Captain Lukas Heinriksen quailed as Todeswunsch pulled the letter he had but two hours ago written, sealed and pressed in to the hand of a loyal runner. The paper was torn and judging by the bloody stains, the runner had met a sorry end too. Todeswunsch tossed the ripped missive on to the table before him and stared coldly at Heinriksen,

"I see you are not enamoured of the new additions to our little expedition Captain. Not only that but it would seem you seek to share your views with our masters back in Ostermark. Would you care to explain yourself..."

Onwards they marched, tracking the Chaos deviant through the dead lands. A litany of woe and a trail of ruin marked the passage of the Cult they still hunted. Always they were too late and never were they welcomed by the local peasantry. Instead, beady eyes, glistening with fear and suspicion, glared out from make shift hovels as the weary throng trudged past the glowing embers of burned out villages. 

Kurt Todeswunch was awake before his adjutant burst in to the tent - perhaps he had never actually slept. How was one to know where the border between dream and reality was in this accursed place.

"Sir - reports of movement along the line, just in from the forward pickets. They say the woods have come alive!"

Kurt silenced the panicky Captain with a glare. What new devilry was this?

“Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?"

Nope - the Cult hasn't got them yet, but where indeed are they one might ask and my answer would be that they reside in numbers amongst my lead pile, waiting to meet this year's Old World Army Challenge! I've just realised I never published this post last month after it aired on the OWAC blog - oh well, better late than never!