*rubs hands* Hokay... where to start... hmmm...

First off, i think i should mention that most, if not all, of the information i will post in this thread comes directly from either the official Games-Workshop web site at:
http://www.games-workshop.com/
or from the official Warhammer Army books. Think of it as free advertising forGames-Workshop!!;)

Secondly, i think i will go through as detailed descriptios of all of the Races as possible.
I will start with an introduction to the Warhammer World, and then procede to the individual Races Historys and leaders, and perhaps if there is time, a little discription of each races avantages and disadvantages.

If any of the information that i post seems incorect to you, or you have better ideas and so on please feel free to post your own info and ideas (especially for the more obscure races ie Cathay, Albion etc.)

Table of contents page

INTRODUCTION TO THE WARHAMMER WORLD
^^THE EMPIRE - THE LAND OF SIGMAR
^^TILEA
^^ESTALIA
^^KISLEV
^^THE KINGDOM OF BRETONNIA
^EMPIRE OF THE LIZARDMEN
^^^^ORCS AND GOBLINS
^^THE REALM OF THE HIGH ELVES
^^THE DARK ELVES
^^THE WOOD ELVES
^DWARF REALMS
^THE REALM OF CHAOS
^^THE VAMPIRE COUNTS
^^THE TOMB KINGS
^^THE SKAVEN
^THE OGRE KINGDOMS
^^IND
^^NIPPON
^^^BEASTS OF CHAOS
THE BOARDER PRINCES
ARABYA
THE HOBGOBLA-KHAN
SIAM
NORSCA
CATHAY
ALBION
THE KURGAN
HUNG
*THE AMAZONIANS
*THE DARK DWARVES



(PLEASE NOTE:
Races with a ^ before them have their leader descriptions as well (1^ per leader)
races with a * before them will be put in when i know more about them (ie much later ;) )

(This page will be updated often)

INTRODUCTION TO THE DARK AND DANGEROUS FANTASY WORLD OF WARHAMMER

"Few races know the Warhammer World as well as the adventurous and entrepreneurial High Kindred of Elves. Their tall-masted ships ply the northern oceans between the Old World to the east and the shores of Lustria to the west. To the north the Elven seamen keep a watchful eye upon Naggaroth, the Land of Chill, which the estranged Dark Elves have made their own. To the south lie the Southlands and the Fortress of Dawn, a safe haven for many an Elven seafarer bound for distant Cathay.

THE OLD WORLD
Though the proud Elves have for many ages explored the world and learned much about its strange peoples, they do not reveal their secrets to lesser races. To Men these places are little more than names upon a mostly empty map. The lands they know and inhabit comprise what they call the Old World. These lands are home to Men, Dwarfs, Elves and the diminutive race of Halflings, as well as numerous evil creatures which infest the mountains and forests.

The largest and most important of the realms of Man are the Empire and Bretonnia. The Empire lies at the centre of the Old World, bounded by tall mountains and dark forests. It is the most populous by far of the Human nations and probably the most powerful too. To the south of the Empire is the Kingdom of Bretonnia, whose main strength of arms lies in its gallant knights whose tradition of chivalric virtue is held in high regard throughout the Old World.

The other Human lands are less powerful and not so strongly unified as either the Empire or Bretonnia. North of the Empire is the cold, unwelcoming land of Kislev, ruled over by its fierce warrior Tzarina. Further north still is the rocky land of Norsca, inhabited by violent and blood-thirsty savages whose raids are a constant irritation to the Tzarina and Emperor alike. South of Bretonnia are the hot, arid lands of Estalia and Tilea. Neither is united under one crown, instead they are divided into countless petty kingdoms and warring city states. Between Tilea and Bretonnia is the tiny upland region known as the Vaults, a stronghold of bandits and brigands who sometimes hire their services as mercenaries in the Emperor's armies. Beyond the immediate confines of the Old World is Araby to the south and, to the east, the bleak, forbidding Dark Lands. The Arabians are incorrigible pirates and raiders, whose dark-sailed dhows sometimes appear in the trading ports of Tilea and Estalia. The land south of Araby is known only as the Southlands. Few Old Worlders have ever glimpsed its jungle-covered coasts or the tall white mountains of its interior. The Dark Lands east of the Empire are barren and inhospitable, where Orcs, Goblins and other monsters constantly battle against each other.

SOUTH OF THE BADLANDS
To the immediate south of the Empire is the small brigand-infested land of the Border Princes. This is a dangerous region where renegades, dissenters and other refugees from the settled lands face constant predation from Orcs, Goblins and each other. Further south still are the Badlands, dominated by fierce tribes of Orcs, and beyond that lies the fabled Land of the Dead, the source of much unrest in the world.

Between the Empire and the Dark Lands is a towering mountain range whose peaks are so tall and so black that for years beyond remembering Men held the view that this must be the very edge of the world. In consequence these are called the Worlds Edge Mountains and, in truth, they form the natural eastern boundary of the Old World. These ancient peaks have been tunnelled, mined and inhabited for many centuries by the Dwarfs, a strong-minded and equally strong-armed folk whose endless wars against the Goblins of the mountains are well known even amongst Men.
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
Listed above are the lands and races known to the scholars of humanity, to the sages of the Dwarfs, and to the wise amongst Elvenkind. To this font of common knowledge the Elves could certainly add far more if they did not guard their secrets so jealously. Doubtless too there are many learned men who could make a shrewd guess as to the further nature of the world and its perils. Perhaps they would speak of the subterranean race of Skaven and their gnawing and scheming beneath the world. Maybe they would hint darkly at the threat from the Land of the Dead and the ancient realm of its master Nagash. Then there are the deeper and more sinister secrets of Chaos and the hidden power of the north…"

THE EMPIRE - THE LAND OF SIGMAR

"When the High Elves left their great towers in the Old World, the land was abandoned to the Orcs, Goblins and savage Human tribes. In those distant times, the fathers of Men were nothing but fur-clad savages, barely distinguishable from Orcs in the eyes of the haughty Elves. It was the Dwarfs who recognised the potential of Humanity, first as trading partners, but eventually as allies against the Orcs that infested the land.
The Dwarfs taught the Human tribes the secrets of metallurgy and swordmaking and, as a result of trade and further Dwarf encouragement, primitive Men began to grow in strength and ambition.

SIGMAR
The many Human tribes remained divided until the time of Sigmar, the founder of the Empire and friend of the Dwarf king Kurgan Ironbeard. It was Sigmar who rescued Kurgan from the Orcs, and in honour of this valiant act the Dwarf king gave him the great warhammer Skull Splitter. For ever after the Emperor was known as Sigmar Heldenhammer and was accounted a true friend of the Dwarfs, the greatest honour a Dwarf can bestow. Sigmar united all the warring Human tribes under his rule and established the realm that is known today as the Empire.

TURBULENT TIMES
Sigmar's day was over two thousand years ago and since that time the Empire has survived many long and arduous wars. It has suffered Orc and Goblin invasions, the devastations of the Vampire Counts, and the dreaded incursions of Chaos armies. It has also endured periods of rebellion and anarchy within its own borders.
In all that time there have been many weak and disastrous Emperors, such as Boris Goldgather, and also many great conquerors, such as Magnus the Pious.
Despite times of changing fortune, even during its long periods of disunity and division, the Empire has always maintained its sense of identity as one land and one people, under the spiritual, if not actual, leadership of Sigmar, who is now accorded the status of patron god of his ancient realm.

REALM OF MAN
Today the Empire is the largest and most powerful of all the lands of Men. It stretches from the Grey Mountains and the borders of Bretonnia in the south to the Forest of Shadows and the land of Kislev in the north. Eastwards it is bounded by the Sea of Claws and the wilderness known as the Wasteland. Westwards the borderlands lie upon the foothills of the World's Edge Mountains.
Within the Empire's boundaries lie dark forests, mighty rivers and tall, forbidding mountains. For the most part these are wild and untamed, the refuge of evil creatures and brigands of all kinds. The real strength of the Empire lies in its sprawling cities and the lesser towns and farms that lie under their protection.
The Empire is a great commercial as well as military power, whose cities prosper in a new age of enlightenment and growth. In the busy markets, rich merchants jostle with scholars, and dour warriors rub shoulders with skilled artisans. In the deep harbours of Altdorf, ocean-going ships unload cargoes from all over the world. Altdorf is also the home of the Colleges of Magic, the foremost schools of sorcery in the Old World, and of the Imperial Zoo, which maintains a stable of many fantastic monstrous creatures.

THE EMPEROR'S ARMIES
The Emperor's armies come from the widespread lands of the Empire. As well as sturdy infantry and heavily armoured knights, the Emperor can call upon the marvellous inventions of the Engineers. These are men taught in the traditions of the Dwarf smiths by Dwarf refugees driven from their mountains and now settled in the Empire under the Emperor's protection. Huge cannons are forged in the city of Nuln, whilst ambitious inventors work away at engines powered by steam or alcohol and devices driven by clockwork.

THE AGE OF MANKIND
Mankind has grown and prospered greatly since the decline of the Dwarfs and Elves. From humble beginnings Men have raised mighty nations to equal the civilisations of the older races. The greatest of these nations is the Empire, a land which stands upon the dawn of a new age of exploration and discovery. However, the growth and even survival of the Empire is by no means certain, for there are many perils that threaten its future, not least of which is the growing shadow of Chaos in the north. Such perils must be faced and overcome if Mankind is to flourish. But the greatest danger lies within, for even inside the Empire there are those who seek the aid of the Dark Gods of Chaos, who would trade the freedom of Man for a brief taste of power. Indeed, the witch hunters of the Emperor are kept almost as busy as the soldiers of its armies."


Emperor Karl Franz(reichland)

"The Emperor Karl Franz is said to be the greatest statesman in the Old World. He is acclaimed as a patron of arts and science, as a military innovator, and as a valiant warrior. Thanks to his efforts, the Empire has flourished during his reign. The Imperial Engineers' School has grown, the Colleges of Magic have thrived, and the army has marched from victory to victory. The Emperor takes personal command of his army whenever possible and has earned himself an impressive record of victories and conquest.

The Emperor wears a full suit of armour made for him by Dwarf smiths. It incorporates some of the actual armour worn by Magnus the Pious at the battle of Kislev and is richly gilded and splendidly adorned with plumes and silken ribbons. The Emperor wears an enchanted medallion, the Silver Seal, upon a chain around his neck. The Silver Seal wards away harmful blows and even countermands magic spells cast against the Emperor. It was made for Magnus the Pious by the Warrior Mage Fredrik von Tarnus after the Great War
against Chaos."


Grand Theogonist, Volkmar the Grim (reichland)

In the reign of Karl Franz the Grand Theogonist is Volkmar the Grim. Volkmar is now an old zealous preacher, utterly devoted to the destruction of Chaos, but just a few years ago he also was a mighty warrior, not afraid to face the peril of battle. When the Theogonist accompanied the Empire army into battle he rode on the War Altar of Sigmar, a huge chariot which carries the sacred altar surmounted by a huge statue of a griffon. The griffon statue was fashioned on the orders of Magnus the Pious after his accession, and is the emblem of his dynasty

THE KINGDOM OF BRETONNIA

"Bretonnia lies between the Grey Mountains and the Great Ocean in the lands which comprise part of the former domain of the Elves. The Elves once built ports and tall towers, palaces and pinnacles, to serve their colonies in Old World. For a while they prospered, their cities grew, and the inhabitants became wealthy as a result of trade with the Dwarfs and primitive Human tribes. When the Elves and Dwarfs went to war, the land was devastated by the opposing armies. Eventually, after many long years of fighting, the Elves sailed back into the west and abandoned the Old World altogether. The Dwarfs too gave up on the land beyond the mountains, and so the whole area was deserted and forgotten.

GILLES LE BRETON
With the disappearance of the Elves and Dwarfs, the land was quickly overrun by Orcs, Goblins and the rough Human tribes who were almost as brutal in those far off days. For many hundreds of years the area remained divided between rival warlords, both green-skinned and Human, until the time of Gilles of the tribe of Bretonni. In his day the realm was united, and as one nation the Bretonnians succeeded in defeating and driving out the Orcs and Goblins. It is from this time that the Bretonnians date the creation of their kingdom, some 977 years after the time of Sigmar and the founding of the Empire.

THE LAND OF VIRTUE
To this day the Knights of Bretonnia follow the chivalric traditions established in the time of Gilles le Breton. Gilles' vision of the Lady of the Lake on the eve of battle foretold of his holy purpose and ultimate destiny as king of Bretonnia. Since then the warriors of Bretonnia have pledged themselves to the service of the Lady of the Lake, and sought to uphold the knightly virtues in her name. By feat of arms a Knight may rise in esteem and become, by degrees, one of those marked by the goddess for her special honour. That reward is to drink, as Gilles le Breton once drank, from the Lady's Grail, as only those who are pure in heart and deed can do.

THE KNIGHTS OF BRETONNIA
Bretonnia has grown into a powerful nation under the guidance of its king, the Lady of the Lake, and the code of honour under which its nobility conducts itself in peace and war. There are no other men whose martial prowess can equal the Knights of Bretonnia, dedicated as they are, body and soul, to the pursuit of excellence. Indeed, it is often said that the Knights of Bretonnia could conquer the world were it not for their vows which bind them to protect their own domain and shield the poor and innocent from unwarranted hostility.

THE CRUSADES
Though a Knight's code of honour binds him to the protection of his land and people, there are still times when he finds himself bound for war in foreign lands. When the Sultan Jaffar of Araby invaded the lands of Estalia, the king of Bretonnia, at that time Louis the Righteous, raised a mighty army pledged to free Estalia from his evil grasp. During the Crusades which followed not only was Estalia freed but the Bretonnian king took the war to Araby itself and destroyed the empire of Jaffar. Filled with crusading zeal the Knights tore down the decadent palaces of the Sultan, burned many evil tomes from his library, and flung down the dark idols from his unholy temples.

THE LAST HOPE
Today the king of Bretonnia and his Knights form a bulwark against the growing evils of Chaos and the power of the Orcs, Goblins, Skaven and other monstrous creatures that threaten Mankind's survival. The Bretonnians are protected by their honour and by their strength of arms and, whilst they endure, the lands of Men remain safe from peril. If the Knights of Bretonnia were ever to fail in their sacred duties, then the Human race would surely be doomed."


King Louen Leoncoeur (bretonnia)

"Since his coronation in 2500, Louen has proved himself time and time again. He utterly crushed the massive Orc invasion of 2508 at the Battle of Swamphold, and has ridden battlefields clear of the undead on the outskirts of Mousillon on more than one occasion. He has fought victoriously against invaders of the north, driving them back into the sea, and scoured the taint of insidious covens from within his cities. Leoncoeur has always attacked the enemies of Bretonnia with fiery wrath and determination, yet never have his actions been anything other than chivalrous and honourable. Although such rigid adherence to the codes of martial honour could be seen to hinder a more unscrupulous general, it is a great source of strength for King Louen. He is blessed above all other mortals by the Lady of the Lake, and some whisper he has even been granted a kiss by his goddess. It is certain that the magical power of the Grail flows in his veins; legend has it that where Leoncoeur is cut, light streams out from the wound until it is healed over once more.

After more than twenty glorious years on the throne, Louen still appears to be in the prime of his life, though scholars whisper that he is close to his ninetieth year. It is said that he intends to turn his attentions to cursed Mousillon, cleansing it of taint and restoring it to its former glory. If he does this, the lands of Bretonnia will be united under his banner once and for all."

Gilles le Breton(bretonnia)

With the disappearance of the Elves and Dwarfs, the land was quickly overrun by Orcs, Goblins and the rough Human tribes who were almost as brutal in those far off days. For many hundreds of years the area remained divided between rival warlords, both green-skinned and Human, until the time of Gilles of the tribe of Bretonni. In his day the realm was united, and as one nation the Bretonnians succeeded in defeating and driving out the Orcs and Goblins. It is from this time that the Bretonnians date the creation of their kingdom, some 977 years after the time of Sigmar and the founding of the Empire.

To this day the Knights of Bretonnia follow the chivalric traditions established in the time of Gilles le Breton. Gilles' vision of the Lady of the Lake on the eve of battle foretold of his holy purpose and ultimate destiny as king of Bretonnia. Since then the warriors of Bretonnia have pledged themselves to the service of the Lady of the Lake, and sought to uphold the knightly virtues in her name. By feat of arms a Knight may rise in esteem and become, by degrees, one of those marked by the goddess for her special honour. That reward is to drink, as Gilles le Breton once drank, from the Lady's Grail, as only those who are pure in heart and deed can do. "

EMPIRE OF THE LIZARDMEN

"Many thousands of years ago, before the Time of Chaos, before the fathers of the Elves and Dwarfs knew of speech or song, the world was visited by a race of travellers. Elven legends dimly recall them as the Old Ones. They came from beyond the stars by means of an inter-dimensional gateway which they created above the north pole of the world. Their silver craft brought the Old Ones to the world where they discovered the ancestors of the Elves and Dwarfs, and secretly nurtured them, teaching them the arts of civilisation, though to what end remains a mystery.

THE MASTERY OF THE OLD ONES
The Old Ones built fabulous cities and temples away from the areas inhabited by the growing races of the world. They raised their cities in the lands known today as Lustria, on the western continent, in the warm equatorial regions which best suited their alien metabolism. They were the masters of the world in those days, and perhaps the masters of the universe too. Their technical skills were unthinkably advanced, their command of sorcery unparalleled. Indeed, such was their knowledge that to them magic and science were as one, blended into a single galaxy-spanning arcane technology. Their polar gateway was a device crafted from this technology, a portal between the very dimensions.

THE FALL OF THE OLD ONES
It is impossible to say what terrible disaster overtook the Old Ones and destroyed the ordered world which they had created. Their gateway, the source of all their arcane power, collapsed onto the northern pole creating a region of seething energy, a wasteland saturated in magical power, an open door into the dimension of daemons and gods. This disaster initiated the Time of Chaos and unleashed new and horrifying gods into the world. It made the Realm of Chaos where Daemons and other things too mind-destroying to consider dwell to this day.
The Old Ones and their deeds were forgotten. Their children, the Dwarfs and Elves who they had placed on the ladder of civilisation, survived the Time of Chaos and began to develop in their own fashion. Man, the Old Ones' newest and most vulnerable protege, was left to learn by contact with the older races, remembering nothing of their ancient contacts. In Lustria, the cities and temples of the Old Ones gradually fell into ruin.

THE SURVIVORS
Although the Old Ones were gone, the lands of Lustria were not completely emptied of intelligent life. For the Old Ones did not come to the world entirely alone. They brought with them their slaves and servants. Of these creatures, the most intelligent were the Slann. The Slann were the organisers and builders, the scientist-sorcerers whose endeavours built the cities of Lustria and moulded the world into a shape commanded by their masters. It was the Slann Mage Lords who built the polar gateways and whose spells maintained its integrity. It was the Slann who moved the whole world closer to the sun to warm it, and who changed the shape of the lands to create hydro-atmospheric stability. The Slann were second only in understanding to the Old Ones themselves.

THE SLANN
From the beginning, the Slann were few in number and since those days their number has dwindled. Their knowledge, the inheritance of the Old Ones, has gradually been forgotten leaving a memory of greatness and much superstition. Still, even today, the Slann are the greatest wizards of the world. Though they do not possess the power of their ancestors, they are more potent than the greatest of the Elven mages.
The Old Ones relied upon the intelligence and sorcerous abilities of the Slann, but they never used the creatures as warriors. Their bloated toad-like bodies left them sluggish and vulnerable, and lacking in aggression if not in cold-blooded malice. For their warriors the Old Ones chose another race, though whether they brought these soldiers to the world or whether they found them and adapted them is not clear.
Perhaps the Saurus, as these reptiles are called, were the first race cultivated by the Old Ones, an ancient race that never quite developed to a stage satisfactory to the Old Ones. Saurus are brutish creatures with slow minds that register little except a simple, single-minded savagery. They can use straightforward weapons but are unable to master more complex devices. In terms of protecting the cities and temples of Lustria however, they were just what the Old Ones needed.

SKINKS
The need for a more physically adaptable as well as mentally agile workforce led the Old Ones to create a smaller race of Lizardmen called Skinks. These were weaker than Saurus, but capable of far more tasks. They formed the mass workforce of the Old Ones as they do the Slann today. Although physically weak compared to the massive Saurus, they are competent archers and riders.
In addition to the Slann, Saurus and Skinks, the Old Ones created or adapted many other creatures of reptilian origin which they put to use either as workers, beasts of burden or as warriors. The creatures called Cold Ones were made as riding beasts to carry Skinks. The gigantic Kroxigors were made as construction slaves, capable of carrying and placing massive boulders. Creatures of the air were made that could ride the wind, and the Old Ones also fashioned huge monsters that were used to carry heavy burdens over long distances."


Venerable Lord Kroak (lizardmen)

"In hidden crypts deep within the holds of the oldest temples lie the sacred mummified remains of deceased Slann. The spirit of a dead Mage-Priest often hovers near its dried body-husk, and magical energy pulses through the air around the corpse. It is unknown how much these Slann spirits are able to manipulate the corporeal world, though many prophets believe that their influence is substantial, if not always apparent.

Venerable Lord Kroak is the oldest and most revered of all these Relic-Priests. He is said to have been the first Slann that was spawned in the world, the most powerful of the First Spawning of Mage-Priests. An integral part of the Old Ones' Great Plan, his spirit stubbornly refused to leave this plane of existence when his body was slain. In the temple-city of Itza, plaques recording the history of the Slann relate that Lord Kroak was present at the birth of the world and therefore fated to be present at its end. Offerings and prayers are devoted to this venerable Slann, and all who look into his inlaid eyes can sense the power still residing there."



Slann Mage-priest Mazdamundi (lizardemen)

"Residing within the pyramid city of Hexoatl, the great Slann Mage-Priest Mazdamundi has reacted to the threat of Morathi's invasion, and a great spawning has begun. A mighty force of Lizardmen has marched through the gates of Itza and across the River Amaxon. This army has navigated the Spine of Sotek at the Chasm of the Condor. Marauder ships are amassing at the western islands of the Lustrian coast, and cohorts of Saurus and Skink Warriors, led by a Mage-Priest of the city, have begun their implacable advance to stop the raids of the Northmen."

(for mor info on the Drucii-Slann war go to:http://stormofchaos.uk.games-worksho...ns/lustria.htm)

ORCS AND GOBLINS

"Orcs are ferocious raiders and relentless warriors whose constant attacks threaten to engulf the lands of the Old World and plunge the entire continent into a dark age of endless and unremitting warfare. Orcs wage war with a single-mindedness that makes them extremely dangerous but, fortunately for their enemies, much of their energy is expended fighting each other. Goblins, although smarter than Orcs, are nowhere near as warlike and prefer to avoid a fight unless their enemy is severely outnumbered, badly wounded or looking the other way (preferably all three). Goblins are cunning rather than strong, and rely a great deal on their Orc cousins when it comes to the serious business of fighting.

GREENSKINS
Orcs and Goblins, or Greenskins as they are often called, are remarkable creatures in many ways. They have a tough and waxy green skin, which becomes scabby, gnarled and even tougher over time. Their blood varies in colour from red to purple or black and is unusually thick, pungent and sticky. They do not seem to feel pain to anything like the extent that other creatures do, and it takes a serious wound to stop an Orc from fighting.

TRIBES AND WARBOSSES
All Orcs and Goblins live in warrior tribes or warbands. Some are huge with thousands of individuals, while others number little more than a few hundred warriors. Tribes are led by a powerful chieftain called a Warboss or, if he is very powerful, a Warlord. The more successful a Warboss is the more Orcs or Goblins will flock to join his tribe. As the tribe gets bigger the Warboss leads it to fight bigger battles, so he either becomes more famous still and his tribe gets even bigger or he is finally killed and his tribe breaks apart.
It is common to find Goblins under the sway of Orcs. In many cases these subservient Goblins are more than happy with their lot, because it gives them a chance to complete any plundering, thieving and despoiling that the Orcs forget to do. Every Goblin knows that Orcs are good fighters, certainly better than Goblins, so it is a good life being in an Orc tribe even if their masters treat them harshly and eat the odd straggler.

ORCDOM
Orc and Goblin tribes live all over the Old World in areas which are sparsely inhabited or where humans cannot survive at all. They also live on the boundaries of the Old World in the lands to the south and east, and it is in these areas where they are most prolific. If there can be said to be an Orc homeland it is probably the area between the southern Worlds Edge Mountains and the Black Mountains known as the Badlands, and the foothills of the Worlds Edge Mountains between Blood River and Blackfire Pass. These areas are infested with Orc tribes, and the adjoining Human lands of the Border Princes are little better, although fortified Human settlements maintain the presence of men on the very edge of civilisation. There are also many Orcs and Goblins inside the Old World, especially in the high mountain passes and deep forests which are virtually impenetrable to Humans.

GREENSKIN RACES
Orcs and Goblins live all over the world and some have adapted their way of life to suit. For example, the Goblins who live in the underground ruins of the old Dwarf empire are called Night Goblins and wear dark cloaks to protect them from the light of day. Forest Goblins live in the forests of the Empire where they harness and ride giant spiders. Other Goblins live in the plains and ride fierce wolves. Orcs too have adapted to different ways of life. Savage Orcs are barbarous cousins to the Orc race, spurning armour and ironwork altogether and taking to battle daubed in bright paint. Black Orcs are the largest and most powerful of their kind and are often found as leaders amongst other Orc tribes.

ORCS
While some Orcs are no taller than a man, most are substantially larger and the biggest Orcs stand well over seven feet tall. They are also very broad with big, deep chests, massive shoulders and long, powerfully muscled arms. Orcs have large heads with huge jaws but tiny foreheads behind which lurks the thick bone of an Orc's skull and not very much else.
Despite their apparent lack of intelligence, Orcs are not stupid, they are simply limited in the way they think and act. Whilst not the deepest thinkers in the world, neither are they doubtful or divided. When an Orc wants to do something he simply does it, where a Human might waste hours weighing the pros and cons.
Single-mindedness is one of the Orcs' greatest strengths, especially as they enjoy fighting more than anything else. When they're not actually at war, Orcs spend most of their time fighting each other to establish rights of leadership. Orc leaders are known as Boss Orcs, but even Boss Orcs fight amongst themselves to decide which of them is the overall leader. This means there are innumerable layers in the Orc pecking order, from Boss to Big Boss, Warboss and Warlord.
A Warlord is an Orc who has established total supremacy over his rivals (having either killed and eaten them or driven them away) and now leads all the tribes in glorious conquest over puny races such as men. An Orc's life is therefore spent in constant battle either with his fellow Orcs or against some worthy opponent. This is regarded as a good thing by Orcs, who are universally content with their lot, ultimately happy to meet their end in battle so long as they get the chance for a good fight.

GOBLINS
Goblins vary in size but are typically smaller than Orcs or Men. They have quick, nimble fingers and a tenacious grip - ideal for strangling small animals and sleeping rivals. Goblins have small, shifty eyes and keen eyesight, particularly in the dark. They are extremely noisy and garrulous where Orcs are inclined to speak slowly and infrequently (believing that a determined glare and a display of fangs to be the best way of making your point).
Goblins are more intelligent than Orcs and love nothing better than trading and bartering with their slow-witted relatives - basically because they always come off better. Many Goblin tribes are partly nomadic, moving from plain to forest, or along the river valleys and in between the mountain passes where they buy, sell or steal things that they can re-sell later on. Goblin tribes are often accompanied by huge caravans of scrap metal, captured monsters in crude wooden cages, or even men, Dwarfs or Elves that they have trapped and enslaved.
Outriders mounted on huge slavering wolves patrol the area to the tribe's front, probing for enemies and scouting out small settlements that can be raided and pillaged.
Some Goblins become very wealthy by trading in this way. Goblins like to show off their wealth. A really successful Goblin trader wears countless rings, ornamental daggers, swords, and the biggest helmet he can uncomfortably balance on his head. Others spend their ill-gotten gains on fast chariots which they race against each other, trying to outdo their rivals by having the fastest or flashiest machine."



Azhag the Slaughter

"The smell emanating from the Chaos Troll's lair was vile, even by an Orc's low standards. The stench of rotten meat and Troll vomit was one that Azhag had become accustomed to, but the odour of a Chaos Troll was different. It was sickly sweet and the Warlord could only barely fight down the urge to regurgitate his last meal.

Azhag and his small tribe had been forced into Troll country by marauding bands of Chaos mutants. Taking shelter in the caves, a scout party he had sent to explore the dark tunnels leading from the main cave entrance had failed to return. That night the Chaos Troll had crept up on the tired Orc band and slaughtered each and every one of them save Azhag himself who had proved the beast's match and chased the monster back to its lair. The Chaos Troll was now cornered though and fought with a determined ferocity.

Azhag jumped back just in time to see the razor sharp talons of the huge black creature pass within inches of his face. Most of his boyz had been ripped apart by those very same deadly claws. As the Troll lunged forward to tear out Azhag's throat, the mighty Orc spied an opportunity to attack. Swinging his sword in a wide arc it cut deep into the Troll's arm.

The creature let out a savage howl of pain, but even as it did the gash Azhag's sword had inflicted began to close, the blood clotting instantly before his eyes. Enraged by the wound, the Troll lunged towards Azhag, powerful swiping claws raking at his head. Azhag raised his shield and the razor sharp talons cut a deep gash through the metal. A thought crossed Azhag's mind, perhaps he had been a little hasty in his pursuit of the Troll. Now the beast was cornered and was fighting for its life instead of its dinner. As if the Troll could sense Azhag's doubts, it increased the fervour of its attack. Blow after blow rained down upon Azhag's shield tearing more great holes into the thick steel. The Orc Warlord stepped back to avoid the flurry of attacks, but in his haste he slipped, crashing to the floor.

The Troll loomed over him, its arms raised high to be brought crashing down on the Orc's skull. Azhag knew that it was over, he had met his match. He would now suffer the same fate as all those who had fought and suffered at his own merciless hands. Then a strange voice whispered softly to him. It was as if the voice was actually inside his head. He is weak, said the voice. He thinks you defeated, now is the time of his undoing.

Azhag thrust forward his sword, the blade sinking deep into the Troll's chest. The Troll slowly stepped back from the prone Orc, the blade embedded up to the hilt. With a loud crash it hit the floor, dead.

Azhag stood, glanced once at the fallen Troll and then turned towards a corner of the cavern. The voice beckoned him over. Amongst a pile of gnawed bones and broken skulls lay a grime encrusted crown. Wear me, rule me, yours will be the power. The whispers were louder now, and a dull throbbing in his brain urged him to pick up the crown and place it on his head. As he did it seemed to shrink around his temple. Yours is the power to command the voice boomed loud in the Warlord's skull. Arcane knowledge from centuries long past flooded into his memory. The voice in his head was now merging with his own. Without understanding how, Azhag knew he had become infinitely more powerful. The voice spoke again, this time it did not sound strange or unfamiliar. It was if the voice had always been part of Azhag, it was Azhag's voice. Together we shall fight, together we shall conquer, together we shall rule."


Grimgor Ironhide

"No one knows Grimgor's early history – the only Orc foolish enough to ask quickly joined the former Warboss of the Yellow Eyes tribe in a broken heap in a ditch. All that is known is that Grimgor had staggered out of the Blasted Wastes with a grizzled, bloody, and much scarred bodyguard. The few survivors were all tired ad hungry, but they were also all Black Orcs and armed to the teeth. They had clearly seen much combat and some of the blood and wounds were fresh, but after that first time, no one dared ask. What they lacked in numbers, they more than made up for with single-minded brutality. Grimgor easily took over the first tribe he met, conquered the second, and annihilated the third. There was never enough killing for Grimgor."



Grom the Paunch of Misty Mountain.

"Grom is a hugely obese and extremely fierce Goblin Warlord. According to legend he once ate a plate of raw Troll meat which is regenerating within him all the time. As a result he is very fat and suffers from constant agony due to chronic indigestion, which may explain why he is so fierce. He rides a massive chariot pulled by three wolves, and swings his mighty axe Elf-Biter. He is accompanied by his assistant Niblit the Goblin who carries the army's battle standard. As a result of eating the troll flesh he has developed several troll-like traits and has an almost trollish resistance to injury."


Skarsnik, Night Goblin Warlord of the Eight Peaks

"'The trouble wiv you Dwarfs,' said Skarsnik, Night Goblin Warlord of the Eight Peaks, 'is that you doesn't know when you is beaten.'

Idly stroking the head of his gigantic, slavering Cave Squig, Gobbla, Skarsnik continued to address his captives. 'I mean look at that big fort of yours. Me an my lads have had you bottled up in there for more years than I can count.'

One of the Dwarfs unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a nervous snigger at this, but Skarsnik appeared not to notice and said, 'Every time you send one of your boys out to get help, I kill him. Every time your mates come to lend a hand, I kill 'em all. You need to learn that these 'ere mountains are mine, not yours.'

One of the Dwarfs sneered, 'Your days are numbered foul greenskin! When our kinsman Snorri carries word of our capture to Karak Eight Peaks, a force the like of which you have never seen will descend upon you with fire and steel.' He spat towards Skarsnik and in response the Goblin guards jabbed him repeatedly with barbed Squig prodders. Gobbla snarled, pulling on his chain and exposing rows of razor sharp teeth. Skarsnik patted Gobbla's head, knowing that despite the Dwarf's show of defiance, the stunties were afraid. The Warlord chuckled, knowing they had good reason to be.

He pulled a long, flat-bladed knife from his belt and leaned forwards, trying to decide which beard he would scalp first. As Skarsnik tested the blade's edge with his thumb Gobbla's belly rumbled and the Cave Squig belched, regurgitating something large and metallic which fell with a clatter and rolled across the floor. The beast hiccuped and both captives paled as the object came to a halt in front of them. It was a dented Dwarf helm with a prominent 'S' rune embossed on the partially digested metal.

Skarsnik is the chieftain of the crooked Moon Tribe and the most powerful Night Goblin Warlord in the whole of the Southern Worlds Edge Mountains. All the other Orc and Goblin warlords acknowledge his overlordship of the mountains around the ruined Dwarf hold of Karak Eight Peaks.

Since the Dwarfs returned to occupy their ancient hold, Skarsnik has virtually kept the Dwarfs prisoner within their tiny citadel. When the Dwarfs try to enter or leave the stronghold he hunts them down and hangs their beard scalps on long poles within sight of the citadel walls. He is remarkably cunning and is constantly luring the Dwarfs into ambushes and traps. At the battle of East Gate he managed to surround a Dwarf relief force and virtually destroy it, forcing the remnants to flee back into the citadel itself.

Skarsnik is accompanied by a huge cave Squig which he calls Gobbla. Gobbla is enormous, very smelly, and mindlessly vicious but seems totally loyal to his master. Skarsnik feeds Gobbla on Dwarfs and any Goblins careless enough to stray too close."

THE REALM OF THE HIGH ELVES

"The Elven kingdoms of Ulthuan lie in a circular island continent surrounding an inner sea. The island is formed from a high and uninhabitable mountain chain, bounded on both inner and outer coasts by narrow wooded plains. Only at one point is the circle broken, at the mighty sea gates of Lothern, the greatest city in the world. Here the mountains are cleft as by a gigantic axe stroke, and in this place the Elves long ago embattled the towering cliffs to build the most formidable fortress in the world. None may enter through that gate without the leave of the Lord of Lothern, and to this day no man has passed into the secret realm within, or at least none have returned to report their passage.

THE NOBLE RACE
Elves are tall, bear themselves nobly, and are proud and handsome in appearance. They have a slim, elegant build but are, none-the-less, deceptively strong and agile. Elves are pale-skinned and for the most part have fair hair, fine features and penetrating eyes, all of which combine to give the impression of intelligence and wisdom. They are the most long-lived of all the mortal races and they were the first to raise cities.

THE GLORY OF ULTHUAN
The Elves have a continuous history of cultural and creative endeavour which extends over many thousands of years. Their cities are glittering monuments to their enduring intellect and impeccable taste. In the city of Lothern, impossibly tall and needle-thin towers soar into the sky, joined by bridges like arcs of glass, feats of architectural accomplishment beyond anything imagined by Men or Dwarfs. In Lothern's sweeping amphitheatres the greatest bards in the world sing of ancient days, whilst the finest musicians in Ulthuan pluck at elegant lyres or play upon tiny bells of silver and gold. The Elves have a right to be arrogant when dealing with other races, whose settlements would not serve the beasts of Ulthuan, and whose songs and music are a crude cacophony of noise in comparison to that of the Elves.

THE ELVES AT WAR
Though the Elves are the oldest, most refined, and most subtle of all races they are also amongst the greatest warriors. They are masters of the arms they bear, especially of the bow and lance. Their weaponry is finely made and beautifully crafted, adorned with rare and valuable gems. An Elf army arrayed for battle is an awesome sight made all the more impressive by the undoubted fighting skills that lie behind their glittering ranks.

MASTERS OF SORCERY
The High Elves claim to have learned their magic in the dark past, from the ancient race of Old Ones which has since disappeared from the world. Over the centuries the High Elves have perfected their sorcery. The High Elf mages are mighty spellcasters whose fiery blasts and awesome energies have won them many battles. In years past the Elves taught their magic to men, although the Elves far surpass the wizards of the Old World in their skill and knowledge.

THE AGE OF EXPLORATION
The Elves are the greatest sailors and explorers in the whole world. Their ships sail from Cathay in the east to Lustria in the west, from the Southlands to the Old World and beyond into the cold land of Norsca. In ages past they established colonies in the west and east. In the Old World they discovered the Dwarfs, and the fathers of Men, and built cities along the coasts for their ships to harbour in. The swift ships of the Elves were busy indeed, carrying Dwarf gold and precious stones back to Ulthuan, returning with rare woods, silk and exotic wares from the far west.

WAR AGAINST THE DWARFS
While the Dwarfs burrowed and mined beneath the mountains, the Elves raised tall towers amongst the forests, and both races prospered. Given the very different natures of the two races it was perhaps inevitable that this state of harmony did not endure for long. When war came it lasted for many centuries and became the cause of much bitterness.
Even today the Dwarfs hold a deep and irredeemable grudge against the Elves for their part in the war. The Elves themselves gave up the struggle long ago, and turned to other things. They abandoned their colonies and sailed back to Ulthuan where their own realms were endangered by civil war. A few remained behind in the forests of Loren where their descendants became the kindred of Wood Elves who live there to this day."


Alarielle, Everqueen of Avelorn

"Ulthuan is co-ruled by the Everqueen, the chosen representative of Isha - the Elven goddess of earth, plants and forests. Alarielle is the name of the ruling Everqueen, and she is said to be the most beautiful to have borne the favour of Isha since the far off days of Astarielle. Where the Everqueen walks, the fields start to blossom and flowers spring forth from the ground. The white birds of Avelorn come to rest on her hand, and her silvery laughter rings throughout the blessed glades of the Gaen valley. Her flowing hair is like a golden cloud, and it is said that so great is her beauty that it can move even the immortal gods. Her power is that of nature itself, so when she mourns the skies weep with her, and when her eyes darken thunder roars across the Gaen valley.

Alarielle’s reign has not been peaceful for her powers were sorely tested when Dark Elf armies and legions of Chaos poured into Ulthuan and overran Avelorn. For a while it was believed Alarielle had perished in the fighting. To the Elves the Everqueen embodies the spirit of Isha, and her loss could presage the destruction of all Ulthuan. In fact she was not slain, but hidden and protected by Prince Tyrion, although her powers were very much reduced whilst those of Chaos were nourished by the slaughter of battle. The power of Chaos grew increasingly greater as devastation swept the land. At last the Everqueen made her way to take part in the Battle of Finuval Plain where Chaos was defeated. The Everqueen and her Maiden Guard were then restored to the land of Avelorn. She dwells there to this day, in the company of her Champion, Prince Tyrion."

Aenarion the Defender (high Elves)

"Aenarion was a great hero of the High Elves (whose skills were unrivalled amongst other mortals), albeit a doomed one. Blessed by the Elven god Asuryan he rallied the elves in response to the invasion of Chaos, fighting a heroic but ultimately doomed defence of his home land; although the Elves won victory after victory following him, the forces of Chaos were infinite. After the death of his first wife Astarielle, the Everqueen, his mood became dark and aggressive. In his desperation to defend his people, Aenarion cursed himself and all of his descendants when he drew the Sword of Khaine (a weapon of terrible power) from its altar on the Blighted Isle.

His second wife, Morathi, was corrupted by the powers of Chaos, and bore him a twisted son, Malekith who became the first of the Dark Elves.

Seeing that the ongoing battles against the forces of Chaos could only end in defeat, Caledor Dragontamer called the greatest of the High Elf mages together. They devised a plan to create a vortex that would drain the magic, flooding in through the polar gate, from the world.

Choosing the Isle of the Dead as the site for the centre of the vortex, the mages assembled there and started their incantations. Sensing the scale of what was being attempted, the forces of Chaos started to converge on the island to halt the proceedings, and Aenarion was forced to assemble his armies to protect the mages.

Aenarion engaged the greatest of the Greater Daemons of Chaos during the battle, and although he was victorious both he and his dragon, Indraugnir, were mortally wounded. Ever faithful, Indraugnir flew the dying Aenarion north to the Blighted Isle so that he could drive the curséd sword back into the altar from whence it came. Aenarion then passed into legend.

The creation of the vortex had been successful - although it drained the excess magic from the world, weakening the forces of Chaos greatly, the mages that had enacted the spell were trapped within it for eternity.

His greatest living descendants among the High Elves are Tyrion and Teclis; the greatest living warrior and the greatest living Elven mage (who is even superior to Nagash at his height) who strive to overcome Malekith, ever bearing their ancestor's terrible curse."

THE DARK ELVES

"The Dark Elves were driven from the Elven homeland of Ulthuan centuries ago and now live in the northern regions of Naggaroth, the bleak Land of Chill. Dark Elves, or Druchii as they are called in the Elf tongue, are close kin of the High Elves and in appearance they are pale but otherwise almost identical.

MISTRESSES OF DARK SORCERY
The High Elves are the greatest wizards in the whole world, and the Dark Elves are also a race touched by magic power. Whereas the High Elves take great care to protect themselves from dangerous magical energies, especially Daemons, the Dark Elves long ago embraced the Dark Gods of Chaos. The natural magic powers of Elves and the unnatural vitality of Chaos are mated together in the Dark Elves, so their magicians (who, by order of the Witch King, can only be female) have become the mistresses of dark sorcery.

BLACK TOWERS OF NAGGAROTH
The Dark Elves live in six heavily fortified cities, their innumerable black towers rising like pinnacles of ice from the cold, hard rock of Naggaroth. The surrounding landscape is bleak and unwelcoming: bare rock and poisoned blackwater streams, with dark forbidding pine forests to the south. Of their six cities the largest is Naggarond, the Tower of Cold, where the greatest and most evil of all the Dark Elves, Malekith the Witch King of Naggarond, holds court. Few mortals have ever seen this sinister sorcerer, and his body is said to have changed beyond recognition over the untold centuries of his unnaturally long life. His original Elf form has been corrupted and altered by the magic of Chaos for which it forms a mortal vessel.
The Witch King is master of the cities of Naggaroth: Ghrond the North Tower, Clar Karond the Tower of Doom, Hag Graef the Dark Crag, Har Ganeth the City of Executioners, and Karond Kar, the Tower of Despair. All these cities are dark and evil places, steeped in death and agony. Their black dungeons are crammed with captive Daemons and unfortunate mortals whose wailings fill the air and whose moans seep through the thick walls of the high towers, saturating the place with pain and despair. At the tips of these towers, soaked with evil and doom, the sorcereresses of Naggaroth cast their malign magic over the world and consort with the darkest Daemons of Chaos.

NEMESIS OF THE ELVES
The greatest enemies of the Dark Elves are the High Elves of Ulthuan. Dark Elf armies set off from the harbour of Har Ganeth in their huge Daemon-infested ships, sailing west over the Sea of Grudges to the Old World and south through the Straits of Rhinasha towards Ulthuan. When they reach their objectives the Dark Elves rampage and destroy as much as they can, often burning and looting whole cities before retiring with their plunder back to Naggaroth. Many of their raids are undertaken for captives: Men, Elves or other creatures, to be taken back to the dark towers. Few have ever escaped from slavery at the hands of the Dark Elves, and fewer still speak of their captivity. Such tales as are known tell of the haunted dungeons of the Witch King, living sacrifices to the Chaos Gods, and souls burned up to fuel the sorcery of Naggaroth.

ARMIES OF THE WITCH KING
Dark Elf armies are mobile and well armed. Many carry the deadly repeater crossbow, which shoot a hail of small barbed arrows. Others ride captive beasts, including gigantic scaled reptiles called Cold Ones. These creatures are hunted down and captured in the caves and tunnels beneath Hag Graef where many strange, ferocious creatures live. Dark Elf women are just as deadly as their menfolk, and are equally adept warriors, fighting alongside the men in battle. The wildest of all are the Witch Elves - a warrior sisterhood devoted to Khaine, the Lord of Murder. They are the most cruel of all the Dark Elves and the most bloodthirsty. After a battle they choose victims to sacrifice to Khaine and bathe in cauldrons of blood, renewing their dark pact with the Lord of Murder.

Malekith, Witch King of Naggaroth

"Malekith was the son of Aenarion, the first of the High Elf Phoenix Kings, and the mysterious and beautiful seeress Morathi. He grew to be a mighty warrior, a great sorcerer, and a brilliant general. When Aenarion died, a brief time of peace followed and there were many Elves who believed that Malekith, a ruthless warrior who had proven himself in the harsh war-torn lands of Nagarythe, was unsuitable to take his father's place as king. Bel-Shannar was chosen to rule in his stead.

Malekith traveled west and discovered a new continent which he claimed for himself, naming the kingdom Naggaroth. For over five thousand years, he and his followers have continued to wage war against the Phoenix Kings."


NIGHT OF THE HAG QUEEN
Witch Elves live in the temples of Khaine under the glowering eyes of their Hag Queens. The Hag Queens are extremely ancient, and once a year they take part in the riotous celebrations of Death Night when the Witch Elves prowl the streets and steal away any Dark Elves they find, sometimes breaking into houses to take petrified inhabitants away for sacrifice. On Death Night the Hag Queens bathe in blood to restore themselves, at which time they are the most enchanting and voluptuous of all Elves, their strangely cadaverous beauty more powerful and captivating than any magic.
Over the year the Hag Queens revert into the haggard crones they really are, until Death Night comes round once more and Dark Elves hide in their homes, listening to the revelry and evil laughter of the midnight celebrations of the Witch Elves. The Witch Elves also steal away some male children to raise in the temples of Khaine to be assassins, and these are probably the most deadly and evil Dark Elves of all, the masters of the art of death."

Morathi, the Hag Sorceress

"After the Witch King himself, Morathi is the most powerful Dark Elf in all of Naggaroth. Born to scheming and politics and a talented Sorceress, Morathi has spent five thousand years teaching her son all she knows of statecraft and magic and works to maintain his grip on the throne of Naggaroth."

THE WOOD ELVES

"The Wood Elf realm of Athel Loren in the heart of the Loren Forest is all that remains of the once numerous Elven colonies of the Old World. Thousands of years ago when the Elves and Dwarfs fought their long and bitter war, most of these colonies were destroyed. Many proud Elf cities fell into ruin, including the great port of Tor Alessi where the Bretonnian city of L'Anguille now stands.

THE PARTING
The Elves left the Old World to face new troubles at home, in the land of Ulthuan, where civil discord was brewing a war which would eventually split their people asunder. However, not all the Elven colonists abandoned their homes. A few refused to do so, and retreated instead into the vast forests of Loren.

THE PEOPLE OF THE WOOD
Wood Elves are physically identical to their cousins the High Elves. They are tall, graceful in all their movements, and extremely agile. The bow is their principle weapon, although they are not afraid of hand-to-hand fighting as they are very skilled warriors. They prefer not to wear much armour, so they can move as quickly as possible through the dense woods. Over the centuries they have grown into a distinct and independent people. They have relinquished all former ties with Ulthuan and its Phoenix Kings, and have chosen to tread their own path of wisdom and natural lore. Today the Wood Elves shun contact with other races and show no mercy to those who invade their woodland realm or who cause malicious damage to its ancient trees. The Elves have grown to love the trees and the woodlands, and have learned to live alongside the spirits of nature and the magical principles of the land. They have distorted the space around their realm by means of strange enchantments, so that it is almost impossible to enter Athel Loren without the leave of the Wood Elves themselves. Most who wander unwelcome into the greenwoods quickly meet with an untimely end, and few that enter with malicious intent ever leave alive.

THE ELVEN GODS
As they took to their new lives the Elves built shrines to the ancient Elf gods Kurnous and Isha, the wild hunter and the earth mother. The mages discovered places in the forest where magic was strongest, and there they set stones to fix the magic and contain it safely. As the Elves made new shrines and uncovered new sources of magic the forest itself seemed to respond, as if the primeval spirits were being called forth from trees and stones.

THE KING AND QUEEN IN THE WOOD
From the oldest tree in the forest, the Oak of Ages, came forth the King and Queen in the Wood to rule over the Elves. In the outside world stories began to circulate of the magical realm of the King and Queen in the Wood, gods made flesh to rule over the land of Athel Loren. Few dared to enter the woods, whilst in far away lands the very name of Loren was enough to conjure images of sorcerous deception and mysterious power."

Ariel, the Queen of Athel Loren

"Ariel is the Queen of Athel Loren and presides over the realm together with Orion. Ariel acquired the Aspects of Isha, the ancient Elven goddess of nature, through the strange magic of the Oak of Ages at the same time as Orion gained the Aspects of Kurnous. Thus, the magical force of nature flows through Ariel as if she were the goddess Isha herself.

Ariel wields immense natural forces and weaves them according to her will. She commands the trees of the forest to grow, and vegetation to spring forth from the ground. It is Ariel who weaves enchantments around the Forest of Loren to delay and mislead intruders, or lure them onwards to their doom! If Ariel perishes in battle, the Elves will carry her away and seal her within the Oak of Ages to be reborn again in the spring.

When enemies enter the Forest of Loren, Ariel shifts shape into her sylph-like War Aspect. She grows almost twice the height of an ordinary Elf and unfolds huge wings like those of a gigantic moth, covered in tiny scales of shimmering, iridescent colours. Upon her wings are strange markings known as the Eyes of Isha, and the Spirals of Isha can also be seen in the patterns of her wings. Sometimes, Ariel's wings display the markings of the death's-head moth to indicate that she is enraged and in a vengeful mood. Moth-like antenna emerge from Ariel's head, but her face remains that of a beautiful she-Elf with piercing eyes. The upper part of her body is clad in shimmering scales of incandescent green, while the lower part trails away into infinity — like an ethereal or elemental being. She appears to glow with an inner light like the moon and trails raw magic in a shower of glittering stardust. In this form, Ariel can fly around the battlefield wielding her magic. The wafting of her huge wings over the heads of the enemy fills them with both dread and awe."


Orion, The King of the woods

"Orion is the consort-king of Athel Loren. At the height of his power in midsummer, Orion is a terrifying being of majesty and power. He stands over 10' tall, and his lithe, green-tinged body ripples with barely contained anger. As the moons align overhead on midsummer's eve, a beautiful cloak crafted by his Queen is draped over his shoulders, and the great horn of the Wild Hunt is placed reverently before him. As the time of the conjunction draws near, he takes up his weapons from their shrine within the Oak of Ages. At midnight, Athel Loren goes utterly silent – not a creature stirs – for all know that the ride of the Wild Hunt has come..."

DWARF REALMS

"The Dwarfs live deep beneath the mountains in mines and halls carved by their own hands from solid rock. In ages past the Dwarfs prospered and their settlements grew into flourishing underground cities. The most important of these were built in the Worlds Edge Mountains, the long chain of mountains that runs from the north of the Old World far into the Southlands.
In ancient times this Dwarf Empire was connected by underground roadways as broad as three fully-laden wagons. Dwarf ballads tell of the wealth of those days, of gold and silver dug from the mountains, of fabulous jewels won from the rock, and of the precious stones, marble, onyx and jade, that adorned the glittering halls of the Dwarf kings.

DECLINE AND FALL
Sadly those days are long gone, though they are recalled fondly by the Dwarf bards in the stone halls of the strongholds that still remain. The sagas reveal little about the fall of the Dwarf Empire, but clearly their cities succumbed one by one to the Goblins from above and Skaven from below. Today only a fraction of the Dwarfs' old underground empire remains. The Dwarfs are few and their wealth is much reduced compared to former times. Still, they remain a proud and defiant people, as grim as the mountains and as hard as the rock itself!

AGE, WEALTH AND SKILL
Dwarfs are immensely strong and resilient, broad in the shoulder, wide in the girth, with broad hands and feet. They are stubborn, with a practical turn of mind. Dwarfs are said to respect three things above all else: age, wealth and skill.
Unless slain in battle, Dwarfs live to a very great age. A Dwarf's age can be deduced by the length of his beard. The oldest and wisest Dwarfs have silver beards many yards long. These are worn wrapped round the Dwarf's belly and still trail behind him if they are really long. Respect for age extends to all aspects of Dwarf culture, where ancient workmanship is held up as an example of achievement, and where weapons may be reforged time and time again.
The second thing that Dwarfs respect is wealth. Hoarding wealth is a great passion amongst them, and no Dwarf feels secure unless he has a substantial hoard he can pass on to his descendants. The hoards of some Dwarf Lords are of immense proportions and antiquity. Rumours of this wealth have driven ambitious armies to the gates of the Dwarf strongholds, where most of their bones still lie. But not all attacks have failed and some strongholds have fallen to Orcs, Goblins or Skaven, their precious Dwarf hoards lost or scattered across the world.
The third cornerstone of Dwarf values is their superb craftsmanship. Dwarfs take pride in their work, whether it is making a tunnel, or carving some tiny gem. They are good at making small, intricate things, and all they do is accomplished in a painstaking and thoughtful manner. Dwarfs hate to see rough work, and everything they make is always built to last. Curiously enough, in the Dwarf language the word for shoddy or bodged work is umgi which literally means ?man made?.
Dwarfs always keep their word. They have a very rigid sense of pride and honour. If a Dwarf makes a promise he will remember it and keep it, and he will also honour a promise made by his ancestors no matter how long ago it was given. To break faith is the worst possible kind of dishonour to a Dwarf. A broken bond will be bitterly remembered, leading to determined acts of vengeance and vendettas which may last for centuries. Great breaches of faith against the Dwarfs of a particular stronghold are recorded for posterity in a Book of Grudges, a huge tome carefully maintained by the stronghold?s Dwarf Lord and constantly updated.

THE DWARF REALMS
There are surviving Dwarf strongholds throughout the World's Edge Mountains, although in past times there were many more and they were substantially larger. Those that remain are beleaguered fortresses, beset by Orcs, Goblins, Skaven and other evil things. Such holds include Karak Kadrin, or Slayer Keep, which overlooks the famous Peak Pass much travelled by merchants from the Empire and Kislev and one of the main paths between the east and the Old World. Zhufbar to the south stands by the cold Lake Varn and has had a long and bloody history, being overrun by Goblins and subsequently recaptured with help from Sigmar, the first Emperor.
The largest and most important Dwarf stronghold is Karaz-a-Karak, whose name means Everpeak. This mighty and populous city is the ancient capital of the entire Dwarf realm and the stronghold of the High King of the Dwarfs. This city lies at the spiritual heartland of the Dwarf race. It is where the Great Book of Grudges and Book of Remembering are kept, and where the temples of the Dwarf gods Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya are situated. All Dwarf strongholds have long and noble histories, and it would be impossible to describe them all here. Each is an independent kingdom, but all hold ultimate fealty to the High King of Karaz-a- Karak."


High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer (dwarves)

"Thorgrim is the descendant of the most ancient and noble of all Dwarf lords. The very blood of Grungni flows in his veins and the wisdom of Valaya sits upon his beetling brow. The High Kings have kept the Great Book of Grudges, the oldest and most important of the many Books of Grudges that exist throughout the Dwarf realms. This book, known as Dammaz Kron, recounts all the ancient wrongs and deeds of treachery perpetrated against the Dwarf race. Its pages are written in the blood of High Kings, and its tattered parchment is much thumbed and studied.

Occasionally, the Dwarfs have the opportunity to set right some ancient wrong, in which case the High King has the satisfaction of striking out the record in the book. This hardly ever happens as, when it comes down to it, Dwarfs much prefer to hold a grudge rather than let bygones be bygones. Even grudges which have been crossed out can still be read and are never forgotten, but fondly recalled together with the story of how vengeance was finally exacted. Dwarfs are very good at bearing grudges, and Dammaz Kron recounts many episodes of the infamy of other races and of the gods themselves. The Dwarf language has no word for forgiveness, but many subtle variations on revenge, recompense and retribution.

When Thorgrim goes to war (which is often, for there are many dark deeds of infamy to avenge!) he carries the Great Book of Grudges with him. He is borne aloft on the Throne of Power by his four sturdy Thronebearers, and brandishes aloft the Axe of Grimnir. Atop his brow he wears the Crown of Karaz-a-Karak."


Ungrim iron fist, the Slayerking of Karak Kadrin

Before many, many years it happened that Ungrims greatgreatgreatgreatgreat-grandfather, who was called there king Baragor, suffered a heavy stroke of fate, which brought dishonor over himself and his family. The once proud dwarf saw himself forced to swear as the first dwarf in history the oath of a Slayer. What exactly induced him to this consequence-fraught resolution, nobody knows, because neither is the mentioned stroke of fate written down in the book of Grudges by Karak Kadrin, or registered in the records of the king, nor in the fortress annals of those days. It is assumed that it was the death of his daughter, who he had promised to the son of the High King of Karaz A Karak. Probably her death is to be attributed to the large dragon Skaladrak, but with certainty nobody can testify. Whatever the details might have been, by these or similar circumstances became Baragor the first Slayerking of Karak Kadrin.

And torn between his two large obligations, on the one hand as a king of his people and on the other hand his search for death as a Slayer, could become fair Baragor neither the one nor the other one in sufficient measure. In the end his dwarvish reasoning came through, and he found a way to follow both obligations. He created the Shrine of Grimnir, the shrine of the Slayer of Karak Kadrin, and with generous donations of its Clanbrothers he established a center for Slayer from all dwarven realms around his shrine. Very Soon Karak Kadrin was something like the recognized homeland of the Slayercults, which remained nothing despite a scattered group from loners up to this day, who wander through the whole Old World for all of their lifes.

Although Baragor could not follow his own obligations as a king always, he succeeded to help his comrades of faith nevertheless. Therefore he is regarded as a honorable and wise dwarf in all of the dwarven realms. Baragor died in a tunnel collapse deeply under Karak Kadrin, without its Slayeroath to be fulfilled. His son, Dargo, inherited thereby not only his kingdom but also the Slayeroath, and so he became the second king in the line of the Slayerkings. Over generations this status was passed down, up to king Ungrim iron fist, the present Slayerking, a direct descendant of king Baragor. (translated by Duke from German)

THE REALM OF CHAOS

"According to Elf legend there was a time before magic, when even the fathers of the Elves knew nothing of language or civilisation, roaming the forests of Avelorn like wild beasts. Then the Old Ones came and taught the Elves the secrets of speech and song. They came from the stars in silver craft, through an interdimensional gateway above the northern pole. Through this gateway the Old Ones travelled from star to star.
It was the Old Ones who brought magic into the world, drawing it down through their gateway and fashioning it into spells and arcane devices. The Elves were quick to learn the arts of civilisation including the manipulation of magic itself. At first their power was weak compared to the Old Ones who, it is said, could summon forth daemons and the very gods themselves to do their bidding.

THE TIME OF CHAOS
Sudden and unexpected catastrophe destroyed the Old Ones. Their gateway was to prove their downfall, perhaps because its mechanisms failed or maybe because it was breached by some enemy. It collapsed upon the northern pole and engulfed the world in shadow. Dimensions once distinct were thrown together in an unholy conjunction of magic and matter. Creatures trapped within were warped and distorted and the lands were twisted into new and insane forms. It is said that time itself was destroyed. The Elves refer to this world-shattering event as the Time of Chaos.
The Realm of Chaos is the name that mortals give to the polar region of shadow. To mortals it is the abode of gods and daemons. To those who are most knowledgeable it is the source of all magical power, for raw magic leaks into the world through the ruined gateway, flooding the land with its transmuting energy. Slowly the magical energy changes the creatures of the world, twisting their minds and bodies, and creating mutants of extraordinary power.

GODS AND DAEMONS
The Realm of Chaos is inhabited by creatures formed from magical energy rather than physical matter. These gods and daemons require a magically saturated environment in which to live, and for this reason are imprisoned within the boundaries of the Realm of Chaos. They can be brought into the world by means of a spell which creates a short-lived magical field for them to inhabit. At times the Realm of Chaos itself expands like a great tidal wave, enabling daemons to move south.
There are daemons of many kinds, both great and small. It is said that daemons take form from dreams, and in this way mortal nightmares have created both daemons and gods. If all gods exist in Chaos, only four are accorded the title of Chaos Gods: Khorne, Nurgle, Slaanesh and Tzeentch.
These four are brothers and rivals; each wishes to make the world his own, yet none is strong enough to accomplish this alone. Their goal is to build up magical energy so that they can dispatch their daemons into the world to conquer and possess it. Several times the north has erupted into darkness, armies of daemons have descended upon the land. Long and terrible battles have been fought to drive back the creatures of shadow and break their power. So far the world has survived - but whether it can continue to endure is doubtful, for the forces of Chaos grow stronger every day.

MORTAL ARMIES OF CHAOS
The magic that seeps from the Realm of Chaos affects all living things in the world. In the northlands, where the Realm of Chaos lies closest and its influence is strongest, many-headed beasts or even more horrible mutants roam the land: multi-limbed monstrosities, horned and cloven-hoofed half-men, many-eyed beasts, and things that breathe fire and rank gases. The unfettered transmuting power of magic causes change - though what form such change might take is always uncertain.
Further south the effect is less, partly because magic is weaker and partly because men hunt down and destroy mutants. Mutant children born in the Empire are exposed at birth or left in the woods to die. None marked by Chaos are permitted to live alongside true men. In Ulthuan the power of the Elven Mages drains away the corrupting power of Chaos by means of a great vortex centred upon the Isle of the Dead.
Despite these precautions there are many who are touched by Chaos in hidden ways, especially amongst the race of Men who seem strangely vulnerable compared to other races. There are those amongst Mankind who have been given potent gifts by the random mutating effects of Chaos. Outwardly they are normal, but within their bodies they harbour a secret power. Some have ordinary human abilities magnified to an incredible degree, possessing extraordinary intelligence, ambition, strength of mind or charismatic powers of leadership. Others have hidden powers of perception, strength or resilience. A few have even stranger abilities, and can breathe flame or are able to mesmerise or kill with a gaze. Men of such power must conceal themselves or be driven out by the witch hunters and priests.

CHAOS CHAMPIONS
There are men who make a binding pact with the Chaos Gods and in doing so open up a channel of energy between their own minds and the power that resides in the Realm of Chaos. By this means these Champions of Chaos hope to develop their own powers further, to become great leaders, warriors or sorcerers. Some willingly join the conquering armies of Chaos and hope to one day sit amongst the gods and rule a world of shadow and sorcery. There are many now who see the triumph of Chaos as inevitable. Amongst the cities of the Empire, hidden cultists recruit new followers. In the wastes Champions gather mutants to their cause.
Out in the Northern Wastes and deep in the heart of the Empire?s forests the followers of Chaos prepare for war. They test their strength against the monstrous creatures of those regions, against the Orcs and Goblins, and against each other. Hundreds of small warbands wander the northlands, plundering outlying Human settlements and occasionally raiding the territories of Kislev, Norsca and the Empire. As their power grows stronger, Champions gather more followers, and lesser Champions join them, and in this way a dark army grows within the heart of the Old World."


Archaon, Lord of the End Times (chaos)

Archaon is the most powerful Chaos Lord ever to walk the Warhammer world, blessed above all others by the powers of Chaos. Archaon is amongst the strongest and toughest being you can find in the Warhammer World. Weighing in at a whopping 865 points, he is a one-man (and daemonic steed!) combat monster, who can also cast spells from the lore of Tzeentch. Mounted on the feared Steed of the Apocalypse and holding the fate of the world in his hands, Archaon will lead the Chaos army to victory against the thrice accursed enemies of the Dark Gods.

Since the fall of the Old Ones and the collapse of the Gate of Heaven, Chaos has threatened to overwhelm and destroy the world. But the gods of Chaos are fickle and capricious, and rarely have they combined their forces for this purpose, instead preferring to further their own twisted schemes of domination in the hopes of ruling unchallenged. Be that as it may, every few centuries there is a mortal champion who is destined for the greatest blessings of Chaos. He is the Lord of the End Times, the Everchosen, who the Chaos gods unite behind, bestowing all their gifts upon him.

Each time one of these great warlords has walked the world it has heralded war and plague, famine and destruction on a massive scale. Nature itself abhors his presence, the ground splits asunder at his feet, the air churns and swirls around him. He is Chaos Incarnate, and the herald of the Apocalypse.

On each of the previous occasions when the Everchosen has appeared, there has been a champion of Light to defeat him - the fate of the world coming down to single combat between these two forces. Each time, the forces of Chaos have been thwarted on the brink of total victory. But now another Everchosen has risen to power. For over a century, the Lord Archaon has quested across the wastes of the north to prove his worth, seeking out the artefacts of power that belonged to his predecessors. For many years he searched, looking for the final talisman of destiny which he required to allow the gods of Chaos to unite fully behind him. The Crown of Domination eluded him though, no matter how far he scoured the land or how large his army grew.

But then another appeared; Harbinger, Be'lakor, messenger of Chaos, a daemon prince who has embodied the essence of Chaos, the first ever Champion. Once again he came back from his abode in the heavens to seek out the Everchosen, and told Archaon of the unholy resting place of the Crown of Domination. Almost unopposed, Archaon led his army into the Worlds Edge Mountains in frozen Kislev, to the First Shrine to Chaos. Here he battled single-handedly against beasts and daemons and eventually won the right to be crowned Lord of the End Times.

Realising that his own glory was not to be, the Harbinger was forced to take the Crown from Archaon and perform the unholy coronation that confirmed the Chaos Lord's status as the favoured conqueror of the gods. Now a massive army gathers in the north as Archaon prepares to sweep the world away in a tide of bloodshed and battle, so that finally Chaos will rule over the mortal world.

With the armies of Light beleaguered on all sides, shattered by the fighting on Albion, spread thin across the globe, there is little that can be done to stop him. Where now is the champion of Light to oppose Chaos?


The Beasts of Chaos (by Dutch Junkie, thanks:D)


”Beastman are not natural creatures; they first came into existence when the polar gateway of the Old Ones Collapsed, showering the World with corrupting warpstone. It worked a dreadful change on many of the ancestors of Men, causing severe mutations. Hence, Beastmen were created half-man, half-animal, wholly chaotic.

Beastmen are wild and brutish creatures that care little for other beings and despise the race of Men above all else. In battle they combine ferocity with a savage lack of discipline, fighting and battling amongst themselves in their eagerness to get at the enemy. There are several types of Beastmen, but they can be divided into two rough categories: Ungors, which are twisted creatures that combine the worst qualities of a man and a beast, and Gors, a gigantic breed of Beastmen, a mix of some powerful animal and human. Beastmen willingly embrace their heritage of Chaos – they have the intelligence of a man, but employ it with the base cunning of a wild animal.

Beastmen live in roaming warbands, led by the strongest among them. They infest the forests and the wastelands of the Old World and the other nations of Mankind, being most numerous in the far north and the Drakwald Forest, but also gathering in numbers in the lands of the south such as chivalrous Bretonnia and the bright lands of Tilea where the ancient forests harbour hidden Beastmen camps. Eastwards to Cathay and westward across the great ocean beyond Naggaroth, Beastmen have also made their lairs. Wherever Men once roamed or still dwell, now the Beastmen can be found.

These creatures are the most numerous of the beasts of Choas. Their numbers can only be guessed at, but many scholars fear that they outnumber Mankind. They pose an unavoidable threat to travellers on forest roads and to small villages and farmsteads. Often homes or hamlets are raided in the night, their inhabitants slain, buildings burned down and animals carried away to be consumed by the Beastmen.”




Khazrak the One-eye

“Possessing a ruthless cunning far above that of his bestial kin, Khazrak the One-eye is the most powerful and dangerous Beastlord of the Darkwald. It is he who has plagued the castles and towns of the region for several years, attacking without warning and then slipping away into the shadows, leaving no trail to follow.

Though he has now far surpassed his former chieftain in strength and skill, it was from Beastlord Graktar that the young Khazrak learned the ways of Beastmen warfare. Following Graktar on innumerable raids, he learned how to quell the unruly spirit of the herd and devise simple but effective battle plans. He watched and listened as he participated in attacks on caravans and raids on isolated settlements. All the while, Khazrak dreamed of one day usurping power from Graktar and taking control of the warherd himself. Yet Khazrak is unlike most Beastmen, with a patient and thoughtful mind at odds with the normal headstrong nature of his kind. He bided his time, watching as more foolhardy challengers were crushed beneath Graktar’s hooves, or ripped apart on his horns, and he studied his leader’s fighting style and waited for the right moment.

It was after an ambush on a Human caravan, during which GRaktar was wounded, that Khazrak made his move. Noticing that Graktar was bleeding heavily. Khazrak challenged him for leadership and, after a lengthy fight, tore off one of his foe’s horns with his bare hands. Rather than kill Graktar, Khazrak banished him from the warband – the one-horned Graktar was laughed out of the brayherd and never seen again, though rumour has it that he still lives and yearns for the day when he can avenge his defeat. Khazrak keeps Graktar’s horn as a trophy, and the resounding note it sounds when blown has often been the signal that dooms unwary travellers.

Since then, Khazral’s warband has roamed the Drakwald Forest terrorising Human settlements and travellers, and never before has a Beastmen leader proven so elusive for hunting parties. No one is spared in Khazraks raids, his superbly trained Warhounds chasing down the few who manage to escape the Beastmen.’

On the rare occasions that he is discovered, Khazrak has always defeated his pursuers, be they state troops, White Wolf Templars, or mercenaries out to collect the massive bounty offered for proof of Khazrak’s death. On several occasions the Elector Count Boris Todbringer of Middenheim has led the hunt, and once trapped Khazrak near the village of Elsterweld. Khazrak lost his eye to the Man’s Runefang in the ensuing battle, but was saved from death when the fierce warhound, Redmaw, attacked the Count’s horse, allowing Khazrak to escape. Khazrak’s eye never fully healed, and continually weeps blood and pus.

Such a handicap would usually prove fatal in the brutal culture of the Beastmen but Khazrak’s wound actually made him all the more fierce and careful, and het vowed to take his revenge. For many months he plotted and schemed, and then only when the perfect opportunity presented itself did he put his plan into action. With a series of daring ambushes, he lured the Count and his army towards Norderingen. Doubling back overnight, Khazrak and his warband waited for Toddbringer and his force to start breaking camp just outside the village, and then attacked. Khazrak fought his way through the soldiers of Middenheim to confront the Elector. He threw him from his horse, pinned him to the groud, and with slow deliberation, gouged out one of his eyes with the tip of a horn. Just as with Graktar, Khazrak allowed his foe to live, and some believe that he actually enjoys matching his wits against Todbringer, seeing it as a challenge to his skills. The Elector has since increased the bounty fot khazrak’s death to ten thousand golden crowns. He almost caught Khazrak again a few months later, but the Beastlord slipped away. However, Count Todbringer made a point of slaying the hound Redmaw and hanging its remains up on the walls of Middenheim, and Khazrak is now devising a way to repay this affront to his pride.

Even the massive reward offered by the Count has not improve his hunters’ fortunes, and those few bounty killers who return form the Drakwald always do so empty-handed. Khazrak remains a dire threat to the entire north of the Empire, and his raids are covering a wider area with each passing year, as more and more towns and villages gall victim to his elaborate and devastating ambushes."


Gorthor the Beastlord

"Gorthor the Cruel was the greatest Beastlord ever to have lived. Over one thousand years ago, during the time of the Crusades, his warband ravaged the forests of the Empire and all but destroyed the provinces of Ostland and Hochland, and his name van still be found on some of the most ancient herdstones. There have been many Beastlords who have united tribes into mighty warherds, but Gorthor was unique among his kind, for he possessed one thing that all others have lacked: he had vision.

Gorthor was convinced that the gods had selected him as their emissary, that he was destined to control the forests in their name. Though he had no true magical power, he had something of the shaman about him, often falling into seizures or visited by nightmare visions of the future. Such was his fervour in battle, he would sometimes be surrounded by coronas of dark energy, which would protect him or strike out at his foes, a sure sign to other Beastmen that the gods truly favoured him. With great strength of arm and cunning, he fought his way through the ranks of Gors to become a chieftain, but his sheer intensity never left him, growing in strength to match his ever increasing power.

Before long he had united all the tribes of the Middle Mountains under his banner, and most chieftains would have been satisfied with far less, but not Gorthor; his purpose was to destroy the entire world in the name of Chaos. He gathered forces and magical artefacts the like of which no Beastman had ever seen. He slew the Orc warlord, Gugrud Gutripper, and took the Greenskin’s magic spear, Impaler. He challenged and killed Kerranarash the Doombull. Claiming the Skull of Mugrar from the Minotaur’s shrine. Ogres, Trolls, Giants and even mighty Dragon Ogres all flocked to join his warherd, drawn by some unknown instinct to the gathering power of Chaos in the heart of the Middle Mountains.

When Gorthor unleashed hell upon the Old World, the Empire was totally unprepared. Many knights and warriors were absent, fighting in the Crusades in Araby and Estalia, and as Gorthot’s warherd surged out of the mountains, town after town was raze to the ground by the unstoppable horde. Rather than simply raiding the towns, Gorthor’s purpose was total destruction, and his warband slaughtered every man, woman and child they found, save one from each town who would be spared to spread panic amongst neighbouring settlements.

Leaving Ostland devastated in his wake, Gorthor continued on his rampage into the smaller province of Hochland. It was well for the Empire that the state was ruled by Count Mikael, a man as ruthless as he was brave, unpopular with his people but prepared to do anything to stop the Beastlord. To public outrage the Count spent the time he had before Gorthor’s arrival strengthening eht defences of Hergig, Hochland’s capital, rather than riding to the aid of towns in the path of Gorthor’s advance. By the time Gorthor’s army reached the city, the defences were in place, a maze of walls, trenches and stakes stood between the horde and Hergig’s gates. It took the Beastmen three weeks of bloody slaughter to break through the Count’s ingenious defences, with the defenders raining arrows , boiling water, burning oil, rocks and flaming torches down on them at every step. Frustrated by the resistance of the Men and their leader, Gorthor promised his warriors all of the spoils, asking nothing for himself but the head of the Count. The Beastmen doubled their efforts, and on the twentysecond day of the siege the gates of Hergig finally splintered under the Beastmen’s rams. But still the Men fought on. Count Mikael forbade his archers from carrying quivers, ordering them to drove their arrows into the ground so that they would not give an inch to the Beastmen. He equipped the most able men with all of the available weapons and armour, sending the old and infirm to the front lines to delay and tire the enemy. He had the wives and children of his soldiers carry food and water to the front lines, ensuring that no thought of retreat entered the men’s minds.

But he hordes of Gordor were innumerable, and the defenders were cut down in droves. The Counts castle’had been under siege for weeks when the battle finally turned. Freshly back from the Crusades, the recently-founden Knights of the Blazing Sun, having heard that Hergig was under attack, had ridden straight for the city and ploughed into the rear of the Chaos army, their lances and swords cutting a bloody path through the unprepared Beastmen. Count Mikael seized his chance. Leading his personal bodyguard, he burst forth from the castle and carved into the scattered warherd.

Gorthor realised he had to take action or all would be lost. Chanting wildly, magical energy lashing out in all directuints, he hacjed his way through the melee until he stood before Count Mikael, and with a roar engaged him in single combat. But Mikael possessed a magical amulet which protected him from Gorthor’s halo of darj power, and the generals fought for nearly two hours, their magical weapons drawing blood at every stroke. Finally, the killing blow was struck: the Count’s Runefang overcame the magic of Impaler, smashing the spear in two, and dealt the Beastlord a mortal blow. With the death of their general the horde fled to the forests with the Knights of the Blazing Sun in pursuit, though Count Mikael die of his horrific injuries barely minutes after his victory.

Gorhtor’s warherd had left a permanent scar on the north or the Empire. Hochland and Ostland were not fully rebuilt for decades, and though a thousand years have passed since his death, his name is still used to curse enemies and frighten wayward children. Even in times of peace the forests are regarded by the people with great dear and superstition. And amongst Beastmen, his memory remains. It is said that one day another Beastlord with the might and vision of Gorthor will emerge and once more thrones of the world will tremble before the Children of Chaos."


Morghur, Master of Skulls
Born almost three centuries ago, the creature known as Morghur was far from a human child. With tooth and horn, he ripped his mother apart in his gory entrance to the world, while her features mutated horribly. Her distraught husband reached forwards to strangle the twisted abomination, yet as his hands touched the foul creature, his body also was wracked with hideous mutation.

Days later, when a group of travelling players arrived at the small community on the outskirts of the dark Forest of Arden, they found it in absolute chaos. Recorded in the tragic Bretonnian poem ‘Requiem’, it is said that men crawled around in the mud like animals, their hands turned to hooves and limbs twisted and rearranged. The livestock walked around on hind legs, speaking in un fathomable tongues as they devoured each other.

In the following decades, a shadow touched the Forest of Arden. At its rotting heart, the trees contorted and twisted. It is said that their cries of anguish can be heard on the wind, and their skeletal-like limbs scratch and lash out at any who intrude into their mournful world. Parents scare their misbehaving young with tales of a mad creature that shambles tirelessly through the trees at night, turning harmless animals into rabid killers and torturing the trees, forcing them against their will to invade the lands of men and steal naughty children from their beds. Little do they know how true the tales are.

Having crawled into the forest as a misshapen and deadly babe, Morghur lives deep within a cave, hidden in one of the darkest groves. The dank, stone walls of his cave flow like water in his presence, constantly reforming to mirror the dark visions that plague him. At all times, Morghur’s mind is filled with images of destruction, fire and desolation. Burning hatred simmers within his heart, and he is consumed with the desire to make his waking-dreams become reality – to rip down civilisation in all its forms, to shatter order wherever it is found and to change the world constantly and randomly. As he walks the forest, everything in his presence is irrevocably changed. Grass turns black and grows in strange patterns beneath his hooves, streams begin to flow backwards and animals mutate horribly.

Beastmen revere Morghur, believing that his spirit walked the world before the birth of their race; the incarnation of disorder and chaotica. They set out form thousands of miles away to stand in his presence, drawn to him by urges they do not question; a tainted pilgrimage that often destroys them. Only the strongest-willed survive such an encounter, though their minds are usually shattered and plagued by visions ever after. The bodies of the most are wracked by fatal change. Those few that do live on with minds intact return to their warherds where they are regarded with awe and respect, and invariably rise to become powerful Wargors and Beastlords.

The Shamans claim that if the physical body of Morghur is cut down, his spirit is reborn elsewhere. Indeed, creatures of similar description have been recorded all across the known world, and darkness and taint has always followed in his wake. The Elves know this being as Cyanathair, the Corrupter, and amongst the Dwarfs he is the Gor-Dum. Legends of the Empire claim that in ages long past this being made the Drakwald Forest the dark and twisted place it is today., where Morghur was known as the Shadow-Gave. Nevertheless, the only one to perhaps understand the true horror and revulsion that is Morghur, is Ariel of the Wood Elves. It is she alone who truly perceives the black and expansive essence of Morghur, too powerful a spirit to be contained in a single physical form. A silent, unseen war rages in the dark forests between the Wood Elves and the Beastmen, as Ariel seeks a way to destroy Morghur forever, while with every passing year ever more Beastmen are drawn to his distorted realm.

The Kurgan



The Kurgan are a raven haired, dark skinned and powerfully built race quite unlike Old Worlders in appearance. They are said to be equally at home on foot or on horseback. When the armies of Chaos gather to invade the Old World, it is The Kurgan that come most eagerly and in the greatest numbers, for they are a numerous people compared to the other tribes of Chaos. Their lordship extends far to the east and the South beyond the shadow of chaos. It is the warriors of the northernmost tribes who are the fiercest and most likely to be hosen by their gods.



The Hung

The Hung are an oriental race-perhaps shorter and more squat than the people of Cathay but otherwise resembling them. They are reckoned the Greatest of all Horsemen and are said to learn to ride before they learn even to walk. Northwards, the land is too poor and mountainous to support their horses, and the steeds of The Hung are typically small, tough beasts that can survive where larger warhorses would quickly starve. Here the tribes hunt the mutant monsters among the snow-clad mountains, gathering their strength to raid the soft lands of Cathay to the south.

THE VAMPIRE COUNTS

Their history and Father: NAGASH

The tale of the dreaded Vampire begins many thousands of years before the reign of Karl Franz, millennia before the coming of Sigmar and the founding of the Empire. It begins in the realm of Nehekhara, now an arid desert, known as the Land of the Dead amongst Men, Tar Uritharhain to the Elves and Grimaz-Ankor in the Khazalid of the Dwarfs.

Most mighty of the Nehekharan cities was Khemri, ruled over by the Priest King Nagash. Nagash rose to power after murdering his brother, and it was he who first created the lore of magic now known as necromancy. Nagash used his knowledge to raise up army of dead warriors and usurp the throne of Khemri. Yet Nagash had not achieved true immortality with his magic, for his body was still aged and withered.

To channel the dark energies he needed, the renegade Priest King began the construction of a monolithic black pyramid that dwarfed even the mightiest existing tombs.

The other Priest Kings of Nehekhara feared Nagash; they grew suspicious of his longevity and knew that he was growing too powerful. Soon he would no doubt conquer them. Prince Lahmizzar of Lahmia gathered the other nobles together for a secret council and they decided to unite their forces against Nagash.

Nagash hid inside his new monument and Prince Lahmizzar set guards outside the pyramid to wait for his inevitable surrender, but Nagash had other plans. The Black Pyramid had been constructed at the heart of the Necropolis of Khemri and that night Nagash used his dark powers to summon a vast legion of skeletal warriors. Soldiers and kings who had been buried centuries before rose from their tombs and warred against their descendants. Nagash led them, striking fear into the brave Lahmians' hearts as he rode at the fore of his army in a chariot made of bone.

That night many brave warriors died in the surprise attack, but the people of Khemri were so horrified by the Undead horde that they united with the gathered kings and marched against Nagash. In the ensuing battle Lahmizzar was killed by Nagash himself but his son fought a savage battle with the dark Necromancer and avenged his death. As Nagash's body fell to the ground, the Undead horde collapsed.

The victorious warriors raided the pyramid seeking to destroy the dark works of Nagash. Neferata, Lahmizzar's daughter and now Queen of Lahmia, was at the head of this raid when she came across one of the Nine Books of Nagash containing all of the Priest King's necromantic lore, now infamous across the world.

The cursed tome called out to her, beckoning her to save it from the purging flames. She took the book with noble intent; thinking to use the knowledge it contained to fight the evil that Nagash had unleashed, but the book was saturated in dark energies. She soon became fascinated by the macabre experiments which Nagash had worked on his slaves and, before long, Neferata found herself copying some of his simpler theories. At first it was innocent fascination but over time she became obsessed by Nagash's quest for immortality.

Neferata was foolish in her pride and believed that she could succeed where Nagash had failed. She followed his macabre rituals and created an elixir; a liquid as black as night that stank of grave dust. Uttering a prayer to her ancestors, she drank deep of it. For a moment nothing happened. Then she was gripped by a fearsome pain, her veins screaming with agony. The torture turned to ecstasy, her senses filled with vibrancy, her body quivering with unnatural energy. She felt her heart stop beating, though she continued to live and breathe.

Suddenly she felt her soul pulled to another world, the world of undeath. A whole new plane of existence opened and her mind raced as she marvelled at the beautiful images of the spirits of the dead. Her initial exhilaration was replaced by stark fear as Neferata realised that her weak and fragile soul attracted these spirits who surrounded her, seeking the warmth of the living.

They sought the essence of life that they once possessed and tore at her unprotected soul. Neferata tried to fend them off but was unprepared for such an assault and before long one spirit broke through her defences. When the Queen awoke, she found herself in the chamber where she had collapsed, but could feel the malicious spirit inside her. It was thirsty and sought the warm blood of the living to ease its pain.

For many years the young Queen managed to conceal her secret, limiting her nightly predations to slaves, servants and others who would not be missed. After a time, though, she could no longer contain her thirst, and it was then that she began to lure courtiers to her chambers, supping on their warm blood for relief from the torment of her possessed soul.

As the nobles of Lahmia grew older they began to question their queen's eternal youth. Neferata realised that alone she was vulnerable and so, one by one, gave her dark gift to the others by means of the elixir. Amongst those nobles were her brother Ushoran and her High Priest W'soran. Together they ruled over the people, believing themselves to be gods. And gods they were to the populace of Lahmia, undying rulers ordained to reign for eternity. Slowly the old religion died away, to be replaced by the worship of the living ancestors, the Eternal Queen and her Deathless Court.
As time passed the vampiric aristocracy discovered more of their powers. The sun hurt them bitterly, but the dust of the deserts was theirs to command and could be summoned to shroud them during daylight hours. They had the strength of a dozen men and no disease, blade nor accident could harm them. Their bodies changed, growing fangs so that they might better feast on the lifeblood of their unwilling victims. Soon they found that the gift of eternity could be passed with their own blood – the creation of a lesser Vampire called the Blood Kiss.

Each Vampire in turn created more of their kind and the temple of Lahmia became refuge to a whole host of such creatures. They commanded that the people worship them and would feed off these unfortunate souls.
One dark night, as she hunted the streets, one of the King's former guards, who went by the name of Abhorash, discovered Neferata drinking from a victim. He fled in terror at the unrecognisable creature he found, body awash with blood, fangs and claws bared for the kill. The following evening she summoned him to her temple and bade him drink from a chalice which, unknown to him, was filled with her blood. He was a loyal captain and drank without question, thus his fate was sealed.

Abhorash was horrified by Neferata's trickery but was helpless against the thirst that overcame him. For many days he tried to fight his desire for blood but one dark night he could not help his craving and slaughtered many of his own people.

Realising the futility of denying his fate, Abhorash had little option but to join Neferata in her terrible court. He was still loyal to his people and decreed a set of laws for the Vampires of Lahmia to follow. They would hide their presence and only feed off those worthy of death. Although Abhorash abided by his own code of honour, the other Vampires thought themselves above such laws and carried on as they had before. The people were too fearful to stand against them and so they continued a reign of terror.
For many decades the Vampires ruled over the people of Lahmia in this manner but rumour spread that Nagash had been seen walking the lands again. The other Priest Kings called a council to unite against the threat, but the nobility of Lahmia sought to welcome him back. They allied themselves to his cause and in doing so incurred the wrath of the other Priest Kings. King Alcadizaar united the Priest Kings and roused the downtrodden people of Lahmia against their rulers, bringing a great army to assault the Vampires' temple.

Abhorash led the defence of the temple, and none could stand against the unliving warrior. He had been Lahmia's greatest fighter in life, and in undeath he was nigh unstoppable. The high steps to the temple poured with the blood of his foes, their bodies heaped at the bottom in a great mound of death. In his anger, Abhorash fed wildly, and his strength grew even more.

At W'soran's word, the slain rose once more, Undead things bound to his will, and assailed their still-living friends and comrades. Many legends say that Nagash used his vast magical powers to aid the defence of his allies. Myths speak of a mighty storm that gathered above Abhorash, lightning crackling around the Vampire as he fought, striking down those who opposed him. Abhorash's blade felled a foe with every blow, and neither the strongest armour nor the most skilled parry could defend against him. Khemrians brought forth machineries of war and, though battered by rocks, burned by alchemical fire and transfixed with bolts, he was impossible to destroy. The High Priests of Zandri invoked ancient magics to curse the unliving warrior, and yet he fought on.

For a full week the Vampire general and his host of dead fought against the bronze-clad army of the Priest Kings, tenaciously defending the temple and launching devastating counter-attacks mounted on a nightmarish steed. But for all his ferocity and skill, and the death of thousands of his foes, Abhorash was unable to stop the Nehekharans storming the court of his Queen.

The temple of Lahmia was put to the torch and many Vampires died in the flames. Those who managed to flee most were hunted down and killed by the vengeful Nehekharans. Only the strongest and oldest Vampires escaped, amongst them Neferata, Abhorash, Ushoran and W'soran.
Abhorash was grief-stricken and vowed vengeance upon all of humankind for what they had done. His once proud realm, which used to be scattered with oases and desert gardens, was now a torched, barren land. Nothing living stirred in Lahmia, though to this day the dead do not rest in their graves, such was the strength of the magic unleashed during the titanic battle.

The former commander of Lahmia's army went northwards with four companions, slaying all who crossed their path, and fed like wild animals, gorging themselves after years of denial and restraint. To this day, the Orc Shamans of the Badlands regale their Greenskin cousins with myths of the Throatrippers who slew five whole tribes. The Dwarfs greatly feared Abhorash, for often they would send supplies to an isolated stronghold or mine only to find that all the inhabitants had been butchered by the merciless killer.

The others fled to Nagash who was pleased with his new allies and bade each of them fight at the fore of his Undead horde. The Great Necromancer had become mighty indeed, and the Vampires of Lahmia were his most deadly warriors. They learnt much of the Necromantic arts from their creator, and in turn became able to raise a host of the dead with their own magic.

Nagash had spent many decades gathering together an Undead horde the likes of which has never walked the earth since. With the Priest Kings ignorant to his presence he had raided the necropolises and his army of darkness was set to march south. He had sworn vengeance on the Priest Kings and was set to exact a terrible toll.

An army of chariots and skeletal regiments descended upon Nehekhara but the brave people of that desert land were not about to give up. They had been roused by the defeat of the Lahmian Vampire temple and were prepared to fight. Under the leadership of Alcadizaar they fought valiantly and Nagash was forced to retreat. As Nagash fled back to the north the first seeds of discontent had been sown. Already the Vampires blamed each other for the defeat. Ushoran wanted to rise against Nagash and take control of what little remained of his army, Neferata saw wisdom in allying with Nagash and returning to found a new city of Lahmia. W'soran argued against both these courses of action, and sought to go into hiding once more with their dark lord, in order that together they could take control of the world through magic.

Nagash ignored the petty rivalry amongst his most trusted servants, and spread a plague across the land. He raised those who died from the terrible disease to create another vast army, but on the eve of the great battle the Vampires' divisions turned to conflict. The six trueborn Vampires who had survived the burning of their temple fought with one another. The fight was savage, no single Vampire able to better the next. For the whole night they battled but, as the sun rose, the Vampires fled from each other, hiding for fear that they should be destroyed by their enemies' minions as they slept. So it was that the Vampires were split apart. There is little doubt that together they could have conquered the world but, because of their arrogance and vanity they were destined to become bitter enemies for the rest of eternity. Each now vies for power, creating their own army of Vampire thralls which became known as the bloodlines.

Neferata went northwards, and now the Eternal Queen and the Deathless Court hold counsel at the Silver Pinnacle. Here the Lahmian traditions are upheld to this day, an army of Undead warriors stands ready to guard against attack. Neferata's descendants can be found all across the Old World, as companions to dukes and barons, consorts and advisors to rich merchants and military leaders. Thus Neferata's web extends and grows, unfolding to some distant and mysterious plan that only she knows.
Elsewhere is told the tale of how Abhorash slew a great dragon in single combat and rid himself of the curse by drinking its blood. His greatest disciple, Walach Harkon, founded the Blood Dragons, who roam far and wide from their home in Blood Keep, honing their skills in battle so that one day they may emulate their master.

You have heard how the curse of Undeath was brought into the Old World, and how the Vampires were driven forth from their city of Lahmia to seek shelter with the Great Necromancer Nagash. On the eve of a massive battle the Vampire alliance crumbled and each of the trueborn Vampires decided upon their own course of action. The world had been spared the wrath of a combined force that would undoubtedly have been able to conquer any resistance it came across. Now, though, a new and more elusive danger threatened each and every civilisation.

For many decades the six trueborn Vampires who had deserted Nagash remained in hiding from each other. Plotting in their dark and secret lairs, they dreamed up dark schemes as to how best they could forge enough power to withstand the other trueborn, who would no doubt seek to destroy them.

W'soran was the only Vampire to remain loyal to Nagash. As the other Vampires fled into the dark night he remained at his master's side, agreeing to lead the army into battle. He hoped that by staying with Nagash his dark master would reveal more of his Necromantic secrets. W'soran accompanied Nagash into battle in a mighty scythed chariot made of the sun-bleached bones of a once monstrous creature.

He led a massive horde of skeletal warriors into combat, riding at the forefront of the army, casting his corrupt magic across the battlefield. As the bloodied bodies of his foes fell to the sandy desert floor, smashed by dark bolts of crackling energy, he would awaken their spirits, commanding them to rise and fight against their own kinfolk. The battle was savage and Alcadizaar's army was weakened by the dread plague that had swept across the land. The horror of having to fight their own decayed friends and family who had been summoned from their plague ridden graves led to Alcadizaar's army crumbling under the massed assault.

Nagash was pleased with his apprentice and as a reward gave W'soran one of his dark tomes to study. W'soran gleaned terrible arcane knowledge from the crumbling pages of the unholy book, whilst the other Vampires fled north. It is thought that one sought passage on a merchant vessel. Tales tell of how a ship was found crewless, drifting along the coast around the lands now known as Norsca. All the cargo had been thrown overboard save for a single coffin. Another headed east towards the lands of Cathy and Nippon. Little is known of the fate of these Vampires. None can know the exact routes that the Vampires chose to walk, but stories of their passing can be found amongst the myths and legends that still haunt the children of those realms to this day.

During the brief period of time that W'soran was able to study under Nagash he learned much of the other realm, the world of Undeath. Unfortunately for the Vampire trueborn, his master was slain by Alcadizaar only a year after he had risen to power. Nonetheless W'soran escaped, with the tome Nagash had presented him still in his possession. W'soran did not harbour the ambitions of the other Vampires. Conquering the world of mortals was not enough for the Necrarch. Instead, he sought to master the world of death. He knew that if he were to achieve ultimate power then it would come from knowledge of the spirit world that was the essence of his very being.

With no aspirations to build a great nation, he was not inclined as were the other Vampires to create an army of thralls. W'soran selected a few of Nagash's most intelligent priests who had escaped the wrath of Khemri. He decided to make them into his Vampire students and went into seclusion in order that he could teach them the dark arts of Necromancy, unthreatened by the other Vampires.

Little is known of where W'soran hid away after the defeat of Nagash. He locked himself away for centuries, studying the art of Necromancy with little interest in the affairs of his fellow Vampires. Using knowledge gained from the Book of Nagash, he would spend great amounts of his time walking in the Undead spirit world. It was this that ultimately led to W'soran's undoing. In order to cross the border between the mortal realm and the land of Undeath he would go into a trance-like state. In this way, his soul became free to explore and converse with the spirits of the dead.

His finest and most diligent student, a Vampire named Melkhior, seized one such moment to use to his advantage. Who knows what made Melkhior betray his master. Some rumour that the Book of Nagash spoke to him, beckoning him to slay W'soran , others believe it was simply his own twisted mind that led him to plunge a stake through the heart of his master. Nonetheless, in doing so, Melkhior plunged those Vampires that W'soran had created into a world of darkness.

During this time, the remaining trueborn fled north through Orc infested lands, crossing mighty mountain ranges on their travels. Each of them came upon small secluded realms around the Old World. In these lands they began to found minor domains. No single Vampire was stronger than the next and so they kept their locations secret, waiting patiently for the others to expose themselves before choosing whether to strike against them. Realising that they would need strong allies were they to stand any hope of defeating the other Vampires, each of the trueborn created thralls with the Blood Kiss. For many centuries they continued to exist this way and it came as little surprise to the other Vampires that Ushoran would be the first to emerge.

Ushoran had a unique skill with diplomacy and was a fine warrior whose lack of skill at swordsmanship was more than made up for by his immense muscular strength and finely honed strategic mind. Ushoran came across a city known as Mourkain in the Kingdom of Strigos which flourished in the Western foothills of the Worlds Edge Mountains. Over a brief few decades he was able to create a small following of Vampire thralls each of whom held high positions within the city's nobility. Once he felt that they were in a strong enough position he made his move and with the support of the thralls he declared himself ruler of the realm.

Ushoran had learned from the mistakes of the Lahmian court and bade that his Vampires only drank from those that deserved to die. With such a strong leader the realm prospered and before long it became obvious to the other Vampires that one of their kind must be behind the success. Ushoran in his foolish pride sent his thralls out to seek the other trueborn Vampires and bid them to come to his realm where together under his leadership they could found a new deadly dynasty.

It was Neferata, Ushoran's own sister, that was the first to scorn his invitation. She imprisoned the thrall messenger, sending the bloodied fangs which she had herself torn from his mouth back to Ushoran as a sign of her contempt. Neferata had built up a network of Vampires amongst the flourishing tribes that were to eventually become the Empire. Making good use of this, she warned the kings and princes of these lands of Ushoran's deadly power. Together they raised an army and marched south against Ushoran.

Had the humans known what they faced they might have decided against their course of action, but the subterfuge of Neferata's Lahmian sisters was subtle. Ushoran had amassed a great army. They were a disciplined force comprising many strong and skilled warriors, with well-crafted weapons and armour. He gathered his troops and marched north to intercept the armies of men.

Unfortunately for Ushoran the Orcs and Goblins had overcome their fear of the terrible fanged beasts that had stalked through their land and, in true Orc fashion, now sought to fight these monsters. Mounted on mighty Wyverns, the Orc Warboss Garsnag Craktoof and his Shaman Fuzzgig led a massive Waaagh! and headed north to seek vengeance for those Orcs that had been slaughtered by the dread Blood Dragon Abhorash.

Ushoran's force had virtually smashed the united tribes. His thralls had been merciless on the battlefield, slaying thousands with their unholy fury. Ushoran's army would have easily defeated the men of the northern lands, but during the long campaign rumour spread of Craktoof's mighty Waaagh! Ushoran knew he had left his capital city defenceless and had to quickly march his army back south. They were harried and pursued by the humans and much of his force was destroyed as the rearguard collapsed.
Finally, when they reached the plains of dust, a short distance from the capital, Ushoran saw the might of the Orc horde. Countless numbers of Greenskins were amassed before him ready to sweep through his tired and depleted force. Bellowing savage guttural war cries, they smashed crude weapons on their shields challenging the Vampire army. Ushoran knew they were outnumbered but he had little choice other than to fight the horde.
The Orcs had underestimated the power of a Vampire and in the first assault upon the city, Craktoof himself was slain by Ushoran, who it is said tore the Orc's head from his body with his bare hands. None dared face the Vampire and the Orc attack might have faltered had not Fuzzgig called upon the mighty powers of Waaagh! magic and struck down the Vampire Lord, engulfing him in a green, sorcerous blast of energy.

Upon seeing their master destroyed, the remaining Strigoi fled the battle knowing that the city was doomed. They desperately sought safety amongst their own kind, searching for the other Vampires. It was not long before they found a small Vampire sect hidden within the chill, dark forests inhabited by the Sylvanian peoples. They begged that they be allowed to join the Vampire coven, but those Vampires who are now thought to be the first of the von Carstein lineage remembered Ushoran's arrogance. They turned upon the stricken Vampires with ferocity, and few escaped their murderous vengeance. Each time they came across other Vampires they received similar treatment. The hunter had become the prey. The Strigoi were forced into hiding; everywhere they turned foes sought to destroy them. They had little option but to live in the barren wilderness, feasting off beasts. Their only refuges were those places shunned by civilisation. Over many centuries the harsh elements changed their once fine bodies into tough muscular frames. T