"My-my mighty, skillfull lord-lord, it was not my fault-fault that we lost to the metal man-things. As you know-know you gave Turtzuk Gammlik command over the army-army…"
"Of course I know-know, you skum! It was my own order!" bellowed Slit Skythe. "Or do you want to question my decision, Britzelik?" he snarled at the warlock.
Now Britzelik felt really uneasy. It had been most unfortunate indeed that Slit Skythe had decided to blame him for the loss they had suffered against the Bretonnians, but now he even accused him of questioning the warlord's command. Not that Britzelik agreed with all of Slit Skythe's decision or did not think he would make a much better general for clan Ratsnik here in the Ulricsberg. Indeed he had already taken steps to undermine the warlord's reputation as a skilled general. But he knew fully well when to speak out loud and when it was time to cover your tail - and this was such a moment.
"No-no, your worthiness!" Britzelik hurried to assure Slit Skythe. "Your decision was most excellent-excellent! It is just that Turtzuk Gammlik did not follow your-your tactical teachings. Had you been there yourself-self, we sure would not have lost-lost the battle. You would have made-made most excellent use of the new-new war machines I brought you to kill-kill the man-things. With these-these machines you are-are unstoppable!"
"Well-well, Britzelik. We will soon see-see if you are right. It appears the man-things followed you here-here. I will go face-face them and you can show-show how powerful your machines are. And," Slit Skythe added with a meaningful undertone, "you had better stay-stay until the end of the battle this time."
Britzelik shivered as the warlord stared him down and sent a prayer to the Horned One that his powers would not fail him again in battle…

------------------

Slit Skythe stroked his magic blade with the pleased smile of victory. The battle had gone very well indeed - a perfect triumph. Not only had he defeated the man-things, but Britzelik had once more taken a harsh beating in battle. It always helped to keep the upstart at bay. And while Slit Skythe had to admit that Britzelik's machines had for once proven effective, the victory had been his alone.
It was true what they said in the Badlands: If you want something done right, do it yourself. Forget about the weaklings from Skavenblight who preferred to lead from the back and rely on half-witted underlings like Britzelik or Gammlik. One swift stroke with his blade had been all that was needed to kill-kill the bretonnian general. After that, the enemy had fallen apart. Ah, the sweet taste of victory…

Now that he had gained a firm hold in the Ulricsberg, his superiors could no longer deny him the dearly needed enforcements - more clanrats, nightrunners and slaves, maybe even an assassin. A grey seer would of course also be worthwhile, but the grey furred ones had a habit of taking matters into their own hand.
Just like that grey seer Skritchit from clan Virulus. He had purposefully ignored the banners Slit Skythe's slaves had set up behind his seat in the council of the faction leaders. Everyone had marvelled at the colourful bretonnian banners - but Skritchit.

Maybe the rumours were true he had heard of him. His brother led the other half of clan Virulus and had joined Hergig - or was it Zundap? Even among the rat-men blood was thicker than water. And hadn't his eshin friend explicitely warned him to be careful when dealing with Skritchit?
Then again Skritchit had powerful enemies. It was no secret - at least not among clan eshin - that the great Verminous Fang had an open score to settle with Skritchit. Apparently the two had stood on opposing side during the storm of chaos, and now Verminous Fang accused Skritchit of a failed assassination attempt. Enough reason for an experienced schemer to sow discrediting rumours about the rival.

If only he could confirm the intelligence he had gathered. Some pieces just didn't fit. As if he had asked for it someone knocked on the door to his warren. Slowly the door opened and a black robed figure silently slipped into the room: "Greatings-greatings, warlord, from our common friends-friends. It seems there has been a regretful case of misunderstanding among us when we last met..."