In Warhammer Fantasy as my ERP Character

A day passes after the last meeting with Teclis, Gelt, and the rest. As of now, they should be still discussing what to do with each other. Meanwhile I have sent Kal to the Black Ark to add more garrison to the ship with the guns. As of now, his warherd and the black ark’s garrison have the priority on getting the guns. He should be returning soon with some of the elven souls too as I think it's time to make a proper body for Valariel. As for the material, I managed to request a branch of the Lornalim tree that grows in Tor Lithanel. Mostly because of the significance of the tree for the wood elves and forest spirits. But also because the tree in the Tor Lithanel is the only one untouched by Nurgle during the last battle. While Laurelorn has healed from the corruption, I can’t be too sure, I also won’t be using the Lornalim trees from my dominion for similar reasons. It's one thing using the branch for bows and guns stock, it is another to use it to make a body that can host a soul. I will essentially be making an artifact in the form of a dryad body. Just skipping the part where the dead elven souls are absorbed to the forest and reborn as a dryad and just making the body to be lived in. All that is left is to wait for Kal’s return. 

As for me, my pregnancy with the dragon is progressing slowly. At the current rate of my stomach growing, it should take at least a week or two before I give birth. It is still abnormally fast for this world with my mutation and such but still I think it is too slow. My main concern is how fast the dragon will grow after it is born. End Times last ten years give or take and I sure hope it won’t require that much time to grow into adulthood. I have ideas on what to do to accelerate its growth but there might be a sizable risk if I do something other than constantly feeding it and my other ideas might not even work. Coupled with the Hydra’s regeneration, my dragon should have something similar to bottomless appetite. The rest is just that hopefully the dragon’s metabolism allows it to grow as fast as its appetite hungers. I sure hope it does grow properly and not grow fat instead. I sure don’t want to raise something similar like Themberchaud. With nothing else to do, I sleep for the rest of the day.

—

“Mother.” Kal’s voice woke me up.

“Hmm? You return already? How long did I sleep?” I immediately sat up. Feeling odd that I did not return to the Sanctuary when I slept and noticed that my pregnancy grows a bit more than before. Then I noticed that I haven’t been returning to Sanctuary much even though I am sleeping. Wonder why? Did I unconsciously focus my magic to help grow my pregnancy while I slept?

“One day.” He answered, putting a stop on my thoughts, and then pointed at three barrels filled with the elven souls beside my tent’s entrance.

“Just one day?” We always use Beast-Paths when travelling between Drakwald and Laurelorn and it always requires at least a day's travel and two days if we travel back and forth. Can be faster if I personally lead them. Did the Beast-Paths have started to allow faster travel because of the rise of magic? Or is it only between my two domains?

“Make scouting herds. Map the surrounding Beast-Paths and make sure if we can travel faster than before.” I give my command

“Give them guns? Might meet lesser warherds if searching other Beast-Paths.” He asked

“No, the guns are still only for those directly under your command. Anything else happening in the north?”

“Lak casted some concealment spell on the black ship. Then she is busy with elven magic and stuff. Then a big storm off the coast. Since the daemon incursion all over the forest. Haven’t stopped since.” He reports. Lak has been increasingly independent from me for a while. I don’t know if it is a good thing or not. Then again, I did assign her to be the spellcaster of the herd so it is good if she is starting to be more curious and inquisitive about things. Besides, her primary responsibility of taking care of the Eonirs have been returned to Marissith so she is just being free right now. I would need to think of something for her to do. As for the storm of the coast, is it Chaos doing or is it Manann? Regardless, the first wave of the Chaos invasion will start soon. Whether the storm is Chaos or Manann doing will be seen soon. Hopefully the latter, then the storm wouldn’t recede and sink plenty of the invasion ships. They are not part of Archaon’s invasion but still they can make quite a mess if not properly dealt with. My golden herd’s presence has somewhat alerted the Empire so they should already start mustering since the Eonir who chose to leave reached Marienburg at the latest. The rest depends on themselves now. There’s still a problem with Nordland however. I think the current Elector Count is quite an ambitious and rebellious one. Didn’t Gelt cast an economic recession there? Will ask him after. As for now, with a silver branch on my hand and three barrels filled with elven souls, let’s see what I can make.

—

“Faster-faster! Dig Faster!” A skaven packmaster whips the nearest skavenslaves. Loud squeal does it make in pain and the rest digs harder and faster. Not hundreds but thousands of the chittering creatures, digging with their claws deep underground to the border of Laurelorn. Leading this glorious expedition is one great Trink Manlasher. Surrounding him is a pack of stormvermins and few dozen packmasters. Trink is a notorious slaver but most importantly he is notorious for capturing and slaving humans. Selling them to skavens wealthy enough to make man mazes to see the humans running around confused and panicking. But most importantly, he owns a human breeding farm for a more refined palate. Those of Clan Moulders for example are his prime customers, always paying high for the newborns and the strong ones either for eating or experimenting. A place fitting for humans under the glorious and superior skaven race.

Trink shakes his head as his thoughts begin to think on what experiments Clan Moulder was doing to human newborns and the strong ones. Better not think that way, some of his furs stand on end remembering the tales of those who want to privy Moulder’s secrets and experiments.

“What took so long!?” Trink shouted to anybody in general and expected an answer immediately.

“We struck another bedrock, o most glorious one!” One of the packmaster groveled and answered.

“Hurry! Faster! Get more slaves!” Trink starts to think he really needs to hire some Seers. No-no. Seers are ambitious, he will not let any other skaven take over his most lucrative expedition. Not even envoys of the Horned Rat. But still he will need to have one present when his undercity is established. But only then. Then he can betray the Seers easier should they try anything. There is plenty of time to plan. Just what the Commandment expects.

“We have used all the slaves. The most beneficent one! The rest are human slaves and breeders.” The packmaster responsible for managing the human farm grovels and answers.

“Then tell them to dig too!” Trink commands. Anxious to start establishing his undercity. He has procured the information of a new source of warpstone from the human city Middenheim. It was all too easy, he just needed to send a very well trained human breeder, the bigger their udders the better. The males then will sing the answer to all questions he has prepared to the breeder. It was practically handed over to him. Hastily he reports to the council, making sure the secrecy is the most important. He has made sure to kill any who knows about it, the human breeder acquiring the information and all skavens between her and himself. He even killed his most trusted commander just to be sure.

“The humans do not have digging claws, o most sagacious overlord! They will further delay the excavation if they are sent to dig.” The packmaster responsible for the excavation, a bit fatter than the other packmaster, grovel and answers. “Better make them breed faster. I’m sure the skavenslaves will work harder at the promise of their juicy newborns. After all, that’s what they are good for.” He let out a chittering laugh. At the packmaster’s last sentence, many of the packmaster and stormvermins also start laughing.

Trink looks around his gathered skavens. Taking notes of who is laughing and who is not. Then he grabs the spear beside his makeshift throne and throws it at the fat packmaster. Skewering the rat and immediately silencing the laugh.

“You look fatter than the rest! You must take the rations from the slaves! Yes-yes! That’s why they are digging so slow!” Trink then points to one of the stormvermin. “You! Yes You! Butcher that packmaster and divide his flesh to the biggest slavediggers!”

The stormvermin squeaks in fear and does what is commanded. Trink reclined back on his throne. Enjoying the musk of fear from the gathered slaves. Then he points at another packmaster.

“Spare me! Most merciful overlord! I will do everything you command! Most beneficent overlord!”

“You are responsible for the digging now!” Trink decides, besides, this one grovels a bit better.

“Yes, My lord! I will finish the excavation before the month’s end!” The packmaster squeaks before running away like his life depends on it.

“What else are all of you here for!? Get back to your post!” Trink lashed out at the remaining skavens not scurrying to their own tasks and immediately the rest dispersed as fast as possible. Leaving him alone with a few stormvermins as bodyguards. And the breeder wood elf sitting between his legs and quietly pleasuring his dick with her mouth. Finally Trink can enjoy himself. Fitting iron collar on her neck with plenty of scars from torture and her attempts to kill herself. Before the long torture finally breaks her. The elf is captured by his father after sacrificing his entire strikeforce. Apparently she was once of the elven seers. His father captured her and cut off her tongue to make sure she cannot utter any more spells. Trink felt a bit of pride remembering his father is braver than most. Pity he can’t stop Trink from backstabbing him. But the prestige he left behind of capturing an elven seer is precisely what allow Trink to establish himself like this. Trink starts to think of the future. Of establishing the undercity below Laurelorn. Harvesting the warpstones. He will be very rich, stormvermins will flock to his banner, Clan Moulders will sell him more of their abominations he previously cannot buy, and clan Skryre will provide him weapons in exchange of some share of warpstones he harvest. But what he looks forward to the most is to get his hands for more elves. The elves are more resilient, not too prone to diseases like the humans and live so much longer. It won’t be long before he moves from slaving and breeding humans to slaving and breeding elves. He might even establish his own clan if it is achieved. The only problem then will be to depose another clan as there can only be 13 skaven clans. As of now, the beastmen will be of some trouble. But those brutes are nothing compared to the superior skavens.

—

The new packmaster hurried to the tunnels freshly dug. He saw that the skavenslaves were feasting on the remains of the previous packmaster. Immediately, he took out his own whip and started lashing.

“You have eaten! Dig-dig! Now!” The skavenslaves lashed out in rage as their feast was disturbed. But the stormvermins disposing the remains of the fat packmaster are still here and watching. Many are still hungry but no one made a move. Surrounded by hungry skavenslaves, the next one dying will be the next feast for everyone else. But skaven cowardly and conniving nature made none of them fight back. Waiting to see if anyone is foolish enough to fight back then they will kill them from the back. The second lash whip broke the reverie and dispersed the skaven slaves back to the tunnels and continued digging. Now is not the time, next time, yes, next time they will betray, backstab, and eat the new packmaster. Or the stupid slave foolish enough to fight the packmaster if the stormvermins are present. They will decide then. Surely. 

The new packmaster body relaxed a little as the skavenslaves resumed working. He almost gets himself killed by lord Trink and now he almost gets himself killed by the slaves. It took him his entire courage and focus to not let out any musk of fear. He gazed at one of the tunnels. Then he saw a big furred and scaled arm appearing from the tunnel walls. An axe in its hand. Then his visions fly. His body dropped on top of whatever remains of the fat packmaster as the arm sunk back to the walls as if it was never there.