Thrure watched the man-things from the shadows. He had been hiding for hours in various shadowed locations around the courtyards and looked out amongst the field of tents. Like all skaven he felt more at home in the oppressive darkness where it was easier to hide and lose your enemies. But these man-things were so inept. From the look of their possessions he knew them to be soldiers, had not even noticed him even as a half dozen walked sleepily past his location. He was both amazed and gladdened by the severly lacking senses of this species. Any skaven would have been immediatly suspicious of any shadows. And he was sure any skaven assassin would have spotted him in a a heartbeat. 

His tail lashed silently under he long black cloak and he teeth barred as he suppressed a growl from escaping his throat. How easy would it be for him to simply kill one of these man-things? They were too stupid to seemingly notice his presence or anything for that matter. They were a soft race, they smelt of odd odours that made his fur stand on end and As his Tail was bare, These man-things were ugly. He would probably do this world a favour by removing a few of these eyeblights. 

Eventually he slunk back deeper into the shadows, letting his fur and his cloak disguise his body and shape against the sorrounding darkness. He had very little in the way of equipment, he relied heavily on the colour of his fur and his cloak for most of his needs. His chest and legs were covered with little more than a thick black fabric to make as little noise as possible when moving. The long dagger which for his size was more akin to a short sword was crude, even by skaven standards. It was a miracle he was given one that was rust free and only a little over a half dozen notches along its length. Even his blade was blacked with fire and the hilt painted to as to not let anything metal catch the sun or moonlight and give away his position. Unless you were an elite assassin or soldier skaven weapons and armour were poor to say the least. Most junior runners made the efforts to steal weapons from the surface world. A perk of the job one might call it. 

On his way out of the camp he did sever several tent strings, pull up pegs, notch tripods that were holding up cauldrons of boiling porridge. When he passed the supply tent he could not resist cutting his way in ever so gently and stealing a piece of raw meat. When he was safely beyond the camp he set ot devouring the cut of meat in a flurry of growls, flashing teeth and razor sharp claws. Even the fat and gristle was forced down into his belly. Most humans may look down upon eating raw and untrimmed meat. But to him it was one of the few redeaming qualities of man-things that they so often carried fresh meat. And it was so easy to steal. 

He finally heard the commotion of tents falling over, cauldrons spilling on the ground and an angry cook accusing everyone of cutting into his tent and stealing the food. He decided to put some more distance between himself and the scene of his numerous petty crimes. Soon he found himself outside a fairly lonesome building. Despite the fact that it had no immediate neighbours it did seem to have a fair amount of people inside. Instead of entering it as many things seemed to be. He crept along its walls, looking inside windows when possible at its occupants. Even pushing the windows open slowly and carefully so he could hear the noise and voices inside. Finally he made his way around the back and looked for ways to enter this place. He saw food he could steal and conversations he could eavesdrop. Casual rumours and information filled these types of places. Such things could spark interest in the under-empire.