The skaven gave a shallow scream as it died with Elias Swiftblades Storm Saber puncturing out from its back. The foul reek of the creatures corrupted blood, rotting cloth and festering sores made his eyes water as he drew the lightning weathered blade out of its torso.
A lurking figure leapt from the shadows unto his back. Pale, clawed hands grasping beneath his helmet to make room for the rusty dirk in its other hand. A split second before the blade would have cut his throat from ear to ear, a Storm Bolt whistled past his shoulder and was followed by a wet thump. The grip on his helmet disappeared and the body of yet another skaven fell to the cursed ground.
From the unholy fog of the cursed city of Shadespire came Sanson Farstrider, Boltstorm Pistol ready and Star Falcon ever watchful on his shoulder.
“For a city thought deserted, there are sure are a lot of these foul creatures. Did you find their trail?” said Elias as he cleaned his blade on one of the dead skaven.
“Ay there is and I fear that there will always be more. I found the trail of the skaven warlord amongst others. Skaven, Orks and mortal alike, and they all go in the same direction.” As Sanson spoke, the third of their band emerge from the fog, blodied but unbowed.
“So where are we going?” asked Almeric Eagl-Eye, watching Sanson striding into the city of broken Shadeglass.
“We follow the trail” he said. “We go North!”