Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Vretch thrust a claw beneath his robes and scratched furiously at his greasy fur. Mention of his rival always made him itch. Red buboes, red! he thought. ‘Coming, coming, O mighty Skuralanx,’ he said. ‘I read-study quick-quick, yes? I must learn-know all there is, yes-yes?’ He scanned his chambers — the piles of scrolls, the bubbling cauldrons, the dismembered prisoners. Then, more firmly, he said, ‘Yes.’

The conjoined mass of skaven-flesh gave an impatient growl. Loose limbs flailed and claws smacked the stone floor. Blind eyes rolled in their sockets as froth-stained muzzles snapped in apparent frustration. The whole mass gave the impression that it was about to tear itself apart. Vretch stepped back warily.

‘Are you lying to me, Vretch?’ Skuralanx hissed. ‘What is there to study here? Kruk controls the great library in the Dorsal Barbicans, not you.’

And many thanks for reminding me of that, O most scurvy one, Vretch thought sourly. The Libraria Vurmis, the repository of centuries of knowledge gleaned from the far reaches and diverse kingdoms of Ghur by the scholar-knights who’d founded it, lay in the hands of the one skaven singularly unsuited to possess such a treasure.

‘Much-much, yes,’ he said, gesturing around in what he hoped was a placatory fashion. ‘More than one library in this squirming bastion, O mighty one.’

He hunched forward and swept out a crusty claw, indicating his surroundings. ‘I have found many-much secrets, O Conniving Shadow,’ he said obsequiously. ‘There is a world apart, in the guts of the great worm. One of the missing Libers is there — your most loyal and faithful and devoted servant is certain!’

The blind eyes of the conjoined skaven rolled towards him, as if peering at him in judgement. The bulk swelled and quivered for a moment. Then Skuralanx said, ‘Yessss. Find this world for me, Vretch of Clan Morbidus, and Skuralanx the Cunning shall see that you are rewarded beyond your wildest imaginings.’ Several gnarled claws rose and gestured contemptuously. ‘First, however, you must hurry-quick and send your devotees tailwards. The old enemy has come, riding sky-fire and bringing pain for the Children of the Horned Rat.’

‘The lightning,’ Vretch said. He had seen the storm-things before, at a distance, some months ago. It had been in the Jade Kingdoms, and he twitched as he recalled the gigantic silver-armoured warrior who had slaughtered so many of his fellows in the Glade of Horned Growths. That was where he’d first made Skuralanx’s acquaintance. The Scurrying Dark had filched his broken form from the battlefield, and they had made their bargain in the shadow of the great Blight Oak.

‘Yes,’ Skuralanx murmured, through many mouths. ‘The destroyers of Clan Rikkit, the harrowers of Murgid Fein and Cripple Fang, have come to Shu’gohl.’

‘And you want me to… go towards them, greatest of authorities?’ Vretch asked.

‘Yesss.’

Vretch scrubbed at his muzzle. After a moment, he said, ‘Why, O most scurviest of scurvies?’

‘They will defeat Kruk. Or he will defeat them. But either way, the Libraria Vurmis will be lost to you. You must claim it and all of its wisdom,’ Skuralanx hissed. The Conglomeration grew agitated, and the plinth creaked beneath its weight.

‘But… I already have it, most blemished one,’ Vretch said, peering at the Conglomeration. ‘Access to it, at least.’ He scratched at his chin, dislodging a shower of lice. ‘Yes-yes, all mine — ours! Ours! — most lordliest of lords.’

The blistered muzzles of the Conglomeration turned towards him. The question hung unspoken on the air. Vretch shrunk back, somewhat unnerved by the expressions on its faces. ‘I–I have a claw in Kruk’s camp, my most cunning and wise and beautiful master,’ he said, slyly.

The daemonically possessed mass grew still. Then, as one, the many mouths sighed, ‘Of course you do.’

The smell of blood hung as heavy as dust on the air of the Libraria Vurmis, and it only grew stronger as Kruk dug one blistered talon into the cheek of the man-thing. Squeelch clutched at his ears as the man-thing began to scream again. The cries echoed through the wide, circular chamber and even out along the ramparts of the Dorsal Barbicans, in which the library nestled. Kruk chittered in pleasure and continued with his ministrations, pulling and peeling the human’s abused flesh until bone gleamed through the raw red.

‘Talk-talk, man-thing,’ Kruk gurgled, holding up a gobbet of dripping meat. ‘Talk, or lose more bits, yes-yes.’