Dark Shadows Gather

A dark shadow is spreading across the Warhammer World. An evil presence has awoken and seeks to enslave each and every race to its malicious will. Dark Emissaries stalk the land, offering their services to any who would join their cause. They whisper rewards of untold power and wealth to those who will fight for the Dark Master. Of this mysterious lord, little is known but these Emissaries have allied themselves with the forces of Chaos and Darkness. They rouse all those with malice-filled hearts to march unto war. How many of these Dark Emissaries have spread the seeds of corruption in the Old World none can say, but the people speak in hushed whispers of their passing and of the terrible magics they possess. Few have dared to challenge these sorcerers and those who have perished before they have had a chance to regret their folly.

Hordes of Goblins and Orcs have been seen rampaging down from the Worlds Edge Mountains. Not since the time of Morglum Necksnapper have Greenskins gathered in such numbers. Together they march to war, laying claim to the distant isle of Albion and challenging any who say otherwise. The green horde is not the only threat poised to strike the Old World. Sightings of the dreaded Black Arks have become more frequent. Rumours have even spread that flights of Black Dragons have been spied soaring high above the clouds, and Malekith, the Witch King, has been seen abroad once more. It is rumoured that he has turned his attention towards Albion in the hope that its hidden treasures will lend him the power to destroy his most hated enemies, the High Elves. Once again the dead have risen from their peaceful slumber and gather together in a fearsome, unholy union of death. Some even talk of terrible man-sized rats crawling out from the sewers in vast numbers. Each witness speaks of different horrors but all who have spied these dreadful hordes say that they march northwards. It would seem that the isle of Albion is their destination. All eyes turn upon this mysterious place, as the mists part and its secrets are revealed for those who dare venture past the storm-battered beaches.

All is not lost though, for even as the Dark Emissaries spread disorder across the face of the world, a beacon of light shines forth, calling for those who are good of heart and true to the cause of righteousness to rally together. A mystical race of warrior-wizards known only as the Truthsayers have braved the perilous crossing over the Sea of Chaos to seek out noble civilisations. They foretell of great danger should their homeland of Albion fall; the forces that bind the Chaos mists to the northern realms will weaken and in so doing so, Daemon armies will be able to descend upon the world. To those who will help protect the isle they promise to teach secrets lost to civilization since the disappearance of the Old Ones. Magic weapons and artifacts thought long vanished from the world will be given to those who the Truthsayers deem worthy, but time is of the utmost importance.

The Elves of Ulthuan have pledged their allegiance to the cause and already the Truthsayers are sailing aboard the High Elf fleets. Soon they will make landfall on the coast of Albion. Also, the Elector Counts have gathered in council and after a surprisingly close vote have also agreed to provide support, though there are those who refuse to lend their forces. The knights of Bretonnia have formed a crusade and are speedily heading north where they will embark on the perilous sea crossing. Word has spread that a vast Dwarf throng, lured by the rumour of hidden treasures, have boarded their ironclad steamships and set sail from the hold of Barak Varr. It would seem that the Truthsayers have managed to spread the word of warning far and wide across the Warhammer world. Even the elusive Lizardmen have been spied marching forth, their divination of the constellations forewarning them of the peril. Though none have spied any fleets on which they have could have made the long journey, a number of armies have been seen crossing through the lands of the Empire, and others report that they are already on Albion in numbers. The marshes and fens are ideally suited to them. Only time will tell whether the chill climate will affect their cold-blooded nature. With the possibility of discovering a link to their distant past, perhaps they of all the races have the strongest interest in the isle.

Although a relatively flat land, the coast of Albion is rugged and the great white cliffs that surround the island tower high into the sky. The waters of Albion teem with a vast array of hideous sea beasts, some of which are fully capable of pulling even large galleys to a watery tomb. Landing places are few and those beaches which do reach down to the turbulent storm lashed waters are difficult to find, let alone land upon. Jagged rocks rise out from the water, but it is the rocks that lie hidden beneath the foaming sea that pose the greatest threat. They will tear through the hull of a boat as easy as a Dwarf axe cleaves through a Goblin's neck.

Many of the Giants that were created to guard the Ogham stones enjoy nothing more than to stand at the top of these cliffs and launch great boulders down onto any ship that tries to land. The sight of one of these Giants is often enough to ward away would-be treasure hunters. The Giants are very protective of the land and attack all intruders who set foot in their realm, and only the tribes of primitive cave dwellers have gained the Giants' trust and they too are a territorial race. What exactly they fight to protect is unknown, but the arrival of other more advanced races on Albion signals a very real threat to their way of life, which has remained unchanged for millennia.

The legacy of the Old Ones still remains strong on Albion. Something deep within the ancient nature of the Ogham stone circles intensifies the power of magic and makes the isle a powerful vortex for magical energy. There are many of these mysterious circles located across Albion. The Winds of Magic blow with the strength of gales across the island, causing havoc amongst the mages who are exploring the land. Spells that are supposed to simply light a camp fire become deadly fireballs, whilst the most powerful sorcerous blasts might merely spark and fade from the caster's fingertips.

Possession of the Ogham stones is the key to conquering Albion, but it will not prove easy. Each race knows of their importance and will attempt to wrest the stones from those who are currently in possession of them. For those that succeed, power beyond any other that has existed on the Warhammer World will be theirs to control, and the fens and moors of Albion will be the lonely resting places for those that fail. The fate of the Warhammer World is in the hands of the Generals and Commanders of the armies who have come to this isle, and only one race will win. The call to arms has truly begun!