Return Of Reckoning Fixed Page

The mist curled around them as the three walked toward the war council. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the gate, a bell tolled—slow, wet, wrong.

Kaelen touched the rune-brand on his forearm—the mark of the Slayer’s Oath, though he had never taken it. Not formally. His shame was not failure, but survival. Three winters ago, in the tunnels beneath the Howling Heights, he had watched his entire Stonebeard throng fall to a Bloodthirster’s axe. He had been the last, trapped under a collapse, listening to the daemon’s laughter fade as it turned toward the surface. return of reckoning

Comprising the Empire (Humans), Dwarfs, and High Elves. The mist curled around them as the three

Kaelen counted the chimes. Seven. The number of Nurgle. The number of years the mist had held. Not formally

For a long moment, the Witch Hunter said nothing. Then her lips curled into something that was almost a smile. “His attention is fixed on the shrine of the Raven God in the lower crypts. He believes a great ritual will be complete by the next new moon. His warriors guard the upper halls, but the tunnels beneath—” She traced a line in the air. “There is a way. A flooded sewer passage that leads to his sanctum. No one uses it. The smell alone is a garrison.”