Ordinary folk who refuse to accept their lot in life, who dare to hope for a better life. Their secret plots and unseen deeds suffuse the Old World, and patiently they await that prophesied day when they will arise from their secret places and throw down the works of Man, and Elf, and Dwarf, to usher in a terrible age of Chaos.įrom this tangle of political machinations, hidden cults, and foul ambition, a scant handful dare to hope for something more. They whisper sweet succour and velvet promises, embracing the witch, the mutant, and the heretic. Some preach that ancient and terrible gods, the ruinous powers of Chaos, offer the only hope of change. This cankerous state cannot go on, and indeed revolutionaries whisper of a better world. The nobility are witless hedonists, or scheming misanthropes, heedless of the suffering left in their wake. The Empire itself is a fractious mess, a handful of Great Provinces vying for power and always with a keen eye toward snatching any advantage from a neighbour. If you wish to climb out of the gutter, you better have the coin to pay for the privilege, or failing that, a blade to cut your way free. The truth of life in the Empire is rarely glorious, often short, and never without peril. ![]() ![]() That, at least, is what the child and the sycophant claim. From mighty Altdorf, all are fairly ruled, from the poorest citizen to the most luminous noble, each a proud heir to Sigmar’s glorious destiny. Sigmar, its founder, is now a god, his influence still shepherding his chosen peoples. It is a beacon of civilisation in an untamed world. ![]() The Empire of Karl Franz stretches from the Sea of Claws in the north to the Black Mountains in the south, and beyond that perilous range, the wild and untamed lands of the Border Princes.
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