Markus von Reikart was in a sour mood.  He seemed to always be in a sour mood.  But then again, the Order of the Twisting Tails didn't recruit candidates for their attitude.  His own master was perhaps worse than him, a face permanently contorted into a scowl.  Yet few could contest the effectiveness of Master Einenenbauer.  However the source of Marcus's mood was the usual sort.  It wasn't anger at the news of a war going on for another year, nor was it the ever present threat of the Skaven whose under-empire spanned all across the Old World, or his disdain for the tainted creatures that plotted to overthrow the surface world.  No.  Markus had been without for a week.  Discipline was a strong factor in being chosen for his particular Order, and Markus had a nigh endless well of self control.  It still irked him, especially given his position.  To be without was...frustrating.  But it would all be worth it.

    News from his agents was that a large Warlord clan, clan Skrikisk, was nearing a breaking point.   It's Warlord, Skrikisk himself, was seen as lazy and incompetent, with only the threat of being messily eaten by the bloated abomination keeping the other clans in line.  However, one of his underlings was heard to be planning a coup.   It would doubtless break clan Skrikisk apart and lead to infighting, something that could only benefit the Empire.  What would benefit it more however, was if the rising warlords were in the pocket of the Order.  That was what Markus hoped would come to him today: an opportunity.

    A knocking on his door roused him from this thoughts.  He pulled himself up and fastened his robes, the thoughts of what was to come tying a knot in his stomach.  Excitement?  Possibly.  The Order claims to burn out such weak emotions in its training, but he doubts they are really so thorough.  He strode across his modest bedchamber, past the door to the rest of his lavish home, and too a secret entrance under the bearskin carpet.  Pulling it open, two ratmen entered his room.  Black Furred and taller than most Skaven, though not as tall as Markus, they were the feared Stormvermin; elite shock troops of the Skaven empire.  But rather than being dressed in their rough metal plates, they were garbed in simple white robes, the golden inlay of the twin-tailed comet emblazoned on a tabard on their chests.

    They were the first acquisitions brought to him by his favored agent.  Once soldiers loyal, or as loyal as Skaven can be, to Clan Festerix, they were now his eyes and ears of the clan, thralls instilled with a devotion that many would consider impossible for Skaven to have.  Devotion to him.  The two Skaven prostrated before him, digging their snouts in the floor and laying their hands out.  "Greatest master, holy-man-master of Greatest-god Sigmar, we not-never worthy" they began, doing the normal ego-stroking platitudes they normally gave to a Skaven superior.  It was a practice ingrained in them since birth and despite Markus and all his attempts, he could never wean them off it.  If he was capable of it, he would pity the beasts.  As such he was simply annoyed.  He cut them off mid sentence "Report."

    "The two Skaven pushed themselves up, heads still staring at the floor as they remained kneeling.  "Agent Qshin come-come back.  Has the traitor-rat.  Yes-yes" the replied in a whisper.

    Markus nodded, and produced a small, while vial from his robes, a pittance reward for bringing him such news.  The Skaven eagerly opened their palms, letting the vial drop into their hands and they slinked away, arguing over who deserved more.  Let them have their meager prize.  Much of what he had was needed for the ritual.  He went down the ladder, into the network of tunnels and dungeons he had built to house his growing network of Skaven spies, turncoats, and soldiers.  He past quite a few, some he had inherited from his master Einenbauer, others he had converted himself.  When returning from the under-empire, the ratmen here changed from their tattered rags and donned modest robes of white and red, symbols of the comet and hammer adorning them.  They bowed as he passed, noisy skitter-speak reduced to a quiet hissing as he strode by.  The Master.  Come to bring another to the light.  As their voices died down, Markus could hear the creaking of bedposts, and the moaning of Skaven.  His own apprentices were down here, imprinting themselves on the brood as he had to once.

    He remembered those days.  Master Einenbaur had tied him down, forcing a procession of rats onto Markus as they rode him again and again, not giving a single moment of rest as one finished, another clambered on top to continue where the previous left off.  Stamina.  Something else the order ingrained in its members.  The process was as taxing on the body as it was on the soul.

    Markus said nothing, pushing the thoughts aside to ignore the burning need within him.  Markus strode on, continuing down his way until he spotted the familiar form of the lithe Assassin, Qshin the Blade.  He was his first convert.  Einenbaur used Qshin as a test for Markus, to graduate him from apprentice to Master.  It was difficult, tracking the shadowy gutter-runner, harder still capturing him.  And then it took him a week to finally assert control, but the end saw him succeed.  Qshin was easily his most devoted servant.  Upon seeing his master, the assassin-rat skipped towards Markus, hunching over in obedience.  "Master-Markus!  Have him yes-yes!  I caught-trap the rat-man you want-want yes-yes-yes" he said almost giddily.

    "Good Qshin" Markus replied, stroking the Eshin's head.  "Tell me who he is."

    Qshin shivered at his master's touch.  "Name is Skrach.  Yes-yes, Skrach Kragscar.  Make-make plan, takeover Clan Skrikisk, kill-slay warlord Skrikisk.  Cunning plan, use meat to poison breeder yes.  Make breeders mad.  Scratch-bite-kill.  Skrikisk then dead-dead!"

    Markus frowns.  "That plan needs work.  Once I finish with Skrach, I will need to talk with him about his...plan."

    Qshin quickly agree.  "Yes-yes Master!  Stupid plan.  Dumb-dumb plan.  Never work!  Need Master's help.  Master so smart-cunning!"

    Once again he stroked Qshin's head.  "You will be rewarded for this Qshin" the rat's ears perked up, "but not yet" they drooped down.  "However, I need you to come with me.  I will need assistance with the ritual" Qshin's ears perked again.  The Eshin nodded enthusiastically, following Markus like a loyal pup.  He finally reached the dungeons, hearing the muffled sounds of angry shouts behind the reinforced door.  "Turncoats!  Traitor-scum!  I am Warlord Skrach!  You will suffer bad-hard for this!  I will eat your guts!  I will squeeze-squish your jelly eyes and rip-tear your face off!"

    With a heavy 'click' Markus undid the lock and let himself in.  Bound in the middle of the cell was a struggling brown furred Skaven, standing up to Markus' chin, the bindings holding his tail and arms forcing the unfortunate warrior to stand on the tips of his toes. His armor was gone, his naked body on display, illuminated by the torch light. “Release me now-now and I won’t kill-kill you slow” Skrach bellowed.  Well not so much bellowed, but attempted to rasp in a squeaky voice.

“Release will not come so easily vermin” Markus growled in the lowest voice he could muster.  Instantly Skrach became quite, his struggling ceased.  Markus had experienced this countless times before.  Realizing that it was not a rival making a powerplay always put them off balance, and the sound of a human’s voice, one that sounded like a massive Northman always-there it was.  Skrash squirted his musk of fear, an acrid tang filled the air.  The first time it happened it nearly caused Markus to gag inhaling such a concentrated amount of the stuff.  Now it annoyed him.  He wanted to breath through his mouth to not smell it, but that would allow the repugnant chemical mix onto his tongue and that would be worse, tasting it all day.

Markus undid the belt around his robe, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid.  Holy oil.  Consecrated by the Grand theogonist, it was meant to bless the weapons and tools of the holy priesthood to fight the myriad horrors of Chaos.  ‘Your own Tool is an instrument in cleansing the filth’ Master Einenbauer said.  Markus let his robe drop, Qshin deftly catching the Cathayan silk and placing it on a nearby table.  He sniffed the air and turned back to Markus, eyes hungry.  Markus von Reikart was totally naked, Tool dangling mockingly in front of Qshin.

“Mercy” cried out Skrach, unable to see behind him, but paranoid mind conjuring a million terrifying possibilities.  “Let me free-free!  I wish not to hurt man-things.  Great and powerful man-things!  No, cannot!  Will not!”

“You certainly won’t.  Not anymore” Markus grunted, beckoning Qshin forward.  The Eshin rat quickly rushed to Markus, kneeling in front of him, mouth open.  Markus guided his semi-flaccid Tool to the eager rat, and Qshin close his mouth around it, noisily slurping on his erection.

‘These creatures are a ravenous kind Markus’ Master Einenbauer told him, as he was getting serviced by an eager clanrat.“They live from one pleasurable moment to the other.   They are addicted to this” he held up a small bottle, holding a sliver of glowing green warpstone.  ‘They live to satisfy their addiction, and each waking moment is dedicated to finding away to satisfy that addiction again.’  He placed a hand on the Skaven’s bobbing head, forcing it to slow down.  “Make them addicted to something else.  You.  Your own holy fire.’
‘What is my holy fire master?’ Markus asked.  Einenbauer grunted as he pushed the skaven off his erection, holding the rat in place as he pointed to his saliva soaked penis.  ‘Your seed.  It is an extension of you, and thus the flame that exists within you.  Draw upon that, and let it into the Skaven’ he let go of the clanrat, and it immediately returned to sucking on Einenbauer’s member.  ‘Let it burn away the corruption and sin that plagues these creatures and bring them to you.  Let it burn away their need for corruption and replace it with a need for...salvation!’ he hung on the last word as thrust upward, spilling his hot fluid down the eager rat’s throat.  The Skaven’s eyes rolled back in a form of ecstasy as it swallowed Einenbauers cleansing fire, not leaving his crotch until the last drop was cleaned away.  The Skaven slowly pulled away, giving Einenbauers still hard Tool one last lick.  ‘And with their evil gone, they are yours to command.’

His thoughts returned to the eager Qshin between his legs, slurping and sucking at his member, drenching his face fur and Markus’ legs in the eager rat’s saliva.  He tapped Qshin, and he obediently, and some what reluctantly stopped, pulling away, letting a trail of drool connect his lips to Markus for a single second more as his Master turned to Skrach.  Markus uncorked the bottle, letting the liquid drip onto the captive warlord’s hole.  Skrach jumped as he felt the fluid touch such a sensitive spout, and he would have squirted again if his glands weren’t painfully empty.  “Mercy” he whimpered again.

“There is no mercy for you Skaven, only salvation” Markus replied as he lined his now stiff, wet Tool against Skrach’s waiting hole.  “Be cleasned.” Markus commanded and drove forward, the oil and the Qshin’s spit allowing Markus’ sizeable Tool pass easily in its entirety into the scared warlord.

“No-no!  Not there!  Not there” cried out Skrach.  Markus slapped the warlord’s asscheeks.  He would brook no words from the Skaven now that the ritual began.  Fully hilted, he slowly began to pull out.  Skrach’s body roughly pushed against him, trying to get his Tool out faster, and when it seemed like he was about to pull out entirely, Markus drove back in.  Skrach gasped sharply as the Man-Thing put things in him in a place where things weren’t meant to enter him.  Skrach felt it pushing inside him as more of the odd fluid was poured over his hole, each thrust delivering the poured stuff into him.  What was the Man-Thing doing?

Markus returned to his lessons with Einenbauer.  ‘This’ his master began, holding a bottle of Holy oil ‘is oil consecrated by the church of Sigmar.  If in a bind, the Temple of Ulric may suffice, but that is only one part of the formula.  Laced within is Saubenroot, ground orgenbach leaves, and garlic. For a human, that would create a mixture that simply smells odd and burns the nostrils.  For the ratmen’ he made a note of thrusting his Tool into the collared clanrat ‘clears their mind.  It brings their desire and addiction to the head of their mind while cleansing what that addiction is’ he continues to thrust, dribbling more oil onto his Tool.  The rat squealed in pleasure as he drove the oil into the rat’s hole with each thrust.  ‘To put it simply, it is an aphrodisiac that makes them more receptive to your holy flame.  This is the ritual.  It cannot be done just once.  But again’ he thrust ‘again’ he thrust harder ‘and again’ he pushed against the rat so hard, the unfortunate creature’s arms buckled in delirium and collapsed in a heap ‘until all it can think of is you giving it more.  This drives out the warpstone addiction and gives your cleansing fire purchase in their soul.  ‘Now strip and practice on those Skaven’ he pointed to other bound clanrats he had captured ‘they have already been worked on partially and their will isn’t as strong.  For a novice as you this should be good practice.’

Markus drove deep into Skrach, his climax approaching.  This is what he had been saving for a week.  This is what he was building up to.  With a final thrust, he gave a silent prayer ‘Sigmar have mercy on me’, and climaxed in the Skaven.  His flame burned and spread, filling the ratman and pushing into its tainted core.

Skrach gaped, his body betraying him.  The Man-thing was mating him!  What sort of degenerate creature was this Man-Thing to use him like a breeder!  He was a strong Warlord!  How could this stupid creature think he could bear litters!  Why did it insist on filling Skrach with his seed? And yet Skrach’s own body betrayed him.  His own meat-stick was out, standing up and aroused, twitching as though it was in a Breeding-slit.  Why?  What had the Man-Thing done to him!  What was it doing!  What was it putting in him?  ‘In him’.  Why was that word starting to excite him?  Then his traitorous meat-stick spewed its seed wastefully to the floor.  “Be filled with Sigmar’s light” growled the Man-Thing.  Of all the horrors Skrach could imagine, this was not one of them.  And that terrified him more than anything.

The ritual had begun in earnest.  His mind reeled with pleasure, not pleasure of release, such was a filthy thought.  Pleasure that he was bringing this tainted creature into Sigmar’s light, that he was cleansing its filthy soul of evil.  Those thoughts filled him with determination, and determination kept his Tool ready for another attempt.  He felt the fear-glands of Skrach clench as it felt his Tool position itself again.  He thrust forward.

In the first hour, Skrach had found new energy, thrashing against his retraints and promising death in a myriad of painful, creative ways, requiring Qshin to muzzle the errant rat as Markus did his work.   Qshin was such an obedient helper that way.  Even has he played with himself, he never climaxed, waiting for his reward instead.  By the second hour, the angry grunting was replaced by fear, begging, all of it muffled gibberish.  Not that Markus cared, the ritual was all consuming, and he had to complete it, even as his body ached for rest, he continued to thrust, releasing gout after gout of his will into Skrach.  By the third hour Skrach was silent, his own tool spewing dribbles of tainted seed with each thrust.  Markus was on his fourth bottle of oil, pouring it in a never ending deluge onto his Tool as he continued to lead Skrach to the light of Sigmar.  By the seventh hour, Skrach hung limply from his bindings, toes dangling in time with Markus’s thrusting, making circles in the puddle of fluids gathered around their feet.  Skrach was no longer resisting Markus, letting his tool slip in and out with ease as he deposited more oil and igniting faith into the Skaven, his stomach started to slightly expand.  Eight bottles had been emptied into the rat.  Markus gestured to Qshin, who removed the muzzle.  Spit dribbled out of Skrach’s open mouth as he took a deep breath in, and uttered a single word.  “More…”

Markus compiled and picked up his pace.  This was it.  The final part of the ritual.  In a booming voice he shouted.  “In the name of Sigmar be cleansed!  Renounce your god and serve your new master Markus von Reikart, and your new god Sigmar Heldenhammer to the end of your days!  Swear it!”

Skrach panted as he felt the Man-Thing’s meat-stick drive itself into him.  His mind was delirious with pleasure. The man-thing’s seed filled him up, and it felt wonderful.  There was nothing else for Skrach but the Man-Thing and the Man-seed.  In the haze of lust he heard it call out.  Demanding he swear to him.  Of course!  It only seemed natural.  To serve such a Man-Thing and receive the Man-seed again and again.   To refuse was to never have Man-seed inside him again.  A horrible thought!  He made the only logical response!  “Yes-yes.  Master!  Sigmar god!  Serve master yes-yes!” he shouted.  And then his world exploded.

Markus drove in one final time and let his inner flame spread out and into his newest convert.  Skrach called out his name, a high pitch squeal of mind numbed ecstasy, it’s cock spurting more of its seed onto the floor in its most explosive orgasm yet.  Then he went limp.  With a tired sigh, he pulled himself free of Skrach and wiped the sweat off his brow.  Pulling his robe back on, he gestured Qshin to follow.  Markus opened the dungeon door, to three skaven acolytes.  He pointed to Skrach ‘Clean him and bring him to my chambers.  We have much planning to do.”

In three days, Markus had heard news from the Under-Empire.  Skrikisk was dead.  Somehow the warlord had accidentally slit his own throat with a rusty sword, tripped and fallen into a vat of acid, and then managed to ignited a store of blackpowder, utterly destroying his body and any chances of survival.  With the vacuum of power, the clans were rushing to seize power, but one prominent clan.  Skrach of his newly named Skarmeat clan, had taken the majority hold of territory under his city, and lead a campaign to destroy other prominent clans in the region.  Perhaps during this powershift the Dwarfs would get off their lazy behinds and attempt to retake on of their lost mountain holds while the occupying Skaven fought against Skarmeat.

That was a problem for later.  For now Qshin waited patiently for Markus to finish reading his report.  When it was clear he was done, the slender Eshin, crawled onto Markus’ bed, lifting his tail, and presented himself.  The rat had prided his dark fur, but to make sure his bottom was properly cleaned at all times, her had removed the fur around his pucker, now on full display.  Markus sighed and allowed himself a rare smile.  He grasped the rat’s rump, and thrust forward.  Qshin sighed happily as he felt Master’s Tool fill him.