“As he looked into the cracked mirror, he couldn't deny there was some kind of satisfaction on his face. Eol Lossehelin was tall, pale - like most of his kin - and had long, black hair. He looked at his muscles: they sure did get bigger after the last game. They lost, sure they did, but he had a good game. Three rats blocked out of the game, one even died. He smiled. He closed his eyes and remembered the sound of the breaking neck of the little skaven. Hmmmm.

As he opened his eyes again, he shivered. Behind him, in that same cracked mirror, he saw the burning eyes of Galoreth Gûl, Daroth Gûls son. And he immediately saw Galoreth was angry. Very, very angry. They had lost. 0-3, a deveastating, shameful loss. And they would soon know how angry Galoreth was...”