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Two figures walk through the blazing midday sun, ignoring the oppresive heat as they move amid the desert dunes with tireless conviction. The first figure strides with purpose, planting her staff into the sand with each step she takes. The other sits, stoop-backed, on its wiry mount…

After weeks of unceasing trek, ruined statues and crumbling columns materialise, coalescing in the heat-haze. The figures press on until they are surounded by the remains of a long lost civilisation, weathered and eroded by millenia. The woman turns and speaks to the mounted figure in a clipped and strange language not heard by the living in centuries uncounted. The mounted figure spreads its withered arms wide and starts to chant in a almost inaudible rasp like the death rattle of a plague victim…

The desert sands shift and stir under the blazing sun, a corpse breath gust swirls through the forgotten remains of a perished empire. A hand of desicated bone brakes the sandy surface like a macabre flower reaching for the sun and the rebirth of an ancient empire begins…

Queen Khalida and her loyal liche priest

Skull catapult and crew

Orc and Skaven skeletons, slaves from the gladiator pits

Restless spirits of lost souls caught in limbo at the very moment of death