He opens his mouth to reply, then pauses. "While 'aye' would not be incorrect," he says thoughtfully, "It doesn't quite communicate the nature of the vermin. The beastmen that lurk in the woods of your Empire are a very different breed to those that burrow beneath the earth. They are ratmen, boundless in number; in your tongue, they are called Skaven."
The words echo unpleasantly in your head, and grow. A thought unfolds uncomfortably in your mind, and you're taken back to a day forgotten some fifteen years ago. A voice, unfamiliar to you, droning in a bored voice. "Number thirty-two. The Ratmen and the Conspiracy of Silence. If you believe you are accessing this memory in error, please contact the Grey College at your earliest convenience." Information blossoms, summoned by a name erased from history. A terrible enemy, an empire underground. Numbers, mutability, wizardry, technology, stealth, poison, disease, all the ingredients to wipe out humanity, missing only one: unity. Knowledge suppressed so that they felt secure enough to war among themselves. Emperor Mandred, who's death plunged the Empire into centuries of civil war, slain by ratman assassins. Once he was known as the Skavenslayer; now he is the Ratslayer, and given another century or two, perhaps he will be the Beastslayer.
You swallow, and taste blood. "Them," you say faintly. "I know of them."