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An Assassin at Ã?lfinfort PDF Print
Wednesday, 26 April 2006
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An Assassin at Ã?lfinfort
Page 2
The Tower
Page 4
The Bedchamber
Captain Donal's Report

The Stream

Queetch crept slowly along the stream, his dark fur was all-but invisible on this dark night but he still preferred to stay below the level of the bank where possible.  It had been a long journey from the Black Pit, deep in the Massif Orcal, he had travelled stealthily south through the mountains and past the patrols on the river Slow, then up the Morceaux, skirting the small settlement of Overford, before swimming across just east of Ælfinfort.  Now he neared his destination, the castle of Ælfinfort Keep, home to the hated Robert de Giselles.  Now, however, the chiefs of Clan Eshin had spoken and the lot had fallen to him to dispose of this enemy of the Horned One.  Tonight would be Sir Robert’s last

Creeping onward, he reached a pool thick with reeds.  This was the source of the stream he had been following, or rather, as the careful scouting of the Skaven had revealed, the place where it came to the surface.  While the water seemed clean enough here, his sensitive nose could pick up the faint but unmistakable smell of human dirt that washed through it, and even, if he strained, the scent of the elvish magic that brought it to the surface atop the plateau of Ælfinfort Hill, within the walls of the castle.

Slipping through the reeds, the scent grew stronger.  At last, he found what he was searching for, the point where the water entered the pool – an underwater stream fed this lake, he dived and pulled himself into the entrance.  In the murky depths, he came up hard against a barrier; a metal grill had been placed a short way up the tunnel.  No matter, he was prepared for this.

Rising to the ceiling, he found a small pocket of air above the level of the water.  The smell here was stronger, but this did not bother the rat-man – if anything it made him feel at home.  Selecting a tool from his pouch, a thin piece of wire with handles on both ends, he attacked the grill and quickly sliced through the metal bars.  Pushing them aside, he continued up the tunnel, surfacing every now and again for air.

As he got deeper into the hill, the tunnel steepened, but he pressed on relentlessly.  This stream, he knew, came from the heart of de Giselles’ realm, his supposedly impenetrable castle.  Yet he, Queetch, had found the way in and would gain great honour and reward.  Even better, he thought to himself, if nobody knows how I have got in, then they won’t be able to stop me coming in again.  Impressed with his own cleverness, the would-be assassin squeaked excitedly and shocked himself into stillness.  But there was nobody in the dark tunnel to hear, and the rushing of the water drowned every sound at birth.

Suddenly the tunnel levelled off, and opened up.  Above, many small holes dripped and, as Queetch watched, one suddenly rushed with water and disgorged a piece of human dirt into the stream.  This obviously was where the sewage entered, but those pipes were too small for even a Skaven to fit up.



Last Updated ( Wednesday, 26 April 2006 )
 
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