Warpspawn by Roysten Crow

Warpspawn By Roysten Crow Warpspawn (summary) In the darkness beneath the cities and soil of the Old World the Skaven muster and plan, scheming against each other and the lands above them. The progeny of Lord- Warlock Morskittar of Clan Skryre hatches a plot against Middenheim and only a small group of hardy adventurers stand between him and a massacre in the City of the White Wolf. Warpspawn (synopsis) Warpspawn (text) 'In our darkest time, when all Skavendom wars within itself and the very firmament resounds with the march of our enemies, from our midst will come a saviour, sent by the Horned Rat. Born of Warpstone and subterfuge he will lead us from ruin and to victory over our foes.' Ancient Skaven Prophesy Prologue In the heart of a dimly lit chamber an altar of purest Warpstone throbbed with barely suppressed power. The surface bore an aura of terrible consuming darkness that rose and fell with its own grim pulse, the black light voraciously devouring its opposite and allowing only fleeting glimpses of the intricate runes and sigils etched deep into every portion of the stone. Laid supine upon the altar a writhing figure was partially visible. Bathed fully in the diabolic halo it remained half-submerged in the unnatural radiance of the magical rock. The creature might have been a white-coated Skaven female at some long lost time but now it was scarcely recognisable as such. Vile intent had cast it from a natural state and into that of a warped horror that offended the eye. The left arm of the transmogrified wretch was a suckered and wriggling tentacle while the right had formed into an atrophied, feline paw. Its restless skin twitched and was peppered with scales and small thorny protrusions that left occasional space for a tuft of sweat-dampened white fur. The head of the monstrosity was terribly distorted after being touched repeatedly by the eager taint of Warpstone. The bulging orbs that served as featureless eyes stood upon stalks of veined flesh and arose from a slack chin. Above the extended eyes lay a pink rodent ear while to the left there existed a quaking nose, its ranks of whiskers now stunted and crooked. A circular mouth to the right was embellished with tiny hooked teeth, much like the yawning maw of a leech. From that needle-toothed maw came a shrill squeak of almost painfully high pitch. It was a scream of self-loathing and unendurable agony. Morskittar watched without sympathy from the depths of the shadows. Loitering as a pernicious spectre he impassively studied the Clan Moulder Warpmasters tending the delivery of the female's young. It had cost the Lord of Decay dearly to gain their unique services and even more to gather the quantities of Warpstone necessary for the experiment. The female had been selected from the best slave stock to be his mate because of her acute but latent sorcerous ability and of course, for her remarkable resistance to the eager fingers of mutation. After their coupling, the Warpmasters had begun infusing her body with religiously measured amounts of the precious powder, suffusing her with raw magic, bloating every cell of her being with power. As uncontrollable mutation loomed, the Clan Moulder Skaven had employed their extensive knowledge of transforming living organisms and made sure that as much mutating energy as possible was channelled away from the foetuses and into the hapless mother. Despite her abnormal tolerances the sheer volumes of Warpstone forced into her system had gradually begun to twist and remould her flesh until she had been reduced to the repugnant thing presented before him. Her cries to be granted release from her duress fell solely upon the purposefully deaf ears of the Warpmasters. They were accustomed to the pitiful, impassioned pleadings of their living subjects from their toil in the Clan nest at Hell Pit and were now quite unmoved by any such sounds of anguish. As the first of his engineered progeny were vomited out into the world from the shrieking female the intrigued Lord-Warlock of Clan Skryre moved closer. The frantic cries became all the more strident when she spied her first-born, though first-spawn was perhaps a more accurate term after considering its visage. The mewling slug of distorted and pulsating meat was quickly carried away as it preceded an eerie reptilian creature without head or legs. This was followed in turn by a segmented juxtaposition of rodent and insect that was mercifully stillborn. An obese, milky white infant emerged next. Despite its inflated size it seemed normal enough until its pale skin suddenly erupted with purple flames that struggled to be seen through the impenetrable shell of midnight wrought by the altar. The unnaturally intense flames caused no harm to the source but were not so discriminating towards other tissue and the mother broke into paroxysms when the ignition of the incendiary infant scorched her legs. Acting with celerity a Warpmaster grabbed it about the torso with some iron pincers and cautiously carried the infernal child away, hastening his movements when the metal began to melt and drip away because of the furnace projected from the babe's hide. Another aberration was excreted, its body seemingly devoid of a skeleton. Rendered a loose blubbery sac it shuddered and hissed malevolently as a reedy, near fleshless abomination joined the monstrous litter and glared up with three compound eyes. Morskittar glared intently at the proceedings with a sense of growing trepidation. ‘This is all very entertaining but there must be a normal born. I need a normal offspring for my plan to work,' he thought trenchantly, his concern at total disappointment increasing with every disfigured arrival. An inert and fuzzy feline hybrid was drawn away, the foetus’ innards too malformed to permit it the initial spark of life. A hideous Siamese quad was then expelled with some difficulty. Linked by the spine, the skins of the wriggling Skaven were completely transparent to flagrantly display the movement of each muscle and the throb of every pulse along its meandering network of veins. Morskittar breathed a sedate sigh of relief when an apparently normal, healthy, hairless and blind Skaven infant emerged. While permitting himself a concealed smile of satisfaction the last child chose to arrive and exploded into view. The yowl of the mother rose in pitch to an impossible ultrasonic peak before trailing into a dying gurgle, her entire abdomen launching upward to decorate the ceiling with a wet slap. Blood flew out and flecked everything within six paces of the altar as fragments of intestine rained lazily down over the entire area, the tune being a grotesque mixture of pattering drizzle and soft squelches. The incarnadine child arose with rampant glee painted across its devilish countenance and four lithe arms unfolded from about its chest to reveal razor-edged claws adorning each digit. The wiry physique of the offspring ran with obscuring gore but beneath could be seen the dark thorny skin it wore instead of fur. A lumpy and elongated skull bore a lone eye of red beneath a heavy brow with long horns curling back from its nearby temples. The long snout of the beast held twin rows of curved teeth and the dangling shreds of meat that were currently lodged between the flesh-rending shards served to graphically confirm their purpose. The Warpmasters hastily employed a fresh set of the long metal pincers. With caution they snagged the matricidal creature while it writhed in the bloodied pit of sundered viscera that was its parent's stomach. The creature squealed loudly in atrabilious protest, suggesting that the mere touch of the pincers somehow brought it pain. The abomination clawed at the metal, ploughing deep furrows before resorting to slashing wildly about its gore-dripping frame. The Warpmasters dropped it into a cage before swiftly and securely locking the incensed monster inside. Returning to the altar a mere glance confirmed the fears about their organic product. The female was dead and the eight other unborn siblings had been slain by the beast's impatient escape from the smothering confines of the womb. The Warpmasters checked the remains and the air rang with metallic snarls as the murderous mutant clawed at its prison with psychotic vigour, squealing with indignation at being confined again. Morskittar strode over to the only natural child and picked up the cloth- swaddled infant in his gauntletted hands. It was an act of gentleness that seemed surreal when compared to the dominating might of the wicked Lord of bleak sorcery. The newborn mewled softly in pips of ultrasonic, seeking attention and warmth from the parent. ‘He will suffice,' the Lord of Decay silently decided, drawing it into the folds of his ragged, sigil-embroidered robes. ‘What do you wish done with the others, Lord-Warlock Morskittar?’ asked the piebald Warpmaster, the one with three jagged scars traversing his snout, no doubt gained from venturing too close to a dangerous creation. The eldritch mutants were of no use to him but they could still prove beneficial in ensuring the Clan’s silence on this most delicate of matters. ‘Take them back to Hell Pit. Present them to Packlord Verminkin as a gift from Clan Skryre. He can do with them as he wishes because like this infant, they do not exist,' he said, striding from the room with his prize. ‘As you wish,' the Warpmaster attested with poorly concealed joy. His eyes were suddenly flicking across the subjects with a rabid and inquisitive thirst, the possibilities and opportunities the warped infants offered making his hair visibly stand on end.

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