Author's Note:
Welcome to this story! (Maybe I'll finish this one…)
Fire Emblem is an old franchise, and the worlds of sword and soldiers that they depict have always struck me in a certain way, even at an early age.
But even at its darkest, there's always been a certain layer of hope… so what happens when it collides with a world where the hope left a long time ago? (So long ago that the world was literally blown up by just a few of the bad guys and nine more worlds popped out of the debris)
I realize that this is like the third Fire Emblem story I've written but I'm hoping since Warhammer Fantasy is a smaller niche than ever it'll be an interesting piece.
I will say that this is more for exposing FE fans to a different universe than WFB fans to the FE universe… as there are considerably less WFB fans!
Please leave your feedback afterwards! Thanks for reading!
Also, I'll answer any questions through the comments or through the author's notes at the beginning. I'm sure there will be some!
Hundreds of scurrying feet thundered across the ground, kicking up dirt and trampling each other in a desperate attempt to flee. Fearful squeaks and frantic chittering rose above the horde, and along with the smashing of shields and blades clashing, it created a cacophony that stirred even the tired old ears of the Grey Seer known as Gnawdoom.
He was small for his kind, but tall for his age. Ram-like horns protruded from his grey-furred scalp, curling around his ears and ending in a point on either side of his jaw. His warriors bore robes of white and red, but caring little for such matters as uniform, Gnawdoom sported a simple, tattered robe, the color of which was not unlike that of a rain cloud. Though he rarely used it anymore, the robe boasted a very large hood, large enough that it hung off of his shoulders. It drooped well past the poorly made belt made of coarse dockyard rope he had tied around his waist. A thick, worm-like tail was just visible at the point where his robes met the ground, flicking nervously -albeit rather slightly- as the battle swayed this way and that. Most of his clanrat warriors stood between four and five feet, and he was no different. He appeared just a bit smaller thanks to a minor hunch he had developed over the years, but he was no less respected, or more likely feared, by those Skaven who knew well enough to show fealty to those blessed ratme who had been born as Grey Seers.
Gnawdoom had more experience than almost all of his Clan, and as such he adopted the role as the clan's patriarch with an almost dutiful fervor, if such things can be said of the ratmen. Across the battlefield, Clawleaders tried to keep their warriors in line, but panic spread like wildfire amongst the ratmen. Gnawdoom gave what orders he could but in the end, he knew the battle was almost lost entirely. He chittered anxiously, thumbing a token of greenish-black stone in his paw-like hands. The Knights of Bretonnia had always been a thorn in his side, and these pale descendants of theirs carried on this tradition proudly, albeit inadvertently. Not that it mattered - they'd fall in time- but it annoyed him to no end that they continued to charge into his forces again and again, for every dead rat was one less obstacle between him and whatever they encountered in the Warp.
"Ratchitt, is your device rea-" His wiry, weathered voice was cut off by a minor explosion, just loud enough to draw his attention from the battlefield. He turned to see his minion, a Warlock Engineer, who by now was buried in soot and warp-forged metal. The twitching creature wheezed and coughed, shaking ash and carbon from his matted grey fur.
"Yes-yes, most masterful one, only a few-few more adjustments…" Ratchitt freed a slender paw from the mechanical mess atop his body and adjusted his goggles with it. A wicked green glow hung about them thanks to the sparks of warp lightning sputtering from the machine.
The old rat spoke again. "Well, be quick about it tinker-rat! The man-things crush our ranks by the second, and we cannot-" His command was interrupted as a young knight bellowed a battle cry and rushed at the pair, sword overhead. Initially Gnawdoom was confused. The Knight's presence would have meant that he had battered a path through the hordes of Skaven protecting the pair of sorcerers. A quick glance past the knight confirmed as much, as scattering clanrats gave way to Bretonnian steel.
"For the lady!" The Bretonnian brought his sword down, but the Grey Seer had already stepped out of the way. Extending a wicked claw, the Grey Seer loosed a bolt of greenish black lightning at the knight, throwing the soldier backwards and onto the verdant grass of the Bretonnian countryside.
"You'll have to try harder than that, filth…" The knight spat as he rolled over onto his knees before using his sword to help him stand.
"And be sure, knave, I will not miss a second time!" The knight raised his sword again, preparing for a second charge, when a sickening, metallic pop erupted from the man's armor. The knight fell to his knees, and then forward onto the grass. A rusty, poorly maintained halberd, more the shape of an oversized cleaver than a proper halberd, had busted through the knight's armor. An oversized Skaven stood in the knight's place, wrenching the tool free from it's victim.
"The young ones are eager to die-die, yes?" The creature wore a placid expression, unusual among the warrior caste of the Skaven.
"Queek wishes to know-know the plan, Grey Seer. He grows impatient." The creature continued.
Suddenly, Ratchitt began to laugh maniacally. With a sickening lurch, a portal ripped open behind the crumbling Skaven battleline. Its otherworldly hue evoked memories in the Grey Seer of long nights illuminated by naught but the wicked green glow of warpstone.
"Yes-yes! The warp-gnawer works! Quick-quick, through the gnawhole!" The Warlock Engineer chittered in excitement, momentarily forgetting the steadily increasing panic that he had felt with each successful Bretonnian charge. Nearby Skaven had heard the Engineer's exclamation, and eagerly fled into the portal, completely abandoning all hopes of beating back the crusaders.
Gnawdoom frowned, then looked around at the retreating tide of vermin. His army had made his decision for him. Gnawdoom, and almost the entirety of Clan Corbin, scurried through the gnawhole, before letting the warp overtake them.