"What do you mean?" Cyrdic demanded of her, grabbing her collar. She did not seem concerned. In fact when she wasn't contemplating spells or prophecies, she always seemed to have a curve to her lips, as if she knew a secret no one else was privvy to. Considering her order, it very well might have been true. "By Sigmar, tell me what you meant!" 

"The Chaos Wastes." she repeated, her eyes locked with Cyrdic's. She shook her head. "Past that...even I cannot see." 

Images of Camilla being sacrificed, or mutated, or eaten by daemons flashed through his mind, and if it was yesterday he would begin to feel weak over grief. But he was done with such things. He felt a surge of energy at his anger, and he let the woman go. 

"Vhat if she iz vwrong?" Ivan asked aloud. He was more prejudice toward the wizard than Cyrdic. There were various provinces of Kislev that still burned witches. Yantz spoke up next. "She's never wrong mate."

"What else did you see?" Cyrdic asked. 

"My visions come and go," she said. If she did not seem so arrogant, he almost thought she seemed apologetic. "I can control spells, but my prophecies I cannot control. But I saw them climbing a...wall of ice. A dark haired woman was tied to a Varg's back. Above the cliff I saw an endless waste. Miles yet was poison and fire...and mutation." 

The Greatswords and Kislevites shook their heads, and made the signs of Sigmar and Ursun. Konrad took off his helmet, and breathed out a burst of steam from the cold air. He seemed to pause before he spoke, and when next he spoke it was by a force of will. "We're with you," he said, wholly unconvinced of his words or their success. It shook Cyrdic to the core one of the renowned men of the legendary rank of swordsman looked as if he wished to rather jump into the frozen, monster infested waters of the Sea of Claws than go where they intended to. 

Cyrdic could smell Yantz's fear, and looking at the man he could see it too. But the sorceress's guard held his tongue and simply pulled his cloak about him tighter. Even Skaldi and Ivan seemed intimidated to the breaking point. Only Cyrdic did not seem worried, at least at the prospect of entering the wastes themselves. In fact, he felt renewed energy in his limbs. His entire body moved on its own, and within its scabbard, his sword glowed. Cyrdic's irises were ringed with gold, and he felt his senses clear to anything beyond what he's ever felt. 

He sat down and relieved one of Ivan's companions, rowing with all of his considerable strength. 

"Row east a few hundred paces!" Dietrichia called over the crashing of the waves. "There's a strong southern wind!"

[hr]
Sarhashis reached into the Nordlander's chest cavity, and with a crackling pop, the cultist tore the heart out. Red blood spilled over his gnarled fingers. He handed the delicacy to Ulkjar, who took it within his massive hand and bit deeply, sucking the bloodied juices into his mouth as the flesh filled his gullet. He had not eaten southerner in many months. 

The army had failed, but their purpose had not. The force that had entered Nordland was but a paltry raid compared to what the Empire faced in the coming days, and Theodric Gaussen would not be able to aid the Kislevites with his forces come next spring. However, Ulkjar and Sarhashis had a pact to keep. Their prey had escaped for now. But not for long... 

The sorcerer plucked a black jewel off his robe, and carefully placed it within the opened ribcage of the corpse. The same Nordlander that had taken Yantz's horse. As the jewel was placed within him, his eyes opened. His pupils were red as blood, and he spoke an ancient tongue long forgotten on this plane of existence. He spoke of a Sergeant and a Courtesan, and of the city of Praag.
[hr]

Dietrichia had done her best to stave off the cold, however even her powers did not seem adequate enough to keep the men warm as they sailed across the Sea of Chaos (Some called it the Sea of Krakens) above the rugged land of Norsca, its mountains cutting into the clouds like great dragon spines. Only Skaldi seemed unbothered by cold, and Cyrdic due to his sword. But even the Kislevites were not used to such bitter chill, though they took it with a stoicism.

To the south, they saw a ragged bluff of snow, ice, and rock overlook the water. Upon it was a massive keep, a towering structure made of black metal that rent the very eyes with its edged spires. Even though the companions saw no signs of life, they could not help but feel watched, as if the tower itself was a malevolent entity that sought their doom. The air began to grow thick with frozen fear, and it was only by Sigmar and Ulric's grace that a monster from the deep had not swallowed them up long ago. 

A scraping noise filled the silence, and Cyrdic looked overboard to see the front of their longboat had run across a frozen wasteland. His eyes must have played tricks on him, because that had not been there before, he had thought. The waters had been eerily calm, but he did not recall seeing ice in the distance. 
"The frozen sea." The wizard said, trying to coil tighter within her double robes. Cyrdic looked across the ice, and saw no end to it in sight. After a moment, he stepped off of the Longboat, feeling a solid surface beneath his feet. "We walk from here." He told them, and the others grabbed their meager portions of food and water left. 

"Another day's walk north, and it will grow warmer." Dietrichia said. Yantz seemed positively miserable at having gone with the woman to this God's forsaken place. 

"Is that not a good thing?" Otto the Imperial asked. The Kislevites looked at him with knowing expressions, having fought near the wastes their entire lives. Boris the Hussar spoke up as he filled his pack with a skin of their last rainwater. "No, itis naht."
[@Penny]