‘Master-master,’ the rat chittered nervously, ‘this… awkward-awkward… please don’t kill Snekch-snekch, just messenger see…. but uh… we found-found more greenies….’
And the little runt of a creature had. Borgut stood with his remaining boyz, their arms still ablaze from their ordeal through the gnawhole, and stared down at the harbour. Below them stood a factory of some kind, in the distance he could see orruks walking back and fro, in and out of the buildings. ‘Tell me what’s going on here,’ he directed the question at the rat in question, ‘before I shove that tail up your little mouth…’
The skaven looked about to his peers, and they promptly took a step back from him. ‘Well, see, huh….’
Borgut lay a foot on the creatures tail. ‘Right-right! Well, see, those orruks there, they are working see… but for skaven…’ the rat said, looking down at the ground and exueding a foul stench of fear.
‘Those there orruks are slaves!?’ Borgut bellowed at the rat. It feinted. ‘Damn dem foul rats! Let’s get him boyz! Grab them there guns, round up our own lovelies,’ he said, glaring at the rest of the skaven surrounding them, ‘and let’s take back what belongs to us!!’
