22€ (18.18€ ex.VAT)
Sculpture: Jonatán Monerris
Painting: Fernando Ruiz
Number of parts of the kit: 3
Scale: 54 mm
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When he arrived to the top of the High Pass, the remnants of Grimnir’s Old Guard were scattered all around. He supposed his cousin and his clansmen had fought until the last breath but that thought was paying little solace at the sight of the motionless, snow-covered mounds that hours ago had been the cheerful companions of countless glorious days while defending the Iron Citadel.
When news of the invading army came to them, they departed immediately for the pass in order to defend the vital entry point to the realm. In those three days of tireless march they had suffered ambushes, sneak attacks and all sorts of tricks played by the goblin’s vanguard scouts to slow them and allow the main enemy force to reach the narrow pass unopposed. There, a group of well determined warriors was able to stand the advance of a far superior force for days, until a relief force from another outpost could arrive for help. They needed to be there on time.
The previous day, a goblin arrow shot during an ambush hit the joint of his leg protection and made him fall down a rift. During the fall, he knocked his head with a rock and felt unconscious. Probably, his companions couldn’t find him and left him for dead so he had to manage to climb back to the mountain path and apply a provisional bandage to his leg. He was anxious to see his brothers again and feared to miss the battle and the fun. That would have been unacceptable, so he tried to catch them as fast as possible. There was not enough ale on the Iron Citadel’s brewery to wash such a shame.
All these thoughts were interrupted by some soft noises coming from the rocky heights at his sides. Even some unmistakable goblin chuckling.
The numerous big rocks that laid on the snow among the corpses pointed to a well prepared ambush. Bodies, shields, weapons and pieces of armor were scattered all around, so probably they didn’t even have the time to arrange a proper battle line before being massacred. The ones who have made it were surely right now observing him and preparing to attack.
With a gesture, he adjusted his cloak and grabbed firmly his trusty battleaxe. His comrades had always provided an ironbound defense of the pass and probably were quite proud to have died in that same place they had sworn to protect.
Of course, he was not going to let them down.