Sunday, 28 November 2010

Off the coast of Boiling Peak (193PC)

Typhus stared into the the grimy lense of the farsqueaker in puzzlement. A puny fleet of human ships approached, heading directly for Boiling Peak and seemingly intent on making a landing. He assumed they wished to rescue the slaves he had appropriated. Typhus felt a black fury descend on him. The fleet was tiny! Did they not understand his minions were legion? Did they not appreciate the magnitude of his armies, the might of his fleets and the superiority of his technology? It was disrespectful, that was what it was!

He would show them the true power of the master race! He watched with satisfaction of the steaming ironclads of the Boiling Peak defence fleet came into the farsqueakers field of view. Powered by warpstone reactors, armed with banks of lightning cannons and with flanks off inch think metal they were far superior to the pathetic human ships

Sure enough the battle was brief and brutal and soon the human fleet lay at the bottom of the ocean, blasted apart by the unstoppable techno-magic of the Skaven! Surely the humans would not be so stupid as to try such a thing again after such a demonstration of Skaven superiority? Typhus frowned. Actually they probably would. Typhus ordered the fleet enlarged just in case.

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