The longboats slipped into the waterway as silent as death. The brutish crews were masters of sailing, having spent half their lives traversing the waves and taming the seas as their own. Even their landing gave the barest hint of scraping along the sand to announce their arrival, and off the first boat stepped a monster of a man. A hulking Norscan brute, a full head taller than any of the other warriors, with a musculature that looked cut and carved from granite. He was bare chested, immune to the bite of the harsh winter, and in his hands were dual broad-bladed swords. Upon his shoulders were spikes protruding from them, and his eyes were yellow. Ulkjar the Terrible, Manslayer and Beastkiller felt the soft sand beneath him. Even the land itself was weak and easily cowed. No mortal weapon had killed him yet, and after he had devoured the corpse of the Frost Troll, he healed as they did. The Norscan had not been south in many years. He looked forward to drinking the blood of Nordlander men. 

Next off the boat was a rather diminutive figure, hidden within a dark cloak, save for his red eyes and a gnarled hand that reached out to grip a staff of Oak, at its top was the perpetually frozen eye of a Chaos giant. Sarhashis hissed like a snake, his every breath a sinister whisper of ancient curses beyond knowledge or reckoning. Truthfully, he hated Ulkjar and all of his kin. But the Lord of Changes had led him to this one. Ulkjar was to be the herald for the end of days, and Sarhashis would see it through. They had already sacrificed two hundred Nordlander captives from the last incursion not a week before, a gift from the vanguard force. 

The Daemon Prince of Khorne had promised victory and blood. It was all Ulkjar had needed to hear. 
[hr]
Cyrdic chipped the small block of wood with his hunting knife, methodically cutting at its edges as he carved. Beside him, Skaldi was proving he could name over two hundred names for Gold in Khazalid like he did the last time he was in Karak Kadrin. So far he hadn't faltered. He was on his one hundred and sixteenth. Beside the two of them were the officers and higher ranking sergeants of Cyrdic's and the Count's columns. The other two columns, headed by Heinrich von Lebowitz, and Harald the Stout-Arm were east of them. 

Cyrdic had rested earlier, but he found he couldn't sleep. His dreams were vivid and filled with untold fears. He didn't know if it was the battle ahead, the fact Camilla was out in the wilderness without his protection, or the Chaos taint he could smell in the air. The past few weeks, the dreaded moon Morrslieb had grown larger every night. Even with the firelight dancing upon them, the sickly green glow of the moon filtered in.

He tried not to think of it. He simply wanted to finish the Dove he was carving. He was hoping to give it to Camilla once this campaign was over, and he thought that Ivan would appreciate the symbolism. The scarred soldier had not carved in years, but he used to before he joined the baron's service in Ostland. He remembered the day his father taught him how to hold the knife to better utilize his technique. He wondered if the old man was still alive. 

"Oi, are you even listening?" Skaldi asked the mercenary. 

"I'm trying not to," Johan of the Handgunner's said. Cyrdic snorted a small laugh, and then placed the half finished carving down and patted Skaldi on his too-broad shoulders to keep the Dwarf from challenging the man. Truthfully, the entire crew that sat with them were thankful Skaldi was here. That had been the best meal they had all had in weeks. "Of course." Cyrdic said. "How many is that now?" 

"Oh, ye've not heard the half of it manling!" Skaldi boasted, grinning. His teeth were a splatter of yellow and white that gleamed out of his thick, brown beard. "But at my count, about a hundred and twenty five." 

The men raised their mugs in cheer and grunted, pretending to care so they could humor the Dwarf. He didn't seem to notice their lack of enthusiasm and was just about to continue when Cyrdic placed a hand on him to stop him, telling him to be quiet for a moment. Skaldi was about to protest, but he heard it too a moment later. The other men were considerably confused, and they only saw the scout enter the small clearing only a moment before he emerged from the bushes. 

He had a bloodied scalp and he breathed heavily, but the huntsman was very much alive. He stumbled and hit a log, catching himself. Cyrdic helped the man up, taking in his wild eyed gaze. "What? What is it?" 

"They've landed." the man breathed, and he hacked into the snow. The white was suddenly flecked with a deep red. "Chaos hounds are on their way. [i]Now[/i]!" 
[@Penny]