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Lord Gnawdwell had summoned his council. His top field commanders gathered in his personal audience chambers, nestled deep beneath the bowels of Skavenblight, the festering heart of the Skaven Under Empire. Skavenblight was not (yet) his seat of power, but there was a deep satisfaction to be had in plotting his schemes right below the Lords of Decay’s seats of power. Looking beneath their whiskers was the last place they’d look for him, after all.

The circular council chambers were centered by a sunken pit of blazing warpfire, rotting wooden tables were arranged around it. The pit of baleful flames cast flickering shadows across the obsidian walls of the chambers, where Clan Mors banners hung from the walls at the four points of the compass. Around the chambers, tall spikes with the heads of his enemies impaled upon the tips sprouted from the floor. Even Gnawdwell’s most accomplished warlords had to be reminded of what happens to those who crossed the Clan.

His ambitious warlords took their places on stools and chairs, while Gnawdwell’s throne was tall and commanding, lifted almost two meters from the cobbles. This was not just to literally put himself above them, but also to accommodate his noble girth and size. Gnawdwell was bigger than three Skaven combined, and he weighed just as much.

Most of his council comprised of warlords and master engineers, but there was a Grey Seer sitting at the far end, and he was the only one to favour a robe instead of an exosuit or battle armour like the rest, yet the other lords gave him a wide berth all the same.

“Why is this slave here?” one of the warlords chittered, gesturing at the solitary breech in the table ring, where a ragged Skaven groveled his face against the dirt. “Is it a servant? Bring us our feast-meal, slave, or I will eat you instead! Yes-Yes!”

“This one brings information, not food,” another countered, the Skaven’s salvaged battle raiment clinking as he shifted his weight.

The first warlord immediately lost interest, but all other eyes settled on the Skavenslave. He was a despicable thing, barely preserved in a thinning wrap of loincloth, with coarse fur running spirals down his bone-taught skin, yet Gnawdwell watched anyone with information with keen interest.

“M-My most gracious Lords,” the slave began. “I-I am unworthy of your presence, b-but my master said to deliver-give message with quick-quick haste.”

“I know, that was me!” the warlord who’d defended him shouted. “You disrespect prestigious Lord Gnawdwell with your stupidity. Speak-chitter, now-now!”

“Y-Yes, yes,” the slave said with a solemn bow. “Skaven has learned information most valuable. Skaven bought it for a token from Eshin agent, who overheard Skryre gutter-runners from the south-lands. Clan Vermintides took dead-thing city, but the treasures inside, the weapon of power Great Clans seek, it is all gone-gone!”

“Improbable!” one of the warlocks interrupted, putting himself into a trance as he huffed down a pawful of warpdust. “Eshin rats wanted Skaven to believe false lies. Guards, have this stupid rat tortured.”

“I-It is truth, I swear it on my pathetic life!” the slave stammered. “All clanrats saying the same thing-thing! Rats from all Great Clans fight in city, each think other stole relic-thing. I saw it with this eye, and this one!” He said, pointing a dirty claw at his face.

“The Under Empires of the south have been uproaring,” the Grey Seer admitted in his a breathy voice, passing his staff from left paw to right. “Prospering clanpits are now wet with rat blood. The Great Horned Rat is not pleased…”

“With you, Seer!” another warlord added. “Your visions promised great-big power for Great Lord, and now Mors’ prize has been lost-lost.”

“Not lost,” Gnawdwell reminded, leaning forward on his throne above them. It had been the first words he’d spoken since they’d assembled, and his voice was enough to quiet the room. “Stolen.”

“Millions of vermin surround the city,” the half-asleep warlock countered. “Each one skitters to find relic. Which Great Clan could scurry so far underpaw, lose-avoid all attention from the Great Horned Rat’s Eye, and steal our weapon?”

“Ours,” Gnawdwell said simply.

His council went silent with questions, but not one of them wanted to ask them. That was one thing Gnawdwell hated about his advisors. Fear was good up to a point, but an ambitious rat was far more useful than a groveling coward. He knew that more than any of them.

“A Mors assassin was sent ahead of the vermintides,” Gnawdwell elaborated. “I had it depart Skavenblight as soon as the Horned Rat sent his visions. My spies beyond the blight followed it to the borders of the man-thing lands. It had scurried out of the swamps before the Great Clans had even given their own assassins the same command.”

Gnawdwell studied their faces carefully, wondering whose thoughts were those of surprise, and whose were not. He didn’t detect any of the latter, even from the self-anointed wise Seer. Excellent. It was dangerous to have one’s Council aware of one’s movements.

“With my dark blessings, this assassin reached the relic of power before any of the Great Clans,” he continued. “It’s task was to bring it back to me, but instead she has betrayed us.”

“She?” one of his warlords echoed. “You sent breeder-thing to get weapon?”

Gnawdwell looked at him, and the Skaven went quiet for the rest of the council. After a moment, Gnawdwell looked back at the rest of his assembled commanders.

“This was not any female,” Gnawdwell continued. “It escaped from the breeding vats when it was just a pup, and killed or evaded every ratwife I sent to reclaim it. It has a killer’s heart, breeder or not-not.”

“How can a singular breeder steal our relic and elude-escape the vermintides?” another Skaven asked. “Correction, your relic, Lord,” he added quickly.

“The breeder had help,” Gnawdwell said. “but not from the Skaven.”

“How can you be sure of these thing-things, Great Lord?” the Grey Seer asked, narrowing his beady eyes across the pit. “Not even Council of Thirteen know of breeder’s existence. If they did, Clan’s would fight for it just as much as they fight for weapon’s ownership.”

“The Council of Thirteen Fools do not listen to the Horned Rat like I do,” Gnawdwell spat. “He has revealed the breeder’s treachery to me, as I will now show to you. Observe.”

Gnawdwell reached for his staff, the bones strapped around its glittering warpstone crystals rattling as he raised it above his head. He made a circle with its tip, muttering the words of magic under his breath. The crystals began to thrum with power, emitting a light powerful enough to cast shadows across the snouts of his Skaven onlookers. He swerved the stave faster, and smoke began to ooze into the air, the very essence of the warp creating smoking trails that hung thick against the ceiling.

As the council watched, the green vapours began to move, as though affected by a breeze, yet no draft pieced the chamber. The emerald trails began to morph into shapes with each gust. The warlords chittered amongst themselves as the body of a Skaven began to take form, first the pointy snout, then a slender body, followed by a flared waist and stout thighs. She was more graceful than most Skaven, with an even coat of fur, with breasts perfect for paws and hips designed for bearing children. His warloads began to drool over the image, and even though Gnawdwell had bred with hundreds of the Clan’s broodmothers, even his eyes could not stop from lingering.

The warpsmoke pulled a cloak over her back, obscuring its shapely torso. Next, the vapors began to coalesce by its side, but not in the form of a rat. The figure was taller, almost twice the size of the breeder, with a flat face and a mop of hair on its head. Mail and iron plates clung to its long limbs, and upon its head rested an ornate helmet with giant feathered plumes coming out the top.

The council watched as the image of the man-thing and the Skaven joined hands in partnership, but in the breeder’s other paw was an object. It looked somewhat like the staff Gnawdwell held at this moment, as long as the breeder was tall. The breeder demonstrated an obscene display of generosity as she placed it in the human’s waiting hands.

“The breeder… it gives up the relic,” one of the warlords breathed.

“To a man-thing!” another scoffed. “Stupid creature! This why breeders belong in pits.”

The warlords began to shout and argue, cursing the breeder with all types of vile threats. When they quieted, the Grey Seer spoke up. “Lord Gnawdwell, did the Horned Rat show you where this breeder is?”

Gnawdwell waved his foul staff again, and the images shifted. The two figures shrunk down to the size of paws, and around them more vapors collected. They took on the shape of a sleek, intimidating warship, the vessel gliding through gentle waters, dozens of oars sprouting from the hull and flipping up an down.

“The breeder has stowed away on a man-thing ship,” the warlock said, as if that was not obvious. “Where-Where? I have slaves in Clan Skurvy, I get own ship and bring you this breeder’s head, Great Lord.”

“No, pick me-me!” another demanded. “I summon greatest vermintide, burn every ship in your name!”

“Give me honour, Gnawdwell Lord! I give you relic and breeder both!”

“Be quiet,” Gnawdwell demanded, and the room went silent. “This breeder’s betrayal to Clan Mors is a terrible insult, but I will not have my council bicker and grovel like the Thirteen. I have already decided on who will exact payment from the breeder. Ironsnout!”

“Yes,” a voice hushed from the table to his right. One of the gathered Skaven stepped forward with a clunk of metal. At just over six feet, he was a monster of a rat, and his bulk was made more evident by his reinforced exosuit. From the tip of his tail to the end of his snout, armour plating was strapped to his hunched figure, pockmarked by valves and snaking pipes and metal grills. Steam hissed from the chutes jutting from his broad shoulders, and while his heavy armour looked salvaged, it was as well maintained as the engine of a warp cannon, which was probably where the warlock engineer had gotten the parts from, judging by the massive weapon barrel projecting from the shoulder.

Across his neck he wore a chain of skulls, some Skaven, some from the other races that lived on the surface. They made harsh knocking sounds as they clacked together, barely overhead by the wheezing mechanics chugging beneath his chestplate. The only evidence to suggest this was actually a Skaven, and not some automaton, came from the skin visible around the eyes and the lower jaw, which weren’t covered by his spiked helmet, his black fur spilling from under the joints. A metal vent covered his nostrils, and nothing could be picked out from the darkness between the rods.

“Ironsnout, take your vermintide north,” Gnawdwell ordered. “The breeder’s ship sails that way, it stays within sight of the coast, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding it. She is a weak, fickle thing, but do not mistake her for easy prey. She was armed from my own personal weapon cache, has the backing of many man-things, and possesses the relic’s power. But I know you will make me proud, Ironsnout. Bring me back that which is rightfully mine.”

“And the breeder?” Ironsnout rasped, each word punctuated by a hiss of warpfire gas.

“Clan Mors cannot be seen as treacherous,” Gnawdwell said. “that is the weakness of the other Great Clans, it will not be ours. To be Mors is to work with your fellow Skaven, not against. The breeder must be taught what happens to any rat who thinks otherwise. I leave the details of this lesson in your paws, Ironsnout. Do not disappoint me.”

“Let me join the warlock,” one of his council urged. “Two vermintides will track down this breeder fast-quick.”

“This task belongs to Ironsnout alone,” Gnawdwell said. “One vermintide straying North will bring enough attention as it is, we do not need the Lords of Decay getting suspicious by sending more. No, the rest of you I will assign to protecting our Under Empire, and screening Ironsnout’s movements as he departs Skavenblight, but first…”

The slave messenger felt Gnawdwell’s stare even as he pressed his face into the ground. He slowly rose up, as if any sudden motion might draw more attention.

“Someone take care of our messenger,” Gnawdwell added.

“Oh, Great Lord, forgive me-me!” the messenger shrieked, clutching his filthy head in filthy hands. “Don’t take care of Skaven like you take care of breeder-traitor! I just brought-gave message, fast-quick as paws could!”

“Brainless cretin. I am gracing you with a reward for your efforts. You will find my feasting grounds two floors above us. My guards will take you there, and you can may have your fill before you leave. Go.”

“Oh, thank-thank!” the slave said. He saw Gnawdwell’s impatient look and bounded off like his tail was on fire, one of his stormvermin guards escorting him out of the chamber.

Gnawdwell resumed his duties, giving his warlords their orders. Sending Ironsnout off alone so less attention went with him was only a half-truth. He had seen Ironsnout devour every one of his littermates when he was a pup, and the savage ferocity was a thing of such raw beauty that the Lord couldn’t resist taking him into his ranks. Even before he’d stuffed himself in that noisy suit, Ironsnout was a ruthless killer, and he was proud to have him in the Clan.

Almost as proud as the day he’d uplifted the bitch, Skyseeker. Ironsnout had not been given a breeder for some time now. Perhaps he would take a liking to her, if the mood struck him. If not, then Gnawdwell would have his revenge, and another head to put on a spike. He couldn’t decide which he preferred. He wondered what the breeder was doing now, what she was thinking, knowing that his wrath would soon be upon her?

-xXx-

“HELLOOOOOOOOOOO MAN-THINGS! IT’S ME, SKYYYYYSEEKER! IT’S BEEN LONG TIME, HOW ARE YOU? DON’T CARE! I’M DOING GOOD-FINE, ONLY PUKE THREE TIMES TODAY FROM EMOTION SICKNESS. EMOTION? MOTION! SEAMEN NEED TO PUT WARP-TECH STABLISERS ON BOAT. MAKE IT SO!”

In an impressive display of Skaven deference, the pair of man-thing sailors standing nearby physically stepped away from her, unable to cope with her sheer presence. She scrutinised them from beneath her goggles, watching how close their hands went to their swords. She had been living among the crew for over two weeks straight, and while there had been no acts of deception since, it never hurt to be suspicious of your allies.

Allies. Perhaps that was the wrong word. From their perspective she was an ally to them – she had fought alongside them on this very deck on a terrific sea battle with a Skaven warship not too long ago, firing the cannons, even steering the ship with her own paws. She did not understand why, but when the man-things watched her kill the other Skaven, they took that as a sign that she was loyal to their cause, and had treated her well enough since. She wasn’t too fond of man-things, but having less enemies on her back was always a boon.

Skyseeker stretched her slim arms over her head, suppressing a yawn as she sauntered over to the bulwark. A gazillion liters of water commanded her view, the waves glittering like crystals, the bumpy lands of a coast arcing on the horizon, Skyseeker glimpsing snow-capped mountains at the very limits of her superior vision.

The sheer amount of space surrounding her never ceased to disturb. She’d lived her life in the warrens of Skavenblight, a gazillion liters of rock shielding the under-city from the threats of the surface. It had been difficult to acclimate to having so much open air above her head, she had fallen victim to constant bouts of dizziness and vertigo in those early days, but she had become strong, and such things no longer hindered her. She still needed her goggles to protect her sensitive eyes from the glare, but the lenses also provided other advantages she would need for the journey ahead.

“Must you announce yourself every morning, lass?” a voice asked behind her. “You’re like a little rooster.”

Skyseeker whirled so fast her hood sloughed off her head, beaming at the man-thing. He was tall enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, a sensation that always sent her glans into overdrive. His eyes were as blue as the ocean they sailed, and a mane of thick brown fur sprouted from the top of his head, its deep colour contrasting with his lighter skin tone, combed and rich. His features were hardened with a hundred battles, yet he was still possessed by a certain youthfulness.

He was built like a warlord, at least so far as she could tell. Where she preferred her cloak and belts to travel light, he was weighed down with armour, clad in boiled leather from the neck down. From his wiast hung a longsword, and one gloved hand was rested on the gilded hilt.

“Rick-rod!” Skyseeker bolted over and wrapped her paws around his hips, shoving her snout into his stomach since she couldn’t reach his face, the human laughing down at her as he placed his gauntleted hands on her back.

“Did you truly miss me that much?” he chuckled. “I was only down in the kitchens helping the cooks. I’m fairly sure I told you I would be up early.”

“Never leave Skaven alone again!” Skyseeker demanded, burying her muzzle against his gambeson. His wonderful musk filled her nose. “Rick-rod should know better than to let me die of loneliness.”

“I brought you a peace offering,” he added, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a parcel. “Salmon, your favourite.”

“Hm. Gimme.” She swiped the package from him, ripping into the pink meat with her teeth. Normally she wouldn’t be anywhere within eye-sight of a person while she ate, but her relationship with Roderick was far from normal. It had been over a month since they’d met in the forests of Tilea, once on the fields of two clashing armies, and another in an isolated clearing in the middle of nowhere. Both times they had tried to kill each other, but with a little ingenious Skaven diplomacy, they had come to a truce, and had agreed to traverse the treachorous state together.

During their travels, they had come to know one another deeply, and secrets had been revealed. Skyseeker had been sent by her inscrutable Lord Gnawdwell to recover a relic, a magical weapon hidden in the distant lands of Araby. She’d learned that Roderick had been given a similar mission from his Emperor, and the two had joined forces. It turned out they had much more in common than their tasks, and a few deadly battles and a generous amount of warpstone inhalation later, she had bedded the human. He was about as far removed from a Skaven as was possible, yet it was that exact quality that had drawn her to him. She often considered what Roderick made of her, his race detested ratmen and ratwomen alike, and even ratmen hated breeders who could walk and talk like she did, though the way he was so eager in their breeding sessions had done wonders for her confidence.

By the time the two of them had finally recovered the relic, they’d been at an impasse, and the lines between duty and love had blurred. In the end, Skyseeker had relinquished her want of the relic. She was a free rat, and she was not bound to any Clan, Empire, or Lord, she could do as she pleased, and being with her mate pleased her very much.

His Imperial friends were also pleased by her decision, and now they sailed for the Empire, a foreign land where the greatest human minds were allegedly waiting to study and secure the relic. She didn’t care what the humans wanted with the staff, the Empire was a new place for Skyseeker to make her claim, plump with opportunity and things to scheme about.

She literally could not wait to get there. After returning from the Araby deserts victorious, relic in hand, the had been stuck on Captain Von Kessel’s wolfship for two weeks. She had not seen so much of a whisker of the relic since – it had been locked up in the armoury belowdecks for safekeeping – and while Skyseeker’s curiosity was piqued, Roderick’s was on a whole entire level.

Once or twice, she had caught him standing outside the armoury doors, doing…. well, nothing. He’d just stand there with his back turned, and it sometimes took two or three calls to get his attention. Once or twice, it almost seemed like he was listening to something her superior ears could not detect. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Roderick hadn’t been in the kitchen’s at all this morning, but down in the lower cabins, listening… but for what?

Skyseeker finished her slice of salmon, stowing the paper in one of her many pouches. Could come in handy later on. “I accept peace offer, Rick-rod,” she said.

Roderick reached down and ruffled her head, brushing the spot between her ears he knew she liked. She shoved him away halfheartedly, enjoying the attention but pretending not to.

“I meant what I said,” Roderick added. “Not even Von Kessel shouts as loud as you do, some of the men might start to complain.”

“What is point in being meek-quiet, when I have so many things to say?” Skyseeker retorted. “Volume equals importance!”

“I doubt Wilfred would agree with that,” Roderick said, wagging a finger. “He’s older than you and me combined.”

“And it shows,” she scoffed. “His fur’s as wrinkly as his gonads probably are.”

Roderick held back a snort, shaking his head at her, but she didn’t detect any disapproval in his expression.

“Anyways,” Skyseeker said. “Is that the Imperial Empire place thingy?” She turned and trotted back to the bulwark. She hopped deftly onto the railing, and although her tail stretched out for balance, Roderick reached out and held onto her paw all the same. His concern for her safety never ceased to be endearing, even if it was misplaced.

“No,” Roderick said, meeting her gaze as they looked out over the ocean. “That is Lyonesse, a state of Brettonia. They control this entire coast, up till the middle sea.”

“Tell me of these Bretons,” she said.

“Their state is built on the chivalry of pretentious aristocrats,” Roderick scoffed. “They live by codes of honour, as long as said codes benefit themselves. If you ever heard the phrase get off your high horse, it is the Brettonians who it originated from. They call anyone who isn’t a knight a peasant, as though riding a horse is all it takes to be a nobleman.”

“You not sound like fan,” Skyseeker noted. “They enemies of Imperial place?”

“On the contrary, the Empire and Brettonia are staunch allies. Snobs or no, their cavalry charges hit harder than a giant’s club. Not as hard as a well-oiled handgun, of course,” he added, patting the butt of his pistol.

“Please don’t tell Skaven we will be going there,” she whined. “Skaven hates snobs.”

“Unfortunately, Von Kessel’s going to make port for a resupply very soon,” Roderick replied. Skyseeker flopped down onto the bulwark in defeat. “It won’t be all bad,” he added. “It is only for a night or two, you can stay aboard the ship if you want.”

“Skaven hates ship too,” she complained. “Too much sway-sway, want to feel dirt under paws, would be stupid to not go. Ports have lot-lots of opportunities, remember Port-Maguire? Perchance another heist is in order…”

“Please do not cause a ruckus like last time,” Roderick sighed. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened back then…”

“Skaven was not detected… much!” she defended. “And we scattered quick-quick, yes? No man-things were wise to presence.”

“Except for the poor man you stole from. And the city guard who investigated. I heard a rumour when we docked in Magritta that the entire city went into lockdown for nearly a week after we left.”

“Skaven was too quick for lockdown!”

“But what if you hadn’t been?”

Skyseeker cocked her head in confusion. “I do not understand question.”

“If they had stopped our ship from leaving, what would we have done then?”

“Then Skaven would have found other way out. This a trick question?”

“Never mind,” he said. “I forgot I was dealing with the logic of a Clan Mors assassin.”

“Former!” she corrected. “And greatest! Skaven now ally with Empire. As staunch as Bretons. Stauncher! The God-Emperor cult is now Skaven’s cult.

“It’s just Emperor,” Roderick said. “not God-Emperor. Sigmar was sometimes called a God-King, but the Emperor has no such title.”

“Will I get to meet him?” Skyseeker asked. Meeting the penultimate leader of the man-things would be quite the scene, but she didn’t know if it would be a good idea. Allies or otherwise, the Empire was at war with Skavenkind.

“Probably not. After Brettonia, our final stop will be Marienburg city, and the Conclave the Imperial Wizards have set up there. They’ll take that blasted relic off our hands, then it will be their problem. Until we reach the Empire’s borders, it’s up to me to safekeep it.”

Skyseeker noted that Roderick had said it was his relic to protect, as if it was not their collective duty.

“How long will ship take to get to Maryburger?” she asked. “Feels like Skaven has been sailing forever.”

“If the winds are good, and we don’t run into trouble, another two weeks, perhaps,” Roderick said. “Come now,” he said when he saw her sulking. “You’ve crossed entire countries and lived, you’ll survive an extended cruise.”

“But cruising is boring! Can’t even shoot cannons or steer ship without Kessel-man running Skaven off. Nothing to do but watch stupid water.”

“I can think of a few things that can help pass the time,” Roderick said, his tone turning sly, his fingers running through the fur on her wrist.

“B-Breeding?!” she exclaimed, shivering at the prospect.

“Shhh!” he chided, stifling a laugh. “Announce yourself all you want, but don’t announce that. The crew doesn’t know about our… proclivities, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

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

-xXx-

The serene winds were permeated with grunts and clinging metal, thrown up from amidst the crowds gathering on the main deck. The sailors of the wolfship fought using the unwieldy, but devastating cannons bristling from the sides, but they never let their sword arms ‘rust’, as they put it, and almost every day a fighting ring was set right around the time the day and night shifts switched. They never used real swords, much to Skyseeker’s dismay, only wooden sticks or, or own blades with blunted steel. This was because the Captain did not want his crew injuring each other, but when men who were built to row giant oars all day, a stick became a cudgel, and bruises and broken bones were frequent. Skyseeker thought the Captain was an idiot not to realise this.

There was a spot on the second deck on the aft section, between the ship’s wheel and a wooden mast that supported the sail rigging. Skyseeker liked to scurry up there and watch the sparring from on high, her paws dangling in the air. The final round was nearing ints conclusion, with two beefy sailors going at it. Skyseeker spotted a couple glints in the surrounding crowd, golden coins being shuffled from paw to paw.

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

Some of the crowd echoed her statement, the Skaven snickering as she took a bite of her sandwich. Slices of tuna were slipped beneath the bread. She had never eaten fish before joining the Imperials, and while she enjoyed the taste at first, she’d been eating fish for ten days straight, and the novelty was waning. She almost couldn’t wait until they docked in the Brettonian lands, the ship was in desperate need of a restock.

She heard the thud of footsteps behind her, and she peeked over her shoulder, so perceptive she recognised there weight and tone. From the stairwell of the third deck descended the Captain of the wolfship: Something or Other, Von Kessel (she couldn’t remember the first name). He was dressed in a colourful surcoat with a white undershirt, the fluffy cuffs decorated with golden pins. Giant peacock feathers danced in the wind as they sprouted from his officer’s hat, making him look taller than he really was.

Swinging from his belt was a weapon that was more needle than sword, with a cup-shaped hilt that was a pleasing shade of gold. The thought of stealing the blade for herself crossed her mind at least twice a day, an ornamental weapon like that would go for a lot of warpstone to the right buyer.

He made his way to the edge of the deck, leaning his hands on the railing the ship’s wheel spinning on his immediate left. He scrutinised the cheering crowd below. He wasn’t only one spectating from up there, a few groups of man-things chatting away to his left and right. He turned his head to talk to one of his minions, but Skyseeker felt his gaze crawl across her fur like tentacles.

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

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

The crowd exclaimed in fury, Skyseeker glancing down. Pony Tail had landed flat on his rump, and she was so excited she forgot about discretion and roared, her high-pitched voice joining the chorus.

She clamped her muzzle shut, cursing herself for immediately forgetting about stealth. Oh well, she was an assassin, she could recover from one or two stumbles.

Without making it obvious, she jumped the two-meter gap separating the mast from the deck, absorbing the drop into her stout legs. She wandered in his direction, concealing herself behind man-things. She was close enough to smell him, and after a bit of sneaking, she was withing paws-reach of him.

When he finally noticed her, Von Kessel looked down on Skyseeker with all the respect one would give to a tattered wet sock, though she was glad to see he had been none the wiser to her approach.

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

“If only a thing were possible,” Von Kessel replied, giving her a harsh look. “Everywhere I go on this ship, if I don’t see you, I almost certainly hear you.”

“Skaven has lots of words on mind. What can I say-say?”

“A lot of things, apparently. I’m surprised to find you out here alone,” Von Kessel added, though he didn’t seem surprised at all. In fact he looked bored. “You hardly ever leave your guardian’s side, Skaven. Though, I suppose a rodent’s place is always in the shadow of greater men.”

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

“Not every man aboard my ship has love for rodents, like Roderick does. You should be careful leaving his side.”

“Been working on my reputation,” Skyseeker said. “Skaven has the GIFT of persuasion! Sailor-man doesn’t like me? Bam, give shiny coins away, and now he’s pacified.”

“I doubt you’ve ever seen, much less know, what an honest day’s pay is,” Von Kessel muttered. “Where do you get gold from?”

As if to answer his question, another roar erupted from the ring. Pony Tail had too many strikes, and had raised a hand in submission. The referee split the men apart, and the ones in charge of the betting made their rounds. Straw sacks were passed out to the victors, and one was tossed up into Skyseeker’s awaiting paws, the Skaven squirming in excitement as she pulled off the string. The bag was chunky with coins.

Von Kessel gave her and her money a long, hard look. “That’s how it is. You benefit from the hard work of Imperials. Why am I not surprised?”

“Someone’s in a mood! Here, Kessel-man, take this coin, go buy yourself better attitude.”

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

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

“Is this what you do with your time?” Von Kessel scoffed. “You mulch coin off my men, and take rations that aren’t yours. They say idle hands are the work of Chaos, and so far I have seen you contribute very little to the cause.”

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

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

“Uhm, everything. SO many things, like, whew, Kessel wouldn’t believe how many there are. There’s, uh… um… Morale! Skaven is so good for morale. Yes-Yes, man-things are always smiling and grinning whenever Skaven gives them shiny coins.”

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

Skyseeker wasn’t an idiot, she knew what he was getting at. “Uh oh, does Kessel-man want to give Skaven work? Sigmar preserve me! ANYTHING BUT THAT!”

Von Kessel’s contempt was so thick she could feel its weight oppressing her. She tried to hold his gaze for a while, but she was ashamed to admit it, but she caved. If a duty was all it took to get the Captain to stop bugging her, she could live with that.

Recomposing herself, Skyseeker waved a paw. “Urgh! Fine! What man-thing want from me?”

“The lower gundecks are in dire need of an extra hand,” Von Kessel said. “You should feel right at home down there. You will also refer to me as Captain, rat.”

“Sure, soon as you refer to Skaven as Skaven,” Skyseeker shot back. “What will rat be doing down there? Loading guns? I like big guns.”

“You will be the newest deckhand for the shift manager down there. He’ll show you what it’s like to be usefuful for a change. Get to it, I have no tolerance for layabouts on my ship.”

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

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

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

Antagonizing the Captain of the one ship keeping her from drowning was perhaps not the wisest move, but Skyseeker never claimed to be wise. Still, she wasn’t about to start being submissive, Skyseeker standing her ground as she looked defiantly up at the human.

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

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

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

Leaping off the wood, she landed on her clawed feet, stowing her bag of gold into her sleeve. Best to report to the lower decks for her duties and see what all this deck handing stuff was about. Maybe if she did a good job, she could keep the Captain off her back long enough until they reached the Empire.

-xXx-

Roderick dreamed of the desert.

He dreamed of the billions of golden grains, a veritable ocean of sand that stretched towards the horizons and beyond. He dreamt of the dunes, of the scarce plantlife clinging to what little water existed in the wastes. But most of all, he dreamt of the city.

Its black buildings towered above the slopes, its thick walls holding back the sandy tides, yet the battlements protected no life. The homesteads were empty, the temples, the gardens, the plazas, all of it empty except for the winds whispering through the ruined windows.

Whoever had lived in that place had long since departed, but that did not mean the city was abandoned. Living statues stood vigilant over the pyramid, the heart of the dead city, and within the temple was the undead guardian of the inner sanctum, the place the staff of power had been kept, until Roderick had claimed it for himself.

He dreamt of that moment more than anything. He could recall every detail, like how the sandstone haft felt grainy against his fingers, how the clammy air of the sanctum had made it hard to breathe, how raw energy had filled his very core the moment of contact.

He’d always wake up right then, just as his dream-self touched the haft. For a fraction of a moment, he could feel it, feel the sandy texture of the staff on his right hand, and the sensation alarmed him greatly, yet he never screamed. He never so much as mumbled in his sleep, and he knew this because he never woke up Skyseeker.

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

He'd always wake curled over it, like how a man curls over a lover during rest. Perhaps the staff did love him, for rescuing it from the depths of its temple. Roderick knew that was a silly thing to say – how could a staff possess feelings? It was made from cold, dead stone, and yet a hint of doubt remained nonetheless. Roderick was no magician, he lived by his guns and swords, and could not even perform the most basic of spellcasting, but that did not mean magic had no effect on him, did it?

The relic was no mere staff, it had powers, dormant, but waiting to be used. He could command the will of lesser men and creatures with its power, if he had the skill to control the Winds of Magic. He didn’t know how he knew this – he had never so much as touched a staff of power in his whole life – he just simply knew it to be a fact.

Roderick had thought the dreams, the sensations, would cease when he gave the relic up to Wilfred for safekeeping, but that had not been the case. Whenever he stood still for too long, he started to feel a pull towards the lower decks, into the fourth room along the aft cabins, where Wilfred had hidden the relic behind a locked door, in a locked cabinet, which was tucked behind some sacks of grain. Wilfred had never told him that’s where he’d put it, Roderick just knew it to be true.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes he could go hours, even a whole day without dreams or sensations, but other times were far more disconcerting. For reasons he could not explain, his body would bring him towards the locked cabin and he would just stare at the latch. During his breaks, before and after sleep, whenever he had free time, he’d find himself down here, a force he could not control compelling him to do it.

“This can only be the work of Chaos,” Wilfred murmured, stroking his beard in contemplation. As the only one on the wolfship with any experience with magic, he’d been the one Roderick had turned to for help. “I have sensed its influence growing stronger by the day. The relic must be acting as a conduit.”

“Chaos?” Roderick repeated. “The staff is but a tool, how can the Dark Gods use it when none of us are corrupted?”

“Roderick, did you not pay attention during our attempts to train you in the arcane?” Wilfred scolded. “Ruinous Powers can latch onto any host body, be that a living creature, or an object imbued with power. Magic is Chaos, in a sense, and relics of power are manifestations of enchantments so powerful that they must take physical form in order to exist in our world.”

“So your druids staff,” he said, pointing toward the corner of the cabin. “That is also made from Chaos?”

“Quite so. Don’t give me that look, when a wizard creates his staff, the Conclave performs numerous rituals and incantations to ward off malicious entities. There were a handful of times during those early years I felt the pull of manipulation, but I have learned to rule the staff long since.”

“Manipulation?” Roderick echoed. Damn it, was starting to sound like a parrot. “Is that what’s happening to me?”

Wilfred gave him a worried glance. “I’m afraid there is no easier way of putting it, Roderick. The forces of Chaos are constantly seeking ways into our thoughts, and a layman makes a tempting target. It is my fault,” he muttered. “I should have gone with you to the Tomb King lands, I exposed both you and miss Seeker to terrible danger.”

“If only I’d wrapped my hand in a cloth or something, before touching that thing,” Roderick muttered.

“That would hardly have mattered. The staff seduces those in close proximity to it, not just those who have made physical contact with it. It wouldn’t surprise me if you weren’t the only one on this ship having strange dreams as of late. The staff has likely been locked away for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and now that it is surrounded by hundreds of people, it will try to take any leverage it can.”

“The crew’s faith to Sigmar and the Empire is not so easily broken,” Roderick replied. “If Chaos wanst to convert them, or I, it will have to do a lot more than this.”

“That is exactly what Chaos will do,” Wilfred chided. “The inclinations, the whispers you’ve felt, these are but the first steps. The longer we are exposed to the relic, the stronger its influence becomes. It will grow in strength until not even your willpower could stand against it, and by then, it will be too late to bring you back.”

Roderick knew a few things about the Chaos Legions. Their ranks were corrupted men who had fallen to darkness, tempted by the powers offered by demons and other alien entities, turned to perpetual servants of the Gods of Chaos. Roderick would sooner take his own life than submit to that kind of existence.

“How long do we have?” Roderick asked, though he almost didn’t want to know the answer. “Before the crew… or I, turn?”

“I have seen many men convert to heresy in my time, but no two were the same. Some lasted weeks, others months, most only withstood the voices for a few days. Your proximity to the relic will only make it worse, so the sooner we reach the Empire, and lock it away in the Conclave vaults, the better. Tell me, when exactly did you start to notice these changes?”

“Perhaps… a few days after me and Skyseeker left the dead city behind,” Roderick admitted.

“So roughly a month ago,” Wilfred murmured. “That is longer than some cases I’ve seen. You should have told me far sooner,” he added with a scowl. “Why keep this to yourself? If you had mentioned something, perhaps we could have preempted this entire thing, fool.”

“Is there nothing more to be done?” Roderick said, a touch of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He felt like he was being scolded by a parent.

“I can teach you some basic wards and prayers,” Wilfred said. “Small measures, yes, but they are simple to remember, and with a little practice, you should be able to cast them without my help. And any ward is better than none. There is also the option of simply tossing the thing overboard,” he added. “I doubt it could pose a danger to any of us at the bottom of the Great Ocean.”

“And make our quest all for naught?” Roderick replied, and that embarrassment turned to anger. “You, me, Skyseeker, and all these men have put in too much effort just to go back to Reikland empty-handed. No, I if must endure the relic, then that is what I’ll do.”

“You will not endure this pain alone,” Wilfred said, reaching across the table to touch his arm. “I will do all within my power to help you, Roderick, but hear me well. Magical wards are all well and good, but all barriers break one day. In the end, your last defence against Chaos is you and your faith, and it is also your strongest.”

“My faith to Sigmar won’t be broken,” Roderick replied.

“I’m not talking about your faith in others, but your faith in yourself. Darkness lives in all men’s hearts. Did you think Sigmar never felt tempted? The very Gods of Chaos vied to turn him over to their whims, and the pain he felt must have been staggering. Yet he endured it, and look at what he accomplished. Without so much adversity, the Empire would not exist, mankind wouldn’t be a nation, but a bunch of squabbling tribesman, like the Norscan’s.”

“It seems like you’re saying that this is somehow… good for me,” Roderick said, shooting him a skeptical glance.

“What I’m saying, is that you are a bright young man, and I have never known a greater Son of the Empire than you, Roderick. I believe in your strength, my friend, and I urge you to start thinking the same. Show Chaos that its schemes won’t work on you, and you will come out of this stronger than ever.”

For a fleeting moment, the dark weight of the relic was subdued beneath his old friend’s words of praise.

“I will try,” Roderick answered.

-xXx-

The lower decks were dark, and the sconces mounted on the walls provided a light so pitiful it seemed to only enhance the shadows. It was cramped, too, the floor packed in with storage creates, support columns, rowing seats, cloth sacks, and sleeping hammocks for the sailors, whom stank so badly that Skyseeker had to shove claws up her nostrils just to keep from passing out. It was just like home.

She could hear the waves lapping at the thick, rounded walls of the hull as she advanced down the ship, a paw casually resting on her warp dagger as she returned the odd looks the humans gave her. Skyseeker usually kept to the upper decks, only coming down here to explore or keep tabs on the humans she thought might be trouble. She was familiar enough with the crew that they didn’t stare for long, at least.

She felt a stab of guilt as her other paw had to dangle uselessly by her side, daggerless. Her off-hand weeping blade had been shattered beneath the heel of a monster pretending to be a statue. Worse still, it had been her favourite one, the way its corrosive edge curved towards its tip, how it glowed when she held it out in her signature poses. She would have to find a replacement someday, but unless it was a carbon copy, it would never be the same, and that upset her greatly.

She squeezed deftly between two crates, then stepped through an archway at the very rear of the ship. Things were even more crammed inside this section, with metal chains anchored to giant cranks that were turned round and round by burly men, contraptions taking up most of the floorspace, leaving gaps only as wide as her shoulders to walk around them. The sound of sloshing water rose up from hatches in the moldy wood.

Skyseeker looked for the most important-looking freak and sauntered over to him, tapping him on the leg to get his attention. The man cursed in fright, lurching away as he turned to look at her, his features scrunching beneath his heavy black beard and crown of hair.

“Greetings!” Skyseeker called. “It is I, Skaven Empire agent and follower of Sigismund, Skyseeker!”

“I know who you are,” the man grumbled. “What do you want?”

“You KNOW me?” Skyseeker gasped. “Skaven’s reputation finally proceeds! I TOLD YOU LORD GNAWDWELL! Wait, did I? Anyway, you in charge here-here?”

“I’m the shift lead down here, yes. The name’s Otto.”

“Didn’t ask! Kessel-man forced Skaven to come help with duties or whatever.”

“You mean the Cap?”

“Who else, imbecile!? Now what can Skaven do for you? You need man-thing assassinated? Relic recovered? More food rations? Happen to know someone in kitchens who can hook you up.”

“We could use someone to scrub,” Otto mused. “If you can clean up more filth than you make, a’course.”

“Like you can say-speak otherwise, pube-face,” Skaven scoffed. She prided herself on being clean, at least until Roderick had taught her how to bathe. Her black fur clung to her body like a second skin, not at all as coarse as other Skaven or even human fur, and sometimes it shone silver whenever the moonlight hit at just the right angle. “Now what is this ‘scrub’ you talk about? That another word for killing someone?”

“Kills your back, I ‘spose,” Otto said. “Here,” he added, walking her over to a wall rack. There was some sort of rod in a wooden container leaning against the hull, and there was a soapy substance within the vessel. He placed both in her paws.

“Do I drink this?” she asked, peering into the bucket.

“No you daft rat, wipe that stuff across the floor and start mopping, I want to be able to see your ugly face in its reflection when you’re done.”

“What-what! The WHOLE floor?” From her estimate, this section of the deck was approximately a million square meters long.

“That’s what I said,” Otto smirked. “And when you’re done with that, take this brush and polish it off, so we don’t start trippin’ over. Hop to it, maybe I’ll get you some cheese if you work fast.”

A couple nearby sailors chuckled at that, Skyseeker scowling at them.

“Now that’s just racist,” she said. “You lucky rat isn’t triple agent, Motto or whatever you said.”

“Less chat, more work, rat,” Otto said. He walked off and began turning the crank of some alien machine, which seemed purposeless to her. She got the inclination from Otto and Von Kessel that this wasn’t exactly going to be a thrilling experience down here, but Skyseeker was nothing but an optimist. After all, how hard could it be for paws like hers?

She slopped some of the soapy water onto her mop and stroked the floor, then immediately the frustrations began to rise. The soap was too weak, the stains on the wood too strong, and the effort too high. About sixty seconds in and she wanted to end her life.

Just what was she doing? She was the Skyseeker, she had crossed entire countries of the surface-world, had survived deserts full of the undead, and had snatched freedom from the jaws of cruel imprisonment that was a breeder’s birthright. She had done so much, and this kind of slave work was literally beneath her.

She would not stand for this, she needed to get out of here, but something held her back. She couldn’t just leave, that would only anger Von Kessel further, she needed a way to make him happy, but without any effort. By the time she cleaned maybe a one-by-one meter square of floor, she came up with a master plan.

She scurried up to the nearest man-thing, not Otto, but one of the lesser men, her bucket sloshing in her paw, and jabbed him with the end of her mop. “Hey, man-thing! Rat is not interested in manual labor, you do instead.”

“Got promoted from cleanin’ duty a long time ago,” the man replied gruffly. “Ain’t no way I’m goin’ back to-.”

“I’ll give you a bunch of gold,” she preempted him, and pulled a pouch of coins from her cloak.

“Say no more!” the man replied in a jolly voice. His eyes literally gleamed when he saw how much cash was in the pouch. He took her mop and bucket with so much vigour she nearly tripped over, the Skaven cackling to herself as the man did her job for her.

Free to peruse the area without further restrictions, Skyseeker moseyed over to examine the pipes and machines taking up the bulk of the room. Sailors were coming and going, carrying sacks over shoulders or braids of rope to the storerooms located at the far wall. She felt a sense of imbalance as the ship adjusted course a little, but the men didn’t seem to even notice the constant motions.

“Hey!” Otto called from across the hold, interrupting her explorations. “Skaven, what are you doing?”

“Dilly dallying,” she answered simply.

“You’re supposed to be cleaning. Don’t try and tell me you’re done already.”

“I am cleaning! Or rather, that one is.” She pointed.

He looked over and seemed shocked to see the sailor she’d hired. “Ralf, what in Sigmar’s name are you doing? Why are you doing the Skaven’s job?”

“She just gave me two week’s worth of wages, Otto,” he replied. “I’d clean the entire deck if she told me to.”

“You bribed Ralf?” Otto asked, directing his attention back to Skyseeker.

“Skaven prefers term: monetary stimulation. Don’t expect superannuation bonus, Ralf! And there will be tax if you do bad job.”

“Gods preserve me,” Otto sighed. “Have it your way, Skaven, Ralf does your job, but you have to do Ralf’s job instead. Go to the storeroom at the fore and roll the kegs of spirits down here.”

“Okay!” She went and got the attention of another sailor. “You! Go to room-store and roll kegs here-here! Take this bunch of gold.”

He bit a coin between his teeth to make sure of its authenticity, then rushed off to do her bidding without a word.

“Will! Where are you going?” Otto called. “I told the Skaven to get the kegs.”

“Two hundred gold pieces for a bit of back-breaking? Count me in,” Will replied, then rushed off around the corner.

Otto threw up his hands. “Listen here, Skaven, the Cap gave you an order to join the shift. You can’t just throw money at everyone else and expect them to do your work for you.”

“Otto I will pay you five hundred gold to shut your hole and get off my tail.”

“I run a tight shift down here,” Otto grumbled. “My crew is the heart that keeps this ship afloat, I break my back so the rest of the men can sail us safely home. You can’t buy me.”

“Seven hundred?” Skyseeker suggested, putting on a sweet voice. She dangled a jingling bag of coins before his snout, waving it back and forth like she was attempting to hypnotize him.

To his credit, Otto’s willpower was slower to crumble, and more expensive, but what use did she have for yellow coins? With a dramatic sigh, he swiped the bag from her waiting paw.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Begone then, if you have no urge to put any effort in.”

“Actually, Skaven will stay-stay.”

“What…?” he sighed.

“I like it down here! Sloshing water on walls for ambience, almost complete darkness, and many-many hunky humans to gawk at. Skaven will hang around for while.”

“Very well, just stay out of everyone’s way.” He turned around, making to leave.”

“Wait! Skaven needs seating arrangements.”

“There are no stools down here, so good luck with that.”

“Otto gets me one,” she declared, and produced another bag of coins.

Otto’s left eye experienced a violent twitch. He took it, now utterly defeated. “There’re sacks of flour in that room over there. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Skyseeker pulled a heavy bag out into the main working area, dragging it across the rotting wood, as it was too heavy to carry. She set up in the corner and laid back, placing her paws contentedly behind her head as she watched her human slaves do her duties.

The flour was soft behind her head, but it also smelled strange. Curious, she ripped open a part of the cloth with a claw, watching a white powder bleed out. She licked some of it off her finger without the slightest hesitation. The taste wasn’t exactly gourmand, but neither were the rations that Roderick gave her, and she was ravenously hungry after all the effort she’d put in.

Nobody came to bother her either, her orders to not be disturbed were being followed to the letter. Everything was coming up Skaven.

Right as she was considering taking a power-nap, the door flung open, and it wasn’t one of her new hirees. Captain Von Kessel in his stupid puffy clothes had come to see what all the fuss was about. He was grinning, perhaps expecting to find her suffering under Otto’s strict shift regimen.

When he saw her relaxing in the corner, her snout and fingers covered in flour, that grin faded away, and she didn’t know whether to laugh, or deposit herself overboard in retreat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Von Kessel demanded, directing the question to Otto, who straightened to attention like everyone else present (Except Skyseeker). “I sent the rat here to help, and I see it stuffing its face with our stores? Explain yourself, Otto.”

“Skaven’s on my five-minute break!” she chimed. “Been hardly working all day! Wait, I meant working hard!”

The Captain was about to snap back something, when he saw two of the men hide their hands behind their backs. “You two, show me what you have there.”

Reluctantly, her two slaves, Will and Ralf, showed him the bags of coins. They’d been exchanging gold when Von Kessel had barged in.

“Where did you get those?” Von Kessel asked. “Certainly not from the purser.”

The two men, not reluctantly, pointed in her direction. Skyseeker had taken another taste of flour, having thought she was in the clear, and froze mid-lick when everyone present turned to look at her.

“Did you… bribe my men?” Von Kessel asked.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Skyseeker complained. “It is called employing.”

“I sent you down here to work, rodent,” Kessel shot back. “Not laze about.”

“Actually,” Skyseeker started, raising a finger. “Work is being done, just not by me-me. You should have specified, Kessel-man.”

“And you all,” Kessel continued, addressing the sailors. “Taking gold from a filthy Skaven. Have any of you no honour? You shame Sigmar by letting this thing do as it pleases.”

“One thing about man-things, Kessel-man, is that they can be bought. Looks like you were wrong, ha-ha! Perchance if you paid man-things more, they would not be so easily purchased.”

If looks could kill, Skyseeker would be dead on the spot. The room went so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Speaking up against the Captain was one thing, but doing it in front of tens of his crew? That was bound to cause trouble, especially when outnumbered.

And yet not a single human spoke up to defend his Captain. Maybe she was onto something – after all, she was fairly sure these people’s pay was as pitiable as their working conditions.

“I will not stand for this, rat,” Von Kessel sneered. He turned to leave, clutching his needle sword in a clenched fist. “Just because you’re Roderick’s pet, does not mean you get to talk to me, like you would to him. You should learn to hold your tongue, before someone rips it out of you.”

-xXx-

His cabin was the biggest private space on the wolfship, but even then, his five companions were practically rubbing shoulders. There was a perfectly usable meeting room just outside, but ears were everywhere on the ship, and only the cabin’s walls were comfortably thick.

It was odd to think about the connotations of meeting in secret aboard a ship he’d served on for almost three years, but then again, the wolfship had become the focal point of the unnatural as of late. Things were about to go back to normal, though, he counted on it.

“Thank you all for coming on short notice,” Von Kessel began. “I know the days are long and busy, so I will be brief.”

“It’s not like you to call surprise meetings, Cap,” Lothar mused. He was a thin man, but he was lightning quick with any sword. Lothar was his second in command.

“Where’s Otto?” the nightshift manager, Goswin, asked. “He’s usually here for these, ain’t he?”

“I’ve learned some interesting things about Otto’s loyalties of late,” Von Kessel explained, leaning his hands on his desk. “He won’t be joining us. Now, I’ve called you here on a matter that I think most of you can probably guess. It concerns our Skaven stowaway.”

Looks of disgust passed through the room. That was good, he’d picked each man well.

“What about it?” asked their fourth, Raban, one of his senior officers. He had a voice like a foghorn, but he was smart enough to pick up on the secrecy and tone his voice down.

“I tried to put up with it, for the sake of our Conclave representative,” Von Kessel began, glancing at his elite in turn. “I respect the wizards as much as anyone, but perhaps that was my first mistake. This ship has suffered many hardships, but the threat our Skaven ‘ally’ has posed to us is far more dangerous than anything else combined. We’ve already discussed one consequence of my leniency to its presence,” he added, gesturing at them. “Otto, one of my most trusted shift managers, has stooped to taking bribes from it to lay off work. I had thought perhaps it could be of some use to the crew, but all I did was allow it access to more of the crew, and the mistake has proven costly. His entire shift is compromised, as far as I can tell.”

“It’s not just Otto,” Lothar added. “The cooks, they think the rat’s cute, and most of the gunner’s take to talking to it on their breaks, as if the rat was one of our own.”

“Thank you, Lothar,” Von Kessel said, giving him a nod. “No doubt the rest of you likely know one or two crewmen who count the Skaven as a friend. Goswin, how many of your workers have nothing but praise for the Skaven?”

“More than I’d like to admit,” Goswin replied. “Maybe a dozen, two at most.”

“Two dozen,” Von Kessel repeated. “Next week, it could be three. Next month it’ll be four. Given time, the Skaven will infiltrate every hold and cabin, and there will be no one left among the crew to remember who our true enemy is, and then nothing can stop it from doing whatever it likes. If we bring this Skaven to bring its disease into the Empire, our homeland will be compromised, and all will truly be lost.”

“Are you suggesting we take it out?” Raban asked, ever a man of action.

“Not suggesting,” Lothar answered. “The rat must die, before too many of the crew turn over to its side.”

“You sound like you’re trying to prevent a mutiny,” Goswin pondered. “But no true sons of Sigmar would follow a Skaven… would they?”

“It has already earned the trust of Wilfred,” Von Kessel said. “And he is supposed to be more enlightened than any of us. We cannot take the chance of letting this disease spread further than it already is.”

“I can’t see this happening easily,” Raban added. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for cleaning out rats, but how? The Skaven has friends in the crew, some might even try to help it, and I doubt the Wizard will stand by and let us kill it either. Then there’s Roderick. He’d kill for that rat, I can tell.”

“You bring up good points,” Von Kessel said. “But we won’t have to worry about Roderick or Wilfred or anyone else. In just a few days, we will be making port in Lyonesse. I will leave a few men to stay onboard, people I know and trust, including Lothar and you, Goswin. I will personally go with Roderick and Wilfred into town, give you a window to get rid of it.”

“How are we going to separate them all?” Goswin asked. “Roderick never leaves its side, for one thing.”

“They won’t risk letting the Skaven out in broad daylight,” Von Kessel answered. “That is why after a convenient loss of speed, we will dock when the sun is at its highest. If the rats to leave, they’ll make it wait until afternoon, at the earliest.”

“But won’t Roderick want to stay behind with it?” Raban asked.

“The Lyonen Duke will want to welcome us with a feast, I know this because I’ve frequented his city many times in the past. He’ll want Wilfred in attendance, and Roderick too, once I happen to mention what a fine Reiklander he used to be. The Bretonnians always admire a knight. Obviously, they cannot take the rat with them, and once the feast starts, it should be simple to get the Skaven alone.”

“Why am I here, exactly?” the last of their number asked, silent up to this moment. Thilo was quiet by nature, because he was one of the lookouts, where good eyes took precedence over a good voice.

“You’re our eyes, of course,” Von Kessel replied. “You are to keep each of us updated on the Skaven’s moves, starting tommorrow. Roderick’s as well, and Wilfred’s for that matter. If any of them don’t follow our plan, it’s your job to warn us ahead of time. If something goes wrong, and we can’t get the Skaven alone, it’s up to you to call this whole thing off.”

He let them digest that for a minute, then resumed.

“I cannot stress how dangerous this will be,” he said. “There’s no telling what Wilfred or Roderick will do if they catch wind of our plan, but having a very pissed off wizard in our midst is not something I want to experience. Everyone here must agree if we want to move forward with this.”

“Count me in,” Lothar said, and his convenient promptness helped the others along.

“I’m in,” Raban added.

“And me,” Thilo said.

“Me too,” Goswin said.

“Good. We’ll convene tomorrow morning to discuss finer details. For now, return to your posts, we’ve taken long enough as it is. And remember,” he warned. “None of this leaves this cabin. Any of this gets out to one of the compromised, a mutiny would be the least of our worries.”

-xXx-

Roderick brought his blade to the piece of fish, slicing the pink meat into thin pieces, then placing them upon a scale. Once weighed, he’d toss them into the bucket next to his station. Soon one of the servants would come replace it with an empty one, and the cycle would continue until there were enough rations for the hungry crew on that day.

Some might call the task menial, perhaps beneath the Reiklander, who had once commanded armies against the forces arrayed against the Empire, but Roderick sought enjoyment in the simplicity. Preparing food was far less dangerous than swinging swords under gunfire, and it helped to keep his mind from the troubling warnings Wilfred had given him earlier that day.

If the staff was targeting the whole crew, then why hadn’t Roderick heard of anyone else having strange dreams? If having touched it didn’t matter, then why was it so easy to recall that moment, why was he experience these ghost-sensations? It was targeting him specifically, and that troubled him more than anything.

Even Skyseeker wasn’t being afflicted, and she’d been right there beside him when they’d entered that temple. Then again, she was Skaven, Chaos spawn, dark magics wouldn’t have an effect on her.

Perhaps she was partly responsible for this darker influence seeping into his thoughts. They had practically never left each other’s sides since the day they’d met, and while she may not be evil, she was a product of evil, and maybe his closeness to her was just as damaging as his closeness to the staff…

He shook his head to dispel the train of thought. No, his relationship with Skyseeker was as far from wrong as possible, there had to be some other reason.

“Get paws of me, man-thing! My BOYFRIEND is the cook, I can have you poisoned to death, so let Skaven pass!”

Roderick turned his head, his lips curling into a smile as he heard her signature high-pitched voice. At the far side of the kitchen was a guard posted by the entrance – there to deter any would-be thieves – but he seemed unwilling to challenge the Skaven’s audacity. She had, after all, forced her way into the kitchen’s practically every evening, with a mix of threats and begs, and the guard knew it was better to just let her have her way.

She strode across the cabin towards him on her athletic legs, Roderick taking a moment to appreciate her. Standing at just under chest-height, the rat woman was a tiny thing, but that didn’t mean she was weak. Years of living under the harsh conditions of Skavenblight had turned her into a dexterous creature, her light build comparable to a swimmer, her toned muscles bundled tight beneath her midnight fur, all wound up and ready to spring at any second. Aside from a tight set of underwear on her waist, the leather bandoliers strapped across her chest, and the tattered dark cloak hanging over her shoulders, she was practically naked, her rounded thighs and flat belly exposed to any onlookers, and yet she didn’t carry a hint of self-consciousness about her.

Her long face was akin to most common rodents, but Skyseeker was far less brutish than her male Skaven counterparts. Her fur was fuzzy and combed back in a luscious wave. The only coloured parts of her were her red eyes, her button nose, and the pink flaps of her large ears. Most humans detested the sight of her, but after their journey through Tilea, Roderick had come to see her in a new light, and her differences were more exotic than off-putting.

“Hello, Rick-rod,” Skyseeker chimed, reaching in for a cuddle once she was in range. Her accent was strange, the Skaven rolling her r’s and snicking her teeth with every other syllable. Her speech had improved as she spent more time with him and the other humans, but her Skaven mannerisms never went away.

“Hello, lass,” he replied. “What brings you here?”

“Boredom, hunger,” she replied.

“The usual, then? Can’t give you any of this I’m afraid,” he said, laying down another piece of fish. “Cooks are very meticulous in how many cuts I do, so you’ll have to wait until it’s all packed. Hang on a moment,” he added. “I heard from someone that Von Kessel assigned you duties. What were they?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started!” Skyseeker snapped. “Kessel-man wanted Skaven to, get this… CLEAN. As if Skaven, saviour of boat and all man-things here, could be reduced to slavery! Oh, but I showed him, yes-yes…”

“And you’re done already?” he asked. “That was fast.”

“Fast is my middle name! Paid off two sailor-men who weren’t doing things, got ship clean as a whisker, then had some flour and a nap. Day of production, if I say so myself-self.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, raising a hand. “What was that? You paid someone else to clean for you?”

“Two someone else’s,” Skyseeker corrected, holding up three fingers. “And they did acceptable job.”

“How much did they ask for?”

“Let’s just say that Skaven won’t be visiting any man-thing markets anytime soon. Not that you ever barter-deal with anything worthy of attention.”

“I’m surprised they were willing to do your work for you,” Roderick mused. “but if the job’s done, it’s done.”

“That’s what I said! But nooo, Kessel-man got angry-mad. ‘I will Not sTaND fOr ThIS, RodENT’,” she mimed, putting on a bad accent as she impersonated him. “And all I did was tell him he should pay man-things more if he wanted loyalty.”

“You should mind what you say to him, lass,” Roderick chided, slicing another fillet. “This is Kessel’s ship, and these are his men. They came a long way to transport us out of Tilea and Araby. Antagonizing him won’t do you any favours.”

“And what, is Skaven supposed to let some filthy, feather-wearing, sun-drinking, carrot-topped ginger talk down on me? I think not,” she scoffed, folding her arms pointedly.

“I know that etiquette doesn’t exist in your vocabulary, but whether you like him or not, the fact he’s Captain doesn’t change. We’d still be stuck in that desert if not for him. Showing just a little appreciation for his efforts is the least we could do, and it can go a long way.”

“YAWN!” Skyseeker replied sarcastically. He gave her a serious look, and she rolled her eyes. “Urgh, fine, you making a point. But mark my chitter-speak – as soon as this whole boat thing is over, all bets are off.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Roderick said.

“So… what time you getting off?” she pressed, leaning on the corner of the table. His eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the way the flesh of her thigh spilled over its surface. As taut as she was built, he knew from experience she was soft where it counted.

“I just need to finish off this last batch,” he answered. “Shouldn’t take long, an hour at most.”

“That’s forever away!” she complained. “It’s been long day, and a Skaven needs her daily bunk-snuggles.”

“A long day of letting others do your work,” he corrected, smirking down at her. “I don’t have the luxury of help down here.”

“Let me change that,” Skyseeker quipped, making room for herself as she stood beside him.

“You want to help?” he asked.

“Anything for my man-thing,” she replied, but Roderick wasn’t worried about that. If anyone learned that a Skaven had helped prepare their food, the crew might refuse to eat. Still, he knew she wasn’t a flee-ridden ball of fur like some were led to believe, and the extra help would speed things along.

He peeked over his shoudler at the posted guard, he looked too drowsy to pay the Skaven much mind anymore. “Very well,” he conceded, laying out another fish. “Wash your hands in that basin first.”

She reluctantly did as he asked. “Watch closely,” he continued. “Fish have a lot of little bones inside them, and the first thing we do is take them all out.”

He demonstrated removing the spine from a pink slab of meat, Skyseeker’s snout hovering an inch away as she observed. He tossed the spiky bones into a nearby waste bucket, but Skyseeker caught it mid-air and swallowed it down in one go. “What?” she asked when he widened his eyes at her. “Marrow is very nutritional. Can’t believe man-things don’t eat bones.”

“This is what I love about you, Sky,” Roderick said. “You never cease to surprise me.”

“R-Rick-rod…!” she whined, pushing her paws into her cheeks, as though she was blushing beneath her fur. For all her bluster, sometimes it only took a few words to make her melt. “You say strangest things at strangest times…”

“And that’s coming from you,” he chuckled. “You must be rubbing off on me. Now,” he said, placing a fresh fish down. “Let’s see you have a go. I’ll get you a knife.”

“No needing,” she prompted, and held her weeping dagger aloft, as though it was the Ghal Maraz itself. “Skaven brought her own tools, yes-yes…”

“Wait, lass! You’re going to-”

Skyseeker brought her knife down. The corrosive edge sliced through the meat, the cutting board beneath it, the counter beneath that, and one of the table legs. Roderick seized the counter before it toppled over, Skyseeker squeaking in surprise as she quickly sheathed the blade back in its scabbard.

“Sorry!” she chirped, looking up at him sheepishly, Roderick frowning down at her.

“Please keep that thing away before you destroy the entire cabin. Hand me that bucket. No, the big one.”

He was able to balance the broken leg stump on the bucket, so the entire workstation didn’t collapse to the floor. This was going to take some explaining when the cook came round…

“Let’s try this again,” Roderick said. “but this time, with human utensils.”

He placed a knife in her paw, Skyseeker giving it a few practice swings and jabs, perfectly pitched at neck-level on a Skaven. “This is worst dagger I’ve ever held,” she said. “Couldn’t stab anything with this.”

“That’s because it’s a filleting knife, not a dagger,” he said. “Now, try not to destroy this one,” he said, putting the corroded fish in the waste bucket. It was glowing a strange shade of green where her weeping blade had parted it. The smell of burned meat filled the little kitchen.

Skyseeker took her blade in her left hand, and gripped the slice of fish with her right. She began to cut it in a sawing motion, trying to replicate his earlier movements, chittering under her breath when the blade caught.

“Like this,” he said, leaning over her. She was so short that he could reach over her head with room to spare, taking her soft paws into his hands. He angled her knife, then encouraged her to press deeper. He moved her other paw on top of the fish, steadying her movements. Her paws were so small that he could cover them with his palm, her flesh a milky pink colour that wasn’t so dissimilar from a human’s. “Go along the spine, don’t force the blade, let it glide along. Very good, you’re getting it.”

The oil from the fish quickly made their fingers sticky to the touch. Her fur ended at her wrists,, some of the residue getting on her dark coat. He’d have to make sure to wash the fillets thoroughly in case of any stray hairs.

“Skaven sometimes forgets how… big Rick-rod is,” Skyseeker muttered, lifting her head to peer up at him. Her long whiskers tickled his chest through his shirt.

“Am I big, or are you just small?” he asked with a grin.

“I’m average height for a breeder!” Skyseeker shot back. “And being small has advantages, n-not that I am small…”

He turned her paw over and held it in a fist, demonstrating their size difference without a word. She had claws, which were more like overgrown nails on a closer inspection, but they never seemed to get in her way. Despite living a life of swinging daggers, her paws were soft, not calloused like his, just malleable enough that they gave very little resistance when he squeezed.

“Your paws are so warm,” Skyseeker muttered, letting his fingers link with hers for a moment.

“Hands,” he corrected.

“Paws!”

“We’re not having this conversation again.”

“Yes we are.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he insisted with a chuckle. “And we’re getting distracted.”

He guided her hands for a while longer, then relented when she got her technique down. He set up another fish beside hers, but the Skaven did not make room for him, keeping her feet planted on the deck. He was forced to lean over her as he worked on the next batch, which he had a sneaking suspicion was on purpose. He’d have to be truly dense to think that the way her lithe body pushed against his chest was anything but deliberate.

Two pairs of hands (paws) got the work done a lot faster once Skyseeker was shown what to do, and they steadily worked down the batch of fish into edible pieces. When the buckets were full to the brim with fillets, Skyseeker threw up her arms in celebration.

“Finally!” she cheered. “That was last fish, correct?”

“Sure was, lass,” he replied. “The cooks will have their dinner delivered early tonight.”

“Now how about that snuggle?” Skyseeker suggested, flashing him a coy grin. He felt her scaly tail bat at his legs as it waved in excitement, the rat woman lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “Skaven needs it for job well done…”

“That would make it your first one today, right?” he teased.

“Shut up and kiss Skaven already! Been waiting all day to get paws on you-you.”

She placed her knife down, laying her paws to either side of his face, having to stand on her toes to reach. She ran her fingers through his hair, then guided him down, Roderick bending over as she lifted her snout. Their distance meant that she had to crane her neck an awfully long way back, her neck practically facing the ceiling, but she didn’t utter a shred of complaint.

Her snout hovered beneath him, upside-down from his perspective, Roderick glancing her parting lips with his. Her soft, furry snout touched his as he gave her a tentative peck, her small nose touching his chin. He’d only planned for a quick peck, making to pull away, but Skyseeker wasn’t having any of that. Her grip on his cheeks tightened, and she pulled him into her, her pillowy lips parting in a silent request for more.

He obliged, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She had two large incisors at the front of her jaws, but beyond them was the textured flesh of her throat, longer and narrower than a human’s. Her silky tongue coiled against his own, a soft moan of encouragement translating from her mouth to his.

Skaven did not kiss each other, but they had practiced it enough times that her initial clumsiness had all but vanished, and her placating strokes hit him in all the right places, tingles of pleasure washing down his spine as their bawdy kiss continued for a few moments more. He felt her winding tail coil around his leg possessively.

He broke away for breath, opening his eyes to see his vision filled with her ruby-red eyes peering at him from beneath her cowl. Most men feared the beady, predatory gaze of a Skaven, but the cause of her hunger was of a far different variety.

He reached down to cup her cheek, one of her ears flicking in delight as he stroked with his thumb, Roderick dipping down in search of a second kiss. It quickly became more sensual than a simple show of affection, Skyseeker’s comely whines igniting an instinctual fire within his chest.

“R-Rick-rod,” Skyseeker moaned between smacks of their lips. “Take me, ooh please, Skaven’s waited a million years to breed with you-you…”

If his tongue hadn’t been occupied, he’d have pointed out that they’d pretty much slept together every night since setting sail from Araby. Her libido was as perpetual as her constant hunger, and she never seemed to tire of breeding, as she called it.

It took all his willpower to keep from bending her over the counter and having his way with her, but when their lips parted for a second time, he begrudgingly shook his head.

“I don’t think this is the most…. sanitary place for that,” he conceded. “And the guard is right outside.”

Grinning mischievously, Skyseeker pushed out her rump, putting her lower body through his legs. He turned to watch as her long tail curled up like a whip, as prehensile as a finger. She flicked it against the door, slamming it shut. After a few moments, the guard outside did not open it, perhaps not caring enough to see what was going on..

“One problem solved,” he admitted, Skyseeker snickering.

She turned to put her front to him, wrapping her little arms over his waist. He thought she was trying for a hug, but then he felt her tug at the his belt, unbuckling his belt and peeling his trousers down his thighs.

“H-Hold on, lass,” he stammered. “We’re right in the middle of the ship, just because the door is shut, doesn’t mean we can’t be overheard.”

“Then man-thing just has to be quiet then, yes-yes?” Skyseeker shot back.

His attempts to stop her were half-hearted, of course, Roderick watching as she pulled his pants down and bunching it over his knees, exposing his loincloth. He gasped when she leaned forward and pushed her muzzle into the silk, taking in a long draw of air.

“Man-thing musk,” Skyseeker groaned. “It drives Skaven crazy…”

“You’re already crazy,” he chuckled. “Putting us in this compromising position, where anyone could just walk in.”

“Correction,” she replied. “Skaven’s hearing is diabolically masterful. Will hear man-things coming well beforepaw.”

She reached over to cup his balls through his loincloth, giggling when Roderick lurched. She wet her lips in anticipation, batting her eyes up at him as she took up position between his legs, her soft body pressing up against him.

With her free hand, she tugged at the string holding up his undergarments, Roderick wincing as she pulled it down and the fabric caught on his length. He was always a sucker for a good kiss, and the Skaven’s was so unusual and different from anything he was used to, and he was already hard as a result.

She exposed him to the cool air of the kitchen, his rod bouncing free to lamp Skyseeker on the nose with all the force of a fist. She flinched away, clearly not suspecting him to be so erect, glaring up at him accusingly.

“You attacked Skaven!”

“Don’t blame me,” he replied. “You’re the one that started this, lass.”

“Stupid, fat man-thing cock,” she muttered, but her eyes were full of wonder as she turned her gaze to his dick. He didn’t know how endowed Skaven were, but from the physical differences between them, he could guess he was far larger than even the burliest of Skaven.

Her warm breath washed over his genitals, the Skaven reaching up to take him into her hand. He was too girthy that her fingers didn’t meet on the other side, but that didn’t bother Skyseeker, sliding her soft fingers from his tip to base. She gave his balls a squeeze as she stroked, Roderick gasping at the conflicting sensations.

“Rick-rod is so hard already,” Skyseeker mused. “And Skaven hasn’t put my wildly charms in action yet.”

She laughed, but Roderick didn’t get the joke. He watched as she opened her jaws, her pink tongue sliding out between her cleft lips. The slimy flesh dragged over his underside, Skyseeker pursing her lips as she paused near his glans, planting a lingering kiss there.

“We sorted hunger for man-things with fish,” she said, her eyes fluttering as she looked up at him. “Now, Rick-rod can sort Skaven’s hunger instead. That means I’m going to eat your dick,” she added bluntly.

“Thanks for the explanation, I’d never have guessed,” he said with an eyeroll. “You were never one for beating around the bush, were you?”

She angled up her muzzle, parting her jaws to expose her incisors. Her buck teeth were sharp and carnivorous, but Roderick’s hesitation melted away when she slid his length between them and into the warm, soft lining of her throat. She closed her jaws, sealing him in a cylinder of silken flesh, her wriggling tongue flexing against his throbbing length.

She still had a firm grip on his sack, Roderick quickly closing his eyes as the waves of pleasure rocked him. He lost his balance for a moment, forced to lean against the counter lest lose his footing.

“Does Skaven feel good?” Skyseeker asked around his length. He nodded, but Skyseeker shook her head in disapproval, stirring his dick from side to side in her warm mouth. “No, I want to hear you say words. Say that Skaven feels good.”

“S-Skaven feels good,” he said, unable to suppress a shiver as her tongue caressed him. She laughed maniacally again, rewarding his words by sneaking her organ beneath his foreskin, the edges of his vision darkening as cruel, harsh waves of stimulation assailed him. She knew he was tender there, focusing on it with short strokes of the tip of her tongue, pulling back so only the head of his penis was locked inside her gullet.

After a few moments, she came up for air, letting his pulsing shaft dangle in the air. The respite was short-lived, however. Skyseeker pressed closer, placing her muzzle above his length and letting a string of drool escape her lips. The bubbly fluid landed on his shaft, Skyseeker wasting no time in spreading the liquid around with her tiny hand. Her fingers were still slimy from all the fish, and combined with the saliva, he was quickly covered in a slippery sheen.

Her eyes focused on his length like a swooping hawk, deigning to use both hands to work him over. She paused to rub her thumbs over his tip whenever she neared his glans, her pumps taking on a hard, quick rhythm. He had to concentrate to keep standing up, the sheen of her saliva making her contact wet and nearly frictionless.

She giggled to herself again, and Roderick craned an eye open to look at her. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Rick-rod is hero to Reiky-land,” she said, her red eyes glancing from his crotch to his face. “You fight giant freaky bird thing, you fight Skaven warband, you fight giant statue-thing, you claimed relic right under Skavenkind’s noses. You so accomplished, but Skaven knows your weaknesses. Skaven not even need to try to make Rick-rod breed…”

“And I don’t need to try to pick you up and carry you like a sack of grain, so I know your weaknesses too.”

“Sh-Shut up and breed in my mouth.”

Taking his base into her hands, she slid him back inside her gullet, the ribbed texture of her jaws adding a wonderful sense of friction. She slid more of him into her mouth, curling her tongue around him all the while. When she took him all the way to the base, he heard her swallow loudly, strands of her saliva leaking from her mouth and dripping down his legs. Her throat flexed in a contracting wave, so tightly sealed around him that he felt every rippling muscle, the sensation so close to a lover’s loins that his hips thrust forward in search of more.

She drew back, sliding off his length to leave it glistening in the candlelight of the cabin. She never stopped swirling her tongue, corkscrewing it around him as though to wipe his cock clean, but only serving to spread more of her sticky saliva further. Her pace was quick and hard, clumsy and needy, but just like she said, she had plenty of practice to know how to work him over.

He felt a pressure building up in his core, his muscles wrenching as his urge to climax drew closer. It was impossible to ignore how tightly packed he was in her soft throat, which was nothing at all like a human’s mouth, yet its shape seemed perfectly suited to the current task.

“Sky,” he murmured. “I’m getting close…”

“Duh!” she replied, pausing at his tip to speak. “This is SKYSEEKER man-thing is talking about, master breeder. Breed in my mouth, Rick-rod, I want it all over my tongue, yes-yes…”

She redoubled her efforts, mashing her face into his crotch as her pace increased, his cock practically slamming into the back of her throat. A human would choke if they tried to match her speed, but the only sounds Skyseeker made were whines and moans of pleasure, the Skaven seeming to enjoy this as much as he was.

He felt tingles course down his extremities, the waves of sensation washing down to concentrate on his loins, the urgency to climax scratching at the back of his mind. He tried to stave it off, to prolong this bliss, but every time she kissed his base the thought became harder to deny.

“Breed, Rick-rod,” Skyseeker whined as she pulled back, keeping his pleasure going with her pumping fists. “Fill Skaven’s mouth with your pups, I want it bubbling out of throat when you are done.”

She stroked harder, the sensation permeating him to the core. She sensed his drawing limit, opening her mouth in greedy anticipation. She flashed him an aroused expression, and that was all it took to drive him over the edge.

He reached the precipice, all that pressure in his stomach surging forth in the form of hot, thick ropes of his ejaculate. He leaned back against the counter, stars dancing before his eyes as his thoughts gave way to animal lust.

Wads of his come shot forth onto her waiting mouth, the Skaven pumping him with her fists to ease out its passage. Even she was surprised by the amount that came, her red eyes flashing as his essence filled her waiting mouth.

A second pump followed, then a third, Skyseeker encouraging out with deft strokes of her hands. Some of the pearly fluid splashed against her nose and cheeks, and when her jaws were full, she closed her mouth and swallowed around him, the sound audible.

Her cruel handjob never ceased until she was sure he had nothing more to give, the burning urge of climax soon giving way to cool euphoria, Roderick grinning stupidly as he relished in the bliss. With one last thrust of his hips, he was spent, warmth permeating him from his toes to his head.

He was brought back into the present by a soft, wet texture on his length, and he looked down to see Skyseeker lapping at his crotch, cleaning away all traces of his residue that hadn’t landed on her face. Her silky fur tickled him as she gripped his thighs for leverage. Once he was as dry as he could be, she gazed up at him, the sight of his seed on the Skaven’s face making his heart flutter. She let her tongue snake forth, the organ flexible enough to reach most of her muzzle, and soon her face was clean too.

She smacked her lips as though she was sampling a fine wine. “Mm, exquisite,” she chimed. “Must raid this kitchen more often.”

Roderick got onto one knee, pulling her into a greedy kiss, pulling her lithe body into his. He didn’t care if his mess was on her jaws, a sudden wave of affection afflicting him. She leaned into him, tilting her head to the side and deepening their contact, one paw clutching at his shoulder as he pressed his tongue into her mouth. Her wonderful scent filled his nose, sweet and feminine, his member twitching in response despite having just climaxed.

“W-What was that for?” Skyseeker giggled when she pulled away. “Wait! I want to guess! Is because I’m the best breeder man-thing ever had, yes-yes?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

He pressed his face into her neck, giving her a gentle nibble, her fur delightfully soft beneath his lips. She was so touchable, like a down pillow made living, and she was so receptive as well. Every touch of his fingers or tongue made her whine or gasp, as though she was an untouched virgin, yet he knew from experience that was not the case.

“You have any idea how good you smell, lass?” he asked, the scent growing stronger as he neared her chest, and the two pert breasts that wobbled beneath her sling.

“R-Rick-rod!” she laughed. “You say weirdest things sometimes. Of course I know, I smell myself all the time.”

He roamed lower, bringing a hand to her chest. The clip for the sling that preserved her modesty was at the back, beneath her cloak, but he couldn’t wait that long. He cupped one of her breasts through the leather, the orb of flesh a perfect handful, as malleable as a ball of dough. Skyseeker gripped his shoulders, muttering her approval as his other hand roamed down her hourglass waist.

“Before, Rick-rod said you could carry Skaven like sack,” Skyseeker murmured. “Prove it.”

“What?” he asked, even though he heard her.

“Pick Skaven up,” she said. “B-But don’t tell anyone I said that. Including Rick-rod! Take me like you would a man-thing breeder, I’ll pretend the last five seconds did not happen.”

“Want to do some roleplay, eh lass?” he asked. “Alright.”

She squeaked as he scooped her into his arms, her tail coiling around his hip like a little snake, her hood falling back to expose the rest of her face. He rose to his feet, taking her with him.

“Oh, stupid man-thing,” Skyseeker giggled. “How dare you try to carry poor, oblivious, unsuspecting Skaven. Now I’m helpless! Please don’t take advantage of poor, helpless Skaven and breed me until I scream…”

Roderick walked over and bent Skyseeker over the countertop, knocking a few sundry items aside. He no longer worried about being sanitary, his thoughts too clouded by Skaven musk to care. He was a little rougher than he’d intended, but the Skaven seemed to enjoy it, cackling to herself as she spread her legs wider in invitation.

She pushed her butt out, giving it a little wiggle that made her soft cheeks wobble. She was wearing a painfully tight wrapping of cloth across her waist, the material so dark it was a little hard to make out against her black fur, making it almost seem like she was naked.

Leaning her hands on the counter, she turned to peer back at him, grinning as her flexible tail reared up like a giant cobra. Reaching back to peel away one of her cheeks, she moved her tail between her legs, using its tip to draw aside her underwear.

An enticing sliver of bright pink drew his eyes like a magnet, the Skaven’s entrance glistening with her juices, soaking the ring of fur surrounding her nethers. Aside from a slight change in position, there was nothing much out of the ordinary.

“Brutish man-thing,” Skyseeker cackled. “What you doing now? You going to fill my breeding chamber with your pups?”

Roderick stepped closer, letting her soft rump squash against his legs. Despite her heavenly handjob, he was already hard, her scent like an ambrosia for his cock, so sweet and enticing. He placed his member between her cheeks, letting a few teasing moments pass as he rubbed it up and down the cleft of her ass, her soft fur tickling him.

“Put it in already!” Skyseeker demanded. “Want to-to feel Rick-rod cock allllll the way inside. Make me your broodmother, Rick-rod.”

She could talk wonderfully dirty when the mood took her, Roderick’s heart beating harder in his chest. He took his dick into his hand, and pushed the tip towards her entrance, which flexed as though to welcome him. He could feel her heat, so scolding he was almost afraid of being burnt, Roderick taking in a breath as he prepared to feel her entrance cling to his length.

Just as he pressed his tip against her small opening, the door flung open with enough force to bang against the wall. Roderick, still holding his cock, looked up to see Wilfred in the doorway, panting as though he’d just run a marathon.

“Roderick, we have a problem. Join me on the deck, there’s-”

The wizard chocked on his next words, registering what he was seeing. Skyseeker, bent over the counter, with Roderick standing right behind her, naked from the waist-down. Both lovers looked to each other, then to the druid.

“FRED-WIL!” Skyseeker exclaimed. “THIS IS WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!”

For a long time, those were the only words exchanged, the old man blinking back at the pair. Even the guard, who was peeking over his shoulder to see what all the commotion was, had nothing to say.

“U-Uhm, well then,” Wilfred said. “A-Apologies for the interruption. I’ll be outside. Don’t take long, this is urgent.”

Wilfred bolted faster out of the cabin than his old age would suggest, closing the door shut behind him. Roderick exchanged a glance with Skyseeker, and after a pause, the two shared a chuckle.

“So much for keeping this a secret,” Roderick said.

“Skaven has inkling that Fred-wil knew we were breeding,” Skyseeker replied. “He is certified voyeur! I KNEW IT.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” he replied.

“Do we finish?” Skyseeker asked, looking pointedly between him and his member.

“What? No. We should probably see what all the commotion is about,” Roderick said, stepping away and pulling up his briefs.

“Aww, come on, just one little breed for the road.”

“You heard him, he said there was a problem,” Roderick insisted, wagging a finger at her. “And we should probably apologise at some point, too. Poor man looked like he nearly had a heart attack.”

“He should be apologizing for interruptions,” Skyseeker said, but she relented, placing her underwear back on and scampering off the counter. “Let’s scurry-move and solve the man-thing problems. As is the usual.”

-xXx-

A group of Imperial officers was clustered at the bow of the ship, raising their hands to their brows to cover the setting sun, eyes on the south. Roderick recognised Von Kessel among their number, peering through a telescope. The click of wood on wood as Wilfred used his staff like a walking stick announced them, the Captain turning to greet them.

“Roderick,” he said with a curt nod. He did not so much as look in Skyseeker’s direction. “Come take a look at this.”

He offered his glass, Roderick raising it to his eye. The lens brought the waves right up to his face, Roderick sweeping the device across the horizon. It took him a moment to find what Von Kessel was referring to.

At first, they were dark shapes on the limits of his vision, but after adjusting the focus, they turned into ships. Bronze hulls, with towering masts with huge canvas sheets catching on the wind. The more he looked, however, the more he noticed how decrepit they appeared. The sails were utterly botched, as though a giant cat had shredded them apart, and pieces of the hull were missing. And yet, he could tell from the way the prows sliced through the waves of foam that the ships were cruising at a steady speed.

He could not see any colours to identify them, but he could see hundreds of figures scurrying about the decks. There was some sort of flag mounted on the crow’s nest, but the crest was just a bunch of scribbles, but that in and of itself was enough to know who they were.

“Skaven,” Roderick muttered, lowering the glass. “I thought the Brettonians kept these waters clear.”

“They may have followed us from the Tilean seas,” Von Kessel mused. “Of course, we crossed the border almost a week ago. They shouldn’t have been able to keep pace with us and avoid my spotters for this long.”

“They used other docks, dummy,” Skyseeker interjected. “Skavenblight is not only place with warships ready to go.”

“The only places to dock, are the Estalian and Bordeleaux coasts,” Von Kessel scoffed. “And both are controlled by the armies of men. How could Skaven launch ships from either?”

Skyseeker answered by cackling, and would say no more.

“Where they came from matters little,” Wilfred added. “The question is what we are going to do with them. Are we to turn and fight, Captain?”

“The odds aren’t favourable,” Von Kessel mused. “Two against one is a tall order, even for a wolfship. And it seems bad weather will be upon us soon, judging from those thunderheads.”

The skies to the north were black and brooding. Roderick couldn’t see any lightning, but the clouds were gathering ominously.

“If I was you Kessel-man – and Horned Rat kill me if that were case – I’d flee-scurry,” Skyseeker said. “Power of warpfire too strong for you.”

“And If I were you, I’d toss myself overboard,” Von Kessel shot back. “No doubt you are the reason they pursue us, rat. Traitors always get their comeuppance, no matter what race they belong to.”

“They wouldn’t send a fleet of ships just for one Skaven,” Roderick said, stepping in front of Skyseeker defensively. “No, they’re after the relic, not her.”

“That thing and the rat are causing us a lot of problems,” Von Kessel grumbled. “This quest of yours is more perilous than you said it would be, wizard.”

“No peril is too great in service to Sigmar,” Wilfred chided. “What is your call, Captain? Do we fight or flee?”

“As much as it pains me, we cannot face the Skaven like this,” Von Kessel relented. “We are two days from Lyonesse, if we can get there, we will have their support. Plus, there is always the chance we’ll run across a patrol ship in the meantime. Lothar,” he said, turning his attention to one of the men. “I want the drummers to beat full-sail, and every spare man is to take an oar. Pull from the gun crews if you have to, we are avoiding a fight at all costs.”

“As you command,” Lothar said as he hurried off.

“Let me see boats,” Skyseeker asked, Roderick handing her the glass. She brought it up to one of her blood-red eyes. “Horned Rat’s Horns! So far away! How you even see that?”

Roderick flipped the glass so she held it the right way, Skyseeker grumbling in embarrassment. She searched for the warships, scratching her chin with a claw.

“Hmm, Skurvy clanships, obviously, but… wait a second-moment.”

“What?” Roderick asked.

“That Clan Mors banner on the top-top,” she said, glancing at him in alarm.

The name rang a bell. Skyseeker had been part of the Mors Clan, sent out on her own by its leader to recover the relic. It was too big a coincidence, they must have found out she had switched sides, but how?

“Mors?” Von Kessel asked. “What is that?”

Skyseeker almost went to say something, but stopped herself. Von Kessel’s theory about the warships coming after her in particular might not be as far-fetched as it first seemed, but she wasn’t about to let the Captain think that.

“Mors is one of the… more numerous Skaven Clans,” Roderick answered. “We fought them many times during our trek across Tilea.”

“Then there may be other ships we cannot see,” Von Kessel said. “I pray the Brettonian Navy finds us sooner or later. These Straits will be our grave otherwise.”

The Captain began barking orders to his other officers, and Roderick took that as a sign to excuse himself. He pulled Skyseeker aside, making sure they wouldn’t be overheard before he spoke.

“There’s no mistake, then?” he asked. “You are certain those ships are from your former Clan?”

“Yes-Yes,” Skyseeker replied. “Stupid Kessel-man was right, Percipient Lord Gnawdwell is after me-me.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Probably relic too, but Skaven specifically.”

“Surely he would not come himself,” Roderick mused.

“No Skaven breeder has never taken freedom before,” Skyseeker answered. “Each is precious, too valuable to Skavendom to lose! Nimble-witted Gnawdwell will do everything to get one back, and he has paws in all Clans. Warlords, Seers, Warlocks, Assassins, he has all things under his dirty thumb, could send any or all of them to get Skyseeker.”

She looked up at him with wide, worried eyes. He’d never seen her panic so much, not since she’d come a hairs-breadth from the claws of a gryphon they’d encountered in Tilea.

“It won’t come to that,” he said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m here to protect you, as is everyone on this ship, but it’s not as though you need any of them.”

“W-Why not?” she asked.

“Come now, you are Skyseeker, you know how Clan Mors plans its strategies, you know how to fight them better than anyone else here. To be honest, you should be the least worried one here.”

Skyseeker considered his words for a second, then snapped her fingers, all her troubles vanishing.

“Horned Rat’s balls, man-thing is right! I know all of Mors’ weaknesses, ha-ha!” She hurried over to the bulwark, raising a fist at the sea. “Hurry up and catch us, stupid Mors things. Find out why-why they call Skyseeker most deadly breeder in all of Skavendom!”

-xXx-

Kretch Big-Squeak waved his curved sword through the air, shouting to be heard over his crew. Two hundred Skaven scuttled about the upper deck, lugging warpfire fuel containers, bombardier slings, explosive barrels and other volatile ordinances from hatch to hatch, their gleeful cackles rising above the beating of the sailing drums.

“Hurry-Hurry, imbeciles!” Kretch shouted, turning to bonk a passing rat on the head with his sword, even though his order hadn’t been directed to anyone in particular. “Prime the engines, load the cannon-guns, hoist the sails and get me a snack, clawcaptain never goes to fight-battle on empty stomach. Don’t you know that?”

Kretch talked like he was the clawcaptain, but that had only been true for the last two hours. Back then, he’d been just another slave, cleaning up excrement in the bowels of the ship, but that had all changed, oh yes, Kretch had taken the initiative.

The mission had come straight from the Council. He’d steal away on the Clan Skurvy ship, wait until they had located the breeder’s ship, then do away with the clawcaptain and take his place. Of course, the clawcaptain had also been paw-picked by Gnawdwell, just as Kretch was, but the foul Lord did not trust him, and Kretch had pledge his tail to Mors. Plans within schemes. Kretch could not begin to comprehend how the Great Lord’s minds worked, and he was just a pawn in this particular plot.

But a very good pawn he was, oh yes. The clawcaptain hadn’t even woken up when he’d run him through in his sleep, and no other rats had gotten in his way. Granted, most of the crew were oblivious to the change in leadership, they simply worked the ship like good little slaves did, but Kretch allowed the power to get to his head.

Kretch watched the distant Imperial ship with his beady eyes, remembering his orders. “The breeder has stuffed itself on a dogship,” Gnawdwell had said. “It is very well-armed and sturdier than Skurvy ships, but your task is not to destroy it. Force them to land by any means necessary, and Ironsnout’s vermintides will do the rest. Do this, and you shall be rewarded greatly, Kretch.”

But Kretch didn’t want to be rewarded greatly, oh no, he wanted to be rewarded greatly-er. He’d bring the breeder straight to the Lord himself, and get even greater-er rewards. After all, he had two ships and the man-things had one, and Kretch had never lost a battle where he had the numerical advantage.

“Clawcaptain?” a voice squeeked, Kretch turning to see one of his crew he vaguely recognised sidle up behind him.

“What is it, Skak?”

“M-My name is Skulk, clawcaptain…”

“Kretch didn’t ask for name, Kretch asked why you interrupt my critical thinking?” He bonked Skulk on the temple with the hilt of his sword

“C-Clawcaptain, our sail cloths, there’s not enough of them left-left!”

Kretch looked up. The giant canvas sheets mounted to the masts were big enough to wrap up a broodmother, or had been in times past. A combination of wear and tear from the winds, and a few accidental warp-fire discharges, had seen them torn to ribbons, gaps in the canvas so big a Skaven could walk through them without touching the sides. The little tattered strips remaining flipped pathetically in the gale.

“And?” Kretch prompted.

“And ship is losing speed,” Skulk explained. “No wind, no speed, no man-thing ship to catch.”

“Ignoramus!” Kretch chided, and bonked him once more. “Skaven has no need for silly wind, when Skaven has power of Horned Rat’s warpfire propulsion.”

Skulk’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. Every Skaven vessel was equipped with state-of-the-art boosters for when ramming maneuvers and ludicrous speeds were needed. Two cones were mounted on the rear of the vessel, and when enough warpstone was fed to the engines, jets of green flame would burst from the great nozzles, ruining the ship’s structural integrity and killing a few of the warpstone shovelers below deck, but achieving speeds that even the most violent winds couldn’t hope to match.

Kretch’s ship in particular had done three of these ‘bursts’ since setting sail, and he’d gotten a concussion each time. Any rumours that this had caused him brain damage were completely false, and he’d dealt with the naysayers personally.

“B-But, clawcaptain,” Skulk snivelled. “clanship already has twenty-nine leaks in hull. Any more-more than thirty, and water will be sailing us!”

“Then fix-repair leaks, fool-fool,” Kretch said with another whack across the rat’s face. “Tell engineer’s to prepare for Skaven-boost! Quick-Quick, man-things are getting away!”

Skulk did his namesake and skulked off to do his bidding, spreading the word as he leapt below deck. In a few moments, word had spread, and ever clanrat was finding hollering and whooping, finding anything they could to brace themselves with. Packs of rats fought for the sturdier places to hold, knives glinting in the air as violence erupted across the ship. Some rats took to scampering up the masts to perch on the sails, others stuffed themselves in crevices, curling their tails around bits of wood for balance.

Kretch wanted to make a statement, standing on top of the steering wheel with his sword bared before him. “Behold us, man-things! Kretch Big-Squeak comes for your tails! Horned Rat, give us your warp-power!”

The already groaning ship suddenly trembled as a mighty force rose from the stern. He heard the engines soar with jet-flames, a high-pitched whine accumulating with warpfire. The terrible racket rose until it stretched out of his hearing range, and then erupted with all the force of the Horned Rat’s paw.

The ship went from slugging along the waves, to taking horizontal flight, lifting above the crashing waves and leaving a great arrow of foam in its wake. Kretch felt his ears crumble as a sonic boom echoed, right before he was flung backwards from the velocity, flipping head over tails before being compressed against a slab of wood.

Gravity pulled at his extremities, as though a giant packrat was sitting on his chest, but his focus was set squarely on the horizon. The man-thing ship was already growing in size, and in only moments he’d have the breeder’s neck in his paws, oh yes.

-xXx-

Skyseeker whooped and taunted the Skaven clanship, hurling various racial slurs across the waters. Her confidence was at an all-time high, she had a company of man-things doing all the work for her, all the fish she could eat, and most of all, a breeding partner she could take whenever she wanted. There really was nothing that could stop her now.

As she turned away from the bulwark, she gave the clanship one last curious glance. Something was off, and not just because Clan Skurvy engineers didn’t know the first thing about making serviceable ships like the man-things did. The pointed nose of the clanship was no longer parallel to the ocean, it had risen into the air at an acute angle, Skyseeker able to glimpse the carpets of barnacles latched to the ship’s underbelly. The tattered sails were bending at the edges, some of the weaker canvas sheets snapping apart at the seams. Such details should be lost on her without the help of her goggles, and those were perched around her neck.

From her spot, she watched the clanship visibly grow, a strange sound causing her ears to flick. The noise was somewhat like the gush of air when a clanrat uses a warpfire-thrower to cook his victims alive, only this one was loud enough to travel across miles of ocean. No, not miles, it was less than that now, the clanship was rapidly picking up speed and closing in.

The realization caused her fear-glans to belch with all the force of a fart, Skyseeker freaking out as the clanship bore down on them.

“Eeeeeek!” she screamed. She whirled around, spotting Von Kessel up on the deck behind and to her left. “KESSEL-MAN! LOOK-LOOK!”

The Captain regarded her as one would regard a dirty toilet, but something in her voice must have urged him to listen. He looked across the ship, and even from here, she could see his eyes double in size.

“Craven! Helmsman, full lock to starboard!”

The man-thing took the wheel into his paws, his arms doing cycles as he brought the wolfship about. Skyseeker heard a tremendous boom, and for a terrible second she thought the clanship had rammed them, but it turned out to be something else. Roderick had told her about thunderstorms before, how the air quaked in response to arcs of lightning, but she had never experienced one. Looking up at the roiling clouds, it seemed that was about to change.

“Clear the deck!” Von Kessel roared. “I want every cannon we got prepped and ready right now!”

Chaos quickly seized the ship. Man-things hurried back and forth, hauling grapeshot and power charges to the cannon mounts, the great guns squeaking as their wheels rolled across the boards. Crew leaders quickly took up the Captain’s words, orders echoing up the length of the ship. On second glance, the sudden rush of activity wasn’t exactly panic-induced, it was more controlled than that. This was what the sailors had been trained to do, and right now the only one squirting fear-musk was Skyseeker.

Roderick seized her paw, guiding her back from the bulwark. “We shouldn’t linger here, lass,” he said.

“Where we going?” she asked. “Wait! We going to man the guns again?! Skaven needs to shoot powder guns, that was so fun-fun.”

“Not this time,” Roderick said. “We need to get clear of this side, those Skaven are coming right for us.”

The clanship was bearing down on them like an angry rat ogre, so Skyseeker reluctantly complied, she and Roderick rushing to get clear. They hurried across the midship, Skyseeker leaping up onto the nearby staircase for a better look at their quarry. The clanship was less than three hundred meters now, Skyseeker able to see jets of green fire gushing from the rear of the vessel. Those must be warp-engines, no wonder the Clans had caught up with the wolfship despite their head start.

The helmsman continued his hard turn, the bulk of the wolfship blocking her view, but only for a moment. The clanship burst through the waves like a battering ram, cleaving right through the water the wolfship had been sailing on. The bulk of the Skaven screamed by, the nose raised so high its bulk stretched diagonally into the sky. Skaven could see a few Skaven clinging to the bulwark, fur rippling in the wind, screams of joy carrying over the short distance. The wolfship had avoided the ram, but it wasn’t a total miss.

The clanship veered at the last moment, trying to adjust for the maneuver. The underbelly slammed into the wolfship somewhere between the midship and the forecastle, not hard enough to plough right through, as no doubt the Skaven intended, but the graze hit them hard. As the momentum of one ship translated to the other, Skyseeker was tossed off her feet, as were several nearby man-things, shards of wood the size of Roderick tossed into the air from the point of impact.

A terrible quake rumbled through the wolfship, quickly chased by the screams of the injured or dying. Most of the crew on the deck had been knocked prone, Skyseeker peering beyond them to see the great wall of the clanship looming above them. It was still raised at an angle, its front half perched on the wolfship for leverage, most of its front caved in from the impact.

From the dark portcullises of the clanship, furry things began to emerge. Pink tails swiveled for counterbalance as dozens of Skaven poured from gaps in the hull, swords clutched in their mouths. They skittered and leaped into the air, landing in clumsy rolls as they boarded the wolfship, bringing axeheads and polearms and curved blades to bear.

They began to rip into the closest of the sailors, executing the ones who had yet to recover their bearings. Three rats took a man each, blocking him from her sight as they peppered them with stabs from their weapons. Dozens more rats joined the fray each moment, scuttling from the clanship like a veritable tide.

“To me-me, man-things!” Skyseeker shouted in her bravest voice. She drew her weeping blade and raised it aloft. “Send every rat-thing you see back to Skavenblight – except yours truly. For the God-Emperor!”

Roderick added his warcry to hers, drawing his sward from his scabbard. Skyseeker shrieked heroically, and joined him in his charge, rushing from one side of the deck to the other. The sailors joined them, whether because her words rallied them, or because they realised they were being boarded, she didn’t know, but she liked to think it was the former. She was a pretty popular rat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Save your thank-thanks and turn around.”

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

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

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

“Who you talking to?” one of the runners squeaked.

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

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

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

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

The four rats advanced as one, creeping up on her from the front and sides. She backed away so that the forecastle was right behind her, cornering herself, but also ensuring none of them got in her blind spots.

She passed her weeping blade to her off-hand, holding it out sideways as the runners bided their time. They coordinated in absolute silence, nothing save for the swishing of their baggy robes announcing their movements. They had her outnumbered, but they were unusually cautious. Gutter runners always waited for the perfect moment, and Skyseeker dared not blink for fear of giving it to them.

She looked around for anything to use. Her man-thing allies had abandoned her, but the bodies remained, human and Skaven alike. Their weapons were everywhere, including powder pistols, If she could get her paws on just one of them, that was one runner dealt with, but the closest flintlock was right behind the runner to her left.

They held the standoff for what felt like minutes, Skyseeker’s heart slamming against her chest. One of the runners flicked his ear, and Skyseeker was clever enough to realise this wasn’t an unconscious act, but a signal.

The runners raised their weapons, feet slapping against the deck as they rushed. Paws stretched, and eight knives plunged towards her face.

Skyseeker backed up until she compressed against the wall, and then braced her feet against it. She launched, the muscles in her powerful legs propelling her light frame into the air, and over the heads of the runners. Her dagger, the blade facing down, swiped across the face of one in her passing. It ripped through his hood and eye socket alike, the rat crumpling with a wail.

She hit the deck in an uncontrolled, turbulent cartwheel that was definitely on purpose, looking frantically to her surroundings. She’d landed close to the corpse of a sailor, Skyseeker blinking rain out of her eyes as she lunged for the pistol in his holster. It came loose with a creak of leather, and it took her both paws to lift the massive gun. She had no idea if the rain had soaked it through, or if it was even loaded, but she chittered a silent plea for the Horned Rat and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol was loaded, and went off with a white spark.

She’d squared the sights over the chest of the closest runner, and even though she’d had very little experience with guns, nobody could miss at point-blank range. A sound like a cannon chewed through her eardrums, the gun sending a violent jolt up her arms, into her chest and making all her organs quiver. The runner’s organs, however, detonated in a grim display of discharge, and right before he fell, Skyseeker could see the forecastle walls straight through the gap in his torso.

She turned the barrel on the next runner, putting all her strength into pulling the trigger. The gun didn’t explode, but clicked, Sksyeeker cursing herself for only now realising flintlocks only fired one shot before needing to reload. She tossed the weapon instead, the gun flipping through the air once before the wooden grip smashed against the Skaven’s temple.

He yowled in the pain, but the other runner cried out in fury, charging her down. She had a moment to react to ready her weeping blade, driving it into the oncoming knife, but the Skaven was feinting. He twisted his angle and sliced her across the ribs, her blood warming the fur on her belly. An inch closer and she would have finally known what her intestines looked like.

She retaliated, but her weeping blade only cut air as the runner sidestepped her attack. She followed through with her other hand, decking him in the chest. For the second time, she cursed her forgetful nature. She no longer had two daggers, so she only accomplished an awkward punch, and she was too weak for that to have any effect.

The runner advanced on her, Skyseeker summoning all her concentration to keep track of his two daggers. He drew crosses in the air, his arms spinning with wild but deadly strikes, Skyseeker ducking and backing away in alarm. She snarled when the tip of his dagger clawed her across her bicep, more of her blood dripping into her dark fur. She was losing this. If she didn’t deal with them right now, this ship would be her grave.

She forced herself into the attack, her fear-musk spraying as she deliberately pushed into the runner’s range of motion. She jabbed out her blade towards his chest, but the runner made the fatal mistake of blocking. Her corrosive weapon could cut through anything short of warp-enchanted gear, and fortunately for her, the runner was only armed with common weaponry.

She cleaved his weapon in half, and then dropped into a ball. She rolled aside, her fur bristling as his other weapon stabbed the place she’d vacated. She jumped to her feet, raising her dagger into his armpit. The limb came off with a red spurt, the Skaven utterly silent as he whirled on her. He took a step forward, as though to continue the fight, and then he dropped to his knees, staring at his missing arm in mild disbelief.

The final gutter runner had recovered from her thrown pistol, stalking towards her from her flank. She turned, seeing blood leaking down one side of his face, his bloodied visage like something out of a nightmare.

Skyseeker was panting for air, but she summoned all her strength, raising her paws into the air and holding them together. Her weeping dagger was clutched in her fingers. She brought her limbs down, like an axeman coming down on a chopping block, and let her dagger go. The gunner runner tried to dodge away, but Skyseeker’s weapon was faster, and its green edge speared into his heart.

The final runner collapsed, and so did Skyseeker, taking a moment to catch her breath. The rain on her face was cool and wet, and she’d have fallen asleep right there among the bodies if it hadn’t been pouring on her with enough force to make her flinch. That, and the constant cannon fire coming from the midship.

Slowly, she clawed to her feet, wiping more raindrops from her face. She skulked over to retrieve her dagger, the weapon popping free with a crunch of meat and blood. She stared at the dead runner for a long while, noticing a strange stitching on his sleeve. It was a patch, she realised, and on it was the symbol of Clan Mors.

Its sight frightened her, but also made her feel… bad. She’d taken Skaven lives before – who hadn’t? – but never one of her fellow clanrats. Of course, this rat had tried to kill her, she’d had no choice but to give him the same courtesy, but it still bothered her all the same. Clan Mors was the closest thing she had to a family, and just because she renounced them, didn’t mean that changed.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts. Never mind all this moral nonsense, there was still a battle going on, and a certain Captain to pay a visit to…

She retreated from the bow, moving back the way she’d come. In the small alley between the bulwark and the flank of the forecastle, she found Von Kessel and his merry band of degenerates fighting off another group of Skaven. A part of her wished that the Mors rats would do away with him, but his skill were undeniable, and they drove off the Skaven by the time Skyseeker announced herself.

“Kessel!” she snarled, pointing an accusing finger. “I’m back! Not expecting Skaven to pull through, did you?”

His reaction was all the answer she needed. He turned, his needle-blade glinting in the sudden lightning strike overhead, his gaze flicking beyond her.

“You are a hard rat to kill,” Von Kessel admitted. “That changes today.”

He nodded to his men, and two of them stepped forward, frowning at her as they readied their swords. For the past two weeks, she’d come to associate the presence of man-things with protection, comfort, the number of allies helping to get her to sleep at night.

But now, she felt that old familiar hostility that every Skaven felt to anything that wasn’t a rat. There was no comfort here, not among Von Kessel’s trusted bodyguards, and maybe there never had been.

“What is this?” Skyseeker demanded. “Well pull my tail and call me a broodmother, is Kessel-man betraying me-me?”

“How can I betray someone who isn’t on our side?” Von Kessel asked. “You are a resource, Skaven, and you outlived your usefulness the moment that weapon was safely recovered. You’ve done nothing but poison the crew with your lies ever since. That stops today. Lothar, see that nobody disturbs us.”

“This isn’t’ quite how we planned it,” one of the men, presumably Lothar, said. He gave her a cold look, then walked down towards the midship, blocking the bottleneck with his body. Skyseeker didn’t think it was really needed. The crews were still fighting off the boarders, nobody would be paying attention to this end of the ship. She doubted that even if she screamed, nobody would come.

Von Kessel’s goons advanced on her, Skyseeker taking up a defensive posture, but there was little conviction behind it. Her fight with the gutter runners had tired her out, and fighting man-things required stamina that she simply did not have. No, fighting was out of the question, but maybe there was another way.

Instead of running, she charged forward, as swift as a Skaven. She dropped to her knees and slid between the legs of the first man, right as he thrust his sword out to gut her. The second man turned, but the limited space of the deck meant that he clashed against his companion, the two failing to turn and watch her before she was out of reach. For a second, Von Kessel looked at her with an alarm that teetered on fear, and then the mask lipped, and he scowled in anticipation of combat.

She launched toward him, but not with her weeping blade. Instead, she gripped his needle across its gilded hilt, and plunged her feet into his chest. She pushed off him, while holding onto the weapon with all her might, the act taking all of three seconds. The moment of surprise was enough, and she ripped the needle from his hand, readying it in her paw. It was far lighter than it looked, perfectly balanced, and Skyseeker liked its feel already.

Now with two weapons, she pointed each to her sides, warding the humans off with frantic jabs. “You come any closer, and old gingerbread-man gets a shanking,” she warned. The two bodyguards stopped in their tracks.

The rest of the Captain’s men were behind him, but they hesitated to intervene. Von Kessel was well within range of a good stab, and they didn’t want to test her reaction skills.

“Kessel-man will reconsider traitoring,” Skyseeker continued. She hopped onto the railing, waving the needle in Von Kessel’s face. “We make barter-deal, and you can’t say no-no, because Skaven has your weapon. What you think about that?”

Skyseeker didn’t see the holster before it was too late. Von Kessel’s speed was on par with Roderick’s, and he drew his pistol from its holster with a blur of movement, yet without any visible trace of effort. She blinked, and in the next second, she was staring down the dark circle of its barrel.

“I think not,” Von Kessel replied.

Skyseeker might be able to get in a hit, her needle was almost directly below the gun, but Von Kessel’s reaction times were quick, and she might take a bullet in the process. Even if it didn’t, she’d have five other man-thign to deal with afterward. This was too many times to be outnumbered, even for her skillset. Behind and below, the waves crashed against the hull, sending creaks up the wood and iron.

“W-Wait a second-moment,” she stammered. “I surrender, Kessel-man. God-Emperor takes pity on prisoners, yes-yes?”

“The sons of Sigmar spare no mercy to Chaos,” Von Kessel replied. His smile was cruel. “I warned you not to push your luck, Skaven.”

Skyseeker took her chance. She shoved the needle up and right, pushing the pistol’s path way from her head. She was about to surge forward, when there was a shattering crack and a spark, and then a huge force buried into her stomach.

She staggered back, but there was no surface to catch her, and Skyseeker plunged into freefall. She had just enough time to watch the smoke rise from Von Kessel’s gun, before he and the other man-things disappeared behind a rapidly rising hull.

She plunged towards the ocean, wind whistling past her ears. When she crashed into the water, pain exploded up her midsection. She cried out, but all that came out were bubbles, her body engulfed in the tides and cutting off the sounds of battle, replacing everything with hollowed, muffled noises.

The ocean’s flickering surface lurked above her head, maybe five meters above, all the chaos and fury of the last few minutes contrasting against its calm ripples. To her side, the pod shaped underbelly of the wolfship loomed, casting her into its shadow. Beyond it was part of the clanship’s lower bulk, coddled up against it.

The water was so quiet, yet she wailed in pain, the bullet in her belly sending out fiery currents through her nerves. Her pain came out as gently lifting bubbles.

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision, but not because she was losing consciousness. It was the void of the water, creeping up from the depths, threatening to swallow her. One look down into the abyss forced her into action, and Skyseeker flurried her arms and kicked her legs, pushing herself back towards the surface.

She breached the dappled ocean with a sharp inhale, oxygen cooling her burning lungs. Cannon fire and shouting men reached her ears, but they were somehow muted, as though heard from a distance.

Skyseeker searched for the wolfship, and spotted it behind her. The oars from its belly had extended, and were digging at the waves, surging the vessel into movement. The sails were drawn, and the ship was starting to gain speed. Behind it, the clanship lingered like a dead carcass, its rear half engulfed in flames. Perhaps the engines had malfunctioned, and it could no longer give chase.

Skyseeker wanted to cry out, she wanted to call Roderick, or Wilfred, or anyone, but the pain in her stomach turned her pleas into impotent wails, and the lapping water smothered her snout and threatened to choke her whenever she opened her mouth.

The storm was making the water rise and fall, some waves so high that she lost sight of the wolfship for a few terrible instances. Each time it came back into view, it was a little further away. Even if she had the strength, it had long since sailed out of shouting-range. Nobody would hear her now.

It was hopeless. Dread dug into her stomach as hard as the bullet-wound, the waves rising rougher and wilder around her, the currents dragging her away. Lightning streaked across the sky, but its length was blocked by a great wave, curdling with foam.

The water curled over her. She kicked her legs in panic, but she couldn’t escape its reach. As the wave came crashing down, the waters gripping her like fingers and dragging her back into the depths, Skyseeker held her breath.