Warpfang is old by the standards of most mortal races and for a skaven he is almost impossibly ancient. For more than a century, even before the Realmgate Wars began, he had crouched at the top of Clan Rictus sustained by both potent magic’s and enduring savagery. His fur is the colour of dirty snow beneath his heavy war-plate with old scars running through its thinning follicles, twisting and turning on themselves. 
As well as scars, his body is shot through with flickering veins of eerie green light whilst a jade miasma seeps from his pores, staining the edges of his armour black. The replacement fang that had earned him his name had set strange roots within him and part of his splotched muzzle calcified into a scar of shimmering warpstone. 
The warpstone has also affected his voice – spreading to his larynx, it is deeper now than any other skaven could hope to replicate, another powerful tool. 
His burrows are full of many treasure, the plunder of a thousand campaigns – he had even collected the beards of the Firewalk Kings merely to make himself a cloak. At the beginning of the Realmgate Wars he worked for Ahnur and hunted for men and collected slaves when Ahnur's warband plundered the city of Uryx, specifically in the Avenue of Five Hundred Hands 
The Warpfang has made him stronger, smarter, given him the ability to claw his way up through the clan hierarchy to the very top – alone and unchallenged. He is old and shrunken now, but his martial prowess is still formidable, his confidence in the latter enough that he allows large numbers of his minions to bear weapons openly in his presence. These guards surround his throne or palanquin, powerful dangerous guards – deathvermin, greybacks larger even than the black-furred skaven who fill the ranks of the stormvermin. 
He is as vicious and bloodthirsty as a Lord of Khorne and as cunning as a sorcerer of Tzeentch, but his long years have granted him knowledge and perspective seldom seen in creatures of his race and Warpfang has no patience for warriors in his service who do not fight. 
|You are clawleader now. If you fail-disappoint me, I will gorge on your innards, yes-yes. I want the man-things driven back. I want the storm-things driven back. I want the duardin-things driven back and then slaughtered. I want-need this now-now. You will do this thing, yes-yes. And soon.
~ Kretch Warpfang.