Warped Trust

Note from the author: This story contains scenes of blood, gore, and violence (It's the Warhammer setting, it's to be expected), but not in the more intimate scenes. Rest assured that Skaven sexy times will be all about making... as close to love as Skaven can do, not war. Apologies if there any inconsistencies in lore, though I did the best I could. Thanks to Foxy Harris for hosting this on his account while I remain in the shadows.

	High pitched wails of torment and damnation echoed through the weathered walls of the cursed city of Mordheim, damned by the falling of a warpstone comet in its very center, the sounds of distant battle ever raging through day and night. The green moon of Morrslieb shined down on the city, the glow of warpstone shards gave off their own light, barely brighter than the unpredicatable celestial body this night. Nestled among one of those buildings was a band of Skaven, red eyes gleeming in the dark where neither sources of light could be seen, watching warily for any that might stumble on their camp.
	Deeper within the building awakened a nightrunner, his paws gripped on the knife he kept always in hand as his eyes darted to all corners of the room he had secured for himself. Satisfied that all the traps he had laid out were still in place, Stilythe Umber of Clan Eshin donned his armor in preparation of a mission. Having clawed and kept up as one of the better nightrunners in the pack, he had amassed himself a decent set of armor and knives, though he knew he'd get better results if his warband saw just how invaluable he was.
	"Wish stupid Faderer would get me a warplock pistol like the one he has. Grabbed enough warpstone for him that I can get one. Can shoot-kill more of those man-things that way," he grumbled, not having the best of opinions of the warband captain, but had to make do with the crossbow he slung across his back. Looking around his room, he double checked the traps he had left in place. When they made the building their base of operations, Stiythe had to make do with a small closet at the start, one of the bigger Skaven had kept him out of this one originally. Bigger didn't always mean better though, and it meant beastmen shit when a chaos sorcerer fried his brains, and it was the all the distraction Stilythe needed to shoot the spellcaster in the throat. Once they got back, he claimed the dead Skaven's room for himself, which got him a room with decrepid plaster walls, a single candle, a half rotted bed, and a chest full of rubbish. At the very least he had enough room to lay his traps without worrying about his tail getting snagged. Carefully opening the door, he set the trap and closed it after him as he made to go up to the main floor, only to stop as he felt eyes watching him from behind.
	"What are you doing Knaid?" Stilythe said as he quickly turned. Sure enough, even without seeing who it was initially, he spotted his brown furred rival. He knew of few others that had secured their own private room in the building from below.
	"Me? Nothing. Nothing, just going upstairs, ready for our mission. Was sure that you were going to stay in your room, cower-hiding away because you're not strong enough for it," Knaid chittered back. Knaid and Stilythe had been recruited with a bunch of others initially, they only paid as much to each other as they did other potential threats among their kind, but as time went on and their ranks had thinned due to incapcitation, dibilitating injury, or death, it was clear to them who was going to be the biggest threat to claiming their just rewards.
	Staring death at one another, Stilythe looked at his rival for the usual spots he so badly wanted to shoot. Knaid probably had a year on him, half a head taller and somewhat bigger. Nowhere as big as the brute that Stilythe had taken the room from, he might almost swear on the Great Horned Rat that that one had been a minor alteration from Clan Moulder, but Knaid certainly had mass over him. That Knaid believed he should have gotten that room was another point of contention between the two. Not that it mattered, another of their number had died that same mission and a room further down was also open, but not nearly as big. Since Stilythe had shot the sorcerer that killed the original owner whose name he already forgotten, he got the claim.
	Stilythe was a brown furred rat like Knaid, though where Kniad had longer, matted fur, Stilythe's shorter fur only barely hid some of the scars he accumulated. A few scratches from clan litter was to be expected and easily hid, though the spear slash to his side was more noticable, but easily hidden under his own armor. More apparent were the hole in the top of his left ear where an arrow had ripped through and the scar on his tail from different engagments. Knaid's shorter muzzle   was partially hidden by his hood as he placed his paws on his twin dagger blades, but those red eyes easily shined with malice.
	Reaching for his own blade, Stiythe glanced around. The Nightleader enforced a strict policy that any infighting while within Mordheim was strictly forbidden, so long as they were part of the warband, they kept their blades at the throats of their enemies. After all, replacing nightrunners due to the horrors of the city was expensive enough, he didn't need to add to the costs. That rule was only enforced though if they were caught, there were more than a few suspicious "accidents" here and there, and if it could be proven that itw as in self-defense, then the failed assassin proved to be more of a liability that had needed to die before it endangered the band in the field. Curiously, the Nightleader didn't seem to mind though, so long as there was no evidence about who did it, and no witnesses. They weren't half hearted investigations either, he needed to dissuade his pack from casual murder, and when a particularly dull Skaven did a sloppy job of offing his rival, not bothering to hide the arm and head he kept as both snacks and trophies in his room, he was shot with a warplock pistol then and there. Depending on whether there were witnesses around, he had to either draw fast before Knaid or draw second so the witnesses said he'd killed Knaid in self-defense.
	Out of the corner of his eye, he did see another set of red watching them from the corner of the basement. "Going to just look-stare at me or are we going to talk to the Nightleader?" Stilythe asked as he kept his grip firm on his own blade. Noticing that his rival was looking past him, Knaid very, very quickly looked behind him, too quick for Stilythe to draw and close the five or so steps it would take to reach him. Not that he would, with someone watching them.
	"... or maybe I'm waiting for you to get out of the way of the stairs," Knaid said as he let go of his blades and moved to push past Stilythe. "And maybe something out there crunch-smashes you, yes-yes..." he whispered darkly as he shoved him to make room before heading up.
	Sorely tempted to give Knaid a punch to the gut, Stilythe glared at him as he went up, only to turn his attention back to their observer, wary of it being another rival that might take advantage of there only being two of them down there. Now that he didn't have to pay so much attention to Knaid's paws, he could more clearly focus on other things.
	"Aww, I was hoping I'd get to see something exciting, like some stab-killing," the unknown Skaven said as he stepped out of the corner, letting Stilythe get a look at him. Not some hairless slave rat, but a fellow brown furred clan rat. Just smaller. A lot smaller.
	"Not today. At least, not here. I wouldn't mind seeing him bleed-die," Stilythe said. He vaguely recalled seeing this Skaven before, but he never had a name. One of the trainees, and like any trainee in Clan Eshin, chances were that learning their names was pointless when the vast majority of them died.
	"Hmph, wish one of you would. Means I can take one of your places," the nameless ratling squeaked.
	"Not going to be me then, certainly him. And what makes you think a young ratling like you has what it takes to be a nightrunner?" Stilythe asked. "Go stab-stab some man-things first. If you live, then maybe."
	"I already kill-killed some!" the ratling half-shouted and squeaked, "Someone else takes what credit is mine!"
	"What, some hairless pink manthing with only a stick? Good, for a beginner," Stilythe replied, still looking the ratling over. He didn't seem like much of a threat to him, but like any of Clan Eshin, they carried various impliments of death, and this little rat had his own set of knives. He had little else besides those knives though, only a leather jerkin and a weird mushroom cap hat he must have scavenged from some human body. He was unmarred by any signs of battle, except for those of fellow ratkin in the scramble to survive day to day. He was of average build for a Skaven his age, probably at the start of puberty if Stilythe was any judge from the smell. He suspected that the Nightleader was getting stingy with his warpstone and only recruiting runts like this one as distractions rather than real muscle.
	"Don't make fun of me! I'll be the best nightrunner, no, gutterrunner, that ever was! If you're not dead-rotting by then, you'll remember when you first met-!"
	"Yeah yeah, keep chattering pip-squeak," Stilythe waved over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs. "The real legend in the making is going to do a mission, can't keep chat-squeaking to you."
	Whatever else the young ratling had to say was ignored by the nightrunner, his mind now focusing on what their mission might be. Reconnaissance or gathering warpstone was a okay enough task, though securing an area to safely gather that warpstone may be a bit rough. Reaching the main floor of the building, teaming with fellow Skaven, each looking at one another as a potential threat, but with the warband's leader undeniably enforced, any backstabbing was saved outside of Mordheim. Officially anyway.
	Waiting in the room with the others of their group, he spied Knaid skulking in another corner, though when their Nightleader, Obsciven, walked in, all attention turned on him. "I have a mission for our warband, an important one. Man-things have been seen nearby, searching, scouting. They could be looking for us, looking to take our warpstone! You are going out there with me, look-find these man-things. Make sure they don't find us, find our warpstone, but also wait, watch, see. Maybe they give up, go back to where they came from. Maybe they also have warpstone, then we find them, take theirs, kill-kill in their sleep! They know we're here, just not where-here, can't let them keep searching. Find their camp and warpstone if we can, make sure they don't find ours, but most important they all die-die."
	From there, Obsciven set out the map, pointing out where the humans had last been spotted and in which direction they came and went. "They'll not go there again, they've already searched it, taken little bits of warpstone there. Need to find the next place they want to search, wait-watch where they go. I want you all in teams of two, hiding, do not be seen or fight. If you see them, one stays, watches where they go, leave markings if you must sneak-move, other will go find other groups, tell them where to go. Remember where on the map the others are, have to be fast."
	Watching as their Nightleader pointed out the areas they were to set up observation, Stilythe imagined the distances in his head. Depending on shortcuts, roof hopping, or sewer trudging, the groups might only need two minutes to reinforce each other, or five. If they weren't spotted, then five minutes wasn't so bad, but caught alone without backup for even one was a notion he absolutely did not like. He could depend on himself to stay hidden, but he couldn't say the same for the competence of the partner he was being paired to. As the assignments were being given out, he had a dread feeling of exactly who he was getting stuck with on watch.
	"Knaid, Stilythe, you will take watch here," Obsciven said as he indicated a spot the map.
	"What?!" Both Skaven said in unison.
	"Why there?" Stilythe asked.
	"Why with him?" Knaid said just as quickly.
	Obsciven didn't seem all too happy about having his orders questioned, his paw resting on his warplock pistol. "Are you doubting my plan?"
	"I... uh, no, no. It's that it's the furthest from the others," Stilythe replied, that feature had been the most problematic for him. "Could mean problems for everyone getting into place to ambush or sneak-follow."
	"And we can be in different places, we're one of your best, better to have your best watching two different places than wasted on one. Even if one has to make up for the lack of skill of the other," Knaid added, getting a barb in as Stilythe scowled.
	"I already thought about that. That's why I'm sending you two. Spotting man-things isn't a problem, making sure they don't spot you back is more important. Being fast and not being seen, you have best chance away from the others. Or are you not that good?" Obsciven retorted.
	"No! We'll get it done," Stilythe replied. In his head though, he was not happy. Sent into the most dangerous position with Knaid. He'd actually have to *depend* on him to survive out there. Orders were orders though, and back up with a warplock pistol.
	"If you're done interrupting, get any other gear you need, then head out. Find me at this location if you see anything. Now go," Obsciven said. With their tasks assigned, the group of vermin dispersed in their assigned pairs.
	From the darkness of the ramshackle building, the Skaven poured out quietly, as if the night itself birthed more shadows. Some used the sewers to reach their destination, others had to make do with dim alleys, and the rooftops of Mordheim served as highways to the fleet of foot. For Stilythe and Knaid, their destination was far enough away that they could use sewer access for a good portion of it, then emerge and utilize the alleys for the rest of the way. Away from the others, the temptation to make sure their rival 'got lost' or 'made a fatal mistake' was there, though as it was clear that this mission did require the both of them, they kept their knives on their belts. After all, what was the point of eliminating a rival if they couldn't enjoy the benefits? Failure on a mission would dampen any prospect for advancement, so success was always the desired outcome. Even if it had to be shared, as much as that grated.
	The journey through the sewers went without incident. It was only on rare occasion that anyone other than a Skaven dared to go down there, but it happened, so travel through the city was never a sure and safe thing. Emerging from a sewer outlet, their noses sniffing around for any trace of a smell beyond the usual rot and sewage, Knaid and Stilythe emerged into the section of the city there to monitor. A quick scan around the area showed no sign of anyone nearby and it was easy enough to spy both the highest and second highest vantage points nearby. As no one appeared to be roosting in the highest point, a temple spire, they made do with the alternate tower.
	Taking the winding spiral stairs up the tower, the two Skaven set up for a long night of observation, it could be a few minutes before their quarry was spotted, it could take hours. After setting a basic snare and alarm should someone try to sneak up on their location, they began their wait in silence.
	Cradling his crossbow in his arms, he double checked the mechanisms, that all the parts were oiled and blackened. While their mission was to observe and follow, he still wanted his weapon ready to fire at a moment's notice if anything went wrong. Knaid carried one as well, though the other Skaven was more known for his love of poisons rather than making sure he aimed well enough to get a fatal shot in. That piece of information had always meant that Stilythe fed a tiny portion of his meals to feral rats, and that some of them had either badly sickened or outright died did nothing to allive his worries.
	Sure that his equipment was in sound shape after their journey, he kept his eyes peeled on the city below, searching for signs of movement, with Knaid looking over another. "Hey, rot-eye, there's something over there," Knaid prodded him. Turning, Stilythe was annoyed to see that Knaid was right. "Still not sure why Shadowleader sent you with me, if you can't spot-see shit."
	"You got lucky is all, they just went your way, not mine," Stilythe retorted. "Not even sure it's who we're looking for yet."
	Watching where Knaid had pointed out, it was clear that something was moving in the city below, something using torch light. It soon became clear that there were multiple torches, and even from a distance away, they could see that it was a warband moving in a search pattern. Bands of two or more were combing the streets, and as they drew closer, the Skaven could see that they were humans.
	"Man-things make it so easy for us," Stilythe whispered as he crouched back in the shadows. "Now to tell the others where they are."
	"Yes-yes, I'll be doing that..." Knaid said in a quiet tone, though too quiet Stilythe noticed. Turning, he saw that the other Skaven was already well on his way down the sprial stairs. "You stay here, watch where they go."
	Before Stilythe could argue, Knaid was gone, leaving Stilythe alone atop the tower. Grumbling, he looked around, and soon enough, he could see a fleeing shadow emerge from the building below the tower, speeding away into the night and the relative safety of the sewers. While he would have loved to have been the one to head back, trying to force Knaid to switch would have been a hard task. Now truely alone, Stilythe kept as silent and unnoticeable as he could, watching the humans approach, praying to the Great Horned Rat that he would stasy unnoticed.
	From his vantage point, he estimated that the scouting party was twelve to fourteen men in size. The groups he could see were in twos or threes, with no discernable reason he could spot, while there were two spots of light further off, blocked off by buildings and rooftops, and that was assuming that those two were going by the same conventions. Watching as the torches drew closer, he crawled back, waiting for them to pass. He could watch them after they had gone by, the torches made them easy to spot, so he didn't fear losing them at that moment. In his mind's eye, he imagined how far each of the parties walked, over how much time, and overlaid it with a map of the city. After a few minutes of waiting, he dared to poke his muzzle over the rim of the tower, and was relieved to see that the torch lights were somehow converging on all around his position but instead still moving on.
	Now came the tricky part, following after the search party until the point where they gave up, then following them back to their encampment. Worst case scenario was that the search party actually found the Skaven encampment. It would be a bloodbath on the Skaven side, having to defend a static objective was not how the Skaven preferred to fight, and simply moving out of the building wasn't an option either. Packing all the warpstone they had already gathered, then trying to run for it without the usual scouting and patrols to make sure that absolutely nothing could intercept it would draw too much attention.
	To that end, Stilythe knew that this was no simple watch and shadow operation for them. Obsciven had arrayed their own groups so that if the humans got too close, they would be in position to ambush the individual scouting parties. That meant skirmishing, hitting them from behind, then scurrying away into the streets of Mordheim, drawing the humans away from their lair. Some Skaven wouldn't be coming back from that though if they were cornered, though of course, all worth their paltry lives for the more important ones to keep theirs. Stilythe just had to make sure he was the latter rather than the former.
	The glow of torchlights kept going past his tower, moving somewhat towards their encampment. It was a while yet before the risk of discovery became too great at least. Standing up as he got ready to mark the direction of where the band was heading, then descend the tower and follow the pack, Stilythe noticed something off. There was one less torch among the dark streets.
	The scrable of leather on stone, the crackle of oil drenched cloth on fire, a dim flicker of light growing brighter from the spiral staircase below. All of it screamed to Stilythe that he was in trouble. Dropping the piece of chalk that he had intended to use to mark a direction for the others, he drew his crossbow as quietly and quickly as he dared.
	"You sure there's something up here Bellard? The commander's gonna be pissed if we don't catch up soon."
	"Pfft, he never notices whenever I go out to do a bit of quick searching. How's he going to tell? Now keep an eye out for anything shiny, that silver coin might mean there's more up here."
	"Pshaw, you said that last time, and the last house we rummaged through had garbage."
	Thousands of thoughts screamed through Stilythe's head at that moment, though most of them weren't all too helpful messages of how he was alone and likely going to die. A few more helpful ones were questions, namely why the discrete alarms didn't go off when the humans entered the building, the sliding of rock rubble would have seemed innocuous enough while still loud enough to be heard from up above, and the more lethal trap midway up the tower should have at least gotten an ear piercing scream. And a silver coin? Knaid had helped scour the rest of the building for anything useful while setting up the traps, he'd have noticed a silver coin, nevermind a pair of dullard humans.
	He could only come up with a single conclusion, Knaid had set him up. He had disarmed the traps on the way down, not simply went around them, and left a coin as a way to entice the humans to search the rest of the building. A coin was enough to attract the greed of a small pair of humans, but not bring the entire band running in a search for treasure. By the time Obsciven and the rest of their warband arrived, Knaid hoped Stilythe was dead due to the 'bad luck' of a searching pair finding him.
	He didn't have much time, the sounds of footsteps were drawing closer. Should he stay and fight? It was two to one odds, never a good thing for a lone Skaven, and he had no idea how well armed and armored the two were. Flee? He was a good climber like any Skaven, but that was a long way down and he had no specialized climbing gear, plus there was no guarentee that the rickity tower's exterior wouldn't give him away when he started putting weight on those stones.
	There was not much choice, he had to kill the two as quickly and as quietly as possible. If he was heard while clinging outside the tower and the two shouted to the others, the entire warband would see him, and that was the end of it. Licking his lips as the light of the torch drew closer up the stairs, he waited for his shot. As soon as he saw the glimmer of the torch, followed by a human's helmeted head, he was eye to eye with the man.
	The man's eyes widened in shock as he came face to face with Stilythe while the Skaven's narrowed in focus, adjusting his aim slightly to account for the helmet. Soon, the human only had one eye as the bolt flew the barely two meters between the two, the man falling back as the projectile went through the eye socket and beyond it. He didn't even have time to scream, only the hitching of his breath as he had prepared to.
	"Bellard! Fuck!" the second human shouted as Stilythe let go of the crossbow and reached for his daggers. Good as he was with his crossbow, there was no way he'd be able to reload in time for another shot. Watching as the now dead human half fell on top of the other, Stilythe was ready to leap on top to add his weight to the falling body, pinning him, only to feel his paw feel empty air where his daggers were supposed to be.
	Hundreds of curses towards Knaid welled in Stilythe's throat, the slimy scumbag encased in fur had stolen his daggers before he left, just to completely screw him. That prod he felt early wasn't only to get his attention, it was to mask the theft. There was nothing for it now, he had to kill the human without the blades as he leapt forward to close the distance.
	"Oh shit oh shit! Sigmar preserve me!" The human screamed as he had to hold up his compatriot's body and a Skaven barreling on top of it. Stilythe kept as much of the body between him and the still living human, slashing at him with his paws, finding eyes to gouge, ears to box, hair to pull, anything to get him an advantage. The bad news was that the human was armed, wielding a short sword, and was desperately swinging it around in the tight confines of the staircase, the blade striking the dead body instead of the Skaven however as they fell.
	With a crash as all three landed on the stairs, the light of the torch making their movements look all the more frantic, Stilythe's eyes searched around for the dead man's weapon, just in time to see the haft of a mace bounce down the steps and out of the light. Using one paw to hold the man's fighting arm at bay, he reached for the torch before it followed the mace, the only weapon he could reach now.
	As his fingers barely grasped the wood of the torch, he had to reel back as the man's flailing clipped his arm, blood mixing with fur as he joined in the man's shouting, belting the man's head with the torch. It was a nasty close range engagement, no finnesse or grace, just desperate survival reflexes as Stilythe got nicked and cut by lucky blows from the blade and the human was bludgeoned and burned. With a mighty heave, the man rolled the dead body off him and struck out with the sword, Stilythe badly blocking with the torch as he leapt back.
	Holding the torch, Stilythe could get a better look at the man, brown haired and dirty, wearing a leather cap and jerkin, with burns all about his face and hands. Glancing down, he could see he had gotten lucky, the helmeted man had chainmail from head to toe, he would barely have felt the strikes of the torch if he had been the one alive.
	"Help! Heeelp! Found one of the rat things, it got Bellard!" the man bellowed at the top of his lungs, making Stilythe cringe. There goes his mission, the warband wasn't about to go back to their encampment without checking their backs. The only thing he could do now was survive the encounter. Getting to his feet, the man was trembling, perhaps as badly as Stilythe, if not worse. With an incoherent scream, the man advanced on the Skaven, swinging madly.
	The tight confines of the tower made any attempt to dodge impossible, Stilythe fending off the blows as best he could, but he had to give up ground, backing up as the blade sliced at him, getting shallow yet still painful cuts to arms, chest, and legs. If the man was a more seasoned fighter, Stilythe could have easily lost a limb from a more dedicated strike, but that wasn't helping him now as he was forced to back up to the very edge of the tower.
	Girding his feet on the stone, the man stopped his flailing, steadying himself as he watched Stilythe. "G-got you now! For Bellard!" the man shouted as he raised his arm for a diagonal cut. Stilythe only had one option, and that was to go back, over the edge with a terrfied squeak.
	Bellowing in triumph, assured that he had won, the man put his weight into the strike as Stilythe fell, the rat feeling momentary weightlessness as his body was past the edge of the tower, Morrslieb shining above. Then the harsh jerk as his tail wrapped around the man's boot.
	"Gwah- oh fuck!" the man exclaimed as his foot was now over the edge, dropping his sword as he tried to pitch himself back and grab a hold of something, anything to keep himself from going over, his fingers finding purchase on the ledge of the tower floor.
	Swinging by his tail beneath the man, Stilythe exhaled in utter relief. He wasn't entirely sure if the man would have caught himself. The Great Horned Rat must be looking out for him he thought, though he wouldn't dwell on his good fortune too long, he was still hanging on to a human that could lose his grip at any moment. With a strained grunt, he curled up, digging his paws into the man's legs and receiving a tirade of curses and kicking from those legs, the man shouting for him to let go. No chance, thought Stilythe as he kept scrambling up, avoiding those legs, grabbing onto the man's back, then the reassuring stone of the tower as he went up.
	Safely back on the stone tower floor, Stilythe saw the man now started to pull himself up now that he didn't have a large rat hanging from him. There was no way he'd allow him the chance to attack again. Lashing out with a footpaw, he knocked the man back over the ledge and into open air, screaming all the way, until the dull wet thud of impact on the roof of the building below, his corpse illuminated besides the torch that had been dropped.
	Getting a moment to catch his breath, Stilythe looked up, and as he had feared, the lights of the torches were now getting closer. The man had almost made as much noise as a screaming bell. He wished had a screaming bell, that would have been extremely useful now. He could also wish for an attending grey seer to work the bell and hex the humans, so he left behind the wishful thinking for something more pratical. He had a few minutes before the closest one could get into the building, just enough time for him to pick up his crossbow and load it before making for the stairs. Stepping near the dead man's body, he paused. He had enough time for a quick pat down, he needed something, anything that could replace the daggers that were stolen, he could always pick up the mace further down the stairs if he found nothing else. Bandages to stop the bleeding would also be needed, lest the humans track him by following a blood trail. While he hadn't been badly wounded or leave large splotches on the ground, it was still going to needed.
	As Stilythe shifted Bellard's body after it had been tossed to the side when the other human had to push it off, he noticed a sparkle on the man's hands. Pausing for a moment, he raised a hand up, and to his surprise, he saw an extremely thick glove with faint traces of warpstone on the inside of the hand. Warpstone was was as valuable to humans as it was dangerous, touching what was essentially raw magic made physical had a chance of heavily mutating any that touched it, man or beast. Not that it mattered to some beings, their brains so heavily tainted by the forces of Chaos that they welcomed such mutations, but this human at least had the sense to try and protect himself from its effects, though even with those thick gloves, there was no guarentees with warpstone.
	His mind working fast, Stilythe put on a pair of gloves of his own, now realizing that somewhere in the man's possession was a piece of warpstone, blindly reaching into pouches without protection was less of a good prospect. While Skaven were naturally resistant to being mutated by its touch, and grey seers even inhaling it in powdered form to enhance their abilities, such resistance was only good up to a point, it protected them as much as a well prepared human. Rifling through the man's pack, he opened it up to find what he had been hoping for. Nestled among the contents were hunks of warpstone, its glow lighting up everything else within the pack.
	There wasn't a particularly large amounts, but large enough that it was probably worth the trouble of killing those humans even if they hadn't been lured up to find him. It would figure that some greedy human that oft times split from his group to do a bit of looting would have amassed a few pieces during their search. While escape was still Stilythe's primary concern, picking up an valuable piece of loot along the way sounded like good compensation for all the trouble. Reaching out with some hesitancy, Stilythe's gloved paws wrapped around the warpstone.
	A shock ran through the Skaven's body, his fur standing on end, his tail lashing for a brief second as a strange sensation washed over him. The first touch of any contact with warpstone generally comes with a surprise, some minor, some major, sometimes nothing happens at all. Carefully opening his eyes, he glaced around his body and was relieved not to find a second head staring at him. If anything, he didn't feel anything different. Given a bit of thought, he might consider a second tail a boon, its usefulness in pulling off more elaborate assassination tricks acceptable to him. All he felt was a warming sensation, which he supposed was a mild enough effect for the payout it would give him.
	With the warpstone secured in a pouch, Stilythe set to the business of surviving to actually make use of his newfound wealth. The man did have bandages and medicine in the event he or someone else in his band were wounded, not that it would be helping either corpse now as the Skaven pocketed what he could. A few coins, a compass, various random objects of sentimental worth, a strange medal and ribbon that humans found worth in, dried food rations that Stilythe would be eating as soon as he got to safety, and a map. Out of everything in that pack beyond the warpstone and bandages, the map caught his attention the most. Most personal maps tended to be hit or miss, but since this belonged to someone on a search party, Stilythe's mind could only hope it contained something useful as he pocketed it.
	Rapidly wrapping the bandages around his wounds that he'd have to take time to reapply them properly later, he leapt down the stairs as fast as he could, having spent enough time as he dared in the building. Passing the areas where he'd laid those traps, he could see that they had been purposefully disarmed, not simply tripped and failing to work. Going the opposite way of the incoming humans was an option, but a bad one, it would leave him isolated from the Skaven that were coming, and once the humans realized he wasn't in the tower, they'd spread out to look for him. The one advantage that he had was that he knew which streets the humans were using to reach him, he could slip through the net and back to the dubious safety of his fellow Skaven. With the glow of torches spreading down the streets, he dived into an alley, scurrying into the dark.
	Several tense minutes passed as he heard the shouts and running feet of humans rush past, stopping in blind alleys for a few seconds, waiting until he was certain they were out of line of sight, then dashing to the next piece of cover as the various search parties linked up with one another and into a solid warband. Upon hearing a shout from the top of the tower he had been staying not so long ago, alerting the other humans that they found the bodies, he now had the added hurdle of keeping out of sight of the tower. At the very least he had firsthand knowledge of what could be seen from that position, altering his course to keep from those areas.
	Feeling relatively sure that he'd lost any pursuers, Stilythe let his body recover, his wounds screaming at him for better attention. Unwrapping the bandages to apply the medicine, he grit his teeth at the stinging sensation, only to breath out once a numbing sensation replaced it. It would seem the human he killed, beyond having better quality armor and gear than the usual man-thing, had opted to go for medicine that actually dulled pain. Going over the scene in his head, he figured he must have gotten some kind of high ranking figure in the enemy warband. Most likely not the leader, he would have been in one of the larger groups, but probably one of the leuitenants or a right hand man. That thought made Stilythe curious about the map he had pilfered, leading him to take it out and opening it up for a better look, and as his red eyes cast over the parchment and lines, he felt his heart racing. It was a comprehensive map of where the human warband had scouted, marking places they had already searched, and more importantly, where their own encampment was centered. 
	Now able to return to his own warband without having to fear Knaid pointing the finger at him and accusing him of botching the job, he headed for the designated rally point. As he walked, he noticed that the warming sensation only seemed to be growing what with body, now causing some concern. Would he be bursting into flame? What was the warpstone doing to him? Whatever it had done, it was too late to worry now.
	Rounding the corner of a street, he could see the delapidated building where the rally point had been designated, and in the depths of the darkness, the eyes of his fellow Skaven as they kept a look out for others that approached. Checking that he hadn't been followed, he dashed into the building to find that a good portion of their warband had already gathered, as well as their Nightleader glaring daggers at him.
	"What in the Great Horned Rat's name did you do?!" Obsciven screeched at him, "We can see man-things on the tower were you were posted, they're searching the area now, they'll be much harder to sneak-stab! They know we're here, they won't be going back to their camp without look-seeing for us."All the while the Nightleader was shouting at him, Stilythe could see Knaid grinning among the pack. He had no doubts that while Knaid would have preferred that he had died, being able to witness his rival getting torn into by their superior with no evidence of his sabotage came a close second, effectively securing that any ascension in the ranks only left him as a viable candidate. At this point Stilythe would have loved to turn and grinned back at Knaid as he was about to wipe that grin off his muzzle, but he had to look seriously at Obsciven to keep up some sense of professionalsm.
	"Don't need to follow them, I got this," Stilythe said as he presented the map. Obsciven snatched it out of his paws, his eyes scanning over it before he took out his own map after a minute of examination, cross referencing landmarks.
	"... is this accurate?" Obsciven ask Stilythe, somewhat convinced of its authenticity, if still mildly skeptical.
	"Why wouldn't it? The man-things I killed didn't seem to want to lose it," Stilythe replied. He may as well embellish that it was his idea to kill them and take a critically important piece of information rather than it being a random accident as Knaid had set it up to look like. Eliminating two humans would certainly be a bragging point for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Knaid had lost that smirk, now replaced by faint puzzlement.
	"Killed two man-things? Hmm... change of plans. Once all have arrived, we move, quick-fast. Go around the man-things as they search where we aren't, go to where they camp. They won't be going further here, not with two dead and no idea where the killer went, they will want to group up, make sure they don't get picked to pieces, head back home and get more people if they want to try again. They won't get the chance. Sneak into their camp while most of their people are away, kill the guards here, here, and here," he said as he pointed out the human encampment, now that they knew what was considered theirs. "Get into the camp, kill-kill anything you find, take-steal anything you can carry. Leave traps for them as they come back, then kill the rest when they arrive."
	As far as plans went, it went rather smoothly. Stilythe has to contend with his injuries as they executed it, but such pain was acceptable as he glanced every so often at Knaid when they crept through the human camp, slicing the throats of wary sentries and sleeping men alike, his rival having realized that rather than crippling Stilythe's prospects, he'd given him a chance to show he could best two humans in combat, retrieve critical information, and get away without a trail. Stilythe doubted the Nightleader was thrilled about going off script, but upon locating the stash holding material, food, weapons, and most importantly, warpstone, such irriations would be long forgotten when Obsciven reported a masterful success to their superiors. Obsciven would doubtless claim that it was all his plan and hoard the credit, but Stilythe could imagine that their leaders would see through the bluff and bluster and reward the most cruicial of Skaven to the success of the mission. That was his hope anyway.
	In the end, Stilythe racked up two more kills and an assist thanks to his crossbow, pelting their foes from the shadows, the raid resulting in whatever human survivors running deeper into the city and towards the merciless hands of whatever they encountered, if they didn't trip on a trap on the way out. Those that died were quickly consumed by the Skaven in their black hunger. The haul was sizeable, enough that Obsciven was beaming as they used what carts the humans had to quickly transport their prizes back after sending out scouts to ensure its safe journey, the spoils to be divvied up once they were in safer territory.
	Walking beside the rolling carts as the more junior members of their party had to pull them, Stilythe was nervously twitching. The warmth had stopped spreading through his body, but instead became localized. Namely, in his loins, the Skaven walking with an ever so slight limp. He tried to ignore the distraction at first, then actively trying to will it away, such distractions could be fatal in the field, but if anything the sensation only grew worse as they arrived back at their camp.
	Separating from the group as they were now off mission and were free to do whatever suited them, Stilythe considered his options, his rathood throbbing in his garments for attention. The first thing that came to mind were the usual breeders, but that ran into complications. Their breeders in the city had been stricken with a disease, namely a sexually transmitted one, those afflicted suffering itching, rashes, painful emissions, and a variety of other symptions that he didn't care to recall. Having those kinds of symptoms while on a mission that required complete silence and focus was not the best of situations. There were many that subscribed to the theory that the disease was a manufactured one courtesy of Clan Pestilens, in an effort to weaken a rival clan in subtle ways.
	Clan Pestilens denied the accusations very strongly, proclaiming their innocence while pointing out that Clan Eshin had no evidence that they spread it or that they made it. They then noted that since Clan Eshin didn't have the kind of expertise to determine anything about the disease, they could offer their services in studying and curing it. For a price, of course. There was no word about whether the various Eshin warlords would take up the offer or just wait for the disease to take it course. 
	Any Eshin breeders that weren't infected were treated with extra care, the warlords hoarding access to them jealously, and since trying to sate his urges with an infected one would only result in worse down the line, Stilythe was out of luck there. Thoughts drifted to the random slave rats that might be found, but it ran into the same problems as the breeders, and worse, while the breeders would visibly show symptoms, the slaves would do their utmost to hide their own, not wanting to present weakness that might get them either isolated or culled by their fellow slaverats. It would be a gamble that Stilythe was not willing to take.
	Trudging back to his room, Stilythe was too frustrated to think of any other alternatives and was resigned to trying to sort out the issue by himself. Even after trading in the raw warpstone for somewhat less reactive warpstone tokens, the sensation failed to pass, and he could only hope that his paw could get rid of the gnawing desire. The thought that this might be permanent was something he didn't want to dwell on either.
	Entering his room, Stilythe began tossing his gear off and into a corner, securing the door behind him before he flopped down onto the bed. Now away from the prying eyes of others that might take advantage of him while he was 'distracted', he stared down his belly and at the redish pink rat shaft that had stubbornly remained hard. Grasping his shaft, he let out a soft squeak as it quivered in his paw, feeling far more sensitive than any time in his memory. That sealed his decision of not risking getting the disease, this extra sensitivity along with the discomfort would be horrific.
	At first, he rapidly pumped his cock to get rid of the desire as quick as he could, but as the heightened sensitivity sent ripples of pleasure into him, he slowed to a more measured pace. The initial frustration had been overcome, and with no missions likely to be assigned for the night, he could afford to draw things out. Cupping his balls in one paw while stroking from base to tip with the other, the Skaven assassin savored a moment of pleasure to make up for the pain and terror that he had endured scant moments ago.
	Stroke after enjoyable stroke left his paw covered in pre, Stilythe sighing out as he reclined on his bed, his heart beating faster as time went on, only for a soft, sutble noise to make it almost freeze. The sound of a door lock being shifted out of place, then of a series of his trap wires getting drawn taut, then cut in quick succession.
	All thoughts of his perdicament were lost as he scrambled over to his pile of clothes and equipment, bringing his crossbow to bear. He would have rather had his knives, the room was too small, one shot was all he was going to get, and as the door swung into the room, he aimed his sights at the opening. Rather than a figure stepping in though, a spherical object was tossed at the door frame, bouncing into the room, and to Stilythe's horror, it had a fuse.
	Aiming at the rolling sphere, he took a deep breath as he had to make a shot that was closer to the edge of death than even what he had endured in the tower, pointing at that sparking wick as he forced his paw to still from shaking, only to squeeze the trigger when he knew he couldn't wait any more. With a sharp 'twack' of his crossbow arm, the bolt flew through the air and directly at the sphere, striking the wick. To his amazement, the fuze had been hit in the middle, fraying the lit end apart to fizzle out.
	Stilythe's relief was short lived as he saw a muzzle poking into his room, equally amazed at the shot. Knaid's. The sound of the crossbow, then the cessation of the sizzling noise had made him look in to see what had happened to account for the lack of a boom. For a brief moment, the two Skaven looked at one another, Knaid with the flint sparker still in his paw, Stilythe in the nude with his crossbow and a raging erection that had failed to go down even after such a harrowing experience. It was Knaid that broke the moment of shock, letting out a screech of fury and rage as he let go of the sparker and drew knives, barreling into the room as fast as he could and directly at his opponent.
	"Lucky! Twice lucky! Won't be a third time!" Knaid screamed at him, blades slicing towards Stilythe who dodged and blocked the strikes with his crossbow, only able to use it as a makeshift shield and bludgeoning object. Stilythe did his utmost to avoid those knives, there was no telling what poisons Knaid had coated on them, and he knew their rivalry had come to a head.
	"Die-die! Just die! Why isn't killing you once with a brilliant trap enough?!" Knaid railed against Stilythe. Rage had taken Knaid fully, his blows wild, allowing Stilythe to dodge most and intercept the rest, but while Stilythe could batter and bruise Knaid with his crossbow when opportunities arose, he had to do everything in his power to avoid even a single cut, and fighting with a hard on as another exposed point made the experience even more daunting.
	"Maybe you just don't know I'm better than you!" Stilythe shouted back, doing what he could to strike at the paws and head. If he could disorient Knaid or knock one of the knives out of his paws and grab it, they would be on even footing, but Knaid wasn't an easy foe to finish. They were both nightrunners, both had been trained in the same manner, only the one who had taken it in more and developed their own natural skills along with it would survive the night as they scurried across the room, locked in combat.
	Intercepting a dual cut towards his neck with his crossbow, Stilythe attempted to counter with a blow from the butt of the stock, only for Knaid to duck underneath and lash out with a foot aimed square at Stilythe's groin. Stilythe backpedaled to avoid the strike, his erection becoming a clear hinderance, only to feel a bump at the back of his legs as he had just dodged back onto the chest at the foot of his bed, and unable to stop his momentum, fell back onto his bed.
	With a screech of what he assumed was victory, Knaid sprang into the air and lunged at Stilythe's prone form, knife point directed at his chest. While Knaid only needed a scratch to see Stilythe die, it was far better to inflict a mortal wound outright than risk his rival still moving about for several more minutes and have a chance to kill him back before he succumbed. Rolling to the side, Stilythe saw the blade sink into the bed, shaving off a bit of brown fur as he rolled, then reached up with an paw to pin Knaid's arm onto the bed, his other paw hammering at the other Skaven with unaimed blows and getting squeaks of pain from his rival with each hit.
	Realizing an arm was locked down, Knaid attempted a stab with his still free paw, barely blocked by Stilythe's crossbow as it wedged into the space between the metal arm and the wooden stock. The blade tip was still free, pointed at Stilythe as he desperately tried to push it away while Knaid did what he could to push his weight onto the knife arm, edging it closer toward his rival.
	"It should be mine! The warlord was so happy-pleased by things that he's going to have Obsciven sent for gutter runner training! They're going to need someone to replace him, and it should be me, not stupid-dumb you! Die-die!" Knaid shouted at Stiythe, making his ears pull back from the volume.
	Stilythe gulped in air as he kept breathing, kept fighting to survive as he looked for any opening rather than keeep up with Knaid's ranting, the current situation not looking as if it would have any means to provide him a quick victory, Knaid still had the advantage despite having one paw pinned. Looking around, Stilythe spied his stolen knives hanging from Knaid's belt, and saw that them as his only chance. Snaking his tail between his legs, Stilythe reached for those knives, the appendage coiling to grap one of the knife handles.
	Feeling something brush against his chest, Knaid risked a glance downward to see the tail, an irriated hiss escaping his maw as he twisted his hips, now having to play keep away. Yet he still did his utmost to close the distance between his knifetip and Stilythe's chest, bit by bit it came closer. Desperation gripped Stilythe as his tail kept reaching for those knives, his tail occasionally brushing a handle, only for it to slip away before he could fully coil around it, and as Knaid's tail came up to try and block those attempts, it only became more difficult.
	With a final surge of fear and survival instinct, Stilythe's tail dived towards the knives, battering Knaid's out of the way, and as he felt the leather straps, a cold chill coursed through him, thinking Knaid must have taken them from their sheath with his own tail and was in perfect position to use it to gut him. Then he felt Knaid's tail slap against his, reaching those empty sheaths as well. From what Stilythe could see, the expectation of seeing Knaid's grin of victory was met with an expression of puzzlement, then fear equal to Stilythe's as they both had the same thought. Where had those knives gone?
	Still looking at one another, Stilythe saw a small paw reach over the edge of the bed from underneath, tucking a blade to Knaid's throat, then pulled, getting startled squeak from Knaid that was cut short. The pressure from Knaid's knife stopped as he reached for his throat in a bid to stop the bleeding, the knife clattering onto the bed. Stilythe took no chances, letting go of his crossbow to pick up the fallen blade and stick it directly into Knaid's chest, twisting to maximize the damage and shock before trying to pulling it out, as he now had some other unknown intruder in his room. As his blade withdrew, he saw the tip of a second knife come out of Knaid's chest, somewhat too close for comfort as Stilythe edged back. One look at Knaid's face was all he needed to know the Skaven was dead, or so badly in shock that he was soon to be dead. Between the tabbings and the poison
	"Who's there?!" Stilythe demanded, jumping back from the bed, then leaning to the side to get a look around Knaid's body as he bled to death on the bed.
	"Oh, now you want to know my name." Standing up from behind the bed, he saw a young Skaven wipe off his daggers on Knaid's fur. It took Stilythe to realize that it was the same one that had been living outside in the hallway. As Stilythe kept his grip on Knaid's knife, the younger Skaven walked around the bed. "Hey, that any way to treat someone who you owe a favor?"
	"Favor? Hey, I had Knaid, was just about to slice-cut him," Stilythe retorted.
	"Maybe, but you didn't get him, I did," the young Skaven replied. Before anything more could be said, the sounds of many paws coming running down the hall drew their attention. Standing at the door was Obsciven, his warplock pistol out and scanning the room.
	"What is this? Much explaining needs to be done here," he rasped with annoyance.
	"It was Knaid. Tried to come into my room, explode me with a bomb, then tried to murder-stab me when that failed," Stilythe said.
	Obsciven glanced from Stilythe to the younger Skaven, "That right-right?"
	Feeling somewhat nervous now, he wondered what would be said. Would he concoct some kind of lie that might discredit him or get him killed? He still had no idea why the smaller rat had killed Knaid, and worryingly, how did he even get in the room? Even as distracted as he was during the fight, he hadn't heard anything else come in. It was then that he noticed that his chest was open, and he was extremely certain that he had tripped over it while it was still closed.
	"Yes-yes, Knaid tried to kill Stilythe. Left his back open," the young Skaven affirmed, lightly raising and lowering the knives he used for the deed.
	Looking the scene over as a small cadre of sycophants awaited outside in the hall, Obsciven holstered his weapon. "Looks like what you said is true to me. Bomb on the ground, and Knaid is in Stilythe's room. Not my problem for long anyway, new-fresh nightleader can sort it out." With his decision made, Obsciven left the room, his cronies following after him.
	The crisis relatively over, Stilythe looked back at the young Skaven, the last problem he had to deal with. Or so he thought as he felt an aching throb from his loins. Glancing down, he could only express growing irritation that despite the life and death struggle, his cock still demanded attention, and after being delayed for a bit longer, the interruption of his masturbation had made the desire to sate it all the worse. He had to postpone it for a tiny bit longer though as he glared at the Skaven that was glaring right back at him.
	"Still haven't answered. Why did you kill-kill Knaid? And what were you doing hiding in my chest? Also, what is your name?" Stilythe asked.
	"If you had listened earlier, my name is Shrevs. As for why... why do you think?"
	"... you were waiting to kill-kill me in my sleep." It was the most obvious answer Stilythe could come up with, and in general, it was a safe assumption with anyone in Skavendom.
	Shrevs shrugged, "Wanted to kill-kill a nightrunner. Didn't matter if it was you or Knaid. Better chance of me getting that position when one of you are dead. He's dead, you're not. Got what I wanted."
	"Why slice-cut Knaid's throat then? Why not wait for me to kill him first? Still would be an opening then," Stilythe pointed out. The notion that Knaid would have killed him instead and achieved the same end for Shrevs was ridiculous.
	"Because the scum-muncher tried to explode me too," Shrevs said as he knelt next to the sphere, very carefully cutting the fuze as a tiny part of it was still smoldering, though not actively burning. "Saw it bounce-spin into the room from the chest key hole."
	It was completely out of reason to expect Knaid would have known Shrevs was hiding in the room as well, but any attack on a Skaven's person was a grudge to be settled, even an unintentional one. Shrevs was more fortunate than most Skaven that he could get his payback immediately and without reprisal.
	"So if Knaid didn't try to blow-boom the room, you would have tried to kill-kill me," Stilythe said, not too enthused at Shrevs' plan.
	"But I didn't. And better, I helped save you. You owe me," Shrevs said as he picked up the bomb, "Think I'll keep this as part of repaying the favor, yes-yes. Ooh, not an exploding bomb, fire bomb. He wanted to burn us."
	Stilythe wcould see the reasons running through his head. Knaid had tried to be clever, the firebomb was his best option as it would burn any evidence of his handling of it, while giving him the ability to pitch it into the room without risking his own hide. A bog standard jar of oil and flaming cloth wouldn't coat the entire room, bouncing it off the door frame wouldn't be viable since it would break on impact compared to the firebomb, and trying to aim it before tossing would have risked getting shot by the crossbow, as there was no way to mask the sound of the lock and traps being disabled. Knaid just didn't account for Stilythe's combination of skill and luck.
	It was the thought about the traps though that annoyed Stilythe though. Shrevs had to have gotten into the room by disarming the traps, then rearming them before hiding in the chest. While he could have slightly altered the trap so that it might trigger when Stilythe disarmed it himself, there was also a good chance he would have noticed the alterations and have been tipped off that way. That meant some young pipsqueak had completely disarmed his usual security measures and if not for Knaid's intervention, he'd have been the one with his throat slit. He was going to have to redo the whole thing, having realized that the reason Shrevs had been staring at him from the corner earlier was to observe how he disarmed them.
	Shrevs noticed Stilythe staring death at him, the young Skaven staring back. "It worked out, yes-yes? You don't need to worry about him anymore, I get to be a Nightrunner. Don't need to worry about me too."
	"And why not?" Stilythe said, still wary of Shrevs.
	"You're most likely to become the new Nightleader, yes? Heard what happened, take-steal everything in man-thing camp because you kill-kill two of them on your own and got their map. Saw you go to trade in warpstone so went to hide here. Knaid," he said as he nudged the body, now very sure he was dead, "was obvious he wanted you dead. I figure I kill-kill you, he likes me better, and won't care about me breaking the rules, ignore that. Instead, Knaid dead. Warlord won't make me Nightleader, not that fast, so next best thing, get you to owe me."
	Stilythe could see the line of reasoning there now. So long as Shrevs had his favor compared to the other Nightrunners that would be gunning for his position at some point, he could at least in a small measure trust that Shrevs would be loyal. If he died, Shrevs' chances of being the next Nightleader became exceptionally slim as the more tenured members of the warband would have better chances as they had amassed more resources and warptokens. It was in Shrevs' interest to keep him alive now, so long as he gave him preferential treatment.
	"How about this? As a sign of my... favor, you get to take Knaid's room and half of what's in it," Stilythe offered.
	"Obsciven's room, since he's leaving, and three forths of Knaid's stuff," Shrevs countered.
	"I'm keeping Obsciven's room," Stilythe said immediately, letting some newly minted Nightrunner take the Nightleader's former room could be taken as a sign of weakness to the other Nightrunners. "Two thirds of his stuff and your own slave."
	"Deal," Shrevs grinned, having just gone from a clan rat with almost nothing to his name to one of the better equipped Nightrunner trainees in a warband. He'd want more eventually, but Stilythe figured he was going to have plenty of warpstone tokens coming his way now that he was Nightleader, and by the time Shrevs had enough of a base of power to want the position, Stilythe expected to be heading off for Gutterrunner training. Also having a Nightrunner that would inform him of any treachery in the ranks to keep his preferential treatment was an advantage, it wouldn't do for his benefactor to get killed and replaced by someone who owed him nothing. Though any Skaven that squealed on their fellows with decent enough evidence would also get a nice bonus, he would make sure to get that word out discretely.
	Going over to his bed, Stilythe looked at the body of his dead rival, his blood having seeped completely into the bedding. He'd have to replace the bedding, though while Obsciven was leaving, he'd still be using his room until that time, and smelling of Knaid's blood if he slept in it didn't appeal to him in any way. Hauling the corpse off and tucking it into a corner, he'd snack on it later, he had another biological urge that demanded his attention.
	"I'm also getting half of him," Shrevs piped up, "Hehe, and someone wishes they had a breeder right now, yes-yes?"
	Stilythe gave an annoyed glance at the ratling. "Wish, but can't. Guess you don't know the breeders have a sick-disease. And you know what, fine, have half," he said as his paw returned to his erection, too distracted to put up an argument anymore.
	"Ah. Was wondering why some of the older nightrunners gave me more of a kicking than usual," Shrevs said as he twirled the knife in his paws, his eyes now trailing from the corpse to Stilythe's cock.
	"Yes-yes, get out of here. Go see Knaid's room or something," Stilythe said as he wandered over to another part of the room, wanting to see anything else but Knaid as he jerked off. Rather than slinking off to see his new accomidations and maybe pocket a few items that wouldn't count towards his 'half' if Stilythe didn't know about them, Shrevs kept staring at his groin.
	"What are you starning at?" Stilythe said as his annoyance grew. While he didn't much care what the ratling saw, the habit of feeling vulnerable was still there.
	"That feels good-nice, right?" Shrevs asked, tilting his head as he took a step closer, making Stilythe make a step back. The ratling still had a knife in his paws.
	"Of course. What are you doing? And leave that knife here, that's my knife," Stilythe said.
	"Doesn't look like yours. Got it off him," Shrevs replied.
	"Still mine," Stilythe snarled, "Go on, get out of here!"
	"Make me," Shrevs said while playfully sticking his tongue out, knowing he had something of an upper hand in the situation. While Stilythe fully doubted that the ratling would try anything aggressive, he was starting to get the impression that having an underling that would irritate him like this was going to be a chore.
	As Stilythe opened his muzzle to spit some kind of insult at Shrevs, his eyes noticed something other than the knife, something that surprised him. The young ratling had a tenting of his trousers. "Looks-seems I'm not the only one who has problems," Stilythe grinned, the insult turning into a jab back at Shrevs.
	"How does it feel?" Shrevs asked, eliciting some confusion from Stilythe.
	"What, you haven't pawed-?"
	"I don't mean that! I've pawed," the ratling retorted. Skaven at a young age had their urges, though until they proved their worth, access to a breeder was nonexistant, so they had to fend for themselves. "I mean... what's it feel... to be bred?"
	The question threw Stilythe off for a moment, his paw slowing as he considered the question. From what he gathered from the slave rats, it was a mixed bag. Most resented being used like that, but a few seemed to enjoy the experience. They would still plot the demise of their unwanted partner for the violation, but they'd take pleasure where they could get it. "Uh... it's... I don't know. Never been bred, sometimes it's bad, sometime's it's nice?" he replied, the shock of the question lowering his normal hostile reply.
	"Sometimes it's nice? How?" Shrevs asked, the ratling's curiosity piqued.
	Stilythe's mind was now flying in different directions, his annoyance was fading to curiosity. The young Skaven was presenting questions he normally didn't consider, and more to the point, that the ratling was showing signs of being equally excited and intrigued by his cock was presenting even more questions. He realized that as the new Nightleader, he'd be in charge of the training and education of his pack, teaching things of a sexual nature to a ratling had never crossed his mind until now, all of his dreams involved ruling from atop a pile of warpstone while surrounded by underlings that fawned and feared him with a pack of breeders at his beck and call.
	"I just said I don't know," Stilythe replied, now wondering what Shrevs' was thinking, and where this conversation was going. There was a silence between them as they looked at one another, Stilythe looking at Shrevs as he seemed to be contemplating something. "Why are you asking?"
	Flipping the knife in his paw, Shrevs seemed unsure whether he should even say what would come next. "I want... to try. Being bred..."
	Stilythe had a small feeling that would be asked, even if other parts of him were still shocked that any Skaven would make that request. One of those parts that wasn't was his still aching erection, now slowly transforming his thoughts from wet, loose breeder folds to a much tighter, younger, and oddly willing ratling. The other parts were screaming at him, paranoia pounding at the gates that this had to be a ruse of some kind, but for all his cleverness he couldn't determine what other objective Shrevs had. "Breeding doesn't work that way. You can't make other rat-"
	"I know that! I'm young, not stupid-fool like you!" Shrevs snarled back, his anger overcoming his embarrassment, if only for a moment before he became subdued. "I got no chance getting a breeder. Don't... really feel like wanting one either. Not sure why. W-when I see other Skaven being bred-fucked though... I, I get this funny feeling when seeing males."
	Staring at the little ratling fidget, it suddenly clicked for Stilythe. The young Skaven was likely bursting with all the random hormones and things that only Clan Moulder would care about, though it was hard to say which of them was worse off right then. It was still odd to him that Shrevs was interested in males, and being bred to boot, but hormones made people do all sorts of things. Licking his lips, Stilythe at last thinking he had completely figured Shrevs out. If the ratling was so badly in need of sexual relief, same as him, then maybe he could use that. With that mental hurdle down and the screams of paranoia fading to confidence, he glanced around. "Sure-sure. Funny feeling huh? Can make that feeling better."
	"You saying yes?" Shrevs asked, himself rather surprised that Stilythe accepted, his knife flipping coming to a halt.
	"Yeah, alright. Nightleader, right? May as well lead-guide you," Stilythe replied.
	"Okay... we, we go to Knaid's room though. Your bed is a mess and I've seen what trap-snares he uses when he locks his door."
	Glancing at his bloody bed, Stilythe shrugged and waved to the door, "If you're the one disarming the trap-snares, go ahead."
	Walking out of Stilythe's room, Shrevs approached the door further down the hall, taking out a makeshift set of lockpicks and probes from a corner of the hall, Stilythe walking after him to watch. Watching the ratling work, he could see how Shrevs got into his room as deft paws worked the lock, he suspected that the young Skaven had spied upon the more advanced Nightrunners' training regimes. Watching those small paws, he could just imagine them performing subtle movements on his shaft, caressing him with dexterious ease as his thoughts drifted to what would happen once they were past the door.
	It took Shrevs a few minutes to unlock the door, then check the room for any further traps with Stilythe's assistance. It also provided them a chance to take stock of what they would split later so one couldn't cheat the other.
	Moving over to the bed, Stilythe wasn't impressed. The room was a mess, a table strewn with various potions, vials, and diagrams to one side, and a simple box to store the rest of Knaid's valuables, now theirs. The bed itself was barely a patch of hay with several thick blankets covering it, and whle Stilythe was used to the smell of many a Skaven packed together in close quarters, the stench of his now former rival on it repulsed him.
	"That's the last of the traps," Shrevs squeaked as he dropped his tools on the table, figuring that since the room was his, he would use it now. Looking over to Stilythe laying on the bed, slowly stroking his cock as he stared back, the ratling nervously twitched as he approached, still uncertain what he was getting into, even if he did ask for it. "So... how are we...? Doing this?"
	"Hmm? What do you mean how? I breed you, it's that simple," Stilythe said.
	"Nuh oh. No. Not that simple," Shrevs responded. "I want to make it good for me too, not just you. I'm not a slave rat where you breed and finish when you want."
	Stilythe softly hissed, the delays kept coming, he was half ready to prove Shrevs wrong, but the desire for a somewhat loyal subordinate was still in the back of his head. "Fine-fine, we... hmm... you... kneel on top of me? That way you can... sink on me. You can rise-sink when you want it to make you feel good." Stilythe suggested. It was a position he never tried before, trying that with a breeder would result in a crushed pelvis and not much movement on the breeder's part. It would be a learning experience for both of them.
	Considering it, Shrevs ear twitched as he pondered the suggestion, then drew a knife. Stilythe stiffed up, ready to lash out and kick the ratling, only for Shrevs to hold up a paw. "Hey, you said you wanted this back, right? How about another deal?"
	"What deal? Just say it!" Siltythe shouted, having another delay made him want to scream.
	"Easy. You don't hurt me, I don't hurt you," Shrevs said, "Still in?"
	Stilythe's whiskers twitched as he was liking this less and less. "I'm your Nightleader, you're supposed to do what I say."
	"Not yet. Shouldn't be that hard not to hurt me," Shrevs retorted.
	This was one of those moments where Stilythe could see how utterly inexperienced the ratling was. "It *will* hurt. At least, at first. I think. I'm not going to penetrate you only to get penetrated back."
	"Then make it hurt-pain less!" Shrevs squeaked back.
	Glancing over at the table, Stilythe looked at the bottles. "Any of those got oil inside?"
	Walking towards the table, Shrevs picked one up at a time to inspect the content and labels. "Here's a bottle."
	"Bring it over. And you're really, really sure it's oil? Not poison-venom?" Stilythe asked. He considered if Knaid was the sort to purposefully mislabel his bottles to throw off any thieves, but there have also been a lot of tales of a Skaven getting poisoned by his own mixture when he forgot which one he had mislabeled by being too clever for their own good.
	Popping the cork off, Shrevs brought it to his nose and took a sniff, his whiskers twitching as he judged the aroma. "Smells like... olives?"
	"Let me sniff-smell," Stilythe said as Shrevs walked back to the bed. Sure enough, his nose was met with the scent of olives. There were a few things that were dangerous that mimicked the smell, but they didn't have the same color or viscosity as the oil sloshed around in the bottle. "Okay... coat your paws with it."
	Slathering the oil onto his paws, Shrevs got the idea of what to do next. "So I just uh... grab-hold?"
	"Yes-yes, go on," Stilythe beckoned, his tail swaying in anticipation. Reaching out with a paw, Shrevs tentively grasped the pulsing Skaven cock, getting a hiss from Stilythe. "Ah! Chilly-cold!"
	"You told me to grab-hold!" Shrevs snapped back.
	Grumbling in annoyance, Stilythe took the chilly paws as best he could, the shock of something so cold against his heated member wearing off. "Just keep moving those paws..." he said as he laid his head back onto the bed to relax. Despite his demand, he felt no movement, prompting him to look back up and see Shrevs just staring at his paw and the rat cock he had latched onto.
	"... actually touching one..." Shrevs mumbled, his ears flush pink as he was absorbing the moment.
	"Less moving means less covered for later," Stilythe chimed in.
	For once, Shrevs didn't come back with a witty retort and started to move his oiled paw up and down the older Skaven's shaft, Stilythe's toes curling as his neglected member received some attention. That it was the attention of someone else besides himself was already a plus.
	Stroking Stilythe's cock from tip to base, Shrevs leaned in to sniff the other rodent's musk, then gave the tip a tentative lick, making Stilythe shiver as a drop of pre was given to the young Skaven's tongue. "Bleh..."
	"Bleh what?"
	"Tastes funny," Shrevs said as he wiped his tongue on his forearm.
	Stilythe shrugged as he just watched Shrevs continue his experimenting. As inexperienced as his younger partner was, that he had a willing partner at all was putting new thoughts into his head as Shrevs' paws kept stroking in a fumbling manner. Maybe this was going to be a one off thing or was this going to be something more long term? Having a young Skaven receptive to a good rut was sounding more and more appealing, especially with no clear time for when the breeders would be free of disease. After that though, would he still want to? Staring at that entranced face, of a ratling that wanted to be bred, it was a notion he was growing attached to. Why did he need to bother with a breeder and compete with a host of other Skaven seeking the same access when he had Shrevs. Sure he'd get a few litters in, but having Shrevs for the pleasure of it was a good alternative.
	"There, it's all coat-covered," Shrevs said. Stilythe couldn't help but notice that Shrevs was still stroking him and when he looked down, he could see a damp spot at the ratling's groin. The thought that he was appealing even to males stoked his ego. Noticing Stilythe's stare, Shrevs looked down and started to untie the knot keeping his twine belt on. Standing on the bed, Shrevs kept Stilythe's knife in his paw as he stared down at the other Skaven. Glancing at the blade, Stilythe's ears twitched, his paranoia creeping back onto him.
	"You... you breed me and it's... nice, and you don't make it more painful, I'll let give you the knife, got it?" Shrevs said.
	"As long as you don't cut-slash me," Stilythe said, though he was having second, third, and fourth thoughts about the arrangment, it wasn't as if he could retaliate if Shrevs found his performance underwhelming. Each one of those objections was overruled by his instintual need to mate and by his cock which had been stroked, teased, denied, almost killed, almost poisoned, stroked again, and now oiled up and ready. If blue balls could kill, he was sure having Shrevs walk off would do it.
	Instead of answering, Shrevs pressed his free paw on Stilythe's chest, his fingers digging into the fur as he braced himself on the older Skaven as he shuffled into place, his tail grazing Stilythe's rod as he aligned himself. Tucking the knife sideways to Stilythe's chest with his other paw, Shrevs' eyes connected with his, red staring at crimson red.
	Watching with baited breath, Stilythe looked on at the young ratling as he slowly pushed back, getting a squeak from both of them, Stilythe from the tightest sensation around the tip of his cock he ever felt and Shrevs from the first time of being penetrated. Stilythe's hips started to thrust upwards and his paws reached to pull those hips down further, only for him to stop as he felt the blade press down onto his chest.
	"Slow. Down," Shrevs snarled, and Stilythe had to keep his urges in check. Shivering, the young Skaven was in a hunched position, unable to fully sit down, unable to stand upright without moving completely off. The initial stretching was something of a shock, and as he mustered the courage to slide the tiniest bit down, the filling sensation of something warm and thick entering his tailhole was so strange to him, somewhere between painful and unsettling. That strangeness beckoned to him, making his heart race as he took deep breaths between each attempt at taking more of the older Skaven's cock into him, a thousand throughts running through his head each time.
	For Stilythe, the sight was something he never expected to see, of a young Skaven ratling lowering himself onto his member, of another male wanting to be fucked, and enjoying it. The knife wasn't a welcome addition to the sight, but he took what he could. The sight of his cock pushing that tailring apart was more to his liking, as was the sight of a more youthful set of cock and balls hanging above, completely erect, to his ever expanding surprise, both at the thought he enjoyed the sight of another male's genitals and that the ratling was staying hard despite the discomfort visibly seen on his muzzle.
	Halfway down, Shrevs let out a soft whine, his toes digging into the bed and to Stilythe's alarm, the knife applying more pressure to his chest. "H-hey! No sneaky-stabbing!" he barked out.
	Startled, Shrevs froze up before he carefully rested the knife onto Stilythe's chest again. "Give me. A moment," he panted out.
	"It would be easier if you just threw away the knife," Stilythe said, to which Shrevs shook his head.
	"Keeping the knife. Keeps you still," Shrevs said as he had an expression of intense focus. The ratling's legs were tremblng, the strain of squatting at an awkward angle was making him less able to control how much he could push in. "... Stilythe. Hold onto me like you were about to earlier..."
	"I thought you wanted me to stay still," he said, unable to resist letting his annoyance be heard.
	"I know what I said. Just... hold and lower me. You go to fast-quick, you'll know," Shrevs said as he nudged the blade.
	Reaching out, his paws clasped the thinner hips of his young partner, the trembling in Shrevs' legs stopping as the strain was relieved. Now with some degree of control back in his paws, Stilythe enjoyed the experience more as he guided the ratling further down, feeling more and more of that tight warmth envelop his member with a chitter of pleasure. Every so often he felt the knife edge press at his chest, making him halt, but when the knife was drawn back, he kept pulling the ratling down, until at last he felt every last inch of Skaven cock enveloped by tight ratling rump.
	Letting out a strangled moan, all Shrevs could do was shiver and groan. Even with the generous amount of lubrication he applied earlier, it had not been an easy fit, he had been half ready to call it quits multiple times, but now he was glad to have endured. The pain from the stretching was ever present, but it wasn't agony, and what's more, when he felt most of Stilythe's cock push into him, he experienced a brief fluttering in his stomach, of pleasure he never experienced before. It hadn't overridden the pain by any measure, yet with most of the older Skaven's length inside, the pleasing, filling sensation made it bearable. That he had fitted another male's cock inside him was the sole thought running through his head now, silencing everything else as that thought somehow made him feel warm and fuzzy.
	Gently rubbing the fuzzy hips of his ratling lover, Stilythe looked up at Shrevs, sat fully on his groin, savoring the shared new sensation. His initial thoughts about how tight Shrevs were had been greatly expanded, the initial impression when the ratling fitted in the tip were surpassed as that virgin tailhole gripped his cock in a vice grip, the young Skaven unable to help himself as he constricted around the other male's member. The sight of a ratling whimpering in pleasure on top of him, the feeling of his cock fully inside the young male Skaven seered into his mind, he knew right then and there he had passed some kind of marker. He didn't know if it was the warpstone that had pushed him in that direction, random chance, or the Horned Rat's idea of a joke, he didn't care anymore, he was experiencing a thrill that made his whole body light up.
	Things were far from finished though, Stilythe began to move his small lover back up, only for Shrevs to press the knife to his chest again, far more insistently than before. "Hey! W-what are you doing?! You were squeal-squeaking about being too much in at once!"
	"I was liking that," Shrevs said as he rammed his hips back down, dual moans echoing through the room as he did. "I... I think I can see why other males can like this."
	"Yes-yes... same here," Stilythe said as he felt Shrevs' balls nestle on his belly, glancing down to see the ratling's cock fully hard and leaking. He wasn't sure what to feel about the leaking, but seeing the young Skaven's excitement spurred him on.
	After a minute of adjusting, Shrevs corkscrewed his hips, exploring just where he needed Stilythe's member to be to get the most pleasure, a sensation that the Nightrunner enjoyed just as much as his partner. Finding the best angle he could, Shrevs reached for the other's paw, guiding it from his hip towards his length. "H-hold me, okay? Better for me, better for you."
	The new experiences kept piling on as Stilythe gingerly grasped the smaller member, giving him a few strokes that got the smallest squeak from Shrevs, he'd never held another male's member before, same as the ratling. Getting a good grip on both Shrevs' hips and cock, Stilythe began to fuck the young Skaven, finding that the more pleasure he gave his lover, the faster he could ram into that tailhole without the knife's presence constantly reminding him to slow down.
	Each carnal moment was bliss for both Skaven, of rat flesh squeezed into an underage virgin tailhole, gasping and squeaking with each thrust that Stilythe gave Shrevs, their fur rustling against each other and making almost as much noise as the hay beneath them, and to Stilythe's astonishment, Shrevs began to squeak out his name.
	As Shrevs' discomfort lessened, Stilythe rocked into his lover with vigor, rodent balls hammering up at the base of the ratling's tail. More intimate thoughts popped into his imagination, of pinning the young Skaven beneath him, making the boy moan his name again and again in other sordid positions, making him sway as hard as a screaming bell and just as loud. Maybe later Shrevs' would be receptive to oral treatments, though he'd have to think of some kind of way to get the ratling to accept, since placing either that knife or teeth close to his genitals put a damper on that thought. From the way Shrevs shivered and squeaked in ecstasy as his member was constantly squeezed and how much pre leaked onto his paw, another thought snaked into his head, wondering just how pleasurable it was to be filled and jerked off at the same time, he wasn't entirely certain if the ratling was finding more pleasure than him.
	Would he want to find out? He couldn't ask another Skaven to do it, not without great risk to his own health. He'd have to let Shrevs take him, and that was another pang of strange emotions that flooded into him, of being bred by a Skaven that had just hit puberty. He wasn't sure if it could be called enticing, intriguing maybe. Those were thoughts for another day, here and now, he had a ratling to breed, and as he kept thrusting into that willing tailhole, he could feel his sack twitching, ready to fill the young Skaven in place of a breeder, marking the boy as his in a way, making him wish to fill him all the more.
	As Shrevs raised up, Stilythe felt something tighten around the base of his cock, making him squeal in surprise, his eyes shifting down to see that the ratling's tail had wrapped itself around the base. Each time Shrevs went up and down, his tail provided a second area of tightness, the young Skaven grinning as he had found a way to make his eventual Nightleader squeal.
	Wanting to wipe the smirk off his face, Stilythe squeezed the boy's cock in his paw, his fingertips brushing at the sensitive slit at the top, but the smirk remained. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the ratling down onto his cock. The sheer shock made Shrev's whine, then before he could react, Stilythe's paw left the boy's cock and gripping the arm holding the knife, pushing it back. Alarmed, Shrevs was about to twist and scramble away, to give Stilythe a good gutting, damn the consequences, only to let out a pitiful squeal of his own as he experienced something he didn't expect in turn. As his eyes fluttered back open, he saw Stilythe's head bobbing up and down over his crotch, the ratling's cock sinking into the older Skaven's muzzle, his eyes staring up in a smirk of his own when he heard the noise that was emitted. Clan Eshin prized dexterity and flexibility, he was just putting that training to another use. Letting go of Shrev's arm, Stilythe continued to service the young Skaven, returning to his hips to keep the ratling riding on his own member.
	Loosely holding the knife atop Stilythe's back, Shrevs was chittering and squeaking Stilythe's name as the combination of senasations brought him pleasures he had never known, their competition to one up each other leading to consequences neither imagined. Stilythe first taste of the ratling's cock was something he had to contemplate, the taste was strange, but inoffensive. He hadn't really thought about orally servicing his partner, hormones and a competitive spirit had made the decision for him. This was a night for new things he figured, he may as well find out how a ratling tasted.
	Hunched up to one another, Stilythe and Shrevs' moans echoed through the room, their musk long since drowning out Knaid's, the Skaven frantically mating as their pleasure began to peak, Stilythe's cock pulsing dangerously inside Shrevs, Shrevs' length leaking heavily into Stilythe's muzzle. The combination of inexperience and overstimulation was what decided who climaxed first, the ratling squeaking in ecstasy as he came, squeezing the shaft inside him as he experienced his first orgasm with another Skaven.
	Eyes going wide as Stilythe had a first of his own, tasting another male's seed, he rammed his hips up into the riding ratling, the tightness clamping down hard as he let loose his own pent up cum, filling the young Skaven as their hearts hammered in their chests. Shrevs' high pitched squeal died down as his orgasm rocked his body, his ears ringing and his body mostly limp, his tailhole and his paws, clenching on knife handle and the back of Stilythe's head the exceptions. For Stilythe, he could only let out a low whine around Shrevs' member, he had just fucked a ratling, swallowed his cum, and savored the experience. The whine sent shivers up Shrevs' oversensitivemember, making him tense up, squeezing a drop of cum out of the length stuffed inside him.
	Pulling his muzzle off Shrevs' shaft, Stilythe could only say one thing. "Bleh..."
	"Don't like... the taste... either?" Shrevs asked between exhaused pants.
	"Not sure yet."
	"I know... what I like now..." Shrevs' said as he gently ground his hips down.
	"This mean we.. can keep doing this?" Stilythe asked.
	"Keep giving me a reason you should be my Nightleader, then yes-yes," Shrevs' replied.
	Spending the next few minutes to savor the afterglow, Shrevs was the first to stir from their exhaustion. Half expecting to be told to leave so Shrevs could sleep without worrying about another Skaven in the room, Stilythe started to move as well, then froze as he saw the ratling raise the knife,  thinking that this was the moment of betrayal, despite all that had conspired before.
	A hollow *THUNK* was heard instead of a scream. Stilythe glanced nervously to the side as the blade had been jabbed into the wall by the bed.
	Yawning, Shrevs nestled on top of Stilythe, curling up on his chest, "You can get your knife in the morning..." he murmured as he settled in for the night.
	Between the shock of not getting brutally murdered and Shrevs seeming to be okay with his presence while he slept, Stilythe slowly began to relax, the adrenaline of a enthusiastic mating and perceived betrayal easing out to the exhaustion that came afterwards. Easing back into the bed, he stared at young Skaven snoozing on his chest. Potentially a rival later, maybe a deadly enemy, but right now, he was an asset, someone he could very slightly trust. Closing his eyes, Stilythe's dreams would have a new addition to them that he would welcome for as long as it lasted.