Fiction Spawning of Bob - The Great War Against Chaos - Book 1 Finished

Chapter 11. Taal's Wood

Bob and Joe eventually dragged themselves up from the gravel bar and shook themselves off.

"That is it." Bob declared. "I shall join the ogres and give up on baths forever. If I require cleansing in future, I shall use some other method."

Joe curled a scaly lip. "I am sure that bathing isn't the harshest way to attain purity, but I really don't care what you do, as long as you stay downwind." He looked at the forest which towered over the river. "Come on, Stinky. Mahtis said to follow the river."

"Oh shut up, already."




The pair toiled along the river bank which became progressively rockier and steeper as the ground dropped away. Eventually their path was blocked by a ravine through which flowed a powerful torrent which flowed into the River Stir. Their options were to return to the water for another bath, or to move away from the main river until they could cross the rushing tributary. Bob insisted on the latter.

Night was falling by the time they had finally found a place to cross the gorge.

"We could blunder right past them in the dark. We should wait till morning before we move on. Hungry, are you?” Joe asked this last question because he heard what he thought was Bob's stomach growling.

"That wasn't me..." Bob whispered as the low rumble was repeated.

The pair spent a restless night clinging in the branches of the nearest climbable tree.




In the morning, the lizardmen were roused by a high pitched wailing which emanated from a nearby clearing. In it they found a noisy bundle of dark fur which was suspended by a rope. Bob moved closer to investigate.

"Joe, stay back, the ground feels unstable. Can you see where the rope goes?" Bob traced the route that the snare rope took through the branches above the clearing. "There," he pointed. "Untie it from that tree trunk and lower the thing down to me."

Joe did as he was bidden and soon Bob had a squirming bear cub in his arms. "It is obviously a baby. Look at its adorable big eyes, it's soooo cute!"

Bob hugged it to his chest and started to pick his way back when there was a sudden flurry of bushes. He looked up to see Joe wrapped in the warm embrace of an angry mother bear. The mother stood tall enough that Joe's feet and tail dangled well off the ground. Her fore claws were as long as carving knives, and from her drooling jaws emanated a rumble which promised precipitous violence in the very near future.

"Erm," Joe spoke in a muffled voice, "would you please put the cute little fellow down?"

The mother bear's deep set eyes did not leave Bob's for an instant as he slowly complied. Once it had four paws back on the ground, the cub loped back to its mother's side and batted playfully at Joe's dangling tail. The she bear released her embrace and dropped the lizardman gasping to the ground and the cub licked his face. Back on all fours again, the mother bear ambled into the brush with cub in tow.

As Joe suspiciously prodded his ribs, Bob uncovered the pit trap beneath the snare.

"She knew the pit was here. We should take care, there may be other traps. I hope that Rychek and Mahtis haven't run afoul of something similar."

The pair continued cautiously on their way, finding another unsprung snare and pit combination and a clearing in which both traps had been tripped. There were hoof prints, drag marks and blood which showed that hunters had subdued a large beast and hauled it out of the pit with the aid of a horse or pony. The snare had been cut down. Besides hooves and human boots, no prints were left to indicate the nature of the captive beasts.

The two saurus debated their options. "Mahtis said to follow the river. They may be waiting for us down there," advanced Bob.

"If they came back to find us or to meet us halfway, it may have been them in the trap."

"Or they may have passed us by during the night. We should continue down to the river and look for signs. If we find any we will definitely know that they turned back."

"But if Rychek and Mahtis are being dragged away by hunters they will be getting farther away from us."

"We can follow that trail blindfolded, and if someone is dragging an angry kroxigor behind them, I'll warrant that they will soon run into difficulties."

The pair toiled down the scarp, keeping near to the sound of the rushing river below. The bracken was thick, so their arrival on a sand bank at the side of the river was a welcome respite. The skink and kroxigor had left clear prints in the sand, showing that they had indeed gone up into the forest.

Therefore, Bob and Joe clambered back up the slope, keeping as near to the river as they could. They found themselves back in the clearing with the sprung traps.

"We must conclude that they have been captured," Bob squinted at the drag marks.

"And that we have given their captors a night and a day's running start.” Joe was already loping into the gloom.

Bob stuck his head up and stood still. "Joe! Wait!"

"What now?"

"Listen!"

Joe did as he was bidden. He also heard the distant thrashing of bushes which had caught Bob's attention. The sound was not coming from the direction of the hunter's trail. Rather it was from the deep forest to one side.

"It sounds big, whatever it is," said Joe.

"Big enough to be a kroxigor.” Bob changed direction and began pushing through the brake.

"Or big enough to be the father bear! Wait!” Joe reluctantly followed.

The sound led them to an upturned white tail attached to the russet hindquarters of a very large herbivore. Its forequarters were stuck inside a clump of brush. Investigation revealed that the creature had an impressive spread of antlers which were hopelessly entwined in the thicket.

"We are fast becoming some kind of wildlife rescue service," Joe sighed as he helped Bob steady the beast and disentangle it from the brush. They had barely freed one antler when the beast convulsed, knocking both saurus flying. With one more powerful twist it tore the remaining antler free and the great stag, for that is what it was, span lithely towards Joe, who was nearest. The king of the forest pawed the ground and lowered its head, directing a forest of points towards Joe.

"Those look sharp," Bob observed quietly. "If it charges you, jab your thumbs in its eyes."

"That's for sharks, you idiot!”

Fortunately such measures were not required. The stag turned, and repeated his pawing and bowing gesture towards Bob. Then he roared a declaration of freedom and bounded into the night, leaving the saurus warriors to return to their other rescue mission.

The hunter's trail was harder to find at night than Bob had hoped. Eventually they conceded that they would need to wait until dawn and settled down to a fitful rest. Unfamiliar birdsong and crepuscular rustlings woke them long before it was light enough to travel.

"We've lost another day. How could this get any worse?" moaned Joe.

At that instant something fell from the treetops like a red comet and latched onto the back of his neck.

"Aaargh! Get it off me! It's got claws!"

He thrashed his arms but could not dislodge the red terror.

Bob dodged Joe's flailing claws and removed the assailant. It was a red squirrel. The squirrel lay in his hands gasping weakly and clutching its tiny throat. Joe recovered his composure and prodded it.

"It’s choking. Joe, you should do the Heimlich thing. Remember with the captain?"

Joe clasped his claws around the rodent's body and lifted it from Bob’s hands. Then he twisted it with a motion similar to wringing out a wet towel. There was an ear piercing squeak and the squirrel expelled an acorn which shot like a missile into its healer’s left eye.

"Aaargh! It's blinded me!" Joe dropped the squirrel, clutched his stricken eye and stumbled away.

The squirrel quickly revived and retrieved its acorn. It chittered angrily at both saurus before scampering up the nearest tree.

Bob was gaping up at the leaves when Joe's iron claw grabbed his muzzle and turned him around.

"If you so much as suggest another rescue, you will be the one who needs succour. Do you understand me?"

"Mmm Hmm."

"Good.” Joe released him and stalked back onto the hunters' trail.




The hunters had only dragged their burden along the ground for a short distance in order to get clear of the trap. After this they transferred it to travois, and the trail through the resilient bracken became harder to follow.

As they became increasingly frustrated, Bob and Joe argued more, and paid less heed to the dark woods around them. So it was that they stumbled directly into a patrol of wood elven archers.

The lithe hunters had their arrows nocked but their bows were relaxed. They discussed their unusual find in their own language.

"Bob," Joe muttered through the corner of his mouth, "they may not speak the common tongue. What is the universal sign for 'peace' again?"

"Hold up two fingers," Bob replied quietly.

Joe held up two fingers. The mood of the elves suddenly soured and they bent their bows to full draw.

"Hold up two fingers the OTHER way around."

The situation looked grim until suddenly a ball of brown fur loped up to Bob and clambered into his arms. A bear cub.

Joe barely had time to register surprise before he found himself enveloped in the embrace of two shaggy arms, the paws of which ended in claws the length of carving knives. The mother bear stood tall enough that Joe's feet and tail dangled off the ground.

The elves conferred excitedly and relaxed their bows again. Their leader inclined his head respectfully toward the bear before addressing the lizardmen in the common tongue.

"Your manners do you no credit, but the forest vouches for you. Be aware that our people made battle with a war herd of beastmen yestereve and scattered them into these parts. You should depart."

He gave a signal and his troop vanished silently back into the trees.

Bob and the she bear relinquished their burdens simultaneously. Joe fell gasping to the ground and the cub licked his face. Back on all fours again, the mother bear ambled into the brush with cub in tow.

As Joe suspiciously prodded his ribs, Bob urged him to his feet.

"Hurry up! We must find Rychek and Mahtis before they get too far away. I'm beginning to suspect that the forest is full of dangers!"

“Beginning to suspect?” Joe asked.




Bob's suspicion was proven correct within the hour. The lizardmen had moved into a more open section of forest with no cover to hide in, and it was there that two hands of jabbering goblins came upon them.

The cowardly green skins would have preferred to attack with a greater numerical advantage than five to one, but they were emboldened by the fact that the strange blue lizard things were unarmed. The goblins shook their spears and were so engrossed with their yammering war cry that they failed to hear the rolling thunder of hooves to one side.

Even as the goblins charged the defenseless lizardmen, a great stag appeared from nowhere, dropped its head and swept through their flank without slowing. Each surprised green skin found himself impaled on a separate prong of the stag's mighty antlers.

The beast skidded to a halt and bowed towards the two saurus again. This gesture of respect also served to dislodge its gory trophies before it pranced away.

Bob and Joe picked over the twitching remains. Bob picked up a flint tipped weapon of about three feet long.

“Do you want a spear?” he asked.

“How is that a spear? It’s barely long enough to be a hand weapon!” Joe snapped.

“It is a pointy stick. It is a spear.”

“Hand weapon!”

“Spear!”

“Hand weapon!”

“Spear!”




In the end, Joe selected a shortish spear, Bob selected a longish hand weapon and they continued on the hunter’s trail. They soon found the simple travois, discarded in a dell beside a tributary of the River Stir. There were signs that a number of horses had been tethered here, and that its burden had been transferred to a heavy cart or wagon. The hoof prints and wheel marks led through the last remnant of the forest and glimpses of tilled land could be seen through the widening gaps between the trees.

"They've escaped the forest! How could this get any worse?” moaned Joe.

At that instant he and Bob heard a bellowing roar. Beastmen had found the scent of the horses and men who had recently occupied the dell. The two saurus had the water to their backs, and nowhere to run.

Bob beckoned Joe close.

"Yes, Bob, what is it?"

Bob gave him a stinging slap across his scaly cheek. "That is just a taste of how much worse things can get if you say that again!"

The party of beastmen which burst into view hardly constituted a war herd. A bare twenty fawn-like ungors cast about with their goatlike heads trying to pinpoint the smell of man flesh. Some of these carried wounds on their shaggy hides, and here and there were the stubs of broken arrows giving testimony to the drubbing they had received at the hands of the wood elves during the previous night.

Of considerably greater concern to the lizardmen was the minotaur who led them. The enormous black hided beast had crude plates of iron bound to his limbs and body. Between the plates of his armour he fairly bristled with elf arrows, which seemed to be no encumbrance to him at all. Instead they served to darken his mood from his normally benign muderous rage into something far worse.

When the Doombull spied the lizardmen and their wavering sticks, he bellowed in homicidal fury and immediately charged at them with his double bladed axe raised. At that instant something fell from the treetops like a red comet and latched onto the back of the minotaur's neck. Another followed, then another. Red squirrels clustered like lampreys around the doom bull's ears and eyes. They gouged with their claws and bit with their chisel like teeth.

The beast lord thrashed his arms but couldn't dislodge the red terrors. He was blinded and disoriented, and the momentum of his charge took him beyond the lizardmen and to the brink of the stream. At the last possible moment, the ferocious squirrels leapt clear and the minotaur fell into the deepest part of the water with an enormous splash.

He struggled fruitlessly in an attempt to raise his head above the surface, but he was weighed down by his wounds and heavy armour plate. Eventually he stilled.

The ungors had come under simultaneous attack from a hail of leaves, acorns and squirrel droppings. With their leader drowned, and attackers in the trees above them, they broke and ran back into the deep wood.

Bob and Joe shrugged and made to follow the cart tracks only to find their way blocked by a half ring of squirrels. Behind the lizardmen another rodent chittered in agitation. They turned to see the squirrel bobbing up and down beside a large fish which had been splashed out of the water by the doom bull's downfall.

Bob went back and gently lifted the gasping fish into the stream. The squirrels immediately scattered back to the trees.

"I want to leave the forest now. This is getting ridiculous," Joe pronounced.

Bob nodded vigorously, and they resumed their oft delayed pursuit.

 

Chapter 12. The Order of Purity

Bob and Joe crept to the last screen of trees which partitioned the perils of the forest from the perils of civilization. The agricultural heart of Stirland was a patchwork quilt of walled fields, thrown over a bed of rolling downlands. Dotted here and there were fortified farm complexes, each with a watch tower keeping vigil over the dark forest. To their right murmured the stream which had become the last resting place of the beast lord and in front was a roughly paved road ran beside the forest edge and then turned to follow the watercourse up into the downlands.

The only significant building they could see was a shrine or temple huddled against the forest wall, far to their left. The solid stone structure had the brazen image of a twin tailed comet on the high peak of its roof.

Bob straightened himself up and smoothed his scales. "The trail ends here. We must leave the forest if we are to find Rychek and Mahtis."

"Every farm has a watchtower, and your stupid eggshell gleams like Tlazcotl's holy backside." Joe pictured pitchforks and torches. "We should blend in, like the captain said."

"How do you propose we do that? False moustaches?"

"What? No, of course not. What sort of idiot would have sucha stupid idea? We could pretend to be lost circus performers again, I suppose."

Bob suddenly shoved Joe's face down into the humus. "Get down." he hissed

"Was that necessary?" came Joe's muffled protest.

"No, but it felt good. Look towards the comet temple."

A column of darkly robed figures had issued from the shrine. Across such a great distance the lizardmen could see little more than the shapes of the men, but they could clearly hear the sound of a low chant which was repeated at intervals. Each iteration of the chant was followed by cries of pain.

Joe squinted against the mid morning sun. "What are they doing? Are they dragging prisoners behind them?"

"How should I know? Sneak back into the trees until they pass by."

The lizardmen slithered into deeper cover, but they were still able to see the robed figures through the tree trunks and brush as the column approached. They were led by a black robed man who carried a long staff with a large brass censor hanging on a chain below the tip. The heavy orb was fashioned with flanges which resembled spiky flames. Ribbons of smoke or incense trailed from two apertures in the censor, giving the impression of twin tails of vapour.

Behind the leader were two pairs of men who were clamped like criminals into stocks. Their chafed necks and wrists protruded from holes in the wooden beams and atop those balanced a curtained sedan chair. Behind that trailed perhaps fifty more men who walked two abreast. All wore dark grey or black robes with their long hems trailing along the dusty road. Some men were stripped to the waist, but most wore deep cowls which shadowed their features.

Every man carried a two foot long rod which was the smaller sibling of the leader's staff. From one end of each rod dangled a spiky brass orb on a short length of chain. The smaller orbs similarly trailed twin wisps of smoke from a holes. From the other end of each rod sprouted a number of plaited leather thongs. The sedan chair bearers and the leader, having their hands otherwise encumbered, had secured their own rods around their waists by a twisting the thongs and censor chains together at the hip.

When the procession drew level with the concealed lizardmen, the leader raised his staff high with one hand. With the other, he twitched the rod from around his waist and held it close to the orb end. With a sonorous voice he chanted, "Pié Sigmar dominé, dona éis requiem!"

Then the chanter whipped himself across the back with the leather tongues.

The entire group echoed the chant and each recitation ended with a stinging lash from their own flails. Most bore their self inflicted punishment in silence, but there were a moans and yelps coming from the rear of the column. As the mad monks progressed, Bob and Joe's saw that the men with bare backs had raw wounds and running blood from their self imposed punishment.

The chant was repeated several times before the flails were stilled.




By and large, the flagellants did not break stride during the bizarre torture, but there was a duo who hung a little way behind the main group. Their robes were noticeably cleaner and less threadbare than those of the others and they argued quietly between themselves.

"Jakob, you twice cursed piece of gopher dung. That was the stupidest idea you have ever had. 'I think we should loot the Shrine of Sigmar!' you said," the first one waved his flail in the others face.

That man, Jakob shrank away from it as if it was a live snake. "Well it was your stupid idea not to listen when I said, 'Elwood, keep watch. Just in case'."

The pair drew disapproving glances from another young flagellant who was ahead in line. They lowered their voices and drifted further back.

"At least I didn't have the idiotic idea of hiding behind the Altar of Sigmar."

"No, genius. Your idiotic idea was to say we were there to join the order after we got caught."

"They would have flogged us if we had been there for no good reason, and I didn't know they were recruiting. Oh no, Jakob, not again!"

The leader had renewed the chant.

"I'm not keen to be flogged by myself either. The forest is near. Let's slip away. I can't keep flaying myself alive until nightfall."

The pair stole quietly into the trees.

"Elwood, that was the only good idea you have had all day."

Suddenly a pair of scaly monsters exploded from the bracken. Jakob had a brief impression of grinning jaws and a stout branch before blackness enveloped him.




A pair of robed and cowled figures hurried to rejoin the column of flagellants. The young monk ahead of them turned and scowled at them.

"Brothers Jakob and Elwood, we will stop for the noon scourge soon. If you can't control your unholy bladders until then, you will end up doing a penance!" he warned.

The tardy monks pulled their cowls lower and nodded. From what they had seen of normal devotions, a penance was probably something to be avoided.

They hung a little way behind the main group and argued quietly between themselves.

"Bob, you twice cursed piece of stegadon dung. That was the stupidest idea you have ever had. 'Here is how we blend in: take their robes,' you said."

"No, genius. Your idiotic idea was to say, 'and don't forget the whips'."

The pair drew disapproving glances from another young flagellant who was ahead in line. They lowered their voices and drifted further back.

The pair drew glances from the young flagellant ahead of them. They lowered their voices further.

"Joe, look at this sadistic thing."

Bob held his new acquisition gingerly away from his body as if he was afraid it would bite of its own volition. The safe end of the flail had a stout chain to secure the smoking brass orb which weighed at least three pounds. As well as the two vapour spewing holes the sphere was studded with thick brass studs fashioned to look like flames. The business end had shards of bone and thorns braided into the last few inches of the leather thongs.

"Stop whining, Bob. I'm sure mine is worse than yours is- Oh no, here they go again!"

The leader had renewed the chant and the young monk was openly scrutinising the imposters.

"Quickly, Joe. Blend in."

Bob imprecisely copied the chant and flicked the scourges across his backs in a desultory fashion. Joe even more reluctantly followed suit and yowled at every sting, although, in truth he did not suffer harm. Saurus warrior scales are every bit as effective as boiled leather armour. It was just that Joe had an aversion to pain.

They were temporarily relieved when the column was called to a halt in a cool meadow beside the stream. Then they found out about the noon scourge. Joe's whimpers could be heard for some time afterwards.

In the meantime, the young monk hurried across the meadow to the sedan chair. "Father Clemens?" he called.

An age spotted hand drew back the curtains. "Yes? Is that young Brother Kaspar? What is it, child?"

The flagellant leader was shrivelled by age and infirmity, but bright, intelligent eyes gazed intently from hollowed out sockets.

"Father Clemens. Have you heard the new novices at sanctification? The two who joined the Order of Purity this day?"

"Why, yes. They seem to have taken enthusiastically to their rites of purification. When I was a pink skinned acolyte, so many years ago, I must confess that I was much more reticent to begin with. Of course the flails were much heavier and the barbs much sharper in those days. But then again, the days were far more dark and corrupt...."

Brother Kaspar waited patiently until his master drew a wheezing breath. "But Father, I feel they have been... a little over genuine with their propitiation."

"Over genuine?" the father raised an eyebrow.

"I mean diligent for the sake of appearance, not because of true faith in Merciful Sigmar. I should also let you know that they left the brothers for a short time as we passed the forest."

"Oh dear. Perhaps they are not suited to a life of purity." Clemens swung his stiff legs over the side of the sedan chair with a grunt. "Brother Maynard, if you would!"

The chanter who had led the procession approached and knelt. "Yes, Father Purifier?"

"Would you be so kind as to summon the new brothers. I wish to test their devotion to the order."

Brother Maynard returned a short time later, propelling the novices by their shoulders. The pair were frantically tugging their cowls downwards.

"Yes, cover your faces! You should be ashamed," the old flagellant priest rose on tottery legs and looked up at the pair. "Big fellows aren't you? Do you know that you were observed departing from the company of the penitent this morn? Explain your actions."

One of the pair nudged the other, who blurted, "we thought we would get a few extra lashes in, but didn't want to... embarrass the rest of the brothers by seeming, you know, extra pure."

Father Clemens' eyebrows rose again.

Brother Maynard leant over and whispered in the father's ear, "I know it beggars belief, but he may speak the truth. I put my hands on their shoulders to guide them here and I felt the callouses on their backs through their cassocks. They were like scales, Father! I've rarely seen such evidence of enthusiastic atonement in any brother, let alone a novice."

Father Clemens' eyebrow further so that great furrows formed across his tonsure. He held up a hand towards Maynard in a gesture that was meant to acknowledge what had been said and to forestall any other speculation. Then he locked his piercing eyes on the shadow under the first novice's hood.

"Brother Jakob, your concern for the brothers comfort is commendable, but each one is purified to his own measure. None need aspire to more than his lot, because Merciful Sigmar weighs the worth of each. I wonder if you truly understand what the Order of Purity is about. Can you tell me, in your own words, why it is that we punish our flesh?"

The other novice nudged him again.

"Oh. Aah... there is so much evil in the world. We need to expunge the impurity of the world by purifying ourselves..."

His fellow's cowl flapped up and down encouragingly.

"...and... by punishing our bodies... we learn compassion for others."

The old purifiers creased head inclined slightly. "Continue."

"Umm... and Ancient Sigmar is... hard of hearing..."

"Or asleep!” the other brother added.

"... err, or asleep, and he is more likely to hear our prayers if they are accompanied by loud cries of pain."

Father Clemens and brother Maynard appeared to be frozen. Young brother Kaspar was counting on his fingers.

"And he will grant his... mercy, yes, his mercy on those who have been scourged or, umm, cleansed." Brother Jakob continued.

Father Clemens just blinked.

The second brother felt he needed to contribute, before the situation got further out of hand.

"Father, may I speak also?"

"Of course, Brother Elwood."

"Ahem. In addition to the aforementioned reasons, Thursday night is scab picking night at the chapter house. Also, because we can't sleep on our backs, loud snoring is never a problem. And the whipping, it makes us look more committed than," he waved his overlong sleeve in a vague but somehow all encompassing gesture, "you know. Those other monks."

Jakob punched him in the arm. "That's enough!" he hissed.

Too late. Before Jakob could stop him, Brother Elwood thrust his head between the two transfixed senior monks and whispered, "...and after a while, it feels kind of good..."

Brother Jakob hauled him back by his collar, and prepared himself for the judgement to come.

Brother Maynard and the Father Clemens exchanged a long look. Eventually Clemens spoke.

"Brother novices, Brother Kaspar, wait here. Brother Maynard, if you would be so kind."

The old Purifier held onto Maynard's arm for support and tottered several paces away to begin a guarded conversation with the senior monk.

"Amazing!” declared Father Clemens in hushed tones, "Between them they have recited the entire secret catechism of our order. Plus a few extras I haven't heard before. They must be touched by merciful Sigmar."

The Maynard's eyes narrowed as he gazed back at the two novices. "Indeed they have secret knowledge. However, they may be agents provocateurs from one of the liberal orders, sent to destroy us from within. I wonder who sent them. The Party Monks of Pappenheim? Perhaps the Sisters of Occasional Chastity?"

"If they are genuine we should not turn them away." The Purifier was more inclined towards accepting their bona fides.

Not so the Chanter. "And if they are not genuine, we still should not turn them away, for they are preachers of liberal falsehood. Perhaps a test is in order, but one which will not keep us here all day. Do you recall that we travelled miles out of our way to avoid Troll Bridge on our way to the shrine? Could we not find out if Sigmar's mercy extends to our mysterious novices."




The noon break lasted for one hour, giving the flagellant monks of the Order of Purity time to replenish their water skins at the stream and perform minor repairs on their sandals. Apparently a self punishing pilgrimage across the width of the Empire was soul cleansing enough without having to compound the suffering with blisters.

When the column moved on, the novices were instructed to follow immediately behind the Father Clemens' sedan chair. In this position they could not risk speaking to each other, and also they could not avoid applying an appropriate level of diligence to their personal purification every time the chant was renewed. Brother Jakob discovered a new pain. His powerful jaw muscles ached as he clenched his teeth to hold in his whimpers.

The road they had followed since the late morning continued on beside the stream which two lizardmen had earlier followed out of Taal's Forest. After another hour Brother Maynard called a halt and beckoned the novices. He indicated an overgrown side path which led to an arched stone bridge which was the only crossing point in sight. A tangle of ivy partially obscured a wooden sign post.

Brother Jakob brushed the leaves away. The sign showed the image of a skull and crossed bones.

"Pirates?" he inquired nervously.

Brother Maynard snorted, "Hardly. Loathsome river trolls infest this bridge and have slain many travellers over the years. They have defied all attempts to slay them because they cower beneath the waters' surface if they are overmatched."

"So we will be going around, then?"

Maynard shook his head. "The next crossing is leagues away. We should take the shorter road."

"Why?"

"Listen, you haven't been on holy pilgrimage for the last two months with a dropped arch like I have." Maynard held up a dirty foot. "All this walking is absolute torture and it takes the brothers' minds off the rituals of purity through suffering. Father Clemens suggested that you novices might gain mastery of the bridge for us and save us the agony of going the long way."

"Mahr...stery of a troll infested bridge? With what?" Brother Elwood blurted.

"Why brothers, with faith and purity, of course!"

Brother Maynard folded his arms and gazed at the novices intently. The obligation to blend in forced them to at least attempt the feat. Brother Jakob shook his cowled head at the seemingly impossible thing that was required of them.

"Bob, have you ever mastered a bridge before?"

"Quiet! If we are to blend in, you must call me brother Elwood."

"If the trolls are in the water, we will need to dive in after them."

"We can't attack them in them in the water. I don't swim."

"And I only dog paddle. We... you will have to lure them up onto the bridge. Then I can sneak up and bean them with my comet-on-a-stick."

"You are just as likely to bean yourself, Brother Jakob."

As Brother Elwood could come up with no better suggestion, he reluctantly crept to the bridge.

"Could you sneak up and bean them from a little bit closer?" he called.

"No. Way back here is fine," Jakob's distant voice replied. "I don't want to give up the element of surprise."

Elwood snarled and tiptoed across. When he got to the other side of the span he turned and waited. Then he stomped back to the centre. He jumped up and down. He leaned over the side and yelled, "Trip-trap, trip-trap!"

Nothing happened, and continued to do so for a long time.

"Brother Jakob," he eventually shouted, "can you please come over and help me to look for these trolls?"

As Brother Elwood checked over the other side of the bridge, Brother Jakob climbed cautiously underneath.

"We should have asked what size trolls they were. Can you see anything?" asked Elwood.

"There are a lot of big fish swimming around, there is nothing else that-" Jakob paused for a moment. "Brother Elwood, I think a fish just winked at me."

There are only so many places to search on and around a small stone bridge. Eventually the novices just gave up.

Sometime later Father Clemens and Brother Maynard came to investigate. The Brothers were lounging against the stone parapet of the bridge. Brother Jakob waved a baggy sleeved arm.

"Greetings Father Clemens and Brother Maynard," he called, "are you sure this is the right bridge?"

"Without doubt it is," exclaimed the chanter.

"In that case, we have mastered it in the name of Merciful Sigmar!"

"How did you achieve this?” Maynard spluttered.

Inasmuch as a heavily cowled figure can look offended, Brother Elwood radiated deep insult. "Why brother, with faith!"

"Don't forget purity!” brother Jakob chimed in. "Will you not join us in our homage to our merciful lord? Pie Sigmar domine, dona equi vectoriae!" he twirled his flail without touching his back.

As Maynard and Clemens automatically whipped themselves, the old Purifier said, "My ears are failing me, Maynard. What was that chant?"

"He said, 'Munific Sigmar Domine, dona equi vectoriae'. Which is, 'Bountiful Lord Sigmar, grant the horses passengers' in the Old Tilean. Perhaps our novice is touched by Sigmar and we are to ride horses next time we visit the outlying shrines to save our feet." Brother Maynard looked hopeful and shifted weight off dropped arch.

"Perhaps you are touched in the head. I've been doing pilgrimages for many a dark year and my feet are fine." The Purifier creaked back into his sedan chair. "Lead on, Brother Maynard."

As the Chanter reached the centre of the span he looked over the edge and saw a group of large fish worrying what appeared to be scraps of grey skinned flesh. When he passed the novices he began his chant, "Pie Sigmar Domine, dona eis requiem," and then paused meaningfully.

It took a moment for the novices to remember to blend in. They whipped themselves unenthusiastically and the Chanter moved on. They let the other brothers pass by hoping to gradually drop behind again, but they found that young Brother Kaspar had taken it upon himself to follow them and monitor their level of devotion. They were clearly going to pay a heavy price for their continued anonymity.

[edit 24/6/15 - phrasing]

 

I hope this fish returns as an integral part of the plot later.

 

Sadly the blue brothers are now outside the range of Taal's influence. In the immediate future they will need to rely on Sigmar's mercy, and he is deaf or asleep as earlier espoused.

 

Nah, I can see Asavar Kul attempting to force the Chaos Hordes through the Empire's defenders onto Talabheim, in a great battle right on the border of the Hochland. A plucky Saurus captain tries to take him down but fails to land any blows. With his last ounce of strength the captain knocks Asavar Kul back and causes him to stumble over the border where the forest grows thick. He then slips on a fish. The End.

 

Thank you both for your kind words, which I suspect are due to the story finally getting interesting. There is not much that Scalenex has pointed out that wouldn't get serious consideration if I do a major rewrite, although I did always picture the horse as a very slow and stolid draught horse. I will make it clearer if I do an edit.

It is a much bigger issue that I have a fully fledged Doctor Doolittle caged in the poor brute's wagon, but he is somehow unable to engineer an escape. Therefore the horse is also deaf. This is the opposite of Equus ex Machina. Apologies to everyone, especially the horse.

"Real" world geography might pose a problem for the fish being able to strike a decisive blow against Chaos, unless Asavar Kul chokes on a fish bone during luncheon. Unfortunately, the widespread use of the Heimlich manoeuver in WHFB means that he would probably be saved to go on and commit further atrocities.

And if you didn't already realize it, the flagellant chant sounds a little bit like this. Or was it this one?

 

My boys have officially been the Blue Brothers since this:

"Owleggoleggo strutted toward the screeching Horkhatz with the black orc honour guard keeping time and pace with his thunderous strides by loudly clashing their weapons against their shields. The snarling platoon advanced to within forty yards of the goblin lines before Warhuh halted them with a gesture of his mighty axe. The warboss goaded the wyvern further forward to halve the distance between the adversaries.

"Me, and me Good Ole Boyz..." thundered Warhuh, gesturing at his black orc escort. "....'ave a skore to settle wif da Bloo Bruvvers!"
(from the first draft of The False Moon War in Sept 2013)

And now I have a justification to deal with my Aerith and Bob problem for a while.

Future Spawning of Bob scholars will write term papers about the parallels between Jake and Elwood and the cool Jake and Elwood.

 

Chapter 13. The New Arrivals

As fast as the hunters could travel, they discovered that news travelled faster. A gaggle of curious children would appear around them as they approached each town on the long road to Altdorf. In every market square they were stopped by the townsfolk and compelled to perform their display by the application of large amounts of coin.

The fame of the "Terrifying Lizard Lady and Her Suckling Infant" grew parallel to the size of both the crowds and Stefan's profit. He was soon forced to hire extra horses to carry his accumulating wealth and local cutthroats to protect it.

Notoriety attracted other less desirable attention. The crimson oppressors of the Imperial Inquisition would appear whenever and wherever they were least expected. They were obsessed by the unusual creatures and sought to prove that they were magical or daemonic, even to the extent of holding a red hot iron to the little one's jaw to compel it or its mother to speak. Both remembered Captain Mahrlecht's warning and resolutely held their tongues.

As time went by, Mahtis and Rychek came to adopt the roles of monster mother and creature child as a form of defence against their tormentors. They quickly discovered that the throngs who came to spectate and the Inquisitors who came to scrutinize lost interest much faster if the lizard family confirmed their preconceptions. The fact that Stefan took petty reprisals on their hides if they failed to perform to his satisfaction merely accelerated the process of conditioning. After a remarkably short period, any dispassionate observer would have declared Stefan's monsters to be tame, if not irretrievably domesticated.

After the tenth time that they had been whipped and covered away for the evening with no meat for dinner Rychek risked a whispered conversation.

"Dieter said to Karl that Stefan said that we would get to Altdorf soon, Mah. I can't wait."

"Hush, Rychek Junior. Lizard children should be seen and not heard."

"But Mah," Rychek extended the 'ah' sound to the maximum possible level of whinyness. "I'm sick of being whipped and starved. I bet Bob and Joe aren't being whipped or forced to eat raw vegetables."

"You should eat your vegetables and be grateful, Rychek. Other lizards are starving in the Southlands."

"Yes, Mah. I'm still excited to be going to Altdorf."

"Excited? Look at my bonnet. I can't be seen in the Imperial Capital wearing this!"

Mahtis fussed and adjusted the angle of the offending head covering and then inspected his reflection in his water dish. With a sudden wrench, he realized that he could barely recognize his original self in the rippling image. He turned his suddenly despairing face towards the iron bars and gazed out into the dusk.

"Listen to us, Rychek. What have we become?"

"It's okay, Mah." Rychek stretched his arms around the kroxigor to give comfort. "We are only blending in until we get rescued. Do you think Bob and Joe will be surprised when they see us like this?"

Mahtis' face went from a look of despair to one of abject horror. "They can't see me like this! Look at my apron- it needs to be pressed!"




This cycle of misery for the lizard family continued without significant variation until the night that Stefan's growing retinue camped outside the famous town of Glumhof. Mahtis was roused at midnight by Rychek's urgent voice.

"Mah, wake up!" he whimpered.

The kroxigor stirred and tried to bat him gently away. "You've already had a glass of water, child. Go back to sleep."

"But I have seen a terrible monster, Mah."

Mahtis closed his eyes. "It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

"But Mah, I wasn't asleep. I was looking out through the gap in the canvas and I really saw it." Rychek was clearly not going to be diverted or consoled.

Mahtis sighed. "What did the monster look like?"

"I couldn't see its face because it had a hood. At first I thought it was an Inquisitor man, but it was dressed in black and there was scary smoke around it. It came over and looked inside the cage, but it was too dark for it to see me. It was so close, Mah. I could feel that its breath was icy cold!"

"A monster that isn't human?" Mahtis responded dreamily. "That makes a nice change."

Rychek continued his tale unabated. "It stepped back and lifted its arm and I saw that it had claws, Mah! It pointed at the words above the cage, and after it read them it hissed a rude word. Just then one of the hunters made a noise and the monster vanished! Mah, do you remember that Captain Mahrlecht told us about the God of Death? I think it was him!"

"You shouldn't use that naughty word, child, even if it is the captain's name." Mahtis decided his best chance of returning to slumber was to placate the imaginative skink. "If you see this Empire God of Death, what-is-his-name? Morr? If you see him again, then wake me quietly. I'll pound him into submission and you search him to see if he has the key to this cage."

The kroxigor rolled over and went back to sleep.





Altdorf was indeed the greatest city of the Empire, but the lizard family were disappointed when they first saw it from a distance. It had nothing of the mountainous verticality of a greater temple city of Lustria. Indeed, only a few taller buildings, such as the Imperial Palace and the Temple of Sigmar, peeped over the fifty foot southern wall. However, once Stefan's little wagon train passed through the Nuln gate, the lizard family discovered that the town sprawled on both sides of the River Reik over a much larger footprint than even their home city of Los'tmabo'tl.

For the first time in weeks, the 'Terrifying Lizard Lady and Her Suckling Infant' were not the centre of attention. Altdorf people had no time for spectacle as they hurried anxiously about their business. Others were in the process of boarding up their doors and windows. Most of the boots which tromped upon the streets belonged to red and blue clad state troopers of Reikland.

As it happened, the lizard family were among the last to enter the city before the iron bound gates had clanged shut. War was on their heels.




The Imperial Zoo was located against the western wall of the city, close to the Marienburg gate. Stefan made his way directly there. He had sent word ahead and knew that the zookeeper would be eagerly waiting to see the lizards. Hunter and keeper had had prior dealings, and the pair were kindred spirits when it came to greed and cruelty.

The zoo's operation was much the same as that of Stefan's freak show, only writ large. Ignorant sensation seekers were charged admission to look at and poke the many exotic creatures which were kept in cramped cells. If the animals did nothing interesting, a well aimed stone would be used to encourage them to show their teeth or claws.

At the zoo's entrance, the zookeeper prodded the lizards with the stick he carried for that purpose. "They aren't much, Stefan. You promised crowd pleasers."

Stefan laughed. He had the upper hand in this transaction and he knew it. "What does your current star attraction do, Bernard? I hear that it has no aptitude for doing anything other than preening its pretty feathers. These two monsters are fierce and ugly."

The zookeeper looked skeptically at the monsters in question. The mother was in the process of retying the infant's bow.

"Fierce? I will grant you that they are ugly. They will bring some interest for a while, I suppose. Oi, Simon!" Bernard called to one of his brutish keepers. "Move the Imperial Gryphon out of the big enclosure and throw in some fresh straw for the new arrivals."

While Bernard and Stefan haggled over the fine detail of fair remuneration and royalties, Rychek and Mahtis were paraded along the length of the zoo on their wagon. The beasts and birds of the zoo clustered to the bars of their cages to examine and give mute welcome to the newest incarcerates.

Rychek and Mahtis in their turn, grieved for the freedom of the once noble beasts, but they could not give voice to their empathy. Instead they bowed toward each one as they passed slowly by. When they got to the newly vacated cage at the far end of the row they were prodded inside. The banner which declared their identities was strung above the iron grill as the pair investigated the damp straw and trough of stale water which were the only luxuries in their new abode.

The hour was late and business was poor, therefore Bernard closed the zoo to the public and sent his keepers home. He invited Stefan to his chamber beside the zoo gate and there they settled down to drink to their continued prosperity.

Mahtis fell easily to sleep. But Rychek lay awake and looked through the bars at the creeping shadows cast by the full moon. He dwelt on the cruel hand that fate had dealt, and despaired of ever walking in freedom and without a diaper again.

 

You started posting chapters so frequently every time I settled down to post a response I find another chapter has been added. Stop being so industrious, you're putting me to shame

I'm just going to say - called it on the fish. Although part of me did wonder if they'd seen river trolls before and had misidentified them as big ugly fish.

I caught the Python reference but shamefully missed the Blues Brothers one >.<

 

In truth I have been almost the opposite of industrious. The entire book has been complete (in draft) since about November last year (book 2 is essentially complete as well, and book 3 is in detailed notes stage) but I got diverted by the End of Times FAQ comic, then the silly notion that I was ready to e-publish the "4th Emperor" in February and then a whole lot of life came up.

When I finally plucked up the courage to post, Chapters 1-9 took a lot of structural rewriting to get them up to second rate / post-able quality, hence the slow delivery rate. The next bits are flowing out quickly because they are needing cosmetic correction only - it is a lot easier to write about things that are actually happening. The story might as well start with the action in chapter 10 - everything before that is set up or padding. The problem is that every second thing that happens from now on would look like 100% pure asspull without 1-9 to foreshadow it. If it ever matters, expanding the dark-lands-and- abandoned-dwarf-hold section into full story rather than a jerky montage would be easier than converting it to flash back or some other device to break the exposition.

Anyhow, I hope any of you do take the time to comment / correct even if replies end up a little out of order. I have already integrated a number of suggestions and benefit from perspectives even if they don't make it into this draft. On a vaguely related note, reviewing an existing draft in parallel with the steep learning curve that is the "Writer's Wretreat" is an interesting process. Now that my grammar senses are tingling, it is a rare sentence that doesn't get some attention.

Speaking of sections that aren't essential to the overall story: the next 2 chapters do nothing to advance the plot that I couldn't have done with two paragraphs of exposition. They appear to exist merely to propel some very lame and out-of-date pop culture references, but, by my analysis anyway, they also reinforce an entirely-trilogy-stands-or-falls-on-the-strength-of-this-one plot device and help to foreshadow one of two main plot drivers in book two.

They were also a guilty pleasure to write. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

 

Chapter 14. The Novices

It was the imperative to blend in alone that drove the two saurus warriors to the Order of Purity. Once they were among the flagellants, any vague plans they may have had for picking up Rychek and Mahtis’ trail quickly evaporated. They had to concede that there was no trail to follow, and the only tenuous hope they held of finding the pair was based on Captain Mahrlecht's dire prediction: bizarre creatures might be taken to the Imperial Zoo in Altdorf.

The novices could have slipped away and struck out alone towards Altdorf at any time, but they had two pragmatic reasons for remaining with the brothers. The first was that the Lustrians didn't know the way to the Empire's capital and the pilgrims were bound back to their chapter house in Altdorf anyway.

The second reason was the eminent suitability of the cover that the Order of Purity provided. Who would notice two unusual individuals in a group of lunatic flagellants?

Within their first few days as flagellants they received a tantalizing hint that they were on the correct path. The pilgrims entered the town of Vonhoff to beg for alms and discovered it to be buzzing with the news of two large reptiles. The bizarre monsters had been exhibited by a troupe of hunters that very morning. Although the descriptions of the creatures were contradictory and garbled, all of the chatter indicated that the creatures were ultimately bound for Altdorf. Novice Brothers Jakob and Elwood's hopes were raised.

The novices attempted to chivvy the flagellants along, even to the extent of volunteering to flog Father Clemens' bearers to encourage greater speed. However, the footsore monks always seemed to be a day or three behind the captive reptiles. Between the near constant flogging and the seeming nearness of their quarry, it was an agonizingly slow pursuit.

Cold blooded creatures have naturally greater capacity to endure hardship and torment than weak willed warm bloods. The main adjustment that the novices needed to make while in the company of the purifiers was to suffer hardship and torment without constantly complaining about it. Before long, the scales on the lizardmen’s backs began to toughen. It was as if they were on an accelerated path to becoming scarred veterans of the legions of Lustria. With the physical adaptation came an unexpected psychological change.

The novices repeated the ritual of purification so many times that it became a subconscious action, much like a dog salivating at the sound of the dinner bell. In the end, they would automatically flick their thorny thongs across their backs at the merest hint of a phrase in the old Tilean language.

The cycle of purity for the lizard brothers continued without significant variation until the afternoon that they came to the famous town of Glumhof. As was their tradition, the pilgrim purifiers did not seek lodging in the towns they passed. Rather they made rough camps on the outskirts. As they carried no coin or vittles with them, they entered each town to beg for the charity of the simple townsfolk. These would receive words of blessing and atonement in exchange for their generosity.

Brothers Jakob and Elwood would split from the other alms-seekers to beg for information as well as food in every town and village they passed. The same was true that late afternoon in Glumhof, but there were few decent folk left outside for them to interrogate because most of the market sellers had packed up their wares. The only laggard in the square was a seller of amusingly shaped turnips who was pushing his near empty barrow towards home.

Brother Elwood blocked his path. "Have you seen a skink and kroxigor come through these parts recently?" he enquired without much hope.

"What is that you say? A skunk and a troubadour?” the turnip seller cocked his better ear towards the hooded monks. “That sounds a fine entertainment, but we've had none such since Mattauton the Malodorous Minstrel came through some weeks ago. All we’ve had for diversion today was that fraud Stefan Irwin with his sullen lizards. They left to make camp on the far side of town, and good riddance to them. They attracted the wrong sort of attention and we don't want trouble in Glumhof.”

"Did you say 'lizards'? Was one large and one small? Were they in good health? How long ago did they leave? Which way did they go?"

The turniperer held up his soiled hands. "Brother monks! I wasn't expecting the Imperial Inquision-"

"No one expects the Imperial Inquisition!” A trio of crimson robed men with broad, pointed hats appeared from the lengthening shadows and pinioned the greengrocer by his arms.

The leader was a little man whose beak of a nose extended almost as far as the rim of his broad hat. He examined the man's barrow with hard eyes. "Aha!” he seized an irregular turnip. "Inquisitor Kepler, what does this look like to you?"

One of the Inquisitorial offsiders looked to be better suited to beating than debating. He stiffened to attention. "It looks like...like a turnip, Inquisitor Oppenheimer."

"Has the taint of witchcraft blinded your eyes? It resembles the depraved symbol of foul Slaanesh!" Oppenheimer dropped it back in the barrow and wiped his hand on his cloak. "Take the heretic away!"

Kepler and the other Inquisitor dragged the hapless grocer away by his arms, upsetting the barrow in the process. This left the two brothers of purity alone in the terrifying presence of Inquisitor Oppenheimer. He turned his piercing eyes on them and did not bother to disguise a contemptuous sneer. "Show your faces, you deluded mystics. I would see if you have the mark of the beast on you."

The brothers hesitatingly lifted their hands to comply when there was a fortuitous interruption.

"The Order of Purity is above reproach, Inquisitor.” Somehow Father Clemens had managed to approach unobserved with his sedan chair, groaning bearers and all.

Inquisitor Oppenheimer whirled towards the purifier. "No one is above suspicion in these evil days, particularly not purveyors of aberrant doctrine.” He seemed to be ready to say a lot more about the perils of false beliefs, but then he noted the absence of his cronies and the numerical superiority and unhinged calmness of those he was attempting to bully.

He turned back to the fresh novices with a last accusation intent look. "I believe you may..." he grated, "...own a cat."

Inasmuch as cowled faces can look confused, the pair radiated befuddlement.

The aged purifier responded for them. "We are all simple brothers of the Order of Purity. We own nothing more than the robes on our backs and the flails in our hands. Would you like us to demonstrate their use on you?” He raised his ornate whip meaningfully.

Inquisitor Oppenheimer snarled, "You superstitious bastards. You can save your irrational dogma for children and peasants. When I return, I will not be alone. Ensure you are not the focus of my inquiry.” He departed in a swirl of crimson cloth.

Father Clemens followed the Inquisitor's unceremonious retreat with his twinkling eyes. “The Emperor’s torturers find the Order of Purity distasteful for some reason. Perhaps because we were using whips long before the Inquisition lost its way. Brothers Jakob and Elwood, you should return to the brothers for better company for we have already been blessed with enough for our meal.”

Just then, the purifier’s eyes lit on the upturned barrow. “Oh! Is it another blessing from Sigmar? I hope those unattended turnips are fresh. How does that one look to you, Brother Jakob?"

"That one? Umm. I think it might possibly resemble the depraved symbol of foul Slaanesh."

Clemens scrutinized the offending root vegetable. "Why yes, so it does! Leave it and take the rest, if you would. What provenance we receive from Merciful Sigmar.”

After the non-heretical turnips had been rounded up, Father Clemens led the brothers back to their rude encampment.




The brothers plotted to sneak away and rescue their Lustrian kin as soon as it was dark, but the ever-vigilant brother Kaspar tossed fitfully late into the night.

An hour before midnight Jakob's patience wore down. “We can't wait any longer," he whispered to Elwood. "Is Kaspar asleep yet?”

"I'll check.” Brother Elwood put his mouth near Kaspar's ear and breathed the words, "Pié Sigmar domine, dona dulcis somnia."

The whip, which never left the Kaspar's hand, whistled through the air and the thorny tails raked across his raw back, drawing fresh blood. The young purifier mumbled and rolled over.

"Yes, he's asleep. Let's go."

The pair crept away and stole into the quiet town. Their dark hooded robes blended with the deep shadows which filled the voids neglected by the full moon's silver light. Within a half hour they were back in the market square and faced a dilemma. They had entered Glumhof from the east, but two other roads departed the square.

Brother Jakob shook his head. "The heretical turnip seller said, 'on the other side of the town’, but which other side?"

"We will need to split up.” Elwood replied. “Meet me back here within the hour. If anyone comes across you, remember to blend in."

Brother Elwood took the north road and searched along it until it began to climb a steep defile into some rocky hills. There were no signs of riders, wagons or lizardmen. He returned to the square and hid in the shadow of a doorway to wait for Jakob.

Brother Jakob set out along the west road. Within minutes of passing out through the ruined town gate he was almost certain that he had found his quarry. On the town commons he saw a large cart with a shrouded rectangular load and a banner strung above it. There were six or seven horses hobbled nearby and Jakob could make out the shapes of the riders lying wrapped in blankets beside a dying fire. Excitement surged through him.

Was the end to the long chase finally at hand?

Jakob crept through the moonlight to the cart and discovered a narrow gap in the heavy canvas covering. He peered into through but it was too dark for him to see inside. How could he discover if there were two lizardmen on the wagon without waking the men?

He hissed in frustration and turned his attention to the banner above. The embroidered words were hard to make out, thus he lifted his arm to shade his eyes from the moonlight. As he traced the letters, the wide sleeve of his cassock fell back to expose his cold, reptilian claw to the moonlight.

Excitement turned to anger and frustration when he deciphered the words on the banner. "Mahrlect!" he hissed. The sound of his voice was enough to disturb one of the riders who groaned and rubbed his eyes.

As Jakob span towards the unwelcome sound, his robes whirled out like tendrils of black smoke. Then he was gone.




Brother Jakob’s deep disappointment had scarcely abated by the time he had trudged back to the town square. When he got there he saw a dark robed figure flit through the shadows to his left.

"Brother Elwood?" he called softly.

"Turn around.” A low voice came from a deep shadow to his right. “Over here.”

Jakob followed the voice and a rough hand pulled him into a door alcove.

"Did you see it? There are lots more of them.” The voice belonged to Elwood. “They began appearing ten minutes ago."

Elwood pointed out knots of clandestine activity on the rooftops and alleys around the square. Every now and then there was a soft burst of high pitched chatter.

"What are they?"

"Skaven. Gutter runners, I think, or they could be plague monks. The rat men are all wearing hooded cloaks so I can’t tell for sure. Did you find anything? My search was fruitless."

"I thought we had finally found Rychek and Mahtis, but this Stefan fellow we've pursuing has 'The Terrifying Lizard Lady and her Suckling Infant' in his pretty cart, according to the banner."

"All this time we've been following a lizard lady and a baby? What are the chances of that?” Elwood swore. “Now we will definitely need to go all the way to Altdorf to find Rychek and Mahtis."

"We will need to survive this encounter first. More of the rat men are coming."

The gutter runners had done the job of quietly and permanently closing any watching eyes. With the town was ready for the taking, the main force of rat men began to boil up from the sewers.

"That is just one more disadvantage of a modern sanitation system. Ouch! Don't poke!" Jakob yelped.

"Then blend in and shut up!"

Glumhof had suffered enough misfortune over the years that it maintained a barracks on the town square. Three drooling rat ogres were pointed at the iron bound door and were prodded forward by the flesh-moulder who had created them.

The trio splintered the door from its hinges and within seconds swarms of skaven followed their mutated brethren inside. The cries of dismay from the Glumhof garrison were mingled with shouts and screams from all over the town as folk woke up to find stinking rat men in their homes.

The surprise attack went so well that the attackers barely found use for their filthy weapons as they rounded up the dazed town folk and dragged them into the square.

Wailing men, women and children were quickly herded together and forced to kneel on the cold cobbles.

"Let us smell-see what we have capture-taken," one shrill voiced squeaked louder than the rest. "Put-set fire to the warrior's nest to give light!"

Torches were applied, and the wooden barracks soon blazed merrily. Jakob and Elwood found that the shadows of their alcove were chased away by the dancing flames.

"We need to get out of here.” Elwood hunched down as low as he could and pulled his cowl lower still. "Blend in and act like a rat."

Jakob followed suit and the pair attempted a ponderous scamper across the square.




Dayivv Sneakthrottle was a happy Skaven Warlord. He was mightily pleased by the large number of live captives his troops had taken with negligible losses. He was just as delighted by the fact that he had proven the scryers of his clan to be false and cowardly. The soothsayers had said that the man-nest named Glumhof was cursed, but Dayivv could see not the slightest evidence that his endeavour was anything other than blessed by the Great Horned Rat.

However, even a smug and self satisfied rat man must remain alert at all times. He cut his gloating short when he spied two ungainly figures break into the fire light "Stop-halt!” he squeaked and scurried over towards them. "You are not of-from the clan. What do you squeak-say for yourselves?"

"Umm, hello? Ouch!"

The first of the strangers was silenced by a savage poke from the second. The second then went on to reply with a suspiciously falsetto voice and unspeakable Queakish grammar.

"Yes-no...maybe? We aren't-not clearly stinking, pox ridden, malicious cheese-eaters, just the like-same as you. Squeak!"

A large number of chittering rat men paused and tried to interpret the unexpected double negative.

WarLord Sneakthrottle had not survived thus far without developing a healthy suspicious streak. The last thing he was going to do was take the strangers at their word. "Uncover-show your faces, slave-things."

The mysterious pair slowly drew back their cowls and the overly dramatic unveiling was enhanced by the ruddy firelight. Where they should have had fur and whiskers, they had horny scales which appeared to be lurid purple in the red light. The hands they had lifted to their hoods had a savage claw on each fingertip, and the uncertain light exaggerated the length of the talons. One of the misfits had a smooth dome on his head. He forced a macabre smile and revealed a double row of long, serrated teeth. He raked his eyes across the suddenly apprehensive audience.

"Right-now, I could murder-massacre..." as he paused he laced his claws together and cracked the knuckles loudly. The rat-swarm cringed back. "... a tasty-nice bit of cheese. Eeek eeek!"

The other newcomer's scaly lips also parted and formed a sharp toothed grimace. He applied the palm of one scaly hand to his forehead with a startling report.

Warlord Dayivv considered the possibility that he had apprehended a pair of bizarre skaven assassins sent to perforate his own much-valued hide. Even if they were, he was prepared to look brave in front of this many of his retinue. In fact, he needed to do so. Bluff and swagger were all that kept him in power.

He took a step back and pretended to examine them more closely, but from a distance. This is a uniquely skaven ability. "You are not normal-usual skaven. I... I don't smell-know what you are. Tell-command Moulder Karquik to skitter-come here." He gestured sharply at one of his minions who swiftly scampered away in search of the ogre-rat handler.

Although Moulder Karquik was enjoying goading his rat ogres into destroying a religious shrine he had found in a back street of the town, the master of flesh mutation's main passion in life was the concoction of fresh abominations in his hellish laboratory. Lowest on his list of preferred activities was attending to his demanding warlord, hence he did not rush to respond. When he eventually did appear in Dayivv's presence, he somehow managed to combine both contempt and obsequiousness in his high pitched voice. "What do you ask-bid, O great Warlord Sneakthrottle?”

“If you keep-make me to wait again, I will use you as food-sport for your own ogre-pets, Moulder-Slave.” The warlord snapped. “Squeak-tell me quickly; what rat-kind are these?”

Karquik's eyes lit on the outsiders and suddenly he was as intrigued as any mad-scientist would be by a pair of biological anomalies. He scurried around the weird rats, poking and sniffing and chittering excitedly to himself as he did so.

“They smell-reek of warpstone. Are they mutant-freaks? Or moulder-creations? If so, the workmanship-artistry is exquisite. They are un-naturally armed with cut-tooth, rend-claw and armour-scale. Bigger-stronger than a clanrat. And with cold skin? No, they are cold blooded like a lizard- they would nibble-eat less than gnaw-greedy clan rats."

He suddenly whipped out a serrated knife and swished it within a fraction of an inch of the scaly faces. Then he took a deep breath of air through his twitching snout.

"No musk-stink? They defy-resist fear, as well." He sheathed the blade and made a pronouncement to his warlord. "They are cold-blood tooth-claw scale-warrior rats. I covet-desire knowledge of who make-moulded them.”

Dayivv was interested in another detail. “Where did they sneak-scurry from?"

"They must surely be the work-moulding of a great master moulder of the Hell-Pit Lair, O-brave-and-noble Warlord. If I carry-return them to the Pit, there will surely be a large prize-reward."

The clan chieftain's eyes boggled greedily. He had expected the raid to bring him man-thing slaves and food. If he could leverage his success to gain a large prize-reward, that could net him the influence that only warp token wealth could buy. He quickly revised the plans he had for exiting Glumhof with his spoils and fired a double-quick volley of commands.

"I will take-carry the warp-mutants and go to Hell-Pit Lair myself to claim the prize-reward. The storm vermin fang-pack will escort-accompany me along the north road. You other slave-rats, gather the man-things back to my lair. Do not nibble-eat too many before my return."

The man-things wailed even louder as their fears were confirmed by the skaven chief's words: their fate was to be lunch or bondage, but not necessarily in that order. One man-thing railed loudly against the heavens, "Curse you Sigmar, for you have forsaken this town!"

As he considered his plans for them, the warlord decided that the shouting of the noisy man-thing affronted his sensitive ears. He added to his list of commands. "And whip-flog them to keep them quiet!"

His subordinates scurried to obey. Strangely, the flogging only made the cursing and wailing worse.

 

The weakness of 13 is a deliberate plot device. It will distract you from how awful 14 is....

All of your points are extremely valid within the context of the story so far, but if I don't get the bat skyte insane stuff out in the open in a throwaway chapter now, I guarantee you will have bigger issues when I throw it in your face unannounced during a later action set piece.

Having said that, I don't pretend that I have got the balance remotely correct - I will need to revisit all of the awful bits once the whole narrative is laid out like a cadaver for dissection. Up until then, I wonder if you think presenting chapters 10-15 in a different order would soften the blow.

 

My, the like quota in my profile has suddenly increased! Are you now my biggest fan, Bob?

Well, I wanted to say "that's convenient" but you already foreshadowed it so I'm just going to grumble to myself instead.

I liked this section, I felt their anxiety to re-join with their companions was palpable.

he he he

HE HE HE

Accusing?

I just realised what you were trying to say; "accusation-intent" might help it flow a bit better? I read it as stumbly grammar initially.

This was deliciously flamboyantly malevolent .

I like how this little bit of insight was given across, effectively surmising Skaven culture in only a few words.

I did like this chapter. I found the Skaven double-squeak a little tiresome however: I thought it over-used and would prefer it to be used more minimally and thus have greater impact. I.e. "these occasional quirks of language reminds me that they are an alien culture" over "these constant quirks of language removes me from the story". Exceptions for comedic effect, such as the Saurus/Flagellants attempt at speaking double-squeak.

 

spun?

 

♥I was always your biggest fan, Slanputin♥

It occurred to me that a casual observer might think, "Poor Bob - people are really hacking into him. I hope he doesn't get discouraged." when in fact harshly honest is what I need / want. Rather than respond to every single point (which sounds like self justification), I decided to "like" every bit of input from the proof reading posse - I should have been doing it all along.

Or

I caught up for the end of the financial year, so that the Man could assess my "Like Tax" debt.

Thanks for that - I have only previously written double-squeak for Under-Empire story competitions, and non users of Queakish are very harshly treated over there. I will back off in the next proof read.

I looked at it both ways and gave up. For the record, spun is comtemporaneously correct. Span is the archaic past tense of "to spin". I could justify that I was going for a ye olde style of grammar (because I am), but spun it shall be from now on. Thank you, Spundrake.

 

Awwh, stop it you ♥

I still use "span" as it happens. I was quite surprised to find out that it's considered archaic.

 

You and me both, gramps.