The gretch was tired, no…. exhausted. His clothing was ragged, stained with dirt, blood and his own filth. His hat was long discarded, the tricorns shape ill fit with his surrounds, straight lines were a luxury in the north. Straight lines were a thing of civilization. Of Empire. Straight roads, canals, shield walls, stabbing swords. No. The north was warped and unnatural of late, nothing ordered. Like the gretch’s journey, winding, wandering, meandering. It had to be so to throw his pursuers off his scent. He hunched against a wind blasted boulder, his dirt grey form one with it. Below was…..ruin. The town that once announced the end of the barbaric tribe lands and the start of the civilised south, gone. Its plump ruddy faced burghers were no more, their bleached bones lay amongst the ashes of their homes. (more…)
The battle was hard to take in. Swirling clouds of dust and rain obscured the tumult below.
Bringing his army down through the jagged peaks surrounding Nighteye and woodlands tainted by wylds magic, Duncan Just had halted his command in order to observe the slaughter from the highlands. (more…)
The cottage was ripe with decay: flayed animal carcasses dangled from the ceiling, piles of bones littered the floor, and heaps of entrails steamed atop a stained wooden table. An old Ursine stood at the window. He turned to face the strangers sprawled bleeding on the packed dirt floor, and in a high, mocking voice said, “Wonderful job, heroes. We are surrounded.” (more…)
The war between the High Heavens and Burning Hells is an everlasting conflict and as such, a stalemate. Legions of demons and angels have been slain in the process, but without causing a significant breakthrough. (more…)
The end of the Great war saw the birth of that which is termed; The Wilds (Wylds, Wylderness, The Wound). Speculation of the events that cumulated in its forming, fill several tomes a foot thick and need not be rendered here. In as much as is pertinent the gods deemed that such was required and either made or allowed to be made that which is known by the vulgar as the scab in the flesh of the world. (more…)
It appears learned friend that what we foresaw would come to pass has. Duncan and his cadre have managed to seep back into imperial affairs. I expected no less from the Emperors brother. Obviously his blood line is tainted by the fallout of his misguided and blind ritual failure but it has not stopped him lusting after power via another. (more…)
The dull boom of displaced air filled the stone paved square. Stepping from the circle, several obvious crusaders bunched around the crimson garbed inquisitor and his second. (more…)
The crater is slowly filling from the bleak mere. Soon a new lake will form. The ruins and bones of the dead entombed in its watery depths. Augmentor golems have returned from black water, empty handed. Their armoured forms steam from the corrosive effluents filling the bowl, a legacy of the ritual fallout contaminating the waters.
In ones and twos meek folk are finding their way to the prime hold. This is bringing its own dilemma as often undead creatures travel in the wake of Michael’s children. The militia numbers peak and trough with those slain by marauding ghouls and wights, being replaced by meek seeking employment. The tide of wyldborn which appeared in the great circle have mostly left, with those that remain being the malnourished or wounded too weak to make the journey home.