Kyasha wandered the streets of Skavenblight. The city had a dank musty smell to it, the combination of swamp and too many filthy rats. The scale of the place gave her a sense of vertigo. The streets were obviously not built for Skaven--they were much too wide. Despite this, slaves and clanrats alike slept on the sides of the roads. Those lucky enough to have a tarp hanging overhead from a shop sat like kings in their relatively dry homes.

The dwelling which Thanquol had provided was very prized by Skaven standards, a simple stone walled room, not less than a few meters across in either direction. Under the layers of dust was what looked like dwarven architecture. Thanquol has commented that her home was the entrance to an old tunnel that collapsed. Judging from how many poor Skaven slept on the streets, she did not want to imagine how many lied dead under her floor. Thanquol suggested not burrowing, if humans did such a thing.

The Skaven in the streets had ignored her, save a few sneers, but she could always see small red or black eyes following her. From what she had heard from her Bretonnian master, the Skaven murdered any human who even looked upon their cities. However, when she emerged from Thanquol's chambers unharmed, the on-looking rats knew that she had a purpose, or would have perished before she entered the swamp.

High above her head a long black tower disappeared into the clouds that never seemed to leave this city. Fikit had told her not to approach the tower, saying it was where all sectors of the city merged, and if she wandered out of Clan Skyre's section, she was out of their protection. After two civil wars, hostilities still existed, that and she did not particularly want to know what a Plague Monk was.

She held a hand above her eyes and peered into the clouds. The tower went on forever. She slowly took a few steps backwards to try to see over the buildings. Still she could not find the top, and stepped back again. What followed was a loud clanging noise and a rusted dagger at her throat. On the ground beside her lay a toppled-over incense censor, and holding the knife was an angry clanrat. Keeping the dagger steady, the Skaven stated at her with his single healthy eye (what happened to the other, Kyasha did not know).

"Neek-Neek! Mine! What does Thanquol want a thieving little manling for?" It snarled.

"I..." Kyasha was at a loss for words, she was more concerned with the narrowing space between the dagger and her throat.

"Matters not, I can fetch more manlings for the Grey Seer to replace this one. Yes-Yes, stronger manlings, ones that can do better... ack..." The old rat gurgled and its arm fell limp. Kyasha felt a sigh of relief as it collapsed at her feet. A long dagger stood erect in its side.

A dark-furred Skaven slowly pulled the blade out with its tail. The green liquid weeped from the blade and fumes of gray smoke trailed off the tip. As the tail sheathed the blade the face spoke, "I am Kalmak of clan Skyre. It is not safe for little manlings to run about the streets."

Two smaller slaves pulled the body back into the shadows. None of the other residents moved. "You are Thanquol's spy then? Well since you lack the stealth not to trip over bright gold censors, my help really is needed. My clan is one of spies, and if you are to be of any use to Thanquol, then you shall learn from the masters."