[ WP ] Winter has arrived .

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 *Closer. * 
 
 The three moons of Caen were up in the night's sky, two of them nearing full. Their light shone down on the frozen fields that covered the gently rolling hills of the terrain, their powdery surface undisturbed by man or beast. A long tapering road wove between the fields, its muddy ruts frozen solid. On it marched a column of soldiers, men and women bundled tight against the biting cold. Rags were stuffed into battered overcoats and boots, stolen hats pulled low over tired eyes. Hands were stuffed into pockets or else hidden by over-sized mittens, cradling their weapons. A few wagons carrying their heavier supplies followed behind, the horses' coats shaggy and long. But it was at the vanguard of the half-frostbitten soldiers that his attention was fixed, at the two warjacks crunching through the layer of frozen mud. 
 
 `` Da, there is our targets.'' 
 
 The Khadoran who spoke was staring through a brass telescope, his face hidden behind a great black beard. 
 
 `` Your intelligence reports were correct, Hawthorn. One company of Cygnaran soldiers with'jack support. I am pleased.'' 
 
 Roderick Hawthorn, mercenary warcaster currently in the employ of the Khadoran Empire smiled amiably from behind the iron sights of his anti-jack rifle Giant Slayer. 
 
 `` Told you, Kapitan. My sources are always good. Are your men in position?'' 
 
 `` Da, Hawthorn. We will wait for your signal to commence the ambush.'' 
 
 The pair of men were inside a small farmer's cottage, Hawthorn carefully sitting at the kitchen's table, a spare bedroll supporting the massive seven foot long twin barrels of his gun. He did n't need a fancy and delicate mechanikal scope for his weapon his sight was that good. He spied the red ribbon he tied to a dead tree's branch near the road, satisfied that there was not a flicker of wind on an otherwise still night. He leveled the iron sights of his rifle over the Cygnar blue warjacks. 
 
 *Charger or Sentinel... The latter I'd think. Kapitan Voinov's Winter Guard would get ripped to shreds against the Sent's chain gun. Ca n't have that, no can we? * 
 
 The column passed the first range marker set out at 500 yards. Cunningly painted, only the side facing him was coated white, the other side was untouched and looked like any other stake. The tired Cygnarans would n't be thinking of glancing back the way they came. 
 
 450 yards. The tramp, tramp, tramp of the soldiers, the muffled stomps of their warjacks felt even this far away. 
 
 400 yards. Hawthorn squinted his eyes, focusing them like a falcon's. He could make out individuals, making note of any distinguishing details. The officers were rather disguised under their own winter clothes but even then there were tells; a slightly newer greatcoat, a bit of gold braid on their tricorne, an arrogant walk born from an aristocratic lifestyle. 
 
 `` Your widowmakers have their targets?'' 
 
 The Khadoran officer laughed quietly at the question. 
 
 `` Of course, Hawthorn. They are natural killers.'' 
 
 `` Good.'' 
 
 *Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, hold... * 
 
 A brace on his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger, his sights level between the metal monster's glowing focal lenses. Tighter... 
 
 ***Blam!!! ***
