The wind blew cold over the steppe near Ulricsberg. Britzelik did not like this. He should be down in his burrow now or accompanying warlord Slit Skythe to the meeting of all the warlords from the Ulricsberg. This was simply unfair! It wasn't his fault that the superior warmachines of clan Skryre had been mounted with stupid slaves last battle so that they blew up in the first seconds of the battle, was it? After all no one could really expect him to waist valuable engineering adepts for such lowly tasks, could they? Obviously Slit Skythe did, otherwise Britzelik would not be standing here now.
Britzelik took a quick look to his right. His flank was only guarded by a couple of night runners and some giant rats. He sniggert at the thought how he would send them towards the enemy, only to further his own plans. What did he care for those useless Eshin rats. Not that he would tell them, mind. He was only too well aware of their hidden glances to even show as much as a smile when looking their way.
On his left stretched out the majority of the army. Slit Skythe had ordered one of his underlings, Turtzuk Gammlik, to command them today. Britzelik did not trust Gammlik's tactical genius, but the set up was a sound one for Skaven standards. Jezzails, stormvermin, fearsome rat ogres and another regiment of clanrats alongside with Britzelik's apprentice Ritsrats.

Britzelik was violently torn from his musings. The ground shook under his paws and a roaring thunder rolled over the steppe. Britzelik fought hard not to squirt the musk of fear and ordered his clanrats to stand. It was both an impressive and a fearsome sight that presented itself on the other side of the battlefield: A Bretonnian knights' army was galloping across the field in full stride, banners tossing in the wind and armour glittering in the sun. With a wink of his paw Britzelik quickly ordered the night runners to advance. They would provide the perfect trap for the knights, and once they had run into it, he'd maw them down with his ratling gun.
But what was that? Why were the fools running in the opposite direction? He had told them explicitly to retreat between his regiment and the giant rats. He couldn't have overlooked another threat for the night runners, could he. No matter what - the knights were about to charge him and his unit and there was only one way to go…

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Duke Alexandre de Brisachville wiped his blade clean. It had been a good day. Only few of the ratmen had escaped after running down his knights errant, but he was sure his knights of the realm would track them down. They had had next to no casualties, but had slain the foul ratmen in droves. Their treacherous warmachines had proved to be ineffective or blown up right away. Surely the Empire emissaries had been exaggerating the problem. He would purge this wasteland from those ratmen within a week as sure as he was the Duke of Brisachville.