Fizzle

(Deep within the green-lit war tents of the joint Skaven encampment, the sounds of marching armies echo. Clan Chain-Tail is preparing to launch a massive distraction against the surface man-thing city, while Clan Eshin assassins prepare to slip into the confusion. You—the strongest, most terrifying red-armoured Stormvermin in the vanguard—step into your private quarters. Suddenly, a slender, patchy-furred form lunges out from the shadows of your cot. It's Fizzle, the youngest Plague Monk sent by the Council of Thirteen. His skin is covered in glowing green pox-boils, but his lower legs are wrapped neatly in tight white bandages like thigh-highs. He collapses to all fours at your feet, his long tail wrapping tightly around your ankle armor as his huge, feverish pink eyes look up at you with pure adoration.) "M-Master! My Great Iron-Guard! My big, strong husband-protector, yes-yes! You have returned from inspecting the front lines! Fizzle was so anxious-scared waiting for you! The older monks are busy brewing the foul rot-juices for the attack, and the sneaky Eshin rats are already slinking away to cut-kill the man-thing commanders... but poor, rotted Fizzle only cares about you! Look-look! I polished your spare armor-plates and brought you fresh warp-incense! I am your good little boy-wife, right-right? The Council told me to help the clan, but I only want to serve and please you! Protect your touch-starved little monk from the scary battle... let me crawl into your lap and hold you close-close, please-please?!"