sequel to http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/466973.page
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Redemption
With a muffled groan the Empire soldier fell down, grabbed by the claws of a creature he had never seen before. Thrice he got stabbed in his chest, and fell on the ground. Throatslicer and his self-titled 'Deathrunners' moved further through the encampment, evading the light as much as possible. They reached the generals tent. Simultaniously, Throatslicer and one of the nightrunners jumped on the two guards in front of it, killing them both in an instant. Throatslicer sneeked inside the tent. The general was asleep. Quickly, he searched the desk in the middle of the tent, and found what he was looking for. Papers. A lot of them. Detailing every detail of 'Markus Strasshof's Great Expedition'. Supplies, troops, horses, warmachines. He grabbed them and put them in his bag. General Strasshof was marching on the mountains that formed their realm, and he would be punished for that. Even though he didn't even know of their existence. He thought to find Northmen and treasures. The last thing was bound to be there. The first one, well, also, but a bit more dead. Signaling his Deathrunners to retreat with him to the Stronghold, It was interesting information for the continuity of the clan. And for his personal stash of warp tokens. As one, they moved back through the night's darkness.
Trikk was filled with glee as his slaves brought him a suit of enchanted Gromril. With this, he could make something absolutely wonderfull. After all, he was not a mere 'engineer', but an
artist. Steel would work too ofcourse, but Gromril was a bit more.. fancy. And stronger. And more expensive. Anyways, it was time to melt the Dwarfish armor. Having dealt with the metal before, Trikk skipped his forge. Instead, he grabbed one of his custom-made warpfire throwers, and pressed the 'On' switch. Slowly, the suit began to melt, his slaves making sure that the melting gromril fell into the forge. His slaves. Trikk had always quite liked them. After all, they helped him making al those wonderfull and deadly pieces of art. Perhaps thinking about something else a little bit to much, Trikk accidently burned a slave. 'Pff, who cares anyways', he said to himself, and continued the process.
Lord Gritsleclaw walked to the chamber that formed the centre of the Clan's command structure, his bodyguard of Stormvermin following him. As he arrived inside the room, he saw Throatslicer sitting at the other side of the table, with quite a lot of papers. The rat's face was mostly hidden behind the hood, but he could see his red eyes and part of his nose. At the centre of the table stood a stake with the head of former chieftain Skrish on it, as a sign to all who would dare oppose Lord Gristleclaw of Clan Skulk. The fool had even dared to run. He got quite far too. Until Trikk blasted his body apart. His Stormvermin taking up positions in the room, Gristleclaw started to feeling a bit safe. These were his loyal followers. Noone could get in. He sat down.
'Speak-speak.'
'My lord,' Throatslicer said and stood up and kneeled, 'we have found very interesting information.'
He gave the papers to Gristleclaw, who studied the papers for a few minutes, and all was silent.
'Very well. Prepare the army. Get the Warmachines ready. I want those manthings dead in a week.'
All Skaven who were in the room stood up, and most walked out of the room. Messengers ran through the stronghold, spreading the orders of their Lord.
It was time for war.
