Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘I do not ask for fear, Lord-Celestant. Merely restraint.’

‘Restraint?’ Zephacleas growled.

‘Some, yes. A modicum of caution, even,’ Seker said, mildly. He turned. ‘The stockades are down, Lord-Celestant. Shall we advance?’

‘Yes,’ Zephacleas said. He spun his hammer in a tight circle. ‘I have the sudden urge to hit something.’

CHAPTER TWO The Coming of the Star-Devils

Vretch hummed to himself as he made the preparations for his journey. Stacks of tomes, scrolls and parchments, many now weighed down with mould or warped by the wet heat of the pox-cauldrons bubbling away throughout his chamber at the top of the Setaen Palisades, awaited his inspection. Most, if not all, had been smuggled from the Libraria Vurmis by Squeelch — loyal, craven, untrustworthy Squeelch — or captured by his own forces when many of the library’s man-thing guardians had fled towards Shu’gohl’s head. They’d fled right into his clutches.

‘Sought to keep them out of Kruk’s hands, good plan, yes-yes, smart plan,’ he chittered, glancing up at the rusty gibbets which hung from the roof of the chamber. ‘Useful man-things, so useful.’ Things that had once been human crouched or slumped within them, their abscess-covered bodies twitching fitfully as what he’d planted within them grew agitated. Soon, those abscesses would ripen and burst, and his greatest weapons would be unleashed on whichever foe happened to be nearby. He scrubbed his muzzle in satisfaction.

‘Very useful, yes,’ he muttered. The man-things had shown an almost skaven-like cunning and foresight in guarding their knowledge — the most valuable bits of it anyway. The moment Kruk had first set his clumsy claw on the steps of the Libraria Vurmis, they had been scurrying in the opposite direction, fleeing through the Scar-roads — hollows of scar tissue, running beneath the worm’s hide, hidden from the eyes of all but those who knew where to look. They’d fled through those secret tunnels and right into Vretch’s claws, as his forces pushed from the opposite end of the worm. Even better, they’d brought the heart of the library with them: the most ancient texts, crumbling scrolls scoured by peddlers and explorers from the distant shores of the Hollow Sea and the now-lost Citadel of the Midnight Sun.

But those were as nothing next to the true treasure — the Mappo Vurmio, the Map of the Worm. Vretch picked up the ancient cartographical volume and ran his claw over it, chittering in delight. Drawn on hairs cut from the setae of the worm that were woven, pressed and dyed, and protected by a cover made from two of the great beast’s scales, the Mappo Vurmio showed the most direct route to Olgu’gohl, the Squirming Sea, within the belly of the worm. What’s more, it showed the way to what Vretch believed to be the source of the strange pestilence he’d come in search of. Somewhere, deep in the worm’s gut, lay one of the missing Libers Pestilent.

The Clans Pestilens, including Morbidus and Festerlingus, had been searching for the Libers Pestilent and the Great Plagues inscribed within them since time immemorial. Seven had been found, but six yet remained, including the one Vretch believed to be hidden somewhere in the Crawling City — which one it was, he didn’t know, but he desired it all the same.

Each of these mighty tomes contained the secrets of one of the Great Plagues — its ingredients, its effects and the ways and means of its brewing. Wars had been fought over them, and he who possessed all of them would become the vessel by which all non-skaven life would be eradicated from the realms, and all of creation given over into the claws of the Great Witherer. Vretch was determined to be that vessel. Or, at the very least, close behind that vessel, ready to enjoy the benefits of such proximity. Unfortunately, that would never be, if Kruk got to it first.

‘But he will not-never! All mine, all mine,’ he hissed, clutching the map to his scrawny chest. ‘Kruk is nothing, a fool, yes, a blind runt, yes-yes!’ He spun in a circle, lifting the book over his cowled head as he danced about in manic glee. ‘Soon, Vretch shall be the Plague-master and Kruk shall be dead-dead-dead.’

He slowed as he realised his assistants were watching him. He snatched the book to his chest and hissed at them. ‘What are you looking at? Prepare my poxes for the journey. Hurry-quick!’ The plague monks scurried to obey, several of them nearly colliding in the process. Vretch watched them for a moment, tail lashing, before turning back to his collection.