Truth is among the
first casualties of war. For instance, no accounts apart from the
sealed records of the Holy Ordos record how, as the Cannibal Wars of
Old Foulnest reached their direst point, the uncanny phantom-shifting
of dome walls and tunnel bulkheads, first observed during the
infamous Shift of the Imps, became endemic throughout the locale.
Enclosed warrens of corridors became open ground for those hivers
daring or desperate enough to duck through from one side to the other
– and there was always a change that solidity might return
unexpectedly, inflicting grievous harm on the traveller.
Similarly, when
Revulsion-Is-Thine-Armour and Blessed-Are-The-Abject returned to the
Middenkirk after a scavenging run, the account they gave of the
bloody bite wounds and seeping burns that riddled their bodies was as
far from the truth as sump is from spire.
The core of the tale
was accurate enough: the two Middenmans were prowling the spectral
halls below Foulnest Core when they stumbled across old rivals about
the same business, a pair of gangers apiece from the Miscreants and
Inglorious Bastards. It looked like a tense, three-way stand-off was
on the cards, but even as fingers twitched on triggers, a great
howling and screaming began echoing through the tunnels from all
around.
It was the common hive
scum of Foulnest, all horribly changed by the events of the past few
cycles. Madness had taken root in their minds and hunger gnawed
incessantly at their guts. Only raw meat would satisfy their
appetite, all the better if it was teeth-torn from those who had the
protection of House and gang. And here were six such walking feasts.
The cannibal horde
cared not for the risk of running the shimmering walls: they dived
through screaming and slavering. Some made it; others were fused into
the plasteel and rockcrete as the walls rematerialised, their limbs
lopped off and falling to the deck to be snapped up by their fellow
dregs. But the vast bulk of the swarm careened towards the gangers,
who put up what fight they could.
For every hiver that
fell, five more leapt forward. The Bastards and Middemans didn't last
long, overwhelmed by the cannibal crowds. The Miscreant duo fared
better, backing into a corner and keeping the flesh-eaters at bay
until they could escape.
Upon returning to the
Middenkirk, Revulsion and Blessed told their brethren that it had
been all they could do to haul themselves out from the avalanche of
attackers, but the lies came by omission.
Blessed-Are-The-Abject
saw fit not to mention that he might have escaped sooner, and with
less injury, had he not rashly charged into the clutches of the
oncoming horde, seeing a downed cannibal as an easy kill and
expecting the Emprah's hand to protect him. It didn't.
As for
Revulsion-Is-Thine-Armour, he skipped the detail of the fumbled
incendiary bomb he'd thrown, which had fallen well short of its
cannibal targets. The blast caught one of the Inglorious Bastards and
Revulsion himself: he was badly injured and set ablaze, practically
cooking himself in readiness for the mad hivers to gnaw great chunks
out of his flesh.
But these ignominious
details got no airing at the Middenkirk, and Revulsion and Blessed's
fellows hailed them for their bravery and grim bite-wounds they'd
sustained, worthy suffering that would earn them the blessings of the
Emprah.
Whatever the truth of
the matter, there were plenty more blessings to come.