Robert Earl
Ancient blood

This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the world’s ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage. At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. It is a land riven by uncertainty, as three pretenders all vie for control of the Imperial throne. But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war. In the towering World’s Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods. As the time of battle draws ever nearer, the Empire needs heroes like never before.

We walk ragged amongst many peoples of many lands

So that their scorn will make us harder

We thrive on the speed of our wits and the sleight of our hands

And on skill and luck and murder

We face the depths and the darkness of the world alone

So that we may become ever brighter

We live hunted and hated by all but our own

So that the bonds that bind draw ever tighter

We wait for the time of the storm that will call us home

To the birthright of our once and future lands

We pray for our rebirth in that fresh crimson dawn

But until then we trust ourselves to Ushoran’s hands