A thousand half-rat, half-human Ratkin crowded in the empty sewer tunnel, torches and barrels alight with burning garbage. Chattering and chittering echoed- chitchitchitchitchit.
It stank. None were clean, every single Ratkin buzzed with excitement.
In the center of their assembled mass, a dead Metis Werewolf hung, covered with flies, its eyes ripped out.
Obscenities were spray-painted all over the Black Spiral Dancer’s body.
A gaunt Ratkin stood up in front of the trophy. A patchy beard hung down his chin, his body covered in tattooes, each a image taken from the book of revelation, star wars and just plain taunts.
“Shut UP you fucks!”
The chitchitchittering stopped. Heads bowed low, and the many Ratkin snapped claws in unity. Click, click, click.
“We all heard the SCREAMS, didn’t we?!” The Ratkin mob leader screamed each syllable out. The other Ratkin screamed in reply, a thousand different replies.
“Didn’t we, you fucks!?” Again, the thousand replied. This time, louder.
“Mother Rat screamed, you rat fucks! Its time! Chaos blesses us! Tell me whadda think we should DO?! WHATS MY NAME? WHATS all our NAMES!?”
“Plague! Death! Plague! CULLS THE HERD!”
“That’s right!” King Culls-the-Herd pulled out a human forearm, covered in Red Death postules. “Gaia gives us the Red Death! Take to every inch of this shiteating town, you ratfucks! Cull Seattle! SAY MY NAME!”
And the thousand ratkin chanted and chanted and screamed and roared: “Culls-The-Herd! Culls-The-Herd! CULLS-THE-HERD! CULLS-THE-HERD! CULLS-THE-HERD!”