The days following the encounter at Whioll were filled with what seemed to be an endless march across the wilderness. The host encountered a few small groups of travellers along the way. A small band of humans, who upon seeing them fled almost instantly. Moltke charged the black riders to find them, ride them down and dispatch them. They had shortly thereafter joined the company meandering over the Silver Hills.

A fledgling warband of Orruks were unlucky enough to cross paths with the host too, though they proved more elusive. Melting into the wilderness, hidden from sight until the last of the Lady’s retinue shambled past. So many races that Petra hadn’t seen in this area before, at least not in any sizeable numbers. Orruks roaming the land unchecked, it was something unfathomable. If it wasn’t something that she and her family would’ve taken care of, it’s something that the humans, ælves or even one of the smaller duardin settlements in the area would’ve seen to. There wasn’t a lot of The Silver Hills to go around, and the races under Sigmar’s protection made damned sure it was for them to squabble over alone.

Of course, they viewed her as one of their own back then. A woman of noble birth who’d seen the horrors of the Soulblight curse, and had taken it upon herself to aid in the fight by joining the ranks of Sigmar’s faithful as a witch hunter. In truth, other dynasties and families with the gift were eyeing her holdings, making moves to seize territories that she had claimed. Ever edging towards an all out assault to usurp her from her rightful place.

She’d spent years trading influence as her alter ego, working out of the major city of the area called Salzenmund. She was held in high regard, consulted on matters relating to pushing back those Soulblighted monsters encroaching on the Silver Hills. Whatever time she didn’t spend as the witch hunter she spent solidifying her hold over her own territories, removing as much evidence of her dealings as possible. Presenting to the outside world as a simple fiefdom presided over by a benevolent and absentee ruler.

The Silver Hills were different than she had remembered them. More verdant, full of life. Sweeping meadows full of wildflowers and greenery. From time to time small rodent like animals jutted their heads up from thickets of long grass, skittishly looked around, surveyed the landscape and disappeared back into the brush. It was all very pleasant.

Something was wrong, however, many of the geographical features felt familiar, but things were missing. The hill they were approaching should have a guard tower atop it, looking over the fields below. The path they were following was ancient and robust in her memory, but in reality it was nothing more than a rough pebble road, barely wide enough for three horses to ride abreast.

Other things were wrong too. She remembered the smells of industry that would waft by on the breeze, but with every influx of air the familiar scent never came. The silver the area was named for, it would appear, was to remain firmly in the ground.

Her throng of undead were aimed towards two of her holdings. Places she knew she could take stock of the situation, change into something more fitting and find a decent meal.

They’d finally arrived at the first, a small estate her family had maintained for generations on the outskirts of their lands. To Lady Hirkeit’s dismay, all that remained was rubble. Broken buildings, rocks strewn around and all but a few signs of paths and roads swallowed up by the encroaching wilderness.

She awoke in a crypt. She knew it was a crypt immediately, they had a familiar smell, dry air and old death. The smell was familiar, but how she’d got here wasn’t.

The cold of the rock slab she was laid out on bled through into her body. Her arms and legs ached, so did her neck. Stiff from a long cold slumber.

Swinging her nimble legs off the slab, she sat upright to survey the room. It was small and enclosed, hewn out from solid rock. A doorway was cut into the wall beyond the foot of the stone slab, it held a heavy wooden door, barred shut, with an large bookcase pushed against it. A man lay dead at the foot of the bookcase, a priest of one kind or another based on his garb, his life essence having left him days ago.

Day 10 of 2024. I decided it'd be a good idea to throw some matt varnish onto my bowmen to tamp down the satin finish of the Army Painter Speedpaints, as they tend to be a bit shiny when uncoated. I gave all the peasant archers a coat of AK Ultra Matt varnish through the airbrush, my preferred varnish.

After doing this I, in my ultimate wisdom, decided it'd be a good idea to apply some edge highlights to the units. It might not be a good idea in the long term to do this on the rank and file troops. It certainly wasn't my plan. For the uninitiated, Warhammer The Old World is a rank and flank game, which involves a lot of miniatures, and if I commit to doing edge highlights it will mean doing this to many, many, models across my entire army.

But I'd rather it look good than be done quickly!

Day 8 of 2024. HOBBY JOURNAL.