Warhamer40k & MonsterGirlQuest: A Double Traitor

Amon stood still like a statue. He repeatedly stuck out his tongue and felt it, but there could be no mistake. The sorcerer had lost the mutation of Tzeentch.

"How…" Amon lisped. "It can't be!"

A distant sense of unease touched his soul.

'Another water,' thought the Chaos Space Marine. 'Another salinity. I don't notice anything, but it's slowly killing me. Or am I adapting? What next? Feathers, a second heart? What will disappear next?'

A less pleasant thought also crept into the sorcerer's mind.

"When I get out of this damned world, how will the Thousand-Faced God react to the fact that I couldn't preserve his gifts? Tzeentch, of course, is not Khorne, and not so quick to punish, but who can predict the reaction of the Lord of Lies... Maybe he'll give me mutations to replace the lost ones and destroy me with his attention. Maybe demons will hunt me. Maybe I'll get caught up in some fatal scheme. This won't end well for me."

Amon focused, thinking through the current plan.

"I don't have much time. I need to master the local magic and, in due time, talk to the Fallen Goddess. The goddess must know a lot about her world. I just need to gain her trust, and then she'll share hidden knowledge or point the way home."

The sorcerer sat back down on the floor and resumed his interrupted meditation—not to reach the warp, but to achieve a cold, active state.

***

For several hours, Amon listened anxiously to his own sensations, but strangely enough! He felt great. His mind was clear and fresh, and his body was full of energy. This unusual combination worked so powerfully that the sorcerer's usual irritability and suspicion quieted somewhat. What surprised him most was the absence of the usual disdain for mortal humans.

Amon quickly adapted to the new language.

"S...S...S..." Amon carefully pronounced the letters. "S... Sth... P... P! L... L... R..!"

After a few minutes, his speech regained clarity.

"It's not that bad," Amon realized. "If only I could get out of this deadly place."

***

Two days later, Amon left the inn. All this time, he had done little but suffer from idleness and eat. The local cuisine, though crude and unrefined, was far better than the nutritional paste Amon consumed during long journeys.

He ordered meat, hot soups, and washed them down with bitter dark beer. The sorcerer wasn't worried about getting drunk—his body could easily handle many poisons, including alcohol. The new tongue was much more sensitive to taste, and Amon even began to derive some enjoyment from the simple dishes.

"No loss without gain," the sorcerer remarked.

Sometimes he listened to others' conversations, but the inn's patrons—outlaws and pirates—didn't discuss anything interesting. Their interests were entirely primitive: journeys, loot, and dice games. Only once did a conversation catch the sorcerer's attention.

Three pirates stumbled into the inn, sat in the middle of the hall, and ordered several pitchers of wine. They began loudly discussing news. Being quite drunk, they spoke loudly, excitedly gesturing with their hands.

"I told you, John, the star—it's not a good omen! Red..."

"There are many stars! They're always falling. And this one just broke off!"

"No, the red one—especially... not good."

"You're obsessed with that star! I won two gold coins in cards—what luck! I don't care about the lights in the sky!"

"No, it's not good," the third pirate interjected, "Yesterday we set sail. We were going along slowly, and there we see—'Isabella' anchored. Bloody Carmo was its captain. Was... We signaled—no answer. So, we came closer, sent a boat. I—rower. We climbed aboard, and my God…"

"Stop teasing, just say it."

"Everyone's dead," the pirate exhaled, slamming his pitcher on the table.

"Never seen anything like it. The bodies are lined up in rows, mutilated like someone hammered them with a blacksmith's hammer. And Carmo—ugh, I don't even want to remember! Who could've done that to them, only the Goddess knows. I was so scared, no lie, that I jumped into the boat and don't remember how I got back. We didn't sail on. The captain screamed and swore he'd hang everyone on the mast, but we refused. We went ashore instead. To Poseidon with that voyage if the signs were bad!"

"Right!" the second one shouted approvingly. "...You should've fed the fish. But no—you didn't... More wine!"

Amon only grunted. The star was clearly the "Dark Truth," which had burned up in the atmosphere, and he had personally repaid Bloody Carmo for his humiliation and foolishness.

To Amon's right, at a small table, other conversations were taking place.

"The Order ship entered the harbor this morning. And I don't think they're here with goods. What do they need here?"

"They're sniffing around, those snakes. They want to take over Al-Gord. The port's convenient, a harbor with a narrow entrance—you can't just take it with bare hands. You'll see, there'll be a big fight with the Imperials. They're preparing in advance, the bastards."

"And what about us? I don't want to live under the Order! They'll bring their priests, make us fast, forbid wine. The only fun—pray to the Goddess from morning till night! Well, no! We won't allow it! For freedom!"

Amon remembered the information he had overheard. The struggle between factions and the political situation always intrigued him, as it allowed for maneuvering and carrying out plans without using weapons. Who knew, maybe this would come in handy? The sorcerer listened further, but the patrons didn't talk about anything important after that, only mentioning their petty concerns.