Twelve... 1,991 words

Twelve...
There had been another inconclusive battle between the Skaven and Goblins of Eight Peaks. For the dozen bewildered rats who had been cut off by a new wall of boulders, it no longer mattered. Presumably, the battle continued to rage on the other side despite some hundreds of Skaven and Night Goblins lying dead and buried beneath the rock. When the dust began to clear, the implications of their new situation began to sink in.
The survivors did not know the cause of the calamity. It could have been Night Goblin treachery or a Skaven scheme which factored in some acceptable losses. For that matter, a pragmatic Dwarf could have engineered the cave-in. The source of the rock slide hardly mattered. A smashed skull is fatal regardless of its source.
The escapees were the cleverest, the fastest, or the luckiest of the rats under the avalanche (naturally no slaves were among them). Twelve of them: a number which was incomplete and very ill-omened. The dusty dozen compromised of three Tunnel Runners, two Storm Vermin, six Clan Rats, and one Jezzail gunner who had opted to drop his weapon (and partner), so that he could run faster.
Even if they wanted to return to the battle, the wall of rock made doing so impossible. A wide unknown tunnel represented the Ratmen’s only path of escape.
Though many of the survivors had jettisoned their equipment to ease their flight, there were enough accessible replacements available from the Skaven that had almost made it that most of them were now better equipped after the rockslide than before it.
A pawful of Goblins had been confused enough to run in the same direction as the Skaven. Those few who were fast enough to survive the rocks were not fast enough to avoid the Skaven.
The rats were able to vent their initial fury off on the Greenskins. As tasty as they were, the Goblins were a sobering reminder for the uneasy brotherhood that they were in unknown territory now.
Unknown territory is always enemy territory. While each rat would gladly sacrifice the other eleven members to save his own hide, none of them wanted to deplete their ragtag unit before they knew what they were facing.
The twelve survivors anxiously sized each other up. There was no clear leader. This could have been a disaster if the Skaven tore themselves apart to establish a new hierarchy, but the paradox of Skaven life is that they will seek strength in numbers even as they scheme to betray their own kind.
Baleck the ex-Jezzail gunner considered his future. A jezzail is hardly the rarest weapon in the Underempire, but it was still worth considerably more than Baleck’s own life. The quartermasters would likely seek recompense in blood. This emboldened him to act, using his own fears to play off the fears of the others.
“Brave heroes of the Underempire! With no more Goblins to fight-fight our leaders clearly would desire-want us to return-retreat home safely to report back on the effects of this booby trap and to map out this tunnel. We will unite as true children of the Horned Rat. I am—we are not expendable, our mission is too important. All of us are needed.”
The Storm Vermin bristled a bit at being commanded by an inferior, but the clan rats seemed to buy his speech. They didn’t want to deplete the number furry bodies between them and the unknown, but determining who was of use and who was a helpful meat shield is a fine art. Thus, Storm Vermin Locrot decided to both support and belittle Baleck at the same time.
“Well said-squeaked noble Baleck! No doubt the Tunnel Runners caught most of your speech before they sneak-scuttled ahead of the pack!”
There were mixed reactions at this: amusement at Baleck’s embarrassment and concern about splitting the group.
“The tunnel only go-moves in one direction. We should go quick-quick while the Tunnel Runners scout ahead for us.”
The Skaven collectively shrugged and foraged for the remaining Goblin bones with some meat left on them before proceeding down the tunnel in the a slight variation of the time honored Skaven traveling formation.
Normally a small group would space out just enough to be out of easy stabbing range from their fellows, but this time the Clan Rats and Storm Vermin formed separate tight packs and kept their distance from both the other clique and from Baleck. The unspoken message was clear. We will accept you as leader for now, Jezzail rat, but you must lead-lead into the dark unknown from the FRONT. Baleck reluctantly marched head of the Storm Vermin and led the small party down the tunnel.
There was very little air flow in the tunnel, so they heard the hurried approach of the Tunnel Runners before they smelled them or caught the whiff of blood that came with them. In the darkness they saw two Rats scurry towards the group. Locrot squeaked first.
“Where’s the third Runner? Ummm Dalish?”
Eleven…
One of the Tunnel runners held up a furry arm soaked in blood.
“We didn’t smell-hear anything till it was too late-late! There was a ‘whoosh.’ On the…um… tactical withdrawal back we found this.”
He brandished the arm for emphasis, then his shoulders sagged. A clan rat named Seekit put a comforting paw on his shoulder, then relieved him of the grisly relic. When he took a bite from it, he drew several sharp looks.
“What!?! I eat-eat when I’m nervous, and my goblin bone is empty-spent…Want some?”
Baleck snarled and snatched the arm away. He sniffed the severed end filling his nostrils with the all-too familiar smell of Skaven blood then began passing it around.
“Anyone smell-notice anything other than Skaven blood (or Seekit’s filthy spittle)?”
After everyone took a whiff and shook their heads. Jelat, the last rat to get the arm, began gnawing on it. I like-like this better than Goblin. No nutty aftertaste.
The party still only had one direction to go. They continued forward, this time in a tight pack though the Clan Rats and Storm Vermin positioned themselves to force Baleck and the surviving Tunnel Runners to take point once again. As they proceeded they found some pools of water letting them fill their empty flasks. The water was pooling slowly from a narrow fissure in the wall. Seekit spoke up first.
“We have a new path we can use-take.” “Too small-small. We have to move-move through sideways. Too vulnerable. No room to move-dodge. Easy for foes to ambush-slay us.”
Most nodded at the rebuttal of the Tunnel Runner Zazl and motioned to keep going, but Clan Rat Jalat got angry and hissed.
“You Tunnel Runners were not-not so smart-lucky before! Why should we follow-listen you!”
Some stepped towards Jalat in support. Others hissed at him. Rats began drawing blades, Baleck cautiously moved between the two forming groups.
“Too few! Too few! We can stab-kill each other AFTER we avoid-slay the enemy and get back. We go-creep forward now, no bottle necks!”
The group proceeded with more spacing between individuals. Some time later they heard a large thud behind them.
“SQUEEeeee”
Ten…
The group turned and found they were now down another party member. Everyone began chattering at once.
“It got-got Teelik!” “That was behind us!” “Did you see-smell what it was?” “How’d it get behind us!” “I wasn’t looking-smelling behind! The last attack was before-up the tunnel!” “Always check your back! I can’t believe you escaped the weaning chamber without becoming someone’s first solid meal!” “You weren’t watch-watching the rear either!” “It must have exited-come from the side tunnel!” “Too small-small. We could barely fit through. This thing was big-huge!” “How can you tell-tell its size when you were look-looking forward?!?”
After several minutes of arguing, Baleck ordered them to shut up and keep moving. About twenty minutes later they came across a furry severed left arm. More nervous chatter followed.
“The arm is Teelik’s, I know-know the scar pattern.” “Give-give it! I’m hungry.” “We should go-go back!” “To the impenetrable wall of boulders?” “No! The fissure?” “That’s where the monster came out of, you weanling!” “No it isn’t—AACK!”
Nine…
“Shut up!”
Baleck and Locrot yelled simultaneously, then their words diverged.
“We need to keep go-moving” “We need to stand and fight-kill!” “Move!” “Fight!” “Move!” “Fight!” “Vote!” yelled Zazl. “That’s stupid!” “But we—”
WHOOSH
“AAARGH! choke”
Zazl, who was up front, was snatched into the darkness followed by rapidly diminishing choking sound.
Eight…
“I’ll kill-slay you!”
Locrot and the other Storm Vermin charged forward, followed reluctantly by the others. They ran until they got tired. A tail floated down on them from the ceiling in the middle of the charging Skaven as one stumbled over a severed leg.
“The leg is Nolk’s, I recognize the smell-stench.” “No-no. Don’t eat it!” “Why?” “The creature-killer is leave-giving us body parts!” “So?” “Those are all separate-new parts!” “So?” “Back-back to the narrow tunnel!” “That’s where IT came from!” “Then how is IT in front-before us?”
WHOOSH
“DIE-DI-urk!”
THUD
Seven…
“Where is it! Wh-”
SQUELCH
Six…
In the shocked silence and the smell of blood and fear, the surviving Skaven nervously jerked their heads around peering into the dark, listening and sniffing. They hadn’t caught enough scent to identify their mystery enemy due to the overpowering stench of blood. Now they could barely smell past the musk of their own fear.
Baleck spoke up, very quietly and very slowly.
“No more arguing. We move cautiously. We’ll go through the fissure. It’s too narrow for the creature to fit.”
Baleck led the way followed by the Kazl the last Tunnel Runner, Locrot and Zet, the Storm Vermin, and the surviving Clan Rats Jalat and Seekit. The group proceeded cautiously back the way they had come.
Nothing attacked them by the time they made it back but neatly piled in front of the fissure was a right leg and a bloody chest. That almost distracted the survivors from the fact that a large boulder was moved in front of the fissure.
“It blocked the fissure, it doesn’t want-want us in there!” “Why the body parts?” “Who care-cares! Move the stone fast-fast!”
There was enough space for five of the Skaven to push the boulder, but Jalat could barely reach in. His paw jerked away suddenly.
“Get-get back here AND PUSH—oh….” “Thirteen Hells!” “Where it’d go! Track-find it!”
Five…
From deep in the darkness, Jalat’s head came flying at them.
“That way! Kill-slay it!”
The survivors ran towards the direction the head came from. Seekit tripped and fell behind. He never caught up.
Four…
“I think I found it! Do you smell-smell that.” “That’s…Seekit’s….abdomen…in front of us somehow. He was kill-slayed behind us…” “By the Horned Rat’s hairy ba—urk!”
Three…
A severed limb went flying towards them. The survivors had been so afraid for so long that their bodies couldn’t register any more fear at this time. Fear gave way to curiosity.
“We already got-got a left arm. A repeat?” “But we ate the first one.” “Oh, but that means…it sees-knows.” “I think I’ve heard of this before!” “What good does that do-do us?” “Because I think it’s a—”
Kazl disappeared in a flash of movement.
Two…
“Back to the fissure!” “Why?!? All your leadership has done—OWW! You bastard!”
Baleck had stabbed Locrot in the ankle and sprinted back towards the fissure. Ignoring the stifled scream that followed.
One
You don’t have to be faster than a monster. Just fast-faster than eleven of your friends.
Maybe there are enough severed body parts to make-build a whole Skaven now, maybe the creature is done-done.
The boulder was moved away from the fissure now, not that Baleck noticed. He stared at Storm Vermin Locrot’s mangled corpse impaled on a stalagmite. He smelled his blood drenched tormentor behind him. Baleck shut his eyes before turning around.
“Make it fast-quick.”

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I wrote this for a short story contest on the old Skaven fan forum Under-empire. The Short Story contest theme was "Trapped, Cave-In or Fear" I tried to use all three themes and work in a motiff of twelve being an unlucky number for the skaven.
I deliberately left the monster vague, but I guess in my fluff I like to play with the idea of unique or rare daemons that don't follow the common types seen on the tabletop. This one was one of them. One that relishes fear and loves toying with it's prey.