Krink hated scouting alone in the desolate mountains. He hated the frigid winds tearing at his face and clothes. He hated the way the deep snow slowed him down as he trudged through it and then slowed him again as he covered his tracks. But what the small goblin hated most of all was the peril he was now in. It was common knowledge across most of the tribes loyal to Htraknu that the mountains to the north of Krossavik's ruins were cursed. Far too many scouts and patrols had gone missing in those parts. Most recently, a band of twenty orcs had failed to report back. Having been the most recent to displease his chief, Krink had been volunteered for the unenviable task of trying to figure out what had happened to them. Sure, there were a few others as well, but they were all so spread out that they offered him no comfort.

As the sharp wind bit at his face, the little goblin exhaled a small puff of fog and wondered darkly what manner of horrors the frozen wasteland had in store for him. Some said a lone warrior stalked the mountains, seeking vengeance, but that was preposterous. How could a single fighter be responsible for so many going missing? No man, no matter how skilled could take on twenty orcish warriors alone. Other rumors blamed the dwarves, but that was even more ridiculous. The dwarves were nothing more than stories to frighten children. The tales that worried Krink the most were the ones that claimed that the mountains were haunted by the wrathful dead of Krossavik. Ghosts who hung on to the world of the living through sheer hatred and answered to no god or Shaitun. How in the Infernum was he supposed to deal with ghosts? He was a scout, not a shaman.

It was the harsh cawing of crows that snapped him out of his thoughts. Nocking an arrow to his bow, he began to walk up a small hill. Suddenly, the wind shifted and his nose was assaulted by the scent of blood and death. He grimaced, not wanting to continue, but, knowing that if he turned tail and fled his own comrades would kill him for cowardice once he made it back home - if he made it home - he pressed on. Upon reaching the top of the hill, he scanned about for the source of the smell. He soon saw what had attracted the birds and his heart skipped a beat.

Facing Krink was a pyramid of severed heads. The orcish heads on the bottom were largely stripped of their flesh, but judging by the freshness of what was left... Well, it seemed he'd found out where the missing patrol had gone. What really made him tremble, however, were the goblin heads that made up the top of the pyramid. He recognized those as the other scouts that had been investigating with him. He was about to turn and run for his life when he became terribly aware that a large shadow had fallen over him. It was one of the last things he ever knew.

[hr]

Bjorn Theobald contentedly placed the little goblin's head atop the pyramid of its comrades. Sure, it was a tad excessive and there was a good chance that either it would be knocked down by wildlife or covered by snow, but every now and then, one of his decorations managed to survive long enough to give his foes a good scare. Besides, after years of being out here on his own, he'd learned to find amusement where he could. Technically he hadn't been alone for the last couple, but, for the most part, his unwelcome companions were rather poor company. 

Idly, he shifted his attention to the howling maelstrom of spirits surrounding him. To his bored disappointment, he found that they were - for the most part - simply repeating the same old accusations and insults. Before he had learned to tune them out, they had nearly cost him his sanity and his life. Now, with a few exceptions, they were little more than background noise.

Turning his attention back to the decapitated corpse, Bjorn sighed and slung it over his shoulder. He hated the taste of goblin even more than he hated the taste of orc, but it wouldn't hurt to have more emergency rations stashed away in the ice cave near his hideout. There had been times where he'd almost had to contend with starvation while lying low as Htraknu's minions scoured the mountains in force. He consoled himself by remembering that he'd at least be able to subsist on the provisions the greenskins had been carrying for a while. Without further ado, the scarred warrior started heading back to his hiding place, lest a more dangerous force be used to search the area.