Warhammer Age of Sigmar

Gareth · Mar 8, 2021

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZSiQ8lG0fs

From the maelstrom of a sundered world, the Eight Realms were born. The formless and the divine exploded into life. Strange, new worlds appeared in the firmament, each one gilded with spirits, gods and men. Noblest of the gods was Sigmar. For years beyond reckoning he illuminated the realms, wreathed in light and majesty as he carved out his reign. His strength was the power of thunder. His wisdom was infinite.

Mortal and immortal alike kneeled before his lofty throne. Great empires rose, and for a while, treachery was banished. Sigmar claimed the land and sky as his own and ruled over a glorious age of myth.

But cruelty is tenacious. As had been foreseen, the great alliance of gods and men tore itself apart. Myth and legend crumbled into Chaos. Darkness flooded the realms. Torture, slavery and fear replaced the glory that came before.

Sigmar turned his back on the mortal kingdoms, disgusted by their fate. He fixed his gaze instead on the remains of the world he had lost long ago, brooding over its charred core. And then, in the dark heat of his rage, he caught a glimpse of something magnificent.

He pictured a weapon born of the heavens. A beacon powerful enough to pierce the endless night. An army hewn from everything he had lost. Sigmar set his artisans to work and for long ages they toiled, striving to harness the power of the stars. As Sigmar's great work neared completion, he turned back to the realms and saw the dominion of Chaos was almost complete. The hour for vengeance had come. Finally, with lightning blazing across his brow, he stepped forth to unleash his creation.

The Age of Sigmar had begun.

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What is Warhammer Age of Sigmar?

Warhammer Age of Sigmar (commonly known as AoS) is a tabletop miniature wargame produced by Games Workshop that simulates battles between fantasy armies in a setting called the Mortal Realms. Originally launched in 2015 as a successor to Warhammer Fantasy Battle, Age of Sigmar is now in its third edition. Besides the game itself, a large part of Age of Sigmar is dedicated to the hobby of collecting, assembling and painting miniatures.

Age of Sigmar is played on a relatively flat surface decorated with models and materials representing buildings and other terrain. Miniatures move, charge, shoot, fight and cast spells over several player turns, and the outcomes of these actions are determined by dice rolls.

Games typically last anywhere between an hour to several hours depending on the size of the armies, and may be strung together to form narrative campaigns. Many hobby stores and independent organisations around the world host battles and competitive tournaments, with official events held on a regular basis too.

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The Mortal Realms

The Mortal Realms are eight planes of magically bound reality that hang in the cosmos, each a world unto itself with nearly limitless possibilities. Each realm is bound to a wind of magic that broadly shapes its nature and character: Heavens, Light, Shadow, Life, Death, Fire, Metal and Beasts.

The landscape in each realm varies from the areas of relative stability towards the centre - where magic is thin, and reality behaves more conventionally - to the untamed edges, which are wild, fantastical places saturated with raw and uncontrollable magic.

These are worlds of danger, magic and opportunity, of ancient legends, of gods, of hope, fear, and adventure. Built and settled in antiquity by a fledgling pantheon of new gods in the Age of Myth, then brought to the brink of annihilation in the Age of Chaos, Warhammer Age of Sigmar is the story of the third great age of the Mortal Realms.

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Azyr - Realm of Heavens

The Celestial Realm is the only one of the realms untouched by the ravages of Chaos, and that is down to its undisputed ruler, the God-King Sigmar. In the Age of Myth, the Realm of Heavens was a paradise, with deities, demigods and mortals living together in harmony, creating great works that benefited all the people of the Mortal Realms. It was here that Sigmar forged his pantheon and it is here that the Gods of Chaos covet most of all, for to tear down the heavens would be to bring eternal Chaos to all.

Since the coming of Chaos, Sigmar has turned the forges of Azyr to war, creating the Stormcast Eternals and launching his crusade to drive the Dark Gods from the Mortal Realms.

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Hysh - Realm of Light

The Realm of Light is, at its heart, a place of pure white magic, a beacon of light that shines across the cosmos. Yet, like all the Mortal Realms, the Ten Paradises of Hysh suffered greatly during the Age of Chaos. Ruled by the Lord of Lumination, the god Tyrion and his brother Teclis, Hysh was, for untold aeons, a safe harbour for many races of aelves and the great and wise among humans.

But the insidious power of Chaos was able to corrupt even the pure light of Hysh. It became a lure for the prideful and those who sought perfection, taking their good intentions and turning them to dark thoughts and dangerous obsessions. And so it is that the light now signals danger, as much as it does knowledge and purity.

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Ulgu - Realm of Shadows

The Thirteen Dominions of Ulgu, the Realm of Shadows, are a land of secrets and riddles, where truth and lies merge, and the god Malerion rules in uneasy alliance alongside his mother, the devious Morathi. Wreathed in perpetual gloom, ranging from twilight to the pitch black of darkest midnight, Ulgu draws to it those who thrive on intrigue and manipulation.

It is home to many aelves who flocked to the shadows after being freed from the clutches of the Chaos god Slaanesh. Twisted in body and mind, they found the shadows suited their temperament - and their desire to hide from other races. Indeed, Ulgu is known as a place to hide that which should never be found, as the mists of the realm have been known to swallow entire kingdoms as if they had never existed.

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Ghyran - Realm of Life

The Realm of Life, Ghyran is home to life in all its forms. From the tiniest mote to the greatest and oldest trees and creatures, the ecosystems of the Jade Kingdoms blend ancient civilisation with the natural world, bringing them together in perfect harmony. Ruled by Alarielle, the Everqueen, it is a land full of lush gardens and nigh-impenetrable jungles, all of it existing in a cycle of regrowth that makes the air itself rich with the stuff of life.

Across more than a dozen seasons, Ghyran thrived, until the Plague God Nurgle sent his forces to seize the realm and bring decay, turning harmonious life into blighted horror. The Sylvaneth - Alarielle's tree-spirits who inhabit Ghyran - fight hard to drive off the daemonic invaders and regrow their realm.

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Shyish - Realm of Death

Shyish is the Realm of Death, of tragic endings and tortured souls. Consisting of a series of underworlds, the geography of Shyish is incomprehensible to mortal minds, each of the races of the Mortal Realms interpreting it in their own ways and after their unique customs.

What all agree on is that Shyish is ruled with an iron fist by Nagash, the God of Death. A cold and unforgiving deity, Nagash is quick to punish and slow to forgive. Now Nagash's undying legions stir and all the Mortal Realms should fear his wrath…

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Aqshy - Realm of Fire

Aqshy is a realm of raging passions, and its landscapes reflect that, from raging volcanic mountain ranges to roiling seas of sulphur. The dozens of continents that make up the Bright Realm were once joined together, but the power of Chaos has split them asunder, making huge tracts of Aqshy only reachable by Realmgate - and this has made the battles for the Realmgates fiercer here than in perhaps any other realm.

Life in the Realm of Fire is hard and short, and so the people that inhabit it burn brightly and well. After decades of battle against the savage Bloodreavers of Khorne, the coming of Sigmar's Stormcast Eternals has reinvigorated the warriors of Aqshy, and their flame now burns brighter than ever before.

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Chamon - Realm of Metal

The Realm of Metal, Chamon, is a study in contradictions. Near its core, it is a land of verdant plains and pure water, all distinguished by a glittering metallic sheen. Here the people of the realm live in relative peace and prosperity, the great works of the duardin god Grungni providing them with protection.

Towards the edges of Chamon, however, reality itself is under siege. The lands shift and merge, strange alchemical processes constantly altering the makeup of the ground and air. Inhabited by nomadic tribes that have become used to adapting, it is a land of wonder and horror - and untold riches for those brave enough to seize them. The Chaos god Tzeentch particularly covets Chamon, for both its ever-changing nature and the valuable secrets it holds.

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Ghur - Realm of Beasts

A near endless string of primeval continents, Ghur is the Realm of Beasts. Inhabited by a plethora of outlandish monsters and bestial hordes, it is a realm of the savage and the bloody, a land where brute strength and primal violence are paramount. Every creature, from the smallest insect to the mightiest gargant, is both predator and prey.

No god could be said to truly rule Ghur, for it is a land that defies taming, but the mighty deity Gorkamorka is most at home here. The eternal battles between tribes of ogor and orruk, and hunting the great beasts of the realm, suit his dual nature, sating both his brutal and cunning sides.

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Chaos - Realm of the Dark Gods

Separate from the Mortal Realms, the dominion of Chaos is nightmare given form, a series of hellscapes that reflect the natures of the Dark Gods. Indeed, the gods and their realms are one and the same, all formed from the roiling aetheric energy of Chaos. As such, each god's domain reflects its master's natures: Khorne's realm is one of anger and bloodshed, Tzeentch's a mind-bending land of incomprehensible change, Nurgle's a bountiful garden of life and decay, and Slaanesh's a hedonistic paradise of excess and temptation.

Within these realms, the gods themselves take form, watching over their mortal and daemonic servants, and planning their conquest of the Mortal Realms, all while striving against each other for power and dominance.

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Realmgates

Getting between the realms is no simple matter - to do so, travellers and traders rely on an ancient network of pathways known as the Realmgates. Each Realmgate is hotly contested as control of each opens up new lands to conquer, new trading routes and opportunities to bypass the defences of an enemy.

The nexus of travel, the Allpoints (known to the servants of Chaos as the Eightpoints), is the single most coveted strategic location in the Mortal Realms. Its paths have been trod by the gods themselves, and its history is filled with wars and legends. The fall of the Allpoints to Chaos marked the end of an era, but now, Sigmar is seeking to conquer it.

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The Grand Alliances

In the Age of Sigmar, many factions vie for prominence and power in the Mortal Realms. Broadly, these fall into four Grand Alliances: Order, Chaos, Death and Destruction - ancient compacts that date back to the Age of Myth. To co-exist within a Grand Alliance does not mean allegiance, and strife runs rampant. The peoples of the Mortal Realms fight for reasons as varied as the realms themselves, there are none untouched by the endless cycle of war and slaughter.

The next four posts in this thread introduce the major factions found within each Grand Alliance:

Order | Chaos | Death | Destruction

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Spin-off Games and Media

Age of Sigmar spin-offs include two additional tabletop miniature games known as Warcry (a skirmish game) and Warhammer Underworlds (an arena game utilising card decks), Warhammer Quest board games, a tabletop RPG called Age of Sigmar: Soulbound, plus video games, novels and audio books.

The World That Was

The World That Was pre-existed the Mortal Realms, but was shattered by the unified power of Chaos many millennia ago. Only the gods of yore and the inhuman slann remember it vividly. When the world was torn apart in the culmination of the End Times, a set of realities crystallised from its scattered energies - realities now known as the Mortal Realms.

Games Workshop's earlier tabletop miniature wargame Warhammer Fantasy Battle was set in the World That Was, and it's being revisited with a new wargame named Warhammer: The Old World. Creative Assembly's Total War: Warhammer strategy games also take place in this setting, as do many other video games, a tabletop RPG called Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, and numerous novels. Additionally, the ever-popular Blood Bowl is set in an alternate version of the World That Was, where Warhammer factions compete in a violent parody of American football.

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Resources

- Core Rules
- App (iOS and Android)
- FAQs and Errata
- Legends (rules for OOP miniatures)
- Downloads
- Lexicanum (lore wiki)
- Army builders: Azyr | Warscroll Builder | Battlescribe
- Podcasts: Warhammer Community Podcast | StormCast | FaceHammer | Garagehammer
- Videos: Warhammer TV (YouTube) | Warhammer TV (Twitch) | 2+ Tough | Vince Venturella | AoS Coach | Rerolling Ones | Guerrilla Miniature Games | MiniWarGaming
- Social: Warhammer Community | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter
- Stores: Games Workshop | Forge World | The Black Library | Warhammer Merchandise
- Era threads: Warhammer 40,000 | Miniature Gaming

Gareth · Mar 8, 2021

ORDER
Stalwart Defenders of the Mortal Realms

The forces of Order are the Mortal Realms' shield against Chaos. Alongside defenders of law like Sigmar's Stormcast Eternals, exotic factions such as the mysterious Seraphon and the aelven Lumineth Realm-lords form powerful alliances, often for their own mysterious reasons.

Stormcast Eternals
Lightning-forged Heroes of the Heavens

The Storm Incarnate. The Living Tempest. The Bringers of Revenge. Many are the names by which the Stormcast Eternals are known, and many are the warriors in their ranks. Yet they bear a single, thunderous message upon the winds of war: death to all who oppose Sigmar.

With the coming of Sigmar's finest warriors, the scions of Chaos have been hurled back on a hundred fronts, and the seeds of new civilisations planted in the lands reclaimed. Martial, tribal, made for war, the Stormcast Eternals are terrifying foes, and their allies are often as thunderstruck as their enemies by the violence and slaughter they unleash.

Once mortal, they are taken to the heavens by Sigmar, imbued with a portion of the glory of the gods themselves and clad in armour of nigh impenetrable sigmarite. In death they find no peace, for their souls are mystically reforged in Azyr and sent back into the worst hellscapes imaginable to give their lives over and over again.

The heavens roar and the sky itself is rent by searing bolts from above. With a flash of lightning and rolling thunderclap, the gleaming warhosts of the Stormcast Eternals arrive for battle.

They fight not just for Order, or for mankind, or even for almighty Sigmar himself. They fight for vengeance.

Cities of Sigmar
The Mortal Warriors Who Defend the Realms

The Cities of Sigmar are flaming beacons of hope amidst the darkness of the Mortal Realms, bastions of civilisation built to safeguard mortalkind from the many monstrous threats that lurk beyond their sturdy walls.

In ages past, the realms were a place of glory and wonder. By the guiding hand of God King Sigmar's pantheon did the mortal races thrive. Humans, duardin and aelves lived side by side in peace and prosperity, constructing vast kingdoms of culture and reason.

Then came the Age of Chaos. Empires fell. Repositories of priceless knowledge were burned to ashes. Sigmar's faithful were slaughtered in droves. Only Azyrheim endured - the Eternal City, capital of Realm of Heavens and greatest stronghold of the God-King. Behind its gleaming walls, the survivors of the Dark Gods' invasion found sanctuary. Keeping to their ancient traditions, they awaited the day when the Gates of Azyr would open once more and the armies of the God-King would return to wreak their vengeance upon the hated forces of Chaos.

Sigmar's Tempest heralded the dawn of this bold new age. Led by the Stormcast Eternals, champions of the heavens, the free peoples rose up to overthrow their persecutors and forge a new empire upon the ashes of the past. The clash of steel and the crack of black powder now echo across the realms as great hosts of soldiery march to war under the fluttering heraldry of their homeland.

Though they may be mere mortals in a world dominated by gods and monsters, these brave souls stand defiant, ready to give their lives in service of the God-King's grand vision.

Lumineth Realm-lords
Wise Aelves Who Embrace the Elements

The Realm-lords, the Lumineth call themselves, for their mastery over the lands is unrivalled. These numinous beings, the aelven scions of the twin gods Tyrion and Teclis, have scintillating magic in their blood.

They have dwelt long in Hysh, the Realm of Light, where enlightenment and skill saturates the very air. The Lumineth have absorbed so much of this innate potential that, when at war, they glow with lambent power. To face their warhosts in battle is to face a barrage of magic, a forest of blades, a crashing assault of elemental wrath.

That claim of mastery also carries a deadly arrogance. The Lumineth come in glory, but they hail from a broken land, their elegant spires toppled and their statuary crumbled in the dust of a dead empire. The stories tell that it was the scourge of Chaos that ravaged Hysh, that the transformation of the Ten Paradises into spell-haunted ruin was unavoidable, but it was a terrible civil war that opened the door.

Since the time of the Reinvention, the Lumineth have made their peace with the lands they call home. Now they go to war in all the splendour of bygone days, the warrior Vanari phalanxes gleaming bright, catching the blinding rays of magic sent searing out by the gifted Scinari caste. Alongside them march the warriors of the aelementiri temples, those who have bonded in mind, body and spirit with the geomantic entities of their shattered homelands. Most majestic of all are the towering avatars of those magical places, the war forms of Hysh itself.

All those who threaten the Lumineth's agenda will be mercilessly removed from existence. The Lumineth fight a war for reality itself, and in that war, there can be no sacrifice too great.

Daughters of Khaine
Blood-soaked Zealots Who Live For Battle

From their shrouded temples in deepest Ulgu, the Daughters of Khaine launch assaults across the Mortal Realms, relentlessly hunting the hated followers of Chaos and any others who would threaten their burgeoning shadow empire.

They open the throats and carve out the hearts of their victims in the name of the God of Murder, reborn at last in the form of the goddess Morathi-Khaine.

After countless centuries of plotting and strife, the cunning sorceress Morathi has achieved her ultimate desire: the power of a true deity. No longer Khaine's High Oracle, she claims to have absorbed the lingering essence of the god himself.

This revelation has only furthered her already immense power, and it has driven the Khainite cult into a frenzy of conquest and sacrifice. Even those who once called the Daughters of Khaine allies are not sate from their reignited holy war. Like a whirlwind of pale flesh and razor-keen knives, these warrior aelves sweep across the land, leaving carnage in their path.

Cauldrons of Blood are filled to the brim with the fresh gore of the slain as crimson-smeared Hag Queens lead their flock in frenzied worship of their bloody-handed mistress. Once hidden away from the world, the misshapen forms of Scáthborn warriors - bat-winged Khinerai and slithering Melusai - are now let loose to indulge their cruel lust for slaughter. War calls, and the Daughters of Khaine answer!

Idoneth Deepkin
Soul-hunting Aelves From Beneath the Waves

The oceans of the Mortal Realms do not easily divulge even the least of their secrets. In those unplumbed depths lie wonders untold, sunken treasures and a diversity of creatures beyond count. The greatest of the seas' secrets use layered veils of powerful magics to ensure that none who bear witness to them live to tell the tale.

From out of blackness come the Idoneth Deepkin - flawed, soul-withered creations of Teclis the Illuminator. They emerge from the depths of the realms' oceans upon a surging tide of magic - an ethersea of roiling currents and crushing pressures.

These merciless raiders do not seek merely to slaughter or enslave, however - they come to take their victims' very souls. In their passing, the Idoneth leave ruin, death and soulless sleepers that will never awaken.

Idolised echoes of a bygone era, Eidolons of Mathlann are summoned to life. These are no divine avatars, but collective manifestations of the ancestral souls of the Idoneth Deepkin, spirits of vengeance wrapped in the image of a lost aelven god.

As the tide rushes in, swift and unstoppable, so too does it ebb. The Idoneth quickly retreat with their stolen souls, returning to utter isolation beneath the waves.

Sylvaneth
Mysterious Forest-spirits Who Strike Without Mercy

Alarielle was wakened to wander alone, searching for a people that were long lost. In her travels she fell in love with Ghyran, the Realm of Life. Inspired by its bounteous paradise, she brought into existence the Sylvaneth, growing them from soulpods and tending the seedling groves as a mother nurses her children. Each of her creations was a blend of barkflesh and life magic, enriched by the arcane nutrients of the ground in which they were planted, and imbued with echoes of her spirit-song.

None were more attached to the lands than the Sylvaneth and Alarielle. Peace and harmony reigned, and to preserve it the goddess joined Sigmar's Pantheon, helping to build new civilisations. The Sylvaneth propagated, spreading across Ghyran and out into all the Mortal Realms.

During the Age of Chaos, the minions of the Dark Gods tore down all that was built. Sigmar's Pantheon was shattered, and when the God-King himself retreated behind locked gates to the Realm of Heavens, Alarielle and her children were left to fight on alone.

They were worn down and beaten back, forced to retreat into hiding. As their lands fared, so fared they, and Ghyran grew more corrupted and befouled by the day. Yet a new age has finally dawned. Sigmar has returned, his Stormcast Eternals leading the counter attack. The life goddess herself has been reborn, bringing with her a new cycle.

As the Sylvaneth were once driven back, so do they now conquer, reclaiming many places of power. The time of sorrows is over. Now is a time for reaping.

Kharadron Overlords
High-flying Duardin in Search of Aether-gold

The Kharadron Overlords are masters of the skies, fearless duardin aeronauts who prize profit above all. Driven from their mountain holds during the Age of Chaos, they sail the clouds in steel-clad vessels armed to the teeth with cannons, bombs and bullet-spraying deckguns, matching the raw fury of daemons and monsters with devastating firepower.

Aether-gold - also known as the Breath of Grungni, duardin god of mining and smithing - is the lifeblood of the great Kharadron empire. This lighter-than-air metal holds their cities aloft, fuels their skyships and empowers a great portion of their weaponry.

The Age of Sigmar appeared to herald a time of plenty for the Kharadron sky-ports. The mercantile duardin, true to the Kharadron Code, forged prosperous new contracts and alliances with the forces of Sigmar the God-King that kept a constant stream of gold flooding into their coffers.

From the bustling docks of the Kharadron's floating cities depart gleaming sky-fleets, armed for war and eager to seek out precious new streams of aether-gold. Ironclad ships of the line lead brave ventures into the deadliest corners of the Eight Realms, with sleek escort gunships zipping between the flotilla like pilot fish.

From the decks of their flagships, Kharadron Admirals drive their hearty crews on with promises of unlimited wealth and everlasting fame.

Fyreslayers
Flame-wreathed Duardin Mercenaries

Many civilisations thrived during the Age of Myth, but not so the Fyreslayers. Their god, Grimnir, the duardin deity of battle, was lost to them in an epic confrontation. Grimnir's form was shattered, intermingling with the molten blood of his monstrous slain foe, Vulcatrix, and cast on winds of fire to scatter across all the Mortal Realms. For his followers, nothing would ever be the same.

However, in the Age of Chaos, one force alone stood strong. The Fyreslayers did not hide, for they were made to be tested in battle. And that is what they sought, marching forth to war as often as they could, hiring themselves out as mercenaries to any who could pay them.

From the magmaholds of Aqshy the Fyreslayers spread, hewing out their own kingdoms and hoarding vast quantities of treasure. Though they were constantly besieged, no foe could penetrate their volcanic sanctums.

They were without allies, for even those that hired them scorned them as greedy sellswords. Misunderstood, mistrusted; to the Fyreslayers it mattered not, for there was a secret hidden in the ur-gold they so aggressively gathered - the very essence of Grimnir himself. With every battle, their furtive and unspoken hope came closer to fruition.

During that terrible Age of Chaos the Fyreslayers proliferated. By flame and fury will they continue to do so in the Age of Sigmar, until their final victory, for such is the binding oath they made to Grimnir.

Seraphon
Ferocious Lizards Who Seek to Destroy Chaos

To some they are the uncompromising, unfeeling vengeance of the heavens. To others they are a race of bloodthirsty reptilian monsters marching forth from the steaming jungles to bring death to those who would intrude upon their sacred grounds. Yet the Seraphon are both these things, and more besides.

They are the true children of Azyr, filled with the light of the stars, and they fight to enact a cosmic plan that spans all of creation. From meditation chambers deep within void-faring ziggurats, the Slann Starmasters, servants of the mysterious Old Ones, seek to cast down the Ruinous Powers themselves.

Few understand the Seraphon, for to mortal eyes their wars can seem fickle and strange. They fight not for territory, nor for gold or even the sheer joy of battle. Every action they take is dedicated solely to the destruction of Chaos, every warrior or army sacrificed part of a greater plan. Such is little comfort to those who die under the heavens-blessed blades of the Seraphon, for the blood of these reptilian creatures runs cold, and they are remorseless in carrying out the commands of their masters.

In battle the hosts of the Seraphon present a striking image. Hulking warriors with iron-hard scales carve a trail of single-minded destruction, while their smaller, swifter kin burst from every shadow to assail the foe. Marching alongside them are terrifying primeval giants, each fashioned by the Seraphon into a deadly weapon. All these reptilian creatures fight under the command of their celestial priest-lords; these mages cast their eyes to Azyr even as they harness the power of the realms themselves, reading the patterns of the stars.

Though the years grow darker, these most ardent foes of Chaos have not faltered in their duty, and one portent remains clear. The time of deliberation is over. Now comes the age of annihilation.

Gareth · Mar 8, 2021

CHAOS
Murderous Servants of the Dark Gods

The Gods of Chaos are primeval forces dedicated to conquering reality itself. From the Realm of Chaos, Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, and Slaanesh send forth their daemonic legions while their mortal herald, Archaon, leads vast armies of corrupted mortals. Meanwhile, the rat-like skaven infest the realms, pursuing their own nefarious goals.

Slaves to Darkness
Ravagers of the Realms

Sigmar is a false god. Where was Sigmar when darkness fell over all of creation? Where was Sigmar when reality burst, and the daemon legions cavorted atop the ruins of nations? When the gates to Azyr were sealed, it was not the craven God-King who offered salvation to those left behind. Only through pledging their souls to Chaos did the inhabitants of the Mortal Realms survive that age of terror.

From the Flamescar Plateau in Aqshy to the haunted Banelands of Shyish, the Slaves to Darkness dominate the lands. Armoured warriors and barbarous tribesmen crash into melee in the thousands. The ground shudders in protest under the charge of fearsome knights and brutish chariots. Twisted monsters lurch from darkened caves, foetid breath steaming in the air as they seek fresh prey.

Leading these damned hosts are the Champions of Chaos. Be they mighty warrior, wicked sorcerer or darkling daemon-lord, their infernal might and dark blessings render them a match for any of Sigmar's celestial puppets or Nagash's deathless revenants.

Above them stands the greatest champion of all: Archaon the Everchosen, Exalted Grand Marshal of the Apocalypse. By his will shall the souls of all who oppose the Ruinous Powers be dragged screaming before the thrones of the gods.

The Mortal Realms belong to Chaos. So it was. So it shall always be.

Blades of Khorne
Brutal Followers of the Blood God

Across the Mortal Realms neither city nor civilisation stood. Justice had been crushed, ground to dust like the bones that crunched beneath the march of mailed feet. Hope was gone, replaced with rattling chains and cruel enslavement.

Mountains of skulls were stacked as tribute, and blood flowed in rivers. So total was the victory that the lands themselves were warping, changing as reality itself teetered on the brink. Crimson skies lowered, pouring forth unnatural tempests across the broken earth. The victory of Chaos was all but complete, yet Khorne - god of rage, violence and hate - knew that to rule was for the strongest alone.

So did the daemonic Blood Legions and mortal Bloodbound Warhordes pause in hunting down the cowardly remnants of foes who hid in illusory glades or skulked below mountains. Instead, they turned upon the followers of the other Dark Gods. Triumph followed triumph, until there was not an army left that was willing to openly challenge Khorne's supremacy.

And then lightning split the skies. The Stormcast Eternals proved a worthy foe, and they soon rekindled a spark of hope so that old allies rejoined the fray. With the Chaos Gods fractionalised, the wars that followed undid much of Khorne's domination.

Yet iron sharpens iron, and the Lord of Battle's rage burns brighter than ever. There shall be retribution. And the blood will flow...

Disciples of Tzeentch
Masters of Reality-warping Magic

In the Mortal Realms, there exist whole nations devoted to Tzeentch, the Changer of the Ways. These places are lands of torment, each a kaleidoscopic clash of madness made real, hope turned to screaming terror and phantom beasts given horrible life. To walk there is to mutate, to become something foul, to feel one's mind unravelling and one's soul curdle.

The ambitions of Tzeentch's worshippers go further than the conquest of the realms entire. They seek nothing less than to change reality, to turn that which was once solid and reliable into a quicksand of sanity-sapping hideousness. Ultimately, they would see Tzeentch's own crystalline domain - a realm that once existed only in nightmares - consume the lands of man, aelf and duardin. They reason that it is better to serve the victor in the war for supremacy than to die alongside his outwitted enemies, and in the business of manipulation and intrigue, there is none more powerful than Tzeentch.

The Disciples of Tzeentch have achieved much in the shadows of civilisation. They thrive on duplicity and illusion, on misdirection and artifice. Even the most prized cities of Sigmar's new order are built on corrupted foundations, shot through with secret societies and murderous cults that chant their daemon summoning rites in basements and hidden temples.

Yet when the call to arms comes, when the insurrection sends the Arcanites boiling from their hiding places and the daemonic Scintillating Hosts are unleashed into reality, the full splendour of Tzeentch's devoted sets the very air aflame.

To fight against them is to fight against raw magic, insidious cunning and the worst kind of change. And as any Disciple of Tzeentch will whisper to you in the darkness, change is inevitable - why not embrace it?

Maggotkin of Nurgle
Chosen of the Plague God

Nurgle is the Chaos god of plagues, whose power waxes strong when disease and despair ravage the Mortal Realms. He beams with excitement as he mixes strains of pox and fever to create a poisonous stew of pestilence, for although every known disease infects his monstrous body, he is obsessed with creating new ailments.

Though he is a source of fear and revulsion to his enemies, Nurgle is a perversely paternal god, generous with his foul gifts and proud of his worshippers' every disgusting achievement.

Nurgle wishes to see rot and contagion bloom across the Mortal Realms, drowning the bastions of his enemies in a tide of putrid filth. Yet Nurgle is not malicious - far from it. He delights in fecundity, and the overabundance of life that disease and decay brings. To Nurgle, every raddled corpse is a welcoming nursery for wriggling maggots and cloying plague spores. Every stagnant lake and rotting forest is a paradise in which parasitic larvae and bountiful poxes can flourish.

When the Age of Chaos began, Nurgle set his sights upon the inexhaustible cornucopia of Ghyran. His armies spilled across the Jade Kingdoms, corrupting everything in their path. The Sylvaneth and their queen Alarielle were driven into hiding, and for a time Nurgle stood upon the very cusp of victory.

Yet at the last, an alliance between Sigmar's Stormcast Eternals and the Sylvaneth drove back his armies and sealed the Realmgate through which the greatest portion of Nurgle's might had flowed into Ghyran. For a time, Nurgle wallowed in the despondency of rejection, but now his optimism has returned. With it, the realisation that in obsessing over the conquest of the Ghyran, he was being selfish. All of the Mortal Realms deserve to benefit from Nurgle's generosity, and he means to ensure that they are showered with his blessings until they can take no more.

Hedonites of Slaanesh
The Cavalcade of Hidden Desires

To the Hedonites of Slaanesh, the Mortal Realms are a canvas ripe for their depraved attentions. With each artful blade-stroke and clawed caress they seek to please their deity - the Dark Prince of Chaos. Slaanesh was born from obsession and vice, and the rewards for serving him are both the most exquisite pleasures and blissful agonies. Yet those who earn his favour soon find it to be an ashen feast, an empty chalice, for always more is demanded by this rapacious deity. Driven ever onwards by hungers never lo be slaked, the Hedonites take to the battlefield as wild, shrieking carnivals, bringing painful death and eternal torment to any with the misfortune of crossing their path.

But all is not well in the Dark Prince's court. Slaanesh's throne sits empty, the god captured by the vengeful aelven pantheon.

The Hedonites wail at their master's absence even as they thrill at the intensity of their grief. Some search for Slaanesh, rampaging across the realms at blistering speed in pursuit of clues to his whereabouts. Others seek to attain the mantle of divinity for themselves, attracting throngs of supplicants to sate their egomania - for a time. Then there are those who continue to reave and ravage as they had always done, concerned only with the pursuit of their darkest vices.

With each vile act the Hedonites empower their lost patron, and a day is coming where Slaanesh will be strong enough to reclaim the sinful throne. On that day, the children of the Dark Prince will cavort across the ruins of all that is sane and pure, and usher in an age of divine mania that will last until the stars burn cold.

Rejoice, waifs and wastrels! Scream, sinners and supplicants! Cry wanton havoc and let ecstatic madness reign, for the Hedonite hosts come!

Beasts of Chaos
Children of the Dark Gods

In the wildest corners of every realm, the Beasts of Chaos gather for war. Monstrous amalgams of animal and man, they were birthed from the warping taint of Chaos and are imbued with bestial fury. They leave only horror and devastation in their wake.

The earth trembles as the beastherds approach. Plants wither and rot, animals are filled with an instinctual fear and the air grows thick with the taint of raw Chaos energy. Then the bloodthirsty braying begins. The Beasts of Chaos emerge from woodland knots and rocky outcrops, bellowing their savage battle cries as they stampede towards their prey.

The Beasts of Chaos thrive in times of turmoil and war. Long have they lived in the uncharted hinterlands, beyond the borders of civilisation amidst the untamed Chaos energies that bleed through the veil of reality.

They look to the nations of the other races with bitter hatred and animal rage. Snarling at the cities and fortresses that blight the primordial landscape, they are intent on tearing down the wonders of civilisation and bringing ruin to all.

They are the bringers of anarchy, who by blade and bloody horn transform the Mortal Realms into their savage hunting grounds. They are the true children of Chaos.

Skaven
Verminous Hordes That Infest the Realms

In the last days of the World That Was, a fifth deity rose to join to dark pantheon of the Chaos Gods: the Great Horned Rat. The Horned Rat was the pestilential father of the skaven, that teeming race of ratmen that had long gnawed at the roots of civilisation.

As the world died, so the skaven feasted upon its corpse in numbers beyond count, before being annihilated in turn. This was not the end for the Children of the Horned Rat. Empowered as never before, the skaven deity snatched clawfuls of his screeching brood and saved them from destruction.

Then, skittering through the shadows of the void with eyes a-glow, he scattered them into the darkest corners of the Mortal Realms and bade them multiply and conquer. Throughout the Age of Myth the skaven burrowed, built and increased in number. From their verminous metropolis, Blight City, they gnawed tunnels through the void into every realm.

Emboldened by the coming of the Age of Chaos, skaventides burst forth in terrifying numbers, bringing horror and ruin to all they touched. They enslaved and murdered, consuming all before them in their maniacal quest for power with never a thought to the price.

Now, with the dawning of the Age of Sigmar, the races of the realms battle like never before. For the skaven it is a time of plenty as they fall upon the weakened victorious and the bloodied defeated alike, leaving naught but bones and wreckage in their wake.

Gareth · Mar 8, 2021

DEATH
The Unquiet Dead

The only constant in the Mortal Realms is that death comes to all - yet that is not an end. From the underworlds of Shyish, the Great Necromancer sends the dead to do his bidding. Mindless skeletal legions march alongside swirling spirits as Nagash seeks souls that have evaded his grasp.

Soulblight Gravelords
The Legions of the Great Necromancer

Tremble, fearful mortals, for the midnight hour chimes. Ancient battlefields echo to the clatter of bleached bones and rusted armour as the dead rise once more. Plague pits and shallow graves heave as maggot-eaten fingers tear aside the loose topsoil. The baying of lifeless wolves chills mortal souls to the core. Chiropteran horrors spill from tumbledown belfries as a shrieking cloud, bloated from a diet of fresh gore. Yet all these fiends pale in comparison to the masters of the revenant host: the Soulblight vampires.

These deathless warlords bear both the mightiest of powers and the most dreadful of curses. With a single blow can they tear through armour, flesh and bone to rip out the vital organs beneath. By their will can the necromantic arts be harnessed to bring hordes of undead warriors lurching to their feet.

But to maintain their monstrous existence, a vampire must slake an endless thirst for the blood of the living. The beast within is demanding indeed, and behind the porcelain facade of humanity, vampires are ravenous horrors who would plunge the realms into an endless, abominable night.

The Soulblight vampires consider themselves destined to rule. In this, they reflect he whose malignant power sired them: Nagash, Supreme Lord of the Undead. From bleak Nagashizzar, he commands his Gravelords to march forth, bringing the curse of undeath to every corner of the realms. In the darkness of his necrotopia shall the vampires feast as never before, mortals reduced to cowering slaves fit only to be drained of blood.

So it is that the Soulblight aristocracy makes war on the living with a relentless fervour, their corpse-hosts reinforced with the bodies of those same bold warriors who once defied them. So be afraid, mortals, and clutch thy blessed trinkets close, for night draws in - and the Soulblight Gravelords come for thee.

Nighthaunt
Ghastly Horrors Who Haunt the Realm

A fell wind is rising. From the darkest pits of Shyish comes a storm of ethereal figures. An eerie mist spreads before them, blotting out the sun. They muster upon corpse-strewn battlefields or ancient burial grounds, a ghostly army of phantoms. They are the supernatural, the dead, the damned - the Nighthaunts. Sustained by a fathomless hatred for the living, these wraiths fight to send fresh souls screaming down into the darkened realms from whence the dead emerged, taking cruel pleasure in knowing the torments that await their victims below.

Unless guided by supreme faith, enemy blades and arrows pass harmlessly through the Nighthaunts' incorporeal forms. Only those that can steel their minds and drive out their deepest fears can stand against such supernatural horrors. It takes unstinting courage to will a weapon to pierce a phantasm. In return, the chill blades of the Nighthaunts reap a deadly toll upon the living. Skeletal hands reach out, ignoring armour, flesh and bone alike to grasp at a foe's heart. The fear and confusion that emanates from each of the unholy gheists robs enemies of their physical strength just as it saps their conviction.

Though almost impervious to physical harm, Nighthaunts carry with them their own hell. Some are cursed by the dark manner of their death. For instance, those who met their ends in chains might have hoped to escape their captivity in the afterlife, yet in the spiritual world are bound by more manacles than ever. Others find their deeds in life turned against them - a mortal who spent a lifetime healing and nurturing might find that, as a spirit, they can only wantonly destiny. Such morbid rewards fill the Nighthaunts with rage and hatred. The perpetrator of these eternal torments is none other than Nagash.

A single Nighthaunt might terrorise a village, and a pair acting together could leave an entire fiefdom quaking in fear. When gathered en masse and united beneath a greater undead spirit, such an army can destroy an empire, and become the stuff of dire legends.

The Nighthaunt onslaught is not merely a physical assault, but a psychological one as well, and only the bravest dare to stand before them.

Ossiarch Bonereapers
Harvesters of the Bone Tithe

The Ossiarch Bonereapers come forth in macabre splendour, for they are Nagash's will given form. All that they kill becomes theirs, body and soul. This is a military force like no other. It is organised and efficient to a supernatural degree, led by generals created by Nagash himself and lent a measure of his necromantic power.

For time immemorial the legions of the Bonereapers lay dormant underground, standing serried in hidden catacombs created when Nagash and Sigmar had still called one another allies. Now, they march to war by the thousands. At their fore is Katakros, Mortarch of the Necropolis, an undying strategic genius whose centuries-long existence has been turned towards perfecting the art of war.

There is a way to keep these undead horrors from the gates, to keep their nadirite blades from sinking into living flesh. It is an option the Ossiarch leaders take pains to outline in dry, sepulchral tones, negotiating with their victims-to-be in a morbid mockery of a parley. The heart turns cold as the true horror of their proposal becomes clear: by giving unto them a sufficient offering of bone, the Ossiarch Empire be can held at bay - but only for a time.

The Ossiarch Bonereapers exist to conquer. They seek nothing less than to craft a new order from the bones of the old. Those who fail to meet their tithe, whether through choice or necessity, face a terrible fate. They will be callously torn apart, their flesh sorted from the skeleton and their body from the soul until they become nothing more than raw materials. Then, from their remains - from the very essence of who they once were - new Bonereapers will be made.

This is the terrible truth of the Ossiarchs. They turn their victims into more of their kind, and like death itself, they cannot be stopped.

Gareth · Mar 8, 2021

DESTRUCTION
Savage, Bestial Forces of Nature

Rampaging across the Mortal Realms, the forces of Destruction plunge headlong into battle at the slightest provocation. Hordes of green-skinned orruks and grots, migratory tribes of brutal ogors, and mighty beasts such as the towering gargants seek only to bring ruin to all and sate their primal need for violence.

Orruk Warclans
Reckless Aggression Given Form

The roar of the orruk race at war is loud enough to shake the Mortal Realms to their foundations. These hulking, green-skinned warriors live to fight. To them, war is the entire reason for their existence. They will punch, smash, gouge, slash and headbutt everything that stands before them until only the mightiest warriors are left standing, and they love every moment of it. With every act of violence they commit, the orruks worship the great god Gorkamorka, the two-headed god of Destruction. It was he who slaughtered the mightiest monsters of the realms in the Age of Myth, and it is he who invigorates the orruk hordes with strength and manic energy through the raw primal power of the Waaagh! When the orruks gather in great number, when they raise their voices together in a ground-shaking bellow of battle lust, the pulsing magic of Gorkamorka turns them from an argumentative rabble into a crashing tide of muscle and armour that sweeps all before it.

Stomping forward at the head of the greenskin hordes come the Ironjawz, hulking armoured orruks that are brutality made flesh. During the Age of Chaos, the Ironjawz fought endless wars against the minions of the Dark Gods. It was a glorious time for the greenskins, one of continuous bloodshed and facekicking, and they grew bigger, stronger and more brutal in the process.

Howling and bellowing alongside them come the Bonesplitterz, frenzied orruks who have warlike energy thrumming through their addled brains. The Bonesplitterz believe that Waaagh! energy can be found in the souls of wild beasts, and so they hunt the most fearsome and unruly monsters they can. They use the bones of their prey to create weapons and items to channel the power of the beast spirits in battle.

The Kruleboyz are insidious greenskins known for their exceptional cunning. They have lived in the swamp marshlands of Thondia for longer than anyone can remember, raiding under the cover of choking swamp mists. But with the return of Kragnos, and the forces of Destruction on the warpath in Ghur, the Kruleboyz have emerged from the foetid lands they call home in huge numbers to join in on the fun.

Stamping and shouting as their shamans bring the wrath of the greenskin god upon the foe, the orruks are constantly on the warpath. They know nothing of fear and never tire in their endless quest for carnage. In the face of such reckless aggression, no civilisation can stand for long. It is all but certain that one day the realms will belong to the orruks.

Gloomspite Gitz
Followers of the Bad Moon

Myriad are the grots and monsters that make up the Gloomspite Gitz. Dank and foul are the caverns and caves, the swamps and ravines and web strewn wilds in which they make their lairs. Their armies comprise disparate tribes of Moonclan and Spiderfang Grots, which scuttle to war alongside lumbering troggoths, foul-tempered gargants and bounding masses of slather-jawed squigs.

Well might their enemies wonder what could unite such anarchic beings into an army capable of conquest and slaughter on a grand scale. For the answer, one need only look to the darkest corner of the heavens.

An age of fell omens has gripped the Mortal Realms, and amongst the most malevolent of these has been the rise of the Bad Moon. This monstrous celestial object ploughs erratically through the skies, following a madcap course that trails darkness and insanity in its wake, and heralding a strange eclipse in which loonstone rains down upon the lands below.

Looncap fungi spreads like a plague, with painful and often fatal results for the enemies of the Gloomspite Gitz.

Wherever the Bad Moon draws nigh, the Gloomspite hordes surge from their lairs in their hundreds of thousands. They worship the leering lunar body as a many-phased aspect of Gorkamorka, the god of destruction, and seek to catch his attention with deeds of spiteful violence so spectacular that the Bad Moon will halt its wanderings. The Gloomspite Gitz believe that this will usher in the Everdank, an age of endless twilight. Amidst the everlasting shadows, they will be free at last to sweep across the lands and tear down every last bastion of Chaos, Order and Death alike until the Bad Moon reigns over all.

Ogor Mawtribes
Ravenous Hunger and Terrifying Strength

When the Ogor Mawtribes march to war, the ground shakes beneath a rolling avalanche of unwashed flesh. Living embodiments of gluttony, ogors worship the ever-hungry Gorkamorka, whom they call the Gulping God. By stuffing their gaping mouths with raw meat, bone and whatever else they can get their greedy hands on, they give praise to their ravenous deity.

The Mawtribes are the great hosts of ogorkind, comprising two distinct cultures: brutal Gutbuster Ogors and savage Beastclaw Raiders from the frozen wastes. United in ceaseless hunger, they embark on vast circular Mawpaths, devouring all in their way and leaving behind nothing but ash and dust.

Frost-rimed Beastclaw Raiders lumber to war upon shaggy-furred monstrosities, the fury of the supernatural Everwinter racing close behind. This wall of cold scours the land, naught is left in its wake but ruined cities and empires picked clean of every last shred of meat.

Bellowing hordes of sweaty Gutbuster Ogors charge towards the enemy, drool spilling between their yellowed fangs. They fight not for glory or ambition, but simply to feed as they chew their way across the realms.

When battle is met, the ogors do not wait before sinking their teeth into their prey, tearing out chunks of flesh even as they batter and bludgeon away with oversized weapons. There is nothing that the Ogor Mawtribes cannot eat, nothing that they fear save the aching of an empty stomach. They are the hunger of Gorkamorka made manifest, and they will consume the realms entire.

Sons of Behemat
Behemoths Who Bestride the Realms

A single gargant can break a house beneath its fists; in the Mortal Realms, this much is known to even the poorest soot-child. Many a tale is told of these monsters gobbling up unwary travellers, smashing ironoaks into splinters and shattering castle walls. The fact that they gather in clans is rarely mentioned, for it is too terrible to contemplate. If one of these towering beasts spells ruin, a group of them is a walking disaster.

Ymnog, the ancient and terrible grandfather of the gargant race, was one of the first godbeasts. It's said that the land, sea, and sky in the Mortal Realms were parted from each other by a shattering blow from his club, and that the first gargants grew within his vast belly. It was the gargant known as Behemat that helped his kin escape. Ymnog would go on to be slain by Sigmar - but for Behemat, the story had just begun.

As a godbeast himself, Behemat was a creature of vast power and size, known to many as the World Titan. Stories told by gargants recount a rivalry between Behemat and Gorkamorka, foremost god of Destruction who reshaped the realms. They claim that duardin are short because Behemat stamped them flat, and that the men of Shyish have no meat on their bones because Behemat ate it all. Behemat is a legend among the gargant race.

Since their godbeast father Behemat was slain by Sigmar's hosts, the gargants are on the warpath, a force of ruination that crushes all before it. Worse still, they are getting larger. Some are so vast they can simply step over the walls built to keep them out, roaring at ear-splitting volume as they feast on the fleshy morsels within.

To the gargant, the races of men, duardin and aelf are weak. These gigantic oafs guffaw and bellow as they grind such pipsqueaks underfoot, relishing the feeling of breaking bones and squishing flesh between their toes. They stamp veteran warriors flat and kick armoured horses into ordered shieldwalls just for the fun of it. For them, battle is recreation. Intoxicated with the thrill of their destructive crusade, they spur each other on to ever greater feats of destruction, revelling in the demise of every regiment they crush and every prized warbeast they tear apart.

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