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On the other side of the locked blades two little red eyes stared back, little black pupils ringed in black veins. His ugly face locked in a grimace of pain and rage. His form was covered in a massive shirt of heavy chainmail, his huge shoulders made even more prominent by the spiked armour-plates they carried. His helm was horned, some great bull’s horns. There was no visor for no ordinary helm would be able to take the distended jaw that occupied it.
Baran-Thul, Warchief of the Stone-faces howled silently inside. Here before him was one of the Great Enemy. His clan, his family and warriors lay dead around them. The knowledge tore at his feral heart like a trapped animal. Another sin to be laid before the feet of his more hated foe. The enemy shall not be forgiven!
