The Skaven A race of verminous creatures whose numbers
could drown out the horizon line. Their dark influence is spread across the
Old and the New World alike. But even then, with a race that is so expansive
and dominant gnawing at the roots of the world, there is a disturbing lack of knowledge about
the skaven. Imperial and Dwarf scholars know very little
about the true origins of these vile creatures… but there are some clues that shed a dim light
on their dark story. From the jungles and swamps of Lustria, to
the darkest places of The World’s Edge Mountains, from the blasted hellscapes of The Dark Lands
to the vast and endless deserts of Araby, the skaven roam the world, only the verdant paradise that is Ulthuan
is safe from the grasp of the the vermintide. How the skaven came to be is still a mystery and despite the magnitude of the threat beneath
their feet, the majority of nations do not acknowledge
that the Children of the Horned rat exist. Some scholars and academics classify the skaven
as a mutated variant of Beastmen. Both seem to be an evil parody of the human
body form, and both twist it into dark reflections of
the spirit of man. The Beastmen reflect a dark form of pride
and jealousy, while the Skaven reflect the nature of treachery
in human society. Others suggest that the Skaven are mutated
forms of common rats, corrupted by foul magic. Skaven history is also a form of mystery to
the Skaven themselves. The ratmen naturally do not live very long
and are not concerned by their own origins. Most Skaven lives are disposable and they
are spent on dangerous experiments, slave labour and as cannon fodder on the battlefront. In addition, most Skaven do not know how to
read, or write. Only those in the highest positions; Greyseers and Warlords of the many Thrall
Clans, have the ability to do so, and very few are too concerned with the past
and future of their race, only keen on keeping themselves in positions
of power and to an extent, alive. They do not account for great deeds such as
victories in battle or important inventions. Some clans keep records but they are mostly
a barrage of claims and counter-claims, hyperbole and excuses. Perhaps those that are most knowledgeable
about the origins of the Skaven are not the Skaven, the Dwarves, or even the men of the Empire. To explore this reality, we must head to the
fertile peninsula that is Tilea. The people of Tilea have dealt with the ratmen
for much longer than the Empire of Man. While the Empire tries to cover up the existence
of this constant menace, Tilea is far more knowledgeable, aware, and responsible when dealing with the ever
present lurking enemy. The only document available about the first
encounter with the skaven is the tale called the “Doom of Kavzar”. An ancient Tilean poem with thirteen stanzas Copies of this tale have inexplicably disappeared
from the Empire but the tale is still known in Tilea. The text reads as follows... "Once upon a time, long long ago, Men and
Dwarfs lived together beneath the roof of one great city. Some said it was the oldest and greatest city
in the world and had existed before the time of the longbeards
and manlings, build by older and wiser hands in the dawn
of the world. The city lay both above and below the earth, in keeping with the nature of the populace
that dwelt there. The Dwarfs ruled in their great halls of stone
below ground and wrestled the fruits of the rock free with
their day-long toil, while the manlings reaped the fields of swaying
corn that surrounded the city with a patchwork blanket of gold. The sun smiled, men laughed, and everyone
was happy. One day the men of the city decided that they
should give praise to their gods for their good fortune. They planned a temple such as the world had
never seen before. In the central square a colossal hall would
be built and topped with a single, cloud-piercing tower. A tower so tall it would touch the very heart
of the heavens. After much planning, and with the help of
the longbeards, they set about their monumental task. Weeks became months and months became years
and still the manlings built. Men grew old and grey working on that great
temple, their sons continuing their work through summer
sun and winter rain. At last, after many generations, work began
on the great spire itself. Years passed and the tower reached such a
height that the manlings found it ever more difficult
to take the stone up to the top. Eventually the work slowed to a crawl and
finishing the tower seemed impossible. Then one came among the men of the city who
offered his help in their great scheme. He asked a single boon of them in return and
claimed that if they would grant him this, he would complete the tower in a single night. The manlings said to themselves. "What have we to lose?" and offered to make a bargain with the grey-clad
stranger. All he wished was to add his own dedication
to the gods onto the temple structure. The manlings agreed and the bargain was struck. At dusk the stranger entered the unfinished
temple and bade the manlings to return at midnight. Clouds swept over the moons, cloaking the
temple in darkness as the manlings left. All over the city, men watched and waited
as the hours slipped past until, near midnight, by ones and twos, they gathered again in the
temple square. The wind blew and the clouds parted as they
gazed up at the temple. It rose like an unbroken lance against the
sky, pure and white. At its very peak a great horned bell hung
gleaming coldly in the moonlight. The stranger's dedication to the gods was
there but of the stranger himself, there was no sign. The manlings rejoiced that their father's
fathers work was done. They surged forward to enter the temple. Then, at the stroke of midnight, the great
bell began to toll, once.... twice.... thrice. Slow, heavy waves of sound rolled across the
city. Four... five... six times the bell rang, like the torpid pulse
of a bronze giant. Seven... eight... nine, the rolling of the bell grew louder
with each ring, and the manlings staggered back from the temple
steps clutching their ears. Ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen. At the thirteenth stroke, lightning split
the skies and thunder echoes through the night. High above, the dark circle of Morrslieb was
lit by a bright flash and all fell ominously silent. The manlings fled to their beds, frightened
and puzzled by the portents they had seen. Next morning they arose to find that the darkness
had come to their city. Brooding storm clouds reared above the rooftops
and such rain fell as had never been seen before. Black, like ash, the rain fell and puddled
in the streets, slicking the cobbles with darkly iridescent
colours. At first some of the manlings didn't worry, they waited for the rain to stop so that they
might resume their work. But the rain did not stop, the winds blew
stronger and lightning shook the high tower. Days stretched into weeks and still the rain
did not stop. Each night the bell tolled thirteen times and each morning the darkness lay across the
city. The manlings became fearful and prayed to
their gods. Still the rains did not stop and the black
clouds hung like a shroud over the fields of flattened corn. The Manlings went to the Dwarfs and beseeched
their help. The longbeards were unconcerned -- what matter
a little rain on the surface? In the bosom of the earth all was warm and
dry. Now the manlings huddled in their dwelling,
fear gnawing at their hearts. They sent some of their number to faraway
places to seek help but none of them returned. Some went to the temple to pray and sacrifice
their dwindling food to the gods but they found the temple door closed to them. The rain grew heavier. Dark hailstones fell from the sky and crushed
the sodden crops. The great bell tolled a death knell over the
terrified city. Soon great stones cleft the heavens, rushing
down like dark meteors to smash the homes of the manlings. Many sickened and died from no apparent cause, and the newborn babies of the manlings were
hideously twisted. Skulking vermin devoured what little stored
corn there was left and the manlings began to starve. The manling elders went to see the Dwarfs
again and this time demanded their help. They wanted to bring their folk below ground
to safety, they wanted food. The longbeards grew angry, and told the manlings
that the lower workings were flooded and their food had also been devoured by rats. There remained barely enough food and shelter
for them and their kinsmen. They cast the manlings out of their halls
and closed their doors once more. In the ruins of the city above, each day became
more deadly than the last. The manlings despaired and called for succor
from the dark gods, whispered the names of forgotten Daemon Princes
in the hope of salvation. But none came... instead the vermin returned, bigger and bolder
than ever. Their slinking, furred shapes infested the
broken city, feasting on the fallen and pulling down the weak. Each midnight the bell tolled thirteen times
on high, seeming now brazen and triumphant. The manlings lived as hunted creatures in
their own city as great rat packs roamed the streets in search
of them. At last the desperate manlings took up such
weapons as they had and beat upon the Dwarfs door, threatening that if they did not emerge they
would drag them out by their beards. No reply came from within. The manlings took up beams and battered down
the doors to reveal the tunnels below, dark and empty. Steeling themselves, the pitiful remnants
of the city's once proud populace descended. In the ancient hall of kingship they found
the Dwarfs, now naught but gnawed bones and scraps of cloth. And there they saw by the dying light of their
torches the myriad eyes about them, glittering like liquid midnight as the rats
closed in for the kill. The manlings stood back to back and fought
for their lives, but against such implacable ferocity and countless
numbers of the verminous horde, their weapons were useless. The tide of monstrous rats flowed over them
one by one, dragging them down to be torn apart, the yellow
chisel-teeth sinking into their soft-flesh, the dark tufted mass drowning their pitiful
screams with their hideous chittering.....” Since their inception, hundreds of years ago,
the Skaven race has proven to be one of the most dangerous threats to the Warhammer
world. It is an ever growing menace that schemes
and plots the downfall of humanity. When emerging from their lairs to the field
of battle, they are a deadly horde of unimaginably vast numbers that blends destructive
war machines with dark magic. The verminous hordes move at speeds that belies
their staggering size. They seem to flow in endless waves of chittering
ratmen and when the battle is over, they disappear like flood waters draining
in countless unseen holes leaving little to no trace of their existence, save only smoking ruins and scoured lands. Even as we speak, they wait in the dark beneath
us, ever watching with beady eyes for the right moment to strike.
They are making great videos. This one was the best.
Thank you for this , by far my favorite faction
Incredible video. Every single one of their videos is worth a watch. This one is super eerie and sets a perfect setting for the story.
Without a doubt my favorite warhammer youtuber.