Skaven

The Skaven are the ratmen gnawing at the roots of the world – an evil and conniving race that outnumber all their enemies. If only they could stop squabbling and backstabbing for long enough, and join together in one mighty alliance, then all their enemies would be wiped out under a furry tide of screeching vermin. But that is not how the Skaven think. Betrayal, duplicity, and cowardice are the true marks of the Skaven, and in many parts of the Under-Empire such traits are lauded as virtues. Clan Rictus vaunts these qualities – they are extremely rich, with treasure holds said to rival even those of Clan Mors. Rictus dominates the passages and tunnels under Crookback Mountain, a nest-lair deep in the Dark Lands to the east of the World's Edge. However, of late their focus has been pulled far to the west… Tretch Craventail has no right to the title of Grand Chieftain of the Deep Warrens, and yet, none answer to it but he. The wretch has risen quickly through the ranks of Clan Rictus on a mixture of luck and outright, unashamed treachery. However, no Skaven can survive on luck alone, and so Tretch is also one of the most conniving and cruel ratmen to have lived in recent times. He has developed – or it was within him all along? – an absolute knack for knowing when lethal trouble is close. It’s at these times that Craventail will mysteriously disappear, leaving whichever retinue he was 'leading' to their inevitable fate. But despite such a 'boon' – whether a natural talent or a gift from the Horned One himself – Tretch has finally come to the attention of Clan Rictus’ leader, Lord Kratch Doomclaw, a sitting member of the Council of Thirteen. Doomclaw has ordered Tretch lead a Clan Rictus expedition to the Elf-thing lands of Naggaroth, far to the west of Crookback Mountain. It is unclear exactly what Lord Kratch’s motives are but they're probably not altruistic in nature – maybe a play for power using his most capable Chieftains, or a way to rid himself of an annoying and potential rival? Most probably, it is both...

"To create, one must-must destroy! To destroy, one must-must create!" The black parody of mankind that are the Skaven ultimately embody everything that is wrong with humanity, only more so. Emerging from their subterranean lairs to unleash vicious and inhuman war, they are a nightmare vision – a ravenous horde, a chaotic and rolling tide of verminous ratmen in unimaginably vast numbers. Of all the despicable Skaven clans that torment the world from the sprawling Under-Empire lurking beneath, Clan Skryre are arguably the most influential, and certainly the most feared. This is due to the deranged creations of the clan’s Warlock Engineers, who specialise in an insane blending of magic and arcane technology to produce untold weaponry in their Warpforges beneath their capital, Skavenblight. They are both inventors and sorcerers in their own right, manufacturing and wielding infernal devices capable of fiendish destruction, while also manipulating the Winds of Magic to cast spells and intertwine enchantments into mechanical form. By selling their weird arsenal of devastation to the other clans as quickly as slaves can churn them off the assembly lines, Clan Skryre has grown wealthy and powerful. None dare offend them for fear of ending up at the wrong end of any number of weapons that could melt, blast, desiccate, or otherwise cause a grievous death. With depravity and intelligence in equal abundance, Ikit Claw has taken Skryre’s blend of science and sorcery to entirely new levels. The most infamous and dreaded of all Warlock Engineers, his experiments have resulted in entire legions of Skavenslaves being blasted to bits – a small price for the sheer power and killing might that he has added to Skryre’s deadly arsenal. In his bloodthirsty quest for destructive knowledge, Ikit has travelled the world, stealing secrets from the mystics of Cathay, studying the dimension-spanning machines of Lustria, and toiling for years alongside the cruel Forgemasters of far off Zharr-Naggrund. Ikit was tall and white-furred before a failed experiment exploded and mangled his body, so an intricate iron mask of his own invention now covers his hairless skull and a cunningly wrought exoskeleton aids his withered left side. The iron contraption is run by a Warp-generator, a masterpiece of engineering that siphons the Winds of Magic to also power Ikit’s devilish inventions. Whirring cogs hiss and vent steam as the Chief Warlock moves, clanking like a fully armoured knight. Like all Clan Skryre Warlock Engineers, Ikit has continued to tinker, adding countless upgrades. He wields the crackling blade known as ‘Storm Daemon’, a modified halberd wrapped with copper wire coils set with glowing Warpstone, energised with barely suppressed power drawn from his Warp-generator.

Across the surface of the world, alliances are severed, plagues are spread and wars are started – all orchestrated by a shrouded and impalpable menace that lurks undetected beneath the very feet of those they conspire to destroy. They are the Skaven – evil ratmen who seek to rule supreme from their sprawling Under-Empire. Gnawing at the roots of the world, they are guided by the furtive intentions of the Council of Thirteen and their malevolent god known as the Great Horned Rat, who forever scratches at the fabric separating the material world from the great beyond. The Skaven Under-Empire consists of countless clans, each one – just like each individual Skaven – jostling for position, status and power. Though the lesser Warlord Clans are a thriving mass of betrayals and broken alliances, the Greater Clans are near-unassailable in this never-ending race. Shrouded in shadow and mystery, Eshin is by far the most nefarious of the Greater Clans, feared as murderers and for the art of stealthy death that they have long mastered from their past contact with the Far East. They are silent stalkers, more than capable of infiltrating defences and getting past any number of guards or traps to reach their objectives. For the right price, Clan Eshin will slay any rival, steal any information or commit any act of sabotage required. No warlord wants to be targeted by their shady contracts, and the mere mention of their black-clad killers is enough to make anyone look over his shoulder. There are many Clan Eshin agents scattered across the clan strongholds and even within the cities of the surface-dwellers, but the one known as Deathmaster Snikch is truly the most dreaded figure of speculation. The deeds and whereabouts of Eshin’s most deadly killer are but rumours that echo throughout the Under-Cities across the world, suiting Lord Sneek, the Grand Nightlord of Clan Eshin and member of the Lords of Decay – because as long as no-one knows Snikch’s real location, then no one can ever feel truly safe. The ramifications of such mystique are always considered by Clan Eshin and the Council of Thirteen. Once deployed, Deathmaster Snikch does not fail, but the list of targets always grows more quickly than even this perfect killer can eliminate them. In times when he has been unleashed upon the world by his master, it has always been impossible for anyone to divine his presence. While a master of murder, it is likely that Snikch is also behind many of the ratmen’s most devious acts of sabotage; great fires, heinous bombings, the failure of war machines on the eve of tide-turning battles – who knows how many of the world’s pivotal disasters were really the work of Snikch?

“It-it lives!!!” Deep underground, closer to the world’s bowels than any manmade tunnel or sewer, lives a race of bipedal ratmen that are so rarely seen that many deny their very existence save for those unfortunate enough to have encountered them. They are the Skaven, an evil force unlike any other, watching and waiting impatiently to unleash vicious and inhuman war, yet biding its time. They are arguably the most numerous of all the races, remaining hidden in sprawling burrows beneath unsuspecting kingdoms as well as in their own lairs below abandoned cities or within old mountain Holds wrested from ousted Dwarfs. They are ruled by a treacherous hierarchy of innumerable clans, but none hold as much power or influence as the four Greater Clans, each of which exerts a great deal of influence due to varying degrees of technological, economic and military power. Perhaps the most innovative of the Greater Clans, owing to the tireless work of its Master Mutators, Clan Moulder rose to infamy by mastering the art of breeding, mutating, and creating monstrous fighting beasts through surgery. It is not known how disparate parts of mutated creatures are stitched together, for its methods are jealously guarded. It is no secret, however, that Clan Moulder is one of the wealthiest of all clans, for its heinous creations are sold to others eager to boost their fighting prowess by adding swarms of Giant Rats, packs of towering Rat Ogres, or perhaps something even more bizarre to their ranks. A portion of many a Warlord’s military strength was birthed in Hell Pit, the loathsome stronghold of Clan Moulder. One of the most twisted and ingenious of Moulder’s Master Mutators is Throt the Unclean, whose successes in the art of monster creation and augmentation has earned him a position as one of the infamous nine Lords of Hell Pit. The effects of a lifetime’s work with Warpstone can be seen, as bone spines protrude out of Throt’s back and a third arm sprouts from his bloated but powerful frame. Over many self-developmental experiments, he has radically sped up his own metabolism and grows ravenously hungry after any exertion – it is the Black Hunger, only worse, requiring him to consume more than four times his own body weight daily to avoid being ravaged by his own Warp-enhanced constitution. Throt’s rise to power has been marked by an ability to create and lead any number of bloodthirsty creatures to battle, along with a knack for capturing new beasts upon which to experiment. Whether it is obtaining Blindwyrms, discovering applications for Trollspleen, or cultivating the best ‘growing juices’ with which to increase the size of Rat Ogres, very few others can match Throt’s extremely distasteful and dastardly deeds.

"Brother-under-the-fur. Ha! Now you are brother-true. Reject false-words of seers and embrace true face of the Horned One! Bring Skrolk to the Wormstone, and you will be Plague Priest. Betray, and you become pus-bag." Underneath the world lurks the Skaven - a race of noisome ratmen that despise all other things and desire world domination with every fibre of their twisted beings - from their quivering whiskers to the tips of their segmented tails. Clan Pestilens is one of the four Greater Clans. Its members are the Plague Monks – the disciples of disease and decay. Clan Pestilens dedicate themselves with insane fervour to spreading corruption in the name of the Great Horned Rat. Pestilens was the first clan to reach Lustria; there, in the hot, foetid conditions, did the disease-ridden ratmen start to overcome the climate to found Clan Pestilens. It wasn’t long before the emergent clan encountered the Lizardmen and an age-old enmity was born. Of all the warm-blooded invaders to trespass on Lustria, it is the Skaven – and Clan Pestilens in particular – that the Lizardmen hate the most. Eventually, after decades of self-imposed exile, the Plague Monks re-joined the Under-Empire and immediately claimed their place on the Council of Thirteen. Their leader is Arch-Plaguelord Nurglitch, and while he controls the clan from Skavenblight it is Lord Skrolk that remains in Lustria to return Pestilens to greatness. Lord Skrolk is an affront to nature. Plants wither and die where Skrolk treads and even the air around him seems to congeal and darken. Skrolk is ancient and blind, but only a fool would mistake his lack of sight for weakness… In battle, Skrolk leads from the front so he can unleash his rabid fury, wielding the Rod of Corruption and reading from the Liber Bubonicus - a tome describing every disease conjured by Pestilens that even the Chaos God, Nurgle, is said to covet. But Skrolk’s greatest asset is and always will be his cunning. This Plague Priest has lived for countless centuries and is far more than a mere frenzied zealot!

"Yes-yes, whereas Queek the Mighty here. We will win. Nothing else is important. We will destroy. Queek will show the whole world that Queek is the mightiest, the best, the most deadly! We will see what Gnawdwell says about orders then." The Skaven are vile, malevolent ratmen that swarm beneath the surface of the world. Hidden in their sprawling underground lairs, they gnaw at the roots of civilisation, plotting and scheming for the day they will burst from their dark tunnels and drown the world above in a tide of mangy fur, rusty blades and plague-ridden filth. The Skaven Under-Empire consists of countless clans. Each one – just like each individual Skaven – jostles for position, status and power. The four Greater Clans are unassailable in this never-ending race, but under them, the Warlord Clans are a thriving mass of betrayal and broken alliances. Clan Mors is currently the most powerful, their ascendancy in no small part due to their control of the City of Pillars – the lower levels of Karak Eight Peaks and an important nexus of the Under-Empire. While the grand ruler of Clan Mors, Warlord Gnawdwell, takes his seat on the Council of Thirteen in the ratmen capital of Skavenblight, the City of Pillars falls under Gnawdwell’s infamous ‘Right Claw’: Queek Headtaker. The scarlet-armoured, fur-clad warrior of rage and ego is Queek Headtaker - scion of Clan Mors and one of the most accomplished and fierce fighters in all Skavendom. He is despised by Dwarfs for the sheer amounts of heads he has taken, with a record number of entries in the Great Book of Grudges, but he is also hated by Greenskins and Elves too. The only thing more renowned than Queek’s fighting prowess is his arrogance. The Headtaker is a power-hungry narcissist who carries the severed heads of his latest victims upon his trophy rack, advertising to enemies and followers just how truly great he is. While Queek has carved quite the powerbase under Eight Peaks, Gnawdwell sends him wherever Clan Mors needs him to be. The Council of Thirteen - of which Gnawdwell is a part - see Headtaker as a powerful asset to enable their plans, whether Queek agrees with them or not!

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