Roses of Barfunweltz

The King of Thorns grinned his rictus smile as he disappeared into the ash cloud clutching the glowing lump of emberstone. He would harness its burning power to summon some of his knightly retainers from their barrows back in Syhish. Lord Tzunaak may not approve, but the King of Thorns was unconcerned. He knew what the Soulblight was up to: always scheming and plotting and as hungry for power as they are from blood. The blood knights had fallen over themselves charging headlong into the skaven gunline. They had killed many ratmen but their charges were badly co-ordinated and chaotic, the vampires unable to control their blood lust. This so-called 'crusade' needed a better leader. A more disciplined general, less visceral and impulsive. Cold, calculated, heartless, bloodless. It was ever thus - the Soulblights believed themselves the lords of the graves, and the deathrattle merely overseers and subalterns. It seemed they had forgotten who he was - not just some ancient 'King...