Gerta Bokart

Gerta Bokart (32mm) pre-supported The axe in Gerta's hand was an extension of her will, a crescent moon of polished steel stained with the history of her feasts. It was not a tool of war, but of harvest. Her left eye was a hollow of ruined flesh, a silent testament to a past she had long since consumed, but her right eye burned with a cold, crimson hunger that missed nothing. The grotesque helmet she wore, a heavy thing of blackened iron, sprouted four twisted horns that speared towards the sky, a crown for a queen of carrion. She moved through the chaos of the battlefield not as a soldier, but as a reaper, her gaze fixed on the strong, pulsing necks of her enemies. When the axe fell, it was a final, mercifully quick severance. Before the head even tumbled into the mud, Gerta was there, her body sinking into a crouch, her lips finding the geyser of life that still fountained from the stump. She drank deeply, the vital heat flooding her cold, dead flesh, a shudder of ecstasy wracking