The Were-Rat
Skelter is small and thin, but has a proud chest and holds himself with a solemn demeanor.
"Twenty-three years I served Thornbare, tendin' to the bowels of this great beast of a city. And all that time, nary a wink or nod from Them What Dwell Upstairs. I come to prefer the compn'y of the crawling things down below over the crawling things up above, if you get my meaning. At least down here in the underneath you know what's your friend and who your enemy's about."
He squints as his face is contorted in a sudden twitching tick. Smiling to himself, he continues.
"One day, the city, she done gifted me a gift. Nothing but a little nip on the finger started it, but soon enough it run its due course. The city done thanked me kindly for my service, she did."
Skelter examines a long, filthy nail before nibbling it thoughtfully and continuing.
"When Eliathan come calling, then, singing a song of rebellion against Them What Dwell Upstairs, I signed me up and my friends too. We make an army for him, we do, and never served no better master than he. But that clown he brought 'round, that Romulus fella, I don't quite like the smells about him. He stinks of ambition and deceit like a mayor stinks of cheap brandy. Eliathan takes to him right quick, though, and before you know it old Skelter's got himself a new master. Done left a bad taste in my mouth, it done."
"So by the looks of you lot you ain't much acquainted with the comfy life of Them What Dwell Upstairs, or at least you don't have much of that too-good-to-get-dirty air about ye. I've got a notion to do myself a favor and go mercenary for a time, and if you find yourself in needs of an army, and you've got spare coins about you, then I reckon we might talk."
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