Journal Posts

17th Pflugzeit 2527
The wintry sky was blemished by black stains that
whirled and circled high overhead, their ugly squawks
raining down upon the ears of the men below. The
crows had gathered quickly, drawn by the smell of
death in the air. A great murder of the scavenger birds
had risen into the sky, betraying what the Greenskins had
done to every eye within a hundred leagues.
Badog glared at the croaking birds and spat against
the rocky earth. It was a small betrayal beside what had
come before it. The massive ork ground his fangs together,
imagining the many ways his revenge would unfold.
There would be a reckoning, and not all the daemons of
the Wastes would deny him.
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