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Date Posted: 13:52:57 03/17/02 Sun
The cloaked figure smiles humourlessly as it impales another of the ratmen on its short blade. Its armour is scratched a few places, but it is pretty sure there aren't even any flesh wounds.
Imagine my luck, it muses as the skaven slides off the blade, barely half a day out of town and I find a camp of these wretched heathen already.
It winces as a jagged, rusty skaven blade cuts a long gash across his left leg. The confused ratman stares at the dark brown fluid leaking from the wound in place of blood, until the sword descends and splits his head wide open.
"Suppose I.. argh, deserved that for letting my mind wander." The figure mutters to itself, scanning the small clearing for more ratmen. Half a dozen furry corpses are scattered about. The two tents, each on one side of a small campfire, are slashed beyond the point of repair.
It wasn't sure if any of the skaven were women or children. Not that it mattered... They had all attacked, they had all fought, and they had all died. Thus, it thought with satisfaction, is the folly of fighting a warrior of God.
Smiling again, under the layers of clothing, the figure stretches, limps over to a fallen log, sits down, and begins dressing the wound.
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