[center][h2]Chapter 4: The Drakwald[/h2][/center] 

It was an old forest path used years ago before the roads had been well maintained and guarded for commercial use, but it was still well trodden. The forest had cleared from continual use of marching feet, leaving nothing but a dirt trail wide enough for a wagon, or 5 men walking abreast. All around them the Drakwald loomed around them. Trees as thick as Dwarves and tall as giants towered in the sky, an ominous mist licking the trunks and teasing the vision of the contingent of men now making their way down the path.

"Keep moving!" Cyrdic ordered, giving a Reikland swordsman a hard look and a rough push. The man immediately perked up and stepped with more assurance. Perhaps Cyrdic had offered his and Camilla's services too soon. For the contingent of troops had been leaving that day, and they had to hurry with their belongings. It was now three days travel in the Drakwald, and Cyrdic had swiftly gone back to his old ways as a Sergant. 

Usually he would blame the caravan guard for being lax, but this mist had everyone's spirits down this day. There was something about the forest that was thick and dark. Almost suffocating. That wasn't an excuse for the men however, and if they expected a kind word from him then they could kiss his ass.

There were 30 swordsmen, 20 Halberdiers, 20 riflemen, and over a score of various Mercs scattered throughout the Caravan. Why they needed this many troops, even in the Drakwald, was beyond Cyrdic. It was merely a shipment of iron and gunpowder bound for Altdor, for what he'd been told. The three wagons at the center bumped along the unpaved forest floor, mules letting out groans and snorts. The sound made all the men on edge, for everywhere else the silence was deafening. As eerie as the forest was, he knew trees couldn't drive a sword in his gut. They were in the heart of the empire after all. The man sighed, and knew he was just trying to convince himself. The Drakwald was famously dangerous. 

He caught a glimpse of who was leading the front next to Captain Hollman. A towering Warrior Priest of Sigmar strode confidently, his armor thick and his faith as loud as his laugh. Close cropped hair and a powerful chin gave him an easily recognizable face of authority. It was a contrast to the Captain, who looked as slim as a blade.