FSE

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Knaugh looked up from the game, feeling cold and anxious. The worst thing about war was the waiting. In battles, you had the surge of adrenaline to carry you; after the battle you either felt the relief of surviving or no longer had any worries. But when you were waiting for something to happen, that usually entailed freezing your ass off in some nondescript field in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the same ugly faces you'd seen for months, repeatedly doing the same things to pass the time. Looking over at the shadows of the clouds overhead, he only barely heard Robbis whisper, "You didn't tell Commander Harman about me and his wife, did you?"

"No," Knaugh lied. He hadn't meant to, of course; that was the problem when you combined too much liquor and too much bile for a person in your vicinity. At the time, he'd wanted something hard to throw into the Commander's face. Knaugh sighed, realising that between Robbis and himself, they'd probably gotten them stuck on this stupid mission. When the entire Skaven army was bearing down upon you, you didn't waste time picking off a handful of raiders skulking about abandoned farmlands.

"Four queens," Nestor declared, "I win again." The dice didn't have queens, of course, but they'd already decided fours and fives counted as queens. Giving a quick glance at the faces of the dice, Knaugh agreed with the ruling. Turning his eyes upwards again, he started really looking at the others who'd been sent on this mission. It was a bit of an overkill - fifteen men had been sent after at most five of the rat-men - but it was probably better to be safe than sorry. Knaugh did notice an awful lot of people who had pissed off Harman recently. Perhaps it was less of a strategic manoeuvre than a way for possibly getting rid of some thorns in the commander's side, at least for a while?

"You're cheating!" Robbis retorted, grabbing Nestor's wrist as his hand reached out to pick up his winnings. Knaugh got pulled back into the game. Tempers were starting to wear thin, especially after one of the others came close to losing their leg in a well-hidden trap. They'd lost two of their number: the injured guy and one other to help him hobble back to base camp, while the rest of them carried on.

Nestor snorted, "You can talk, if the rumours about you and the Commander's wife are true."

"Guys," Knaugh pleaded, groaning inwardly, "can't we just play a nice, friendly game for fucking once?"

Before he could get an answer, Knaugh's question became moot: the scout they'd sent out in advance had returned, running up to the rest of the host, sweat dripping from his forehead. "I've found them," the scout reported, between gasps for air. Someone quickly brought him a water skin; he gulped down the contents gratefully. "I don't know what the fuck they're playing at, digging a hole in the middle of some field."

"Maybe there's treasure there?" someone suggested.

Another man joked, "Probably digging a hole for one of their ugly rat-bitches!"

"It's not far," the scout added, "we can probably get this all done in a few hours."

"Then let's get going," Robbis suggested. "Sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave this shit-hole."

It didn't take long for the men to get ready; success - nay, survival - could often depend on who moved between two places the fastest. Leaving behind the smouldering remnants of the campfires, the band of soldiers headed out. Knaugh felt relieved; he'd rather fight fifty Skaven by himself than hear Robbis and Nestor getting into yet another argument.

At first the pace was slow; the Skaven were not far, and they didn't want to alarm any of them ahead of time. Thirteen men moving as one tended to make a lot of noise, especially ones who were armoured and armed. Fortunately, they didn't have to go far, compared to how long the scout had been gone: if anything, he'd been too good at his job, going into areas where a small group would hide much easier, that when he did find them - smack in the middle of a field, sticking out like brown, mangy dog's bollocks - it was almost surprising.

The hole they'd dug was pretty deep; a quick discussion among the men later, and they decided to charge at the Skaven. The rat-men would need to scramble out of the hole - hopefully leaving behind whatever tools they'd been using, and what treasure, if any, they'd been looking for - and that should give them the advantage. "Rah!" Knaugh yelled, joining into the chorus of war-cries, and started running towards the Skaven. His heart pumped in his chest as he raced after his enemies.

As expected, the Skaven turned; looking surprised, they did what had been expected: dropping their tools, and scampering away. Instead of running towards the forest, the rat-men simply ran away from the advancing infantry soldiers, towards fields evacuated mid-way through harvesting hay for the coming winter. Huge piles of hay slumped dejectedly on the ground; straw was strewn about, crackling when the soldier's armoured feet stepped over them.

Surprisingly, the Skaven slowed down. "Have they tired themselves out already?" Knaugh wondered. He knew digging could be tiring work - he'd made enough latrines in his time to know this - but surely they'd keep moving, even if it meant crawling somewhere to hide. Alarm bells started triggering in his head; Knaugh glanced from side to side, expecting an ambushing horde to descend upon him, but there was nowhere for an army to hide themselves.

Flames suddenly shot out of the ground like magic, spreading across the hay-covered ground surprisingly quickly. Fire seemed to be everywhere, and in the initial panic, men started screaming. They stamped, as flames licked around their feet. Knaugh's nose sniffed, smoke filling his nostrils, as he looked at the edges of his plated boots: a black, sticky substance encircled the edges like mud. "Pitch," he realised grimly, quickly digging his boots through the dirt; if he couldn't wipe them off, at least he could cover it in dirt to keep it from catching alight.

A few seconds later, and things had settled down: none of the men were on fire, though they had been caught within a ring of burning pitch, and they quickly rallied together. Smoke was filling the air; Knaugh coughed, covering his face and squinting against the ash that was covering their armour and their bodies.

Huddling together, the soldiers rallied and quickly came up with a plan: gathering up as much straw as possible, they selected one point and dumped it into the flames, hoping to smother enough of the pitch to clear a path for them out of the circle. It was hot, throat-drying work; Knaugh felt his lips crack, the horrible ash irritating his lips. As he dumped his armful of hay onto the slowly-growing pile, he thought he heard something. Moving away, he collided with someone. "Did you hear that?" he asked, "Sounds like a spell."

"Whatever it is," someone - he never found out who - answered "we can't do anything about it now."

Knaugh felt uneasy, but he continued on. His whole body felt itchy now; he chalked it up to the sweat pouring out of him, sizzling in his armour. They needed to move quicker, or they were going to roast alive.

The call went up, and Knaugh was moving again, stumbling blindly towards the sounds of rasping men in armour jumping out of the fiery hell-trap that had ensnared them. Adrenalin coursed through his body as he leapt over the small ditch filled with pitch that had been dug around them. Instinctively, he drew his weapon, running at the shapes his bleary eyes told him were the most rodent-like of the silhouettes moving around.

Despite being overheated, desperate for air, and exhausted, the soldiers recovered surprisingly quickly. No longer motivated by duty or the promise of their salaries; now they wanted to gut the rats out of sheer revenge. Knaugh's heart pumped faster, swollen red eyes staring straight at the Skaven. There was five now, instead of four: one must have been here, waiting to set off the trap.

Overhead, clouds rolled in; it was almost as if fortune was smiling on the men, as rain raced across the sky, cooling them down and putting out the hot fire at the backs. The water invigorated them further, and after a short race - the Skaven were surprisingly bad at running away - the soldiers had them surrounded, encircled in a ring of blades.

Knaugh's eyes glanced from side to side: they'd managed to not lose anyone to the trap. Thirteen must have been a lucky number for them that day, as that many pairs of swollen red eyes stared thirsty for revenge at the rat-men in the centre. Looking at their captives, he noticed that the one who had set off the trap, was different from the others: where the others had brown fur, he had white, and lacked the metal collar around his neck. "Must be slaves," he thought, trying to ignore the almost-maddening itching of his skin. It made sense: they'd probably be expendable if something went wrong.

Despite having cornered their prey, the men didn't move for some time: holding out their weapons, they each looked towards each other for some kind of sign. At first, it seemed as though they were trying to recover their stamina, but after several moments of inaction, someone pointed out, "We should probably kill them."

Tired nods rippled around the ring of men: everyone agreed - they needed to get it done, and return home - but as the enemies were unarmed, it would have been dangerous to just march up to them en masse, swinging away. "I get the white one," Robbis stated, pointing his sword at the group of Skaven. The slaves had huddled about him, though Knaugh couldn't tell if that was out of fear or duty.

Nestor joked, "Is that what you said to the commander's wife?" Despite, or perhaps because, the soldiers were tired and angry, a few smoke-hoarse voices chuckled.

Not Robbis, however; turning attention to Nestor, he growled, "Do you want him? Maybe we can play dice to see who gets to kill him? Only nobody wants to play dice with you because you cheat!"

With the mirth gone from his voice, Nestor responded irritably, "Well, you would be the expert on cheating?"

It was as if Robbis and Nestor's animosity had spilled over, inciting the others into dredging up old scores. Arguments erupted over the smallest slights. Swords were waggled at one another, and men shouted at one another as the rain became heavier; it felt surprisingly warm as it pattered down on their armour, the droplets running all over their dried, sweat-stained, ash-coated bodies. The single-minded camaraderie they'd shared quickly evaporated, as the men fell into bickering with one another.

"None of this would've happened if you'd not opened your fat mouth!" Robbis snapped, pointing the tip of his blade at Knaugh, breaking him out of his surprise at what was happening. He'd stayed relatively quiet; someone needed to keep a clear head in case the Skaven took advantage of their wavering dedication, although that didn't seem to be happening either.

"I told you," Knaugh insisted, his face starting to ache "that I didn't say anything? Are you calling me a liar". Chalking it up to being nearly boiling to death in his armour, he scratched at the flaky skin around his swollen nose. "Why the fuck are you bringing that up?" Knaugh pointed out, trying to ignore his "friend" while still keeping an eye on their prisoners; of the thirteen soldier, only a handful were still doing that, while the rest spend their energy fighting each other instead. The idea started to anger him, and he felt his heart pumping faster. "Let's just kill these Skaven and go ba-"

Knaugh's voice caught in his throat as he looked at Robbis. The front of Robbis's leggings had somehow transformed from chain to leather bands, creepily merging in with the rest of the mail as it oozed outwards, and Robbis's face seemed to have physically contorted with rage after arguing, but that wasn't what disturbed Knaugh so much.

No, what had immediately caused Knaugh's blood to run cold was the fact Robbis's leggings had dropped - or been lowered - to show off his manhood. Though even that descriptor seemed wrong: the shaft was too long, too rigid; the balls were too swollen to be normal. Shaggy hair surrounded them, thickening visibly as Knaugh watched.

"Robbis!" Knaugh exclaimed, gesturing at the man, "Look at yourself! Something's happening to you!" Robbis's hand slowly lowered his sword, instead grabbing the long shaft that jutted out into the air. Instinctively, Knaugh sniffed, feeling a stirring in his own groin: what was that intoxicating aroma? It was faint - he sniffed again to check that he hadn't just imagined it - but it was certainly there.

"Where do you think-think you're going?" someone growled angrily. Having been forgotten allowed Nestor to get the drop on Robbis, startling both him and Knaugh. Nestor grabbed Robbis by the sword arm, his gnarled, exposed fingers clenching around the armoured flesh. At first, Knaugh had simply thought Nestor had removed his gauntlets, letting straps of cloth he'd worn underneath trail off his wrists. Something about that seemed wrong, however; but Knaugh was distracted when Nestor yelled out of a face that was more ugly and twisted than usual, "Oi! Come back 'ere and finish what you've started! Neek! I'll bet you hear that a lot, you wife-stealing bastard-bastard!"

"Guys, I don't think you..." Knaugh began, watching as the two started circling each other. He cut himself off as his nose twitched - again, something smelled really good - and he ran the tip of his tongue over the caps of his two elongated front teeth. Twisting his vision to the side briefly, he noticed quite a few others seemed to be acting strangely. Two men were wrestling, the plates of metal encasing their bodies sagging down around them. One looked nervously from side to side, swinging his sword about uncertainly, as his boots appeared to have swollen. Quite a few had faces that had twisted as they shouted at others, while others looked like they'd taken their armour off to inspect patches of soot-black fur that the seemed to grow as they watched.

Robbis and Nestor had wrestled each other to the ground, the metal plates increasingly corrupted into dark leather or sodden rags. They rolled into Knaugh, knocking him off his feet. Nestor's clawed arms grabbed at Robbis's body, rolling over the top of each other; Robbis managed to pin him down, sitting on his chest, thrusting his erect cock into his face, ooze trickling out of the end.

Picking himself up with a pained moan, Knaugh opened his stretched mouth, clicking his jaw. The enticing odour hung heavily in the air as dark skin bubbled out of his stretched nose, consuming the pale flesh underneath. Fur bristled about his short, but still growing muzzle as his expanding gums warped the spaces in between his teeth.

"It's a curse," Knaugh realised. His cock had immediately responded to the smell, a shiver of arousal passing through him; but he knew he needed to get away, or stop the magic. Shaking himself, he tried to avoid watching as his two comrades, faces still twisting into more rodent-like shapes, shifted from fighting to fucking. Nestor tossed his helmet - which still changed after he pulled it off, growing sharp metal spikes and altering to fit a Skaven's skull - to the ground. His bloodshot eyes tinged with green lust, the fur intermingling with the matted hair. Taking the tip of Robbis's rodent cock into his mouth, Nestor's changed hands began to stroke the rest of the shaft.

Potent musk rolled off of the other two magic-ensnared soldiers, clawing at each other's armour. Their muzzles were shorter than Knaugh's - he noticed, started by how quickly his own head was changing - but the musk seemed to be affecting them as well, as Knaugh saw the front plates protecting Robbis's groin collapse against him as rough, dirty fabric, only to rise again as his erection began to expand. Knaugh could almost smell it on them: the need to press their bare flesh against one another.

Anger coursed through him, as Knaugh clutched his sword; immediately, he felt an itching running through his arms, the metal at his elbows dissolving into nothing to reveal black fur bursting out. He turned his attention towards the white one. "What are you doing to us, coward mage-mage?" Knaugh snarled; unable to recognise the hoarse rattling in his voice, tongue fumbling over his words. The sides of his helmet sliced up his face; it would have drawn blood were it not for the thick bristles sprouting from the sides of his face, encroaching on the rest of the human skin.

"Strengthening our army as we weaken our enemies, stupid-stupid Manthing," the Skaven mage replied. As though simply hearing the words themselves enhanced the magic, Knaugh felt the skin on his ears turn almost leathery as they pulled out into wide triangles of flesh on either side of his face. "Let the spell-spell improve you! Feel the Horned One inside you! Neek! Let him delve into your deepest recesses! Get rid of your ugly-ugly Manthing parts! Make them better!"

Someone jumped on Knaugh's back: a strong, strap-covered arm reaching around his neck. Instinctively, Knaugh squeaked "Eek-eek!" and breathed in deeply, his fully Skaven nose filling with the musk oozing from his attacker's armpit as it grew in potency. Half-annoyed, half-aroused, he spun about, elbowing the mutating soldier in the chest. They looked at each other - Knaugh couldn't tell who his attacker had been before, so warped were his features - and growled, grabbing him by the arm, "Crazy blood-maggot, what the fuck are you doing?"

The rat-faced soldier grinned: the curse seemed to have worked quickly upon him, as there was very little human left. "Loosen-loosen up, stupid Manthing," the rat-headed soldier advised, grinning as he stroked himself and pawed at the one he'd bounded upon. Knaugh felt a flash of shame - how dare this fool be so weak! - and pushed him aside. He gripped tightly to his sword, the blade now etched in Skaven runes, the blade covered in nicks and signs of wear. The cowardly creature shrank back, thrashing his tail about as the curse pulled out another foot of the worm-like appendage as it writhed on the ground.

The creature's musk got to him; Knaugh groaned, feeling the pleasure as his cock lengthened, balls swelling with magically-corrupted seed. He dropped his weapon, breathing in deeply to let the pungent Skaven musk fill his mind. He hadn't been with a breeder - "No, woman" he corrected himself - in quite a while, and the pent-up desires weakened his resolve.

His body itched like crazy, as though thousands of bugs were crawling across his skin. The armour he wore was a mish-mash of styles: patches of chain next to thick leather, straps of cloth or rope holding the pieces on to his body. Disgusted by his armour, and his own weakness, he began to strip: "The spell must be working through the ash," he lied to himself, his claws making short work of the leather strap that now held the plate against the top of his large, rat-like head.

The other Skaven-to-be came up to him: he felt a cold, wet nose press up underneath his bloating sack, and heard a heavy breath sucking in quickly, releasing slowly. Knaugh reached down, caressing the growing pink spike that jutted out of his groin, raising up his arm to smell the musk pouring out of his pits. "Need a good fuck-fuck," he thought, getting off on his musk. Lusts overwhelmed him: he smelled so masculine, so dirty.

Something wet and warm wrapped around his tip: the transforming soldier below him eagerly tasted the juices dripping off of him. Knaugh couldn't help but chuckle; a horrible, raspy dry cough of a laugh, but nevertheless meaning to evoke pleasure. Breathing in heavily to refill his lungs, the air forced out of them as he fell, his head tingled.

Digging the yellowed claws that now grew out of his toes into the dirt, Knaugh glanced around as he grasped the head of the Skaven beneath him. Tightening a grip on his ears, he fucked his brother-in-arms in the face, spying on the others: it felt wicked to do so, which only caused his slick pole to pulse with pleasure even more.

Robbis and Nestor - he recognised them now from the hints of their musk as his nostrils twitched in that direction - seemed to be ready for a second round of rutting. Although their fur was already plastered in juices, Robbis was demonstrating his old love-making skills, sliding his shaft in and out of Nestor's hole, tightly gripping the other's tail as Nestor rutted the ground. Both of them chittered and squealed excitedly.

They weren't the only ones caught up in lust, neither was Knaugh the only one encouraged by what was taking place. Two, still with parts of their original armour on display, leaned up against each other, masturbating, their Skaven legs sprawled apart, letting their giant balls rest amongst the itchy straw. Others, closer to complete corruption, licked each other's holes, their furry bodies writhing against each other. One of the new black-furred Skaven had grabbed a couple of the slaves, pulling them into a three-way, a triangle of rat-men spearing one of the others in the mouth with their cock, sucking on the third.

Knaugh leaned back, breathing in heavily: the area was bathed in almost pure musk as the five Skaven had almost become eighteen, all of them aroused and eager to empty their swollen balls. Thrusting into the large rat muzzle, his claws gripping the furry sides of his face, holding onto the ears. His long penis couldn't fit into the muzzle entirely - it was far too long, even for the extra length afforded by the elongated jaws - but it still felt good, especially when the rat between his legs used his hand to squeeze the base. It felt good to thrust too, letting his heavy scrotum swing, wafting that heavy musk up into his sex partner; no doubt driving him wild.

The idea ensnared his mind: suddenly, Knaugh needed more - more of the musk - filling his nose - his mind - driving him over the edge. It pained him to release the head in his hand, pulling his cock out of that nice, warm hole, but he did. Sliding down on top of the other Skaven, Knaugh buried his nose into the armpit, his green eyes rolling up in his sockets. This was pure heaven, his jaw dropping open. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, nostrils snuffling over the warm, masculine Skaven body beneath him. He squeaked in excitement.

Licking at the black fur, Knaugh explored his nameless partner's body with his tongue. It tasted of ash and sweat, the former wasn't horrible, but it was the latter that Knaugh craved, crawling all over, working his way down the sloping furry torso, heading towards the head-swimming, ball-teasing centre of musk around his crotch.

As he moved around, Knaugh's cock left a sticky trail; excited juices trickled out of him as he tortured himself with need. The scent of the other Skaven was almost addictive, his ragged rat-hands shaking with need. Reaching the crotch nearly caused him to orgasm; Knaugh had to roll with his back on to the ground, breathing in heavily. It was too much for him: now he could barely think, idly stroking off as he cruised along on the musk-high.

Skaven, smelling even stronger as semen had spilt over themselves, crowded around Knaugh, fondling him. Grabbing a leg that strayed near his face, he plunged his muzzle into the foot; nose and tongue sliding along the dirty sole. It was a nice little hit, enough to keep him riled up, splattering pre-cum into his fur.

Knaugh needed release, and the other Skaven - his brothers-in-arms - were going to help him out. His legs sprawled apart - someone has thrust their nose right underneath his sack, lapping at his taint, while others had started licking and sucking on his feet. More buried themselves under his armpits, his musk boiling off him, driving them equally wild.

Hands and mouths fought to touch and taste his shaft, as Knaugh panted, writhing on the ground in ecstasy. They tantalised him, bringing him close to orgasm, before he'd feel the hand being batted away, another one taking its place just long enough to deny him the pleasure he so badly craved.

Finally, with about three different Skaven pumping different parts of his shaft, he felt it: the rush of hot fluids through his body, now unstoppable as it raced along the inside of his shaft. Surrounded by horny rat-men, Knaugh ejaculated, taint twitching madly as his body squeezed as much from his heavy, aching sack as it could. "Neek! Neek!" he squeaked, panting until he could barely breathe.

Knaugh felt like he was soaring into the sky; his warm Skaven seed raining down on himself and all the other rat-men that had crowded around him. His cock pumped and spraying thick yellowish fluids into the sky like a primal fountain. Someone stuck their mouth over the tip, clamping down to drink his juices; Knaugh kicked out, unable to stand that level of pleasure.

As Knaugh continued to orgasm, someone equally-needy and equally naked straddled him and lowered onto all fours, the tip of another throbbing rat cock dangling just in front of his face. Reaching up, he grabbed it, enjoying the feeling of it bucking and pulsing in his hand. Grasping tighter, he pumped his hand up and down, burying his nose into the dark fur above him, before guiding the dick into his mouth. He savoured the salty taste of the slick shaft, shuddering in delight: his own orgasm was waning, but he didn't want to come down from the wave of pleasure that had washed over him when he'd started to ejaculate.

The cock in his hands bubbled with heat; Knaugh feeling the warm seed flowing through the base, squirting heavily into his mouth. Semen ran out of the edges of his rodent lips, leaving warm, sticky trails through his fur. The Skaven he'd pleasured rolled away to lie beside him, gasping for air as his shaft continued to leak, now oozing down his length.

Knaugh quickly glanced about, noting the huge mass of sticky-furred Skaven lazing about; everyone had been utterly drained of energy: there'd been a trap, he vaguely remembered. "Oh, yes! 'Lure ugly Manthings into trap!' mage said. 'Then I turn them into Skaven!'"

Glancing around, he looked for the Skaven mage: he was probably pretty mad that they had failed in their quest. That didn't exactly look to be the case, as he'd grabbed one of the black-furred warriors to use for his own sexual release. Still embedded in the Skaven warrior's ass, the mage barked out, "We go back to our camp! We don't want more Manthings finding us just now! Quick-quick!"

Being so sexually drained, the transformed soldiers were incredibly suggestible and not in the mood for arguing. Struggling to their feet, they hunted around for any bits of armour that would fit. The leather and fabric and patches of scarred, stained metal had been scattered about well before the orgy had begun. Scavenging around, Knaugh found his head plate, only slightly dripping in rat-man seed, wiping it off briefly before tightening the straps around his furry lower jaw. Picking up a stained loincloth, he grabbed Robbis and pushed it into his muzzle, joking, "'Ere you go, this smells like your face-cloth you cock-guzzling Manthing-lover!"

"More like it's what you just used to wipe your arse, you ugly barren breeder!" Robbis snapped back. Knaugh went to reply, but the dreaded gaze of the mage landed upon them, and the pair of them quickly held their tongue. None of them wanted to be on the receiving end of one of his spells, or forced into being a slave.

The march back was difficult: they were all parched and sticky, as though all the fluids in their bodies had been converted into the seed that had soaked into their skin, and the straw strewn about in the field. Knaugh was too tired to really enjoy the fact that, as they continued to walk, their musk grew heavier from the exertions. They grumbled and moaned, snapping at each other, though wary enough not to do it when their commander was paying too much attention to them.

After a while, however, and a heavy smell dredged up enough energy for Knaugh to feel his cock sliding out of his sheath. His body squirmed with excitement, returning to the base camp, where they quickly stuffed their faces, reviving the warrior's tired bodies. For a couple of hours, it was pleasant: sitting around, drinking and getting into arguments over every small slight.

The peace couldn't last, however: "You three!" barked the Skaven mage, pointing a gnarled finger into Knaugh's chest, as he, Robbis and Nestor squabbled over whose turn it was at dice. "Come with me! I have an important task for you!" he added, poking the other two in turn.

"Oh most powerful of mages, most wise of mystics, but - don't you have slaves to do that kind of thing?" whined Robbis.

"Those dirty lick-boots have other duties," the mage pointed out; over his shoulder, Knaugh noticed them on all fours in front of some of other warriors who seemed to be bare from the waist down. "I need the bravest of soldiers to bait for my trap. Transform more Manthings, have your way with them..."

"Yes, great and handsome channeler of the Horned One's power," Knaugh nodded, licking his lips. Best go along with it, he thought; if he can turn a Manthing into a Skaven, he could just as easily do the reverse. Knaugh shuddered at the thought. A quick glance at the others suggested they thought the same thing.

That didn't mean they had to like it, though. Grumbling and arguing with each other, Knaugh joined Robbis and Nestor in trudging irritably out of the Skaven camp on the hunt for Manthings.