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Chapter Text

Sylvanas Windgunner was the one holding the jezzail. That was that. It would never-ever change.

Jaina Proudsqueak was their spotter and that meant uplifted carrier slave. Jaina should listen to her betters, which was Sylvanas first and last, and relinquish-give those fancy-fancy warplock pistols to her!

Sylvanas had made her point clear by tripping Jaina with her tail just this morning but Jaina was too quick to draw and the encounter ended with a draw. Now they were late-tardy for the assembly and had to scurry-hurry quick through the caverns of Skavenblight.

When carried, the firearm could be handled by Sylvanas herself and she could reach out with the muszzle and trip unsuspecting clanrat vermin on the side and blame Jaina or a grey seer. If one was available, for the sneaking goat-brained mangy street cats often hid in the shadows and she had to limit herself to blaming just Jaina.

Every attack served her right because Jaina had the obnoxious audacity of running ahead of her betters – Sylvanas – and form obscene signs with her tail and fingers. They were very nimble all of them. And well grown. That had to meant  that Jaina stole from the food-grub and took more of the worms than she had the right to! Sylvanas had not discovered how she did it and even when she had tried to stay awake in secret when they slept next to each other in the pile Jaina had eluded her and stayed still until Sylvanas grew bored of it all and dozed off.

She was hungry, by the horned rat!

One day she was going to eat Jaina for her troubles. One day soon.

Jaina Proudsqueak surged ahead through the masses of stinking slave-things that infested Skavenblight.

Their unit was due for the call-up promptly and if Sylvanas had caused them to be late again she would turn that cheese-brained larva into a warpstone-laced sieve. After strangling her with her tail.

Something big-huge was brewing now and Jaina was on the lookout for opportunities for plunder, especially human alchemical gadget-trinkets that Jaina coveted. She had of course stolen her warplock pistols but she could always use spare parts for them, and they were hers now so they did not count ass tolen anymore. Her secret trove of extra things had to be constantly moved in case dimwits like Sylvanas or niggardly warplock engineers discovered it.

Their pack leader was Kratsch Claw. He had a stupid name.

He also had a sharp whip.

Jaina would provoke him and dodge so it caught Sylvanas next to her. Then she would claim the jezzail. It would match her warplock pistols impeccably and she wuld be the best-best of the warplock gunners when that Windgunner windbag was out of her way! Then she could find a new minion to do the carrying for her instead. But it would have to be a foolish slave-thing who obeyed her and held the shield up to do its job and cover Jaina and not a smart and sublime one like Jaina who used it to cover herself and leave Sylvanas exposed – and hopefully soon eliminated by a stray projectile from the enemy.

Jaina hoped it would be one from the green things. They were lousy shots all, and it would be extra embarrassing for Sylvanas to be downed by one of them.

She wagged her tail even more at the straggling annoyance behind her behind. She could always tease that pack rat first, before disposing of her.

Oh, yes-yes!

Vilhelm VanHel sighed.

A noble career in the most holy and serious of Sigmar’s guardians of his grand empire.

They said.

And where had it gotten him?

When his commanding officer in the Holy Order of the Templars of Sigmar – or the witch hunters as the poor, simple folk called them in hushed whispers they believed eluded their trained ears – Gunther Stahlberg had assigned him this first single-handed assignment Vihelm had straightened proudly and accepted without much envy of the members of Herr Stahlberg’s own expedition.

Sylvania was a nightmare on the best of days an utter hell during winter.

Now, Vilhelm was not so sure.

He sighed once again and turned the page of his notebook while eyeing the clearly insane academic in front of him. From the appearance Vilhelm had expected a mind somewhat more rooted in facts and reason but plain simple shortage of wits was every bit as randomly occuring as the corruption of chaos.

Still, he had expected a better story from a seasoned scholar than this cooked up stew of half-rotted imaginations. At least the interlocutor was not reluctant to talk.

“So, if we take it again, Master…uh, Messermacher…” Vilhelm would find out his real name soon enough but one thing at a time. “…you mean to tell me that this mansion, or what remains of it, is in fact a laboratory comissioned by a somewhat obscurely designated branch of the University of Nuln. And until most recently it has been in use for an experiment of considerable scale involving the breeding of certain beastmen in captive state –“

“Rat men, your excellency.”

“…rat men, the so-called skaven, the existence of which is denounced by the holy faith and the emperor I might add, and of which the spreading of rumours is considered a grave heresy... Nevertheless, you maintain that the goal of these experiments was to destabilize these alleged cratures by raising and releasing female specimen, is that correct?”

“Indeed! As you may know, or not if you prefer the clerical view, the rat men are believed to breed explosively in their underground warrens and it goes about in a very determined way since all female specimen are dedicated to this task – the accounts of our dwarven allies are as clear as they are unnerving on the subject – with little to get in the way. Somewhat similar to a colony of ants in fact…where was I? Ah, yes, skaven females are invariably broodmothers, as the term apparently is, and consigned to that role.”

“The point being…?”

“Why, this experimetn of course! By Capturing and raising a litter’s worth of female skaven we obtain the perfect destabilising and diversionary element to weaken an entire skaven colony, we believe, and with certain…shall we say modifications of alchemical nature we were able to make them…

Vilhelm VanHel sighed a third time and closed his notebook.

“Guards! Take Master Messermachermisser away to his new accomodations.”

“But…wait, I have not told you of the revolutionary application of –“

Chapter Text

“Listen up, dunghill bugs! Creamnose Company has an opportunity to serve the magnificent Deathmaster Morskittar his shadowed Excellency.” Paw Leader Kratsh Claw snarled at the line of incompetent louts and Sylvanas. That meant that they would have an involuntary opportunity to serve his undeserved climbing through the ranks and ingratiating himself with Clan Eshin and its backstabbing pack.

Creamnose Company had been named thanks to Sylvanas and Jaina Proudsqueak would get a well-deserved slap on the nose one day for even suggesting it was her that had come up with the name. Preferably a nose slap with a spiked mace. It was Sylvanas that had found out that the man-things had something that was called cream and it was white and it was delicious.

That was why Creamnose Company should be named as such because it emphasized their success, yes-yes! They would feast on all the conquered cream of the surface-things world once minor annoyances like grey seers, Jaina and the surface things were out of the way.

“A loathe-hated knife-ear-thing who has kill-killed many of our people is coming to the man-thing burrow outside the marshes. The place the man-things call Mire-Guano! Clan Eshin’s agents have so far failed to eliminate the elf-thing and has called upon our help.”

Even Jaina had to recognise the foul stench of this mission.

“Creamnose Company will form a great wall along the north road of Mire-Guano and hide-hide until the knife-ear approaches. Clan Eshin’s informant will supply us with that information. We will have poison wind mortars to reinforce and when the elf-thing gets in our sight we fire-fire and crush that Kerillian-thing!”

Sylvanas gnawed on her claw. This was bad-bad. And she would need the help of Jaina.

Doubly bad-bad.

When Jaina left the assembly to gather up the gear and form up at the tunnel-gate she was of course not surprised by Sylvanas. That cheap jump-pounce was only to be expected of a malfunctioning rust-crank like her. When Sylvanas whipped her tail around Jaina’s throat and dragged her into a dark cranny, she whipped out her warplocks in no time and had them trained to blow Sylvanas apart form both sides if she so much as thought of leaning any heavier on the jezzail she pressed against Jaina’s chest.

“Listen-heed, stinking maggot!” Sylvanas hissed. “This assignment is danger-danger and a trap!”

“Like I did not know that, oil-rag-stain?! If Clan Eshin admits defeat and asks for help-aid open it means the prey is hard-hard to catch and they will not leave any witness lookers-knowers to their own failure.”

Sylvanas relented slightly and eased the pressure with her undeserved jezzail-thing. She still kept her tail wrapped around Jaina’s neck. Not that Jaina was scared of that tail. It could just as well remain there and she would show Sylvanas how little it bothered her! Sylvanas could try to lean as close as she liked, Jaina could still kill her in an instant and this was just play-play. Sylvanas’s strange-strange musk of hunting was in the air and Jaina licked her teeth.

“They send poison wind mortars but no slave-fodder. That is bad-wrong tactics.” She agreed with Sylvanas, just this once.

“That is good-good tactics because the cheapskate miser-scrooge Krasht is selling us out! We are slave-fodder when hunting the Kerillian-thing!”

“Kratsh is gonna die-die!”

“Not yet. Too early.”

“We eliminate the mortars. Quick-quick.”

“We blame elf-things.”

“No. We blame-blame Kratsh.”

Sylvanas was also licking her lips. That was good. Jaina much preferred looking at that instead of hearing her talk. Maybe Sylvanas would even be able to become a tolerable minions one day if she just shut her trap and did that when ordered.

When Jaina eliminated her she would miss her musk of hunting. It was maybe the cream-cream of musks.

Vilhelm VanHel had investigated his share of weird cases, absurd cases and utterly horrid cases. Every templar who did not run away screaming form his profession racked up his share of all of them.

The corruptability of mankind was limitless. The lowest peasant and highest guild master or nobleman would consort with the ruinous powers over the most trifling matter or seemingly just for the sake of it. They struck the chaos bargain and damned their souls and those of their next over baronies and bread crumbs with equal remorselessness.

If it had just been the heretic, the corrupt and the mutant the witch hunters’ job had been that much easy. But for every true enemy of mankind encountered ten idiots, fearmongerers, perjurors and plain lunatics stepped forward to waste the order’s time.

At first glance Master Messermacher appeared to be of that very same stock. What imbecile would speak openly of the loathsome ratmen like that?

Vilhelm rose. He knew there was no point in postponing this long and likely wasted visit to the templars’s archives. He was a practitioner, not a scholar, he grumbled internally as he ascended to the well locked but not very often visited part of the headquarters.

The loathsome ratmen.

It was the duty of the templars to know what they needed to know in order to battle chaos and corruption. That much was clear. Unfortunately a great deal of such knowledge was also dangerous knowledge.

Everyone knew of the beastmen. The horned menace of the forest – but in truth they could sport almost any sort of appendage or twisted feature even if horns were the prevalent and prized ones above all else by the wicked creatures. They were a constant danger and would always be one, Vilhelm believed.

The empire was used to its beastmen.

The rumours of the skaven were different. They were not the well-known murderlust incarnate who stepped out of the dark of the forest.

They were an entire underworld of rats, an Under-Empire that all but waited to erupt and engulf the world in a tide of twisted rat-featured ruin. And the empire could not tolerate the spread of such rumours for if they became too widely spoken they would be believed, and if they were believed, the empire would collapse into panic when it needed to stand at its strongest.

Thus did the templars and other guardians of Sigmar’s heritage keep a vigilant eye on any who would perpetuate such claims, secretly knowing that in Tilea, in Estalia and among its staunchest allies of the dwarf realm Karaz Ankor, they laughed and shook their heads in disbelief at how the empire could go to such lengths to ignore the existence of the skaven.

In secret, sealed chambers and shelves were contained unwholesome, dangerous tomes that none but those of strongest and most incorruptible faith should lay eyes on. Unfortunately times were regularly desperate enough to call upon desperate measures such as a humble templar opening these ominous grimoires.

Vilhelm VanHel took out one of the thickest on the subject. A terrifying work compiled by an imperial scholar, terrifying in its clarity and apparent objectivity and thoroughness.

The Children of the Horned Rat.

Chapter Text

Jaina Proudsqueak and Sylvanas Windgunner were silent as mice.

That was not a common occurrence.

They had scurried ahead of everyone else and were missing from the ranks of Creamnose Company and Kratsh would be furious…er with them if he found out. Which he wouldn’t, because now they had the column of poison wind mortars in their sights and it was just a little bit longer before it would be in Sylvanas’s telescopic sight…

Sylvanas breathed into Jaina’s neck and she smelled…expectant, and it was pleasant and Jaina mimicked it. She shivered pleasantly, inside, because she was not an idiot and didn’t let it move her.

“Just a little closer, pretty-pretty thing…” Sylvanas whispered.

When Jaina took the lead of the company she had almost decided to keep Sylvanas around as a trophy, or pet. She could be Jaina’s personal slave rat and entertain her by whispering funny things and serve as foot stool for Jaina’s paws. Jaina could dangle some fat rats in front of her and lash her if she took one without permission. That ought to be fun-entertaining!

A few clanrats walked with the mortar crews. Contrary to the crews they did not wear breathing masks and were probably too stupid to know the danger they were in. Behind her, Jaina heard the click of Sylvanas’s jezzail’s warplock and a nigh inaudible snicker.

Boom.

Even Jaina shook slightly from the recoil. But the entire tunnel shook from the impact.

One barrel – a small one but it would still count as a barrel when Jaina would settle the account with Sylvanas – of blackpowder and grinded warpstone ignited from the hit and a cloud of smoke and falling rock engulfed the mortar column. Panicked screams and shouts were muffled by the dust an Jaina rose to unload her warplock pistols at a few shadowy shapes visible in the murk.

“Quick-fast, before they reach us!” she yelled over her shoulder. Behind them a mass of scurrying feet and clinking metal told that the nearest guard patrol was on the move. “The rebels have mortar rounds and detonated them! Into the fry before they can fire again but hold your breath-breaths!”

“We guard your tails! Hurry-scurry!” Sylvanas shouted almost gleefully. Jaina wanted to give her a slap on the nose. She couldn’t ruin the entire plan now with her merry-making! On second thought she ought to slap Sylvanas on her ass instead. That would be more satisfying, and if she tied Sylvanas up she could then also test that interesting blowgun she bartered for that was said to come from Lustria. Sylvanas did not have to be told if the darts were actually envenomed or not…

The paw leader of this run-down road post hesitated for a second but the musk of fear hung in the air and the stink of sulphur and warpstone told of something substantial going wrong.

“You there, louts and pack rats! Into it, and spare nobody! Get those bandit-brigands!” he bravely commanded his detachment who charged forward into the deadly murk with shrill battle cries.

“That is blessed-blessed timing that you arrived, oh magnificent one.” Sylvanas bowed her nose in deference while Jaina reloaded. “We were just about to be overrun-dead and your graceful magnanimousitiness saved us. No doubt you will reap grand rewards for your timely intervention, yes-yes!”

“You think so? Maybe a new armour, yes?” The paw leader looked over his own mismatching front plate and taloned vambraces with satisfaction.

“Oh, most assuredly, oh mighty corrupted. Shiny-shiny! But keep your tail down because the rebels might carry warplocks.” Sylvanas warned and winked.

“Warplocks?! Really?!”

Bang.

“Yes, so we have heard-heard.” Jaina smirked and blew the smoke from her barrel.

“This is un-in-tolerable bad-bad! Cheat-scumming worm-ridden pest-annoyance-thing!” Sylvanas raved and raged all across the burrow to the annoyance of everyone close enough o hear.

That was mostly Jaina for all others had found something else to do further away rather than chancing it with Sylvanas’s temper.

The valiant defence of Kratsh Claw against the insurgency had been acclaimed and rewarded with a grand promotion. He was to be posted as governor of the Putrid Pass east of the lowlands around Mire Guano and bordering the dwarf-things of the Vaults. Kratsh had rallied his warriors at the back of the column when some dastardly turntails had blown the tunnel and followed up by storming the helpless and unprotected mortar crews. According to him there had been no trace of an ambush and no indication of any uprising before that horde of rabid clanrats jumped on them right after the massive explosion of at least four full barrels of blackpowder that they had stolen from someone else’s supplies. It was a miracle – of course in actuality the tactical genius of Kratsh coupled with the horned rats clearly displayed blessing and approval-favour – that he had been able to save anything of the mortar company assigned to him.

Sylvanas paced and kicked at random things while Jaina watched with some sort of amused face as if Sylvanas was her private entertainment-fun-thing!

“And we still have to take out the danger-danger elf-thing but now we have no back-up-reinforcements and will be late because foolish leaders tarry!”

“There is a new plan for hunting the Kerrillian-thing. We are watching the gates of Mire-Guano and when elf-thing thinks it is safe we eliminate it.”

“That is stupid-thing of most magnitude! We will be discovered and man-things get in the way of clear shots!” Sylvanas whined.

Then she felt the air squeezed out of her belly when Jaina caught her in her tail and pulled her closer. She was just about to rip Jaina a new orifice of customary choice when the moronic rat grinned widely in her face and just reeked of satisfaction. What was she up to?

“We are watching the gates of the man-thing burrow, hidden-hidden, yes? Would it not be a shame-misfortune if somehow someone in Creamnose Company fired a shot too early and man-thing garrison had to storm out and disrupt the elf-hunting assignment, yes-yes?”

Sylvanas slowly shifted to a grin as she considered it. Jaina had her moments. On occasion. Of course Sylvanas would be able to handle such a thing! She was a master marksrat! She could shoot them from Lustria and make it look like an accident! She did not exactly know where Lustria was but that would not stop her.

She could maybe put off eliminating Jaina when they were done with all of this. Once Sylvanas was made commander of Creamnose Company she still needed someone to oil her jezzail for her…although she was not sure if she could risk Jaina tampering with it. Maybe Jaina should be relegated to oiling Sylvanas’s armour that she would also be wearing. While on her knees, yes-yes…

“So, Master Messermacher. I trust you have been able to make yourself at home in your new quarters?” Vilhelm asked off-handedly while still making a show of examining the book in front of him. The Children of the Horned rat, as a matter of fact.

“Ahem, yes…” Their ‘guest’ did not look like he quite meant that.

“First, I would like to do away with this overbearing formality. Please call me Vilhelm.”

“Aha, eh, hum, I guess you may call me Henrik then, Herr…ah, Vilhelm.”

“Fine! Well, Master Henrik, as you no doubt understand as the learned man you are, your story puts us all in a slightly inconvenient position and we will have to go about things very delicately.”

“I see. It’s the…rat business, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. The…rat business. I would like to know all about it. Who is involved. Where it is based. Who is supplying and funding it. And what happened to the…results so far achieved.”

Chapter Text

Jaina and Sylvanas had found the best and worst hiding place of the entire Creamnose Company. They were under a broad derelict cart in a ditch with a clear view of the western gate of Mire-Guano and no man-things would want to get near. It was the worst because the reason for that was that the cart was loaded with manure.

“Hurry-hurry, stupid-lazy man-thing chieftain…” Sylvanas growled where she lay still as a stone with her sight trained on the open city gates. Jaina was keeping track of their surroundings in the meantime. She had brought her pocket telescope with her for this task, a fine-fine invention with special warpstone lenses for enhanced night vision, fog-vision and magic-fog-piercing vision according to the warlock engineer who sold it to her.

They needed to find a high-mighty man-thing target to eliminate. If you shot one of their slaves they would not care much but if you got one of their warlords they launched punitive expeditions if they were rich enough to be foolish-stupid and then you could lure them into traps in the marshes and into tunnels, even though they rarely followed too long underground. Only beard-things truly had the knack and tenacity-persistence for that.

Jaina was bored. She wouldn’t even get to shoot anything at this range. And there was nothing to do to keep herself busy. She only had Sylvanas.

Hm…

Jaina wagged her tail from side to side, seemingly at random. She just happened to brush against Sylvanas’s once or twice or several times.

Sylvanas, for all her irritability, was a skilled warplock sniper and did not let herself be distracted even if an eyebrow twitched.

Jaina let her tip linger longer and longer on Sylvanas’s tail. It was surprisingly smooth for a rat so un-smooth and thorny-bristly. Jaina ramped up her game and wormed her tail around Sylvanas’s, caressing-stroking it and eliciting a dusky-husky growl and sigh. She even stretched her lower back and tail languorously, without letting it affect her position however. It was like upper half Sylvanas was at work-work watching for target man-things and lower half Sylvanas was Jaina’s play-play-thing.

She snake-wormed her tail tip further up and swatted Sylvanas’s rump only lightly enough to be annoying but not distracting her from her job, and Sylvanas twitched. Jaina continued further up. She could tickle Sylvanas between her legs-thighs, had it not been for stupid pants-things!

Needing more room and reach, Jaina had been forced to move-edge closer and closer to Sylvanas. Their legs almost touched-touched actually, especially when Jaina stretched out hers… She was finding it hard to think of silly plate-shelled man-things far away when the intriguing Sylvanas-musk was almost drowning out the foul smell of the cart above them.

“Eyes-eyes ahead!” Sylvanas hissed. “Horse-cannons coming out of the man-thing burrow.”

That they were. Jaina put her looking glass to her eye with a pinch of professional interest. Those tiny barrels could not reach as far as a warp-lightning cannon but they were quick-fast for artillery and had survived enough battles with clanrat rank-and file to become known in Skavenblight. In Jaina’s opinion they should be upgraded for warpstone ordinance and have rat ogres or doom flayers pulling the carriage. Maybe they could fit on a screaming bell’s platform too?

She became excited over the potential opportunities if only slow-sluggish back-thinkers in Clan Skryre could be removed and let bright-sharp brains like hers have free reign. She kept stroking and groping along Sylvanas in the meantime, it was in fact a pleasant pastime…

“Artillery wagon that one…” Sylvanas noted, still glued to her telescopic sight. Jaina murmured something in assent while she pulled tight around Sylvanas’s tail.

Sylvanas snarled-growled something and used the unrestrained outer half of her tail to whip Jaina hard on her hind-quarters. Jaina twitched, and in the motion clenched her tail tighter and jerked Sylvanas off balance and –

BANG.

KATA-BOOM!

Eight barrels of Bronzino’s finest gunpowder went up in a colossal cloud of smoke and flame that blew the open city gates on either side to shreds and bent, soot-black iron hanging on their mishandled hinges.

Sylvanas could not believe it!

By the horned rat’s upside-down quadrupled warpstone balls! She would take Jaina and hang her tied to a hook from the rooftop! She would smear her with Clan Pestilens’ foulest soup and itching powder, and then use her for target practice with pain-pain snail slingshots that she would invent just for the occasion!

“Fool-fool! Ogre-brained slave thing!” she yelled and slapped at Jaina’s nose with her claws out.

Jaina caught her paw in her own in the middle of the swipe and Sylvanas bared her teeth. She would have that…that musk of weird-hunting replaced with the musk of fear before Jaina could blink!

Before she could put all her weight and strength behind the pounce the rebellious rodent let herself fall backwards against the bank of the ditch they were hiding in and half dragged Sylvanas with her and on top of her.

Jaina was smirking-grinning of all things!

“What do we do now, sweet-sweet nose?” Even her whiskers quivered in anticipation. Was she imagining that this was fun?! Sylvanas would show her where to stick her nosy nose into others’ warplock affairs!

She jumped back on her feet and hurled Jaina sideways face- first into the mud, then turned and put her weight behind the sharp-sharp tail slap on Jaina’s…behind. That scandalous vermin crouched submissively before her and made no move to escape as Sylvanas whipped her tail over Jaina’s regrettably clothed-hidden ass again and again.

“That ticklesss…” Jaina hiss-hummed-husked. “And I think you miss-missed a spot…”

Sylvanas growled deeply and jumped a step closer. In an instant she had seized Jaina’s ear with her left paw and forced her to crane her neck back and meet Sylvanas’s furious gaze as she spanked Jaina loudly with her right.

With her claws withdrawn for now, but just wait!

Wait-wait one moment…claws, yes-yes! Sylvanas was just about to rip the meagre protection of that garment away and apart when Jaina breathed out a deep, gasping sigh and asked.

“Oh magnificently domineering-ruling one, what are we going to do about the man-thing burrow? Mhmmm…”

The last moan was elicited from Sylvanas giving her ass another slap to shut Jaina up and have something to do while she thought out a cunning-cunning plan.

“Pack up! Move your lazy-lazy tail! Hurry side-side to next shooter position!”

Packing up was done in no time because in reality it was just for Jaina to pocket her telescope and Sylvanas to heft her jezzail and start to crawl out of their hiding place. Jaina still kept smirking like a fool-fool and Sylvanas tackled her irritably into the cart.

She should not have done that.

The cart groaned and slowly tipped and toppled over, only just short of toppling on top of Jaina and Sylvanas.

The manure it carried was not so easily avoided however.

Both skaven squeaked as the leaving’s of the merchant prince’s stable splattered across their backs in a deluge of stinking dirt.

“Quick-quick, before they see us!” Sylvanas commanded and made haste towards the closest other jezzail position with Jaina right ahead. She was not foolish enough to present her back to a disobedient minion with two warplock pistols after all.

The next jezzail team was covering behind a simple stone wall.

Primitives.

“Up, lazy slow-rats!” Sylvanas shouted. “Follow command to claim western gate of Mire-Guano, quick-fast! Get in position and fire-fire before man-things can reform!”

She wasted no time listening to whatever they would have to say but sprinted on and shoved Jaina before her towards the next post.

Behind them they could hear the blissful thunder of warplock fire.

This might even work-work!

The calamitous explosion of one of the mercenary companies’ wagons could have been a catastrophically ill-timed coincidence, Myrmidia protect. But the second time warpstone fire rained in the defenders of Miragliano knew better. Bells rang over the city as militiaman and dog-of-war rushed to her western gate blown open and defenceless.

And with the bells the skaven came.

Chapter Text

In Tilea, the crossbow was what the hammer was to the dwarves. Of all human nations the Tileans fielded the finest, the best equipped and the most expensive. Chief among the first were the Marksmen of Miragliano herself. They each wore on their bonnets the coin pierced by their own shot as the proof of skill demanded before admittance. Chief among the second were the Besiegers. With full plate armour covering them and a great pavise carried on their backs to be set up to reload behind, the Besieger was a castle by himself on the field and ready to duel his counterparts covering behind the crenellations of a stone wall. 

Packed like fish in a barrel and pressed by their fellow comrades-at-arms coming out behind them and rabid skaven in front, neither could do anything but push, let alone load and shoot, hoping to create the space to form ranks and allow the heavy Tilean infantry to form ranks in front.

Clan Eshin scouts had alerted the closest warrens the moment the city gate went up in flames and the first opportunistic paw leaders recklessly threw their expendable slave regiments forward just about the same time the first defending company hurriedly gathered to plug the fatal gap. As more of Miragliano’s garrison arrived they entered the fray one by one and never did their collective weight become enough o stem the vermintide coming from outside.

Individually, malnourished and mistreated skaven slaves were weak and had little but rabid hunger and momentary frenzied courage whipped into the by their uncaring masters and that same overbearing hunger. That frenzy soon ran out when pitted against formed and stiff ranks of disciplined opponents yet not always before they had done enough damage or distracted the foe long enough for the skaven commander to deem it a good trade. For every one that fled there were two more coming who had not yet smelled the musk of fear long enough to bolt.

Even so, the growing ring of rats would have buckled and broken before the expanding Tilean block it surrounded were it not for the eerie green streaks that started to paint the air.

Creamnose Company had gathered in almost full strength along a small slope giving them perfect view of the battle for the gate and unimpeded line of fire above the heads of the slave rat fodder. Warplock jezzails did not require aiming where there was literally no empty spot in the enemy ranks, or mob as was the more accurate description.

Under the horrid fire with flesh exploding and rotting in an instant from direct hits or blackening and mutating before their eyes form even a grazing bullet, even seasoned mercenaries begun to falter. There was no way out, neither forward nor back. They could not dodge, nor return fire, nor even raise their shields in the suffocating press and every minute the vermintide ripped, clawed, crawled and pushed closer and closer.

None knew for sure who first broke rank. A city company on the right flank, or the crowd that should have been a right flank, who had overextended in pursuit of routing slave rats perhaps. A mercenary company on the left ripped apart by overwhelming clanrats pouring out from nowhere. Regardless, the rout was a fact and blindly fleeing soldiers collided against desperately pushing reinforcements striving to get out, all under warplock fire and the delirious fervour of untold and uncountable skaven.

And Miragliano fell.

Jaina had found them the open window. A silly outside drain-pipe led up to it like a ladder and then it was short work climbing along the wall and inside the great man-thing den. It was huge!

There was delicious scents coming from their larder or kitten-den or something, where they made their food, because man-things were stupid and wasted time tampering with the food when they could be eating it. Dunce-dunces! Jaina and Sylvanas scurried through the passages – all went straight ahead in a specific direction, weirdly enough – and kicked the door in with warplocks raised. Oddly enough the kitten-den was undefended! Surfacers needed to look-think over their priorities, Jaina and Sylvanas concluded as they raided the boxes and jars and crates for delicious things. Tender meat was hanging from the ceiling, bread and cheese – Jaina stole it but Sylvanas stole it back, and then it broke apart – was plentiful and there were fruit-things that were small and red and you could chew on them and then spit the core at Sylvanas! These were fun-fun berries!

But where was the cream?

And what was it, really?

Chapter Text

”…you see, Your Excellency, the average skaven female does not ‘eat’ or ‘grow’ so much as it is ‘bred’ and ‘fed’ in the manner of cattle. And in very little time put to the same use to propagate the ratmen race. It is really most…efficient…uh, horrible I meant to say! But we hypothesised that female skaven of strength and…un-addled brainpower would lead to contention and disruption and following that line of thought our academic enclave have bred and raised a herd of these ratmen – or, ahem, ratwomen?”

Messermacher kept prattling while his nervousness warred with his scientific interest and Vilhelm kept his features impassive. He had trade secrets of his own to employ.

“In old Solland there are several locations suitable for this sort of endeavour, with the province being sparsely populated at most these days.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Well, we did keep them in pens for observation when we begun to note various unaccounted for behaviours.”

“Unaccounted for?” Vilhelm leaned forward. He could practically smell an important revelation finally gotten to.

“Unexpected. Aggressiveness was not unreasonable. But then, we saw truly fascinating displays of attraction! You see, I have this rather groundbreaking theory about Skaven musk and how it could potentially communicate hitherto unconfirmed nuances of…”

Vilhelm leaned in his chair back as Messermacher kept babbling about his academic theories. His was the profession where one needed to separate fact from fiction and the crucial from the irrelevant. He held up a hand to halt the stream of scholarly theorising.

“Master Messermacher. In these sort of businesses there is a pretext, and there is a real intention behind it. Correct?”

“Corr…uh, pardon?”

“You will excuse me if I do not remain fully convinced of this altruistic picture of motivations so vividly painted before me. However, we will get back to that at a later occasion. For now, we are both entangled in this affair beyond the point of stepping back and we are in sore need of more and better information. We need to consult…experts on the matter.”

“There…there are authors on the horned rat and its kind, your excellency…”

He was almost whispering and Vilhelm nodded slowly. He could understand the instinct.

“Indeed. But more than that, there are a select few known for their…practical experience. Are you, Master Messermacher, familiar with the so-called Ubersreik Five?”

A mute nod was all the answer needed.

“Good. We will have to go and find them, it would seem.”

“Who? Us? When?”

“When? Do people generally have time on their side when dealing with ratmen, Master Messermacher?”

***

The warprail was at the same time the Skaven’s least known and least believable technological achievement and arguably it’s greatest one. Through great tunnels deep beneath badlands, mountains and oceans alike the Orient Excess clanked forward, wagon after wagon upon metal tracks.

Naturally it included a prodigiously stocked restaurant wagon, to be emptied one and a half hours into the Border Princes territories by the ratmen’s insatiable appetites.

Jaina and Sylvanas were already half dying from boredom.

“I’m starving-hungry.” Jaina Proudsqueak whined.

“You just ate-ate.” Sylvanas Windgunner rebuked.

“And you can go suck on your tail.”

“You can go eat the grey seers’ staffs.”

“Yes-yes!” Jaina leapt up from the seat, whiskers twitching excitedly and tail waving. “That’s it-thing!”

“What thing-thing?”

“The grey gits have a secret-stealthy cabin with a far-squeaker, onboard rail-thing three wagons aft. We can sneak-sneak into it. You can be the bait-thing.”

“I will take care of the guards. You do the easy-lazy part and be diversion-decoy!” Sylvanas corrected her.

Minutes and two wrong turns and one deliberate misdirection from a cursed clanrat later, Jaina and Sylvanas picked the lock to the assumed hidden cabin. A shot from one of Jaina:s warplock pistols crowned the display of stealthy infiltration skills worthy of Clan Eshin.

Inside was only one snoring operator who flew two skaven-lengths up from his stool when they made their loud intruding. After a generous bribe in the form of a warp-token from Sylvanas – which she declaimed would be reimbursed with interest from Jaina which the latter made a noncommittal commitment to honouring – they were left with the fabled apparatus and a smatter of rudimentary instructions.

“Is this thing on-on?” Jaina furrowed her eyebrows and sniffed irritably.

“Don’t bang it you moron-mongrel!” Sylvanas hissed.

“I will bang-bang you if you don’t shut-squeak it!”

“I like-like to see you try-fail!”

“Shut-shut your squeak-thing!” Jaina squealed. “I hear things.”

Jaina held a strange device in her paw. It was like a short rod or metal bow with something cloth-like under protective wiring.

“Minion-thing said to squeak into that, yes-yes?”

“You need to press the lever, amateur-thing!”

Jaina pressed down on a small lever – no, it was a button and Sylvanas was all wrong – and weird voices streamed out of the farsqueaker. They sounded something like a buzzing of a giant insect swarm.

…zzzZZZzzz…zzzZZZzzz…

“You have the setting wrong-faulty, maggot-brain!”

Sylvanas reached over Jaina:s shoulder and turned a small wheel on the main part of the farsqueaker. The buzzing changed tune but apart form that nothing happened. Sylvanas bared her teeth impatiently and turned again this way and that.

“…is Hell Pit communication head-thing, come in…”

Jaina and Sylvanas stared at one another. There was a real voice! Jaina pushed away Sylvanas' arm and turned the wheel again.

“This is the Warplock Express farsqueaking masters! Bow, puny worms!”

“…zzz…you have reached the office-palace of Grand Seer Thanquol the Insurmountable…leave a message that his supreme corruptedness can ignore at his own leisure, minion…”

Both tails of Jaina and Sylvanas twitched and waved frantically with excitement and without really bothering to acknowledge the other Jaina eagerly wrapped hers around that of Sylvanas while Sylvanas clenched tight around Jaina's.

“Attention! This is the horny rat! You are all gits! Over! Divert your course fifteen degrees north to avoid collision, over-over!”

Jaina hurriedly spun the wheel before Thanquol’s subordinate could respond and the frequencies rushed by with a jarring buzz.

“…Clan Skryre Enterprises, finest purveyor of all things warped, at your service oh, magnificent giver of payments…”

“Relay message from Jaina! She wants to lick your warp lightning cannons and do it good!”

Jaina grabbed Sylvanas' throat and strangled any further obscenities while she took hold of the conversation.

“Sylvanas volunteers for ratling gun target practice, as target! Over! Lick my paws!”

With maniacal snickering Jaina changed frequency again.

But this time the buzzing did not sound like it should. There was a dull, faraway thumping accompanying it. And it grew.

“I hear step-feet!” Jaina squeaked.

“What freak-freak-incy are we on?!” Sylvanas screamed.

“None-none!”

“Why do they sound?!”

“Outside!”

“Shut-shut it!”

The trampling of heavy paws and clatter of rusted metal plates grew ever louder.

“…here they were, and leapt on me, and there were five more of those mutineers, great master!” Jaina and Sylvanas barely had time to recognize the shrill voice of the operator they had bribed before a great thud hit the locked door to the communications cabin.

“Open up, and quick-quick!” a gruff and dour snarl from what was undoubtedly a stormvermin in a bad mood sounded form the other side.

“To arms-arms!” Sylvanas readied her jezzail, supported on the farsquaker operator’s seat. “You take front position.”

“You guard-watch the door. I cover your tail.” Jaina replied quickly and double-checked her warplock pistols.

Chapter Text

The explosion had forced the entire Orient Excess to halt for repairs and delayed the expedition to Crookback Mountain by several days as no less than five levels of Skaven command worked furiously to place the blame on someone else and preferably replace the alleged incompetent. A strange hole had been blown out of the side of the farsqueaker cabin, which soon sparked a river of rumours and theories about what sort of information had been relayed through it in whose interest it had been to prevent it.

Only one suspicious operator was eventually apprehended but Kratsch Claw, commander of Creamnose Company, was most likely the culprit of something even if no witnesses were found. He was sent with his infamous unit as advance scouts while the main force mustered.

Clan Rictus, one of the many warlord clans beneath the four greater ones of Skryre, Eshin, Pestilens and Moulder, was one of the more notable of its kind. Its lair deep within the Dark Lands afforded the clan a nigh inexhaustible stream of goblin invaders, passer-bys and kidnapping victims to be made into slaves and converted into revenue by forced labour or trading. Furthermore, Clan Rictus occupied a strategic position by the Mad Dog Pass and obtained a hefty toll from all entering these volatile regions and twice the sum for those wishing to leave it.

After many days of bickering, travel and various hunting accidents the ill-boding peaks of Crookback Mountain greeted Jaina and Sylvanas and the rest of the Creamnose Company.

Not only was the jagged outline ill-boding, for the grisly trophies of the ogres dangled about the stronghold!

Hailing from the Mountains of Mourn further east, or so it was believed by man-thing scholars and secretive Clan Eshin rumourmongers, the ogre tribes marched without cease in search of plunder and food. The ravenous appetites of the humongous creatures were some of the few that could rival those of the Skaven. The ogres had elevated eating to a sacred act, in honour of the insatiable Maw which they worshipped and drew strength and magic from, magic which enhanced all the brutish brutality they already held in abundance. 

Few in numbers, but immensely strong and tough and not easily frightened, the ogres were both the antithesis of the ratmen and a mirror of their raving, frothing viciousness.

However, Kratsch Claw had a cunning plan. He would deploy meat wall forces to tie up the enemy, then another company would distract them, then a third company would flank them, then a fourth would swarm them from the front, then a fifth would make a double envelopment and then Creamnose Company would fire at all that was left and stab every knee still standing, yes-yes!

And then loot.

“Listen up, worm-brains!” Kratsch instructed his unreliable minions. “We are tasked with scouting out Crookback Mountain. In order to do so we will make a precautionary sweep of the surrounding area most cunning-smart, is that clear-clear?”

Lengthwise bobbing of noses signalled some rudimentary compliance. Only half a dozen of the members staggered from a malicious poke in the back from the second line.

Jaina was one of those and whipped at Sylvanas with her tail to teach the little mousling her place.

It so happened that she scored a fine cracking hit between Sylvanas’s legs, most satisfying. Jaina could hear her hiss behind her.

Then she heard a weird moaning sigh.

“Order-order in the ranks, vermin!” Kratsch barked.

Yes, Sylvanas should really get her scatter-brains together, Jaina nodded with her tail swooshing from side to side, ready for any other disciplinary action.

Hours later after nightfall the company moved out, circling the mountain and scurrying from rock to rock and under cliff sides closer and closer to the peaks.

Jaina and Sylvanas held the position fourth from the right flank but a masterful misdirection by Jaina – Sylvanas could shut her trap or eat her warplock barrels – had brought them to the furthermost right position instead. As the company’s line of reconnaissance in force crept forward they edged further away.

Pickings were easier to be picked when you were left undisturbed after all…and Jaina had smelt the scent of food in the air.

“There-there! Tent-things ahead.” Sylvanas whispered.

“I see them...forward crawl…”

On all fours, with their intimidating arsenal of warpstone-based destructiveness strapped to their backs and hips, the jezzail team approached a cluster of the cloth-houses the surfacers called tents.

Jaina’s stomach growled.

“Quiet in the ranks, pip-squeak.” Sylvanas snickered.

The moment after, her own stomach grumbled in response.

“Eat my tail, runt. Now shut-shut. We are nearly in position.”

“Lie down. I will look for enemies.”

Normally the jezzail was supported by the shoulder of a crouching spotter ahead of the gunner. Jaina nevertheless lied down after pulling out her warplock pistols. If someone spotted them it was more likely that Sylvanas would be shot first after all, being the one to foolishly sit or stand up.

Just then she felt Sylvanas clamber up and place herself right on her back.

“Oof! Oaf! What-what are you doing?!” Jaina hissed.

“Hm-hmm…still-still my little mouse…” Sylvanas hummed and squirmed where she came to position with her warp gun ready and the muzzle supported by a rock in front of them. She had terrible difficulty finding a comfortable spot apparently because she crawled and wormed her way this way and that across Jaina’s backside and against her tail.

Jaina ought to give her another slap at the same place! She was just about to do so when Sylvanas twitched, and in doing so bucked against her hindquarters which was cheat-cheatingly distracting.

“Enemy in sight-sight.” Sylvanas whispered excitedly and adjusted the warpstone lens of her scope. “Lazy lookout looking locked-out…licking lick-out…lucky…licky…”

While she babbled something more moronic the vague tall shape ahead of them disappeared from sight and they could rise to continue advancing undetected.

The smell of grilled meat was heavy in the air now. Both scurried quick-fast forward.

Just one big tent with light form inside. It seemed to glow red like Skaven eyes indeed-yes!

From either side, Jaina and Sylvanas approached the entrance.

Then they pulled the canvas aside and rushed in with the valiant hearts of those out for shining booty.

Had they been human heroes, perhaps knights of the empire or mages from her orders’ academies in Altdorf, or even a lawless rogue drafted into service from a free archer company, and bursting a door in a dark dungeon, they could surely have expected a great daemon of Khorne, the Chaos Blood God, amid impaled would-be champions.

But this was not such a dungeon, and the Dark Lands were not the domain of the man-things, but of the goblins. The colossal being in the middle of the tent was not surrounded by the average single-serving adventurer, but each spike presented a veritable night goblin shish-kebab, mixed with sliced onions and sprinkled with peppers!

The ogre butcher turned around, brandishing a colossal cleaver in one hand, and rumbled like earthquakes, dwarf mortars and crashing warrens.

“FRESH MEAT!”

Chapter Text

Jaina and Sylvanas squeaked as one while they squirted the musk of fear and wet their furs.

“FIRE-FIRE!” Jaina let loose two shots in maddened excitement. Her aim was not particularly excellent but with the distance and bulk of the target that was less of an issue.

Far more alarming was the sight of two warpstone bullets hitting with no visible effect other than the (more than ordinary) gigantic ogre staggering like it wondered what insect it was that had just bit.

Sylvanas hurled her out of the tent by the shoulder and they stumbled ahead with the horrifying butcher hot on their tails.

Jaina looked frantically around for a hideout. They had to cover-burrow so she could reload and Sylvanas had better come with her because her unwieldy broomstick took ages to load and reload. She was only being pragmatic-practic of course. Sylvanas was – on occasion – useful skirmish fodder.

Her skirmisher and no bloat-gutted eat-eaters would dine on her without Jaina’s permission which they would never get!

Luckily the torches of the ogre camp soon ceased to be a problem and outside their ring of light creatures like skaven and night goblins were in their elements, used as they were to the dark, while the tiny pig-eyes of the ogres were no match.

Jaina dragged Sylvanas with her on light scurry-furry feet behind a monolithic rock and then dodge! Flat-flat, against the ground stealthy-sneaky!

“I SHALL MAKE BREAKFAST OF YOUR BONES!”

Jaina had clamped down on Sylvanas’s jaws without thinking further about it to stop that witless ratling from squealing and giving them away. Sylvanas…had actually not done anything catastrophic stupid-stupid yet. Not even bit Jaina.

Very strange-odd.

The ogre rambled about down below them as if the booming thunder from it’s throat would compel them to reveal themselves. Jaina had no such inclination. And she would not let Sylvanas out either because she might need her later as a decoy or meatwall or something while Jaina made a stellar flanking movement.

Sylvanas could be very distracting, that obnoxious piece of dis-disorder rebelling!

Jaina clutched her mouth slightly harder which elicited a grunt. Then she felt something weird-stange wet against her paw and realised that Sylvanas had licked her, smirking under her grip!

Fool-fool idiot-stupid! They could be discovered any time if she kept that up!

Since her present grip was insufficient Jaina also stretched out to grab Sylvanas’s tail and hold her down form the other end as well while Jaina herself kept watch for the aproned moron. She held Sylvanas’s tail very high up – to keep her steady in place of course – and it worked well-well! Sylvanas did not squirm away at all and even raised her ass so that Jaina could hold her tail better…or something. Maybe a trick?!

To be on the safe side Jaina slid her paw down and groped at Sylvanas’s rear instead. She heard a moan – always the complainer-whiner! – and smelt something strange-strange. Not the musk of fear, or danger or frenzy. Something mix-blended between the musk of hunger and musk of excitement sprayed over her digits. It was very…distracting…she had to keep lookout…and keep Sylvanas in line…

Since her grip was clearly not tight enough she slid further down and took a firm hold of Sylvanas’s crotch instead. The rag-tattered pants she wore had almost fallen apart and Jaina felt mostly the wet fur against her paw.

It was…nice-nice…

A much pleasant part of Sylvanas compared to her snooty mouth. Her mouth which was making a sound. Sylvanas seemed to growl lowly, it was rising and falling and now she was squirming too!

“Quiet-quiet, moron-maggot!” Jaina hissed at her and tightened her grip further.

Sylvanas only sighed from it and more strange musk in her nostrils made it hard-strange to think. Jaina should smack her buttocks but she couldn’t let her out of her grip so the best available thing was to press-thrust with her paw against Sylvanas. Oddly satisfying.

Sylvanas also took her disciplining obediently and spread her legs further apart to give Jaina room, while her wicked rat’s tail stretched and curled and waved aimlessly from side to side.

Very much-great-oddly satisfying.

Jaina had to think up a cunning-smart plan so she could keep her play-play-thing intact a little longer.

Unfortunately her sublime-exquisite idea involved having to trust Sylvanas.

Hrmrrr…

Her worthless rags were just in the way…maybe Jaina should tear them away while she was thinking…

The musk…her head was almost spin-spinning…and she was shivering form anticipation…

No more rest! Time to fight-fight!

“Listen up, worthless ratling!” she hiss-whispered to Sylvanas who just moan-growled in response. “You do as I say or I will whip-whip you until you scream.”

Sylvanas just growled again.

Hopeless dunce-thing.

“I led. You wait in cunning-cunning ambush and when I draw gut-cleaver-thing here you shoot it. Understood?”

“Mmmhmmmrrrmmm…” was all Sylvanas slurred. Jaina had to assume it signalled obedience.

She would have to trust in it.

Odd-strange feeling-thing.

***

Creamnose company was quick to redeploy to raid the ogre encampment after the outermost scouts heard the roaring from their right flank.

They had almost reached it – and bickered about which ones to send in first as forward and forlorn reconnaissance – when a shrill battle squeak sounded to overawe all who heard it.

“See my glorious advance, runt! Kill-kill, in the name of Horned Rat! Bow to your doom, stunted stunt-thing stunt…stunt-man-thing!”

Into the circle of light of a distant torch leaped one of the company’s spotters and some distance away rumbled a terrible voice in answer.

“FRESH MEAT!”

“You already said-said that!”

Jaina took a steady stance. Her warplock pistols were in their holsters on either side when she awaited the gargantuan butcher that approached her with an expectant grin.

“YOUR SOUL SHALL FUEL THE MAW!”

He brandished his cleaver and laughed like a rockslide, savouring the moment as he neared the puny rodent, clearly paralyzed with terror of becoming the meal it was meant to become. Perhaps a touch of Cathayan hot sauce…he had a few drops left. A spicy starter, yes…

Then in one green, warp-stone-fuelled blur Jaina drew her left warplock and fired into his smug mouth, then the other with Clan Skryre-lightning quick-quick moves while a great bang rang from the darkness of the cliffs out of sight.

A green-black trail flashed to mark the path of a warplock jezzail bullet hitting the butcher right between the gloating eyes.

He stood, stumbled, and dropped his fearsome cleaver before falling head-first like a mountain crasching into the ground before Jaina’s furry feet.

She twirled her pistols and blew away the green-tinted smoke from the barrels before holstering them nonchalantly.

The grovelling admirers of the rest of Creamnose company had nearly gotten there to bask in her glory when Sylvanas came scurrying and cried out to warn of impending – as well as impeding – mortal danger!

“Meow-meow horrors! Sabretusks! Bring jezzails big-many! Fire-fire!”

No more had anyone managed to squeak before Sylvanas grabbed Jaina with her and ran off, and the shaking of the ground and thuds of quick clawed feline-foul things of uttermost terror and dread heralded the coming of the main ogre army.

Kratsch Claw immediately took hold of the situation. He ordered half the company to form a valiant rear guard for a delaying action while he himself heroically dashed to warn the main Skaven host of the mounting danger and reap the reward for leading the enemy into a cunning trap-ambush that the ratmen high command under Bazat the Craven did not yet know it had – with Kratsch’s irreplaceable assistance of course – successfully enacted.

Chapter Text

The skaven hordes swept south and up from Mire-Guano. South over burning crops and pillaged granaries, up through sewer pipes and secret tunnels dug in untold and uncharted labyrinths beneath every Tilean city.

Remas called her burghers to the walls and threw open her vaults to beg the Republican Guard to take pity and come back, to entice Voland’s Venators to the grandest hunt anyone could dream of, no?

Morgan Benrhardt rallied the Grudgebringers, his own private army, and sent out couriers offering Richter Kruger and his Cursed Company gold, glory an a chance of sealing a long-awaited warpstone-laced fate.

The ratmen swarmed them, and swarmed past them.

Let the stragglers deal with pesky man-thing holdouts, let the lesser warlord clans bicker about the crumbs and leftovers. The war-torn northern Tilea was eaten bare after years of war and raiding anyway. The south…the glimmering city of Luccini called to them, rumours gathered from all too willing man-thing turntails striking the chaos bargain with Clan Eshin’s agents.

Inside the city was said to stand a temple, to which her warriors sent a portion of their spoils, always, to their patron’s glory. Such heresy could not be tolerated. The Horned Rat decreed, so his grey seers said, that it must be destroyed and desecrated!

Soon, all too soon, the skaven swarms spilled out on the flat lands around Luccini, for the foolish man-things had marched out to meet them head on and not even the simplest common infiltration tactics would be necessary to take the city when the prey presented itself so openly to be chewed apart.

The man-things awaited them in stationary lines, foolish-foolish!

Vittrik Plagueclaw let his slaves storm ahead first to wear-tire them out with numbers, then clanrats would follow, then best-best stormvermin and sneak-sneaky gutter runners would crack the buckling points like rotten eggs.

Not much order was present or needed when the first wave assembled and was sent forth but order was for weaker beings than Vittrik Plagueclaw!

Battle-plan was perfect!

Swarming went perfectly first, then just…just…

First, man-things just stood there.

“Dress the line!”

Slaves and rabid rat swarms were almost there.

“Steady!”

Foolish man-things!

Vittrik could make out light leg-clothes of them and bronze-coloured armour and something yellow-spotty-blurry that was hard to discern –

“PIKES! DOWN!”

His first wave impaled itself on a hedge of spikes twice the height of man-things wielding them.

They couldn’t do that! Shoot-shoot them…or something!

They…they were cheating! His wave was getting nothing done-done!

Vittrik cursed and blasphemed gloriously and whipped his second rank forward immediately to show pathetic underlings his power! He would wipe the ground with these upstart foolish enemies!

They were coming closer.

Man-things were no longer standing still. His first line was not foundering but buckling already!

Useless slave-maggot worms!

Vittrik could see between the haze and dim of the battle. The blood splattered on the white and bronze was not what you would expect, for they were mowing down the light-armoured ratmen from a distance with their cheat-long spear-things! He could make out the leg guards here and there and the bronze arm and chest plates…and the spotted things –

Pelts.

Pelts!

PELTS!

The musk of fear hung heavily in the air and all courage drained from Vittrik Plagueclaw’s heart as he cried out in unstrung terror at the sight of this utter nightmare made real.

“MAN-MEOW-THINGS!”

***

Bazat the Craven, new master of Crookback Mountain, had not survived skaven intrigues and his own unflattering nickname by being slow to act. After two smear campaigns and one false accusation of treason failed to yield the desired results, he instead turned to guile and sycophancy most clever to dispose of competitors and inconvenient witnesses such as Kratsch Claw, commander Creamnose Company. With stunning glorification and sublime honours he announced to all that he would generously reward Kratsch for his invaluable help by using his fabled and considerable influence with the grey seers to make him no less than governor of Putrid Stump!

Putrip Stump of course being the weakest of the strongholds guarding the Vaults east of Mire-Guano and the sure and obvious target of the dwarf throngs of Karak Hirn and others.

The jubilation and subservient bobbing of noses that accompanied the declamation matched the genuine wide smile of Bazat himself. He wished Kratsch Claw good luck and that by the Horned Rat he would hold out long if, say, dwarven mortars saw fit to demolish his walls or any other minor trifles would inconvenience him one day, though surely no paltry rabbles like miners and longbeard-things would prove more than a temporary pastime and distraction for such a seasoned-savvy warlord.

Chapter Text

The Orient Excess made a triumphant entrance beneath Putrid Stump. Kratsch Claw was to disembark and corrupted ticket inspectors, who could not be called real conductors due to their complete lack of brain faculties and common sense of politeness, infested the warprail train. Jaina and Sylvanas put up a valiant defense and repelled the vermin with warplock fire, smoke bombs and a couple of Clan Skryre poison globes Jaina had bartered for and tossed into the adjoining wagon. Having thus served all of skavendom they settled back into their burrow in a secret cabin with the entrance now masked by prodigious amounts of debris.

It was weird-odd in Sylvanas’s opinion. They had almost not fought a single time on the return journey form Crookback Mountain. Except that time when Jaina tried to trip her foot and she had to slap her rump soundly. Truly silly-stupid.

Or that time when they were pillaging some of the local Eshin agents’ outfits and Sylvanas had decided to speed the manoeuvre up by ripping Jaina’s rag-tag rag of a pair of pants apart. They were falling apart anyway!

Now they had much stealthy-sneakier things and fancy shady-shadowy cloaks over their armour. Jaina and Sylvanas had repaid their generous donors with a surprise vacation somewhere under Black Fire Pass, where they blew apart the coupling between the last third of the Excess with a few well-placed warpstone bullets.

The last leg of the journey had gone so much faster also!

Fancy that.

Well, apart from all those things Sylvanas and Jaina had almost not fought a single time.

Sylvanas had even let her play with her tail from time to time. When Jaina was being a very good rat-girl, that was. No point in letting the rewards for good-nice behaviour become watered down.

***

From Putrid Stump, over- and underlooking Putrid Pass, the warprail took Creamnose Company to the tunnels near Mire-Guano where they stopped and were told to disembark. Not back to Skavenblight?

Jaina and Sylvanas were habitually wary of foul play and shady business. Their suspicions were soon confirmed. The company was to join no less than an expeditionary force under Warlord Nurglitch and Deathmaster Morskittar. Their destination – the Black Chasm situated in the southern Brettonian highlands.

The chasm had in ancient days been settled by the forebears of Clan Pestilens, the stinking plague-mongering of the four great clans. After its departure to Lustria the strongholds built inside it lay abandoned, until Clan Eshin had laid claim to several. Already a sore thorn in one another’s sides, the issue of Black Chasm had not improved relations between the two. The presence of Deathmaster Morskittar in the expeditionary force hinted at which side Clan Skryre currently backed, but some fanatic plague monks accompanied them as well. They could serve as expendable arrow fodder and unnerve enemies who got close enough to see – and smell! – them in detail.

Nurglitch had apparently more wits and brains than Kratsch Claw for apart from Creamnose Company a commendable gathering of more warplock jezzail companies gave the army the necessary punching power, so long as the meatwall minions would do their job and tie up the foe.

Jaina and Sylvanas were not impressed. Creamnose Company were the best-bestest of all and that was that! The rest could go and boil their bottoms, those offspring of hamsters!

Like most skaven hordes Nurglitch had a throng of slaves, clan rats and similar rabble to form a first line and tire out the enemy while the actual fighting force got to work. Stormvermin would find much to do with their halberds when the ground started shaking from knightly hooves and a regimen of Clan Eshin’s assassins would always find targets…inside or outside the army.

***

If Kratsch Claw had been bothersome then Warlord Nurglitch was wearisome. He marched his underlings day and night and Jaina and Sylvanas did not even have the strength to push each other out of line or nick a single powder horn from the other.

They fell to rest on the ground where they stood when allowed, and Sylvanas would hiss and snarl when someone else wanted to use her pillow for itself. Her pillow of course being Jaina.

The rest could go find their own minions.

Jaina had gotten the silly-stupid habit of picking dirt out her fur for amusement. Pointless pastime-habit but so long as it kept her simple mind occupied…Sylvanas could be generous-gifty when she was in the mood. Jaina could even eat any lice she caught, if she found some. It likely itched less after she had been at it, and Sylvanas liked-enjoyed the pawing of claws around her ears. You could be tricked into letting your guard down for less but Sylvanas knew that she had Jaina under her claw and if not then she would spank Jaina into submission without trouble.

Sylvanas could even go as far as scratching Jaina’s legs in return. Her spotter should be spotless and clean-clean because the best jezzail gunners made clean shots, yes-yes! Nothing less would do.

And any little vermin so much as thinking of crawling about Sylvanas’s favourite – least intolerable – rat would face her wrath and be crushed under her thumb.

She should have Jaina take her leg clothes off. They got in the way of Sylvanas inspecting her underling.

Some other time. She got sleep-sleepy from Jaina clawing and pawing along her ears…

Jaina cheat-cheated…yes-yes…

***

”Up, you detestable worms! Time to march-march!”

Jaina and Sylvanas crawled out of each other’s grip and checked with the experienced paranoia of long-serving gunners that all their stuff was present, in appropriate pieces and un-trapped.

Another march under Warlord Nurglitch.

It was boring.

“This is worthless-useless.” Jaina whined.

“Quiet, worm. You will attract attention. ”Now listen-listen. Here are we.”

Sylvanas pointed at a crudely drawn tunnel plan she had just made in the sand.

“Here is the Warlord quarter.”

Jaina’s tail twitched when she followed.

“And here…is the parking lot for Warlord Nurglitch’s doom flayers…”