"Now, there's something you don't see every day." Maxim mused, as he idled on his horse at the crest of the hill overlooking the town. He hadn't bothered reading any of the road signs, and he didn't have a map, so Sigmar alone knew what the name of the bloody place was. And now it was under attack by a pack of large and hairy wild-men wearing a crude assortment of pelts and belts. Unrefined, but he supposed it made sense, what with the dismal bloody weather that Kislev was so prone to.<br/><br/>"Suppose we'd better do something for the locals, then, eh? May as well ingratiate ourselves with 'em. Who knows, they might even be grateful enough to feed us." He continued, addressing the horse. The beast didn't have a name, at least, not that he knew of. She'd been the mount of a dashing young cavalry officer named Voss, back in Ostland. He had been a handsome, patriotic, wealthy young gentleman - at least, until Maxim had made something of a mess out of one of his lungs, during a duel they'd ended up fighting. He wasn't totally useless, though - his pants and boots, his noble steed, and the coins in his pocket had found a new home with the victor. Shame about his jacket, but Maxim supposed that he couldn't always have complete and total success. He'd lost enough duels to be overjoyed whenever he won one, and especially against a man wealthy enough to make it worth his while.<br/><br/>Both he and the horse were somewhat pinched, now, having gone with minimal food and sleep for the past few days. This bloody land wasn't safe enough to set up camp, and the villages he'd ridden through hadn't been particularly sympathetic to his plight. But then, he also hadn't rescued any of them from marauders, so there's always that to take into consideration.<br/><br/>Maxim drew forth the long, exquisitely-forged sword that he'd won from the hussar Voss, clicked his heels into the horse's sides, and broke into a trot towards town. He hadn't yet been seen, that much he was sure of, and he reasoned that, by sword and shot, he'd be able to cleave his way through the barbarians without so much as breaking a sweat. Hopefully then he'd get a bite to eat, a bed to sleep in, and, if he was lucky enough, a naive young village girl to keep him warm through the night.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>