Nahwa's eye twitched. "The Ark still resonates deep in the caverns. I have only simmered the evil that lies within it's engines." Rumbled the ghastly voice. Finishing his sentence, Nahwa raised his palms over the scying pool, and the watery body of the Ark spashed into the abyss under the wet claws of a disappointed Anglermaw. Of course Nahwa would never willingly assist Anglermaw; he was Skaven after all. Even the Toad-thing's disembodied words were rife with hidden contempt -- the Sea-Rat knew well enough that he was unanimously reviled...
...He simply struggled to find the power within himself to care, Anglermaw had never lost sleep over the opinion that food held over him.
Then - from the cerulean remains of the scying waters - did Nahwa puppet the figures of two Skaven. They were vividly different in appearance and fashion, even if those around Anglermaw could not tell between the nuances that Skyre and Pestilens held. One Ratman draped in ragged, hastily stitched linen, holding a wooden staff between his arms that was laced with a row of pygmy skulls. An odious aura wreathed across the robed figure, an arcane plague made visible to the naked eye. Gargled queekish echoed from the monk's lips, chanting some strange hymm to the Horned One, but none paid attention to the babble. For any Skink within Tzlipectl to have knowledge of the Skaven's foul language would have been heretical.
The latter Skaven was an unholy almagation of fur, steel and warpstone. A constant whir followed the goggled creature upon every spasm of the black hunger. His left claw was replaced by a huge drill which grinded upon the insidious warpstone, glowing shards were sent scattered across a metal interior, which Anglermaw recognised as that of the Arks.
Of course the Slann already knew this.
"The Skaven attempt to reactivate the Ark's power through their own means; they are entirely unaware that I alone prevent this." Nahwa explained. "However, this charade will not last forever, there is a conscience inside it's bowels, sleeping for now."
"'Cause the Ark is self-aware!" Anglermaw interrupted, his bloody spittle contanimating the pure scrying water. "It's Uretchen that sleeps wit'in ta' warpstone. What if the monks raise 'im back up with a spell, or if a engineer gives the stone a good poke?!"
Nahwa grumbled, his face visibly contorted from the gutteral Skaven tone that etched upon his ears. "These risks, are why I present you with the offer of your continued existence... And the absolvment of your past sins. You, and your friends shall locate the Ark for me; I shall shatter it piece by piece."
Anglermaw chuckled. "If yer that powerful, why not just raise the Ark from underground yourself?"
"Do not doubt the power of Nahwa-mundi!" Screeched an outraged councillor, hurling a nearby plaque upon his table slab within Anglermaw's direction. While the hurled stone may have missed - instead loudly shattering into a marbled mess nearby the warmblooded onlookers - the Skink's actions raised a synchronized cheer from the council, themselves equally offended by the Skaven's impertinent attitude.
"You are unworthy of his grace, Rat-man!" Hissed another Skink.
"Master should've left you to die!"
Mokte could only look on as the Rat-man endured a wave of items thrown in his direction. From food, to dye leeches, to sharpened points that threatened to injure the Skaven. While the Red Saurus felt no sympathy, he was astounded to see the once collected and skittish artisans act in such a wild and bloodthirsty manner.
One such plaque would catch a confused Hans across the temple. He fell bloodied and unconscious, causing Anglermaw to rush toward the student's body, aghast with sudden grief that was totally alien to the Skaven. "Hans, lad!" Screamed the Sea-Rat. "Bastard-things, I'll kill you all, I swear it!"
Even then, the pelting did not stop, and Anglermaw was soon caught under the unrelenting tide of stones as he refused to abandon the Student. The utter lack of civility among the supposed diplomats threw Nahwa into a state of rage.
"STOP THIS NOW!"
The ears of all in the room became blank with tinnitus, as though the ears of the council had been pressed at point toward a thunder clap, manifesting across the city as even the statuary temple guard were compelled to turn their bodies toward the darkened hall. The chamber shuddered as it's levitation became unsteady, causing those within to stumble and slide. This subsided after a few moments, but an air of mortification enveloped the Skinks. They had offended Lord Nahwa.
Mokte himself became awestruck at the power of Nahwa. His astonishment was not one out of fear, but total reverence. Supa-kheti had been brought to the waking world as a result of the boom, his head resting upon a squamous thigh as the Red Saurus bowed.
...He simply struggled to find the power within himself to care, Anglermaw had never lost sleep over the opinion that food held over him.
Then - from the cerulean remains of the scying waters - did Nahwa puppet the figures of two Skaven. They were vividly different in appearance and fashion, even if those around Anglermaw could not tell between the nuances that Skyre and Pestilens held. One Ratman draped in ragged, hastily stitched linen, holding a wooden staff between his arms that was laced with a row of pygmy skulls. An odious aura wreathed across the robed figure, an arcane plague made visible to the naked eye. Gargled queekish echoed from the monk's lips, chanting some strange hymm to the Horned One, but none paid attention to the babble. For any Skink within Tzlipectl to have knowledge of the Skaven's foul language would have been heretical.
The latter Skaven was an unholy almagation of fur, steel and warpstone. A constant whir followed the goggled creature upon every spasm of the black hunger. His left claw was replaced by a huge drill which grinded upon the insidious warpstone, glowing shards were sent scattered across a metal interior, which Anglermaw recognised as that of the Arks.
Of course the Slann already knew this.
"The Skaven attempt to reactivate the Ark's power through their own means; they are entirely unaware that I alone prevent this." Nahwa explained. "However, this charade will not last forever, there is a conscience inside it's bowels, sleeping for now."
"'Cause the Ark is self-aware!" Anglermaw interrupted, his bloody spittle contanimating the pure scrying water. "It's Uretchen that sleeps wit'in ta' warpstone. What if the monks raise 'im back up with a spell, or if a engineer gives the stone a good poke?!"
Nahwa grumbled, his face visibly contorted from the gutteral Skaven tone that etched upon his ears. "These risks, are why I present you with the offer of your continued existence... And the absolvment of your past sins. You, and your friends shall locate the Ark for me; I shall shatter it piece by piece."
Anglermaw chuckled. "If yer that powerful, why not just raise the Ark from underground yourself?"
"Do not doubt the power of Nahwa-mundi!" Screeched an outraged councillor, hurling a nearby plaque upon his table slab within Anglermaw's direction. While the hurled stone may have missed - instead loudly shattering into a marbled mess nearby the warmblooded onlookers - the Skink's actions raised a synchronized cheer from the council, themselves equally offended by the Skaven's impertinent attitude.
"You are unworthy of his grace, Rat-man!" Hissed another Skink.
"Master should've left you to die!"
Mokte could only look on as the Rat-man endured a wave of items thrown in his direction. From food, to dye leeches, to sharpened points that threatened to injure the Skaven. While the Red Saurus felt no sympathy, he was astounded to see the once collected and skittish artisans act in such a wild and bloodthirsty manner.
One such plaque would catch a confused Hans across the temple. He fell bloodied and unconscious, causing Anglermaw to rush toward the student's body, aghast with sudden grief that was totally alien to the Skaven. "Hans, lad!" Screamed the Sea-Rat. "Bastard-things, I'll kill you all, I swear it!"
Even then, the pelting did not stop, and Anglermaw was soon caught under the unrelenting tide of stones as he refused to abandon the Student. The utter lack of civility among the supposed diplomats threw Nahwa into a state of rage.
"STOP THIS NOW!"
The ears of all in the room became blank with tinnitus, as though the ears of the council had been pressed at point toward a thunder clap, manifesting across the city as even the statuary temple guard were compelled to turn their bodies toward the darkened hall. The chamber shuddered as it's levitation became unsteady, causing those within to stumble and slide. This subsided after a few moments, but an air of mortification enveloped the Skinks. They had offended Lord Nahwa.
Mokte himself became awestruck at the power of Nahwa. His astonishment was not one out of fear, but total reverence. Supa-kheti had been brought to the waking world as a result of the boom, his head resting upon a squamous thigh as the Red Saurus bowed.
The strange watery figures of the ranking members of Clans Pestilens and Skryre were a mystery and curious sights to both Celedron and Falderan. The two looked to the figures with a mix of disgust and curiocity. One was dressed in loose hanging robes and held what was assumed to be a staph while chanting in skittery voice words of unmistakable malice. Even from this projection the feel of decay and rot came from it. Like a foul aura given off even in such a form. The other was a mix of machine and flesh. Something that seemed rather familiar to Fal. When he encountered Skaven during a job in the river ports around Marienburg he had seen strange mechanical augmentations on some rats. Claws and things like glasses over their eyes that gave the fainted of green glow. The clicking of metal as it banged and drilled away only exaggerated the crazed mix of flesh and steel which was the rat. Even in this projection the Elves could see two different branches of Skavendom and each were equally unnatural and vile.
The following dialogue bred concern from the two before the first plaque was tossed. The slab, roughly the size of a book hit the ground and shattered bringing a tempting silence for a second before cheers and angry shouts emerged from the council of Skinks and Saurus. More things were thrown. From other plaques to small accessories like rings and talismans. Celedron felt like he was in the presence of savage children, the way they screamed and threw their items like they were having a temper tantrum. It may have been slightly more rambunctious than the Elven courts but he'd be lying if he said the odd brawl didn't start or item thrown. This only confirmed his observation of these individuals being politicians of some kind. Fal took a faint step back and watched the items coming in. They missed Anglermaw and he seemed more concerned with whether this could get deadly since they were associates. But when a piece hit Hans and sent the Human tumbling to the ground Fal went to move and get the boy but he stopped in shock when he saw Anglermaw leap to him rather defensively. The way he shielded the boy and looked at his bleeding wound with what seemed like legitimate concern was unexpected to say the least. Fal could see that the item thrown was a small plaque luckily. Rather thin too as it remained shattered on the ground next to him. The injury was likely not fatal but Fal knew he'd need to be looked at to be sure.
The turmoil and screaming only came to a stop when the echoing boom of Nahwa's disembodied voice shot out like a thunderclap. Fal reached for his ears as they rang and his eyes felt sore from the sudden shock. It was worse than being next to a cannon or rifle when firing. He clenched his eyes a blinked for a minute as his ears rang and eyes watered with blurry vision. Celedron felt similar but as his vision restored he felt a wet sensation under his nose. Touching a finger to his nostril he saw a faint dribble of blood. The magical fury that erupted from Nahwa as he yelled shot through Celedron more than most. The nose bleed was an indication. He froze when he saw the blood out of shock but then wiped it away and let his ringing ears return to normal to see the aftermath of the screech. The results were extreme. The room, which unknown to them had been levitating shifted slightly. This led to many items rolling around and individuals stumbling. Fal barely kept his balance and being watched by a Temple Guard Celedron kept his footing as the room stabilized.
The following dialogue bred concern from the two before the first plaque was tossed. The slab, roughly the size of a book hit the ground and shattered bringing a tempting silence for a second before cheers and angry shouts emerged from the council of Skinks and Saurus. More things were thrown. From other plaques to small accessories like rings and talismans. Celedron felt like he was in the presence of savage children, the way they screamed and threw their items like they were having a temper tantrum. It may have been slightly more rambunctious than the Elven courts but he'd be lying if he said the odd brawl didn't start or item thrown. This only confirmed his observation of these individuals being politicians of some kind. Fal took a faint step back and watched the items coming in. They missed Anglermaw and he seemed more concerned with whether this could get deadly since they were associates. But when a piece hit Hans and sent the Human tumbling to the ground Fal went to move and get the boy but he stopped in shock when he saw Anglermaw leap to him rather defensively. The way he shielded the boy and looked at his bleeding wound with what seemed like legitimate concern was unexpected to say the least. Fal could see that the item thrown was a small plaque luckily. Rather thin too as it remained shattered on the ground next to him. The injury was likely not fatal but Fal knew he'd need to be looked at to be sure.
The turmoil and screaming only came to a stop when the echoing boom of Nahwa's disembodied voice shot out like a thunderclap. Fal reached for his ears as they rang and his eyes felt sore from the sudden shock. It was worse than being next to a cannon or rifle when firing. He clenched his eyes a blinked for a minute as his ears rang and eyes watered with blurry vision. Celedron felt similar but as his vision restored he felt a wet sensation under his nose. Touching a finger to his nostril he saw a faint dribble of blood. The magical fury that erupted from Nahwa as he yelled shot through Celedron more than most. The nose bleed was an indication. He froze when he saw the blood out of shock but then wiped it away and let his ringing ears return to normal to see the aftermath of the screech. The results were extreme. The room, which unknown to them had been levitating shifted slightly. This led to many items rolling around and individuals stumbling. Fal barely kept his balance and being watched by a Temple Guard Celedron kept his footing as the room stabilized.
A brief moment of terror froze the scales of the Skinks and glued the bared teeth of these Saurus guardians as though they were lockjawed. Hushed prayers of forgiveness laced in the shrill tones of these once rabid lizards, faint under the resonating tinnitus. A nearby boulder collapsed upon the court, cracking the circular structure and causing the Saurian titans beside to flinch. Others clobs of stone and brick soon began to tumble upon the ground, this time in dangerous vicinity of the statesfolk. The little beasts tried to haul themselves away, but their bones would not budge. As the tempo of gnashing stonework increased, the Skinks realised - in their horror - that they were paralysed.
Alien tongues wailed, begging for redemption. Mokte and his Saurus kinsfolk could only gaze upon the mental torture, as though halted by some subconscious command to the Slann himself. The expressions of the Toad-like folk were usually ambiguous and difficult to decipher. But Mokte could see the abject expression upon Nahwa's face. Scorn, illuminated under a haze of glowing fungi.
Finally the onslaught stopped. The Skinks, Saurus and the Elfin fellows at the back were bathed in a coating of crumbled tan, but none were harmed.
Nahwa's fist bashed upon the right arm of his seat. "Simpering wretches! Blind little gobins, all too short sighted for my council! How dare you defy me!" Roared the ghastly tone of the Slann. "How dare you deface the totems of the Gods in such a manner! Are you all so slow to what lies ahead? Have you not read the omens before my awakening?! How the thralls of chaos wipe us all away? How desperate we are forced to grovel to save Tzlipectl, our home?!"
"He is accursed Ratman, most merciful master!" Sobbed a frantic Skink, his tears dabbing upon his dusted pedestal. "He will sell us to the clanfolk below! We'll suffer fates worse than death!"
"Ah... I ain't with the clans anymore..." A groggy Anglermaw rose to his feet, balanced by the sharpness of his skittering footclaws, scratching upon the embossed stonework.
"Chotec has called upon the spawn of our gravest foe in this most egregious irony." Nahwa continued, the air of caged ferocity bubbled still within that ballooning mass of his. It was half lost upon the Skaven that all it took was a click of those slimy digits and the former lord of Clan Skurvy could be turned to dust -- as though he'd never tread upon the world in the firstplace.
"By fate, by chance, we can no longer afford to care. The Skaven and his friends will serve as our proxy. The Ark burgeons still under the earth, but I compel our guests to bring it forth from it's womb. Man, Skaven and Elf alike..."
A struggled gag shot from Nahwa's plump lips, likely from his contest with whatever entity lay within the dreadnought. "Chi-noee, Qua-zital... and Mokte. They will be your vanguard. The most elite of Tzlipectl will light the way to salvation."
The gnashed beak of Mokte rose, concealed under the gleaming helm of gold. 'Lord Nahwa favours me! He must.' Excitable thoughts ran through the Saurus' mind, wrought with the sudden giddiness of a small child.
Alien tongues wailed, begging for redemption. Mokte and his Saurus kinsfolk could only gaze upon the mental torture, as though halted by some subconscious command to the Slann himself. The expressions of the Toad-like folk were usually ambiguous and difficult to decipher. But Mokte could see the abject expression upon Nahwa's face. Scorn, illuminated under a haze of glowing fungi.
Finally the onslaught stopped. The Skinks, Saurus and the Elfin fellows at the back were bathed in a coating of crumbled tan, but none were harmed.
Nahwa's fist bashed upon the right arm of his seat. "Simpering wretches! Blind little gobins, all too short sighted for my council! How dare you defy me!" Roared the ghastly tone of the Slann. "How dare you deface the totems of the Gods in such a manner! Are you all so slow to what lies ahead? Have you not read the omens before my awakening?! How the thralls of chaos wipe us all away? How desperate we are forced to grovel to save Tzlipectl, our home?!"
"He is accursed Ratman, most merciful master!" Sobbed a frantic Skink, his tears dabbing upon his dusted pedestal. "He will sell us to the clanfolk below! We'll suffer fates worse than death!"
"Ah... I ain't with the clans anymore..." A groggy Anglermaw rose to his feet, balanced by the sharpness of his skittering footclaws, scratching upon the embossed stonework.
"Chotec has called upon the spawn of our gravest foe in this most egregious irony." Nahwa continued, the air of caged ferocity bubbled still within that ballooning mass of his. It was half lost upon the Skaven that all it took was a click of those slimy digits and the former lord of Clan Skurvy could be turned to dust -- as though he'd never tread upon the world in the firstplace.
"By fate, by chance, we can no longer afford to care. The Skaven and his friends will serve as our proxy. The Ark burgeons still under the earth, but I compel our guests to bring it forth from it's womb. Man, Skaven and Elf alike..."
A struggled gag shot from Nahwa's plump lips, likely from his contest with whatever entity lay within the dreadnought. "Chi-noee, Qua-zital... and Mokte. They will be your vanguard. The most elite of Tzlipectl will light the way to salvation."
The gnashed beak of Mokte rose, concealed under the gleaming helm of gold. 'Lord Nahwa favours me! He must.' Excitable thoughts ran through the Saurus' mind, wrought with the sudden giddiness of a small child.
The show of magical prowess and ability to manipulate the world around them was something to awe at. The magic of the Slann was everything Celedron had heard legends of and more. Their might able to pause them all in a state of perpetual paralysis but without the sensation of venom of poison like what would be given from the vile Druchii and their alchemists. It was a feeling of weightlessness. Being held up by the winds of magic encompassing them like a thin veil. Maybe it was Celedron's own abilities with the winds of magic that allowed him to feel this or maybe it was something they all felt. He couldn't say for sure. Though as the magic freezing ended and a resounding boom of the Slann's mighty voice echoed out to scold the apparent ignorant members of his council all went quiet till the sobs of Skinks filled the chamber. Unable to accept the help of a Skaven even when their Slann demanded it. His following words of reassurance and declaration of this most dire of times led to, if not acceptance than silencing their protests from the other Skinks.
Hearing it was truly their mission to bring out the Ark so it may be destroyed filled Fal with a deep sense of dread and excitement. Some part of him, the privateer from years of working with men had given him a sense of ignorant joy for a good adventure. Maybe cause he knew there was no turning back he let the situation wash over him and accept his fate.
"No turning back, by Sigmar we move in your name." He says faintly, picked up only by the nearby ears of Celedron due to his Elven senses. He doesn't respond however and Fal looks up to the Slann as they last bits of their mission are detailed.
Chi-noee and Qua-zital perk up upon hearing their names. Bodies shaking from the magical hold and fury of Nahwa had on them. When they heard they'd lead the vanguard they didn't know how to respond at first. Chi-noee stood up and bowed his head. Through clicking and hisses he spoke in his native tongue.
"My scouts will reveal any concerns, we will ensure a safe passage for our vassals." Qua-zital steps up and bangs his chest before bowing and speaking in the same tongue.
"My riders will sweep low and remove any threats we may encounter." Their words were greatly honored. Each one sounded like they had been given the greatest of honor without expecting it. They rose to stare at the Elves, unconscious Human and Skaven. Chi-noee tilted his head curiously back and forth as he looked to the wounded Hans. He would need treatment given his frail, cold blooded body. Qua-ztial glared at Celedron and Falderan. They were warriors of magic and the sword. Two things which would prove invaluable ahead. They both then looked at Anglermaw. But he was a vile presence. A stain on this rather honorable force. If the great Prophet of Sotek could see them know he'd tear them all apart and purge the city for suspected heracy. Though who were they, simple Skinks without contact to their gods to say this isn't needed. The Great Plan was being derived by Priests and the Slann. The plaques tell them what is needed. And this necessary evil was just that. Necessary in the Old Ones great scheme.
Hearing it was truly their mission to bring out the Ark so it may be destroyed filled Fal with a deep sense of dread and excitement. Some part of him, the privateer from years of working with men had given him a sense of ignorant joy for a good adventure. Maybe cause he knew there was no turning back he let the situation wash over him and accept his fate.
"No turning back, by Sigmar we move in your name." He says faintly, picked up only by the nearby ears of Celedron due to his Elven senses. He doesn't respond however and Fal looks up to the Slann as they last bits of their mission are detailed.
Chi-noee and Qua-zital perk up upon hearing their names. Bodies shaking from the magical hold and fury of Nahwa had on them. When they heard they'd lead the vanguard they didn't know how to respond at first. Chi-noee stood up and bowed his head. Through clicking and hisses he spoke in his native tongue.
"My scouts will reveal any concerns, we will ensure a safe passage for our vassals." Qua-zital steps up and bangs his chest before bowing and speaking in the same tongue.
"My riders will sweep low and remove any threats we may encounter." Their words were greatly honored. Each one sounded like they had been given the greatest of honor without expecting it. They rose to stare at the Elves, unconscious Human and Skaven. Chi-noee tilted his head curiously back and forth as he looked to the wounded Hans. He would need treatment given his frail, cold blooded body. Qua-ztial glared at Celedron and Falderan. They were warriors of magic and the sword. Two things which would prove invaluable ahead. They both then looked at Anglermaw. But he was a vile presence. A stain on this rather honorable force. If the great Prophet of Sotek could see them know he'd tear them all apart and purge the city for suspected heracy. Though who were they, simple Skinks without contact to their gods to say this isn't needed. The Great Plan was being derived by Priests and the Slann. The plaques tell them what is needed. And this necessary evil was just that. Necessary in the Old Ones great scheme.
The Slann grumbled with a hint a trepidation within his croak. "There is no assurance of safety, I'm afraid; we preside over the bowels of Skavendom, as we always have, but never has Tzlipectl been brought to such need for action. The warrens echo with idle chittering, but not even the Skaven can contain the evil they hope to release..."
Mokte tread forward, unable to hide the bubbling ecstacy he felt. Many Saurus spawn-kin had donated their spears and their souls for the Great Plan -- the adherence of the Lizardmen to their Slann betters would have been seen as sycophantic in realms of the Old World. But the children of the Old Ones were slaves to altruism, among genius scribes and mighty praetorians, all of them served as cogs.
But few of the Lizardmen were truly favoured by their liege. Few of Sauruskind had ever reached the heights that ancient Kroq-gar and Chakax had climbed. Mokte knelt once again, this time within the direct presence of Lord Nahwa. A struggling Supa-kheti clung onto the curled bicep of the Red Saurus.
"His majesty has need of me?" Spoke Mokte, in the best Reikspeil that his warped mind could muster.
"You are eager enough, Mokte, but the Shaman needs your aid more at this time, as do our visitors." Replied the Slann.
"I defend Supa-kheti against the evil winds, I welcomed the warm-bloods."
"Indeed, as such, you shall serve as their guide. This council is ajourned, I should have thought better upon presenting the Rat-man to my statesfolk; their hatred is justified, when all is said and done."
"Yeah, which is why I'm surprised this ain't just some big joke-yeah." Hissed Anglermaw, dusting off the tattered linen of coat. "Yer not jus' gonna 'ave our hearts torn out as soon as we walk outta the hall?"
"Chi-noee and Qua-zital have been following you all ever since you made port upon the beach of Pox Marsh, and you have paid the price for your choice of landing..." Said Nahwa as his spherical eyes swerved to the direction of his Skink champions. "I watched from this temple as your host floundered in the jaws of a Daemon and his ever-living thrall. Had I truly deemed you a threat, Anglermaw, I would let the Skinks flaunt your heart as a medallion across their collars."
The statesfolk chuckled as they took their snivelling leave, they would have much prefered to witness the Sea-Rat and his warmblooded fellows made into pelts and their hearts offered to Chotec. Perhaps, if Nahwa still slumbered, and the Ark remained an obscure fabrication by a minor thrall clan of Skavenblight, the enraged Tzlipectili would have put them to the sword.
"Mokte, Supa-kheti, I know you are awake." The Shaman's gilded beak twitched with a gasp as the bulging conscience of Nahwa invaded his fleeting mind, sparking his nerves wide awake. "Take the guests your villa, and grant them hospitality for the day that lay ahead. The Elf-folk and Skaven must rest for what is to come..."
"...But the boy is mine." Nahwa finished.
Mokte tread forward, unable to hide the bubbling ecstacy he felt. Many Saurus spawn-kin had donated their spears and their souls for the Great Plan -- the adherence of the Lizardmen to their Slann betters would have been seen as sycophantic in realms of the Old World. But the children of the Old Ones were slaves to altruism, among genius scribes and mighty praetorians, all of them served as cogs.
But few of the Lizardmen were truly favoured by their liege. Few of Sauruskind had ever reached the heights that ancient Kroq-gar and Chakax had climbed. Mokte knelt once again, this time within the direct presence of Lord Nahwa. A struggling Supa-kheti clung onto the curled bicep of the Red Saurus.
"His majesty has need of me?" Spoke Mokte, in the best Reikspeil that his warped mind could muster.
"You are eager enough, Mokte, but the Shaman needs your aid more at this time, as do our visitors." Replied the Slann.
"I defend Supa-kheti against the evil winds, I welcomed the warm-bloods."
"Indeed, as such, you shall serve as their guide. This council is ajourned, I should have thought better upon presenting the Rat-man to my statesfolk; their hatred is justified, when all is said and done."
"Yeah, which is why I'm surprised this ain't just some big joke-yeah." Hissed Anglermaw, dusting off the tattered linen of coat. "Yer not jus' gonna 'ave our hearts torn out as soon as we walk outta the hall?"
"Chi-noee and Qua-zital have been following you all ever since you made port upon the beach of Pox Marsh, and you have paid the price for your choice of landing..." Said Nahwa as his spherical eyes swerved to the direction of his Skink champions. "I watched from this temple as your host floundered in the jaws of a Daemon and his ever-living thrall. Had I truly deemed you a threat, Anglermaw, I would let the Skinks flaunt your heart as a medallion across their collars."
The statesfolk chuckled as they took their snivelling leave, they would have much prefered to witness the Sea-Rat and his warmblooded fellows made into pelts and their hearts offered to Chotec. Perhaps, if Nahwa still slumbered, and the Ark remained an obscure fabrication by a minor thrall clan of Skavenblight, the enraged Tzlipectili would have put them to the sword.
"Mokte, Supa-kheti, I know you are awake." The Shaman's gilded beak twitched with a gasp as the bulging conscience of Nahwa invaded his fleeting mind, sparking his nerves wide awake. "Take the guests your villa, and grant them hospitality for the day that lay ahead. The Elf-folk and Skaven must rest for what is to come..."
"...But the boy is mine." Nahwa finished.
Chi-noee and Qua-zital made their way out to their barracks to prepare their troops. Chi-noee would rally his scouts. Preparing the best of his Chameleon Skinks to come on this specific mission. His ten most volatile and stealthy. Able to leap through bushes with barely a nudge of leaves. Qua-zital would prepare his Saurus riders to come with their Cold Ones. A dozen of them would be hand picked to ride out with Qua-zital as his most elite forces to help in this mission. Speed was essential so both leaders picked their strongest and most reputable members to assist them on a mission that would bring glory to all their names.
The offering of a villa was a surprise to both Fal and Celedron. They didn't know such things would even belong to the Lizardmen. But to have Anglermaw allowed to go as well. They expected a harsh reception for them all but the Skaven would send those nearby into a frenzy. Would be hard to convince anyone to let them go through. But this Slann seemed to have supreme authority and could hopefully keep the masses under his control while they were here. The last part however was disturbing to both. Celedron looked to the Slann and voiced a question.
"What use could you possibly have for the boy? He's still alive so he's hardly a meal and he's part of our crew." Celedron explained showing an odd level of dignity to the youth. Maybe due to what has happened he developed an atleast temporary brothers in arms bond to him. Fal had a look of concern and gave an approving nod to Celedron's questioning.
The offering of a villa was a surprise to both Fal and Celedron. They didn't know such things would even belong to the Lizardmen. But to have Anglermaw allowed to go as well. They expected a harsh reception for them all but the Skaven would send those nearby into a frenzy. Would be hard to convince anyone to let them go through. But this Slann seemed to have supreme authority and could hopefully keep the masses under his control while they were here. The last part however was disturbing to both. Celedron looked to the Slann and voiced a question.
"What use could you possibly have for the boy? He's still alive so he's hardly a meal and he's part of our crew." Celedron explained showing an odd level of dignity to the youth. Maybe due to what has happened he developed an atleast temporary brothers in arms bond to him. Fal had a look of concern and gave an approving nod to Celedron's questioning.
Nahwa raised his arms into the air, the mottled complexion of dying moss that clung onto stone. Hans' body seemed to rise off of the ground the under the puppeteering of the Slann, blood trickled across Hans' temple, dabbing onto the tanned court. His limbs soon dangled over a phantom surface before being finally rested upon Nahwa's fatty bosom. The slimy digits slithered across Hans' blond curls and with a mere brush of his fingertips, Nahwa had erased the wound upon Hans' head as an artist would stride his canvas with a different shade of paint. The red tendrils that matted Hans' hair were wiped clean, as if he'd never bled at all.
But Nahwa would not release Hans as the Student innocently coughed and sputtered in his slumber like a newborn child. A pair of temple guard would saunter from the shadows toward them both, stomping the butt of their obsinite halberds upon the cracked stone. They would likely have brushed Anglermaw aside had he not been clutched by Mokte and dragged toward the exit. The Ratman would yelp and attempt to fight back against the Saurus' vice grip, but he could not. His warpstone weapons had been confiscated by the Lizardmen. Not even Nahwa would suffer an armed Skaven within his temple.
"Do not be concerned, Elf-kin." Muttered Nahwa in his reply, still caressing the fellow's crown as his digits came down Hans' forehead. "I do not intend to harm the boy. There is a great potential locked within his subconscience, I can help him weather the winds; it shall save his life in the coming morrow. He will still be here after your rest, alive and well -- my retinue shall deliver him to you before you make the journey."
"C-come, frriendsss..." Rasped the half-woken Shaman as he was rhythmically swung under the broad arms of his companion. A dull pain still throbbed within his meek chest from the earlier skirmish with Zeigfied. "You will find my home to be... comfortable, fitting for the Elder Shaman of Tzlipecl."
Only once the group emerge from Nahwa's hall did they truly grasp the otherworldly ambience of Tzlipectl as they carefully tread down the thousand steps downward, passing by the contemptuous glances of the Temple Guard every fifty or so steps. The city was a weird conglomeration of primitive and alien monuments -- ancient geometric carvings of many sided pyraminds and multi leveled ziggurats dominated the clouded skyline, each one trailed by a humming beam of blinding cerulean. The tip of these structures were lapped with artificial bolts of lightning masking the drone with a loud roar of thunder seconds after.
"You see those?" Mokte lifted a disgruntled Anglermaw toward the structures, though his intention was simply to gesture at them; the Sea-Rat served merely as an object within his claw. "Geomantic link, that is. The blue trails send messages to our allied temple cities, and Lord Nahwa can commune with his spawn-kin. Lord Mazdamundi leads the council, the greatest of the Slann, but not benevolent, like great Nahwa-mundi."
The staircase ended prematurely, the finely chiseled line that marked the end of the hovering staircase proved that this was deliberate. The way down was instead replaced by a large carving of some titanic beast, similar to that of a dragon, though the blocky artistry of the Skink made it's inspiration ever more ambiguous. An etheral road beamed from the statue's mouth, and the Red Saurus was brung gently to the ground as the wafer thin platform descended toward the temple district. The street that greeted the group was as a time capsule from an epoch many thousand years ago -- the stark image of a civilization that had never progressed outside of the bronze age. Many terraced houses of yellow dominated the street, almost isometric under the fluttering bunting. The way forward lead toward the homes of the poorer classes, the less skilled artisans and nervous workers who shied away from the battleground. Their homes were crowded mudhuts, held together by what seemed like rotting canvas, sharp, wire-like shrubbery seemed to serve as an ample roof for those lucky enough.
Fortune was given to those who served their master sufficiently -- poverty was simply a retribution for idleness.
It was a good twenty minutes before they reached Supa-kheti's luxurious villa, ten minutes of roaming through impoverished streets before finally coming to a tropical preserve. A multistory palace of godly mosaics and natural fountains that washed from the Sotek's waterfalls. The colourful hedge that guarded the entrance made Anglermaw a slight nevous as he glared at the boney stem of some indigo flower. It hadn't been lost on him how dangerous the Lustrian flora was; he'd guess the plant concealed a toothed maw that'd sever his beak of he came too close. And yet the Lizardmen would stop that, they would save the life of their worst enemy...
"Welcome to my home..." Croaked the shaman, barely containing the strength to lift himself off of Mokte's arm and balance himself upon the mahogany door. "Beds, sweets and hot springs await you tonight, an on-hand payment of gratitude for your service to Tzlipectl, good sirs."
But Nahwa would not release Hans as the Student innocently coughed and sputtered in his slumber like a newborn child. A pair of temple guard would saunter from the shadows toward them both, stomping the butt of their obsinite halberds upon the cracked stone. They would likely have brushed Anglermaw aside had he not been clutched by Mokte and dragged toward the exit. The Ratman would yelp and attempt to fight back against the Saurus' vice grip, but he could not. His warpstone weapons had been confiscated by the Lizardmen. Not even Nahwa would suffer an armed Skaven within his temple.
"Do not be concerned, Elf-kin." Muttered Nahwa in his reply, still caressing the fellow's crown as his digits came down Hans' forehead. "I do not intend to harm the boy. There is a great potential locked within his subconscience, I can help him weather the winds; it shall save his life in the coming morrow. He will still be here after your rest, alive and well -- my retinue shall deliver him to you before you make the journey."
"C-come, frriendsss..." Rasped the half-woken Shaman as he was rhythmically swung under the broad arms of his companion. A dull pain still throbbed within his meek chest from the earlier skirmish with Zeigfied. "You will find my home to be... comfortable, fitting for the Elder Shaman of Tzlipecl."
Only once the group emerge from Nahwa's hall did they truly grasp the otherworldly ambience of Tzlipectl as they carefully tread down the thousand steps downward, passing by the contemptuous glances of the Temple Guard every fifty or so steps. The city was a weird conglomeration of primitive and alien monuments -- ancient geometric carvings of many sided pyraminds and multi leveled ziggurats dominated the clouded skyline, each one trailed by a humming beam of blinding cerulean. The tip of these structures were lapped with artificial bolts of lightning masking the drone with a loud roar of thunder seconds after.
"You see those?" Mokte lifted a disgruntled Anglermaw toward the structures, though his intention was simply to gesture at them; the Sea-Rat served merely as an object within his claw. "Geomantic link, that is. The blue trails send messages to our allied temple cities, and Lord Nahwa can commune with his spawn-kin. Lord Mazdamundi leads the council, the greatest of the Slann, but not benevolent, like great Nahwa-mundi."
The staircase ended prematurely, the finely chiseled line that marked the end of the hovering staircase proved that this was deliberate. The way down was instead replaced by a large carving of some titanic beast, similar to that of a dragon, though the blocky artistry of the Skink made it's inspiration ever more ambiguous. An etheral road beamed from the statue's mouth, and the Red Saurus was brung gently to the ground as the wafer thin platform descended toward the temple district. The street that greeted the group was as a time capsule from an epoch many thousand years ago -- the stark image of a civilization that had never progressed outside of the bronze age. Many terraced houses of yellow dominated the street, almost isometric under the fluttering bunting. The way forward lead toward the homes of the poorer classes, the less skilled artisans and nervous workers who shied away from the battleground. Their homes were crowded mudhuts, held together by what seemed like rotting canvas, sharp, wire-like shrubbery seemed to serve as an ample roof for those lucky enough.
Fortune was given to those who served their master sufficiently -- poverty was simply a retribution for idleness.
It was a good twenty minutes before they reached Supa-kheti's luxurious villa, ten minutes of roaming through impoverished streets before finally coming to a tropical preserve. A multistory palace of godly mosaics and natural fountains that washed from the Sotek's waterfalls. The colourful hedge that guarded the entrance made Anglermaw a slight nevous as he glared at the boney stem of some indigo flower. It hadn't been lost on him how dangerous the Lustrian flora was; he'd guess the plant concealed a toothed maw that'd sever his beak of he came too close. And yet the Lizardmen would stop that, they would save the life of their worst enemy...
"Welcome to my home..." Croaked the shaman, barely containing the strength to lift himself off of Mokte's arm and balance himself upon the mahogany door. "Beds, sweets and hot springs await you tonight, an on-hand payment of gratitude for your service to Tzlipectl, good sirs."
Celedron was most taken aback by Nahwa's analysis of Han's latent potential. Fal had no magical senses above a regular Elf so the passive potential that lived within some individuals was lost to him. Only when magic was strong enough would he naturally pick it up as a tingle. Celedron however didn't sense anything from Hans. This concerned him. Did the Slann somehow have the ability to see something he couldn't? Or was he just ignorant to apparent great potential within the Human? This began to send doubt into the depths of Celedon's mind. Concern that he was not nearly as useful as he originally thought. That he was not as focused as he should be. With aspects of Chaos being involved he was on edge. He felt like his mind was being watched like a plump pig to a hungry wolf. Letting his eyes linger on Hans for a moment later he joined the escort to take them to where they would stay.
The journey through the city was unexpected. The architecture was alien and strange even to Celedron who had studied the intricate and nearly impossible feats of engineering made by Elven builders and craftsman. Yet these were on another level. Magic as ancient and fierce as the Elven race itself lingered in the stone like heat. It radiated off and filled him with a sense of calm and energy. Fal didn't notice this but took in the designs. Vastly different from anything in the Empire and Bretonnia. Once they made their way further the civilian life was truly interesting. The court case proved to them that these seemingly emotionless lizards had some personality. They had the ability to feel and have opinions. Far above a common lizard you'd see basking on a rock of even swimming through the murky depths of rivers. These were closer to Human and Elven civilizations than either would admit. However, for every similarity there were one or more differences. Such as the lack of children. Youth seemed to be skipped in the Lizardmen as all seemed around the same size. Eerily so as Fal observed. The lack of Children playing, and no noticeable gender differences kept all of them seeming very much the same. But Fal knew that not even farms could grow all plants to look identical. Much less a population like this.
Past the simple huts and curious stares from the inhabitants the Elves and Skaven were escorted to their place of residence for the night. The air had a hint of judgement to it. Like all the small beady eyes were wondering if they were food or friends. Some form of message must have gone out of Mokte was intimating enough for the Skinks and occasional larger Lizardman to not leap at Anglermaw. Soon coming to the smoothly carved door of the villa the pair were enthralled by the sight. The clean stone bricks were smooth and polished to a near shine. Small water features in the carvings of snakes and other reptiles gave out the splashing of water to tune out the magical hum from the many pyramids about. The inside of the villa smelt odd as well. Something almost like incense but smokier. Neither Elf could put their finger on it, but the area was obviously that of a noble. Celedron gave a polite bow to the elderly Skink.
"Your hospitality is much appreciated." He thought as he took in the area. He did wonder how they slept. Did they use blankets and pillows like the Elves? Or did they sleep on solid stone like other reptilians? These thoughts intrigued him and distracted him from the thoughts of his own flaws and fears.
The journey through the city was unexpected. The architecture was alien and strange even to Celedron who had studied the intricate and nearly impossible feats of engineering made by Elven builders and craftsman. Yet these were on another level. Magic as ancient and fierce as the Elven race itself lingered in the stone like heat. It radiated off and filled him with a sense of calm and energy. Fal didn't notice this but took in the designs. Vastly different from anything in the Empire and Bretonnia. Once they made their way further the civilian life was truly interesting. The court case proved to them that these seemingly emotionless lizards had some personality. They had the ability to feel and have opinions. Far above a common lizard you'd see basking on a rock of even swimming through the murky depths of rivers. These were closer to Human and Elven civilizations than either would admit. However, for every similarity there were one or more differences. Such as the lack of children. Youth seemed to be skipped in the Lizardmen as all seemed around the same size. Eerily so as Fal observed. The lack of Children playing, and no noticeable gender differences kept all of them seeming very much the same. But Fal knew that not even farms could grow all plants to look identical. Much less a population like this.
Past the simple huts and curious stares from the inhabitants the Elves and Skaven were escorted to their place of residence for the night. The air had a hint of judgement to it. Like all the small beady eyes were wondering if they were food or friends. Some form of message must have gone out of Mokte was intimating enough for the Skinks and occasional larger Lizardman to not leap at Anglermaw. Soon coming to the smoothly carved door of the villa the pair were enthralled by the sight. The clean stone bricks were smooth and polished to a near shine. Small water features in the carvings of snakes and other reptiles gave out the splashing of water to tune out the magical hum from the many pyramids about. The inside of the villa smelt odd as well. Something almost like incense but smokier. Neither Elf could put their finger on it, but the area was obviously that of a noble. Celedron gave a polite bow to the elderly Skink.
"Your hospitality is much appreciated." He thought as he took in the area. He did wonder how they slept. Did they use blankets and pillows like the Elves? Or did they sleep on solid stone like other reptilians? These thoughts intrigued him and distracted him from the thoughts of his own flaws and fears.
Supa-kheti meandered past an arched hallway as they entered his home, toward the unlit fireplace of his lounge. With a muttered incantation from his scaly lips, a white spark zapped from his crooked fingertips, setting the fireplace alight. The shade of honey saturated the hall, and the room became clear. A blocky sofa sat before the fireplace, it's surface similar to clay -- the seating thankfully had been softened by a pair of velvet cushions bearing the hue of noble Tilean purple. It was large enough for both Mokte and the Shaman to rest themselves upon and savour the dancing fires. Supa-kheti did not relax himself upon the vain pillows, however, ambling across the trail of a small aqueduct that coursed toward a neighbouring conservatory, surveyed by the moonlight under a glass roof.
There he plucked a number of strange brown beans from a lush vine, and presented them to his guests.
"Xhocolah." The Skink smiled, furthering his reach. "Take, it is a gift."
Mokte plucked a few of the beans without a thought of it, the dark shells creating a crunch sound under his jaw. Anglermaw on the other hand was surprisingly reluctant -- his ruby eyes scanned the exotic beans. He'd seen spices and other assortments of rare foods sold within the Eshin endorsed bazaars of Skavenblight. Cathayan opium, Arabyan coffee, and sweet sugars canes from the fields found in central Lustria. These substances were usually enjoyed by only the most powerful within Skavendom, laced with copious amounts of warpstone.
But this 'Xhocolah' was something that Anglermaw had never come across, most likely a guarded secret of the Lizardmen. He pinched a single bean with his good claw, throwing the shell into his beak. The taste was bizarre; a concoction of both bitter and sweet flavours mixed into one Sigmar-forsaken seed -- like a sour coffee. Anglermaw's eyes squinted as he cringed at the flavour, but swallowed the shell regardless when a curious Mokte reared his head at the awkward grunting.
"Er... ah din't like it, but thanks anyways-yeah." Commented the Skaven. "Ya got anything else?"
Mokte grunted in disapproval. "You should be respectful, very lucky Skaven." The Saurus growled, crouching his bared teeth at level of this loathed guest. "I would eat you if Nahwa had not forbade it."
"What's yer issue, eh?" Complained Anglermaw. "I ain't looking t' stay. Once this Ark is got, I'm off sailin' again. Straight back to Spineport, I tell ya."
"You won't be getting the Ark." Hissed Mokte in reply. "You'll be dead before you touch it again."
The Shaman's lips curled in disapproval, the crackling of burning firewood gave flavour to the seconds of tension that passed...
There he plucked a number of strange brown beans from a lush vine, and presented them to his guests.
"Xhocolah." The Skink smiled, furthering his reach. "Take, it is a gift."
Mokte plucked a few of the beans without a thought of it, the dark shells creating a crunch sound under his jaw. Anglermaw on the other hand was surprisingly reluctant -- his ruby eyes scanned the exotic beans. He'd seen spices and other assortments of rare foods sold within the Eshin endorsed bazaars of Skavenblight. Cathayan opium, Arabyan coffee, and sweet sugars canes from the fields found in central Lustria. These substances were usually enjoyed by only the most powerful within Skavendom, laced with copious amounts of warpstone.
But this 'Xhocolah' was something that Anglermaw had never come across, most likely a guarded secret of the Lizardmen. He pinched a single bean with his good claw, throwing the shell into his beak. The taste was bizarre; a concoction of both bitter and sweet flavours mixed into one Sigmar-forsaken seed -- like a sour coffee. Anglermaw's eyes squinted as he cringed at the flavour, but swallowed the shell regardless when a curious Mokte reared his head at the awkward grunting.
"Er... ah din't like it, but thanks anyways-yeah." Commented the Skaven. "Ya got anything else?"
Mokte grunted in disapproval. "You should be respectful, very lucky Skaven." The Saurus growled, crouching his bared teeth at level of this loathed guest. "I would eat you if Nahwa had not forbade it."
"What's yer issue, eh?" Complained Anglermaw. "I ain't looking t' stay. Once this Ark is got, I'm off sailin' again. Straight back to Spineport, I tell ya."
"You won't be getting the Ark." Hissed Mokte in reply. "You'll be dead before you touch it again."
The Shaman's lips curled in disapproval, the crackling of burning firewood gave flavour to the seconds of tension that passed...
Out of everything in the room which was clearly of Lizardmen craft and origin the cushions stood out. Fal noticed the designs including some small tassels on the corners. They were of Human make. Likely Estalia or Tilea based on the crest he saw on a center button pushed into the center of each. He wondered how they got them. Maybe through trading with some of the colonies around the coast further North. Or possibly lost cargo. The coastline or Lustria was brutal. Even stealing them from the hordes of plundered bounty from the pirates on the Vampire Coast. There were many possibilities and Fal felt an odd sense of comfort in seeing something from the Old World in this vicious and humid tropical hell.
The offered bean was a surprise. Fal and Celedron each took it when offered. They looked them over. They smelt similar to coffee. A spice Fal had come across a few times in Marienburg and Sartosa. The texture on the bean was oddly waxy. Almost like a fake fruit that nobles had a love for putting on display. Noticing Mokte pick one off and eat it with rather comical looking chewing motions. His jaws meant for chunks of meat not these tiny beans. Fal shrugged and put the odd bean into his mouth. Chewing it his face contorted. His lips formed all sorts of odd shapes as the flavor was nothing he had tasted before. The shell of the bean was bitter but the inside was a sour coffee taste. The taste was something strange and rather bad to even him who had drunken some of the most lethal of Greenskin brews and lived to tell the tale.
Celedron noticed the strange reactions on Fal's face and looked to the bean. Not wanting to seem rude or undiplomatic he put it in his mouth. His mouth was caught just before it went into a grimace. The taste was foul. Something one would expect from a child that played around with spices could make. But not wanting to spit it out despite all sense of his Elven taste telling him to he held back as much of his visual disgust as he could and quickly swallowed it. Shivering as he swallowed rapidly to use saliva to clear the taste from his tongue.
"A fascinating treat." He said with his most diplomatic smile. Anglermaw's comments drew the attention of both Elves who kept their distance. It was clear Mokte was more than willing to kill the rat and the Skaven's constant back talking and acting on equal footing was not helping. "Maybe you should take what you're given Anglermaw, I feel like there's only so much hospitality they'll offer you before they snap and even go against the will of Nahwa to tear you apart." Celedron says despite knowing they likely would never break the will of Nahwa. He could tell the power the Slann had over them from a political stand point alone much less any potential magical influence. For all Celedron knew he was watching right now.
The offered bean was a surprise. Fal and Celedron each took it when offered. They looked them over. They smelt similar to coffee. A spice Fal had come across a few times in Marienburg and Sartosa. The texture on the bean was oddly waxy. Almost like a fake fruit that nobles had a love for putting on display. Noticing Mokte pick one off and eat it with rather comical looking chewing motions. His jaws meant for chunks of meat not these tiny beans. Fal shrugged and put the odd bean into his mouth. Chewing it his face contorted. His lips formed all sorts of odd shapes as the flavor was nothing he had tasted before. The shell of the bean was bitter but the inside was a sour coffee taste. The taste was something strange and rather bad to even him who had drunken some of the most lethal of Greenskin brews and lived to tell the tale.
Celedron noticed the strange reactions on Fal's face and looked to the bean. Not wanting to seem rude or undiplomatic he put it in his mouth. His mouth was caught just before it went into a grimace. The taste was foul. Something one would expect from a child that played around with spices could make. But not wanting to spit it out despite all sense of his Elven taste telling him to he held back as much of his visual disgust as he could and quickly swallowed it. Shivering as he swallowed rapidly to use saliva to clear the taste from his tongue.
"A fascinating treat." He said with his most diplomatic smile. Anglermaw's comments drew the attention of both Elves who kept their distance. It was clear Mokte was more than willing to kill the rat and the Skaven's constant back talking and acting on equal footing was not helping. "Maybe you should take what you're given Anglermaw, I feel like there's only so much hospitality they'll offer you before they snap and even go against the will of Nahwa to tear you apart." Celedron says despite knowing they likely would never break the will of Nahwa. He could tell the power the Slann had over them from a political stand point alone much less any potential magical influence. For all Celedron knew he was watching right now.
Supa-kheti grumbled with what appeared to be a grimace that crept upon his worn, alien beak. He placed his hand upon the ruby scales of his Saurus companion; Motke flinched would flinch in reply. An exhaled breath, like the release of hot steam from a kettle would escape from Mokte's gnashing maw. The beast's head rose from Anglermaw's matted level, his fists clenched like scaled clubs before sauntering off into a darkened corridor of clay.
"Very, very lucky... Tli'xlanax..." Mokte snarled under his breath as he took his leave.
Supa-kheti shook himself, balancing his body upon that wooden staff as Mokte's frustrated stomps echoed within the villa. "F-forgive me, my Elf friendsss..." Sputtered the Shaman as he hopped toward the group. "...T-t-the flavour is an aquired p-palate; it is much better when s-smoked on the pipe, I assure you. I'll speak to my friend in time... H-he is cautious, everyone in Tzlipectl is..."
Anglermaw chuckled, the subtle chittering from his incisors made the tone of his voice seem mocking almost. He clenched the phantom fist from his maimed arm, long since lost to a beast that even the Claw-Admiral had long since forgot, as he kneaded the stump with his free claw. "If the dirtbags 'o Sartosa would 'a seen me shaven an' flayed simply for being 'Skaven', what chance has a Rat like meself got in 'ere..?" He tutted. "'Enemy o' the great plan' arn't I..? We..? Depends on which of the Toads thinks what. Some hate the Elf-folk as much as they would do t' hate me."
The crisp of burning wood popped with a distinct snapping sound while a brief few seconds of silence passed.
"I ain't bothered to make courtesy anyways." Anglermaw began again, this time toward Celedron. "We're as good as dead once that Nahwa gets the Ark."
"Very, very lucky... Tli'xlanax..." Mokte snarled under his breath as he took his leave.
Supa-kheti shook himself, balancing his body upon that wooden staff as Mokte's frustrated stomps echoed within the villa. "F-forgive me, my Elf friendsss..." Sputtered the Shaman as he hopped toward the group. "...T-t-the flavour is an aquired p-palate; it is much better when s-smoked on the pipe, I assure you. I'll speak to my friend in time... H-he is cautious, everyone in Tzlipectl is..."
Anglermaw chuckled, the subtle chittering from his incisors made the tone of his voice seem mocking almost. He clenched the phantom fist from his maimed arm, long since lost to a beast that even the Claw-Admiral had long since forgot, as he kneaded the stump with his free claw. "If the dirtbags 'o Sartosa would 'a seen me shaven an' flayed simply for being 'Skaven', what chance has a Rat like meself got in 'ere..?" He tutted. "'Enemy o' the great plan' arn't I..? We..? Depends on which of the Toads thinks what. Some hate the Elf-folk as much as they would do t' hate me."
The crisp of burning wood popped with a distinct snapping sound while a brief few seconds of silence passed.
"I ain't bothered to make courtesy anyways." Anglermaw began again, this time toward Celedron. "We're as good as dead once that Nahwa gets the Ark."
"Forgiveness is not needed to be offered, we of Ulthuan and even Falderan from the lands of the Empire would have slashed the Skaven's throat on sight should the situation have been different. These are trying times for us all." Celedron gave a reply to the elderly priest before Anglermaw chimed in knowing full well he was friend of no one here. Though his ending statement regarding their fates stayed with Celedron who pondered them. Surely once their use was done and if they were considered tainted the reptiles would do away with them like a crippled steed. A mercy killing maybe but a cruel fate once they helped either way.
Fal was less than subtle.
"I'm sure you'll likely be killed on sight once your precious Ark is reduced to cinders and sunk. No one in their right mind would let a Skaven go with something so dangerous." Fal leaned against the wall with arms crossed. "Me and Cely here have a chance of being let go given our blood. Hell for what I am they may consider me tainted goods. But you? I'd be surprised but maybe they'll have enough of a sense of honor to give you a chance to leave. Though I doubt you'd be welcomed back with anything other than waiting jaws." Celedron gave an aggravated glance at Fal's nickname for him. It was highly undignified.
"Regardless. We have bigger problems to deal with now." Celedron says raising his hand to silence any more bickering.
Fal was less than subtle.
"I'm sure you'll likely be killed on sight once your precious Ark is reduced to cinders and sunk. No one in their right mind would let a Skaven go with something so dangerous." Fal leaned against the wall with arms crossed. "Me and Cely here have a chance of being let go given our blood. Hell for what I am they may consider me tainted goods. But you? I'd be surprised but maybe they'll have enough of a sense of honor to give you a chance to leave. Though I doubt you'd be welcomed back with anything other than waiting jaws." Celedron gave an aggravated glance at Fal's nickname for him. It was highly undignified.
"Regardless. We have bigger problems to deal with now." Celedron says raising his hand to silence any more bickering.
The claws upon Anglermaw's matted feet made a cringeworthy scrape upon the stone floor while Falderan spat his venom, that Elven mongrel's spittle dabbing upon the Sea-Rat's already matted fur. He swished his beak toward the bitter Elves with squinting jeweled eyes and a scowl that bore a fierce array of rodent teeth. Anglermaw made a spitting expression, almost like a 'huack' from his Skaven throat, though no saliva was wretched from his furred beak toward the duo. It was as if he feared some repercussion from his ostensible peers. These supposed 'shields of civilization' that quarreled among themselves.
"A'hm goin' ta bed." Hissed the Sea-Rat, a vast array of insults coursed through his mind that he dare not speak. Nevertheless, his message was noted as he scampered off into the darkness. Supa-kheti stuttered at the Sea-Rat's blunt and sudden leave; he wasn't sure what the Skaven considered to be worthy beds in that squalorous Underworld.
"P-Perhaps i-it is for the best, my sssirs, that you join him for the rest." Muttered the Shaman, raising his beak toward the two with a nervous smile. He was old and crooked, and had surpassed the expectancy of a Skink's life upon the Great Pond. Yet in the presence of these Elves, he felt submissive and inexperienced among those that had lived many times the life of Supa-khetis and yet still retained their youth. He did not know what Nahwa had meant by 'he of two bloods,' nor was he ever aware of a supposed Empire. He saw Falerdan as merely a raggedy Elf-spawn, his importance to the Great Plan was undecipherable. Tzlipectl was isolated, moreso than even the most fiercely defenced Temple-cities. What events coursed in the lands far from Lustria seemed utterly irrelevant...
...At least until Lord Nahwa was so vividly awoken, that was.
"The hour is late, and the last skirmish has taken it's toll on me, my Lords. I too need to sleep." The Shaman conceded, hauling himself down the corridor, toward his bed of thick blankets and even thicker pillows. "You are guests in my home, eat from the fruit vines, rest in the spring or sleep within the quarters with your Skaven friend. But be ready for tomorrow, I am afraid of Lord Nahwa as I am loyal, I'd dare not disappoint him."
The sun rose long and slow that night. Perhaps the group had slept too early, or perhaps the aching souls of those who'd died kept the moon in place.
"A'hm goin' ta bed." Hissed the Sea-Rat, a vast array of insults coursed through his mind that he dare not speak. Nevertheless, his message was noted as he scampered off into the darkness. Supa-kheti stuttered at the Sea-Rat's blunt and sudden leave; he wasn't sure what the Skaven considered to be worthy beds in that squalorous Underworld.
"P-Perhaps i-it is for the best, my sssirs, that you join him for the rest." Muttered the Shaman, raising his beak toward the two with a nervous smile. He was old and crooked, and had surpassed the expectancy of a Skink's life upon the Great Pond. Yet in the presence of these Elves, he felt submissive and inexperienced among those that had lived many times the life of Supa-khetis and yet still retained their youth. He did not know what Nahwa had meant by 'he of two bloods,' nor was he ever aware of a supposed Empire. He saw Falerdan as merely a raggedy Elf-spawn, his importance to the Great Plan was undecipherable. Tzlipectl was isolated, moreso than even the most fiercely defenced Temple-cities. What events coursed in the lands far from Lustria seemed utterly irrelevant...
...At least until Lord Nahwa was so vividly awoken, that was.
"The hour is late, and the last skirmish has taken it's toll on me, my Lords. I too need to sleep." The Shaman conceded, hauling himself down the corridor, toward his bed of thick blankets and even thicker pillows. "You are guests in my home, eat from the fruit vines, rest in the spring or sleep within the quarters with your Skaven friend. But be ready for tomorrow, I am afraid of Lord Nahwa as I am loyal, I'd dare not disappoint him."
The sun rose long and slow that night. Perhaps the group had slept too early, or perhaps the aching souls of those who'd died kept the moon in place.
It only seemed like a handful of minutes passed since they arrived at the villa. When they arrived the sun was low but setting off a deep glow. But now. It was dark and night. Stars glimmered above and a single moon rained down it's pleasant light upon the vast jungle. Fal had taken his time to look out and admire the jungle. It had a great beauty to it. Vast and full of mystery. Unlike the forests of the Empire with straight up trees of prickly branches or swampy amalgamations of twisting shafts and sprawling roots. The trees were more tall and had interlocking branches that twisted in an endless number of ways. But for all the differences the dangers were the same. Fal knew not if Beastmen or Greenskins roamed the vast jungles. But he knew whatever did were likely as or more dangerous. The world was full of monstrous beasts and vile savages eager to draw blood. In some demented way it was unifying amongst the more civilized races to try and keep their societies going despite such adversity.
Celedron gave a thankful nod and told their host he would retire shortly. He thanked Supa-kheti and bid him goodnight as he retreated slowly to his chambers. He joined Fal in staring out at the jungle and looking to the moon. Both Elves stood on the balcony. Fal leaning on the stone barrier between him and a perilous fall.
"It almost seems pleasant without Morrslieb's gaze on us." Fal smirked. "If only I were foolish enough to see this as a sign of good luck." Celedron cocked an eyebrow at his comment.
"You're getting rather poetic at night. Seems the stress is getting to you." He joked. Fal laughed to himself.
"It's strange. I never once acted on the urge to turn back. Once the Skaven were pushed back at Sartosa. I had many chances to leave. Yet I went after that blasted Ark." Celedron stood quietly as he spoke. "Then it hit you. And you saved us from those pirates. Then we came ashore and you fought side by side with us. Now we're here. Sharing the villa of a Lizardmen wizard with a Skaven as special guests soon to go on a likely one way mission to stop some Skaven doomsday weapon that the dark gods seem interested in." He takes a deep sigh. "Did you or any of your other magic friends tell you of such a future?" He says with a chuckle as he turns to Celedron.
"Prophesy is harder to read than you would suspect. Though it is true. I never expected this much like yourself. There's something at play here. I can feel it. But I don't know what. Or why." He hung his head and took a deep breath of the chilly air. "We're simply pieces in a large game out here. Though I certainly don't plan to be thrown aside like a pawn." He says with a determined scowl at Fal. Fal nods.
"Glad to see you pompous pricks have a spine. Think you can do much without your staph?" Celedron says something faintly under his breath and snaps his fingers. A spark of energy forms a fireball in his hand. The light illuminating his face.
"I'm more than capable of fighting off some pitiful rats."
"I'm glad. I wouldn't want to need to carry this little team of ours." Celedron dissipates the fireball in a flicker of energy.
"We should get some rest. I do hope this reflective speech you're giving isn't a sign of reluctance. It seems we're all important to this mission." Celedron says heading off down the hall to the quarters where Anglermaw is resting. Finding a position he gets as comfortable as he can in such primitive linens and tries to rest his cautious mind. Fal spends several more minutes with his thoughts as he wishes he had a drink with him. Picking another of the strange beans he eats it with a grimace. The taste like torture but the sensation enough to help the thoughts about his life pass. He soon joins Celedron and Anglermaw as he flicks off his boosts and falls asleep. Trying all he can to silence his mind just like Celedron. He'd rest through till morning.
Celedron gave a thankful nod and told their host he would retire shortly. He thanked Supa-kheti and bid him goodnight as he retreated slowly to his chambers. He joined Fal in staring out at the jungle and looking to the moon. Both Elves stood on the balcony. Fal leaning on the stone barrier between him and a perilous fall.
"It almost seems pleasant without Morrslieb's gaze on us." Fal smirked. "If only I were foolish enough to see this as a sign of good luck." Celedron cocked an eyebrow at his comment.
"You're getting rather poetic at night. Seems the stress is getting to you." He joked. Fal laughed to himself.
"It's strange. I never once acted on the urge to turn back. Once the Skaven were pushed back at Sartosa. I had many chances to leave. Yet I went after that blasted Ark." Celedron stood quietly as he spoke. "Then it hit you. And you saved us from those pirates. Then we came ashore and you fought side by side with us. Now we're here. Sharing the villa of a Lizardmen wizard with a Skaven as special guests soon to go on a likely one way mission to stop some Skaven doomsday weapon that the dark gods seem interested in." He takes a deep sigh. "Did you or any of your other magic friends tell you of such a future?" He says with a chuckle as he turns to Celedron.
"Prophesy is harder to read than you would suspect. Though it is true. I never expected this much like yourself. There's something at play here. I can feel it. But I don't know what. Or why." He hung his head and took a deep breath of the chilly air. "We're simply pieces in a large game out here. Though I certainly don't plan to be thrown aside like a pawn." He says with a determined scowl at Fal. Fal nods.
"Glad to see you pompous pricks have a spine. Think you can do much without your staph?" Celedron says something faintly under his breath and snaps his fingers. A spark of energy forms a fireball in his hand. The light illuminating his face.
"I'm more than capable of fighting off some pitiful rats."
"I'm glad. I wouldn't want to need to carry this little team of ours." Celedron dissipates the fireball in a flicker of energy.
"We should get some rest. I do hope this reflective speech you're giving isn't a sign of reluctance. It seems we're all important to this mission." Celedron says heading off down the hall to the quarters where Anglermaw is resting. Finding a position he gets as comfortable as he can in such primitive linens and tries to rest his cautious mind. Fal spends several more minutes with his thoughts as he wishes he had a drink with him. Picking another of the strange beans he eats it with a grimace. The taste like torture but the sensation enough to help the thoughts about his life pass. He soon joins Celedron and Anglermaw as he flicks off his boosts and falls asleep. Trying all he can to silence his mind just like Celedron. He'd rest through till morning.
Anglermaw slept surprisingly well during the long night, to say that the Ark seemed so close -- the bastion of decay literally underneath his scraggy feet. Or was it his earlier daze which had helped him rest well this night? The Sea-Rat did not recall how he arrived within the Temple-City, or how that usurper bastard, Zeigfied, had managed to dispatch him. Whatever thoughts coursed in his rodent brain about that rogue chosen were annulled by a dirty, metal pain that smothered across his beak, the discomfort preventing Anglermaw from brooding on matters like that. They were trivial when all was said and done; Zeig-flag would never see the Ark so long as Anglermaw still breathed.
His last thoughts before he dozed off upon the quilted slab that these cold-blooded lizards thought of as a bed was that of Mister Brunswick. The Sea-Rat never indulged in the idea of befriending a hated no-fur, but the bloodlust he felt as he watched a clay plaque smash into the temple of the young man wasn't just verminous spite. He'd have crawled upon those pedestals and tore the throats of each Skink one by one, had he not been so weirdly compelled by that giant Toad.
Although the Ark troubled him little as he woke, it's insidious bulk was plain within his lucid dreams. The Sea-Rat tread upon it's rusted mast, his claw dug into the grating. The dreadnaught smashed against the turbulent seas, enduring obscene waves that engulfed them both. His vision was bathed under a glowing, cerulean hue, and as he swished his beak from cabin to bow, he saw that ship had been deserted. He was alone at last with his prize, and thus was overcome with a relaxed sensation, one that was totally alien to the Ratfolk -- always so full of trepidation.
He looked to the sky, the clouds were not their usual shape. The air above was a river; the Ark sailed within an alien realm. Suddenly, the river above collapsed, the sea within the heavens literally falling upon the Ark, yet the Sea-Rat felt no fear, no horror as it met. His whiskers did not flinch as the floating ocean tore him from his vessel and into a bleak vortex.
Then...
"Archwbyglglgyl!" Anglermaw gurgled, writhing loudly while a bowl of freezing water was poured upon his beak, abruptly bringing him back to the waking world.
"Get up, Rat-spawn!" Taunted Mokte, standing opposive to a huge, crocodilion beast that held to it's belly a clay bucket -- it's contents now smothered across the body of the Sea-Rat. "It's nearly time, did you sleep during the night?"
"Bloody Hell, Lizard! What time you wakin' us up for?!" Complained Anglermaw as he frantically swatted away the trickling wetness. "'Still lookin' like sunrise outside! Is this a joke or summat?"
"Us? You sleep till sunset! Your Elf-spawn friends are already awake! Get out of bed!"
His last thoughts before he dozed off upon the quilted slab that these cold-blooded lizards thought of as a bed was that of Mister Brunswick. The Sea-Rat never indulged in the idea of befriending a hated no-fur, but the bloodlust he felt as he watched a clay plaque smash into the temple of the young man wasn't just verminous spite. He'd have crawled upon those pedestals and tore the throats of each Skink one by one, had he not been so weirdly compelled by that giant Toad.
Although the Ark troubled him little as he woke, it's insidious bulk was plain within his lucid dreams. The Sea-Rat tread upon it's rusted mast, his claw dug into the grating. The dreadnaught smashed against the turbulent seas, enduring obscene waves that engulfed them both. His vision was bathed under a glowing, cerulean hue, and as he swished his beak from cabin to bow, he saw that ship had been deserted. He was alone at last with his prize, and thus was overcome with a relaxed sensation, one that was totally alien to the Ratfolk -- always so full of trepidation.
He looked to the sky, the clouds were not their usual shape. The air above was a river; the Ark sailed within an alien realm. Suddenly, the river above collapsed, the sea within the heavens literally falling upon the Ark, yet the Sea-Rat felt no fear, no horror as it met. His whiskers did not flinch as the floating ocean tore him from his vessel and into a bleak vortex.
Then...
"Archwbyglglgyl!" Anglermaw gurgled, writhing loudly while a bowl of freezing water was poured upon his beak, abruptly bringing him back to the waking world.
"Get up, Rat-spawn!" Taunted Mokte, standing opposive to a huge, crocodilion beast that held to it's belly a clay bucket -- it's contents now smothered across the body of the Sea-Rat. "It's nearly time, did you sleep during the night?"
"Bloody Hell, Lizard! What time you wakin' us up for?!" Complained Anglermaw as he frantically swatted away the trickling wetness. "'Still lookin' like sunrise outside! Is this a joke or summat?"
"Us? You sleep till sunset! Your Elf-spawn friends are already awake! Get out of bed!"
In the villas main room the Elves had gathered and were presented with bowls containing various fruits. Most were fairly common. Bananas and similar hot climate fruits. But some were varied forms of similar fruits with odd tastes and textures. Fal stood by the lookout over the vast jungle. Finishing a banana he tossed the skin over the edge as it was lost int he brush below. The squawking of birds and chirping of insects filled the chamber. Fal rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The bedding of the Lizardmen not quiet made to comfortably fit the more fragile forms of Elves and Humans. Celedron bit into an apple like fruit but purple. Its juice was sweet and inner flesh soft. Seeing Anglermaw approach followed by the large crocodilian creature and Mokte he gave a nod.
"Someone was comfy." He says as Fal looks over.
"Thought you rats were all up at the crack of dawn to scavenge?" Fal smirks as he teases their unexpected ally.
"Don't start anything." Celedron says glaring at Fal. Fal rolls his eyes at the hubris of the statement after Celedron had also taken a mocking jab at the Skaven.
"Someone was comfy." He says as Fal looks over.
"Thought you rats were all up at the crack of dawn to scavenge?" Fal smirks as he teases their unexpected ally.
"Don't start anything." Celedron says glaring at Fal. Fal rolls his eyes at the hubris of the statement after Celedron had also taken a mocking jab at the Skaven.
The Sea-Rat bit the hairs from underneath his lip in an attempt to still the wracking shivers. A trail of wet clawprints upon the clay floor marked his walk as Mokte and the insufferable lizard's beast of burden marched Anglermaw toward the dining hall. Of course, the curdling vibrations were not merely a primal reaction to the touch of water -- Anglermaw had spent enough time upon the Tilean seas to conquer those aversions, as he made no attempt to swipe away at the water cascading down his tightened fur. It reminded him of the past, in some abstract way. Mere days before the mutiny, before Sartosa, Zeigfied, and these ignorant no-furs whose hatred for Anglermaw was reciprocated in silence.
No, it was the Black Hunger that was the cause of these uncontrollable shakings. Anglermaw had not eaten since his sleep, but that was half a day ago. Men and all no-furs alike could survive a while without the taste of food, but not the Skaven, not Anglermaw. He was famished, no doubt, as his lips lapped away at the incisors that nibbled and scraped at the clumps of fur by his mouth. Gazing down toward the tossed banana peel, he shoved it into his mouth, ignoring it's bitter taste and lack of nutrition -- it was enough to still those everpresent thoughts of devourment, an almost hivelike imprint in the brain of every Ratman.
Mokte chuckled, amused by Anglermaw's desperate need to eat. "Hungry? Want food?" He asked mockingly, clenching his gnarled fists, like scaled, ruby maces. "I bet. Do you deserve food? I don't know. Maybe Supa-kheti is kind today."
'Maybe if I had my hookarm, I'd shove it up your backside, beast.' That was how the Sea-Rat wanted to reply. He remained silent however, save the haze of a docile hiss sizzling from his lips. The wry comments from Celedron and Falderan were not much reassurance either, that Elf in rags had become a bit too big for his boots as of late. Maybe once they were forced to delve within the bowels of Pestilens, the Horned Rat would take him first.
"Welcome, Ssssunami..." Croaked the Shaman, for what ever reason refusing to mention Anglermaw's more common name. "I sssee you have become... aquainted with my kroxigor, Bolonez. He is a kind beast, not like dutiful Mokte. Sit with us and eat before Nahwa sends you down. He has communed with me on how you will... on how... you will all best aid...-"
Supa-kheti coughed for a moment, his wheezings becoming more violent as the seconds past, almost throwing off of his stool of mahogany. He raised a hand before a rushing Mokte, alarmed at the wretching of his friend and master. The Skink took an inhale of his smoke pipe, laced with the bitter 'xhocolah' he'd offered the outsiders before. It was enough to calm him from his fit, leaning back on the stool while Anglermaw took his seat. He was too busy gnawing on the various exotic meats and sweet fruits to care.
"I am getting old." Said Supa-kheti with half a whisper.
No, it was the Black Hunger that was the cause of these uncontrollable shakings. Anglermaw had not eaten since his sleep, but that was half a day ago. Men and all no-furs alike could survive a while without the taste of food, but not the Skaven, not Anglermaw. He was famished, no doubt, as his lips lapped away at the incisors that nibbled and scraped at the clumps of fur by his mouth. Gazing down toward the tossed banana peel, he shoved it into his mouth, ignoring it's bitter taste and lack of nutrition -- it was enough to still those everpresent thoughts of devourment, an almost hivelike imprint in the brain of every Ratman.
Mokte chuckled, amused by Anglermaw's desperate need to eat. "Hungry? Want food?" He asked mockingly, clenching his gnarled fists, like scaled, ruby maces. "I bet. Do you deserve food? I don't know. Maybe Supa-kheti is kind today."
'Maybe if I had my hookarm, I'd shove it up your backside, beast.' That was how the Sea-Rat wanted to reply. He remained silent however, save the haze of a docile hiss sizzling from his lips. The wry comments from Celedron and Falderan were not much reassurance either, that Elf in rags had become a bit too big for his boots as of late. Maybe once they were forced to delve within the bowels of Pestilens, the Horned Rat would take him first.
"Welcome, Ssssunami..." Croaked the Shaman, for what ever reason refusing to mention Anglermaw's more common name. "I sssee you have become... aquainted with my kroxigor, Bolonez. He is a kind beast, not like dutiful Mokte. Sit with us and eat before Nahwa sends you down. He has communed with me on how you will... on how... you will all best aid...-"
Supa-kheti coughed for a moment, his wheezings becoming more violent as the seconds past, almost throwing off of his stool of mahogany. He raised a hand before a rushing Mokte, alarmed at the wretching of his friend and master. The Skink took an inhale of his smoke pipe, laced with the bitter 'xhocolah' he'd offered the outsiders before. It was enough to calm him from his fit, leaning back on the stool while Anglermaw took his seat. He was too busy gnawing on the various exotic meats and sweet fruits to care.
"I am getting old." Said Supa-kheti with half a whisper.
Once everyone was gathered and an exotic meal had questions began to arise regarding their coming objective. On Supa-kheti's words Celedron politely extended his arm and once he was noticed spoke.
"You said we all have our purpose in this plan of yours. What may I ask are each of our purposes?" Fal was equally curious as he listened in all to eager to know more details about their mission. They seemed to ignore Anglermaw as he feasted like a starved dog. Maw snapping and consuming any morsel of food that came into his clawed grasp. Any more tormenting of him while he was on edge would only serve to be a little fun for Fal and maybe even Celedron. But ultimately detrimental to their mission should any more resentment be created if that was possible.
"You said we all have our purpose in this plan of yours. What may I ask are each of our purposes?" Fal was equally curious as he listened in all to eager to know more details about their mission. They seemed to ignore Anglermaw as he feasted like a starved dog. Maw snapping and consuming any morsel of food that came into his clawed grasp. Any more tormenting of him while he was on edge would only serve to be a little fun for Fal and maybe even Celedron. But ultimately detrimental to their mission should any more resentment be created if that was possible.
Crunch, chomp and munch, Anglermaw tore into the banquet before him accompanied by audible moans of 'Augm! Noam, nom!' Fruit skins flew into the air, splattered across the walls from the dyed hands of the Sea-Rat. Suckling bodies of roasted animals native to the jungles were torn to ribbons within his claws, hauling the parted chunks across his beak. Not even the bones were spared from the Skaven's insatiable hunger, as he gnawed upon the flaked marrow -- those rodent incisors chattering upon the bleached surface before the splinters had been swallowed deep. The taste was beyond words, beyond the need for further subtlety; it had been the best food Anglermaw had dined upon in ages. Even before the mutiny, for the Ratfolk were not known for the culinary prowess, prefering to feast upon the flesh of whatever carrion they could find, even their own kin. No Skaven was patient enough to wait idly for a cooked meal.
Mokte could only rear his toothed maw away in disgust, but even he felt compelled to pluck a large pheasant or two from the table, to clench it's juicy body with his jaws and swallow the roast whole. Maybe even the live Rat would suffice, Mokte would have torn Anglermaw's head from his scawny neck with his bare teeth had this been any other occasion. The Saurus had already eaten today, however; most of these scraps would go to Bolonez, who deserved this feast much more than the Sea-Rat in Mokte's eyes. Anglermaw should've been out scavenging for bugs and worms. Before he could frustrate himself any longer, a wooden pipe was shoved into his fist, handed to him by the smiling Shaman. It was as if Supa-kheti had read the mind of his good friend and found only a boiling brain.
"Calm... Mok-te. Smoke the pipe for me and relaxss..." Rasped Supa-kheti in his native tongue. Mokte obeyed, inhaling the 'xhocolah' vapour that soon danced across the crevices of his teeth. He slouched by the Elves on an empty seat, his rippling girth threatening to snap the legs from underneath.
"The pipe is laced with leechfrog spit, Elf-friends..." Mokte said, his mannerisms suddenly far more welcoming than the reserved beast he'd been merely a few seconds earlier. "It makes the taste much sweeter, but if I give it you, warm-bloods, you will see things..."
A brown vapour soon permeated around the dining hall, it's lavender smell much nicer than it's ugly colour.
The Shaman hacked again, noticing Celedron's purple clad hand protrude from underneath the table. The fit was not violent this time around, as he wiped the plegm across his scaled beak. He tweaked his head for a moment in confusion, for he did not understand Celedron's reference to any plan Supa-kheti endevoured. It wasn't until a few seconds later that the stumped Skink had understood.
"Y-you mean Nahwa's plan, my guest?" Asked Supa-kheti, as if he expected a different answer. "The Lord speaks to me in spirit, and he tells me your roles, but not your purpose, my friends. I inquire why within my mind, but my question is answered with silence. Why does Great Nahwa hide his true intentions from his most loyal servants, might I ask-?"
Anglermaw and Supa-kheti jumped at the tingling cry outside the villa, like the shrill wail of a woman. The voice chimed through the air like a sharp blade, again and again as the scream became more gutteral than the last. The Sea-Rat became tense, alerted enough to break away from his messy feast as the lumbering Kroxigor threw whatever leftovers there lay into his snapping jaws. Mokte broke away from his haze, placing the still lit pipe of 'xhocolah' upon the table and began an abrupt march outside of the villa. The Shaman made no attempt to retrieve him, he knew the origin of that scream all too well.
"What in Sigmar-Rat's name was that-yeah?" Wondered a newly alerted Anglermaw, scampering toward the doorway as he surveyed the bronze sky.
"It is finally time." Supa-kheti replied, conviction laced within his wretched, elderly tone. "I send you to Nahwa."
Mokte could only rear his toothed maw away in disgust, but even he felt compelled to pluck a large pheasant or two from the table, to clench it's juicy body with his jaws and swallow the roast whole. Maybe even the live Rat would suffice, Mokte would have torn Anglermaw's head from his scawny neck with his bare teeth had this been any other occasion. The Saurus had already eaten today, however; most of these scraps would go to Bolonez, who deserved this feast much more than the Sea-Rat in Mokte's eyes. Anglermaw should've been out scavenging for bugs and worms. Before he could frustrate himself any longer, a wooden pipe was shoved into his fist, handed to him by the smiling Shaman. It was as if Supa-kheti had read the mind of his good friend and found only a boiling brain.
"Calm... Mok-te. Smoke the pipe for me and relaxss..." Rasped Supa-kheti in his native tongue. Mokte obeyed, inhaling the 'xhocolah' vapour that soon danced across the crevices of his teeth. He slouched by the Elves on an empty seat, his rippling girth threatening to snap the legs from underneath.
"The pipe is laced with leechfrog spit, Elf-friends..." Mokte said, his mannerisms suddenly far more welcoming than the reserved beast he'd been merely a few seconds earlier. "It makes the taste much sweeter, but if I give it you, warm-bloods, you will see things..."
A brown vapour soon permeated around the dining hall, it's lavender smell much nicer than it's ugly colour.
The Shaman hacked again, noticing Celedron's purple clad hand protrude from underneath the table. The fit was not violent this time around, as he wiped the plegm across his scaled beak. He tweaked his head for a moment in confusion, for he did not understand Celedron's reference to any plan Supa-kheti endevoured. It wasn't until a few seconds later that the stumped Skink had understood.
"Y-you mean Nahwa's plan, my guest?" Asked Supa-kheti, as if he expected a different answer. "The Lord speaks to me in spirit, and he tells me your roles, but not your purpose, my friends. I inquire why within my mind, but my question is answered with silence. Why does Great Nahwa hide his true intentions from his most loyal servants, might I ask-?"
Anglermaw and Supa-kheti jumped at the tingling cry outside the villa, like the shrill wail of a woman. The voice chimed through the air like a sharp blade, again and again as the scream became more gutteral than the last. The Sea-Rat became tense, alerted enough to break away from his messy feast as the lumbering Kroxigor threw whatever leftovers there lay into his snapping jaws. Mokte broke away from his haze, placing the still lit pipe of 'xhocolah' upon the table and began an abrupt march outside of the villa. The Shaman made no attempt to retrieve him, he knew the origin of that scream all too well.
"What in Sigmar-Rat's name was that-yeah?" Wondered a newly alerted Anglermaw, scampering toward the doorway as he surveyed the bronze sky.
"It is finally time." Supa-kheti replied, conviction laced within his wretched, elderly tone. "I send you to Nahwa."
The scene was oddly cheerful as Anglermaw feasted and Mokte took a cooked bird into his maw. Teeth tearing at flesh and being swallowed down like the massive carnivore he was. It was like watching a feral beast swallow small prey. A primal fury that housed intelligence sent shrills of worry and hope down Celedron's spine. They were deadly but luckily they were on their side. For now anyhow. As Mokte took the pipe and explained it Celedron recognized similar substances. The levels of depravity and excess found in their mortal enemies the Druchii were not absent in the Asur. Merely to a less extreme degree. Though wine houses often had rooms where such substances could be enjoyed and the pleasures of the flesh endorsed if you had the coin to satiate it. All Elves had a high sense of sensation and desire for pleasure. It was one thing that unified them all. Though the difference was the levels of depravity some would fall to.
The Shaman explained his situation. He too had no idea what their plan was. He knew not what was desired of them and was being given no answers. This was a tactic known in military history. You'd keep information from those below you so if captured they could provide no insight to the enemy. Or a more sinister outcome. It could be negative for the party it was withheld from. This wasn't lost on Fal either. With his military career behind him in the Empire he had often had certain details withheld from him. After all a spearman doesn't need to know where the cavalry will come from or when. They just need to hold the line. A calculated move that always sat heavily in his stomach. It could bode poorly.
The scream snapped both Elves necks to turn towards it.
"By the gods what was that?" Celedron asks wandering to the door. The resulting sounds of movement and Mokte standing brought everyone on edge. The announcement they must go to Nahwa led the formally calm scene to being a set piece for chaos. Rushing out the group were shuffled along as they gazed about the temple city. Their moment of reprieve was over. Now was the time for action and to put an end to the threat of the ark.
The Shaman explained his situation. He too had no idea what their plan was. He knew not what was desired of them and was being given no answers. This was a tactic known in military history. You'd keep information from those below you so if captured they could provide no insight to the enemy. Or a more sinister outcome. It could be negative for the party it was withheld from. This wasn't lost on Fal either. With his military career behind him in the Empire he had often had certain details withheld from him. After all a spearman doesn't need to know where the cavalry will come from or when. They just need to hold the line. A calculated move that always sat heavily in his stomach. It could bode poorly.
The scream snapped both Elves necks to turn towards it.
"By the gods what was that?" Celedron asks wandering to the door. The resulting sounds of movement and Mokte standing brought everyone on edge. The announcement they must go to Nahwa led the formally calm scene to being a set piece for chaos. Rushing out the group were shuffled along as they gazed about the temple city. Their moment of reprieve was over. Now was the time for action and to put an end to the threat of the ark.
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