Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes: not much in the way of interviews… but at least they were all positive. Kudos to TerraBull; your reviews are both regular and a delight to receive, with plenty of inspiring thoughts and ideas. Anyway, the final part of this storyline (but NOT of this story- have no fear of that) and the introduction of the New Shaman. Just to make things a little clearer; Clan Rotstump is an "offshoot Clan" of Clan Moulder, a small (relatively speaking) cluster of Clan Moulder Skaven sent to establish an outpost close (relatively speaking again) to the Empire and which, due to location, has access to a variety of deep-woods-dwelling monsters to experiment on. That's the theory anyway. In reality Clan Rotstump is really little more than a backwater outpost, where Skaven that have fallen from favour but which aren't yet disposable can be sent to get them out of the way. I hope I convey that feeling.
Chapter 14: New Boyz in da Tribe, Part 3
It had been several hours since Blueart had slunk away towards the fortress, and the boyz were beginning to get restless. Though they weren't stooping so low as to start fighting each other; they both respected and feared Ranma too much to do that. Especially whilst he was standing amongst them. But the boredom was definitely getting to them; they had begun to twitch and fidget constantly, and some had even begun drifting off to sleep. Ranma himself was getting more than a little bored, but he buried it deeply, concentrating on staring at the fortress. He couldn't help worrying about that Goblin- sure, she had managed to sneak up on him, but there was big difference between surprising one martial artist –even one of his calibre– and infiltrating an entire enemy fortress. In fact he was so preoccupied with staring at the fortress, looking for any signs of activity that might indicate that they'd caught her, that he failed to notice that anyone was behind him until he was prodded in the back.
"Mission accomplished sah!"
"How the zog do you do that? And where the hell did you learn to talk like that?"
"First fing; natural talent boss. Da second… I dunno."
"Ah well, never mind. Let's get back to the more important matters- report."
"Da fort's empty; all da rat-boyz iz down below, dey'z getting ready fer a fight. Some ov 'um musta survived dat battle where ya saved us ex-Rockeyez- dey made it back 'ere and now dey've stirred up da whole nest."
"That makes our job a little harder… how many warriors do they have? And what sort?"
"I dunno how many dey have… I can't count dat high. I fink dey got as many fightaz as we do boss."
At that a twinge of curiosity tickled Ranma at the back of his skull; exactly how many warriors did he have now anyway? Ranma made a mental note to take stock of his forces after this battle, then turned his full attention back to Blueart- this was important.
"But az fer what dey got… mostly dey'z jus' got rat-boyz… a mess ov giant rats too, an' lotz 'n' lotz ov liddle rats. Dey don't 'ave a spellchucker though; don't look like dey'z important enuff ta have wun. Dey got some kinda Big Boss, an' he'z got a guard ov armoured rat-boyz."
"You're sure about that? I don't want to run my boyz straight into the jaws of some kinda weird monster fing."
"I searched dat place from top ta bottom boss, dat's all dey got… uvva den da slaves."
"Slaves?"
"Lotz ov dem boss. Humies, uvva Greenskins, I was tol' dere's a stuntie in dere too, but I din't see 'im, an' lotz ov rat-boyz."
"Wait, Skaven make slaves of their own?"
"Yes."
The way the word seemed to rattled around inside Ranma's skull like a stone ricocheting off the sides of a can, coupled with the strange, metallic twang, told Ranma that, despite the fact the lips on Gitzduffd's bust were moving, the only one who'd be hearing the former Shaman's speech would be him.
"Rat-boyz ain't got no trust. Dey ain't got no friends, no family neivva. Da only fing a rat-boy looks out fer iz 'imself. Dey stab each uvver in da back every chance dey get. Any rat-boy dat don't watch 'iz back ends up a slave."
"And you told the Skaven slaves about our little rescue mission?"
"Yeah- I couldn't help it boss! Dey were all mixed up wit da uvver slaves; I 'ad ta tell dem so'z I could tell da uvver slaves. Dey swore dat dey'd help us."
"How do we know that they're trustworthy?" Ranma asked, causing Blueart to look downcast and nervously scuff the ground with the toe of her boot, unaware that Ranma had been addressing this question to Gitzduffd and was now listening intensely to the reply.
"Skaven can't be trusted ta do anyfing… except ta try an' get demselves out ov a jam, whatever it takes. Dat means dat dey will fight fer us… so long as it looks like we'z winnin'. After dat, who knowz what dey'll do? Still, any help is better 'n' no help."
"Alright then, fergit about it Blueart- ya did alright. What can ya tell me about the place we'll be fighting in?"
"Typical Skaven nest really, if what me poppa always used ta tell me iz true; it'z a maze ov tunnels carved out inta da rock, running in every direction. Da really good-built tunnel seems ta go norfeast, towards da Wastes."
"How big are these tunnels?"
"Plenny big fer us Gobbos… not so good fer bigga fings."
"Bigger things? Like what? What's the biggest among us that you think could fit down there?"
"Rocky could probably fit inta da main tunnels- but he'z gonna be scrapin' da roof 'n' da walls even den. I'd leave da Wolf 'n' Spider Riders topside; dey don't do so good unnerground."
"Great… how are we gonna keep those bastards from outflanking us then?"
"I snagged a map ov da holez dey got scattered around dese parts; let da Riders stay upside wid it, and dey can go back an' forth a'tween da holez; keep 'em from trying ta pop up behind us."
"I think I got an idea to go with that… Fergee?"
"Yes boss?"
"It looks like ya won't be coming down wid us to da fight… but I gots a job fer you anyway."
"Whut?"
"You, Troglahai's Marauders and- what do you Spider Riders call yerselves again?"
A quick burst of gibberish ensured from the Spider Rider Boss, which Troglahai quickly translated as "Chief Biteface 'n' da Creepy Crawlies".
"Alright, you, Troglahai's Marauders, Shirotaka and the Creepy Crawlies will stay topside- give 'em the map Blueart."
Blueart did as she was told, handing over a rather tatty and filthy piece of parchment to Troglahai, who took it in a manner that would have reminded Ranma of a housewife picking up a dead rat by the tail- if he'd ever seen that even happen.
"You lot, are to patrol between the holes around here; if any Skaven show up… stomp 'em! Iz dat clear?"
"Fergee likes squishin' fings!"
"And with any luck, you'll get ta squish plenty of Skaven today. But first things first- wake up ya dozy gitz! It's time to attack! Fergee! Smash that fort over there! Stomp it ta rubble, then kick the junk aside so we can go down those tunnels! These rat-boyz won't come up and fight us, then we'll just have to take the fight to them! Waaagh!"
"WAAAGH!" the warcry of an army of Greenskins, accompanied by the mighty lungs of an enthusiastic giant, made the trees shake as though they were caught in the grips of a hurricane. Fergee charged forward, so caught up in what he was about to do that he almost stepped on a couple of dozen Greenskins, who promptly joined Ranma in shouting abuse at the indifferent giant.
An arm like a redwood tree knotted with great boulder-sized cords of muscle drew backwards, an entire battering ram clenched in a humungous fist, and then hurtled forward, bringing the monstrous cudgel tearing through the air to slam with unspeakable force into the side of the fortress. A fortress of stone wouldn't have withstood that attack; this mound of rotten wood was all but torn in half, the majority of its upper portions shattered into filthy powder and splinters. A monstrous foot drew back and then rocketed forwards, smashing what remained of the door in –along with most of the walls– and sent it hurtling into the sky. The other foot was raised up and then brought slamming down, crushing whatever was beneath it flat. It was the work of roughly three more blows before Fergee roughly kicked aside enough of the toppled fortress that the great cavern leading into the depths of the Skaven warren was revealed. With a clumsy hop aside, Fergee leapt out of the way as the Greenskin infantry charged forth, Ranma at their head.
Warlord Tribble Vesquick was not having a good day. First of all, that worthless clutch-brother of his Chieftain Scritch Whiptail had taken half the clan with him on a slaving raid. Secondly, they'd been late returning. Thirdly, a small group of maybe a dozen or so Skaven had finally stumbled back into the warren, stinking of the musk of fear and squeaking madly about a massacre. When they'd finally calmed down, it had turned out they were the only survivors of the slavers- the rest had been slaughtered by an Orc ambush. The experience had clearly unhinged them, because they claimed a human had led the Orcs. Tribble had naturally executed the lot, but had begun rallying the remaining Skaven all the same. Let's see those pathetic Greenskins stand up to the might of the Skaven when a REAL leader was leading them!
But of course, there were still more problems. It seemed he hadn't been quick enough to execute the survivors of the slaving raid, as an undercurrent of fear had begun to spread amongst the Clanrats- but it was ever the fate of Skaven leaders to be betrayed by incompetent and witless underlings. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try to whip some backbone into them. Literally if need be.
"Witless scum-fools! Mindless green-things cannot hunt-track us! Gather your weapons, and we shall head for the surface to hunt-slay them all! They will suffer for attacking the mighty Clan Rotstump! They will all suffer-die! We shall- eh?"
The sounds of destruction suddenly echoed through the tunnel-complex, backed by a chorus of battlecries and the sound of running bodies. Many, many running bodies. Warlord Tribble caught a faint whiff of the musk of fear in the air, and quickly turned to spark more fire into his Clanrats before the scent set them all to flight. With the natural exception of his elite Stormvermin, of course.
"The fools-filth dare to come into our lair! Spread out- to the tunnels! We shall surround them, and then their blood shall flow thickly upon the floors! Go- now! Now-now!"
The Skaven immediately began to scuttle away into the labyrinth; though there was still fear in their shrivelled black hearts, it was temporarily subsumed by confidence inspired by the fact that there was no way their enemies would be able to pursue them without splitting up into small, vulnerable units. Not to mention the fact that nobody knew these tunnels better than they did- which meant that there was every chance they'd be able to simply avoid their opponents until the fighting was done. The tail of the very last of Warlord Tribble's Stormvermin had just slithered out of sight when Ranma came charging into the meeting hall at the head of a tide of bloodthirsty Greenskins. They screeched to a halt in the middle of the hall, swearing and snarling and spitting curses at their cowardly foe. Ranma gestured imperiously as he spoke.
"Split up inta ya mobs and pick a tunnel! Chase 'em down and spill some blood! Remember though- don't hurt any of the slaves; we'z here ta set them free, not ta kill them. Let'z go!"
With a battlecry that echoed throughout the warren, the Fikskulls eagerly did as they were told, the song of bloodshed, even if only the promise of bloodshed, ringing within the very depths of their souls. The danger didn't frighten them- nothing could frighten an Orc when there was a battle to be fought. They would track down these filthy Skaven and when they did these tunnels would run red.
Snurk chittered to himself, his twisted and malformed snout producing the wheezing gurgling snort from which he drew his name as he did so. He had brought his troops through the tunnels that led into the larder- that was the place to set up an ambush. Plus, Skaven were voracious eaters- they'd be much better at such physical activities as fighting if they had some food in their gullets. He and his brethren were gorging themselves on all manner of Skaven delicacies; raw slabs of putrefying flesh, vile black bread baked from diseased corn crushed with Warpstone, sour wine and other such disgusting foods.
The feast was conducted in near-perfect silence; other than the occasional squeak or the sound of claws scraping on stone, the Clanrats didn't make any noise whatsoever. That meant they were easily able to hear as something came lumbering down the corridor. Dropping the food, they clustered around the door; when the enemy pulled it open, they'd rush out and attack. As plans went it was a pretty good one… but it would turn out to have a single, fatal flaw. Whatever was on the other side didn't pull the door outwards- it smashed it inwards instead, doing so with such force that Snurk was caught up between it and the wall and crushed to death.
Rocky stuck his head through the wrecked portal and didn't even bother to voice the customary roar before disgorging a geyser of Troll digestive fluids, the most powerful corrosive fluids in the universe, dissolving Snurk's squad into nothingness. Now Rocky roared in triumph, before squeezing his scaly bulk through the shattered doorway into the kitchen. He idly prodded a hunk of Skaven foodstuffs and promptly stuck out his tongue in an expression of disgust. Troll might be capable of digesting rock, steel and even Brussels sprouts, but there were some things even they wouldn't eat. He lumbered away to try and find something that was a bit tastier.
Bork bellowed triumphantly; he and his Bashers had managed to run smack-bang into a regiment of Clanrats, but the cowardly Skaven were turning tail and fleeing. Of course, even with their natural speed when it came to retreating they weren't getting off scot-free. The tunnels were cramped and uneven places, and that meant their mobility was hampered- which in turn meant that they couldn't dodge the blows of their Orc enemies. Flesh was split and bones were shattered, corpses dropped to the ground and were promptly ground underfoot as the rock became slick with spreading pools of foul black Skaven ichor. But still, despite the casualties they were taking, the Skaven managed to slip away from the Orcs, who took pursuit with howls of bloodlust that echoed from the walls and merged with the terrified squeaking of the Skaven to form an unholy chorus of battle.
Suddenly, the clamour of battle resumed- stronger, louder than before. Without even realising it, Bork's Bashers had chased their victims right into the middle of the fight between another set of Orcs and Skaven. Not that they really cared; Greenskins slashed and hacked and butted and battered anything that wasn't green. Bork himself managed to plant his choppa in between the ribs of a Skaven, right before a well-used mace pulverized its skull. As Bork tugged his choppa free, he noticed the wielder of the mace was none other than Widge, and the two Orc Bosses shared mutual grins before returning to the slaughter.
Warlord Tribble Vesquick snarled in fury; precisely how had his treacherous underlings managed to lead him into the slave quarters? Not that it mattered- the slaves would make perfect cannon fodder to throw into the teeth of the enemy. With all the dregs that were currently hacking and gouging at the bare rock with crude chisels and picks, surely their enemy would be unable to kill them all before being dragged down themselves?
"All slaves! Prepare to fight-slay!"
For a second, he could have sworn that the slaves actually looked at him, but he must have been mistaken- surely no slave would dare to be so insolent? He shook his head to clear his mind of such foolish thoughts- of course they wouldn't! He instead turned his attention down towards the great door that closed off the tunnel leading to this place, clutching his Weeping Blade tightly in his forepaws as the sounds of Skaven dying and bodies breaking came ever closer.
Ranma axe-kicked at a Skaven that persisted in jabbing at him with a spear, striking it so hard that it flew into the rock wall with sufficient force to split the skull, falling to the floor as blood and brain matter trickled down the wall. An elbow jab crushed the throat of one Skaven that tried and failed to sneak up from behind and bury a rusty dagger in his kidney. A whirlwind of kicks and staff-strikes later, and his gore-spattered form was standing before a thick gate of wood and iron, wondering how he would get inside. It was times like these he almost wished he'd asked the Old Ghoul to teach him the Bakusai Tenketsu. Almost.
Holding the staff before him, he reached out once again for that strange emerald ki- the Waaagh, Gitzduffd called it. Somehow, Ranma was using the very same energy that Gitzduffd had used in life to work his magic to work his newest special attack. And with Gitzduffd helping him to see and manipulate the Waaagh, he knew it wouldn't be long before he could create new techniques. Thanks to Gitzduffd, he was able to reach through the solid rock of the tunnels and draw the Waaagh from the fighting pockets of Greenskins- having left the Gitduffers behind at a previous junction, on virtue of the fact they were both deadly enough to function on their own. Feeling the power coursing through his body, he levelled the staff towards the gate.
"Gitbuster!"
A blast of pure Waaagh energy, far more focused and controlled than his previous attempt had been, erupted from the bust of Gitzduffd at the staff's tip and shattered the gate to splinters. With a dramatic flourish that would have done credit to Tatewaki Kuno himself, he swept through the smoke and dust to stand in full sight of the Stormvermin, grinning as he said the first words that came to mind.
"Honey, I'm home!"
"Kill-maim him!"
The Stormvermin squealed with fury and charged towards Ranma, who simply grinned with delight. Gitzduffd's staff seemed to echo with ghostly howls and whoops as it swung through the air, shattering limbs so firmly that it effectively cut them off and crushing skulls to jelly. A Stormvermin that dove at him found itself the victim of a vicious scissors-kick that sent it flying upwards to become impaled on a cluster of stalactites. A second was sent flying by a backhand, landing on a stalagmite that skewered its heart and snapped its spine. Warlord Tribble squealed loudly as he tried to scramble backwards, literally pushing his Stormvermin into the path of this terrible monster –this beast in man-thing's shape– but each simply died in turn, usually in a very gruesome manner. Finally, he tripped and fell into the pit amidst the slaves, who had remained silent and still as the grave throughout the battle.
"Slaves! Kill the monster!"
"Yes, go on, kill the monster." Ranma smirked, folding his ichor-drenched arms across his chest as the slaves looked between him and Tribble and then, as one, fell upon the Skaven with such speed and ferocity he didn't even have the chance to lift his Weeping Blade in defense before he was hacked apart.
Okay, a short and lousy chapter- but what the hell, I never promised literary gold. Quite the opposite in fact. In the next chapter, Ranma figures out what to do with the slaves before continuing his journey east. I apologise for the delay in posting this- things came up in real life.