Two Sides of the Warp Token Update

2k words

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In the centre of the room was a strange, flat object made from smoothed stone. Like the building, it was circular, with a small hole in its middle with a depth of maybe the length of her hand, its purpose unknown. The edges of the unknown device tapered upwards, forming a small wall maybe a foot high.

“Olive press,” the man-thing said, following her gaze. “We use them to make olive oil. Missing a few parts missing though, probably somewhere underneath all this rubble.”

She pointed to the barrels, asking about them. “Not actually barrels,” he explained. “Those’re vats, full of vinegar by the smell. Might be some preserved olives inside if we’re-”

Skyseeker had already climbed up the nearest vat before he’d finished, her nails digging into the panels for purchase. When she’d reached the top, she looked around for some sort of lever to pry the lid off, spending all of three seconds before she got impatient. She produced one of her weeping blades, slicing a hole into the wood, the material providing little resistance to the magical blade. When she sawed out a perfect circle, the piece of wood fell into the vat with a loud splash, Skyseeker pressing an eye into the cutout. The vat looked like it was filled to the brim with water, but there were things bobbing on the surface. They were small, bulbous things, their texture fleshy and green, each one about the size of her thumb.

She reached a cupped hand through the cutout, scooping out some of the strange objects and lifting them to her face. She tested their firmness, finding them squishy and soft, each one sporting a small orange dot on their outsides. These must be olives.

“Can I eat-eat these?” she asked, holding her hand out so the man-thing could see. He simply shrugged at her, so Skyseeker made her own informed choice and shoved them all into her mouth in one quick go, letting her metabolism answer instead.

As her teeth sliced through the fleshy bulbs, an oddly pleasant taste made her eyes light up behind her goggles. She immediately fished inside the vat for more, licking her muzzle between each bite as she satisfied her gluttony.

“May I have one?” the man-thing asked, Skyseeker shooting him a dirty look, their eyes level now that she was on top of the vat.

“Mine!” she snarled, hugging the wood possessively. “I discover settlement! Man-thing go find own olives.”

He rolled his eyes at her, turning round and beginning to slide back down the rubble. “Fine. Don’t choke on them, rodent.”

He slipped out of her sight, his footsteps fading as he moved to presumably explore the other buildings. She considered chasing after him, but that would mean leaving her new prize unattended, and right now filling herself to bursting was all she could care about.

At one point during her feast, she thought she heard something, a strange noise whispering on the air. It was quiet, diluted by distance, but it was enough to give Skyseeker pause, because aside from the wind and the man-thing’s blathering, she’d heard nothing all day. It was almost be described as  a whistle, or a chirp, reaching a high pitch before fading in the space of a heartbeat.

She strained her hearing, but it did not repeat, her ears only catching the sound of footsteps, their clunky owner unmistakable. She immediately forgot about the odd sound as the man-thing appeared over the rise of rubble a while later, the creature giving her a cold look before sitting down on a slanted piece of debris, rubbing his legs between the plates of his sabatons.

“Man-thing find stuff?” she asked, not really interested in his answer but asking all the same.

“Yep, got a whole basket of olives, fresh as can be.”

She narrowed her eyes. She could see no basket, nor any olives. Perhaps he was lying in order to save face, how amusing.

“Man-thing know plenty-lots about olive-place,” she began, popping another of the fruits into her mouth. “How can it, if it’s not from Tilee-place?”

“We’ve got hundreds of farmsteads like these where I come from,” he explained, adjusting himself on his improvised seat. “I told you before that I was a farmhand when I was a lad, and that was partially true. I tended the family vineyard, picking and crushing grapes. They’re like olives but red,” he explained before she could ask.

“Why crush grape?” she wondered. “Taste better-good?”

“The juice from a grape is a staple in fine wine,” he said. “Which is a drink that both tastes, and sells, very well. We have entire market squares dedicated to the trading of wine, the stalls stretching well into the neighbouring streets.”

She image piqued her interest. She remembered brandishing the wares of her store in the streets of Skavenblight, her threats and promises attracting all sorts of undesirable rats. What might the man-thing equivalent look like?

“Wine worth lot-lots?” she asked, the man-thing nodding. “Then why don’t Tillee-place make wine? Why olives?”

“The climes here in Tilea aren’t that suited to cultivating grapes. The hot air and the hard ground call for hardier crops, but Riekland on the other hand… the moderated temperatures are perfect for exotic agriculture. Fields of grapes lay everywhere, as sprawling as these hills. But it’s not just the farmlands that thrive,” he added. “The very land itself is blessed, the trees so extravagant they shift colours between the seasons. The people take to bringing part of the land into their very homes, lining their gardens and windows with vibrant flowers… I daresay even the elves of Athel Loren are envious of our prosperous lands.”

“Man-thing exaggerates,” Skyseeker spat. He was describing a land so impossibly varied, so perfect, it had to be a lie.

“You’re a Skaven, the most colour you’ve probably seen was in a mushroom cave,” he replied. “but it’s true. They do not call Reikland the heart of the Empire for nothing.”

“If Reikyland so pretty,” she said, licking her fingers clean. “Then why man-thing leave it? Rich Empire-thing need defending, yes?”

“The Empire’s list of enemies is a long one, true,” he replied, glancing at his feet. Her questions seemed to have made him tense. “I’d turn around and go home right now if I could, but…”

“But what-what?” she asked, realising she’d stopped eating and was leaning over the barrel intently.

His gaze lingered on her as he considered his answer, Skyseeker slowly bringing up an olive and holding it out in offering. He chuckled at that, reaching down to take a swig from his canteen, finally making his decision.

“Suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you this much. My Emperor, he… outcast me. I’m no longer welcome in the homeland. For now,” he added, masking his prior gloom behind a stoic expression. “The Empire faces enemies on all fronts, from both within and without, and I will be the one to lift the darkness that veils the land. And when I do, I will be welcomed back into the fold with open arms, my position restored, my honour returned back to me tenfold.”

“How will man-thing do that?” she pressed.

“Ah, but I thought we agreed to keep our secrets to ourselves?”

She grumbled something about he was being a stupid man-thing under her breath, fixing him with a cold look. “Fine-fine,” she said. “Will man-thing tell me-me what it did to be outcast? It kill-kill wrong leader and take place?”

“What? Is that something Skaven do?” he asked, looking up at her in wonder.

Skyseeker nodded. “Yes-Yes! Clan Mors rats need Lord’s favour for promotion, but for other Great Clan rats, only one way to top-top.” She produced a dagger and drew it slowly over her throat, careful not to accidently slice herself on the corrosive edge.

“Well, we’re a little more sophisticated than that,” he said. “We gain rank through notoriety, and prestige. Impress the man above you enough, and you’ll eventually get the attention of the right people.”

“That how Skyseeker got mission!” she exclaimed. It seemed man-things weren’t as barbaric she first thought. “So what-what man-thing do?” she asked again. “Tell me what force-make man-thing to flee to Tilee-place.”

“I did not flee to anywhere,” he replied, gesturing over at her. “Let’s just say I made one too many mistakes, misplaced my faith, and leave it at that.”

“Man-thing won’t tell me-me?” she asked, the man-thing shrugging in response. “Not even for olive?”

“Not even for twenty olives,” he replied, Skyseeker gasping at the revelation. “We shouldn’t linger here,” he continued, brushing the dust off his legs as he stood. “Come. Whoever raided this place may still be around.”

She leaned into the vat to fill her pockets with olives first, the man-thing not bothering to wait for her as he slid back down the rubble. Most of her pouches were already occupied with weapons, so she stuffed what she could grab into her mouth, then simply hugged a bundle of the fruits to her chest, using part of her cloak like a bag to help carry them.

Snickering at her fresh bounty, she climbed her way out of the mill, spotting the man-thing moving through the grove on the far side of the settlement. When she made to follow him, she noticed something odd on the ground nearby, pausing her skittering to bend over and look. The grass was scored here, two thin, parallel lines drawing cracks through the dirt, each a hands width apart. They were long, as well, more than the length of her tail by her guess. At first she thought they were furrows left by a wagon wheel, but the marks were far too deep for that, their size and shape reminding her of claw marks.

She snacked on an olive as she contemplated the odd sight, drawing an imaginary line between the scored earth and the ruined structures. A correlation, perhaps? She couldn’t put her staggering detective skills to work, however, the man-thing’s steps were already fading into the distance, and though she’d never admit it aloud, she felt marginally safer in his company. He was still a threat, of course, but a knowledgeable one – by man-thing standards – and she needed to know more about him, and what secrets he was hiding from her.

-xXx-

“Just how can you eat so much?” the man-thing asked, leaning on his knees as he passed between two boulders. “We’ve barely gone two hills from the grove and you’ve already eaten your entire haul.”

“Easier to move-carry inside belly than out,” Skyseeker explained, licking her paws clean with her long tongue. The fluid they’d been stored in, vinegar as her quarry called it, left a sour taste on her mouth, but it was better than filling her lungs with dry air. “Man-thing just jealous it not find-discover mill first.”

“You’ll be jealous soon enough, foul-smelling varmint, when you realise you should have rationed.”

“Man-thing would have steal-stealed!” she said, pointing an accusing finger up at him. “Saw it watching, saw it scheming! Had to act!”

“Stealing from you would be like stealing form a starved wolf. What reason would I have anyway? I’ve already got supplies, for myself may I add.”

“Who know what man-thing thinking? Food stolen from me-me before, not making mistake-error twice!”

“Well I hope it was worth it, that tower might be the last structure we’ll see for a while,” he said, gesturing with his pistol further up the incline. He’d drawn his weapon ever since departing the settlement, no doubt expecting to run into whoever had sacked the olive grove.

She followed his gun to what he was pointing at – a tall, thin structure jutting from the peak of the hill they were currently scaling. It was made from clay bricks, far larger and sturdier compared to those in the settlement, the structure standing strong against the elements. Its flat roof was ringed by a low stone wall, Skyseeker able to pick out a chair resting at one of the corners. A banner hung from one side of the building, a pair of blue swords trimmed into the cloth, the symbol reminding her of the ones she saw at the man-thing camp.

Her quarry had decided to move in the watchtower’s direction, claiming they could ‘get their bearings’ once there, whatever that meant. Skyseeker was more interest in what sorts of things were left behind.

The man-thing was taking too long, so she scurried onto all fours, overtaking him, begging the Horned Rat that the tower had not been pillaged like the settlement had. “You’re not taking all the food for yourself this time!” the man-thing called, stumbling along after her. “You hear me?”

Skyseeker ignored him, increasing her pace despite the man-thing being far too clumsy to up with her. There was an archway cut into the foot of the watchtower, Skyseeker pausing in the frame to look inside. A wooden staircase spiralled its way up the curved walls to the roof, the handrail reinforced with iron brackets, the whole contraption supported by the brick wall alone.

In the middle of the cobbled stone floor was a trapdoor, the latching mechanism secured by a brass padlock, Skyseeker peering down at it with a raised brow. What could be down there? A secret cache of olives, it had to be! She didn’t waste time looking for a key, slicing the latch apart with a quick sweep of a weeping blade, the lock breaking in twain. It took most of her body weight to open the hatch, but she eventually succeeded, flipping the trapdoor over, where it bounced against the far wall with a puff of dust, the latches rattling as they settled.