The Dreamer
The Ikkilitian Tails
Chapter II: The Paws of Moulder
Part V: The Dreamer

Ikkilit lashed his tail viciously from side to side as he paced his room, his pawsteps stamping hard upon the rough stone floor. His eyes glowed a pale blue as he stared sightlessly in front of him, his breath coming quickly and his teeth gnashing.

It had all fallen apart. The brilliant scheme he had concocted with Verminkin in that secret room; destroyed. Ikkilit knew he had almost no chance of taking his brother down anymore. He had become far too popular among the Skaven of Clan Moulder. Success in the Underempire normally brought only hatred and envy upon you, but Ikkil's amazing charm and charisma had kept that off. The mere idea of Ikkil having any charm or charisma disturbed Ikkilit greatly - his birthkin had possessed neither of these two qualities before their arrival at Hell Pit.

Ikkilit growled and kicked at the small cot that he slept on. The thin legs on it snapped, and the wooden frame above fell, landing directly on Ikkilit's foot. The Skaven cursed in violent Queekish as he tugged his foot out of the small pile of debris. He coughed as dust filled his lungs, and backed up, favoring his uninjured paw.

That was intelligent. Ikkilit started at the voice, but quickly calmed down when he realized it wasn't Tzeentch speaking, but rather himself. Even though he realized that it wasn't a good sign that he heard voices in his head, Ikkilit could never resist the urge to talk back to it.

Shut. Up. Ikkilit shook his head and stumbled from the subsequent dizzying sensation that filled his head and made his eyes swim. He hadn't slept for at least twelve days - not even an hour or two. His problem with his brother had kept him up, constantly scheming, for an eternity. As he thought about this, waves of tiredness began to sweep over him.

Go to sleep, Ikkilit. You need it. Ikkilit heard the call of sleep, but didn't want to start taking directions from his subconscious just yet.

Go away.

The voice responded instantly. Just an hour or two - that's all you need.

Ikkilit shook his head again, more slowly this time. No.

<<Sleep/Rest/Recover>>

The force of Tzeentch's voice bowled Ikkilit over, and the Skaven collapsed to the ground, falling asleep instantly.

***

Ikkilit awoke with a start, and opened his eyes wide to take in his surroundings. He bit back a cry of pain as bright light burned his eyes. He hurriedly shut them and covered them with his paws. After several deep breaths, Ikkilit removed his hands from his eyes and slowly opened them, allowing them to adjust to thee blinding light. Once his eyes stopped aching, he stood up and looked around.

He was in the center of a massive room made of a white, reflective stone. The light emanated from far above Ikkilit, and he didn't even try to look upwards. The room was rectangular, and on the wall in front of Ikkilit stood a massive door, its frame covered in ornate carvings. Slowly walking up to the door, he inspected the carvings, which appeared to be a series of eyes hidden among masses of tentacles.

Ikkilit shuddered and placed his hand on the door's golden handle. Inhaling deeply, he pulled.

The door didn't move. Trying again, he found that he got the same result: no movement. He tried with two hands: nothing. He braced himself against the doorframe with his foot and pulled with all his might: it didn't budge. Angry and frustrated, he punched the door with his fist, and it opened away from him.

Feeling slightly foolish, Ikkilit cautiously entered the room beyond. It was much darker here, the walls rough and made of a dark grey stone. The only source of light was a massve blue flame that rose up out of a large pit in the center of the room. The floor sloped down towards the pit, and Ikkilit felt himself strangely drawn to it.

"Ignore its call, Ikkilit. Do not venture into the depths of the Flame."

Shaking his head, Ikkilit looked up. He recognized that voice. Instantly, he regretted his decision. A massive throne had appeared opposite him, covered in multicoloured gems and ornate metal carvings. Seated upon it was the most hideous thing he had ever seen. The being was vaguely humanoid, but it had no head. It flashed vibrant colours, and screaming faces flowed along its Aethyric flesh. A single large maw, the only constant thing, is what spoke.

On the right of the being sat a two-headed, aquiline being, clutching a gnarled staff and staring vacantly ahead. On the left sat a Lord of Change, its wings folded behind its back and its yellow eyes staring intently at Ikkilit.

Resisting the urge to shudder, Ikkilit bowed. "I hear your words, wise one, and obey."

The voice chuckled. It sounded like the scraping of sharpened claws on smooth stone. "You speak respectfully to me now, Ikkilit - do you think I have more power here than I do in your realm? Do you think I can kill you any less easily in the Mortal Realms?"

Ikkilit made no response; none was needed.

The being in the throne went on. "I have a task for you, Ikkilit. There is something that must be done..." Ikkilit could have sworn the mouth almost smiled. "There is a supply of explosive chemicals in the depths of Hell Pit... and a large event is about to occur in Skavenblight and Zundap. The two should mix remarkably well..."

Ikkilit stared intently at the floor, listening to every word.

***

Ikkilit awoke with a start, and his eyes flew open. No light blinded him this time, but the cold floor sent chills through his body. How long had he been asleep? He shook his head as he stood up. He had work to do...

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