Greetings, ratwomen and ratmen! Sorry, I was a bit late, I needed to take some vacation.
I hope you are all doing well, and that life will smile on you in the coming days!
Glory to the Horned Rat!
- Wait for me, Sanktius!
- Hur… hurry up, then, I don't… I don't… I don't have time for chat-chatting!
Two hooded figures trotted down the path. With each step, their wooden shoes sank into the mud with a sucking sound, and threatened to get stuck there. From time to time they slipped. The smallest was a pot-bellied man, whose red locks emerged from under his hood. The other was thin, had a more agile gait, and his short-cut brown beard covered his cheekbones.
The man named Sanktius turned around, irritated.
- Pe… Pe… Petrus, you're going to… you're going to… make us arrive la-la-late!
- I'm doing what I can, Sanktius! You bet it's easy with this slush, don't you!
The fat red-haired man, a stutterer from birth, waited until his comrade was at his side to resume walking.
They arrived at the edge of a small forest. Night had fallen hours ago, but they were not bothered by the darkness. Indeed, Morrslieb, the warpstone moon, was at its zenith. Its green glow was spreading over the Steinerburg countryside like an evil fog, lighting the path of the two thugs. Sanktius and Petrus avoided a ditch, and passed cautiously between the trees.
- Are you sure this is the right path, Sanktius?
- For the last... last... time, Petrus, I tell... tell you: this is the right-right-right path! St-stop asking me that ques-ques-question!
They went deeper into the forest, with a less confident step. Morrslieb's greenish glow moved laboriously between the branches. Night birds ululated in the heights, and the bushes and dead leaves were regularly shaken by critters fleeing on their passage.
Sanktius stopped, and raised his finger with a satisfied exclamation.
- Ah! Lo-lo-look, Petrus! It is over there!
Between the trees, the flickering lights of lamps and torches pierced the misty darkness.
- Still, this hideout is rather easy to find, don't you think?
- I don't… don't… think so, Petrus. Not everyone does... does... does have the guts to leave town to go... to this backwater... right now. And then... don't... don't forget we... we... no longer have time to thi-thi-think about a very... discreet hideout. Either way... remember everything... everything... will change for good tonight.
- That's true, Petrus replied dreamily. Tonight is the beginning of the New World.
The two friends continued on their way. They finally came to a large clearing in the middle of which the dark mass of a long building rose amid clouds of sparkling humidity.
- Where are we, Sanktius?
- At Is-Is-Isidoro's s-sawmill.
- You mean Isidoro is one of us?
- Obv-v-viously, you douche nozzle!
Sanktius and Petrus arrived in the middle of a group of at least a hundred people, all wearing long hooded robes. They weren't Humans only, sometimes the tip of a ringed tail or the clawed toes of Skaven could be seen under a cloak. But none of the followers present showed their faces, nor did the two new arrivals. High-pole torches fixed in the ground at regular intervals illuminated the place as best they could.
One of the cult members stepped forward. He waved vaguely.
- Good evening my friends. You must be the last, according to the accounts we are now complete.
- And it's almost time for the ritual, added another hooded follower, a Skaven.
- Has… Brother Caz-az-az-azarras arrived?
- He has, my friend, he's over there, at the foot of the platform.
The two comrades saw a platform about seven feet high installed in the middle of the wooden steres. Behind this platform stood a tall, old man, with a bald head and two tufts of white hair peeking out from behind his large ears. A small pair of copper-rimmed glasses stuck to his nose reflected the glow of the flames. His wrinkled face was painted in garish colours. He was pulling a heavy bag behind him. Regularly, he picked up a green, shimmering powder out of this bag with his hand, hidden by the long sleeve of his habit, and tried to spread it behind him, in the most balanced way possible, in order to draw a circle. He hadn't just made a simple circle: he had spent a long time tracing complex symbols inside it, so as to create an entire canvas loaded with runes, symbols and more abstract designs, making be careful to respect precise dosages. Some lines were much thinner than others. Seen from the top of the stage, the result was striking.
Sanktius chuckled.
- This is the first… first… first time I can see our… p-priest in person. I am s-s-so happy!
- I am too. Holy shit! Did you see that?
- Do you find him so... so... impre-pres... sive?
- I'm not impressed by this one, rather the other one, on the platform.
The fat man looked up, and his heart stopped abruptly.
On the platform was standing the most gigantic, the most terrifying, the most fascinating being he had ever seen. It was undoubtedly a Chaos Warrior, a figure eight feet tall, encased in heavy ornate armour that made it appear four feet wide. This protection was a work of art that had required dozens of hours of work. Covered with complex patterns and decorations, it was very disturbing to look at, because the material of which it was composed was not ordinary metal, but a sort of iridescent mother-of-pearl shell with bluish tones. The face of this individual, hidden under a helmet sculpted in the shape of the head of a bird of prey, couldn't be seen. The Chaos Warrior was patiently waiting, both hands resting on the hilt of its immense sword. The weapon was not metallic either, it looked more like an outgrowth of cartilage, flesh and bone. Teeth as long as a finger and sharper than razor blades were arranged along the entire length of the blade's edge, like on a sawfish rostrum.
- Who is this guy? Petrus muttered.
- It is Sir Alcibiades, replied the Skaven adept. The Envoy of Tzeentch, come for us.
Petrus didn't know whether to be terrified or delighted.
Behind the stage, the painted face old man was keeping throwing the powder on the grass. He paused briefly to contemplate the result. The trail of green dust had traced a circle about forty feet in diameter, two-thirds complete.
- Excuse me, Brother Cazarras? a slightly intimidated voice behind the priest asked.
Brother Cazarras turned on his heel, and faced a follower whom he immediately recognized by the voice under his hood. Indeed, he well knew Umberto Reyes, who was one of his clerks in everyday life.
- What is bothering you, initiate Reyes?
- I just wanted to know: what is this matter, Brother Cazarras?
The old man with the painted face grumbled impatiently, annoyed by the question.
- What do you think, initiate Reyes? It's warpstone powder, so don't touch it!
- Will you have enough?
- I will, initiate, be sure of it.
- Are you going to use all of the warpstone that is in your bag?
The initiate looked disappointed not to have a share of this warpstone. The priest grew impatient.
- Indeed, but once we have completed our proof of reverence to Tzeentch, finding warpstone will never again be a problem for anyone, including you. Now let me finish the preparation, and go to your place among the flock. Come on!
Reyes jumped, and hurried back to the stage. Brother Cazarras muttered again under his breath, then he opened a chest lying not far from him. He first took out a bundle of bloody leather. He positioned himself in the centre of the circle, pulled the string that closed the package, and dumped a few pounds of organs onto the grass with a sickening sound of flatulence.
- A Gargoyle heart for Tzeentch.
He took a vial from his pocket. He uncorked it and poured a greasy liquid onto the rotting flesh.
- Lammasu blood for Tzeentch.
He repeated the operation with a second vial.
- Dragon bile for Tzeentch.
And finally, he emptied the contents of a third small bottle over everything.
- Treeman sap for Tzeentch.
Brother Cazarras knelt near the offering, folded his hands, and prayed in silence.
Sanktius and Petrus wanted to announce their presence to the priest. But as they approached the platform, they were paralyzed by the sound of a voice.
- Well, friends? Can't you see our priest is very busy?
They simultaneously raised their heads. The voice had emerged from under the bird-headed helm. Sir Alcibiades had spoken, for sure. But contrary to what his monstrous and massive appearance suggested, his voice was absolutely not the hoarse growl of a thick brute. On the contrary, it was a soft timbre, melodious without exaggeration, hypnotic. So much so that the two friends felt transported.
- Please, grant us your forgiveness, noble Lord Alcibiades, Petrus murmured. We...we just wanted to introduce ourselves to our High Priest.
- Oh, it is to your credit, Sir Alcibiades replied. However, you won't need to disturb him. In fact, it's best to keep your identity secret and your hood on your head for now. Until the ritual has been performed, there is always a small risk that the authorities will find you. If we were discovered, I wouldn't give much for your carcasses.
- You are right, oh great Lord, Petrus stammered. But... what if there were spies among us?
The next moment, Petrus screamed in pain. Sanktius had hardly elbowed his ribs. Sir Alcibiades shrugged his shoulders.
- Come on, comrade, no need to be afraid. If you and your neighbour are here at this hour, it is because you received a message that only members of our Order have received. For weeks already we have been going where we want as we want without being bothered by the good-for-nothings who constitute the Steinerburg guard. They are all easier to manipulate than ignorant children. It's only a matter of hours before the big departure.
- The… the big dep-dep-departure? Sanktius asked.
The two men jumped simultaneously when they felt a hand placed on their shoulder, while another voice, triumphant and mocking, burst out:
- The big departure towards the New World, gentlemen!
Sanktius and Petrus turned simultaneously to the speaker. It was a rather tall individual, and very thin. He wore a motley suit with bright, shimmering colours. The very tight fabrics revealed a tall and particularly lean body. However, it was not possible to see his face, hidden by an elaborate mask bearing the image of a star both solar and lunar: the left half represented a sun, and the right half was painted as a quarter moon. The man jumped back, placed his hands on his hips, and looked up at the armoured knight.
- Which won't be long, moreover. You can talk about "minutes", Alcibiades! The moment is fast approaching, and all we need is the signal from Brother Cazarras!
Then, again towards the last two comers:
- Come on, comrades, stay here. Everyone will gather in front of the platform, and in a few minutes, you will help us to send our prayer to our Master! The world will be changed forever thanks to your will.
The masked individual jumped onto the stage.
Still on his knees, Brother Cazarras opened his eyes and stood up. He walked away from the bloody bundle, left the circle, and used some more warpstone powder to complete it. Then he smiled with satisfaction.
- Everything is ready, Master Palebough.
- Perfect! Come join us, Brother Cazarras! You have won the right to be in the front row for this show!
Brother Cazarras chuckled softly, and hobbled towards the assembly of wood. It took him a good minute to manage to climb all the steps. Yavandir Palebough took advantage of this time to address the crowd.
- My friends, this is the moment! Everyone gather in front of the stage, we can begin the ceremony. After decades of waiting, our Grand Master is going to come among us, and reshape this obtuse and backward world in the image of Tzeentch, the Great Architect!
The members of the sect positioned themselves in front of the platform, leaving a space of about eight feet, and fell silent. Brother Cazarras raised his hands.
- All with me, you shall pray, speak the words that will bring the servant of Tzeentch into our reality. The New World will be ours, for thousands of years to come.
Sir Alcibiades shook his fist towards Morrslieb. His golden voice soared above the assembly with the grace of a swan.
- First, the Rat Kingdom, then the Empire of the miserable Karl Franz, and country after country, our adversaries will fall. The whole world will welcome Tzeentch and his faithful servants. But everything in its time, we shall start with this small country. This poor Prince Steiner dunce will very quickly understand who the real Master of Vereinbarung is, dear friends!
- And now, let us all salute the Great Architect together!
Brother Cazarras, whose sweat was already beading on his forehead above the colourful makeup, stretched his arms towards the stars. He solemnly declared in a powerful voice:
- At the appointed time, we shall rise from our secret places.
The followers responded as one:
- At the agreed time, we will emerge from our secret lairs.
- Chaos will cover the land, and we, the chosen servants of Chaos, shall be exalted in His eyes, Cazarras continued.
- Chaos will cover the land, and we, the chosen servants of Chaos, shall be exalted in His eyes
- Hail to Tzeentch, Changer of the Ways.
- Hail to Tzeentch, Changer of the Ways.
Then came the formula in a blasphemous language only lost souls could pronounce without fear.
- Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tzeentch!
All the members of the sect shouted together:
- Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tzeentch! Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tzeentch! Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tzeentch!
Brother Cazarras felt his heart swell with enthusiasm. With a benevolent smile, he waved his arms to encourage the faithful to repeat the sacrilegious words again and again. He delighted in insulting the weak Gods of the Empire right under their noses. He stood like that for a long minute, but he realized something, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
Curious, given their number, they should make more noise? It seems like one in three doesn't say anything?
He quickly stopped wondering, when he saw something even more disturbing: one of his followers moved forward to stand right in front of the platform.
The priest ordered silence by standing still, then he reprimanded the individual.
- Well? Please move back to your spot!
- I won't move, Brother Cazarras, replied the other. I am already at my spot.
- We all have our place with Tzeentch, but as a servant you must respect the hierarchy, which you're not doing.
- You're the one here that doesn't respect the hierarchy. Tzeentch has no rights to Vereinbarung!
A weighed down with embarrassment silence followed this declaration. Cazarras then smiled, but it was a false smile, which painfully concealed a certain annoyance.
- I have been patient with you so far, but you are crossing the limits. You're starting to show yourself... so insolent!
The priest had pronounced the last two words of his sentence twice as fast. He tensed up more when the individual retorted:
- And you are an infuriating ruffian!
The dissident raised his hood. There were surprised exclamations as the cultists recognized Prince Steiner, who had no inclination to smile at all.
- You are not welcome here. Leave this place and return to the Lands of Chaos. I never want to see you in my Kingdom again. So spoke the "dunce".
Sir Alcibiades jumped from the dais to face Steiner, and stood to his full height. Without feeling the slightest fear, the Prince finished removing his dress, and challenged him with a look.
- What if we refuse? the Chaos Warrior whispered, clenching his fist at the height of his head.
- Anyone who doesn't surrender immediately dies in the next few minutes.
The tall armoured knight burst out into a crystalline laugh, completely at odds with his imposing appearance.
- Poor ridiculous mortal! You have quite a nerve to come and compete with us alone!
Steiner replied with an ironic grin:
- Who told you I came alone?
Then he shouted over his shoulder:
- Now!
Immediately, about one in three cultists dropped their cloaks. The two leaders on the stage grimaced in surprise. And it was the beginning of an outpouring of rage and violence.
At the outset, three Skaven threw themselves at Sir Alcibiades, while Steiner drew his rapier and skewered a cultist near him. The Vereinbarung fighters had already taken advantage of the surprise, some adepts were already dead. But the others remained more numerous, and determined to defend themselves. Some of them also had weapons hidden under their cloaks. Others, stronger, disarmed the intruders before retaliating.
The former mountebank turned to Brother Cazarras.
- Well, continue! Open the portal, I shall contain them!
The painted old man fell rather than down the stairs. Palebough smiled cruelly under his mask. He quickly spotted the Prince, remaining in front of the dais.
Just a little flick to warm up.
He waved his hands, mumbled a few syllables, and stretched his fingers forward, forming a fork with his index and middle fingers. Multi-coloured lightning flashed from his knuckles. Just before hitting Steiner, a tall blonde Human woman threw herself at him to push him away. The lightning struck her back. She fell with a strangled groan.
Damn female! Well, I'll finish you off later.
No more time to finesse for the Elf, he would take extreme measures. After all, Tzeentch's envoy didn't need all the followers present to come. In order not to be a too easy target, he got off the platform and hid behind one of the piles of wood of the sawmill. All he needed was a little time. Maybe a minute, no more.
- Marjan? Marjan?
The tall Human woman was still on the ground, but she blinked.
- Are… are you well, your Highness?
- Yes, for the moment, thanks to you. Hang in there!
The Prince grabbed Marjan firmly by her wrist, and helped her to get up. But he let himself be distracted by a particularly disturbing sight.
Sir Alcibiades had retreated and swept back the three Skaven who had attacked him. The four adversaries faced each other, ready to act. The nacre knight brandished his sword, and calmly asked:
- So, who's the first?
Kristofferson and Walter looked at each other. The first had brought his rapier, but the second, who brandished his hammer, had not been able to afford to wear his heavy armour, as usual. The two friends were more agile, but also more vulnerable. The third Skaven – the Black Guard Bärlocher – didn't hesitate. With a furious cry, he rushed towards the Chaos Warrior, and swung a terrible sword blow. Alcibiades parried the attack and sent the weapon back in the opposite direction with astonishing force.
The Tzeentch fighter then pressed a rune engraved on the hilt of his sword. Immediately, the sharp teeth began to move at full speed along the entire length of the blade with a deafening roar. Surprised by the noise and his arm still sore, Bärlocher didn't react quickly enough. Alcibiades leapt towards him, and made a large spin. The cursed blade sank into the Black Skaven's side. Poor Bärlocher cried out in pain, but his moans were quickly absorbed by the noise of the demonic sword. The horrible spectacle left Kristofferson and Walter stunned. Blood spurted, shreds of flesh and fragments of bone rained down on them. In a matter of seconds, the Black Guard was cleanly cut in two, severed between his bellybutton and his chest. The ground quickly tainted with red.
Walter felt his own intestines twist in disgust. He was pleased to have had followed the advice of High Priestess Rebmann and avoided eating heavy things. Kristofferson glared at the nacre knight and spat:
- The roar of a Beast, the laughter of an Angel... All these savage murders are your work!
- Tzeentch decided: they had to die. So do you.
- How could such a... being as you leave the scene of his crimes without being seen by anyone?
- Oh, quite very simply, replied Alcibiades in a singing voice. Like that!
The Chaos Warrior made an elegant gesture with his left hand, and disappeared completely in a flash. The two ratmen couldn't believe it. Hard-pressed, they quickly turned their heads, pivoting on their heels, seeking for the slightest movement.
- What? How…
- Damn, he didn't run away, that…
- WATCH IT!
Kristofferson had the reflex to roll to his side, just in time to avoid Alcibiades' hungry blade which fell to the ground. The nacre knight spun his deadly machine faster and faster, towards the two Skaven, when he suddenly pivoted and swept the air in the direction of the Prince.
The serrated blade bounced off the head of a small mace. The ordinary weapon was instantly dislocated, but Marjan Gottlieb managed to repel the attack.
- Marjan! shouted Kristofferson and Steiner at the same time.
The young blonde Human threw down her unusable mace, and grabbed Lord Alcibiades' forearm with her both hands. The knight had powerful muscles, but the tall woman counted on her Kislevite origins to resist. She gritted her teeth.
- Go away, your Highness!
- We take care of him, Opa! Kristofferson barked.
The Prince didn't hesitate. He jumped to the side, and tried to go around the stage. Marjan still held Alcibiades' arm. Walter raised his hammer and brought it down with all his might towards the blue nacre helmeted head. Kristofferson flexed his legs and the tip of his sword whizzed towards one of the joints in the Chaos Warrior's tights. Just as the two weapons were about to come into contact with the knight, the latter vanished in the blink.
All three fighters cursed at the same time in frustration.
- What a bastard! Where is he?
- He can't be very far away, be careful!
Marjan picked up a hatchet lying on the ground and looked around for the champion of Tzeentch. Behind her, the general melee continued, still noisy. Kristofferson's eyes suddenly widened in panic.
- Behind you!
The young woman jumped on her right, and felt Alcibiades' toothed blade graze her shoulder. With a battle cry, she sent her axe towards the chaotic knight's flank. The axe crashed against the armour with a hollow, organic sound, as if it had struck the shell of a giant snail.
Alcibiades took a step back with a grunt. In one motion he caught the head of Walter's hammer a breath away from his helmet, cutting off the ratman's momentum. The captain screamed in anger. Marjan and Kristofferson's weapons were about to hit Tzeentch's servant, but he disappeared again.
The three friends got back on guard, caught back their breath, and stalked their enemy with their gaze.
- Show yourself, you coward! Kristofferson shouted.
Once again, the sound of the battle behind them returned to their ears. There was no let-up in the action. Marjan yelped:
- Shit! By Ursun's fangs!
- What, what?
- Your grandfather! This motherfucker is going to attack him!
- Go and join him quickly, we're watching for this freak here! Walter ordered.
Without waiting any longer, the young woman ran in the direction taken by the Prince.
Sweating and panting, Brother Cazarras was once again in front of the circle of warpstone powder. No more time for long prayers, things had to be speeded up. He held out his hand and recited in a monotone a few syllables that were abstruse for those who didn't understand the language of Tzeentch. As he was focusing on the formula, he saw something in the periphery of his vision. He squeaked in frustration.
The entire perimeter of the sawmill was surrounded by dozens of soldiers who formed a huge circle. There were infantrymen and horsemen, all ready to throw themselves into the fray. The priest even spotted the shaved heads of some of Sigmar's minions. Without losing concentration, he resumed his imprecations with more conviction.
Suddenly, he gasped in surprise, and a curious sensation tickled his torso. He lowered his eyes, and saw the long tip of a rapier protruding from his chest, nearly a foot of forged steel protruding from the wound. He turned his head and scoffed:
- Well, your Highness, you don't have the courage to face me head on?
Steiner didn't answer. He just firmly pulled on the hilt of his thin blade to free it. Brother Cazarras turned around slowly, and revelled in the Prince's incredulous expression.
- So, where is your confidence?
- But… I have…
- "Underestimated you", the priest completed.
The old, make-up man tore his tunic and revealed his body. His entire torso was nothing but an amalgam of topsy-turvy flesh, like a pile of sausage meat kneaded by a clumsy butcher. His arms were covered in chitin shimmering with colours, and his fingers were tipped with long raptor claws.
- I am not immortal, but that is not the way you'll prevent me from fulfilling my Destiny.
Ludwig Steiner attacked again. In a precise gesture, the chaotic priest caught the blade, inches from his eye. His sharp nails had the power of a vice. The Prince tried to resist, but little by little he felt a pain in his arm, then a twisting in his wrist as the tip of his sword was slowly but irresistibly pointed towards the ground. He quickly brought his free hand into his boot, and removed his backup dagger. Without letting go off his rapier, he tried to thrust the dagger into the priest's painted face. Alas, the old man was not only abnormally strong, he was also quick. Cazarras intercepted Steiner's wrist with his other paw, his eyes flashed with rage.
- You miserable trickster!
The priest's claws lit up with a green glow, like warpstone. He clenched his fingers, and tore at the Prince's hand, tearing the leather of the glove, then the skin and the muscles. Steiner groaned in pain. Cazarras snatched his sword from him, threw it a few steps away, and sent his fist into his stomach.
The Human collapsed, out of breath. The priest of Tzeentch took the opportunity to return to the circle of warpstone powder. He uttered one last syllable in his powerful voice, then stuck out his tongue, bit it until it bled, and spat on the dust. Upon contact with the reddened saliva, the warpstone powder lit up and solidified in crystalline crackles. In a few seconds, the entire canvas drawn on the ground had become solid, and was emitting an increasingly intense green light.
Steiner, on his knees, removed his glove, and noticed with horror that his hand was transforming. His fingers twisted, forming unlikely angles. Small wounds opened here and there, revealing eyes. A wider, toothed slit tore through his palm.
The old priest's taunt made him look up.
- There's nothing left to do now, you poor Prince dunce! The door to my master's world is about to open, and there is nothing I can do to stop it!
Cazarras reared up, and burst into a demented sneer. Behind him, the circle of solidified powder glowed brighter and brighter, and lightning crackled across its surface. And about ten feet up, just above the centre of the circle, a small distortion appeared, and slowly began to widen. The old man was exultant.
- Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tzeentch! Njawrr'thakh' Lzimbarr Tz…
He was interrupted in his enjoyment when a hatchet whirled through the air and smashed his head, just above the bridge of his nose. Marjan Gottlieb arrived as fast as she could.
- Your Highness! Are you injured?
Steiner got up and stretched his left arm out to the side. Three more fingers had grown, the knuckles had lengthened frightfully, and the hand was swarming like a disgusting spider. The young woman bit her lip. The Prince then rushed to one of the piles of wood, picking up his sword in the process, and braced his wrist on it.
- Cut, Marjan! Come on!
Marjan raised her axe, but hesitated. Had she heard correctly? Should she really hurt the monarch of Vereinbarung?
- This is an order from your Prince!
Marjan stopped thinking. She charged with a fierce cry, brought the axe down on Steiner's forearm and cut cleanly. The hatchet remained stuck in the log. The huge Human yelped in pain, but didn't lose all his means. Without hesitation, he skewered the hand he had just lost with his rapier, and thus pinned it to the ground. Then he held out the bleeding stump of his arm.
- Fire!
The young woman grabbed one of the torches, tore it from its holder, and applied the glowing end on the wound. Once again the Prince screamed. Marjan withdrew her arm when she judged the cauterization complete, and dropped the torch on the corrupted thing waved its limbs with desperate squeals that diminished until it fell completely silent. Ludwig Steiner gritted his teeth, but articulated under his breath:
- That's very good, young lady. Take me back to safety.
- At your command, your Highness! But… the portal?
The opening to the demonic landing was now a foot long.
- We two can't do anything. Only my son will…
The Prince passed out. Just before falling unconscious, he had time to think:
Psody, the entire future of the Rat Kingdom rests on your shoulders!