Here
is the first of a series of statements indicating the position and motivation
of the various factions involved in the fighting in the Old World at the
end of the Siege of Middenheim.
The Empire
The Empire was in turmoil. Though the siege of the city of the White Wolf had
been broken, and the forces of Archaon forced into retreat, the Warlord himself
still lived. He was surrounded within the virtually impregnable fortress of
Brass Keep, his greatest surviving warriors gathered about him and the walls of
the edifice protected further by vile enchantments. Valten was gone, and none
knew for sure where, but those who knew of the manner of his disappearance
feared the worst. Some of the nobility with an eye on the throne themselves
muttered in muted whispers about how conveniently this challenge to Karl Franz
position had so neatly been removed.
Despite the hardships the Imperial forces had suffered, now was not the time to
fall to complacency, and Karl Franz had ordered a mustering of the remaining
Empire forces, bolstered by reinforcements from the southern States spared the
horror of the war thus far. A decisive push must be made to cleanse the land of
the forces of Chaos and drive them back to whence they came, or destroy them
utterly. Archaon himself must die, so that he would have no chance to reorder
his forces and plunge the Empire once more into bitter war. The northern States
that had borne the brunt of the fighting were in ruin, and great was the task
of rebuilding ahead of them. The roving bands of Beastmen and fur clad
Marauders must be hunted down, and any treacherous men of the Empire who, in
their darkest hour had thrown their lot in with the forces of the enemy, must
be put to the sword as well, lest their taint be allowed to spread.
An army had already been dispatched, heavy with Priests and Witch Hunters, east
towards Stirland and far Sylvania. Now that the threat of the Vampire Counts
hung once more over their heads, that too must be addressed and ended for all
time. Now, while they were on the front foot, the forces of the Empire could be
victorious, but it was a hard task to come.
As Karl Franz stood in council around the map table before him and his
generals, an outrider entered the tent. He looked worn and short of breath.
From within a leather satchel he drew forth a rolled parchment, and kneeling he
held it out for the Emperor. Karl Franz took the roll and unfurled it, scanning
down the script within. The news was grave. The Orcs were marching south,
towards Altdorf...
Storm of Chaos - Beastmen
Beastmen
The insatiable warherds that took part in the great invasion of the hated human
Empire, led by the forces of the northman Archaon, took great satisfaction from
the enraged bloodletting that saw the northern provinces ravaged. However, the
Everchosen proved too weak, underestimating his enemy, and was now at bay,
cornered like an animal within the pile of stones the humans called Brass Keep.
Who was this Archaon? A mere man, who thought himself the Chosen of Chaos, when
it was the Blessed Children of the deepest forests that were the true chosen of
Chaos! The herds had been mustered in secret over many months, massing in
numbers greater than ever before. The great beasts of the dark places had been
roused to anger, and now the Beastmen were ready to finally take back what once
was theirs, tearing down the pitiful cities of human kind as they went, in an
unstoppable roaring, gnashing tide of destruction that would see the end of men
in this world.
The northern Empire had been weakened by Archaon’s assault, and now the time
was ripe. The numberless beastherds, joined by rampaging Ghorgons, insane Cygor
and horrific Jaberslythe, would sweep across the northern Empire, razing
utterly those places that still stood defiant, before they could rebuild their
defences and call forth more warriors from the south. After the destruction of
the north was complete, they would turn to the destruction of the rest of the
Empire, and after that all the nations of men, Dwarfs and Elves beyond the
mountains. The time of the Beastmen was here...
Storm of Chaos - The Vampire
Counts
The armies of Manfred von Carstein
Having scattered the remnants of Archaon’s forces at Sokh, Manfred has marched
his army east. The naive leaders of the Empire, which had themselves failed to
take Sokh after bitter street fighting, believed Manfred’s ‘retreat’ to be due
to the defiance of the Grand Theogonist, Volkmar, but in truth, he knew he
needed to protect his centre, and the vast power and knowledge stored there,
from the encroachment of the hordes of Vardek Crom into Sylvania.
As Manfred turned and rode away from Middenheim, there was in fact an evil grin
seeping across his pale visage, for armies under the command of his most
trusted lieutenants had already marched across the borders of Sylvania into the
eastern Empire States of war ravaged Ostermark, hated Stirland and Talabecland.
The humans could never comprehend his great ambitions, for they were short
lived and thought in terms of weeks and months, not the years, decades and even
centuries his complex plans could encompass. There was one pressing
consideration though. With the vast size of his forces, he must have a victory,
to reinforce his dominance and keep the Vampires of his horde in order.
Trust among Vampires is a fallacy in purest form though, and whether Manfred is
able to retain control of his lieutenants without his direct influence remains
to be seen. It has ever been the way with Vampire kind that they rule through
fear rather than loyalty, and only the strongest of wills can ensure their
continued obedience...
Will the depleted but jubilant forces of an Empire and its allies battered by
war be able to counter this new and terrible threat, or will the Empire finally
fall to the cold machinations of the Vampire Counts?
Storm of Chaos - The Orcs
The Orcs of Gimgor Ironhide
Grimgor Ironhide, mightiest Orc Warlord of the age, was seething with rage. Of
every promise he ever heard roared across a battlefield, every challenge laid
down by the warmongering cries of a mighty champion, every upstart proclaiming
himself the doom of all other warriors, Archaon, the supposed Lord of the End
Times, top Chaos boy, had been the biggest disappointment.
By the time Grimgor and his Immortulz had hacked their way to the heart of the
mighty battle of Middenheim, hewing their way through screaming Flagellants and
spiky Chaos boys, their leader was already battered and bruised after a fight
with two other humies, but he’d beaten them both, but the fight he offered
Grimgor was utterly disheartening.
How did such a weakling ever become the leader of such a vast horde of
warriors? Surely the quality of the northern tribes of men must be pretty low
for this man to rise so high? Having laid the Everchosen low with a mighty
‘edbut and the flat of Gitsnik’s heavy blade, Grimgor turned his army around
and withdrew from this vexing waste of his time. Muttering to himself as his
boys hacked and slashed their way clear of the fighting, Grimgor wracked his
Orcish brain for the answer to his lifelong question. Where would he ever find
a challenge worthy of his blade? Where could he go to find the greatest
fighters he could possibly face?
As he finished battering a shrieking Flagellant into the mud with a length of
wood he didn’t remember picking up, the spiky end of it caught his gaze. It had
human words scratched on it. Wiping away the Flagellants blood he struggled to
make out the name on what he now saw was a signpost....Alt-dorf? That was the
human boys big city to the south. If they’d managed to beat the Chaos boys
here, then the Empire must have even better fighters than the Chaos lot, and
they would muster every blade to defend their big important city. Grimgor
extended his muscled green arm, and with a roar and the pointing of a dirty
claw, turned his army south...
Storm of Chaos - The Skaven
The Skaven
The Council Chamber was in complete uproar. Fur stood on end, and tails swished
agitatedly. The Council endorsed plan to utilise Clan Skyre’s super weapon, the
lauded ‘Doom Hemisphere’, had failed to annihilate the mountain and the
fortified human warren that sat atop it. Instead it had only partially
exploded, warping and fusing the tunnels beneath the great rock into
labyrinthine new forms. The device itself was now lost somewhere within the
newly created maze, though even now, gutter runners of Clan Eshin had been
despatched to try and find the device.
The shrieks of treachery and sabotage that had been levelled at Clan Skyre
themselves had been deafening, and it had almost come to bloodshed on several
occasions, until the Council had restored order, the Storm Vermin guards
brandishing their blades menacingly until the clamour abated. The fact remained
that armies of many thousands of Skaven warriors were in place to attack.
Beasts of every description had been herded to the underways beneath the city the
humans called Middenheim in their hundreds. If they did not attack now, then
the vast resources expended gathering so many Skaven and so much support into a
single place would be wasted as all sense of order and purpose gave way to
infighting and the Councils meticulously laid plans dissolved into nothing.
The human Empire above was in turmoil, now was the Skaven’s time. This city
would have to be taken the old fashioned way, by sneaking up on the humans from
beneath and taking them by surprise. The order would be given. They would
attack...
Storm of Chaos - Warriors of
Chaos
The Forces of Chaos
Archaon roared in pain. His head swam with terrible images and sounds, and felt
as if all the power of Chaos threatened to burst his skull asunder. His body
was equally wracked with pain, and it contorted and cracked into unfathomable
shapes as the displeasure of the Chaos gods manifest itself. Being the favoured
of the four greater deities brought almost limitless power, but it also meant
that failure invited punishment from all four as well. His body, verging on the
immortal, could withstand far greater physical damage than any simple man,
forcing him to endure unimaginable agony while his life force refused to
expire. The anger and the will that had brought him so far, down the path of
long years, sustained him. It bubbled slowly from deep within him until it
began to overcome the pain and the noise.
The malicious deities beyond the veil, a hairs breadth from the material realm,
sensed the strength that remained deep within their defeated champion, sensed
that, though brought low, the will that had brought him to them endured. It
smouldered. They could still achieve their goals through him, though they must
commit a portion of their own being to restore their champion...he was not like
those champions who had gone before. He was of them, and his hatred burned
hotter than the deepest hell.
...Slowly, and with great effort, Archaon, Lord of the End Times rose to his
feet. Now he knew how close he had come to oblivion. It did not do to fail the
very powers that had given him his chance to have his vengeance on the Empire.
He had underestimated his enemy, thought his forces unstoppable. Now he knew
better, knew what he faced, knew what waited should he fail once more...now
there would be a reckoning. He strode from the chamber...
Storm of Chaos - Bretonnia
Bretonnia
After battling alongside their human and Dwarf allies in the defence of the
Empire from the vast hordes of Archaon, and distinguishing themselves at the
Siege of Middenheim, the Knights of Bretonnia are in high spirits, jubilant in
their hard won glory, though little of that spirit seems to be present in the
peasantry who marched to the Empire’s aid in the wake of their noble masters.
They appear as downtrodden and dishevelled as ever. Now that the siege has been
lifted and the forces of Archaon forced into retreat, the Knights of Bretonnia
seek further challenges to test their metal against.
The chasing down of bandits and the broken remnants of the enemy force beneath
their interest, the Bretonnians turn their thoughts instead to the newly
emerged threat from Sylvania. Many are the tales of that blighted realm that
have found their way to Bretonnian tap rooms over the centuries, and such a
challenge as the notorious line of the von Carsteins would indeed be a test
worthy of the gallant elite of fair Bretonnia. It is also rumoured that a vast
army of Ogres marches from the east, from beyond the Worlds Edge Mountains, and
an entire army of such monsters is too much for any true knight of Bretonnia to
resist.
And so, word has spread amongst the legions of young knights eager to prove
themselves in their eyes of both their piers and the Lady of the Lake. Never
before will the dank and decrepit province of Sylvania have seen such a muster
of splendour as the army of Knights marches to finally free the people of that
benighted realm from the curse of the Vampire Counts...
Storm of Chaos - Dwarfs
Dwarfs
Garagrim Ironfist, heir to the throne of the Slayer Keep, is dead. His Father,
Ungrim, beside himself with grief, and torn between his duty to lead his people
and his oath as a slayer, has halted after the breaking of the siege of
Middenheim, allowing his forces to reorder themselves and re-equip for the
fight ahead. They have been joined by hundreds more slayers from the length and
breadth of the Worlds Edge Mountains, only now completing long journeys from
the south.
There is much debate within the Slayer Kings war council about the direction
they should take now that Archaon’s forces have been forced into retreat. Dwarf
armies march to defend their holds or to the aid of their human allies across
the Empire, lending their skill to the rebuilding or shoring up of shoddy man
made fortifications, but rumours have reached the ears of the Slayer King of a
might horde of Ogres from far to the east which have crossed the Worlds Edge
Mountains to the south, and now threaten the eastern Empire and the Dwarf holds
of the region. Confronting such a force would earn many slayers a worthy end
indeed, but having amassed such an army of Slayers as had never been seen
before, many would have Ungrim march his army to the Eight Peaks, and attempt
to regain the ancient city, greatest of Dwarf holds, an endeavour which would
also assuredly see many Slayers fulfil their oaths. This course also promises
the chance to return the city to Dwarven hands at long last.
Ungrim knows well that whatever the decision he makes, the repercussions will
echo down the ages...
Storm of Chaos - High Elves
High Elves
Throughout the war, small contingents of High Elves lent support against the
forces of Archaon where they could. Though they were few in number, their
spears were welcome wherever they joined the forces of men and Dwarfs. Perhaps
a tale that will be told unto the end of time in the annals of history, the
greatest achievement of the High Mage Teclis was the banishment of the host of
Daemons led by the Dark Master, Belakor. Not since the first war against Chaos
has such power been unleashed in the world. There is no doubt in the minds of
some that Middenheim would have fallen had this terrible force reached the
walls, and the people of the Empire will always owe a debt to the High Elves
for this significant intervention.
As Karl Franz holds council to decide how best to combat the foes that still
beset the Empire, and in particular regard to how Archaon himself should be
dealt with, surely the sage council of Teclis will prove invaluable. As Teclis himself
considers the many paths that the coming months may take, he has become acutely
aware of the power that has been unleashed in Sylvania, and the fate that
follows Manfred von Carstein, a fate that may see even greater death and horror
than that which was unleashed by the Everchosen...could it be that Teclis and
the Vampyre must face each other before the end?
Storm of Chaos - Wood Elves
Wood Elves
The Summer has passed. Its raging infernos that consumed our forest as beasts
burned, rampaged and rutted amongst the ashes is over for now. Though our
realms are a withered husk of what they were, we made the tainted invaders pay
with rivers of blood for every step they took, every forest despoiled and every
one of our own they cut down in battle.
The seasons turn, Autumn calls, and with it our last chance to chase them from
our lands before we are too weak to defend ourselves. The king and his wild
hunt call out to us 'Come drive them before us!', 'Come, let us finally crush
the lord of skulls and drive his corrupting presence from our lands!', 'Come,
let us rejoice in the slaughter of the unworthy, so their blood may nourish us
in spring!’
Storm of Chaos - Ogre Kingdoms
The Ogre Kingdoms
From the northern Dwarf holds of the Worlds Edge Mountains to the rickety watch
towers of the Goblin Tribes of Peak Pass and Mount Gunbad, lookouts have spied
great columns of dust out across the plains of the Dark Lands. For weeks these
clouds of dust have been visible, but their source has been a mystery until
now.
First there came great tides of lesser creatures, game animals, and tribes of
Goblins, heading west towards the Old World. The frantic Wolf Riders of the
Goblins brought with them tales of an immense and insatiable creature from
further east, all tusks and grumbling belly, that devoured everything in it’s
path, save those who could offer mounds of gold and glimmering trinkets, or
else lead it to even more sustenance, and afterwards it would devour those as
well! On and on the rumors of the creature came, ever westwards, ever hungry.
It was the Rangers of Clan Elriksson that brought the truth of this creature.
Moving fast, well armed, and with great furred beasts of the Mountains of Mourn
in tow, a great migration of Ogre tribes were on the move. Far to the east, in
the foothills of the Mountains of Mourn, the Rangers witnessed an exchange
between a Warband of Orcs, and the Paymasters of Greasus Goldtooth, the Gutlord
himself. The Orcs, carrying with them a standard bearing the tribal emblems of
Grimgor Ironhide, had driven a team of four hulking Squiggoths across the
plains, dragging behind them a huge and ramshakled wooden wagon, plated with
rusted iron, and loaded to bursting with gold taken in plunder from all the
races of the Old World. The creaking wagon was mounted with sharpened stakes
along its high sides, each of which impaled the diminutive bodies of Gnoblars,
stacked one on top of the other: those who tried, foolishly, to steal the
treasure horde of Grimgor, destined for the Lord of all the Ogre Tribes. This
spectacular treasure, offered by a muscled and beweaponed Orc Warboss in
exchange for marching his warriors west to war in the Old World, was accepted.
However, the bargain was not sealed with blood until the Orcs had agreed to
also give over the Squiggoths, to bless the feast table of the Goldtooth and
his warriors.
Several hours later, after much belching and butting, and Greasus Goldtooth had
finished picking the last strings of Orc flesh from between his yellowing
tusks, he announced that the bargain was made, they would march west over the
Worlds Edge Mountains, to war…
