't canon doesn't mean it's not really good, and making it as vague as it'd need to be to get canonicity would take away from that.
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Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Oh you did, there'll be elements of the omake showing up in later turns.
Whenever that happens
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
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- He/Him
I wonder if the summoning of the Infinite Warren will be a point in favor of Pestilens on the Council or against them...
Thanquol is aiming for a lightning storm after all, he has the Burning Ruin, and there are those lovely volcanoes just to the north of the Plain of Bones.
The volcano and lightning thing was inspired by us setting the moon on fire in Bob's Beard's quest.
Thanquol is aiming for a lightning storm after all, he has the Burning Ruin, and there are those lovely volcanoes just to the north of the Plain of Bones.
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Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
I'd think it'd be a point in favor of them and the Grey Seers.
I mean, it accomplished the goal we set out for them. Perhaps even more successfully than we envisioned. So what if hundreds of thousands of Skaven are getting eaten by it? We've just got to research more about Demonology to figure out a way to bypass that flaw and we have all the good stuff and none of the bad.