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Warp Token 2 Update
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 09:25:07 +0000 UTC2k words
***
Some days were better than others. He could go a day or two without ever thinking about it, but some were far more alarming. Sometimes he liked to just do towards the locked cabin and stare at the latch. During his thirty-minute breaks, before and after sleep, he’d make time for it whenever possible. He couldn’t describe the feeling of being so close to the relic other than a piercing chill in the chest, so deep and cold that it burned, yet his brain did not parse this sensation as pain.
“I fear this is the work of Chaos,” Wilfred murmured, stroking his beard in contemplation. As the only one on the woflship with any experience with magic, he’d been the one Roderick had turned to, when these sensations became too troubling to hide. “Its corruptions flow freely through the Winds, and it seems the relic is a very potent conduit.”
“Chaos?” Roderick repeated. “The staff is but a tool, how can it be corrupted by the Dark Gods?”
“Roderick, did you ever pay attention to my lessons?” Wilfred scolded. “Ruinous Powers can latch onto any host body, be that a living creature, or an object. Magic is Chaos, in a sense, and relics of power are the ultimate conduit for their corruption.”
“So your druidic staff,” he said, pointing toward the corner of the cabin. “That’s also made from Chaos?”
“Quite so. However, the Conclave performs numerous rituals and incantations to restrict any malicious entities from manipulating us through them. Magic is still the weapon of the Dark Gods, of course, so we must be vigilant of manipulation.”
“Manipulation?” Roderick echoed. He was starting to sound like a parrot. “Is that what’s happening to me?”
Wilfred gave him a worried glance. “I’m afraid there is no easier way of putting it, Roderick. The forces of Chaos are constantly seeking ways into our thoughts, and a layman makes a tempting target. I feared this would happen,” he muttered. “I should have gone with you to the Tomb King lands, I endangered both you and miss Seeker to terrible danger.”
“My faith to Sigmar and the Empire is not so easily broken,” Roderick replied. “If Chaos wishes to… convert me, it will have to do a lot more than this.”
“That is exactly what Chaos will do,” Wilfred chided. “The inclinations, the whispers, they will soon become more tempting and dangerous as time passes, growing in strength until not even your willpower could overthrow them. If that were to happen, then the Legions of Chaos will have another member.”
Roderick knew a few things about the Chaos Legions. Corrupted men who had fallen to darkness, seduced by the powers offered by demons and other malicious entities. Roderick would sooner take his own life than submit to that kind of existence.
“How long do I have?” Roderick asked, though he almost didn’t want to know the answer. “Before I… turn?”
“I have seen many men convert to heresy in my time, but no two were the same. Some lasted weeks, others months, most only withstood the influence for a few days. Your proximity to the relic will only make it worse, the sooner we get off this ship, and lock it away in the Conclave vaults, the better. Tell me, when exactly did you start to notice these changes?”
“Perhaps… three days after we left Araby,” Roderick admitted. “Though I did sense something… off, when I first laid a hand upon the staff.”
“So roughly twenty days ago,” Wilfred murmured. “That is longer than some cases I’ve seen. You should have told me far sooner,” he added with a scowl. “Why keep this to yourself? If you had mentioned something, we could have preempted this entire thing, fool.”
“Is there nothing more to be done?” Roderick said, a touch of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He felt like he was being scolded by a parent.
“I can teach you some basic wards and prayers,” Wilfred said. “They are only basic protections, but even you should be able to cast them with practice, and any ward is better than none. There is also the option of simply tossing the thing overboard,” he added. “I doubt it could pose a danger to any of us at the bottom of the Great Ocean.”
“And make our quest all for naught?” Roderick replied, and that embarrassment turned to a mild anger. “You, me, Skyseeker, and all these men have put in too much effort just to go back to Reikland empty-handed. No, I if must endure the relic, then that is what I’ll do.”
“You will not endure this pain alone,” Wilfred said, reaching across the table to touch his arm. “I will do all within my power to help you, Roderick, but remember this. Magical wards are all well and good, but true protection comes from the self. Your faith to the Empire is strong, just as you said, and that is a shield stronger than any spell. Use it as such, and you will have nothing to fear from Chaos.”
“But my self has been corrupted,” Roderick murmured.
“Darkness lives in all our hearts, even mine,” Wilfred said. “We all struggle against the forces of Chaos, whether we are aware of it or not. Do you think Sigmar never felt tempted? The very Gods of Chaos themselves vied to turn him over to their whims, and the pain he must have endured must be staggering, but endure it he did, and look at what he accomplished. Without so much adversity, the Empire would not exist without his strength.”
“It sounds like you’re saying that this is good for me,” Roderick said, shooting him a skeptical glance.
“What I’m saying, is that you are a bright young man, and I have never known a greater Son of Sigmar than you, my friend. I believe in your strength, my friend, and I urge you to start thinking the same.”
For a moment, the dark weight of the relic was subdued beneath his old friend’s words of praise.
“I will try,” Roderick answered.
-xXx-
The lower decks were dark, and the sconces mounted on the walls provided a light so pitiful it seemed to only enhance the shadows. They were cramped, too, the floor packed in with storage creates, support columns, rowing seats, cloth sacks, and sleeping hammocks for the sailors, whom stank so badly that Skyseeker had to shove claws up her nostrils just to keep from passing out. She’d never remembered home so strongly.
She could here the waves lapping at the thick, rounded walls of the hull as she advanced down the length, a paw casually resting on her warp dagger as she returned the odd looks the humans gave her. Begin the sole talk of the town – or ship in this case – the humans acknowledged her presence and left her to her own devices.
She felt a stab of guilt as her other paw had to dangle uselessly by her side, daggerless. Her off-hand weeping blade had been smothered beneath the heel of a monster disguised as a statue. It had been her favourite one, the way its corrosive edge glowed when she held it out in her signature poses…
She hopped deftly over a tarped crate, then stepped through an archway at the very rear of the ship. Things were even more crammed inside this section, with metal chains anchored to giant cranks that were turned round and round by burly men, the sound of sloshing water emanating from pits in the moldy wood.
Skyseeker looked for the most important-looking freak and sauntered over to him, tapping him on the leg to get his attention. The man cursed in fright, lurching away as he turned to look at her, his features scrunching beneath his heavy black beard and mop of hair.
“Greetings!” Skyseeker called. “It is I, Skaven Empire agent and follower of Sigismund, Skyseeker!”
“I know who you are,” the man grumbled. “What do you want?”
“You KNOW me?” Skyseeker gasped. “Skaven’s reputation finally proceeds! I TOLD YOU LORD GNAWDWELL! Wait, did I? Anyway, you in charge here-here?”
“I’m the shift lead down here, yes. The name’s Otto.”
“Didn’t ask! Kessel-man forced Skaven to help crew.”
“You mean the Cap?”
“Who else, imbecile!? Now what can Skaven do for you? You need man-thing assassination? Relic recovered? More food rations? Happen to know someone in kitchens who can hook you up.”
“We could use someone to scrub,” Otto mused. “If you can clean up more filth than you make, a’course.”
“Like you can say-speak otherwise, pube-face,” Skaven scoffed. She prided herself on being clean, at least until Roderick had taught her how to bathe. Her black fur clung to her body like a second skin, not at all as coarse as other Skaven or even human fur, and sometimes it shone silver whenever the moonlight hit at just the right angle. “Now what is this ‘scrub’ you talk about? That another word for killing someone?”
“Kills your back, I ‘spose,” Otto said. “Here,” he added, walking her over to the corner. There was some sort of rod in a wooden container leaning against the hull, and there was some sort of soapy substance within the vessel. He placed both in her paws.
“Do I drink this?” she asked, peering into the bucket.
“No you daft rat, wipe that stuff across the floor and start mopping, I want to be able to see your ugly face in its reflection when you’re done.”
“What-what! The WHOLE floor?” From her estimate, this section of the deck was oproximately a million meters long.
“That’s what I said,” Otto smirked. “And when you’re done with that, take this brush and polish it off, so we don’t start trippin’ over. Hop to it, maybe I’ll get you some cheese if you work fast.”
A couple nearby sailors chuckled at that, Skyseeker scowling at them.
“Now that’s just racist,” she said. “You lucky rat isn’t triple agent, Motto or whatever you said.”
“Less chat, more work, rat,” Otto said. He turned back to one of the strange valved contraptions, pulling on a large crank, which seemed purposeless to her. She got the inclination from Otto and Von Kessel that this wasn’t going exactly to be a thrilling experience down here, but Skyseeker was nothing but an optimist. After all, how hard could it be for paws like hers?
She slopped some of the soapy water onto her mop and stroked the floor, then immediately wanted to end her life. The soap was too weak, the stains on the wood too strong, and the effort too high. Just what was she doing? She was the Skyseeker, she had crossed entire countries of the surface-world, had survived deserts full of the undead, and had snatched freedom from the jaws of cruel imprisonment that was a breeder’s birthright. She had done so much, and this kind of slave work was literally beneath her.
By the time she cleaned maybe a one-by-one meter square of floor, she came up with a master plan.
