Hell is empty and all the devils are here.Armed with a true lance and astride his warhorse Hydria, Sir Sven AlFarrier struck a noble figure in the dying light of the day. The last rays of the sun glinted from his prized plate armour and made those who looked upon him shadow their eyes and faces lest they be blinded in his radiance.And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder: One of the four beasts saying: "Come and see." And I saw. And behold, a white horse.Only the white horse shone in this world more than Sir Sven. It had been sent from on high and received with great thanks by Sir Sven and his Men at Arms. A gift from the heavens that would provide a guiding light to their wanderings.In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.Before the horse, Sir Sven and his men had been simple warriors. A free-company that had clashed with the evils of the land and righting wrong. Now, with the gift of the white horse and its guiding light they knew they were warriors of the Gods. A destiny manifest.Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost peopleTo the township of Stallen the horse had led the pious. A pit of villainy that had resisted the purity, Stallen had been put to the sword and to the fire. Villains and thieves had been cut down by the Men at Arms, hewn into pieces and cast aside. Such was the fate of all evil. Ysten the squire has remarked how ill prepared and strangely unarmed the residents had been but Sir Sven had explained that the gods had simply stripped them of weapons and armour. Why they either seemed to be incredibly old or young, Sir Sven could not explain.Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.Ymir gave the barrel another shove and felt it slightly inch up the hill. The morthbrood had all got distracted with some rabbit droppings and were flinging them at each other, taking cover in the long grasses and popping out like brigands to ambush each other with entire handfuls at a time. Ahead, that damn horse was munching on a patch of yellowed grass, the only dead patch on the entire hill.Andsomethinglike a great mountain burning with fire was thrown into the sea, and a third of the sea became blood.And a third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.After Stallen, Sir Sven had clashed with the Orc and the Easterners at the Temple-Oth-River. A towering structure that had become a focus of unbound and evil magics in the country. The Men at Arms had fought well, and reaped the enemy like ripe corn. Hydria had crushed the chief of the Orc under his mighty hooves while the Eastern foe skulked like cowards in the temple. Sir Sven had been ambushed by a rogue during the battle but when he awoke, Ysten had pulled him away and remounted him on Hydira. Ysten had, of course, explained in great detail the victory of Sir Sven and his men who seemed strangely absent.Thence we came forth to rebehold the starsYmir wiped his brow and sighed. He had to shift this barrel for another damn hour before they would get to the top of the hill.

Svart Alfar the Barrel Rider - Personality

Points 96Quality 3+Combat 3

Special RulesBig, Leader, Tough

Wretched Ymir

Points 5Quality 4+Combat 1

Special RulesCoward

Morthbrood Cultist x4

Points 48Quality 3+Combat 3

Special RulesFearless, Mutant, Steadfast

Morthbrood Imps x 3

Points 35Quality 4+Combat 4

Special RulesMutant

Points:Personality: 96 (24%)Warrior: 302 (76%)Total: 398