2k words***
A foot to the ribs woke her the morning of her plan, Pinkface standing over her in all his putridness. “Wakey-Wake, slave, there is much to do this day, and you wasting time.”
“Skaven is… not feeling up to it today-day,” Skyseeker mumbled, rubbing a paw into a socket. “Taking sick leave this time.”
He must not have liked something in her tone, as he kicked her much harder this time. “You not listening, slave. I said, there is much to do, and you are going to do it for me. Up, Up!”
Choosing whether to take Pinkface’s slavery had been the one taste of freedom allowed to her and the other slaves, and she had been counting on hiding out in the pit for this morning. It didn’t seem he was taking no for an answer however. “You don’t want to me make ask again, slave,” Pinkface snarled. “You will work, you will talk, you will do as your master says, or you not get any food tonight.”
And you will not be getting any living tonight, she thought, making a show of being as begrudging as possible. Oh well, this little deviation wouldn’t affect the plan too much, though the timing of the window would be tighter than she’d predicted.
Pinkface seemed to sense that she wasn’t as disheartened by his threat, and he gave her another wack across the head. “Faster! You know what’s good for you, slave, you go faster!”
She took the path down to the workshop like she had for dozens and dozens of times before, her goggles bobbing against her neck as she jogged. The grinding of metal and chugging of pipes welcomed her as she approached the workshop, the dozens of follow slaves already hard at work keeping the generators from imploding. It wasn’t just Skaven. Otto and his human companions were sprinkled in here and there, head and shoulders above the rat men as they worked as cohesive units to keep from meeting an explosive demise. After losing count once and retrying, it seemed all twelve of them were present.
She flashed a wink to Otto, the man-thing replying with a subtle nod. Kretch stood next to him, though he was too busy talking to another Skaven to pay her any mind. She hoped he had not forgotten his part in the plan, and was brave enough not to cower when the time came.
She looked to the side passages, but Skaven were only leaving, none were coming back in. Where was her delivery? She had been promised her weapons this very morning, had the rats in the smithing room forgotten?
“You will go back to doomflayer hangar today,” Pinkface said, rousing her from her thoughts. “They going on reconnaissance later, and you will stay and wait and tell me the exact moment they leave, so I can cut power there, and save precious warpfuel for other levels.”
She lingered as best she could, intentionally bumping into slaves so her progress slowed. Every spared moment had to be taken, if the delivery was running late. Or, had they simply forgotten about her weapons? Maybe the slaver had simply fleeced her of her warpstone and never gave out the order. This burrow was a treacherous place, perhaps too treacherous even for her.
“What you standing around for?” Pinkface demanded, and his whip cracked and her back began to bleed from a blooming scar. “I told you to move, slave!”
She fled, at once quick and disheartened. This was supposed to be it, but now her escape was done before it had even started. More weeks of slavery awaited her, and she was not sure she could survive them, especially if the Snout returned…
As she turned to leave the workshop, a procession of rats blocked her way. “Out the way, out the way!” one of them squeaked, brushing past her as he power-walked towards her. She stood aside, her eyes widening as she saw the bundle of swords in his furry arms. Another slave followed him, then a third, and a fourth, each carrying a long and thin package covered in cloth, the ends of blades and weapon handles poking out from either end.
“Delivery for slave master!” the same salve chirped, scanning the room with his yellow eyes. When he located Pinkface, he hopped closed, holding out the bundle and lowering his head in obedience. “Fresh off the fires, still warm from the furnaces! My master sends his regardations.”
“What is this?” Pinkface demanded, throwing of fthe cloth to expose the five or six weapons beneath. “Swords and spears? Who ordered these?”
“Me-Me!”
All eyes turned to Skyseeker as she approached one of the delivery-rats from behind, reaching out to pull one of the weapons free. It was a sword almost as long as she was tall, and it took her both paws to balance its weight. She pressed the crooked tip against the throat of the rat, and she encouraged him to drop the bundle, more weapons spilling to the floor.
“Now, man-things!” Skyseeker shouted.
The humans were up and running just as she’d planned. They knocked down the rats int heir path, the slaves too bewildered to even put up a struggle, even the ones carrying the weapons just watched as they snatch up the weapons, passing each out to a man.
There were five slavers including Pinkface, and by the time they reacted, the man-things were already taking to battle. The humans charged forward, spears thrusting, the slavers brandishing whips to counter. Some of them carried daggers, the slaver rats duel-wielding as they exchanged blows.
The workshop turned to chaos. Tiny rats scurried between the feet of the larger slavers and humans, more than a few caught in the path of a stray whip tail or sword. Shouting and screaming echoed down the passages, instincts taking the delivery rats back into the tunnels, and that same instinct almost pulled at Skyseeker to join them. There was barely enough to room to walk uninterrupted through the workshop on a good day, and the place was rapidly becoming a bloodbath.
She spotted Otto taking a looted sword to the gut of one of the slavers, slashing once before following with a lethal stab through the chest, the brutish Skaven snarling his last breath. She squirted fear-musk as Pinkface came at him from behind, holding his whip out sideways and throwing his weight. The strike broke the sound barrier, the hairy tails lashing Otto across his side, the man-thing’s blood flowing freely since he’d been stripped of all but a pair of briefs.
Otto turned to face him, sidestepping a follow-up crack, but this wasn’t Pinkface’s only weapon. He turned, his tail lifting into the air, and poised upon its tip was a ring of metal attached to a piece of metal, covering the end of the appendage like a shield. It was segmented, allowing it to curve and move, narrowing down to a deadly point.
Otto wasn’t expecting the attack, and the tail-blade slashed him across the thigh, Otto’s growl travelling above the rest of clashing metal and screams. Pinkface kept up the pressure, forcing the human to block as he harried with blade and whip.
Skyseeker rushed into the crowd, passing her sword off to her tail so she could drop to all fours, which was both faster and made her a smaller target. Weaving between battling humans and Skaven brought her back to her first taste of open warfare, where human cavalry had taken the Skaven warband she’d infiltrated in the rear, and she had been forced to navigate through a forest of horse legs and slave bodies. She had been afraid then, afraid of the surface and afraid of the humans, but now her fear was for Otto’s benefit. He was far too useful to let die now.
Pinkface was faster than Otto, and a whip aimed at the human’s weapon forced the sword from his grasp, the human disarmed in a heartbeat. Otto stepped in with a fist raised, but Pinkface dodged aside and kicked him in the knee, driving him to the ground. He pulled a dagger from his belt, the slaver reversing his grip, intending to plunge it through Otto’s neck.
He was so focused on Otto, and it was the all the opening Skyseeker needed. Before Pinkface could make the killing blow, she lunged in, holding her sword like one would a spear, one paw carefully gripping the steel. She drove the tip through Pinkface’s wrist, and it came out the other side with a crimson spurt, the slaver crying out.
He turned, intending to swipe her with his whip, but she rolled beneath the attack, pulling her sword free with the motion. She slashed through the tunic that covered his hip, driving him to the ground in a furry sprawl, one useless paw clutched to his chest.
He still had hold of his whip, and Pinkface tried to slash her with a backhand. She stepped in, stomping down on his elbow, the slaver groaning as he was forced to lose his grip. She reached down and pried the leather handle from his fingers, holding her sword to his throat as she relinquished him.
“Ha! How you like that, Pinkface?” she declared, holding the whip up, the tails draping along the ground. “Looks like I’m the slaver now!”
“What do you think you’re doing, slave?” Pinkface snarled. “You give that back.”
“Oh, I’ll give it back, hehe! Back in two, or six? Which you prefer?”
“I’m going to rip out your teeth for this, slave. How dare-dare you defy me?”
“Oh I dare! Now what’s it gonna be? Two, or six?” She raised the whip above her head, and brought it down with a hearty crack that displaced the air. Pinkface covered his face just as the tail scratched him across the chest. “Two or six? I don’t think that’s enough, is it?” She hit him again. “How about four or twelve?” She struck once more. “Eight and twenty-four?!”
Pinkface tightened into a pathetic ball to shield himself from her whip, Skyseker filling the workshop with her cackles. No number of hits would have satisfied her, but when he was thoroughly scratched enough that she looked untouched in comparison, she finally deigned to relent, tossing his whip into the dirt with a scoff. Seeing him curled in the dirt like that, she could hardly believe she’d feared this creature.
She turned to Otto, kneeling beside him as he turned onto his back and sat up. “How you going, Otter?” she asked, looking him over for wounds. “You need medicine?”
“I am fine,” he replied. She offered a paw, but she couldn’t support his weight, so he hauled himself up without her aid. “I can handle a few scratches. You looked like you needed that,” he added, gesturing to the discarded whip.
“Oh, you have negative idea, man-thing.”
The other humans were finishing off the other slavers, and with the other Skaven evacuated, their was more room for the humans to take advantage of their numbers. Just as she’d predicted, the skavenslaves were staying well out of the way, Kretch rounding them up as was his part of the plan.
“Let’s finish off these furballs,” Otto said, taking up his weapon.
“In a moment,” Skyseeker said. “There is something I have to do in pit, you wait for me here-here, Otter.”
“Alright,” he conceded. “Just don’t tarry, we can’t stay here forever, the cat is out of the bag now.”
“Cat?” she asked. She decided not to linger for answer, making her way back towards the pit. She was stopped when a paw clutched her foot, however.
“You are no slave,” Pinkface snapped, his voice still dripping with venom despite his beleaguered body. “You are pack-friend to… man-things. How? How you do this?”
“Because I’m Skyseeker, dingus,” she said, shaking him off. “You’re finally right, Pinkface, I am no slave. I’m the free-est, most brilliant rat in Clan Mors! Formerly.”
“Skyseeker,” he grumbled. “The traitor? You?”
“Me, yes-yes! Right under your fat snout all this time-time! Make sure to tell the Snout how stupid you were to let me reangle my master scheme, I’m sure he’ll reward you well. Ta-Ta!” She skipped over him without a look back, knowing he was no longer a threat to her.