A Worriesome Brother
The Ikkilitian Tails
Chapter II: The Paws of Moulder
Part III: A Worriesome Brother

The crowd chittered in excitement as a massive, lean, muscular Rat Ogre ripped the still-beating heart of his Minotaur opponent and ate it, black blood spilling out onto the rough dirt on the floor and running down the ogre's chin. Roaring truimphantly, the Rat Ogre shoved the minotaur, whose eyes had already begun to glaze over, and knocked him to the ground. A savage fury and delight taking hold of the ogre, it kicked and bounced on and tore apart the flesh of his opponent, almost reducing the minotaur's creator to tears. It had been salvageable before, but after the Rat Ogre's orgy of destruction, it would never live again.

<<He/Ikkil/Your sibling creates/mutates/fleshmoulds powerful/strong/winning beasts/creatures/animals//mutations/creations/things>>.

Ikkilit smiled at the voice in his mind. <This is true. I do have eyes, you know>.

The voice's reply came back instantly. <<Do you now?>> Ikkilit waited for Tzeentch to say more, but nothing came. Slightly unnerved by his master's abruptness, the Skaven shook his head and stood up, walking away from his seat in the audience. Ikkil was on the arena floor, subduing his beast and easing it back into the communal pens, where it would be shipped back to his lab's pens.

As Ikkilit exited the arena, he heard a whisper of a word coming from his left. Turning his head, he saw a small hole at the bottom of the tunnel. Looking around, he saw that no other rat had yet left the arena, as they were waiting for the next match. Ikkilit had no interest in it, however... he had just wanted to see his brother's handiwork. And what he saw worried him.

Turning his attention back to te hole, Ikkilit saw that it was just about big enough for him to fit through. Crouching, he peered into the hole. As he had expected, it was more of a tunnel than a hole, and there was a faint flickering light at the other end. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, Ikkilit got on his hands and knees and began crawling through the tunnel.

He cast his magical sense in front of him, trying to see what was in the the room (he presumed it was a room) at the other side. He stopped crawling when his sense told him nothing. He probed the room, trying to find any possible obstructions to his magic, but there were none. His senses told him that there was a room... but nothing else.

He hesitated a moment longer, pulled back his magic, and kept going. He had a feeling that whatever was at the other end wouldn't (or couldn't) hurt him. Shortly thereafter, he emerged on the other side. The room was surprisingly large, and a small warpstone lamp in the ceiling above cast an eerie light in the room, obscuring the edges.

It was filled with countless boxes and cages, many of them broken. In the center, directly below the lamp, was an old, crumbling wooden table. At the other end sat Packlord Verminkin.

"Your hearing is very acute," he said. Ikkilit remained standing.

"To survive in Skavenblight, one's hearing must-must be." Verminkin just smiled. After a moment of silence, Ikkilit continued. "So why is it that-that you bring me here with your soft whispers, mighty Packlord?"

Verminkin smiled again. "Several reasons, dear Ikkilit... I want to talk. Pull up a chair-chair."

Looking around, Ikkilit found that there was a chair to his right.

It hadn't been there before.

Making sure to reveal nothing about his thoughts, Ikkilit sat. "And what-what is it you wish to speak of?"

The smile remained on the Packlord's face, but it acquired a more sinister feel. "Your brother, dear Ikkilit. And you."

The last thing that Ikkilit wanted to discuss right now was his brother. He had not yet thought his brother over, and was definitely not going to share his thoughts.

Verminkin continued on after a slight pause. "He has shown considerable advancement in the field of Mouldering in a very short-short span of time. His success is... worrying."

Ikkilit's feelings of distrust vanished instantly. He grinned openly. "I have found this to be true, too, mighty Packlord. He could easily slip out of control..."

The two Skaven huddled together under the flickering warpstone lamp, a scheme slowly taking shape in their minds.

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