KnightofTempest
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OG: Chapter 35
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 10:14:06 +0000 UTCAs the Skaven charged forward, time slowed down as I began to run the numbers and calculate angles using my enhanced intellect, powers, and implants. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that unless something drastic occurred, we weren't going to get out of this in one piece without being horrifically mangled. The Stormvermin were individually not worth a single one of us, and even three at a time would be doable, but there were twenty-five of them, which meant that between their Horde Mentality, their discipline which was being kept in decent order by their Leader, and their equipment, the numbers were against us. Best best-case scenario here was that they were attacking with an equivalent of just over a three-to-one force advantage when all the advantages and whatnot were tallied out. It was doable, but we'd be hurting afterward pretty badly if these Skaven were at all competent.
The numbers didn't lie, and something would have to give to equalize the situation. Fortunately, I had plenty of somethings to use, thanks to my Alchemy and recently gained Magical Equipment. The only problem was that using it was going to eat into my store of alchemical items pretty badly. I would have maybe one Alchemical White Phosphorous Grenade remaining if I used this now, and who knew what sort of thing the 'Master-Boss' was or what other forces were lurking within the Alcazar. There was nothing for it, though. It had to be done if we were to survive.
As time sped back up, I let off a shot from the Flintlock Pistol I had to hand, firing into the slavering maw of a charging Stormvermin, the pistol shot going in through his fang-filled mouth and popping out of the back of his neck. Then, I activated my implants to speed up my motions, reaching into my satchel for the Alchemical White Phosphorus. I almost didn't have time, as by the time I pulled the incendiary out of my satchel, the horde of Stormvermin was already halfway across the courtyard. By the time I mixed the ingredients together and let fly, the horde was only five meters, roughly fifteen feet, away from us. I overshot the formation, as well, with only the rearmost ranks getting caught in the explosion of fiery alchemical death. Still, the explosion managed to scythe down six of the Stormvermin, their squeals of pain as their armor caught alight, providing no protection whatsoever, echoed through the cavern.
I pulled my second pistol and fired into the charging mass, even as Martine let fly with a throwing knife, both my shot and her blade striking the same Stormvermin, downing them. In moments, twenty-five Stormvermin had been reduced to seventeen. It wasn't enough. I didn't have time to reload. Fortunately, Anders was able to get off another lightning bolt, chanting in Druidic as he dredged up mystic power. The electricity leapt from his outstretched fingers to fry four other Stormvermin, minor bolts coursing through them as he did so. From seventeen, down to thirteen. One last knife from Martine stuck through a Stormvermin's eye, punching into his brain as they reached five feet away.
"Stand Firm-Solid and Kill-Slay them! Reinforcements-Aid are on the way!" Shouted the Leader in his squeaking, snarling tone of voice. Unfortunately, the prospect of reinforcements was apparently enough to stiffen the spines of the Stormvermin, and instead of breaking and running, as Skaven sometimes did when half of their number had been slain, they continued to charge into us.
I was forced to parry an incoming cut from a sawtoothed blade whose edge seemed to be coated in some sort of black, foul-smelling liquid. No doubt, the Stormvermin were using some sort of poisoned weaponry to enhance their otherwise pretty poor melee capabilities, at least as compared to a trained human swordsman. My flaming riposte sheared through the hodgepodge of boiled leather and chainmail that the Stormvermin was wearing and cleaved the smaller Skaven in half. A second blade came in at me, this one a curved scimitar-like weapon that had an edge coated in a greenish substance that registered as inherently mystical with my Magical Senses. My Omnidisciplinary and Alchemical knowledge pretty much straight up told me not to let that blade anywhere near me. My parry was more of a cut, accordingly, as I sheared the offending Stormvermin's Weapon Paw off at the wrist. He squealed and fell back, allowing Anders to strike him in the eye with a Magic Dart spell, the petty magic finishing off the Stormvermin.
Unfortunately, to my left, Ruggiero wasn't doing quite as well. He drew my attention as he cried out in pain, having just cut down a pair of Stormvermin, when a barbed dart punched into the meat of his arm from behind, piercing through the joint between vambrace and rearbrace. As Ruggiero pulled the dart out of his left triceps, the blood flowed freely. There was clearly some sort of greenish-gray oil on the dart, ensuring that the wound wouldn't close naturally. I looked over to see a quintet of Skaven in dark clothing with Blowguns standing atop one of the flanking positions and preparing to continue to fire down on us.
However, Radamenes was already climbing the rocky cliff face to attack them. It didn't stop the Blowgun-wielding Skaven from letting off a full volley before my Fluffy Boy could reach them, though. I cut my dart out of the air with a textbook parry, Ruggiero and Anders, however, both got hit, Ruggiero taking a dart to the leg between greave and cuisse, and Anders getting hit in the shoulder, the barbed head of the poisoned dart punching through the leather of his fighting robe as he did so.
"Keep attack-fighting! We shall kill-slay the Man-Things and be victorious!" Snarled the Leader from back near the Corridor, the Skaven had crawled out of.
As he did, Martine let out a cry of pain as a thin, Stiletto-like blade slipped between the breastplate and pauldron of her plate armor and punched into her shoulder. She cut down the offending Skaven moments later, but the damage had been done, and she was down to one arm. This was trending toward a death of a thousand cuts. Right now, however, I couldn't worry about that. I had to carve my way through a rank of six Stormvermin to get to the Leader. If I could slay him, I might be able to turn this around before even more reinforcements for the Skaven arrived.
The Stormvermin lashed out with poisoned blades, though only one of those bore the telltale hints of the Warpstone Dust Solution that my Alchemical and Omnidisciplinary knowledge warned me to avoid. Fortunately, I was able to take a more mundane cut to the back in exchange for cleaving that Stormvermin's head in twain. A whirling flourish of my runeblade carved a second Stormvermin in half, even as a Third found its weapon skittering off my armor. I parried a blow from a fourth Skaven, lashing out with a front thrust kick that was enhanced by my cybernetically, magically, and chemically empowered body. The Skaven's leg snapped like a twig under my kick, and a follow-on stomp dashed its brains out. Another pair of cuts downed the two remaining Stormvermin, and suddenly, I had a straight shot at their leader.
To the side of the cavern, alarmed squeaking could be heard as Radamenes tore into the Blowgun-wielders, pouncing into their midst with a roar of anger and a flurry of dagger-like teeth and sharp claws. As I charged forward, a number of dismayed squeaks echoed from the Blowgun-Wielders as the trio who hadn't been savaged by Radamenes leapt off the platform where the flanking tower was to the courtyard in an attempt to flee. One found his skull smashed in by Anders, wielding a quarterstave topped with a copper head like a mace. Another found himself gutted by Martine. The last was slain when his digitigrade ankle rolled on landing, dropping it to one knee and allowing Ruggiero, bleeding from a trio of wounds, to cut his head off.
As that happened, another five Skaven with Blowguns stepped out onto a nearby ledge, only for Radamenes, recently finished with the two he had slain previously, to leap up, bounce off the cavern wall, and plow into their formation from the side. They only managed to get one dart off that struck my left hand, the lack of gauntlets on my armor proving to be an issue. Fortunately, the dart went through the leather gloves I was wearing to punch into the palm of my left hand, stopping against the Scarab Bone Sheath that coated my skeleton. It would bleed badly, but I wasn't using my off-hand with my Runeblade. Once I was done in the courtyard, an Accelerate Healing Pill should fix the damage.
"I will chew-gnaw your bones, Man-Thing!" Snarled the Leader of the Now-Dead Stormvermin.
"Come get some!" I challenged.
As the Fangleader charged, however, another ten Skaven in dark leathers with various small blades made their way out of the Alcazar. They were led by a Skaven in Leather Armor with what appeared to be a repurposed Arabyan Scimitar that seemed to glow in my mystic senses. Clearly, this was a Nightleader and his Nightrunners. As I looked over at the Nightleader, my skill with enchantment informed me that I definitely didn't want to get cut with that, because it would steal some of my skill with a blade to give to the wielder. Likewise, that particular Skaven also bore a satchel that pinged off my mystical radar, and my skill in enchanting informed me that the satchel allowed for a quick application of one of the three poison vials held within the satchel in combat-ready timeframes.
"Skunch! Master-Boss sent me as Reinforcements-Aid!" Called out the new Skaven.
"Queg help Kill-Slay the Man-Things!" Snarled the Original Skaven Fangleader, apparently named Skunch.
"Will move-go to attack-fight alongside you!" Insisted the Skaven Nightleader, Queg.
"No-No! This Man-Thing is Mine!" Snarled Skunch, resuming his charge.
I parried the incoming Skaven Spear below the jagged, green-glowing head, even as Queg moved to back up his Nightrunners against my Companions. Fortunately, it seemed Anders had at least one more Lightning Bolt in him, chanting in Druidic and stretching his hand out, lightning leaping from his fingertips to crash among the charging nightrunners, electrocuting five of them at once, dropping them like puppets with their strings cut. The other five, on seeing this, began squeaking in panic in Queekish, trying to halt their momentum and flee, only for Radamenes to pounce on them from above, my Fluffy Boy tearing into them like a wrecking ball made of knives.
This didn't deter Queg, however, and he simply tapped his blade against the buckle of the Satchel, instantly coating it in a pale greenish-gray liquid, not the neon green that denoted the presence of Warpstone dust, but the color of Leech Blood. As he charged at Ruggiero, the Tilean Duelist parried Queg's Strike, only for Queg to whip his tail around and behind the Tilean and cut a gash along Ruggiero's calf with a tail blade that had previously been hidden from sight, just above the back of the greave. As Martine moved to flank Queg, however, I didn't have the luxury of keeping an eye on that fight, as Skunch attacked me yet again.
I parried the thrust, pressing on the parry to bind the spear and move it out wide. Skunch wasn't having that, however, as he kicked out with his legs, claws raking out for my groin. The Leggings of Leaping stopped the attack, fortunately, and I slammed my forehead, encased in the Helm of the Charismatic Commander, into Skunch's snout. He let out a horrific squeal as he did so, several of his fangs breaking from the blow. In panic, Skunch swept up with the butt of his Spear, trying to ward me off. The lead-shod butt-cap of the weapon struck up and smashed into my mouth, splitting my lip and cracking my front teeth in the process.
I staggered away as Skunch snarled, thrusting out. Fortunately, I was expecting that and I snapped off a textbook parry that once again brought the jagged spearhead and its fell green glow out wide and away from my throat, before slamming the hilt of my runeblade into Skunch's helm. The impact rang out like a bell in the courtyard, staggering Skunch sideways. This was my chance to end this. I struck out with my Runeblade, the Blade of Dazh's Fury blazing out for Skunch's helmet. The tarnished steel of Skunch's Helmet couldn't withstand the Runeblade, the Master Rune of Alaric the Mad ensuring that no armor forged could withstand the bite of the Blade of Dazh's Fury. The Steel parted like water as my fiery blade cleaved into the top of Skunch's Skull, splitting it open. There was a rattling choke, and Skunch dropped to the stone of the courtyard, dead.
I spat blood from my busted mouth onto the stone of the Alcazar's Courtyard, growling as I turned to face Queg, looking at the last of the fights in the courtyard. Fortunately, it seemed that though Martine had been likewise hit with the Tail Blade, and Radamenes had a hurt paw that wouldn't stop bleeding from a cut, that fight was more or less finished. Radamenes had Queg on the ground, and Ruggiero had managed to disarm the Nighleader of his pilfered Arabyan Blade. As I approached, Martine thrust her blade through Queg's eye, even as the Nightleader tried to whip his tail blade around to slice her. Fortunately, the blade rebounded off her breastplate, allowing Martine to kill Queg with her blade.
We had managed it, the odds had been stacked against us, and each of us had at least one wound which would require healing, but we had managed it. Fortunately, we had the potions and other alchemy to heal such wounds. I wasn't sure if Ruggiero would have been able to continue if we didn't, as he'd effectively been wounded the most out of all of us. Thankfully, we had an Alchemist and a Hedgcraft Wizard with us, or he would have been slain. However, in healing, we were stretching out potions and alchemical items very thin. As we took stock of our resources after the battle, that became pretty clear right away.
"I am down to three vials of Nostrum Healing Potion remaining." Informed Anders.
"I have one Cathayan Healing Pill left and two doses of the less powerful Healing Salve as well." I remarked.
"What about that Cathayan Incendiary? I saw you used one of them against the Ratmen?" Questioned Martine.
"I have only one of those remaining. I'm keeping it in reserve to use against the Master of this place." I answered.
"You think this master truly is a Daemon? Beastmen are known to be in league with the Ruinous Powers, after all. Will that work against such a creature?" Queried Ruggiero.
"Those were no Beastmen." I frowned.
"No? They looked like Beastmen to me." Pointed out Martine.
"No. They were something worse than Beastmen." I insisted.
"What then?" Asked Anders.
"I'll tell you if we make it out of this alive. For now, we ought to take stock and see if there is anything useful among the dead, but be wary. These sorts of creatures have been known to utilize Wyrdstone as more than just fuel for magic." I warned.
"I may not know much about such things, but I do know that Wyrdstone is harmful in quantity." Frowned Martine.
"Then we should destroy any samples we come across." Huffed Ruggiero.
"Anders can supervise that, for now, get to searching." I nodded.
With that, we began searching the Courtyard for anything that might be useful. Ironically, we wound up with quite a bit of coin, actually, though most of it was a Combination of Old Coins from the time of the Crusades. Kiselvite Zloty, from before the introduction of the Ducat, Arabyan Dinars, Magrittan Reales from before King Esteban the First standardized Estalian Coinage on the Excellente, Old-Style Bretonnian Ecu, and Old Tilean Doubloons. Of course, the Skaven had far more modern currency on them, primarily either Bretonnian Ecu from the reign of King Charlen, Luccini Doubloons with Prince Lorenzo Lup's face, and Modern Imperial Crowns. All told, there was some four-thousand-two-hundred Guilders in miscellaneous coinage here. Split four ways, which came out to around one-thousand-fifty Guilders apiece.
Of course, that was just in loose coinage. In terms of weaponry and armor, there were likely another eleven-thousand-six-hundred-eighty Guilders worth of still-usable miscellaneous armor and equipment lying around. Of course, we could likely only sell it all at maybe a bit over a third of the usual cost, which would come out to around four thousand Guilders, which was another one thousand Guilders for each of us split four ways. Of magic items, both Queg's Scimitar and his Satchel were made with benign enough magic that Anders claimed we would be fine to use them ourselves. The same with several vials of alchemical poisons that seemed to be either the Greenish-Grey Poison that I identified as being made with Leech Blood as a primary ingredient and which ensured that wounds continued to bleed until they were magically healed, or paralytic Spider Spittle Poison made from the ground up bodies of small animals that had been killed by spider bites.
However, there were other items that were not so usable. Mostly, these came from the Skaven corpses, as their weapons and armor were hardly fit for human usage. At the same time, Skunch's Spear and armor had been made using foul enchantments powered by dark magic and warpstone. Anders insisted that they be destroyed immediately, along with the tin of foul-smelling black paste that had been found on Skunch's Body, which he had never gotten a chance to use, as well as all the vials of neon-green, Warpstone-infused poisons that we found, and the pair of warp tokens found on Skunch and Queg.
"I will take care of their destruction myself, but be warned, doing so will drain me of most of the rest of my magic. I won't be able to do much more than muster a few petty spells after this until I can rest." Warned Anders.
"Do it." I nodded.
"We should be able to keep you covered, especially now that I have this new Scimitar." Agreed, Ruggiero.
It had been decided that since he had taken the most wounds, he would be the one to wield the Magic Scimitar of Skill Drain in place of the Blade I had lent him. I couldn't blame him. While the blades I had forged, alchemically treated, and enchanted for everyone counted as decent magical items by the standards of a modern world, by the Standards of Mundus, they weren't anything to write home about, barely considered to be better than the mundane blades that proliferated the Old World. It would take me time to reverse-engineer the local enchantments in order to have weapons that were worthy of such a setting.
"Indeed, though I will keep the Satchel in reserve for now until we can figure out exactly how it works." Nodded Martine.
She had taken the satchel, as it had been decided that she would be the most likely to be able to use such an item. After all, as a Scout, Skirmisher, and Potential Assassin, she was the one most likely to be able to use poison tactically in the course of her normal duties. It really only made sense for her to have the Assassin's Poison Satchel. There was, however, something about the magic that the Satchel was enchanted with that tickled at the back of my mind, but I had no clue exactly what it could be. It seemed familiar, like Konstantin had seen something like it on his travels before I had come along to take over. Nightrunners were a Clan Eshin thing, usually. Perhaps the magic came from Far Nippon? That was close enough to Grand Cathay for there to have been some cross-pollination.
Either way, I supposed it didn't matter too much. As Anders warned us to stand back as he began the process of unraveling the dark magics, I figured we would either figure it out or we wouldn't. It ultimately only mattered that the Satchel wasn't made with Dhar or Warpstone-based powers, after all. That was what was important, as it meant we could use it without fear of corruption or the destruction of our souls, or anything like that. Nothing that came from Chaos could be trusted, after all, and if it was created without such dark magics, then that was all we needed to know.
Suddenly, a loud cracking noise jolted me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see Anders hustling his way back toward us as the pile of dark magic and warpstone items that he had begun destroying combusted explosively in a fireball that seemed to leech the color from the air around it, along with the oxygen. The fireball winked out as quickly as it erupted, causing a shockwave that cracked and scorched the stone of the Courtyard underneath and sent dust and pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern. Fortunately, we were far enough away that such a shockwave didn't reach us, but anything or anyone within ten feet of the pile would have been destroyed, slain, and possibly turned inside out in the process.
As Anders reached us, huffing and puffing, I couldn't help but shake my head at the display of destructive power, even as Radamenes was jolted awake from the nap he'd been taking in the corner at the noise. My Fluffy Boy was clearly not best pleased at all the ruckus, and from the looks on Ruggiero and Martine's faces, he wasn't alone either.
"What did you do?" Questioned Ruggiero.
"What I. . .said I. . .would." Answered Anders between breaths.
"Was it supposed to be that explosive?" Queried Martine.
"Not normally." Refuted Anders.
"So what happened?" I asked.
"I may have. . .underestimated. . .the amount of magic there. Explosive backlashes have been known to happen sometimes." Responded Anders as he finally managed to get his breath back.
"Right. How explosive are those backlashes normally?" Questioned Ruggiero.
"This was a small one. We got lucky." Opined Anders.
"What do you mean by lucky?" Queried Martine.
"He means that some backlashes can do things like Summon Daemons or raise the dead as mindless combatants." I pointed out.
"Is this true?" Asked Ruggiero.
"Technically, yes. Generally, though, such things are the provenance of foolish apprentices and those without proper training." Informed Anders.
"Some would consider any Wizard not a part of a larger order to be without proper training." Intoned Martine.
"Anders has Hedgefolk Training. That counts." I interjected.
"Indeed. As I said, that was a miscalculation on my part. It won't happen again." Promised Anders.
"Come on, let's explore the Alcazar. I can't imagine sticking around the scene of such a large explosion is going to be very good for us." I tried.
"Right. There's still a Master to deal with." Agreed Ruggiero.
"Fine, just so long as it doesn't happen again. I mislike deadly surprises." Cautioned Martine.
"Again, it was an error." Defended Anders.
"Come on." I grumbled.
I headed over toward the entrance to the Alcazar Proper, and Radamenes finished glaring at Anders to pad over to my side. The others followed me, and inside we found a magnificent great hall, lit up by magic to appear as if it were daylight. Polished Marble Floors, columns scribed with geometric designs, and carved reliefs on the walls greeted us, alongside bronze chandeliers and torch sconces that contained no earthly light but glowed as if the sun was shining down through a skylight. Motheaten Cushions of Silk and Faded Damask Rugs were scattered over the floor. It was a display of pure opulence, as opposed to the concerns over defensibility that were also present in the courtyard and Siq. Furthermore, there was no way for this Hall to have been built except by magic. It would have been breathtaking in its heyday, with Zarwai still bustling with life.
Of course, the effect was rather ruined by more mangled corpses that were scattered all over the place. However, they were not armored, instead wearing what seemed to be silk Kaftans and other such finery, all torn by violence and tattered with age, though they were all armed with quite well-crafted weapons. Indeed, it looked like they had been caught in the middle of a celebration of some kind. Goblets of Gold and Platters of Silver were scattered about, the food and drink having long since been depleted, though there were no signs of rotten food, a testament to whoever had done this insisting on keeping the interior of the palace free of Nurgle's Taint. All of the corpses also bore jewelry of some kind. Pendants of Gold and Diamonds, silver rings set with rubies, cloakpins worked in Electrum with sapphires, all of these were in evidence.
Clearly, these were the nobility of the Army of El-Khabbath, gathered together in this hall to celebrate their victory over Prince Vaclav the Crusader. Whatever had attacked them had not only slain what guards were in the courtyard, but had also done them in. However, the wealth on display, which could still be sold off, was far too much to ignore. Between the various Master-Crafted Scimitars, pieces of Jewelry, and Gold and Silver Cutlery, we were looking at easily twenty thousand Guilders worth of items, selling for half would be another ten thousand at least, which, split four ways, would net us each another two-thousand-five-hundred Guilders apiece. Thus far, it was looking like we would be making at least four-thousand-five-hundred-fifty Guilders apiece from this venture, in addition to whatever payment we received from Piers Van Rijn for any Arabyan Artifacts we could find. And that was before we even began to search the rest of the city. This was just in terms of the Alcazar.
Now, however, there were two ways to go, left and right. In pondering the decision, we would head left and just barely miss the current Master of Zarwai as he moved to check the courtyard after the loud explosion that had occurred upon Anders' destruction of the Dark Magic and Warpstone Items. We would not realize that until we made our way back through the other end of the Alcazar, however. For now, we headed off to the left, where we would discover the last resting place of Ali Al-Sariq, the King of Thieves of El-Khabbath during the Crusades, and the Spymaster for the Army of El-Khabbath during their attack into the Border Princes and Bretonnia.
And with his corpse, we would find his journal, where we would find out precisely what turn of events had led to the death of Zarwai. . .
XXXX
Lord Wadjer was a patient Vampire. One had to be in order to survive for so long, and Wadjer was ancient indeed. A Trueborn Vampire, he had been among those of the Court of Lahmia who had been given the Elixir of Life by Queen Neferata back in Elder Days. He had been the Admiral of the Fleet of Lahmia, and thus had been allowed to drink of the Elixir of Life, as was due his station and importance in keeping the City safe from attack. Accordingly, he had over four millennia to hone his patience.
Of course, much of that had been spent asleep, kept locked in stasis thanks to the ancient magics he had taken from his homelands and installed in his tomb. Spells of Stasis, to keep him hale and sane without the need for constant feedings. He had come to the far North, fleeing the wrath of Alcadizaar the Conqueror and Nagash after him. Others had fled elsewhere, such as the Queen, who had fled into the Dark Lands, Maatmases who had fled to the Southlands, or Harakhte, who fled East to Grand Cathay. Even Proud Abhorash had ultimately fled, after it had become clear that the others had left already, fleeing to Araby. They had all fled the massacre at Lahmia, though rather than seek to sire his own cabal of childer, but merely sought to hide away until such a time as the World no longer bent to the Will of Nagash.
Of course, when he had awoken, it had been due to a great battle raging in the caverns above his tomb that had damaged the protections he had put in place to keep him in stasis. It had been, he would later find out, a battle between the Arabyans and some new nation he had never heard of, whose ancestors would have been scarcely building dung huts and herding goats along the vast steppes North and West of Cathay back when Lahmia was at its height. This he learned over a period of nine days, abducting, interrogating, and feeding on the people of the City in the Caverns, which he had come to learn was named Zarwai, above.
Once he had seen to the depopulation of that City, he had attempted to fix the protections on his tomb, as he had found that Nagash was still someone to be wary of, since apparently, he made a habit of returning from death. However, this was to no avail, as the battle that had damaged his tomb had rendered his wards broken beyond his meagre capability to repair. After all, he was hardly a fully-fledged Liche-Priest, not like W'soran and Vashanesh had been. Without the availability of the stasis wards on his tomb, he had been forced to subsist on the blood of vermin. Bats, rats, and lizards primarily formed his diet. It had been meagre fare, but unfortunately, none of the nearby settlements had quite so many people that he could steal one or two for daily feedings without being noticed.
It seemed the War that the Arabyans had instigated had left the area largely depopulated and reduced to a shadow of its former self. True, that meant the land was ripe for the taking, but it also meant that until such land was taken and consolidated under the rule of a single party, Wadjer would have to refrain from feeding upon the inhabitants of the local settlements too often. Of course, he only had access to such settlements, even sparingly, for two centuries before something happened to bury the egress from the Cavern City of Zarwai, trapping him in here with the Bats, Rats, Lizards, and the Dead.
To get around such problems with feeding, Wadjer had begun breeding members of a local Bat Colony, making them larger, so that he might require less time spent hunting bats. His population of Giant Bats had been his primary source of food until three centuries ago, when he came across a curious sight. Rats who walked on two legs like men, and who used weapons and armor, who communicated in their own language, and who seemed organized. The first patrol had managed to tunnel into his tomb by mistake, something that had enraged Wadjer to no end. He had slaughtered them all, feasting on their blood and taking their possessions for his own.
This occurred on and off for three centuries, as the Ratmen, who Wadjer had since learned were called Skaven, periodically sent an expedition to discover new tunnels that might help them flank their enemies in their periodic battles amongst themselves. Every few decades, one of these expeditions would find his tomb, and Wadjer would slaughter them, feeding on them and seizing their possessions for his own. He had amassed a great store of weapons and armor of these Skaven, along with piles of coin from many nations that these expeditions had previously looted, as well as vast stores of more curious things, talismans, magical weaponry, odd potions, and strange discs of warpstone that were seemingly used as internal currency among the more high-ranking Skaven.
Eventually, instead of slaying the next expedition, Wadjer had sought to dominate the wills of the Skaven who disturbed him. In this manner, he gained underlings for himself in Queg, Skunch, and their followers. They had become his loyal minions, and he had lavished gifts on them as a leader should. Unfortunately, he had recently sent them to deal with a group of intruders in the Cavern City of Zarwai above, and they had not returned. Worse, Wadjer had felt a massive explosion from the Courtyard of the Arabyan Palace. He feared his leal subjects had not survived, after all, they were such fragile creatures.
Now, Wadjer took up his blade, armor, and shield once again, his ebon skin, darkened from its natural hue into the color of night, and hardened to be like armor in and of itself, would not be enough to protect him from such an explosion. For the first time, he wore his enchanted bronze, a gift from his Queen Neferata that had allowed him to overcome one of the traditional weaknesses of his kind, that of Running Water, that he might carry out his duties as Admiral of Lahmia without hindrance.
As well, he took up the Shield of Ptra's Grace once more, the slab of enchanted bronze providing him protection against the other banes of Vampire-Kind, the light of the Sun, and the Heat of Flames. Such a shield had served him well during the fighting against Alcadizaar the Conqueror, whose forces thought themselves safe from reprisals by any of Lahmia's elite Vampire Troops during the day, only for Wadjer to prove them wrong with a painful and final lesson.
Finally, he took up his blade, the Sea Asp's Tongue, a Khopesh of enchanted Bronze, which was deadly not only to mortals, via the mystic poison that the blade produced, but also was deadly to his fellow vampires, as he had specifically requested such a weapon be forged in order to more easily deal with the Conspiracy of Sebak, another Trueborn Vampire, and the Commander of Lahmia's City Guards, who sought to betray the City of Lahmia to its enemies. It had been this blade that had ended Sebak's unlife in a duel that Wadjer felt had been one of his finest moments.
So equipped, Wadjer made his way out of his tomb, through the Catacombs of the Alcazar of Zarwai, where the Corpses of Sulieman the Stout and his young Aide-de-Camp Walid Al-Kharzai were interred, and up into the Palace of the Alcazar Proper, past the last resting place of the Sorcerer Abdul Ibn-Salaf, who had sought to destroy Wadjer with Fire during his assault on the remaining Arabyan Forces in Zarwai, only to learn that the Shield of Ptra's Grace provided Wadjer and Absolute Defense against such attacks. It was the last lesson that Abdul Ibn-Salaf would learn before Wadjer popped his head like a melon with his bare hands, using the surprise the Sorcerer felt as an opening to do so.
It was as he made his way into the Grand Hall of the Alcazar that the first signs of intruders having penetrated the Alcazar of Zarwai proper showed themselves. The dead fools who had been celebrating when Wadjer had begun his assault had all been stripped of their jewelry and weaponry, which had been piled up in the corner alongside the Gold and Silver Tableware and Cutlery. That was a clear sign that someone was here and intent on looting the Alcazar.
Wadjer grinned to himself, fangs protruding from his lips as he did so. They had likely made their way down the other path, where the Skulking, Timid, Mouse of a Spymaster had attempted to ride out Wadjer's wrath behind a barricaded door. Wadjer would wait for them here in the Grand Hall of the Alcazar of Zarwai. When they inevitably returned this way, he would show them just why they should not have trifled with his minions and property.
It would be a painful and final lesson for those poor fools, one that Lord Wadjer would cherish the memory of teaching for some time to come. . .
XXXX
AN: All right, so here's the next chapter. Unfortunately, I have just written so much for this introductory adventure in Warhammer Fantasy that I am unable to get it all out in just a few chapters. Suffice it to say, Skaven, Giant Bats, and Trolls aren't the only enemies in here. There is also a Trueborn Vampire to contend with as well. Fortunately, Wadjer has been subsisting largely off the blood of Bats, Lizards, Rats, and the occasional Skaven Expedition. Accordingly, he is both weaker than he would be at full power, while also being somewhat less than rational, thanks to having repeatedly drunk skaven blood over the last couple of centuries. He'll be an easier fight than he otherwise would have been, but that still means he's likely to be the most difficult fight that the MC and his Companions will face in this entire journey.
As for how this all fits into canon, the Skaven are from Fever Spike and the Putrid Stump, two Skaven Strongholds in the Vaults, who are constantly at each other's throats. The idea of periodically sending out scouting parties to try and find tunnels by which the forces of Fever Spike can outflank those of the Putrid Stump and vice versa is entirely in keeping with Canon. As for Lord Wadjer being a Trueborn Vampire, to be fair, we don't know exactly how many Trueborn Neferata made with her Elixir of Life, just that some of them never returned after fleeing Lahmia, while others were destroyed by Alcadizaar or Nagash, depending on the period. Hell, of the ones we know about, we also know of two who are still kicking around in the Southlands and Cathay, so clearly not all of the Trueborn who managed to flee did so and then came back later. Wadjer is one of those.
At any rate, the next chapter will include the rest of the exploration of the Alcazar of Zarwai, alongside the fight with Wadjer, Admiral of Lahmia. I'll also have a character sheet update and some more images out before then.
Stay tuned. . .
