I have edited and collated that 'Choose your own Adventure" that I did a while ago. It is now a proper story with different perspective and stuff. Knyffe walked casually out the gates of the Skyre engineer's fortress, counting down his head. "Is it done?" The Warlock, his client asked. "Wait." Knyffe answers, and they both stood in silence for a moment before the entire fortress exploded. Knyffe held his paw out, and the Warlock handed over a pouch of warpstone tokens. Knyffe took the pouch of money and waved his paw in an exaggerated arc. The Warlock looked confused for a moment, just before the Black Skaven behind him plunged his Weeping Blades through his throat. The Skaven tried to screech, but only coughed out blood, and fell to the ground, sliding off the blades. Thronk quickly went through his pockets, and took his possessions. "It would be best if we split up." He hissed, and Knyffe nodded. They both walked away from the corpse in opposite directions, and soon disappeared into the crowds, before Knyffe doubled back to take Thronk’s share too. Knyffe rapidly travelled in the direction Thronk had gone, the filth covered floor slippery beneath his paws. Knyffe heard a chittering screech and the laughter of something other than a Skaven. He rushed towards the sound, the laughter continuing, and climbed agilely up a rough hewn wall, to see a dozen stormvermin surrounding an emaciated elf-thing. It sat in Thronk's rib cavity, blood covering it's hands, laughing maniacally as it toyed with his organs. Knyffe approached the emaciated elf-thing, and the details became more clear. The elf-thing was male, and only a child, with stark white hair, blood ringing his mouth. The rags barely covered him, soaked with gore, with pieces of Thronk's innards dangling from him. The Stormvermin let him past, and as he got within a few meters, the elf-thing stops laughing and turned to look at him. "Did you kill him?" Knyffe asked "You can't stop them, you know. Nothing can. Everything is doomed" "Stop who?" The elf-thing smiled at him, strands of grisle dangling from his teeth. "The end. The shades. The ones below." Knyffe glared at him, "Details. What makes you say we can't stop them?" The elf-thing began to chant, "They come from below; And it starts out slow; You'll be dead before you know; It'll be quite a show. The Lizards can lop them; The Dragons can drop them; But there is no way to ever, ever stop them. You'll rue the day; That the Moons turn away; They'll never go away; Is there any way; that the Old Ones could've stayed? You can't fight; You'll never see the light; For regardless of the sun, it'll never be that bright! They'll never get bored; They'll cut through the horde; It doesn't matter if you're a Lord; Or if you can't hold a sword." He stopped, and one of the Stormvermin stepped forward, swinging his halberd down at the elf-thing, when the shaft snapped, and the blade swung around, before something propelled the blade into his gut. The skaven screeched as his arm snapped backwards. There was a sickening cracking sound as the broken bones were pushed together and then slipped past each other, forcing the forearm bones of the stormvermin into the upper arm.. They all stared at the jagged bone points protruding from his flesh. He stared dumbly down at his arm for a moment when his lower jaw was ripped off, and then propelled upwards, through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. The elf-thing looked bemusedly at the Stormvermin’s mangled corpse, "Lory, you shouldn't be so violent." Knyffe took a step back, as the remaining Stormvermin dropped their halberds and fled. The elf-thing looked towards him, a grin plastered across his face. Knyffe lept off the ledge, screeching, when hands grabbed him from behind, and dragged him through the air to the place the elf-thing was sitting. He laughed, standing, before leaning down, fang-filled grin nearly splitting his face in two. “You’re mine now.” Knyffe screamed.