Skaven Story Update

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The hours ticked by as Skyseeker paddled through the marshlands, weaving her craft between the bubble-like islands that poked up through the muck-ridden water. Besides the Shattered Tower at her back, she could see structures dotting the quagmire’s horizons – iron mills that churned in lazy half-circles, the creaking of wood carrying on the wind. It was hard to tell if they were ruins from ancient times or were being operated by some unseen group, but she didn’t want to waste time detouring to find out.

Dead leaves and wilted branches littered the snaking riverbed she travelled, Skyseeker crushing them with her paddle as she navigated the marsh. The vegetation here consisted of spiky thickets that reached no higher than her knees, and twisting branches that looked sharp enough to be daggers in their own right, but as she moved further from the heart of the bog, she began to notice a new addition to the plantlife. From the clusters of reed beds clinging to the islands, tougher bushels rose higher, their bleached bodies contrasting with the black stumps nestled between their colourless leaves.

Curious, she pushed her boat in the direction of one of these strange plants, her craft groaning as it knocked against the shore. Glancing over her shoulder, she reached out, chopping part of the plant away, turning it over in her other hand. Recognition flashed in her eyes, this was black corn, a deplorably tasteless but bountiful foodstuff found all over Skavenblight. Was this where it came from? It was surface-world, plant food? How disgusting!

She wanted to toss it in the marsh where it belonged, but thanks to that stormvermin, she had no choice. Making sure she wasn’t being watched, she sank her teeth into it, chewing wetly on the cob as she worked the corn from end to end, rotating it until she’d devoured the entire thing.

She tossed the spent cob over her shoulder, where it splashed the water noisily, then brandished the dagger again, slicing off another cob, then two more. Then she decided to just decapitate the whole plant and dump it on the craft. She scoured another bed of reeds for more, culling the land until she had so much corn that the craft’s rear-half visibly sagged. The extra weight made the already difficult task of rowing even harder, but at least now she could grab a snack whenever she wanted.

She snickered at her newfound fortune, patting her bounty with one hand and paddling the craft deeper into the bog with the other.

-xXx-

It was around the time the sun had risen to its highest point, that Skyseeker encountered fellow Skaven. They were manning shantycraft not unlike her own, maybe ten or so vessels at a glance, rowing between the banks and harvesting any piece of black corn they could find. Strangely, not one of them consumed a single kernel, despite appearing so malnourished that their skin was sucking up against their bones.

The slaves, for they had to be slaves if they wore nothing but loincloths to preserve them, gave her strange glances as she rowed passed them. She must be quite the sight, having a craft all to herself while they had to share their vessels with a dozen others. Skyseeker placed a hand on a dagger as they leered at her, expecting them to jump on her craft at any second. She relaxed as they returned to their crop-picking, occasionally chittering and pointing in her direction.

She turned her gaze to the other groups of grain-slaves as she paddled. The bounty of corn on some of the craft were so tall they overflowed into the water, Skyseeker lifting a brow as one of the slaves dove after the lost goods like his life depended on it. He resurfaced after a few moments, his already filthy fur covered in even more muck as he wailed his arms in a pathetic imitation of swimming. The slaves on the craft were more concerned with the goods he carried, promptly paddling the craft away once the food was rescued, leaving the swimmer to hoist himself up before he drowned.

Skyseeker cruised in their direction, watching the overcrowded raft slip behind one of the many desolate islands. They seemed to be in a hurry. Keeping at a safe distance, she paddled in their wake, soon coming upon a sight that made her fur crawl.

She was rowing the shadow of a truly massive ship, but it was no shantycraft. It stretched at least a hundred feet from bow to stern, sporting giant sails that flickered as they caught on the wind. The ship was tiered, three levels of windows working their way up from the sloped hull to the deck, where she saw dozens, maybe hundreds of ratmen flooding this way and that. Some pulled on ropes and spun cranks, others ferried armfuls of corn towards the hatches that presumably led to the cargo hold.

The great slave-hulk didn’t even shake when the shantycraft she was following crashed into the hull, Skyseeker watching as ratmen on the deck threw down a wide spool of netting. At the behest of senior Skaven, slaves climbed and leapt off the deck, taking the shantycraft’s cargo and hauling it back up. Any of the slaves who dropped a single cob were beaten and then tossed to the waters.

Her initial awe of the sight morphed into fear as she noticed the flag dangling off the nose of the ship. Printed upon the flayed sheet of cloth was a Skaven pup, surrounded by a blood-red ring that resembled the walls of a pit-fight arena. She knew this not just because she was incredibly intelligent, but because the symbol of Clan Gritus was known to all as the ultimate slave-masters of Skavendom, and she was right in the shadow of one of their slave-hulks.

Her glands squashing with anxiety, she ran to the other end of her craft, nearly tripping over her bounty in her haste, her arms blurring as she started paddling back the way she’d come. She felt so exposed under the curious sky, perhaps she could hide among the reeds and wait for the ship to leave.

“YOU, CLOAK-THING! Stop-stop boaty-thing!”

Skyseeker jumped out of her skin, tilting her head over her back to see another shantycraft sailing towards her. Like the others, this one was packed with slaves maybe a dozen strong, but one of their number stood head and shoulders above the rest. He was draped in a red tunic that left his arms exposed, his brown fur matted with grime and scabbed scars. It was obvious he was the speaker. He lifted one of his paws at her, while with the other he brandished a giant black whip.

“Where slave think it go-goes?” he shouted. “Think it can scurry and eat-eat Gritus food? Greedy-thing not know its place!”

Skyseeker found herself paralysed with fear. She had used the shadows to escape the stormvermin before, but it was a clear day out here, and her only avenue of retreat was the water, but she didn’t know how to swim. What should she do?

“No take-take food-things,” the slaver snarled, his raft drawing closer as his ratmen paddled. “Slave must be punished! Throw it in Gritus pits to teach lesson!”

“I-I am no slave-thing!” she squeaked, terror making her voice tremble. The stupid slaver must have thought her a grain-collector with all the black corn she was laden with. Why was food always getting her into trouble?

“It is now-now!” the slaver answered. “Slave-thing don’t move one paw, or I cut it off!”

His craft was so close she could feel the waves rock the wood beneath her feet. Willing her glands to stop spraying, she spurred into action, jamming her paddle into the river and frantically rowing herself away. She was an assassin, not a slave, no matter what this stupid Gritus thing said!

Her ears twitched as the air around her snapped, Skyseeker daring to glance back at the slaver vessel. The slaver was dragging the tail of his whip over the muddy water, her craft having just managed to stay out of his range.

“Faster, faster!” the slaver yelled, Skyseeker mumbling the exact same words. “Flay your filthy hides if you don’t hurry-hurry!”

The slaver drove his foot into one of the grain-slaves paddling his craft, the ratman tumbling into the river with a squeak. The other slaves redoubled their efforts at this sight, though the loss of their comrade just meant more work for the rest of them.

“Food not for you, greedy-thing!” the slaver taunted. Skyseeker threw a cob of corn that smacked off one of his eyes, making him yowl as he brought a hand to his face. He flailed his whip again, and she flinched reflexively as the air above her head cracked with such force she could almost feel it.

The slaver vented his frustration on another poor slave, grabbing him by the shoulders and tossing him to the marsh in an underhand throw. With their numbers dwindling, some of the other slaves starting using their hands to contribute, but the mirky waters dragged on their furs, their efforts having the exact opposite effect. Skyseeker needed every advantage she could get, but she was but one Skaven, and they were gaining on her. She needed to lighten the load on her craft, or she’d be caught. But how?

She formulated a plan in record time. Setting her paddle aside, she drew a dagger from her belt, and sliced a portion of wood off the bow. Then, she sharped one end of the wood until it became a deadly point. Now the boat was smaller, thus its weight was smaller, plus she had a new weapon. The Horned Rat was undoubtedly praising her craftiness right now.

Inspired, she raised the improvised stake above her head, and chucked it in the slaver’s direction. The burly ratman ducked out of the way, and the stake found its mark in one of his rowers instead, the slave slinking into the river without a sound.

Skyseeker chopped off another section of her craft, her spirits lifting as she could feel the vessel already beginning to lose its weightiness. She sharped the severed parts and tossed them at the other craft, scoring another kill and sewing chaos in the slaver’s crew as they scurried around the limited space, trying to throw off her aim.

Their paddling almost came to a stop as they shouted and wailed, fear-musk thick in the air, but her relief came to a quick end when the slaver rallied them up, issuing new orders.

“SWIM!” he commanded, shoving a pair of ratmen off the bow. “Don’t let slave-thing leave-leave!”

Petrified faces peered up at her from the water as the slaves were tossed overboard, dragging themselves reluctantly towards her craft. She cut off yet another of the boards that made up the hull, then swung it across the snout of the closest swimmer, feeling a satisfying crunch travel up the wood. She must have lost half of the craft’s weight by now, excellent! She should be able to outpace the bigger slaver craft in no time.

She brandished the wooden pole at the other slaves, who bobbed and sputtered between the two vessels. It was obvious they feared their master, but seeing a craft-wielding assassin like her was giving them pause for thought.

“Move your tails! Now-now!” the slaver shouted, swinging his whip into the water. Skyseeker could probably clear off and he wouldn’t noticed, but she’d had enough of this stupid Gritus-thing, unsheathing a weeping dagger and throwing it, the slaver to busy fighting his own slaves to notice her weapon fly into his chest.

Before he had even dropped, Skyseeker was moving. She launched off her craft, her paws digging into the skull of a slave bobbing in the water between the two crafts, using him to launch herself a second time. Her tail just scraped the water, but otherwise she landed on the slaver’s craft completely dry, standing over her adversary with a satisfied expression on her face.

“I am not slave-thing,” she repeated, gripping the handle of her dagger that jutted from his broad chest. The slaver reached to grab his whip, but Skyseeker planted a paw on his arm to stop him. “I am… assassin-thing!”

The slaver opened his mouth, but she twisted the weeping dagger before he could speak, a wet gurgle leaving his muzzle before he went still. After pulling her weapon free, she rolled his body unceremoniously overboard, her hands on her wide hips as she watched him sink. She’d done it! She’d taken on a group of her enemies in broad, exposed daylight and lived! With her brilliant – no, masterful tactics now proven, she felt confident that she just might complete this mission Gnawdwell had entrusted to her.

Her smile faltered as she heard something crack, turning round just in time to see her original craft collapse in on itself. Her left eye experienced a twitch as she watched her black corn bounty sink beneath the waterline, swallowed up by the blighted mush. She might be a master assassin, but she had to admit her foresight could use some work.

At least she wasn’t without transport, the irony of the situation not lost on Skyseeker as she took up a spare paddle, rowing the new shantycraft away. What few slaves that had survived the skirmish scrabbled over the wreckage of her former craft, and she hesitated as she watched one struggle to keep his head above the cloudy fluid. A group of slaves could prove useful on her journey, but Gnawdwell had told her not trust anyone, and she’d be a fool to not follow his astute advice.

Shaking her head, she continued on her way, but not before tossing the drowning ratman a spare paddle.