Warp Token 2 Update

2k words. Sorry I didn't get round to updates this weekend, had some stuff going on and now i'm tired. Thank you all for your patience!

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Ironsnout kept his distance, intent on peppering her with rounds from afar. She retaliated with her own volley, clutching three warp-stars to a paw and flinging out her arms. They whistled through the air, striking against his war suit with a series of clangs. While her aim was true, the stars imbedding themselves in the sturdy metal, the points were not long enough to strike anything vital. It was like trying to bleed out a giant with a toothpick, but it was all she could do to fight back.

“Enough,” Ironsnout rasped, reaching up to pull one of the stars free from his chest. The weapon left a pair of pockmarks in his barrelled chestpiece. He tossed it right back at her, rushing towards her as she took a moment to duck away. “Time to your little rebellious charade, breeder.”

He harried her with swipes of his axe, drawing crosses upon the air as he hacked and slashed. Each strike had the strength of a mountain behind it, and eventually she was hit. His weapon came swiping across her arm, gliding through her flesh with a spray of scarlet, Skyseeker crying out as she clutched her arm. If it had breached any further, she would be missing a limb right now.

Ironsnout came at her with an overhead, Skyseeker raising her dagger in a block. Green sparks discharged as they locked, Skyseeker two-handing as she twisted out to the side. Ironsnout was open, but her wounded arm made her a fraction too slow, and when she thrust out, his giant gauntlet seized her paw.

She felt her bones crushing as he tightened his hold, lifting her up like she weighed nothing. Her paws dangled from the ground, Skyseeker kicking out with her claws, but they barely left scratches in his chestplate. She tried to pry his fingers apart with her free paw, but she was too weak, and Ironsnout too strong with his warp-powered suit.

He held her in the air, curling his other arm back and to the side. He struck her, but not with his axe, his fist landing savagely into her snout. She felt her teeth shatter as his ironed knuckles connected, Ironsnout dropping her at the same instant, the impact of the uppercut sending her flying back. She felt something crack inside her as she came down on her rump, tears welling in her eyes as her head throbbed with agony.

She rolled onto her side as she felt the ground quake with Ironsnout’s footsteps, the claws on his reinforced boots gripping the stones. Her paws were missing the comfortable curve of her dagger, and she searched through a blurry filter to locate it. The weeping blade was laying a short distance away, but when she crawled toward it Ironsnout beat her to it and used his axe to flick it towards him.

He bent over with a casualness that hurt her pride, as though he no longer perceived her as a threat, Skyseeker summoning the strength to get to her knee. He picked up her blade, turning it over in his metal arm as he examined it. “One of Gnawdwell’s,” he muttered. “Breeder is no assassin, Eshin blade lost-wasted on you.” He slotted the weeping dagger into a pouch on his belt. “You little fool-fool. You think having the Lord’s gift-prizes makes you invincible? Breeder is not only one with Clan Mors’ greatest wargear.”

He advanced on her, Skyseeker reaching for her hip. She drew her rapier, the one she’d stolen from Von Kessel, its gilded hilt glinting in the beams of daylight breaching the windows. Its blade was not warp-powered, it would be even less effective at breaching Ironsnout’s armour, but it was the best thing she had in her dwindling arsenal.

She could not resist the urge to crawl backward, the lumbering ratman stalking towards her, each of his heavy steps sending tremors up her spine. Skyseeker was reminded of the living statue that had guarded the temple that held the relic, and could not imagine the bravery Roderick had mustered to have faced it head-on as he had. She was clutched with cold dread, her glans seeping fear-musk in droves.

When he came into range, she struck out with all she had, but Ironsnout blocked with an easy sweep of his axe. She took a moment to stand, but Ironsnout swept his polearm across the ground, knocking her paws out from under her. She came down for the second time in just as many minutes, but this time when she tried to stand her body would not obey.

The wooden beams crossed before the ceiling overhead, and she only wished she had stayed up there, out of reach of Ironsnout’s brutal strength. A moment passed, and then the warlod was standing over her, the motors in his exosuit whirring and clicking. He looked down at her with those blank, expressionless grills he had for eyes. It was hard to tell if the hissing was his suit or his laughter.

“Is this your best?” Ironsnout asked. “Know that you are a breeder, but for all the disruptions you caused Gnawdwell and his plans, had expected… more.”

A giant arm came down, and Skyseeker was grabbed, Ironsnout’s paw large enough to encompass her torso like a metal spider. She was lifted from her back, her rapier gone, dropped somewhere, her stamina and strength depleted. There was no escape.

He brought her face to his helmet, and Skyseeker had no choice to but to look at him. The grill that capped his visor was guarded by vertical bars, and through them vented Ironsnout’s putrid breath. His mouth was a vent of black and metal, but dissolving through it where the gnashing points of long teeth, snapping into view as Ironsnout spoke.

“Now I have you,” he snarled. “Your treachery is over, now you will be induct-taken into the vermintide. I have a very special place for you in my following, one far more suited to your needs, breeder.”

“I-Ironsnout is dumber than he looks,” Skyseeker gasped. “if y-you think-think Skyseeker will yield. Better kill me before I kill you.”

“Kill you?” Ironsnout laughed. “No, breeder, you are far too precious for that, though it would be so easy…” He squeezed her as though to demonstrate how he could pop her body like a melon. “No, you will be alive when I take you back to Skavenblight, and lay you before Gnawdwell’s throne. Not intact, no-no, but alive enough that you will sire a great many pups, once you are returned to the breeding pits.”

“N-Never!” she stammered, but there was little conviction behind the denial. She was surrounded by Ironsnout’s vermintide, and nobody knew she was here. Any chance of escape was gone. “Skaven won’t go back!”

“For now... you won’t. The matter of the relic must be settled first. A pity you did not bring it with you, I would not have had to spend a second longer in this wretched man-thing place. Gnawdwell wants his prize, breeder, and you are only half of it.”

Her eyes widened as electric voltages began to swirl from Ironsnout’s pack, the fur on her arms tingling as static energy collected. Just like Kretch, she was gripped within reach of the warp-power, and she too was within its discharge.

“W-Wait!” she pleaded, the words leaving her lips before her mind had processed them. “Skaven not know where relic is!”

“I don’t care. You betrayed Clan Mors with your antics, breeder, and a slight against the Clan is a slight to me. Gnawdwell will have his way with you, yes-yes, but you’ve delayed your punishment long enough. Don’t worry-panic, breeder, you won’t die under my watch. As for your man-thing friends, they will not be so lucky.”

She watched those veins of energy ripple down the limb that clutched her, a terror like no other permeating her body. She wriggled and fought, but Ironsnout was gripping her too tightly, her arms trapped at her sides against his giant fingers.

Ironsnout curled his arm, and the wisps of warp-energy unfurled from his fingertips. Skyseeker felt a cold pinprick crawl into her skin, burrowing into every fibre and muscle of her being. She vowed to seal her lips, she had already stooped to pleading to this war lord, she would not go lower. Those electric tentacles at last caressed her body, seeking out her flesh as it left the controlled circuits of Ironsnout’s suit, and once they found her body they dug deep. and burned all her muscles from the inside.

She no longer had to wonder what kind of pain Kretch had to endure when Ironsnout had grabbed him. Skyseeker started to screams, yet she could not even hear herself doing it – Ironsnout was laughing too loudly.

-xXx-

When Roderick had entered Lyonesse, they had been near seventy strong. When they left, they were over double that.

Edouart’s shock cavalry was roughly forty man and horse, each mount caparisoned in the reds and whites of Lyonesse, the saddles seating knights armed in silver armour and towering lances. When they departed the city that morning, the Duke had insisted that his son parade his leaving, and near half the city had turned up to wish his horseman farewell, with the Imperials bringing up the rear.

Each Brettonian knight decorated himself in kerchiefs and favours beholding them to their promised ladies, the little wisps of cloth rippling in the morning breeze. Some wore them on their lancers, others their helmets, their shining armour dazzling the crowds that lined the streets. Flowers and boons were cast down at them from the sidelines, and even from the spectators up in the windows, and the knights blew kisses back at the common folk.

Even the Imperials were not spared from the well-wishes although most of it was concentrated around the knights, for obvious reasons. Roderick wasn’t sure how he felt about holding a festival before marching to a war, but at least spirits would start off high when they marched. Having the prayers of the Lady of the Lake couldn’t hurt either.

It was just the knights that would accompany them. Edouart had brought stableboys, squires, leatherworkers, even a few smiths that could hammer out horseshows and sharpen steel, a partially assembled forge packed onto a mule, while another carried the kibble needed to keep the mounts strong and healthy. They weren’t combatants, yet they were just as important to an army as the soldiers and knights. Without support and maintenance, their force would not be able to sustain itself for very long, and they had a great march to the Empire ahead of them. The dangers would be many.

The added manpower was all well and good, but Roderick was most grateful for the camping supplies the Duke had left them. Tents and bedrolls so no man would have to sleep rough again, and even a few pavilions that would serve as command tents for Edouart and Von Kessel’s officers to plan their march. Roderick had even been given a horse, a feisty destrier with a dark coat. Someone had sewn the Imperial coat of arms onto the saddle so that his Reiklander colours would be recognised.

Perhaps he’d been wrong to question he Duke’s decision so openly in his court. While this was one of the smaller forces that Roderick had been part of, their war gear was sturdy, their reinforcements disciplined and organised, even the rifles and pistols saved from the wolfship had been repaired and serviced during the night. Perhaps they would relieve Marienburg yet.

Once they passed the city walls, the sounds of the cheering crowds gently dissolved, until only the scuffing of boots and hooves, and the creaking of leather broadcast the marching force. Roderick took up his spot at the head of the procession, along with Edouart, Von Kessel, and the other mounted officers and wayfinders. It felt good to be mounted up again, Roderick was always more comfortable with the speed and manoeuvrability of a steed. Skyseeker had always argued that horses were overrated. “Not as speedy as a Skaven,” she would always say. He had wanted to saddle her up and show her how fast a gallop could take her – they had walked many leagues from their meeting to the end of their quest - and this would have been the perfect opportunity…

The thought reminded him of a topic discussed back at the feast. He flicked the bridle, sidling his horse until he trotted aside Von Kessel. The Captain had also been assigned a war horse, though he’d had to be taught how to ride and Edouart was always close by to give him pointers or to take over as needed. Not even in his youth had Von Kessel ever taken to a saddle, Roderick had learned.

“Captain,” he began. “Any news from Wilfred yet?”