Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Kruk glanced around at the Reeking Choir. Skug and his smoke-wreathed followers were loyal, and almost as ferocious as Kruk himself. With them, he could bully almost any congregation into line. And, indeed, had — his forces had swelled threefold as they retreated from the Dorsal Barbicans. Newly loyal bands of plague monks sought his benevolent protection, and swarmed to the sound of his bells. Unless they too had been suborned. A plot, then. Enemies all around him. Should he kill Skug first — or wait and see?

‘Where are they?’ one of the others chittered. Kruk blinked.

‘What? Speak up,’ he snapped.

‘No guards,’ Skug said, whirling his censer absently. The gates to the Setaen Palisades loomed above them, unguarded, unlit, seemingly unbarred. The gates were massive sections of worm-scale, shaped to fit in a gap between the first tier of the palisades. Scenes from the history of the Crawling City had been carved on their sprawling surface. All in all, a magnificent sight.

Kruk gestured, and a geyser of greenish light washed over the gates, reducing them to sloughing ruin. Gouts of thick, reeking smoke rolled over them and filled the narrow streets behind them, momentarily obscuring the sky above. Kruk stumped forward through the smoke, shoulders hunched, tail lashing. His congregation followed at a respectful distance.

Screams rose up from the courtyard beyond, as Kruk and his congregation swarmed up the wide steps towards it. If any of Vretch’s warriors were waiting for them, Kruk would give them more than they bargained for. Skug and the others howled out prayers as they streamed into the courtyard, ready for battle. But there was no one there to greet them, save a pathetic lot of man-things, trapped in domed slave-cages. These were scattered about a series of rickety scaffolds and mine-works, set up over vast, bubbling wounds in the worm’s flesh.

The man-things set up a wail as they caught sight of the skaven. Kruk paid them no heed. They would make for adequate chattel, when the time came, and, even better, they were already in cages. He caught sight of a massive doom gong set up in the centre of the courtyard. He stalked towards it, eye scanning the towers and tiers of the palace-citadel. Why did the man-things always build up? It made no sense. Madness was what it was. When the worm was dead and Vretch was dead and all of his enemies were dead-dead-dead, Kruk would burrow deep into the putrefying flesh of Shu’gohl and build his warren in the worm’s guts.

He struck the gong with his censer, summoning the defenders of this place. He struck it again, before the echoes of the first had faded. Kruk smashed the gong again and again until it warped beneath the force of his blows. He heard a soft scurrying, somewhere high up and far away. His tail lashed. Cowards. Of course they were hiding. Well, they would come out, or his congregation would drag them out by their tails.

‘Skug, you and the Reeking Choir shall accompany me. The rest of you — find our hosts. Drag them out if you must. Bang the gongs, ring the bells, call them, let them know that the Archfumigant, their new master, has arrived. This place is ours now — Glory to the Fumes!’ he snarled.

By nature, however fractious they became at those rare intervals when greed and ambition overcame their natural amiability, the skaven inevitably sought safety in numbers. Unlike Kruk, the laity needed companionship. They needed to be surrounded by their kin and fellow believers. An illness shared was an illness strengthened. Besides, how could you stab someone in the back if there was no one in front of you? More would come, every scattered clawband and isolated procession, because there was nowhere else to go. But would they arrive before the enemy?

Kruk started towards the tallest of the towers, Skug hurrying in his wake. ‘Master, where do we go?’ the censer bearer gurgled.

‘Vretch is a vainglorious fool. He knows nothing of humbleness or piety, of servitude. He will have taken the largest of these for himself. I will claim it as mine, yes-yes, as is my right,’ Kruk growled. If Vretch had found the Liber, that was where it would be. Skug opened his flayed muzzle as if to comment, but quickly fell silent.

Stiff-legged with righteous fury, Kruk led his followers up through the tower. It took a long time to reach the domed chamber at the summit, but Kruk’s energy was inexhaustible. His claw still tingled from the touch of the star-devil’s weapon. It hurt like an old burn, and the pain drove him on.