WhiteFlint Township, The Olde World, 2014

Grumsnot Snotbane lay half-buried beneath a wolf’s scorched, broken body, one eye swollen shut, the other catching the pale reflection of the winter sky over WhiteFlint’s battered walls. Smoke drifted from the battlefield, a bitter mix of burnt flesh, iron, and melting snow that ran in rivulets through frozen ruin. Ice and mud slicked the ground, while steam hissed where blood met frost. The winter battlefield was a patchwork of frozen chaos, slick and treacherous underfoot, ghostly tendrils of smoke curling over the shattered skeletons of goblin war machines.

His Redd Kapz—his pride, his finest archers—were gone. Bodies burned and broken, bows splintered, arrows snapped in half. A few fanatics still spun through the ruin, cackling madly, their ball-and-chains whipping through the air. They had gorged on madcap mushrooms before battle; delirium made them unstoppable. Two collided with a roar, chains tangling, smashing both to pulp. Another swung his chain recklessly; it bounced off a jagged beam of a twisted war machine and struck him full across the skull. There was a sickening crack, a spray of blood, and a brief, horrible instant before his head shattered, rolling into the ice like a grotesque ornament, yet his body twitched for a heartbeat, still laughing madly before finally collapsing. Sparks gleamed briefly off shattered metal and gears, while humans moved among the survivors, blades flashing, delivering cruel mercy to any greenskin still breathing.

Grumsnot shivered, the winter biting at his scorched, bleeding flesh. Yet he was wrapped in what remained of the Redd Kapz’ tattered banner, its shredded cloth clinging to him like a memory, keeping him warm against the frost and chaos. Steam curled from his ragged breaths, mixing with smoke and snow. The arrow that had pierced him had nearly killed him, but luck had saved him, as it always did. No wolf had remained loyal—only chance had thrown one over him at the right moment. He pulled himself upright, chest aching, eye blazing with reflected pale light.

Around him, the battlefield roared: screams, cackling, clattering metal, and the hiss of melting snow on scorched earth. Charred timbers, shattered wheels, and twisted gears jutted from the frozen ground like broken ribs, groaning as if the machines themselves mourned their defeat. The war engines were skeletal now, jagged and blackened, some half-buried in ice, others leaning like the spines of dead giants. Grief twisted with fury. Pride shattered. Yet in that cold, scorched reflection, vengeance ignited.

“Ye… ye’ll pay… every last one…” he rasped. Scorched, bleeding, alive, Grumsnot Snotbane rose from the aftermath of his Redd Kapz. Flames and pale winter light danced across broken siege engines and melting ice, reflecting in his single good eye. Among the ruins, he saw the human commanders moving like ants, oblivious to the madness still whirling around them.

He tightened his grip on the tattered Redd Kapz banner, pressing it to his chest, whispering hoarsely through cracked lips: “Yer blood… yer honor… yer fire… I’ll carry it all, and make ‘em pay…”

Then his legs gave out. With agonizing effort, he crawled through the frozen mud and melted snow, inch by inch, toward the river behind the undergrowth. Each movement tore fresh pain through his battered body, every breath a rasp of fire and frost. The pale winter light reflected in his one good eye as he reached the edge. Finally, he rolled into the frigid water, the current swallowing him. The tattered Redd Kapz banner twisted around his unmoving form, wrapping him like a grim death shroud, a final, ghostly cloak of his fallen warriors. Steam rose from the icy water, curling into the pale winter air, carrying the faint scent of smoke, blood, and frozen iron. The battlefield seemed to exhale with him, marking the passage of the warboss into darkness. Beneath the frozen waves, the warboss who had survived fire, frost, and the ruin of his Redd Kapz finally surrendered to unconsciousness—yet his fury and vengeance would not die with him...