AM (finally) BACK
WITH MY FINAL ENTRY,
NUMBER 13
13. Mutastorm
- one of the big problems with clan moulder is that it doesnt have a superweapon
- let's fix that
- I'm going to do this a bit differently than my previous entries
- enjoy
-- a plot was being hatched deep within the bowels of hell pit, hatched by packlord verminkin and his most powerful - and least trusted - underling, fleshsculptor stitch
-- after viewing the power of the maze under norsca, the packlord decited that clan moulder urgently needed that same strength
-- so he delegated it to fleshsculptor stitch, because the packlord had better things to do (and because stitch was the best fleshwarper in the clan)
-- and fleshsculptor stitch delegated the actual planning to his assistant, valgrik cripplepaw, because the fleshsculptor also had better things to do (and because valgrik was a much better administrator than stitch ever would be)
-- so valgrik cripplepaw got to work
-- the first thing needed was the actual form of the weapon, and after dozens of sleepless nights poring over dusty tomes and long forgotten lore, the cripplepaw had found what he was looking for
-- for most master molders, this would be when they started recklessly experimenting, hoping for just the inkling of a chance that one of their experiments may have stumbled upon a way to complete their objectives
-- valgrik cripplepaw was not most master molders
-- valgrik cripplepaw dealt in absolutes
-- so the cripplepaw bullied and browbeated hundreds of the finest minds in clan moulder into submission, and promptly shoved them into an enormous locked room containing only a food/water dispenser, dozens of copies of dozens of tomes, and reams upon reams of paper
-- he opened the door three months later to find the bloody corpses of hundreds of the finest minds in clan moulder, paper and tomes that seemed to have been continually burning for years and still was on fire, and thousands of equations covering the walls, all written in blood
-- faved with this horrifying sight, valgrik walked into the room, pulled out a notepad, wrote down every last equation, then, after reading the results for a subjective eternity and an objective ten minutes, ordered his assistants to divide up the corpses into thirteen equal piles, then strode out of the room with a new fire in his eyes; for valgrik cripplepaw had work to do
-- pestilens and the grey seers had taken most of the monstrosities under hell pot, but there were always hidden places; nooks and crannies, tunnels and caves and passages and more that moulder had hidden away from the rest of the under empire, containing beings lucky enough to escape the slaughterhouse that were the infinite warrens
-- they were all rounded up by the forces of clan moulder and brought before the cripplepaw, who personally sorted them into thirteen groups based on dozens of esoteric variables only he could comprehend
-- tens of thousands of horrific abominations had been marched past valgrik and sent to a fate worse than death in the skaven's pursuit of power
-- it wasn't enough
-- so valgrik ordered the unsealing of the experiment chambers, the large caves and sets of tunnels where those experiments who required an ecosystem were stored
-- of course, this angered quite a few master molders, and eventually, one of them tried to attack him, the molder's hands coated in a ever twisting, ever changing pulse of foul green energy that marked him as one of the better fleshwarpers of moulder
-- valgrik shot the molder in the head with a warpstone pistol, then ordered his body to be placed with the others in pile 12
-- that was the last time anybody tries to attack the cripplepaw
-- after that, favors and bribes were tossed around like candy, hundreds of master molders trying to convince valgrik to spare their prized experiments
-- some of the attempts even worked, but still, thousands of creatures, a cut above the festering horrors found under hell pit, were sent to their doom once more
-- it still wasn't enough
-- so valgrik cripplepaw requisitioned a few hundred master molders from fleshsculptor stitch, and immediately set them to work creating all manner of monstrosities according to exact specifications, from enormous, unique, abominations that the world had never seen, to legions upon legions of chaff, for an entire 6 months with only enough breaks to keep them barely alibr
-- hundreds of thousands of abominations had been created by hundreds of master molders, made specifically as sacrifices for moulder's attempt at even more power
-- and finally it was enough
-- the ritual took place in the badlands, for there was nothing in the badlands that would be missed by the skaven, and many, many greenskins to purge
-- if anything, the skaven were doing the world a favor
-- truly the generosity of the under empire knew no bounds!
-- the ritual was ready to begin, thirteen enormous mounds of living and dead monsters, and enormous amounts of warpstone, were arranged in a perfect circle,
-- next to each mound were thirteen of the finest fleshwarpers of moulder, arranged in a perfect circle around each mountain of biomass, each holding an altar of change of the highest quality
-- around each fleshwarper were thirteen apprentices ready to pour power into their master, an altar of change at their sides
-- in the exact middle of the circle stood fleshsculptor stitch, ready to channel his immense power into the ritual, thirteen of the most powerful altars of change in a circle around him, each altar corresponding to a different pile of flesh
-- valgrik cripplepaw stood on a rat giant half a mile from the ritual site, and as the sun reached its zenith, he opened his tome, eyes gleaming with a twisted green fire, and ordered the ritual to commence
-- as one, 169 master molders, 2197 apprentices, and fleshsculptor stitch poured their power into the ritual
-- the master molders started poring their power into the mountains of bodies and piles of warpstone, fusing the biomass of tens of thousands of gibbering horrors and twisted abominations into a solid mass of flesh, spires taller than five rat giants stacked on top of each other
-- thr apprentices were the first to go, poring first their power, then their potential, and finally their bodies into the master molders, creating horrific monstrosities uniquely suited to warping flesh, fat, bloated, beings with 14 heads and dozens of limbs
-- was the ground always this soft? did it always have this squishy consistency, this inner warmth, the gentle rising and falling motion, the soft beating of a heart?
-- oh
-- the ground was flesh
-- the master molders were the next to perish, throwing their entire bodies into the spires with a gleeful cackling, finally able to prove the faith of moulder to the world
-- everything was in place, and all that was needed was a single spark
-- fleshsculptor stitch provided that spark
-- pouring immense amounts of power into the ritual, enough to match 13 master molders, the fleshsculptor provided the last component needed
-- and then a portal the size of a city opened above the badlands
-- the grey seers and plague priests were able to enter the infinite warrens, but they stayed for the most part in the horned rats maze, never straying from its confines, arrogant in their belief that the maze was the only part of their gods domain
-- moulder knew otherwise
-- the warping caverns were a place of rampant mutations and growth, of abominations that kept on turning into other abominations, and the place where fleshwarpers accessed their gods domain
-- one of the greatest abnormalities in the warping caverns were the mutastorms, enormous storms whose clouds were made of flesh and blood that twisted and warped any living beings under their foul gaze, and occasionally discharged bolts of green lightning that could turn rabbits into hellpit abominations, and more powerful creatures into much worse
-- the cripplepaw had calculated the exact location of the largest mutastorm in the caverns, and had managed to open a portal that swallowed the storm up and spit it out into the badlands
-- and then something went wrong
-- the mutastorm had somehow ate the portal, and now small bits of it were warping all over the place
-- including near where valgrik was
-- as the storm emerged, fleshclouds crackling with warp lightning, the only two living skaven within miles decided to get out of dodge
-- fleshsculptor stitch immediately took out a blue blob, crushed it, and eas teleported back to his laboratory in hell pit
-- valgrik cripplepaw had no such luxuries
-- instead, he stood, paralyzed in fear, for a moment, then jumped off the rat giant and crushed a brown orb on his way down
-- valgrik was immediately encased in a brown worm with an incredibly tough hide that began burrowing back to the nearest skaven warren
-- after valgrik had made the days long journey back to his quarters in hell pit, he immediately collapsed onto his bed, only managing to arm the defences before he drifted off into unconsciousness
-- it had been an incredibly difficult and dangerous task, and had nearly gotten valgrik killed many times over
-- but, as the tome of eldritch lore and the small jar of fleshcloud on his desk illustrated, the ordeal had been worth it
-- and far far away, the mutastorm continued its inexorable, teleporting, rampage across the badlands
