Emmaline had grown up on Altdorf, in the dock district, where the stink of emptied chamberpots mixed with the reek of fish too long out of water. She had even prowled the tannery district as a child and suffered the horrible odor of the leather makers trade. None of these things held a candle to Nuln's sewers. A great river of filth flowed down a central canal, flanked on both side by narrow paved shoulders upon which a sewer jack or maintenance worker could proceed. She gagged slightly at the sight and was suddenly strangely glad that the baying of monsters above her was there to impel her to go on.

"Can you..." Neil began but Emmaline was already waving her hands. Abruptly the air they breathed became clear, if somewhat dry and sterile. An old alchemists trick to protect oneself from inhaling unwholesome gases.

"You know," she mused, "I've done more magic in the past couple of days than I have in the last month." Neil snickered and gave her a lascivious grin.

"I'll say," he agreed lustily. Emmaline snickered in spite of the situation.

"Well now, as then, I am in your hands," she teased. Neil bowed and set off down the brick walkway. Emmaline followed. She knew the sewers opened up at various points along the river, but figured they were within the city walls. If Neil really did know a way out, it was a dangerous weakness to the city. Still, if the could just get beyond the walls, there was a good chance they would get away clean, the beastmen far to focused on the battle above to trouble with a sewer. The only thing down here was shit and stink.

__________

Scritscrit watched the interlopers as they moved through the tunnels. At first he had thought it was the hated sewer jacks, a perennial threat with their crossbows and axes, but he saw that was not the case. A tall looking manling and one of their breeders. She was meatier than some of her kind, though nothing like a true skaven female. He snuffled the air softly, catching a hint of something coming off thee pair. Could it be? He had smelled such things before in the doom forges of the Skyre and on the Grey Seerers. It smelled like... warpstone. If these interlopers had warp stone... it might be enough for Scriscrit to rise far. He padded after them on silent feet. Watching. Waiting.