FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“This place suck-stinks!” Skyseeker whined, dragging her feet over another hill, the thirteenth one she and the man-thing had crossed since that morning. While she still lagged behind the man-thing, she decided to close in a little more today, if only so she could voice her complaints to someone. “No sound, no things! Just stupid grass stuff!”

“What’s the matter with you? Aside from being a Skaven, of course,” the man-thing asked, shielding his eyes as he looked back at her. He had donned his helmet, peering at her behind the raised visor. “Tilea is quite a serene place, if a bit humid.”

“Humid!” she echoed, wiping her brow with a paw. Her sweat cascaded over the lenses of her goggles, making her vision fill up with smudges when she rubbed them clean. “Melting into boiling puddle back here-here.”

“How’d you think I feel, carrying this suit around?” he asked, each step chased by the clanking of armour.

_Man-thing feel like big stupid idiot, _she thought, covering her mouth to stifle a chuckle.

“I agree with you on the heat,” he continued. “At least back in the Empire you could walk about in your armour without sweating bullets.”

“This… Empire,” she began, the word sounding unnatural on her tongue. “’Reikyland’, yes-yes? It as hot and boring and Tilee-place?”

“Reikland,” he corrected. “And no it’s not, I’d much prefer my homeland over Tilea any day.” He paused at the top of the ridge, staring wistfully into the distance. “The grass there is a shade of green like no other, the land so rich and fertile that the fields of flowers never seem to end. Then you have the many rivers snaking through the foothills, the towering oaks that make up the Reikwald forest… it is a beautiful place.”

“Beautifully boring _place!” Skyseeker said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Give me deep-dark burrow, much more nice-nice than smelly _flowers.”

“Do you even know what a flower is?” He glanced over his shoulder, the two exchanging blank looks. “Thought not, considering you hail from a place literally called Skavenblight.”

He pressed on down the hill, Skyseeker following. At least the downhill parts were easier than the uphill ones, but the journey still remained hot and unneventful, and it was many long hours later until Skyseeker finally noticed a landmark in the distance, something finally helping to break up the monotonous landscape. Using the zooming function on her goggles, she paused at the next incline, getting a better look. She could see the roofs of structures over the next hill, the slanted shelters made from a patchwork of stone tiles, the overhangs supported by wooden poles, the terrain blocking her view from anything lower. She focused on the hillside next, spotting a sprawling carpet of big, spindly plants stretching across the fields far to the left and right, each one as tall as the man-thing, and looking about as dry as her parched throat.

“What that thing?” she demanded, gesturing towards the buildings with a claw. The man-thing followed her arm, shielding his eyes as he peered into the glare.

“Hm, might be a settlement. How’d you spot that so fast?”

“Skyseeker see all!” she replied cryptically, tapping her left eye with a finger.

“Oh, your goggles have some sort of built-in telescope, do they?”

Curses, the man-thing had made her unintentionally point right at her sneaky gadget, his schemes were becoming more dangerous by the minute.

“No they don’t! Stupid man-thing,” she muttered, quickly snapping her attention back to the structures. “Why make settlement in hot-place?”

“How should I know?” he asked. He started walking towards it, but Skyseeker bounded ahead of him, spreading her arms out wide to block his path.

“Wait-Wait! What if other stupid man-things there?”

“That’s a very likely conclusion,” he replied, crossing his arms. “What of it?”

“Skyseeker can’t fight off whole settlement! We avoid man-things. Much safer, yes-yes.”

“We?” he scoffed. “This isn’t a shared decision, rat, we’re not companions. You,” he added, gesturing a gauntlet at her. “are a straggler and a burden. You’re free to go around if you want, but I’m heading in. Good chance to restock on supplies.”

“Food?” she prompted, tilting her head eagerly.

“Probably shouldn’t have said that,” he sighed, Skyseeker rushing after him as he brushed passed her, the two trudging down the steep hill. “You’re certain you want to come with me?” he asked. “Tilea’s known for its famous rat-catchers, I hear their men can smell a rodent from a league off. Bit of a strange skill, but your aroma’s not exactly subtle.”

“Skyseeker beat Reikyland man-thing,” she said. “Can beat catchers easy-peasy!”

“If you say so.”

-xXx-

The closer they got to the structures, the more her worries about encountering more man-things seemed in vain. These humans loved their walls and right angles, so when Skyseeker began to see crumbled masonry and shattered wooden logs, the slanted roofs of the settlement barely kept aloft by a few stubborn support beams, the more sure she was that the area had been cleared out.

There were only a handful of buildings making up the settlement, the structures clustered together on a relatively flat plateau near the hill’s peak, surrounded on all sides by dried-up pastures, filled in with more of those dead plant-things she’d spotted with her goggles. The plants were arranged in a grid pattern, the space between wide enough that she and the man-thing could walk side by side (Skyseeker opting to lag behind at a safe distance all the same). Their arrangement seemed too precise to be natural, Skyseeker using her impeccable deduction skills to theorise the owners of the buildings must have cultivated these plants.

They moved into the strange collection of decaying plants, like a miniature forest in its own right, Skyseeker stopping to peer up at one. Its trunk was tall and thick, the branching arms winding into the sky, strangely devoid of \ leaves. The same could be said for the rest of the odd plants, their roots overgrown with tufts of wildgrass the colour of gold. Only the weeds seemed to be clinging to life, sprouting out of cracks in the spaces between the gridded plants, making what had once been paths uneven and overgrown.

“What are these dead-things?” she asked the man-thing, the armoured creature lifting the branch of another plant as he passed it.

“Look like olive trees to me.”

“Olive?”

“A fruit. Groves like these would thrive in this hot climate, Tilea’s probably full of them.”

“Not so thrivey now-now,” she remarked, seeing drooping branches and wilted bark everywhere she looked. One of the olive trees stood out from the others, appearing as though it had been caught in a ratling gun crossfire, all its branches severed off, the trunk bending towards the ground as though a great force had sat atop it. Whoever was in charge of tending them had done a poor job with that particular plant.

They proceeded deeper into the grove, dried twigs crunching beneath her bare feet. The olive trees were tens of rows deep, and it took them a few minutes to reach the settlement proper. There were five buildings in all, each of a different size and shape, arranged in a half circle, with one sitting in their centre.

This latter structure was the most elaborate out of all of them, or at least, it would be if it wasn’t so run down. It was two levels high, the stone walls baked bone-white, columns of bricks supporting the sections of the building that overhung the porches. Small windows protected by shutters broke up the masonry in places, little potted plants draping their leaves over the sills from just inside. The owners probably put them there to add some colour, but now the flora was as wilted as the groves, the nearby stonework stained with mould.

She’d seen the angular roof earlier, the orange tiles contrasting against the white facades, but what she hadn’t seen was the gaping hole on the lefthand side of the building. A section of the tiles had caved in, along with the corner wall, the interior filled in with an avalanche of rubble. The damage was confined to that one section alone, as though someone had shot a cannon at the building and then promptly stopped.

“No man-things here,” Skyseeker said, the tension in her chest abating somewhat.

“You don’t think?” the man-thing asked. She didn’t know how to respond to the question, so she took a chance and just nodded, her answer apparently amusing the man-thing. “Abandoned only recently, I’d wager. Groves haven’t completely wilted away, mortar in the walls is still holding. Wonder what happened.”

“Man-things got sick-tired of hot-hot heat,” Skyseeker guessed, watching her quarry move up to the door. Hanging over the entrance was a sign, attached to the overhang by a chain, but half of it was missing, as though someone had taken a weeping blade to the wood.

“Maybe, or someone attacked them,” he muttered, gesturing up at the collapsed roof, Skyseeker admitting he had a point. She watched as he gave the door a tap with his armoured foot, the frame swinging inward with a loud creak. He produced his handgun, stepping through the threshold with the weapon raised, Skyseeker hurrying after him. Purely because being inside felt safer to her, and not because the grove was creeping her out or anything of the like.

They emerged into a strange room full of odd contraptions, with wires running across the length of the ceiling, dozens of implements dangling from the threads. There was a device not unlike a warpstone forge in one corner, flanked by countertops overflowing with strange, circular implements with nozzles and handles. Liquid containers of some kind? Sunshine bled in through a filthy window to the right, illuminating the scene, hundreds of little specks of dust occupying the stretching ray of light.

There was another door built into the wall to one side, the man-thing walking over and pulling the handle. Inside was a shallow space lined with shelves, leather sacks ranging from the size of her torso to her paw resting upon them.

“That food?” she asked, peering around his hip curiously.

“In a sense,” he answered, lifting one of the smaller bags. To her horror, he upended the little pouch, a grainy, white substance falling to the floor. “Nothing but salt and flour in here. Don’t eat it,” he warned, Skyseeker pausing with her tongue pressed against the pad of her finger. “Not unless you want to die of dehydration. Besides, it’s been sitting here in the heat for who knows how long, doubt even your stomach couldn’t handle rancid flour.”

“Why stupid man-things store not-food?” she asked, the man-thing moving over to one of the counters, lifting the lid of a pot and peering inside.

“Those are raw ingredients,” he explained. “we use them to make bread, or to help preserve meats. Whoever drove these people out of here took the rest. Might have been Skaven. Oh, but, there’s no rat droppings, couldn’t have been your kind.”

“No warp-burns on walls either,” she added. “ratling guns always leave a mess.”

He gave her a questioning look, then shrugged, moving into one of the adjacent rooms. When it was clear the whole place had been picked over, they retreated back outside, the man-thing leading the way over to one of the other buildings. This one was in an even worse state of disrepair. The entire eastern wall had caved in, as though a warp-bomb had been detonated beside it. The structure was built in the vague shape of an oval, thick brambles coursing up the first few layers brickwork like wooden fingers, the structure capped with a domed roof, or at least three quarters of a roof. It was larger than the previous building, but not nearly as elaborate, no windows or attempted decorations at all, it looked rather functional.

“Someone really wanted to get into the mill,” the man-thing murmured, pacing in front of the giant breach, the interior obstructed by the mound of rubble.

“Mill?” she repeated. It seemed every other thing he said was some new word.

“It’s what farmsteaders use to process their harvests. You want food, this’ll be the place to look, though the damage to this wall here is troubling.”

“Too hungry to be troubled,” Skyseeker said, dashing in front of the man-thing, gripping the loose stones for purchase as she scaled the obstruction. A few tumbles later, and she was inside. The first thing she noticed was the smell, a sour and rancid stench that made her nose sting and her throat burn. She’d smelled a lot of putrid things in her life, but this one was easily the most intense, Skyseeker gagging into her paw as though she’d just caught the plague.

“What’s going on in there?” she heard the man-thing ask, the creature appearing at the top of the rubble a moment later. She didn’t need to answer him, the stench hitting him like a slap to the face, the man-thing waving his gauntlets to try and dissipate the stench.

Covering her face with her cloak, she examined the interior once she was confident she wouldn’t vomit. There were giant barrels stacked up against the curved walls, one of them toppled over thanks to the cascading rubble, most of it submerged beneath the loose bricks. Each one was large enough she could have fit inside one with room to spare.

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 paw, its purpose unknown. The edges of the strange 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 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, with things bobbing on the surface. They were small, bulbous, 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 paw 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 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. I hope you 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 sounded almost like a whistle, or a chirp, reaching a high pitch before fading away in the space of a heartbeat.

She strained her hearing, but the noise 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 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 grapes?” 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, it’s one of the most popular commodities.”

She interest piqued. 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 _wine _equivalent look like to cover and entire square?

“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 tougher 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. 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-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 vat 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 a little. My Emperor, he… outcast me. I’m no longer welcome in the homeland. For now,” he added, masking his 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 man-thing do?” she asked again. “Tell me what made 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. “Whoever sacked this place may still be around. Grab what you can and follow me. Hurry up.”

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 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 from 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 interested in what sorts of things were left behind. The man-thing was taking too long, so she scurried onto all fours, overtaking him.

“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 up the curved walls to the roof, the 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.

Through the hatch was a short step ladder leading down into a dank cellar, Skyseeker placing her paws on the edge, leaning her face through the gap, her upside-down view swivelling as she examined the underground area. The space inside was perfectly square, the walls made from the same bricks as the watchtower, the room between them barely wide and tall enough for a man-thing to stand in.

She sniffed the musty air, immediately sneezing it back out. This would be a perfect place for a secret supply cache, but she smelled only dust, saw nothing more than an empty shelf in one corner and a barrel full of rusty weapons in another. What kind of slave builds a watchtower with no stash? She’ll never understand these surface-dwellers.

“Find anything?” the man-thing called from behind, Skyseeker pulling herself upright as he walked up to the archway. “I swear if I see you stuffing your face, I’m going to start shooting…”

“Nothing but smelly weapons,” she said, turning to face him. “Why lock trappy-door if no- _Eeeek! _Behind you-you!”

“Seriously? You pick now _of _all times to pull that trick on me? I should…”

His words faltered as a piercing screech echoed across the plains, the same as the one she’d heard back in the grove, but far louder. The man-thing eyes went wide as he turned on the spot, following her pointed finger, or perhaps just following the noise.

There was something high in the sky, cruising just beneath the cloud layer, a little dark dot that swayed from side to side. It could have been just her eyes playing tricks, but she could swear it was getting bigger with every passing second.

“By Sigmar…” the man-thing murmured, his voice wavering. The dot was starting to take shape, Skyseeker spotting a pair of flapping wings stretching out of the sides of an elongated figure. This was no trick, it was lowering to the ground with every beat of its massive wings, and it was coming in their direction.

“Inside!” the man-thing snapped. Before Skyseeker could react, he kicked her square in the chest, his metal boot thwacking off the bandolier of knives strapped to her sternum.

She slammed face-first into the opened trap door, glued to its slanted surface for a second before she tumbled through the hatch proper. She tried to grab the ladder to brace herself, but she missed, tumbling down into the cellar like a sack of grain, bouncing once as she descended to the paved floor, her tail draped over the rise of her hip like a dead snake.

Her neck twisted with an audible crack as she watched the man-thing follow her down, reaching over his head to pull on the trapdoor. Darkness shrouded the cellar for a moment before the man-thing held the trapdoor up a little with his hand, leaving a tiny sliver through which he peeked out of.

“Stupid man-thing!” she snarled, sliding a weeping blade out of her sheath as she hauled herself from the ground. “Hit me-me, will it? Now my turn!”

“You were in the way,” he shot back. “Now be silent, or it’ll hear us!”

“I’ll be silent… WHEN YOU DIE-DEAD!” she growled, baring her teeth. “Man-thing not hit Skyseeker and live!”

She jabbed her blade towards his chest, the glowing edge reflecting off his metal suit, but her paw was suddenly swatted aside, and before she could even blink, she was staring down the barrel of his handgun.

“Finally giving me a reason, rodent?” he asked, his gauntlet creaking as he applied pressure on the trigger. “Just when we’re starting to get acquainted? How-”

He was interrupted by a monumental quake of the earth, wisps of dust falling from the ceiling as something thundered to the ground outside the tower. Whatever it was, it was big enough to block out the light almost completely…

The creature that had descended from the skies repeated its call, and though this would be the third instance for Skyseeker, she had not been able to appreciate its volume until now. The sound was so raw and powerful she felt it more in her lungs than heard it in her ears, the bestial screech igniting a primal fear she did not know existed inside her.

Any courage she’d built up over the last few days drained out of her, not unlike how the fear-musk was squirting out of her glands in that moment. Forget the man-thing’s gun, she’d never felt more terrified in her life, and she promptly displayed as much with her own verbal call.

“Eeeek!” she screamed, her weeping blade falling from her trembling fingers. There was a sudden pressure on her muzzle, her eyes bugging out as the man-thing reached out and seized her mouth in his hand, her cry cutting off with a choking sound.

She would have killed him then and there for laying a finger on her, but in her haste to stab him she’d forgotten her blade was currently on the floor, and all she could do was slap at his metal chest plate in vain. She paused in her flailing as he brought her closer, her fur bristling as their foreheads practically touched. He lifted his gun, Skyseeker tracking it with her eyes as he pressed the barrel against his lips – a universal sign that one should be quiet.

The screeching creature ended its call, as though it was taking the man-thing’s advice, Skyseeker hearing the discernible snap of a beak from beyond the hatch. As one, she and the man-thing slowly turned their heads upwards, the chains linked to the trapdoor jingling as the monster out there began to move. More dust fell from the ceiling, the quaking ground growing more violent as the creature drew closer to the tower.

There was no outside light slipping in through the hatch now, the monster must be standing right in the tower doorframe, Skyseeker’s ears twitching as she heard a raspy inhale. She didn’t dare even blink for fear of being discovered, a flimsy wooden square the only thing hiding them from the monster. The man-thing was no less anxious, a grim expression on his face as he stared at the hatch, clamping down on her mouth all the while.

That sound of a clicking beak again, coming from right above the trapdoor. For a horrible second she thought the hatch would flip open, and she’d be pulled into the maw of whatever beast was out there. More dust rained, Skyseeker closing her eyes and bracing herself, but the hatch didn’t move. Instead she felt the ground shake again, the quaking subsiding as the creature backed off from the tower, allowing a little bit of sunlight to flood back into the cellar. Was it gone?

For a few minutes neither she or the man-thing dared to move, until the latter decided to lean closer, peeing outside with narrowed eyes. When he wasn’t immediately devoured by the beast, Skyseeker deemed it safe enough to resume batting at his hand still holding onto her muzzle, voicing her complaints through groans and squeaks.

“Not a sound,” he warned, his voice a whisper. “quiet as a… well, rat. Make it so, or we’re dead.”

Skyseeker nodded as much as his tight grip would allow. After a moment, he slowly released her, Skyseeker shoving him away when she was free, finally able to breathe in man-thing-free air.

“Smelly, stupid man-thing!” she hissed, waving a hand before her nose. “No touch-touch! Take fingers for recompense!”

“What, was I supposed to let your screaming give us away?”

“Not screaming for fear!” she complained, hoping he couldn’t detect her musk filling the cellar. “Screaming for… pain-hurt! Man-thing attacked me, broke deal-pact!”

“Uh-huh. That why you wailed like a girl? Thought Master Assassins were supposed to be quiet?”

“How quiet will man-thing be with blade in chest?” she quipped back, reaching for her other dagger. Their argument reached an abrupt end as the monster outside took another rumbling step, the man-thing all but ignoring her as he returned to looking out the hatch. Not wanting to be left out, Skyseeker clambered up the first rung of the step ladder, pawing at the man-things face to make room. His skin was oddly smooth and fleshy, the pads of her fingers gliding across his cheeks with almost no resistance. He was warm, too, his heat contrasting pleasantly against the softness of his body. How strange.

Realising she was touching this creature for a little too long, she gave his face a push with her palm, the man-thing grumbling as she peered through the gap in the hatch.

Through the archway stood two pairs of digitigrade legs, covered in a luscious coat feathers the colour of the sunset. Each leg ended in four black toes that more resembled meat hooks than anything, with a fifth, shorter toe protruding from above the heel. Each foot was as large as Skyseeker’s torso, splayed out to distribute its mass over a wide area, and a lot of mass there was indeed. There was more strength in each leg than in Skyseeker’s entire body, the muscles flowing beneath the feathery coat like a liquid as its owner shifted on the spot.

The legs trailed up into sets of backwards-facing knees, then to thighs as tall as the man-thing. For all the monster’s brawn, there was something elegant about the way it carried itself, planting its feet almost daintily upon the ground, its smooth movements contrasting against the colossal weight it carried around.

As it turned, something long and thin swept from right to left, Skyseeker nearly dropping off the ladder in surprise. It was a tail, its length rivalling that of the breadth of a doomwheel, as thick around as her arm at its tip. Like the legs, it was covered in fine feathers, each the size of her claws, the tip of it fluffed with a dark bulb of fur.

Aside from this appendage, Skyseeker could see no more of the beast beyond its steely thighs, and somehow that was worse than actually witnessing the creature. A creature of that size could swallow her whole if it was so inclined.

She winced away as the beast lifted its front paws off the ground, a great gust of air roiling her fur. There was a flap of monumental wings, and suddenly the monster’s hook-like toes left the ground, the creature screeching from somewhere high above.

She and the man-thing slowly turned to look at each other, only now realising how close their faces were. She dropped off the ladder with a sound of disgust, the man-thing stepping away at the same time.

“W-What by the Horned Rat’s tail, was that?” Skyseeker demanded, careful not to raise her voice too much.

“A gryphon,” the man-thing answered, sparing a glance at the hatch. “and a pretty damned big one at that. Guess that explains what happened to the olive grove.”

“Man-thing know much-much for foreigner,” she mused.

“We’ve got gryphons back in the Empire,” he explained. “Majestic beasts, they are. Seeing a wild one is a rare, though dangerous honour.”

“Dumb feather-thing didn’t catch me-me!” she proclaimed. Another foe thwarted, Gnawdwell would be so proud of her.

“You qould have been gobbled up if I hadn’t been here,” he replied. “you froze up like a statue. Gryphon almost had you for supper.”

“N-No!” she stuttered. “Was thinking of escape plan-scheme, needed to focus!”

He rolled his eyes, Skyseeker picking up her dropped dagger. He was right, of course, she’d been paralysed the moment she’d laid eyes on the gryphon, and she’d have been doomed had the man-thing not acted. No matter how hard she tried to spin it, his role in saving her was undeniable. What was the word Skaven used to voice gratitude? Perhaps she should use it now…

“Th… Thhhhaaaaa… thank-thanks,” she said, trying to say it as quickly as possible so he didn’t catch it. “Man-thing still stupid,” she added. “could have let feather-thing eat me-me.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted. “but, then I would be stuck in here, listening to it devour you for who knows how’s long. Don’t have the stomach for that.”

“Logical! But still stupid.”

“You’re very welcome.”

She slotted her weapon away, confusion overwhelming her. She couldn’t remember the last time a Skaven had shown concern for her safety, partly because it had never happened. From the day she was born, her life revolved around backstabbing and navigating the lowest echelons of Skaven society, staying one step ahead of her enemies. Sparing any adversary, regardless of threat level, was just unheard of. This surface-world was completely backwards, in more ways than one.

She shook her head clear of these thoughts, turning to the matter at hand. “Well?” she asked. “We leaving now?”

“Not just yet,” he said, holding up a hand. “Gryphon’s probably circling the area, as hungry as it as confused. We should wait a while and let it move on, just in case.”

“Hrm, good idea-plan, yes-yes.”

She plopped herself down on the hard floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The man-thing had just enough room to stand in as he walked over to the opposite end of the cellar, lowering himself with a little more grace than she.

Skyseeker drummed her fingers on the wall, boredom quickly settling in as the silence reigned. Every now and then she felt the man-thing glance in her direction, the fact she couldn’t slink out of sight troubling her after so long staying at his rear. The fact they were sharing the confined space wasn’t helping either, maybe she should risk it and hide up in the tower proper.

“Got some interesting blades there, rat,” the man-thing noted. She had a feeling he was trying to break the silence. “Where did you get them?”

“Gift from greatest Lord!” she chittered, clutching their handles just in case he tried to steal them. “Tailored with Warpstone, sharp as knife, regal! Just like Skyseeker!”

“Tell me about this Lord,” he said. “He is like an Emperor, I take it?”

“Lord Gnawdwell greatest and bestest of all rats,” she chimed, a toothy smile spreading her muzzle as she pictured the Lord’s face. “War-King Tyrant-General biggest, strongest rat on Council. He sees all, knows more, but secret strength lies in patience! Gnawdwell look-see bigger picture, not like stupid other Council members.”

“He really calls himself Tyrant-General?” he asked, blinking in confusion.

“Yes! Just told man-thing!”

“Sounds like he has a lot of faith in you,” he said, looking her up and down. “This all-knowing Lord sent you, alone, into the big bad world with nothing but two daggers.”

The way he emphasised _Lord _came off as insincere, but she doubted he’d be speaking like that if the Lord was standing next to him.

“Goggles too! Don’t forget them!” she added, pointing at her face. “And Gnawdwell not have faith, stupid man-thing. Great Lord have foresight, insight, warpsight. When he chose Skyseeker, he saw not a breeder, but an assassin, perfect for mission!”

“Breeder?” he asked. “What’s that?”

It took a moment for Skyseeker to process the question. “Breeder is… me? Man-things not have breeders?”

“We have people who breed dogs, cattle, things like that.”

“No! Disgusting! Speak-talk of man-thing things! Skaven need breeders to make rats for Horned One’s War-Schemes! This not same for man-things?”

“Oh, you mean females?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Skyseeker drove a palm into her face. “Man-thing stupidity grows like rash!”

“So you’re saying this Lord looked past you being a female? Mustn’t happen often, considering that was the first time I saw a female Skaven when you jumped me and my horse the other day.”

“Wait-Wait!” she snapped. “Man-thing knew I was breeder? Explain!”

“W-Well, look at you!” he said, holding his arms out at her. “Barring a few absolute major details, you and human women are… similar.”

“Man-thing should stop looking at me-me and look more at weeping blades!” she snarled, baring her teeth. “Man-thing shouldn’t know breeder secret!”

“Maybe if you put some clothes on, it wouldn’t be so obvious!”

“Clothes too cumbersome! Make Skyseeker slow and heavy. Leave stupid clothes to clumsy man-thing.”

He pinched the bridge of his flat nose and sighed, Skyseeker’s scowl slowly receding in the resulting silence. He should end his life before he told someone that she was a breeder, but he seemed unusually reserved about the discovery. A clanrat would be foaming at the mouth the second they’d found her out, but not him. Why was that?

“What man-thing breeders look like?” she asked, leaning closer.

“We just call them women. Breeder’s a very rude word ,” he explained, using his hands to illustrate his next points. “Generally they’re smaller than men, physically weaker. You’ll often find them in the supporting side of the Empire, merchants and diplomats, housekeepers, things like that.”

“And breeding stock, yes-yes?”

“B-Breeding stock? Gods, no, we’re not savages!”

“Man-thing women not breed-breed?”

“Certainly they _can, _yes, but they do other things besides that.”

“Curious! Like what?”

“Pretty much everything besides serving on the front, that duty is left to men alone. Although,” he added, tilting his head in thought. “I heard of an exception once. In the village of Gluckshalt, a banner of archers was reinforced by a few dozen women who knew how to notch a bow. Drove a raiding party of bandits off.”

Her jaw dropped. Archer breeders? So openly talked about? Here she was, skulking the surface-world undercover (at least she thought she was undercover), while man-thing breeders strut around, fighting and living like their male counterparts? She watched the man-things face, searching for a lie, but found none.

“Looks like your ratbrain’s working overtime over there,” the man-thing noted. “Imagine it’s quite a different lifestyle compared to Skaven lasses.”

“Breeders good-good for one thing only,” she said, leaning back against the wall. “When female clanrat found, it is taken to breeding pits to become broodmother, or gifted to Warlord. Spend life… breeding.”

“But not you?”

“Horned Rat watches over me-me,” she said. “born in breeding pit, but escaped before discovery by ratwives. Ratwives always searching for breeder pups. Gave them slip!”

“Sounds like you were destined to be an assassin then,” he said. “So no one’s ever found you out? Since this Gnawdwell at least?”

“Many tried, but many-er failed! Stabbed rats that found breeder-musk, embarrassed those that didn’t! Skryre Warlock, with all his Warpstone power, most recently bamboozled!” She snickered.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose you do look as decrepit and abhorrent as any male Skaven, you could fool anyone.”

Her tail flicked back and forth across the floor. “Thank you, man-thing!” she said, the gratitude easier to voice this time around. “Not complimented since Great Lord’s briefing.”

“Wasn’t meant to be one,” he said, turning his nose up, or maybe he was just looking up at the hatch. It turned out to be the latter when the man-thing got to his feet, reaching up to push the trapdoor open.

“Think we’ve tarried long enough,” he announced. “We should get moving, while we still have light.”

Skyseeker nodded, gesturing for him to proceed, following him up the ladder.

-xXx-

They saw no sign of the gryphon for the rest of the afternoon, but that didn’t mean Skyseeker was about to relax, her heart rate rising every time they reached the exposed peaks of the hills, the land so barren the flying monster could have seen them from dozens of leagues away.

Every time she urged the Horned Rat to put a stop to these _Trantine Hills, _she would be disappointed, always met with the same scenery as she surveyed the world from the higher ground. The bumpy landscape seemed to have no end, slopes and inclines in every direction, save for the wall of mountains that formed a natural barrier far to their east. At least the cover of darkness would arrive soon, the skies turning a pleasant shade of orange as the sun dipped to the horizon.

“So, man-thing,” she began, slinking after the human as he descended the hill. “When will it tell-say how it got outcast from… Empireial place?”

“Never,” he muttered, his pistol clocking against his hip with each stride. “Stop asking about it.”

“But silence as boring as Tilee-place!” she whined, throwing her head back dramatically even though he wasn’t looking at her. “Need stimulation!”

“Then go find the nearest breeding pit, rodent.”

“Horrible man-thing! Males not know what happens to breeder in pits! Make death by feather-thing look very comfortable in comparison!”

“Could you stop shouting?” he asked, looking up to the clouds. “You’ll bring the gryphon right on our heads if you keep yapping away.”

“Want silence? Then spill beans!” she ordered, though she still took his advice and lowered her voice an octave.

“Urgh…” He dragged a palm over his eyes, Skyseeker peering up at him with an expectant look on her muzzle. He seemed to be considering her question, her relentlessness was finally getting to him.

“Fine,” he declared after a moment, Skyseeker pumping a fist in victory. “but not here,” he added. “Let’s find somewhere to camp first, then we’ll talk.”

She was already bounding ahead of him before he’d said first, Skyseeker combing the plains for shelter. It took maybe twenty minutes, but she soon found a small cluster of shrubs surrounding a raised rock, enough to provide cover should the gryphon come looking for them.

It was getting late, Skyseeker having to rely on her trusty goggles to cut back the encroaching darkness, soon spotting the man-thing wondering around out to her right. Useless thing would have gotten lost in the night without her around. She called him over, waving her paws to get his attention, waiting a few minutes for him to catch up. She pointed proudly to the campsite with a finger, the man-thing appraising the shelter with a nod.

“This’ll do,” he said, crouching down in the grass. “Don’t really want to make a fire and lure the gryphon over, but the alternative is to freeze. Help me set one up.”

Skyseeker grumbled, but she soon set off in search of burnable sticks, dropping a handful of them at his feet after a few minutes. Soon they had a healthy campfire beating back the darkness, the man-thing’s shadow long and shaky as sat beside the flames.

“It might not look so now, but I was one of the most esteemed generals of Reikland,” he began. “I had the ear of many noble families, I wore armour that would take a footman a decade to cobble the gold for, and I overcame villains that even the Emperor’s Finest couldn’t even dream of defeating. If that sounds arrogant to you, that’s because I was. A more pompous young lad you’d never find, but I always got the task done.”

Skyseeker sat across the fire from him, bundling her cloak over her shoulders as she settled in.

“When word reached my ears that a village had been seized by a band of secessionists, I leapt at the chance to prove my worth,” he said. “I was already halfway out of the gates with a regiment by the time the other generals decided to act.”

“Secessionists?” she asked.

“Imperials who no longer recognised the Empire, seeking to form their own state.”

“Ah, many Skaven Clans made from splintering too. Proceed!”

“When we arrived, we found the traitors had rounded up the entire village. They threatened to put every man and woman to the sword if we made a move against them, so we laid siege and awaited reinforcements, but fortune wasn’t with us. My scouts reported beastmen stalking the woods nearby, looking to mount an attack to our rear. Cursed things had us outnumbered three to one.”

“I had to decide between breaking the siege and face the beastmen,” he said, prodding the flames with a stick. “Putting the lives of my men at risk. Or to pull back and wait for reinforcements, leaving the villagers and the traitors to the mercy of the beasts. I made a lot of tough calls fighting for my country, but none were like this.”

“What did man-thing choose?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Neither. I assembled the men, and carried out a raid under the cover of night. The secessionists had to be dealt with, and I planned on the traitors surrendering once they knew we were inside the barricades. We liberated nearly half the village before the alarm was raised, but instead of giving up… the bastards carried through with their threat.”

He tossed the stick into the fire. “Eight hundred people called that village home, and by the time we’d taken control… barely two hundred lived through the night. I should have known the honourless traitors would have no qualms killing the innocent, but a part of me thought they’d still have some humanity in their hearts. It is as the elves say – above all the races, it is we humans who are the most easily seduced by the whims of Chaos.” He looked up at her, a hard expression on his face. “I should know, because after we took the village, I had all the secessionists rounded up and executed.”

Skyseeker blinked at him, the human continuing before she could get a word in.

“That might not seem so harsh to a Skaven, but for us, it is considered honourless to kill those who have surrendered. At the time, I told myself it was deserved justice for the fallen, but now… now I’m not so sure.”

“… That how man-thing was outcasted?” Skyseeker asked. “but, kill-kill enemies good for Empire, no-yes?”

“It’s not who I killed, but who I got killed that caused my exile,” he explained. “When reinforcements arrived and helped drive the beastmen away, word spread quickly about what had happened. The people of Reikland, even the village survivors, criticized my actions. They said I cared more for my prestige than their lives. When the Emperor’s advisors learned of what happened, they were quick to call my mental stability into question, and I was cast into the dungeons. People demanded that I should hang, but my service to the Empire ensured I was banished instead. I was sworn to only return when I learned to put the needs and values of the Empire before my own.”

“And now I wander,” he said, gesturing to the plains beyond the fire. “these southern provinces seemed as good a place to begin as any, the lands are still held by men. Well, for the moment,” he added, no doubt recalling the Skryre warband’s invasion.

“What man-thing doing here-here?” she asked. “Think it will just fall over thing that will end-stop its exile?”

“Sigmar will guide me on my search,” he said, not elaborating further. “Now you know my secret,” he continued, resting his hands on his knees. “I’d ask you not to go blathering about it to everyone, but I know neither of us don’t exactly a lot of friends in this place.”

“Promise to keep man-thing’s secret, IF-!” she added, raising a paw. “Man-thing keeps breeder secret secret.”

He seemed to find that amusing, chuckling at her as he replied. “Sure thing, lass. Lad, I mean.”

She cocked her head at the odd term, but guessed that meant he had accepted her deal. She yawned suddenly, stretching her arms over her head, about to turn in when she suddenly remembered something.

“Here,” she chirped, clipping off one of her pouches and tossing it to him. The pouch arced over the firepit, landing in his outstretched hand.

“What’s this?” he said, testing its weight. He poured its contents into his other hand, blinking when a pile of olives landed in his palm. “What the… I thought you ate all of your bounty? What’s this for?”

“Man-thing miss many things,” she replied, glad he wasn’t as perceptive as she thought. “Said before not give information for twenty olives, so take-have twenty one olives. Counted personally!”

“Oh. Well, thanks…”

Satisfied with herself, Skyseeker curled up into a ball, the flames warming her front as she closed her eyes. Though tired, her excitement was turning her mind into a frenzy. At last, a secret had fallen straight into her paws! His ceding of his past meant he was already starting to see her as less of a threat, the fool. Her advantages on the man-thing were growing.

“Hey, question,” the man-thing said. Skyseeker shot him an annoyed look for interrupting her schemes, but she let him speak. “Say that you were in my position, assaulting that village of traitors. Would you have done the same as I?”

She considered for a moment, trying to imagine what she’d do with so many man-things under her command. “I’d leave man-thing bait for the hoove-things, make Skyseeker warband look weak-weak. Then, when hoove-things least expect it… spring trap!”

“You think a numerically superior force could be ambushed so easily?”

“Numericalness nothing against sneaky-attack! Why ask anyway?”

“No reason.” He turned his back on her, resting his head on his many bags. He closed his eyes, and after waiting a few minutes to be certain he was sleeping, she followed suit, her dreams plagued with gryphons and olives.

-xXx-

The hills were getting broader, the space between them channelling so deep into the earth they started to resemble valleys. It seemed that no matter what direction she and the man-thing set off in, it was always an uphill journey, Skyseeker stumbling to her knees as she baked in the oppressive heat.

“Keep up now,” the man-thing called, not even bothering to look back as he marched ahead of her. Mental issues aside, the creature seemed to have an endless pool of stamina to draw from. He’d not so much as paused for a break since the morning.

“W-When nap time?” she called back, but he mustn’t have heard her, his noisy armour growing quiet as he scaled the hill. At least the soft grass provided some measure of relief, Skyseeker laying one cheek on the ground as she regained her breath.

“Hey, rat!” the man thing called from atop the hill. “Get up here, there’s something you should see!”

Skyseeker dragged her feet and paws up the incline, the ground slowly scrolling past her with each agonising pull of her limbs. After a few painful minutes, she finally reached his side, flopping onto her back as she peered over the lands. From this height, she could see the sprawling hellscapes of the plains in its entirety, chains of hills in every direction, their sizes ranging from small bumps to towering mountains. At the furthest reaches of her vision, she saw greenery dotting the fields of wildgrass, gently leading into thick walls of trees. That was a forest, which must mean they were closing in on the edges of the plains.

“Could just tell Skyseeker end of plains was close,” she muttered, glaring up at him.

“Wasn’t talking about that,” he said, pointing out to their north as he hunkered next to her. “I meant that.”

She followed his finger, squinting her eyes into the haze. Something was moving from one hill to another, two valley chains from where they were standing. She twisted the dials on her goggles, zooming in for a better look, her eyes growing to the size of plates when the image bloomed. Crawling across the slopes like an infection was a mass of brown fur, metal swords and weaponry glinting in the light. A wall of man-things stood some distance away, the creature’s ranks three rows deep, flanked by even more man-things who brandished rifles and pistols.

The man-things were firing in volleys, the cracks of gunpowder visible, but silent, the charging ratmen falling by the dozens. She could see other, fast-moving combatants surrounding the main skirmish, horses ridden by man-things seeking to flank, along with Skaven pilots trying to do the same. They were riding doom-flayers, motorised vehicles with a singular wheel at the front, and a pilot seat at the back, with every protruding inch of steel covered in barbs and wicked spikes designed to make ramming as painful and effective as possible.

“Friends of yours?” the man-thing asked, shielding his eyes with a hand.

“Not know,” she replied, peering into the ranks in search of a banner. It took a few seconds, but she soon found the markings of a Great Clan, the flag jutting from the back of a giant rat, or perhaps it was an ogre, it was hard to tell from this distance. “Wait! Look-see Great Clan Pestilens banner! Not friends!”

“Pestilens? How many Great Clans are there anyway?” he asked, blinking when she held up five fingers, then changed her mind and lowered one of them. “These Clans, are they all out for Tilean blood?”

She made to correct him, but reconsidered. The less he knew about what Skavendom was doing, what _she _was doing, the better. “Skaven always fight-kill Tilee-place,” she said, which was partially true. “Vermintide nothing special.”

“If you say so,” he said, reaching down to pluck his canteen from his belt. He took a generous swig, the sloshing of liquid drawing her attention. When he noticed her staring, he rolled his eyes, holding it out to her. The sudden movement startled her, Skyseeker clutching the handle of a weeping blade as she leaned away.

“I know what you’re thinking, you needn’t worry,” he assured, shaking the little bottle. “Go on, can only take so much of your incessant panting.”

The allure of a drink overpowered her suspicion, and she snatched the canteen from his hand, putting his back to him as she fiddled with the lid. When she figured out how to unscrew it, she brought the canteen to her lips, taking one draw, then another, then poured some of her face for good measure.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, making to grab it off her. Skyseeker squeaked, pushing her feet into his chestplate, the pads of her toes burning as they touched the heated metal, using him as leverage to roll herself out of his reach. She tumbled head over heels, placing a hand on the canteen to keep it from spilling. “Hey! That’s the only water I have, you want us both to die of thirst?”

Skyseeker wanted to just ignore him, but he had _given her a drink without demanding anything in return, perhaps she should heed his words. She placed the cap back, tossing him the canteen, mumbling a _thank you as she licked her wet whiskers.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his tone implying he wasn’t very grateful. “So what do you know about these Pestilens rats?” he asked, stashing his canteen away.

“Pestilens love plaguing!” she said. “Brew many concoctions, kill enemies with air, not knives. See green air, don’t forget to hold breath.”

“Rats making poison? As if the gryphon wasn’t enough to worry about,” the man-thing muttered, glancing at the distant vermintide. “Come,” he ordered, rising to his feet. “Sooner we’re out of these hills, the better.”

-xXx-

Roderick and Skyseeker weaved between the hills, the sounds of battle growing louder and more numerous as they trekked through the heart of the Trantine Hills. The snaps of flintlocks and warpstone rifles rose to a constant backdrop, carrying from first behind them, then to their west. He’d been informed during his time with the mercenaries that the Skaven were a constant thorn in Tilea’s side, but this felt more like an invasion than a simple nuisance.

He glanced behind him, his vermin follower lingering a few paces back. She was constantly eyeing the skies, likely fearing the return of the gryphon. He couldn’t blame her. She probably looked like a tasty snack to the flying carnivore, not that he was safe either, he’d seen gryphon’s snap fully-armoured men clean in half with their powerful beaks.

“Stop!” the Skaven ordered, her head swivelling in quick half circles. “Man-thing hear-hear that?”

He thought she was just talking about the gunshots, but after a moment he caught onto something else. Armour clanking together, interrupted by a low murmur of conversation. It was coming from over the hill they’d been walking towards for the past few minutes.

“Let’s take a look,” he said, lowering his voice. “Nice and quiet, okay? We’ve come this far without incident, don’t want to start one now.”

The rat, Skyseeker, nodded, then plunged her face into the dirt. She cupped her paws full of dust, then began to rub the earth into her cloak and shoulders, rolling around to help spread it over her face and short torso. She looked like a pig that had been gifted a fresh trough of mud.

“What the… What in Sigmar’s name are you doing?” he demanded, the rat standing up after a moment, covered from face to belly in dirt.

“Camouflaging!” she chimed. “Hide from feather-thing, hide from all things!”

He supposed her dirty cloak might blend in a little better now that it was filthy, but her spontaneousness still caught him off-guard. She was clearly devoted to this mission of hers…

“Let’s go,” he said, leading the way. The slope here was shallow, only rising a dozen or so meters into the air, Roderick drawing his pistol as he approached the top. From the way the wind combed the grass, they were downwind of the voices, so at least their scent wouldn’t give them away if it was Skaven.

When he approached the top, he got down onto a prone position, Skyseeker mirroring his movements as she sidled up to his left. There were no shrubs nearby to cover him, so he removed his helmet lest its shine give him away.

He raised his eyes over the lip of earth, the landscape as similar as the ground they’d already crossed. Movement drew his gaze lower, Roderick spying a cluster of figures gathered by the foot of the hill on the far side.

Lounging around in various states of alert was a group of Skaven, dressed in cloth tunics the same shade as the grass, chittering and muttering to each other. A couple of them were lounging around, tails curled over their furry legs as they snored loudly, while the majority of them were huddled up in a circle.

As Roderick watched, the rats in the circle seemed to be passing something between them, but he couldn’t see what from this angle. He could, however, hear the ratmen taking turns sniffing loudly through their blocked noses, one of them lifting his muzzle to exhale loudly.

“Scouting party, likely from that vermintide we saw earlier,” he muttered, backing down out of sight.

“Man-thing deductions amaze Skaven,” Skyseeker muttered sarcastically.

“Could mean the Skaven are heading in the same direction as us,” he said, ignoring her comment. “What’s that thing they’re passing around?”

“Maybe new weapon, or maybe warpstone!” she answered, that last notion making her bounce on the spot. “Strange if so, sharing warpstone not as good as keeping for self.”

“Indeed, communal creatures you are not,” he said, remembering the way she’d stuffed herself into that vat of vinegar. “Think they’ll move off soon?”

“Clanrats taking nap time,” Skyseeker said, peeking over the lip of earth. “We go round-around, manoeuvre past swifty. Easy scheme!”

“Much as I hate to admit it, I agree with you. Rather not announce ourselves to every man and rat in these hills. Still,” he added, gesturing to the sides. “Not a lot of cover out there, we’ll have to loop pretty far if we want to stay out of sight. It’ll add time to our journey, but we’re not in a hurry… are we?”

“Time is of essence!” she snapped. “Skyseeker must complete mission soon, before other rats do it first!”

“Wait, other rats? Like Pestilens?”

She flattened her ears against her head, clearly frustrated at having said too much. “Man-thing asking too many questions,” she grumbled. “More skittering instead!”

“Then by all means, skitter away.” He waved a dismissive hand.

She muttered an insult aimed at his intelligence, then turned, dashing on all fours as she moved back down the incline. Now it was his turn to follow _her, _it seemed, Roderick jogging after her as they moved out into the grasslands.

-xXx-

Skyseeker waved him on, their path jutting abruptly to the right after half an hour of walking in a straight line. There was no cover whatsoever out here, Roderick feeling the hair on his neck stand as he tried to keep an eye on all his angles. Although the patrol was now just a speck in the distance, having nothing standing between them and him made him nervous.

His companion would occasionally peer in the Skaven’s direction, her goggles glinting as they reflected the light. If she had any similar reservations, she kept them to herself, weaving deftly through the tall stalks of grass, her pace just swift enough that he could keep up if he jogged.

“Sure they won’t spot us out here?” he asked, glancing at the barren ground all around them.

“Unless Pestilans’ have goggles too, we stay hidden,” she replied curtly, not waiting for him as she pressed on.

“Not just rats I’m worried about,” he muttered, turning his eyes up. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure about navigating all this open ground. At least the hills provided some measure of cover, and the next chain of mountains was a good league or two away to their south.

“Then shut mouth and move legs,” Skyseeker snapped, the fact she too was peering up at the sky not going unnoticed.

She increased her pace, Roderick having trouble keeping up in his armour, the metal cooking him in the intense heat. There wasn’t much effort to spare for conversation, the pair navigating over the flat ground in silence, occasionally dodging or jumping over a protruding rock. It took them most of an hour, but his reservations about being in open ground turned out to be in vain, the two of them reaching the next set of hills without incident. There were even a few hardy saplings clinging to the nearest slope, Roderick joining the ratwoman as she collapsed into the shade of one.

“See? I am the supreme master of evasion schemes!” the Skaven said, literally patting herself on the back for her efforts.

“Your clandestine nature is undeniable,” he admitted. “But let’s keep moving. Where there’s one patrol, there will be more.”

-xXx-

“Feels like the perfect place for an ambush,” Roderick muttered.

They’d been following the same snaking trail for the rest of the evening, two giant hills forming towers of earth to either side of them. The natural canyon was tight enough to obscure them from any further scouting parties in the area, but the seclusion went both ways, the consistent sounds of warfare hinting that battles were taking place somewhere just out of sight.

“Good plan, man-thing,” Skyseeker chirped, hopping over a boulder behind and to his left. The land was pockmarked with other large rocks, the faces of the steep hills in particular. They would barely reach knee-height for a human, but to a Skaven, they would make excellent cover. “But can’t stay-wait here, Great Clans overrun this place soon.”

“No you dolt,” he chided. “I meant if someone were to set up an ambush against _us, _this’d be the place.”

Skyseeker took a long draw of air, her shapely chest expanding as she filled her lungs, expelling them with a sputter. “No stink of Skaven or man-things,” she informed him. “Rick-rod just being stupid paranoid thing.”

The pass narrowed as they pushed onwards, reaching the point that almost no flat ground existed between the hills, Roderick stumbling through the uneven terrain. He glanced up at the hill on their left side, certain he had caught movement, only to find himself staring at a patch of dancing wildflowers at the top of the slope.

Worry began to well up inside him, but their list of options was few. Climbing out of the canyon would risk a twisted ankle or a steep fall, not to mention the cover they’d be giving up would put them at risk of discovery by the Tileans and Skaven fighting for these plains. They’d walked too far to simply turn back as well, pushing on was the only viable path.

Soon the pass began to bend to the right, the curve of the hill obscuring whatever lay in the distance. He watched as his Skaven companion navigated through the terrain like a grasshopper, her wide feet able to let her control her weight better than he ever could. The way she flowed from spot to spot was oddly mesmerising, for a five foot vermin of course.

Before long, something began to slowly appear around the bend, the trail coming to an abrupt halt as it met with a treeline. It was a patch of forest, the woodlands spilling onto the slopes a little, forming a distinct U-shaped canopy of bleached leaves and branches, stretching some unknown distance further afield. After days of walking through exposed ground, the sight was a welcome one.

Before either of them could comment on it, Roderick and Skyseeker stopped in their tracks, sudden movement from between them and the forest giving them pause. From behind the boulders and bumps in the ground, figures began to rise into view, dust and clumps of grass sliding off furry shoulders and long muzzles. Just as Skyseeker had covered herself in dirt, these Skaven had buried themselves in the earth to conceal themselves, lying in wait for something to pass through.

There were seven or eight of them, the Skaven raising black swords in their paws, one of them opening his jaws to loose a predatory hiss that reminded Roderick of a striking cobra.

“Just being paranoid, was I?” Roderick demanded, turning his furious gaze on Skyseeker, the rodent’s lips quivering as she thought of a response.

“S-Stupid man-thing’s fault! Clanky armour gave us away! Told man-thing clothes were bad!”

Roderick didn’t have time to formulate a reply, the Skaven unleashing a war-cry as they started to charge, leaping across the uneven ground, swords poised over their furry heads. Most of them wore nothing more than a few tattered sheets of green cloth over their chests and legs, the most protective gear Roderick could see being a few patchwork helmets, made from hammered sheets of steel connected by thick bolts.

Their equipment was lacking, but their numbers weren’t, Roderick seeing another group of rats coming into view up on the slope to the right, also laying in wait behind any bit of cover they could find. The Skaven would have stood a better chance combining their forces into one big attack, but nobody ever said that logic was in the Skaven vocabulary.

“Backwards scurry?” Skyseeker asked, her neck shifting and turning as she looked at every approaching rat in turn.

“Little late for that!” he replied. Roderick drew his pistol, the silver sights catching the sunlight as he aimed at the closest Skaven. He fired, his arm snapping up, the round punching a hole through the Skaven’s chest in an instant. The rodent stumbled, like the shot had simply winded him, only to be shoved carelessly to the ground by a Skaven directly behind him.

Roderick reloaded, shoving a fresh charge into the barrel, trying to ignore the thundering footsteps of the charging ratmen. He held out his pistol once more, the crack of a second gunshot echoing over the pass. The Skaven he’d aimed for tried to duck out of the way, but too late, a red mist spraying out behind him as he fell.

The rats were closing, but Roderick dared to try for a third reload, the Skaven moments away. As he fished for another paper charge, he glanced over to his left, Skyseeker shifting as the vermintide bore down on them. He had accepted that she wasn’t a threat to him, but now that more of her kind were here, he wasn’t sure what she’d do. As if being a Skaven wasn’t enough, she was a damn wildcard to boot. Not the most logical choice of an ally, all things considered.

He released the breath he’d been holding when she drew those corrosive blades from her belt, holding them out towards the oncoming rats as she dropped into a low crouch, her long teeth bared. When the nearest Skaven was within range, she leapt, the muscles in her legs like coiled springs as she propelled herself, leading with her daggers and plunging them deep into his furry chest.

The Skaven didn’t react in time, dropping his weapon as Skyseeker yanked her daggers out of his torso, pushing his convulsing body aside. The rest of the charging Skaven stopped abruptly, skidding in the dirt as they looked on in confusion, like they’d only just now recognised Skyseeker’s presence. One of them gestured curiously in her direction.

“What rat-thing doing?” he asked, a bewildered expression on his muzzle. “Fight man-thing, not us-us!”

“Skyseeker never breaks a deal! Good business practice!” She reached into her cloak and produced a warp-star, thrusting her arm out as she threw it. The confused ratman tumbled to the ground, the star imbedded in his throat.

The four remaining clanrats split their attention, two changing direction and going for Skyseeker, the other two rushing Roderick. He didn’t have enough time to push the lead ball with his ramrod before they’d be on him, Roderick abandoning the effort, flipping the pistol instead so he was holding it by the barrel.

The Skaven closest to him unleashed a furious hiss, dragging his sword across the ground, and heaving it up in a cleave, aiming for Roderick’s chin. He sidestepped the swing, stepping in and clocking the rat on the snout. The wooden grip on the pistol was reinforced with brass, the ratman yelping as blood seeped from his nose.

To his right, the second Skaven closed in, driving his curved blade towards Roderick’s chest. Rather than dodge aside, he moved closer, seizing the ratman by the wrist. He shoved his armoured shoulder into his muzzle, twisting his arm at the same time, the Skaven dropping his weapon with a yowl of pain. Roderick clasped the sword before it fell, using it to slice open its former owner’s belly. These rats telegraphed their attacks like recruits, and the fact they’d been hiding in this pass for who knows how long hadn’t done them any favours.

Glancing to his left, he watched Skyseeker swing her daggers in a severing motion, but instead of aiming for the Skaven, she targeted their oncoming weapons instead. The green blades cut through the dark metal with ease, severing one sword just above the hilt. The disarmed ratman immediately gave in, falling to his knees, rasping out some plea for his life, the other pressing the attack. The two rats exchanged a handful of blows, but ultimately the ratman’s sword was cut in twain, the axe clattering to the dirt. Skyseeker had clearly learned from her fight with Roderick, staying on the defensive, letting her opponents ruin their own weapon on her corrosive blades.

Skyseeker loosed a feral snarl, the two ratmen stumbling away in fear. They turned to flee, clutching their heads in a panic, Skyseeker snickering in triumph. Her amusement was cut short when she glanced up the incline, thrusting out a dirty claw.

“Man-thing! Look!”

Roderick had just finished off the dazed Skaven, plunging his stolen sword into his chest, following her pointed finger as he freed it. The second group of Skaven was halfway down the hill, around ten ratmen sharing a wordless warcry, but two of their number stood out. They were taller, wearing the Skaven equivalent of a knight’s armour, flanking the procession. They were both wearing full-face masks, two breathing canisters jutting from the sides of their chins. One looked like he was carrying the most oversized blunderbuss in existence, while the other was clutching giant globes in his gloved paws.

The latter of which suddenly lifted his arms, tossing one such globe in an overhand throw, Roderick noting he had dozens more of the devices strapped to his chestplate, the balls jangling together with each stride. The tossed globe fell a few meters short of Roderick, the glass canister smashing against a stone. Rather than the earth being rocked by an explosion as a grenade would do, instead a cloud of green vapours erupted from the impact, the fog rolling out like a liquid in all directions of the compass.

“Don’t breath-smell it!” Skyseeker warned, hopping away despite being further from the cloud than Roderick. “Tampered warpstone gas, very poisonous!”

“I can see that!”

Another cloud of warpstone erupted on the left, then the right, a wall of dense, green vapours obscuring the advancing Skaven. They were using it like a smokescreen, no doubt taking the opportunity to flank.

“Tree time!” Skyseeker yelled, dashing further up the pass. Roderick concurred, following behind her as they circled the warspstone gas, Roderick ripping another paper charge open with his teeth, his hand steady even as he hurried to keep pace with Skyseeker.

He could hear the skittering of paws on his right, Roderick turning his head to see a trio of Skaven appear on the spot the first group of rats had been slain. They scanned the area, confused for a moment before they spotted Roderick. They made to pursue, but before they could, another globe of warpstone toxin landed by their feet, a cloud of gas spreading with a sound reminiscent of a leaking steam valve, the Skaven shrieking as they scrambled clear. The one throwing the globes either didn’t know, or didn’t care he was putting his fellow Skaven at risk by chucking them blindly into the pass.

Thumbing back the firing mechanism, Roderick held his pistol ready as he made for the trees, spying Skyseeker’s pink tail slip into the undergrowth. He followed after her, pressing his back against the nearest tree, panting through his helmet as he leaned out to peer in the Skaven’s direction.

Through the closest wall of vapours, a figure emerged. It was the other armoured ratman, wielding the bulky, blunderbuss-like weapon. From neck to waist, he was decked in armour, parts of it painted over in a shade of green just as deep as the gas surrounding him, his face protected by a bulky rebreather. What appeared to be a giant brass ball was strapped to his back, with a canister poking out of the top, a large piece of glowing rock sitting flush against the glass casing. That must be a piece of warpstone Skyseeker had told him about.

He could gear rat rasping through his mask as he brought his weapon to bear, aiming its tube-like muzzle in Roderick’s direction. He pulled a mechanism fitted to the stock, a stream of green liquid spewing across the ground. It must have been oil, the grass and rocks suddenly igniting, erupting in flames the colour of emeralds as the rat lifted the weapon, a scorching heat washing over Roderick’s face.

He heard Skyseeker shriek somewhere to his left, the ratwoman tossing herself as far away as possible, Roderick doing the same. He threw himself to the ground just in time, the tree he’d been hiding behind setting ablaze, the ratman waving his flaming weapon back and forth to spread the inferno.

A shrub to his right parted, one of the poorly-armed rats narrowing skimming the edge of the flames as he barrelled into the trees, his beady eyes locked on Roderick’s. The two exchanged blows, Roderick dispatching the rat as he climbed to his feet. He couldn’t see Skyseeker, but he could hear shouting somewhere to his rear, her high-pitched voice mixed in with a few others. She must be dealing with her own ambushers.

Another spurt of liquid flames penetrated through the trees, the armoured ratman trudging fearlessly into his proceeding blaze, his furry feet clad in what must be insulated boots. He swept his warpstone weapon in wide arcs, cackling like a madman as he ignited everything in his path. Roderick shielded himself with an arm as the flaming weapon angled in his direction, feeling scorching heat on his front as he was caught in the cone of fire.

Roderick retreated deeper into the forest, spotting Skyseeker further to the left. She was duelling with another Skaven, the two rats dodging and snarling, her goggles switching from her opponent to the flamethrower. She was dangerously close to the cone of fire, the flamethrower-wielding rat advancing in her direction. Both she and her opponent would be set alight in mere seconds.

He held his breath as he drew his pistol, lining up the iron sights with his eye. His vambrace was trailing green flames, but it didn’t affect his aim, Roderick firing a bullet at the ratman’s rebreather, the Skaven’s crazed laughter cut short as one of the trailing tubes popped off like a snapped suspension cable.

The rat dropped to his knees, keeling over his weapon as though trying to hug it. Skyseeker spared him a glance, offering a curt nod before returning her attention to the rat she was sparring with.

Roderick redrew his stolen Skaven sword, spotting another ratman hopping through the bushes to his flank, drawn by the sound of the gunshot. He didn’t want to waste ammo on these simple Skaven, Roderick stepping in with a lunge, slicing the rat across his belly, dropping him with an ease that bordered on trivialness.

Seeing that Skyseeker had dispatched her opponent, he scanned the trees for the creature throwing the globes. He didn’t have to look for long, the armoured rat leaping through the treeline just behind the corpse of the pyromaniac, seemingly undeterred by the grim sight as he moved deeper into the trees.

The Skaven’s hearing was keen, even with the mask, the vermin swinging round in Roderick’s direction when he plugged his handgun with a ramrod. The ratman put a hand to his vest, where two more of the transparent globes dangled from his clasps, but he couldn’t beat the speed it took to pull a trigger.

The pistol fired, the crack echoing, Roderick watching through the wisp of smoke as the ratman stumbled, suddenly becoming engulfed in a cloud of green vapours. He blinked in surprise. Was his whole body made up of the perilous gas, the bullet bursting him like a balloon? He wouldn’t be surprised, Skaven were vermin that thrived in decay and toxins.

As he made to reload, the lingering vapours swirled, and the masked ratman rushed into view, his frenzied wailing muffled by his rebreather. Roderick lifted a brow, certain he hadn’t missed, his eyes wandering down to the Skaven’s vest. He could see blood trailing from a bullet wound, along with part of a smashed glass globe. His bullet must have hit one of the weapons, the device slowing the shot enough to spare the Skaven.

The globadier drew a blade from his belt, too close for Roderick to reload his pistol before it was on him. He squared off against the ratman, the rodent pulling the last globe hanging from his vest. Barely a few meters away, he threw it in an overhand arc, Roderick narrowly dodging to the side, the globe skimming past his helmet, shattering on the ground somewhere behind him.

The globadier closed in, swinging his sword in a sideways arc, Roderick meeting it with his own blade, the two Skaven weapons clashing with a metallic ring. Roderick followed up with an uppercut, but the ratman stepped out of the way, holding his blade in two hands and thrusting. Roderick let the rat glance him on the arm, trusting his armour to take the blow while he counterattacked.

He managed to catch the ratman on the shoulder, driving his sword into one of his vest straps, but the point met resistance. The globadier’s armour was just as sturdy as his own, maybe moreso, his blade bouncing off the brass-coloured metal harmlessly, forcing Roderick off balance.

The rat took advantage of his surprise, putting Roderick on the defensive as he delivered swing after swing, never repeating the same angle twice, Roderick ceding space as he retreated. The Skaven switched his weapon from one paw to the other, driving a fist towards Roderick’s belly. The plates on the knuckles of his glove must have been reinforced, the blow knocking the air out of Roderick’s lungs.

He knew Skaven were fast, but this particular vermin was downright crazed, Roderick unable to counter under the onslaught. He was forced to take another step backwards, tensing as he realised what the rat was doing. He could sense the cloud of toxic gas directly behind him, feeling its presence like a wall. He wasn’t sure what coming into contact with the warpstone gas would do, and he wasn’t eager to find out. He had to finish this vermin off quickly, but his crude blade did little against the heavily armoured rat.

The globadier drove his blade towards his face, Roderick raising his weapon to block. As the blades clashed, he swiped left, the rat mirroring his movements, the two weapons locking together at the crossguards. Roderick put all his strength into the clinch, the ratman leaning closer as he did the same, their helmets almost touching as they buckled under one another’s efforts. Roderick could see his reflection in the ratman’s visor, the rodent’s scowl just visible beyond the glass. The sight gave him an idea.

Rather than try to overpower, Roderick instead drew his head back, clocking the rat’s mask with his helmet in a desperate headbutt. His vision blurred with the violent impact, but the globadier recoiled, lifting a sluggish hand to his face, opening him up to a crushing strike from Roderick’s pommel. He drove the blunt edge into the Skaven’s muzzle, hearing the glass part of his mask shatter, one of the jutting canisters popping off like a cork from a bottle.

With a snarl, Roderick pressed forward, stepping to the rat’s side and whacking him across the back of his head with his blade. The rodent’s neck was also protected by a collar of metal, but the force of the impact drove the Skaven forward, while Roderick circled around to his rear, forcing their positions to reverse. Now it was the Skaven who had his back to the gas.

The rat scrutinised him through his now cracked visor, his eyes full of fury. Roderick came at him, the Skaven reacting slower to his strikes than before, his damaged vision giving Roderick the edge he needed. He forced the rodent to defend from above, feinting his strike, instead delivering a savage kick to the rat’s stomach, the blow powerful enough to send the Skaven arching through the air.

The Skaven was swallowed into the thick cloud of gas, his figure becoming shadowy and distorted as he landed on his rear. The rat began to sputter, swiping desperately at his masked face as the gas seeped into his lungs, his rebreather no longer functional.

Roderick held no pity for the Skaven, but even he felt shivers crawl down his back as the rat began to make a horrible death rattle, his limbs kicking out as tried to claw his way out of the cloud, his weakening limbs failing him. A few grim moments later, and the ratman began to gradually relax, the Skaven curling up like a dead spider as he went silent.

He turned away, fishing a paper charge from his belt as he examined the scene around him. Everything was on fire, the distinct cone of emerald flames expanding to every nearby twig and leaf. On the far side of the burned out clearing, he watched as Skyseeker wiped her magical blades on the grass, cleaning them of blood before stowing them inside her many belts and straps. He could see the bodies of four or five Skaven littering the ground around her, she must have dealt with the rest while he’d mopped up the globadier.

“Are… Are you well?” he asked, trying to steady his breathing. Skyseeker nodded her hooded head, circling the flames, standing by his side as she glanced from him, to the globadier, then back to him.

“Rick-rod killed warpstone throwers…” she asked, sounding genuinely confused. “Not think it survive…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he grumbled, lifting his visor and rubbing his temple, still dizzy from his headbutt with the rat. “We should make a hasty retreat, the shots and the smoke will draw more of your ilk. Mine too, no doubt.”

He made to move, but Skyseeker stopped him, pointing a claw at his arm, Roderick tilting his head as he followed her finger. The plates covering his bicep was sizzling with lingering lines of warpfire, Roderick batting at them until they were snuffed out, patting the rest of himself down just to be safe. After he was done, he shouldered his way into the trees, moving in the opposite direction of the treeline, Skyseeker trailing behind him.

-xXx-

They stopped to rest only when the site of the ambush was far behind them, the plumes of green-tinted smoke small enough that Roderick could cover them with his thumb. The flames would act like a beacon to the whole of the Trantine Hills, drawing any passing patrols and armies into the area, but at least the covering of the forest should shield them from prying eyes.

“You sure you aren’t wounded?” Roderick asked, his knees cracking as he crouched beside a tree. “You were outnumbered three-to-one a couple times back there…”

“Clanrats fight like hungry pups. Not big deal,” Skyseeker replied, waving a dismissive hand as she collapsed onto a nearby root. She slid across the curved bark, letting gravity pull her to the ground where she draped over the grass like a corpse. She didn’t look wounded, but all her spinning and jumping had certainly taken a toll on her, the rat panting hard beneath her hood.

He pulled his canteen from his pack, taking a swig, the cool water soothing his throat on the way down. He then held it out. “Here,” he said, noting that her eyes were shut.

Skyseeker rose to a sitting position, regarding him with a suspicious look as she leaned on an elbow. “What?” she demanded.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? You may not be wounded, but you’re tired. Drink up.”

He could see the cogs in her head turning as she flicked her gaze from him to his canteen, squinting behind her goggles. The Skaven was probably wondering why he was being so courteous, Roderick’s own train of thought following a similar path.

She slowly extended her arm, and when she was close enough, she snagged his canteen with all the speed of a bullet, as though being close to him for any amount of time was a risky endeavour.

The last time he’d shared his water with her, he had to chide her like she was a disobedient child, and for a moment he thought history would repeat itself, Skyseeker shielding his canteen from view as she turned away slightly. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she took only two gulps before stopping, parting her sharp teeth to loose a refreshed ‘ahh’.

“Rick-rod should be hurt one,” she said, tilting her head in his direction. “Fighting wind globadier, not as simple as fighting stupid clanrat.”

“I’ll say,” Roderick replied, remembering how violently the Skaven had choked on his own poison, how easily it could have been _him _writhing on the ground.

“You fight… good. For a man-thing,” she added, covering one side of her face in what might have been embarrassment.

“Well I’ll be. Only a few days ago I was just a stupid chump, now you’re complementing me?”

“You still chump,” she assured. “but… my fur would have burned in warpfire if it… you… were not here-there to shoot rat-thing. Can’t fight Skyseeker, but can fight Skaven good-good.”

It was a long-winded way of saying he was a skilled fighter, but he supposed the Skaven wasn’t used to giving praise.

“Still stroking your ego over our little bout, I see,” he chuckled. “Perhaps we should find time for a rematch. That you simply landed the first blow does not warrant total victory, especially when we’re both still alive.”

He saw the muscles in her arms tense, her paw creeping down her waist towards her belt, the strap brimming with daggers, Roderick quickly holding up a hand to stop her.

“Relax, I was just joking, lass.” She continued to grimly stare at him, apparently not believing a word. “It would be unwise of me to backstab my only ally now, and an ally you surely must be, since you didn’t side with those Skaven back there when you had the chance.”

She began her reply with a snarl, as if talking about her own kin disgusted her “Siding with Pestilens rats very bad for health. Disease-musk stick in fur forever. On the other paw… Siding with man-thing much better. Less stink, more olives! Refreshing experience!”

“Not exactly the sturdiest foundation for trust, but good to know,” Roderick replied, his armour creaking as he shrugged.

“TrUSt?” Skyseeker echoed, pronouncing the word like she was making fun of his accent. “Not same thing! Man-thing like…” She stroked her snout for a moment, her thoughts coming to her after a moment. “-Like whisker! Useful, but not necessary!”

“If that were true, you would have ditched me long ago,” he noted. The Skaven didn’t appear to have an answer for that, folding her slim arms over her front as she glanced away.

“We should camp here for the night,” Roderick continued. “Take advantage of the shade while we can.”

He set about making a fire, keeping the flames small and controlled so they didn’t attract unwanted attention. Soon the half moon had risen into the sky, the light it shed rivalled by that of the warpfires still raging to their far north, a globe of green permeating the horizon.

Soon the silence was broken as Skyseeker started to mutter, Roderick turning to see her propped up against a nearby tree root, her face pointed directly up, the canopy sparse enough to give her a view of the night sky. She was pinching one of her google lenses, the sound of a spinning dial reaching his ears.

“You needn’t fear the gryphon, lass,” he began, her head snapping his direction, as though she’d been caught doing something inappropriate. “They’re not nocturnal, they only hunt during the day.”

“Not looking for feather-thing,” she explained. “Looking at... other things.”

“What ‘things’?” he asked.

“Thing-things!” she repeated, as though it was self-explanatory. “Shapes in sky!”

He followed her gaze, chewing his lip in thought. “You mean the moon?”

“No, stupid!” she chided, throwing a pebble which plinked off his cuirass. “Moon boring! Things next to moon! Shiny, small things!”

“The… stars?” he tried, and this time she did not throw anything at him, returning her gaze back to the heavens.

“Stars…” she whispered. She repeated the word, then once more, as though it were an answer to a mind-boggling riddle. She brought a paw to her face, slowly sliding her goggles down her muzzle, exposing her eyes for the first time since they’d met. They were a striking shade of red, like a pair of murky rubies, with pupils twice the size of a human’s, dilating into big circles as she scrutinised the skies. He’d expected them to be bloodshot, beady, like her kin at the ambush, but it seemed even a lady of the Skaven could have delicate features.

“What are stars?” she demanded, her goggles resting over her cleavage as she turned to him. Her gaze was oddly intense, those black pupils ringed by a redness that almost seemed to glow in the muted darkness.

“Well, I’m no astrologist,” he began. “but from what I recall, stars are many things. Some are planets, others are giant collections of dust drifting aimlessly through the cosmos. Like that big one there, Isharna we call it, it may look like a planet, but it’s really just a concentration of gasses in the shape of a marble. Think of it like one of those globes of warpstone poison that ratman threw at me earlier.”

“What are those shiny-things?” she continued, gesturing to a group of white spots. “Look like smalliest bits of warpstone.”

“That’s a star cluster. As for why they’re green… I’m not sure. It could be fragments of a dying star, or a bunch of little exploding planets, those tend to sparkle a lot when they reach the end of their life cycles.”

"Horrible man-thing!” she exclaimed. “Don’t say that about nice star-thing!”

“That’s just what I was taught,” he said, shrugging when she scowled up at him. “You’re quite fond of the heavens,” he noted. “Guess I ought to have known, considering your name and everything.”

“What?” she asked, one side of her brow raising.

“Your name, Skyseeker. Assume this is how you got it?”

“No-No, Skyseeker called Skyseeker for very different reason,” she said. “When Great Lord gave mission to me, had not seen star-things before. Thought only warpstone could be so… pretty.”

He had an insult ready about how she lived underground like a vermin, but he held his tongue. Something about her curiosity was endearing to him, her red eyes full of wonder as she gazed up in silence. The skies were a mundane sight to him, but the little Skaven seemed to find it fascinating, a trait he’d not thought possible in a knife-wielding rat-assassin.

“Some stars form constellations,” he said, moving over and sitting across from her. She tensed up at his approach, watching him like he was a stray dog that could strike at any moment, but she didn’t move away. “If you draw an imaginary line between them, they start to form pictures, images. Like that one there, see how it looks a little like a tooth?”

He pointed, Skyseeker frowning at the cluster of stars he indicated. “Not see any tooth,” she complained. “See only shiny stars.”

“Pretend there’s a line connecting them together, like a net,” he explained. “Start with that lowest one, then go up to the one on its right. Draw a line between. Now go up again, make another line. See how they’re starting to make a shape in your mind’s eye?”

“Mind does not have eye, only wrinkles!”

“I meant use your imagination, lass.”

She lifted a claw, following his instructions as she began to wave her finger through the air. He had to correct her a few times, but soon she managed to find the pattern, her eyes lighting up as raised her paw in triumph.

“I see it! Star-thing look like tooth-thing!”

“It’s actually part of an even bigger pattern,” he continued, the rat turning her wondrous eyes on him. “Start with the star just above the tooth, and draw it to the one on its left, see if you can tell me what it is.”

“I see… mouth! And… ears! Stars look like mouse!”

“A mouse?” he smirked, holding back a laugh. “That’s a wolf, Skyseeker. We call that constellation the Great Wolf.”

“The Great Wolf Mouse, much better name yes-yes! Another!”

“Well, see that cluster just above _Isharna? _What do you think that one is?”

“Hmm… whisker!”

“No, that’s the Needle. What about that one?”

“Cheese wheel with a bite out of it!”

“Wha-? That’s a dragon’s maw!”

No matter how many constellations he pointed out, Skyseeker somehow managed to make all of them relate to either a rat body part, food, or a piece of warpstone. Any attempt to give her the correct names of the formations was met with baffling looks.

Despite their arguments over the constellations, she had him point out as many as he could remember, Roderick only aware of the passing of time when he noted the moon had sailed halfway across the roof of the sky.

“Well, I think that’s enough stargazing for one night. Time we should get some rest,” he announced, shuffling back toward the fire. As if to prove his point, Skyseeker yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “But in turns this time,” he added before she could doze off. “Now that we know these hills are a warzone, it would be wise for one of us to keep watch.”

“No need!” Skyseeker chimed. “My hearing is infallible! Spent many nights in Skavenblight learning to listen with sleeping ears!”

“Sleeping ears?” he repeated.

“Yes! Every rat-thing knows sleeping is most weakest timeframe! Took much time and patience, but learned to stay awake while asleep. Sleeping ears. Nothing can skitter up on me. Eeek! What was that!”

“It was just an owl, you fool,” he chided. “Suddenly I’m not so sure about letting you take first watch.”

“Owl?” she said, looking up to see the creature perched in a branch nearby, peering back at the Skaven with its giant unblinking eyes. She poked her tongue out in disgust, the owl flying away when she tossed a rock at it. “Not fair, feather-thing wasn’t using legs!”

“Since you’re a master assassin and all that, I’ll take your word for it,” Roderick relented, resting his head on his pack. “Just make sure you wake me when the moon reaches that point in the sky. And no stargazing.”

“But… need to gaze to see moon!”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered, though he wasn’t quite certain she actually did. Still, he couldn’t pass down her volunteering to take first watch, closing his eyes and letting his dreams take him.