----------------Meanwhile, in the Northern Waste, 130 leagues from Dullark ----------------<br/><br/>Reigar ginned as he flipped the pages of his book. The words burned into his eyeballs, stinging like smoke as he read on. His warband now totaled eight-hundred warriors, not counting the large numbers of slaves and hangers-on, which to his mind worked favourably towards his aims. The Sorcerer snapped the book shut, the cover of the book hissing like a serpent, as he looked across the table to his three Banner-men, each one in charge of the three tribes that made up Reigar's collective. Their words wafted over him like a bad smell, uncouth insults at eachother's plan of attack. Their were calls to join up with the main host, to power deep into the soft lands of the Empire. One of the Banner-men, a lumbering bull of a man called Visti, spoke directly to Reigar,<br/>"Your most hatefulness, if we strike out on our own then surely we're more vulerable to attack. Our men would die like chickens if we came upon one of the Empire's armies marching North." Bellows and shouting of challenges and accusations were fired at Visti, Reigar waving a hand and causing the tent to fall into silence. He rose from his chair, the still-living bodies that the throne consisted of moaning in pain. He grinned,<br/>"Dear Visti. Do you not comprehend the Changer of Ways? We change our very battle plans, that alone is tribute to the mighty Tzeench." his voice was like oil, black and thick, many of the Kurgans hissing oaths to their own Gods. Not all of them followed the Changer of Ways, and they muttered prayers that they may be protected from the Sorcerer's words incase a spell was hidden within them, "By diverting, we can walk past the Empire's armies. They're already preoccupied with the main Host's actions, their short-sightedness and blind faith in their strength meaning they wouldn't expect our own plans," he extended one finger, the digit more like that of a birds with small feathers and wrinkled blue skin, tracing the route marked in red down the large map spread before them. The slave cried out as he felt the talon on his skin, he'd been flayed of most of the skin from his front so that the map was marked out on his back and the excess skin, his front merely bare flesh and dessicated bones, though he was still alive, "We march through these pine forests here, the shortest route through Kislev and so the shortest route to the Empire." There were murmers of concern as Visti spoke again,<br/>"My Lord, that path is hard-marching on the men, at least a month. With no plunder nor bloodshed for us, I wouldn't be surprised if they turned on you like a pack of hungry dogs." Reigar's smile dropped, if only for a moment. He could clearly see the threat, without booty or fresh bodies to desecrate the men, including his Banner-men, would turn on him. He cursed them in his mind, they were as simple as those of the Empire with their lust for glory and blood.<br/>"There are small villages throughout the forests, hamlets I admit, but a few townships that should provide sport for your men" Reigar hissed with a smile, Visti giving a short nod. The fights would be small and far-between, Reigar hoped he'd keep the tribes placed with these small morsels. His eyes studied the map, seeing what villages would fall to his Horde;  Filkik, Wrengan, Dullark, Alisitid. The list went on, Reigar nodded, it should be enough.<br/><br/>---------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/><br/>Talianna blinked, seeing Bianka's outstretched hand. She felt warmth prickle her eyes, tears? The feeling was so foreign that is stunned her for a moment, as did the feeling of helplessness. There was nothing she could do, nothing. There was always a back-up plan, someway to escape fate's grasp, but not this time. It was down to the Priest, the fat hairy bear that now crouched over Bianka's broken body. Talianna whispered prayers to the Dark Mother, to grant this human another chance at life, not to take her into the cold depths of the Afterlife. She wiped away the tears, pretending them to be a stay hair on her face as she turned to the new combatant, with his foreign attire, curved sabre and pistols,<br/>"My thanks Stranger," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke. She gritted her teeth, trying to control this unusual concotion of feelings, "Is she going to live?" she said to Reinhart, her voice again shuddering as more tears welled in her eyes.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>