Kitznik frowned as he crept out of the tunnel and into the harsh sunlight of the deserts of Ghur. Frowning, the low-ranked Clawlord reached up a clawed hand and lowered the visor of his helmet a little, using it to keep the sun out of his eyes. “Stupid-dumb sunlight,” he muttered as he sought his quarry. It did not take Kitznik long to find his target, and he trudged through the shifting sand over to where Master Moulder Skibnitz sat, in the shade of the sky-ship tower.
“Skibnitz,” he growled as he approached his quarry, “why you work-task for Master Therrot? He is the most-greatest crazy-insane-mad Master Moulder I have ever heard-seen!”
Skibnitz did not look up as he replied. “I know.” Smiling, he broke a small piece of the hard cake he’d been nibbling off and gently handed it to one of the small, normal rats that followed him around.
“Then why work-slave for him?”
Pulling his gaze away from the rats around him, the Master Moulder looked the Clawlord in the eyes and sighed. “Kitznik, think-ponder this. Therrot is crazy-mad, right?”
“Yeah…”
“So attention-focus is on him and not me, right?”
“Well, ye… oh… riiiiiight…”
Nodding slowly, Skibnitz broke another piece of cake off and fed it to another of the teeming multitude around him. “Right-right. So while Therrot not-sane tries to train-teach wolf-rats to fetch ball-thing, I am free-free to work on rat ogors. While Therrot tries to make weird-silly ratipede things with many-many-many legs and only one head, I can breed giant rat-pets. While…”
“Yes-yes, I get the concept-idea.”
That flippant comment made the Master Moulder’s gaze rise again. He scowled and stared directly into the Clawlord’s eyes. “I am not sure you do. Everyone watches-focuses on Therrot, and ignores me, yes-right?”
“Yeah.”
“So no pressure-focus on me. I keep the lab equipment all shiny-clean, I feed giant rats and teach-instruct rat-ogors to smash-kill. Therrot draws attention-focus so I can do what I want-need to do with nobody trying to stab-kill me. That, Kitznik, is why I work-serve Therrot the crazy-mad.”
Frowning, the Clawlord pondered the idea, then sighed and took a seat in the shade next to the Master Moulder. “Fine-good, yes. Skibnitz? Why is Therrot not-sane trying to teach-train wolf-rats to fetch ball?”
A smile returned to the Moulder’s muzzle, along with the odd calm demeanor he normally bore. “Therrot thinks-plans it will make them more kill-bitey in combat.”
“…how… what?!?”
“Wolf-rats are rats. Not always easy-simple to control-guide. But wolf-rats are also wolf. Wolf-dog-things like shiny-ball-thing. I don’t know why. Therrot throws the ball-thing, wolf-rats chase the ball-thing.”
“But,” the Clawlord paused, his brow furrowing as he thought. “How-why will that help in fight-battle?”
Skibnitz grinned at him and winked. “Throw ball-thing at enemy and see what happens.”
“Oh. Not sure if that is smart-good or stupid-bad.”
“Both, Kitznik, both.”
Nodding slowly, he let his gaze roam over their surroundings. The desert of Ghur was an empty, bleak place, especially in this part of the Realm. That was why the Skaven were there in the first place. It was a quiet, open place, perfect for training the various Clan Moulder creations before they were delivered or sold to their future owners. It was also an enemy-rich environment. Again, perfect for training beasts.
“Wait,” the Clawlord mused as a thought crossed his mind. “What happens if the ball-thing goes somewhere else?”
“Wolf-rats will chase it anyway.”
“Um, that might not be good.”
“Yes, this means I sometimes have to run-dodge wolf-rats chasing ball-thing,” Skibnitz replied in a dour tone. He crumbled the rest of the little cake in his paws before distributing the lot to the swarm of rats around him. “We also lose the ball-thing a lot. Are on fourth one this eight-day alone. Big time-waste ball-things are.”
“Then why is Therrot doing it? You could stop-talk to him, yes-yes?”
An almost wolf-like bark of laughter was the reply, the Master Moulder’s two tails lashing the sand behind him. “Trust-believe me, it is not worth the effort. If the ball-thing Therrot is working with, quiet he is. Keeps him busy, keeps wolf-rats happy, less work-tasks for me.”
“Um, yeah.” Idly, Kitznik scratched an arm, dislodging some sand. That was the one thing he hated most about the desert. Sand got everywhere. “Um, about that, Skibnitz. I have bad news-information for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Master Therrot sent me to find-locate you. He wants you to go fetch mushroom-squig-thing that stupid cave-grot-things have.”
“What?”
“Yep.”
“Why does he want squig-thing? Stupid-dumb things, them. Just feet, and teeth, and round red…” he trailed off as a horrible, terrible thought sank into his squeaky mind.
“Therrot said something about wanting a ball-thing that throws itself.”
“Yes-yes, I kind of figured that out just now. Oh, squeak. Hmm. Well, that is not good-fun.”
“No,” the Clawlord said in agreement. “He wants it quick-fast. Do you know where to get squig-thing?”
“Yes-yes, that is not problem.”
“Good. Well, not good, but choice-option we do not have. How many clanrats should I bring?”
Skibnitz got to his feet slowly, so as not to dislodge any of the rats that scampered about and on him like the pets they were. “Oh, I think-feel four should be fine-good.”
“What?” Kitznik stared at the Master Moulder in shock. “You are mad-crazy too! Four clanrats is not enough to go into grot-tunnels to get squig-thing!”
Brushing sand from his robes, Skibnitz smirked at him. “Grot-tunnels? Who said-spoke anything about going to grot-tunnels?”
“Where else are we going to capture-catch squig-thing?”
Laughter greeted that comment. “We aren’t.”
“What? But Therrot said…”
“More than one way to get-obtain squig-thing.”
Curiosity over-ruled the Clawlord’s anger. “Oh?” Getting up from the sand, he cast the Moulder a thoughtful look, then nodded. “Fine-good, we do this your way. I would rather not get eaten-killed by squig-thing anyway. Four clanrats. Yes-yes. Give me five twitches to gather clanrats.”
“Good-fine. Meet me up on sky-ship tower.”
“Wait, sky-ship? Why do we need sky-ship?”
“Easy-simple way to get to Fairwater.”
“What? Fairwater? Man-thing warren?”
“Yes-yes.”
Confusion reigned supreme over the Clawlord’s thoughts for some time, and he just stared at Skibnitz as if the skaven had suddenly grown another head (which did actually happen from time to time – you can’t play with realmstone the way Clan Moulder does without some side effects). “I do not understand.”
“Just fetch-bring clanrats. You will see-understand.”
They had to wait half a day for a sky-ship to dock, even after the Warlock in charge of the tower did something to summon a ship. Once they were aboard, the Master Moulder tried to explain to the others what was going to happen.
“Look-see, Fairwater is not like-same as other man-thing warrens. We keep to dock area, man-things do not bother-attack us. I have contact there.”
One of the clanrats, a nervous rat named Killitz, spoke up, more confusion evident in his voice. “What-why-how do you have contact-thing in man-thing warren?”
Skibnitz cast an annoyed glance over to Kitznik, but the Clawlord swallowed whatever he had been eating, gestured to the speaker and nodded. “What he said-spoke. I want-need to know this as well.”
“Fine.” Pausing for a moment, the Master Moulder gazed over the ship’s railing while he picked out how to explain. “You know how Master Therrot always sends-orders me to get stuff?” When they nodded, he continued. “Yes-yes, always. Skibnitz, go-for realm-stone from Shyish. Skibnitz, go-for stupid duardin-thing powder-stuff. Skibnitz, go-for more ball-things, yes-yes?”
“Get on with it.”
“Right.” Turning around, he leaned against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest, to try and look more imposing. The effect was rather spoiled when one of his pet rats scrabbled out of the sleeve of his robes and climbed up to perch on his head. One of the clanrats snickered and nudged its fellow.
“If I, Skibnitz, was to go-for all of those things, I would never be in our warren. Ball-things come from man-thing big warren of Hammerfall. Shyish Realm-stone is from Shyish, duardin-thing powder-stuff comes from duardin-thing lodge-warrens. Many places where I die-die if I go-venture. So I think-ponder, and one day I get idea-thing. I do not have to go-venture to those places. I just have to find-locate other-thing that does! So I talk-speak to others, find place where skaven can walk-sneak without kill-death. Fairwater-warren is okay-good. I sell-dispose of things to trader-merchant, trader-merchant finds-locates things I need.” Slipping a paw into a pocket, he pulled out another seed-cake and broke off a chunk for the rat on his head. “Like seed-cakes from stupid aelf-things. Rat-pets like taste, as do I.”
Shock registered across five muzzles. “Wait-stop,” the Clawlord muttered. “So we go-wander to Fairwater-warren, talk to trader-merchant, and buy-purchase squig-thing?”
“Yes-yes.”
“But that is… is…”
“Safer than go into grot-thing tunnel,” a short clanrat called Pikkit mumbled.
The other three clanrats nodded. “Yes-yes. No grot-things shooting us with skitta-arrow-things.”
“Might be okay?”
“Better than die-die trying to get squig-thing. Waste of clanrats, I suppose,” Kitznik admitted with a frown. “I do not like this though. We are skaven, not aelf-thing or man-thing. We steal-take, not trade-buy. Feels wrong-bad.”
“Give it a try-feel. I think-feel you will like it,” Skibnitz replied with a smile. “Besides, Freeport-warren has cheese. Much-many kinds of cheese.”
“I do like cheese…”
Docking in Fairwater had been an experience for most of the Skaven, who were unsure what to think of the human city. Skibnitz had ordered them to wear hooded robes as they trekked from the skyport to their destination, but the clanrats and Clawlord couldn’t help but stare at the sights about them. Duardin, orruks, grots, aelfs, humans, the lizard-like Seraphon, all rubbed shoulders within the trading city.
Ignoring most of it, Skibnitz led them down a side-road to a warehouse at the end of a wide alley. A vaguely orruk-like symbol had been carved into the lintel over the door, and an irritated looking orruk with a spear and monstrous-styled shield was guarding the entrance.
“State yer business,” it said as they approached.
Skibnitz pulled back his hood and cast the orruk a sour glare. “Yes-yes, business I have. Need to speak-talk to Ghalbakk.”
“Oi dun fink so,” the orruk replied with a snort of derision. “Ghalbakk treat wif da loiks ov yez? Pull da ovver wun!”
“You must be new-strange. Most of the guards know-understand who I am.”
“Oi dun care,” it said. “Now, yez gunna leave or am I gunna ‘ave ta kick yer tail?”
Skibnitz just grinned at the orruk and whistled once. A rat peeked its head out of his robes and climbed onto his head, chittering and staring at the orruk.
“Wut, iz dat supposed ta scare me?” But the rat was not alone. There was a second squeak, and another rat appeared. And another, and another, until the alley was ankle-deep in rats. Pausing, the orruk looked them over and actually thought about what was happening. “Um…”
“Go speak-talk to Ghalbakk, tell-inform him that Master Skibnitz is here to speak-talk to him. He will see-speak with me.”
For a moment or two, the orruk seemed to be sizing up the odds, but it finally made a choice and went into the warehouse. Skibnitz made a different chittering sound, and all the rats save for the one perched on his head vanished back into the shadows. While they waited, the Clawlord stepped up to stand next to Skibnitz and leaned in to whisper to him.
“Are you sure-certain this is a good idea?”
“It is.”
“Fine-good, but if they attack-charge, you are on your own.”
It took several minutes, but eventually the guard returned with a tall, oddly respendant orruk in tow. The newcomer, dressed in an unusual suit of some plush-looking, purple-dyed cloth, took a look at Skibnitz and threw his arms wide. Laughing, he stepped forward and clasped a hand on the ratman’s shoulder.
“Master Skibnitz! Welcome to Fairwater! What brings ya to my humble business?”
A snort of amusement was the Moulder’s reply. “What else?”
“More balls?”
“More ball-things. We lost-destroyed six of them in two eight-days. Wolf-rats are hard on them, and they go lost-missing in desert-sand.”
“I still don’t get why ya want them, but who am I to argue with a client? Gorthek!” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder, “take a hand-cart and grab Master Skibnitz’s packages! They’re in aisle seven, in the boxes marked with da two-headed rat!” Turning back to him, the orruk smiled. “I am glad ta see ya again. Those fuzzy pig-rat things ya brought me sold really well! Turns out humans think they make great pets!”
“Good-good! My balance is better-good again?”
“More than that! I’ll be honest, I don’t have enough money ta pay ya what I owe ya right now. I mean, your seed-cakes and another box of those rubber balls ya want will use up some of it, but yer balance is still really good.”
“Oh good-excellent.”
Shaking his head, Ghalbakk regarded the Master Moulder with a thoughtful expression. “Huh. Ya know, I never know what ta think of ya, Skibnitz. A human would be all up in my face, demanding his money, but ya? Ya aren’t in a hurry and don’t seem ta care.”
“No reason-point to being in a hurry. If I have credit-funds with you, then when I need-want something, I will use it. Right now this works-helps me. I need-want something unusual.”
“Not more Shyish Realmstone, I hope? That stuff’s kind of hard ta get right now.”
“No-no, I have plenty of that right now. No, I need-want something more up your alley. Need-want a squig-thing.”
Ghalbakk recoiled like he’d been struck. “What? A squig?!? Why the heck do ya need that?”
“Long story,” the ratman said, “involving-centered around my boss, Master Therrot.”
“Okay then, what does he want with a squig?”
A soft chuckle from the ratman made the orruk grin. “Master Therrot thinks he can use squig-thing as a ball-thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
The laughter grew louder. “He thinks-feels that he can train-teach the squig-thing to be a living ball-thing that throws itself for wolf-rats to chase.”
Silence greeted that comment as the orruk parsed the idea, but it wasn’t long before Ghalbakk was laughing right alongside the Master Moulder. “A ball that throws itself? Ho, ain’t that a hoot! Your Master Therrot is kind of crazy, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea, Ghalbakk, but yes. Yes he is.”
Nodding, the orruk wiped a tear of amusement from one eye and smiled at Skibnitz. “Heh, well I can certainly get you a squig. That’s easy! Ya got,” seemingly for the first time, the orruk noticed the other skaven. “Ah, ya do have a crew with ya! Good, that’ll make transporting it simple! I’ll put it in a cage on wheels, so ya can get it to da skyport easily.” But as he was turning to shout orders to his crew, the orruk had a thought. “Hmm, about that Realmstone,” he mused. “I don’t have any from Shyish, but do ya think ya could use dragon-metal for anything?”
Frowning, the ratman looked at him curiously. “Dragon-metal? Yes-yes, that is white-silver metal you sold-traded me six-moons ago, yes-yes?”
“Yes.”
Wheels turned in the Master Moulder’s mind. “Hmm, yes. Dragon-metal is light and takes realmstone-energy very good-well. I could use-utilize some. Why do you ask-query?”
Clasping a hand on his shoulder, Ghalbakk leaned in to speak softly in his large, rodentine ear. “There’s this mountain, ya see…”
Soon enough, they were heading back to the skyport, with a caged squig in tow. Kitznik and Skibnitz were deep in conversation as they walked, the two skaven making animated motions with their paws.
“An expedition-trip? With an orruk-thing? What are you thinking?!?”
“Dragon-metal, Kitznik.”
“Yes-yes, you said that. Why should I care-worry?”
Stopping cold in his tracks, the Master Moulder rounded on the Clawlord. “Kitznik, dragon-metal very expensive-pricey-rare is. Good-best rat ogors have dragon-metal parts. Good-best Skryre guns use dragon-metal. Grey Seers use dragon-metal for much-many things. Our share-portion of dragon-metal from this job would make all-any of us rich beyond our most insane-crazy-wild dreams! Think about it! No more work-tasking! No more eating scrap-slop! Grey Seers would owe us favors!”
Kitznik stared at the Master Moulder, slack-jawed, as he wrapped his mind around what Skibnitz said. “That… would be nice-good.”
“Yes-yes! If you want-wish to stay behind in desert-warren, fine-good, but I am going with Trader Ghalbakk to mine dragon-metal!”
“But Master Therrot…”
“Master Therrot would give his third arm for a find like this. He uses-utilizes dragon-metal when making big rat-monster-things. Abbey has much-many parts made from dragon-metal, and Therrot would like-love to get more! He will support this task-mission.”
Nodding slowly, the Clawlord chewed his lip for a moment before making up his mind. “Yes-yes, good. I will help-aid in this. How many clanrats do you think-feel we need?”
“All of them, Kitznik. All of them.”
