Captain Sunami Anglermaw

'Cease your scuttling and whimpering, Man-thing! I can barely hear-hear my warpstone fangs grit while my prey moan-cowers before me in the corner of my chamber. Open those eyes before I scratch them out myself; stare-stare at your new master - Captain of Clan Skurvy!'

The verminous Captain reached out his paw as the peasant captive finds his screaming mouth closed shut under a flurry of wet, wrinkled flesh, matted fur and sharpened, plague-ridden claws. The wails of terror now muffled, his body was stiffened by fear, as he stared wide-eyed with abject dread toward his captor, painfully unsure of whether the liquid dripping from the Skaven's open maw was either seawater or saliva. The Rat's terrible shadow was heightened by his tattered pirate crown, and bulked by his velvet uniform; the tarnished remnants of a Tilean Admiral's once prestigious attire, a fine carapace of woven blue - as deep in hue as the sea itself - now marred by foul sputterings of blood and phlegm. The rusted buttons that ranged from top to bottom barely remained hinged, bound only by the fiberous gauze surgically laced like the stitches of a pulsating wound. Both of these ruined relics were now symbols of his authority over the thousands of famished, hauling slaves as they laboured in misery within the hull of this pestilent dreadnaught.

'Yes... that's better, Man-thing. Now I can talk-speak, and you may listen carefully. You know not what I am, your Lords spew lie-lies from their mouths about the Clans. Before today, you thought that the Clans were just stories, that Skaven only skitter in dreams and empty shadows. You thought you were safe-safe in Empire, from freezing hairy Norscans and ugly, smelly Green-thing from the east. But I save you, Man-thing - I have given you piece of mind. You should recognise me a Lord-saviour, but instead your curl into ball and demand to be stupid-simple again, like vile ingrate slave!'

The clutch of the Captain is invigorated by a dangerous concoction of confusion and anger as he brandishes his warpstone hookarm toward the peasant. The glowing material slides across the poor fellow's malnourished flesh. His body now jitters in raw panic for his life, remants of his short span flash like lightning before his eyes.

'We-we send statement. Clan Skurvy bring Empire of Man-thing under heel. Warlords and Grey Seers will fear our might-strength. Skurvy rules the under-seas, it shall soon rule the above...'

Before the Captain could finish his villainous speech, his thrall had already collapsed under shock, the now lifeless body moving only toward the rhythm of the crashing waves outside. The furious Skaven thrusted his hook-arm into the rudimentary woodwork out of frustration. The dim hue of lime emanating from the warp-stone lamp upon the chamber ceiling helped to conceal the poor architecture of this office chamber, as well as the many decomposing, half-eaten carcasses that the Anglermaw kept as leftovers to snack upon, but had never bothered to move. It was not to be this way at first, however. They would have been his messengers of doom and decay, but they had forfeited their lives one way or another. Now the peasant would share the same fate - A meal for the Sea-Rat.

Anglermaw gnawed upon the emaciated corpse, the dark fur around his face now painted red by the splattering blood of his prey. A tributary feast before the invasion, it would soon be time to dine on fatter, more luxurious game. Anglermaw was unlike his craven peers. He relished combat, and was feared for his ruthlessness. He was also partly adored among the Clan for his well-coveted dead eye. The quick, precise and downright deadly aim gifted to the captain had made him perhaps one of the most revered members of Clan Skurvy, which was more than modest an achievement considering the life expectancy of the average Clawcaptain. Many a Man, Elf-thing and many more Skaven that have looked to violently relieve Anglermaw of his station had recieved a messy hole between the eyes thanks to the Captain's warplock handgun.

As the Clanrats of Skurvy bray the slaves and the Stormvermin police the underfleet, the banners of the Clan rise from the caverns and into the unforgiving sea. Captain Sunami Anglermaw leads the vanguard of the Warlord's newfound virulent ambition. Rising above his latest victim, Anglermaw's keen hearing can make out the pattering of fierce rain as the storm outside tosses the plague fleet... not to mention the screams of unfortunate Skaven who have tumbled overboard into the jaws of the open sea. The time was nigh, as Anglermaw's thoughts were mused with visions of praises and promises from the mouth of the Warlord. Clan Skurvy would rise-rise. The Captain's pursuits would be a victorious one!