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Malekith the Witch King sent us under cover of
night to reclaim our ancestral homeland. Spewing forth from the Black Arks
we arrayed ourselves against our hated foes.
I arrived on the Blighted Isle,
a Bride of Khaine,
and I would offer up such a feast of blood as to make all the gods bloated and
satiated on death.
It became apparent that exploiting the lesser races;
the foul Chaos-touched and the unclean Greenskins
would offer the most opportunity for the carnage I loved so well
and so an alliance began to form.
There were those special to me in those times and those merely
expedient. But all played their part towards
bringing about the downfall of the detested Alliance of Order.
There were rivalries, names of enemies swimming out of the darkness of
anonymity
to die shining and hated on the bloodied battlefields,
A fitting tribute to my lord.
Beloved enemies. Beloved Blood. Beloved War.
and yes the one thing, friend ally and hated foe,
the one thing we all beheld as truth across those crimson-stained
years of chaotic slaughter, was that the war, indeed
was everywhere.
To prepare for the battles ahead
we were called upon to deal with the monsters that populated the world,
lest their treasure, armour and weapons fall into enemy hands. Scattered across the lands
The lairs and dungeons these beasts were cleansed of their dangerous
inhabitants, and the victories offered small triumphs,
testing our warriors in readiness for the long and bloody war.
Legends were forged and stories told, the ancient names
whispered across campfires. Xaphan the Pyre, Gorthlak,
Bleakwing,
N'Kari, the Morra...
All these and more were fought and disposed of during the Age of Reckoning, but they should never be
forgotten.
The Inevitable City,
a domain of lost souls, madmen, mutants
and Daemons,
it is a realm of chaos given substance and serves as our Alliance's capital during the
Age of Reckoning.
The leaders of our races, Dark Elves, Chaos and
Greenskin plot their maneuvers here, sending thousands to war and death.
Our army has not seen its twisted streets and forgotten byways for some
time, as we fight for victory and domination
in far-off lands. Some fear, and rightly so,
that we will never lay eyes on this hellish haven again.
The war spread across many lands
with each race fighting for control. The Dark and High Elves fought incessantly for
their ancestral home
with the most vicious Elven battles fought from Eataine to Caledor.
The history of the Druchii and our hated kin
goes black millenia. Ever since Malekith was denied his rightful throne
to Bel Shanaar, the "Hero" of war.
Under the shadow of Morathi's Cult of Pleasure,
Malekith and his followers killed most of the Ulthuan Princes,
utterly destroying the council.
Malekith had only to pass through the Sacred Fire of Asuryian to complete his coup,
but due to foul Asur treachery
the sacred flame burned and scarred him horrifically and he was returned to Nagarythe.
The wondrous powers of Hotek, the renegade Priest of Vaul,
forged Malekith's Armour of Midnight and he survived,
with new and immense supernatural powers.
The High Elves meanwhile
had elected a new Phoenix King after the coward Bel Shanaar's death,
and thousands of years of bloody war ensued,
culminating in the Sundering
a great Cataclysm which sank much
of Nagarythe and Tiranoc.
The Elves of Nagarythe were forced to use their magic to set their
fortresses and cities afloat and escape west to Naggaroth,
in their Black Arks.
In this age,
the Age of Reckoning,
the Phoenix King Finubar has left Ulthuan to fight the Chaos Northmen in the Empire,
giving us a new chance for victory.
The fighting was long and hard,
waging back and forth across the elven lands with the most brutal
loss of life occuring in Dragonwake.
Yet eventually
we were able to lead our enemies all the way to the gates of Fell Landing,
where our army lay in wait.
Alas, poor enemies,
you stood not a chance...
Ahh, Greenskins. Our messy allies. They are ill-tempered,
primitive, and live only to fight. In their
"culture", might makes right and the weakest members of society
are one false step away from becoming dinner.
The dwarves, in contrast, are a proud race, although shaped by vengeance for any slight.
They store such histories in Dammaz Kron,
the Great Book of Grudges.
By far the greatest and most vengeful of the grudges held in Dammaz Kron
are against the Goblins and those who aided them through the Grobi Wars. Page after page of the tome
records in grim detail the events of the thousand year long period of
history when the tribes of Goblins swarmed over the Worlds Edge Mountains
inflicting mass suffering on the Dwarf kingdoms.
In our time, the greenskins have been united by the Black Orc
Warlord Grumlok and the Goblin Shaman Gazbag.
Together, they have led their tribe, the Bloody Sun Boyz, to dominance by capturing
the Dwarven garrison of Karak Eight Peaks.
The Dwarf High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer
has vowed revenge and the entire Dwarven nation has gathered at Karaz-a-Karak and been mobilised.
Unfortunately for the Dwarves, an old debt to the men of the Empire
has been called in as they too, come under attack, and the Dwarven forces are spread thinly.
This gloriously violent situation has turned all the Dwarven lands into warzones,
and the Greenskins are running amok,
bent on destroying everything in their path.
Alas and alack, despite the enthusiasm of our green-skinned allies,
if they were beaten too soundly they were prone to withdrawing
in a distinctly unorderly fashion, leaving the smallest and slowest behind to slow the pursuit.
A fierce race then, but ultimately unreliable.
In the distant past
our world was paid a visit by an ancient star-faring race who quickly established
gateways above the northern and southern poles.
Time passed and the gates shattered
sending a cloud of warpstone dust high into the atmosphere,
where it drifted all over the planet, causing horrible mutations
and giving birth to many of the creatures
in the world today.
The gate's destruction also allowed the denizens of the Chaos Gods into this world,
but after centuries of daemonic incursions, they withdrew to the northern
Chaos Wastes, as new races began to arise in the world.
One such race is the Chaos-worshipping Northmen.
They are a barbaric, tribal people, who gather themselves into warhosts to attack each other
and the softer men to the south, wearing their mutations
as blessings, proof that the gods are watching over them.
In the age of Reckoning such a warhost,
the Raven Host, has attacked the Empire's northern borders
under the leadership of a powerful Champion of Tzeentch,
the Changer of Ways.
The timing of the invasion is particularly ill-fortuned,
for the Empire is being ravaged by a mysterious Chaos plague
that is transforming the populace into murderous fiends and mutated Chaos Spawn.
Against this backdrop of certain doom,
humanity has united to fight against corruption from within
and encroachment from without.
Faced with such desperate circumstances,
Emperor Karl Franz has been forced to call upon the
Dwarfs and High Elves for aid, lest his lands be transformed forever into a nightmarish
domain of Chaos.
The forces of Destruction and the Alliance of Order have fragmented into
into scattered warbands fighting across the contested lands.
Peace is a concept few of us understand
as the never-ending cycle of hate carries us towards our destiny,
and a bloody end to the Age of Reckoning.
And it came to this, our final stand in the Dwarvan-controlled snowy peaks of Kadrin Valley.
Our army marched for days through this treacherous landscape,
only to find the forces of Order
already arrayed against us.
Exhausted after the forced march and cut off from any reinforcements,
we prepared our battlelines and readied to meet our hated enemy.
With so little hope, the sheer savagery of my allies
filled with me bloodlust and pride.
We would take as many with us as we could.
The battle raged around us,
friend and foe alike spilling their blood in the deadly dance of war.
At last I realised, that we must make the ultimate sacrifice
to our gods.
Let them come.
The gods of war
were satisfied, holding all the countless fallen in their embrace.
Be not sad for our passing, dear enemies
for we lived well and spilled promised blood
a thousand times over.
I found the best of Dark Elf, Chaos and Greenskin alike
to stand beside in battle. And such enemies,
as gave a feast for my darkened soul. Such blood.
So weep not brothers and sisters,
for we shall all, be
reborn.