Warp Token 2 Update

2k words

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“Volume equals knowledge!” she shouted. “Skaven accepts your offer, Rick-rod. But first! Need more fish,” Skyseeker said. “Breeding always make Skaven hungry, better eat beforepaw. Time to raid kitchen, let’s go-go!”

-xxx-

Grunts and knocking metal echoed from the main deck below. The sailors of the wolfship did their fighting through the unwieldy, devastating cannons bristling from the sides of the boat, but they never let their sword arms ‘rust’, as the humans put it, and almost every day a ring was set up across the main deck for sparring. They never used real swords, much to Skyseeker’s dismay, only wooden sticks or old blades that had blunt edges. This was because the Captain did not want his men injuring each other, but when men who were built to row giant oars all day and night, a stick became a cudgel, and bruises and broken bones were commonplace. Skyseeker thought the Captain was an idiot.

There was a spot on the second deck on the aft section, between the ship’s wheel and a wooden post that supported one of the cotton sails. Skyseeker liked to scurry up there and watch the sparring, her paws dangling in the air. Two beefy sailors were going at it, and a decent crowd had gathered, Skyseeker spotting a couple glints of golden coins being shuffled from paw to paw.

“Slice off his balls, Volker!” Skyseeker called out. “Twist them over his stupid tail-hair! YES-YEEESS!” she cackled when her chosen champion landed a dash against the man with the pony tail. She thought any creature who styled their hair after a tail was an idiot, too. Tails belong on the back, not the top, was it not obvious?

Some of the crowd echoed her statement, the Skaven cackling as she took a bite of her sandwich. Slices of tuna were slipped beneath the bread. She had never eaten fish before joining the Imperials, and while she enjoyed the taste, the novelty was wearing off. She almost couldn’t wait until they docked in the Brettonian lands, the ship was in desperate need of a restock.

She heard thuds of footsteps from behind her, and she peeked over her shoulder. From the steps of the third deck descended the Captain of the wolfship: Something or Other, Von Kessel (she couldn’t remember the first part). He was dressed in a colourful surcoat with a white undershirt, the fluffy cuffs decorated with golden pins. Giant peacock feathers danced in the wind as they sprouted from his officer’s hat, making him look taller than he really was. From his belt hung a weapon that was more needle than a sword, with a cup-shaped hilt that was a pleasing shade of gold. The thought of stealing the needle for herself had crossed her mind at least twice a day.

He made his way to the edge of the deck, though he gave Skyseeker a wide berth, leaning his hands on the railing maybe ten meters across, scrutinizing the jeering crowd below. Skyseeker wasn’t the only one spectating from on high, a few groups of man-things chatting between her and the Captain. He started chatting to one of his minions, but Skyseeker felt his gaze crawl across her side like tentacles.

He always seemed to do this. Whenever they were within sightlines of each other, the Captain would always direct his eyes to her. His reasoning she could only speculate, but she doubted it was because of her superior good looks. She had one advantage, however. She knew he was looking at her, but he didn’t know that she knew, and thus the advantage was hers.

Whistling a tune (the act causing some nearby men to plug their ears), Skyseeker shuffled across the wood, pretending to look at something in the sky. Von Kessel did not react. She shuffled another short distance, trying to move the least amount of limbs as possible. As long as she was discreet, the Captain could look at her all day and he wouldn’t notice her approach.

She turned and shouted her glee at the top of her lungs when Volker knocked Mister Pony Tail onto his rump, her higher-pitched voice joining the chorus of manly roars. She clamped her muzzle shut, cursing herself for immediately forgetting about stealth. Oh well, she was an assassin, she could recover from one or two stumbles.

Another two scoots across the wood, and she could smell him. One more, and she was within paws-reach. Von Kessel looked down on her with all the respect one would give to a tattered wet sock, though she was glad to see he had been none the wiser to her approach.

“Kessel-man!” she called in greeting. “Not seen your tail for so long! Are you avoiding Skaven?”

“If only a thing was possible,” Von Kessel replied, giving her a harsh look. “Everywhere I go on this ship, you or your hourly announcements are never far behind.”

“What can Skaven say? Have plenty of important things to chitter-speak.”

“And where is your guardian?” Von Kessel asked. “You hardly ever leave his shadow, Skaven.”

She tried to ignore the sally but couldn’t. “Guardian! Skaven takes care of herself, not need guardian.”

“Are you not concerned about the crew? Not every man aboard my ship has love for rodents.”

“Been working on that-that,” Skyseeker said. “Skaven has the GIFT of persuasion! Give shiny coins to temperamental man-things, or give food bribes!”

“Which you’ve no doubt stolen, with Roderick’s help, perhaps,” Von Kessel muttered. “Where would someone like you even get the gold from?”

As if to answer his question, another roar erupted form the ring. Volker had felled Pony Tail, and Pony Tail raised a hand in submission. Eager humans rushed to the man-at-arms, who stood vigilantly as referees, and cloth bags were handed out to the ones who cheered. One bag was tossed up into Skyseeker’s awaiting paws, the Skaven squirming in excitement as she pulled off the string. The bag was chunky with coins.

“Ah, you benefit from the hard work of Imperials,” Von Kessel said, giving Skyseeker a long, hard glance. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey! Studying man-things takes excessive brain-strain!” she argued. She held out a coin. “Here, Kessel-man, proof of concept! You take this one.”

“Get your filthy hand away from me, I do not want gold from you.”

“Paws,” she corrected. “Skaven does not have HAnDS. Stop saying that, you give me bad image.”

“Is this what you do with your time?” Von Kessel grunted. “You mulch coin off my men, take rations that aren’t yours, and pollute my ship with your voice? They say idle hands are the work of Chaos.”

“Thank you!” she said, beaming. Perhaps she’d been wrong to think Von Kessel was all bad. “Do not worrying, man-thing, Skyseeker’s Chaos is good Chaos, and I devote every scrap to Empire’s cause. Praise Sigmar!”

“Everyone on my ship brings their weight,” Von Kessel said. “And every man does his part, guests included. Roderick helps in the kitchen – even if he is too permissive with your diet – and Wilfred heals the wounded. What, pray tell, do you help with?”

“Morale,” Skyseeker said, grinning. “Skaven has no need for coins, but man-things think they precious. Sailors always happy when I give them over.”

“I have no room on my ship for jesters,” Von Kessel said. “There are more pressing duties that need attending, ones even your paws can help with.”

Skyseeker wasn’t an idiot, she knew what he was getting at. “Sigmar preserve me! Not WORK! ANYTHING BUT THAT!”

Von Kessel couldn’t spare her any more silent contempt, and she was ashamed to admit it, but she caved. Oh well, if a duty or two was all it took to get the Captain to stop judging her, she could live with it. Recomposing  herself, she took in a deep breath. “Fine! What man-thing want?”

“The lower gundecks are in dire need of a swabbing,” Von Kessel said. “Many of the cleaning crew were injured or killed during our course to Araby. You should feel right at home down there.”

“You are too kind to Skaven, Kessel-man,” Skyseeker said. A pity that the cleaning crew had been killed, as opposed to other man-things. “Swabbing is for slaves! Let Skaven clean guns instead, I like guns.”

“You will do what your Captain tells you,” Von Kessel said angrily. “Make yourself useful for a change, I have no tolerance for layabouts on my ship.”

“Speaking of which, what do you do, Kessel-man?” she asked. “You spend all day in your big cabin, playing with your tools and talking smack about Skaven. That sounds like layabout-ness to me.”

Von Kessel quirked a brow, the cheeks behind his autumn-red beard red with heat. “If any of my sailors spoke to me as you do, they’d have ten lashes for every jibe.”

“Then be happy I am not one of your sailors,” Skyseeker snapped. “And you are not Skaven’s clawcaptain. Don’t forget that, man-thing.”

Antagonizing the Captain of the one ship keeping her from drowning was perhaps not the wisest move, but Skyseeker never claimed to be wise, nor had she never claimed to be a weakling either. Despite being in a sitting position, she stood her ground, looking defiantly up at the human.

“Don’t forget this, rat,” Von Kessel said, leering at her. “You may have Roderick and the wizard fooled because you brought back that staff, but their protection won’t last forever, and my crew is not loyal to anyone’s gold. Watch yourself.”

The Captain turned away without another word, leaving the Skaven to ponder on his implied threat. It was never a good thing to have her list of enemies grow, but the way she’d made his cheeks burn was at least something she could boast about.

She considered going to Roderick, but quickly abandoned the thought. Von Kessel had called him her guardian, and while that may be true, it wounded her pride all the same. She was a double agent, a Mors assassin, reclaimer of relics and most dangerous thing on this boat, she did not need to scurry to her mate like a helpless breeder. This she could deal with this by herself.

Leaping off the wood, she landed on her clawed feet, stowing her bag of gold under her cloak. Best to report to the lower decks for her duties and see what all this swabbing was about. Maybe if she did a good job, she could keep the Captain off her back for a while longer.

-xXx-

Roderick dreamt of the desert. He dreamt of the city he and Skyseeker had plundered, of the living statue that had accosted them, and of the undead being who’d guarded the inner sanctums of its temples. Yet more of anything, he dreamt of the prize.

On the return journey through the Dead Lands, he had lain in cold, frigid wastes with Skyseeker on his right, and the staff on his left. The Skaven and he shared a bond he had never felt with any human before, and yet in the aftermath of their lovemaking, it had been the staff he’d turned towards before sleep took him.

Perhaps the staff loved him too, for rescuing it from the depths of its temple. Roderick knew that was a silly thing to say, how could a staff possess feelings? It was made from cold, dead stone, and yet a hint of doubt remained. Roderick was no magician, he lived by his guns and swords, and could not even perform the most basic of spellcasting, but that did not mean magic had no effect on him, did it?

He could remember its texture, the rough grains of sand gravelling the haft, the indents of the cloth grip that seemed to fit his hand like the worn grip of a favourite sword. He could command the will of lesser men and creatures with its power, if he had the skill to control the Winds of Magic. He didn’t know how he knew this – he had never so much as touched a staff of power in his whole life – but he just did.

He'd thought this unexplained intuition would cease when he gave the relic up to Wilfred for safekeeping, but that had not been the case. When he lay in his hammock, he felt a pull towards the lower decks, into the fourth room along the aft cabins, where Wilfred had hidden the relic behind a locked door, in a locked cabinet, hidden behind some sacks of grain. This he just knew as well, since Wilfred had never told him where he’d put the staff.