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[Sep. 17th, 2009|12:59 pm] |
Kaupo strode through a natural tunnel, his strikeforce on the battlemarch again. He read the slightly tattered note in his hands.
"Service Deathcave, be rewarded by Council of 13. Oppose and oppose the Horned Rat. Breeders, warpstone, loot and riches. Enlist now." Later negotiations promised riches that may bring the clan to prominence. Depending on performance, of course. A condition that did not go unnoticed and was quite the reason for caution.
Meanwhile rows and rows of slaves were pulling heavy carts laden with barrels, each bearing the sigil of Ascheraden Brewery. Kvas. The drink that burns throats with a gluttonous flame and all else with a blue one. The old rat Halceon insisted on bringing them along: "When need arises, you'll know its use." Right now, though, the load was just slowing them down.
Eventually they reached the end of this cave and its toothed maw of an entrance. The day above was drifting towards twilight. Stepping out into the fresh breeze, Kaupo caught a trace of a tasty smell. Roast meat and lots of it. It seemed to be coming from over the nearby hill. "Ogres," He thought to himself, "best proceed care." Kaupo took a handful of clanrats and Zzappa and went scouting.
The hill was odd - it had a sturdiness and a sound as if it was not merely a mound of dirt. Halfway up it hit him. Halflings! Not ogres, halflings.
- Zzappa, get blast-sacks!
- What for? - said Zzappa, while producing several pouches of a powder.
- We visit for dinner.
They set up the pouches and blasted a hole in the hill to find a very confused halfling on the other side. Clanrats rushed in and silenced it before any alarm could be raised. Not that the settlement could have somehow not heard the blast. Meanwhile Kaupo crept over to the front side of the hill-home. There at the door he noticed disturbed halflings gathering, knocking and being generally worried. Such fools. He knew his rats would hide and wait for the best moment to ambush. Or not. It didn't really matter. What mattered was that he would let the braver ones enter the house and then crash the gathering outside.
1..3...6...7 halflings went in, the rest waited impatiently for their report. It never came. What came was a spiked ball thundering from above. Kaupo aimed his drop at the bloodiest possible target for maximum effect - a mother with three younglings. Their last screams chilled to the bone, their fragile frames collapsed with a sickening crunch and their blood spurted high. Not to lose momentum, Kaupo rolled away, impaling the next onlooker and disemboweling another with his armor's many spikes. He then uncurled and stood ready to face any challanger. There was none. Stunned by sheer horror the crowd of fatlings just stood there in silent shock. Then they burst into screaming and ran wherever their legs would carry them. Kaupo swung his sword and cut several runners, but didn't try following them.
A skaven emerged from the first dwelling.
- Cleared, sir.
- Good-good, get the clan, we camp here.
Meanwhile a perfidious idea spawned in Kaupo's head - halfling soup made by halflings. If only he could be bothered with catching one alive...
The evening passed in merriment. Good foods (and none are better than halfing foods) are a rare pleasure on the battlemarch, so this was a great respite for the whole taskfroce. Even the slaves would get some bones to chew on.
Kaupo sat at a fire, deep entrenched in thought. Kritstink and his lackeys were busy viling up the burrows with one of his many diseases in case the fatlings try to return home. Zzappa was gathering up all metal to be found in this backwater for some project or another.
Skegk and Massik joined Kaupo with some maps. They started examining them, trying to understand where exactly they were and how far to the designated meeting point with the Syndicate. The maps were drawn by short-things and were labelled in their ugly scribblings.
They had barely found their general area, when Skegk noticed a low rumbling. Looking up, he saw a barrel of kvas rolling towards them. He yelped and tried skittering away. Kaupo, alarmed by Skegk's fear, dove away before really noticing the barrel. Only Massik remained oblivious to the impending danger. Moments later the barrel smashed into Massik and with him into the fire, breaking open and exploding in a spectacular fireball.
A burning Massik tried running, took two steps and fell down dead. Kaupo and Skegk had some minor burns, Massik, the best map reader was dead. More importantly, the maps had burned up and were now floating through the air as charred shreds.
- WHO DID THIS!? - Yelled Kaupo, - WHO WANTS A BURNING SWORD MEAL!?
A distant clanrat called out:
- Found 'im!
He came to Kaupo with a young halfling on his shoulder. The chieftain was somewhat surprised:
- This? This thing? Cage it! - and after a small pause, louder, - PARTY OVER! FIND EVERY FAT-THING, BRING HERE ALIVE! I'LL SHOW SUFFERING!
An hour later a line of half-starved and naked halflings was on its knees, held by strong claws. Each skaven captor had a torch in the other hand. In front of them stood Kaupo, holding the child by its neck.
- You do NOT mess with master race. - he cried out and raised the child.
The prisoners winced, some cried out and were rewarded with a torch in the tender regions. Kaupo then took the child's hand and bit off several fingers. The ensuing wailing would have made a skeleton cover its ears. The halflings spat insults "Monster!", "Vile thing!", "Stop!" and "Have mercy!"; they were silenced by hot flames thrust in their open mouths.
Kaupo then proceeded to devour the child limb by limb, keeping it conscious for as long as possible. By the time he finished, most others were dead from burns. Of those that remained, Kaupo chose the healthiest one and ordered all others slowly impaled before its eyes. Then he ordered this one given rags and a meager meal and sent away to tell the tale of the Master Race. |
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