Emmaline squeezed up through the hole, momentarily panicking as her hips stuck. Neil put his hands against her bottom and shoved and she emerged from the darkness with nothing worse than a lost boot. She was in dry gravel riverbed in a forest. Spring rain had piled up old sticks and brush at various points, and apparently scooped away enough soil to expose the ancient roots of the sewers. When the snows melted this spot would be a little whirlpool, sucking water down into the sewers. She wondered if that was by design or it had simply come to serve that function by accident of nature.

Emmaline's boot came flying up out of the hole, followed a moment later by Neil's pack and then Neil himself. He looked a mess, dirty covered and bloodied from a number of cuts and scratches. Well, she supposed she probably wouldn't win Maid of the Riek herself just now. Neil glanced down, clearly concerned that more rat things might emerge. For the moment all was quiet but Emmaline was keen to put some distance between herself and the sewers.

"Which way to this manor of yours?" she asked quickly, glancing around the forest. They seemed alone, nothing but birds singing as the last of the summer sun painted the tops of the trees brilliant gold and green.

"Up stream," Neil said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. Emmaline was so keen to get away from the stinking rat beasts that she even forgot to complain about how sore her legs were. About an hour later, just as full dusk was setting in they left the forest and reached a low stone wall. On the other side were neatly planted apple trees, heavy with fruit. Beyond the orchard sat a manor house, two great wings connected by a lower central area in handsome stone. A fine tile roof covered it and there were several outbuildings. No lights burned in its windows and no sounds came from within. Likely the family had bolted when the news of the beastmen reached them. They had certainly ordered their servants to remain, but servants weren't stupid. They probably waited all of thirty seconds once their lords and masters were out of sight before bolting themselves. Family loyalty didn't usually stretch to being gutted by marauding chaos spawn, not for a few shillings a day anyway.

"Looks like a nice place to spend the night," Emmaline breathed, feeling a measure of relief to be out of the woods, hopefully in more ways than one.

_________

"Tell me again how you were bested by a breeder and a single manling?" Grey Seer Scarpel hissed. The assembled clan rats tittered at Scritcrit's humiliation. The rat was beaten and bloodied, covered with sewage and some kind of clinging grease that smelled like burning tar.

"Yes-yes most magnificent one!" Scritcrit groveled. He prostrated himself on the floor before the grey seer's throne. A massive thing carved from the skull of some long dead lizard and hung with devotional icons to please the horned rat. The throne chamber was one of several burrows which extended of the manlings filth tunnels, carved out of the dirt by slaves. Presently it was packed with skaven, all enjoying Scritcrit's obeisance. 

"The man thing was a mighty warrior, perhaps one of their priests, and the breeder was a powerful sorcerer, she incinerated a dozen of my rats with a gesture, though we fought on bravely yes yes!" Scritcrit squeaked, squirting the musk of fear as Scarpel lifted his paw to scratch the base of his gnarled horns.

"And you fought them to gain this warpstone they carry for me?" Scarpel squeaked, his voice dangerous.

"Yes-yes, of course great one! My only thought was your glory!" Scritcrit cried, lying though his chisel like teeth in hopes of avoiding being blasted to atoms. Scarpel barred his teeth in a snarl that suggested that he didn't believe the obvious lie.

"Then you wont object to leading our scouts to find their trail. If they truly have warpstone, it will be mine!" he cackled.