The Diary of Skyre

by BlasterHedgie

The story of the Skaven village of Skyre, featuring the anonymous main character recanting his last memories in his own personal, secret diary.

THE FOLLOWING DIARY ENTRIES WERE MADE BY AN UNKNOWN WRITER

Entry 1

It's been two weeks since I last slept. Two fucking weeks! I used to be able to sleep through anything. Battles, plagues, even crying babies. They used to put me in a room full of the little shits and I'd just doze peacefully. Of course the smell would eventually wake me, but that's to be expected. You can remove a guy's hearing, but his sense of smell stays.
Oh, let me introduce myself. I'm… well, to be honest, I don't even know myself anymore. I mean, I have a name, everyone does, but it means so little to me now it might as well not exist, I might as well not exist. If I didn't, at least I'd be free of this nightmare I live in. Have you ever had that experience where you just can't sleep? You toss and turn and try every little thing to try and drift off, but nothing works, your mind just keeps turning things over like it's flipping through a picture book and stopping at every single fucking page! Sorry… I'm just angry, insomnia does that to you. I couldn't even tell you what day it is and I don't much care now. It's nice to know that someone cares to read this, even if it's just the first page. Anyway, let me tell you what happened:
I'm deaf, and have been since I was born. When I was young I thought everyone was deaf and they just made those mouth movements for fun. Then, of course, I learned that there was sound, but I just couldn't hear it. Explosions tell you that. That's how I ended up being a Technomage, being good at blowing shit up. A Technomage Skaven of all things. Ever seen one? We're covered in massive metal tubes that lead to a massive backpack we wear that holds a stone that powers our Magik, technologic Magik at that. Oh, that's not a spelling error, that's REAL Magik! Not that blasted pulling coins from your paw, that's Elf shit, this is the real deal. Anyway, I'm going off track here, sorry, now, where was I? Oh yes, I lived my whole life being deaf, so I learned to communicate through a gesturing language developed by an older generation of Skaven who were primarily deaf also. However, the new race managed to sneak in a few hearing gene donors and eventually they were all singing, all dancing listeners. So, a few others had to learn it to accommodate me, which they were kind of upset about since it meant learning, not fighting or killing. Already I was a burden. Imagine being a burden on others through something that used to be the norm in your race.
I'm going off track again; my brain just keeps flicking through that book non-stop, like it can't remember which pages it's been through. I just wish I would avoid that one page it keeps coming back to. The one page that's the reason I'm in this fix. I need to lie down; I can't keep this up today.

Entry 2

Another sleepless night. Don't know why I bother sometimes, I just feel drained constantly. Even when I feel the slightest drooping of my eyelids and I nearly nod off, the images come back, and it's pure torture. I have to tell someone, even if it's this piece of paper, I don't care if no one reads it; I just need to get it out!
Two weeks ago, one of our engineers came to me and told me he'd managed to perfect an artificial ear that would allow me to hear. I would be just like the others, and I would be a burden no more, so of course, I jumped at the chance to see it. It was an amazing piece of engineering; a tiny metal drum that fed precision sound waves directly into the core of the brain. Obviously I would need surgery to install it, but it would be worth it to finally be able to live a normal life like the others. That was the last night I slept.
I awoke from the surgery to feel these metal ears where my previous furry, fleshy ones had been. I couldn't move them of course, but that was a tiny price to pay for what lay ahead. The doctor told me that they hadn't totally completed the procedure since they needed me awake to indicate when the volume had been calibrated to my need and wishes. After all, hearing is useless if you're covering your ears all the time.
We stepped out into the open air, where some of my colleagues were training. Flaming arrows were the order of the day it seemed. I've no idea why they adored those so much; plain old arrows did just as much damage, only they didn't set your enemies on fire. I guessed they enjoyed watching their adversaries running around screaming, which is what happened that fateful day in fact. The engineer told me to watch the scene in front of me and stop him when I found the volume suitable; Maker's Breath, this scene replays through my mind like torture. As I watched, one of the arrows wielded by a junior Skaven shot wide of its intended target, and landed in the collar of one of the young female warriors who was practicing with the quarter staff. Initially, she noticed it and pulled it out, stamping it onto the ground, but the fire had taken hold of that old hand-me-down armour she was wearing. It was leather, and was so dry it went up like a tinder box. Just then, the engineer clicked the volume up. The first thing I heard was the dying screams of a Skaven girl burning to death!
Screams are horrible. Even if you're deaf, you can sometimes feel the vibrations of one through your body, but to hear one for real chills you to the very bones you walk upon. I stared in horror as others tried desperately to quench the flames with fire buckets, but she was running in sheer terror which only fuelled the blaze consuming her. Eventually her screams were silenced by her death, and she collapsed onto the grass in a heap of burning fur and flesh. Maker's Grace we were outside or the stench would have been unbearable.
I screamed in horror myself and wrenched those ears off, yanking that vile contraption from my head! I didn't care about the pain, or the fact that I now had two holes leading straight into my brain, I just wanted the noise gone. The engineer looked at me and mouthed something which looked like anger, pointing at me like I had ruined his work. Did he even notice that poor girl dying in front of us? Obviously not, so I made sure he joined her in death. I didn't hear his neck break, but I felt it; it was so clean it was like a sword had cut through it. One clean crack and he fell to the floor with eyes as dead as a ghost. That was the last time I smiled as well, or so I'm told; I didn't feel it, but my mouth was grinning like a Daemon with a concubine. I have to stop this now, I can barely write anymore, I'm tired, just so tired.

Entry 3

That scene just keeps rolling through my head. It stops, and then replays itself again, and again, and again, and I can't stop it. None of the Shamen use my gesture language here, since they consider it unnecessary to learn it for the sake of just one, so no medical help and no spiritual help. I'm stuck here in this sleepless hell until my body just gives up and dies. Screw this, I'm going for a drink!

Entry 4

Drunk. Don't care. Fuck them all! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Entry 5

I think I was thrown out of the tavern in the village. I don't recall the events that took place, but due to the fact I now have a huge gash on my left cheek and a massive cut on my right leg, I'm guessing a fight took place. Since the other two…participants, shall we say, are now nursing broken limbs, I'm assuming I won. As far as I can understand from various sources that can communicate with me, I was the one who was set upon since I was ignoring one guy who kept trying to goad me into an arm wrestling match. Obviously he had no idea I was deaf, which means he's also stupid since I have no ears and two badly stitched up holes in my skull. However, since he's in higher social standing than me, as is the other guy who was an innocent bystander who tried to break up the fight, I'm the one who takes the heat. Guess I'm going elsewhere for my fixes now; might as well see what I can do then.

Entry 6 – Wednesday

SLEEP! Sweet blessed sleep! I've actually had a full nights rest with no problems. Oh this is wonderful, I can think clearly for the first time in weeks, the events of last night were incredible.
I found a tavern outside the village; it was a long walk, but I didn't give a damn, I needed alcohol. It was a simple sort of place, but looked a little rough from the outside, which is probably why it was full of hicks and inbreds. Amazingly, with my messed up head I blended in well. I just slapped some coins on the bar and jerked my thumb to the whisky bottle. The barman, a huge Orc with giant tusks, seemed to know what I wanted and handed me the whole thing and one glass. I need to rob the church collection plate more often.
I had downed about one third of the bottle when a fellow in a hooded, grey cloak sat at my table. I didn't hear him till he tapped the wood and the vibrations awoke me from my daydreaming. It's not often I'm scared now, since with what I've been through I'm almost desensitised to everything, but this was new. All I could see were these gnarled, bony claws, and a dry, crusty nose above a full muzzle of razor sharp teeth, no, not teeth, FANGS! This was not a Skaven; this guy was something else, a Daemon. Also, his eyes were red, a deep crimson. Within the darkness of that hood, they shone like rubies in a mine. I was honestly breathless for what seemed like an eon, until I finally took a huge breath of air and pulled my cloak out of my clenched ass. I got up and was about to leave, there was no way I was getting in a fight with a Daemon, especially in my state, but he stopped me; he even spoke to me. This guy knew my gestural language too, and he was good. He used the same slang I did, and even the inflections that I had developed in my training. It was like looking in a mirror. He asked me what I was doing in this way out, seedy, little dump, and after a little coaxing from him, along with a few more shots of whisky, I told my story, exactly as I'm telling it here. He asked why the elders hadn't exiled me from the village after I murdered the engineer. I replied that I pleaded insanity due to the trauma I suffered in witnessing that poor girl's death. They accepted it too, and gave me the job of clerk of the church. In simple terms, it means I write up the events that have been foretold by the priests. They scribble it down when they wake from their blissful slumbers, and I translate that into legible text which is then read out by the holy ones themselves. He seemed to understand what I was going through. I offered him some of my drink but he declined. He told me he only wanted to talk and help out a poor soul in need of some assistance. That's when I asked him if he was some kind of religious nut; I'm assuming he laughed since those fangs parted briefly. Of course, he could have been plotting to rip my neck out and consume my blood, but he just shook his head and said he was 'Aware of the Maker, but to be honest, He's a dick'. I laughed at that, so much so that I actually turned heads. I just stared at my glass and waited until they ignored me once more. We talked for a good few hours until the barman finally announced he was closing up, whereupon I considered just necking the remainder of the whisky, but after recalling the events of last night, as best I could, I decided against it and left it on the table. As we walked out into the cold night air, I asked my new friend what his name was. He said it was Syylaar, and he often came here on desolate nights such as these. He told me to sleep well, and he headed off into the night and I did exactly as he suggested, I slept. I slept well!

Entry 7 – Monday

For the past three nights I've been going back to that run down old tavern in the midst of nowhere, and Syylaar has always been there, arriving just after I do. I asked him how he knew I was coming, and he simply said it was intuition. I have been going late at night though, since I have to keep up the charade that I'm mad and confined to my hut, so he's probably just a nocturnal like me. It's so refreshing to finally meet someone who I can have a heart to heart chat with. Sometimes being deaf is useful. No people to try and shout over, just a secret language between two kindred spirits. He never drank though, just talked. Over time I got used to not offering him any of my whisky and just slowly refilling my glass every now and then. I asked him where he lived, and his eyes dimmed a little at that, as if he was afraid to tell me. He said he had a small shack not far from here, he was a loner, he said. He preferred his own company over others it seemed, although I was the one, current exception to the rule. Now, I know you're probably thinking that I'd be crazy to talk with a Daemon, giving that my race and his are not exactly on the same best friends list, but stranger things have happened. My Father, a Skaven wizard named Guccit once made an, albeit brief, alliance with a High Elf to defeat a Chaos Horde. Unfortunately, my Father was a pretentious ass and got himself screwed over and subsequently killed. Other partnerships have been somewhat more successful. A young Skaven woman decided she wanted to sample the delights of the male human body, so she managed to seduce a rather willing participant who then promptly got his nuts bitten off when he got a bit too excited during foreplay. So, yeah, this Skaven/Daemon thing is nothing.
After we left when the bar closed, he showed me to where he slept, and it was indeed, a shack; in fact a shed would be a kinder way to describe it. It had a rickety wooden bed in it, lined with bales of straw, and a small metal stove with some rather pathetic looking firewood stuffed rather haphazardly inside it. I was eager to show off my Mage skills to get the conversation going again, so I pointed my paw at the stove and used a red hot stream of light Magik to set the wood ablaze. I could see the logs sparkling as the fire rose high within that tiny pot-bellied oven. Then the images came back. For six days I had totally forgotten those horrible events that had forced me into that vicious downward spiral of insomnia, and now, just as I was getting control of it, the sight of the fire brought it all back. Syylaar seemed to know what was wrong, and he helped me lay down on the old bed. He stared at me with those ruby red eyes and simply told me to look into them and relax. They were so bright now that it almost hurt to stare, but I kept my gaze locked onto those ethereal lights in that pitch black cowl, and I began to feel calm, almost serene. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, a feeling I would relish and eventually I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Entry 8 – Tuesday

After I awoke in Syylaar's shack, it was cold. The fire had gone out, and he was nowhere to be seen, and the only movement was the door swaying back and forth in a light breeze, so I assumed he had left to find another soul to save. I had to admire that in him, he had almost nothing, just this tiny, tiny ramshackle shed, and he was out saving the lost souls like me from the darkness of the eternal void of hopelessness.
I hurried back to the village, where I had to play a serious game of hide and seek to avoid being spotted by any of the elders to keep up my charade of being totally crazy and confined to my hut. It was easy enough to deal with local villagers, they were afraid to come near me so they didn't go anywhere near my place, which was great when I needed to sneak in via my back door. The secret back door I should mention. I rarely used it during daylight hours since the cover of night is invaluable for stealth, but sometimes needs must. Thankfully, a few minutes after I clambered back in, a priest pushed some papers under my front door and hurried off. More work for me.

Entry 8 – Additional

After reading the various scrawls written by half-asleep priests, one piece of information caught my eye. It seemed it had been foretold, or dreamed, as it should be said, that all those who are 'Disabled, disfigured, and imperfect, attempts should be made so that they may be culled.' In short, it was a way to get rid of me. I was deaf, had no ears, and I was 'mad', all three of those added up to what they wanted rid of. The priests could pretty much get away with murder, all they had to do was foretell it, and it was so. I'm the one who's supposed to be mad. Ironic, huh? I finally get my insomnia under control, and now I'm facing death or homelessness. I couldn't even rewrite the notes to change the way it sounded, since then I would give away the fact I had a fully sound mind and would be tried for the murder of the engineer. I wrote up the sermons grudgingly and delivered them back to the church, stopping to take some spending money from the collection plate. I have also decided to keep this diary with me from now on, since its discovery will prove my sanity, and ultimately lead to my demise.

Entry 9 –Friday

I left before the church service and the daily readings, since I knew my head was on the block the moment that fateful 'foretelling' was read out. The villagers would love that, and they would descend on my hut like hungry vultures, eager for my blood. I could only go to one place, and that was Syylaar's hut, and I just hoped he would be home. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, and the inside was as cold and bare as I had left it. I sighed and hoped the lucky soul he was busy saving was grateful for his help. I decided the second best would be the tavern; after all, we had met there when I was in dire need of help and this situation was no different. I gave my usual amount of coins to the barman and took my bottle and single glass to the table in the corner. I had never been here during the day, and it looked very different, almost homely. After I had sunk a few shots of whisky, Syylaar walked through the door and sat in front of me as he had done many times before, and I felt a lift in my soul as I gazed into the red eyes. He asked me how I was, and I explained the situation to him. He nodded gravely and said he understood perfectly, gesturing to himself; I couldn't disagree in the slightest. As I looked down at my paws, I noticed they were becoming somewhat gnarled and bony too, probably from all this drinking I was doing. Well, I was going to be dead either way soon so I shrugged and took another gulp of whisky. I felt a heavy rumble in my stomach and realised I hadn't eaten any solid food in quite a while, no wonder I was thin. I told Syylaar I was getting something to eat and asked if he would like anything. He politely declined so I ordered a large bowl of soup along with some cheese topped bread and a pot of coffee to go with it. As I sat back down and waited for my food to arrive, Syylaar asked me how I felt about the priests being able to simply declare anything they believed as truth. I was naturally very angry and bitter, since they were secretly controlling the entire village with their nonsense. He asked if I had considered telling the elders this, but I explained that any reasonable input on my part would constitute the evidence of a sane mind, and would instantly put me on trial for murder. He then asked if I had entertained the prospect of using that insanity ruse to greater effect, to possibly silence the priests once and for all. I was shocked; Syylaar seemed so kind and gentle, and here he was trying to persuade me to be exactly like them. I told him that the engineer's death was true insanity, since at that moment in time I was subjected to an event which turned me mad enough to kill, but I would never do it again! Syylaar apologised and said he was simply working his way through any and all options I had, and he was sorry for having to bring it up. I forgave him, and my mood brightened as my soup, bread and coffee arrived. As I began to eat hungrily, Syylaar excused himself and stood up from the table. I looked up halfway through a mouthful of cheesy bread and noticed he had left. I guessed he had others to help; I certainly couldn't be his only customer.

Entry 10 – Saturday

I spent the night in Syylaar's hut, he wasn't there but I guessed he wouldn't mind, after all, he could simply wake me and ask me to leave. When I awoke there was no sign of him; I felt a little dejected, but then there were countless people in this world, and I wasn't the only one suffering. I decided to leave some coins on the bed as a gesture, since he would see that I had slept here, and it seemed inappropriate to just take someone's hospitality for granted, since he was doing so much good work for so many others.
Since it was still quite early, I took a morning stroll to wake myself up, and clear the cobwebs from my head. I considered visiting the tavern, but drinking so soon into the morning would be silly, and no telling how long I would spend in there. Instead, I elected to simply enjoy the warm sunshine, especially as it was a cloudless day.
After a few hours I found myself outside the gates to the village to see a huge plume of smoke rising from where my hut would usually be. On approaching from a distance, I could see my home was ablaze, and the villagers were watching in awe. The priests were making various religions signs with their hands, and the elders were stood far back, watching the events unfold. Eventually the roof caved in, sending a shower of sparks soaring into the air like shooting stars. I could see people, urged on by the priests, bashing the burnt wood with huge sticks, obviously looking for my blackened corpse in the wastes. When they found nothing, I could tell they were clearly angry and upset so I decided not to wait around to see what happened, lest they catch sight of me and decide to finish the job.

Entry 11 – Saturday Afternoon
I am still somewhat numb with shock after the events of this morning, and I have been unable as yet to find Syylaar. Although the tavern I frequent provides solace and comfort, I am worried that I will drink myself into a stupor and possibly do something I will regret. All I can do is wander these wastelands outside the village and hope my friend can find me.

Entry 11 – Saturday Night

After many hours of wandering, I have been fortunate to find an abandoned campsite in the wastelands. It is not much, but I have found a knapsack with a large bottle of mead inside. I did consider that someone might come back for it, but I really don't have the energy or desire to be honest right now, especially in my current situation. I threw a few logs onto the smoking embers of the fire and set them ablaze. The fire is warm, but it still reminds me of that terrible day, so I drank the mead to steady my nerves. I'm probably borderline alcoholic now, but it doesn't matter really, I've got little else to occupy my time any more.
Just as I was about to try and bed down, and possibly get some kind of rest, Syylaar found my campsite. I've never been so glad to see him! I asked him where he had been all this time, and he said he had been mulling over my problem. I explained that things had changed, and now I was the target of a witch hunt, and already my hut had been burnt to ashes. He gave his condolences, and asked if I had any place to go. I shook my head and he offered his hospitality to me once again. I smiled; he really was the kindest soul I had ever met, and a Daemon at that! After a time of just staring into the fire, Syylaar took my paws in his. I looked up into those crimson eyes, feeling his stare burning into my brain. He asked me again if I had now considered retribution for what the priests had done to me. This time though, I didn't react as strongly, but truth be told I had considered it. They had tried to kill me simply because I wasn't one of them. Yes, I had killed, but only because I was mad, but for a few brief moments. It wasn't my fault. That engineer didn't even notice that poor girl dying, he ignored her, and he was only interested in his stupid contraption, that stupid, stupid metal monstrosity that ruined my life. I didn't even notice I was crying until I saw the drops splash onto the earth; I released Syylaar's paws and wiped my eyes with my cloak. I looked into his gaze once more and told him I would make them pay for what they did to me, I would have redemption.
It was night time when we left, early in Sunday morning. I had almost finished the mead, and I took it with me, swigging from it as we walked. I felt strong with Syylaar beside me. In fact, I felt invincible. I finished off the bottle and smashed it on a rock as we walked through the wastelands, leaving the razor sharp shards glinting in the moonlight. Syylaar asked me what I planned to do, and I gestured to the backpack I wore, telling him I would just burn them, so they could suffer as that poor girl suffered. His exposed muzzle broadened into a grin, showing those glistening fangs. I grinned back at him; this would show those bastards how to treat me.
We came to the village once more, my hut now just a cold mass of blackened soot. I could see the marks where they had dug for my corpse, and I snarled angrily, the rage was building inside me. I felt Syylaar's gnarled paws on my shoulders, squeezing them, urging me to go forth and exact my revenge. I walked up to the church where the candles were burning; obviously a celebration for my death, and I kicked in the heavy wooden doors, the adrenaline rushing through my body. All the villagers were there, and the elders, thanking the Maker that I was dead. I decided now, it wouldn't just be the priests, it would be everyone, they were all part of this, and they would all die! I raised my arms, concentrated hard, and blasted two streams of blue hot light into the church. The searing heat slashed two of the priests in half, cauterising them so they toppled like skittles. I waved my paws like a child with a paintbrush, grinning as I culled them, like they wanted to do to me and it was beautiful, silent and beautiful. Soon, they were all dead, massacred by me as a fitting revenge. I admired my handiwork and turned around to see Syylaar standing behind me; his arms folded, that grin still present along with those amazing ruby eyes. He looked over to the sermon notes on the inside wall of the church, but these weren't the originals that I received prior to Tuesday, these were different, a change had been made to today's sermon. The word 'culled' had been scratched out and replaced with the word 'cured', and a tiny message read 'Sorry, misspelling on the first one, apologies for any offense caused.'
I stared in abject disbelief, not wanting to see what I was reading. I dropped the notes in shock and they scattered to the floor. I ran to the remains of my hut and scrabbled around in the ash. I found some tarnished coins on the ruined bedframe, but I didn't leave any coins here; I only left them in Syylaar's place. I began to feel my head clearing, and I turned around to see Syylaar had gone; I had to tell him what a mistake I had made. I ran to his house, but there was nothing where it should have been, just desolate wastes. I ran in panic to the bar where we first met, but that was nowhere to be seen either. I ran back to the village, totally mad with shock, and in my silent world I yelled for Syylaar, feeling the tightness in my throat where I barely spoke. I tried again but the feeling started burning. I yelled thrice, and then began coughing up blood where my strained vocal chords were being ripped apart! I ran to a nearby hut and grabbed a pail of water, pouring it into the sink; I gargled but ended up coughing it back up from the pain. I looked into the mirror and saw two red eyes staring back at me. I turned around in shock and saw no one. I looked into the mirror once more and saw the image of Syylaar grinning triumphantly back at me, and then all I remember is fainting.

Final Entry

This is the final entry in this diary. I have learned that the kind, generous soul who called himself Syylaar was in fact an image projected by my drunk, sleep deprived mind to keep me sane. His house, and our bar, had in fact been the ones in the village since I had never actually left it. This is the reason why no one acknowledged me in the tavern, and why that table was always vacant, they were afraid of me. The fire in my hut had been started by the sunlight shining onto the coins I left on my own bed. The straw bales caught fire and so caused my hut to become ablaze. The villagers weren't trying to find my corpse, they were trying to rescue me, and when they found no trace of my body their reactions were not of anger, but of worry, for my safety! They had been my friends all the time, not my enemies. They were trying to help me and my own mind was turning me against them. Every time I look in the mirror now I just see that twisted, evil grin and those terrifying eyes that I thought were so comforting at first. I murdered those who would help me, I massacred my people!
I can no longer live like this; the guilt and regret are too much to bear. I can't stand to be in this empty village any longer. I just hope someone finds this and learns to appreciate who their friends truly are.

Maker, forgive me. Please, please, forgive me!

THIS DIARY WAS FOUND IN THE DESOLATE WASTELANDS BETWEEN THE SKAVEN VILLAGE OF SKYRE AND THE DAEMON VALLEYS OF KHORNE. IT WAS FOUND ALONG WITH THE BODY OF A SKAVEN TECHNOMAGE WHO IT IS BELIEVED COMMITED SUICIDE. THE VILLAGE WAS A SETTLEMENT ERECTED TO PROTECT THE TOWER OF VAN STRATEN, A MAGE OUTPOST FORMERLY OCCUPIED BY ELVES. SINCE THE FALL OF SKYRE, THE OUTPOST HAS BEEN SEIZED BY THE ELVES ONCE MORE AND THE VILLAGE CONVERTED INTO A WAR CAMP.