'I told you not call me rat-thing, girlthing.'
Kritch spoke up tetchily, but his heart was not really in it. His ears had pricked up at the mention of treasure, and the plan sounded decent enough, at least bearing in mind the numbers of pawns available. To his superior skaven mind the obvious path would be to invade en masse, vast numbers of skaven swarming over the jungle relying on sheer mass and ferocity to win the day, casualties meaning little, and then... the treasure would be fought over for decades, the jungle scoured by war, and Kritch would likely see none of it. No, this way was better then.
But what biggie lizardthing? Kritch had heard tales of... Slann, they were called. Creatures of unbelievably powerful magic, commanding armies of smaller lizardthings, never invading, always defending, which Kritch considered a waste. According to the teachings of Eshin, they were cold-blooded; most poisons would not be effective against them. But there were some, yes-yes, that stayed in the bloodstream! It would take time, and the Slann would not be killed, but driven insane, eventually entering an eternal hibernation from which it could never wake.
But it was risky, yes-yes. Anything that used magic going insane was risky; the poison would amplify the lizardthing's sensitivity to the flows of magic, and it would be infected with chaos, becoming immeasurably evil and powerful before it died, weeks later. During that time, it's magic would affect the legions of lizardthings, and a great army would arise, scouring the earth, or at least the areas of it not affected by cold. It sounded almost fun.
At least, that was the theory. The Slann might just destroy its own mind, soul obliterated by its great power, which was also an acceptable result.
'I like this plan, girlthing. But, my task is hardest, yes-yes, so I get more treasure, see-see? But we decide that later, when we have treasure.'
And, he added to himself silently, when he had assessed the weaknesses of each and every one of his companions, and he could eliminate them all. Sharing did not come naturally to a skaven.
He turned his gaze to the womanthing commanding the boatthing, a sleek, deadly looking thing, far more suitable for a skaven like himself, unlike the scow which had carried him here. He considered her thoughtfully, acknowledging the way she carried herself. She was used to fighting, yes-yes. She was silent, too, not committing to anything. Foolthing! Commitments can be broken at any convenient time! She should seize the chance!
Nevertheless, she was a womanthing to watch carefully.
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