c. Games Workshop

A chill wind blasted across the world’s dusty plains, causing the flesh-weave cloak that hung from Lazhareq’s shoulders to flutter and writhe as though still alive. The hungry cold had long ago scoured clean the bones of this abandoned human settlement, and now their icy bite stung into what flesh of his was exposed, but such a sensation was barely noticeable to the Master Haemonculus. His face, enclosed as it was in a faintly glowing glass helm that obscured his face utterly, was fixated upon the device clutched in one bony hand. As he watched, pinpricks of ghostlight played across the screen of the device, illuminating myriad life-signs in the distance. Life signs that had been going for far too long without the blessed kiss of pain.

Even then, Lazhareq’s attention was focused upon one prick of ghostlight that glowed more fiercely than the others. He was here. Their quarry was here.