An early scene from a perpetually unfinished story about growing up as a wee little Skaven, in which our young hero's mettle is tested by his master, having hired him a human child as a tutor. He is under not circumstances permitted to toss the human into the Moulder pits, which, for our most intrepid baby, is quite troublesome.

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"So. Renzo. Renzo the man-thing. You know about the WINDS OF MAGIC, right?"

"Yes-yes," Renzo responded in enthusiastic Queekish.

"Well. Okay. It's like this: even with a petty spell, first you have to be careful which winds you use, or you might use BLACK MAGIC by mistake. Or we call it Dhar. The FORBIDDEN MAGIC, DHAR. That's the combination of different kinds of—” His voice rose to a comedic squeak with each increasingly salacious detail.

But before he could get any further, Tikkar was interrupted by a heavy paw drawing across his shoulder. Their minder, Varr had somehow already managed to make his way across the room before anyone had so much as noticed he'd moved, and was now looming over him like a foreboding statue with an unnervingly calm disposition. It was a sight that used to freeze the blood in Tikkar's veins. Renzo, in his aforementioned stupidity, simply waved to the monster as if he were a neighbor out to get some fresh air on his front porch in the middle of the day—instead of preparing to gut him like a fish or whatever it was his kind were likely want to do.

"Why not try asking the child about the weather, instead?" came a sibilant voice from above, the "s" sounds dragging through the air like a pair of slithering snakes. The rest came out clipped and deliberate, as if the speaker were testing each word before letting them leave his mouth. "It's nice outside, isn't it? So very sunny today. Such a sunny-and-nice day for children." Varr chittered and motioned towards the outer door, though the absence of windows of any kind made this point less immediately relevant. What it did fabulously well was to bring a sudden end to their conversation. As an adult—of any species—by virtue of simply appearing in their personal space, he had his own special magic of garnering the undivided attention of misbehaving children.

"Or yet—Ren-zoh? Show-and-tell Tikkar his assignment, please. Won't that be fun? Very fun for Tikkar to do. But I'm sure, very boring for poor you." Varr didn't bother waiting for an answer before placing a deck of cards on the table between them—then patting Renzo on the head and slithering away as quietly as he'd come.

Renzo ran his hand through his hair for any ratman residue left behind, if such a thing existed. "You're in trouble," he mouthed silently, eyes filled more with intrigue than concern as he nudged the deck towards him.

Meanwhile, Tikkar slapped a card down on the table without bothering to ask what they were playing.

This earned a wicked smile from Renzo. “So, here's the deal: I know the rules, but I'm not allowed to tell you. You’re going to have to guess, and I have to tell you if you're wrong." Renzo counted out ten cards and fanned them in front of himself.

"This again? Argh." Tikkar sounded more like an irate child as he shifted in his seat. "Pointless-pointless."

Renzo put one of his cards face-up on the table: a gaunt human skull with a rusted crown. "Your turn."

Tikkar thoughtlessly slid the first card that came to mind in front of him. Coincidentally, it just happened to depict a sword pointed directly in Renzo’s direction.

“No, you can't do that one yet. Try again.”

The next sound that came from Tikkar's throat as he picked up a card could be generously described as "colorful."