She stole forward until she reached a large crate and peered around it. Ralk was there, in the far corner of the warehouse. His back was to her. He’d set his lantern on the ground beside him and opened a trapdoor in the warehouse’s floor.
“Just the two of you?” he said, peering into the darkness below.
“More are here, but they have no wish to leave the tunnelz,” a grating voice answered. “Unless yewz give us cause not to trust yewz.”
Ralk shook his head. “You’ll get what you want when I get my money.”
A creature scrambled out of the hole, and Fiafia clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Roughly the same height as the harbormaster, it walked upright and wore leather armor. But its hands, its feet, and its head were those of a rat’s.
—From Creeping, an entry in the Tome of CHAOS