The calm before the storm

[Bruce]

The Rat stood at the mouth of the cavern and took a deep, unsteady breath. He was completely out of his element here, more at home in the back streets and dark alleys of Grenztadt.

“C’mon, Rat, are we goin’ in or what?”

The Rat closed his eyes and sighed. He hated that name. He had become known as “The Rat” because of his uncanny ability to squeeze into tight places in his pursuit of ill-gotten gain or self preservation. But “Rat” evoked images of Skaven or Skaven spies and he didn’t want to be mistaken for that; he was all human and proud of it, and he dutifully hated the Skaven just as was expected of all good humans everywhere. He loathed his name so much he tried once to change it by repeatedly referring to himself as “The Snake” for three months straight, but it wouldn’t take. So he was stuck with what he had.

The Rat turned to his so-called comrades. The four of them, thieves, thugs and murderers all, stood there glaring impatiently. The Rat didn’t trust any of them, nor they him he wagered, but he could not have made the long journey here to the Vaults without their help. Undoubtedly they would be poised to plunge a dagger in his back as soon as they had found what they came for, but The Rat would be ready for that. He may not prefer a stand up fight over a stealthy kill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable with a sword. When it came down to it, he was a very competent swordsman.

“Yeah,” The Rat muttered, “this is why we came all this way, so, yeah, we are goin’ in.” He spun on his heel back to the cavern entrance, puffing with aggravation at his edgy crew, and plunged into the dark.

[Bruce]

Thick, greasy smoke from the torch stung The Rat’s eyes as he squeezed through the tunnel’s crushing tightness. For hours they descended through the caverns into the mountain, finally leaving the Dwarven forged halls and passageways, entering the natural channels that had been hewn by centuries of wind and water. These passages spider-webbed throughout the heart of the mountain, easy to get lost in, but The Rat had carefully memorized the scribbled designs on the map he stole from some drunken Dwarven merchant back in Grenztadt. He hadn’t known what he had at the time, but several attempts on his life by professional swordsmen and a sorcerer who were trying to recover the map convinced him to find out more about the strange parchment he found in his possession. He found a scholar, whom The Rat suspected had designs on the map for himself, and together they discovered the truth about the strange writings. In the end, when he found out all there was to know, The Rat had to silence the scholar, of course. A quick dagger between the ribs ensured the scholar would never betray him. Following that, The Rat knew it was too dangerous to keep the map. So he committed to memory every aspect of the map and what he knew of it. And then he burned it. Now he was guiding his band of cutthroats through a maze of tunnels that only he could see them safely through.

He coughed amid the clinging cloud from the torch and exhaled. He was near the end now, just through this next tight squeeze, the narrowest part of the journey, and he should be there. Flattening himself as best he could, forcing the last bit of air from his lungs, he squirmed and writhed into a tall, slim fissure in the tunnel wall. Panic seized him but once, as sliding forward inch by inch he stopped, wedged in the rock. He had a vision of his skeleton stuck here for all eternity, after he had painfully wasted away from hunger, thirst or exposure. But after a calming breath, exhaling once more, he freed himself and began to inch forward once again. Behind him he could hear the struggling grunts of his “associates”, partially chosen for their skill at traversing small spaces. If he made it, so would they.

Up ahead the light from the torch was abruptly swallowed in darkness. The end of the fissure. With one more surge of effort he popped free and stumbled out into a large, roughly circular cavern with no other exits. Torchlight danced on the walls and the object in the center of the cave.

He had found it.

[Bruce]

The cavern walls moved. The Rat couldn’t really be sure, but just at the edge of his vision the rock subtly undulated. When he tried to focus on it he couldn’t see anything amiss, but he was sure that this was more than just reflected torchlight. An unsettling paranoia took hold of him.

With a deep breath he gathered his courage and stepped toward the center of the chamber and the prize that waited there.

As he took his first step he was aware that something else was wrong. He spun to meet a sudden rush of feet on stone behind him, drawing his sword with the motion, and deflected the blade aimed at his head. Seemed his comrades had decided to pick this moment to increase their share of the loot by lessening the number of ways it would be divided. With a twisting motion he wound his own blade over and under the attacker’s sword and thrust. The blade sank deep into the man’s neck, and as he sank with a groan, The Rat was already on the second attacker. He smashed the flat of his blade against the weapon headed for him, stepping wide into almost a crouch to avoid the attacker’s follow up thrust, driving his sword forward and up as he did so. He buried the point of his blade deep between the man’s ribs, puncturing his lung and heart. The man collapsed into a heap and shuddered twice, three times before he died.

The Rat squared off against the remaining two. But they just stood there, blank, surprised looks on their faces, and weapons still sheathed. One raised both hands, palms outward in front of him.

“Hey, Rat, we didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout what them guys was gonna do.”

The Rat sensed the truth in the statement, but figured they both would turn on him in their own time, given the chance. He needed their help now, but resolved to get them before they could get him. He’d look for his own opportunity to increase his share.

“All right then, let’s get this thing open.”

He made a point of letting them go first.

Then there it was again. The feeling of dread. It crept up from the soles of his feet and caused him to shake. Excitement, not fear, he told himself without believing it. They all gathered in the center of the chamber, surrounding what looked like an oversized chest of stone. It was cube-like, standing about three feet high and roughly square, three feet each side. It was roughly hewn with heavy brass hinges and clasp and a big brass lock.

The Rat’s unease increased when he noticed the brass. Despite being interred in a dank, damp cave for who knows how long, the brass was free of oxidation. It looked brand new. And then there was the chest itself. At first, he wondered how someone could get such a bulky thing through the tight passage into the cavern until he noticed the bottom. There was no seam. The chest was part of the cavern, carved from the mountain itself.

He shook his head. This was no time to second guess himself. With a put on resolve he pulled out the tools of his trade and went to work on the lock.

It was difficult. The lock was incredibly complex. But The Rat was a master at his craft, and even though it took the better part of an hour, he bested the device.

With the help of the others, using pry bars and brute force they began to force the lid. It was heavier than it looked, and even though there was no sound from the hinges, The Rat could swear that they were resisting. As if they were fighting to stay closed.

An eerie silence fell, broken only by the grunting of the three men as they slowly pried open the chest, inch by inch. They had forced it a little less than halfway, when without warning the lid flew up out of their grasp and in an instant all was confusion.

The Rat heard the other men screaming and then realized that his own voice was part of that chorus. There was a brief moment of intense, unbearable, searing pain, and then nothing as The Rat’s world came to an end.

[Bruce]

Giles de Gilbert, personal advisor to King Louen Leoncour of Bretonnia and High Mage, bolted upright in his bed, clammy hands of fear gripping his heart. He was disoriented at first, not remembering that he was safe in his chamber in Couronne, his eyes darted about while trying to focus in on his surroundings. Slowly, he realized he was alone. He wiped the sweat from his brow and leapt from his bed and headed for his study, grabbing his robes as he went.

* * *

Louen awoke to shouting outside his chamber. More curious than cautious he dressed and opened the door.

Outside his personal guards were trying to push a frantic Giles de Gilbert away down the hallway. Upon seeing the king’s door open, Giles became even more frenetic, waving his arms and crying out.

“Your Majesty, I must see you now! Something terrible has happened!”

The guards turned toward their liege while still holding the thrashing Giles at bay.

Louen waved his hands in a calming gesture.

“It’s all right, let him pass.”

He noted the guards’ perturbed looks as Giles rushed past them.

Louen poured wine into two goblets and passed one into Giles trembling hands.

“What is it that has you so upset, Giles, that it cannot wait until morning?”

Giles looked as if he were about to be ill, Louen had never seen him so out of sorts.

“Something terrible has been loosed in the world, Your Majesty. I felt it carried upon the Winds of Magic as I’m sure has every other man or creature in the world sensitive to magic. It is a force as malevolent and dark as Chaos, but not of Chaos. There will be many who will wish to destroy it, but many more who will wish to possess it and try to bend its power to their will. But it is too powerful, too alien a force to be controlled and I fear it will be the end of our existence as we know it.”

Louen stared at the breathless Giles.

“I wish to know more, and you will study this thing at length. But,” Louen held up his hand to silence a protest from Giles, “until We know the source of this power, there is nothing can be done.”

“But we can, Your Majesty, I know where it originated. And we must hurry, I can already feel its corruption changing the Winds of Magic.”

Louen felt a darkness settle over his spirit.

“Then We shall assemble a force immediately”

[Bruce]

The next chapter is up to you. Beginning July 11th, 2009, no matter what race you come from in the world of Warhammer, you will begin the search. But beware, others seek what you seek and they will do anything to obtain it and stop others from reaching it. So get ready for exploration and battle in the beginning of Armoury Games' Winds of Magic Warhammer Event.

Check out the details on our Warhammer Fantasy Thread.