Snow White Hills Blood Bowl Chronicles

When I was younger, I had a friend named Hugo who fancied himself a woodsman. Hugo wasn't the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but he had a good heart. He often strayed too near the woods, far beyond the boundaries that our village elders had set for us and he had no fear of the strangely marked stones that the fey guard so fiercely. One spring night, we we're heading home from fishing when a beautiful girl stepped out of the shadows of the trees and beckoned to us. I was afraid, but Hugo went to her without hesitation. When Hugo didn't return the next day, the elders asked me what had happened, but I told them I didn't know. Eventually, they gave Hugo up for dead. I didn't see my friend again for nearly three decades, until a certain spring night, when I chanced to be near the trees where last I'd seen Hugo. A young man came walking out of the woods and to my astonishment, I realised it was he, but that he hadn't aged a day. He started to speak to me, but then his eyes widened, as if from fear. Whatever his final words were, they were lost as he crumbled to dust before my eyes. Out of the darkened trees a beautiful girl beckoned me and I fled with her mocking laughter speeding me on.: — Anton, Bretonnian Peasant