A Game of Catcher and Skaven, Part 1

'Ratmen don't exist.' Or so the scholars say.

'It must have been Beastmen you saw.' Claim the priests.

I know what I saw, and I know what is real. Just as the steel of my sword is true and strong, I know that the ratmen exist.

I push myself off of my creaky bed, the soft covers and my own body begging me to stay, but I have much work ahead of me, so much that I can't let myself stay. Not yet. I grip my fist tight as I remember everything that's lead up to today. The scar tissue on the nub of my ring finger burning with pain as I clench my fist until I'm white knuckled.

It started what felt like a lifetime ago, back in the forests. I was hunting when I came across what looked like a large den. I should have left then, but against my better judgement and the rising hairs on the back of my neck, I moved closer to inspect it. I barely heard the spitting hiss before it darted out of the hole to attack me, barreling into me with a force unbecoming of its size.

All I could see was gnashing teeth as it tried to maul my face, pushing it back cost me a finger but saved me my life as it gave me enough purchase to land a solid blow to the beast's gut allowing me time to kick it off of me. Sparing only a moment to look at what it was, I then took off back to my village, running through the woods with every bit of strength I could possibly wrench out of my legs.

That was my first encounter with the skaven, the first time of many that we had exchanged blows, and I remember each one, reliving them every time I closed my eyes.

Back in town I begged anyone to listen to what I saw, they all thought I was delusional from blood loss and fear. The rest of the day was spent being told what I 'actually saw' by some officials and a threat to stay out of trouble. I wish I could, but it wasn't in my fate, it seems. That night I had trouble getting to sleep, from the memory of the ratman and the pain from my missing finger. I praise Sigmar every day that I was awake then, otherwise I wouldn't have heard the creak of something opening my window shutters. I wouldn't have had time to grab my old service sword. I wouldn't have survived the ratman's second attempt on my life. I wouldn't have ran out into the street after it yelling bloody murder for assaulting me in my own home.

That's the worst pain this beast has caused me, the death of my good standing among my peers as everyone began to think me insane for claiming the ratmen exist, not just once, but twice.

I snap back to the present, back in my cheap inn room with a rueful smile on my face as I trail my fingers down my ribs, feeling the knife wound I received that night and recalling with some bitter satisfaction how I lopped off half of his left ear.

A missing tooth from a kick, a cut across his chest.
A dagger in my thigh, a severed foot claw.
A slash along my jaw, a broken rat snout.

Each scar I trace burns with memories of pain, but also of memories of having returned them in kind. I smile grimly as I picture the rat in my mind, the evidence of our battles as clear on his body as on mine.

I pull on my clothes and strap on my armor, checking my sword briefly before sheathing it at my side. Then, reaching for a coil of frayed leather on the bedside table, my hand tightens on the leash that once held my partner in the war against the ratmen - not dead, thank Sigmar, but wounded enough that he would never hunt again. The ratcatchers had adopted him as breeding stock, saying that his pups would be champions in the Secret War underground, and on some days I envied the pup his fate.

Today, however, was not one of those days. Today, as I double checked my gear--a far cry from the fittings of a soldier I once had the honor of bearing--I steel my resolve and exit my room, heading toward the nearest sewer entrance. Today, I would catch my prey. I will crush him completely and teach him what it means to cross a Nordlander.

Dropping into the darkened tunnels under the town, I set myself forth on my quest, trudging through muck that would turn a weaker willed man's stomach inside out.

--

Squelch, slop, splash. The sound of a man-thing walking through tunnels. This sound, alone? yes-yes, no others. A deep breath, Krikch know this scent. Another deep breath and the memories flit through this one's mind, even as a claw absentmindedly touches the old cut-wound.

Krikch kills fifty-seven man-things, Krikch still Krikch. Krikch assassinates commander night before great battle, Krikch still Krikch. Krikch gets one stupid injury from blasted man-thing, Krikch now Krikch Halfear.

Yes-yes, Krikch know this man-thing's scent well.

Krikch must quick-scurry to find man-thing, must make him pay-suffer and win-take back honor. No longer be halfear. Be Krikch the Winner. Krikch the Revenger. Or just Krikch again, but no more halfear. No-no. Krikch finish job, bite off all-every finger, then man-thing be nofingers. This one stifles a laugh-chuckle. No noise-sound. Must find man-thing first and quiet-sneak behind him. Watch-look for perfect time to stab-kill. Yes-yes.

Krikch sees him. Not stumble-walking through sludge, but strong strides, proud-powerful strides.

How dare the man-thing walk-step so proudly where all should fear-scurry from the might-power of skaven. How dare he move-stride with such arrogance. And yet, Krikch feels himself grin-smile. Why? The thought of crush-grinding that pride to dust-ash? No, pride in the man-thing's pride. Yes-yes, Krikch knows why he is here. Man-thing must be look-searching for Krikch. All their battle-duels. All the traded cut-wounds. Man-thing must be seek-hunting Krikch to end-stop it once and forever. This one feels a wealth-pool of pride in having such a worthy-devoted enemy. The man-things head will be Krikch's most prized-greatest trophy.

The man-thing stops and scan-searches the tunnel, his hand moving toward his sword. Could he know? Does he feel Krikch's stare pierce-burning into him? The urge to jump-leap out at him and slash-murder the man-thing is strong, but not yet. Must wait for the right time to ambush-strike. Krikch continues to watch-observe the man-thing patiently, sees him getting more-more anxious, he must know-feel Krikch is nearby, but how? Krikch is not sloppy ratling, Krikch is trained-skilled nightrunner. Curious, this man-thing, perhaps  he can sniff-smell Krikch like Krikch found him? No, Man-thing noses are weak, pitiful, useless. Then how?

--

It's almost maddening, knowing deep in the pit of your stomach that you're being watched. An unignorable voice deep in the back of your mind screaming at you that danger is near.

I know he's here, watching from just out of sight like the rat that he is, eyes boring a hole into my very soul as he waits for me to make a mistake. But then, this is a dance I'm long used to, one we've played out time and again for months now, with the steps made out of little victories and narrow escapes. Hunting and being hunted by each other as we perpetually circle and chase one another.

I draw my sword, even if it alerts him that I know he's here, I'd much rather be armed for when he inevitably attacks, prepared to defend myself just like the night I took his ear. Perhaps I'll take his other one before I skewer him on my steel. I let a grim chuckle rumble in my throat, not caring if he hears. Perhaps he'll see it as a taunt and draw him out of hiding.

 I forge onward, for how long I do not know, time has no meaning here, just one tense moment bleeding into the next for what feels like an eternity as I focus on my quarry's imminent attack. My eyes now fully adjusting to the darkness and my pursuer, I manage to catch glimpses from the corners of my gaze. There's no way to tell if it's him, but I somehow know, the burning of my finger stump has to mean it's him.

I need to bait him out.

Stopping my walk and turning to face the wall, I fiddle with my waterskin, popping it open and squeezing slightly to cause it to splash against the wall in a stream, I force my shoulders to relax and let out a sigh, making myself look as open to attack as I can without actually whipping it out to piss.

I close my eyes and focus on listening for the almost undetectable swish of someone moving through the wastewater towards me.

I'd spent enough time underground by now to be able to judge distance well enough among the echoes, and I'd spent enough time opposed to this rat in particular to know how far he could jump when waist-deep in water, and so I knew that he'd be close enough to leap in just seconds...

The sound pauses, I can imagine the ratbastard in my mind, just a foot or two behind me, with his dagger raised high and ready to plunge it into my back.

I spin around, swinging my sword hard as my arm will let me. Sparks fly through the air as my blade clashes with his, a jagged and cruel implement, fit for a similarly cruel beast.

I double down on my assault, hammering wildly down upon the surprised ratman, beating him back and leaving him no hope of escape.

The rat falls back under the rain of blows, skittering backwards almost as fast as a man could run, and I pursue him as he falls back into a side passage. The wastewater disadvantaged him more than it did me, but I pursue nonetheless, unwilling - unable - to favor prudence over vengeance.

As I hound the skaven, parrying his swings and striking at him as he runs, I realize that he is heading somewhere specific, not just trying to escape down random passageways. Glancing up for just a moment I see his goal. A stone walkway just ahead of us.

In in instant I recall our previous encounters where I had come out for the worse in our exchanges. They were when the ratman could use his speed and the element of surprise to catch me off guard, if he managed to gain higher, less obstructed ground I would be at a steep disadvantage.

I focus my efforts on keeping pace with the ratman, not wanting to lose what could be my last opportunity to defeat him. Just as he scrambles up onto the walkway, I lunge forward and grab hold of his cloak, yanking hard enough to rip it from his body in an attempt to pull him back. He shrieks and falls as he is pulled off his feet, and I hear the splash of his weapon falling into the water somewhere around us. The beast leaps back to it's feet, doubling back on me with a hiss and a snarl, panic filling his eyes.

I raise my sword as he lunges at me, bringing the pommel down on his skull which recoils him long enough for me to grab him by the neck.

He struggles violently in my grasp, claws gouging into my arm as his feet kick and claw futilely at my leather armor.

In that moment I wonder if the creature had ever fought a fair fight against anyone but me. The creature was a terrifying menace as a blade from the darkness, but put on the defense it was just another beastman, and a particularly weak one at that. Barely half my size and strength.

I feel an anger boiling up inside me as I raise my sword to bring the pommel down on him yet again. Over and over, each hit bringing out a pained squeak or a yelp until the ratman had long since let go of my arm to cover his face.

"Weak." I spit out, causing him to flinch. So weak and small. Had this creature really been the cause of all my torment? I should be overjoyed at my victory, but all I feel inside is resentment that it had not been as climactic as I had constantly imagined.

Sheathing my sword, I force the ratman around and tie off his arms. There was no need to kill such a pathetic creature right now, but he would make undeniable proof to the rest of the Empire. Pulling out the frayed leather leash, I sneer derisively as I latch it around his neck

I keep a tight grip on the leash as I climb up onto the walkway, I have to be quick before the ratman could figure out a plan to escape. Hauling him up to the dry ground and slamming him against the wall, I set to work searching him for hidden weaponry.

'Ratmen', was the word that kept turning over in my mind as my hands explored the creature before me. The 'rat' was immediately obvious, but the more I looked the more I could see of the 'man'. The creatures torso was not dissimilar to my own, but its body narrowed almost girlishly towards the waist, and then so very little of the creature was concealed by its scant clothing before being revealed again at the slim but powerful thighs, which I knew from experience could propel the creature in a leap of a dozen yards or more.

I'd expected the creature to be scabrous and filthy, but the ratman's fur was neatly short and kept well groomed, for a creature that lived underground. It was slightly coarse and wiry to the touch, just enough to confirm that this was the fur of a creature that fought and worked rather than one that was pampered. I can barely help myself when I push my fingers against the dense outer fur only for it to part and reveal wonderfully soft underfur beneath, but I am quickly shaken from my strange stupor as I feel the ratman shift under my grip.

I find some knives tucked away in sheaths and straps under the threadbare tunic the beast wore, some balanced for throwing, others cruelly serrated to cause the most agony possible when plunged into flesh. As I continue frisking the beast for weapons, now spurred on in case he had more hidden away somewhere, I absentmindedly keep track of all the scars I can see on him, remember back to the battles in which I inflicted them upon him until I find a scar I have no memory of. And another. More and more as I scan my enemy's body I see old wounds that didn't belong to me. I tear the ragged tunic clean off the creature's body as I search more thoroughly still, for scars rather than for knives more, and my  jealousy grows as I find them

I bite my lip in rage as I hold the creature against the wall, the frustration at our anticlimactic battle and long time since I had last been able to relieve myself mixed with a furtive jealousy that the target of my grudge that I had dedicated my every waking moment to hunting was marked by some unknowns.

Between the feel of the rat's body under my hands and the jealousy setting my blood aflame, a forbidden temptation ran through my mind. I'd come here for revenge, and it was soon to be at hand, but... perhaps revenge could take another form than the shame and brutal violence I currently had planned. Such thoughts were heretical in the extreme, but here in the darkness underground there was no witness but the rat, who stared up at me with his beady eyes as I stood transfixed by indecision

--

Krikch felt wrong-awful as the man-thing stared down at Krikch with hard-cold eyes. Like a warlord about to scold-yell a clanrat for being stupid-foolish. This was wrong-wrong! All horrible and bizarre-strange. Man-thing was enemy to slay-kill. Man-thing was lesser to mock-taunt. Man-thing was NOT like warlord-rat! NOT like superior to cower-obey to! Yet still, under that gaze-stare Krikch felt so small-powerless without any weapons and leashed like a pitiful slave-rat.

The man-thing reaches out and Krikch tries to flinch-writhe away, but he grab-holds Krikch with force, spinning this one around and shove-pressing Krikch hard into the wall again. Krikch can't see the man-thing, and can only smell-taste blood from bleeding nose. Dread-horror fills Krikch's stomach as thoughts fill-flood the mind at what the man-thing was doing. Strangle-choked by the leash? His sword stab-plunged into Krikch's back? More beatings? Krikch thinks more and more at all the death-painful things the man-thing might do when suddenly a pressure followed by the sound-noise of ripping. More confusion and panic-fear fill Krikch as the last piece of clothing is torn away.

The man-thing's hands return to Krikch's body, search-groping like before but with more fervor-zeal. Almost violently he paw-kneads Krikch's fur, grasping covet-greedily at Krikch's back and rear.

"Man-thing, what-" Krikch begins, but is then stop-silenced by the man-thing striking his rear with his hand.

"Quiet, Vermin. The conquered did not ask of their conquerors."

Krikch's body shivers under the rough-vulgar but gentle hands of the man-thing, firm enough to show desire-want, but soft enough to not damage. So different-strange to the paws he was so familiar with. Krikch think-guesses what the man-thing intends - though it was frowned upon as access to breeders was one of the many-many methods used in Skavendom to reward those that please-served the Council, nobody truly care-minded how a warlord entertained himself with his underlings, and stories of it filtered-flowed through the ranks in whispered stories, told in squeak-tones half-dreading, half-curious.

Krikch feels his stomach tie-tangle itself in knots, but all the same, perhaps this could be taken advantage-control of. Better this, perhaps, than being now-quickly run through with the man-thing's sword - perhaps the man-thing will drop-lower his guard, either after or... during... and Krikch could escape.

Krikch hears man-thing spitting and turns to try and look-peek back at the man-thing, only to be push-shoved back against the wall. Suddenly Krikch can feel wet-slippery man-fingers sliding up under the tail, and Krikch's body tense-stiffens as the cold fingers brush against Krikch's ass. Krikch can hear the man-thing laugh-cackling at him before pain-hurt erupts from under Krikch's tail.

"That was easy. This another blasphemy you rats are guilty of, then?" The man-thing whisper-taunts in Krikch's ear.

Krikch opens his mouth to object, wanting to say that no-none skaven had ever done to him what the man-thing was doing to him right now, but all that came out is a strangled yelp-squeak as the man-thing begins to piston his finger in and out of Krikch's rear-hole. Another finger. Then another. Until three had been shove-forced in and Krikch's legs shake-wobble.

Krikch is no stranger to sore-pain, but the other sensation starting to build in Krikch was new-new and strange and exciting.

The man-thing pulls his fingers out-away and Krikch feels nothing but shame-worry at having started to enjoy the intrusion when the man-thing does more spitting and something hard-stiff and hot takes its place outside Krikch's abused anus.

Was the man-thing not frightened-worried of the consequences of Krikch getting free? Or was he simply delight-reveling in Krikch's torment? Krikch could feel heat rising to the face as the man-thing pressed his flesh-sword insistently at Krikch's opening.

"Raise your tail, Rat. Show me you know your place." The man-thing growled. Krikch didn't want to, Krikch's place is not under any man-thin-- A sharp-painful yank on the leash cut-intrudes into Krikch's thoughts as the man-thing repeats himself, sterner and more threateningly this time.

Krikch still thinks there is a chance to escape-flee, so Krikch must endure. Krikch lifts the tail and screws the eyes shut-closed, bracing for what is to come.

The man-thing thrusts forward, stab-plunging into Krikch's bowls with force. Krikch's eyes snap-fly open and a pained squeal dies in this one's throat as the man-thing uses Krikch like a breeder-mouse.

Krikch struggles to free himself, only to receive another yank-pull of the leash. More and more the man-thing defiles Krikch's body, more and more the man-thing tug-jerks the leash when Krikch disobeys. The less Krikch disobeys, the more the man-thing whispers mocking glory-praise.

Krikch barely registers the man-thing move-placing Krikch on the floor from the wall, Krikch's legs idly sway-flopping in the air as the man-thing continued to crush-pound Krikch's asshole from on top of him, Krikch's sight blur-crossing as the pained-hurt squeals surely become gutteral chirp-squeaks in time with the man-things thrusts.

Was Krikch obeying to avoid further pain-punishment? Was Krikch simply bide-waiting his time? Or was Krikch starting to enjoy-want what this man-thing was inflicting upon him? Krikch didn't know, and had no attention to spare to puzzling it out, as the pain and pleasure combined and flooded through Krikch's ravaged body.

Krikch's own malehood had long since erect-stiffened, and was now bob-twitching achingly with each movement of the man-things own hips. Krikch can feel a pressure-strain separate from the fullness of the man-thing filling this one's backside as the man-thing slows his thrusts but adds more weight to each one, hitting deep-deep in krikch's gut, making Krikch's legs spasm-flail and kick as a gasp swallow-catches in this one's throat. A clenching of toe-claws and a blinding heady bliss as a sticky-hot liquid splashes out on top of Krikch, landing on this one's chest and open-gaped mouth. Salty, coating the mouth with a film.

Krikch thinks the man-thing is laughing but can't hear too well as the ceiling spin-twirls and sways in front of Krikch. The man-thing picks up his pace-thrusting again, Krikch's body double-bent underneath the man-thing as he continues to assault Krikch's already poor-unfortunate ass. Another burst of warmth and the Man-thing clutch-holds tightly to Krikch's fur, letting out a rattling moan as he leans heavily into Krikch's body, trying to drive-bury his seed as deep as he can. Krikch has never felt so bliss-content and violated at the same time, man-thing liquid ooze-seeping from around the man-thing's erection inside Krikch's well used rear.

The man-thing rolls off Krikch, leaving this one tied-bound, wheezing, and sore, but still conscious. Krikch can't help but feel vain-pride in Skaven fortitude at this, despite what just happened.

The man-thing walk-strolls a few steps away, as far as the leash would let him and sits against the wall breathing heavily, he glower-scowls at Krikch before turning away. Krikch watches, from where this one lays, wait-searching for a chance to escape still, and the man-thing pointedly ignore-avoids eye contact. Constant watch-staring at the man-thing for what feel-seems like an eternity, though from how many times Krikch has blinked, has likely only been a few minutes when Krikch notices the man-thing yawn. Tired, yes-yes, this is good-wonderful. Tired and distracted would let Krikch escape and revenge-kill the man-thing. Just need to wait-wait a little longer. Be Patient. Yes-yes--

The... the man-thing sleeps?
Surely not. Surely this is a trap for Krikch. Tired, yes, but truly sleep-slumbering? But... his breathing is low and even-still, with the faint burr of a slight snore that Krikch had heard several times while spy-observing the man-thing's lair.

Carefully Krikch wiggle-squirms until the bound arms slide under-around his rump and legs, coming to the front of Krikch's body and more easily in range to gnaw-chew through. It didn't make sense. This man-thing had fought Krikch before many-many times. He should know about Skaven flexibility, but didn't tie-wrap the rope to Krikch's tail to prevent escape. And falling asleep next to dangerous-cunning nightrunner?

"What purpose?" Krikch whispers sneak-silently to the air. More shame? No, no, if wanted more-more shame, man-thing would have kept Krikch secure. To play, then? Krikch's eyes narrowed and a devious smile stretched across his lips as he watched the slumbering man-thing. Very well. First game-victory goes to the man-thing, second game will go to Krikch.