Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Chapter 395 246. Contest between rats

In the sky so high, it's hard to tell exactly where the mountains end and the clouds begin.

Thick fog rolled down the mountain slopes, blocking the deep ravines and isolating the tall pines that clung to the rocky heights. The smell of granite, sap, pine needles, and snow seeped into the tunnels, barely concealing the damp stench of rodent pelts emanating from the hordes of Skaven lurking in the darkness below.

Gray Prophet Nashrik stood at the entrance of the tunnel and glared fiercely at the mountains. The agoraphobia buried deep in his blood aroused the fear in his heart. His preferred residence is deep underground, where he can hide in the stinky darkness. , feeling the hard stone against his beard. It seemed to him that no sane Skaven would roam around in the open as the scent would carry for miles.

Many horrific reports were brought back to Skavenmord about Husker Gnawer, a powerful heretic sorcerer said to have mastered the cursed death magic. It is said that he massacred the entire clan and took the clan name as his own. It is said that he animated the corpses of his clans and formed an army of the walking dead, and later used his undead army to wipe out many smaller clans and take their meager resources for himself.

Regardless of the veracity of these stories, they indirectly confirm that Husker has some power and ambition to match.

Nashrik continued to squint at the scenery in front of him and think about it. Once he was sent to investigate a half-crazy engineer warlock of the Skry clan.

The Warlock Engineer has been trying to mobilize resources to build a huge cannon, which he plans to use to launch the explorers onto Morslieb. His reasoning was that he believed Morslieb was made of warpstone, and he attempted to prove his point by having Nashrick look at a giant lens array he called a "sniffer."

What Nashrick saw now was a bit like the desolate moonscape he had seen through his sniffer. The ground was old and lifeless, filled with large craters and ugly wounds. Muddy waters seep out of desolate places, murky and gray.

It's a simple matter of following the water back to its source, a vast system of hoses and pumps, each manned by dozens of Skaven. Pipes are pulled up the slopes of mountains and pressurized water is sprayed onto the rocks, crushing them until they collapse into a jumble of rubble.

Then a swarm of scrawny Skaven swarmed into the ruins, dragging away most of the rubble. Sometimes a thin slave would wave a green stone and shout. What followed was a group of guards who would beat the slave, steal the loot, and place it in a lockbox.

The benefits of the brutal strip-mining operation are clear, with thousands of slaves toiling on the hillsides, hundreds of technicians operating hoses, and a veritable army of armed guards overseeing the process.

Nashlik watched for a while and then shook his head, staring fiercely at the slaves and their overseers. He is here for a purpose as the Gray Seer, and he is here because these Skaven have forgotten their place in the grand scheme of things, their due gratitude to the Horned Rat and the Council of Thirteen. The Skaven's due tribute was ignored, and due devotion to the Holy Prophet was not made. These unforgivable crimes cannot be escaped by the subjects of the Underworld. If any Skaven think they can do whatever they want, the fabric of Skaven civilization will collapse!

Nashrik was followed by a powerful army. He turned his head and looked at the army rats in the pit with a proud smile on their faces. His army followed him all the way from the sacred city of Skaven. Hundreds of tenacious Clan Rats, dozens of ferocious Storm Rats, dozens of Clan Skryre weapons teams armed with deadly weapons!

certainly! There is also the powerful Gray Prophet Nashirik, who is the favorite of Lord Kritisrit of the Gray Prophet Council! Sword of Parliament! Messenger of the Horned Rat! His magic alone is enough to wipe out those puny slaves and ridiculous guards.

A lanky Skaven crawled to Nashrik's side. Like Nashrik, the lanky Skaven had light gray fur and wore a gray robe. The horns on his head were low. of joints. His name was Vigil, and he was Nashirik's apprentice, the latest in a long line of apprentices mentored by the elder gray prophet.

However, Vigil is not only a Gray Seer apprentice, he is also Nashrik's personal servant, assuming all duties that are too trivial or dangerous for his mentor to easily lead to death. He currently serves as his mentor and commander. Liaison between warlords of an army.

"Inform him and start attacking! Surround the mine and kill everyone who dares to resist!" Nashrik roared.

"He wants to know where the tyrannical Nashrik is..." Vigil complained, shaking his head before adding lamely, "He... he's worried... about your safety."

Nashrik bared his fangs and sneered, knowing that the warlord was not worried about his safety, but just wanted to use his magic to fight, letting him exhaust his power and use his magic to destroy the enemy team. Then the warlord's army will sweep away the survivors without any losses. Perhaps the warlord has greater ambitions. For example, when he is exhausted, he can easily become prey on the Storm Rat's halberd. The warlord can claim that he was killed in the battle. , this way, when the army returns to Skaven Mordor, the only remaining warlord will be regarded as a hero!

"Tell him... that I will stay here! I must communicate with the Horned Rat and ensure that our troops will be blessed. You will act as my agent while I am gone and use your magic to help him as much as possible." Nash Rick said to Virgil hypocritically.

"But...you taught me too little magic. I'm not as powerful as...you..." The smell seeped out from Vigil's glands, and he trembled with fear.

"I suggest you not to overwork yourself. If you want to become a Gray Seer, it is important to understand the limits of your abilities, and of course... your ambitions!" Nashrik roared threateningly.

The battle started quickly and ended quickly. Only a dozen Clanrats died in Nashrik's army, most of them from a squad of overexcited Toxic Wind Grenadiers. He dismissed it as an accident rather than anything else, and besides, weapons teams were expensive but cost-effective, and clan rats were easily replaceable.

Realizing that their situation was hopeless, the slaves and guards surrendered almost immediately. Nashrik looked at the trembling, groveling captives begging and crying in front of him expressionlessly. In his opinion, more poor people were killed after being captured than died in the actual battle.

Many more wretches would have died at this moment had it not been for the army's discovery of the mine's supply of food, and the loss did not faze the Nashrik, these wretches being either willing accomplices or hapless instruments of rejection of parliamentary authority, whatever, these wretches The poor guy's fate was sealed.

Nashrik was basking in the sight of his triumphant victory over Skaven Mordor, and although his victory was tainted by the as-yet-unfound Husker, he could easily blame the failure on the incompetence of the warlords and troops. If there's anything a rat commander can't stand more than betrayal, it's stupidity! The warlord will suffer from this failure, while he profits from the success. If the warlords had been smarter, their roles might have been reversed. Of course, he suspected that the warlord was not as cunning as he thought, and he had already arranged an accident for the warlord.

A small piece of warpstone was stuffed into Nashrick's mouth. He liked the stone that could provide fuel for his magic. At this moment, his ears suddenly stood up and he looked at the storm rats coming towards him. , a skinny, withered rat-man with dirty fur and tattered robes came forward driven by the storm rats. He suppressed himself from screaming in excitement.

However, it turned out that Nashrick was right, this group of fools were incompetent, and this was not Husker, but Husker's messenger.

"Grey Prophet Nashrik of Skaven Mordor, Husk Gnawer wishes to discuss with you. He wants to talk to you about respect and surrender." The messenger's voice was a dry whisper, and his voice was like an open door. 's grave.

Nashrick's attention was focused on the word salute; he had no interest in surrender or anything like that.

Hasker is a bigger idiot than a warlord if he thinks he can be forgiven by Parliament for what he did before. However, it must be admitted that he has produced a large amount of warpstone, and regardless of why he buried himself in the cave, he may be hiding something more.

When the messenger spoke to Nashrik about the tribute, his heart moved, and he knew it was meant to bribe him, to turn a blind eye while Hask slipped away. Of course, he didn't have to risk death to let his notorious enemy escape, at least not before he accepted the bribe.

"Take me to the heretic Husker, I will listen to his confession, and if he really repentes, I will ask the council to show mercy." Nashrik announced.

The messenger bowed deeply, baring his throat to the Nashrik, an ancient gesture of obedience and submission.

Nashrik narrowed his eyes and sniffed, trying to read any signs of betrayal or deception in the courier's posture and scent. However, he found nothing, a fact that only made his nerves jitter. Because Rat people tend to relax more when they know they are being deceived.

"We're going to hunt down heretics, right?" the warlord asked, rubbing his paws, and there was an uncontrollable excitement in his words.

Nashrik could not ignore the greedy light in the warlord's eyes, and he began to weigh that if he took the warlord with him, he would not only be wary of Hasker's betrayal, but also be wary of the warlord's betrayal. In his opinion, the magic that Husk boasted was nothing more than that. He could deal with it easily. It would be easier and safer if he faced Husk alone. Not only did this allow him to conceal the scale and nature of the Hasker tribute he collected, it also allowed him to spin heroic tales of fighting heretics as he pleased, without any witnesses around to contradict him.

"This may be a trap. Hasker has powerful magic! Only the horned one can resist this dark power. I will face Hasker alone!" Nashrik began to fool, and he enjoyed the warlord's confusion for a while. It will look like a sudden realization.

The warlord swung his tail in annoyance, his scent carrying a hint of unease as he pondered whether to listen to his greed or his fear.

"Virgil!" Nashrik didn't like the warlord's sudden change of attitude, but he ignored it. Instead, he turned his head and roared at his apprentice. After Vigil knelt and crawled to his side again, he Then he said, "I will go and talk to the heretic! You will stay and watch the treasure, and any thief who tries to steal will suffer the wrath of the Horned Rat."

"Take me to the heretic!"

The interior of the cave is a winding maze of rooms and tunnels starting at the base of the mountain. There was a distinct regularity to the main passage that was entirely unlike how the Skaven behaved, and the air was filled with an unsettling smell of decay and bone. The walls were covered with strange hieroglyphics, crude and barbaric things that had an unsettling sense of antiquity. Nashrik realized that this was the product of someone long lost in time, perhaps a primitive clan of humans, or the earliest dwarven creatures.

Whatever the nature of the builders, it was easy for Nashrik to guess the purpose of these tunnels. These are ancient catacombs used to house the dead. Among the lower races, it is a foolish and base custom to bury the dead, leaving the flesh to rot in darkness, providing no food for anything but maggots and worms.

As Nashrik followed the messenger through the dreary passages, he glimpsed the connecting corridors and discovered that Hasker had adopted barbaric customs. Room after room is filled with the rotting corpses of countless Skaven, many of whom are nothing more than fleshless skeletons. If he had ever thought that he had some kind of agreement with Husker, the sight of this moment erased that thought.

As they went deeper, the smell of death and decay became stronger. Nashrik grabbed the messenger's shoulders, forcing the messenger to stop, and he began to sniff the air. He had a cold, clammy feeling, his fur crawling with uneasiness, warnings flashing through his senses. Perhaps the heretic Hasker did have a certain level of power. How much, he could not determine at the moment. He turned his head and looked at a tunnel. Now it seemed that breaking into the heretic's lair alone was not a smart idea.

Warlord Hexue fooled Nashrik! Those two cowards never should have let him take such a risk!

"Follow... follow, it's not far now." The messenger gasped, while still breaking free from Nashrik's restraints.

Nashrik hesitated. He saw no sign of activity. He saw no hidden trap. Either Husker hid it beyond belief, or Husker's surrender and tribute were genuine. Just to be safe, he put a piece of warpstone into his mouth, pushing the warpstone into his cheek pouch. If there was trouble he could use the power of the warpstone to summon a spell that would make a hasty escape, he didn't want to lose time by taking it out of his robe pocket.

After passing through the deathly darkness, Nashrik came to a larger room. It seemed to him that there were signs of Skaven architecture, but he did not get the slightest solace. He saw a wall covered with The niches were full, each containing the yellowed bones of some creature. He saw the bones of dwarves, orcs, and humans, as well as rare elven bones. He rarely saw elven bones, but the smell of them was unmistakable. Even after death, there is still a trace of magic left in the skeleton.

Even more unsettling to Nashrik was the sight of a group of Skaven forming a wide formation in the center of the room, a more complete group of corpses. The corpses have been reduced to morbid trophies, preserved through some crude taxidermy.

Nashrik saw the crouching figure of an Eshin clan assassin, a dagger held in his claws and tail, his silk cassock slowly decaying into dim fragments. He saw the figure of the sharpshooter of the Skry clan. One of the sharpshooter's eyes was replaced by a huge telescope, and his claws were tightly grasped on the rusty gun. He saw the twisted body of a Rotten Clan trapper holding a bear trap, and a struggling Skaven specimen waiting for death in the trap.

Although the specimens were in different states of decay, they were all-inclusive. What surprised Nashrick the most was the first-generation version of the Hell Pit Abomination at the end. He didn't understand why this thing was here.

"If you go wrong, you will die!" A dry rattling sound resounded in the passage, like wind blowing through the chest.

Nashlik jumped back, body tensed, every nerve burning with fear. He raised his staff and summoned a trace of magic, causing the inverted triangle icon on the top of the staff to glow with a dark green light.

In the strange light, Nashrik saw a pale figure pushing out from behind the rotten trophies. The figure was the dry body of a rat man. The hairless skin was pale, tight on the bone structure, and the body was wrapped Wearing horrific robes made from the skinned skins of other Skaven. The hood framed the rat's thin, almost skeletal face and was decorated with huge curled horns. The shining eyes were strange due to ancient evil. A human skull was made into a necklace and hung under the figure's neck. The light from the skull's eye sockets echoed the light from the figure's eyes.

Nashrick could feel the shadow of fear looming over him, and in his second vision he could make out the mist emanating from the figure, which looked as lifeless and lifeless as everything else in the room. However, this figure's leprous skin does not exude the smell of any living thing. The figure can move and even gather the most primitive life forms. This is a horror in itself! For him, this fear was even more serious. He knew what the figure was, and he knew that what he was staring at was Husk Gnawer.

Vicious cackles came from Husker's mouth, one paw caressing the skull hanging on his chest, the other paw tightened on the staff, the light in his eyes becoming stronger and more threatening.

Nashirik took another step back, tail between his legs. He knew he had indeed been deceived! He was deceived and encouraged into this crazy and reckless behavior by the greedy obsession of those two guys. Those two guys' crazy desire for glory and wealth led him into terrible danger. Husker is not a little magician, but a terrifying wizard with amazing power.

"Sometimes it is wise to pretend to be weak and hide strength. We conquered more than a dozen clans with such a strategy. Few living people can understand the power of the dead." Hasker said slowly, he seemed to understand Nashrik's heart. Thoughts, he continued after gesturing with his staff, "these killers who seek us want to win the Horned Rat's favor through our death. However, the opposite is true. They embrace death."

Nashrik felt his glands tightening, and his eyes scanned the pile of rotting specimens again. In addition to the elite forces of the major clans, he even saw the Plague Incense Burner Monks of the Plague Clan. He suddenly discovered that there were still a few among these specimens. Something happened, which intensified his fear, because there was no Gray Prophet! A flash of inspiration suddenly flashed in his mind. This heretic had not yet fallen on the path of blasphemy to the point of confronting the Prophet of the Horned Rat!

"I'm here to show respect and surrender, not to listen to the heretics' threats and boasts!" This thought injected strength into Nashlik's spine, and he straightened his body and angrily scolded Husker.

"We will listen to your proposal." Hasker said with a nod.

"All the warpstones and slaves! If there were many, many, many more, I might tell Lord Gray Seer Kritisrit that I can't smell your scent." Nashrik swung his tail in annoyance, he was a little angry, he The maggots in front of me were actually bargaining.

"You made a mistake. It was you who discussed surrender, not us." Hasker's dry laughter spread throughout the passage.

"I am a Gray Seer! Not a slave sent by some small clan! I have an entire army outside the passage, and my magic can kill you like fleas!"

"We've dealt with the Gray Seers before, and when they issue a threat, they usually cast a spell first." Husker's chuckle sounded again.

After Husker finished speaking, a terrifying light began to flash in his eyes, the room became cold, and Nashrik's breath turned to frost.

Nashrik's hair began to squirm when he felt something behind him, and he jumped to the side, nudging the warpstone shard with his tongue, preparing to crush it with his fangs and use the energy within to power an escape spell. However, the horrific scene in front of him made him stop moving. Driven by fear, he dropped the dimension stone in his mouth to the ground, and a sense of pure fear swept through his body.

Nashrik saw shadows with a ghostly glow surrounding them, illuminating fleshless skulls and bones, the black robes of ghostly figures fluttering and swaying in the nonexistent wind. What frightened him most was that he saw horns on the skulls of these ghostly figures, which meant that these figures were Gray Prophets in their lifetime.

"It was him in the beginning. He brought an army four times your size to kill." Hasker pointed at one of the figures with a smile, and then said, "These two Gray Prophets were sent together, maybe they were Is this combination of magic enough to overwhelm us? This Gray Seer leads a pack of hive-rats that breed in the deepest depths of Hell's Abyss, and then you."

Nashrick had lost all confidence now. He frowned and listened to Hasker's story while keeping his eyes on the floor, trying to find the warpstone he had spit out before.

"They were all sent by Kritisrit to destroy us. We think he has learned enough lessons and will not send out a weaker army than before!" Husker roared, and then a chirping sound came from his Sliding through the fangs, "Of course, unless he wants you to fail!"

Nashrick raised his head, and Hasker's words were like a sharp dagger piercing his heart. Hasker is right! It makes no sense for Kritisrit to send out a weaker force than before! Unless Lord Gray Seer originally planned to let him fail and let Husker destroy him!

Nashrik roared through gritted teeth, Kritisrit must have known about his meeting with other Gray Prophets and the role he played in helping other Gray Prophets become Gray Prophet Lords. The scheming Critislit must have had spies around him, sniffing out any sign of disloyalty even among his most loyal servants, and he immediately thought of the suspicious Vergil. He finally concluded that this spy must be his own apprentice Virgil! The young apprentice was too reliable and helpful to be trusted. So, this is how Kritisrit got rid of him, by having him killed by a heretical necromancer!

"You were sent here to fail, but that is not your destiny. We will accept your surrender if you offer tribute."

Nashrik glared at Hasker. He didn't like the arrogance of the heretic in front of him, but when he looked back, he shuddered. Being a pet had no appeal to him.

"How can the most humble and loyal Gray Seer serve the great Husker?" Nashrik whimpered.

"First we must know whether you are useful to us." Hasker narrowed his eyes and stared at Nashlik's eyes. He shuffled a step closer, his voice turning into a conspiratorial whisper, "Tell me, have you learned the forbidden thirteenth ritual?"

Nashrik trembled when he heard this question. Few Gray Seers could understand this most sacred magic, or even know how this terrible spell worked. Yet he knew how to use this spell, which he had stolen from the grimoire of another Gray Seer, and he was proud of his thievery skills, for his victims did not know the spell either, and therefore would never Mention this crime.

Instinctively, Nashrik wanted to deny knowing the spell, but a warning in the back of his mind made him bite his tongue. Husker clearly needs such magic, and this need is valuable to Husker, perhaps enough to make his aid quite expensive. And there was a feeling in his heart that if he told Hasker that he didn't know, he would quickly join the ghosts.

"I am proficient in all the great rituals!" Nashrik declared, standing straight, his fear fading and his body swelling with pride. He then added, stating the huge number that came to mind, "But my magic doesn't come cheap, I need a lot of warpstone, the weight of thirteen slaves!"

"Deal, we will give you a gift of the weight of a hundred slaves." After finishing speaking, Hasker looked at the Gray Prophet's disbelieving expression. His laughter spread throughout the passage again, and he put his paw touching the skull under his neck. He came down and reached into the bag on his belt. He calmly took out a dimension stone as big as his fist, "We have many, many dimension stones, but I don't need the dimension stone."

"You don't need the dimension stone?" Nashrick shook his head and moved his bulging eyes away from the dimension stone in Hasker's hand. If the monster in front of him didn't want the dimension stone, what did it want? he whispered in disbelief.

"We want to find a greater power, a lost power...hidden in the pools of the forest, and you will help us find and master this power."

"Trust, trust me, yes, yes!" Nashrick once again had the unsettling feeling that Hasker could indeed read his mind. And he showed extreme fear at the thought of the invading Elven Forest, which was a dark legend in the Skaven society. Entering there would only lead to death for the Skaven. However, he no longer cared about this. Looking back to the warpstone, he eagerly agreed.

"Okay!" Hasker hissed as he put the piece of warpstone back into the bag.

A zombie slave shuffled over, and as Nashrik watched, Husker held a large flask from the loathsome creature's rotting hands, and he saw Husker smile slyly at him.

"Do your troops eat much? Take food from the mouths of our slaves?" Hasker asked, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Then he made a gesture, and the zombie slave shook the flask to Nashrik. He said in a commanding tone, "Drink, this is the antidote to our poison. We poisoned the slaves' food. , so they will definitely stay so they can get the antidote."

Nashrik's eyes widened again and he grabbed the bottle and poured its contents eagerly into his mouth. It wasn't until he drank half of the red liquid that he suddenly realized that Hasker might have lied. What he drank was actually poison, not an antidote!

Hasker waved his claws again, and more zombie slaves came out of the darkness. The backs of the zombie slaves became bent under the weight of several large wooden barrels. Nashrik smelled it, and he knew that the substance in the barrels was related to him. The same substance that I just drank.

"Go and provide your army with more antidotes. If you hurry up, you might be able to give them to them in time. Of course, no matter life or death, they will still serve us." Hasker said with a shrug.

Hearing Husker's words, Nashrik shuddered. For the first time, he realized the evil of this creature that was allied with him.

Kritisrit is the gray prophet lord who was beaten to pieces by the Horned Rat in ET.