Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Overhead, the sky went dark and a burning rain began to fall. It stung his flesh and he waved his censer over his head in an effort to shield himself. The shaking slowed and finally stopped a moment later. Kruk cast a disdainful eye over his followers. ‘Up-up, fools. Up on your claws, quick-quick… we must hurry,’ he snarled, stumping towards the end of the causeway. If they could get in among the ruins, they might be able to ambush the foe. He glanced back at the ruins of his congregation — a few dribbling choirs of censer bearers, and thrice that of sorry-looking plague monks, some of them from Vretch’s procession. Barely a few hundred in all.

It would have to be enough. He had survived worse. He would survive this. The Congregation of Fumes would rise again. Kruk thumped his chest with his censer, hissing in pleasure at the moment of pain. He enjoyed it so much, he did it again, inhaling the fumes. Yessss, he thought, I shall rise like the pox-smoke, once the Liber is in my possession. I shall use that coward Vretch’s spine to stir my cauldron and wear his fangs around my neck. He snickered cheerfully at the thought.

Lightning struck the ground nearby, and his good mood vanished. He snarled defiantly at the sky. Yes, he would survive. And then he would kill this blasted worm and all who dwelt atop it.

‘Look,’ one of his followers chittered, interrupting his reverie. Kruk turned.

A huddled mass of rags and blisters lay weeping audibly at the foot of one of the statues which occupied the central plaza. A wide stain, dotted with tiny worms, marked the path it had taken to get there. The greasy trail led back into the ruins some distance, where a great hole gaped, its edges seared by lightning. Kruk stumped forward. He glared down at the shivering mass. Worms bored in and out of the cracked and weeping blisters which marred the visible flesh, and the whole mass stank of a sickness so potent it made even him hesitate. Kruk nudged the mass with a foot, causing it to roll over. It was Vretch.

The plague priest looked up, and by his expression, Kruk thought his was the last face the other skaven had ever wished to see.

Kruk licked his scarred muzzle and reached down, catching Vretch by the scruff of his neck. Vretch squealed as the other plague priest hauled him bodily to his claws. Disgusted, Kruk flung him back to the ground. Vretch hugged a set of strange golden plaques to his chest and tried to scramble away, but Kruk set a claw on his tail, pinning him in place.

‘Vrrretch,’ the burly skaven growled. ‘Where were you going, Vretch?’ He cocked his head. ‘Is that my Liber, Vretch?’ he asked, slyly.

Vretch squinted up at him with filmy eyes. ‘N-not a Liber,’ he said, finally. He coughed, and something wriggled down his chin.

Kruk’s scarred lip curled. ‘Then what is it? Tell me fast-fast or I shall flay you to the bone,’ he growled.

Vretch began to laugh. It quickly turned into a wracking cough. ‘G-go ahead,’ he wheezed. He extended his arm, and let one mouldering sleeve slide back. The limb was gangrenous, and covered in burrowing black worms. The whole thing looked like it would pop off if you gave it a good twist. Kruk waved his followers back.

‘What have you done?’ he said.

‘Not me… Skuralanx,’ Vretch moaned.

Kruk froze. His growing suspicions bloomed fully and crystallised. He caught Vretch by the throat, ignoring the feel of the worms wriggling beneath the other skaven’s loose flesh.

‘What is the daemon to you? Answer me,’ he snapped, shaking Vretch brutally.

Before Vretch could answer, however, a clamour went up from his followers. Kruk looked up, and saw winged shapes hurtling through the sky above the causeway. Below them came ranks of marching storm-things and star-devils. They were closing in, moving faster than he’d thought possible. He looked back at Vretch.

‘We fight… togetherrr,’ Kruk growled, glaring up at the circling storm-things and flying reptiles. Vretch stared at him for a moment, then nodded weakly.

‘If we must,’ he said.

‘We must,’ Kruk grunted. ‘You will. Or I will kill you myself.’ Kruk thumped his rival in the chest with his censer. ‘We will defend this place with claws and teeth.’

‘Or magic. Magic might be more useful,’ Vretch said.

‘Yessss. Magic,’ Kruk said. His eye fixed on the plaques Vretch held wrapped in his robes. ‘What is that, if not my Liber?’ he demanded, snapping his teeth together inches from Vretch’s snout.

Vretch shook his head. ‘It is something else. But valuable, yes-yes! Valuable nonetheless,’ he simpered. ‘I must get it to Skuralanx. I must…’

Yesss.

Both plague priests turned. Kruk glanced at Vretch. ‘You hear him too?’ Vretch nodded weakly. He coughed, and a wad of something indescribable dripped from his jaws.

Bring me what you have found, Vretch. Hurry-quick! And protect it with your worthless life!