The Vault is an area for stories and literature from the Warhammer and 40K Universes. Some stories now have accompanying Javascript games for your amusement. Read on...


CONTENTS
Article Game Page Contributer(s)
The Racetrack/Play the game! WH(*) 1 James
Distant Strike/Play the game! BFG 1 James
The Squig Pit/Play the game! WH(*) 1 James
Jacob the Juve part I NEC 1 James
History of the Kabal of the Bloody Foot 40K(3) 2 Lord Y'Barbo
Destiny of the Damned Part I 40K(*) 2 John
Moonlight Attack/Play the game! E40K 2 James
Destiny of the Damned Part II 40K(*) 2 John
Jacob the Juve Part II NEC 3 James
The Last Dwarf WH(*) 3 Ron Lechler


PAGE 3

JACOB THE JUVE PART II James

If you have not already done so, please read part I of this story, available here.

Jacob hurried past the ancient scrap that littered the area around his uncle’s home, pulling his cloak tight against the chill. Just as he passed through the gate his foot caught on some random object buried in the dust, causing him to land flat on his face. Cursing under his breath Jacob gently hauled himself upright. As he did so, a nasty sniggering filtered down from above. It was a sound that he heard all too often, usually emanating from somewhere behind his uncle’s back. Lifting his eyes upward Jacob sighted the unpleasant shape of his cousin Caspian’s smirking face relishing the moment from the vantage point of the tower’s balcony.
“Shut your face Jasper,” yelled Jacob as he began the climb towards the top, “it’s not like you ever do any work around here.”
“You’re in BIG trouble Jacob,” argued Caspian, “my Dad doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Jacob continued to the top without reply, having considered the intellectual merit of the conversation to have passed. He wearily pushed through the door, only to be greeted by a spoon bouncing off his head. The origin of that small missile was of course Uncle Rustwhisker, who, before he had even closed the door, launching into a barrage of obscenities.
“WHERE THE SUMP IS MY FOOD you lazy little good for nothing ……(etc etc etc etc)”
“But Uncle, its right here. I’ll have it cooked in no time at” mumbled Jacob, as he fished the largest of the rats from his bag.
“What do you call that rubbish,” bawled Rustwhisker, “it looks like its been mashed by a chainsword!” “Here, gimme that bag!” he yelled, making a snatch for it as Jacob began to back off.

The bag came free from Jacob’s hands, causing him to fall backwards onto the gritty floor. This immediately spawned the necessary chuckle that always accompanied such happenings from his cousin’s lips, but it just as quickly died away as the atmosphere in the room rapidly chilled. Caspian’s eyes followed those of Jacob’s and Rustwhisker’s to the middle of the floor, where a compact metallic object had come to rest. Quickly scrambling to his feet Jacob snatched up the shiny autopistol and started to back towards the door, but the damage had already been done.
“Where did you get that,” hissed Rustwhisker, advancing menacingly.
“It’s mine,” stated Jacob, shrinking towards the exit.
“Give it me THIS INSTANT BOY,” Rustwhisker screamed.
“No”
“WHAT!” Rustwhisker was in a frenzy. “How DARE you!” he rumbled, lunging forward.

What happened next was over in a split second. Rustwhisker was lying motionless in an expanding pool of blood, Jasper was screaming, and Jacob had fled sobbing from the scene. The smell of smoke quickly dispersed, but the stench of death lingered in place of it.

Mixed up feelings dashed through Jacob’s head as he tearfully snatched up his few possessions from the shed outside. Feelings of remorse were there, but he couldn’t stop a small thought of gladness that his uncle had been laid still by his hand. It had all been an accident of course, as his uncle snatched Jacob had jerked back, and in so doing had nudged the trigger… He still couldn’t for the life of him understand why the safety hadn’t been on; Jacob could have sworn he’d clicked it in after the last rat, like always. Still, mulling over it couldn’t change the facts: Uncle Rustwhisker was dead. Jacob had pulled the trigger. Uncle Rustwhisker had been a well connected man, and as soon as Caspian got to the guilder’s his Uncle’s friends would be after Jacob’s blood, accident or not. Realizing that he might never be able to come back, Jacob swung the bag containing his few possessions over his shoulder, and for the last time headed away from his Uncle’s hovel into the thickening gloom of the artificial night.

It didn’t take Jacob long to reach the edge of Bog Pipe. He had hoped not to meet anyone, but as he was passing through the gate a friendly voice called out from behind him, “hey there Jacob, where are you off to at this time of night.”
Jacob paused and turned around to see Ryan, one of the few people in the settlement with whom Jacob got along with.
“Erm, nowhere, ahm just going out hunting” he mumbled.
From the look in Jacob’s face Ryan could immediately tell something was wrong.
“What’s wrong Jacob, it’s a bit late to be hunting”
Jacob began to mumble something else, but then broke down and started sobbing.
“It was an accident, I never meant it to happen,” he howled.
“What was an accident Jacob?” asked Ryan gently.
“My Uncle, he… I can’t say… he…”
“Look Jacob,” put in Ryan, “why don’t you come back and stay at mine tonight, and you can tell me about it then, it’s too late for you to be going out by yourself.”
“I can’t, I’ve got to go, I…”
And then Jacob turned on his heels and fled into the gloom, leaving Ryan standing perplexed and worried, looking out into the blackness.



THE LAST DWARF Ron Lechler

Gnolgrom lifted his tankard and exhaled an earthshaking bellow. "Khazuk! Khazuk! Kahazuk!" His depleated force of Warriors, Miners, Longbeards, and a wounded Runesmith were relentless. After taking a beating from a filthy band of Skaven-scum, Gnolgroms small throng released their finally ounce of energy to make a final assault.

"'Til death!!!" spat Rhundawi, the Runesmith. He charged forth towards a hoard of clan rats. He was engulfed by the swarm and never emerged. Gnolgrom rushed toward the same hoard and gave a mighty swing of his double-bladed axe and decapitated their front line of vermin. He continued to chop and swing until the entire unit was no more. His loyal Miners were not to be seen. His stout Warriors launched bolt after bolt from their crossbows and attacked more viciously than Gnolgrom had seen them before. A band of nightrunners was dropping like flys in front of them.

As Gnolgrom watched blood spatter about, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. An Assassin slinked its way into the skirmished band of warriors unnoticed. He knew yelling would do no good. He bounded to the regiment and held his axe high above his head. Random Warriors dropped to the ground, dying before they could scream. Before he knew it, Gnolgroms entire band was gone. Only the assassin was left, and it leapt at him with a long dagger grasped in its claws. Quickly turning his axe broadside forward, Gnolgrom watched the assassin crash into it. Dazed on the ground, the rat attempted to slip away but to no avail. Gnolgrom brought his axe down with a mighty blow and collapsed to his knees.

There was still no sight of his Miners, all his Warriors had perished one way or another, and his last Longbeard fell to the ground as did the final Stormvermin in the regiment they had been at battle with. He assumed his Miners were dead and all that remained of the Skaven was a clan of Gutter Runners. As they approached the exhausted general he climbed to his feet. Suddenly a razorsharp pick burst through the surface and the regiment of Miners arose from the ground. They began swinging away as did the vermin. Gnolgrom dragged himslef over to aid his troops. He did his best to control his blows. When the dust had settled, the only Dwarf, or Skaven for that matter left was Gnolgrom. He paused to get his bearings. In the short distance he heard the deep ring of a bell and many loud war-cries. Yet another force of vermin emerged from over a hill. Remembering Rhundawi, he muttered:

"'Til death..." He charged forth towards a small group of Rat Ogres. As he was backhanded across the face he was hurled back and tumbled down the shallow hill. He blacked out. He began to open his eyes and gazed at a gloved hand grasping his own. As he was pulled to his feet he stared at the stranger. The purest, whitest beard hung from his chin, beneath which was tunic of silver scales. Gnolgrom had never seen an axe as large and as sharp as the one that the stranger wielded. Atop his head lay a horned crown that looked as if one wouldn't be given to any ordinary dwarf. Gnolgrom opened his mouth, about to speak, when the mysterious dwarf turned and faded away in an instant. Behind where the White-Bearded Ancestor had stood was pile after pile of slain Skaven.

In stupor, Gnolgrom looked at his hand which the White Dwarf had previously held and began to walk in a direction that he hoped to lead home. He didn't know how long he had been unconcious but hoped that he could get home before dark...



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