The monstrosity is pacing back and forth in the distance, relentlessly walking between the great stones that surround its place of power. Untold riches and artefacts lie right behind it, but there is no other way to them than through it – through the narrow valley.

Mordeg is pacing just as restlessly as his monstrous adversary. His Terrorgheist eyes the other force assembling its battle formations a few hundred yards to their left, at the entrance of the valley.

“Sire, what shall we do with them dwarven peasants and their mockery of warfare?” the hunched-over Abhorrent Priest whispers towards the nervously pacing Mordeg.

“Nothing – their disgusting and cowardly war machines might be helpful for once, to break through this enemy without too many losses on our side. We will decide the distribution of riches once the beast has been slain. With blood, if need be,” answers Mordeg.

“Very well, sire. I will assemble our troops at once. Shall we march on the beast in unison with the dwarven scum?”

Voraine barely completes the sentence before his Lord looses a screeching howl, joined by the ever-hungry winged beast behind him. Mordeg throws his head into the sky, rows of sharp teeth bared, claws fully extended, and starts running – running, without waiting for a single squire of his army. A few hundred yards down the hill towards the valley he leaps forward in a mighty jump, only to land on the neck of the Terrorgheist that has followed him.

A hoarse scream echoes through the valley as he storms towards the beast: “FOR THE LADY AND GLORY!”

Voraine finds Mordeg among the rubble a few hours later, buried under bodies. His steed – elsewhere, feasting on the dead of the dwarven army that has already completed its run through the valley – did not bother to look for its master.

He is still alive. Barely. Bruised, battered, new wounds opened across his chest and face, adding to the muster of his older scars.

He opens one eye. “Did we slay the beast, Voraine?”

“Aye, sire. Your courageous frontal assault did most of the work, long before the rest of us could catch up.”

“And the artefact?”

“Safe and secured.”

“Let me have a look at it.”

The limp and broken body of the flesh-eating Abhorrent rises, and with his cardinal – draped in leatherised human skins – holding him upright, he limps towards the place Voraine is pointing to. There stands a throne, made entirely out of bone, being raised onto a wagon to be pulled by deranged, blood-slick Ghouls. The Charnel Throne. The first true prize of their crusade.

Mordeg’s ruined mouth pulls back into something that might be a grin.

“Wonderful. The Lady will be pleased.”

A little lore blurb about the first obligatory game of our local AOS Path to Glory campaign.

Have also some photos of my freshly painted Abhorrent Cardinal, part of the painting challenge for the last 2 months.