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Snikrit Brownfang

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Snikrikt Brownfang

Snikrikt Brownfang was ready for power. He always knew he was ready for power, it was just a matter of biding his time. Waiting. Ready to pounce and take it from dead paws.

That is, until he actually had it. And now he didn’t know what he was supposed to even do with it…

 

The problem was, was that it just came all too quickly. He thought he’d stay in his lane a little longer, maybe back-stab his boss when the time was right. Order a couple of his old peers about before killing them off. Do that for awhile, then do it all over again. He had time, there wasn’t any rush. And then, without any warning at all, an entire day of stabbings, explosions, reality-warps, and a couple of disappearances had left him looking bewildered on the the Warpstone Throne of the Bloodvermin. Even the 13 throne-advisers and various slaves around him now were as confused and shocked as day-old pups.

 

But he also knew the looks on those that now grovelled in front of him. The look of trouble, the look of conniving and scheming. At the rate the day had been going, if he didn’t act soon, he’d be dead within the hour, let alone a day.

 

Frosting!’ He suddenly shouted to all those in front of him.

 

The vermin around him jumped and looked to each other in bewilderment and fear. One of them pushed another ahead, giving Snikrikt someone to focus on.

 

‘What-what master? What is… ‘frosting’?’ it said, cowering all the while.

 

‘Frosting will be my gift-gift to my Bloodvermin,’ he said, sweat beading down his back ‘all Bloodvermin will get gift-gift. It is sweet, and lovely! And we will get donuts, and cake, and muffins. And all of it will have frosting on it!!’ Hastily he added; ‘And only Snikrit is the one that knows where!’

 

There was not an understanding face in the whole room. Every single one was as absolutely perplexed as the rest.

 

‘It’s food-food…?’ he suggested, slowly wondering if someone would just blow his face off and be done with it right then and there.

 

Still nothing from the throne-room. A slave in the back coughed.

 

‘It’s pink food-food!’ Absolute chaos broke out as pure joy overrun the host. Guns were raised (and accidentally fired), staffs lifted high, knives rattled against shields, and warp-fire rung out against the walls.

 

And Snikrit had bought himself another day, another chance. Problem was, he still didn’t really know what to do with it….

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