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FG: Chapter 48
🕑 Added 2024-05-06 14:22:16 +0000 UTCThe grand cathedral of the Unclean One stood tall and bright amidst the dark depths of Fleapit’s underbelly. It’s clangorous chimes, otherworldly glow, and stained glass windows depicting ratman heroes throughout time stood as a testament to the empire of filth and decay that now sought to stretch across the entire North Warrens.
Two bodies wrapped in ceremonial threads belonging to their respective clans lay upon the main altar to He-Who-Festers, a great statue of their horned, many-eyed God staring down at them as like a giant guardian watching His children finally sleep.
Before the grand altar, the Clansmen of the dead rats knelt, heads bowed, and fists clenched in reverence. They listened with total respect to the words being sung from the new Archpriest of Fleapit – the one who it was rumored would now be taking over completely from the old Prime Putrefact.
“Be letting the gaze of He-Who-Festers linger on these brave souls!” Deekius roared – his voice traveling through the bowels of the great church and causing every ratman assembled beneath him to tremble with fear and bloodlust alike. “They, your Clansmen, are giving their lives for the Shai-Alud! For a rat of the Underkingdom, there is being no greater glory! They are dying in righteous battle, filled with pox and drenched in the vile blood of our enemies! They are dying as true warriors of ratman Kingdom should!”
The soldiers and civilians huddled beneath the rat gave their thunderous thunderous assent, mailed claws knocking against their ribs and clanging on the plate of their armor. The Marrow warriors fists beat the hardest, and the Gloomraava-touched rats of Glumrot screeched the loudest. Together, they looked the very picture of a unified people. One collective whole banded together by a shared purpose – vengeance.
Marcus watched the proceedings from the side, behind Deekius, his eyes passing over the warriors that lay supplicant before him. Whenever his stare passed over one of them, the soldier in question immediately dipped his head.
If they didn’t believe in me before, Marcus thought. They do now.
Skeever stood to attention beside him, rubbing the phantom pains running up his dead arm.
“It is being a grim day for ratman Kingdom,” the old warrior said.
Marcus spared him a fleeting look. “Indeed,” he replied. “But rest assured, Skeever. Your comrades will be avenged.”
The ratman didn’t seem altogether reassured. But he held his tongue.
“You were asking me for report, Sire,” he said, cringing as Deekius’ raised his voice again to let his exhortations travel through the length of the cathedral. It was said that many of the civilians and warriors were actually assembled outside, unable to fit into the church’s rows. The blinking crimson embers of their eyes could be seen if one focused enough on the windows.
“It is being as you said,” Skeever continued. “Skegga is making push. A great mass of Kobolds are storming through to attack as we are speaking. Two forces are moving – one to assault Razork, and one to destroy Gulchnavel village. Skegga is seeking to throw everything he is having at us, abandoning forts he has left. Ix and Kobold scouts are reporting Tarakht and Gromelin are having only token defense left.”
Marcus gave a curt nod. It is just as the Yokun had said. The last few nights of torture had borne some fruit, it seemed. Even if she still hadn’t given him the exact answers he’d personally wanted.
“There are being two other things,” Skeever continued.
“Do tell.”
The old rat gulped, trying to ignore Deekius’ continued screeching and the cheers of the ratmen who were listening. “The dwarf army Brother Festicus spoke of is on the move. They are destroying Clan Marrow fort Rekalspit on Eastern Border. Soldiers of Fort Spearclaw are saying that they have seen smoke from Dwarven encampments in the East. They are suggesting that Dwarf splinter assault force may be coming for us, but I am not being sure if we can trust this report.”
“The guards of Spearclaw are among some of our most devout,” Marcus replied. “If they think there’s an attack immanent on our Eastern border, then we have to take the threat seriously.”
Skeever nodded gravely. Marcus could tell the little rat was agitated. But a couple of Dwarves looking to pick apart the beleaguered ratman of the North weren’t a concern. In fact, this situation might even present them with an advantage.
“And the second thing?” Marcus asked. “Tell me it’s some good news, Skeever.”
“It is…surprising, Sire,” the rat said, watching as Deekius began to finish up his speech to rapturous applause and howls of glory. “Boss Skegga is leading one of his armies.”
Now, Marcus’s ears perked up.
“He is being seen heading South towards Razork,” Skeever continued. “He is passing Razor Ridge within the next day according to scouts. I am thinking, this time, he means to push until we are obliterated.”
Marcus wavered. “Force composition?”
Skeever shook his head. “His own army is numbering at least three thousand Kobolds,” the ratman said gravely. “His detachment sent towards Gulchnavel – at least two thousand strong. They are having Skogsriders, slingers, and crossbows, Sire. Their vanguard is wearing armor plundered from dwarf supplies. Skegga must be having dwarven prisoners fit armor for his army. I…we are thinking this is being his Great Kleansing.”
Marcus scoffed, a thin smile playing across his lips. “That arrogant toad…he’s somehow gotten the idea that we’re crippled, what? Because we lost the main Glitterpak swarm? Does he think me so basic as to base my entire campaign on the use of a single weapon alone?”
Skeever screwed up his face and twitched his scarred nose, “Sire?”
“Head to the War-council chambers, Skeever,” Marcus said. “I shall meet you and King Shrykul there soon, after I’ve explained the situation to our soldiers.”
Skeever hesitated. “’Our soldiers’, Sire? I am thinking that the Clans are surely more divided now than ever. With both Talon commanders gone, the Kings of Marrow and Glumrot will be requesting that their soldiers be returned to them. They will be assuming we shall fall. I am thinking the situation is more grave than it has ever been before.”
But Marcus, the veteran rodent noticed, never once dropped his smile even as he heard such concerns.
“Skeever,” he said. “Have you so little faith in your Shai-Alud?”
“Ratmen of Clans Marrow and Glumrot!” Deekius howled. “To be closing our ceremony, let me be presenting you your General. Your savior that is coming to lead us in this darkest hour. Let us be welcoming SHAI-ALUD MARCUS!”
Later, Skeever would reflect on what he was about to see as Marcus then stepped forward and allowed Deekius to take his hand in his paw, absorbing the chants of reverence that issued from the throat of each and every ratman in the cathedral that night and, probably, each and every ratman in Fleapit who heard the Shai-Alud’s name. Lately, it was a name spoken with the same degree of respect afforded even to the Unclean One.
And Skeever watched as the man they revered gave a single wave of his hand.
The crowd instantly went silent.
“Ratmen of Fleapit!” he shouted. “Your Shai-Alud has come to address you on this most gravest of days. On this day two heroes to our glorious cause have fallen, cut down by the dark blades of our enemies sent by Boss Skegga. And that fat toad even now gloats in premature victory. He is coming for us, warriors of the Unclean. Make no mistake of that.”
Murmurs of fury permeated the crowd. Skeever noted how their ears twitched to hear Marcus’s every word, their eyes hanging on his every subtle movement. When he mentioned Skegga coming for them, the crowd grew vicious. Skeever could sense the building tension even from as far back as he stood.
“Yes,” Marcus continued. “He believes he has already won. He believes that crippling our leadership has struck a blow against our nation that we cannot recover from. He believes you will each lay down and offer your putrid bellies to him as he climbs over these walls and takes everything you care about. I ask you, men of Marrow, men of Glumrot, are you going to submit to him thus?”
The answer was so obvious that Skeever didn’t have to hear it. Yet, still, when it came, it came with a fury the Talon-Commander had not heard in an age, not since the last Skittering was called.
“NO!”
They took up Marcus’s name in a battle chant again, most of them already gripping their weapons before he even made his next announcement.
“Then the time has come for you to show this fat toad and his underlings who exactly you are,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at the crowd that seemed to be directed at every ratman down there. “A time comes in all our lives when we must stand up – we must stand together, shoulder to shoulder with our brothers, and take up arms against a common threat. That common threat is here, Brothers. It is moving, and soon it will be upon our doorstep. We need an army united in a singular purpose, with a leader that can direct us towards the target of our righteous vengeance. I ask you, now, who do you wish to lead you in this time?”
“THE SHAI-ALUD!” the ratlings screamed – till the scream became an echo that weaved like a ghost through the streets of Fleapit so even the youngest rat could hear. “THE SHAI-ALUD! THE SHAI-ALUD!”
“Then let your will be done!” Marcus then shouted into the crowd. “King Shrykul has bestowed upon me the rank of First Talon! I will stand with you in the midst of the battle to come, and we shall defeat this menace once and for all. We shall push him back until he falls off the edge of this world. And we shall do so not as one Clan or another, but as a single entity. Ratmen – look at the Brother beside you. He is not just your brother in arms, now. He is not just your cousin from another Warren. Now, he is an extension of your very self. He is a weapon that shall come down upon the head of Skegga just as you are. He – and all of us here – tonight bear witness to history being made. Your time is now, ratmen! The time of your Empire has come!”
Skeever staggered back, absorbing the words of his Sire even as his ears failed to truly understand them.
First-Talon…
A name that granted power second only to that of a King of the Clans…a name reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.
Skeever looked at the pair of dead commanders beneath him, and then caught Deekius’s smiling snarl as he watched Marcus raise his fists high amidst the screaming chorus of the crowd.
“It is being glorious, Brother, is it not?” the rat-priest said. “Be marking this moment, Brother commander, for history is being made.”
Comments
Namel909
Momentum is build sss now send this unstopable force against the other unstopable force sss , he will make russia proud with this level of war attritions sss . But how can he turn that momentum into soap ? sss
