Alarms screamed throughout the Boiling Peak volcanic base. Typhus scurried through the fume choked corridors, screaming obscenities at anything that got in his way. How had it all gone so badly wrong? The raid by the man-things had set his research back years, but his genius was not to be thwarted so easily! After making the finishing touches he had begun powering up the arcane machineries of Boiling Peak earlier that day. Everything seemed to be working fine, except for a few non-essential pressure valves exploding. The awesome power of the volcano was harnessed and eldritch energy flashed around the copper earthing apparatus and unfortunate slaves. But then something had failed. As the apparatus reached full power the raw magical energy was vomited forth in an uncontrolled burst, immolating skyre researchers and menial underlings alike and creating a sickly rent in the fabric of reality, from which spewed the daemonic legions of chaos.
Typhus' nest guard had poured into the chamber to contain the breach and for a while it looked as if they would succeed, banishing nearly all of the legions of lesser daemons. But then a greater daemon of the blood god weighed in and scattered Typhus' crack troops before it as chaff. The troops ordered to protect Typhus had fled and so he had been forced to stamp his feet petulantly and vanish in a puff of smoke to rally more forces to the bases defence. When control of the chamber was finally regained the delicate machinery lay in ruins.
There was only one possible explanation for this set back. The apparatus must have been sabotaged and his underlings paid off to desert Typhus in his moment of need! Typhus didn't know who could have done such a thing, doubtless some rival hoping to usurp him as ruler of the magnificent Skaven Empire! To be safe, Typhus had all potential rivals executed and began the laborious work of rebuilding.