Onwards they marched, tracking the Chaos deviant through the dead lands. A litany of woe and a trail of ruin marked the passage of the Cult they still hunted. Always they were too late and never were they welcomed by the local peasantry. Instead, beady eyes, glistening with fear and suspicion, glared out from make shift hovels as the weary throng trudged past the glowing embers of burned out villages.
