The Dark Below

by Wesse501

Trapped in the darkness beneath a mountain a band of mercenaries will have to face the endless swarms of Skaven to reach safety. Will they make it back to Tilea, or will they fall prey to the ratmen?

Lightning streaked across the moonless night sky, illuminating the world below with flashes of stabbing light as the pouring rain tried it's best to turn the barren patch of rocky wilderness that was the Border Princes into a swamp. The weather seemed eager to accomplish a process that usually took eons within the span of a few hours. And, much to the chagrin of the five Tileans galloping through the gale trying to escape the silhouettes of their pursuers, it was actually succeeding.

One of the horsemen turned in his saddle and spat a curse as he saw their pursuers were still hot on their heels without any signs of slowing down. Water dripped down his thick black beard and his long hair. He flinched as an arrow sped past his ear and he cursed some more, for good measure.

'Damn it, Alejandro! I told you we should have made for the nearest fortified inn!' He snapped at one of his fellow riders. 'Now we're going to end up in some Goblin cookpot!'

'Shut it, Diego!' Alejandro, his dark brown hair soaking wet, snapped back. 'We're not dead yet. And I have no intention of ending up as a light snack.'

Alejandro risked a glance behind his shoulders and what he saw did little to lift his spirits. The warband of Goblins showed no intent of letting them go. He saw the spiteful little creatures as they howled and shrieked on top of their mounts. Alejandro shuddered as he looked at the beasts which carried the goblins on their backs. Giant wolves the size of his own horse, all slavering fangs and wickedly sharp claws, their jaws snapping open and shut in anticipation of the warm flesh they would soon feast upon. Their riders were no less pleasant to look at. Their wiry little frames were covered in furs and pieces of rusted armour. From little hooks from their belts dangled ears and fingers. Grisly trophies taken from defeated foes or as the Goblins called them: snacks.

It dawned on Alejandro that they had to think of something, and the timespan wherein they could do so was rapidly dwindling.

Alejandro turned to another one of his comrades. 'Dicelli,' he yelled over the rumbling thunder and the pouring rain. 'Do you still have that crossbow?'

'Cocked and loaded.' Dicelli answered. The gaunt Tilean produced a repeater crossbow from the folds of his cloak and tried to steady his aim through the rocking of his horse and the storm. It was a prize he had wrested from the cold, dead hands of its former owner, a Dark Eflf corsair. He kept it as a backup weapon, or in the case of heavy rain where gunpowder was too damp to be of any use.

He sighted one of the Goblins with an arrow ready to shoot from his bow. Before the little fiend could let loose, an iron quarrel embedded itself in his skull and the greenskin slid from its saddle to fall on the ground. Its mount, sensing an easier meal in the corpse of its former owner than the elusive Tileans stopped dead in its tracks and began to eat its fill.

Sensing an opportunity Dicelli singled out three more wolf riders and pitched them from their saddles with well-placed quarrels. The hungry wolves showed a shocking lack of loyalty to their abusive owners and pounced on the fallen Goblins. By now the smell of fresh blood proved to be overpowering for the wolves who still bore their Goblin masters. Frustrated to be denied their bounty they thrashed and raged against the greenskins on their backs. Every thought of pursuit was torn from their minds as the Goblins hung on for dear life against the flea ridden fur of their mounts. Their desire not to join their comrades, one of whom was very much still alive judging by the screams, overrode any other impulse they might have.

The Pistoleros left the grisly scene behind them and continued their gallop onwards, determined to put as much distance between the wolves and themselves just in case their hunger was not sated.

'We need to rest the horses sooner rather than later.' Alvaros called out when they felt comfortable enough to slow their mad gallop to a mere frightened canter, his distinguished ring beard surprisingly dry. 'I fear we've pushed them too far as it is.'

Alejandro did not want to agree with this. He wanted for his mare to keep on running until he was safely behind the walls of Lucini and the pikes and guns of her garrison. But, alas, what he wanted her to do and what she was actually capable of were two different things entirely.

'You're right.' He said reluctantly and raised his voice so the others could hear him. 'Keep your eyes out for anything that looks like shelter. Caves, taverns, haunted mansions, anything will do at this point.'

'I have a sinking feeling that this little adventure is not going to end well.' A tall man with a bushy blonde beard said.

'You and your bloody feelings, Giorgio,' Dicelli snapped. 'If I had a copper every time you had a premonition I would be living comfortably on an estate somewhere.'

'Or more likely spend it all in taverns and gambling dens.' Giorgio fired back.

'Yes, yes.' Alejandro intervened when he thought he heard the howling of wolves on the wind. 'We all have our vices and virtues, but for now let's make sure we keep all our limbs attached to our bodies.'

…

The rains and punishing winds finally abated sometime after the Pistoleros were content they were far enough removed from death by claw and fang. They took the time to shelter the horses in what Alejandro had called "a cave". Which to the other Pistoleros, and probably the horses too, was quite a generous stretch.

What it really was, was a dent in a cliff of sheer rock that was barely large enough to fit the horses. The Tileans stood huddled around a pathetic fire that looked like it could depart from this world at any moment and leave them alone in the cold. It certainly wasn't capable of drying their wet clothes, but that did not stop the five men from pretending it could.

It would have been hard to believe these were the same rogues who departed from Lucini four weeks ago when they were hired by a fat merchant to obtain a cache of gems that was lost when one of his caravans was captured by greenskins. The merchant was quite heart struck to be denied his prize, the fact that the men and women travelling with the caravan were all brutally killed and probably eaten seemed a secondary concern to him. All in all it was promised to be an easy job. They always were.

But their employer did not know that the gems were now the pride and joy of a massive orc warlord known as Nazdeg da Stuntie Killa. A name that, if nothing else, conveyed the promise of a violent death.

Alejandro took a venomous glance at the leather pouch containing those gems as if they had just insulted his mother, saint though she was.

What their employer also did not know was the exact nature of the shining blue gems. They were Brynduraz, prized by the dwarfs beyond reason, they believed these stones to be theirs by ancestral right and would go to any lengths to make sure every last one of them returns to their possession. Or so Alvaros, ever the scholar, told him.

So the Pistoleros found themselves in a full scale war between a throng of very angry dwarfs from the hold of Karak Izor and the brutish warriors that formed Nazedeg's host. This worked to the advantage of the mercenaries as the Orcs were too busy hurling themselves against the dwarven shield wall and the dwarfs, for their part, were preoccupied with felling their hated enemies with blows of their axes. By the time the greenskins were routed and the dwarfs discovered the gems to be missing the Pistoleros were long gone, fleeing into the night with their ill-gotten gains. Roars of frustration fading away to nothing

'All of this wretched misery because of a handful of gems,' Alvaros scowled and stroked his slender beard before pulling his cloak tighter. That bastard and his coin purse had better be there when we get back home.'

There were mutters of agreement, as well as suggestions where their client could shove the precious stones.

'Si,' Dicelli snapped, a look of irritation ghosting across his features. 'We'd all like to tell that jumped up cloth merchant he can go and be intimate with a sheep. But first we need to actually get back home. And I don't know about you lot, but I did not survive greenskin spears and dwarven axes just to die in the wilds of this Myrmidia forsaken hell hole.'

'Aye,' Diego said and patted the heavy sacks strapped to his horse that carried his swords and pistols 'We will make it back, we've been through worse.'

Again there were mutters of agreement. Diego told the truth, they had been through worse. It made the whole thing somehow more depressing.

'Right then,' Giorgio said. 'We'll move out when this damned weather clears up just a little. With luck we'll find some shelter that is actually worthy of the name where we can plan our triumphant return to civilization. If we're really lucky we can do all this before our supplies run out and we have to eat Alejandro.'

'Yes, quite ri-' Alejandro began. 'Wait, what?'

He looked at his fellow mercenaries who returned his slightly panicked gaze with a dead pan stare.

'It won't come to that, I'm sure.' Dicelli said, his hard grey eyes measuring up Alejandro. The he turned to his comrades. 'But just to be on the safe side, what do you think? Red wine or white to pair?'

'I think we're not all that far from a mining village we passed on our way to the gems.' Alejandro said quickly and a bit pale. 'We should be able to shelter and resupply there.'

…

When dawn came the five men broke up their camp, if you could call it that, saddled their horses and put their amour back on. The rain had finally let up, so the mercenaries rolled up their waterproof cloaks and stowed them away in their saddlebags. They also made sure their sabers for mounted combat and the pistols in their saddle holsters were ready to be easily drawn. Any Goblin or Orc who mistook them for an easy lunch would be in for a nasty surprise. All in all, spirits were high and the thought of cannibalism was forgotten. For now, at least.

'Right lads,' Alejandro began when they were fully mounted. 'Let's go and find ourselves a nice warm bed and a pitcher full of wine.'

His fellow rogues raised their fists in salute and urged their horses into a trot. They were eager to leave this bleak land behind them and return to the softer, more welcoming, climate of Tilea where the women were also softer and more welcoming than the peasants eking out a living in this forsaken place. Then again, there were few places that could match the grandeur of the Tilean city-states with their pallazi and, more importantly, their thick walls and murderous towers designed to grind enemy armies in to dust.

No such structures existed in this inhospitable wilderness, which made getting back home a prime objective. So the Pistoleros trudged on through dreary moors and craggy hills near the foot of foreboding mountains, constantly on the lookout for marauding bands of Orcs or worse. The mood among the party was one of quiet discomfort, which the eerie mist that seemed to cling around them did little to dispel.

The Tileans cursed the fog as it made their progress painfully slow. They could not let their horses go as fast as they wished for fear of hidden pitfalls that could cripple them.

Alvaros was scouting ahead and muttering about the unfairness of it all when he spotted a tower rising up from the mist. It looked like it was a spire belonging to a temple and not, he noted with relief, the abode of some mad wizard who liked to place swords in stones. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw a wooden palisade emerging from the swirling fog, he slowed his horse to a trot and advanced cautiously. He could see more of what lay beyond the palisade, a temple tower emerged and he had the feeling that it must be a town of some size. Hopefully large enough to have an inn where they would have proper beds and stables.

He reined in his horse as he watched the veiled town, his discomfort grew as he could not hear any of the sounds he associated with the inhabitants waking up to their provincial life. Where was the sound of the baker going about with his tray, the same old bread and rolls to sell, for instance? Or the sound of children running around the place, trying their utmost to make sure their clean clothes did not stay that way?

The Pistolero turned his horse around and rode back to this comrades, the sense of unease creeping up his spine and staying with him until he made it back to his comrades and he told them of the eerily quiet town. The mercenaries shared wary looks between each other. A village could be silent for many reasons, though most of them were probably not pleasant.

Alejandro sensed another endless debate coming on about what their next course of action should be. The Tilean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. He was bone tired and weary of the endless trek across this bloody wasteland, as were most of the others.

'We make for the town,' Alejandro said, his blue eyes locking on each of his friends. 'We need the shelter and the rest. Though we should be ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.'

'Ah,' Dicelli nodded. 'Business as usual then.'

…

The Pistoleros stood before the wooden gate of the town and began to slightly relax when they saw the mist was beginning to dispel, though they could not shake the feeling that something was not right..

The evaporating mist began to reveal more and more details of the town. First they could see the wooden palisade was of solid construction. It was formed of strong oaken wood lashed together. It would not present a serious obstacle to an army equipped for siege warfare, but it would probably serve well to discourage roving warbands and wild beasts from attacking the settlement.

The town was also built directly on the foothills of a mountain that towered over the landscape like a fortress inhabited , adding to the feeling of unease.

Once they were inside the town and began to stroll through the unpaved streets they stumbled upon an inn that was utterly devoid of patrons and an innkeeper. But it had empty beds where they could unload their gear and a stable were the horses would be warm and dry. Once they felt the inn was secure they reluctantly ventured further into the town where wooden shutters and shop signs creaked ominously in the wind.

'What happened here?' Giorgio asked, his voice frayed. 'Where are all the people?'

'Could be plague?' Dicelli offered and made the sign of Shallya, goddess of mercy, to ward off any sickness. 'It wouldn't be the first time an entire village was wiped out by some foul disease.'

'Aye,' Alvaros said slowly, 'but I don't see graves, when a disease like that hits people often die at such a rate that the graveyard is filled to bursting.'

'Must have been greenskins or beastmen,' Alejandro spat. 'This wilderness is full of the foul beasts. They probably swept over this place and put these poor souls to the sword. They were most likely dragged back to their lairs and roasted over a fire.'

'Could be,' Alvaros nodded. 'but the palisade was completely intact. I doubt Orcs or creatures of Chaos could have persuaded the townsfolk to open their gate to them.'

'Well, something happened here.' Giorgio snapped, his nerves on edge by the accursed silence of the empty town. 'And I'm getting a feeling we shouldn't be here. This place is cursed.'

'You think everything is cursed.' Dicelli said while rolling his eyes. 'I'm surprised you can go to the market without spraying holy water all over the place.'

Giorgio shot the gaunt Pistolero a murderous glare, 'Oh, I'm sorry. It must be my fault. I mean, it's not like we're standing in the middle of a deserted settlement sandwiched between evil looking mountains and foggy moors. Pardon me for not wanting to be here.'

'I was just saying is all.' Dicelli said, wisely backing off.

While his colleagues were bickering and arguing like fishwives, as they tended to do, Diego wandered around the empty streets of the town. If this was some sort of badly written play he would probably have been dragged to his grisly death by some sort of eldritch horror. This did not happen, of course. Though the feeling of impending doom did not leave his mind.

He spotted a door creaking ominously in its frame. He drew one of his pistols and carefully edged towards the opening to the house beyond. Diego was prepared for a lot of things, like blood splatters on the wall or unholy symbols daubed on the floor. What he did not expect was to find the inside of the house to look as though as if it's owners could come back at any moment. There were no signs of struggle, everything was left completely intact. Even the dinner table was set with plates of food.
Diego kept a tight grip on his pistol and moved towards the table. The food on the table was cold to the touch, and heavy with rot. A chill went down his spine as he realized that this place had been abandoned and left to decay for a considerable amount of time.

He backed away from the unnerving scene and exited the house, a prayer to Shallya uttering from his mouth.

'We should leave this place.' Diego said as he joined his friends. 'Something claimed these townspeople and I'd rather not stay and find out if it has moved on or not.'

'Nonsense.' Alejandro snapped. 'We stay here for the night, it's getting dark and the horses are tired. Besides, whatever it was is long gone by now.'

'Si,' Alvaros concurred. 'Our illustrious leader makes a good point.'

'Maybe you're righ-' Dicelli started before the sound of timber beams snapping interrupted him mid-sentence.

'What was that?' Diego yelled, both pistols now in his hands. 'What in the name of Myrmidia's tits was that?!'

'Probably debris,' Dicelli shrugged and patted the pommel of his rapier. 'Don't have a panic attack, I'll protect you.'

'We might as well go and check it out.' Alejandro muttered and unholstered one of his pistols. 'If only to ease Diego's troubled mind.' He added sarcastically.

'I hate you.' Diego snapped.

'Yes, so you keep telling me.' Alejandro retorted as he moved to the source of the noise with a reluctant Diego in tow.

The duo stopped before a wooden house of which the upper story seemed to have collapsed.

'Probably wood rot.' Alejandro said. 'You know how these peasant hovels are, they're just one termite bite away from becoming rubble.'

He tried to open the door but he noticed it was wedged shut, no doubt the result of the house's instability.

'I don't have time for this.' He sighed in exasperation before turning to the other Pistoleros down the street. 'Giorgio, break it down!'

'You say the nicest things to me.' The big Tilean said and proceeded to solve the problem with a well-placed kick which nearly sent the door flying.

'Much obliged.' Alejandro said with a mock bow and stepped into the interior, now with both pistols drawn.

The first thing he experienced was a searing sensation of pain on his right cheek as something sharp skimmed it's surface. He swore in colourful Tilean as a small dagger imbedded itself in the wood of the doorpost.

The pain was almost forgotten as he saw his assailant. It was a young woman with wild, dirty blonde hair. She was clad in the tattered remnants of what must once have been a quite practical outfit, the kind you would see being worn by the people who did not shy away from rolling up their sleeves and getting their hands dirty .

'Oh, shit.' Was all Alejandro managed to say before she lunged at him with a makeshift spear.

…

Despite Alejandro's reflexes he was not fast enough to avoid the woman's attack. Thankfully his breastplate was made of sterner stuff than the stone speartip and it shattered against the steel.

'Oi, what the-' He began as the woman let out an almost feral shriek and bore him to the ground where she attempted to gouge out his eyes with her fingernails after slapping aside his pistols.

'Get her off me!' Alejandro shouted to his stunned colleagues while also trying to keep his eyes firmly in their sockets. 'Get her off me!'

The woman continued to shriek and trying to main Alejandro until she felt the cold steel of Diego's rapier pressed against her throat.

'As much as I enjoy to see my esteemed colleague get a good thrashing from time to time I will have to insist you stop immediately.' Diego said, his bearded face grim. 'He still owes me money, you see.'

The woman blinked several times as if she was snapping out of some strange trance. Diego noticed her eyes where a shade of blue that reminded him of a storm on the ocean and were, in fact, quite lovely.

'Tilean?' She said in a lilting voice. 'You are Tilean?'

'Born and bred.' Diego said and flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and indicated Alejandro who was still pinned beneath her. 'So is my friend you tried to blind.'

She looked down at Alejandro as if noticing him for the first time. Her eyes widened and she backed away from the downed mercenary.

Alejandro sprang up with a speed that belied his armoured form and drew his rapier. He levelled the tip of his blade at the woman.

'What the hell is wrong with you, lady?!' He snarled. 'Were you raised by rats?'

At the mention of those small rodents a glint of hate passed through the woman's eyes and her face hardened.

'Ah, merda.' Alejandro said and lowered his rapier a fraction.

'What is it?' Diego asked his face going from Alejandro to the young woman.

'I think I know what happened to the villagers.' Alejandro sighed and slid his rapier back into its scabbard. 'And it isn't pretty.'

Diego looked at his comrade and also sheathed his sword before moving to kneel before the woman.

'I am terribly sorry,' he said while extending a hand. 'I don't know what happened here, or to you, but I am sorry. My name is Diego Depardini, my friend over there is Alejandro Luciani.'

Stormy blue eyes regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and hope.

'May I ask your name?' Diego asked kindly.

She hesitated, not sure if she could trust the bearded Tilean.

'Aurora.' She said at last, her voice barely a whisper. 'My name is Aurora.'

'Well then, Aurora,' Diego nodded. 'Would you care to tell us what fate befell this place?'

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.' Aurora said. 'I…I can hardly believe it myself.'

By now Alejandro came to stand next to his comrade and extended an armoured hand to Aurora. 'Try us.' He said with a smile.

…

When the end came, there was no warning.

It was the end of yet another dreary evening, waiting until the rains would finally let up so the trading caravan could resume its journey to the World's Edge Mountains and the fabled lands of Cathay beyond. But the first the road, or rather the pitiful cattle track the locals called a road, had to dry up before the heavy wagons could traverse them without getting hopelessly stuck. Again.

Aurora was playing cards in the local tavern with the other mercenaries who were hired to protect the caravan from whatever would assail them on their journey from Miragliano to the fabled Silk Lands. She was about to call the bluff of one of her comrades, a middle-aged Bretonnian with a crooked nose and spectacularly bad teeth, when the local patrons all stood up as if under some strange spell and began to walk out.

'What are you lot doing?' Aurora asked and grabbed the arm of a young woman who walked past her.

The woman looked at her with a dead-eyed stare and simply brushed her off before resuming her march outside.

'Something's up.' The Bretonnian said, slurring his word after two cups of bad ale too many.

The mercenaries grabbed their swords and stumbled out of the tavern in varying states of sobriety and were greeted by the scene of the locals standing perfectly still on the main square of the town. Mixed in between where the members of the caravan who stood perplexed amongst them, trying to snap the townspeople out of their stupor.

It was then that Aurora saw creatures seemingly ripped out of some fevered nightmare. Rats that walked like men and carrying wicked weapons were converging on the hapless townspeople. A scream of horror erupted from one of the members of Aurora's caravan and the spell that was seemingly cast over the townspeople was dispelled. More screams filled the night air as the ratmen surged forwards and fell upon the Humans.

Many of the unfortunate humans were dragged away screaming into the night and others were simply butchered in an orgy of violence.

'We need to do something!' Aurora called out and tried to rally her comrades, several of whom were already making a mad dash for the gatehouse and the safety beyond. They did not get far before a swarm of the rat creatures swarmed them and began to feast on their living flesh.

The Bretonnian turned to speak to her, but no words came from his mouth only a bubbling stream of black blood as the tip a rusted dagger burst from his throat.

Aurora took a step back in terror as her comrade gurgled something in his native tongue.

One of the ratmen stepped over the corpse of the Bretonnian and looked at her with beady eyes that were like a portal into a mind ruled by hunger.

She cried out and buried her sword into the ratman's gut. The thing squealed and fell back, wrenching the blade from her hands.
Aurora cursed and backed further away as more and more of the beasts appeared before her. Cautiously advancing on her like wolves on a wounded stag.

The ratman saw their dead compatriots in a pool of his own blood and suddenly turned away from Aurora and back to the defenceless townspeople, sensing easier prey.

Aurora tried to block out the screams as she fled into the town and away from the massacre.

…

As the colour drained from Alejandro's and Diego's face when they heard Aurora's tale the other Pistoleros, whose attention spans were equal to those of small children, had wandered off once the screams from within the house had died down and they were convinced their friends were no longer in mortal danger.

'What do you think that was all about?' Alvaros asked Giorgio.

'Poor thing seemed like she had been through a lot.' Giorgio said.

'Didn't you say she attacked Alejandro? Violently?'

'Yes,' Giorgio said and stroked the stubble that was forming on his cheeks. 'Although, to be fair, who hasn't?'

'Good point.' Alvaros admitted and turned his attention back to the desolate streets. 'Still, I hope she can explain what happened here.'

'Seems like everything went to shit, doesn't it?' Dicelli remarked.

'Yes, Dicelli, everything indeed went to shit.' Alvaros said despairingly of his friend's deadpan observation. 'The million gold coin question is why.'

'You know, I don't really care.' Dicelli said looking Alvaros in the eyes. A growl from Giorgio made him continue his statement. 'Whatever happened here was bad, very bad. I don't want to stay here and find out what could have obliterated a decently sized town. I would rather read about it in a book from the safety of a warm tavern than seeing it in the flesh.'

Alvaros shrugged and looked at the eerie streets. 'Hard to fault that logic.' He conceded.

The conversation trailed off and died all together when they saw Alejandro, Diego and a wretched looking young woman walking towards them.

'Ah shit.' Dicelli muttered under his breath. 'Here it comes. Here it bloody well comes. That blue-eyed half-wit will have us go on a quest to go and save her pet rabbit or something.'

Alvaros and Giorgio groaned in dreadful agreement.

Great was their relief therefor when Alejandro simply said, 'Pack everything and saddle the horses. We are leaving.'

'Now, I'm not usually the one to look a gift horse in the mouth,' Giorgio began, his eyes darting wearingly between Alejandro and the girl. 'But why the sudden change of heart? Just ten minutes ago we were supposed to hunker down here and now you want us to leg it?'

The, undoubtedly witty, reply Alejandro retorted with was drowned out as they heard the frantic, panicked noises coming from their improvised lodgings.

'The horses!' Diego said alarmed.

'The gems!' Dicelli added in an equally alarmed voice, though with just an extra hint of hysteria for good measure.

'Oh for Myrmidia's sake!' Alejandro said in frustration as he ran towards the spot where they had tethered the horses and stored their gear. 'Don't just stand there, you idiots! He yelled at his comrades. 'Do you want to walk all the way back to Luccini?'

He got his answer when the Pistoleros raced after him with their rapiers out of their sheaths.

When they arrived at the, for lack of a better word, stable, they found their saddlebags slashed open and the eyes of the horses were white with fright. Many of their possessions were strewn across the dirt floor, several of Alvaros's books were strewn around the place with pages ripped out like the mangled remains of fallen soldiers after a battle against an Ogre raiding party. But of the gems which started this particular misadventure there was no sign.

What they did find, however, was a piece of stone that glowed with an evil, green light.

'I-is…' Giorgio stammered nervously, images of rats who walked on two legs in a twisted parody of humanity racing through his minds. 'Is that what I think it is?'

'Warpstone.' Dicelli hissed. 'Myrmidia cursed warpstone! Forgot those damned gems, we leave now!'

'I never thought I would say this.' Diego chimed in, 'but Dicelli is making a lot of sense.'

'We can't.' Alvaros said. 'We have a contract.'

The four other Pistoleros looked at their comrade as if he had gone insane.

'Sod the damn contract.' Dicelli snarled. 'What good is the promise of coin when those rat things gnaw on our bones?'

'I hate to say it, but Alvaros is right.' Alejandro said with a glint of steel in his eyes. 'We need those gems. Our livelihood and our reputation depend on it. If we show up empty handed in Luccini I don't think anyone will be quick to hire our services again. It's fight or starve, gentlemen.'

'Shit!' Dicelli yelled in frustration and kicked an upturned stool with such force it smashed right through a mouldering door that led to the cellar of the building. An sickening smell wafted through the newly created opening like a creeping miasma about to bring pestilence and death to an unsuspecting city, the stench was overpowering and the Tileans soon found themselves retching. Giorgio in particular looked like he was about to part ways with his breakfast.

'Well,' Alejandro sighed and gave Giorgio an encouraging pat on the back. 'Looks like we know where to go.'

He looked at the hole and then at Aurora still clutching her homemade spear. He shook his head and tore his sabre free from its's scabbard on his saddle.

'Know how to use this?' The Pistolero asked and offered her his sword.

'I took a few fencing classes as a child.' Aurora said as she accepted it. 'I can look out for myself.'

'That's the spirit.' Alejandro nodded and took in her ragged clothes. 'How do you feel about red and black? Dicelli has some spare clothes and I think he's about your size.'

'If it's not covered in holes and dried blood I don't care.' Aurora said.

'Well then.' Alejandro began as he threw her a bundle of clothes that consisted of the Pistoleros' signature ensemble, a red shirt and black pants. 'I'm sure you'll be the belle of the ball.'

…

Unbeknownst to the Tileans a pair of beady eyes were watching them from between the planks of the building's ceiling. They belonged to a creature called Thrilk and they were set in a face that only a mother could love, if the mother had been an unholy blend of rat and man and even then it might be a stretch.
Thrilk flexed its furless tail to brush away some of the dust that had fallen on the filthy rags that covered his back and bared his incisors at the humans, imagining how he would rip out their throats and claim more of the shiny rocks they no doubt had stored away somewhere.

It's not fair-fair! Thrilk thought as he saw the mercenaries checking their pistols and their swords. That cursed coward Skrun scurried-ran off with the shiny rocks to the burrow leaving poor Thrilk to hide-conceal himself from the man-things and their guns.

Thrilk mentally cursed the dastardly Skrun some more for good measure and then noticed the warpstone lying on the floor. His desire for the glowing substance overrode his instinct to stay hidden and silent and he let out a squeak of yearning.

The Skaven froze as the man-things stopped whatever it was they were doing and garbled something in their inferior language. A tall blonde furred man-thing looked up and cried out as he locked eyes with Thrilk.

The ratman squealed and sprayed the musk of fear as five pairs of pistols belched their lead shot at his hiding place. By the grace of the Great Horned Rat none of the bullets managed to find their way into his flesh. Thrilk was aware that the man-thing guns were pale imitations of the glorious technology wielded by the Skaven, but at the moment he didn't particularly care so he scurried away from the man-thing barbarians. He did not stop running until he was safe back in the dark and comforting embrace of the gloom beneath the mountain. He also did not stop cursing Skrun's name the entire way.

…

'I don't like this place.' Dicelli said as the Pistoleros and Aurora ventured down into the cellar. 'And I doubt I'll like it anymore when we're lost in whatever hell these beasts crawled out off.'

'Aye.' Giorgio said with a tremor of fear in his voice as he saw what they were all dreading.

The cellar's walls were the raw rock of the mountain and just to the right of the rotting stairs a ragged hole yawned wide. To Pistoleros the opening looked like the cavernous maw of some primordial monster, just waiting for prey stupid enough to venture down and be devoured.

'I'm going to need so much alcohol after this.' Diego muttered.

'If it's any consolation, we'll probably be dead by nightfall.' Alvaros, ever the motivational speaker, said as he passed out the torches to the Tileans. 'So you needn't worry about your liver.'

'Pay no heed to Alvaros.' Alejandro told Aurora. 'He's a tried and tested warrior, led men into battle and on to victory from the forests of the Empire to the furthest reaches of Kislev.'

'Really?' Aurora raised an eyebrow. 'And were those victories before or after his men deserted en masse?'

'Madam, I can assure you desertion rates in my units were well within expected parameters.' Alvaros huffed, his grey eyes blazing with indignation. 'I can hardly be blamed if some simpleton farmhands with delusions of valour would bolt when the first dose of reality hit them.'

And with that Alvaros stormed through the foreboding portal to the realm of the Skaven.

'Ladies first?' Alejandro gestured to Aurora with a smile that he hoped masked the anxiety that put his nerves on edge.

'Such a gentleman.' Aurora snorted and followed Alvaros into the gloom.

'Not my fault my mother raised me right.' Alejandro grumbled and followed after the survivor; in doing so he tried his best to ignore the disapproving (and quite judgemental) stares of Dicelli, Diego and Giorgio.

The three remaining Pistoleros looked at each other, then at the hole in the cellar wall, then back at each other before letting out a sigh of resignation and they too ventured into the dark.

…

The first thing Alejandro noticed when he emerged on the other side was the sound. Whenever he moved his feet he could hear something crunching beneath his boots. It did not matter where he trod, the sound was everywhere.

Don't look down. He told himself. Don't look down.

So Alejandro did the only thing he could do.

He looked down.

The sight that greeted him was a layer of bones that stretched for as far as the limited range of the torch allowed him to see. But he was under no illusions that the carpet of horrors went on for a good long while beyond the imagined safety of the light .

On closer inspection, some of the bones looked like they came from several species of small and large animals like dogs and even cows, while others were unmistakeably human. The one unifying feature they all had were the marks they bore from the sharp teeth that had stripped the flesh from them.

'Well, I guess we found out what happened to the villagers.' Dicelli remarked.

'Are you okay?' Alejandro asked Aurora who was staring wide eyed at the field of bones before her. The mercenary realised some of the skeletal remains belonged to people she might have known and loved and he placed a hand on her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

When she met his gaze he saw how the fear was slowly draining from her eyes to be replaced with a grim determination that began like an icy glimmer and spiralled into a blizzard. She angrily brushed Alejandro's hand from her shoulder.

'Let's go and find your precious rocks so we can get the hell out of here.'

'The lass makes a good point.' Giorgio remarked and pressed on, wincing with every crunching step.

The Pistoleros creeped further into the stifling darkness and cursed the playwrights of the Tilean theatres. Whenever one of their heroes ventured into monster infested caves there was always a faint light from luminescent mushrooms, or from crystals that emanated an ominous glow or some such nonsense. Not the pitch bloody black of total darkness.

The Pistoleros creeped further down into the darkness of the mountains, taking care to stay in sight of each other and the flickering flames of their torches. They found that the further they went the grisly remains that covered the floor began to mercifully thin out.

Right on cue a sickly green light began to illuminate the darkness, almost as if a hack writer realised that the protagonists of his story needed to actually see what they were doing.

One would imagine the six Tileans would have welcomed this turn of events.

They did not, however, welcome this turn of events.

They knew what the source of the light was and that meant they were coming closer to the dwellings of the foul beings that called this wretched place home.

The Tileans began to hold out hope they would escape unwanted attention and emerge from the mountain with the precious stones before long. If their limbs were still attached to their bodies when they emerged into the sun again they would consider this a valuable bonus.

But, as a seer in a distant and terrible future would once say: hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.

Alejandro and his compatriots would soon learn the truth of those words all too well.

The first sign they received that told them they were no longer alone was the sound of bones snapping followed by hideous slurping noises as something began feasting on the marrow contained inside.

The mercenaries stopped dead in their tracks when the sounds of snapping and slurping began to repeat and interweave, coming from seemingly all around the fragile dome of light that sheltered them. The horrifying noises swirled together to form a macabre symphony with the Pistoleros as its unwilling audience.

'This is bad.' Aurora whispered. 'This is very bad.'

'Really?' Dicelli hissed as loud as he dared. 'You mean to tell me those aren't good cannibal noises?'

'Quiet.' Alejandro said and turned to Diego. 'Remember the time we were stuck in that tomb in the desert?'

'Not a day goes by where I don't try to supress those memories.' Was the whispered reply, then a slight pause before Diego continued. 'Oh Ranald's balls, you're not thinking..?'

'I am.' Alejandro said and plucked the torch from Diego's hands.

'This is a stupid idea.' Diego said, alarm ringing through his hissing voice.

'We're the Pistoleros.' Alejandro smirked with a false sense of bravado. 'When has someone ever accused us of being smart.'

And with that he hurled Diego's torch in the direction from which the loudest noises of the grisly feast seemed to come from.

The torched shed its light on the darkness before it came to rest in a pile of bones. The flickering light illuminated the hunched forms of emaciated Skaven who were gathered around the morbid hill. The abominations looked even more wretched and dejected than the regular specimens of their kids, scraps of filthy cloth doing little to hide their mangy hides. Vile fluids leaked from open sores that dotted their bodies the same way barnacles did to the keel of a ship. Their beady eyes gleamed with a kind of animalistic hunger mixed with the sheer malevolence you could only find in the gaze of a deranged killer.

The ghastly sounds that had so unnerved the Pistoleros began to fade away as wicked eyes regarded the meat that had strayed into their domain. Paws began to reach for rusty knives, sharp rocks or just pulled shards of bones straight from the grisly mound as tongues began to lick around muzzles and droplets of saliva formed small puddles on the rocky floor.

'I shouldn't have done that.' Alejandro managed to say before the last shred of courage fled his soul.

Diego was far too spooked to say 'I told you so.' Not that he would have gotten the chance if he had managed to rally his nerves for the ratmen came on in a shrieking tide that threatened to engulf and consume the Pistoleros.

'Don't just stand there, you idiots.' Aurora yelled, as the screams of the people she could not save echoed through her mind. She decided then and there she would not run this time. She owed the souls of the dead their vengeance. A Skaven lunged at her, attempting to take a bite out of her right leg and she used the brass hand guard of her sabre to fracture it's muzzle.

'Fight! She called to the other Tileans.

This seemed to shock the Pistoleros into action. They rushed to join the fray alongside their newfound comrade, rapiers ready to pierce any ratman wanting to make a meal out of them.

A Skaven that was frothing at the mouth flung itself with arms outstretched at Dicelli. The creature soon realised that this was an error when it found itself impaled on the blade of the Tilean's sword.

To Dicelli's horror this seemed to do little to dissuade the beast from attempting to disembowel him, however. It shrieked and squealed and dragged the rapier deeper into its innards in its mindless desire to feast on warm flesh. Dicelli let out a cry of horror and fired his pistol point blank into the Skaven's face.

With most of the contents of its cranium now splattered across its former allies the Skaven finally went limp and slid from the rapier. When it fell to the ground Dicelli decided to err on the side of caution and brough the heel of his boot down on the creature's head.

From the corner of his eyes Alejandro saw how Diego made short work of two Skaven in short order. One was left clutching the clean cut in its throat as it tried in vain to stop its lifeblood from leaking through his fingers and the other fell like a puppet with its strings severed after the tip of Diego's rapier found its way through its eye socket and into its brain.

Alejandro had little time to appreciate his friend's handiwork when a Skaven came at him with a nasty looking cleaver that looked more than capable to hack of any part of his anatomy the vile ratman wanted to feast on.

He lashed out with a kick that caught the Skaven on the shin, he felt the brittle bones of the creature snap beneath his boot as if he had stepped on a dry twig in the forest. Acting on instinct Alejandro brought up his knee to impact against the Skaven's jaw. A squeal of pain erupted from the wretched thing when it fell to the floor where it's suffering was quickly ended by a quick thrust of the Tilean's sword.

Having overcome their initial shock the Pistoleros found they clearly outmatched their opponents in such a way their corpses began intermingling with the bones strewn on the ground at a very satisfying rate. The Skaven realised the odds seemed to be no longer in their favour and with the characteristic valour of their kind turned tail and ran, leaving their dead where they fell.

'That wasn't all that hard.' Alejandro said, his courage rising as he saw the ratmen beat a hasty retreat. 'I don't understand what those dwarves are always going on about. Anyway, onwards we go, gentlemen. Oh, and lady too, I suppose.'

'I hoped I would never again see these vile things.' Alvaros told Giorgio while wiping the blood off the blade of his rapier.

Giorgio was too busy dealing with his own problems to respond. A lone Skaven whose hunger overcame its better judgement managed to land on his back and raked its claws along his armour hoping to get at the meat contained within. The blonde Tilean succeeded in grabbing his assailant by the scruff of the neck and hurling it away with a strength born from horror.
Fortunately for Giorgio the direction he tossed the Skaven in was right over the ledge of a chasm. There was a consecutive series of crashing noises as the Skaven's body impacted with, and demolished, several rickety gangways and dwellings. This went on for quite a while until they abruptly ended in a final, slightly muted, splat.

The six Tileans assembled at the ledge and stared in horror at a vast Skaven shantytown and then at the trail of destruction wrought by the ratman Giorgio had inadvertently flung to its death.

'Think they'll notice that?' Dicelli asked.

The answer came in the form of a series of warpstone lanterns flickering into life and bathing the Skaven stronghold in a hellish green light. They could also see a mass of Skaven streaming from their ramshackle dwellings like water bursting through the cracks in a dam.

'You just had to open your mouth, didn't you?' Diego hissed.

…

Deep within the heart of the mountain, safe behind the teeming ranks of expendable Skavendom Grey Seer Veesquitch was admiring the glittering gems one of his underlings had presented him with a few hours earlier.

The horned Skaven sorcerer recognised they were of dwarven make and, despite the common knowledge that all creations of the wretched dwarf-things were utterly inferior to those made by Skaven paws, had grown quite fond of them. The Grey Seer had already made plans to use them as focussing stones in the experiments he was conducting in in the solitude of his burrow.

He looked at the whimpering slaves who were crammed in filthy cages at the end of his quarters. Nearly every race of the Old World was represented within those rusted bars, a veritable cosmopolitan hub Veesquitch had gone to great lengths to acquire.

He looked at the gems and then at the strange contraption that hung suspended from the ceiling; a wicked looking thing of brass wiring and green lenses that ended in a narrow spout which was designed to harness light into a lethal beam.. It looked like a madman's attempt at weaponizing a microscope.

Surrounding him were the armoured figures of black-furred Stormvermin drawn from the warrior elite of the Clan Veesquitch had usurped for his own purposes. As a Grey Seer he was entitled to a bodyguard of the Albino Guard who stood watch over the Council of Thirteen as well as the Grey Seers who guided Skavendom. But Veesquitch had left them behind in Skavenblight. The less the Council knew of his doings the better.

The Grey Seer smiled as he pointed a clawed finger at an Elf clad in rags who was quickly seized by black-furred Stormvermin and dragged struggling out of the cage.

Once she had been named Litania of Tor Yvresse and she had served as an ambassador of her people to the great city of Marienburg. That was before she had been captured by the Skaven. She did not know how long she had been held captive. She stopped counting time after her eyes had been gouged out because Veesquitch held the superstition that she would use them to cast some sort of Elven magic to strike him down.

'Careful-steady!' Veesquitch snapped at one of the Stormvermin warriors who was a bit too rough in restraining the Elf to a slab of dark granite stained with dried blood. 'I need the elf-thing unharmed.'

The Grey Seer smiled at the ruined form of Litania, showing his sharp incisors as he inserted one of the dwarven gems in the contraption.

'Let us begin-start.' Veesquitch said and turned a lever that was bolted into the wall. Slowly, not unlike the implacable march of a glacier, the gears and cogs began to move which caused the evil contraption to whirl into motion. Green lightning began crackling around the magnifying lenses as the lenses discs began circling faster and faster..

'Yes-yes!' Veesquitch squeaked in glee as an orb of light began to form, ready to be turned into a beam that would (soon) lay waste to his enemies.

Just then the door to his inner sanctum flung open to admit a Skaven clad in the robes of one of his scribes.

'Mighty-strong Seer of the Great Horned Rat.' The Skaven underling began as the device worked to a climax. 'I bring-give disturbing news.'

Veesquitch paid him no heed, fascinated with the device that had sprung from his twisted imagination.

'The burrow is under siege!' His underling screeched in desperation, hoping to get the Grey Seer to see the gravity of the situation.

'What?!' Veesquitch hissed and reluctantly powered down his contraption. He shot his underling a venomous glare. 'Explain. Quick-quick!'

'We have reports that the outer dwellings have been breached-broken. Several buildings have been utterly destroyed.' The Skaven quickly prostrated himself on all fours before the malevolent eyes of his overlord. 'The Fang Leader in charge of the defences claimed it is a force of man-things.'

'Man-things?' Veesquitch's tail twitched in irritation. 'Fool-fool! All man-things here have been killed-slain weeks ago!'

'Yes-yes, oh wise one.' The ratman scribe whimpered. 'But the Fang Leader claimed that six man-thi-'

'Six man-things?' Veesquitch shrieked. 'SIX?!'

The scribe managed to achieve a level of grovelling that would have been impossible for anyone who was not a Skaven confronted by a furious superior. 'The Fang Leader was denounced as senile idiot by his second in command after he was killed-slain. His successor reckons-thinks it must be a force of the hated-cursed dwarf-things with much-many sharp axes.'

'Impossible.' Veesquitch paced the floor, his paranoid mind formulating one scenario after another. He began talking as much to his underling as to himself. 'This reeks of betrayal-treachery. Yes-yes! My rivals in Skavenblight must have learned of my research-study and convinced to the Council of Thirteen to send their forces to stop me.'

'I don't thi-'

'Quiet, fool-fool!' Veesquitch glared at his underling. 'Who else would know of my presence here? Who else would be bold-brave enough to venture into my realm? No-no, we must send a message I am not to be trifled with. Send the Clan Rats and the Rat Ogres. Find the minions of the Council and kill-kill!'

'Of course, great one.' The scribe whimpered and began to quietly shuffle out of the room on all fours until he bumped into the hulking figures of Veesquitch's Stormvermin.

'The elf-thing has perished before I could study further.' Veesquitch noted when he turned his attention to the granite slab. 'Luckily I have a volunteer to take its place.'

That was when the scribe felt strong paws hold his hand in a vice like grip and dragged him to his feet.

…

Further away from the Grey Seer's inner sanctum of horrors the Pistoleros cursed their luck again when it seemed that every Skaven in the Old World was trying to cut them into tiny pieces. Judging from the cuts and bruises that were by now a dominant feature on all their bodies it would seem that the vile ratmen would succeed sooner rather than later.

'This is madness!' Diego yelled to no one and particular while he kicked a Skaven warrior in the face and sent it flailing and shrieking down into a hole the Pistolero assumed (and hoped) was some sort of water well. Though the stench emanating from it hinted at a far more sinister purpose. 'There is no end to the wretched things!

The Skaven facing the six rogues were better armed and armoured than the oppressed masses they had cut through with such ease. They wore rusted plates of armour fastened with ropes against their abdomens. Some even had scavenged dwarven plate strapped to their backs, more fearful of the dagger of a "friend" than the blade of an enemy.

'Then keep killing!' Alejandro snarled and fired his pistol. He hit a Skaven in the kneecap which the bullet shredded and the ratman went down, mewling and clawing at the red ruin that was its knee. There was no time to reload so Alejandro turned the dwarven firearm in his hand to use the sturdy, brass reinforced, butt of his pistol as a makeshift club. Brass alloy forged deep in the armouries of Karak Ziflin impacted with the jaw of an unfortunate Skaven warrior and utterly demolished it.

He found himself alongside Aurora whose borrowed sabre was already slick with ratmen blood. She was the only one of this doomed band that did not wear any armour and Alejandro feared she would soon be cut down by a Skaven blade, or run through by a spear. But she fought like one of the fabled War Maidens of Myrmidia.

Whenever it would seem that a corroded blade would impact with her unprotected flesh she would weave out of the way or turn the blow and follow up with a vicious counter attack that left another ratman bleeding out on the ground. Alejandro doubted very much that she only had a "few fencing lessons" as the woman he had mistaken for a damsel in distress made a damn fine mess of the attacking Skaven.

Dicielli and Alvaros meanwhile fought back to back against a pack of Skaven armed with a motley assortment of spears and polearms that looked like they had once been farming tools in another, more pacifistic life.

One of the spear tips lashed out from the ragged Skaven shield wall and raked Diego across the chest, scoring a deep furrow in his cuirass.

'Bastardo!' Diego snarled and flicked his rapier at the offending ratman, severing several of its fingers and making it drop the spear.

Dicelli for his part hurled one of his throwing daggers at a Skaven, the slender blade embedded itself in its eye and it fell back with such a high pitched shriek that it seemed to pierce the Tileans' souls.

But in the end no amount of finesse or skill would save them from the horde of vermin that had them surrounded and would soon wash over them.

Alejandro looked at Giorgio. The big Tilean fought like a man possessed, every thrust from his rapier ending a life as the memories of the family that was taken from him came bubbling to the surface like magma in a volcano.

Alejandro decided that if finesse would not carry the day, raw aggression would have to suffice. Though he would hate himself for it, he knew what he had to do.

'Giorgio.' He called to his comrade, his friend. 'Remember Inna.'

At the mention of his dead wife the fire in Giorgio's eyes began to blaze out of control, like raging hellfire. His wife, his darling wife, who had never hurt a fly did not deserve her fate. Dragged away by these… these things! This filth!

He roared in anger and threw his rapier to the ground as a berserk rage took over him. He did not notice how his sword was quickly picked up by Alejandro.

He freed the massive zweihander from the scabbard on his back and, with a final cry of primal rage that would have made even the berserkers of Khorne wet themselves hurled himself at the nearest Skaven warriors who immediately sprayed the musk of fear and backed away from this fearful giant as his great sword swung in murderous arcs. Broken Skaven bodies were hurled aside as Giorgio slaughtered his way through the vermin tide like a living battering ram.

His fellow mercenaries and Aurora followed in his corpse strewn wake as Giorgio advanced.

Quick thrusts of their swords finished of any ratman that by some miracle had managed to avoid being smashed apart by the zweihander.

A great roar from further in the swarm of rat people gave the Pistoleros, even Giorgio, pause.

Looking on in horror the five Tileans saw the hideous, stitched together forms of two hulking Rat Ogres shambling towards them. The slavering beasts vaguely resembled the masses of Skaven that surrounded them in the same way a tiger resembles a house cat. They stood nearly as tall as a troll, though they were even more horrific to look at than even those creatures and were even more ill-tempered.

One of the Rat Ogre's sported a rusted blade the size of Alejandro's leg where it's right hand should be. It's companion had one of its eyes crudely removed and replaced with a chunk of raw warpstone that made the skin around the eye socket sizzle, no doubt causing the creature unbearable agony. The things before the unlucky Tileans were all muscle and rage and driven utterly insane by the sheer wrongness of their existence.

The Clan Rats backed off from the Pistoleros and began to chitter excitedly, poking each other with their elbows and relishing with vicious glee the blood soaked carnage that was to come.

'Uhm, what the hell are those?' Dicelli said.

'Does it matter?' Alvaros replied.

'No.' Giorgio hissed through gritted teeth. 'It does not. They are Skaven. They die.'

With that Giorgio charged forwards to the nearest monstrosity, the one with the blade for a hand, with his zweihander ready to cut deep into mutated flesh.

The Rat Ogre responded with a heavy backhanded strike of its oversized hand that caught Giorgio right on the chest with enough force to dent his armour. The big Tilean was flung back and landed roughly on the rock floor, the zweihander clattered to the ground not far from where he fell.

Sensing an easy kill an enterprising Skaven tried to skewer Giorgio on its spear and was shot in the face by a quick thinking Dicelli for its trouble. The lean Tilean offered a hand to the downed Giorgio to help him back to his feet..
When Giorgio accepted the helping hand Dicelli was taken aback by the mad gleam that still lingered in Giorgio's eyes, the lust for vengeance was clearly waging a war with his better judgement over how the next couple of seconds would unfold. It soon became clear who emerged as the victor as Giorgio once again gripped his massive sword tight, the leather of his gauntlets creaking with the effort.

Dicelli gripped Giorgio's shoulder with his free hand and looked his friend straight in the eye. 'Together.' Was all he said. It was all that needed to be said.

Giorgio nodded, the mad gleam fading from his emerald eyes, and strode forward. He dropped his zweihander into a proper fighting stance, feet apart and firmly planted into the ground as his right hand held the massive sword just beneath the hand guard. His other hand gripped the pommel and the blade itself rested on his left biceps.

The animal brain of the Rat Ogre that had hurled him back with such ease sensed the challenge that was laid before it. It roared at the Tilean, spittle and foam flying from its gnashing mouth. It pummelled the ground with its remaining fist and charged forward.

Taking this as their cue the remaining Pistoleros focussed on the other Rat Ogre. Alvaros managed to get a shot of that caught the creature in the shoulder. The Rat Ogre roared at Alvaros and lunged at the Pistolero with a fist the size of a small child. Alvaros just managed to roll under the blow, giving Diego an opening to strike at the creature with his rapier, though he might as well have been wielding a tooth pick for all the harm he seemed to cause.

Giorgio meanwhile held his ground as a mountain of frenzied rage and bulging muscles came at him, his fury having transitioned to a cold determination. At the last minute the mercenary stepped aside to avoid the mad slash of the deranged beast. In one fluid movement he brought his zweihander down and Tilean steel met mutated flesh bred in the laboratories of Hell Pit. The Rat Ogre howled in pain as it looked at the severed stump where its weapon used to be, foul fluids spouting from the wound.

Giorgio did not wait to give the creature time to gather what was left of its wits and reversed his zweihander to cut a bloody gash in the thing's chest. He sidestepped a swipe of the Rat Ogre's fist that would have shattered his ribcage should it have connected with him.

With a snarl of anger the zweihander sliced through the air and through the beast's thick neck. Its severed head landed right next to Giorgio's boot. He looked down at the gnashing jaws that still tried to tear at him in death. With a disgusted look on his face he kicked the twitching head into the mass of Skaven that still surrounded the Tileans. The assembled Clan Rats shrunk back from the grisly trophy, the threats of their chiefs rang through the stifling air as the Skavens' courage began to falter at the death of one of their champions.

The other Rat Ogre, however, was still very much alive and attempting to kill the annoying creatures that darted around it and pricked its skin with their puny weapons. It caught the legs of one of its assailants and dangled its prize in the air like a ragdoll, intent on pummelling it against the floor until it was no longer recognisable as human.

It felt a sharp pain in its arm as one of the mercenaries slashed the blade of a sabre across it, causing a deep cut that went almost to the bone. It dropped its prey and turned to the lithe woman that had made it smell its own blood.

Alejandro picked himself up from the ground and scrambled back from the monstrosity that had almost reduced to him to a fine red paste. The slash from Aurora's sabre had saved his life as the beast focussed its attention on the woman.

Aurora proved to slippery an eel to catch, however, and to Alejandro's horror the creature once more turned its predatory gaze on him. It came at him with the intent to finish what it had started before it was so rudely interrupted. It hurled aside Diego and Dicelli who attempted to come to Alejandro's aid.

Alejandro held his one loaded pistol and took aim at the beast. He, quite literally, had one shot to save his life.

He would attribute what happened next to divine intervention as only the action of a benevolent deity like Myrmidia or Sigmar taking pity on the doomed mercenary could explain it.

By some miracle the bullet struck the warpstone in the Rat Ogre's eye socket and fractured it. The unstable energies within the dread crystal soon spiralled completely out of control and sickly green lightning spread to engulf the Rat Ogre's head and upper torso. The dying screams of the mutated thing before him would stay with Alejandro until his dying day.

Finally the Rat Ogre's misery was ended and the beast crashed to the ground, the upper part of its body a smoking ruin of blackened flesh.

At the death of the second Rat Ogre the Skaven warriors' nerves broke completely, not even the Claw Leaders among them now wanted to stay and face these daemons. The vast horde fled back into the darkness of the mountain, leaving the Pistoleros bleeding and confused but still alive.

For now.

…

Veesquitch let loose an fresh sigh of exasperation when another Skaven in the robes of one of his scribes scurried into his inner sanctum. He put down the tome he was studying to regard the Skaven.

The underling was visibly worried, eyes darting to cover every angle of the room. The Skaven also made sure to keep a safe distance between himself and the Stormvermin that stood guard over Veesquitch.

This told the Grey Seer one thing: this unlucky scribe was not the bringer of good tidings.

'You have news?' The Grey Seer asked.

'Yes-yes, oh omniscient one. There have been much-many developments.' The scribe began and looked at the charred remains of his predecessor that were still lying on the granite slab.

'All of them good?' Veesquitch said, taking delight in his underling's terror.

'The warriors of glorious Skavendom fought-engaged with the man-things.' The scribe said, trying his best to put a positive spin on the events that had unfolded.

'Man-things?' Veesquitch hissed and narrowed his eyes at the scribe. 'There are no man-things! It is an army of rats loyal-faithful to the Council!'

The underling began wringing his hands. 'No-no, great one. We have confirmation-proof that it is a force of man-thing. Five male man-things and one female man-thing to be precise-exact.'

'You are here to tell-tell me that they have been exterminated, yes-yes?' Veesquitch asked, though he knew the answer. Of course the man-things were dead, it was the only logical outcome. Anything else was laughable.

The silence that greeted his question was deafening.
'Speak-squeak!' Veesquitch snapped.

'The… The Rat Ogres were slain by the man-things.' The Skaven blurted out.

Hate began to radiate from Veesquitch's eyes. Those Rat Ogres and their handlers had cost him dearly.

'Then tell-tell me how the Clan Rats ripped-tore these man-things apart.'

'They fled-ran when the last Rat Ogre died.' The scribe said, terror beginning to ring through his voice. 'Not even the Claw Leaders stood their ground.'

'Get me the Fang Leader of my Stormvermin.' Veesquitch said through gritted incisors. 'Hurry-scurry!'

Not believing his luck to the Skaven backed out of the room to carry out his master's orders. He was on his way to the Fang Leader's warren when the felt the dreaded and, for a Skaven, always expected sensation of cold steel against his throat.

The scribe froze and fought a losing battle to retain control over the gland that would release the musk of fear as five man-things appeared around him.

'Right.' A voice whispered in his ear in a language he recognised. 'You and I are going to have a little chat.'

…

Alejandro tried his best to keep his revulsion in check as he looked at ratman he held at the edge of his rapier. He also held the creature by the scruff of its neck through his armoured gauntlet. He reckoned he would have to burn the armoured leather glove when all this was over.

'Do you understand me?'

The creature gave him a slight nod.

'Excellent.' Alejandro said. 'Now tell me, you wouldn't happen to have seen gems that were seemingly made of pure starlight, did you?'

Again the Skaven nodded and helpfully pointed a finger at the foreboding doorway to Veesquitch's inner sanctum. A doorway which Alejandro noticed opened wide to admit a regiment of black-furred Skaven clad in crimson helmets and armour plates.

The vicious halberds they carried looked like they would shear through the Pistoleros as easily as a scythe would cut through wheat.

'Oh come on!' Alejandro exclaimed as his frustration rose to unprecedent heights.

The Skaven, sensing its moment, bit Alejandro and it's the sharp incisors cut through the thick leather of his gauntlet.

The Tilean let out a sharp cry of pain and released his grip on the Skaven. Alejandro could do nothing but watch in impotent fury as the ratman scurried away into the dark, leaving the Pistoleros to face the Veesquitch's guards alone.

'Very well, then.' Alejandro said, managing to keep his fury check as his gaze flickered over the black-furred Stormvermin who formed a wall of pointy death between the Pistoleros and their prize.

The ranks of the Stormvermin parted slightly to admit a hulking Skaven brute who brandished a serrated scimitar as well as a pickaxe that looked as if it were designed by a complete and utter psychopath. It was clear from the harsh squeaks that came from the Skaven's mouth, as well as from its general demeanour that it challenged whoever led the opposing force to a duel to the death.

'I think it wants to face you in single combat.' Alvaros whispered to Alejandro, who had yet to make a move.

'Sod all that.' Alejandro retorted and shot the Fang Leader straight in its face.

The Skaven warrior was flung back into the ranks of its comrades, splattering them with blood.

There was a moment of tense of silence, in which Alejandro took the opportunity to reload his pistol just to be safe, before one of the Stormvermin led out a shriek that served to galvanize the other ratmen.

In normal circumstances seeing their leader killed in such a swift and brutal fashion was enough to break the brittle courage of lesser Skaven, but Stormvermin were made of sterner stuff. Each one was a vicious killer with a heart as black as it's fur, reared from birth to instil two distinctly unskaven traits into their brains: a sense of loyalty to their masters and unrelenting aggression in the face of the enemy. The hulking ratmen levelled their halberds, locked ranks and advanced towards the Pistoleros. To make matters infinitely worse the Tileans could hear shrill war cries and the clatter of thousands of clawed paws behind them. The vast Skaven host that had confronted them in the ratmen shanty town had rallied and this time they would not be so easily scattered.

The Pistoleros instinctively formed into a tight circle, each one presenting a brace of pistols to the vermin tide. Except Aurora who did not have a firearm. She brandished her sabre menacingly, nonetheless.

'I have to admit, amici' Alejandro began as the end seemed nigh. 'The risk I took was calculated, but I've always been bad at math.'

This elicited grim chuckles from the assembled Tileans, even from Aurora who accepted her fate with grim determination.

It was then that that a section of the rock that formed the roots of the mountain that none of the Pistoleros ever bothered to learn the name of exploded. Showering the Skaven in shards of stone.

'What the f-' Diego began before he was cut off by a gruff voice that seemed to fill the entire cavern.

'Khazukan Kazakit-ha!' The voice echoed around the inside of the mountain, filling both Skaven and Humans with confusion. Though the Pistoleros had spent enough time around Dwarves to recognize Khazalid, the ancient tongue of that grim people, to recognize it.

Their suspicions were confirmed when a single, squat figure emerged from the newly created doorway. From its stature it was clear as daylight that it was a Dwarf. He was resplendent in a coat of silver chainmail over which he wore a breastplate inscribed with Dwarven runes that seemed to glow in the presence of the Skaven. His full-face helm extended down to protect a beard that reached to his knees. The helm was topped with a set of bronze horns that came together at the top to support a large glittering red gemstone.

"KHAZAKUN KAZAKIT-HA!" An entire throng of dwarves in mail coats and bearing shields emblazoned with the heraldry of their Hold and clan answered the call as they streamed through the gaping portal. They wasted little time in locking their shields into an unbreakable wall and following their thane to carve into the disorganized Skaven ranks with their axes.

'You don't think…' Dicelli started as most of the Stormvermin recognized the dwarves as the biggest threat to the safety of their master and veered off to confront them.

'That they're here for those gems?' Alejandro finished. 'Yes, I do think that as a matter of fact. Which means we have to get to the wretched things first.'

And with that Alejandro launched himself at the Stormvermin. He fired both of his pistols at the run, one bullet managed to hit a black-furred Skaven and put it down for the count. His other bulled succeeded in impacting with the rock of the mountain where it might puzzle future archaeologists.

The other Pistoleros followed his lead and fired their pistols before drawing their rapiers, except for Giorgio who once again drew his zweihander and charged screaming like an Albion woad warrior at the Skaven before him.

The Pistoleros impacted with the Skaven line with the fury of desperate men (and woman) who had nothing left to lose. Every fencing lesson or technique they had ever learned was forgotten. This was a matter of survival and they stabbed, kicked and (in the case of Dicelli) even bit their way through the Skaven line.

Alejandro would have felt an overwhelming sense of pride in his comrades if he hadn't been busy burying his steel-plated gauntlet in the face of a Stormvermin warrior. The Skaven recoiled with a high pitched squeak before another vermin warrior came at Alejandro with a rusted halberd splattered with maroon patches that looked disturbingly like dried blood its' owner never bothered to clean.

Alejandro stabbed his rapier through the Skaven's armour plates and watched the life leave the ratman's eyes . And with that the Pistoleros were through the Stormvermin and into the lair of Veesquitch. Behind them the remaining Stormvermin turned to repel a determined assault from the dwarves to rip their master apart.

The Pistoleros managed to give their dwarven saviours a salute before they ventured through the stone doorway to confront the being at the heart of their misadventure.

…

Veesquitch looked up at the six man-things who brazenly strode into his sanctum. Scattering the notes on his experiments as if they were as inconsequential as dust.

'You are the man-things that caused such much-many hurt-harm?' He squeaked in passable Tilean and held a satchel that shone with the light of the Brynduraz gems.

'Maybe?' Alejandro said, trying his best to ignore the pleading gazes of the slaves in their cages. He shook his head and aimed one of his reloaded pistols at the Grey Seer. 'It doesn't matter. Now how about you make this easy for everyone involved and give us the gems so nobody else needs to get hurt?'

'Hurt?' The Grey Seer said and looked at the satchel of Dwarven gems. 'I do not want you hurt.'

The Pistoleros' collective sigh of relief was cut short when the Skaven sorcerer produced a large chunk of warpstone from the folds of his dirty white robes and guzzled it down as if it were a tasty morsel. Veesquitch's eyes now blazed with green, eldritch light.

'I want you to die-die!' The Grey Seer shrieked and flung a bolt of green hellfire at the six Tileans.

Veesquitch's sorcerous missile did not hit the Pistoleros, who had managed to scramble out of the way. Instead it struck one of the cages where some of the horned Skaven's experimental subjects were kept. The unlucky prisoners of this particular cage where a group of four former soldiers from the icy realm of Kislev who were carried away to the Under-Empire in the aftermath of a great battle with the heathen armies of Chaos.

They screamed in agony as the green fire stripped the very flesh from their bones until nothing remained of them except for their blackened skeletons.

The Kislevites' cries pierced the Pistoleros' hearts, but they had no time to swear vengeance or ease the passing of these poor souls as the Grey Seer flung another bolt of viridian light at them. The Tileans scattered before the unholy onslaught and took refuge where they could. 'Any ideas on how to kill this crazy bastard?' Alejandro called out as he crouched down behind the ruin of what used to be a bookcase next to Aurora. 'Nobody has a hand grenade hidden away for just this sort of moment?'

'I do!' Diego answered triumphantly then there was a pause that seemed to drag on forever. 'Oh, that's right. I used it to blow up those Goblins. My bad.'

'You idiot!' Alejandro hissed under his breath.

Dicelli tried his luck to get closer to the horned Skaven and darted from cover to cover. It would seem that he would make it close enough to get a good shot off at the ratman sorcerer, but then Veesquitch spotted him and placed a paw to the floor. A second later the floor erupted with a gout of green-black flame bore down on the Pistolero and sent him scurrying back from where he started in terror.

By now the Skaven sorcerer was drunk on the power of the warpstone that flowed through his veins, magnifying his already potent magical powers to a truly terrifying level. He squeaked in delight as the man-things cowered before him as he flung the full might of his sorcerous arsenal at them. He was toying with the man-things that had dared to cause him such grief. Their deaths would not come slow.

The Grey Seer did not even flinch when seven dwarves, their glittering coats of mail splattered with Skaven blood, stormed into his lair to confront the sorcerer and reclaim their ancestral heritage. Their long beards were dark grey and in the case of their leader even snow white. Their gruff voices were full of rage and wrath when they spotted a cage containing several Dwarves who had clearly been beaten, tortured and, most rage inducing of all, had their beards crudely shaven off.

'We will have your hide, thagoraki filth!' One of the seven dwarves cried out and levelled the head of his axe at the Grey Seer. His fellow Longbeards clashed the handles of their axes against their shields and roared oaths of vengeance at the horned ratman.

The Grey Seer bit down hard on another piece of warpstone and, fuelled into overdrive by the otherworldly powers of the malign crystal, sent a wall of green fire at the Dwarves. Instead of rolling out of the way of the dark sorceries of Veesquitch like the Pistoleros had done the seven dwarves locked their shields, the runes etched on them blazing with light as they made ready to dispel the Skaven's magic. To flee from an attack was unthinkable to the Dwarves, so they placed their trust in the runes which had proven to be the bane of many a witch.

This turned out to be a grave mistake.

The runes emblazoned on their shields began to glow white hot as the Grey Seer's raw power overwhelmed them. It was not long before the runes that had been forged when the Karaz Ankor was still unbroken ran down the Longbeards' shields in molten streams. Without the protective warding contained in the runes to shield them from the Skaven's sorcery the green fire engulfed the Longbeards. Only a thin line of ash and molten gromril armour remained to serve as a reminder of the proud warriors who once stood there.

'All things die-die before Veesquitch!' The Grey Seer shrieked in exultation and sent another salvo of Skaven sorcery at the six man-things. 'I am mighty-strong! I am Veesquitch the invincible! All will bow before me or die-die!'

'Care to put that statement to the test?' Giorgio asked. Seeing an opening when the ill-fated Longbeard shield wall confronted the Grey Seer he had seized his opportunity and moved behind the horned sorcerer while he was preoccupied.

'What-what?' Was all the mighty Veesquitch, self-proclaimed destroyer of worlds, managed to say before Giorgio's armoured fist collided with his muzzle. The blow connected with such force Veesquitch was flung unto the granite slab he had used to torment so many of his victims.

He uttered a squeak of pain and with a trembling hand he wiped away the blood from his muzzle with the sleeve of his robe. Veesquitch was aware of the eyes of his slave-things bearing down on him. The wretched creatures were no doubt taking delight in the distress of their former master even as pistol shots rang out and obliterated the locks from their cages.

'Go!' Diego yelled at the cowed prisoners of all species and nations. 'Do you want to stay here and die? Run!'

'Fool-fool!' Veesquitch hissed at Giorgio as his slaves streamed from their prisons and into the caverns where the Dwarves were butchering what remained of the Skaven resistance. 'I will kill-kill you slow! You will beg for your death-end!'

'I would like to see you try.' Giorgio snarled and rammed the blade of his zweihander through the Grey Seer's abdomen with such force the Skaven was pinned to the slab.

Veesquitch, warpstone coursing through his blood, twitched and raged against the dying of his vile light. Bolts of green energy flew from his eyes and mouth and impacted indiscriminately with anyone and anything caught unprotected in his sanctuary.

Giorgio wasted little time in plucking the Dwarven gems from the Grey Seer's flailing hands and made a mad dash to his comrades. Once he was behind the imagined safety of the upturned bookcase with Alejandro and Aurora he called out to Dicelli. 'Now!'

With that Dicelli stood up and took aim at the wicked contraption that was now suspended above the pinned form of Veesquitch.

Dicelli squeezed the trigger of his pistol and a bullet was sent right into one of the chains that held the entire thing in place.

With a shriek of metal the tubes, gears and lenses came crashing down and Veesquitch shrieked as his life's works crushed him to a pulp.

The Pistoleros carefully edged their way to the smashed apparatus that still crackled with green lightning, half expecting the Skaven to rise up from the wreckage and burn them to cincers. Mercifully, however, Veesquitch had the good grace to stay dead.

'Now what?' Alvaros asked as the Pistoleros and Aurora set their eyes to the dwarven gems which seemed to glimmer even brighter being so close to the Dwarven army which offered a clue as to why their timely rescue happened the way it did.

Alejandro nodded at a small, Skaven-sized hole that seemed to led away from darkness of the mountain.

'I bet that raving lunatic must have had an escape tunnel nice and ready.' The Pistolero began. 'And that must be it.'

'Now let's get out of here.' Alejandro continued as the sounds of battle outside of the Veesquitch's lair began to dim, meaning the Dwarves had broken the Skaven resistance. 'I don't think those Dwarves, Myrmidia bless their beards, will take kindly to us when they found us with those stones.'

And with that the six Tileans clambered through Veesquitch's escape tunnel and into the light of the sun.

Behind them they could hear the roars of anger and frustration of the Dwarven warriors who were once again denied their prize.

…

The spring sun sent its warming rays over the streets as Luccini as six people made their way to one of the grand pallazi that were so typical of the noble district of this great city.

The six Tileans were all dressed in the signature dress of their mercenary band: cuffed leather boots, black trousers and red shirts. They walked with the confident swagger that suggested they were the sort of rough and tumble bunch that had been to hell and back and were therefor well worth the fee they charged.

'This must be the place.' Alejandro said and stopped before an ornate gate that was the centre of a fence of blackened iron. It was the sort of ironwork rich people liked, all flowing lines that branched out and twisted back in on themselves.

More importantly however there was a bell from which dangled a sturdy that, once rung, would no doubt summon a servant to see to them.

'Would you do the honours, mia signora?' Alejandro turned to Aurora who was holding a felt pouch that seemed to glimmer with the light of whatever was contained within.

'My pleasure.' Aurora said and soon the air was filled with the brass tolling of the little bell.

'Yes?' A servant asked who had, seemingly, materialised out of thin air.

'We have business with your master.' Alejandro said as Aurora opened the pouch she held to show the glittering Brynduraz stones.

'Please, do come inside.' The servant made to open the gate.

'No, no.' Alejandro said. 'That won't be necessary. We have little to no desire to see his face again. We'll just wait out here with these fancy rocks while you go back inside and come back with a big bag of money.'

'This is most irregular.' The servant protested.

'Is it?' Alejandro said with mockery dripping of his words. 'My word, I will definitely work on that. Personal growth is very important to me, you understand. But until then, how about you run along and go fetch us some coin.'

The servant's face was red with indignation, but he skulked back to the inside of the mansion.

When he returned a good while later he returned with a leather sack that bulged with the unmistakeable shape of Tilean coins.

Alejandro turned to Aurora once again after he took the bag of money and was content it was filled with the agreed upon amount.

'So me and the lads were thinking.' Alejandro began.

'And now your head hurts?' Aurora said with a sly smile.

'Yes, very funny.' Alejandro said dryly. 'But back in that mountain we realised a sixth member of the team might actually not be such a bad idea.'

'What he's trying to say.' Diego interjected. 'Is that we have all agreed to spend a piece of our cut on getting you some proper armour if you want to sign up with us.'

'Yes.' Aurora smiled as she looked at the faces of the Pistoleros. 'I would like that very much. After all, someone has to make sure you don't make a mess of things.