Morr was angry. No, more than angry, he was mad.
And it was all Gargant's fault. Somehow, it was, he was sure of it.
How many times now? How many times had he showed his brother the most pathetic spectacle in all the history of Skavendom? Three? Four times? Five? Ack, he couldn't even remember them all!
Of course, part of his anger was directed to himself, for allowing such a blatant weakness to show through. Third rule of the Skaven life: never, ever, show weaknesses. And, damn, he had made thorougly sure of breaking that.
And still, surely there had to be some contribution from the black-fur, something that he had overlooked to notice, something that Gargant had used and that had pushed him to make such a fool in front of him, not once, not twice, but three times.
Yes, it had to be like that. There wasn't any other explaination.
And, if there was something that Morr could not abide was being manipulated; and he made sure of making Gargant know that, by ding of hard stares and chittering hisses.
Still, to his irritation, after the complete surprise of their first squabble, the black-fur had returned to his impassive self, not allowing himself to be baited in more bickering, barely replying to his stabs and then only with grunts.
Being things like that, after a while Morr stopped trying to provoke him and, spurred by the heavy atmosphere of the ruins, retreated to his own thoughts. They weren't good, not at all, the grim perspective of another failure, one from which he wasn't sure he could get back on, oppressing him.
So, it was almost a relief when Gargant decided to break the silence.
"Pay attention." The black-fur mumbled.
Morr blinked, so deep in thought that he needed a moment to register the words. He clutched his jaw when he did.
"Mind you-your business." He snarled, angry for being scolded like a ratling and angry because his brother was right. His mind had completely slipped away from the path.
Irritation boiling in his chest, he noticed that they were arrived in a new place, without him having memory of actually entering it. Nor he remembered of him stopping behind Gargant.
Indisposed to dwell on it, he started scanning his sorroundings.
They were in an large octagonal room, the strange smoothness of the walls immediately attracting Morr's attention. Not like he was an expert mason, but he had seen his share of elven places, and that looked a little too perfect even for their standards, like the rock had been molded more than actually chiseled.
That thought sent a ripple of unease through him, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Banners, moldering and rotten, hung from six of the walls, above them as many stone sculpture depicting spread wings. Whatever motifs or picture they exhibited in the past were now only smudges of grey and splotches of mould. Still, no creepy frescoes, and that was a welcome change for Morr.
Despite everything that plagued him, or maybe, just because of that, Morr felt attracted to the place, his curiosity picking up.
"I-i don't get how this place works." He said, advancing toward one of the banner.
By experience, he knew by now that it wasn't wise to touch it, so he limited himself to just inspectioning it. Whatever pompous image was painted on it, had been erased by the costant action of time. He found himself smiling at the thought.
"Look." He said, gesturing widely. He liked to talk. It helped him distract himself from less savory thoughts and silences. "The banner-cloth should be dust, yes-yes. I have seen-sniffed pieces of wood that were only garbage-dust. And instead, it's still in one piece, even if all broken-rotten. And even the walls, yes-yes!" He gestured with both paws, tilting his head to see better. "Look how all smooth-smooth they are! Unnatural! And why not even a bit of mould on them, mh? There's here, on the banner-cloth, and it's not like in the dwarfs-things' place, that it's all dry, yes-yes. Here it's a bit humid. There should be splotches, yes-yes."
He pinched his chin with two fingers, thinking about it. The humidity could be explained with the depth, maybe even with the presence of some underground river, but why it hadn't affected the place? Or, at least, why it had affected only certain things?
"Even other places are strange, yes-yes." He continued, starting to pace. "Cobwebs, dust, yes-yes, but not everywhere, no. Only in certain places." He remembered the wreckages of rotten wood and dust, with the skeletons inside. It was all so strange.
Those questions sparked a bit of excitation in him.
He turned to Gargant, almost expecting to see him as eager to know as him.
The black-fur was busy picking the fur inside of one of his ear.
"Dead-things' place." He just grumbled, shrugging. He took out a finger from his ear and blowed on it. "Strange things happen here."
Morr's ear flopped down, and he could almost hear the spark going out with a depressing fizzle.
"Yeah, but why? And how?"
Gargant shrugged.
"Meh."
If someone would ever ask him to make a rank of all the replies that sounded the most disinterested and the most depressing, Morr would defintely put that "meh" at the first place.
Grumbling against the lazy and the ignorants, he stomped to his brother.
No use in getting angry. If one was a dumb brute without curiosity, one was a dumb brute without curiosity.
"Where is-is this weapon of yours, then?" He asked, eager to return to business.
Gargant jerked with his head toward the center of the room.
"Here. Look-look."
Morr obeyed, and, for the second time from when he had laid foot in that place, felt his sense of wonder being aroused.
At the center of the chamber, the stone floor gave way to a sheet of trasparent glass. Beneath it, at the bottom of a pit, a magnificent-looking sword laid on a stone altar.
Morr felt question after question flood his brain as he watched that strange disposition, but he quickly resigned himself to never obtain answers. With Gargant in tow…
"Can't you just break-smash the glass?" He asked instead. If he had made come all the way there for nothing…
Laying down his bulky backpack, Gargant stepped toward the glass. He knelt before it, and knocked on it.
"It doesn't break." He explained. "Already tried, yes-yes."
Frowning, Morr passed resolutely by him. A sense of power swelled in his chest as he clutched his mace. He swung it high, bringing it down with an aggressive squeal. As the heavy knotted head impacted against the glass, a wave of vibration rose through his arm and then his shoulder. Morr chattered, eyes widening, as his blow bounced right back, his arm swinging in the opposite way. He lost the grip, and the mace flew away, clattering to the floor to ten paces of distance.
Morr drew back, blinking. The glass surface had not even been scratched.
"It's… it's hard." He just said with surprise, rubbing his wrist. He regretted having said such a dumb thing the moment it left his mouth. And, sure enough, he found Gargant staring at him with a small grin.
Morr felt blood ran to his cheeks.
"It… it must be magic-witchcrat, yes-yes!" He exclaimed, turning abruptly his back to his brother.
Wondering why the hell nothing seemed to go his way, he stomped to the fallen weapon and picked it up.
"Nice blow, though."
Morr stiffened slightly. That didn't sound like a jeer.
"Yeah, right."
Trying to hide his sudden confusion, he turned around.
"So, how do we-we get that?" He asked, and felt happy at how his voice sounded firm and autoritharian.
Gargant rose to his feet.
"Here." He said, walking toward the back of the chamber.
Morr gingerly followed him.
The black-fur led him to a hole carved into the stone floor, the tell-tale sign of Skaven claw making its origin clear. It didn't escape Morr's attention that it was too big for Gargant to scuttle through, but just the right size for him.
He felt his guts twist slightly.
"You scuttle inside of here-here." Gargant said, to his chagrin. "And then, you-you get out in the hole there. You grab the weapon-stabber and bring it-it to me."
Morr clenched his teeth.
"Who says-squeaks that this finish in there?"
Gargant casually waved for him to check.
He did, and, yep, there was a hole with the same marks in one of the walls of the pit. It had to be the exit of the tunnel, no mistake about it.
"If there's a tunnel-scuttle already done." He began, eyes glued to the hole. "Why nobody took it-it already?"
Impassive, Gargant pointed toward the sword, toward the iron clamps that kept it anchored to the altar.
"I-i think that whoever dug the tunnel didn't manage to-to break those, yes-yes."
Morr was frustrated by the certainty of his tone.
"There could be-be a trap." He replied.
Gargant was already on the job. Dragging his big backpack toward the center of the chamber, and already rummaging in it, he handed his spear-stick to his brother. As Morr hold it, without understanding, Gargant took out a strange metal cap ending into a hook. He slided it over the point of the stick, transforming the crude spear into a crude long hook.
"You use this, yes-yes. " He explained. "Jab it into the sword-stabber, and so we're sure if there's a trap-trap."
Morr watched his brother, then the hook in his paws, then his brother again.
"And… and… and if there's magic?" He protested. Surely, he couldn't go if there was the possibility for things to blow up into his face, right?
Gargant folded his arms before his chest, looking stern.
"Then you get another chance-shot at seeing it, yes-yes. And then, there isn't."
"How… how do you know that?"
"I just know."
Morr had to repress the instict to roll his eyes. Right, he just knew. Just as he heard voices and knew that he didn't read books or whatever.
And still, Gargant seemed to radiate certainty, and he felt himself not in the position of propose more protests. In a strange way, he almost felt a bit of that certainty seep into him.
He turned to watch the entrance of the hole, looking like a big mouth just waiting for him. He swallowed. He didn't want to do it. Since they had started their little expedition, he hadn't thought about that moment, if not in brief flashes that other, more pressing thoughts had quickly overhelmed. Now that it was time for it, he just didn't want to do it.
It was more than the simple fear of possible traps. After doing that thing, Gargant wouldn't have any need to continue to stick with him, nor to show him any regard. And after all those squabbles…
And… he didn't want to remain alone. He didn't want for his brother to leave.
His whiskers twitching with anxiety, he raked his brain, searching for any other possible protest toward the plan. He found nothing.
For a moment, he just thought about refusing to do it. It was an elf-things' place, after all. Who said that there wasn't a fireball ready to explode in his face the moment he touched that sword? Hook or not, what could save him from that?
He swallowed again, feeling his throat dry. Gargant was staring at him intently, and, under those impassive eyes, he felt like a trapped rat. He could immagine how he would react to a refuse, after hours of him dragging around in a search for ghosts, but he strongly decided against it. His rebelling plan melted to nothing. There wasn't chance for escape now.
Something in his expression had to give away his decision, because Gargant nodded, and handed him a rusty crowbar, that Morr took automatically.
"Use this to break out the sword-weapon." The black-fur just said.
Regretting a great deal of the decisions that brought him in that situation, Morr just nodded, not thrusting his voice enough to talk.
The hole at least was promising: small, but not enough for him to have to squeeze through nor large enough for having someone else bigger being able to follow him. Just the right kind that he would choose to retire to in case of being chased.
The last vision that Morr had of his brother before going down was of him standing guard at the center of the room. Stern looking, arms folded before his chest, he looked all the parts the stormvermin guardrat. It would have been almost reassuring having him on the look-out, wasn't for the thought of after the retrieval.
Morr tried to not think about it.
Strangely enough, hard packed soil continued right beyond the stone floor, the tell-tale signs of teeth and claws marking the origin of the tunnel. Morr wondered how much time and effort had been necessary to dig so much. Being the situation different, he would have even smiled a little before that umpteenth example of his fair race's abilities. Instead, anxious despite the comfortable cramped environment, he peered forward. Well, at least he could see light coming from the end. That meant that tunnel actually brought somewhere.
He started shuffling forward, grimacing a little each time he felt the uneven surfaces of the walls dragged against his skin.
After a while, he slowed down, frowning.
There was something blocking the tunnel.
Curious, he shuffled forward with caution, nose taking in the air. The smell remembered him of something, but he wasn't sure of what.
The object was half-buried by a little cave-in, dust and dirt covering it.
Morr pushed a paw against it, trying to dislodge it. The thing resisted for a moment, before giving way with a soft crack, slumping to a side.
Morr started, and it was only for a deep-engrained instinct from subterrean life that he didn't smack his head against the tunnel ceiling.
Bones!
Dusty, dirty bones jutted out of the earth, forming the unmistakeable shape of a skaven skeleton.
Morr exhaled slowly, feeling his heart thumping. Well, it looked like he had found the owner of the tunnel.
"All ok-ok?" Called Gargant's voice from outside.
Morr flinched a bit, the questions swarming his mind forcefully interrupted. Right, no time to linger now.
"Y-yes!" He replied back, coughing when a handful dust ended in his mouth.
A muffled grunt was the only answer.
Morr puffed, watching the skeleton. Right. He could do this.
With a bit of hesitation, he extended his paws forward. Carefully, he grabbed the skeleton and raised it up, pushing its back against the wall. He shivered when the thing's empty eyes set on him.
Well, here's a story he would have liked to know. A skaven, as big as him judging from the bones, here in the ruins, wherever the hell they were, dead in a tunnel toward a sword that he had probably buried himself. Who know what could have ever happened? The words "digging his own grave" took a new special meaning in there.
Morr pursued his lips. A grave, yes.
Pushing back dark thoughts, he pushed the skeleton against the wall, opening the path enough for him to being able to pass by squeezing through.
He passed a paw on his forehead, finding it drenched with sweat.
"Taking your time in-in there?" Called Gargant from outside.
"S-shut up! I am doing my best-best!" Morr barked back.
No answer this time.
Morr returned to focus on the task ahead.
"Right…"
Putting a paw against the wall, he started to push himself into the hole. He flinched, a small yip escaping his mouth, when he felt the skeleton's ribs against his side. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself calm as waves of shivers ran through his side and back.
The hole was smaller that it looked, and he had to squeeze to pass. As he tried, a bone scratched him. He yelped, and stopped.
"What now-now?"
Morr almost started. The last thing that he wanted now was to have his brother making fun of him.
"A-all ok!" He stammered.
Again, no answer. It was almost a relief, though.
Gritting his teeth, Morr pushed himself forward, trying to ignore where the skeleton touched him.
He had almost managed to pass through, when a flurry of steps thundered above him.
A yell, then an enraged roar.
Caught by surprise, Morr yelled and jerked forward in a effort to free himself. The paw with which he was sustaining himself slipped, and he fell forward. Trying to get a grip on something, he flailed around, and his paw grabbed hold of the skeleton's ribs, that slumped forward and upon him.
Terror engulfed him as two bony arms fell upon him. He trashed and squeaked, the violent sounds coming from above doing nothing but fueling his panic. He writhed frantically, trying to free himself, but the skeleton arms seemed to wrap around him tighter with every movement.
In the throes of panic, he turned, and found himself staring straight into the skeleton's dead eyes, felt a whiff of dust whispering against his snout, like that dead skaven was breathing at him from beyond the grave.
It was too much.
As he still struggled, as he felt his heart was about to burst, darkness rushed his vision. His eyes fell back, and he passed out.
Morr wandered in darkness, as adrift and lightweighted as a leaf blown by a stormy wind.
Whispers and voices crowded his hearing, some pushed and soft, some angered and loud. He vaguely thought that some of them weres almost familiar, but he wasn't sure why. A name hovered in his mind, just beyond his conscience's reach. As he tried to get a hold of it, it was almost as a voice whispered it to him.
Kabrik.
For some reason, panic blossomed in his chest at hearing it.
Revolving around that name like fireflies around a fire, the voices continued, whispering with hushed tones things that he couldn't understand nor decipher. And still, he didn't want to understand. Dread gripped him at the idea of understanding.
A voice raised above the other, repeating itself, again and again. It felt like someone was screaming at him from beyond the horizon, but, as he listened, it became louder and louder, clearer and clearer, but he didn't want to understand, he didn't want, he didn't…
"Brother!"
Morr recovered his senses with a gasp. He yelped. The skeleton had slumped by a side, but its bony arms was still laid on him.
Thrashing wildly, ignoring the dirt on his snout and mouth, he freed himself and shuffled forward.
He remained there, wild-eyes, gasping and wheezing, his thoughts in turmoil.
"Brother!"
He started, recognizing his brother's voice.
"I-i am here!" He rasped, then coughed dirt.
There was a moment of silence, before Gargant replied.
"Come out! Move!"
Gargant could at least inform how we was, but Morr wasn't really in the mood to argue, so he shuffled forward as fast as he could, trying to keep fear at bay.
Thankfully for him, the tunnel ended soon. Morr more stumbled out than actually jumping, and leaned against the wall, gasping fro breath. He would have never immaginer that the day would arrive when he would be happy to be out of a safe, comfortable tunnel. Then again, in the tunnels that he liked to call home, there wasn't a skeleton.
Gargant kneeled outside, looking at him through the glass that covered the pit. Morr started at seeing the slashes criss-crossing his chest.
"Why did you come-scuttled out of this end?" The black-fur asked sternly, his voice coming muffled. He waved sharply for him to return in the tunnel. "Get back inside! Get back here-here!"
Morr hesitated. He would have liked nothing more than to do what he said, but the thought of having to pass again near the skeleton freezed him in place.
He was watching his brother, mind running, when he noticed something. On the glass, hidden from outside under a thick golden lining, there was a lever. With a secret hope, he raised a paw, trying to reach it.
"What-what are you doing? Get…" Gargant's barking was interrupted when Morr pulled the lever. With a soft thud, the glass covering unlocked from its position.
The duo exchanged a glance, then the black-fur, inserted his fingers in the fissure that had opened between glass and floor, and pulled. The covering gave way with a loud screaking that spoke volumes about how old that contraption was.
Morr grabbed his brother's extended paw with something akin to exultation. Never climbing out of a hole had seemed so good to him. He had to actually repress the instinct to jump down to kiss the stone floor.
No skeleton there, thanks goodness.
"What-what happened?" Gargant asked, impassive.
Morr was about to answer, but hesitated. He didn't want to tell his brother that he had fainted under a pile of bones. Now that he was out of the tunnel, the thing was starting to take a humiliating shade.
"N-never mind that-that." He excused himself. As he tried to avoid his brother's gaze, his attention fell again on the scratches that he had on his chest.
"W-what happened?" He asked. Just then, he noticed that there was a metallic pang in the air, the same that came when blood was spilled.
Fur already raising, he turned around, and started with a squeak.
Three skaven, two in filthy rags and the third wearing armor, were strewn against the wall, their heads laying down.
Dumbstruck, Morr turned to his brother, a question on his snout.
"They attacked-scuttled on me when you were down there." The black-fur said, wiping his mouth with the back of a wrist. Morr noticed with a shiver that his frontal teeth were stained with blood.
"Did you hear-hear them?"
Remembering the sounds that had surprised him, Morr nodded.
"But… but why?"
Gargant spat. "Dunno."
Morr felt a spike of irritation at his careless attitude, but he repressed it. No time for bickering now. He had to understand what was happening here.
He marched to the bodies, and knelt before them.
A lot about a skaven, about his identity was in his smell, and so he smelled them thoroughly. Even if they were corpses, they had died from too little time to have lost their signature smell.
Except, and he realized that with dismay, they weren't dead. All of them, were only stunned, sent to the realm of dreams with a well-placed blow to the head.
Eyes-wided, he watched Gargant.
The black-fur just shrugged, and turned his attention at stretching his shoulder.
Morr sneered, but he knew that arguing would have brought nothing. He noticed only in that moment how Gargant raised his chest a bit too much to take air. That realization sparked something unpleasant in him, but that wasn't time for dwelling, and so he returned to examine the skaven.
Two of them, as he had already seen, were dressed in the rags of the dreg class, their furs crisscrossed with the tell-tale signs of whips, blows and sickness. The third was only a little better put that them, his emaciated frame partially protected by a ramshackle armor.
Three slaves, Morr concluded. Two dregs and their pawleader. What were doing there, though?
Their smells said nothing to him about their identities. He needed some more clues.
Rustling through their gears, especially the pawleader's, with a lot of caution, because he couldn't know when these three would spring again to life, thanks to that blockhead of his brother, he found something that almost made him jump.
"This-this sigil!" He squeaked, raising from his knees.
Frowning, Gargant came close to him, and Morr showed him the piece of cloth that he had fished from the pawleader's pockets.
It was a tattered thing, covered with splotches of dirt and blood. Still, the clawmark roughly painted on it was clearly visible: a triangular shape, put above another triangular design, only this one inverted.
Morr felt his blood going cold at seeing it.
"This…" He stammered. "This is the claw-mark of Kabrik."
Gargant's frown deepened.
"Like that one that have it against you-you?"
Morr nodded, too scared to get angry at his brother's careless reaction. Because that was a serious matter, deadly matter.
"If… if his slaves are here-here, it means that he isn't very far-away, yes-yes. We must go!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Morr could feel panic mounting. "He- he already did this! He sent slaves to catch-grab the one that try to escape and then he comes to kill-kill!"
Gargant seemed surprised at his reaction, but Morr didn't care. They had to go, now!"
"Where are-are their weapons?" He asked hurriedly. "W-we can…" He was interrupted when Gargant showed before his face him a thin, long knife.
"This one had it the leader-chief." The blackfur explained. "The two ragged ones-rats had nothing."
And that explained the scratches on his chest. Morr's eyes flicked at them. There was blood seeping in Gargant's fur, but he didn't seem bothered by it.
For a moment, Morr was tempted to ask if it hurt, but then he decided not. No time for pleasantries!
He snatched the knife, briefly appraised it, then pushed it into his belt.
He inquired at Gargant with a glance. There was other weapons?
The black-fur just gestured toward the little ramshackle shield that now ung from his backpack.
Morr nodded. It was better for Gargant to have a shield. It just cemented his role as a front-line fighter.
Mind running in search of other solutions, he found one with a start.
"The sword-stabber!" He exclaimed. "That have to be good-strong, right? Let's get it-it!"
He was surprised to see Gargant react with a little grimace.
"What?" Morr asked.
Gargant shook his head, then turned and marched toward the pit.
They had to retrieve the crowbar from the tunnel, not him, to Morr's relief, before putting themselves to work to free the sword. To Morr's pleasant surprise, the clamps holding the object n place gave way after just a bit of struggle. To his less than happy surprise, the fancy-looking sword came out curved from the exertion.
"A replica-fake." Gargant just said, waving the thing around. To further explaination, he smacked the thing on his knee, breaking it in two.
Morr had to call for all of his restrains to not start screaming like a maniac here and there, especially as he remembered that pleasant encounter with a skeleton. Thankfully for Gargant, they didn't have time for that now. Oh, but he would have remembered, oh, if he would!
They scurried away as fast as their skaveny legs could bear them, leaving the downed skaven and the chamber to the silece that had engulfed for millennia.