Kaelen counted the chimes. Seven. The number of Nurgle. The number of years the mist had held.
Sir Roland sheathed his sword. “Twenty against a Daemon Prince of Nurgle? Those are not odds. That is an execution.” return of reckoning
Return of Reckoning , they called it. The slow, brutal crawl back from the edge of annihilation. Kaelen counted the chimes
He should have died. Instead, he clawed free three days later, half-blind, raving, his axe notched beyond repair. The dwarfs of Karak Kadrin had given him a new axe and a new name: Drengbarazi —the living dead. they called it. The slow
Sir Roland’s face was a mask of boiled leather and old ideals. “The beacons signal for aid that does not come.”