Chapter 90: Skryre Clan

Tap, tap, tap. My footsteps echoed loudly as I strode down the dimly lit hallways of the dungeon beneath my castle. The squeaks and screeches of the ratmen, subjected to various forms of torture, reverberated throughout the deep darkness that enveloped the underground depths of my castle. Each sound seemed to blend with the shadows, creating an atmosphere of palpable dread and unease.

"Bitte, ich weiß nichts (Please, I don't know anything)," pleaded one voice from within the cell.

"Ich habe dir alles gesagt, was du wissen willst, bitte töte mich (I told you everything you want to know, please kill me)," begged another.

These were just some of the desperate pleas I heard as I reached the deepest part of the dungeon. Before me lay a cell leaking thick green miasma, its presence seeming to pollute and corrupt the very air of the dungeon. Yet, the ruins and enchantments scattered throughout the dungeon acted as restraints, containing the malevolent energy within.

"I heard you're willing to talk," I stated firmly as I stepped inside the cell, the sickening air assaulting my senses. The ratman hung from the wall by thick chains, each one enchanted with runes designed to expel any magic from whoever was restrained within them. It was this expulsion of magic that filled the cell with a sickening mana, tainted by the shaman's attribute of disease and sickness.

"Ich werde dir die Größe meines Clans erzählen, aber sonst nichts(I will tell you my clan greatness, but nothing else)" The ratman said his gaunt body shifting as the chains rattled as the clinked and clanked against the walls on which the shaman was chained against. 

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Will have everything in english now

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"Then speak," I commanded, pulling up an old wooden chair from the corner and settling into it. I prepared myself to listen attentively to whatever the shaman had to say.

"We are the Skryre clan, the strongest of the great clans, who have mastered the art of Plaguecraft taught by the Last Scholar. We number in the hundreds of thousands, and every day, our ranks swell with new recruits," the shaman proclaimed, his voice filled with reverence as he spoke of his clan. At certain points, his tone bordered on the fanatical, particularly when he mentioned the Last Scholar. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over me as I allowed the shaman to continue speaking.

"Ha! You think you've captured me? Foolish surface-dwellers! You've merely stumbled upon a small fraction of the might of the Skrye clan, the true masters of the Under-Empire!" The shamans words are laced with a mixture of arrogance and desperation, as he struggles against his restraints.

"Listen well, skeleton who rules over the soft-skins, and I shall enlighten you. The Skrye clan is not merely a collection of rat-men scurrying in the darkness. We are the bringers of disease, the heralds of decay! We march forth, spreading Death for our one true god!" Despite his dire circumstances, the Skaven's eyes gleam with fervor as he continues his impassioned speech green ooze like salvia flying out.

"Behold our Clan, blessed by the scholar himself! Through his twisted rituals, we unleash his wrath upon our enemies, rotting flesh and crumbling bones all that is left in our wake! No fortress is impenetrable, no army invincible in the face of our relentless onslaught!" The shamans voice rises to a fevered pitch, his words echoing off the damp walls of the dungeon.

" We shall be feared and revered in equal measure! We shall slaughter, embracing the putrid embrace of our Corpse God! Our enemies cower before us, their futile resistance crumbling like the corpses of the fallen!" Despite the skepticism of not so clear on my boney face, the Skaven prisoner remains defiant, his faith in the greatness of his clan unshaken.

"So go ahead,! Torture me, kill me, it matters not! For even in death, I shall serve the Scholar and add to his well of power, and the glory of Clan shall endure long after your pathetic kingdom has crumbled to dust!"

With a defiant screech, the Skaven prisoner falls silent having died of a heart attack from all of his over excited but weak body.

'well I learnt Jack shit lets go gather the knights' With that thought I left the dungeon

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[Name: Brook. D .Newport]

[Race: Undead]

[Species: Withering skeleton warrior]

[Class: Death Knight{Frost}]

[Rank: 2]

[Level: 47](1,434,975/6,000,000)

[Health: 375/375]

[Mana points: 104/104]

[Stat points: 0]

[Strength: 129]

[Endurance: 129]

[Agility: 129]

[Wisdom: 53]

[Intelligence: 53]

[skills: [Scrutinize: Lv Max], [Frost Strike: Lv Max] [Chains of Ice: Lv Max] [Permafrost: Lv Max], [Cold Breath: Lv Max], [Frozen Fortitude: Lv Max],[Chilled Servitude: Lv Max], [Glacial Dread: Lv Max], [Desolate aura: Lv Max], [Vitality steal: Lv Max], [Soul Ice]

[Note: System revisions might be needed]

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