Plots in the Dark

This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery.

Plots in the Dark

Postby Pilgrim Pod » Wed Feb 06, 2013 4:33 pm

In the dark, murky depths underneath the Old World, lying hidden away beneath the huge peaks of the Mountains of Mourn a budding clan of rat-kin dwell in an abandoned hobgoblin mine. What happened to the former occupants they did not know and after dwelling there for nigh on two months now did not care, though the popular theory did involve the regions resident ogres’.

Nestling in the deepest corner beyond the main excavated mine shafts, through a winding series of tunnels, lay hidden a small chamber and its sole occupier was pacing backwards and forwards at a furious pace.

Its frame resembled that of a human but was more hunched and swishing wildly behind its posterior trailed a pink wormlike tail. Where a human face would usually be found there were two blood red orbs placed in its eye sockets, and a verminous snout filled with sharp, needle like teeth. The ratman wore a heavily battle damaged chainmail suit of armour with many of its ringlets broken and missing, exposing matted clumps of blackish brown fur. Spaulders pilfered from a fallen nemesis adorned its shoulders and a filth ridden cloak once the colour of an autumnal orange draped behind the figure.

Warlord Sinlik was in a vile mood and a tempest of rage had been unleashed in the chamber upon the makeshift furniture which adorned it. Splintered wood was strewn all across the earthen floor but one destroyed item in particular drew the eye to it.

Glinting in the dull, warpstone lantern light, lying in a heap was the remnants of an ornate elven chair. It had once had a throne like appearance about it and had been presented to the warlord as a gift and tithe from one of his highest ranking chieftains.

Clan Clors had been raiding small dark elven settlements out in the Howling Wastes in recent weeks to acquire weapons, armour and slaves to bolster the newly founded clan, not forgetting to mention food sources to sustain the growing force. The skirmishes also served to keep Sinlik’s minions minds busy and any possible scheming against him to a minimum. Or so he had hoped...

The clan leader composed himself and let forth a loud short squeak. A head appeared around the rooms’ entrance and flitted back out of sight. Sinlik squeaked again with more than a little impatience lacing its tone, and the skitterish figure dashed in hunched over and prostrated itself at the warlords’ clawed feet.

An odour sweet to Sinlik’s snout filled the cramped room, the scent of a lesser, subservient skaven venting its musk glands in a mixture of respect and fear for its superior.

‘Cease-stop with that Belneek...’ chittered the warlord through stained, razor sharp teeth. ‘As a chieftain your service to the clan and my rule pleases me much-lots...’

The lesser ratmans head lifted from the earth in surprise at the praise heading his direction and his gaze met with Sinlik’s. An evil grin spread across the warlords muzzle exposing those deadly teeth again.

‘For your loyalty I have a gift-reward for you chieftain...’ With a wave of his disturbed mockery for a human hand, two brutish stormvermin were ushered into the make-shift room, members of Sinlik’s personal bodyguard.

An intoxicating stench of fear assailed the warlords’ nostrils. But the odour wasn’t emanating from the black guards. Clenched in their massive paws was a much smaller skaven.

The skaven was clad in the garb of clan Eshin, the clan of assassins, available to hire for almost any other clan for the right price. Its clothing was in tatters, torn to shreds, and the ratman wasn’t in much better shape itself. Deeply gouged wounds were weeping dark crimson blood beneath its cloth attire.

The relief on Belneek’s face was washed away in an instant, and his eyes widened with shock and fear, before quickly giving way to a calmer expression as he regained his composure.

‘You know this thing?’ asked Sinlik. The question wasn’t a question in truth but more of a statement to be precise.

‘No-no most powerful Warlord-leader.’ whispered the chieftain, trying to retain his calm and straining his glands to stop them venting any give away sign of deceit.

Like a warpfire bolt Sinlik sprung towards Belneek, striking him with enough force to send shards of broken teeth flying from his muzzle across the cavern, and sending his victim tumbling onto his back upon the floor. Survival instincts kicked into play, and not knowing what better to do the chieftain flipped over, and crawled on his belly towards his clan leaders feet, and began confessing through mumbles and half sentences to knowing the Eshin skaven but no more. Sinlik crouched down and raised his lessers chin and like poisoned daggers, drew his eyes into the other ratmans, who looked away terrified of meeting his gaze for fear of it looking like a challenge.

‘I know you bribed-paid this assassin to kill me.’ roared Sinlik who then stood and stepped towards the prisoner, swiping a clawed hand at the restrained assassins face, drawing fresh blood.

Belneek tried to deny the accusation, but the warlord closed his hand around his chieftain’s bloodied snout and whispered menacingly ‘Think carefully about what you squeak-say next, for my patience is thinning and I tire-bore of this game...’

With a nod from Belneek, the warlord released him from his grip, and the acknowledgement Belneek had tried to slay his master with the assassin as his tool came flooding out.

That same evil smile crossed Sinlik’s face again. ‘I not so easily die you foolish maggot-worm! Clan Eshin...’ Sinlik spat at the battered assassin, ‘They not so good if this dung-poo is anything to go by. He was not so sneaky-sneaky. I could hear and smell his foul breath like a beast-child of Chaos in the dark, and in the dark this pitiful creature-worm shall remain!’

With that Sinlik lunged at the Eshin skaven and gouged deeply into his eye sockets, sending remnants of fleshy eyeballs and sinew exploding from their cavity, splattering the garments of all present. The assassin screamed out in pain and terror falling to the ground in agony as Sinlik pulled away.

Laughing maniacally the warlord turned to his stormvermin and ordered ‘Let this wretch heal-mend its wounds and then we shall release it as sport for the slaves. Then we shall see how long it live-fares. Clan Eshin...’ and with that Sinlik snorted and spat again at the mutilated skaven, straight into its face. ‘Go-take it away!’

With that the stormvermin loyally obeyed, dragging the kicking and squeak-screaming skaven out of the room and into the dark tunnels.

‘Reward-gift time maggot-worm...’ whispered Sinlik to his distraught chieftain, and with that the Clan Clors warlord grabbed Belneek by the throat and pulled him face to face. ‘Let this be a lesson to those who would wish-like to usurp my leadership...’

Before the sentence had finished, a glint of steel caught Sinlik’s eye in the dim light. Belneek believing his leader had dropped his guard and made a grave mistake in dismissing his personal body guards, was trying to gain the initiative and upper hand to save his mangy skin from the death surely to come his way soon for his betrayal, pulled a concealed dagger from his tattered garments and stabbed for the warlord’s chest. But in truth, Sinlik had done no such thing.

You would never become leader of a clan in the first place making such simple and deadly errors...

As fast as lightning Sinlik, using his tail as a third appendage, pulled out a blade of his own and pushing away his body from his lieutenants using his own hands, brought it down hard on his would be assailants wrist, severing the dagger wielding hand from its owner.

‘I would have hoped the lesson of betraying me and its repercussions would have been learnt-known by now maggot-worm. It seems not...’ And with that Sinlik lunged at Belneek and buried his teeth into the others throat, tearing it clean out.

The red light of the chieftains eyes faded and they closed as sinew and red gore sprayed from the mortal wound, onto the warlord and across the caverns floor. Belneek’s body went limp and collapsed in a messy pile upon the blood soaked earth.

‘Peons who do not know their station have no place in MY clan...’ declared out loud Sinlik to himself.

With that he pounced upon the twitching corpse and fed with gusto, tearing flesh with tooth and claw, splattering the small caverns walls with more blood and gristle.

All this expressing his authority had left the warlord gut painfully ravished with the black hunger and it needed to be sated. Once satisfied, Sinlik rose to his feet and called for some clanrats to clear up the gory mess which were the remains of Belneek.

‘Time to hand out a promotion...’ chittered the warlord. ‘Looks like there is an opening for a new chieftain...’ Then cackling, the Clan Clors leader dashed off himself into the dark tunnel systems of his lair.
Pilgrim Pod
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Joined: Wed Feb 06, 2013 4:26 pm

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