Skaven Deepkin

An island of sanity in a sea of darkness, the Deepkin Skaven are the last remnants of an uncorrupted past. They stand fast against the tiranny of the Horned Rat, clinging to their own purity with zealous tenacity. Where the Corrupted Ones are craven and gutless, they are honorable and brave; where their lost brethren are treacherous and backstabbing, the Deep Ones hold the greatest faith for home and family. They battle endlessly to keep their enclaves safe, pitting what might they can gather against a hostile world and a hateful God that would see even the memory of their existence wiped off the pages of history. It's a terrible crusade that the Deepkin face, their dream a future when the corruption infesting their race is undone forever. Their foes are legions, but still they go, with only the dimmest of hopes to lead them. And still, in the dark, a Goddess that only they remember watches over them, and even the deepest seed can, in time, find its way to the light…

Origins

Long time ago, Doom came to a city called Kavzar, upon the peals of a great Bell. How and what happened doesn't matter to this story. What it matters to know is that Kazvar was a great and fair city and as Doom passed over it, darkness enveloped it, deep and twisted as brilliant and pure its light had been.

It was there that the Skaven came into existence for the first time. When Kavzar shone into his full glory, they were rats, scuttling into the sewers beneath the city, living into the darkness. When the Bell sounded, hunger and fury seized them. In their thousands, big and small, they rushed out of their holes, a living tide of furious chittering. They flooded the halls of the Dwarves that lived under Kavzar and devoured its inhabitants, ripping them apart until only bones remained.

Their hunger unabated, the swarm rushed to the surface, only to find their way blocked by the gates of the hold. Even in their deaththroes, the dwarfs had managed to seal them shut. Powerful wards covered them and no matter how much the living tide slammed and gnawed at it, they wouldn't budge.

Maddened by hunger and fury, the swarm cursed and begged with a single voice, that someone, something, anything allowed them to feast over the bounty of flesh that they could recall to live into the city.

Something answered. And that was the first prayer.

Dark, subtle, it didn't move with a battering force, smashing the gates asunder; instead, forced the men of Kazvar themselves to open them. The fools, driven to despair by days of unending unnatural rain, came to the hold in search of the dwarves' help. They found only hideous death, their screams drowned by the hideous chittering of a thousand maws.

And so it was that Kavzar passed from history, her last glimmer of glory ripped apart by maddened frenzy flooding her streets. Long the banquet went on. The rats consumed flesh and tendons, and then fell upon the bones, crunching them open, sucking out marrows and gobbling down the rest, until nothing more remained.

But not even death could save the slain. Their souls, ensnared by the maelstrom of violence and despair, were forced to remain into the city. Wailing in anguish, they were forced to see their own bodies being consumed while feeling like their deaths were being replayed upon them again and again.

And then, a terrible trasformation happened.

Each soul was dragged toward a rat, each slain chained to its devourer. Soul of man and dwarf fell upon soul of unthinking animal, and a fusion happened, each of the elements destroyed and remade into a new whole.

The rats rose on two legs, but they were rats no longer; there were only the Skaven now, rat-kin, the Vermins That Walk.

The Doom of Kazvar was complete, and a presence observed all, silently.

The Rise of the Vermin-Kin

Legends still told today by the Deep Ones, says that at the beginning, the Skaven were like children. They had no recollection of any past life and had no idea of the world before them. Following their lingering istincts, they joined together and made the silent city their home. Males and females lived side by side, as equal and not one slave of the other. Their souls weren't tainted nor their thoughts evil; their minds moved by a union of the animal insticts proper of the rat, and the faults and blessings allowed by sentience. Both evil and good dwelled in them, and they were free to choose either.

So, they bred and multiplied, and, as more and more of the city became theirs, they worked, built and learned. They formed into tribes, with the strongest and most cunning acting as chieftains. Malformed rat-things, descended by those rats that hadn't received a soul, made up their sustenance, with the first Skaven sheperding them in great herds or hunting them through the streets of the ruined city.

This was a period of growing and learning. The Skaven weren't many and didn't multiply as quickly as they would later. They never made war upon each other and helped each other as best as they could.

Things started to change with the emerging of the first Dreamers.

The Dreamers were Skaven touched by the divine. Falling into deep slumbers, they were able to send their minds into the spirit world, and to hear the whispers of the deities dwelling there. It was them that revealed to the Skaven the existence of the soul, and of Gods that had created them and were to be worshipped.

The stories says that two Skaven were the first of these prophets, a male and a female, each speaking for the two Gods that watched over the Skaven race: a Father, grim and ferocious, and a Mother, loving and compassionate.

Witnessins the uneartly power bestowed by the two entities upon the Dreamers, the first Skaven were quickly swayed to their adoration. The two Deities taught them much, about the world and themselves, and the arts that they could use to improve their lives.

Great temples were raised to honour the Gods, the rocks of their buildings mined from the city itself. The Dreamers arose to be the leaders of their people, and under their guidance the first Skaven civilization prospered.

The Skaven filled the entire city, and then dug under it to make more space for their growing numbers. Only the enormous tower at the center of their domains they never reached for, the laws of the Dreamers banning everyone from it under pain of death. Still, it wasn't a heavy burden since the aura of evil that sorrounded the place was more than enough to keep any Skaven caring for his tail away from it.

The Staining

Many songs of the Deepkin recall with sorrow and longing this era of peace and purity, with only few ever hoping that the world will see it return once again. It was destiny, it seems, that it was to last only for a short while.

Gaining momentum from their prosperity, the Skaven bred and multiplied, until not even their digging was enough to allow space for everybody.

This proved to be more than a simple conundrum.

The surface world was filled with danger and enemies, and many prophecies, mumbled by the greatest Dreamers during their trances, warned of a great disaster that would befall the Skaven race when the time for them to step out of their ancestral lands came. The rat-kin were deathly scared of venturing in the outside world, and so other solutions were searched.

Coming together, the Dreamers communed with their Gods and found a solution, albeit a dangerous one. Still, such was their terror for their people that they readily took it.

Using the teachings of their deities, a great machine was assembled; it was to channel the power of the magic flowing into the world to open great fissures and rents into the earth under the city, in which the Skaven could expand and prosper.

The day came, and the Skaven sorcerers chanted their incantations and activated their great machine. The earth trembled and for a glorious moment, the scheme seemed to work. Great fissures began to open into the earth, already showing new ways for the Skaven to expand.

But the machine, even if powerful beyond mortal mind, was imperfect. The wards shielding it failed, and a gargantuan amount of magic blasted out of it into an apocalyptic explosion. Mountains shook and crumbled. Vulcans long-dormant woke to wrathful life once again. The devastation shook the entirety of the Old World, but those events go outside of this story.

When the dust settled, only a few Skaven managed to claw their way out of the earth, gazing over the devastation that had been wrought. Their city, all of their works had been undone; their numbers, once great, were now few.

Heart-broken, the survivors searched for the counsel of the few Dreamers that had survived, in particular of those that had voiced their opposition against the use of the Machine.

Those made up the overhelming majority of the survivors and of these many belonged to the only male priesthood of the Father. Restraining the few Dreamers not part of their group, this faction pointed to the catastrophe as an unforgivable fault. With the rabid approval of the survivors, they seized power and had all the still living Dreamers that had backed up the ill-fated project executed.

Under the guidance of this group, upon which the male priests that most fervently had called for the executions held the major sway, the Skaven attempted to rebuild what it had been destroyed. But they were few now and the devastation occurred made their efforts ever difficult, the still trembling earth making difficult for any stable building to be erected. Furthermore, the remains of the Great Machine, even buried under mountains of rock, kept on leaking harmful radiations of magic that afflicted them. Diseases and mutations soon ran rampant. Many children were born already dead or bearing horrible deformities. The animals upon which the Skaven relied for sustenance, if not already killed by the catastrophe, began to mutate into ravening monstrosisties that had to be put down.

Those were dark days for the Skaven.

Despair and hunger spread like a wildfire, each ratman fighting with his brother for the scarse sustenance available. The Dreamers tried to keep the survivors united, but their authority had been heavily wounded by the disaster and many chieftains rebelled against them. To oppose this, they used their god-given powers to bring harm, destroying the rebels and imposing iron laws that none could defy.

This state of being brought the most ruthless of them to the fore, often the same ones that had most fervently asked for the executions of their brethren. They became tyrants where before they had been teachers and guides. These were always males, as the female only priests of the Mother were sworn to a binding oath to never use their powers against their own people.

The ancient legends of the Deepkin disagree upon what really happened then.

Some say that the death and despair of so many of his beloved children had blackened the heart of the Father, replacing what love and mercy existed into it with hatred and fury. Others say that the Father had been wicked from the beginning and that this was only a long-awaited chance fostered and planned for his dominance to come. They point to the fact that the Machine was built imperfect and affirm that it was a deliberate lie in the istructions handed to the Dreamers rather than a failure from the sorcerers to make it so. Others again mantain that another, unseen force was to blame for it, that the catastrophe was but only the crowning glory of a terrible scheme put in motion centuries before and then brought to its most horrible conclusion.

None of this version has definitive proof behind it and maybe the truth will never come to the light.

What the songs are certain about is that the dominant male Dreamers started to announce that, if they would listen, the Father would save them from their suffering. A covenant was called, a binding of the souls of all Skaven to the Father, more tight than anything before. This compact had to be sealed with the renunciation of the Skaven to the Mother, as the Father would save them only if they worshipped him and him alone. The shed blood of the female Dreamers, weaklings that wouldn't use their powers to help their people in need, was also called for. Accept these conditions and the Father would relieve them of their suffering once and for all; deny it and he would abandon them to death and despair.

Many Skaven were dismayed by this proposal, but many more saw it as a chance for salvation. The Father had always embodied the strenght and resistance of their people. Before him, the kindness of the Mother seemed a truly paltry thing now. The female priesthood had always laboured for them, but hadn't the majority of them worked the Machine? And what was their little blood before the chance that their children could survive?

A decision was reached.

In a single, terrible night, all the female Dreamers were dragged to sacrifical altars and slain, their blood falling to form large pools. Every temple, every effigy to the Mother was defaced, desacrated and destroyed. The Skaven gave themselves fully to the Father, and the abominable compact was sealed.

Before all the gathered Skaven, the gates of the Shattered Tower at the center of the city were flung open and twelve figures stepped out, eerily backlit by the mystical lights within the temple. With a single voice, they announced that the time had come for the Skaven to become what they were destined to be. The Horned Rat, the new name the Father was to be called, had whispered his will and now it was time for it to become reality.

The twelve rat-lords' booming voices had just stopped echoing over the ruined city that a second, terrible trasformation happened.

None of the Skaven had really understood what the compact would mean, their despair enough to push them to accept regardless of the conseguences. Now, those conseguences fell upon them, as their souls were seared by the claws of their wicked deity. As they writhed in pain, everything of good was scraped away of them, leaving only hunger, fear, selfishness, arrogance and madness. They were remade and blackened, as their own God had been remade and blackened. They would make beasts of their females, a last, horrible act of spite of a mad God toward his lost mate; they would forget honour, friends and family, all of their thought pushed only to survival and the lording over others; they would make sport of the pain of souls and a playground of bodies and flesh. They would forget truth and embrace lies. They would writhe in loathing and fear, never to reach peace, with salvation forever out of their sight.

And it was so that the Skaven were lost.

But not all of them.

Dawn, he had loved. Since he was a ratling, he would sit by the door of a house or on top of some ruined tower and watch how dawn would paint the city in soft gold and red. The sight would make his heart burn with emotion.

But now, the city had fallen into a sinkhole and a thick mist was coming to envelope it. The heart of the one that had been watching over it had been blackened and it had blackened everything else. Dawn wouldn't come anymore to the broken city.

The axe gave a wet crunch when he extracted it from his latest kill. The priest turned to the rest of his slain brothers. Even in death, there still was murder and madness in their eyes. His heart throbbed painfully, but he was behind pain by now.

The priest sniffed, giving the trio of priestesses a nod. The three scurried out of their hiding place, hurrying to free the prisoners detined to the sacrifical knife.

The priest didn't join them, his attention focused on eventual more aggressors.

His heart gave a last throb, then stopped, clenching into a fist of iron and ice. He nodded approvingly, and watched the darkening sky. Then, he said the last words he would ever utter.

"The Dawn will be reborn."

The Exile

While the unholy ceremony was being held, a small group of Skaven was climbing the last of the cliff of the enormous depression in which the catastrophe had made collapse their city. A trio di priestesses and a lone priest led them.

Bedraggled, covered in dust, they really made for a poor view. When they all reached the summit, they turned to look at the city beneath them. The ruins of the city were lit by an eerie glow, her streets invaded by a dark miasma. They all shivered at the sight, their hearts beating painfully in their chests. Only the priest didn't turn to look.

They remained like that for a few moments, then one of the priestesses called, and they turned their backs into the city and walked forever away from their homeland.

Many Deepkin legends speaks of the Exile, the long journey in search of a new home for those that had refused the covenant. They say that a trio of priestesses, warned by a vision sent from the Mother, gathered as much Skaven as they could, those that not even the most grievious despair could bring to do what the Father aksed from them, and ran away from the city in secret. It is said that the Mother herself laid a veil upon this small group, hiding them from the gaze of the maddened Father.

Many songs are still played today about their journey, how it brought them across the world and then down into the bowels of the earth, far enough that not even a God could find them; they speak of legendary battles against terrible monsters, of acts of courage and selflessness, pointing much how the Skaven brought to salvation by the Mother were the strongest and bravest, those that no despair could break. Many a song raise praises to the trio of priestesses, that, following visions of the Mother, led this group of survivors along the journey. Others, entangled with sorrow, sing of the lonely priest, of his oath of silence, of his grim strenght, of his broken but stubborn heart.

Eventually, after a long and arduous journey lasting decades, the Uncorrupted Skaven reached the land promised to them by the Mother. There, in the deepest chasms under the World's Edge Mountain, they founded Haven, the first of the Great Burrows, and set to nurse their wounds and to rebuild. For the next several hundred of years, they would be building their strenght and numbers, waiting for the moment to come back to the light.

Rikkit took in the strange creature's appearance with wariness. Long as a cart and almost as large, furry, with a big rodent muzzle; its eyes protunded like big drops of dew. The strange creature kept almost in costant motion, sniffing and looking around.

From his position atop the cliff, Rikkit watched it reach the bowl of soup that he had left fall by mistake.

The disappointment of seeing his lunch disappear in that thing's gullet was quickly replaced by interest. The big animal seemed absolutely estatic of the slop, licking it all with enthusiasm.

Rikkit scratched his head, and watched the rough basket he had been using to carry bricks; an idea came to him.

"Rikkit?" Another Skaven called, this one with a big hat qualifying him as a foreman. "What are you doing there? Come back here. Lunchtime is over."

"I got an idea, chief!"

"Mh?"

The Growing

Following the instructions of the twelve Lords of Decay, the Skaven spread far and wide across the world, so that never more they would risk to be wiped out from one of their imperfect machines. They called this period the Great Sniff. Mirroring their lost brethren, the Deepkin did the same, but in a much more organized and contained fashion. In fact, they lacked the means of reproducing as quickly as their corrupted brothers - that owe it to hideous alterations wrought upon their females - and desired to keep their society as united as possible.

During a process lasting centuries, they spread across the entirety of the southern half of the World's Edge Mountains, their tunnels reaching under the Land of the Dead and as far as the Kingdom of Beasts far in the west. They made all of this in the utmost secrecy, using their magic to dig their tunnels under those used by their corrupted brethren or, when that was impossible, masking themselves as ordinary Skaven. The chaos inherent into the larger Skaven society played greatly to their advantage, so much that many centuries would pass before their existence was even suspected.

When the First Skaven Civil War broke through the Under-Empire, the Deepkin used the confusion to extend their grip over the eastern part of the Southlands, reaching the southern jungles through great controlled migrations. They battled principally Beastmen and feral Lizardmen during these periods, as well as the occasional undead army sent by a overzealous Tomb King to try and scour some tunnels clean of ratmen; but they always made sure as to not alert their lost kin, arriving even to the point of sending Lodges to battle against or with the invading Pestilens, always masquerading as "normal" Skaven clan.

Skaven females

"Female" is not a word that the Skaven have nor comprehend. For them, there are only Skaven Broomother, the idiotic, horribly bloated monsters that act as factories for the countless masses teeming into the Under-Empire. This a terrible blasphemy for the Deepkin, that put the freedom of their enslaved brethren between their highest aspirations.

A female Deepkin is no much different from a male Deepkin, that is a tough and robust Skaven. The biggest differences are softer features and a higher attitude for magic than males. Strangely, they possess on average longer tails than their male counterparts, making these for very useful appendages.

Females Deepkin's sturdy frames make so that they don't disdain from work or fighting,- Deepkin society doesn't make any preferences based on gender, partly because it simply cannot afford to. It still puts some limitation about the number of females that can put themselves to risk, though - eagerly joining the soldiery coming out of their belonging Lodges. They still possess a powerful maternal instict and it's rare the female Skaven - or Kor, as they are called in the Deepkin language - that hasn't good mate and a big litter of ratlings by the time that youth start to wane.

This state of being continued until the time the Skaven brought the Black Plague over the Empire.

Unburdened by conflict with their corrupted kin and stretched far, the Deepkin started to splinter, each Great Burrow looking more and more only to its interest. After having brought them to salvation, a time that now was far behind, the Mother hadn't spoken to her children anymore if not in nebulous whispers and so not even the authority of her priesthood was enough to quell the rising unrest. Tension rose and even occasional inter-fighting erupted between the original government centred into Haven and the Burrows hoping to carve their own independent domains. The situation became so bad that it almost looked that the Deepkin were to fall into a civil war just like their corrupted kin.

Worried, the leaders of Haven called for a great meeting of all the most important personalities of the Deepkin Under-Kingdom, to try and find for a peaceful solution. Warlords, High Priestesses and Commanders hoping to carve their own domains assembled into a single hall, together with all those of their equal ranks that pushed strongly for an united Kingdom under the absolute control of Haven. Tension was sky-high, factions entrenched on their positions were already formed and everywhere those of war-like tendency stood prominent; there were many that, as the doors of the hall closed shut and the works began, thought that nothing would come out of it but a renewed breaking of bonds.

What it happened defied any expectation.

For an entire day the meeting went on, the populace outside anxiously waiting as hour after hour passed. The scheduled pauses for meals and rest went and passed, and the doors remained closed. Guards paced, at unease, but nobody dared to interrupt such an important meeting. Eventually, though, any hesitation was put aside, and a Skaven went to knock. There was no answer. He tried to open the door, but they were blocked and won't budge.

Alarm spread. Locksmiths were called, but the doors refused to open, no matter what ministration their locks received. Smiths were called, but their hammer and tools broke against the hinges. In desperation, the guards called for siege experts. A battering ram was quickly assembled and the Deepkin went to work against the gates like they were trying to smash through an enemy fortress. An iron-cap had to be affixed to the ram before the unnaturaly tough gates were smashed open.

The Skaven swarmed inside, worried out of their minds for their leaders, only to stop immediately on their tracks.

The meeting hall was a disaster. Benches were broken, chairs were in pieces, papers were scattered everything. Forget battles, it looked like a hurricane had plowed through it. And everywhere, spread like after the greatest melee ever seen from the beginning of the world, all the participants of the meetings, warlords and commanders and high priestesses with all their guards, littered the hall, all of them groaning and moaning and whining.

Even now, it's still a mistery of what has actually happened inside of that hall. Some of the first guards rushing inside said that they thought to have seen a glimpse of a traslucent figure at the center of the hall, just for a moment before it disappeared. That brought to the popular idea that it had been the Mother herself, seeing her children squabbling like morons and that nothing was coming out from that meeting, to come down to knock some sense into the heads of everybody. None of the actual present ever admitted if that was the truth, each of them bringing what had seen into the tomb, but that version stuck and many a song was composed about it.

Whatever had happened, all the leaders convened for the meeting - after a more or less quick sojourn into various hospitals - met together again and this time, very strangely, a general agreement was rapidly found.

The two ratlings were holding each other, almost looking they were about to die of laughter.

Old Krak smiled, showing his chipped teeth.

"You laugh now." He said, amusement in his voice. "But we didn't laugh then, Why, the councilor almost died of fright there and then. He thought they had killed each other!"

The ratlings' ilarity only redoubled.

Old Krak watched with a grin, waiting for them to calm down.

"And… and then?" One of the two, the one with a twinkle in the eyes, asked.

Old Krak rolled the pipe with his tongue. His gaze become lost in the past as he recalled more.

"Then…"

A Great Council was estabilished, formed by representatives from each of the Great Burrows. They would meet to discuss matters regarding the entirety of the Deepkin domain, so that never more the Deep Ones would risk to make war upon each other.

And still, the political changes were almost minor before those of the soul.

After the long silence, the Mother returned to her children in full. In a single night passed to the annals as the Night of Revelations, the entirety of her Haven priesthood and many of the Deepkin all throurough the Domain experienced a vision of their deity. None but the priestesses actually remembered what the Mother spoke of, but each Deepkin rose the next day with a renewed sense of purpose and hope. The priestesses declared that the time of Growing was to enter into a new stage, and that the Mother had blessed her children so that their efforts could meet with final success. These blessings would come later on stage, most notably as the so-called Skaven Patriarchs and Matriarchs.

Furthermore, the priestesses announced that a Council wasn't enough to keep the Deepkin united and that a single ruler would need to be estabilished, one that would bear the blessing of the Mother in full. Who this ruler should be, the priestesses didn't say, no matter how hardly pressed; they only revealed that he would appear at the right time.

The Deepkin Shaskar

The Shaskar are the priestesses of the Mother, and administer to her cult since the fondation of their order by the trio of Dreamers that led the first Deepkin into Exile. They are an only female order and wield great magical power bestowed upon them by their deity.

Being a highly religious people, the Deepkin hold them in high respect as wise and powerful figures, and eagerly lend them their ear. This capacity to influence their peers and the strong presence in Deepkin society has given them a great political and social weight.

As the Deepkin expanded, the order followed closely, forming an articulated network of abbeys and churches in every Burrow and across every major route. Always a heavily decentralized structure, the order didn't respond to a single authority, but every community tended to be autonomous.

Still, a particularity was soon to emerge.

The more the order expanded from Haven the more their connection to their Goddess diminished, if not their powers. For this reason, the Shaskar trained at the First Burrow retained a deep belief in their purpose of custodians of Deepkin soul and unity, while all the other communities increasingly slipped into secularism, their religious fervor waning in favor of the research of material power.

Eventually, powerful Sects were born, each taking control of the religious life of a section of the domain, some becoming strong enugh as to become independet Kingdom of their own right.

Only with the Great Assembly and the unity it brought, the order was brought back together.

After their announcing, the bulk of the community left Haven and spread all across the Deepkin domain, seeking to reattach the bonds with their dispersed sects and, in short, centralize their order once again after the dispersal that had almost brought to a civil war. It was a lenghty process, but the visions shared by almost all the priestesses made so that it happened almost without any opposition. The Church of the Radiant Goddess was founded short after, divided into provinces each led by a Ur-Shaskar, that, on their turn, met into a General Chapter that held supreme authority upon all matter religious. The Ur-Shaskar of Haven holds moral prominence during this meeting, and the community of Haven itself is highly renowned, its members being mages and healers of singular power and wisdom that still retains a privileged contact with the Mother.

Still, there are many that thought that this unity wasn't the priestesses' only objective. There are many tales of cowled Shaskar stalking the farthest corner of the domain, appearing seemingly from nowhere to guide lost travelers to salvation or give wise advices to generals and commanders. Today is thought that they were searching for the one that would make the perfect ruler for the domain, a grand research that they followed with tireless tenacity.

One hundred and one year was to pass before the Deepkin that would be Ruler was found.

Named Pantagrel, he was the seventh son of a seventh son, but a lowly warrior living into a small Burrow to the southern border. He ascended to the throne in Haven under the blessing of the Mother and the entirety of the Shaskar order, the first Under-King of the United Under-Kingdom of the Uncorrupted Ones.

Any doubts about the lowly origin of the new King was quickly set aside, as Pantagrel led an army to utterly annihilate a massive army of Beastmen that had invaded the Kingdom in numbers unprecedented. The King himself felled a terrible Gorgon and took its skull as a trophy.

As well a mighty warrior and a savvy general, Pantagrel showed himself to be a great ruler, and under him the Under-Kingdom thrived as never before. Under his kingdom, the practice of creating Patriarchs and Matriarchs went fully into work and even more Deepkin decided to embark into the difficult journey required to become one of those fearsome warriors, going then to estabilish their own Lodges on turn.

Recent days

More centuries has passed and the Under-Kingdom has continued to amass knowledge and to build up into strenght, at the same time repelling any invader that dared to encroach upon its borders.

Under the last of the Under-Kings, Lontheus the Enormous, a ruler that many think as great as the first of his predecessors, the Deepkin has finally moved against their corrupted brethren, starting their crusade toward the purification of their entire race.

The entire Under-Empire shake to the stomps of masses of brawny Deepkin soldiers covered from head to toes with heavy armor. The massive forms of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs led them, their laughters and songs raising strong and clear against evil and corruption. Wings of Breezeriders slither on the flanks, ready to unleash flaming death upon their enemies or even to take to the sky on a moment's notice. Burly Molers form up into lines, their armored forms ready to be unleashed into bone-crunching charges by their riders. Chanting Shaskar priestesses follow, their bodies crackling with energies kept under tight control and ready to be unleashed to heal the brave soldiers or to destroy the enemies of the Under-Kingdom. The Mages-Engineers push clanking machines into battle, the greatest of which is powerful enough to rival every monster the world can muster. Keen-eyed Warlords coordinate the strenghts of the host, making so that it can be much more than the simple sum of all its parts. The Strenghbeares beat their drums, giving rythm and courage to everybody; and the Goddess watches over all her children, no darkness deep enough to estinguish the brightness of her eyes.

The Deepkin cry their defiance, singing and laughing in the face of evil. The Horned Rat hisses with hatred at seeing his long-thought lost mate return to claim the heart of the Skaven. The Deepkin march, and the underworld trembles.

The Lost Kin of the Depth

As the larger Skaven population, the Deepkin too are bipedal ratmen, are covered in close fur except for their hands, ears, puzzle and tails; and they move with the same hunched gait. The similarities end there, though. The usual Deepkin is larger and tougher of build than his corrupt counterpart, even the smallest reaching in height as a far as a Stormvermin, with the largest managing to reach the 6-7 feet of height. All in all, he would appear as a more civilized version of the corrupt Skaven, with better groomed fur and a more muscular form. Their eyes glint with a range of colours to torchlight, with a preference for gold and blood red, but each of them possesses a particular clear quality.

Deepkin's metabolism burn strong, but not at a ferocious pace. They exude less energy and twitch less than their corrupt counterpart, lacking part of their speed but macking up for it with much greater endurance and overall strenght. They need to eat less and the Black Hunger is much less frequent for them, requiring for them to actually risk to starve to death to trigger it. In fact, it's a great source of shame for a Deepkin to lose himself to the pangs of the Black Hunger. They

live much longer than the other Skaven, managing to arrive even to fifty years. Growing older, they tend to grow fatter and bulkier, only getting stronger.

Strangely enough, all the Deepkin has a great penchant for music of all kind. Be out of stringed, brassed or other, more exotical instruments, they love them all.

An usual Deepkin is tough and brave, difficult to scare off and a hard nut to crack once he has planted his feet. Still, he lacks for aggression and rather that attack would prefer to draw back. But he will defend himself valiantly if attacked. There had been many cases of hulking Beastmen that attacked a lone Deepkin thinking him easy picking only to receive a headbut in the gut for their trouble. As for their corrupted brethren, the Deepkin have a strong resistance against the corrupting touch of Chaos. It has happened many times for Deepkin oppressed by mutating power to just huddle closer together, hiss through gritted teeth and shrug it all off.

The females are leaner and have longer tails than the males, but are tough and strong just as much. They are incapable of producing the enormous litters of their corrupted counterparts, but they are still fertile enough to produce a great mumber of pups during their lives.

In their twisted way every Skaven is a highly gregarious creature and the Deepkin are no exception. They form extensive family said Lodges and value family and friends highly; they find great comfort into the close presence of their kin. Pups and children in particular are shovered with affection and guarded jealously. Entire Mischiefs can go into a berserk frenzy should their young be endangered.

A particular exclusive of the Deepkin Skaven are the so-called Patriarchs and Matriarchs. It can happen that, as the end of his life draw near, a Deepkin receive some kind of contact from the Mother. This can take many forms, from true visions of the Goddess to other, more vague signs. Regardless, the old Deepkin will feel a calling toward the Mausoleum, the infamous tomb-like edifice at the heart of Haven. Should he decide to ignore it, he will grow old and die as all those before him, but, should he follow it, the gates of the shadowy tomb will open for him. The old ratman will enter and the doors will close behind him. Sometimes, they will remain closed, and the families of the Skaven will mourn him as one that has passed into death. But other times the gates will swing open once again, and a Patriarch or Matriarch will march out, his or her stomps making the ground quake.

The Patriarchs are enormous Skaven as tall as 14 feet and enormously large. Fat and mighty, they can wrestle Ogres to the ground, smash open castle gates with their bare paws and stare Greater Daemons in the eyes without flinching. They are the Blessed Ones, those charged by the Mother to watch over their younger siblings. They owe their titles that, save exceptions, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs bear a massive affection for their family, doting upon its members and defending them with zeal unmatched. They can live for centuries, the Goddess having unchained them from the bonds of normal mortality, and many of them go to sire numerous and powerful dinasties. They are the mightiest of the Uncorrupted Kin and their wrath is awesome to behold.

The Mausoleum

In the rock under the Great Burrow of Haven, a labyrinth of tunnels stretches. Made hot by by the heat of the depths, the Deepkin have painstangly dug it through centuries of work, but not all of it it's their work. There are tunnels that were already there when the Exile ended, sneaking through rock and dirt; some are mundane, but others not so much. Sometimes, where there was only a solid wall before, an entrance appears. It usually happens in deserted tunnels, the presence of Skaven in them made unfrequent by distance, a change in the mining work or some other, less evident reasons. Wherever it happens, it appears always with the same appearance: a large entrance, framed by columns carved with signs of archaic design, that one can see glow even through closed lids; a large lintel sormounts them, with a cracked bell without a clapper dangling from it. A large stone key lays on the threeshold and, after it, a path of worn-out tiles forms a path forward; it disappears into a wall of darkness. The smell of the tomb waft from it, together with whispers that seems to come from the abyss.

All Deepkin feel an instictual dread towards this entrance and stay well away from it; the Damor, they call it, The Door of the Dead, and the path behind the way that brings to eternal darkness. Some of the bravest and foolhardy of the Deepkin have tried to brave that darkened path. All of them, without exception, couldn't raise the key, no matter how much strenght they mustered or how many of their allies called for help. The moment they entered into the shadows, their torches guttered and sputtered out, as a great hand had smothered them, leaving them into complete darkness. Those who tried to turn back found themselves denied, the darkness behind them having solidified into an unpassable wall, the only remaining way forward.

As they walked, they felt hands caress and scrabble at their fur and whispers brush against their ears, but their frantic motions couldn't ever find purchase upon any perpetrator.

Eventually, those whom terror had broken saw darkness and whispers suddenly give way and found themselves back into the tunnel from which they had stepped into the Door, of it no trace but the lingering fear in their hearts.

Those that kept courage, instead, found themselves before an enormous bridge arching over an endless abyss; its paving was made of bones, its enormous lenght lighted by the spectral light coming from skulls planted upon spears. Beyond the bridge, a Mausoleum stretched into darkness, a mind-boggling architecture that radiated a light that was made of darkness. Only a set of doors allowed for access to the monstrous edifice, a gaping maw held closed by gates of iron and carved with signs of death.

At this sight, even the most foolhardy of the explorers lost their mind to terror. Turning their backs to the Mausoleum, they ran away without ever turning back; they too would find themselves back where they started, deadly frightened and screaming for help.

The mistery of the Mausoleum kept haunting Haven until the Night of Revelations and the coming of the first Patriarchs and Matriarchs.

The following day to the Night, as on the surface the sun descended down into twilight, an old and withered Deepkin felt the darkness call to him. He took his leave from his family and descended into the mines. The Door of the Dead was waiting for him. He picked up the stone key and wobbled into the darkness. The whispers and the caresses brushed him kindly, welcoming him back home, and he smiled, recognizing some of the voices.

The bridge of bones and skulls appeared before him, the horrible Mausoleum towering beyond, but the old ratman felt no dread. He walked across the bridge, the shades of the past walking with him. The doors opened for him. The Mausolem swallowed him whole. The toils of a great bell resounded into Haven as the darkness at the foot of the abyss roiled and echoed. The Deepkin of the city stood trasfized, many covering their ears and eyes as an aura of death breathed out of the tunnels. The great bell toiled six times, then a last time, its note raising clear and bright, a hymn of courage triumphing against death and darkness. It is said that the Horned Rat himself chattered in anger as it rang, that Daemons and monsters flinched like hit by a hefty punch, that the Chaos Gods clicked their tongues into annoyance. As it rang, the gloom covering Haven disappeared, like a clear wind had ran through the city, and the Deepkin rose with surprise in their features, feeling the smell of rain tickling their noses.

Down into the earth, the gates of the Mausoleum were flung open and the first Patriarch strode out. His eyes were clear and bright, his smile large and sure as he returned, back from the deepest darkness, to make battle with life once again.

So it was that the Patriarchs and Matriarchs started to appear into the Under-Kingdom. Many that try the Trial of the Mausoleum fail, and the seventh toil of the Invisible Bell plays mournful for their passing, but when the Trial is cleared, a new giant comes to defend the children of the Goddess; and is it said that nothing holds fear anymore for those that have faced the Mausoleum and thriumphed, because they faced the blackness that stands after the end of life and returned from it with a smile.

Society

Deepkin Skaven are by nature profoundly gregarious creature and as such their society revolves around the concept of family. Family is the center of Deepkin life and the fundamental cell of the Under-Kingdom from an economical, military and social point of view. A Deepkin will be born inside of his family nursery, be educated by his family elders, march to war under his family banner, probably work in his family's business and, when of age, enter into his family's council of elders, from which maybe he will have the chance to influence the politics of his entire Burrow.

A typical Deepkin family is called a Lodge and is formed by an extensive number of members: a couple with their children and their children, their sisters and brothers with their mates, their children, their children's children and so on. It takes its name by the typical Deepkin habitation, called also a Lodge. A Lodge is a set of sturdy buildings, usually never more than two stores tall, built with wood and stone aboveground and by a sprawling maze of tunnels beneath. The typical Lodge will be full to burst with ratmen of all ages, from limping old Skaven with long whiskers, to tough Deepkin soldiers in armor, to workers going out and about, to small flocks of ratlings scampering around. It's really difficult to find a moment where a Lodge will be really silent; if it's not some sound of Deepkin's life, it will be the loud snooring of a hundred sleeping rats to break the silence!

Their Lodge's history is source of great pride for the Deepkin, and inside each complex a great hall will be set aside for its commemoration. These Halls of Remembrance are invariably full with tokens of the most disparate kinds: statues of revered ancestors will stand side by side with tattered documents commendating the family for some patriotic act, ancient tools of the family trade will be exposed close to reproductions of masterpieces built by some worthy member. Still, a post of honour will be always held out for military accomplishments: spears, swords, trophies of glorious victories, bones taken by defeated enemies, they will always be put on special display, showing off the contribution made by the Lodge to the defence of the Under-Kingdom as a whole. Legends of the past will be lovingly conserved and handed down to the newer generations as songs, storytelling or theatrical performances, all of them always accompanied by elaborated music and held to family meetings.

A Lodge will usually own one or more businesses, maybe even by multiple generations, with its members working in it. For example, in Haven many Lodges are engaged into breeding fishes, worms, insects and small underground mammals that are then used as food, as well as farming the underground caves and plains around the Burrow. Much of the surplus is then shipped to other under-cities, with merchant Lodges taking care of the trasport. This system is repeated in all sectors of Deepkin economy. More powerful Lodges may own great businesses, like the mass import and export of Cidrak - the par excellence Deepkin beverage, obtained by fermenting and mixing juices obtained by certain types of mushrooms and insects -, and employ other Lodges as dependants.

Life in the Lodge is first and foremost communal. The Deepkin have scarce conception of privacy or personal property, or even of personal space for what matter - it isn't considered unproper at all for siblings to clamber over each other in the tight confine of a tunnel! -. They will spend much of their time together and even sleep together into great mounds if need arises, but that is not the norm.

Drizt gave the wood a last blow before drawing back. The Skaven watched his work with pride: a sturdy door stood before him, carved with nice images of swooning females.

"Look at it" He sighed. "Isn't a beauty?"

Thrak, the skaven at his side, looked unimpressed.

"It sucks." He commented offhandedly.

Drizt jumped, turning to glare at him with a mix of outrage and betrayal. "Not true! It's cool!"

Thrak shrugged, making a bite from one of the fruit from the bowl. "The carvings look fake."

"What? Fake? I'll show you fake!" Armed with chisel and hammer, Drizt jumped against the door like it was a mortal enemy.

Thrak rolled his eyes. This was going to take a while. Well, at least he was well furnished with food.

An usual Deepkin's aspirations will be of leaving his mark into his Lodge's history, a trait fostered by the education he received and by the sheer boundless vitality coursing through his veins. Deepkin are an industrious people and such is their verminous energy that more often than not they will be following some sort of personal project in addition to their work. They know that their lives are brief and this spurs them to be searching ever onwards for new experiences and to make things that will make the Lodge better than it was before. For these reasons, the history, richness and reputation of the Lodge will be shown by the Lodge itself. Buildings, rooms and tunnels will show the works of generations of ratmen, with richly ornated walls, carvings of all kinds covering every surface, perfectly built networks of tunnels and much more. The oldest living Lodges are true monuments to the vitality of its inhabitants, not even an inch of their labyrinthic structure that doesn't show some trace of the past. On the contrary, more recent Lodges will be smaller, with buildings less grand and tunnels less extensive, showing their recent inception. And still, this isn't considered much of a dishonor, because the Deepkin have a penchant for improving and creating new things and the empi canvas of the ne west Lodges sometimes elicit the envy of ratlings from Lodges with not an inch of tunnels to work upon anymore. Sometimes, it gets so much of a bother that it become a reason for a part of the Lodge to split up and create a new home, together with the more prosaic overpopulation!

Following this mindset, elders are greatly respected for their experience, as well as those ratmen that have done exceptional deeds or seen or experienced things that their brethren have not. A Lodge will be invariably led by a council formed by these individuals, with the oldest and wisest acting as a chief elder. This council will manage the Lodge, deciding the politics of the entire family, acting to as judges, passing down rules, controlling the treasury and the like.

The three Skaven stood at unease before the desk, waiting for the elder to finish to review some documents. From time to time, they threw each other a glare, but none dared to do anymore.

"So!"

The three Skaven jumped to attention. The elder leaned against a paw, reading casually.

"Two broken carts. A load of Redcap and one of Skut wasted. A store destroyed. Twenty workers sent to the hospital. Three guards almost sent to the Mother. And almost an entire warehouse burned to the ground, along with all the implements, tools, etc. etc."

The three Skaven swallowed at unison. It was okay if they said that they did it by mistake?

With absolute calm, the elder rested the document on the desk and watched them emotionlessly.

"Death by hanging. For all three of you."

The three Skaven blinked, struggling to register.

"THAT'S WHAT I WOULD MAKE OF YOU IDIOTS IF ONLY I COULD! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I FUCKING KILL YOU ALL!"

The three Skaven were all out by the time the elder had grabbed hold of the axe held above the fireplace.

Multiple Lodges bound together, be it by a common ancestor, a common business or some other motive, are called Mischiefs. Multiple Mischiefs forms a Nest and multiple Nest forms a Burrow, that is comparable to a human city. The greatest and most important Burrow are called Great Burrows and act the political and commercial main hubs.

The government is formed into a piramidal structure: each Lodge Council will elect a rappresentative that will take part into the Mischief Council, that, again, will send a representative to the Nest Council. This process will be repeated at Burrow level, with a last council whose members will act as advisors to a Kinlord sent by Haven and will invariably include a representative of the local Church and League of Mages-Engineers. The Kinlords are nominated directly and are answerable only to the Under-King himself, but, even if their power is vast, they are expected to listen to the advice of the council and take it into consideration before making decisions. Theoretically they can disregard its opinion, but only the most headstrong of Kinlords dare to risk to make an enemy of his council. They live in the same place he's supposed to govern after all, and their words carry a lot of weight in the Burrow. Internal administration is usually left to the various levels of councils, but the central government of the Burrow retains the monopoly of force, to levy taxes and the right to interfere into any matter that is considered of higher importance, together with other rights that make sure that it always remains the heavyweight in the politics of the Burrow. The Kinlord will always be assisted by a number of officials personally nominated by him from the local notables; for example, the Master of Tails will take care of all matters regarding taxes, while the Blackburner will be at the head of the military. Lower-lever officials will be picked from the populace also. This makes so that clientelism always plays an important part, especially when particularly Lodges come into play. Still, their long history as a small island against a sea of corruption has made so that the Deepkin have devleoped into a tight-knit community: the right to lead and oversee is held into high consideration and patriotism is a staple element of their society, making so that corruption is kept at a minimum and that ability and experience are the primary means of nomination.

The Kinlord turned her back with disdain to the kneeling Beastman.

"Hrergar." She called. A burly Deepkin rushed to her side.

"My lady." He said, offering her the hilt of a long sword. It was a magnificent word, engraved with runes of power and destruction.

The Kinlord grasped it and pulled. The blade made a slightly hissing sound as it left the ornated sheath.

The Bestigor rose his massive head, showing his distorted teeth in an atrocious smile.

"We'll never stop coming for you." He growled. "The Hunt is Endless. End…"

His words were cut off as the sword split the air. The Beastman's head fell down, tumbling a couple of times before stopping at the feet of the one that had freed it from the neck.

The Kin lord watched the head with cold disdain.

"You're in luck, then." She said. "Wel'll always be ready, as we'll always be here."

A last level of government remains for the Great Burrows themselves. True metropolis, they are governed by Kinlords that are a step above the others. They are called Depthlords and hold control over entire provinces of the Under-Kingdoms, with their officials having authority everywhere inside its borders. Powerful councils formed by representative of the Burrows and the Great Burrow they rule advise them but they are held in such high regard that it's less frequent that the councils try to impose their wills upon them. Above the Depthlords there is only the Under-King himself, that rules over the entirety of the Under-Kingdom from the Great burrow of Haven. He is the chosen of the Goddess and his word is law. Not a council stand by his side but an entire court, formed by supplicants come from all the Kingdom to make their requests, and by ministers whose reach encompasses everything about their expertise. The pronouncements issued here have weight of law for the entire Kingdom and the calls of war launched by the King can rouse the entirety of the Deepkin race to war.

A special mention is needed for the Patriarchs and Matriarchs.

These Skaven reborn are held into the utmost veneration by their kin, considered almost as demigods. Even the poorest Lodge is held into the greatest consideration, should one of these giants stand into its ranks. The Patriarchs's words are always heed into any council, because every Deepkin knows that they bring wisdom of centuries with them. They are welcomed as honored guests even in the courts of the Depthlords and their council is held into the highest regard. Really, there are very few Deepkin that would dare to gainsay a Patriarch.

The Church of the Silent Goddess

The Deepkin are a highly religious people and it's the Church of the Silent Goddess to take care of all their spiritual needs.

The Church is highly venerated in Deepkin society, with their members holding great sway over the populace. No other worship except the one to the Mother and his myriad sons and daughters is permited and this gives the Church a great social and political weight.

Ordinary cerimonies honouring the Mother are held two times at week, and a thick calendar of religious festivities spread across the entire year, culminating with the great anniversary that is held at Haven, celebrating the succesful end of the Exile, with thousands of ratmen from all the Under-Kingdom coming to attend to it.

Places of worship litter all the Under-Kingdom, ranging from small sanctuaries formed only by a statue of the Mother at a crossroad to massive cathedrals raising at the center of the Great Burrows.

The ordinary worship is held and led by priests and priestesses, usually Deepkin with a strong religious devotion that are educated in the tenets of the faith into schools owned by the Church itself. The higher echelons of the Church are instead formed exclusively by the all female order of the Shaskar, each an accomplished priestess that has received a direct vision from the Mother and can wield divine powers. Shaskar can be found at the hend of the Church of the Burrow, with the eldest and most respected being the Ur-Shaskar that hold command over religious matters regarding entire provinces. Mundane interests, like priests using the power of the Church to favor their Lodge, can find purchase only on the low and medium levels. The Shaskar are all touched directly by the Silent Goddess and act with the utmost zeal in the defence of the Under-Kingdom and the Deepkin souls. Under their commands, the words uttered by the pulpits are always directed to favour brotherhood, armony and patriotism.

The Church has always acted as beacon and guide for the Deepkin race and this has has brought it a prominent place into their society. Since from the legendary beginnings, special taxes have been levied for the maintenance of religious places and personel, and territories have been handed down to the Church in perpetual possession. Many civil officials are picked from the ranks of the Church and their highest representatives are always a part of any government.

The Church itsels is fairly independent, with abbeys-fortresses scattered all across the Under-Kingdom, with its own militias and orders of warriors-monks. It's the Shaskas that led them, these priestesses leaving any civil government to their sisters to march to the help of the armies of the Under-Kingdom, scores of acolytes and sacred warriors behind them. The Under-Kingdom is first and foremost a warrior nation and so is its Church, as well as the glue holding it together.

Still, the greatest mean to influence the destiny of their race, come from the most peculiar feature of the Church of the Silent Goddess.

Old Shaskar that don't follow no battle nor governance move restlessly across the Kingdom, following the signs sent by their Goddess. Sometimes, they are there to witness the birth, others are Deepkin parents to bring their children to their ancient priestesses. The ones brought to them are those that are born with horns, the sign that the Horned Rat's corruption reaches long.

The Shaskar takes the still-blind pup and brings him to the Rock, the sacred monastery at the center of Haven. There, the horned ratlings are grown by the finest masters of the Church, taught combat, politics, economics and many more topics. Powerful magic is woven upon them from the moment they step into that secretive location, and they grow tall and powerful, more than any son or daughter of the Mother. Eventually, when they are prepared to step outside, they perform a terrible rite of detestation. By their own paws, they sever their horns, making themselves eternal enemies of the Horned Rats and champions of the Uncorrupted Kin.

They are then presented to the Under-King, that takes them as his guards and pupils. Many will remain at Court, acting as champions and elite guards, but the best and brightest will be sent by the King to lead the armies of the Deepkin as Warlords or will be chosen to become Kinlord or even Depthlord. When the time come for a the Under-King to step down from the throne, it's between these ratmen that his successor will be chosen.

The Shaskar watched the flames crackling in the fireplace. It was a cozy little house, and the smell of happiness filled it nicely. She felt a small stab of pain at having to break a piece out of it, but pusher it back with ease born of long practice.

She turned at hearing steps.

A Skaven stepped into the room. He had eyes only for the small bundle between his arms.

"I…" He began, his voice breaking for a moment before he found the words. "I had to wait for her to fall asleep."

The Shaskar stepped close, looking at the bundle. She could see the small nubs even under all that cloth. She bit her lip, then turned to the father.

The Skaven was watching her, desperation in his eyes, together with pain that could be born only by betrayal by the greatest happiness.

The Shaskar put a paw over his shoulder. "He will become a champion, a guardian of our people. By his hand, corruption will be destroyed and the innocent will be saved."

The father said nothing. He just nodded shakily, and handled her the bundle.

The Shaskar stepped out into the rain with the bundle covered beneath her cloak. Feeling the gaze of the skaven on her back and the small movements of the pup between her arms, despite all the glories that she knew that small one would bring, she couldn't but feel like a thief in the night. But the Goddess was there to sustain her, and she knew that sacrifices were unevitable, even for those escaped by corruption.

It didn't ease her cult, but allowed her to bear it with stoicism, as it should have been.

The Leagues

The Deepkin are an ingenious people, always working to prepare themselves to the great war to come and to better what they already have. Their greatest accomplishments have been had into the esoterical mix of magic, science and alchemy of whose the Mages-Engineers of the Leagues are expert.

The Leagues are associations born to promote and bring forward technological, scientific, and magical advancement. Like their corrupted brethren of Clan Skyre, the Mages-Engineers mix together science and magic to perform incredible, even if noticeably less mad, feats. While the Skaven use the noxious power of Warpstone to power their creations, the Leagues harness the fires that smoulder in the depths of the earth and the moving might of steam.

From massive forges and factories embedded into primeval rock, they produce cannons, rifles and clanking warmachines that make the earth tremble. It's a point of pride for the Leagues to always be able to counter anything their corrupted brethren can bring to bear and so their laboratories never go silent!

Military

The Under-Kingdom is a nation sorrounded by hostile forces, born and bred upon war and on the myth of a great war that will see them triumph over corruption or succumb to it and be destroide. Warriors are held into high regards for these reasons and given a preferential treatment anywhere.

Any Lodge is required to give all its able-bodied members at least a modicum of training, as well as being able to raise contingents of warriors should the need arise. Still, the true might of the Under-Kingdom lays with the regular army. This is highly proficent, formed by volunteers that are required to remain under arms for two decades and War-Lodges whose only trade is war itself. Costant warring and training makes so that the army is always of professional level and high pays and privileges make so that the flux of volunteers is never less than abundant. Deepkin society is populous and there isn't ever shortage for recruits eager to make a name for themselves.

The War-Lodges in particular are a sure source of highly trained and motivated ratmen soldiers. These Lodges are bound by rules of engagements and oaths to their Burrows and Kinlord and will fight with ferocious zeal to defend it. There are many tales of disciplined formations of these brethren in arms standing against terrible odds and coming out on top.

The Stain

The corruption wrought by the Horned Rat is a seeping menace, and one that the Deepkin struggle against from the beginning of their history. Rituals of purification are held all the time to make so that litters are born healthy and without the mental defects typical of the corrupt Skaven. The Black Hunger is a distant, if ever-present danger, and any Deepkin feel, in the depths of his soul, the stain left by the Horned One's claws.

This makes so that the Deepkin feel as unevitable a recknoning with their corrupted kin. Their history has been an almost uninterrupted building of strenght and power for a last great battle. There can't be nothing but triumph or annihilation in this war. The Deepkin will destroy the curse haunting them or will perish in the attempt. The Goddess and the Horned Rat will have their reckoning.

Particular companies are the so-called Errant Lodges. Uusually led by a massive Patriarch, these great families of ratmen scour the lands of the world, searching for knowledge and weapons that could be useful in helping their Kingdom to win in its great war. They move from land to land, amassing fighting prowess, techniques of war and any scrap of knowledge that is considered useful. Only when they score some great discovery they will return to the Kingdom and they will remain just the time to share their found treasures, enjoy the great festivities held in their honour and refill their stock of food and then they will away once again, back into the wider world.

As much as they are held into the highest esteem by their brethren, the Deepkin cannot but feel a feeling of unease these wandering Lodges. To abandon the Kingdom is not the Deepkin way and many ratmen fear what stand beyond their borders. And still, this is not the only reason. The Errant Lodges carry something ominous about them that seems to border into the supernatural. Many legends says that the wandering families has left the need for material food behind and that now only perpetual conflict can fill their gullets. Others, more ancient stories says that the research of knowledge isn't the only reason of their wanderings; they speak of a mission, given by the Gdodess herself and of critical importance for the success of the Deepkin war. Not even these stories say what this misterious objective could be and no Deepkin has any inkling about it.

The War-rats

Led by the grim Patriarch Kiarak, this Lodge wander the world in search of martial knowledge. The War-Rats are boisterous warriors that make for deadly opponents, each of their move back by centuries of accumulated wisdom. The ratmen of the Lodge are highly trained in multiple fighting style, able to switch from one to the next like one could change pants.

Versatility made form, their formation change like it is a living being, adapting at any mutation on the battlefield. One moment, the War-Rats form a tightly packed wall of shields and spears, able to trade blow with a Dwarf phalanx without giving up an inch, the next they whirl around in every direction, effortlessly dodging the charge of a monster or a flurry of arrows. They are easily recognizable by the painted masks they wear, objects that are said to host the echoes of the precedent wearers and that can imbue their actual wearers with part of their knowledge and ability.

Kiarak himself lead the Lodge, a towering monster of a Deepkin. Covered from head to toes in scars, with a cloak made of pieces of skin taken by defeated champions and emblazoned masks, he strides the battlefield like a demigod of war. Monsters, Daemons and champions have been hewed down in their scores by his mighty axe, and is said that the Patriarch steal a part of their strenght and ability by weaving shreds of their bodies in his cloak. Kiarak has battled the worst the world can muster and has always come out stronger by it, with a new piece for his cloak or by surviving and learning; and the same goes for the ratmen of his Lodge.