Year of the Rat

by Thehappypuppet

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Warhammer, Rainbow Dash, Other, Fluttershy, Adventure, Violence, Crossover
Length: 6628

Caught in the treachery and backstabbing of his verminous race, a notorious warlord finds himself stranded in a colorful land of ponies. In a world of such peace, can Equestria muster enough strength to stop the menace below?

Over its long history, the land of Equestria has come to endure several threats to its existence. Wether it be the tyranny of King Sombra, or the unpredictabile chaos sown by Discord, evil has always attempted to make its presence known to the world. Fortunately, the magic of friendship has succeeded in stamping out each and every threat to harmony.

Can the land of ponies dare to stand, however, against a threat not of their world? Could they hope to stop an enemy more numerous than even thought possible?

Ungraciously spit from his own world, a notorious warlord prepares to expand his empire in a land full of colorful ponies. With a massive horde of twisted ratmen at his back, Queek Headtaker will make sure his name is feared across Equestria.

Published 2018-12-01 18:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-12-01 18:10:02 UTC

Hop, Skitter, and a Jump

Author's Note

After several years, I have once more decided to write on this website. Unlike my previous stories, this one obviously focuses on fantasy rather than horror; a new writing field I have yet to practice in. As always, feedback and constructive criticism is encouraged. I hope you enjoyed the first of many chapters in the Ratmen’s journey.

Hop, Skitter, and a Jump

It was an unusually cheerful and bright morning throughout the whole of Ponyville. Celestia’s brilliant sun was shining brightly over her beloved citizens as they went about their daily routine. A few puffy clouds dotted the world above, courtesy of a the local Pegasi. The white puffs offered diversity to the baby blue color of the sky and provided intermittent areas of shade to the residents below. A slight breeze carried the gentle scent of spring across the sprawling land, reminding all that the good times were indeed present.

It was a perfect day.

Just outside of Ponyville, in the surrounding woodlands, a certain Pegasus had recently finished serving the native animals their midday meal. All manner of wildlife had emerged from their homes, more than happy to indulge in free food. Amongst the diverse variety of woodland creatures, Fluttershy felt truly at peace. Taking a moment to watch them enjoy their food, she was overjoyed to see how many had shown for their lunch. It seemed as if every other day a new animal had managed to find her home. Sometimes, she had found herself wondering whether there was enough food to go around, but the modest Pegasus had always found a way to offer food to any new arrivals. Satisfied with her work, Fluttershy walked through the conglomerate of her furry friends into her humble abode.

Inside, she was greeted with the much-welcomed sight of even more critters. Rabbits, squirrels, possums, and a few other animals were all reaching the end of their lunch. Hungry animals skittered back and forth, eating and also enjoying the company of their furry brethren. The soft pitter-patter of paws on wood provided only a slight clamor to the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of the room. Fluttershy watched as a few fast eaters slowly made their way out of her home and back to the forest. She bid them farewell as they left, assuring her little friends that they were always welcome in her cottage.

A few impatient taps on the leg brought the pony’s attention to her hoofs; Angle Bunny was glaring up at his owner with the usual frustrated stare. Head unmoving, he pointed to the direction of his barren food bowl. Fluttershy felt a sense of shame crawl over her.

“Oh My; Angel, I am so sorry. I thought I already feed you. I’ll get your food right now.” The small rabbit furiously shook his head in frustration; however, his action went unnoticed as Fluttershy swiftly moved to feed her friend. Watching as she quickly disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smack his tiny paw against his face. Letting the fleeting moment of annoyance pass, the rabbit quickly moved to his empty bowl, just in time for Fluttershy to hurriedly enter the room, a basket of carrots clutched between her teeth. The yellow Pegasus smiled (basket in mouth) at her Angle, only for the rabbit to quite forcefully kick the brown wall adjacent to the pair.

Fluttershy failed to stifle a quick yelp as the sound of muffled scampering answered the rabbit’s thump.

She heard the sound travel quite rapidly down the wall, ending with the recognizable thud of an object hitting wood. It was at this point that Fluttershy noticed a small hoof-sized hole on the very bottom of the wall. Following the mild cacophony, a tiny carrot lazily rolled from the darkness of the opening and into view. Upon close inspection, the vegetable seemed to have been riddled with several shallow chisels.

Fluttershy remained apprehensive for a good few seconds, but immediately felt her tension relieve upon decoding her current situation. Though this particular hole was foreign to her, she had had enough rodent friends to recognize their trademark doorway. Pausing for a brief moment, she placed her carrot-filled basket gently to the floor. Humbling herself, Fluttershy brought herself low to the wall.

“Hello friend, you don’t have to hide. If you want, you can come out and have all the food you want.” Fluttershy warmly smiled as she tried to coax the unknown rodent into the open. Unlike his owner, Angle stood cross-armed, not approving the kind Pegasus’s attitude towards the food thief.

Her soft and reassuring voice had worked its usual charm. Slowly, but surely, a rather large rodent slinked out from the darkness of the hole. When the animal had fully emerged, Fluttershy realized the rarity of the occasion.

A... a rat?

A large black rat to be precise, it’s tail easily the length of its dark body. It wasn’t fear of the animal that surprised her, but rather the very fact that it had come for food seemed rather out of the ordinary. Though the Pegasus was quite accustomed to the presence of the common mouse, she rarely found herself graced by their larger cousin. She often wondered why, but simply assumed that they never had a problem finding something to eat, being a rat and all. Perhaps the animal had sought the Pegasus’s house, failing to find proper sustenance in the wild? Fluttershy grimaced, the thought of any creature starving had always made her feel ill.

The frantic sound of skittering paws drew her attention back to the rat, or rather, the spot where the rat had been. Angle had taken the opportunity to make a mad dash towards his stolen carrot, sending the black rodent scampering quickly back into the safety of the cottage wall.

“Angle! You know we don’t treat our guests like that.” The Pegasus shifted her focus from her bunny back toward the hole. “I’m sorry Mr. Rat, can you please come back out. I’ve got plenty of food for you.” Once more, Fluttershy’s reassuring voice lured the rodent from hiding. Seemingly wary of the white rabbit, the rat slowly made its way towards the much friendlier equine. Fluttershy gently nudged the basket of orange vegetables closer to the approaching animal. Either a sudden trust in Angle or a severe lack of food prompted the rat to quickly drop its guard and begin devouring the fresh carrots.

Watching the ongoing feast, Fluttershy took the chance to place herself next to her currently pouting pet rabbit. Fluttershy held a few carrots out for her fuzzy white friend, only to be met with Angle’s stubborn refusal. His steadfast defiance quickly caved to his own sense of hunger, and the rabbit begrudgingly took the food from a chuckling Pegasus.

As she watched them both eat, Fluttershy couldn’t help feel sorry for the rat. Out of the world’s many animals, it was the rats who seemed to be the most misunderstood. She knew that many despised them for their destructive ways, though she felt as if she was the only one who understood their motives: rats are like all other animals, and like any other animal, they did only what was necessary to survive. There was no such thing as an “evil” rat, rather, there were only rats trying their very best to stay alive.

With all of her heart, The Element of Kindness truly believed rats were misunderstood.

A choking fog lay heavy across the whole of the abandoned city.

Cloistered away from the rest of civilization, the ancient metropolis stood silent. The whole of the city was slowly decomposing, seemingly falling apart in unison with the surrounding marshlands. Various buildings had begun to sink into the dank mud of the terrain, swallowed up by the greedy earth. The local winds arrived and left in unpredictable sessions; a strangely tranquil calm replaced with the howling winds echoing the wail of the past city’s former inhabitants.

Near the outer layer of the city, stunted patches of vegetation grew in sporadic clusters, occupying the once bustling streets. A few blackened stalks protruded as well, though they stood barren of any produce, naked as if they had been stripped clean. Stray debris lie abandoned amidst the muck and foliage, their presence a testament to times long forgotten. The streets lie barren of any life, save for the occasional rat.

Many a budding adventure had tried their luck and explored the ruined metropolis, though very few discuss what they have seen. Should one (foolishly) choose to delve deeper into the city’s center, they would be quite disappointed to find little change in their surroundings. Those keen of hearing, however, would begin to notice a muted hum in the air. Choosing to venture further, they would come to realize the hum grow in volume. Most of these adventures, frightened by the increasingly unsettling atmosphere, had forfeited their journey and fled in shame to their homelands.

Those who mustered the courage to press on with their trek seldom spoke of what they had seen. Many who had returned kept quiet about their expedition, knowing what happened to those who are vocal. Once respected adventures and scholars had been decried as mad by their peers, while others were accused fabricating their experience in its entirety.

Near the heart of the city, the massive silhouette of a once-grandiose castle could be seen standing alongside other equally tall structures. The fog hung heaviest here, obscuring much of the view into the town’s center. What had originated as a barely audible hum now cut through the air in the form of a screaming mechanical cacophony. Through the fog, masses of humanoid forms could be made out scurrying to and from the city’s center. From the bowls of the castle, sudden bright bursts of sickly green light assisted in illuminating the foggy grounds, revealing the utter horrors hidden away from the eyes of the world.

Rats the size of men made their way to and from the center of the evil city, hurried along by the cruel sound of whips. Dirt caked fur covered a majority of their gaunt bodies, with only the thinnest of rags covering their hides. Children of chaos, the mutated Ratmen scurried on their hind legs in a twisted mockery man. They effortlessly advanced through the haze, their beady red eyes well accustomed to the poor light. A din of rapid chittering emanated from the horde, replaced only by painful squeals garnered from a cruel lashing brought about by their superiors. Even in such disgraced of a state, they persisted to demonstrate their species’ inclination for treachery. Each plotted to sabotage their fellow neighbor, hoping that their brethren’s failure would serve to better their own standing. They tried their best to show significance, hoping to break the bonds of their wretched lives. The pitiful bunch were the slaves, the lowest echelon of Skaven society.

Those who made their way into the inner city bore recently harvested food, a vital resource necessary to feed the growing Skaven empire.

Like an iceberg, the capital city of Skavenblight only revealed a very small portion of its size to the outside world. Underneath the surface of the seemingly abandoned city and the surrounding area, a massive labyrinth of tunnels and caverns spidered through the depths of the world. In the chaos of these workings, the true extent of the Ratmen’s “Under-Empire” was revealed.

The rat’s society quite eerily mirrored that of the surface dwellers they so deeply despised. Many would find themselves morbidly surprised by the sophistication of the verminous society. Throughout the nexus of caverns, the common multitudes of Skaven went about the duties entailed in their short lives. Each rat in the endless stream belonged to one of the numerous Skaven factions, earning these vermin the title of “Clanrat”. The Clanrats went about their daily lives in service of their respective clans, reliant on their leaders for food. When not called to fight, the numerous commoners of Skavenblight found themselves toiling away in the city’s numerous factories. Those blessed with actual currency made their way to the crowded marketplace. Bustling trade hubs and other places of business occupied the more populous areas of the subterranean capital. Rats haggled tirelessly with the many shopkeepers, yet always found themselves walking away with the worst possible “bargain”.

Amidst the sea of brown fur, rumors and lies filtered through the mass like a nasty infection. Secrets were traded seamlessly amongst the Ratmen, provided proper payment was met. Especially aspiring rats strategically placed themselves amongst the crowd, hoping to overhear something of value. Passerbys found themselves frequently stopped by their armed kin, collecting an absorbent payment as toll for travel through the tunnels.

On certain occasions throughout the day, the cacophonous atmosphere of Skavenblight’s overflowing tunnels was silenced by the all-powerful bong of bells. Ratmen of every social level stopped and paused in personal prayer. Not a single Skaven acted out of turn, fearing the wrath of their verminous god (as well as the prying eyes of their scheming neighbors). The bells were struck thirteen times, allowing the Ratmen to offer prayers of bitter hate in favor of their supreme deity, the Horned Rat. Virtually every Skaven believed and feared their god, giving immense power to his worldly priests: the Grey Seers. Following the conclusion of the tolling bells, life resumed as usual in the great Under-Empire

Overshadowed by the usual din and treachery of the subterranean capital, the rather long caravan of carts and soldiers went relatively unnoticed.

Grey Seer Crittkin impatiently paced his quarters. Hastily dug out of the earth by a team of slaves, the hollow chamber seemed far smaller than what the rat had usually been accustomed to. Wooden tables and shelves hid the dirt walls of the chamber from view. Several musty tomes, worn down by both age and use, lined the lengths of the shelves. Most prominent amongst the collection were those devoted to religious worship; books pertaining to the study of arcane sciences also littering the shelving space. Cluttering the tables were intricate blueprints, detailing many sorts of complex contraptions. Rat skin parchments bearing excessive military information were stacked in the main table’s center, their overseer having recently checked them for error. Recently added by request, a large mirror had been wheeled into the room. Currently propped up against a barren shelf, the Skaven paused to admire his reflection as he passed by.

The Grey Seer wore the religious robes traditional of his rank, their off-white color seeming to highlight the vibrant white fur of the wearer. A red shawl adorned with fetid symbols of worship hung loosely along his shoulders. Religious paraphernalia of all sorts clung to his waist, fastened on by the Seer’s belt. A smoothed green stone hovered above his stomach, held in place by the length of an iron necklace. A lone symbol was carved into both sides of the shard. The inscribed triangle gave off a slight glow; a product of the warpstone’s raw power, as well as the pure hate of a verminous god. A similar stone rested atop the twisted body of his wooden staff, a further extension of the sorcerer’s power. Though his clothing undoubtedly signified authority, his horns let every Skaven immediately know who he was. Twisted in the same manner as a goat, his horned skull was a physical sign of his god’s blessing; truly the Grey Seers were favored among the infernal Horned Rat.

Crittkin continued circling the room in silent turmoil, red eyes glaring fiercely at his paws. He stuck forcefully at the ground with his staff, as if the very earth itself had been the cause of his problems. It had taken nearly two years of planning, but through sheer strength of will (and the lives of several worthless slaves), the rat sorcerer had managed to see the project through. Like all his fellow Skaven, Crittkin felt nothing but pure animosity towards the several other races that inhabited their world, yet no single species earned their hate as the Dwarfs.

The greatest check to the ever-growing Under-Empire was the numerous Dwarf strongholds and keeps that dotted the known world. Though it is the will of the Horned Rat to see his children infest the world, the past few years had seen the Dwarfs quite stubbornly refuse to surrender a single inch of their ancestral soil. So resolute was their recent defiance that it drew the attention of the all-powerful Skaven oligarchy: the Council of Thirteen. Warlords representing the twelve most powerful clans (the thirteenth seat reserved symbolically for the Horned Rat himself), the council schemed to strike down their ancient enemy. For several months the rats carefully planned. Though not all were quite ready to agree, there came to be a simple yet effective solution to the dwarf problem.

Initially proposed by the Lord Warlock of the scientifically experienced Clan Skryre, the plan had gained relatively quick traction amongst the members. Attacking the fortified Dwarf cities was futile; waves of verminous bodies did have a limit. Instead of an overt assault, a greater cunning would be required to secure a Skaven victory. If the Ratmen could not destroy their foe from the outside, perhaps they could do so from within.

Unlike other races, the Dwarfs were also masters of the world’s under-workings, making out tunneling them a challenge. It had therefore been proposed that the rats use not their natural skills, but rather their scientific and magical advances to aid in their goal. Masters of the arcane science, Clan Skryre quickly set to bring about the council’s plans. Following much trial and error, the mad scientists had brought about the Skaven’s newest advancement: long-range teleportation.

Crittkin had been the Grey Seer assigned to oversee the project, given his demonstrated interest in the scientific arts. While he was nowhere near as proficient as Skryre’s acolytes, he was able to grasp the basics of their work. Though the machine they had constructed was quite impressive, it was by no means perfect. The current mechanism was, in fact, the only surviving model, the other devices having been ultimately destroyed by critical malfunctions. Fortunately for those involved, this one had undergone several successful test runs.

Another hurdle in the project was the efficiency of the device itself. Originally, it had been planned to teleport a massive Skaven horde within the great keep of the Dwarf High King, using both their surprise and numbers to quickly extinguish opposition. It was soon discovered that such a feat would be impossible, however, as the machine had finite limitations. The small trial runs had required massive quantities of incredibly valuable warpstone to operate. Furthermore, a rather large period of several months was required before the machine could be used again, eliminating their ability to quickly send for reinforcements.

It was quite obvious that a much more subtle approach would need to be taken. Rather than reveal their intentions with a sudden surprise attack, the Skaven would instead infiltrate undetected. The ever-reaching network of Skaven spies had located had a previously undiscovered level underneath the Dwarf king’s mountainous domain. Though a normal army would easily be spotted attempting to sneak in, the Dwarfs would never notice a difference should their enemy materialize from thin air.

A relatively small force of nearly a thousand Skaven would be sent to the depths of the Dwarf kingdom. They would be extremely well equipped, given the very best supplies the Council could offer. From there, the Ratmen would bide their time, making any preparations necessary for the coming attack. Though they would be taking take their hated foes by surprise, such a small number of rats could never pose any real threat to the steadfast resolute of the Dwarfs; a problem that could easily be solved by swelling their verminous numbers once underneath. Over a dozen monstrous Rat Mothers would accompany the Skaven, existing only to further the numbers of the battle-ready rats.

It was truly a clever plan, one that Crittkin had been humbled to partake. He was almost sad it wouldn’t go accordingly.

The relative silence of the room was broken by the increasingly audible sound of someone approaching the Grey Seer’s quarter. The Skaven brought his attention to the room’s opening, his eyes meeting the gaze of a fellow white rat. Unlike Crittkin, he was adorned in the blandest of robes; the small tips of two horns peaked out from behind the Skaven’s ears. Crittkin eyed his young apprentice with annoyance.

“Once more, young-foolish Chilk arrives unannounced. Squeak-tell, what is the cause of this interruption?” Almost by nature, the juvenile initiate lowered his body, quickly humbling himself before his master. Crittkin grinned at his underling's utter subservience.

“Most powerful-mighty of the Horned One’s chosen, I have come with important news, the hordes of Clan Mors have arrived.”

“What?!” Crittkin quickly moved passed his concerned underling and hurried out the door. He made his way through the narrow tunnel, his personal guards summarily abandoning their posts to accompany the sorcerer. The dirt walls blurred as he made haste towards his destination. The Grey Seer noticed an unusual commotion as he neared the main clearing.

Not yet. Please, by the Horned One, please not yet. His mental pleas did him little good; As he exited the clearing, he was greeted by the crimson banners of Clan Mors. His face seemed to pail even beneath his white fur. The Headtaker had arrived.

Later...

Rainbow Dash soared through the brilliant sky above Ponyville. Her brightly colored mane fluttered against the wind, the rainbow streaks creating a dazzling haze in her wake. So far, she had been having her ideal day. The cyan Pegasus watched the ground speed by in a blur below as she perfected her aerial talents. After a few more daunting maneuvers, Rainbow Dash had decided to take a short break, resting on a nearby cloud.

The mare sighed, content with her routine thus far. Leaning over the cloud’s edge, towards the semi-distant town. It looked so small; a quiet cluster of buildings dotting the otherwise wild landscape. The peaceful nature of her surroundings left the mare feeling somewhat... bored. Though she knew it was a little selfish, part of the mare wanted nothing more than for some monster to charge out of the forest. It had been several weeks since Rainbow Dash and her friends had vanquished King Sombra. In the time that followed, no other threat had made itself known to Equestria.

Gazing into the lands below, Dash prepared to continue her exercises. About to jump from the cloud, the Pegasus found her attention diverted upward. Far above the usual cloud line, a previously unseen black smog had amassed in the sky. Dark tendrils of fog quickly appeared to be drawn to an unseen center. Sombra was the very first thing that came to the mare’s mind.

“Better be careful of what you wish for, huh?” Rainbow laughed somewhat awkwardly to herself. On instinct, she prepared to dart from her cloud and (quite rashly) engage the king. Just as they had spontaneously appeared, however, the dark mass almost instantly dissipated. The confused Pegasus blinked twice, not sure if she could trust her eyes. The ordinary baby blue showed zero signs of any foreign presence. “Weird.”

The Pegasus sat for a moment in hesitation. Had her eyes really been playing tricks on her? She had almost been certain she saw the black vortex, yet it had vanished in the blink of an eye. She quickly came to a conclusion; she was going to practice her flying anyway, and it would not matter where she flew to. The Element of Loyalty leaped from the cloud, seeking to find the truth to the disturbance.

Queek Headtaker swiftly entered the chamber. His elite bodyguard of Stormvermin marched at his front and rear, forming an armored column of crimson red. As they entered the large space, the former occupants took great care to distance themselves from the warlord. They avoided the dark-furred Skaven as if it were death itself; Queek grinned, they weren’t wrong.

It had been several weeks since he had made his march towards Skavenblight. The warlord had initially objected to his master’s call. Why must he leave the battlefields of the heavily contested Eight Peaks, a place flooding with countless future victims for the Headtaker? It was not in his place, however, to question Lord Gnawdwell, let alone the Council of Thirteen. Reluctantly, the warlord left his traditional stronghold and made for the capital.

When he had been informed of his mission, Queek’s annoyance was quickly replaced with insatiable excitement. He spent the remainder of his journey fantasizing his battle with the Dwarf High-King: a challenger truly worthy of the Headtaker.

”A battle-fight for all of the world to tell of, yes-yes?”

”Even those in the empire shall soon fear the Headtaker”

Queek had already cleared a special spot on his trophy rack in preparation for the moment.

He looked upwards to his trophies, advancing further into the area. Fixated to wooden stakes upon his red plate armor were the skulls of his greatest enemies. They seemed to stare back at him in reassurance, the Skaven seeming to listen as if they gave him unheard advice. His red eyes shifted to the single pair of human hands he had strung alongside his other mementos. The limbs had long since been removed from their owner, yet Queek’s mind focused on them as they seemed to gesture forward. He followed their direction, annoyance rising as his gaze fell upon some hated sorcerer.

The horned Skaven noticeable recoiled under the sudden shift of focus. The few guards and apprentice inched ever so slightly behind their master, hoping to avoid the attention of the infamous warlord. Mad eyes looked to the seer, probing for further signs of weakness. His trophies followed their owner's vision, judging the newcomer with blank sockets. A brief fire of familiarity kindle deep inside Queek’s fractured mind; the rat seemed familiar.

He quickly brushed the thought aside. All white-furs were more or less the same. Queek frowned at his hate for the Grey Seers. The scheming, backstabbing priests were the embodiment of everything wrong with Skaven society. He had dealt with them in the past, forced to endure their arrogant ways.

Still, however, he could not help but feel a familiarity around the rat.

“Greetings, warlord of the most powerful-strong Clan Mors,” Queek was quickly dragged to reality by the smooth-tongued flattery of the seer. “We were not expecting such an early arrival, I shall send for servant-slaves to escort you to your newly made and spacious burrow.”

Any other Skaven would readily bask in such praise, from a Grey Seer no less; Queek was not the average Skaven.

From experience, the warlord had come to learn that the Seers came in two varieties: most were outright arrogant, quick to use their status as leverage to push their plans forward. Their headstrong personalities had led them to constantly butt heads with the Headtaker (sometimes to predictable results). The others, however, were far less direct with their true nature. They were the greatest masterminds, their flattering words a guise to mask their true cunning. They were vermin who had mastered the true ways of the Skaven. Queek knew instantly the rat before him belonged to the latter.

”schemers, liars, treacherous vermin.” He hated them most of all.

Fortunately, the Right-Claw of Mors was no fool; Queek had always taken precaution to stay ahead of his backstabbing “allies”. He had received word that the Council’s device was currently operational and (mostly) reliable. Despite this fact, the warlord had not received an official summons from the horned overseer. The Headtaker would not let his rival stall his moment of glory.

“Stop with your chittering; Queek comes when he wants to come,” the sudden statement proved to quickly quite the rambling Grey Seer. The warlord spoke forcefully, his quick tangents intermittently broken only to draw breath; Queek had little time for the Seer’s False praise. “White-fur does not control Queek, no rat does. Now tell me, White-fur, why do you wait to attack-kill the Dwarf-things, does the Horned Rat favor lazy-slow servants?” The Headtaker tittered as the once humble Grey Seer visibly struggled to mask his anger (he loved when they did that). The warlord watched with amusement as the white wizard regained his friendly facade.

“Forgive the warlock-engineers of Skryer, they have been struggling to keep-make the slaves work. They have informed me-“ Queek’s growing laughter stole the cheap words from the Seer’s dishonest mouth. The Headtaker suddenly lunged forward and grasped the startled rat by his slack collar. A light chime emanated from the Grey Seer’s adornments as he was hoisted off the ground by the larger Skaven. The Seer’s staff feel from the rat’s unprepared paws. Queek brought the shocked vermin mere inches from his own eyes, his twisted smile reflected in the terrified red orbs.

“White-fur lies! Skryer-rats already tell Queek the machine is ready.” The warlord abruptly cocked his head to the side, right ear facing his trophies. The mad rat began to nod, listening for their silent counsel. “What does he scheme of? Maybe he plots, yes, there always scheming. Perhaps White-fur is planning to lead Queek into an ambush-trap, or maybe he had been preparing for one? Is that what happened, White-fur, did Queek come too early for your trap?” The Warlord stared accusingly at the Grey Seer, who tried his best to shrink back despite being caught in the iron grip of the Headtaker.

“No-no, most understanding of warlords, the fools must have forgotten to tell me of their progress. If they say-squeak, it is ready, then we can leave immediately.” Queek continued his hold on the seer, seemingly stuck in deep thought. Without warning, Queek let the white Skaven fall to the dirt.

“Lead the way, White-fur, lead the way.”

Crittkin watched helplessly as the small army of Skaven marched into the large chamber. The newcomers moved further and further into the massive rectangular room. The supplies as well as the caged Broodmothers had been placed in the center. Seemingly random wires spidered along the soothed walls of the space, giving the room a quite alien feel. Acolytes of Clan Skryre moved in between the ever-growing mass of Skaven, performing a hasty final check on the machinery.

As they had made their journey to the teleportation chamber, Crittkin had found himself constantly under the gaze of the insufferable warlord. Much to his annoyance, Queek has been adamant on keeping him in his sight, not at all convinced that the Grey Seer was his ally. He angrily stamped his paw, he remembered the Headtaker to be more dull. Crittkin was growing more and more paranoid; his master plan seemed to be slipping away.

Had Queek arrived when he was supposed to, Crittkin would have had sufficient time to prepare his surprise. Rather than teleport underneath the Dwarfs, Crittkin had planned to have Queek and his host appear among the dwarfs; right in the center of their High King’s city, similar to the original plan. Without the element of surprise, they would have had no chance against the Dwarf armies. Crittkin could blame the engineers, who would then blame it on the slaves, who would then blame each other. Clan Mors would understandably be angered, yet Crittkin was confident the other clans would (secretly) support him for ridding Skavendom of the cursed Headtaker.

That had been the plan. Now was the time to improvise

Crittkin scanned the swarm of Ratkin in search of anything potentially helpful. Amidst the sea of fur, his vision landed upon an abnormally large box affixed to a part of the wall. Cautiously, he shot a quick glance towards the warlord, more than relieved to see his attention fixed with another, even larger Stormvermin; Crittkin was no longer his first priority.

Moving in quick strides through the crowd, Crittkin swiftly found himself before the bulbous object. Though mostly sealed by metal, a pale green glow emanated from the creases. He could sense the provocative energy of the warpstone power-source inside. Many a rat knew of the substance’s unpredictable nature; tampering with the stone always invited the possibility of a destructive explosion (a relatively tame outcome compared to other known risks). Fortunately, warpstone was an old friend of the Grey Seer, who had been required to study it over the course of his training.

Cautiously, Crittkin razed the tip of his warpstone infused staff to the surface of the contraption. He released a short burst of arcane energy into the box, careful not to dramatically overcharge its contents. The slight glow from earlier had intensified into a sickly green shine. Nervous excitement raced through his mind, he had seen nearly the same glow during the failed trial runs. Satisfied with his actions, Crittkin slipped back into the crowd. The room had almost been filled to the brim with bodies and supplies; the moment of truth had finally arrived. Not wanting to experience the fruits of his labor first hand, he casually made his way to the gated entrance. Pushing and shoving through his lessers, the Grey Seer wearily eyed the warlord’s trophies, the only part of him visible amidst the hoard of his army. After what had felt like several minutes, Crittkin arrived before the exit. Young Chilk awaited his return just outside of the threshold, along with a few members of the Seer’s guard.

Crittkin walked confidently toward his escape. He had truly done it, he had bested the mighty Queek. The brute strength and stupidity of the Headtaker had been no match for the Horned Rats chosen. Yes, truly Crittkin was most favored by-

The Seer paused, he realized the trophies were no longer in sight

“Where does White-fur scurry-flee to?” The accusative voice surprised Crittkin, bringing his attention to his to the Skaven at his side. The warlord stood, once more staring intently at the Seer, who had miserably failed to keep the warlord in his sights. Queek loomed before him, strangely calm: a predator daring its prey to make the first move. Reeling his back towards the exit, Crittkin slowly edged his way backward.

“There are a few things I must review with the engineers, I will return in less than a skitterleap, mighty warlord.” Slightly shaking at the legs, the Seer was dwarfed by the large shadow of the the advancing rat.

“Queek hears many words; Queek hears many lies. Squeak-tell, why does White-fur flee? Is he scared, but of what? Why does he leave this place, why?” Queek cautiously advanced, matching the speed of Crittkin. The terrified form of his apprentice appeared at his side, Crittkin having stepped beyond the room’s boundary. The Seer’s eyes raised from the floor to the Headtaker’s infamous spiked maul and serrated sword, fastened tightly to his waists, growing ever more paranoid as their owners paws crept toward their hilts.

“I can assure you-you, lord of Mors, that I only need a few moments of leave. Surely you can find-seek just a little understanding, most forgiving, generous, humble-“

Crittkin hastily shoved Chilk into the Headtaker.

Jumping back, Crittkin turned to the gate operator, “Close the gate, Now-Now!” The thick sheet of metal fell from the ceiling with a loud crash, quickly followed by the sound of pounding

Caught in a sudden spell of rage, Queek Headtaker through the squealing rat to the side and struck viciously at the barrier with his mace. The Clanrats closet to outburst quickly backed away, a sense of fear slowly spreading throughout the room. As the machine came to life, the room was blanketed in an illuminating green. The warlord’s furry only grew more intense, rising with the light of the room.

“No one can kill Queek, White-fur, NO ONE! I have faced many-many great enemies; they were strong, you are nothing.” His works seethed outwards from deep within, quick breathing filled the gaps in between his curses, the warlord fueled by a burning fire. “I will not be killed by you, scheming, treacherous rat! We will find you, yes-yes, and then you will join the others.” Queek’s trophy rack trembled violently with its wearer, the fierce rattling adding to the cacophony created by their owner.

Panic had quickly spread throughout the whole of the chamber, the air growing thick with the scent of the Skavens’ fear glands. Driven into panic, terrified Ratmen ran frenzied throughout the chamber, knocking over supplies and their fellow Skaven in the process. A few tried unsuccessful to dig through the metal floors in an effort to escape. In all the commotion, not a single rat went for the gate, none willing to near the Headtaker in his madness.

Queek continued his assault on the door, creating sizable dents in the plating. The warlord swang with unrelenting fury, unleashing his inner rage onto the unyielding wall of metal. The intensity of the attacks did not waver, the Headraker fueled by the thundering voices only he could hear.

“Queek cannot be bested by a Grey Seer! The are still many-many head-spines to take.”

Dropping his sword to the ground, he grasped his maul in both paws for a final swing. A blinding flash obscured his vision; Queek’s swing cut only through air.

There was no explosion, Crittkin frowned.

The Grey Seer waited several moments after the final flash, fearful that Queek was waiting in the silence, ready to ambush the unsuspecting Grey Seer. Unable to stall his curiosity any further, Crittkin ordered his guards to enter the room. The heavy gate was slowly hoisted into the air, allowing two armored rats to cautiously march inside.

“There are no rats in here, master.” Having survived many years in Skaven society, Crittkin knew to never trust any of his kin.

“I hope you speak-tell the truth,Clan Moulder is always in need off flesh for their experiments.” The two guards shifted uncomfortably in their armor, but reiterated their statement: Queek was gone. This was interesting news, to say the least; if Queek and his minions hadn’t been destroyed by an explosion, what had befallen them?

Still wary of treachery, Crittkin entered the chamber with his staff at the ready. The horrified screams from minutes earlier had currently been replaced by an eerie silence. Crittkin’s guards joined him as he made his way across to the sabotaged power source. Feeling his paws along box, the Seer fumbled upon a small latch. With a click, the front of the contraption fell open. Attached to the inside were six shards of precious warpstone. The energy radiating from the racks was incredible, the likes of which the Seer had rarely felt. Crittkin’s placid features twisted into a morbid smile.

The Headtaker had teleported, though not to where he would have liked. Such a powerful charge would have severely interfered with devices accuracy, propelling Queek and his army far from their destination. In fact, it was most likely they had been jettisoned from the world altogether, the warpstone charge most likely distorting reality and sending them into the Realm of Chaos. Such a place would only be a fitting resting place for the Champion of Clan Mors.

The usually restrained Seer could not contain himself any longer. Crittkin turned to his guards, breaking out in a laugh. Oh, how the Horned Rat favored him, helping his genius improvising succeed. He laughed as he started his walk towards the gate; The most feared warlord of all Skavendom stopped by a few feet of metal. He laughed all the more, blissfully unaware of the increasingly green glow.

He screamed at the blinding flash of light.