A fog enveloped everything. It was as if I were floating above an endless sea of white haze. The silhouette of the mysterious knight seemed close and infinitely far at the same time. His voice, along with the haze, streamed through me, penetrating my very core.
— Time is running out. The greatest achievement of the Old Ones is about to become a tool for the forces of destruction. An island full of mist and mystery awaits you. Albion. That is what men call it. Go to Albion.
Waking up, I immediately turned to Loom-Pia:
"The dream seems to have changed. Was this knight making contact with us?"
"No. The spell is unraveling like a thread from a spool. The visions have moved from general words to more precise instructions. The Old Ones' Ways are in danger. By gaining control over them, Chaos will achieve unprecedented power."
"And… More specifically? Why does Chaos want these Ways?"
"Their network entangles a significant portion of this planet. Neither walls, nor mountain passes, nor the deepest seas will help when the enemies begin to emerge from the gates everywhere. But that is only part of the problem. Through the Old Ones' Ways, streams of magic flow. By distorting their routes, the enemy will cause planetary-scale catastrophes. Ulthuan, set aside by the Old Ones for the Elves to inhabit, will be the first to perish in the abyss. Then tidal waves will destroy the coastal cities. Then earthquakes…"
The Slann continued to describe potential problems for a long time. His predictions even extended to the death of crops of certain grains and the invasion of field mice. I stopped listening to most of this podcast. It was already clear that if Chaos captured the Old Ones' Ways, it would unleash a heap of new disasters upon this long-suffering world.
It was interesting, though, that the spell cast on us had not yet taken its final form. The countdown continued. What would happen next? More detailed instructions or threats in case of refusal to carry out the mission?
During my sleep, my back had stiffened. Beneath me was now the cold stone floor of the underground, where we had gone the previous evening. In the forest thicket, Erik had found a descent, partially blocked by rock fragments. However, Dwarf craftsmanship was still visible in places. Ancient slabs, columns, and a paved road leading into the depths of the earth. That's where we spent the night, choosing a small dead-end branch off the main path. There was enough space for the cart and the donkey.
Waking up and talking with the hypnotoad, I dozed off again until I was finally awakened by a loud cracking sound. It was Magg. Opening my eyes, I found that the Ogre was tearing apart the barrel that had held the Dwarf brew. Then the brute started sucking on and even gnawing the fragments. Catching my eye, the Ogre sadly announced:
— The booze is gone, Jurg. It was good, but not enough.
— Aww, kitty, just a little bit more, — I mumbled a line from an old joke, stretching my now young bones.
Erik was already busy near the cart, slicing meaty and porous chunks of something juicy.
— We shouldn't light a fire here, — the Halfling explained his actions. — The smell of smoke could attract unwanted attention. So, we'll start the morning with a salad of fleshshrooms with a touch of olive oil and slices of smoked Goblin. A little diluted white wine will complement the dish well.
— Don't be scared, Jurg, — the Ogre reassured me, still gnawing on the wood. — It's called salad, but it's tasty. The mushrooms are like meat. It's edible.
As I understood it, the Ogre didn't much respect vegetables. He was willing to tolerate them only in small quantities as a side dish for a meat course.
And once again, this world surprised me in a good way. I hadn't washed for several days, I was sitting deep inside a sinister underground, my shoes were pinching my feet, and one of my companions was an Ogre who considered hygiene a skinny person's whim. It seemed like utter hell. However, the fleshshroom salad was something else! An oily, salty substance that coated the taste receptors with a feeling of bliss. The nutritious dish was accompanied by pleasant wine. Erik hadn't lied. The flavors truly complemented each other perfectly.
Magg ate unusually fast, even by his standards. Despite his portion being about six times larger, he finished noticeably quicker than us. Then the Ogre jumped to his feet and started… packing! Unheard of. He picked up the sacks from the floor and tossed them into the cart.
This was the first time I had seen the pot-bellied warrior actually work. Before this, Erik had handled all domestic matters. The Halfling followed the Ogre like a sort of squire. However, Magg was clearly burning with impatience now.
— Come on, skinny, chew! Chew, may the Maw swallow you! My fists are itching. Let's go beat up, steal from, and eat someone!
It seemed the Dwarf brew had given Magg an unprecedented burst of energy. The ale was packed with excessive nutrients, and the Ogre had guzzled two barrels.
— Yes, yes, of course! — Erik supported his pot-bellied comrade's enthusiasm. — I saw traces of a Greenskin patrol on the underground road. We might still catch up to them.
— And eat them!
The Ogre was always thinking about food.
We quickly started getting ready. In the process, I went up to Erik and whispered:
— Can we handle a patrol of Greenskins? The sun doesn't shine here, and there could be many Goblins.
— Look at him, — Erik chuckled. — Strength is just bursting out of him. Sure, those bearded tricksters fleeced us, but their ale is good. Magg could punch out a Giant after that. Just follow him and try not to stay too close when he starts swinging his bludgeon.
Having gathered our belongings, we set out onto the main road like bandits, with the goal of mugging someone. The great underground road, once the pride of the Dwarfs. Now it was in a deplorable state. The stone masonry was cracked in places or covered with dust. The defaced faces of the statues that once guarded the path looked ugly.
— By the way, why did the Dwarfs prefer to walk above ground and not here? — I asked Erik.
— This part of the route ends in a collapse. We'd have to go back to the surface anyway and take a detour, — the Halfling replied. — And there are many more enemies here. I think their scouts sometimes come down here. I found lead bullets among the Goblin skeletons here.
— I see.
The longer we walked, the more clearly I noticed that my shoes were pinching my feet. From the very beginning, this footwear was inferior to the samples from my home world, but at least it fit. I had just about gotten used to the thin sole, through which I could feel every pebble, and now a new problem. Could it be…
There was only one explanation for this—my body was growing very fast. Loom-Pia's magic and the stolen life force were transforming the mortal shell known as Jurgen.
— Long ago were Ogres born! We are strong, fat and enormous! We're preoccupied with one main thought! Stuffing our belly with drink and food!
Magg launched into this song, occasionally hitting his belly-plate armor.
— Quieter, quieter… — said Erik, who was carrying our lantern and scurrying alongside.
— Why is that? I, Magg Gut-Gouger, am not afraid of anyone here!
— You'll scare away the prey.
— Ah-ha-ha-ha, right… — the Ogre grinned slyly. — We'll go quiet then. Hear that, Jurg? No noise.
I nodded, barely concealing a smile.
Erik moved forward, scanning the road. He was looking for fresh scraps, pieces of mushrooms, and signs of Goblin activity.
— There are about thirty of them, — the Halfling said, carefully studying a spot where a stream crossed the Dwarf road and there were many small footprints in the mud.
— Good! Tasty! — Magg bared his teeth.
I, too, was looking forward to new bloodshed. I took the shield from the cart, which might come in handy against Goblin archers. I put the spear down for now, drawing my sword from its sheath. The pleasant weight of the blade was reassuring. This sword was clearly faster and longer than many enemy choppers. Even if I can't fence, the Gobs aren't known for their skill either, for the most part. I just needed to shed a little blood and ride the wave of magical rage to unleash it upon the enemy ranks.
Erik had already loaded his pistol. A crazy smile played on the Halfling's face. He was also looking forward to the fight, but for his own personal reasons. He wanted to exterminate the Greenskins.
So we were three comrades: rage, revenge, and hunger!
After about three hundred meters, the road abruptly narrowed. The ceiling had collapsed, turning the wide thoroughfare into a winding corridor, through which our cart could barely squeeze. On both sides of the passage, one could see black-brown idols adorned with bones. The bared faces of the primitive statues seemed to laugh, foretelling doom for travelers like us. Goblin culture. Judging by the texture and smell of the idols, they were made of shit with small stones mixed in.
Near the collapse, I noticed a lot of bone splinters. Probably someone was killed and eaten here. The bones were crushed to get to the nutritious brain. I don't know who fell here: humans, Dwarfs, or other Goblins. Perhaps this was the border of the domains of different Greenskin clans, and skirmishes often occurred here.
We squeezed into the corridor, spending almost ten minutes to get past the collapse. Beyond it was a wide section of the road and a sharp turn. It was bright enough here for an underground. Several crystals, like stars, twinkled high on the ceiling. Ancient Dwarf light-stones.
Magg signaled for silence. The Ogre bared his teeth, probably sensing the proximity of prey. A few Goblins appeared from around the corner. A couple in black robes, and others half-naked. My heart beat faster. Take the spear or the sword right away. The spear or the sword…
And then I noticed something strange about the Goblins' behavior. First, they were completely unarmed, which was practically unthinkable. Second, they were walking reluctantly. Complaining and cursing, they would take a few steps forward, then roll back slightly as if…
Someone was driving them!
I only managed to notice that some of the Goblins' hands were bound when other creatures appeared from behind their backs. They were also short, even compared to me, but larger than the Greenskins. They walked, hunched over and bent low to the floor. A whip cracked several times in the hands, or rather the paws, of one of the furry overseers.
— Smells-stinks of surface-things! — I heard a creaky, squeaky voice.
There could be no doubt. These were Ratmen. Skaven. They were the first to run into a group of Goblins, slaughtering them and taking the few survivors prisoner.
However, Magg didn't seem to care who our enemy was today. The Ogre roared and, raising his bludgeon high, rushed into battle. Erik and I rushed after him. Skaven warriors flew out from around the corner one after another, holding spears, halberds, and flat triangular shields in front of them. The vicious squealing almost rang in my ears.
How many of them were there? Only Sigmar knew. Skaven are very bad news. Although most Ratmen are weak and cowardly, their race possesses a lot of deadly weaponry. Moreover, there are many Skaven. There are always a great many of them.
In the clash between the frenzied Ogre and the Skaven, the first to suffer were… the Goblins. The captured Greenskins found themselves between two fires. The Skaven cut and stabbed them, while Magg scattered them with powerful bludgeon blows.
When the Greenskins were gone, the slaughter turned into a fight. Magg tried to scatter the thin ones in his favorite manner, but the Ratmen bristled with polearms. Worse, they were trying to flank the Ogre on both sides.
Without a word, Erik and I rushed to cover our big friend's flanks. I took the left. I immediately found myself facing five Skaven. Gods, it was terrifying. I was relatively used to Goblins. I knew how they fought, how dangerous they were, and what they tasted like. But Skaven…
Distorted, yet recognizable human emotions were visible on their rat faces. Anger, malice, fear, contempt.
One against five.
It seemed my fate was already sealed. But there was no point in giving up. Mercy is completely absent in the spectrum of Skaven emotions.
I tried to throw my spear at the nearest gray rat. However, he flinched, and my weapon struck the ancient Dwarf pavement. Stepping back, I drew the blade from its sheath, preparing to meet my fate, however… The Skaven were in no hurry to attack.
All five dispersed, trying to surround me. Two feigned thrusts with spears. One had a shield and something like a short sword. The rest only boasted one-handed daggers.
In fact, there was plenty of space around. They could have rushed me all at once, but they lacked resolve. This was not the martial elite of the rat-people, but cannon fodder.
I turned from one Ratman to another, trying not to let anyone out of my sight for too long. The situation was bad. It felt like a dead end, but at any moment, two or three more rats could slip past Magg. Then the critical mass of Skaven malice would be reached, and the creatures would tear me to shreds.
Then I decided on a trick. I noticed that one of the Skaven with a dagger was very actively trying to reach my spear on the floor. Good. I didn't step back but pretended not to look his way.
A small step, half a step.
The Skaven's tail twitched from side to side. The rat was clearly nervous. The squeals of his kin, who had finally been hit by Magg, reached his ears. However, the Skaven desperately wanted this new, cool killing tool. Perhaps he was already fantasizing about how owning the spear would raise his status. Which of his old enemies he would stab first.
Sorry, buddy. This isn't where dreams come true.
As soon as the rat made up his mind, I sharply turned in his direction, simultaneously slashing from right to left. The Skaven shrieked. I hit him on the nose. The wound was not dangerous, but it undermined the already not-so-strong fighting spirit of the rats. They backed away from me even further.
Moreover, I had drawn first blood. A small, but so desired drop of rage fell to the bottom of the sacrificial bowl. I went on the attack, targeting one of the spearmen. The calculation was correct. He did not retreat too far but tried to keep me away by presenting his weapon.
It was nice to know that there were fighters much worse than me in this harsh world. The Skaven's "defense" was utterly laughable. It didn't withstand my attack either. I caught the clumsy thrust on the flat of my shield, knocked the enemy's weapon aside, and, taking a diagonal step forward, slashed the rat across the head.
The blow was… well, so-so. A glancing blow. It only nicked the rat's ear and cheek. However, my attack made a lasting impression on the Skaven. The rat squealed as if he had been hit in the face by at least the flaming sword of Khaine—the Elven God of War. The Skaven ran, his remaining brethren wavered even more, and I received the second drop of rage. Moving became easier.
I didn't even know if the toad magic had really affected me or if it was a placebo effect. Like, my body associates successful strikes on enemies with a surge of strength? Ah, whatever. Kill the rats!
Sensing the enemy's weakness, I went into a new attack. Faking with the blade and changing the position of my shield, I confused the Skaven. They were getting more and more nervous.
A step to the right, a step to the left, a feigned swing, the rats cringe in fear. They look at me like the Bandar-log at Kaa the Python. They follow my every move and…
I feigned a chopping motion and immediately stabbed, stepping forward. This lunge was more successful. I poked the shield-bearer's right eye out. He immediately turned to run, exposing his back. I followed him with a slashing blow to the spine. The Skaven stumbled, falling backward. My strength had already increased. The rat was thrashing, trying to get up. It seemed his hind legs were paralyzed.
This was the last straw. The others bolted. I noticed one of them wetting the ancient Dwarf road as he ran. Another entry in the Book of Grudges.
I chased the rats until I drew level with Magg. He had just successfully struck the Skaven shield-bearer with his bludgeon. Fragile bones crunched. The Ogre was truly going off after the Dwarf ale. It was as if he was bringing the bearded folk's revenge to all the underground vermin. Magg was swinging his bludgeon extremely fast, sometimes holding it with both hands, sometimes leaving it in one, allowing him to reach enemies from afar.
Trying not to get in the Ogre's way, I stood in front of the rat formation. Or, more accurately, the now thoroughly terrified crowd of Skaven. Was this a victory? Was it this easy?
No, Jurgen. This world is not about "easy."
The crowd of rats rippled. The Skaven warriors pressed against the walls in panic. Something massive appeared from around the corner. The creature had a rat head, but the body… a true mountain of muscle.
I believe such monstrosities are called Rat Ogres. The beast was almost the size of Magg, and a sharp blade replaced the monster's left paw.
However, the Skaven were not only shying away from the huge monster. The small rat walking in front of the brute caused no less fear. Dirty-white fur, horns on its head, a long staff in its paw, and several black rats, particularly well-armed, behind him.
— Why have you not won-won yet, my pitiful-useless underlings, — a voice amplified by magic rang out. — You must kill-kill the surface-things. Forward or I will roast you!
It was a Grey Seer. A Skaven sorcerer.