The Gathering Darkness: Nemesis Crown Fluff

Here are the first two entries of my fluff for the upcoming campaign, Nemesis Crown.

Queetik wiped his blade clean on the guardsman's cloak. The man-thing wouldn't mind, after all, because those with slit throats tend to not care about such insignificant matters. The gaping wound spanning the breadth of the man's neck festered and oozed a frothy puss—an indication of the potency of the poison. A handful of warptokens had provided a worthwhile purchase indeed.

Queetik's mission had almost come to an abrupt end, and in a most awkward and unfortunate manner no less. He had been sent by Lord Sneek himself to retrieve information on the Empire forces that had been seen marching out of Nuln. As any Eshin Assassin worth his warptokens, he had infiltrated the empire encampment with ease, making good use of the cover of night. After reaching what appeared to be the command post, he had taken his razor-sharp dagger and carefully cut a small hole in the back of the tent and positioned himself to view the conversation taking place inside.

There was a meeting in progress, by the look of things. Two battle-scarred men were facing a younger—but no less physically imposing—man who was no doubt the commander of the gathered forces. His burnished gold chest plate bearing an image of a mighty griffin lay next to his seat. An old and haggard man with a long, flowing grey beard flanked the young commander and appeared to be his counselor. Queetik could tell that this frail man was more than he appeared, as his his presence made the two veteran soldiers obviously nervous and uneasy.

There was talk of some form of Dwarf clan infighting. Some stupid Dawi had slain his brethren, and now the Dwarfs were marching toward the forest of the Wood Elves. Queetik was half-listening and half keeping watch when he heard the grey-bearded man speak of a “crown of great power.” The old man continued to talk of this crown and described how it was forged out of a most powerful material and then inscribed with a powerful Dwarf rune. Queetik no longer was focusing half his attention on the goings on outside the tent, but instead utterly enthralled in the discussion of this crown. One of the grizzled men was saying that the crown was evil and should be destroyed if it were to be found. He went on to speak of a Dwarf who had slaughtered his own clansmen, and claimed that his actions were caused by the curse of the crown he had worn. While the man-things continued to discuss and formulate plans, thoughts of power and destruction flooded Queetik's mind. He saw himself wearing the crown, leading his fellow Skaven above ground, slaughtering and burning the cities and towns of the Empire.

It was at this point that Queetik's mission had almost ended prematurely. If it weren't for the faint sound of metal scraping against hardened leather, Queetik might have remained in his trance and been slain. A watchman had wandered upon the Assassin as he sat enraptured with the talk occurring inside the tent. No matter, the sound of a sword being unsheathed alerted Queetik to the guard's presence, and the Eshin's lightning-quick reaction dispatched him with two well placed shruiken. As the guard fell to his knees, blood seeping from the wounds in his neck, another guardsman who had been standing nearby appeared. This man was surprised at the speed of the rat's movements, as any good-for-nothing Empire soldier would be, and that moment of hesitation was all Queetik needed. Taking advantage of the pause, the Assassin pounced onto the man's chest; his mutated long legs allowing him to clear the fifteen pace distance in a single bound. The force of the impact knocked the guard off balance, but before he could brace for the impending fall, Queetik had ripped his dagger across the man's throat while simultaneously raking his brass claw through the man's stomach. Blood spattered the ground as the guard crumpled, and his innards began to seep out of his lower wound. Careful to avoid stepping in the foul viscera, Queetik wiped his blade clean and quickly scurried off into the night. He did not want to be present when the macabre sight was discovered.

As he made his way stealthily through the encampment, Queetik ruminated on thoughts of the crown. Visions of grand bloodshed danced around his mind once more. He felt the allure of the item, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be able to lead the Skaven to glory over their enemies as long as he had that crown in his possession. Undoubtedly, the Nightlord would not allow such an item to stay in the possession of a lowly Assassin like Queetik. No, he would surely want it for himself. The thought of another Skaven possessing the crown caused the fur on his haunches to quiver and anger build in his stomach. If any member of the superior race were to wield this crown, it should be Queetik himself.

Perhaps Queetik should not return to Skavenblight just yet. Perhaps he should muster a small, elite expedition force to track down and claim this crown. Perhaps Lord Sneek was going to have to wait a little longer than expected to receive his report.


And here is the second part.


Queetik had listened intently to the conversation that had taken place between the two hooded figures. How fortunate he had been to stumble upon such an intriguing discussion! Of course, stumble might not be the most appropriate term; stealthily stalked, perhaps? No matter, “A slave dies when a Skaven lies,” or so the saying went, and Queetik had killed countless slaves in the past, so there was no sense in starting to care for their pitiful existence on a whim such as this. Anyway, the fact that he had spied on two agents of the Council was enough to have him killed on the spot, but he would never allow such a thing happen. He was, after all, one of the feared Assassins of Clan Eshin.

What he had heard did not sit well with the Assassin. Word of the Crown's existence had somehow gotten back to Lord Sneek, and now the Council was sending Ratnash--of all rats--to obtain it! That bastard runt of a breeder couldn't find his way out of a collapsed tunnel! Any Assassin that embraced a name bestowed upon him by the Man-Things was a disgrace to the great Clan Eshin! Queetik himself was a much better adept for this type of mission. Ratnash's "renowned" feats at the court of Talabecland were not his own, and were best attributed to the brash audacity of the nobleman-things who refused to take the reports of suspicious attendees seriously. Instead, they had arrogantly insisted on carrying through with the annual celebration of the god, Taal. The celebration, where the man-things dressed in masks of beasts, provided a perfect opportunity for the Skaven infiltration. The task required no large amount of skill for Ratnash to enter the court and pour poison into the communal drinking bowl. The fact that Ratnash was honored by the Nightlord himself upon returning from his mission disgusted Queetik. And now he was being bestowed a great honor, yet another sign of his favor within the clan.

A quiet, unsettling feeling began to build inside of Queetik. What was this feeling? An eerie burning sensation resonated from the pit of his stomach, slowly growing into a furious hellstorm. Ah, yes. Queetik remembered this feeling.

Rage.

It had been quite some time since he had last felt its unrelenting caress. His training as an Assassin had taught him how to control such vacuous emotions, yet it seemed that he retained the capacity for such anger.

Queetik could not allow the hapless and unworthy Ratnash to find the Crown. He must not!

Thoughs of death and destruction flitted through the recesses of Queetik's mind.

If Ratnash were to gain even more influence and power within the Eshin clan, Queetik would, well... he didn't know what he would do.

He spat in contempt.

There was no way that insipid wretch was ever going to reach the Crown; not if Queetik had a say in the matter.

The constant, pulsing thought of the crown had subsided to a lingering ache in his head, but Queetik knew still that untold power would be his if he were to find a way to get his claws on the artifact.

Thoughts of untold power and riches skimmed the surface of Queetik's conscience.

He would possess the Crown. With it he could become the new Nightlord, unseating Lord Sneek from his seat on the Council of 13. No, he could remove the entire need for a Council altogether! Instead, the Skaven would unite under his banner, and he would lead them to victory against the denizens of the Over-Empire!! All would learn to fear his name.

Queetik shook his head, ending the reverie. He needed to act quickly. The Shadows of the Howling Heights would once again gather, and the Crown would be his.

The voice at the precipice of Queetik's mind was satisfied.

I hope to continue Queetik's story throughout the campaign. We shall inherit!