The Horde
It was dawn. A silent dawn. Not even the birds sung to the rising sun anymore. Fields long untilled were covered in charred weeds, though new growth was already piercing the land's black dress. The Eastern sky was aglow during the night; smoke bellowing from man's distant failure as another settlement fell prey to the endless plague of rats. Eventually the bleak silence of a long-abandoned homestead was broken by chittering and the click-clack of unkempt nails on hard -- if rotting -- wood from a time long gone. The wanderer who had made this place their stopover made what would surely be a fatal move; they didn't cover their tracks. Embers still spat from a fresh fire pit and the clear signs of a makeshift shelter among the wrecked housing of a peasant drew the attention of a small band of Skaven. Scouts, most likely; a handful of dregs send to the fore and flanks to sniff out targets or tear down those who might evade the breadth of the horde...

It all happened in a flash. Almost literally, at that. A handful of ratlings poured over the decrepit building, little mounds of mangy fur investigating every nook and cranny they could cram their bent noses into. It was only when two of them were sent flying, fur aflame, through the Northern wall of the ruin that the rest take notice. Two angry little flying stars whizzing to their imminent death certainly seemed to draw the attention of the others. Three Stormvermin and their entourage came charging headlong into whomever -- or whatever -- had fried their "friends". A mage? Ha! It wasn't long until the overgrown plaguerats had the pitiful excuse for a creature surrounded. The whole scuffle was a brief affair; hissing, gnashing teeth and ripping claws, bursts of flame and pulses of pure energy -- while some laid motionless on the cracked wooden floor, the victors were obvious. The three Stormvermin alive and well, having clearly not broken even a sweat, began their approach with malice in their eyes. The small paws of smaller vermin tugged and shoved, practically climbing over each other to keep the mage secure. It was difficult to tell whether they were going to try to kill her or each other at this point...

"This one dare kill others!" growled the harsh voice of the roided-up rat, glancing over to another who clearly bore the group's standard.

"Bad! No good! Cousins killed by gross pinkskin," snarled another, the ratlings already hard at work finding a way through the mage's leathers. Of course, for these simple beings, that meant a lot of ripping! A few nicks of the flesh were to be expected, especially with finesse these underlings sorely lacked. Despite the many hissing conversatiosn going on around him, the scouts' commander (if one could call him that) remained silent. He just... watched. Clearly this one was some sort of sadist. The sight of a squirming witch being revealed piece by painful piece by a barrage of tiny claws? Ha. Delightful.


17 November 15 at 12:43 AM
----

This was bad. Very bad. Heikki had been in scrapes before, but not even facing down one of the vampiric Strigoi had been as mind-numbingly terrifying as this. It was the silly little mistakes that made a bad situation worse, as always. She'd not covered her tracks, which meant tracking her was easy, and the small luxury of a campfire she'd allowed herself had shown the Skaven exactly where she'd been sleeping. She slept lightly, which meant that she'd heard the skittering scrapes of paw on timber, but had been frozen in the moment. She could have fried them all with one of the Aqshy lore's bigger missiles, but the heat and force of such spells meant the house would have collapsed on top of her. She'd decided to use a cantrip from the Lore of Ulgu to swathe the building in shadows and mist, and had tried to escape, but the keen noses of the Ratmen had sought her out without fail, and it'd fallen to a straight fight. Her first fireball (a minute thing by the standards of the college, but necessary to not bring the ruins down) had struck two in the chest and sent them sailing out of a section of rubbled wall, and a hastily cast bolt of pure Hysh had winged another, but the charging Stormvermin had been too much for her to handle. The leader, a huge beast with greyish - or perhaps white and simply stained - had caught her with the flat of his halberd, and even though the magical wind of Fire poured through her veins, she was knocked to the floor and pinned by the tide of skavenslaves that poured after their masters. She didn't give them the satisfaction of screaming as they tore her clothes and drew traces of blood with their filthy claws, instead only giving a angered snarl as the wounds sizzled and cauterized shut. She was soon in naught but her (now shredded) undershirt, her youthful figure bare to the moonlight - where it wasn't shaded by filthy rodent flesh.

"I killed the others, and I'll kill you too! What, you strip your captives before you eat them alive?" She spat at the skaven, their stench ripe and biting on the nose. They reeked of sweat, and warpstone, and other less palatable fluids, a fragrance that, when blended with the odour of scorched flesh and burnt hair, did nothing to sweeten the look of disgust on her face. "Come, if you want to eat me then untie my hands! I'll make sure your dinner is well cooked." She continued, kicking and struggling against the mass of slaves. They were emaciated things, but they held onto her for dear life, as if fearing a fate worse than death should she be freed. She'd assure them of that, as soon as they let her hands free; she could only work two kinds of magic without her hands: hedge magic - which was mostly cantrips and prestidigitation - and Raw Magic - a one-way trip to becoming a roiling mass of rapidly mutating flesh that wished for nothing but death in its infrequent moments of lucidity. If she wanted to make it out alive, she'd have to be careful - but Spawndom would at least give her the satisfaction of taking a couple of the bastard ratmen with her. Making it out alive was the hard part. They looked well-fed - the Stormvermin, anyway - so she wagered they'd be from a relatively wealthy burrow, from what she knew of the Sigmar-accursed vermin."But let us not be too hasty, o great Rat Lord. What do you want more than a few scraps of meat? I have warpstone and magic, as long as I live. Surely such a smart skaven such as yourself would make a deal!" she said, relaxing as best she could, given the stinking weight upon her.


17 November 15 at 01:43 AM
The Horde
Warpstone! Magic! Pah. Humans were as sniveling as they were overconfident! "We do not want your cheap tricks, and your stone we'll find with or without your help!" bellowed the greying commander, baring his irregular teeth, spittle bubbling from the crevices of the cracked, unwashed yellow shards that lined his maw. By now, the mass of gnashing teeth and fur -- otherwise known as the ratslaves -- were multitasking. Somewhat. It was more of a polite squabble as some tried to rifle through whatever of Heikki's things that lay in arms reach while still fulfilling the silent impulse of their betters. That much being keeping the mage secure. Already, the three would-be leaders were getting an idea of what lay under the woman's ripped undershirt; an athletic figure, but not one without some... Thickness. As one might expect from a human talented in the arts. A single paw gripped the middle of her shirt, just below the bust, pulling down with enough force to tear crossways -- clean in half! Not a particularly spectacular feat in and of itself, but, given the circumstances...

The sight of her breasts falling out -- wobbling as her body was jostled around by the simple ratlings -- prompted a chesty laugh and a wide, shit-eating grin from the grey Stormvermin. Some of the ratlings started to swat at her breasts with a sort of playful curiosity, however malicious. Hell, even they were enjoying the show. The inescapable scent of masculinity blanketed the surrounds; between the stench of sweat, blood and decay was the salty musk of unwashed rat-sheath. One of the more adventurous ratlings had found his way to the top of the makeshift pile, piercing yellow eyes staring right down into Heikki's, his body pointing forward, toward the Stormvermin. A modest pecker jutted proudly from his nethers with a pair of chunky, spotted nuts hanging loose beneath. The creature's cock was gleaming with a slick, sticky fluid which helped stop his tapered, fleshy knob from sticking to the sheath; a fluid which bore the strong scent -- a scent that one could taste -- of a virile male. It was a thick, tapered prick that supported an almost ill-fit pseudo-knot at the base. It was clear that it wouldn't be enough to tie such a creature to a human -- but it likely saw use with those horrible breeding females...

The ratling pushed down on the top of his shaft, smearing the underside along the mage's forehead, letting the tip drag along her cheek and rub up against the side of her nose. Its little fingers kneaded and worked the upside of its knob, squirting little ropes of translucent, sticky fluid down her face. All the while it gnashed and growled, dribbling spittle onto whatever part of her happened to be under his mouth at the time. All the while, that grey behemoth was making his own move. His strong, worn hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into her creamy flesh, wedging himself right between her legs. Almost as soon as he got in position, a warm sensation likely tingled up Heikki's belly where his fat, twitching cock lay, the prick letting out a little spurt of preseminal fluid -- almost like it was offering a threat. It was almost the same as the one being pressed against her face. Almost. The devil, however, is always in the detail -- the detail here being the sheer size of this rat-monster! The tip-top, which had a healthy little bead of hot pre ready to droop onto her flesh, lay just short of her bellybutton. There was easily ten inches of ratmeat there, and the cock alone, not including that bulbous half-knot, was a good two across. Maybe even a little more. Suffice it to say, Heikki was going to have to make some room...

"Witchbitch owes Skaven two children!" barked one the the subordinate Stormvermin, jabbing the jagged base of its halberd at her tummy a ways from his commander's throbber with enough thrust to tear the skin, if a little. The other watched on with a laugh.

"Little magic girl too weak to bear young! Probably spends all her time on knees instead."


17 November 15 at 02:42 PM
----

She couldn't help but squeak in surprise when the ratman ripped her shirt and exposed her tits to the cool Ubersreik night air. "H-hey!" snapped the wizard, glaring in confusion at the ratman: a confusion that turned into a mounting horror. "Oh by Sigmar, no!" she screamed, struggling harder against the ratflesh that pinned her, trying her hardest to draw the Winds of Magic to her in enough quantity to warp reality and remake flesh, but it was hopeless. The Warpstone pendant hanging from the neck of the biggest rat pulsed with a sickly green glow, and through her magesight she could see the winds of magic rippling and recoiling from the jagged amulet. It hurt to look at, and she tore her eyes away as the first throb of a headache chanced through her skull.

The situation had gone from bad, to worse, to worse than death in the space of a few seconds. She looked to the roof to try and focus, to gather her wits and formulate a plan, but found herself gazing into the beady eyes of one of the Slaves - and worse than that, gazing at its engorging member. It was a horrid looking thing, almost canine in aspect with its tapered head, protruding urethral opening and knotted base. She wasn't exactly a stranger to the anatomy - a roll in the woods with a good-natured Amber Wizard had shown her the erotic uses of wildform shapeshifting - but where the Ghur mage's member had been a welcome change (and if she was pressed, a long time fantasy) the cock looming over her was nothing but an implement of horror. She groaned in disgust as it dripped its slime onto her. It wasn't as offensive as their general odour, but far less wholesome, a mix of genital lubrication and precum that reeked of a male in need of release. She tried to look away, to be anywhere else, but it made its presence known as it pressed its foul member against her face. The disgust she felt was tripled as it rubbed its cock on her forehead, nose and lips, staining her with its preseed. The stink was almost dizzying, and she found she had to breathe through her mouth to avoid feeling faint.

The short panting breath turned into a gasp as the lead Stormvermin, Big Grey, made its way between her legs. It was the quintessential pose for lovers, turned to a grotesque parody. The weapon he wielded was enormous: she'd had the misfortune to see an Ogre in his birthday suit, and the enormous gorger was nearly put to shame by the vermin's spear. It squirted a jet of fluid as the rat grabbed onto her thighs, and it carried enough force to splatter the hot - Heikki was earnestly surprised by the heat of it - fluid against her chin and hardening nipples. He slapped it against her belly and grinned at her. She could do little but shrink at it. There was no way something like that would fit - it'd rip her open.

"P-please, I'm sorr-IEEEE" she screamed as the other vermin cut into her side, the cry caused more by the humiliation and surprise of the act than the pain. The jeer was just as terrifying as the sudden wound: How could she owe them children? She'd never heard of such an abominable act take place before, much less bear rotten fruit. The wound bubbled and cauterized, and she looked up at the white skaven again, who was much larger now that he was on top of her. "Please, Most Potent Lord of Vermin, spare me this fate. I'll give you anything you want!"