Warp Token 2 Update

2k words

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Sailors flocked to her charge, the shouts of a hundred man-things carrying across the maelstrom. Rain had begun to pepper the deck, flecks of dew whipping against her green goggles. She and the human bore down on the port side of the ship like a vermintide, the clusters of Skaven bearing their weapons to riposte the charge. The two sides clashed, the ring of metal-on-metal followed by the shouts of men and rat alike.

The curved swords of the sailors thrust dexterously into the Skaven ranks, the clumsy rodents holding pikes unable to block effectively in the close-quarters. The first line of Skaven wore the telltale rags of slaves, and they were cleaved down easily now that she had rallied the humans into action.

Beyond the skavenslaves lines, however, more elite Skaven were invading the ship. She could see globadiers leaping from the clanship to theirs, clanrats wearing serviceable armour and protected by kite shields, and even a few stormvermin, their red and black armour drawing her gaze.

She watched one of these latter Skaven leap onto the bulwark directly in front of her, his towering frame rising above the skavenslaves holding their ground, making room for more vermin to board. In his paws he brandished a halberd that was near twice his size, the black, serrated blades turning in a cruel hook perfect for spilling intestines.

He thrust his giant halberd in her direction, meeting her gaze across the deck. Being the only Skaven on the human’s side, she must have been easy to pick out among the chaos.

“Traitor-thing!” the stormvermin snarled, his guttural voice barely audible over the shouting. “Thought you could hide-sneak? Only Skaven can hide from Skaven! Haha-yes-yes!”

Skyseeker hesitated, letting her fear-musk spray. A stormvermin’s skill in battle was matched only by their extensive wargear, and she didn’t fancy facing one head on, even with man-things to back her up.

There was a sound like a giant weight falling upon the ground, and then the stormvermin was thrown back, a hole in his chest, disappearing over the deck with a pained cry. Her head snapped to the left, and she saw Roderick holding his sword in one hand and his flintlock pistol in the other, a wisp of smoke rising from the muzzle.

He stowed the pistol away, as quick as he’d drawn it, lunging into the fray with his sword outstretched. He drew arcs in the air with the blade, catching two or three Skaven with each swing as he swiped round and round, creating space like a walking whirlwind of death and skill. He was so hot when he was fighting.

The sailors not caught in the melee began lining up in rows, pulling long rifles into their shoulders, officers shouting orders to reload. They bunched up wherever there was room, drawing beads over the Skaven. They fired in unison, puffs of white smoke blasting from the barrels along with lead bullets, whizzing over Skyseeker’s head as she curled up and covered her ears.

The vermintide visibly crumbled, several clanrats dropping with wounds on their heads and chests, their rich blood coming out in mists. Some of the handgunners had taken up spots on the upper decks, but most of them were shooting directly from the flanks. The chances of hitting a friendly were astronomical, but the man-things didn’t seem all that fussed. She knew firsthand how disciplined they were when it came to firearms.

The vermintide’s initial surprise waned in the face of the volleys, and they began to recede, bunching up against the bulwarks as the man-things drove them back. Some were diving overboard, losing their will to fight, but she could still count several dozen still holding their ground.

The man-thing on her immediatea right suddenly lurched, a green ball of gas slamming into his chest. Cooking flesh filled her nose, as did the familiar scent of warpfire, as sweet as candy. She glanced up, the clanship rising above the wolfship like the wall of a neglected building. Rats were gathering up on the deck, whooping and hollering, egging each other into leaping first without going themselves, but among them were hunkering Skaven, bracing muskets against the edge.

One of the Skaven rifleman peered through his glowing scope, and Skyseeker could almost feel his beady gaze. She leapt for cover behind a nearby barrel, praying it wasn’t full of powder.

Clack! She heard the oversized warplock sound off even from down here, and a bolt of warpflame glanced off the barrel, leaving an emerald burn-mark on its side. The man-thing weren’t the only ones with guns.

“Jezzails!” Skyseeker warned, hoping her man-thing allies were paying her enough attention. She held up a paw towards the sniper, but not because she was indicating. In her fingers was clutched a warp-star, a shard of metal reinforced in the forges of Skavenblight, and she flung it with all her Skaven-might.

The shard found its mark in the gunner’s shoulder, the Skaven dropping his gun to the waters below, his below of pain cut short as she produced another star from the folds of her cloak and threw it at his chest.

There were perhaps seven or so more jezzails, spread along the clanship’s deck and firing down on the wolfship. She watched another sailor get picked off from a brutal headshot, the travel time of a warpflame bolt almost impossible to predict for non-Skaven.

Everything was in chaos. Bolts and bullets raining down, rain raining down, the screams of steel-on-steel overpowered by the screams of fighting Skaven and humans. There was even a muffled explosion, as though a bomb had gone off somewhere nearby, and she didn’t even want to know what that was about.

“We need help on the bow!” someone cried out. A sailor was rushing down from the nose of the ship, getting the attention of a nearby row of handgunners. “The forecastle’s being overrun! The Cap needs every able-bodied man up there with him!”

Skyseeker looked to the wolfship’s front, where the high forecastle comprised the wolship’s nose. As its namesake suggested, the construct was a bastion of wood reinforced with iron braces, with several dozen guns poking out of its rounded sides, rising up in three concentric tiers. Some of them roared with fire as loaders inside pounded away at the clanship, the close-quarters ensuring that there were no misses.

She could spot Emeral flames pouring out from some of the gun ports, however, dozens of Skaven scrambling to crawl inside the ports and get at the sailors inside. Was Von Kessel really up there and not cowering belowdeck? Most surprising…

“Skaven may not be able-bodied man, but will help Kessel-man out of predicament,” Skyseeker replied. The messenger gave her an odd look, but didn’t complain. After all, who wouldn’t except help from a Skaven?

“Rick-rod!” she shouted. He was perhaps ten paces away, dueling with a skavenslave. Once he cleaved it through the chest, he turned to look. “Kessel-man’s in trouble. Skaven’s going to take your advice and show appreciation by saving his ginger arse.”

“I’ll join you once the deck is clear,” Roderick called back between sweeps of his sword. “Leave some for me, eh lass?”

She thought he’d might protest, tell her to wait for him, but he had as much faith in her skills as he did in his false God. She didn’t think she could appreciate him more now that they were breeding all the time, but somehow he always managed it.

“No promising,” she called back, and then she was off. A couple stray bolts were fired her way, but they stopped once she’d gained enough distance and put one of the stairwells leading up to the bow between her and the snipers.

Once she’d slunk away, she scurried up the steps two at a time, her cloak rippling in the storm, the wind strong enough to nearly push her tiny frame around. Skyseeker did not care if Von Kessel died or not, but her words to Roderick were not a complete lie. If she could save Von Kessel, he’d have to recognize her superiority and lay off on all the gripes he had against her. Perhaps he’d even let her steer the ship, but one thing at a time.

She slipped past the flank of the forecastle, hearing the sounds of clashing weapons from inside. A narrow path circled the bastion towards the nose and the ship’s ram, and there was Skaven bodies all across it. She could hear fighting up that way too.

It was only now she realised the messenger neglected to add where exactly the Captain was. Inside the forecastle? Outside? Below deck, perhaps? She wasn’t willing to risk fighting in the cramped conditions of the forecastle, so she checked outside first, leaping over the bodies of her fallen kin.

The Horned Rat must be snarling down on her, because she found the Captain below the giant mast protruding from the wolfship’s nose, where the great red and white flag of Reikland overlooked the ship. The broad deck narrowed towards the bow, forming a point that gave way to the ram, which jutted from the ship like a giant fist of stone shaped into the head of some animal she didn’t recognise.

Von Kessel and some other humans were engaged in a deadly brawl, but the Captain was separated from his companions by a wall of clanrats encircling him. The pinions of his hat whipped in the gale as he covered his blind spots, his needle-sword thrusting out in deadly stabs. In his offhand he carried a buckler, using its tiny surface area to protect himself.

Skyseeker climbed up onto the railing and leapt into the fray, leading her fall with her warp-dagger. Its corrosive tip eased into the back of an unsuspecting clanrat, his armour providing little to no protection.

She ripped her dagger free and slew another rat in the same movement, and only now did the rest of the Skaven bother to give her the time of day. They looked confused, perhaps wondering why a Skaven was attacking the wrong side, and she used this idiocy to take another one down with a swipe across the chest.

The Skaven finally took action, the closest jabbing out at her with his axe, using the blunt top to try and knock her out. She ducked beneath it, dropping to all fours and circling around the Skaven with a skitter. She plunged her dagger into his flank, the rat dead before he even knew it.

Her brilliant assault allowed Von Kessel to regain the initiative, and he cut one of the Skaven down while Skyseeker took the other, working in tandem to keep each other covered.

Once the last clanrat was slain, Von Kesel shot her a curious glance. “I wasn’t expecting you to be my reinforcements,” he said. “I suppose thanks are in order.” He didn’t even try to mask his disappointment.

“Save your thank-thanks and turn around.”

Several Skaven scampered up the hull of the ship, landing gracefully on the deck without so much as a tap. First there were two, and then there were four, each covered from snout to ankles in baggy robes, their feet covered in wrappings that allowed them to move silently. From their sleeves they produced daggers, dual-wielding them in each paw.

At first glance she feared these might be assassins from Clan Eshin, but after a little examining, these were gutter runners, but that was still cause to let her fear-glans spray. She’d been a gutter runner herself before her auspicious Lord Gnawdwell had made her his champion, and a group of runners was a dangerous adversary.

“Come, man-thing,” Skyseeker said, tossing her dagger from paw to paw. “Let’s deal with rat-things together, in the same of Sigmar or whoever.”

“Who you talking to?” one of the runner’s squeaked.

Skyseeker thrust her finger to the side, but when she turned, nobody was there. “Uh, Kessel-man?” she asked. “Where you go?”

She turned around just in time to see Von Kessel retreating up the narrow path she’d come from, his men forming a barrier around him. She shouted his name in angry confusion, and he met her eyes without blinking. And then he was gone.

“Kessel-man come back-back!” she demanded. “Skaven’s supposed to abandon you, not other way round-round!”

But there was no response, and she didn’t have the time to add anything else, the four runners fanning out to surround her. There was time to escape, she’d have to fight them by herself.