Vermintide: Final Job P2
Story by HomeTome on SoFurry
Imported from SF2 with no description.
Anleesh had awakened earlier to the quiet emptiness of the forest, finding Skiteek and Daven already gone. With little to do, he sat in thought, knowing all too well that fleeing with the warpstone was not an option; those two would inevitably track him down. Alone, his thoughts wandered – to his life in the nest, to Skiteek, and particularly to Daven.
Accepting the bond between the two was still a challenge for Anleesh, but the events of the previous night had unmistakably confirmed its reality. He blushed, recalling how his arousal had involuntarily revealed itself. The concept of intimacy was foreign to him; as a subject for experimentation, he had never mated. The scents of the higher-ups and torturers often carried hints of such indulgences, but for Anleesh, it remained an unattainable luxury.
Triggered like a hidden snare, the memories flood back with relentless force. His body trembles as he wraps his arms around himself, seeking a comfort that seems perpetually out of reach. Yet all he could muster was a subtle rocking motion, a silent plea to overcome his terror. His hand instinctively covers his sheath. No, he never mated, but no part of him was spared during a harvest. His breathing faltered, quickening as haunting memories surged.
All he wants is for the pain to end. The blades have long since stopped and yet he can feel them continue to strip away his being. How long until he's granted the peace of silence? Anleesh is jolted out of his thoughts by a weight on his shoulder. He snaps his gaze towards Skiteek, already having instinctively scuttled a few feet away.
“We’re going on a hunt. Join us,” Skiteek urges in the sharp, chittering tones of queekish.
Anleesh gives a silent nod before rising to his feet, his eyes fleetingly meeting Daven's distant gaze. Skiteek's tap on his side is a clear signal to move. As they step into the treeline, Daven follows, a quiet shadow just steps behind.
“You ever hunt?” Skiteek inquires, breaking the silence.
“Never,” Anleesh responds, his voice a hushed whisper, almost a hiss.
“Then listen and learn,” Skiteek commands, dropping into a crouch with an air of authority. “Stay low, blend in. Move without a sound. Every step you take could be your last if you're not careful.”
Anleesh mimics Skiteek's stance, feeling Daven's eyes on them as they circle, practicing the stealthy gait. But soon, he paused, facing Skiteek with a mix of confusion and resignation.
“Why are you teaching me this? I’m going to die anyway.”
Skiteek’s frown is a ripple of irritation across his snout. “You dying would be an insult to my mate's resolve. So shut up and do as I say!”
Despite the alien nature of this task, Anleesh complies, his survival instincts overtaking his reservations. His movements become more fluid under Skiteek's tutelage. Their practice is interrupted as Skiteek suddenly shifts his attention to Daven, a silent acknowledgment of his heightened alertness. Anleesh, following Skiteek's gaze, notices Daven's focused look into the forest.
“What wrong?” Skiteek asks.
Daven lowers himself to their level, his breath now very slow and shallow.
“Elk, just up ahead. It hasn’t noticed where we are but it knows something’s wrong.” He whispers.
A sly smile creeps across Skiteek's face. He thrusts the crossbow into Anleesh’s chest, a gesture both abrupt and deliberate. “We need to move in closer, and then, you’ll take the shot.”
Anleesh’s eyes widen as he stares at the crossbow, then at Skiteek, a mix of surprise and apprehension in his gaze.
“I’ve never held a weapon before.”
“There was a time I hadn’t either. Come, the elk won't wait,” Skiteek responded, his tail flicking in impatience.
Anleesh, still bewildered by the unfolding scenario, obediently followed Skiteek. He focused on lightening his footsteps, imitating Skiteek's low, skulking movement. Time seemed to stretch as they stalked their prey, until Skiteek finally halted, signaling Anleesh to approach. When they’re side by side, Skiteek pressed himself against Anleesh, lending his steadiness as he guided Anleesh’s arms, with a firm but gentle touch as they held the crossbow.
“Steady now,” Skiteek whispered into Anleesh’s ear, his voice calm and grounding. “See the crosshairs? Position the elk at the center. You have only one shot.” His clawed hand positioned Anleesh’s finger onto the trigger. “When you think you have the shot, squeeze back slowly. It’ll happen faster than you can blink. Understand?”
Anleesh’s heart thundered, a stark contrast to the calmness Skiteek exuded. He focused on the elk through the crossbow’s sight, the weight of his first potential kill heavy on his conscience. Skiteek could feel the subtle tremors coursing through Anleesh's body, and he tightened his hold, a silent promise of support.
“It's not easy, is it?” Skiteek's whisper held a somber tone, a reflection of their grave reality. “This creature hasn’t made you into a meal. Tore you limb from limb. But you and I both know, at the end of the day, we have to eat. This life you’re about to take; It’s not about vengeance, it’s something far more terrifying. It’s nature. You will kill it, we will eat it.”
Skiteek sensed Anleesh's body shudder more profoundly, a visceral response to the weight of the moment. “But what makes us different from our brethren, is that we will kill it as painlessly as possible.” Adjusting the crossbow with delicate precision, he raised it slightly. “There. Through the heart and lungs. The longer you wait, the more he’ll move and the more pain he’ll be in. So, Anleesh. Will you pull the trigger?”
I couldn't discern the exact words exchanged between Skiteek and Anleesh, but their expressions and body language spoke volumes – a language I'd become all too familiar with on countless battlefields. Whether they were soldiers, civilians, or even Skiteek, that mixture of fear and resolve was unmistakable. It's the universal prelude to taking a life for the first time.
It tells me everything I could ever want to know about this rat. He’s no spy, he’s just afraid. The sharp twang of Skiteek’s crossbow slices through the silence, and with it, the tension leaves the rat's body. I cast my gaze to where the elk had stood. Gone. Rising, I stride over to the spot, finding the elk's body. The shot was masterful – not only did it pierce between two ribs, but it also struck both lungs and heart. The elk's end was as merciful as nature allows.
Skiteek and the rat join me, their gazes fixed on the elk. The rat looks rattled, but I sense this is just the start of something more for him.
“What is your name?” I ask the rat.
“A-Anleesh.” He speaks in Common.
I turn my attention back to the elk. “Let’s prepare it. No part should go to waste.”
With Skiteek’s guidance, Anleesh quickly adapts to the task. Before long, we dressed the elk and made our way back to camp.
Anleesh, panting heavily, lugged his half of the large elk alongside Skiteek. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he noted with a mix of admiration and surprise how effortlessly Daven carried his half without help, his brow unmarred by sweat. As they finally reached the camp, Skiteek unceremoniously dropped his end and scurried over to Daven.
“Where we put these?” Skiteek asks.
"Begin by slicing your half for drying. I'll use mine for today's meals," Daven instructs.
“Oh?” Skiteeks tail flickers in excitement. “What it this time?”
Daven's smile was gentle as he patted Skiteek's head. “You'll find out soon enough.”
“Very well. Jerky-make while you meal-craft.”
Anleesh watched their exchange, a pang of something unfamiliar yet deep stirring within him. It was a far cry from the brutality of the harvest, yet it cut deeper, awakening emotions he couldn't yet name. Lost in thought, he was pulled back to reality as Skiteek hoisted the elk once more.
“Come. Let's preserve this,” Skiteek beckoned.
“Preserve?” Anleesh echoed, the man-thing word having been forcefully shoved into their queekish language.
“Helps the meat last longer,” Skiteek explains, settling the elk on a nearby log. Anleesh watches, his fur bristling slightly, as Skiteek begins expertly slicing thin strips from the elk. "You did well today," Skiteek offers, sensing Anleesh's internal turmoil. “You might not think much of it, but now that my mate knows your name, he will help you.”
"Why would he help me?" Anleesh asks, a note of confusion in his voice. "Wouldn't it be simpler to abandon or use me?"
“I agree wholeheartedly. That is because we’re Skaven. We only use those who are useful and leave behind everyone else. Even now, I can think of many ways to use your death to our benefit. Taking down a nest would be a great boon to the man-things. Perhaps, Daven and I could ask for freedom from the frontlines.” Skiteek paused, if only to live that dream for a second or two but then returned to his meticulous work. “But Daven isn’t that heartless. And how could I hold that against him? If he was like the other man-things, I would’ve died when we met.”
“Is he that way because of the ‘love’ you spoke of?” Anleesh asks.
Skiteek chuckles. “No, that’s something else.” Pulling a dagger from his satchel, Skiteek offers it to Anleesh. “This’ll go faster if you help.”
Hesitant, Anleesh takes the dagger but after a moment to take a breath, he joins Skiteek and works on cutting pieces from the elk.
I just watch from afar as Skiteek and Anleesh work together. It's kinda captivating, the way Skiteek changes up when he's with his kind. He's got this rough, almost brotherly aggression to him. Hard to put into words, but there's this sense, even though they aren’t exactly chummy, that Skiteek's trying hard to show Anleesh the ropes.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it, with my hang-ups and all. Skaven are still a mystery to me. Skiteek doesn't seem as on edge around Anleesh as I am. I know there’s this strange “scent” thing Skiteek used to bring up. Without even speaking, he’d know if I was stressed, nervous, and even horny just by sniffing the air. Skaven noses are something else, Skiteek's especially.
So, I guess there's a bunch of stuff that’s flying over my head. But in the end, I trust Skiteek. And I've been watching Anleesh enough from a distance to get a read on him. Thought it would take a good while to figure him out, but he's not playing any tricks on us as far as I can tell. He's nothing like Skiteek though. Sure, Skiteek didn't get all the human stuff at first, but he rolled with it easily enough.
Anleesh on the other hand looks lost. Despite having to carve into the meat of another creature, he does so as if in a daze. His body is clearly on edge but there’s also an almost glazed look to his beady red eyes. Either way, I want to take this time to get to know him. If we’re going to sneak into a nest, we’ll have to trust each other. Without that, we’ll die when it counts most.
Lunchtime rolls around, and I decide on a classic: venison steak. Skiteek might like fancy food, but he tends to prefer simpler stuff. Maybe it’s what we’re used to out in the field. But hey, there’s something about a good old slab of seared meat. So, I heat the skillet, get the fire going strong, and season those steaks.
As the skillet starts hissing, I toss in a steak, hearing it sizzle. I catch Anleesh glancing over, his nose twitching, just as Skiteek nudges him and whispers something in Queekish. They get back to what they were doing as I keep an eye on the steaks, making sure they don’t burn. Then I remember my armor’s not here to use as a plate, being at the smith's and all.
I rummage through my bag, find a few throwing daggers, and use them to skewer the steaks. Once they’re done, I let them sit for a bit. Finishing up, I go over to check on Skiteek and Anleesh’s progress.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“He need work on clean cuts but still good,” Skiteek answers.
Looking at Anleesh’s handiwork, I can see he's a bit shaky, probably nervous, but not too shabby all things considered.
“Let’s move these cuts beside the fire and then we can enjoy our meal.”
I had set up the drying rack earlier, so it was a swift task for the three of us to drape the meat strips over it, letting the smoke work its magic. Settling into a comfortable seat, I watched as Skiteek eagerly cuddled up beside me, while Anleesh chose a spot opposite us. Handing Skiteek his portion, I then extended a piece towards Anleesh. Despite a moment's hesitation, driven by hunger, he accepted it and began to eat.
I allowed them a few bites, my eyes lingering particularly on Skiteek, whose expression of utter delight never failed to amuse me. It didn’t matter what I cooked; he always reacted as if I were a culinary master. This wasn't surprising, considering his primitive understanding of food, a trait I attributed to his Skaven nature.
A memory flashed in my mind – a moment during a stealthy reconnaissance mission. Skiteek had abruptly snatched a scurrying rat, biting it in half with an almost savage efficiency, and then, with an innocence that belied the act, offered me the other half. The gesture, oddly touching in its grotesqueness, was a stark reminder of the worlds we both hailed from.
His culinary attempts had always been... rudimentary, to put it kindly. The first meal he cooked for me was a stark example: a rat, skewered and charred over an open flame. Hunger had driven me to eat it without complaint, but the memory of its acrid taste still haunted my taste buds. Yet, in the harsh light of those desperate times, he had learned, at least, to season his catches with salt, a small but significant step towards culinary decency.
These recollections brought a fond smile to my face. Skiteek's actions, though unrefined, were born from a place of love, a fact that made them all the more endearing to me.
Skiteek caught my lingering gaze, his whiskers twitching inquisitively. "Something on muzzle?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.
"Just some blood, but that's not it," I replied, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. "I'm thinking you're due for another cooking lesson."
His ears perked up, enthusiasm evident. "I like. I want to make you as mouth-happy as you make me."
Patting his head affectionately, I turned my attention to Anleesh. He had stopped eating and was now looking at me with an expression that was hard to decipher. It was reminiscent of the time Skiteek and I almost parted ways, the hesitation and unspoken questions in his eyes. I knew this moment would come but I had to start this conversation somewhere.
"Anleesh," I said, drawing his full attention. "I can’t begin to fathom what you’ve endured. The very thought... It's why humans and others resist the Skaven and forces of chaos." I paused, taking a deep breath, knowing I had to face his issues head-on with honesty. "You might be wondering why. Why am I willing to help you? Why didn’t I just end your life?"
As I held Anleesh's gaze, I could see his focus sharpen, his eyes searching mine for answers. “The sad truth is, we humans are not as unyielding as we appear. Despite the horrific acts the Skaven have inflicted upon us, our hearts are not stones; they are flesh, susceptible to empathy and doubt. It cost a lot of soldiers their lives. We don’t want to kill. We just want this war to be over.”
A sigh escaped me, heavy with the burdens of war. "My faith had been waning for a long time on the frontline. Eventually, I started to become the very thing I hated." My eyes briefly met my dagger, a flood of memories washing over me. "I couldn’t trust myself anymore. So I fought alone, hoping I’d die before the forces of chaos could corrupt me." Skiteek's smile faded as he listened, but I offered him a reassuring smile in return. "And in a way, they did reach me, but not as I had feared. Skiteek, you pulled me back from the brink, reminding me that even in the deepest darkness, there's still something worth fighting for."
I rested my hand over Skiteek's, feeling the strength of our bond, before returning my gaze to Anleesh. "The grave reality is, by destroying your nest, I will be taking the lives of many Skaven, possibly the few who are as gentle as you and Skiteek. It's a heavy burden, but a sin we must shoulder nonetheless. I can only protect those who are within my sword's reach and I can’t save those who blend with the crowd... But I can protect you, Anleesh, just as I have with Skiteek.”
Anleesh's gaze lingered on me, a hesitant shift bringing him almost as close as Skiteek. He murmured something softly in Queekish.
“He asked why. It better to let him die.” Skiteek translates.
Our eyes met, a connection forming in that silent exchange. “It’d be sad to see you die without ever having lived.”
In his eyes, I saw a flicker of vulnerability, a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil. He leaned his forehead against my side, his body trembling slightly with subdued sobs. The rawness of the moment was palpable – a Skaven, grappling with an unfamiliar kindness after a lifetime of strife. I gently placed my hand on his head and stroked softly. It took a moment, but gradually, Anleesh calmed, lifting his head to look at me once more, a silent understanding passing between us.
"D-Daven," he uttered my name, then spoke in Queekish.
"He agrees to terms," Skiteek interpreted. "He'll do his best to help."
“For now, eat. Then we’ll get to work.” I stand up before grabbing some paper and writing down the situation. “I need to send a letter first. I’ll be back soon.”
With my belongings in tow, I head towards the town. The general's response will take time, and during these days, I must not only devise a plan but also convince him of the impossible – that I've tamed two Skaven.
Skiteek eyed Anleesh with a hint of impatience in his voice. "You see now, don't you? How far my mate's willing to go for you?” Anleesh gives a small nod, twiddling his fingers. “He's risking everything, and we haven't even stepped paw near a nest yet.”
"How?" Anleesh asked, his head tilting in confusion.
“The letter, it's for his general,” Skiteek replied, his voice holding a hint of a growl, betraying his rising frustration. “That general’s going to come here, demanding answers. He doesn’t see me the way Daven does. In his eyes, I'm just a Skaven to be used, a problem Daven’s stuck dealing with. Convincing him that you're with us, or at least not against us, it's gonna be a hard battle. They barely tolerate one of us; two is practically asking for Daven’s loyalty to be questioned.”
“Then I should just leave,” Anleesh stated with a sense of finality. “Take the Warpstone, I’ll keep walking until I fall over dead. That way, your plan stays on track, and Daven stays out of trouble.”
Skiteek let out a heavy sigh, then swiftly slapped Anleesh upside the head. “Did you forget his words? Your death would be sad to him. We've decided how this is gonna go, and that’s the end of it. Do not bring such things up again or else I won’t be as forgiving.”
Anleesh rubbed his head where Skiteek's paw had struck. It wasn't a hard hit, but it resonated deeper than just physical pain. This isn’t fair to Daven or Skiteek... What can he do to make this right?
Returning after sending my letter and checking on my armor, I couldn't help but be impressed by the blacksmith's skill. The man was a talent beyond compare. He had already dispatched my leather for further work and was diligently hammering away at my armor. His efficiency was such that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see it ready in a day's time. But there was more pressing business at hand — preparing for the general’s arrival.
I had crafted the letter to the general with care, being deliberately vague yet implying that the information I possessed was too critical to ignore. Considering the distance from where I last saw the battalion, he would likely need at least a day to reach us on horseback. That was the narrow window I had to prepare Anleesh. My first task was to extract as much information as possible – the layout of the nest, how he acquired the warpstone, and most crucially, how he managed to escape. With this knowledge, I could devise a battle plan to present to the general.
Yet, I couldn't shake off the grim realization that adding a second Skaven to our ranks could very well be signing my death warrant. Whether it be at the hands of the general or any other human who might see us. The notion of one Skaven allying with us was already extraordinary; two would seem implausible. But my primary goal remained unwavering: protect Skiteek at all costs. I couldn't bring myself to kill the general, but I held onto the faint hope that he would grant me at least a day’s head start before branding me a traitor.
Dispelling these dark thoughts, I focused on staying positive. If the worst came to pass, I would face it head-on. After all I'd been through, I was confident I could sway the general. As for the potential consequences, that was a bridge I would cross when I came to it. Emerging from the treeline, I saw Skiteek tidying up, while Anleesh sat on the ground, lost in thought. Skiteek’s eyes lit up as he saw me. He dashed over and leaped into my arms, his lips quickly finding my cheek in a brief, affectionate kiss.
“Send letter?”
I nodded, gently setting him down. “I expect the general to arrive tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”
“Then you must prepare,” Skiteek said, briefly switching to Queekish to catch Anleesh's attention. Anleesh looked up, his thoughts interrupted and glanced between Skiteek and me. After a moment he asks something. “He ask what you want to know.”
I settled down, signaling Anleesh to do the same. “Make yourself comfortable,” Once he was settled, I continued, “I need to know four things: the layout of the nest, its location, how you managed to escape, and where you got all that warpstone.”
Anleesh nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, and turned to face Skiteek, ready to share what he knew.
Anleesh's eyes fluttered open, revealing once again the familiar, cracked stones of his cell. He sat up, his gaze drifting past the bars to the empty cell across from him. He remembered the human who had been brought there, whose screams from the harvest room had ceased on the second day. Anleesh envied that silence. His own time, he knew, was drawing close – soon he too would be taken to feed the clan.
Chilled to the bone, he shivered, the chains binding his wrists and ankles echoing with a metallic ring. The desperation was overwhelming; he couldn’t endure this any longer. What options did he have? His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a clang, his attention snapping to a Stormvermin standing outside his cell.
“How are you, meat?” The Stormvermin’s voice was laced with a mocking tone. “In a week, we march westward to take a large city. We'll need plenty of food for that. Be ready, because starting tomorrow, we begin harvesting from you. Though, it hardly matters if you're prepared or not.” The guard's chilling laughter echoed in the cell as he walked away, leaving Anleesh trembling more intensely than before.
Anleesh's breathing became frantic. The thought of being harvested for a war, not just a feast, was unbearable. How long would they keep him alive, slicing him open, tearing him apart, piece by piece? The sheer horror of the prospect pushed him over the edge. In a moment of pure, raw terror, he bit down hard into his wrist. The pain was lost in a flood of fear; his survival instinct took over completely. He gnawed and tore at his flesh, freeing one arm in a frenzy of self-preservation.
But he didn't stop. Driven by an animalistic urge to escape, he continued, ripping through skin, muscle, and nerves. The agony was intense, radiating through his skull, but his desperate need to be free overshadowed it all. It was only when the chains finally crashed to the floor, his restraints severed, that he came out of his frenzy. He looked down at his disfigured limbs – mere nubs now.
In the blink of an eye, however, thanks to the warpstone elixir's power, his limbs regenerated, whole once again. Physically, he was free from his chains, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still locked in his cell. He’d have to find a way to get out and then try to escape. With fear still coursing through his veins, he rose unsteadily to his feet, approaching the cell door with cautious steps. The risk was immense; if discovered now, his tormentors would eagerly begin their harvest ahead of schedule. He peered silently through the keyhole, assessing his chances.
Turning away from the door, Anleesh's gaze fell on one of his severed paws. He grimaced, knowing what he had to do next. Carefully, he picked it up and began to nibble at it, extracting a few finger bones. The taste of his blood was disturbingly familiar, and he struggled against the urge to gag as he spat out remnants of his flesh. With his makeshift tool in hand, he returned to the door.
Positioning the finger bones inside the keyhole, he worked them with grim determination. Each movement was precise, guided by a blend of instinct and desperation. After several tense minutes, the lock yielded with a heavy click, a sound that was both alarming and liberating. With the cell door unlocked, Anleesh knew that his real test of escape was just beginning. He’s familiar with this floor and those above.
This lowest level was seldom visited, its sole purpose for those unfortunate enough to be harvested. Just a few levels up was the prison, heavily patrolled by guards, making any chance of sneaking past them was slim to none. This left him with limited, albeit grim, options. The next step he had to take filled him with an even greater sense of dread than the act of mutilating his limbs.
Anleesh, with every sense heightened, crept out of his cell, the door creaking ever so slightly on its hinges. His eyes darted around, searching for any hint of the Stormvermin's presence. The oppressive silence of the dungeon was a cold comfort – it confirmed his solitude but did little to ease the dread coiling in his stomach.
His mind raced as he contemplated his scarce options for escape. There was only one viable path, and it lay through the harvest room – a chamber of horrors that haunted his every thought. The disposal hole within that room, a ghastly pit used to discard the remnants of their cruel harvests, was his only chance. It was a route devoid of guards, but fraught with its own terrors.
As he crept closer to the harvest room, vivid and grotesque memories flooded his mind. He recalled the countless times he had been brutally torn apart, the sharp pain of each cut, the cold indifference of his captors as they discarded what they saw as useless – his nails, torn flesh, and other remnants deemed inedible. The disposal hole, a gaping maw of darkness, had been a silent witness to his repeated dismemberments. Now, it stood as his grotesque gateway to freedom, a passage wrought from the very depths of his nightmares.
Shaking those thoughts away, he remained focused. Losing his nerve will ensure his recapture. Entering inside, his skin began to crawl as the bloodied instruments still lay on the nearby tables. Closing his eyes is enough to calm him and it’s all he can do to continue to take steps forward. He’s been in this room enough times to navigate it without sight.
He stops, knowing he’s before the hole. This is it. No matter what happens, he won’t die. All he can hope for is that he can manage to escape whatever lies below. Taking a slow breath in, Anleesh jumps and can only feel the wind in his fur for a moment before a sickening crunch as his body crumbles into a heap. He can feel his bones begin to reform as he stands up and opens his eyes.
It’s a graveyard. Bones, torn cloth, and sewage. The stench is so strong that likely anyone else would’ve died from how toxic the air is down here. Still, it’s not sealed off. He can tell that someone has been clearing the trash when it becomes too high. Walking around, Anleesh is quick to find a door and he presses his ear against it and listens.
Quiet. A task that is likely used as a punishment, so the likelihood of any patrols is slim. But he must hurry. Opening up the door, he can see a tunnel leading in one direction. With no other choice, he continues with caution.