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You are dragged into another dark chamber, this one noticeably less damp than the one you had spent the last day in. The two large, black-furred rat-men dump you unceremoniously onto the floor, the chains on your wrists and ankles clank as you struggle to straighten yourself. Your escorts take a step back and stand at attention by the door, their halberds held at the ready. "The prisoner as per your request, Lord Gnashik," squeaks one of the Stormvermin.
Slowly, you notice another of the vile rat-men sitting at the far end of the chamber. He is larger even than the black-furred Stormvermin. In the dim light, you can just barely make out the shade of his fur, a dark slate gray. He glares at you balefully, one eye bright and red, the other glows a pale green from the chunk of warpstone set within the socket. "So you are the filthy man-thing who invades my warren-home. Why have you come here-here?" he demands.
"I came searching knowledge," you manage to stammer past parched lips.
"Knowledge of us Skaven, so that you may better know your enemies, eh, man-thing? Well-well, then knowledge of us you shall have," the rat-lord leans back in his throne, which you can dimly see is made of bones, wooden bits, and other pieces of detritus. "We shall teach you of our ways and even let you return to your Man-city to retell what you have learned. Let the others know of us and tremble in terror-fear at knowing we shall inherit the world," squeaks the rat-lord.
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You awaken in utter blackness. All around is the fetid stench of sweat, urine, and waste. You become aware of many other humans around you, pressing their half-naked bodies together to keep warm in the damp coolness. Your back aches from the lashing the Skaven gave you. You shift your position, trying to find relief from the painful wounds upon your back when you relize you are lying in a squishy, unidentifiable muck. "Where am I?" you mutter to no one in particular.
"Slave pit," grunts an unseen voice.
Your head wheels at this new bit of information. All of these humans...slaves of the vile Skaven? You learn from your fellow prisoners that the rat-men use the slave labor to dig new tunnels and at times to serve as food.
Time passes painfully slow in the slave pit. Eventually you hear a creak as a door opens. Other prisoners grunt as they are kicked aside. A pair of large rat-men stand before you and drag you to your feet. You are pulled along and taken back to the chamber where you had first met Lord Gnashik.
You are dumped on the floor before the throne of the rat-lord. You manage to look up and stare defiantly into his smirking face. "Enjoy your time with the other man-things?" he asks. "Never mind, it is now time to return you to your man-home. But in your state, I am unsure if you could-could survive the trek. So I give you a gift." He motions to the Grey Seer, Hrist, who you notice in a corner near a burning brazier.
The albino rat-man reaches into the brazier with a pair of tongs and pulls forth a glowing chunk of blackish-green stone. He draws closer to you and you cringe as Hrist presses the burning rock to your chest. You scream in agony when the Seer twists the rock and presses it hard into your flesh. Finally, he moves away and you look down to see the chunk of warpstone embedded above your heart.
You are once more pulled to your feet by the Stormvermin gueards. "Farewell, man-thing," growls Lord Gnashik. "Return to your man-city now, and warn them...for I am coming and I will destroy-ravage your world." The rat-lord laughs as you are pulled from his chamber.
Sometime later, you are shoved through a narrow tunnel and into the blinding light of day. You cover your eyes in pain and kneel to the ground, letting the sunshine spill over your battered body. Eventually, you recover enough to glance about. You have a vague notion of where you are, only about a half of a day's walk from your home. You stumble to your feet and stagger in the direction of home.
As you journey towards your town, you feel the warpstone giving you energy...allowing you to continue on. You glance down and notice the stone disolving into your flesh, causing the skin to turn black. Nausea overpowers you but you mange to continue on, knowing you will reach your town slightly after nightfall.
Finally, the lights of your town are visible and you nearly run towards the welcoming sight. A pair of town-watch intercept you at the edge of town. You crumble into the supporting arms, muttering "The rats... large...kill us all. Eat and enslave...so many. No time. They come...they come!! Hurry, must...must warn. I know...know them."
You continue to blather and begin to slip into unconciousness. Before the blackness overcomes your senses you hear the guards whispering to each other, "Look, signs of the plague." Blackness swirls about you again.
You awaken and realize you are standing. Rope bites into your wrists, and you can feel the tight coil about your chest and around your ankles. The rope holds you tightly to a rough wooden pole. As you gaze about, your blurred vision can make out a throng of your townsfolk in the clearing around you. A guardsman, the end of his cloak clutched over his nose and mouth, approaches you with a burning torch, in horror you look to your feet at the large pile of kindling surrounding you. You begin to scream even before the fire reaches your flesh, and within your head you can hear the cackling laughter of the Horned Rat.
Disclaimer: This site uses material that is trademark of Games Workshop. Games Workshop, Skaven, and Gobbo are trademarks of Games Workshop Ltd. I am not employed by Games Workshop, and this site is in no way affiliated or sponsored by Games Workshop. No challenge to their trademarks is intended. Certain parts of this site use names created by Games Workshop or employees of Games Workshop. The names Clan Skreek, Gnashik, Gurrrit, Hrist, Rathbic, and all others used in battle reports, stories, and new rules were created by myself, unless otherwise noted, and are copyright C. Johnson, 2010.
The names Clan Skreek, Gnashik, Gurrrit, Hrist, Rathbic, and all others used in battle reports, stories, and new rules were created by myself, unless otherwise noted, and are copyright C. Johnson, 2010.