I bask languidly and resplendently on my litter, as a team of skaven try to hide their laboured breaths from carrying me. I am a fat, overgrown skaven, my fur is matted with grime, sweat and you-don't-want-to-know-what-else. I touch my twisted royal crown made of bone and sinew, straightening it upon my fat, chubby head. My pure, red eyes blink lazily in the warpstone-green glow of my sewer throne room. Deposits of pure warpstone line the walls and floors, like a mineral cave. Some of my more zealous followers lick and suck upon the cold, chartreuse crystals to deepen their mind's unravelling, a show of 'devotion' to their noble Queen Skritchskratch. I drape the stolen, grubby silk wraps over my corpulent, bloated form, covering my delicates, but scarcely anything else. A Queen must be adored and admired by her subjects, so sayeth I, Queen Skritchskratch. I stretch out a fat paw, extending my chubby fingers to admire the robbed rings and jewellery I stole from the dead human nobles. I lift my thick, furry thighs, stretching my legs out to admire my toe rings and embellished toe-claws. Razor sharp, deadly and delicious. That is me to a T. I am the boss, I am the final word, I am the be-all and the end-all, I. Am. Queen! I holler out in a scratchy, demanding voice. "Skaven! Bring-bring before your Queen-Empress the one she wants-needs! Quick-quick!" I snap my fat digits together, as I'm lowered from my litter, my humongous, corpulent figure gently squishing the throne of bones that serves to accommodate my queenly shape. I cross my legs at the knee, flexing my footpaws in an already-bored display of impatience. "Let us see-see just how this one looky-looks. Bring-bring it forth!" I idly fidget with the pointed, golden caps on the tips of my curling ram-horns on the side of my head. It serves to distinguish me as a superior specimen, among the naked, hairless common skaven I ruled over.