The Battleshed lights flicker on. The familiar aroma of paint,
glue and that particular mustiness associated with sidestreet bookshops. Grimhag the resident spider has been busy
the last few weeks. She must have had her spidery friends over for a party judging by the web festooned chariot
racing construction site on the Battleshed table. Crunch.
Bugger! Stepped on a miniature. Pulls it
from the dust. Well, the infantryman can at least shoot around corners now!
