This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the world’s ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl Franz, sacred descendant of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.

But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war. In the towering Worlds Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods. As the time of battle draws ever near, the Empire needs heroes like never before.

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17th Pflugzeit 2527
The wintry sky was blemished by black stains that
whirled and circled high overhead, their ugly squawks
raining down upon the ears of the men below. The
crows had gathered quickly, drawn by the smell of
death in the air. A great murder of the scavenger birds
had risen into the sky, betraying what the Greenskins had
done to every eye within a hundred leagues.
Badog glared at the croaking birds and spat against
the rocky earth. It was a small betrayal beside what had
come before it. The massive ork ground his fangs together,
imagining the many ways his revenge would unfold.
There would be a reckoning, and not all the daemons of
the Wastes would deny him.
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