AUTHOR INFO
Hello everyone, I am Dakarillion. I have been a Games Workshop fanatic since I was 12, over a decade ago. It all started with recieving the Space Crusade game and the Operation Dreadnought expansion one Christmas. After a while I found out this was not a one-off game but a spin-off from something larger. I quickly fell for the Tau and so began my GW adventure. I have since also started an Adeptus Astartes and a Tyranids collection. Five years ago I branched out from 40k and began my Fantasy collection, beginning with Wood Elves and the Skaven. I have written a large amount of Fan-Fiction, Background and Character profiles for each and every army I have or intend to get.
ABOUT THIS ARTICLE
This time, it is to my Skaven I veture.
I have created this Article to compile all my short stories, background and character profiles for my dissident Clan Bador as the thread I created would soon become too large very quickly, so somewhere where individual parts could be found instantly seemed logical.
Led by the nefarious and unobidiant Black Seer, Rattigan Blackheart, Clan Bador inhabits the corrupted Dwarven stronghold of Karak Bador and keeps itself to itself ... for the moment. As with any great character or group, they need an nemesis and Clan Bador find's its in the form of Clan Noktus, the Clan that supposed to have control of Karak Bador. Though neglagent, if not out right defiant of their orders, the Council are biding their time in disciplining Rattigan, choosing to concentrate on more pressing matters and leaving it to Warlord Gutterbrat and Clan Noktus to hassle Rattigan and Clan Bador.
BREIF SUMMARY OF CLAN BADOR
- Population: 600,000+.
- Influence: Most consider it Shunned, but with certain Clans it has Moderate Influence.
- Holdings: 1 well fortified stronghold, Karak Bador.
- Location: 20 miles south-east of Hell Pit.
- Clan Colours: The main colours of Clan Bador are Dark Green clothing, Iron armour, Brown leather, Brown and Iron shields and Blue Clan Markings.
- Summary: Clan Bador was formed by the insane Rogue-Black Seer, Rattigan Blackheart. The Council ordered Rattigan to conquer the Dwarf Citadel of Karak Bador and once done he was to hand it over to Clan Noktus, but instead he kept it for his own purposes and tried to have Clan Noktus destroyed. He was unsuccessful in this but his newly formed Clan now control the vast fortress with an iron grip. Since that time Clan Bador has become a great customer of Clan Moulder and a hated enemy of Clan Noktus and Clan Skryre. To the Council, so far he appears only to be an annoying fly they have not yet chosen to swat.
ORIGINS OF CLAN BADOR
The Taking of Karak Bador
(Added 13/12/2012)
To the north of Kislev and twenty miles south-east of the cancerous dwelling known as Hell Pit, in ancient times a giant meteor of Warpstone smashed through the side of a mountain, later to be known as Bador, the resulting explosion howling it out. Thousands of centuries later a great Dwarven realm was built in the gargantuan cavern. Known as the White Citadel, Karak Bador was a marvel to behold. Every inch wrought from white marble, it was large enough to hold over 50,000 dwarven families. A central column sits at its heart, around which its thirteen visible levels are wrapped.
Within the column is Dhowa’Khazag, the Elevation Shaft. A single square shaft, two hundred metres across, reaching from the lowest subterranean sections beneath Bador up to its twelfth visible level. In the centre of the shaft is a column of stone and iron twenty metres across. Contained within is a network of cogs and axles, pistons and pumps, all of which serves but one function. To move two huge platforms of rock and iron up and down the shaft. Able to be stopped at each level by means of simply pulling on a lever which would lock the drive gears in place, they could also move either up or down by simply changing which way the gears span.
The ancient dwarf architects who built Karak Bador knew that a citadel of this size would need a mass transportation system. So they designed Karak Bador to include Dhowa’Khazag, a simple way of moving large numbers of equipment or people, specifically soldiers, quickly between levels. As many as a hundred dwarves in full battle dress could easily fit onto just one of the platforms, with room to spare, alloying for reinforcements or redeployments to arrive or be enacted with amazing speed.
But this was not the only function Dhowa’Khazag performed. Built into its walls were colossal pipes, sporting pumps and valves, pressure gauges and offshoot tubes, filters and taps, which work nonstop to lift freshwater up to each of Bador’s levels. The water is drawn from a lake half a mile beneath Mt. Bador’s southeast corner. The lake is a mile across and eternally renewed from a deep spring beneath it. Many eons ago, this had been a small cavity in the ground, into which the spring pumped. Many millennia later, a cavern had been formed and a subterranean river now flowed southward through the planet’s crust.
A few more centuries and the lake was discovered by the dwarves and so they built Karak Bador in the hollow Mt. Bador above it, running pipes into this natural reservoir. They also constructed docks along the river in the subterranean level after having followed it and found that many leagues to the south, it came to the surface and joined with a river which ran through what is now Kislev.
Each of Bador’s levels above ground is a master piece in its own right, each serving a valuable purpose. The lowest and largest level could only be accessed by two giant gates, one facing south towards Kislev, the other north-west, deeper into the mountains. Each gate was white iron trimmed with gold and jewels, and inscribed with runes of warding and protection. Once through a gate you would discover that Bador’s lowest level was given over to the dwarven army; filled with barracks, forges, weapon smiths, supply stores and training areas. From this level, the next was reachable via the many wide stair cases that circled up the inside of the outer walls, or by ascending aboard Dhowa’Khazag.
The next four levels where purely residential areas with great homes and social areas. The further three upon them where given over to everyday industry and commerce. Above those the next two were the courts, galleries and libraries of the dwarves containing hundreds of thousands of tomes on ancient subjects. And above them the next two levels where home to those of noble standing; retired warriors, Ancestors, Lords and Lady Dwarves plus others who had earned the right to live there.
And then, atop the central column, in a mile wide circle, forming the very top of the White Citadel stood the palace of Dwarf Lord, Eldagon Stoutarm. A combination of marble and white-iron, it was here in the massive palace that he and his family lived as they watched over Karak Bador and its people. Under the leadership of the Stoutarm family, Bador had been prosperous for thousands of years, undisturbed by the other races … until the rats came.
At first it was small, ordinary rats that began to plague the city in their hundreds, eating all the food, destroying the craftwork and machines of the dwarves. With fire and metal, the dwarves curbed the horde and removed their threat from the citadel. But that had only been the beginning. Half a year went by and the dwarves began to relax … then the rats returned. But this time they were greater in size and their numbers countable in thousands. The horde swept through the citadel destroying anything and everything they could find. Jewellery, craftwork, food, gun powder, weapons, it mattered not, the rats devoured what they could and rendered useless what they could not.
And in the wake of the horde marched a black furred, horned, rag-clad figure. It lent heavily on a twisted staff formed from warpstone altered wood. It was humanoid in shape but could only be described as a rat. Its eyes glowed fluorescent green and small wisps of smoke surrounded them. Decades of too much Warpstone consumption had altered the rat's body beyond that of Grey Seers. At a wave of its staff more ratmen poured fourth from tunnels and burrows under the Citadel and out in the cavern beyond. The Skaven had finally found Karak Bador.
They swarmed forth and slew the dwarven inhabitants with glee, for with no weapons to wield and no armour to wear, the dwarves did not last as long as they normally would. Out in the cavern more Skaven assaulted the engineers and tech dwarves working on the dwarf machinery lining the walls of the cavern. The machinery was used to regulate the chaotic energy given off by the warpstone deposits littering the floor of the cavern, remnants of the ancient meteor, so it could not infect the Karak. But the Skaven had other ideas for what the machinery could be used for.
A score or more of dwarves managed to escape and flee southwards to the nearest dwarf stronghold they could find. Of Stoutarm's family only his two youngest sons, Corin and Cor escaped. The loss of Karak Bador would from that day forth be recorded in the Grudge Book as Shame of the White Citadel.
Back in the Citadel, the Skaven had captured every inch of Bador. The Seer who had been tasked with taking the Citadel had the two leaders of the clans who had assisted him brought to Bador's Throne Room. The moment the Warlord of Clan Noktus and the Clan Skryre representative entered the room arcs of green lightening ripped through their bodies, tearing them apart. The Seer laughed as his lightning fried the weak lords. Clan Noktus’ Chieftan, Gutterbrat, witnessed the death of his master and fled before he could suffer the same fate.
Beyond the throne room a huge battle was raging. Of the several hundred thousand Skaven that had attacked Bador, over half were loyal to the treacherous Rattigan Blackheart, the notorious and unique Black Seer, and another ten thousand or more were well paid hired help from Clan Moulder. Clan Noktus and the Skryre forces fought a losing battle. Many of their comrats had shown their true colours, siding with Rattigan either out of fear for their lives or because they had been bought off with lies and promises.
Gutterbrat rallied the remnants of Clan Noktus and had the Skryre elements hold off Rattigan's forces while he ‘planned’ a counter assault. But as soon as Skryre had Noktus covered Gutterbrat stabbed them in the back, fleeing the cavern with what was now his Clan, leaving Skryre to die. Revenge was on Gutterbrat's mind and he did not wish to see Clan Noktus fall that day.
The Council's Wrath
(Added 13/12/2012)
The Lords Of Decay had ordered Rattigan to take an army to Bador and conquer it. He was then to pay off Clans Moulder and Skryre and hand over control of the Citadel to Clan Noktus. The Council was furious when Gutterbrat returned to them with the tidings of what had happened. He beseeched the Council that he be allowed the task of taking Rattigan's life and it was granted.
Rattigan was summoned to the Council chambers for a hearing of ultimate treachery. He came alone, unarmed and naked. His blind, yet all seeing eyes, eternally reefed in green smoke, were lanterns in the dark chambers and even the other Seers present felt their flesh crawl when his gaze swept their way. Their revulsion also stemmed from the colour of his pelt. Until now Grey Seers were known for their grey or sometimes white fur but Rattigan's was as black as his name and befitting a black rat his body was physically stronger than other Seers.
The Council was not so intimidated by Rattigan's stark display. They railed at him for the best part of an hour on how he was the most devious, treacherous and brainless Seer ever along with hundreds of insults. Rattigan merely stood statue still in the centre of the room, apparently unaffected and in no way showing respect. In fact he had not bared his throat or grovelled at any point since arriving. They demanded just how he thought he would get away with such blatant heresy but Rattigan merely smiled and said nothing.
Then they asked if he had any last words before he was to be executed. Gutterbrat half snarled, half grinned with pleasure as he strode forward, drawing 'Blood Seeker', the renowned Warpforged Blade of Clan Noktus. Rattigan slowly turned his gaze upon Gutterbrat and the would-be executioner froze. Not from fear but from a lack of control over his own body. Gutterbrat released the musk of fear, unable to stand the Black Seer’s gaze. Rattigan smiled even more as he turned back to regard the Council.
"You sssay I am treacherousss! Yet how can you be ssso sssure? We isss Skaven! We all treacherousss in one way or othersss! Condemn messs should it pleasss you! Have assassinsss hound messs! But know you thisss! You cannot ssstop messs plansss, and you will regret not aiding messs geniusss until it isss far too late!"
Suddenly he vanished without a trace; no cloud of smoke, no bang, no nothing, he simply wasn't there anymore. Gutterbrat let out a roar of frustration and ran out of the chambers to search for Rattigan, roaring at a dozen or more of the albino Council Guard to follow him. They would have refused if not for the terrifying rage burning behind the newly anointed Warlord's eyes.
The Council were in outrage! There were spells on the Council Chambers that should have prevented Rattigan being able to escape! They searched for several days but Rattigan was no where to be found in Skavenblight. It was assumed he must have fled back to Bador as fast as he could.
The Council sent out messages to all the Clans near to Bador ordering them to march on the Citadel and destroy Rattigan! But several Clans refused. Moulder in particular was loathe to brake the long standing business they held with Rattigan and Skryre would not bear losing more of its toys to him. But an army was raised and it scurried to the cavern and the Citadel within. But when they got there all were shocked by the changes! Rattigan and his followers had been busy in the few months they had had possession of Bador.
Purple streaks of iridescent lightning of unnatural origin cut twisting patterns across a raging, coal black sky. But the sky was not truly atmospheric but roiling clouds of smoke and ash. Beyond them was the rocky ceiling of the cavern itself. Rain fell from the unnatural sky, yet it was not truly rain. Oily, black drops of a substance few would wish to know leaked from the poorly maintained and badly damaged pipe work which infested the walls and ceiling of the cavern.
While the larger pipes had been a conveyance system for the dwarves, the rest of the network had been used to bring fresh air to the citadel. But now they were polluted and disfigured. Rattigan’s minions had added many new pipes to the network and now it resembled a nest of maggots or huge, bloated worms rolling over and under each other. They where packed in so tight that many broke their neighbours and where this happened the black liquid cascaded down in a waterfall instead of rain.
The once smooth walls of the giant cavern were now irregular, pitted and broken where the lightning hit them. The old dwarfish machinery still studded the walls but now it was joined or enhanced with Skaven nightmares. The new machines were chaotically placed and grotesque, sparking and throwing off lightning when touched by the rain. Black, acrid smoke belched forth from the lower monstrosities to be inhaled by those higher up, sucking it away into the pipes to mix with the black liquid.
It was as if the cavern was the innards of some great, plague-ridden beast. The pipes were its veins, the machines its lungs and the walls and floor its skin. And like any great beast, it would need a heart, and what a heart it had. Gutterbrat and the other rats among the army who had seen the Citadel before were astounded by the sight. Where there had been a towering white jewel now sat a hunched and ugly structure, like some brooding carrion bird. Blackened and fortified, the Citadel seemed to watch the watchers.
When the order to march suddenly came many a rat jumped as they were shocked out of their thoughts. As the first wave of the army began to pour down from all sides towards the Citadel, the lightning playing about the roof seemed to intensify and hundreds of bolts plummeted floorwards ripping into the would-be invaders. There were more screams and deaths as the Skaven encountered the black rain for the first time. It burnt into their flesh and ravaged the throats of those who accidentally swallowed the foul stuff. The wave soon began to fall back as score after score of their forces were decimated by the freak storm.
Reports were coming in from the tunnel teams sent into the burrows beneath the Citadel claiming that many of the tunnels were sealed shut and a greater number were flooded with the acrid black water or rigged with false floors and other booby-traps. Then the machines started to rumble and the black smoke poured out in a constant rush and the machines above stopped sucking it in. Instead they blew it down to surround the invaders plunging them into a choking black fog.
As the fog lifted it became clear that no-one in the first wave had survived this latest assault, the cloying, choking fog finishing them all. Several dozen rats turned and tried to desert the remaining forces but were quickly cut down. The heady musk of fear was rife in the air now and it came from the would-be attackers instead of Bador as it should have. In fact, nothing came from Bador. It sat as silent and oppressive as before. Indeed, even with the increase in smoke and lightning none of it had reached the Citadel itself. When ever lightning or the black fog strayed its way something seemed to flicker in front of the Citadel, stopping it from reaching inwards. Many wondered why ... and unfortunately, they soon found out.
Gutterbrat ordered the second wave forward. It slunk slowly at first but began moving faster when no lightning came and the fog did not begin again. They also dodged the rainfall as best they could. Gutterbrat reckoned that Rattigan had exhausted his tricks ... but he was wrong. Just as the leading edge of the second wave was not a hundred meters from the Citadel’s lowest walls the rats began to scream and puke as a wall of green energy sprang up frying the leading rats who where first to walk into the, until then, unseen magic field. As the lead rats disintegrated and boiled those close by felt their fur and flesh begin to peal off.
Again the army fell back and this time Gutterbrat could not get a new wave to march forward. The remnants and what was left of the second fled out of the cavern. Soon only those of Clan Noktus remained. Gutterbrat glared at the dark fortress which seemed to laugh at him as it smugly watched the annoying pests run away. Gutterbrat swore this would not be the end. He would stop at nothing to see Rattigan pay for his crime and regain the Citadel for Clan Noktus. Slowly he and his Clan withdrew.
From atop his new palace Rattigan watched, his warp-sight allowing him to see Gutterbrat's expression as if the fool Warlord where only a few feet away. The Warlord soon turned and left, taking his Clan with him. It could only be a foolish rat that would dare turn the Council against Rattigan. No matter, Bador was his now and his alone. He had his plans to attend to. Rattigan turned and marched into the depths of his dark palace. Clan Bador was born.
The New Karak Bador
(Added 16/12/2012)
The streets and buildings were encrusted with filth and dirt; blood flowed freely along the many causeways and gutters. The buildings and other places that had been ravaged in the taking of the citadel were in great need of repair and where repairs had been made they were unstable and patchy at best. Many of the great pillars holding up the upper levels of Bador could easily snap and give way at any moment. Hundreds of slaves had the task of cleaning and maintaining the citadel and scores died each day. But it did not matter how many fell for there was always at least four more to replace each one that died.
The Citadel had been greatly fortified since its taking. There where watch towers, guard patrols, spikes and traps lined the outer walls and the ramparts had been heavily reinforced. Out in the cavern, mining teams wearing useless protective gear collected the vast and seemingly endless deposits of Warpstone littered across the cavern floor. The Warpstone had ploughed through the roof of the cavern many centuries ago and had created the exit hole that let the pipes out onto the world's surface and the mountainside above the cavern.
The black water and ash clouds now released by Rattigan's infernal machines were slowly corrupting the land above and beyond Karak Bador and the lightning was a constant threat to anyone who approached Bador. Unless they remained on the cracked and unrepaired road that led to the gates of Bador on the south side of its lowest level, those approaching it would surely perish. Only on the road did the lightning not strike and the rains not fall.
The outside of the fortress itself was not the only aspect to be upgraded either. Traps and tricks were situated everywhere within the tunnels and shelters. Aye, for the fortress had become just as dangerous for its inhabitants as it had for would-be invaders. Up and down its entire height and width, warriors and guards prowl the streets, given permission to deal out punishment wherever they see fit. Sometimes this lead to them fighting each other but this did not matter to Rattigan. It merely meant that only the toughest and most brutal rats would survive to fight in his army. If any rat was found to be not up to its assigned task then it could easily be replaced by a dozen more. For inside the many great houses that had been home to the dwarf upper cast, dozens of breeding pits now existed, producing scores of new rats every few weeks.
And it was not just these rats that served Rattigan. Others, refugees, murderers and rats who were disillusioned by the Council, flocked to Bador and many were taken into its depths to be merged into its ever increasing army. But Rattigan also gained more forces from other Clans. Moulder in particular supplied him with a great number of their creations and trainee moulders. He also had slave Warlock Engineers captured through raids against Skryre who forged machines for him under pain of death; some even gave their services willingly, just happy to be alive.
Rattigan would never run short of rats just rats he could trust. It was a known fact that not many, even the best, lasted long in his employment. Especially those rats who formed Rattigan’s own council. Located in one of the few unharmed buildings on the twelfth level, Rattigan used this Council only as a way to manage the teaming masses within the fortress; they had no real power of their own ... except three.
Three stood out from the rest, able to stand against Rattigan and live. They would never dream of overthrowing him but nor would they let him do anything so insane he might destroy Bador. These three earn the closest thing to trust Rattigan will allow himself. They are Scabrat Brokentooth, Rattigan's favoured Chieftain who oversees the managing of Bador's warriors, utterly devoted to carrying out Rattigan's will; the Exiled-Warlock Engineer Magtek Silverpaws, Bador's Chief Machinesmith and Inventor; and last but not least the Master Moulder Changelus Carbrat, the longest surviving guest from Clan Moulder.
The other 8 Council members, for Rattigan still paid homage to the Horned Rat, only survive if they agree to what ever Rattigan proposes or they meet with an unfortunate ‘accident’ – such as being tossed off the top of the fortress to tumble through the air before splattering across some area of the sixth level.
Karak Bador was now, in a word, Death!
CHARACTERS OF CLAN BADOR
Coming Soon
TALES FROM KARAK BADOR
Desecration
(Added 16/01/2013)
Even muffled, the pickaxes made a steady bup, bup, bup as half a dozen silent, black clad figures picked slowly at the blockage. They had been working carefully for the last two hours to tunnel through with the least noise possible. They even had no lights lit lest it alert their enemies. Another half dozen watched their comrades’ work, anxious to be on.
Another figure was not watching the workers, instead watching the tunnel he and his comrades had traversed this past hour. Nor did he simply watch for figures approaching on foot but the walls and even the roof. He’d heard the stories and seen first hand some of what could happen if They found you. He was jittery, no matter how he tried to calm his nerves. His kind were hardy and supposedly beyond intimidation but he knew, oh how he knew, that if the inhabitants of the place they were trying to reach learnt of this small team’s presence then they would all surely die.
Another of the watchers had similar thoughts though he was calm and serious in his mind. It was thoughts such as these that had made up his mind on several decisions concerning this venture. The first was the absence of all but the most necessary gear among their number. They all wore leather brigandines, vambraces and greaves in place of the heavier and shiny armour they were use to. Only weapons dulled with soot and grime, ammunition, meagre rations and basic medical kits were carried. Another was the pitch-black shirts, trousers, boots and coifs with face covers they each wore and the black fleeces that hid the small bits of metal visible on the brigandines.
It had also been his idea to work in complete silence. He knew the risks better than any. Though they had not seen any evidence of their foe having used this tunnel since entering it six miles back, he knew that meant very little where this particular enemy was concerned. Still he had to admit that the tunnel was unharmed, no new tunnels had been dug into it and none of the supports were gnawed on or hacked up. There were also none of the usual smells. It seemed exactly as it had the last time he had been through it.
Suddenly, one of the workers bit his lip, stifling the yelp trying to escape. His hand had hit a sharp out crop of rock when it lost its grip on the pickaxe as he swung at the wall. The others all sucked in their breath and waited, hearts pounding but the worker recovered, nodded to the watchers before returning to work.
That was almost too close, the leader thought.
It was obvious the team were growing tired. If it were not for the extreme necessity of silence they would have been through the wall in twenty minutes rather than two hours, but the strains of toiling for so long at something you know you could do so much faster is wearying on anyone, even more to masters of stonework.
Then an almost inaudible hiss came from one of the workers. His pick was through to the other side. The leader came forwards and examined the hole. It was no bigger than his fist but the wall here appeared thin, only a foot at the most. He quickly signalled for all the workers to concentrate their efforts. It would be another hour, maybe, before the hole would be big enough for them to pass through but at least they were finally making headway.
Forty minutes later they were on the move again, creeping down the tunnel a further hundred metres or more till they came again to another dead end. Only this time it was not what it appeared to be.
The leader crept forth, retrieving an old key from within his garments and slid it into a disused lock. Slowly he turned the key, pausing every few seconds when a rusty creak sounded from the ancient machinery. Then it was open and several of the team joined him in pushing the big block of rock forwards enough to let them move around it and into the chamber beyond. As the gap widened, foul smelling air poured into the tunnel. It reeked of blood, faeces and decay. The team recoiled gasping for clean air. They had not expected this after the cleanness of the tunnel.
The stench soon dulled, dissipating as the trapped air spread down the long tunnel. Again the team set to manoeuvring the block. Once through the leader immediately motioned that the other entrance to the chamber be sealed. Two of the figures moved cautiously across the chamber. A few times they froze as their feet broke something dry and brittle beneath them or kicked some unseen object sending it skittering away to collide with something else. They finally reached the door. After checking to make sure it was whole they quickly secured it by sliding the nearest of another of the great rock blocks in front of it.
Only now did the party risk a light. The six pickaxe carriers brought out their lamps and lit them. As the light grew stronger it revealed a long low hall with deep shelves carved three high into the walls. It also revealed the fourteen stocky figures. They began to remove their fleeces revealing heavily muscled, barrel chests and short, powerful legs. Each one then removed their coif allowing the long beards that had been pinned tight against their chests to fall free once more. Some were plaited, some grey, some reddish in hue, but none were as long or as white as their leader’s.
His was braided with silver clasps set with gems and on his head sat a thin circlet of gold. His brigandine was of better workmanship than his colleagues and had two rubies set in the collar, carved into runes of warding and protection. His hard, stony face was more a mass of scars then proper flesh and his eyes burned darkly with anger. Corin Stoutarm surveyed their surroundings with mounting rage and hatred.
This was his family’s ancestors’ burial hall, located at the lowest level of the tunnel system beneath Karak Bador. The shelves should have held the stone coffers of proud warriors, maidens, former kings and others of his royal family. Now those coffers where gone and their contents scattered throughout the hall. That was what the two who had barred the door had kicked and stood on; the bones of Stoutarm’s ancestors. Every bit of weapons and armour, gems and other jewellery, everything the occupants had been buried with, where gone.
Every bone bore gnaw marks, some half eaten, and the clothes and over materials the bodies had been lain to rest in, where piled in corners and on shelves. Torn, shredded and covered in excrement, they were what had caused the foul stench. The desecration was wanton and wholesale, nothing left untouched.
Many of Stoutarm’s fellow dwarves were gazing in despair and shaking their shaggy heads in disbelief at the carnage. Stoutarm himself was beyond despair; his rage far outweighed his sadness. He turned away from his fellows, his hands clenched and his eyes screwed closed against the horrific scene.
His mission had been to see if the enemy had found the secret route into the burial chambers and recover the Stoutarm Ancestors. It was apparent that the tunnel was safe but as for his ancestors, proper retrieval was lost. Cor had begged his brother not to accompany the scout team but Corin had brushed his brother’s pleas aside asserting his right as eldest heir of the Stoutarm’s and had gone with the scouts. The only promise Cor could wrestle from his brother was that if either objective was compromised that he would return immediately to Karak Thorn, where Thane Argon had granted the survivors of Bador residency. But being here and seeing the desecration of his ancestors, Corin was about to break that promise.
His eyes snapped open and he spun back to the others. Several had been weeping and kneeling on the floor, the situation granting them the ability to show their softer nature. They all came suddenly to attention at the expression on their Lord’s face.
“Arradin. Ironjaw. Grommel. Turn out your kit sacks. All of you gather up every bone into those sacks, including ashes and powder,” Corin’s voice was deadly soft, “Then you three get them back to Karak Thorn.”
The three miners emptied their sacks and the extra ammo, food and other supplies were shared out among the ten dwarves who where to remain with Corin. Then all set about the task of retrieving the bones. Once done the three quickly redressed in their dark gear. They made to leave.
"Wait," Corin said. To Grommel he gave a heavy burden, "Should I not return, give these to my brother."
Corin removed the circlet he wore and retrieved the key from under his beard. Grommel nodded solemnly as he accepted the precious items. Then he turned and he disappeared back into the tunnel with the other two bone carriers. Even as their footsteps were still fading Corin ordered the others to hide their dark gear in the tunnel entrance and close the hinged shelf.
He surveyed them then. They all looked uneasy and none would meet his fierce eyes.
“I know why you shy from my gaze. I should honour my Promise and return to Karak Thorn but now I cannot. The honour of my family has been desecrated twice now with this unholy scene. For this I must hurt our enemy, discover how to liberate Bador. Before I can return I must know how my family’s honour can be restored. Any of you who wish it may leave for Thorn now. I will understand why.”
None took up his offer.
“Then let us be about it.”
The door was unbarred, weapons were drawn, handguns and pistols loaded. Stealing themselves for the worst the dwarves opened the doors.
Beyond, the tunnels were still lit by dwarf lamps. Nothing had been down here for several months by the amount of dust and the stale quality of the air. Corin lead his team stealthily threw the winding tunnels to a little known stairway that would lead up into the barrack level of Karak Bador. They ascended, Corin praising his Ancestors for their insight in building so many hidden and secret ways throughout Bador’s structure.
They had encountered no-one and no-thing for the half hour since leaving the Burial Hall but now sounds began to be heard from above them. There was also a rapid rise in temperature. It felt like they were nearing a dwarf workshop but that was impossible; there had been none on the lowest level of the Karak.
Then the rats started to appear; at landings of the stairs, appearing in holes in the once smooth walls, running along beside the dwarves at a few points. There were hundreds of them but none seemed to pay the dwarves much heed. This was mostly thanks to another brilliant idea Corin had had. Prior to the expedition a small band of warriors had set out and captured two of the enemy. They had been gutted and their scent glands captured in porous metal balls. Each of the dwarves carried one on a leather thong strapped to his belt; the smell was bitter but it worked.
They came to another landing. Now the sounds were discernable. Crashes of metal on metal so loud that they seemed to come from giant hammers striking giant anvils, the whoosh and roar of what could only be furnaces. Above this, echoing screams and chattered commands could just be heard. The dwarves readied themselves. They must be close to an exit into the barracks. Their advance slowed.
When they came to the next level they found a rat, much bigger than any they had seen so far, sitting in the middle of the stairs. As they came upon it, its beady, green eyes locked onto them. It sniffed at them and bared its fangs. Corin feinted at it with his axe but it hardly moved so he booted it aside, growling with disgust when several boils on its side burst across his boot. They quickly passed by.
As the last dwarf rounded the next bend in the stairs he did not notice the large shadow that fell over the injured rat. A furry, clawed hand reached out and woke the rat with a flick. It squealed softly until its eyes locked on the burning red ones that bore down on it. The rat chattered and looked towards the way the dwarves had gone.
The red eyes followed its gaze and a snuffling sound could be heard. The eyes smiled, the shadow moved back. Then two shadows whipped round the corner of the landing and up the stairs after the dwarves. The rat meanwhile disappeared after the eyes.
Corin was once more disgusted. He and his team were on a rusty gantry that had been haphazardly attached to the wall to give access to the crudely created entrance to the hidden stairs. The gantry looked out over an infernal scene. Below them a whole section of Bador’s barrack level had been cannibalised. In its place there was now a huge forge, similar to those of the dwarves but truly a hideous mockery of Corin’s technology.
Everywhere the dwarves looked the enemy were there. Thousands of Skaven filled the forge alongside masses of slaves being driven to work the machines. All suffered from time to time, burnt by falling sparks and molten metal from the poorly maintained furnaces above. They could see workers and engineers overseeing the grisly workshop. Thankfully, though very close to the ratmen, the horde was intent their tasks and none noticed the nine figures crouched on the gantry.
They appeared to be forging an assortment of huge metal structures, long and curved, some smaller and rounded. They looked like … like … Corin knew he had seen similar shapes somewhere before but he could not pinpoint them just then.
He put the matter aside. It did not matter what they were making. Corin had an idea. They had with them a few dozen mini-kegs of black powder for the handguns. If that powder found its way into one of those furnaces it would cripple the ratmen’s production. There might be more of these forges further round the barrack level. He had eight dwarves with him. Maybe if they split into four groups they could … wait … eight?
Corin looked round and took a head count; eight. He counted again, including himself this time; nine. There should be eleven of them on the gantry! Where were Thrist and Muldan? The others had noticed the alarm in Corin’s expression and they too, began to notice the absence of their comrades. A deep unease settled upon them. It was not like Thrist and Muldan to lag behind.
Corin motioned for Hagen to check the stairs. Hagen levelled his pistol and pickaxe and crept back into the dark entry. Simultaneously there came a wet thud, the bang of a pistol in a confined space and a strangled, gurgling gasp before Hagen fell back out onto the gantry, his pistol smoking and the pick gone, the hand that had held it trying to stem the blood pouring into his beard around the dagger embedded in his throat.
With a cry Corin leapt up and fired his own pistol into the entry, two other dwarves throwing hatchets. There were several thuds and a number of squeals as unseen foes were hit. Out of the entry leapt three black-swathed Skaven, wicked daggers in one hand and nets in the other. Their snarls died quickly as each one found his snout pressed against the muzzle of a handgun. Before they could react the guns fired and the headless bodies collapsed.
Then the dwarves were up and racing across the gantry. Behind them more of the net carrying ratmen poured out of the entry. All around them on other gantries and floors more Skaven had noticed the intruders and were moving to intercept. Some jumped down from the higher gantries and were blown apart or smashed aside by gun or axe. From below shots from Skaven marksmen rang out, punching holes through the floor of the gantry. Dorgrim cried out as a section of gantry gave way when a Skaven landed on it and both plummeted down into a furnace below.
Corin blasted left and right, his repeater pistol almost spent, hacked through limbs and kicked in faces. He was beside himself with rage. Rage at himself for bringing this fate upon his fellow dwarves by breaking his oath to Cor. He should have returned not gone on. He channelled his rage into staying alive.
The gantry collapsed ahead, swinging down to create a slide onto the furnace floor. The six remaining dwarves slid down and dived for cover. One didn’t make it, a second reaching cover only to be found dead upon arrival. Corin was out of black powder and his companions had lost theirs during the pursuit. Nothing for it but to die honourably.
A group of rat warriors edged towards the equipment their quarry hid behind. Suddenly the pile of equipment crashed over and flew into the Skaven. The dwarves leapt over the machinery and butchered the scattered warriors. They charged into the nearest group, fighting with everything they had. None of the Skaven could stand against them and they cut a bloody path back across the forge towards the stairs. Corin began to hope that maybe they could escape, maybe they could flee after all. Their blades were notched and their daggers broken but they were now only forty yards from the stairway. They could do it, they could make it.
Karass screamed up ahead as the ground beneath him erupted and he was flung into a nearby throng of Skaven who quickly finished the downed dwarf. Out of the ground came a huge, hulking monstrosity. Corin had never seen anything like it. It was larger than any rat ogre he had ever seen but seemed to be nothing more than a gigantic rat! And a dead one at that. Though covered with muscles that bugled against its skin, even though it snapped its jaws and moved its body Corin could see into its chest, could see green warp light pouring out through holes in its throat, could see the eyeless monster’s brain through cracks in its skull. It seemed to be driven by the mechanical frame work and lopsided machinery encasing its body.
All this he took in as it finished pulling itself up out of the ground and as he stared at its visible bones he was struck by a thunderbolt-thought. Bones! Giant bones! That's what the Skaven were forging, that's why they had looked familiar. Before he could think anything else though or ponder why the Skaven might be building such a thing the beast fixed its sightless head it their direction and opened its mouth as if to roar. Instead, all that came out was a rancid stench of decaying flesh. The other Skaven had drawn back from the creature, seemingly more afraid of it then they were concerned about killing the dwarves. Fargra and Theos stood themselves in front of Corin, but Corin pushed them aside. They would die together, not one by one.
The creature lowered itself into a crouch, its tail swishing back and forth. Several unlucky Skaven were caught by the tail, the powerful blow breaking them. Their death cries distracted the beast and it swung round in their direction. The dwarves saw their chance and made to charge the creature. Corin took two steps before something closed about his ankle. It pulled upwards, flipping him upside down, his head smashing off the hard floor. He cried out in pain and dropped his axe.
Fargra looked round and tripped over Corin’s axe, falling into Theos. As Corin was whisked higher into the air he watched the beast turn and pounce on the prone dwarves.
“NOOO!!!” Corin cried while they screamed as the beast ripped them apart.
Corin suddenly came to an abrupt stop, and he smashed into the railing of another gantry. Groggily he realised he had been winched up by a pulley system. Blood began to rush to his head and out of the wound above his left temple. He grabbed hold of the railing and tried to steady his vision. What he saw once he had made him almost wish he hadn’t.
Standing on the gantry beside him was the foul leader of the Skaven who had taken Bador. The Seer’s smoking, sightless yet all-seeing eyes bored into his. Rattigan Blackheart grinned at the helpless dwarf. Corin grinned back and flicked his arm, the dagger in his hand slicing off one of the vile creature’s ears. As the beast reared away in pain, Corin threw the dagger but the despicable thing must have seen it coming and dodged aside.
The other Skaven jumped forward to maim the thing that had wounded their leader but the rat motioned them back with a sweep of its staff. Recovered from the unexpected attack, Rattigan froze the dwarf’s limbs with a simple look. Corin was no longer grinning; he had failed to kill his most hated foe.
“Ssso pesssky short-thing, you think you can hurt mess? Mess know you, you be one of short-king’s runtsss. Where be the other?”
Corin spat blood at Rattigan. The ratman snickered.
“Been along time since I have small-thing flesssh, yesss, yesss.”
Rattigan punched Corin in the jaw and the dwarf cried out as several teeth broke. Rattigan cursed as he wrung his hand. He had forgotten how hard dwarf teeth were. He turned to the waiting Skaven.
“Take it to mess cooksss. Tell them to cook it well, cook it … alive.”
Rattigan strode away while the Skaven pulled Corin down onto the gantry, bound, gagged and then dragged him away. Corin resisted every inch of the way up through Bador, roaring and cursing even through the gag. The sound was sweet to Rattigan’s ears.
