The Harvest of the Dead
Ever since the betrayal at Gothizzar during the final stages of the Realmgate Wars, countless devoted sigmarites had searched for the Great Necromancer. Nagash's name had been wispered with even more hatred after his legions attacked the Seeds of Hope during the Season of War. Yet, there seemed to be no sign of the Great Necromancer. Then, from the Harrowmark in Shyish, rumours of a death plague bearing all the hallmarks of Nagash's sorcery spread through the Realms. In Venythia, Lothar Valdemius saw an opportunity to finally turn the Gilded Hand to open allegiance with the God-King. If, by chasing the Great Necromancer in Sigmar's name, he could secure a foothold in Shyish for the Gilded Hand, the alchemists might finally relinquish their mistrust for the King of Azyr. Lothar pledged with the Gilded Hand Elders to dispatch him and his Church of Sigmar's Retribution to the Harrowmark. The Elders, keen to get the Warpriest and his sermons out of Venythia for a while, accepted his request.
Thunder rumbled and echoed over the distant ragged mountain peaks that surrounded Wortbad. Leaving the shelter of a derelict barn, Lothar led the Penitent Brotherhood into the gloomy village. Avram kept close to the Warpriest as the human sped up to keep pace with Sharpbeak. The Gryph Hound had already picked up a trail.
Pieter von Toorn left the group to investigate a nearby cemetery. Something was wrong in there, he could feel it.
Suddenly, another rumble was heard. Guttural voices rivalled with the thunder as a ragged band of orruks in garbs that mocked the attire of serious Witch Hunters swarmed into the courtyard of a boarded up inn.
The hulking Warboss took a Fellwater Troggoth and a maniple of boyz out of the inn.
Another group of orruks lingered at their back, attempting to get into the inn.
With a bellow, the Warboss charged toward Lothar, his grunts hot on his trail. Sharpbeak was trumpled over.
Taken by surprise, the Warpriest was bearly able to hold his ground. Avram, on the other hand, made the orruks paid dearly for their rushed attack. And then, as the first drops of blood seeded the ground, the wind took on a mournful whistling and dedwalkers sprung up around Wortbad.
Pieter was surrounded, and only his skill with the great sword saw him fending off the surprise attack and felling one revenant.
The unengaged orruks ganged up on a lonely zombie that had claw its way out of the ground close to them.
The Penitent Brotherhood, seeking a chance to wash their wickedness in battle, charged in to protect Lothar from the Warboss and his minions.
Lothar raised his voice in a prayer to Sigmar and as his wound healed he landed a couple of blows on the surrounding orruks.
Then, a thick mist rose, the groaning of more deadwalkers echoing from unseen directions. It was no time for heroics. Nagash's hand was at work and the orruks were simply a distraction. It was better to fall back and try to figure out what, or rather who, was behind the deadwalkers raising.
Thunder rumbled and echoed over the distant ragged mountain peaks that surrounded Wortbad. Leaving the shelter of a derelict barn, Lothar led the Penitent Brotherhood into the gloomy village. Avram kept close to the Warpriest as the human sped up to keep pace with Sharpbeak. The Gryph Hound had already picked up a trail.
Pieter von Toorn left the group to investigate a nearby cemetery. Something was wrong in there, he could feel it.
Suddenly, another rumble was heard. Guttural voices rivalled with the thunder as a ragged band of orruks in garbs that mocked the attire of serious Witch Hunters swarmed into the courtyard of a boarded up inn.
The hulking Warboss took a Fellwater Troggoth and a maniple of boyz out of the inn.
Another group of orruks lingered at their back, attempting to get into the inn.
With a bellow, the Warboss charged toward Lothar, his grunts hot on his trail. Sharpbeak was trumpled over.
Taken by surprise, the Warpriest was bearly able to hold his ground. Avram, on the other hand, made the orruks paid dearly for their rushed attack. And then, as the first drops of blood seeded the ground, the wind took on a mournful whistling and dedwalkers sprung up around Wortbad.
Pieter was surrounded, and only his skill with the great sword saw him fending off the surprise attack and felling one revenant.
The unengaged orruks ganged up on a lonely zombie that had claw its way out of the ground close to them.
The Penitent Brotherhood, seeking a chance to wash their wickedness in battle, charged in to protect Lothar from the Warboss and his minions.
Lothar raised his voice in a prayer to Sigmar and as his wound healed he landed a couple of blows on the surrounding orruks.
Then, a thick mist rose, the groaning of more deadwalkers echoing from unseen directions. It was no time for heroics. Nagash's hand was at work and the orruks were simply a distraction. It was better to fall back and try to figure out what, or rather who, was behind the deadwalkers raising.
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