There’s an indefinable scent on the air. Of sweet meats, cakes and beneath it all, the imperceptible hint of more, that musky flavour I know so well. The pub is crawling with characters from all walks of life, voices coalescing in unhappy union. Greenskins roar above the general babble, with much slapping of meaty hands on tabletops. Abused tankards are raised and thrown together, a parody of companionship so rarely shown by our hulking chaos allies.

She arrived home late, or early, if one was watching one’s timepiece, and found the house dark except for small indigo flickers of Dhar that had been placed here and there as to avoid knocking oneself on the house’s many elaborate decorations.

Thiralis stepped into the hallway, and immediately felt a prickling sensation deep within her heart and stomach, the one that she felt when she knew that something, somewhere, was very amiss.  Looking about, she found that a shelf on the wall had been righted, one that had been broken and haphazardly patched for as long as she could remember seeing it.

Intizara settled in quickly with her classes, but it didn't take long to note one thing.  She was ever watched by the same blackguard.  He literally followed her from class to class and wherever she went within the city.  The only time he did not follow her was when she was sent out onto the battlefield on a mission.  At least, this how it seemed, but since joining the college she only went on two missions - one as large scale team effort and now she was on a solo one out in troll country.  However, he wore insignia marking him as one of the guards of House Tervisla, which ran the academy she attended.

 Markessa looked down at the chained naked asur on the table, her brow furrowed in consternation. Five small burn marks still smoked on his chest, the only sign as to what could have caused his demise. The look of agony permanently etched on his face showed his ending had not been a pleasant one. The sorceress went over in her head the process and could not see where she had gone wrong. She had managed to draw the slave's life force into her fingers, yet assimilating it into her own was proving most difficult. Markessa knew she was close, and if she managed to do it knew the gift of eternal beauty would be hers. She screamed loudly in frustration, and the tower shook with her annoyance.

Intizara examined the gate to the definite Druchii architecture that accented the sprawling mass of a typical building in the Inevitable City.  After a good deal of research she had decided on attempting to enroll in a proper school of sorcery.  With the help of Kelstan she had a list and all the forms required.  His timely note about the decision the Management of Dhar Acquisitions had probably saved her life.  If she had returned directly to her studies without taking a stop by the cult's complex just to see Sieglinde for a few moment, she would have been in the same place as Master Draiocht.  Incinerated to nothingness.  It turned out he was he one breaking all the laws a

The door opened with a slow creak as soon as she touched her fingers to the polished ebon wood.  After leading her new slave by his chained wrists into the ornately decorated hallway, the heavy timber closed tightly of its own accord.

Giacinta wearily made her way up the four flights of stairs, almost tripping upon the last in her sleepiness and depth of thought.  No, she decided as she righted herself, put the key in the door, and entered the small set of fairly barren rooms near the temple.  Not depth of thought.  I am undone.  I have no thought at all.  Emotions?  I feel dead inside.  I am living in this.  This… murky, swirling, grey-green sea of nothing… loss… despair.  This is where I live.

Daengar Stonehammer glanced warily over his shoulder, eyeing the train of carts, each one heavy with supplies and hauled by a stalwart Grudge pony.  The combined Greenskin and Skaven assault on Khaz Agril had been so sudden and unexpected that the fleeing Dwarf forces had been scattered across the country side.  Now each turn in the path was a potential ambush, a sense heightened even more by the thick forest lining either side of the road.  It didn’t help that the Rangers he had sent ahead hadn’t reported back in a while.

Thiralis strode into the main camp the Northmen oddly called “Sorcerer’s Axiom”.  She was on her own time, off duty here in the human lands, and so had left her armor back in a chest in her own tent.  An intricately tied web of leather straps bound her long indigo silk robe to her slim form at the waist and hips, on the ends of which dangled more than several silver flesh hooks cast in the shape of elaborate runes.  Such was customary of any soldier of any noble house, and as she moved, they filled the air around the warrior with the incongruously dainty sound of tiny chiming bells.