followed Shredder through the dark, winding hallways, the air thick with the scent of oil and rust. When we reached a heavy iron door guarded by two Stormrats, he gave a curt nod. Without hesitation, they stepped aside, claws tapping against the stone as we passed.
The moment we entered, the sound of hammers striking steel crashed against my ears — a relentless rhythm of labor and pain. The air grew hotter with every step, carrying with it the stench of sweat, metal, and smoke.
We emerged into a vast forge. Skaven clad in scorched leather and soot-stained masks toiled among roaring furnaces. Some stirred molten metal in great vats, while others hammered glowing ingots into crude shapes — armor, blades, shields, all reeking of desperation and haste. Sparks danced in the smoky air like fleeting embers of madness.
My attention was drawn to one Skaven who crept toward us, wringing his paws nervously.
"G-great Master Shredder, what can this one do for the great master?" he squeaked, eyes darting to me with fearful curiosity. I almost pitied him; the creature looked ready to collapse under Shredder's cold, piercing gaze.
"Need weapons for clanrats, Forge Master," Shredder said, his tone flat and dangerous.
The rat froze. "Forgive this worthless one, great lord! The weapons— they aren't ready yet!"
Shredder regarded him in silence, then spoke in a voice so calm it sent a chill down my spine.
"The worthless meat-bag has until tomorrow. Otherwise, I throw the meat-bag into one of those."
He gestured toward a massive cauldron of molten iron, its surface bubbling like liquid fire. The Forge Master quivered like a leaf in a storm.
Without another word, Shredder turned and left the forge, and I followed in silence. We stopped briefly by an armory before he led me to a small chamber.
"I will send for you, meat-bag, when it is time," he hissed, then vanished down the corridor.
The room was sparse — a bed, a desk, and a single chest. Yet somehow, I knew it was far better than what most Skaven could ever hope for.