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The Adventures of Sinclaw Darklurker; Just another honest rats honest deeds.
Topic Started: Sat 25 Jun 2016 07:15:50 (553 Views)
Twitch
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The Broken Blade

The Tunnels were dark and everything was unusually quiet in the predominantly residential areas where Sinclaw Darklurker was hiding. The new season of pit fighting was due to commence in a few weeks and there was still so much to do. The meager funds that Sinclaw had accrued so far were dwindling, and would certainly not stretch to what he had planned and so he crouched and waited in the shadows, dark grey cloak hugged tightly around slender shoulders. The weight of his knives hung reassuringly at his hips.

It had been 15 minutes now. Still nothing. Slowly Sinclaw stood, relieving cramping legs and peered up and down the tunnel to ensure he was alone. Nothing. Creeping from his hiding place he swiftly crossed the tunnel to a den entrance and examined the door. It looked like a door, very similar to the previous three he had visited this afternoon. In his mind when he had come up with this half-baked plan he thought that any security measures might be obvious, but after a close run with a swinging axe that nearly decapitated him the previous den he had become more wary. He tried the handle. Predictably it was locked. Sinclaw took a few steps back and sized up the door briefly. It would probably give. It had to give. Sinclaw launched himself at the door a foot placed just below the door handle. There was a crack and a creak but the door held. Sinclaw dived back to his hiding place and waited. No rat came to investigate the noise. Realizing he had been holding his breath Sinclaw exhaled and waited one more minute. Nothing. Sinclaw quickly left the hiding place and crossed to the door once again. This time when he kicked, the locking mechanism caved. Sinclaw Dropped to his belly as the door swung open. He wasn’t risking another axe to the face. Nothing moved within though so hesitantly Sinclaw stood once again.

He had allowed himself 5 minutes for a quick search. He was looking for tokens or anything that could be removed easily and sold. It was apparent that the den he had broken in too was not going to give much but that also meant less security, less chance of getting caught and less chance of anyone but the owner caring if he was discovered. After grabbing a few things including a small purse on the way out, Sinclaw left.

Sinclaw walked for an hour trying not to look suspicious and after taking a convoluted route through the twisting tunnels he finally arrived at another door. This time he took out a key.

Sinclaw Darklurker opened the door to his lab, the final preparations were nearing completion. Soon he would step forth in to the arena, his own ferocious beast by his side ready to gain him fame, power influence... He had the strangest sense of Deja Vu. Something about opening his creaky wooden lab door and stepping across the threshold had triggered what seemed like a memory form the past, or was it the future? Sinclaw grasped at it as if trying to see further in to the future, but the memory while seaming real evaded his mental efforts. He could feel a different power inside him suddenly surge within him though. Shadows seemed darker, seemed to close in upon him, made it harder for the skaven eye to focus on the moulder standing just inside the room. Sinclaw relaxed, and allowed the power to fade away. It had taken years of study but all of those hours spent hunched over books, all the mental exercises, the coin spent to obtain the information appeared to be paying off.

A low groan brought him back to reality. Glancing around the room, there was a long table, a shaft of eerie green light illuminating it from an unnatural looking warpstone lamp hung above, its light focused though a lens. The table was old, salvaged from a scrap heap but now fully functional. At the head of the bed there were a number of pedals so that the table could be raised or lowered, tilted or adjusted, allowing the moulder to manipulate the beast upon the table. Another Groan.

Glancing up Rusty stared in to shadows along the back wall. Cages covered the back of the lab, and a man-thing was huddled up by the door, a limb hanging through the bars, its patchy hair matted flat against its head. It was making noises with its mouth, exposing odd gappy brown teeth as it did so. Sinclaw hissed loudly at the man-thing causing him to cower back slightly, not too far the Moulder noticed. The man thing appeared to be giving his prized possession in the next cage over as much space as possible. The Rat ogre lifted is massive head and grunted loudly.

“You-you will bring me fame-fame and glory, you-you shall be rewarded!”


(819 words)
Edited by Twitch, Sat 25 Jun 2016 07:17:02.


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw Darklurker gently dusted off the plain though finely crafted wooden box that sat on the table before him. A small toothy grin tugged at the corners of his pointed face as he reached forth and flipped the tarnished brass catch up. Placing a clawed paw at either end of the box, Sinclaw shuddered with anticipation as he lifted the lid. They were beautiful. The impulse purchase down at the market was defiantly worth it. The smooth bronzed barrels glinted in green glow of the warp lantern above as Sinclaw drew one of the pistols in his right paw and tested it for balance. The weight felt reassuring, the heavy brass pommel balancing the weight of the barrel perfectly, the finely sanded oak handle sitting comfortably in the paw. Sinclaw whipped his arm out straight and aimed down the ornate iron sight, pulling the hammer back and cocking the firearm, aiming and then pulling the trigger with one smooth action. That grin still tugged at his face. He drew the second pistol from the box and examined it. Identical in every way to its counterpart. It was time to test them.

Sinclaw took a flask of black powder infused with a little powdered warpstone and poured a generous measure in to each before tamping it down with a ram rod. Finally he chose two small perfectly spherical lead balls and rammed them firmly home down the barrels of each of the pistols. Gently resting the loaded pistols on to the table before him Sinclaw returned to the box one last time and drew a belt with two holsters from it. Quickly he removed his old knife belt and attached the sheaths from it to the new gun belt before slinging it around his narrow hips, tightening the buckle and placing the pistols in it. He caught a glimpse of himself in a tall mirror on one wall. He was still grinning like a fool. It was time to test these out.

Sinclaw Darklurker made his way out to the rear of his lab and set a large lump of scrappy wood against the end wall of the outer areas of his lab. With a piece of charcoal he scrawled the rough outline of a skaven on to the flattest area of the target. It was crude but for what he wanted it would do fine. Then taking 20 long paces back and drew one of the pistols Sinclaw gazed down his make-shift shooting range.

Sinclaw planted his hind paws in the dirt and levelled the pistol at the target. Slowly he cocked the hammer, satisfied by the click as the ratchet caught and held it back. Sinclaw cocked his head slightly and gazed down the barrel aligning the iron sight with the centre of the target. He squeezed the trigger. In a split second a few things happened. The first thing Sinclaw noticed was the deafening roar from the pistol as it ejected the bullet at a terrific velocity down range, then his shoulder recognised the mule like kick from the hand gun. A second later the target was obscured by a thick, eye watering smoke from the end of the barrel. Adrenalin pulsed through Sinclaw as his mind caught up with the sensory overload of firing the weapon. As the smoke cleared he eagerly looked down the range to see where he had hit the target. The target seemed to mock him by being disappointingly unscathed. Sinclaw stared at the target scouring every inch of it making sure that he had in fact missed before looking around at the wall behind. About a foot up and to the right of the target Sinclaw found a small hole containing the bullet. He prized it out with one of his knives and held it in his hand. It was no longer perfectly spherical.

Dropping it in the dirt Sinclaw made his way back up the range and drew the other pistol. Taking in to account the obscene kick the weapons delivered to the user he levelled the pistol at the target once more and pulled the trigger. Another roar, a lick of green flame, another jolt down the arm, the acrid smoke, all of it added to the satisfaction when Sinclaw saw half of his targets head explode in a shower of splinters.

Sinclaw reached for the powder pouch again.

731 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw set down the whetstone once more and examined the edge on the scalpel by carefully drawing a finger across the blade. There was a satisfying amount of drag indicating a razor sharp edge once more. He was glad he had purchased the new tools to aid him in his mutation, but his latest creation had the horrid tendency of blunting blades in a very short space of time and the last few hours had been spent honing blades as much as crafting his new beast. That said, the work was done now and all there was to do was return the beast to its cage and wait while the warpstone paste healed the wounds and melded flesh. Crossing the lab to an old willow branch tipped broom, Sinclaw set about sweeping up the old reeds that had been scattered around his operating table, placing them in a sack and scattering fresh ones to soak up any fresh blood that would inevitably drip to the floor. He returned the broom to the corner where it lived then gazed around the lab. It was practically bare, the unadorned walls, floor and ceiling the same dusty grey of dried mud and crumbling plaster, with the exception of the fresh reeds around the operating table looking unnaturally green. The table dominated the room, placed in the dead centre of the room directly under the soft green glow of the warpstone lanterns hung from hooks directly above. Along the back edge of the room were a stack of half-filled cages, his first two creations sleeping, exhausted from the ordeal of creation whilst in adjacent cages several large rats scurried around the cage and crawled up the bars futilely searching for a way of escape. Off to one side was a smallish doorway with an ill-fitting wooden door hung badly on crude iron hinges. Behind this was his meager sleeping quarters, little more than a wooden frame with an old mattress and a few thin sheets. A single chest of drawers stood against the opposite wall from the bedroom door and contained within were most of Sinclaws worldly possessions. It was depressing.
Fortunately the pop up tournament provided a chance for significant income but in the meantime...

Sinclaw grabbed his cloak, crossed to the front door and swiftly started to undo the locks working from the top down, click, click, click, click. He checked his belt was secure and brushed his paws quickly across the knife handles and pistol grips reassuring himself of their presence before pressing his ear to the door and listening for a minute. Silence. Sinclaw opened the door a crack and peered out just to check that the tunnel was clear. Nothing moved save from the dancing shadows cast by the few spluttering torches in the tunnel ahead. Sinclaw pulled up his hood and wrapped his cloak close around his form concealing his frame and figure before stepping swiftly through the door and locking it carefully behind him.

Sinclaw Darklurker made his way to the centre of the wyrd pits, darting down narrow the narrow tunnels that hid his lab away from prying eyes, towards the wider tunnels that would take him to the labyrinth that made up Grand Laboratory. He was pretty sure it was good for him to be seen actively around the lab so he headed to the centre where he could find Paymaster Skolchik and peruse his wares. The Scrap pile was huge and there were a number of other vaguely familiar faces pawing through the scrap pile, looking for items that might be useful. There was one item in particular that Sinclaw was interested in, but the price currently was much too high. He tried not to show too much interest in it so that it might not be snapped up by a competitor and stayed a little longer just to be sure. He would be back for it though.

After a while Sinclaw headed back the way he came leaving the din of the Laboratory behind him. His mind was torn but after twenty minutes of walking his dilemma manifested itself as a quiet branch in the now dimly lit tunnels. One direction was home, the other headed towards some other residences of unknown denizens. He stood still and listened. Silence. Not even the distant scurry of an unknown creature. He pulled his hood up and then sticking to the shadows, Sinclaw made his way towards toward the residential areas of the pits. it was a shameful way for a moulder to finance himself but in this situration Sinclaw Darklurker was left with little choice.
770 words
Edited by Twitch, Wed 03 Aug 2016 19:50:59.


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Moulder Sinclaw Darklurker sat at his desk pondering the outcome of Triggers latest fight. He had expected to lose but at least he could honestly say that he had attempted to win despite the overwhelming odds. Trigger lay on the operating table in an induced coma to aid recovery, Sinclaw had done what he could for the time being. Now it was just a matter of waiting. If he recovered well he would be entered into the First Test tournament, if not it would be back to the drawing board. At least if Trigger recovered he would also have the advantage of arena experience, something that the majority of the other entrant’s beasts would not have.

Sinclaw wheeled the trolley over to the table, checked the lifting harness was secure before cranking the handle to gently lift the unconscious beast over on to the trolley. Once done, Sinclaw wheeled him back over to the cage, slid him on to the straw bale bedding to recover and then stepped out of the iron cage before checking that the door was securely locked and bolted. Sinclaw then returned to his desk and pulled out the brace of pistols that Trigger had wielded in the fight. As he quickly checked that both were empty, he wished that they had been able to do more. It was perfectly understandable that two pistols would be unable to put down a dragon, but this was not be the last time that large beasts would be faced in the arena. They were fine weapons, well balanced and well-crafted and against a skaven side opponent they would easily provide the edge needed in a fight. But if these were going to help win fights then they would need to be improved. He pulled out a slightly oily cloth and started to clean the barrel, carful to clean the blood and arena dust from the firing mechanism, checking that it operated smoothly and gently bringing the shine back to the metal. His critical eye decided that there was easily room for improvement and a number of ideas quickly sprang to mind. The first being improved stopping power. Simple, a bigger gun that fires a larger projectile, and yet, it would still be constrained by the same down side that the pistol already suffered from, reload time. Perhaps the first step should be to address this; the simplest way Sinclaw could think of would be to add a second barrel, negating the need for an immediate reload and yet allowing for more shots to be fired before the inevitable closing down of an opponent and the close combat fighting. The more that Sinclaw thought about it the more plausible the idea seemed. With a little tinkering a few small purchases and a few choice parts from the scrapheap he could easily give Trigger the edge. Sinclaw inspected the pistol that he had been cleaning, then satisfied the job was done, he reached for the black powder and loaded the pistol carefully before returning it to its storage case. He repeated the process with the other pistol then finally returned to the desk.

A scrap of paper flapped gently as he sat down. He narrowed his eyes at it as it reminded him of another pressing matter that he needed to attend to. “So many-much things to do-do and so little time- time” he muttered softly under his breath, a wry grin exposing yellowed teeth. Stretching as he stood to his full height he gazed around the lab noting a few areas that needed immediate improvement, then grabbing his dagger belt and swinging it around his waist, he readied himself to leave. Swiftly crossing to the door Sinclaw pulled on his cloak and fastened it around his shoulders with a small bronze broach in the shape of a dagger. The Blade subconsciously ran his paws over the hilts of his knives at his waist, reassured by their presence. Then after glancing around the lab one more time, making a mental note of where things were, he made to leave. Sinclaw paused only for a moment to listen for any sign of movement outside and then started to unlock his door. Click, click, click, click, click. Slipping out he set off to meet someone regarding his bothersome note.


A short while later The Broken Blade was making his way back from the meet. Everything had gone as planned, his mood was good, he was feeling lucky. Perhaps it would not hurt to knock over one residence? Sinclaw changed his course and darted off down a side tunnel heading away from the busier main tunnels and walked a little slower looking for a likely looking abode. That one. A small wooden door, long overdue for some care, was slightly obscured behind a lump of rusty scrap metal, a half-hearted attempt at hiding the door perhaps? It mattered not. Sinclaw stepped silently over to the door and examined it, checking the frame for any catches, checking the lock for any signs of tampering. It looked normal, something bothered Sinclaw though. He took the handle and twisted it and pushed the door. Naturally it was locked but this calmed the-would be thief, as an unlocked door would indicate something more sinister. Sinclaw stepped back a little and glanced up and down the tunnel. It was still quiet. With a sharp kick, the door caved in as Sinclaw rolled to the side. A wry grin spread across his lips as he examined the arrow that quivered in the wall opposite the door. Calming himself he listened again for any movement. Still nothing. Sinclaw loosened the knives at his waist and glanced around the door. The discharged trap was mounted on the ceiling, a bow with some sort of mechanism for releasing it when the door was opened. He would be wary. The rest of the room looked pretty plain, an old dresser of man-thing craft, the paint peeling to reveal the wood beneath and some warped shelves. Sinclaw sidestepped around the frame and made his way to the dresser and quickly checked the drawers. There was a small pouch which he pocketed quickly before moving to the next drawer. Nothing. The barest scuffing sound caused Sinclaw to dive left, roll and draw his knives. A sword buried itself in the dresser where the Broken Blade had been a second before. Hissing at his assailant, a shorter muscly skaven with patchy fur, the broken blade launched his own attack as the sword was dragged free. Twin knives flashed up catching the longer blade as it swept down once again, then with a pirouette and a flourish the fight was over, one knife pushing the sword wide, the second reversed and sunk deep between two ribs. Stepping around the assailant, Sinclaw kicked him to the ground as he dragged the blade free. The shorter rat didn’t move, a puddle slowly spread form the mortal wound. Sinclaw quickly cleaned his blades and searched the victim, relieving him of his coin purse, and left. Once he was outside of the building he pulled the door closed and shifted the scrap metal over the door. Hopefully that would not be found any time soon. Pulling his hood up The Broken Blade sunk in to the shadows and made his way back to the lab.

716 + 507 words = 1223
Edited by Twitch, Wed 17 Aug 2016 07:22:37.


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

The Grand Opening Bout was just around the corner and Pumpkin was as ready as he could be. Well trained, vicious, tough… All things considered the mutations had gone better than expected considering his lack of actual mouldering experience. He looked a little odd admittedly but that couldn’t be helped. If only the Vendor had had some larger insectoid creatures, but for the purposes of the tournament he would do. And if he went out in the first round then it would not be the worst thing that happened. Moulder Darklurker was expecting good things from Trigger though, the wolf-human centaur had débuted in the Pop-up Tournament and had easily won his first his first round. Alas the second round had seen the smallish creature facing the infamous Grando. With little space with which to move around and evade the Drhino’s fire and jaws the bout had been painfully short, though mercifully Trigger had been recoverable. The wounds he had sustained were treated with a little skalm and rest, there were two puncture wounds but fortunately they had not hit anything vital. A few stitches and a little warpstone paste saw the wound closing quickly and cleanly. The burns took longer to heal but by the 4thday the blisters were starting to go down. Plenty of water, clean bandages and barked orders at the man thing not to pop them to prevent secondary infection. His wolf fur would be patchy for a while until the singed patched grew back, but Sinclaw thought it made him look more battle worn and dangerous. Neither of these things were bad. There was a definite look in his eye now that he had fought in the pits. Less of the pant wetting fear that was evident when Trigger initially woke up from his mutations. It had taken days before he finally stopped shaking and started to drink a little water, eat and build his strength up. Now the look was it resignation as to his fate? Perhaps? Maybe a little hunger for the exhilaration of being in the pit again? Nothing was truly as exhilarating as having a brush with death and getting away with it, and once you had had a taste of the fear and adrenalin, followed but the euphoric rush of victory and the realisation of one’s own survival despite the odds, the world pales in comparison.
Sinclaw Darklurker brought himself back to the present by reminding himself his beasts had fought two rounds and lost one of these. A fifty percent success rate was not particularly inspiring. He would need to work hard to ensure that he would improve. As it stood, he was still one of the more influential of the new generation of moulders but following recent events in the slander war between Tirr and Gimble, Moulder Darklurker had become distracted from his own aims. His own suggestions to resolve things had just meant he had been dragged in to things himself to the detriment of his own standing, meanwhile somehow Tirr had rocketed in influence and popularity. This was a sort of politics that Sinclaw was not au fait with. It seemed alien to deal with things but posting notes and trying to denounce someone publicly, surly better to deal with things quietly so as not to draw attention to one’s self? That was the way that Sinclaw had dealt with problems all his life, if you were seen you could be blamed, there would be repercussions, if you were not seen then it was much harder to throw accusations and make them stick. You could make yourself scares for a while, let the blame stick somewhere else while dealing with your own matters unhindered. Better still if you didn’t had to carry out your dirty work yourself you could distance yourself further. The Tirr-Gimble fracas made The Broken Blades head hurt. It had blown up out of all proportions in Darklurkers opinion and was no longer solvable with a little subtlety. The added fuel to the blaze now being the public announcement of Gimbles laboratory being raided by parties unknown and yet more notes with declarations of war! Was it possible that the pair of them were being played? Distance was needed from this situation. If it could be dealt with in a simple stroke Sinclaw might be tempted to step in but as far as he was concerned, Tirr had not, at this moment, been assaulted and the Wyrdtech guild had not been attacked. This was not a guild problem Sinclaw Darklurkers’s paws were clean. This was another rats problem…. Yet there is no harm in being prepared for the worst.

776 words.


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw Darklurker pushed his wire rimmed spectacles further up his dark furred nose. He has been pouring over the pages of an enormous dusty leather bound tome for hours. The new tallow candles he had lit were barely more than stubs and all was quiet in his lab, beasts were curled up on grubby straw beds and only the sound of their breathing and the occasional hiss of a candle kept Darklurker company. Smoke from the candles swirled around the ceiling lazily as Darklurker gazed up at it once again trying to clear his mind so that he might devote some more cognitive effort towards mastering the secrets contained within. He was tired and his eyes itched terribly but a few more attempts were needed. He stared deep in to the candle focusing his mind and tried to tap in to the arcane energy that sat tantalisingly close at the back of his mind. Something flared in his mind and the scent of scorched fur filled the air before blackness enveloped him.
Grey tendrils of light peeked under the tiny crick below the door. It was morning when Darklurker opened his eyes again though none of the creatures were stirring in their cages yet. Perhaps more odd was the realisation that Darklurker was not in his bed, and was in fact cold and stiff from where he had passed out upon the floor. His head felt like it had been split by a dwarven axe. A gentle probing with a paw revealed a lump on his head, probably where he had hit the floor. Darklurker rolled slowly to a sitting position and tried to look around the room for any sign of intruders. The door was locked and the windows barred. It didn't look like anyone had sneaked in. A brutal wave of nausea sent Sinclaw’s head spinning again, though several dry heaves later revealed a number of things. Firstly he was probably mildly concussed, secondly that he probably wasn't going to be actually sick and thirdly he had not eaten at all recently. However the last problem would have to wait. Darklurker struggled to his feet pulling himself upright using the table. The tome was still open on the page he had been studying the night before. With a flick of his paw he shut it regretting the sudden movement and staggered back to his own living quarters. Gently he shut the door and jammed the latch before rolling carefully on to his own soft pallet bed. He would just rest his head for a moment then get back to studying. How hard could it be...?
When Sinclaw awoke again it was dark outside again, all the candles that were normally lit had burnt out and the pain in his head had mercifully receded to a dull ache. However a dreadful smell was coming from the lab. Pressing an ear to the door he listened. Some shuffling from the cages but nothing more. Sinclaw unjammed the latch and stepped from the room, glanced quickly around the room checking for intruders and once satisfied turned his attention to the cages. Inspection revealed that studying would have to wait. It seemed that even though he was incapacitated for a day his beast’s needs still needed to be met. Leaving his quarters once more Sinclaw fetched a willow branch broom, a pail of water the keys to the cages. Mutae his head was sore. He had got to acquire some assistance. Sweeping the dung from his beasts cages was not the work of a successful moulder. He should be basking in his own self-made glory following his successful fights whilst gleefully counting stacks of tokens. “A minion-Slave should be sweeping out cages, risking life-limb for a few tokens” he muttered under his breath as he stepped in something soft and warm. He winced slightly and focused on shackling his beasts to the back wall to enable the emptying of the cages. This was deeply unpleasant. Darklurker quickly swept the soiled straw from each of the cages and then moved the larger pile outside after quickly securing the cage doors, then once he returned, fetched the pail of water and rinsed the floors quickly, all the time keeping half an eye on his creations. Finally he stepped outside of his lab momentarily before returning with a fresh bale of straw to scatter liberally in each of the cages. Finally he unshackled each of the beasts carefully, one by one. Darklurker glanced over at the tome that was still on the table. Each time he was still mildly surprised that it was indeed still there, and had not left on its own accord. Was all of this really worth that? Breakfast first maybe? Or was it dinner?

793 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw Darklurker stood behind Pumpkin, pistol in hand in the dark tunnel a few paces back from the portcullis that lead in to the arena. Things-catchers were so cumbersome and the orc had retained enough intelligence to know what would happen should the pistol be pointed at his head. The broken blade smiled with quiet confidence at his creation. Admittedly the tail looked a little silly, yet the vendor had nothing bigger, and size didn’t necessarily indicate toxicity. Darklurker could hear the crowd roar and quietly hoped to himself that Skrapp was putting up a reasonable fight on behalf of the Wyrdpit. He was up against Sho-Yin, an aged rat with peculiar fur growth beneath his chin. Something about Sho-Yin irked Darklurker though, perhaps it was his gut telling him not to underestimate such a frail looking denizen? Perhaps they had met in a past life? Regardless something did not sit quite right. A brief hush from the crowd brought The Broken Blade back to the moment just as a near deafening roar signaled the end of the match. It was nearly his moment in the arena, all thoughts of Skrapp pushed from his mind, and he was eager to unleash Pumpkin upon his foe. Sinclaw knew very little about Skreetch Warpfang other that the rat had occasional fanatical tendencies. Alas this did not help Darklurker size up his opponent however Darklurker was quietly confident. Many denizens felt that it was important to know your opponents strengths and weaknesses and while it could be classed as nice to know knowledge in Sinclaw’s opinion it was better to know one’s own strengths and weaknesses. It was a good thing to be confident in one’s own abilities so long as one knew their own limitations. Once someone was aware of their own limitations they could take steps to mitigate them, and with ones limitations mitigated then you could focus on victory. Chains snapped taught as slave rats strained to lift the gate. The Broken Blade screeched an order and the Orc reluctantly moved forwards in to the arena, slow steps at first but quickly picking up speed. In the distance Darklurker could see some sort of frog creature. ”Pumpkin Kill-kill it!” This fight would be the one that Moulders would remember when they see their name matched against Sinclaw Darklurker. This would be the reputation builder.

394Words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw was slumped in his chair at his desk. He had underestimated the competition from the First Test. He had overestimated Triggers abilities and now he was knocked out. This posed a problem as far as income was concerned, though the flip side was that he suddenly had more time to focus on his own studies. This was all well and good, though what Sinclaw Darklurker currently lacked was direction. The tournaments were focusing his aims, whereas before the season had started, he had been a little lost as to where he really wanted go with his research. He had been dabbling in a little of everything trying to get a taste for what he actually wanted to do and so far this had not worked out very well for him. Yet the way of the pit fights were organised meant that despite his loss, he had very little time to take stock and consider his loss. Instead Sinclaw was forced to prepare hastily for the next fight, one that was arguably more challenging as he had been matched against Vesalius. The Man Thing had taken the Moulder world by storm with an impressive win streak and a rapidly growing reputation for well-made beasts. Mad he might be, but wasn’t genius passed off as madness too those who did not understand? Sinclaw could feel a migraine coming on and this problem would require some thought. Sinclaw slumped in to his chair and attempted to nurse his head gently, hoping the headache would abate when he heard a timid knock on the door. Sinclaw winced then glared at the door, he could really do without an interruption. Reluctantly Sinclaw stood up and padded lightly to the door then peered through the tiny spy hole. Outside in the entry tunnel stood a pair of malnourished slaves, each dressed in what might have once been grain sacks, chained to a small rickety looking two wheeled wagon. A third rat was by the door, barely dressed any better than the slaves. Down one side of the wagon was daubed “Corpse Wagon”. Sinclaw’s mood fell. On the flat bed lay what remained of Trigger, skin scorched, eyes staring and milky. The Broken Blade unlocked and opened his door before moving over to the cart. The stench of singed fur assaulted his snout, as between himself and the nervous looking slaves they shifted the body of the defeated beast in to the lab. Once across the threshold though the slaves unceremoniously dumped Trigger on the stone floor and retreated quickly to their cart. Perhaps they were fearful of the inside of a moulder lab, Sinclaw mused. The Broken Blade found himself caressing the pistols belted to his hips. Perhaps the slaves were fearful of an act of misguided frustration placed on the nearest living subject. Both reasons were justifiable. Sinclaw restrained himself and stepped back so that he could shut and lock the door once more. Once completed he slumped down with his back against the door and considered dragging Trigger in to a cage. HE couldn’t very well leave it there, for one thing it made the lab look untidy. And at least once it was in a cage he could deal with that later. Pushing himself slowly to his feet Sinclaw made his way over to the foul smelling heap, grabbed a hind leg and dragged Trigger in to a cage. He threw a grey threadbare blanket to keep the flies off over the beast and locked the cage, the rest he would deal with later. For now he needed to figure out the best way to recover from this minor setback, starting with a method to guarantee that he was not knocked out of the Grand Opening Tournament as well. Sinclaw Glanced over at Pumpkin who sat idly in his cage drooling slightly and staring off in to space. Nothing about the spiny orc inspired much confidence, and though given a little more time there was strong possibility that something great could come from the beast, presently time was a commodity in short supply. Perhaps some intensive training would be the solution to all the problems. In a valiant attempt to ignore the growing pain in his head Sinclaw Darklurker sat back at his desk and opened a large book entitled “How to train your wyrm” by Crescendo Cowl. There might be something in here….


732 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw pulled open the drawer, moved a small pile of parchment to one side and fished around at the back, his paws closing upon a small leather pouch. Pulling it from the drawer he weighed it in his paws and his face fell. The moulder hurriedly clawed at the drawstring to open the pouch then up ended it. Four small tokens fell out and glowed gently in his paw. Barely enough to feed his beasts let alone buy anything new. Triggers defeat had really left them in a sticky situation financially speaking, and an awful lot was riding on Pumpkin winning his next bout, but in the meantime a little financial injection was needed. The Darka Potion that Sinclaw had received as a runners up prize might fetch a few tokens if he could find a buyer. He cast his eyes around the lab and looked for some other bits to sell. There was not a huge amount but the Moulder gathered them up in to a bundle and slung it on his back, then he grabbed his cloak, daggers and pistols from the stand by the front door. Confidence flooded back and he stood a little taller and reinforced the feeling with a muttered mantra he had made up to himself. It was part of an attempt to not become worked up when things piled up, as this was when he found tended to bring the headaches came on. That and a combination of too much time spent attempting to decipher the paw written scrawls penned upon often ancient crumbling parchment or staring at the illegible text found within hastily taken notes, each time with not enough candle light. Sinclaw shuddered at the thought and put it from his mind as he completed his leaving the lab ritual of checking the spy hole and then standing at the door listening for a full minute for would be assailants. Finally he unlocked the door and peered out. Finally satisfied he set off toward the market. All was very quiet as he threaded his way silently through the tunnel s passing darkened side tunnels and dingy doorways, portals to where some of the more secretive denizens chose to live. Sinclaw glanced around. Silence... perhaps it would not hurt to take a little look around just one abode? Sinclaw sunk in to the shadows, set down his pack and started to stake out a doorway.

403 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw Darklurker looked over at the time keeper in the corner. A quarter past midnight. He should really consider getting some sleep, and yet, time marches on, it waits for no rat. Could one not sleep once they were dead? Darklurker realised his thoughts were wandering again and that he was not focusing on the task at hand. As per usual a dusty tome had taken over his desk, stacks of scattered notes covered every other inch of the desk, scrawls of match tactics, potential methods to train even the stupidest of beasts. If was frustrating that the training of beasts was not the problem. What use was a well-trained beast if Sinclaw could not remain in a tournament? Pumpkin made a good case and point. He had been trained for months to be more resilient, tougher and whilst technically there had been a minor flouting of the tournament guidelines just to ensure that his last match had gone smoothly, things had rapidly taken a wrong turn as soon as the fight started. Pumpkin had circles run around him and barely landed an attack. Perhaps Sinclaw was going about things wrong? He was loath to be grouped in with the less successful in the pit, but he felt that there was a reasonable chance that he could be selected for the new League Tournament that had been announced in the Monthly recently. The question was whether to improve Pumpkin further or try and stretch ones tokens for a new beast entirely. As per usual tokens were in short supply, the smallish pouch feeling much lighter than would be preferred. What Sinclaw really needed was a tournament win. He dragged his mind back to the page in front of him, a chapter entitled ‘How to develop emotional resilience in the workplace’, and scanned the text before him. Sinclaw frowned at the book, this was not quite what he had in mind when he was looking for ways of making Pumpkin tougher. This was futile, he was exhausted, his mind was wandering, and he needed sleep. The Moulders joints popped as he stood and stretched. Obviously he had spent too much time slouched over that book. One more reason to leave it. Slowly he staggered over to the door check the locks on the door and his cages. All Secure, no sign of tampering. Excellent. He turned to his sleeping quarters and slumped down on the bed and shut his eyes. The reassuring bulge of a pistol nestled beneath the pillow saw Sinclaw sink in to a deep unburdening sleep. Darkness enveloped him immediately.
The next thing Sinclaw was aware of was a noise coming from the lab. He kept his eyes shut and listened, trying to pretend that perhaps he was not awake all ready. His body clock was suggesting it was time to be awake though. What was that noise? It had woken him up but he account remember what it was that had woken him. Smoothly rolling from his bed to his hind paws, snatching the pistol from beneath the pillow as he went, The Broken Blade crept to the door of his room. There is was again. A tapping noise. Someone was at the door. Darklurker’s eyes narrowed as he silently padded across the room to the spy hole, instantly awake, instantly paranoid. A small delivery slave stood outside with a small cart containing a package. Sinclaw couldn’t see anyone else. Curiosity got the better of him and he started to unlatch the door just as the slave nervously started to knock a third time. Sinclaw swung the door open as he swung the pistol up in to the face of the slave. “Are you with a group-pack?” The slave shook his head rapidly and stumbled back away from the long barrel pointed down his snout. “Go-go to the cart, and carefully open the crate-box, so that I might see what is-is inside”. There was no harm in being wary of potentially exploding deliveries before breakfast Sinclaw mused to himself. He had finally remembered what it was that he had ordered so he relaxed slightly. The Slave had reached the crate and was starting to pry it open. “Stop-Stop” commanded Sinclaw, finally satisfied that it was not about to explode. “Bring-bring the crate here then go-go.”


718 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

The windows were covered, the door bolted and there was no discernible way of telling how much time had passed and yet for the first time in a long while, the headaches had receded to barely more than a dull annoyance in the background. For the first time in a long time Sinclaw was enjoying his research, not driven purely buy the need for self-improvement. The Moulder discarded the scalpel blade in to the cleansing basket and examined the experiment on the table before him. He was not so much creating beast as seeing what was possible. He had been reading the books as was his usual way of learning something new but in this case practice seemed a little more appropriate and as such several rats were in several pieces leaving a single, mostly hairless, sorry looking creature with 5 legs, an additional eye, and a couple of extra tails. It eyed the moulder with its new eye, obviously disorientated as it tried to walk to the edge of the table yet unable to coordinate the additional limb and process what the third eye was seeing. It was alive though, and that was more than could be said from the earlier experiments. Sinclaw plucked the rat off the table and causally tossed it towards Pumpkins cage, where the orc deftly caught the flailing rodent and swallowed it down. The large orc never turned down a snack. Returning to the table Sinclaw brushed the remains for the experiment in to a bucket and wiped the table down removing the grime that had accumulated on the work top over the course of what Sinclaw assumed was the afternoon. Once completed he picked up the instrument basket and submerged it in a bucket of cold water to rinse it off before carefully removing the instruments one at a time using a pair of small forceps to give each item a more thorough clean. He paid special attention to the scalpel blades to ensure that the blade did not become notched as well as to preserve his own paws. Finally once clean returned the set to a box he stowed beneath the operating table. Sinclaw stretched to his full height and gently arched his spine. It popped twice indicating that he had spent too much time hunched over the table. He moved through some gentle exercises to loosen his muscles and joints before casting his eyes over to the Desk. Perhaps a little martial practice before the reading? Sinclaw fetched his things-catcher from a make shift weapon rack on the wall. The rack itself was little more than two large nails hammered in to the wall before having the heads knocked upwards in to hooks, but it served its purpose. Sinclaw grasped the weapon in two hands, one hand on the shaft, the second on the mechanism that opened the things-catcher’s grabbers. He took up what he felt was a well-balanced stance and practiced moving around the room whilst keeping the weapon up in front of him in what he thought looked like a threatening pose. Truth be told he felt a little silly but any practice would stand him in good stead when the hunter’s guilds eventually advertised for moulders to assist him. Sinclaw much preferred his pistols but the entire point of the hunt was to bring the creatures back alive. Pistols would not necessarily do that. Sinclaw placed the things-catcher back on the wall and then returning to his desk, opened his latest tome. “The basics of mutagenics”. The words made his head spin slightly but he persevered. The topic itself was very interesting and he had found by making a few subtle changes to his mutation methods Sinclaw had found that his outcomes had significantly improved. Up until now he had merely been relying on a vague knowledge of the organs in a body, a little intuition and a lot of luck. Interestingly enough it was a lack of funds and the pressure of having to ensure that things went right that pushed the Moulder to explore this new field. Had he the tokens, the tome in front of him would undoubtedly be some new manual on the mechanics of things that go bang, or some method to make his beasts more offensive. Perhaps the true path to fame and fortune was to create an actually powerful beast rather than making a creature that sounded threatening but needed constant external assistance if it were to proceed in the tournaments. Sinclaw felt that this should be a revelation of some sorts, but deep down knew he had known these things all along. The true test would be to see where his research went after he had some tokens.


788 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw pulled his cloak up higher and tighter and ducked down a side tunnel and out of sight. He could hear footsteps up ahead and did not want to be seen just now. Word on the street was that he was one of a handful of potential saboteurs who had rigged the match between Moulder Sho-Yin's Shinjich and Gragg'Dvorak's Licky Chop'Chopbeen. Just because the Grand Opening had been plagued with technical hitches, chaotic organisation and poor organisation Itchiskritchi was now on the warpath. Sinclaw Darklurker was not entirely sure how his name had been brought in to it but he didn’t want to take any chances, and where possible was laying low and avoiding contact with others. The last thing he wanted was a run in with Itchiskritchi’s security forces. Besides, today Moulder Darklurker could honestly say he was going about honest moulder business, consumables were being bought for the creation of a new beast to be entered in to the Test Two, and pumpkin was going to be modified so that he might succeed in the Bloodbath. Actual honest mouldering. Just because there were a few Denizens with their fur rubbed the wrong way was not reason enough not to continue business as usual. The footsteps passed the end of the side tunnel and Sinclaw stepped from the shadowy alcove he had been lurking in. He listened a moment and heard the chittering of fellow Skaven disappearing in to the distance before taking his chance and heading towards the trading district. Inevitably once he made his way to the central tunnels there would be other denizens, but at least the possibility of being assaulted and left in an ally was reduced. Within the folds of his cloak, Sinclaws paw never strayed far from his pistol. First stop was a seedy betting shop, it was run down on the outside with no discernible markings to indicate the trade that went on within. The door was hung badly and scraped on the dirt as Sinclaw pulled it open but once he stepped inside the demeanour of the venue changed. A slave was sweeping the floor, and the number of lanterns hung from the ceiling and mounted on the walls made the room almost uncomfortably bright. There were no windows or any way of telling the time and for those partaking in activities which parted them with their tokens free drinks and snacks. A goblin sat in the corner dealing cards swiftly to three slightly inebriated denizens while another well-dressed slave dropped a small ball in to a concave spinning wheel, onlookers clutching their betting chips eagerly. Sinclaw ignored these distractions and headed to the back of the hall and dug out a carefully folded betting slip, showed it to a wiry cashier who narrowed his eyes at the moulder as he retrieved a small bag of tokens in exchange for the note. Sinclaw nodded curtly and headed to the exit, increasingly aware of a number of larger Skaven who seemed to loiter near the walls. Security. Sinclaw left the premises and sticking close to a wall walked swiftly from the betting shop. He was aware of the proprietor’s hate of parting with tokens regardless of the quantity, but the odds at the shop were good and that is what attracted Sinclaws business. The moulder meandered swiftly down to the beast market ensuring that he was not being followed only slowing once he had reached his destination. It was all over the headlines that faulty goods had flooded the market so care needed to be taken in his selection. A cursory glance at the contents of a number of cages ensured that he did not stop long at the first three ‘purveyors of fine creatures’ though finally he stopped in front of the stall of a scrawny night goblin, his most striking feature being the scars that adorned his arms and the distinct lack of two elongated bony fingers from his left hand. The goblins black hood was pulled up high partially covering his face, but what interested Sinclaw most was the large, dark purple squig that was doing its best to free itself from his cage. “How much for the Squig Squig?” Asked Sinclaw as he jabbed a claw in the direction of the cage. The goblin looked up, threw his arms wide and grinned “For you, my friend, I make special deal!”

732 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

A pair of candles flickered on the edge of the table and torches hissed and spat from holders mounted upon the walls. Combined they cast a bright flickering light across the room. Sinclaw gazed at his desk trying to stay positive. It made a pleasant change that for once it was not entirely buried under papers, books and research notes. Unfortunately it was completely buried under survival and hunting equipment. On the floor was a bulging pack of equipment needed for the excursion. Sinclaw Darklurker checked his pack again. He had compiled a list of items that he deemed necessary for a successful hunt and a second list of items that he had decided that he would like to have. Unfortunately the list of items that Sinclaw considered “necessary” was extensive, far more than the Moulder could easily carry. He had not even got to the items deemed pleasant to have. Water, food, armour, weapons. All were absolutely needed for the three day excursion. A tent, a way of heating water up to ensure that it was not toxic, a way of lighting a fire. Cloak, spare cloak, Knives, spare black powder and shot. Already this pack was looking heavy. He had considered making his beasts carry it all, but he needed the beasts for defence, and if something were to separate Sinclaw from his supplies then he might not last very long at all. He still needed to work out how he was going to get the Compass and maps, nets, jars of tranquilizer, rope and first aid equipment in. Reluctantly the moulder decided that it was futile and some slaves would have to be used to carry the remaining equipment. On the plus side this did mean that a few non-necessary items could be carried. Sinclaw threw another pack on the floor and started to fill it the with remaining essential items then choice picked a few things from his cupboards. At least having decided on the second pack meant that he could focus on the other aspects of this venture. As soon as the packing was done he would return to the scouts report on the savannah isle and focus on organising his team. This task would result in his biggest payday yet if he got it right.

381 words.


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw read the advert in the back of an old copy of the Moulder Monthly once again.
Professional Beast Trainer offering beast training services, any beast accepted no matter how unruly. Rates negotiable. Contact Sinclaw Darklurker for more information.
It had been running a few months but up until now no one had responded. Suddenly out of the blue he had had a message declaring a price and what was to be trained. It was all a bit of a shock but it did mean that there was potential for income this month, and this was good as income meant that he could afford to eat this month. He smiled to himself whilst he folded the paper carefully and set it down on a stack of other papers and notes and grabbed a grubby notebook. It was filled with scribbles but had a few blank pages remaining near the back. Then Sinclaw grabbed his cloak and headed to the front door. “On-on with the next thing” he muttered to himself as he crossed the room. Carefully he opened the door, first making sure that no rat was lurking outside before stepping out and pulling it shut behind him. The Moulder paused to lock each of the locks then headed around the side of the lab. There was a narrow natural tunnel in the rock which lead to the back of the lab which after a hundred yards opened up in to a massive cavern lit with the eerie green glow of bioluminescence from the lichen on the walls augmented with lanterns hung form the larger Stalactites and from the walls. It was in here that Sinclaw had installed his training grounds. The tunnel itself was just big enough for Sinclaw’s creatures to squeeze through but anything larger than pumpkin was going to be a problem. When Sinclaw was redeveloping the cavern the first thing he had done was level the ground by removing the stalagmites, then he had painted a large circle around the edge of the carven marking out a rough boundary for his training arena before he had filled the entire surface with sand. The sand was good for soaking blood, as well as providing a slightly softer surface for beasts to fall upon. It also made creatures think about footwork as one slip on the sand could mean the difference between winning and losing a fight. The walls were high and although there were long stalactites there was plenty of room for flyers to move provided they were careful. Leaning against a wall, a well-used training dummy stood by idly, scuffs and splintered wood adorned its torso where Pumpkin had been trained with it previously. Across the back wall several bales of old damp straw were stacked up, with wooden targets propped up against them each pockmarked with bullet holes. Back by the entrance where Sinclaw stood lay a rake. Sinclaw picked it up and made his way to the middle of the training circle then started to rake the sand in an ever expanding spiral. Once or twice he discovered some small lumps of debris but these were easily removed and the spiral grew. This was the sort of menial task that most would consider the work of a slave but in its simplicity and tedium Sinclaw found calm. Once past the point of boredom lay the point where his mind would wander aimlessly, and this was the state he was looking for. He already knew that the tunnel may need expanding slightly to cater for customer but that was not the real reason he was out here. The main reason was the hunt. He had assumed the position of leader for his team of hunters and yet had very little experience of hunting beasts in the wild. He had been reading about different trapping methods but when it came down to it Sinclaw was not sure how easy it was to become a trapper or a team leader for that matter. The key would be teamwork and that in itself had Sinclaw on edge as given a chance any good skaven would take the opportunity to further their own chances to the detriment of another. Provided each member hunting for the Bloodhunters felt they were better off working together than attempting to go it alone the operation would go smoothly. All Sinclaw needed to do was ensure that each member was entirely clear that going it alone or leaving the group would be entirely detrimental to their chances of returning from the savannah island. With that realisation the complexities of organising the hunt seemed simplified.
Sinclaw had reached edge of his training circle. A beautiful spiral of smooth raked sand lay before him. His problems seemed smaller and his mood was lifted. Today was a good day.

801 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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The Broken Blade

Sinclaw lay on the damp ground staring up at the warp swirling high above him through a gap in the swamplands thick canopy. His furry arms were spread wide, the pistols laying loosely in his paws were gently emitting smoke from both barrels. The acrid smell of blood, black powder and warpstone gently caressed his nostrils as he listened to the sounds of the swamp. He was exhausted. Sinclaw shut his eyes for a moment and tried to relax. His heart was pounding in his chest but he took some deep breaths and focused only on the surroundings. He could hear the laboured breathing of the creature several meters away from him that had just received both barrels. The bizarre swamp rat creature would have made a good prize had it not caught Sinclaw unaware and the Moulder reacted on instinct. He couldn’t actually remember drawing the pistols, but could distinctly recall the bestial scream that had been ripped from its chest before morphing into a panicked gurgle as fluid filled its lungs, the use of its limbs lost. The shot must have clipped the beast’s spine as it exited though its back. A final wet rasp signalled the passing of the beast. Sinclaw’s own heart was finally slowing. He could hear the ever present buzz of biting insects and the calls of strange beasts returning to their usual levels and felt reassured. He had learned quickly that silence was the real sign of danger as any of the swamps traditional pray creatures quickly fell quiet when danger was present. In the distance he could hear the rest of his group approaching though the undergrowth, no doubt alerted by the sudden discharge of fire arms. The Moulder pushed himself to his hind-paws rapidly reloaded his pistols and returned them to their holsters then glanced around the clearing to locate his previously discarded things –catcher. It would not do be seemly for his hunting team find him in a disgruntled state of disarray. Finally he turned to the sorry looking creature on the floor. Sinclaw must have caught it mid leap as there were two neat entry holes located high in its chest where bright blood had bubbled forth and soaked in to filthy matted fur. Blood seeped out of its mouth and nose and pooled on the ground where it lay. The creature itself looked vaguely rat like but it had a shorter jaw and more pointed teeth, its, body was longer than might be expected, perhaps eight feet in length but almost stoat like in proportions. Its legs were short and powerful looking with wide paws on all its feet suggestive of an aquatic life and hunting. The creature had powerful shoulders and the tail was thick and muscular, not used for balance like a Skaven but much better for swimming. This creature was adapted to swamp life and catching amphibious pray perhaps fish and amphibian. Why did it attack Sinclaw? The Skaven puzzled over this as he used the things catcher to roll the beast and examine its back. Dark blood still oozed from two large exit wounds low down on the creatures back. The shot must have passed down through the chest shredding the lungs though somehow avoiding the heart considering how long the creature took to finally die. Sinclaw shuddered. Drowning on one’s own body fluids was not the way the rat intended to go. If he had a choice it would be either highly unexpected and quick, or following a brash statement, something along the lines of “watch this-this” but only once he was old and slightly delusional yet still convinced he could do everything he could when he was a young rat. Given two or three decades, being savaged by an eight foot savage swamp otter might be a way to go but not today. Today was about riches fame and fortune and none of these could really be appreciated from the inside of a predatory creature. A rustling of bushes and high pitched chittering announced the presence of the rest of the group. Sinclaw straightened his cloak and turned to face the the gathering moulders and beasts. “This beast-creature is no longer any use-use to us. Let us find a greater prize-prize”

709 words


You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.
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