Kin of Vermin
The Ikkilitian Tails
Chapter II: The Paws of Moulder
Part II: Kin of Vermin

Ikkilit and his brother slammed into the red-hot lava, and white steam hissed up from the molten river as they were submerged. The petitioning Skaven on the shoreline just stared, dumbfounded, until the ferryrat yelled at them to keep trying to get across.

Ikkilit's vision became red. Orange and red and yellow, the colours mixing and mingling as they glowed all around him. He half closed his eyes, letting only softer tones pierce his eyes. He was still holding onto his brother, and the bubble that surrounded them seemed to remain holding.

Curse the Changer! I should have known that even the fools at Hell Pit would have some sort of protection! thought Ikkilit angrily, barely holding onto his spell.

<<Why do you/yourself/Ikkilit blame/accuse/blaspheme me/myself/The Changer//The Great Sorceror/The Twister/Tzaar'kath for your/your own/not mine folly/foolishness/mistake?>>

Tzeentch's voice rang in his head, almost destabilizing the protective spell. Ikkil apparnelty heard it to, for he suddenly whimpered and clutched his head with his free arm. His eyes were completely closed against the hot glare of the magma surrounding them.

<Because you were the one who taught me what I know, O Great Changer. You should have taught me to be more careful!> Ikkilit thought back nastily, without thinking about his words.

<<Is it the fault/blame/mistake of the teacher/instructor/wise when/if/whenever the student/learner/runt makes/commits/carries out an error/mistake/folly?>> The Changer of Ways seemed amused, but Ikkilit was not fooled for an instant.

<I apologize for my foolishness, Great Sorceror, and I solicit your assistance now, if you can give it.>

<<So insincere/ungrateful/full of lies, young/new/not old ratling/runt/young one. But as you wish/desire/hope...>>

The sphere carrying Ikkilit and his brother was suddenly thrown high out of the steaming river. Chunks of half-dried rock fell off of the invisible sphere as it flew high, raining down upon the river and those standing on shore.

Well, we didn't move very far, did we? though Ikkilit as the sphere moved across the expanse of Hell Pit.

The servant of Tzeentch opened his eyes fully, taking in his surroundings as the bubble floated towards one of the sides of the crater. The crater walls themselves were filled with holes that inevitably became tunnels in the rock. Shelves carved out of stone jutted from the sheer rockface, and wooden embellishements decorated the area. Pulleys with cages containing roaring beasts were being winched up, and corpses were dropped off of other levels fequently.

Unfortunately, Ikkilit didn't have much time to admire the view, as the spehre suddenly plunged down towards the earth, plummeting down a dark tunnel near one of the crater sides. The tunnel twisted and turned sickeningly, but the Tzeentch guided the sphere through the dark earth without trouble. Whenever a locked door appeared before them, the Great Sorceror ignored it, and just passed the protective bubble right through it.

And that was how the duo ended up in Packlord Verminkin's throne room, dropped to the floor in front of his ornate throne.

<<That should/probably/had better suffice/be sufficient/satisfy>>

The Changer's crackling laugh faded from Ikkilit's ears slowly as he looked up at the surprised Skaven sitting before him. The protective sphere vanished, and Ikkil and Ikkilit dropped to the ground. Ikkilit, ready for this, landed on his feet, but his fop of a brother collapsed in a whimpering heap. After casting a disgusted look towards his brother, Ikkilit studied the Skaven sitting on the throne in front of him.

Packlord Verminkin was a strange sight to behold. His fur was a flamboyant and vibrant red, with massive scars showing through it all over his arms. He wore a bloodstained green cloak, and casually held an ornate whip in his right hand. His posture was relaxed, but the glow in his eyes showed that he was anything but that.

"Well-well... it appears as if I have unexpected visitors surprising me in my throne-throne room." Verminkin made no move to rise from his chair, and he made no movement. Without warning, two wolf-sized rats with long bladed tails emerged from both sides of the throne, their eyes glowing an eerie red. Ikkilit took one glance at their long incisors and decided not to annoy the Packlord.

"However, you seem particularly ill-equipped for a team-team of assassins." The two giant rats circled to the front of the throne, never taking their eyes off of Ikkilit. Verminkin sat up and stroked one, then the other. "I am also curious as to how you bypassed the defenses embedded in my lair's structure. And how you passed through that wall over there-there."

Ikkilit bowed. The two rats bristled, a low growl rumbling from their throats. "Dear-dear Packlord, I come from Clan Skryre, with information your your ear-ears."

Verminkin chuckled. "Agents of Clan Skryre, you say-say? Or traitors?"

Ikkilit smiled. "I prefer to think of ourselves as outcasts."

The Packlord smiled. "In that case, dear rat, I believe we have much to say to eachother."

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