Stepping back from the wall, the Captain rubbed his moustache between two fingers and turned to the cluster of men behind him. "So, boys - Ser Knight," he bowed his head, " - What do we think of this?"
There were mutterings, but nobody spoke up. Leon of Altdorf stepped forward, raising a match against the brick. Orange light streaked up the wall, revealing an eight-pointed star of black powder. This they knew all too well; the presence of chaos so close sent chills down their spines. What caught them unawares, though, was that this star of chaos had been vandalized; over it, in deep-red and orange, three lines made up a triangle that none had seen before.
It had the clumsiness of a greenskin's vandalism - the lines were broken, as if the maker had been in a hurry - but there was something else about it. They had seen a dozen such icons during their travel through the sewers; indeed, they had used it as a guide. That spoke of an intellect above the likes of an orc or goblin.
It was frightening to think about. The captain rubbed his hands together in apprehension.
"I can't see," Little Lady, stood at the back of the pack, grumbled. Rorik turned to face the boy, grinned, and punched him hard in the jaw. Since the boy's insolent act, which so embarassed the Captain in the face of an Imperial knight, they had been given free reign to do to him whatever they desired, and Rorik took this freedom with gleeful pride.
Ahead of them, Leon and the Captain were musing over the item. The captain untethered the scrolled-up map from his side and examined it by torchlight. Neither of them were paying attention. Rorik turned and, realising this for himself, grinned with malice. He placed both hands against the small boy's chest and pushed hard.
Little Lady tumbled over the side of the embankment, into the running sewage-water that cut the tunnel in half. He spluttered for breath. There was little commotion; why would there be? There was the sound of petulant mutterings from Rorik, and the Captain was audibly scolding, but in the ichor-green water, clogged with waste and surrounded by a horrible stench, Little Lady could make out none of it.
The torchlight began to recede. They were actually leaving him. He yelled out in panic, clawing in vain at the side of the bank and slipping off of the soaked brick. He was caught by the current, noticing only too late that there was something off about the grating he approached; they had been bent out of shape, such that he could fit through, albeit tightly.
He was disgorged onto a pile of rubbish, landing atop a discarded carpet of fabric, once purple but now bleached by age and coated in stains and mould. He sat up, feeling rubbing his eyes. He was in the middle of a large chamber, and on either side two circular holes had been carved into the stone, held stable by wooden supports. They looked to be new, or at least oft used, for the wood was of good condition.
Little Lady scaled down the pile of discarded items, stumbling over an old, torn saddlebag and scaling passing onto the left of the chamber. He saw fit to approach one of the exits, for he could not see himself dying here; in a way, that he had been abandoned in such a place reminded him too much of how others had seen him. He frowned, feeling for his handgun and, with a sigh of thankfulness he felt the cold frame of it's stock against the back of his thigh.
Then he saw something which made him draw it with haste; a shadow being framed by torchlight that danced about within the gap in the wall, revealing a circular tunnel curving out of sight. He thought, for a second, that this could have been the Imperials come to find him, but upon closer observation he was disappointed and frightened in equal measure.
The inside of the tunnel was a sickly lime-green. Little Lady scurried about like a mouse in a trap. There was nowhere to hide, and a handgun would do him no use here. He slung it over his back and, though he loathed to suffer the stench, jumped back into the water and waded behind the rubbish-pile.
A high-pitched squeaking rang began above him. The light from the torch grew closer, so that it fell over the end of the embankment and lit up the water around him. It stopped, and another string of different, but similar squeaking took its place. It was fast and skittish, as if the made by something under intense and unending shock. Little Lady thought to hazard a glance over the top, but he didn't need to; something long and flesh-pink fell over the side of the bank, almost slapping him as it passed.
It looked like the tail of a rodent. This in itself didn't scare him; he was used to rats and mice, fond of them infact - after all, he had learned in his younger days that following them often led to foodstuffs, and that had kept him alive for many years - but the tail was large, half a metre long. It belonged to no ordinary rat.
As quickly as the rodent-things arrived, they left. The tail was dragged out of sight and the torchlight receded. Perhaps, thought the handgunner, dragging himself onto the dry and facing the tunnel, following these rats or mice will find me a way out of here. He stood in painful indecision, but the darkness was more intrusive now, and he did not see any other option, so he unslung his handgun and proceeded into the tunnel from which the strangers had come.
This came out later than expected. I'll try to leave no longer than a month between each upload to account for work and such, but I can't guarantee.
Merry Christmas!