Post by Moderator on Aug 9, 2008 22:43:25 GMT -5
Compiled and posted by Sayu
forums.tentonhammer.com/showthread.php?t=31854
Most terrible one, Dreadlord Maulk of Har Ganeth,
Known widely through Naggaroth is your thirst for knowledge of our world and its cultures. The following document was procured on a slaving raid deep into the North-west of the human lands. My men encountered a caravan traveling from the so-called human “Empire” to the rich slave lands of Bretonnia. Though but few of the caravan were in any shape to be sold on the flesh-market, a cache of goods was found, the following parchment being the only thing worth taking due to your interests.
Though the scrawling human writ is scarcely more civilized and understandable than the crude wall-paintings of Orcs, one of my slave-masters, with a somewhat disturbing interest in the lesser races has been able to transcribe it into Druchast. Included within are my notes and observations.
Though the information within in but a drop of water compared to the fount of Druchii knowledge, perhaps a bit of insight to the feeble understanding of man may help to serve the interests of you and the Witch King.
Khaine's will be done,
Sayu
Ye History Of Ye Old World
as told by the Venerable Hieronymous of Nuln
“Dark and dangerous is the world. A place filled with conflict.”
To his most Imperial Majesty, the Prince of Reikland, the ruler of the holy Empire, sovereign of heights and depths, Karl-Franz I of Altdorf.
According to your most imperial order, I am to compile a manuscript which explains in detail the great realms of the Old World and the wondrous inhabitants of these lands. As Sigmar is my witness I describe truthfully the lands of the Old World, the southern continents, and the New World. I shall also discuss the eastern lands beyond the Worlds Edge Mountains: the great steppes of the east and the mysterious lands of Cathay.
Thus I write under the two moons: Morrslieb and Mannslieb. I write of the days long gone and I write of the days that are yet to come, and those days are the days of Man. We are the inheritors of the twin bounties of wealth and wonderment that the Old World has to offer, if we can defeat the evils that besiege us.
It seems the arrogance of man is only overshadowed only by his ignorance.
Of The Old World
The Old World is bounded by the immeasurably high Worlds Edge Mountains in the east, by the dark and deep Great Ocean to the west, and then by the forbidding Troll Country in the north. To the south lies a broad arm of the Great Ocean, and beyond this the shores of the land of Araby.
In ancient times Dwarfs and Elves fought over possession of the Old World and, after many centuries of bitter conflict, retreated into their own lands. In their wake came the Orcs from the east, who infested the trackless forests and wastes and ruined the abandoned cities of the Dwarfs and Elves. Later the tribes of Mankind wandered into the Old World and began to clear the land and dwell there. Incessantly did they fight against the Orcs and out of this long conflict arose the great realms of men, namely the Empire and Bretonnia, Estalia, Tilea, and Kislev.
The Map I have included prior to these pages was presented as a gift to Emperor Leoopold from the Cartographers of Altdorf.
An heir was born to the chief of the Unberogens, greatest of the tribes of men, and his birth was heralded by by a twin-tailed comet and by thunder and lightning at night. He grew to manhood and became a mighty warrior, one who could withstand a thousand Orcs on his own, with none beside him. Orcs slunk back at his approach and even Dwarfs sang his saga.
This was the holy Sigmar of which the sacred legends speak. He it was who utterly crushed the Orcish armies in the terrible Battle of the Blackfire Pass. The songs say that half of the green skinned warriors of the Worlds Edge Mountains were slain that day. Thus was Sigmar founder of the Empire that endures to this day and the one who first appointed the Elector Counts. He who saved the Dwarf king as well as humble men. The holder of the Hammer of Wrath by which evil is vanquished. By the mere utterance of his name may the righteous cause every evil thing to be banished.
I have included in this tome “Ye Legend of Sigmar”, the oldest known record of the deeds of Sigmar Heldenhammer.
For the entertainment of you, my Dreadlord, this foolish fairy tale will be attached to my report, as there is naught but hilarity to find within the beliefs of these lowly creatures which call themselves man.
Many other tales are told of the first Emperor, including the description of how he defeated an entire army of Orcs armed only with the jawbone of an ox.
I must note that in comparison to the art of Druchii weaponry produced from Hag Graef, the savage weaponry of the so-called warriors of Man have not evolved much.
Twice more the twin-tailed comet has been seen in the lands of the Empire. In the year of woes of 1999 when the twin-tailed comet destroyed the city of Mordheim, and three hundred years later when Magnus the Pious, the savior of the Empire was born. Every time the wings of fire in the sky heralded the coming of great things.
Our Honored Land – The Empire
Our beautiful empire is the largest, the most powerful nation in all of the Old World. We, the sons of Sigmar, have a right to be proud. For over two millennia the banner of the Griffon has flown over Castle Reikschlosse, proclaiming the might and glory of the Emperors. Altdorf is the capital of our glorious Empire and the seat of the Emperor. Here all manner of arts and sciences flourish under the patronage of the imperial crown. Here lies the great Shrine of Sigmar and the Engineer's Guildhall, and the spires of the Colleges of Magic rise high above the rooftops of Altdorf. Herein lies the heart of our trade: river barges laden with goods dock and depart here, and our rich markets bustle with traders from as far as Araby.
While Altdorf is second to none in its glory and splendor, our Empire encompasses many other places of beauty and awe besides the capital. The prosperous fields of Reikland stretch around the capital, and farms, estates, and villages dot the fields before giving way to the all-encompassing forests of the Empire.
Nuln is the gem of Reikland situated above the mighty River Reik. Once she was the first city of the Empire and of old the seat of Emperors. Many Dwarf craftsmen came to dwell here and work their forges along the Reik, where great oak barges arrive daily with ore and coals. The great bridge which spans the broad Reik at Nuln is wondrous to behold and the glory and pride of the city. Beyond this there are no more bridges for the river is too wide. Within the boundaries of Nuln stands the Imperial Artillery School, and many universities for the studious amongst the population of the Empire. Herein rules the Elector Countess Emmanuelle von Liebewitz, a beauty who is famous for her masked balls and lavish parties, which almost rival the splendor of the Imperial Court.
Leave it to the lesser-races to celebrate the ability to cross water and have their cities infested with un-enslaved Dwarfs. The lack of capitalizing on Dwarf-slaves, such an expensive and valuable resource, is mind-boggling to say the least.
Middenheim, the city of the White Wolf, is built upon a towering crag rising up out of the great forest. It is an impregnable fortress which may only be approached by four roads raised up on arches. Ulric is the patron god of this mighty city and his high priest rules alongside the Elector Count of the city. Herein lies the stronghold of the famed order of the ferocious Knights of the White Wolf.
Marienburg, the busy prosperous port which lies at the mouth of the Reik is no longer part of our great Empire. Her wealth is legendary. Here ships from every realm are docked bringing all manner of exotic goods and luxuries. The pride and pretension of the citizens knows no bounds and they claim to be the equal in every way of the Tileans in art and culture.
Once again thanks to his disturbing interest in these creatures, my slave-master has informed me Marienburg is known as the “city of gold” and gained its independence through a large transfer of gold to imperial coffers. All attempts to bring Marienburg back into the Empire has so-far failed. I point this out as without the backing of imperial troops and a location near the Great Ocean, this perhaps could be a wonderful location for a massive raid next raiding season.
Talabheim lies also in the midst of the forest in the very heart of the Empire. Here dwell the hardy woodsmen and hunters who keep their axes and bows by the threshold of their cottages. The city itself rests within a rocky bowl whose steep outward sides present wall-like fortifications. Within these natural walls stand the sturdy buildings of Talabheim.
Mordheim, the once great city is no more. Of this place it is wise to say little. Such was the sin of this city that a great thunderbolt from the heavens did raze it to be no more than a bleak ruin. Some say this was the Hammer of Judgment wielded by Sigmar himself.
Ostland, snow bound and windswept, marches with Kislev and is the bastion of the Empire against Orc and Chaos alike. Her warriors are well accustomed to war and know little comfort in their great timber fortresses.
The Moot is a fat land, rich in pastures and produces much that is good for the tables of the nobility. It is inhabited by Halflings who are renowned for their greed and craving for good food, rather than their courage.
An excellent example of the backwardness of man. Having encountered these Halfling creatures in a small battle with imperial troops along the Grey Mountains, I can vouch for their incapacity as proper-slaves.
Solland, the southernmost of our provinces is no more. During the rampages of the Orc Warlord Gorbad Ironclaw Solland was razed and deserted. The Elector Count of Solland fell in battle and his Runefang was lost. After the war the lands of Solland and its few remaining inhabitants were divided between the neighboring provinces.
Lastly, there is the cursed lands of Sylvania, the most infamous of the provinces. It was here that the dreaded Vampire Counts rose five hundred years ago. These aristocrats of the night sent their hordes of zombies and skeletons to ravage all the lands between the sea and the Worlds Edge Mountains. Only after centuries of war were they defeated at the grim battle of Hel Fen.
Many of the derelict villages are abodes of Ghoul clans, and travelers are warned from approaching the ruined castles and mansions of Sylvania after dark. Travelers should be wary and avoid the cursed soil of Sylvania if you can. The less said about this desolate and ghastly land, the better. Mannfred von Carstein, the last of the dread Vampire Counts is dead. Long may he rest.
Of Bretonnia
Beyond the Grey Mountains lies the kingdom of Bretonnia, inhabited by the descendants of the Bretonni tribe. It is a great kingdom, next only to our great Empire in power and wealth. Indeed they are our chief rivals in trade and war.
The kings of Bretonnia live in the most sumptuous luxury imaginable. Their stables are filled with the finest warhorses, their weapons are encrusted with jewels, and their silk banners glitter with gold.
Yet you should hesitate from mocking a Bretonnian nobleman (to his face at least), for behind the courtly graces is a warrior born and bred to battle. From a very early age the knights of Bretonnia are taught to bear the traditional arms of a knight, to ride and to endure the hardships of war. There are no greater warriors amongst the race of Man (or at least so say the Bretonnians).
That isn't saying much.
Bretonnia was founded by King Gilles le Breton, whom the Bretonnians hold to be as renowned as Sigmar. He was the first of all knights of Bretonnia, and established their military traditions.
Their kingdom is divided into fourteen great dukedoms, from the fair Couronne in the north to the rugged land of Carcassonne to the south. Each of the powerful dukes commands an army of knights supported by squires, men-at-arms, and archers drawn from the ranks of the commoners. This way of fighting, though old-fashioned in our Empire, has proven time and again effective in repelling numerous invading armies.
It is the ideal of knighthood which inspires the warriors of Bretonnia. The worship of the Lady of the Lake, their goddess of virtue and honor, is widespread, and sets the code of honor under which the finest of nobility conducts itself in peace and war. Each knight of Bretonnia bears his own heraldic device on his shield and livery. The Fleur de Lys or Flower of the Lily is the most common of these symbols, signifying a knight's dedication to the Quest for the Grail.
While most of the Bretonnians are rural folk, there are still numerous walled cities: the capital, Couronne, with its marble temples; Parravon, which guards the Axe Bite Pass; Gisoreux, which protects the reaches of the Upper Grismerie river; Quenells with its chapels and vineyards, and lastly the dreaded city of Moussilon, a squalid ruin which is now a lair of evil creatures. Bordeleaux, L'Anguille, and Brionne, the coastal cities of Bretonnia are trading ports and havens for the dreaded war-fleet of Bretonnia, and control much of the wealth of the kingdom.
Of Kislev
North from the lands of our magnificent Empire the forests give way to great wind-swept plains and dark birch glades. These are the lands of Kislev. For one thousand years this kingdom has endured the attacks of the savage Norse and the incursion of dread Chaos.
During the long winter nights the men of Kislev, known as Gospodars, gather around their log cottages, remembering the glory of the Tzars of old and the might of the Ice Queens of bygone ages. They sing songs of war and dream of happier times, for their own age is filled with much strife. Kislev guards the borderlands of the north against the terrible servants of Chaos. Each year the toll of death is greater. But to Kislevites this matters not. North is their home and if they cannot live there, they will die there.
Kislevites are great warriors and magnificent horsemen. They tirelessly patrol the northern border along the forbidding Troll Country, trying to keep the rampaging Chaos warbands in check.
The cities of Kislev are ruled by Tzars and boyars, who all owe their fealty to the overlord of Kislev. Tzarina Katarin the Great, the current ruler of all Kislev, is a mighty sorceress, mistress of the cold winds and ice of the north. She is known for both her beauty and her haughty and cold manners which have earned her the title of Ice Queen of Kislev. So suffused is she with magic that is is said that her flesh is cold to touch and she rules her lands with icy efficiency.
Erengrad is one of the greatest trading ports of the Old World. Here the wares of the north are traded with merchants from Bretonnia, Tilea, Estalia, and, of course, our own noble Empire.
The city of Praag has an evil reputation, for during the last Great War against Chaos the city was overrun with the servants of the Ruinous Powers and twisted beyond recognition. After Magnus the Pious defeated the forces of the Dark Gods the city was razed to the ground and rebuilt, but Chaos returned. Travelers tell tales in hushed tones of cries of agony that pierce the night and faces that appear the walls of building to consume the unwary with savage ferocity. The citizens of Praag are forced to burn down and rebuild their homes if they are to retain some small measure of sanity.
Of Tilea And Estalia
South of the Empire and Bretonnia lie the lands of Tilea and Estalia. Cut-throats and sell-swords to a man. Tileans often offer their services as mercenaries when no wars are waged in their own country. For in this land each city is a separate principality in an unfettered rivalry with its neighbors. Every merchant prince looks to himself and his own wealth and seeks only to stab and poison his neighbors, while extending the hand of friendship. In some cities, the citizens, tiring of their own corrupt nobility, overthrew the princes to rule themselves as a republic. Yet even there it is the dagger that rules. Despite this, the Tileans are cultured people, expert in all the arts and master seafarers. Their explorers have discovered many lands.
Mention must be made of Sartosa, which is an island near to Tilea, inhabited entirely by pirates. Thought they plague the seas thereabouts, they are a fitting match for the cruel corsairs of Araby and both are much deserving of each other.
Tilean wines fetch high prices throughout the Old World, and their large fleet of merchant vessels ply the seas trading with all nations from the north of Kislev to the scorched lands of Araby. Art, sciences, innovation, and music are all strongly supported by the princes of the city states.
Of Estalia, little is to be said for it is a rugged place. Within its few fortified cities live hardy people who make their living with fishing and trade. Jaffar, the Sultan of Araby once invaded that land and nearly conquered it but for the great army of knights which came to drive out his hordes. It is said that the Estalians are very hardy folk, who will slay a man for mistaking them for a Tilean or even greeting them in the Tilean dialect by mistake.
Of The Lands Of Araby
South of Tilea, past the stormy seas of the Black Gulf, lies the kingdom of Araby. Here the decadent Caliphs and Sultans rule cities made of white stone, and their realms are the vast deserts, oases that glitter like jewels, and mountains inhabited by fierce nomad warriors. Several great cities form a loose coalition, though in effect they are all independent states with their own rulers, traditions, and customs.
The Sheikhs, Emirs, and Sultans of Copher, Lashiek, and Martek live in unimaginable luxury, served by hundreds of slaves who will fulfill their every whim, their harems are filled with voluptuous beauties from across the world and their treasure chambers with all the splendor and wealth of that distant land. Some of these despots are cruel by their nature, ordering beheadings and mutilations of even the pettiest criminals, while others are great rulers and patrons of art and science.
It would seem some lands of men are at least on the right track.
In contrast the nomadic peoples, who are the subjects of the Arabian rulers, do not build permanents settlements, preferring to travel far and wide in the desert. Some ride not upon horses, but on strange and most bad-tempered beasts which never thirst and appear never to drink.
Whatever these beasts be, perhaps it would be worthwhile to look further into. If only our nauglir were such low-maintenance.
There are many sorcerers in Araby, who can perform strange works of magic. It is said they can conjure up spirits which they call genies and imprison them in glass bottles. When the bottle is uncorked, the spirit emerges as a vapor and grows to immense size to do the bidding of his master. Other tales speak of Wizards who fly high above the sands on carpets. Believe this if you will.
In the Old World the Arabians are known to be cunning traders and merchants. It is said that an Arabian can trick even a Tilean into a bad bargain, and I know few more crooked traders than the treacherous Tileans.
The most infamous of the Arabians are the merciless pirates of Copher. The ships of the Old World fear few perils of the sea as much as the Corsairs of Araby. The Port of Copher holds many sleek and deadly ships which prey the seven seas.
Of The Southlands
Of the hot jungles of the south I can say little, for few have dared the stormy seas of the south and even fewer have returned from the Dark Continent. The Southlands encompass vast, untouched jungles and snow-capped mountains. The western coast boasts a number of small colonies of Arabian merchants which serve as havens for their ships.
The jungles themselves are said to be impenetrable and trackless, filled with all manner of dangerous animals and monsters. All attempts to explore this hostile, steaming hell have failed. The few survivors talk of the last of the great Dwarf strongholds, surrounded by savage Orcs and Goblins and all manner of other monsters. Other tales speak of a great High Elf fortress which guards the tip of the Southlands and the way to the distant east and the lands of Ind and Cathay. But whatever power holds the Southlands, it is welcome to it. Keep your dark secrets and your cursed treasures!
Of The Distant Kingdom Of Cathay
Past the Worlds Edge Mountains and across the Great Skull Lands, on the other side of the Mountains of Mourn and the vast steppes, begin the uncharted lands. Only a single path travels to the east, known as the Silk Road. It runs through the untamed steppes until its destination, the fabled kingdom of Cathay. The lure of the Silk Road is great to the merchant houses of the Tilea and the Burgomeisters of the Empire, as well as the traders of Araby. But the road is far from safe: roving bandits, steppe nomads, and the vast hordes of Hobgobla-Khan who rule the steppes are an ever-present threat, and one that cannot be taken too lightly. Only one caravan out of ten makes the trip safely.
The travelers that return from Cathay tell tales of great golden pagodas and the inexhaustible armies of the eastern despots. They bring exotic spices and finest silks, gleaming gold, luxurious porcelain vases, and all manner of strange and wonderful items from the Kingdom of the Dragon, glimpses of the mysterious glory of the distant and rich orient.
They also bring tales of jade cities and high temples where mystics probe the movements of the heavenly bodies and the position of the stars, of the scholars who inscribe every word ever uttered by their divine Emperor. Many strange creatures are said to live in the land of Cathay, from serpentine dragons to gigantic living stone dogs which guard the temples of the multitudinous gods of Cathay.
Records of travelers tell of the thousand, thousand footsoldiers of the Emperor, the mystic brotherhoods of monks who can kill you with a touch of their hand, and the strange monkey warriors living high in the Mountains of Heaven.
Most of these tales are highly fanciful, but certainly the Empire of the Celestial Dragon must be a wondrous and rich place, but until the trade routes to the east are safe it will remain a realm of legend.
It is fortunate for our raiding missions that the lands of Man are so fragmented and filled with as much infighting as that of the Greenskins. Otherwise Man would be much more formidable, by sheer numbers alone.
Of The Land Of The Dead
East of Araby lies a great desert and amongst the dunes rise the necropolises, tomb-cities which are said to be the home for the unquiet dead. In that dread desert, beneath the moon's pale gaze, dead men are said to walk. They haunt the dunes and ruined pyramids in the breathless, windless night.
It is told in my most obscure and ancient scrolls that the Great Necromancer himself, Nagash the Black, ruled here long, long ago, and the land still bears the scars of his clawed hand. Here stand the great pyramids built to be the tombs of the past kings of Nehekhara. These ancient tombs are said to hold untold riches, and yet only a few travel to this most desolate of places to face the dangers of the ancient necropoli. Entire armies, commanded by their mummified kings, march under the scorching sun to wage war against the living and each other. My source of these ancient and evil things is the blasphemous tome known as the Liber Mortis, the Book of the Dead, which rests at my desk. Bound as it is by the prayers of the Grand Theogonist and wards of the Light Wizards. I know it cannot corrupt me, but yet still I fear and dare not do more than glimpse at its cursed pages, where long-dead faces leer back at me. I can barely bring myself to touch the human-skinned covers or the pages where the rites of Necromancy and the spells of blood magic are written by the hand of the Great Necromancer. For this book comes from the land of Sylvania, and it once belonged to the foul Vlad von Carstein, the most infamous of all the Vampire Counts, who was defeated by the holy Grand Theogonist Wilhelm at the Siege of Altdorf.
A grand resource of treasure and flesh these lands could be, if a way were to be found to bend the will of the undead which rules these lands. A few subtle scouting trips up the Black Gulf would give us further insight to this desolate place.
Of Dwarfs
Dwarfs are an ancient race, wide of girth, strong of arm, and stubborn of mind. Unless killed in battle, a Dwarf can live to a very great age, as long as 400 years, though the Dwarfs claim that some of their Runesmiths have lived considerably longer. I can scarcely believe these tales, even though it is not in the Dwarf nature to lie.
Four-hundred years, a very great age? How laughable. I own kheitans of Dwarf-flesh much older than that.
The mighty Worlds Edge Mountains have been their home since time immemorial. Once, a long time ago, mighty Dwarf strongholds formed an unbroken chain along the mountain range. Great were the halls and vaults hewn out of the mountains, and great was the clamor of Dwarf hammering and song singing echoing in the depths. Now, alas, many of these once great holds resound only to the scampering feet of Goblins.
Dwarfs are the greatest smiths and craftsmen in the world. Not even Elven smiths can match the skill and care of the Dwarfs. It was the Dwarfs who in the days past forged the Runefangs, the twelve swords of the Empire, as a payment for Sigmar's help against the Orcs. Today they are symbols of office and authority of the Elector Counts of the Empire.
And yet man still does not enslave these masterful workers. I'm once again at a loss to the inefficiency of the minds of men.
Dwarfs are strong and unbending as stone (and some would say as forgiving) and grim as the mountains they live in. From Karaz-a-Karak, the most ancient of the Dwarf holds, the last High King of the Dwarfs wages a never-ending war against Orcs, Goblins, and other evil creatures. Each year Dwarf numbers dwindle. Each year the war becomes more desperate. Each year the enemies of the Dwarfs become more numerous. In my mind the wisdom of continuing the struggle is doubtful, even if its heroism is not. But as long as one of their warriors draws breath, the Dwarfs will not set aside their axes or forget their grudges.
In my youth I traveled to Karaz-a-Karak, the seat of the Dwarf High Kings to study their lore. For seven years I stood behind the door of the Hall of Remembrance to prove my dedication to learn the Dwarf Lore. Finally the locked doors were opened for me, and even then the Dwarf Loremasters were reluctant to part with their knowledge and only taught me because of the long-standing friendship between the Emperors and the Dwarf Kings.
I studied the Great Book of Grudges and the Book of Remembrance, where the history of the Dwarf race is recorded in the runescript, and the annals of their kings are kept, with each passing day recording in meticulous detail by the dozens of Dwarf scribes. The Great Book of Grudges holds the record of great breaches of faith against the Dwarf people. Its words are written in the blood of kings – so seriously do Dwarfs regard such matters.
The Book of Remembrance claims that during the ancient times the mighty Dwarf empire stretched across the entire Worlds Edge Mountains, from the lands of Norsca in the north to the distant Southlands, encompassing dozens of Dwarf Holds. But those days are now long gone, only a memory recited in sagas sung in the few Dwarf halls that still survive. For long before the time of Sigmar, there was a war in the Old World.
Dwarf fought Elf and Elf fought Dwarf. It seems that for an entire age the slaughter continued, and many great battles were fought where both races suffered terribly.
I'd wager the Elves, most notably, suffered from the stench of close-contact with the Dwarfs.
The war finally ended when the Dwarf High King defeated the Phoenix King in single battle and the Elves retreated from the Old World.
Huge earthquakes and volcanic eruptions shattered the vaults and chambers of the Dwarf holds and broke the power of the Dwarf empire for all time. Evil creatures from below the bowels of the earth then emerged to challenge the Dwarf supremacy of the mountains, and cast them onto the precipe of extinction where they now fight.
__________________
"My god knows nothing of mercy...He does not forgive. He cares nothing for redemption. He simply hungers, and I live to see him fed."
-The Grand Carnifex of Har Ganeth (speaking of Khaela Mensha Khaine
forums.tentonhammer.com/showthread.php?t=31854
Most terrible one, Dreadlord Maulk of Har Ganeth,
Known widely through Naggaroth is your thirst for knowledge of our world and its cultures. The following document was procured on a slaving raid deep into the North-west of the human lands. My men encountered a caravan traveling from the so-called human “Empire” to the rich slave lands of Bretonnia. Though but few of the caravan were in any shape to be sold on the flesh-market, a cache of goods was found, the following parchment being the only thing worth taking due to your interests.
Though the scrawling human writ is scarcely more civilized and understandable than the crude wall-paintings of Orcs, one of my slave-masters, with a somewhat disturbing interest in the lesser races has been able to transcribe it into Druchast. Included within are my notes and observations.
Though the information within in but a drop of water compared to the fount of Druchii knowledge, perhaps a bit of insight to the feeble understanding of man may help to serve the interests of you and the Witch King.
Khaine's will be done,
Sayu
Ye History Of Ye Old World
as told by the Venerable Hieronymous of Nuln
“Dark and dangerous is the world. A place filled with conflict.”
To his most Imperial Majesty, the Prince of Reikland, the ruler of the holy Empire, sovereign of heights and depths, Karl-Franz I of Altdorf.
According to your most imperial order, I am to compile a manuscript which explains in detail the great realms of the Old World and the wondrous inhabitants of these lands. As Sigmar is my witness I describe truthfully the lands of the Old World, the southern continents, and the New World. I shall also discuss the eastern lands beyond the Worlds Edge Mountains: the great steppes of the east and the mysterious lands of Cathay.
Thus I write under the two moons: Morrslieb and Mannslieb. I write of the days long gone and I write of the days that are yet to come, and those days are the days of Man. We are the inheritors of the twin bounties of wealth and wonderment that the Old World has to offer, if we can defeat the evils that besiege us.
It seems the arrogance of man is only overshadowed only by his ignorance.
Of The Old World
The Old World is bounded by the immeasurably high Worlds Edge Mountains in the east, by the dark and deep Great Ocean to the west, and then by the forbidding Troll Country in the north. To the south lies a broad arm of the Great Ocean, and beyond this the shores of the land of Araby.
In ancient times Dwarfs and Elves fought over possession of the Old World and, after many centuries of bitter conflict, retreated into their own lands. In their wake came the Orcs from the east, who infested the trackless forests and wastes and ruined the abandoned cities of the Dwarfs and Elves. Later the tribes of Mankind wandered into the Old World and began to clear the land and dwell there. Incessantly did they fight against the Orcs and out of this long conflict arose the great realms of men, namely the Empire and Bretonnia, Estalia, Tilea, and Kislev.
The Map I have included prior to these pages was presented as a gift to Emperor Leoopold from the Cartographers of Altdorf.
An heir was born to the chief of the Unberogens, greatest of the tribes of men, and his birth was heralded by by a twin-tailed comet and by thunder and lightning at night. He grew to manhood and became a mighty warrior, one who could withstand a thousand Orcs on his own, with none beside him. Orcs slunk back at his approach and even Dwarfs sang his saga.
This was the holy Sigmar of which the sacred legends speak. He it was who utterly crushed the Orcish armies in the terrible Battle of the Blackfire Pass. The songs say that half of the green skinned warriors of the Worlds Edge Mountains were slain that day. Thus was Sigmar founder of the Empire that endures to this day and the one who first appointed the Elector Counts. He who saved the Dwarf king as well as humble men. The holder of the Hammer of Wrath by which evil is vanquished. By the mere utterance of his name may the righteous cause every evil thing to be banished.
I have included in this tome “Ye Legend of Sigmar”, the oldest known record of the deeds of Sigmar Heldenhammer.
For the entertainment of you, my Dreadlord, this foolish fairy tale will be attached to my report, as there is naught but hilarity to find within the beliefs of these lowly creatures which call themselves man.
Many other tales are told of the first Emperor, including the description of how he defeated an entire army of Orcs armed only with the jawbone of an ox.
I must note that in comparison to the art of Druchii weaponry produced from Hag Graef, the savage weaponry of the so-called warriors of Man have not evolved much.
Twice more the twin-tailed comet has been seen in the lands of the Empire. In the year of woes of 1999 when the twin-tailed comet destroyed the city of Mordheim, and three hundred years later when Magnus the Pious, the savior of the Empire was born. Every time the wings of fire in the sky heralded the coming of great things.
Our Honored Land – The Empire
Our beautiful empire is the largest, the most powerful nation in all of the Old World. We, the sons of Sigmar, have a right to be proud. For over two millennia the banner of the Griffon has flown over Castle Reikschlosse, proclaiming the might and glory of the Emperors. Altdorf is the capital of our glorious Empire and the seat of the Emperor. Here all manner of arts and sciences flourish under the patronage of the imperial crown. Here lies the great Shrine of Sigmar and the Engineer's Guildhall, and the spires of the Colleges of Magic rise high above the rooftops of Altdorf. Herein lies the heart of our trade: river barges laden with goods dock and depart here, and our rich markets bustle with traders from as far as Araby.
While Altdorf is second to none in its glory and splendor, our Empire encompasses many other places of beauty and awe besides the capital. The prosperous fields of Reikland stretch around the capital, and farms, estates, and villages dot the fields before giving way to the all-encompassing forests of the Empire.
Nuln is the gem of Reikland situated above the mighty River Reik. Once she was the first city of the Empire and of old the seat of Emperors. Many Dwarf craftsmen came to dwell here and work their forges along the Reik, where great oak barges arrive daily with ore and coals. The great bridge which spans the broad Reik at Nuln is wondrous to behold and the glory and pride of the city. Beyond this there are no more bridges for the river is too wide. Within the boundaries of Nuln stands the Imperial Artillery School, and many universities for the studious amongst the population of the Empire. Herein rules the Elector Countess Emmanuelle von Liebewitz, a beauty who is famous for her masked balls and lavish parties, which almost rival the splendor of the Imperial Court.
Leave it to the lesser-races to celebrate the ability to cross water and have their cities infested with un-enslaved Dwarfs. The lack of capitalizing on Dwarf-slaves, such an expensive and valuable resource, is mind-boggling to say the least.
Middenheim, the city of the White Wolf, is built upon a towering crag rising up out of the great forest. It is an impregnable fortress which may only be approached by four roads raised up on arches. Ulric is the patron god of this mighty city and his high priest rules alongside the Elector Count of the city. Herein lies the stronghold of the famed order of the ferocious Knights of the White Wolf.
Marienburg, the busy prosperous port which lies at the mouth of the Reik is no longer part of our great Empire. Her wealth is legendary. Here ships from every realm are docked bringing all manner of exotic goods and luxuries. The pride and pretension of the citizens knows no bounds and they claim to be the equal in every way of the Tileans in art and culture.
Once again thanks to his disturbing interest in these creatures, my slave-master has informed me Marienburg is known as the “city of gold” and gained its independence through a large transfer of gold to imperial coffers. All attempts to bring Marienburg back into the Empire has so-far failed. I point this out as without the backing of imperial troops and a location near the Great Ocean, this perhaps could be a wonderful location for a massive raid next raiding season.
Talabheim lies also in the midst of the forest in the very heart of the Empire. Here dwell the hardy woodsmen and hunters who keep their axes and bows by the threshold of their cottages. The city itself rests within a rocky bowl whose steep outward sides present wall-like fortifications. Within these natural walls stand the sturdy buildings of Talabheim.
Mordheim, the once great city is no more. Of this place it is wise to say little. Such was the sin of this city that a great thunderbolt from the heavens did raze it to be no more than a bleak ruin. Some say this was the Hammer of Judgment wielded by Sigmar himself.
Ostland, snow bound and windswept, marches with Kislev and is the bastion of the Empire against Orc and Chaos alike. Her warriors are well accustomed to war and know little comfort in their great timber fortresses.
The Moot is a fat land, rich in pastures and produces much that is good for the tables of the nobility. It is inhabited by Halflings who are renowned for their greed and craving for good food, rather than their courage.
An excellent example of the backwardness of man. Having encountered these Halfling creatures in a small battle with imperial troops along the Grey Mountains, I can vouch for their incapacity as proper-slaves.
Solland, the southernmost of our provinces is no more. During the rampages of the Orc Warlord Gorbad Ironclaw Solland was razed and deserted. The Elector Count of Solland fell in battle and his Runefang was lost. After the war the lands of Solland and its few remaining inhabitants were divided between the neighboring provinces.
Lastly, there is the cursed lands of Sylvania, the most infamous of the provinces. It was here that the dreaded Vampire Counts rose five hundred years ago. These aristocrats of the night sent their hordes of zombies and skeletons to ravage all the lands between the sea and the Worlds Edge Mountains. Only after centuries of war were they defeated at the grim battle of Hel Fen.
Many of the derelict villages are abodes of Ghoul clans, and travelers are warned from approaching the ruined castles and mansions of Sylvania after dark. Travelers should be wary and avoid the cursed soil of Sylvania if you can. The less said about this desolate and ghastly land, the better. Mannfred von Carstein, the last of the dread Vampire Counts is dead. Long may he rest.
Of Bretonnia
Beyond the Grey Mountains lies the kingdom of Bretonnia, inhabited by the descendants of the Bretonni tribe. It is a great kingdom, next only to our great Empire in power and wealth. Indeed they are our chief rivals in trade and war.
The kings of Bretonnia live in the most sumptuous luxury imaginable. Their stables are filled with the finest warhorses, their weapons are encrusted with jewels, and their silk banners glitter with gold.
Yet you should hesitate from mocking a Bretonnian nobleman (to his face at least), for behind the courtly graces is a warrior born and bred to battle. From a very early age the knights of Bretonnia are taught to bear the traditional arms of a knight, to ride and to endure the hardships of war. There are no greater warriors amongst the race of Man (or at least so say the Bretonnians).
That isn't saying much.
Bretonnia was founded by King Gilles le Breton, whom the Bretonnians hold to be as renowned as Sigmar. He was the first of all knights of Bretonnia, and established their military traditions.
Their kingdom is divided into fourteen great dukedoms, from the fair Couronne in the north to the rugged land of Carcassonne to the south. Each of the powerful dukes commands an army of knights supported by squires, men-at-arms, and archers drawn from the ranks of the commoners. This way of fighting, though old-fashioned in our Empire, has proven time and again effective in repelling numerous invading armies.
It is the ideal of knighthood which inspires the warriors of Bretonnia. The worship of the Lady of the Lake, their goddess of virtue and honor, is widespread, and sets the code of honor under which the finest of nobility conducts itself in peace and war. Each knight of Bretonnia bears his own heraldic device on his shield and livery. The Fleur de Lys or Flower of the Lily is the most common of these symbols, signifying a knight's dedication to the Quest for the Grail.
While most of the Bretonnians are rural folk, there are still numerous walled cities: the capital, Couronne, with its marble temples; Parravon, which guards the Axe Bite Pass; Gisoreux, which protects the reaches of the Upper Grismerie river; Quenells with its chapels and vineyards, and lastly the dreaded city of Moussilon, a squalid ruin which is now a lair of evil creatures. Bordeleaux, L'Anguille, and Brionne, the coastal cities of Bretonnia are trading ports and havens for the dreaded war-fleet of Bretonnia, and control much of the wealth of the kingdom.
Of Kislev
North from the lands of our magnificent Empire the forests give way to great wind-swept plains and dark birch glades. These are the lands of Kislev. For one thousand years this kingdom has endured the attacks of the savage Norse and the incursion of dread Chaos.
During the long winter nights the men of Kislev, known as Gospodars, gather around their log cottages, remembering the glory of the Tzars of old and the might of the Ice Queens of bygone ages. They sing songs of war and dream of happier times, for their own age is filled with much strife. Kislev guards the borderlands of the north against the terrible servants of Chaos. Each year the toll of death is greater. But to Kislevites this matters not. North is their home and if they cannot live there, they will die there.
Kislevites are great warriors and magnificent horsemen. They tirelessly patrol the northern border along the forbidding Troll Country, trying to keep the rampaging Chaos warbands in check.
The cities of Kislev are ruled by Tzars and boyars, who all owe their fealty to the overlord of Kislev. Tzarina Katarin the Great, the current ruler of all Kislev, is a mighty sorceress, mistress of the cold winds and ice of the north. She is known for both her beauty and her haughty and cold manners which have earned her the title of Ice Queen of Kislev. So suffused is she with magic that is is said that her flesh is cold to touch and she rules her lands with icy efficiency.
Erengrad is one of the greatest trading ports of the Old World. Here the wares of the north are traded with merchants from Bretonnia, Tilea, Estalia, and, of course, our own noble Empire.
The city of Praag has an evil reputation, for during the last Great War against Chaos the city was overrun with the servants of the Ruinous Powers and twisted beyond recognition. After Magnus the Pious defeated the forces of the Dark Gods the city was razed to the ground and rebuilt, but Chaos returned. Travelers tell tales in hushed tones of cries of agony that pierce the night and faces that appear the walls of building to consume the unwary with savage ferocity. The citizens of Praag are forced to burn down and rebuild their homes if they are to retain some small measure of sanity.
Of Tilea And Estalia
South of the Empire and Bretonnia lie the lands of Tilea and Estalia. Cut-throats and sell-swords to a man. Tileans often offer their services as mercenaries when no wars are waged in their own country. For in this land each city is a separate principality in an unfettered rivalry with its neighbors. Every merchant prince looks to himself and his own wealth and seeks only to stab and poison his neighbors, while extending the hand of friendship. In some cities, the citizens, tiring of their own corrupt nobility, overthrew the princes to rule themselves as a republic. Yet even there it is the dagger that rules. Despite this, the Tileans are cultured people, expert in all the arts and master seafarers. Their explorers have discovered many lands.
Mention must be made of Sartosa, which is an island near to Tilea, inhabited entirely by pirates. Thought they plague the seas thereabouts, they are a fitting match for the cruel corsairs of Araby and both are much deserving of each other.
Tilean wines fetch high prices throughout the Old World, and their large fleet of merchant vessels ply the seas trading with all nations from the north of Kislev to the scorched lands of Araby. Art, sciences, innovation, and music are all strongly supported by the princes of the city states.
Of Estalia, little is to be said for it is a rugged place. Within its few fortified cities live hardy people who make their living with fishing and trade. Jaffar, the Sultan of Araby once invaded that land and nearly conquered it but for the great army of knights which came to drive out his hordes. It is said that the Estalians are very hardy folk, who will slay a man for mistaking them for a Tilean or even greeting them in the Tilean dialect by mistake.
Of The Lands Of Araby
South of Tilea, past the stormy seas of the Black Gulf, lies the kingdom of Araby. Here the decadent Caliphs and Sultans rule cities made of white stone, and their realms are the vast deserts, oases that glitter like jewels, and mountains inhabited by fierce nomad warriors. Several great cities form a loose coalition, though in effect they are all independent states with their own rulers, traditions, and customs.
The Sheikhs, Emirs, and Sultans of Copher, Lashiek, and Martek live in unimaginable luxury, served by hundreds of slaves who will fulfill their every whim, their harems are filled with voluptuous beauties from across the world and their treasure chambers with all the splendor and wealth of that distant land. Some of these despots are cruel by their nature, ordering beheadings and mutilations of even the pettiest criminals, while others are great rulers and patrons of art and science.
It would seem some lands of men are at least on the right track.
In contrast the nomadic peoples, who are the subjects of the Arabian rulers, do not build permanents settlements, preferring to travel far and wide in the desert. Some ride not upon horses, but on strange and most bad-tempered beasts which never thirst and appear never to drink.
Whatever these beasts be, perhaps it would be worthwhile to look further into. If only our nauglir were such low-maintenance.
There are many sorcerers in Araby, who can perform strange works of magic. It is said they can conjure up spirits which they call genies and imprison them in glass bottles. When the bottle is uncorked, the spirit emerges as a vapor and grows to immense size to do the bidding of his master. Other tales speak of Wizards who fly high above the sands on carpets. Believe this if you will.
In the Old World the Arabians are known to be cunning traders and merchants. It is said that an Arabian can trick even a Tilean into a bad bargain, and I know few more crooked traders than the treacherous Tileans.
The most infamous of the Arabians are the merciless pirates of Copher. The ships of the Old World fear few perils of the sea as much as the Corsairs of Araby. The Port of Copher holds many sleek and deadly ships which prey the seven seas.
Of The Southlands
Of the hot jungles of the south I can say little, for few have dared the stormy seas of the south and even fewer have returned from the Dark Continent. The Southlands encompass vast, untouched jungles and snow-capped mountains. The western coast boasts a number of small colonies of Arabian merchants which serve as havens for their ships.
The jungles themselves are said to be impenetrable and trackless, filled with all manner of dangerous animals and monsters. All attempts to explore this hostile, steaming hell have failed. The few survivors talk of the last of the great Dwarf strongholds, surrounded by savage Orcs and Goblins and all manner of other monsters. Other tales speak of a great High Elf fortress which guards the tip of the Southlands and the way to the distant east and the lands of Ind and Cathay. But whatever power holds the Southlands, it is welcome to it. Keep your dark secrets and your cursed treasures!
Of The Distant Kingdom Of Cathay
Past the Worlds Edge Mountains and across the Great Skull Lands, on the other side of the Mountains of Mourn and the vast steppes, begin the uncharted lands. Only a single path travels to the east, known as the Silk Road. It runs through the untamed steppes until its destination, the fabled kingdom of Cathay. The lure of the Silk Road is great to the merchant houses of the Tilea and the Burgomeisters of the Empire, as well as the traders of Araby. But the road is far from safe: roving bandits, steppe nomads, and the vast hordes of Hobgobla-Khan who rule the steppes are an ever-present threat, and one that cannot be taken too lightly. Only one caravan out of ten makes the trip safely.
The travelers that return from Cathay tell tales of great golden pagodas and the inexhaustible armies of the eastern despots. They bring exotic spices and finest silks, gleaming gold, luxurious porcelain vases, and all manner of strange and wonderful items from the Kingdom of the Dragon, glimpses of the mysterious glory of the distant and rich orient.
They also bring tales of jade cities and high temples where mystics probe the movements of the heavenly bodies and the position of the stars, of the scholars who inscribe every word ever uttered by their divine Emperor. Many strange creatures are said to live in the land of Cathay, from serpentine dragons to gigantic living stone dogs which guard the temples of the multitudinous gods of Cathay.
Records of travelers tell of the thousand, thousand footsoldiers of the Emperor, the mystic brotherhoods of monks who can kill you with a touch of their hand, and the strange monkey warriors living high in the Mountains of Heaven.
Most of these tales are highly fanciful, but certainly the Empire of the Celestial Dragon must be a wondrous and rich place, but until the trade routes to the east are safe it will remain a realm of legend.
It is fortunate for our raiding missions that the lands of Man are so fragmented and filled with as much infighting as that of the Greenskins. Otherwise Man would be much more formidable, by sheer numbers alone.
Of The Land Of The Dead
East of Araby lies a great desert and amongst the dunes rise the necropolises, tomb-cities which are said to be the home for the unquiet dead. In that dread desert, beneath the moon's pale gaze, dead men are said to walk. They haunt the dunes and ruined pyramids in the breathless, windless night.
It is told in my most obscure and ancient scrolls that the Great Necromancer himself, Nagash the Black, ruled here long, long ago, and the land still bears the scars of his clawed hand. Here stand the great pyramids built to be the tombs of the past kings of Nehekhara. These ancient tombs are said to hold untold riches, and yet only a few travel to this most desolate of places to face the dangers of the ancient necropoli. Entire armies, commanded by their mummified kings, march under the scorching sun to wage war against the living and each other. My source of these ancient and evil things is the blasphemous tome known as the Liber Mortis, the Book of the Dead, which rests at my desk. Bound as it is by the prayers of the Grand Theogonist and wards of the Light Wizards. I know it cannot corrupt me, but yet still I fear and dare not do more than glimpse at its cursed pages, where long-dead faces leer back at me. I can barely bring myself to touch the human-skinned covers or the pages where the rites of Necromancy and the spells of blood magic are written by the hand of the Great Necromancer. For this book comes from the land of Sylvania, and it once belonged to the foul Vlad von Carstein, the most infamous of all the Vampire Counts, who was defeated by the holy Grand Theogonist Wilhelm at the Siege of Altdorf.
A grand resource of treasure and flesh these lands could be, if a way were to be found to bend the will of the undead which rules these lands. A few subtle scouting trips up the Black Gulf would give us further insight to this desolate place.
Of Dwarfs
Dwarfs are an ancient race, wide of girth, strong of arm, and stubborn of mind. Unless killed in battle, a Dwarf can live to a very great age, as long as 400 years, though the Dwarfs claim that some of their Runesmiths have lived considerably longer. I can scarcely believe these tales, even though it is not in the Dwarf nature to lie.
Four-hundred years, a very great age? How laughable. I own kheitans of Dwarf-flesh much older than that.
The mighty Worlds Edge Mountains have been their home since time immemorial. Once, a long time ago, mighty Dwarf strongholds formed an unbroken chain along the mountain range. Great were the halls and vaults hewn out of the mountains, and great was the clamor of Dwarf hammering and song singing echoing in the depths. Now, alas, many of these once great holds resound only to the scampering feet of Goblins.
Dwarfs are the greatest smiths and craftsmen in the world. Not even Elven smiths can match the skill and care of the Dwarfs. It was the Dwarfs who in the days past forged the Runefangs, the twelve swords of the Empire, as a payment for Sigmar's help against the Orcs. Today they are symbols of office and authority of the Elector Counts of the Empire.
And yet man still does not enslave these masterful workers. I'm once again at a loss to the inefficiency of the minds of men.
Dwarfs are strong and unbending as stone (and some would say as forgiving) and grim as the mountains they live in. From Karaz-a-Karak, the most ancient of the Dwarf holds, the last High King of the Dwarfs wages a never-ending war against Orcs, Goblins, and other evil creatures. Each year Dwarf numbers dwindle. Each year the war becomes more desperate. Each year the enemies of the Dwarfs become more numerous. In my mind the wisdom of continuing the struggle is doubtful, even if its heroism is not. But as long as one of their warriors draws breath, the Dwarfs will not set aside their axes or forget their grudges.
In my youth I traveled to Karaz-a-Karak, the seat of the Dwarf High Kings to study their lore. For seven years I stood behind the door of the Hall of Remembrance to prove my dedication to learn the Dwarf Lore. Finally the locked doors were opened for me, and even then the Dwarf Loremasters were reluctant to part with their knowledge and only taught me because of the long-standing friendship between the Emperors and the Dwarf Kings.
I studied the Great Book of Grudges and the Book of Remembrance, where the history of the Dwarf race is recorded in the runescript, and the annals of their kings are kept, with each passing day recording in meticulous detail by the dozens of Dwarf scribes. The Great Book of Grudges holds the record of great breaches of faith against the Dwarf people. Its words are written in the blood of kings – so seriously do Dwarfs regard such matters.
The Book of Remembrance claims that during the ancient times the mighty Dwarf empire stretched across the entire Worlds Edge Mountains, from the lands of Norsca in the north to the distant Southlands, encompassing dozens of Dwarf Holds. But those days are now long gone, only a memory recited in sagas sung in the few Dwarf halls that still survive. For long before the time of Sigmar, there was a war in the Old World.
Dwarf fought Elf and Elf fought Dwarf. It seems that for an entire age the slaughter continued, and many great battles were fought where both races suffered terribly.
I'd wager the Elves, most notably, suffered from the stench of close-contact with the Dwarfs.
The war finally ended when the Dwarf High King defeated the Phoenix King in single battle and the Elves retreated from the Old World.
Huge earthquakes and volcanic eruptions shattered the vaults and chambers of the Dwarf holds and broke the power of the Dwarf empire for all time. Evil creatures from below the bowels of the earth then emerged to challenge the Dwarf supremacy of the mountains, and cast them onto the precipe of extinction where they now fight.
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"My god knows nothing of mercy...He does not forgive. He cares nothing for redemption. He simply hungers, and I live to see him fed."
-The Grand Carnifex of Har Ganeth (speaking of Khaela Mensha Khaine
