Deathmaster Snikch Kill-List

#shut-the-burrow-door-pls

Yes-yes Deathmaster like-savors death-blood to sup on

Do you do bodyguard work or do you just do assassination contracts exclusively?

"Snikch is for hire-paid for task-job as long as Grand Nighlord Sneek allows money-tokens to change hand-paw. But once job is done-finished there is nothing that keep-prevents Snikch from having his fun-cruelty." Snikch lets a bloodstained goblet tumble to the ground with a passive disregard for the value. An twintailed comet is embossed on it with jewels of great value to anything other than a skaven. "Sometimes protect-saving useless hire-meat means having fun-cruelty. Sometimes Snikch can find-catch former disappointments and solve-fix issues for the betterment of Eshin. Deathmaster is always Deathmaster. Need to kill-torture on the job at least once-twice."

#deathmastersnikch #ask #skaven #goingunderwaves

shut-the-burrow-door-pls

Cook-rat is sort of silent-mad kind

skaven-shenanigans

Vykstyrn let this creature near him with no guard presence.

Cook-rat doesn't stab-kill as long as no one mess around fireplace and her boss-master isn't around.

Yes-yes failed assassin-rat can still stab-slice but only with cook-feast blades.

Croque didn't reply the question since the deafhmaster wasn't seemed to be actually interested with an answer. She remained silence staring at deathmaster consuming the last bit of value from the victim of him. His sharp teeth reflected the flicking fire shinning with the blood hanging to the edge. Its like a dread cave, one way ticket to death.

The fire was gradually dying out but there was no need to add fuel to it. Like a moth attracted by the candle light, she approached closer in attempts to follow the movement that grew blur in the dim light.

Blood dripping down by drops as she scratched her arm and bandaged up wound, tail rested on the ground still. The only sound in this dead end corner was the infrequent cracking of dying fire. She stood up knowing this unexpected picnic finally got to an end.

#yourseweragemovingkitchen #deathmastersnikch #no kill-kill today

There was a silent but growing chuckle as the darkness slowly started to win out against the light of the fire. It eventually grew into a hiss, a dastardly evil hiss with all the intent to kill fitting inside each breath. In the darkness Snikch approached, his pounce enough to send the cook back to the ground. His claws dug into her flesh and pulled at the muscle and fat at her belly. One final attack.

His tail tightened around her leg twisting it to the point of strain and his teeth bit into the fur and skin around the neck. Moments away from tearing out her throat. There was a low growl, an attack meant to instill the fear of death. The closeness of death. The inevitability of death. "Next time you lose-cut a limb, let it be for my feast-meal. Will come back for it-it. Then you-you can treat you Deathmaster to a real meal-taste."

And then the Deathmaster was gone like smoke from a candle leaving only wounds and words, and only one corpse to be. They had devoured the one that had been brought. And Croque got to know that the Deathmaster was always watching, always stalking, always everywhere. A comforting thought.

Her expression shifted into a mix of disgust and surprise when the nail back into the wounded paw, which was its origin. "Sure-sure." She picked up the dirt-covered apron from the ground and put it on in slight panic. The nail found its place in the empty bag on her belt.

With such haste, a round object got kicked, a light cracking noise echoed in the dark corner, she almost thought it was her feet that kicked the stone and broke her toes. The head rolled into to the light, eyeball blasted from the previous blow. She picked it up, smashing the fragile part with the metal spike on her arm plate. Tracing the crack the blade lift up the brain cap and exposed the half-solidified organ. The head got placed on the shield again, followed by that long stopped heart.

With all the valuable parts of that dead corpse placed on the weapon he once used, cook added another torch into the fire to extend its life a bit longer. "Should be all-all." The shadow turned into existence, making temporary stove look like an altar for Death. Croque awkwardly moved backwards, cleaning the dust and blood on hand and began to bandage up the wounded paw with relatively clean fabrics. "Anything deathmaster need-ask cook to do next-next?"

He ignored her question at first, responding with one of his own in the short quick language of boredom and idle thinking. "Do you keep-keep all the parts you lose? Trying to save-steal enough coins to hire-buy a sorceror and enchant a magic trinket-toy?" It wasn't really a question but equal parts accusation and report. "Is that why you bother-cook all these seers?

He let the question hang in the air, leaving it like his gift to Croque, who understood his meaning. He idly picked at the food, eating in a far more distinguished manner than before as could be expected of an Eshin or Cathay. Stabbing it with his fingers or tail and bringing it to his needle teeth. And true to his word, he did enjoy the poisoned and ruined bits, taking the time to enjoy the extra "seasonings."

"Eshin has no more to tell-squeak to you. Mission-schemes still through courier-rat. More failures mean arm-limb belong to me-me to kill-cut as Deathmaster sees fit-fit." He finally responded to her whipping his blades into their sheaths or his belt finally.

The smoke made the figure on the other side blurred, like an illusion, there was a mindless moment before she realized the boiling pain and it was too late. She screamed as the sudden panic rushed her mind. She leaned forward, blade tip precisely stabbed into the joint of the trapped finger with ruthless force, knife tip chipped, finger snapped and the shield shocked under the blunt force, meat flew to the air, one secured by her hungry maw and one held by the chopstick-thing.

Croque swallowed the tongue without chewing. Sitting back down, she picked up a piece of skin flap and grabbed on the shield, adjusted It back onto the fire. Dead skull rolled aside forgotten, The ominous meat got placed on the surface again like nothing happened. She held It with the tip of claw and cut into bites with the knife grabbed on the tip of the tail, leaving the finger cooking like a stub of carrot to go with the main course.

Only then she got to check the hand, blood streaming down the damaged paw mixing into the burnt skin swollen with blisters. "Who-who else dare to cook for deathmaster, if cook without hand-paw." She reached out, squeezing it over the meat served on shield with her tail. Blood and blasted blister liquid poured on it, cook frowned, but remain muted. "Take-eat it."

Snikch's claws carefully and intentionally grabbed for the finger holding it in the firelights as it reflected the hues of red and yellow before it slowly drifted into the blackness of his maw. There was a crunching noise as he ruthlessly split bone amd then another as he severed the knuckle. This piece of meat was not eaten without care and there was no spill or overflow from the Deathmaster's steel trap of teeth.He waved a paw at her, "Deathmaster satisfied with dead-things payment-cost. Finish the meal before Snikch want-needs more of this cook-rat."

His attittude was flippant like a beast that lost interest in a half eaten corpse, although that probably was for the best. He was no longer using her as a chew toy.The only thing that came out was her claw, not quite the most palitable thing for anything but a bone-eater, so he spat it back at her. And unlike most things that came from the Deathmaster, it was not a lethal projectile.

After that the feeling of the cookout died down, there was no frantic energy that Snikch spread like poisoned air around him he was simply existing. It infected Croque with a sort of nervous calm as the Deathermaster came into the firelight, still not exposed, but she could catch his movements.

Like a sigh, she let out a whimper as the shadow withdrew all the pressure on her at once, it's not a relief but an itch left on the skin. She licked up the blood and juice on the side of the face and stared at the opposite of the fire. She rested the stickes on the edge of the shield and spun the head on hand.

It had the sign of mutation but not as exaggerated like the seer, she forced the shut mouth open rows of teeth spiral down the throat revealed as expected. She could finally poke It without any risk of bone shattering. But Croque couldn't risk to fully leave the unpredictable factor there out of her sight especially It is rare to see him fully under the light.

She watched him reaching for the meat and mushrooms, while her claw found its way sliding pass the sharp edges of the teeth reaching for depth, grabbing onto the bottom of the tongue her nail dug deep and pull. The sound of muscle and tendon failed under her brutal force was covered by the blasting fire, but the slug-shaped meat joined the hot surface soon, curled up like a shrimp. She placed the head on the shield facing the opposite, the dead skaven's beady eyeballs about to burst out of the sockets. "See-see that mouth." She chuckled, poked it closer to the shadow, and added the poison-marinated meat on the plate, continued cooking.

Snikch poked at the tongue, fat and lolling around the insides of the shield like a thing alive. Squirming as if it was a real slug. It was certainly humorous the way it moved around. It was still a beast under the thumb of two Eshin rats and would not live much longer. Although in that case it would be eaten.

The poison meat was a sizzler, the poison flash boiling under the hot shield of metal. Like most things its fumes were heavy although these ones tinged the firelight green. It had an acrid smell at first but then a dangerously sweet one next. It seemed to make the Deathmaster happy, if that was possible but it made Croque light headed. She faltered, shifting from upright. There was a raspy chortle once more, Snikch had the moment he had been waiting for. He was fast with his paw, grabbing Croque's paw and pressing it against the hot shield. He held it there as the skin started to burn.

"You did say-squeak earlier that you would add-give your own meat to the meal-feast? Does it feel-hurt good to be on fire? Should be tasty-crisp." He reduced the pressure to just one finger-claw but holding it down with truly monstrous strength as his bangles of dragon strength activated.

The more and more intensive sound of teeth grinding was noticeable. Every movement from the shadow behind caused the shiver to crawl up her spine, and she was all tense up like a horse enduring their harsh rider.

"No pop-push cook's eyeball out-out from inside, just-just sunk the claw-paw into the dead-flesh?" Croque tore and threw the mushrooms onto the hot metal surface in annoyance. "Master chose to hurt-kill by his poisonous tongue-word this time-time? Cook is glad-glad." She picked the well-cooked fat organ and shoved it into the whispering mouth behind with accuracy.

"Can master stop-pause playing with food-meat, but eat-eat?" Her voice was no longer cold, tail grabbing the blade, clashing against the solid ground like rattle snake. "Croque-thing dead-killed, cook want to live-live, but…" Tail left the blade between the ribcage of the corpse, loosely wrapped around the claws on her neck. "Will die-die under these hand-paw." She picked the chieftian and a twist was enough to separate the head from the severed spine, "Maybe like this-this."

There was a snap of jaws, an eager, killing snapping that severed meat for itself and squished hot fluids. It rained across the back of Croque's head bubbling fats and sweet cooked blood. It was followed by intentional and ravenous licking of the lips and chomping of the teeth. "Did you cook that well-good because Snikch is your Master still-still? Or to try and save your skin-hide?" he said with a low satisfied rumble.

"It mixes with your blood-fluid. A pairing of two meals." His tail dragged across her wounds, dripping as it collected the vital ichor. Snikch languished it with his tongue. "Would be better-faster to drink from your head-stump." He placed his paw on the top of Croque's head and twisted just enough to feel true resistance of the bone.

"But there is no fun-joy in such a quick-simple demise." He pulled himself away from her, claws, teeth, and tail all gone in a moment. There was silence, as there always was with the Deathmaster before he would appear once more. He had returned to a place on the fire opposite Croque, darting into the shield for food, grabbing it with his long claws.

Cook giggled, found it funny whenever the one who causes only death mentioned "living", "Must-must be nightlord himself burden master too much-hard." The remaining fabric on the chieftain got harvested and used to dry the dripping blood from her face. She wiped the inside of the skin flap onto the shield, rat fat melt, bubbling, and the juicy organ got thrown inside.

Croque unwrapped some of the bandages on her arm and covered her poison-burnt paw thickly with it, so at least she can hold the shield by the edge without cooking herself first.

The mark left by the contract between them exposed, not significant but like a permanent brand claimed her slavery. She picked a relatively good-shaped torch and chopped it down by the blade, into two pairs of even sticks, that could make it so much easier. She grabbed a pair between her fingers, flipped the organ with the tip, as smooth as her extension of her limb. She passed one pair grasped with her tail to the shadow. "Cook not sharp-cut the point, or chopstick-thing will end up deep-in cook's other eye."

Snikch chortled, "Afraid to give the Deathmaster idea-thoughts? Empty socket is open to attack-pierce. A gateway to the brain-mush." There was a silence before the Deathmaster's breathy chuckle resounded in Croque's ear. She knew well enough to know the breadth of things he implied with that laugh. None of them pleasant to Croque.

Snikch's claw closed around the back of her neck, rocking her back and forth as she worked her impromptu wok, sinking his clawtips in little by little every time she moved outside of his rhythm. The sizzle of the sweet meats started with pops of some pustule of fat or water. It seemed to satisfy the Deathmaster in the moment.

She felt the wet of the Deathmaster's breath and tongue against her ear. His teeth slicing straight through the soft cartilage. "Why does failed-killed assassin-rat, pursue-chase this task. Still the Eshin love-love of death? Only way this Croque-thing can enjoy the cut-slice of the knife-blade on flesh?"

It was warm, the blood flowed down like tears when the claw sunk in her skull, she shivered as the pain rose and the fear of death sneaked in her thought. Her tail wrapped around the wrist of the shadow, “Meat never forget-fade the fear, bitter-bad in flavor." She hissed as the teeth gnashing on her skull. "Cook thought deathmaster get better taste-need in food, like what cathay-thing taught." She tightened the tail and pulled the grip on her head away even that added long bloody wounds to her side of head.

Grabbed on the meat, the fresh poison burnt her fur and skin, Croque placed it next to the mushrooms and the cloth didn't survive underneath. "How could that-that be edible…" She flipped the corpse again and finally sliced opened the bloated stomach, the trapped gas and fluid splashed, guts flooded out like a pile of wriggly eel exposing to air, almost as if it's still alive. She seeked for the organs, pulled out the fat meat out with bare hand and presented it to the figure in shadow She could sense but not see.

#deathmastersnikch #yourseweragemovingkitchen

"Does cook-meat think Deathmaster is seer-fool? This is not about making your Master a good-good meal-food. It's about still living and keep your paw-claws busy so there is no self-choking-death." The claws pulled away, a red set of parallel lines that streaked horribly across her fur marring it with long slashes. It matched her previous scars and marks.

With a flick Snikch threw the blood into the fire and across the blood. The iron scented hiss momentarily stung the nose before the smell of smoke once more overpowered the rest. He was sure to get most of it over the meat. "That will add-add fear to this...dish-meal." He said with a moment's irony.

"The sweet-meats, those should be fine-fine to cook fast-quick. Before Deathmaster decides to struggle-crush with them." The whispers continued. And then a loud noise, like a gun shot, clattered around Croque as he threw a large steel shield, almost like a real cooking surface without any way to grip it nicely. When the sound faded it leaned nicely against the fire.

Croque's work on hand wasn't interrupted a tiny bit by the claw on her side, only the short pause of tail reflected her feeling. She was fairly numb to it after that, the great blood loss and various wounds had her senses broken. "To… to survive under Deathmaster." She turned her head slightly towards the source of complaint, her eye socket was empty like a black hole. Without her apron and fake eye, she looked not much different from the meat-pile on the ground. Skryre technology gained her time to recover, allowed her to survive.

Cook flipped the corpse again, fingers tracing along the cut caused by the deathmaster. There was a cut behind the neck pierced deep, she smiled, fingers dug between the cold flesh into the depth. "Such good-good meat polluted, stained by poison and…" she pulled her fingers out and sucked clean the fluid, "Yes-yes, deathmaster's sickened joy-pleasure." Blade sliced between the skin and fat, she pulled away the skin and sliced down that piece of meat from the bone. The poisonous green radiated from the cut, making it almost disgusting. "No use-use of it, unless master would like-like to taste his own fruit-poison."

"The Deathmaster's always take-drink poisons until they are weak-nothings to the flesh." Snikch's claws hooked her eye socket, yanking her head from the strange angle. She could see with her one eye his tail wiping the meat down with the flat of his blade, spreading the sickly green around. "Your death time has not-not preserved your memory has it, failed-meat?"

There was rising pressure as he clenched down harder on the empty socket. The feeling of pressure against the non existent eye bubbled up, a sensation so rarely felt and one that made it feel like Snikch was moment away from piercing her brain. It was an imitation of how Croque had just manhandled the meat. "Use it, let me taste-savor the fear of the Chieftain when I cut-severed his last thought-pieces."

Croque swore she could feel his teeth around her socket, the scrapping of ever growing teeth against each other and ripping fur.

"All as you wish-command, master." Croque stood up slowly, twitching from the ache, her tail grabbed onto the knife handle firmly and twisted it further. Cracked bones fully dislocated and the blade freed from stucking. She picked the candle up, kicking several torches into a pile. With a cracking noise of wood, fire was lit up, revealing the space. It was one of the corridors, as molded and stinky as others, mushrooms grew from the soil between the stones, sickly pale under the dim light.

“Without any seasoning…” She checked around and tried to ignore that shadow outlined by the fire. Soon She gathered enough chubby fungus held by the apron, She took it off, lay the cloth on the ground to not dirt the mushrooms further. The cut on the stomach already stopped bleeding but stained the old bandage into deep red.

"Mushrooms, that seer-meat, he wouldn't be a threat-danger, yes-yes, as long as he keeps addict-prefer his pipe-smoke and mushrooms." She smirked, and flipped the dead corpse on the ground. The paint and decorated fur, She peeled the skin off with ease, threw the flaps aside like trash.

“Chieftain of this Clan? Oh horned rat bless his sweet fate-death." Her tail swept low on the ground, the scent of blood thinned the dreadness of death.

There was a sharp rasp as Croque spoke on the nature of seasoning. "Mind still stuffed-filled with such no-fur thoughts. Roast meat and fungi served-fed many assassin's. Dead-meat didn't deserve such care-concern, not like Cook-rat's dead-flesh. And Seer-flesh is soft-weak. Tears instead of cut-cut easily, poison-death fits their weakness."

Croque worked her way for a minute, collecting her fungi and pealing off the fur off the dead-meat that was in fact a chieftain. Snikch's claw appeared from the shadow across her side. "Thought Deathmaster peel-scrapped cook-rat's flesh when she was just a little gutter runner." He dug his sharp claw in until there was a definitely trickle of blood that saturated all his fingers. Only then did Croque feel the pressure let off from her side.

There was the sound of slurping and licking. "Taste-lick different. Like iron-metal." He said with a hiss. "Skryre-make are you-you now?" His tail-blade clanged against the stone. Impatience and anger flared in a moment against the shadow of his being.

Cook adjusted the metal collar, blood soaked fur stuck to the metal, but she didn't seem to care. The red flame of the candle made up for her missing eye. She tilted her head in doubt, the dim red glow in her eye faded as she stared into the shadow. "My-my survival?" She cackled as her tail tip pointing at herself, "Deathmaster care that-that?"

Back pressed against the cold stone wall, She curled up in the corner as if hating that candle light. "Cook's life… just as easy as lit-kill this flame, right-right?" Her tail swang in the air, kissing the bright flame. The fragile light flicked, made the shape of death himself more blurred, like her nightmares. "What do you want from me-me? Cook cannot cook now-now, no meat-material." Her blood pooled on the floor, tracing the seam of bricks. "Heh… yes-yes, unless self-service."

"Cook-rat will not-not question Deathmaster." There was a thunk as a blade sunk into the stone. Impaling the torso of some Skaven that had been on Snikch's list. He twisted the blade and it looked as if the corpse spasmed in pain. He cut a groove in it until the room echoed with the crack of a vertebrae. Blood pooled like a syrup, congealed and cold. There was the rattle of something and a torn, moth-eaten sack slid across the ground next to it, spilling its load of torches.

"Cook-rat speak-squeak easily when cooking. Then cook-speak or Snikch will-will pull the truth from head. What rat-meat would return worthless cook-meat back to living-meat?" There was the scratching and bubbling of stone as Snikch moved a moment backwards into the shadows, the whipping of his tail sounding like the noise of thrown shurikens.

Encounter with @deathmastersnikch 💀

The stone dropped on the ground sparked with green light. Croque frowned as the rotten dim air messed up the pleasant smell of food, tail stopped in shock.

"How long have you been-been there?" She couldn't tell if there was a slight relief when she got dragged away, which ended this pain of praising the seer and dealing with their unpredictable temper. Although nothing can be more unpredictable than deathmaster himself, "Here to exam-check this dead-meat? Pakiit will deliver what you want-ask." She gasped as the tail tightened around her neck.

Snikch dragged her away to some dark corner, it suited him best afterall. Dragging her across stones and puddles like she was a simple paperweight. The shadows clung to both of them, an oppressive darkness. And then his support vanished bowling the cook-rat backwards, left to cover her own bleeding neck.

"Deathmaster is always there-there. Wherever shadow-darkness live, Deathmaster can appear to kill-slice his target." The darkness spoke, moving around the cook, considering her as prey, like some mythological terror.

There was a shower of sparks and the catch of a ruby red flame. A candle for their meeting, a singular candle with the smell of Skaven fat. A claw slid it across the floor, loudly with each clatter and skid of the beaten metal echoing. In the light only the faintest outline of the Deathmaster could be seen. His intense red eyes and yellowed snapping teeth.

"Snikch comes as he wills-wants. And for any reason. Now-now about cook-rat's survival..."

skaven-shenanigans

The Greyseer squinted at the cook as she checked the corner after him. When she said nothing of it he relaxed, deciding there was nothing really there. Still, he couldn't help looking back every so often..

As Shakk began chopping, Vyk got a better look at her..

"Shakk-rat is much too big-large for slave-meat. Wasted strength-size!..then again if never slave-rat, never cook-rat!"

He hummed.

"Perhaps-mayhaps cook-rat would like to stay? Vykstyrn will pay good-well, yes-yess~" He crooned while rubbing together two imaginary coins..

Cook dug the core of the apple out, filled the chopped up herb and spice into the hollowed up fruit, also the sweet sticky liquid produced by those ferocious insects.

"Seer-lord know best-best, how warpstone change rat-meat." She pulled the eyelid of her glowing green eye, the stone dropped on the cutting board, stopped by tail before rolling away. "Shakk no cook-slave, but lab-meat of moulder-thing? Like a hell-pot abomination?" She cackled to herself, "Is that what client-lord want to guess-try?" She is so scarred that it was almost impossible to tell if that was caused by experiment or torture.

Screwed on sharpened sticks, the apples were placed over the fire. The sweet mix in its core soon began to boil. "If Shakk cannot prove cook is cook by cooking…" She held the green stone in paw, wiping it on the apron, hollowed eye socket stared at the seer in a faint sarcasm. "Cook-rat shall leave-leave especially client-lord doesn't trust cook." She checked through the crystal clear stone, "Or something bad-bad might follow-stalk from the dark."

#yourseweragemovingkitchen #vykstyrn darkweaver #deathmastersnikch

There was a hiss in the darkness around them, a cackle like the shearing of rocks all around them. "Little seer-thing thinks to take-steal what's mine? My blunt tool-pawn." The voice spoke with a voice like rusty blades. "He who steal-takes my things will be cut-sliced into meat-bits themselves."

From the gloom came a new sound, still hissing but the fervent and desperate hissing of a fuse. The culprit was shown nearly immediately as a black orb went sailing through the air, trailing a tail of angry yellow sparks. It landed neatly in the embers of the fire, right underneath the next course of the meal. It sat there not a moment before it blew, spraying red hot coals, splattered food, and an oppressively thick and acrid smoke all over. Their eyes could adjust to darkness but the smoke kept them in the dark for much longer. Only Shakk's warpstone implant provided any form of guiding light.

But another green light emerged, the edge of a blade, the edge of a flurry of warpstone shurikens. Snikt! Snikt! Snikt! A trio of them fell around the seer, tearing through cloth and grazing the flesh. The intent was clear. Like a ghost the Deathmaster appeared behind the Cook-rat, the dripping weeping blades on either side of her great belly and the tail wrapped around her neck with yet another blade pushed into the skin, blood dripping down in a curious river across her apron. "Eshin will be take-taking this cook-meat. Deathmaster will like-like if seer chases. A fun toy-fool to play with before the kill."

The two beady red eyes stared down Vyk as he retreated into the gloom, leaving the seer in darkness with gifts of weeping warpsteel. And a low rumble of challenge that he knew he would be insane to try and meet unless Death is who he sought in the darkness.

How are you able to stay so calm and able to suppress your instincts? I’ve never seen any if your peers achieve this, it’s really impressive

"Easy-simple task. Clan Eshin rats better trained-learned than other Skaven. Cathay has many secrets-paths that lead to better ability to control body-senses. Cathay-things say-say it is inner peace. Deathmaster knows it makes assassination simple-easy."

shut-the-burrow-door-pls