HORDES - Exigence

EVERY PROMISE HAS ITS PRICE
As titanic battles are fought across western Immoren, the

fires of a war more ancient and terrible than any of those
conducted by mortals are being stoked to world-consuming
fury. The leaders of the United Kriels fight to ensure their
survival by calling on both old and new allies, including the
recently awakened mountain kings. Aloof from the struggles
of the other factions, Xerxis leads an army in a risky gambit
amid the larger plans of Supreme Archdomina Makeda,
positioning the skorne to subjugate Ios. Meanwhile, events
already set in motion by Krueger the Stormlord threaten to
scar the face of Caen itself as he works toward his ultimate
goal: the destruction of the dragon Everblight. Ancient beings
advance toward an apocalyptic end game with no regard to
the innocents caught in their path, and only time will tell if
great heroes will find a way to forestall this doom.
HORDES: Exigence brings you the next thrilling chapter
of the HORDES saga. Hold nothing back in your fight for
survival with:
New warcasters, including new epic versions.
Three new character lesser warlocks who bring
even more furious support to your army.
New units and solos to expand HORDES armies with
new strategic possibilities.
New narrative fiction picking up directly after the
harrowing events of HORDES: Gargantuans.
A painting and modeling guide to help you prepare
your forces for battle.
Theme Force lists for each new warcaster, which
allow you to create armies based on specialized
forces found in the HORDES world.
Play HORDES against
ISBN: 978-1-939480-45-3 PIP 1058 $34.99 www.privateerpress.com
PIP 1058
AWAKEN YOUR FURY AND HOLD NOTHING

BACK IN THE WAR FOR SURVIVAL!
No matter how rash

they may have been,
it is too late by
far to undo the
decisions of the past.
and we can only
attempt to navigate
the storm.
Omnipotent Lortus
SPINE
Now the skies darken,
Credits
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NEW BLOOD RISES
Constant war has taken its toll on the savage nations of

Immoren. The unrelenting conflict has brought each of
them to the brink of costly victoryor utter annihilation.
With the stakes so high, desperate actions have been taken
in the name of survival. Determined to destroy Everblight,
Krueger the Stormlord is embroiled in the matters of ancient
forces far beyond his control. The trollkin leader Madrak
Ironhide must return to his kriels with the newly awakened
mountain kings, while Borka the Kegslayer undertakes a
perilous journey to the north. And Archdomina Makeda
pursues her invasion of the inhospitable nation of Ios,
whose land itself pushes against her. The unforeseeable
consequences of these and other world-changing choices
threaten to shake Caen to its core.
At the heart of these momentous events are individuals

whose deeds are certain to become legend. Indeed, the
crucible of war continually forges new heroes, and this
volume introduces many whose exploits will one day
shape the fates of their factions. While Minion lesser
warlocks have been available to players since MkI,
HORDES: Exigence marks the arrival of lesser warlocks in
the factions themselves. With these new lesser warlocks,
players can field and capably control a greater number of
fearsome creatures than ever before.
Exigence sees several powerful new character solos and
warbeasts rush to join the fight for survival as well. From
the leadership of Gunnbjorns personal dire troll Dozer and

his pyg rider Smigg to the berserker fury of the fellbladewielding farrow Maximus, these new characters open
up a wealth of opportunities for players as they struggle
toward victory.
Even as these new heroes step forward to bear the terrible
burdens of war, new weapons roll out from the most
unlikely of places. New gatorman and farrow battle
engines reinforce the Thornfall and Blindwater pacts with
their first huge-based models and bring new options for
other HORDES factions. Both the soul-fueled terrors of the
gatormans Sacral Vault and the sheer carnage wrought
by the maniacal rolling death machine that is the farrows
Meat Thresher are destined to make their mark on the everescalating wars in the wilds of Immoren.
A new style of warbeast also arrives on the battlefield.
Warbeast packs are an exciting opportunity for players to
meld the raw power and fury-generating capabilities of
classic warbeasts with the organization of a trooper unit.
Trained to utilize the weight of numbers to compensate for
their smaller size, these beasts coordinate attacks to bring
down the largest of foes in a flurry of tooth and claw.
Prepare yourself. This is warfare with the gloves off, bareknuckled and brutal. There is no time for hesitation or
restraint. Exigence is now!
Table of Contents
Blood Debt, part one. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Rules and Theme Forces. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Trollbloods. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Circle Orboros. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Skorne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4
16
20
36
52
Legion of Everblight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Minions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Model Gallery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Paint Guide. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Blood Debt, part two. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
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Blood Debt
Part One
Northern Wyrmwall Mountains, Late 608 AR
Hoarluk Doomshaper had done all he could to ensure the

powerful and voracious mountain kings would remain
responsive to Madrak Ironhide. He had no doubt Madrak
had the force of will to control them, but restraining so
many at once for an extended period of time would have
been a trial for anyone. After their battle with the forces of
the Circle Orboros high in the mountains, there had been
the question of what would come next. Doomshaper had
witnessed Madraks despondency when Rathrok returned
to him. Ironhide had for a moment thought himself free of
that yoke.
Yet the first thing Madrak had done, as they had begun
to contemplate their route down from the mountain, was
come to Doomshaper. He had promised to finish what he
had started, to be a kin of his word. He clearly did not look
forward to what lay ahead, yet he was willing to fulfill his
obligations.
The Shaman of the Gnarls had to admit he had misjudged
Ironhide. In the recent conflicts his respect for the
Thornwood leader had grown, a fact he admitted to himself
with something akin to irritation. He had long prided
himself on the sharpness of his mind, on how little he
allowed himself any sentimentality. A long life of making
tough decisions and committing to necessary sacrifices had
shaped a certain dour outlook. He did not like the notion of
growing soft in his declining years. Nonetheless, he could
not deny a certain fondness for Ironhide, despite the kins
distastefully humanish ideals.
When Madrak came to him, Doomshaper realized how
much things had changed. He still desired to see the humans
of northwestern Cygnar pay for their many injustices.
A reckoning was due them, and he hoped to deliver it
eventually. Now that the trollkin had the mountain kings,
they were more ready than ever for such a fight. But during
the ceremony of awakening his awareness had broadened.
He had sensed the scope and depth of Dhunia, and he now
knew his path lay elsewhere. In truth, things had changed
the moment Grim had brought evidence of the resting place
of those first long-buried kings, the primal hunger that had
been chained but not entirely forgotten.
Our paths will diverge, Doomshaper had told Madrak.
I release you of your obligations to me, at least for now.
Go with Grim and the rest of this army, and return with the
mountain kings to Grissel and your people. I suspect they
have need of you more than I do.
Madrak had blinked and looked at the elder trollkin with
evident surprise. He said, Where are you going, if not
with us? What of Ceryl?
Doomshaper had sighed, feeling the age in his bones. I

would like nothing more than to teach that city the folly
of disrespecting the kin of the Gnarls. Dhunia requires
something else of me. These fivehe waved his staff to
signify the gargantuan trollsare not all the mountain kings.
There are others, still chained beneath distant peaks. They
were roused by my rite and are ready to answer, but I must
collect them and guide them, lest they be discovered by our
enemies. The Tree of Fate cannot corrupt them now that they
are shaken from their slumber, but they do not understand
todays world. Should their hunger lead them into the lands
of man, they will be surrounded and eventually destroyed.
It is vital we preserve them and join their strength to ours. I
shall start in the frozen northern mountains.
Madrak had tried to hide it, but Doomshaper had been
able to tell he was relieved to be free of his obligation, glad
the attack on a major human city was delayed. It was to be
expected, but Doomshaper had still felt disappointed in this
persistent weakness. Ironhide was who he was, and it was
unlikely he would ever change.
As the day arrived for them to say their farewells, Madrak
came to him with Borka limping at his side. Doomshaper
scowled at them, having no interest in extended goodbyes.
Borka had been relatively quiet in the days since the battle,
and though he already looked better, the evidence of his
brush with death was plain. His leg would require time to
properly heal, having been nearly severed, and his missing
arm would not grow back for months. The northern warlock
had taken to eating and drinking a prodigious amount even
by his standards.
Madrak said to Doomshaper, Its vital you not travel north
alone.
The shaman pursed his lips. I will not be alone. Mulg will
be with me.
Not enough. I promised to see you returned safely, and
I do not consider that obligation fulfilled. Anything could
happen to you in the north. Borka will go with you, together
with some of his champions.
Borkas eyes looked unfocused; clearly he had already been
drinking heavily. Doomshaper snorted and said, He looks
to be more in need of protection than I. What use is he in
this state? He would only slow me down.
The younger shaman made an indignant noise and lifted his
mace. I can still fight, old stonebeard! No one knows the
northern lands like I do.
Madrak added, Rk has been pulling him on a wagon
while his leg mends.
Two drunkards for the price of one, Doomshaper said

sourly. I will make better time without them. It will be hard
enough evading Khadoran patrols with just Mulg. Adding
these two will invite disaster.
Ill feel better knowing they are with you, Madrak
insisted. And while he is in the north, Borka can gather
more of his kinfolk and additional winter trolls to join us.
Doomshaper could see his mind had been made up, and
though he expected Borkas demeanor would grate on
his nerves, he decided there would be no lasting harm in
allowing the pair to join him. Very well. He glared at
Borka. But I will not slow down for you. We have many
miles to cross.
Borka laughed. The day a kin your age outpaces me is the
day I let Rk bite off my head!
Doomshaper looked to Madrak and said, Do not blame me
if, when I return, Borka is shorter. Even this rare attempt at
humor elicited only a small, distracted smile from Ironhide,
who was looking to the horizon, his fingers tracing along
Rathroks haft. Doomshaper sighed and turned north,
leaving the chieftain to his inner turmoil.
Northern Thornwood, Early 609 AR
Skll gave an almost joyful wild cry as he leapt forward

from between twisted, dark trees. He brought his weighty
axe crashing down through the skull of a blighted Nyss
swordsman, who dropped at once, his single-edged blade
tumbling from his fingers. Skll yanked the axe loose and
stepped swiftly to the side as another swordsman lunged for
him, narrowly missing the blood-drenched Wurm cultist. His
eyes upon another foe, Skll did not even look back. He swung
his axe into the ribs of the next enemy, whose leather armor
posed no hindrance. The swordsman Skll had first evaded
turned to strike at his open side but was thwarted by a shadow
that emerged from the darkness with a cleft sword in hand.
Tala ran the Nyss through, showing a feral grin from
beneath the bears skull she wore as a helmet. She held the
dying Nyss up, suspended upon the tines of her divided
blade, and watched as he died. After letting her enemy fall
to the soil, she used a shorter blade to cut open his chest,
then reached in to claim his heart and liver.
They taste foul, Skll warned her. Their flesh is tainted.
Tainted or not, the Wurm will still accept the offering, she
said. It is the killing that matters.
More come! Caleb shouted from their left. He wielded
iron claws strapped to his wrists and wore a tattered wolf
cloak stained with both fresh and old blood.
The sounds of fighting carried through the trees as dozens
of Wolves and Reeves of Orboros engaged the blighted foe.
Combining forces with so many was unusual for them;

the Death Wolves preferred to fight apart, even when they
answered the blackclads call to battle. None of the masters
of the hunt dared command them, for Skll was a king in
his own right. Although he respected Wolf Lord Morraig,
he recognized no man as his master, not even the druids
who were blessed to be conduits for the Wurm. Still, they
acknowledged there was a special place among them for the
Stormlord, he who had been marked by the Tree of Fate and
who had feasted on hearts alongside the Tharn, so Skll had
answered Kruegers call, all the more eagerly because he
knew it would be a battle of few against many. It was in just
such fights that the trio could revel in death and carnage.
Through the trees now came fleet, shadowy forms. Skll
stepped forward, his axe at the ready, knowing Tala
and Caleb were with him. They did not need to speak to
coordinate their actions in battle.
She held the dying Nyss up,

suspended upon the tines
of her divided blade, and
watched as he died.
These oncoming Nyss had been twisted even more by
the blight. Their legs were transformed, giving them
tremendous alacrity, and they came with blighted blades in
hand. Those weapons shimmered darkly, as though an oily
film was upon them. He could smell their wrongness. His
lip curled as he snarled, and then he was closing to meet
them. He would deliver their feeble souls to the Wurm, and
their power would become his. He shared a brief look with
Tala, and then the fight was joined again.
Clouds churned in the sky and the trees were whipped by

wind and rain as Krueger the Stormlord soared through the
air, riding the wind as he looked down from a distance on the
skirmish below. He was keenly aware his lofty vantage was no
real security, as among the forces he faced were a large number
of flying beasts, including those larger and more powerful
than any he had previously seen among Everblights legion.
It was disconcerting to witness how quickly the dragons
mutable army adapted and added to its arsenal, shaping living
weapons from butchered meat transformed by the protean
blood of their progenitor. Among the soldiers fighting below
were forms he had never seen before, though they were led
by a Nyss archer he had seen from a distance. He knew her to
be a singularly deadly huntress, likely the one responsible for
Baldurs fall after the Castle of the Keys.
Blood Debt, Part One
For the moment he had no desire to join battle personally,

and it seemed his enemies were focused on their immediate
environs. The distance was such he was sure he could
withdraw if the enormous archangels or the swifter angelii
took wing toward him. Several watchful Scarsfell griffons
circled at an even greater height, linked to Kruegers mind.
He was prepared to sacrifice them to protect himself, but
that necessity had not yet come to pass. Wolds bonded to
Krueger fought alongside the Wolves of Orboros below, but
he was too far away to direct them. Everything about this
encounter suggested needless waste. It left a bitter taste in his
mouth. His priority at the moment, however, was to gather
information, to test the capabilities and limits of the newer
spawn, particularly those that had so alarmed the dragons.
a splinter of his scattered forces led by one of his braver

chieftains probe inward as ordered, seeking to provoke the
enemy. One of the archangels gave a shriek and took to
wing to confront them. It soared past and breathed searing
fire across the onrushing Wolves, setting them ablaze.
They tumbled screaming to the earth, their bodies quickly
transformed to ash. The spawn gained some altitude and
then plunged to rend apart a woldwatcher, its claws and
fangs shattering granite as easily as hardened clay. Several
war wolves leapt up to tear at the archangels limbs and
were lit afire by the shroud of flickering flame surrounding
the massive creature, which clawed them to bloody, burning
pieces before flying back closer to the others.
This had been what he had told the rotting and robed
emissary of Blighterghast, who Krueger knew was nearby,
watching. The Stormlords arrangement with the most
powerful dragon of Toruks brood had become strained.
Speaking through his emissary, Blighterghast had ordered
him here to eliminate the archangels, great and fearsome
dragonspawn whose form too closely emulated the dragons
themselves in miniature.
The shifting ranks of Nyss archers and swordsmen filled

the gap. They were being cautious, uncertain how sizable
the Circle forces ambushing them truly were. Krueger
knew this would not last long. The hills, trees, and fog
helped to some degree, hindering the Nyss soldiers if not
the spawn. All battles between the Circle and the Legion
had been similarelusive fencing with skirmish forces.
Neither army was comfortable engaging massed troops
in the open.
As yet, the archer warlock had kept these largest spawn

in reserve. As Krueger watched from on high, he saw
He had been startled to realize the scope of Everblights

forces advancing south, far more numerous than what he or
Morvahna had anticipated. They were not a single cohesive

army but instead comprised many scattered bands of
soldiers and dragonspawn. Though these secondary groups
were slightly dispersed, each represented substantial
reinforcements. Furthermore, each individual group moved
as though it were part of a single organism, which in a sense
it was. Everblights attention appeared to be fixated with
the same unwavering intensity as when he had advanced
on the Castle of the Keys.
Krueger had quickly assessed there was no way at present
for the Circle Orboros to thwart these enemies by force of
arms. Though substantial, his army was still only partially
mustered, while Morvahnas allies had been depleted at
Hawksmire River. Nor did he have any simple or expedient
way to obliterate these archangels without embroiling more
of his forces in this clash than he was willing to spare. Such
an effort would do little to diminish Everblight. If the Circle
had learned one thing in the last several years, it was how
easily and quickly the dragon could replace his spawn.
The futility of this battle kindled Kruegers rage, and the
storm around him answered in bolts of lightning and
rumbling thunder. He had already delivered to the dragon
alliance the means through which their ultimate victory
could be assured. This entire conflict was a distractionone
that could undermine everything. He had seen enough.
The difficulty rested in explaining that fact to an immortal
dragon who cared not for any of his concerns. To
Blighterghast, Krueger and every druid and warrior serving
him were as insignificant as insects. Their deaths, whether
singly or by the thousands, meant nothing. Nonetheless,
Krueger would not allow himself or his forces to be simply
thrown away. It was his agenda they followed, his insight
that had created an opportunity to rid themselves of their
greatest foe. He would simply have to force the issue.
As Krueger had anticipated, the Legion did not pursue his

withdrawing forces. They were focused on other goals. His
strike had delayed this force of Everblights army, but only
slightly. Also as he expected, he did not retreat far before he
was intercepted by the white-robed form of the once-human
creature now serving as the conduit for Blighterghasts voice
to lesser mortals like himself. The rotted man stood on a
thick lower branch of a decaying tree in their path. Krueger
directed his subordinates to keep moving and then took
to the air, drifting serenely up to meet with the emissary,
ignoring the smell of the rotten flesh.
You have not completed the task, the emissary said in a
disapproving tone.
I have seen enough to tell you they are simply dragonspawn,
nothing more. Greater and more powerful than others, but
still only spawn. Killing them would gain you little.
It is not your place to decide that. If you lack the power to
destroy them, you are worthless to me. The robed form,
whose disfigured face was lost in the shadows of his hood,
gave these words no emotional weight, but Krueger felt
the threat behind them. He was not speaking simply to this
proxy. He knew these were the words of Blighterghast.
I could destroy them, Krueger said, but not with what
I have gathered here. Everblights forces are too strong,
and his minions will not risk their spawn unnecessarily.
Committing to their destruction here and now will require
greater effort than it is worth.
Feeble excuses. You are breaking our bargain? The
question carried ominous finality.
He dropped lower and sent lightning from his fingertips

to plunge with rending power into the enemy, leaping
from one form to the next. He summoned his griffons and
descended low enough to fill the woldwardens below him
with strength and his will. A tremendous wailing wall of
sundering air was unleashed as he invoked his power, and
even as lightning cleaved through some warriors, other
Nyss were hurtled backward by a blast of wind. Flying
spawn and archers arrows tumbled and scattered midflight.
Not at all. You have listened to my words before; I ask only

that you do so again. Why is it so important to you that
the archangels be destroyed at this moment? I understand
their form offends you. We can tear them down in time. But
focusing on them now is taking us from our true task, the
solution I set before you that will bring about the destruction
of Everblight. A few spawn more or lesseven great ones
like thesewill be of no consequence. Allow me to bring
our true task to completion. It cannot be done without the
cooperation of your alliance.
His commanders recognized his signal to retreat, and horns

sounded the call for withdrawal. Krueger had bought the
nearest forces some time. He directed his beasts and wolds
to cover those who remained, knowing even as he did so
that many would die here, their broken bodies adding to the
detritus of the forest floor. The Thornwood had always been
a place where the soil was hungry for blood. The gallows
groves would drink well tonight.
The emissary was silent for what seemed too long.

Krueger looked down and past the figure, to where the
withdrawing Circle forces were marching. He saw several
subordinate blackclads looking up to where he spoke with
the dragons emissary, but on seeing his attention they
quickly looked away. None of them were comfortable with
or understood the arrangement, nor did they comprehend
why he had entered into an arrangement with Morvahna

only to abandon it. The fear and awe he had created in his
subordinates sustained them despite these questions, but he
knew that would not always be the case.
Linking his fate to the dragons had left him uniquely
vulnerable in more ways than one. Krueger feared some
of his efforts might be unraveling before his eyes, but he
refused to allow that. He had gone too far to turn back
now. What they hoped to undertake required coordination
between the dragons. The moment they began, it was
highly likely that the entire hierarchy of the Circle would
be alerted and work to reverse what he had done as swiftly
as possible.
Linking his fate to the

dragons had left him
uniquely vulnerable in more
ways than one.
At last the emissary spoke. It is to ensure our plan proceeds
that the archangels must be destroyed.
Kruegers eyes narrowed and he said, Why? Explain.
Allow me to perceive the problem, and perhaps I can arrive
at a different solution. This was a dangerous statement,
given the nature of a dragons ego. Krueger was counting
on the fact that Blighterghast might recognize the potential
usefulness of a mortals perspective.
Another long silence passed, and then the emissary spoke
slowly, as if translating the words into a human language
was an unpleasant chore. Charsaug did battle with the
archangels to the north and took injury. He withdrew. He
is newly arrived in the west, long remote from our alliance,
and his confidence in the necessity of unity is fragile. I had
set him to the first task in the sequence you described. We
are forestalled unless I replace him, which would provoke
questions. His reluctance would spread. I can neither force
obedience nor allow disobedience. It is only on one matter
that our alliance shares absolute agreement.
Torukand the need to stand against him, Krueger said.
The emissary nodded. The resumption of Charsaugs part
in this is conditional on the destruction of the archangels.
Krueger considered this seemingly petty request in light
of the pride and arrogance of the dragons. He mulled over
the many layers of meaning between the emissarys spoken
words. Those few simple sentences revealed a great deal about
the nature of the dragons and their reluctant cooperation. He
had always thought Blighterghast ruled the dragons of his
alliance more absolutely, but there was a certain logic in the
idea that every such creature would view itself as sovereign.
The Circles own hierarchy was contingent on a similar clash
of egos, and they were mortal and far more limited. He

had also learned that the dragonsthough mighty enough
individually to destroy vast armieswere in some respects
craven. Their very immortality would not allow them to
confront potential peril.
At last he said, Allow me to speak with Charsaug directly.
The emissarys lips compressed into a grimace. Krueger
continued, I can persuade him. I am certain of it.
If you were to go to him, it is likely he would destroy you.
I will take the risk, Krueger insisted. In his present mood
he felt more inclined to risk the ire of a dragon than to allow
himself or his army to be slaughtered in some meaningless
gesture. Forewarn him I am coming and explain I have
been a guest of yours. I will see to it Charsaug does what
we require.
Very well, the emissary said.
Just one thing, Krueger said. When dealing with
immortals he had discovered they had an annoying habit
of forgetting the limitations of other beings. Where might
Charsaug be found?
Southern Iosan Mountains
They are holed up inside the tunnels, Lord Assassin. They

are well barricaded and well armed. They can fire down the
main tunnel with impunity on any who approach. Though
the Venator dakar maintained his discipline, Morghoul
could easily read his apprehension. The officer clearly knew
he had failed to accomplish what he had been ordered to do.
They stood outside the entrance to an Iosan mining complex
that had until recently been protected by the Twilight Gate.
Morghoul asked, Did you have a plan of action?
Dakar Kelartex inclined his head slightly. We are prepared
to advance to force engagement. However, before taking
that step I wanted to seek to neutralize them from afar if
possible. Paingiver Nikexis thought there might be a way
to create a soporific smoke by making use of chymicals
ordinarily utilized to pacify enraged beasts. I sent him to
recover as much of the substance as he could, but it may
take several days to make arrangements. I thought it best to
send word in case a delay would be unacceptable.
It is unacceptable, Morghoul affirmed, and he saw the
officers lips compress. There are other mines to secure,
each defended. It is vital we begin to reap their benefits for
the empire.
My soldiers are fully ready and willing to attack, but I was
concerned regarding the needless casualties we might incur.
Morghoul tilted his head and examined the dakar with
an appraising eye. An unusual sentiment for a follower
of hoksune. The officer looked down, clearly anticipating

some sort of disciplinary measure. Fortunately for you,
I am no tyrant. Your caution is well considered, given the
losses we sustained in breaching the fortress. Morghoul
knew reinforcements would take time, and he could expect
an Iosan counterattack at any moment. His garrison could
not afford to waste soldiers needlessly. Makeda had taken
the bulk of their army north, marching into the forest maze,
leaving him with a much smaller force. The notion of
employing sleeping smoke to disable the enemy was a good
one, but we do not have the time.
The dakar stood straighter, relief evident in his posture if
not in his stony expression. What are your orders, Lord
Assassin?
Hold position and await my orders to advance. I will clear
the Iosan barricade.
Morghoul brought a pair of basilisks with him as he moved
swiftly but quietly into the mine entrance. Although he had
been ordered by Makeda to ensure their hold on the Twilight
Gate specifically, he did not consider it beneath him to take
a personal role in securing these nearby facilities. While he
had left the majority of his small army back at the fortress,
he had sent a few hand-picked datha to seize as many of the
nearest Iosan mines and quarries as they could. To avoid the
Iosans adapting to their presence, they needed to proceed
from one to the next as swiftly as possible.
Relying on the extended supply chain across the Bloodstone
Desert to skorne territory left them in an extremely
vulnerable position, so Makeda had made it a priority for
their western holdings to become more self-sufficient. The
conquest into southern Ios was an opportunity to see that
come to pass, so long as they could secure immediately
useful resources. They had already seized several iron
mines and had allocated slaves to work day and night
in order to maximize production. The mine he entered
now was another matter. The extollers had suggested the
exalted ancestors had a special interest in it, though they
had been unclear why.
Morghoul did not care for questioning extollers, as he
was suspicious of everything they said. He knew the
ancestors preserved in sacral stones were cryptic, as their
minds occupied a state very different from those of the
living, but he felt the extollers used this as a convenient
excuse to withhold information, leveraging their value as
translators and intermediaries. It was unfortunate he had
rarely been allowed to apply the paingiver arts to them;
he was certain he could encourage clearer answers with a
bit of care and attention.
The large entrance shaft bored into the mountain was lit by
a cold, bluish-green radiance provided by gleaming glass
crescents set at regular intervals. Iosan mines were more

ordered and cleaner than seemed natural to Morghouls
eyes. He had been in skorne mines before, and his memory
of them was of noisy, smelly, and perilous places filled
with the groans of slaves, the cracking of whips, and the
constant din of tools striking rock. This place was as quiet
as a tomb, and the perfectly level and clean floor was
finished as though it were an underground hall rather than
a place of hard labor.
Morghoul strode swiftly between the pools of light created
by the sconces on either side of the tunnel, so as to remain
as much in shadow as possible. His warbeasts followed,
the clawed feet of the basilisks at the fore scrabbling upon
the stone. Ahead he saw an obstruction in the tunnel where
thick crates had been piled. He saw the gleam of eyes or
lenses peering over the top and what might have been the
ends of rifle barrels. Even as he came to this conclusion he
reached with his mind to connect with the female krea,
summoning his will to manifest an aura of mystical power
around himself and urging the krea to project a similar
protective bubble around both basilisks.
Almost immediately the still air erupted with the reports
of rifle fire. Morghoul broke into a run, then tumbled and
stayed low while bullets whizzed by him. As each one
neared and entered the aura he had created from the kreas
essence, it slowed visibly, just enough to allow him to
evade. The defenders were firing blind, barely able to see
the approaching assassin, but some of these bullets found
the toughened hide of his warbeasts, which hissed in anger
even though the slowed projectiles did little more than
draw blood. Had it not been for the kreas aura, his beasts
would certainly have fared worse. Those enemies who fired
first ducked out of sight, presumably to reload, while others
took their places to launch another volley. Morghoul could
hear an Iosan officer yelling orders.
A pair of louder blasts announced the firing of two long and
heavy rifles fixed on bipods atop the improvised barricade.
Morghoul stepped to the side, but he was not their target.
Both bullets found their mark in the hide of the krea.
Connected to the beasts mind, Morghoul felt its pain as
the heavy projectiles plowed through its body, rupturing
several internal organs, and exploded out its back. The
warbeast shrieked and shook its head, but Morghoul urged
it on. The male basilisk rushed forward at even greater
speed, eager to kill whatever threatened its mate.
Morghoul invoked his mortitheurgy to transform his
body into shadow even as the next volley fired. He passed
through the barricade blocking the tunnel as if it were
nothing more than smoke. In one hand he carried his sword;
in the other, his bladed fan. He emerged in the midst of the
Iosan riflemen as an incarnation of death, leveraging all his

strength in a series of graceful sweeps of both blade and
fan that left eight of the nearest soldiers dead or mortally
injured, their blood spreading across the stones of the
tunnel floor in a widening pool. Several survivors yelled in
anger as they drew swords, while other soldiers armed with
halberds who had been standing ready farther back from
the barricade rushed toward him.
Marketh nodded to himself and said, more to himself

than Morghoul, I am pleased I interpreted their words
correctly. He then looked up to the lord assassin and said,
This area is particularly rich in the stones and crystals
receptive to mortitheurgy. In particular, this mine will allow
us to craft sacral stones and to fabricate especially resilient
vessels for immortals and ancestral guardians.
An angry sizzling and popping noise filled the mine as

the enraged basilisk released the unearthly energies of
its gaze upon the barricade, burning through the left
side. The reptilian creature opened a hole large enough
to squeeze through and came for the nearest surviving
riflemen. Morghoul neatly evaded the awkward lunges of
the halberdiers and then vanished in shadow to reappear
directly behind them. He cut through the back of the neck of
the nearest, neatly severing the Iosans spine, then twisted
to the side to plunge his blades point up and into the armpit
of another.
The lord assassin felt satisfied to have at last received an

answer, although he suspected the aptimus could have told
him this earlier. Still, he could see the value in such a find.
Until now most such vital materials had to be shaped and
carved in the east, sent at considerable expense across the
sands. The ability to fabricate superior stone warriors was
of obvious military application. But it was difficult to feel
too triumphant over such an accomplishment while the
supreme archdomina risked her life marching north across
uncertain terrain and facing an utterly unpredictable and
inadequately scouted foe. Furthermore, his instincts told
him his own position would likely be challenged soon.
Seeing Morghoul inside his halberds reach, a third clumsily

moved to tackle the assassin but received the bladed edge
of his Fan of Shadows across the throat. Wet noises and
screams issued from those who fought the basilisk, which
had bit off the face of the nearest. Soon Morghoul was joined
by the wounded but angry krea, which made short work of
another Iosan. The lord assassin finished the last enemy but
did not spare any time to savor his victory, knowing more
defenders might be waiting farther within. Compelling his
basilisks after him, he descended deeper.
Morghoul was wiping the blood of the last of the Iosans

from his sword when his Venators and Aptimus Marketh
arrived. The lord assassin had sent the wounded krea back
to the surface to indicate it was safe for the others to venture
into the tunnels and awaited them in what looked to be an
ore processing room. It wasnt far from the chamber where
he had imprisoned those miners who had surrendered and
would soon become slaves, destined to labor in these same
mines for the skorne.
Morghoul addressed Marketh. Now will you reveal why
this particular mine was of interest?
The senior extoller did not answer at first but scanned the
chamber. His eyes traced along a variety of machinery whose
function and power source were entirely unfamiliar to him.
He walked forward and looked at chunks of shattered and
ground earth, including multiple metal-reinforced wooden
bins where various grades of stone had been sorted. He
reached down and drew one forth. It looked relatively
unremarkable to Morghoul, although he could see one side
was glasslike and shiny, perhaps a piece of obsidian.
10
Morghoul said, Ill leave this facility to your discretion,

Aptimus. He turned to the senior Venator. Dakar Keltartek,
see to the protection of this facility and the integration of
these slaves. We will ensure more are sent to join them.
After hearing their affirmation, he climbed up through the
tunnels toward the exit of the mine, anxious to return to the
Twilight Gate and hoping the garrison there was ready for
the counterattack the Iosans would inevitably muster.
Between Blindwater Lake and

Bloodsmeath Marsh
Jaga-Jaga strode the stagnant waters connecting the lesser

lakes and streams northeast of Blindwater Lake. A pair of
boneswarms accompanied her, their massed skeletal forms
moving with sinuous grace through the shallow water.
Not far behind her was a tentacled swamp horror, mostly
submerged, with its upper eyes and domed, armored head
breaking the waters surface. Jaga-Jagas senses were open
to the rich diversity of death around her. Each swamp and
river had its own community of the lingering dead, and
Jaga-Jaga had become a connoisseur of their distinctions.
She sometimes still felt an instinctive longing for the
muddy banks of the Marchfells, where she had clawed her
way from hatchling to adulthood. Despite this, she had to
admire the richness and power surrounding Blindwater
and the Bloodsmeath Marsh to its north, here on the eastern
fringes of the Thornwood Forest. She had yet to find any
other place where there persisted so many layers of detritus,
both physical and spiritual. Every beast and animal that
had died here had contributed spiritual essence to the soil,
layered along with their rotting flesh but lingering long after
only bones remained. Intelligent beings with more cohesive
souls more often passed to Urcaen, but sometimes they,
too, were trapped, caught by ropy tendrils of spirit-vines.

Added to this were the long-swallowed ruins of ancient
civilizations, where thousands of years ago sacrificial rites
had been performed to appease a greater darkness. The
gatormen, Tharn, and trollkin who had inherited the region
had continued to soak it in blood.
The recent wars of humanity were the latest to add to this
spiritual sediment. The recent dead could be set upon by
older haunts, being pulled down and bound to the swamp
itself even as they thrashed in impotent rage, ultimately
transforming into something else. Malevolent spirits rose
from these tormented dead. Mystics like Jaga-Jaga knew that
predation did not end with death and that a separate contest
of wills persisted among the howling wisps and spirits
lingering on Caen, each seeking to consume the others.
Her keen eyes looked past the struggle of these invisible
beings, seeking something larger. Other eyes also watched
the movements around hereyes belonging to the small
undead tatzylwurm curled around her shoulders. The
tatzylworms myriad eyes pierced the fog and darkness,
and it was ready to lend her its power should any threat
emerge to challenge her. It hissed and clicked its jaws,
affirming her course.
For weeks spirits had been whispering to her that some
greater entity stood in her path. They had guided her here, to
this place. Now Jaga-Jaga sensed a weight, something from
the spirit world seeking ingress. She felt a pressure bearing
down on her skull and pressing at the back of her eyes as
the fog around her thickened. She drew on her own power,
wrapping herself in it and letting it suffuse her scales. She
felt no fear, as she was one with the spirit world and her
guardians were close. Even with decades of familiarity in
manipulating and speaking to such beings, however, she
sensed something different this time, something far greater.
It was both familiar and utterly alien to her.
The lesser spirits around her scattered and fled, each with
a silent psychic shriek of terror. The void they left was
pregnant with rising dread. The swamp around her grew
absolutely silent as every creature down to the smallest
mosquito fled or was frozen in terror.
The shallow waters immediately before her became utterly
still. The cattails at the waters edge blackened and wilted,
then fell over one by one. The surface of the water ahead
dipped as though a great stone had been dropped, sending
large ripples spreading outward. The entire area was
swallowed in dense fog, and she could barely see. A void
came into being in the air before her, drawing in the nearest
wisps of vapor to swallow them into its blackness. She was
transfixed by the sight, one she remembered from dreams.
The void became the gullet of a massive hinged and scaled
maw bristling with hooked teeth. She had the sensation
of falling toward that mouth, where she knew she would

be devoured. Though every fiber of her being insisted she
should run, or at least step away, she held her ground.
This was Kossk, the greatest of spirits, the progenitor god
of the gatormen. Into Kossks maw all things eventually
fall. One could not entreat Kossk. It did not think or plan
as mortals did. It merely was, an embodiment of hunger
and the need to gnash flesh with rending teeth. Jaga-Jaga
opened her arms, and the living snake she held writhed
on her right arm while the dead tatzylwurm slid along the
left. She let waves of hunger and thirst for blood fill her. In
this ravenous state she felt her mind crack open. Even as
she staggered from an onslaught of visions, Kossk loomed
above, snout opened wide. She was grasped by powerful
jaws and felt the fetid heat of the spirits breath. Knowing
this was her ultimate fate, she savored the ecstasy even amid
the pain as the great gods teeth bit through her scales and
tasted her flesh.
The lesser spirits around

her scattered and fled,
each with a silent psychic
shriek of terror.
With a rush the vision was gone. She stood once more in
the swamp, intact, though she could still feel the pressure
of those teeth. Familiar sounds resumed around her as the
animals and insects returned to their struggle for survival.
Jaga-Jagas mind reeled with what she had seen in those
moments before the spirit had seemed to consume her.
Never before had she received such a direct vision from
Kossk. It left her shaken. She knew she must go to Barnabas
and tell him what she had seen.
Barnabas listened in silence, his hooded and masked visage

inscrutable. He stood atop a low stepped pyramid erected of old
unearthed stones that overlooked the shore of Blindwater Lake.
Great stacks of skulls set with flickering candles surrounded
him. This was where he preferred to receive his supplicants, in
full view of the huts stretching out in all directions. the homes
of those tribes he had assembled and which served him. A
dozen of the strongest gatorman warriors stood nearby with
weapons in hand to ensure no one approached that Barnabas
did not wish to see. The only other figure close enough to hear
Jaga-Jaga was Calaban the Grave Walker.
Though he was masked, Jaga-Jaga could sense the scorn
radiating from Calaban. She paid it little attention. Ever
11

since she had arrived, Calaban had resented the fact that
Barnabas listened to her. She had no interest in usurping
his position, but he could not be convinced of that. JagaJaga did not care. Let him worry and fret, obsessed with
temporal authority and power. Though he was a powerful
bokor, his worldly ambitions limited his insight into the
spirit world.
Calaban, your thoughts? Barnabas asked in his deep
voice after an extended silence. She had described the
vision Kossk had given herfirst, a great site of carnage
with gatormen, farrow, and trollkin slaughtering each other
upon blood-red sands as the sun burned in the sky above.
Next, Barnabas flanked by sacral vaults and standing upon
a mountain of corpses, his chest split open but his heart still
beating, his posture one of triumph.
The moment you become an

obstacle to my ascension,
you cease to exist.
It seems a warning, though I cannot fathom a reason to
go so far into the Bloodstone Marches in the first place.
Calabans voice conveyed derision, and his masked face
turned toward Jaga-Jaga accusingly. He attempted to convey
dominance, though it was difficult for him to hold the stance
near Barnabas. The compulsion to abase oneself before the
ancient warlock was strong. Even in silent contemplation,
Barnabas was an avatar of latent killing force. It is a fate
easily avoided.
A warning? Barnabas repeated slowly, turning to face
the bokor and stepping closer, his fangs bared. Calabans
attempt to be regal crumbled, and he backed away, lowering
his head submissively. Barnabas said, The moment you
become an obstacle to my ascension, you cease to exist.
Calaban clearly realized his mistake. Forgive me,
hok-shisan! Kossk is an entity to be appeased, not one
petitioned for guidance. He was insightful enough to say
less rather than more.
Barnabas tilted his head slightly and turned back to JagaJaga. It is clear to me this vision speaks to my destiny. Still,
I have never once made offerings to that god. What am I to
Kossk? More importantly, what is Kossk to me?
These were dangerous questions, and Jaga-Jaga knew she
must proceed with caution. She had spoken of her beliefs to
Barnabas before, but it was a treacherous topic. The active
worship of Kossk among his followers sometimes provoked
rage in Barnabas, who was prone to seeing this as a threat
12
to his power. To him, Kossk was a rival, a potential enemy.

Jaga-Jaga had her own beliefs on this, but they were matters
she spoke of only after careful consideration.
You have not sought Kossk, but I have, she said. This
vision is not a warning, not a command, only a glimpse
of a possible future. Kossk does not stand in the way of
your goals. She did not tell him his success would be an
affirmation of Kossk, not a denial. In this, Kossk may serve
as a guide.
Barnabas stared at her warily, clearly skeptical of her
words, yet she also sensed eagerness. He wished to believe
the vision. It was impossible to ascertain the depths of his
ancient and labyrinthine mind, but she knew he had long
sought confirmation that his goal of achieving divinity was
achievable.
After a respectful pause she said, The great spirits do not
see the world or our choices as we do. Past and future are
the same to them. Kossk does not think. Kossk does not
plan. He simply is. This vision is an answer to my desires.
It is a glimpse of a future aligned with what I sought.
Kossk is not aware of what the vision revealed, only that
it is truth.
Barnabas opened his mouth and made a hissing sound, a
rare sign of pleasure. He does not know. But he answers.
Yes, I see. A stupid and blind god, yet his hunger serves
me. He turned to Calaban and said, Gather all our forces.
We will follow the rivers as far as we can, and then we
march into the burning sands.
Jaga-Jaga felt both excitement and trepidation at this
proclamation, knowing she had set in motion something that
could not be undone. She wondered if she had interpreted
the visions correctly. In the end, all she could do was offer
what wisdom she had received from the spirits. She glanced
briefly at Calaban, who shot her a brief spiteful look, his
malice quite evident, before he inclined his head very low
to Barnabas and backed away.
It shall be as you command, hok-shisan, he said.
Scarsfell Forest, Northern Khador
It had been almost two years since Borka had felt the cold
bite of his homeland upon his flesh and had tasted its sharp,
pine-laced morning air upon his tongue. He remembered the
day Madrak came, foolishly seeking the aid of the Scarsfell
elders. First the Thornwood chieftain asked for sanctuary.
When that was denied him, he asked for warriors. Those
were refused him as well.
Borka saw the darkness surrounding Madrak, but where
the feeble elders found reason to fear, Borka perceived a
fire burning within his belly. He pledged himself and those
of his kith who had joined him to follow Madrak so they
might enjoy the glory and honor that were sure to find the
chieftain, cursed as he was to a life of never-ending battle.
In some respects his expectations had been fulfilled. There
had been plenty of battlessome simple, others glorious.
He had reveled in the challenge of what the next day
might bring, each one a test of combat more dangerous
than the last. By day he enjoyed the feel of his enemies
bodies crushed beneath his blows, the sight of their blood
spilled across the hungry earth. By night he celebrated
with drinking, carousing, and exchanging brags about past
exploits before accepting the oblivion of sleep.
But he had learned none could walk beside Madrak Ironhide
and hope to entirely escape the touch of death.
As if bidden by the thought, there was a sudden jolt as
his wagon struck a rough patch of ground. Borka felt his
leg knot and an uncomfortable stiffness radiate through
the limb, causing him to grimace. He moved to rub the
leg, but only one hand fell upon the sore muscle. He
growled in frustration as he was reminded once more
that although he felt his other arm, it was whole only in
his mind. Where it should be he had only the constant
itch of its slow regeneration. He had wrapped the end of
the limb in cloth so he did not have to witness its partially
re-formed state.
He had sought battle and had found glory in Madraks
wake, and with it he had nearly found death. Borka cast
the grim thought from his mind as quickly as it surfaced.
Death was always a possibility in battle, a fact he hadnt
ever let needle him before. He focused on his impatience
to regain his former strength. Hed never had to wait so
long to recover from injuriesalthough, admittedly, hed
never lost an arm and come close to losing a leg before.
The Tharn chieftains axes had inflicted a heavy toll on
his body.
Borkas empty belly growled loudly, and he clenched his
jaw. This increased need to feast was a normal part of the
healing process, but that made it no less distracting. The
gnawing hunger that was his constant companion did
nothing to improve his sour mood.
Wurms bowels! You incompetent troll, are you trying to
strike every hole and rock on this trail?! Borka bellowed at
the hulking back of his dire troll Rk, who pulled the wagon
that carried him. If his harsh words affected the dire troll,
Rk made no outward acknowledgement. Indeed, Borka
sensed the creature took some amusement from having him
at his mercy.
Borka had insisted on using the lumbering dire troll to pull
the wagon rather than a pair of bison, which would have
been more suited to the task. But at least with Rk he could
maintain some modicum of direct mental control. Borka
now urged the warbeast to stop. He was tired of being

carted about like a feeble old human. He needed a walk.
More importantly, he needed a drink.
Bracing himself against the protestations of his still-tender
leg, Borka swung down from the wagon, being sure to place
the bulk of his weight on his good leg as he hit the ground.
The other leg he had retained after the fight, though it had
been connected only by the smallest strip of flesh. It would
be back to normal well before his arm, but for the moment
it still troubled him. He let out a long breath as he steadied
himself before making his way toward one of the supply
wagons. He was pleased to find that the pain, which had
plagued him since he had parted ways with Madrak, had
begun to abate.
He raised his hand in greeting to one of his sons, who was
driving a supply wagon laden with ale kegs. The kegs
bore markings in several different languages, having been
appropriated by the United Kriels from a number of unwary
merchant caravans.
It is good to see you up, sire, the young trollkin said.
Borka sought to remember his name. He was fond of his
offspring, but there were so many it was sometimes hard to
distinguish them. Drogal, he thought.
It is good to be up. Borka motioned his chin toward the
barrels stacked in the back of the wagon. What vintage
would you recommend to a shaman with a powerful
thirst?
Drogal smiled. Theres a powerful brew from Ord in the
black walnut barrel that the boys have found worthy of a
warriors thirst.
Borka nodded in approval and tossed a large stein from
his waist at him. Waste no more of my time and fetch a
draught. As his kith scrambled down from the wagon and
hurried to do as bid Borka felt the hunger gnaw painfully
at his belly. And find me some food. Ive the hunger of a
dire troll!
Drogal came back quickly with a hunk of cold, greasy
mutton and the stein filled to the brim with frothy ale.
The sight of the food only increased Borkas hunger. He
snatched the offerings greedily from his son and wolfed
down the cold meat, following it with the entire stein of ale
in one swig. Borka thrust the stein hard into Drogals hands,
knocking the trollkin back slightly.
More. And this time dont be stingy with the meat, he
said. His son blinked before nodding and rushing to do as
bid. Borka knew the chunk of mutton had been a reasonable
portion, but the hunger that gnawed at him did not agree.
Good, a gruff voice said behind him. The more you eat,
the faster you will heal.
13
Borka turned. Standing closer than he would have expected

was Doomshaper. Borka grunted. For a trollkin so old, you
move quietly.
And it seems you possess the manners of a dire troll in
addition to the appetite.
Borka grimaced but bit his tongue. In past months he and
the elder had seen eye-to-eye, pushing for attacks on human
settlements. Without that shared goal they had begun to
clash. Borka had begun to learn how to deal with Hoarluk
primarily by letting him grouse without interruption.
Doomshaper fixed him with a measuring stare. The
elder asked, Have you lost a limb before? Borka shook
his head. Hed suffered his share of wounds, but theyd
been superficial things, easily healed over a few nights
of feasting and drinking. He had lost a finger once, but
even that hadnt been so bad. It was back before hed even
missed it.
Drogal returned with two hunks of the cold mutton, each
larger than the last. Borka nodded in approval. He forced
himself to take the food more politely. He was not about
to give Doomshaper the satisfaction of proving his last
accusation.
14
The hunger you feel will worsen before it gets better.

Doomshaper paused for a moment and then said, As will
your temper. But you will be whole soon, and perhaps you
will have a greater understanding of our troll brothers.
Open yourself to the experience.
Borka eyed Doomshaper suspiciously as he gulped down
meat and ale as quickly as possible. The warlock was in an
uncharacteristically good mood. How long will it take?
he asked between bites.
Doomshaper scoffed. As long as it requires. You are hearty
and virile. Another month or two for your arm. Had we
been able to find it following the battle, the healing would
be easier. Doomshaper cast a glance toward Rk, who
had plopped down on his hindquarters like a monstrous
bearded toddler as he waited for Borka to return. The dire
troll seemed unwilling to meet Doomshapers eye.
Borka said nothing. He remembered little following his
defeat at the hands of the Tharn leader. Only darkness and
pain and cold. He had heard the story several times from
his kin who had been therehow Rk had brought him to
Madrak and the others following the battle, and how most
had thought him dead. He had his own suspicions about
what had happened to his arm. Borka smiled with dark

humor, feeling no resentment. Dire trolls were what Dhunia
and the Wurm had made them.
Borka finished the second hunk of mutton and finished the
ale in his stein. How much farther until we reach these
other mountain kings?
This is your homeland more than mine, Kegslayer. How
long until we reach the lake the Khadorans call Beladal the
Crone? It is in the mountains east of there that our search
will begin.
Begin? Borka asked, startled.
Yes. Our ancestors did not chain the mountain kings
so any fool might find them. They preferred no one find
them at all.
Borka felt a niggling regret. He knew Madrak Ironhide
had sent him with Doomshaper to protect the elder, as he
claimed, but also perhaps to give him time to heal. Though
it seemed a weakness to admit it, Borka had felt some
relief to distance himself from Madrak for a time. During
his long recovery hed had time to think on a great many
things. He did not relish the idea of roaming the mountains,
however, while Doomshaper searched out clues scratched
on boulders.
Weve already gone the longest distance. A week, perhaps
less, Borka said. It depends on how the passes have
fared this winter. The wagons may slow us if the snows
have been heavy.
Less, then. Good, Doomshaper said to himself, nodding.
How do you figure that? Borka asked.
I will not be taking the wagons. You and your kith will not
accompany me.
Borka blinked in surprise. I thought
Doomshaper cut him off with a wave of his staff. A
messenger came searching for you. I saw no need to wake
you, so I promised to relay the message. It would seem
you are called to your home kriel. Your matriarch has
need of you.
The words hit Borka like a hammer, and he felt a mixture
of emotions, the primary one being unease. It had been
years since he had thought of his great-great-great-greatgrandmother Jennan. They had not parted on good terms.
I have no interest in returning. And Jennan has no need
of anyone.
The elder shaman fixed him with a stony stare. What if this
is your last chance?
Borkas brow furrowed. What do you mean?
The messenger did not want to say more than he was told,
but I gathered your matriarch is not long for this world.
The passing of the eldest of a great kriel is no small matter.
It is your duty to return to her and pay her the respect
she is due. Dhunia would expect it of you. There was the
hint of pain in Doomshapers eyes. Perhaps he doubted
whether anyone would attend him when he lay dying,
Borka mused. Hoarluk was more feared than beloved by
his kith. Of course, in that regard, one could say the same
of Jennan.
Borka felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Could
Jennan truly be dying? She was such a pillar of his kriel that
the very idea of her absence seemed fundamentally wrong.
He knew she was said to be almost two hundred years old,
though no one knew for sure. Old though Doomshaper was,
Jennan had already been ruling her kriel in the north for a
century when Hoarluk was born. Somehow he could just
not accept her as mortal, nor imagine a life free from her
looming shadow.
I will mourn her, Borka said, not insincerely; despite their
past disagreements, the thought of her death did cause him
grief. But I cannot leave you. I told Madrak I would see to
your safety.
Doomshaper huffed. Dont pretend to play the honorbound servant. You do as you please. He pressed the end
of his staff against Borkas chest in emphasis. You must
respect your elders, both me and her. Besides, I do not
need a bodyguard. I am not the helpless cripple here. He
rapped the staff against Borkas injured leg. Youd just
slow me down.
Borka opened his mouth to argue, but the look in
Doomshapers eyes stopped him. He suddenly remembered
Jennans face the last time they had shouted at one another.
Jennan was hard and cold. She had disapproved of Borkas
choices at every turn. As much as he disliked her, he could
not deny he would regret not seeing her one last time. The
thought of his own brush with death came to his mind.
He refocused on Doomshaper, who stared up at him with
stony eyes, and he realized it did not matter what he
wanted. Even Madrak could not sway Doomshaper once
he had made a decision. Very well. I will go to honor my
matriarch in her final hours. Im sure there will be many
stories to share when you and I meet again. He turned and,
putting on a confident face, shouted loudly enough that
everyone near would hear, I know it has been quite some
time for some of you, but we are going home!
A great cheer erupted from his kith, who were filled with
excitement at this idea. Seeing Jennans stony face in his
minds eye, Borka felt only a grim apprehension at what
lay ahead.
15
New Rules & Theme Forces

Warbeast Packs
Warbeast packs are units of small-based warbeasts that

fight together and support each other on the battlefield.
Models in a pack do not activate individually; instead, all
members of the pack activate at the same time and progress
through the steps of an activation together. The warbeasts
in a pack have the same battlegroup controller and are part
of the same battlegroup.
Unit
A warbeast pack is a unit, but each model in the unit is a

warbeast (not a warrior). As models in a unit, these warbeasts
are all troopers, the unit commander is the Leader, and the
other models in the unit are Grunts. While it is part of a
warbeast pack, a warbeast is not an independent model.
Models in a warbeast pack cannot run or charge during the
packs activation unless they receive the run or charge order
or are compelled to run or charge as part of a game effect. A
packs unit leader can issue a run or charge order only while
in the control area of its battlegroup controller.
When a friendly Faction model with the Battlegroup
Commander special ability takes control of a wild warbeast
that is in a warbeast pack, it takes control of all models in
the warbeast pack, not just the warbeast it is in base-tobase contact with. When an opponent takes control of a
warbeast in a warbeast pack, that warbeast becomes an
independent model with a FURY stat of 1 for the duration
of the effect.
Pack FURY and Fury Points
The models in a warbeast pack share a single FURY stat

equal to the number of models currently in the pack. Game
effects that increase or decrease a warbeasts FURY stat
never affect a warbeast pack. Models in a warbeast pack are
forced independently, but when a model in the unit is forced,
place the fury points generated on the unit commander. A
model in the pack can be forced only while it is in formation
and the packs unit commander is in its controllers control
area, but a non-commander model in the pack need not be
in the controllers control area.
Only the packs unit commander can gain fury points. The
unit commander can never have a fury point total higher
than the packs current FURY. A model in a warbeast pack
cannot be forced if the fury points gained would cause the
unit commander to exceed the packs current FURY.
When the packs FURY stat is reduced as a result of a change
in the number of models in the pack, remove fury points in
excess of its new FURY stat.
16
If a warbeast in the pack is destroyed while the packs

unit commander is in its controllers control area and its
destruction would result in the removal of a fury point
from the packs unit commander, the packs controller
can reave the fury point that would be removed. When a
warbeast in a pack is destroyed by damage transferred from
its battlegroup controller, however, fury cannot be reaved
from the pack.
If a new unit commander is selected due to Field Promotion,
place the fury points from the old unit commander on the
new commander before reducing the FURY stat.
Power Attacks
Warbeast pack models cannot make power attacks.
Pack Frenzy
If the unit commander frenzies, all models in the pack also

frenzy. A model in a pack cannot choose another model
in the pack as a frenzy target and will not attack another
model in the pack as part of a frenzy.
Pack Animus
Only the unit commander has an animus. The packs

controller can cast the packs animus as a spell only while
the packs unit commander is in his control area.
Damage and Healing
Warbeasts in a pack have a set number of damage points

but do not have damage spirals. A pack warbeasts damage
points are considered a single aspect with a single branch
for the purposes of game rules. A rule that heals 1 damage
in each aspect, for example, would heal 1 damage point to a
pack warbeast, and a rule that fills in unmarked damage of
the last branch damaged would fill in all remaining damage,
disabling the pack warbeast.
A warlock can transfer damage to a pack warbeast if the
warbeast model is in the warlocks control area and in
formation. A warlock cannot transfer damage to a pack
warbeast if the packs unit commander has a number of
fury points equal to the packs FURY stat.
A warlock can heal warbeasts in a pack as normal.
Borka, Vengeance of the Rimeshaws

Avalanche
Warbeasts: Trollblood noncharacter warbeasts, Rk
Solos: Fell Caller Hero, Trollkin Sorcerer, Troll Whelps,

Trollblood cavalry solos, Trollblood solos with Advance
Deployment .
Units: Kriel Warriors, Krielstone Bearer &

Stone Scribes, Trollblood cavalry units, Trollblood
units with Advance Deployment .
Battle Engine: Trollkin War Wagon
Tier 1
Tier 3
Requirements: The army can include only the models

listed above.
Requirements: Borkas battlegroup includes Rk and one

or more Winter Trolls.
Benefit: Reduce the point cost of Trollblood cavalry models/

units by1.
Benefit: For each warbeast in Borkas battlegroup, place

one 4 AOE template anywhere within 20 of the back edge
of Borkas deployment zone after terrain has been placed
but before either player deploys his army. These templates
cannot be placed within 3 of a terrain feature. The templates
are snowdrifts. Models in a snowdrift gain concealment and
models without Immunity: Cold treat them as rough terrain.
Tier 2
Requirements: The army includes two or more models/
units with Advance Deployment .
Benefit: Friendly models/units can begin the game
affected by Borkas upkeep spells. These spells and their
targets must be declared before either player sets up
models. Borka does not pay fury to upkeep these spells
during your first turn.
Tier 4
Requirements: The army includes one or more Trollkin
War Wagons.
Benefit: Models in Borkas battlegroup gain +2SPD during
your first turn of the game.
Bradigus Thorle the Runecarver

Wold War
Warbeasts: Circle non-character

construct warbeasts
Solos: Blackclad Wayfarer, Gallows Groves, Reeve

Hunters, War Wolves
Units: Druid Stoneward & Woldstalkers,

Reeves of Orboros, Sentry Stone & Mannikins, Shifting
Stones, Wolves of Orboros, Death Wolves
Battle Engine: Celestial Fulcrum
Tier 1
Tier 3
Benefit: Increase the FA of Shifting Stone units and Sentry

Stone & Mannikins units by1.
Benefit: Sentry Stones begin the game with 3 fury points.
Tier 2
Requirements: The only living model in the army is

Bradigus Thorle the Runecarver.

listed above.
Requirements: The army includes one or more Shifting

Stone units.
Benefit: You can redeploy one model/unit after both players
have deployed but before the first players first turn. The
redeployed models must be placed on the table in a location
they could have been deployed initially.
Requirements: The army includes one or more Sentry Stone

& Mannikins units.
Tier 4
Benefit: Add a Woldwatcher to Thorles battlegroup free

of cost.
Permission is hereby granted to create reproductions of this page for personal, non-commercial use only.
17
Theme Forces
Xerxis, Fury of Halaak

Footsteps of Giants
Warbeasts: Skorne non-character
warbeasts, Tiberion
Units: Paingiver Beast Handlers, Skorne
cavalry units, Skorne Tyrant units
Tier 1

listed above.
Benefit: Reduce the cost of huge-based models in this
army by1.
Tier 2
Requirements: The army includes two or more Tyrant

models/units.
Benefit: For each Tyrant model/unit, you can redeploy one
model/unit after both players have deployed but before
the first players first turn. The redeployed models must
be placed on the table in a location they could have been
deployed initially.
Solos: Skorne Tyrant solos

Battle Engine: Siege Animantarax
Tier 3
Requirements: The army includes Tiberion.

Benefit: You gain +1 on your starting roll for the game.
Tier 4
Requirements: The army includes one or more Siege

Animantarax battle engines.
Benefit: Siege Animantarax battle engines begin the game
with three rage tokens.
Absylonia, Daughter of Everblight

Deaths Wings
Warbeasts: Legion non-character

warbeasts, Proteus
Units: Strider units, Legion units with Flight
Solos: Forsaken, Strider solos, Legion solos with Flight

Battle Engine: Legion battle engines with Flight
Tier 1
Tier 3
Benefit: Flying models gain +2SPD during your first turn

of the game.
Benefit: Warbeasts in Absylonias battlegroup can use their

animi during your first turn of the game without being
forced. Warbeasts cannot also be forced to use their animi
that turn.

listed above.
Tier 2
Requirements: The army includes one or more units with

Advance Deployment .
Benefit: Units in the army gain Advance Deployment .
Requirements: The army includes three or more different

warbeasts.
Tier 4
Requirements: The army includes one or more Archangel

gargantuans.
Benefit: Reduce the point cost of huge-based models in the
army by1.
18
Jaga-Jaga, the Death Charmer

Voodoo Dolls
Warbeasts: Minion Gatorman
non-character warbeasts
Units: Bog Trog units, Gatorman units
Solos: Feralgeists, Thrullgs, Bog Trog solos, Croak

solos, Gatorman solos, Wrong Eye & Snapjaw
Battle Engine: Sacral Vault
Tier 1
Tier 3
Benefit: Reduce the point cost of Sacral Vaults by1.
Benefit: Friendly models/units can begin the game affected

by Jaga-Jagas upkeep spells. These spells and their targets
must be declared before either player sets up models. JagaJaga does not pay fury to upkeep these spells during your
first turn.

listed above.
Tier 2
Requirements: The army includes three or more Undead

models/units.
Benefit: Undead models gain Advance Move. (Before the
start of the game but after both players have deployed, a
model with Advance Move can make a full advance.)
Requirements: The army includes two or more models/

units with Magic Ability.
Tier 4
Requirements: The army includes one or more Sacral

Vaults.
Benefit: Your deployment zone is extended 2 forward.
Helga the Conqueror

Curtain Call
Warbeasts: Minion Farrow noncharacter warbeasts

Units: Farrow units
Solos: Efaarit Scouts, Farrow solos, Gudrun the

Wanderer, Rorsh & Brine
Battle Engine: Meat Thresher
Tier 1
Tier 3
Benefit: Reduce the point cost of Meat Threshers by1.
Benefit: Your deployment zone is extended 2 forward.
Tier 2
Tier 4
Benefit: Maximus and Farrow Slaughterhouser units gain

Advance Deployment .
Benefit: You gain +1 on your starting roll for the game.

listed above.
Requirements: The army includes Maximus.
Requirements: Helga the Conquerors battlegroup includes

two or more heavy warbeasts.
Requirements: The army includes one or more Meat

Threshers.
19
Trollbloods
Called Home
The Scarsfell, West of the Rimeshaws, 609 AR
As he made his way through his home village toward

Jennans lodging, Borka felt a mix of conflicting emotions.
Though the expanse of stone huts and paved pathways
looked just as he remembered and even the blanket of
winter snow seemed unchanged, the place did not feel like
home. He had felt like a stranger since he and his band
had entered the thick outer walls surrounding the large
northern village held by his kriel. It wasnt until he smelled
the hoppy aroma of the kriels brewery on the crisp air that
a sense of home stirred within him. His mouth watered
slightly at the memory of the thick, frothy northern ale.
He ignored the sudden twinge in his lame leg as he stepped
into Jennans stone keep at the center of the village. Her
home had once been a small hut but had been enlarged over
the decades. A great fire roared in the central hearth, and
the dozens of animal pelts hanging on the walls blunted any
drafts passing through chinks in the stone.
He had expected the interior to be dim despite the pale
afternoon sun. Instead it was well lit by the fire and the
many torch sconces, and the air was fresh and clean. The
place did not feel like death crept within it; instead, it
brought back memories of his earlier life.
Borka circled the fire to see who waited in the great seat
of the hall, expecting one of his uncles, aunts, or siblings.
To his surprise it was Jennan herself, her hunched form the
same as ever as she peered into the soothsaying bowl set
on a small table before her. Her weathered skin resembled
the rough surface of granite. Her face was lined with deep
wrinkles carved by age and, Borka thought, a lifetime of
incessant scowling. She ran one bony hand across the runemarked stones in the bowl while the other rested atop her
hooked cane, working the jade handle like a worry stone.
Ketmoder, Borka said hesitantly. The honorific was
reserved for the eldest mother of a kriel, used only if she
also served as its matriarch. Jennan had been called nothing
else as long as Borka could remember.
20
She huffed peevishly at the interruption and held up her

free hand, motioning for him to wait. Her eyes never left the
stones in the bowl.
Borka felt a familiar irritation. It is I, Borka, he said. I
have come many miles to answer your call. I thought you
might actually have words for me, unless whatever you see
in that bowl is more important.
Your lack of manners leaves no mystery as to who you
are. Jennans voice was like a krielstone being dragged
over gravel. Welcome. Your return is overdue. I am afraid
you will find no feasts or other celebrations in your honor,
if that is what you hoped. She looked up at last and
squinted at him, her tight frown suggesting she did not
like what she saw.
Despite himself Borka felt uncomfortable under that stare,
calling back memories of being summoned before her as a
youth when his parents had had enough of him. He forced
a chuckle and said, A feast would be timely, as my hunger
knows no bounds. But I did not expect a warm welcome. I
was told you were not long for this world. My affection for
you persuaded me to put aside old grudges. I see you have
not changed.
She laughed, a rasping sound. Borka saw little difference
between this Jennan and the one he had left so many years
ago. The warlock still sensed great power and undiminished
vitality within her. Changing is for the young, not the old.
Still, I appreciate your willingness to pay me last respects. I
hope to disappoint you.
He scowled with sudden suspicion. Youre not dying at all,
are you? This was all just a trick.
She looked up, amusement clear in her eyes. I do not know
what my messenger told you, but I did not lie. Im so old
Ive lost count of my years upon this earth. Every day could
be my last.
So you have said for decades, Borka said. You could
have simply asked me to return.
And you would have come? You are too pig-headed,

too proud. Always have been. Asking you would only
have guaranteed that you stayed away. Jennan grunted
harshly. You ran off years ago to follow your own foolish
glory. If you cared more for your kith and kriel it would
not take rumors of my death for you to visit. I thought that
your time away would mature you, that fighting among
the southern kin would get it through your thick skull that
your duty is to your kriel.
She gestured with her cane at his still-regenerating arm.
Was it worth it, Borka? Was it worth the kith you lost, the
blood you spilled? Did you spare a moment to think about
the graves required, not just for those who followed you but
for those who remained behind?
The accusation burned in Borkas ears. Was this the only
reason for summoning me? he asked. Because you missed
berating me?
No, she answered. It was to give you the only thing youve
ever seemed to care about: a chance to be a hero. But for your
own kriel this time. The ancient matriarch gazed at him in
silence for a moment. Your kith and kriel need you, Borka.
He did his best to mask his surprise. He could think of only
one thing that might cause Jennan to admit she needed
help. Have the Ruscar returned? He had earned much of
his early fame beating back those human tribes and driving
them from the lands claimed by his kriel.
They have, but that is not all, said Jennan. There is
something else that has beset us... a creature, a formless,
nightmarish monster.
A monster?
I know not what else to call it. Three months ago the
disappearances began. At first it was only a few hunters. But
then it became more frequent. Our people began to venture
out only in groups, and that worked for a short time.
Jennan took a deep breath. Now any who dare go beyond
our walls know the chance of returning is slim. Weve even
lost kin standing watch upon the walls at night. Sometimes
we hear them scream, and other times we simply wake to
find them gone. The danger has made reprisal against the
Ruscar impossible, which has made them bolder.
Borka knew the strength of his family, the pride of Jennan.
She would not speak in such terms if matters were not grave.
We cannot stand against this new terror and the Ruscar
both, she continued. She motioned to the silver bowl and
the cluster of stone runes within it. I have read the runes
over and over. They tell me you must face this monster. I had
hoped your travels would have forged you into the trollkin
I could not. But looking at you now, I see the same Borka.
Self-centered, prideful.
You speak of responsibility to the kin, but you look only

to our own kith, Borka replied sharply. I may have left
in search of battle and glory, but Ive learned a few things
along the way. We are all kin. Northerners, southerners. It
is only by realizing we are all bound by the same blood that
we find our true strength. He was almost surprised at the
words as they came from him. His time with Madrak had
led him to view things differently. He paused, staring at her
with a blazing expression. Because I am here and since I do
care for my kith, I will fight your monster. I will hunt it to
its lair and I will kill it, with my bare hand if necessary. He
punctuated this by pounding his breast with a fist.
Borka looked directly into Jennans eyes and held her gaze,
not flinching from her powerful stare.
The matriarchs expression softened slightly. Good. I have
something that will help make up for your current state.
She led Borka out of the hall and through the kriel to a large
pen. An immense white shape was curled up in one corner.
Borka smiled as he realized where Jennan had brought him.
any who dare go beyond our

walls know the chance of
returning is slim.
Arktos! he bellowed. Borka wondered if the bear would
remember him. It had been five years since they had last seen
each other, when Arktos was barely more than a cub. Now
the great beast raised his head and bounded over, letting
out an excited bellow of his own. Momentarily forgetting
the stiffness in his leg, Borka vaulted over the gate using his
good arm. Arktos reared up on his hind legs before crashing
down on Borka, knocking the large trollkin to the ground.
Borka laughed, his joy easily overwhelming the protests of
his injuries as he half-embraced, half-wrestled with his old
pet. After several moments Arktos relented and let Borka
rise. As Borka stood, Arktos nuzzled his bandaged arm and
chuffed inquisitively.
Dont worry, my friend, Borka said, tussling the thick
white fur of Arktos head. Its only temporary. Arktos
looked at him for a moment with a keen intelligence behind
his black eyes, as if considering the truth of Borkas words.
I promise, Borka insisted. Its growing back. And then
well see whos truly the stronger.
Arktos bounded up off his front legs and came back down
with a satisfied grunt before racing off around the pen like
an over-excited puppy. Borka watched the bear circle and
then return to him, lying down to let Borka rest his good
hand on his head.
21
Borka turned to Jennan and said, He looks good. I cant

believe how much hes grown. Hes as big as a dire troll!
was, he was confident his company could overcome

anything short of a dragon.
Hes lucky to still be here. That bear is as pig-headed as

you are. Took to his training easy enough after you left, but
Dhunia forbid any trollkin be foolish enough to try riding
him. Jennan spat. Togar sought to put him to use as a
mount a year or so back. Lost an eye to the beast for his
troubles, and it only recently grew back.
What news? Borka called as Turan approached.
Borka smirked. He had never liked his brother Togar. Arktos

just isnt interested in letting a whelp like that ride him. Do
you still have the tack? Jennan nodded. Good, Borka said.
He cupped his hand under Arktos muzzle and brought his
face close to the bears. What do you say? Are you ready to
rip the throats out of some big, horrible monsters?
Tomorrow we will find our

destiny and kill this creature
that threatens our people. So
tonight we drink as heroes!
Arktos growled and snorted excitedly in reply, and the
trollkin warlock felt a familiar sensation spread through
his chest as he thought of the impending fight against an
unknown foe. It was a feeling he hadnt had since the battle
in the Wyrmwall.
He was excited.
Borka shifted slightly in the saddle as Arktos loped along

over the rough ground at the border between the Rimeshaws
and the Scarsfell. He realized it would take some time to
become accustomed to the bears gait. His backside and
thighs felt as if they had been rubbed clean of skin over the
last few days of constant travel.
He brought Arktos to a stop as he spotted Turan hurrying
back toward the column. The trollkin skinner was the only
member of Borkas hunting party who was not part of the
band that had followed him south with Madrak, though he
had not brought all of those warriors on this quest. Some he
had left behind, with trolls, to protect the kriel should he fail.
In all, Borka had taken twenty-one of his warriors with him,
each of them a blood relation, all veterans and heroes of
many battles. Along with these, Borka had brought his dire
troll Rk and a single axer named Gorn. Though he still had
precious little information on what their quarry actually
22
We seem to be close to its lair. But I do not think this

creature is alone.
There is more than one? Borka asked.
Turan shook her head. The tracks are mixed with others. I
think they may be human.
Borkas countenance darkened. So the Ruscar may be
controlling this creature?
Turan shrugged. Or they hunt it as we do. The tracks are
old. It is hard to tell when they were made.
Then we must be alert for any trickery or traps. Borka
became aware that several of his warriors were listening
intently to his conversation with the scout. At least until
we are ready to kill them, he added loudly, drawing a
chuckle from those nearby.
As they continued their trek, Borka couldnt shake the
feeling of being watched. Arktos sensed something as well;
Borka could feel the massive bears body tense beneath him.
Although Borka trusted their strength of arms, he also knew
the value of being prepared. As they marched, he rode to
every one of his kin in turn to check in on them.
The setting sun had turned crimson-orange by the time
Turan raised her hand to bring the trollkin band to a stop
for the night. Once camp was made, Borka assembled
his warriors. This has been a long journey. We seek a
monster, and tomorrow I believe we will find it. Pointing
at individual warriors, he continued, Torgat my son, you
bested a dozen Tharn in the battle of Great Oaks. Welwar
my sister, your axe has split the skulls of countless knights
and the walking dead. Grisharn, no foe can stand against
the might of your hammer.
Or the smell of his breath! shouted Lilandra, one of
Borkas daughters, bringing laughter from the others.
You are all heroes, Borka continued, motioning for several
other trollkin to come forward. Each bore a large keg of ale,
which they set before Borka. Tomorrow we will find our
destiny and kill this creature that threatens our people. So
tonight we drink as heroes! A great cheer arose from the
assembled trollkin as they crashed their weapons against
their steel breastplates. It has been too long since I drank
with you as a warrior should. But now you will remember
why I am called Kegslayer!
Borka tapped the first keg and filled a stein he had pulled
from his belt. He raised his massive cup high in salute and
then downed it in one long draught. Cups were passed
around, great fires were started, and meat was roasted upon
spits so the band of heroes could heartily drink, feast, and
sing. As the moons rose, the warriors fell one by one into
drunken slumber. Borka was the last to lie down, resting his
head upon Arktos furry side.
In the quiet that followed, the shadows within the forest
coalesced into black-clothed forms, and the unmistakable
glint of drawn steel reflected the moonlight. The creatures
moved like ghosts, their feet making not a sound as they
stalked closer and moved amid the sleeping trollkin.
Together they raised their weapons to strike.
Now!
There was a sudden blur of motion and the dull sound
of heavy steel hitting flesh and bone. One of the shadows
flew through the air, crashing into another, and both hit the
ground with a thump.
With a roar Borka was up, swinging himself into Arktos
saddle. As one, the sleep-feigning trollkin rose and struck
at their would-be assassins with axe and hammer. Several
of the shadowy forms were quickly cut down, caught off
guard by the trollkins ruse. Many more leapt away, nimbly
evading injury.
The cacophony of battle filled the night. Steel rang against
steel, trollkin war cries mixed with hissing curses, and
Arktos roar was echoed by the deep bellows of Rk and
Gorn. Amid the clamor, Borka heard a distinct twang from
the woods. Pain flared in his shoulder as a black-fletched
arrow struck deep into his flesh. Growling, he snapped its
shaft and impelled Gorn to charge the unseen threat. As
Arktos tore through several of the shadows with sweeps of
his claws, Borka looked at the broken arrow in his hand. He
recognized the markings instantly: Nyss.
Where is your monster, you dragon-suckling whelps?! he
shouted as he crushed the skull of another blighted Nyss
beneath Trauma. Through their bond, Borka felt Rks
anger boil as several Nyss blades bit into the trolls flesh. He
spurred Arktos on, and the bear charged in to aid the dire
troll, knocking aside intervening Nyss without slowing.
Rks massive axe crashed down, so heavy that it crushed
more than cut any Nyss who failed to avoid it. With his
free hand, Rk grabbed a flailing Nyss and crammed him
into his mouth. The elfs scream was cut short by a wet
crunch as Rk sought sustenance to mend his own flesh.
Borka felt a twinge of worry at the thought of Rk eating
the blighted flesh, although he had seen trolls eat such
corrupted meat before without apparent effect. Rk sensed
Borkas misgivings, but he was in no mood to be dissuaded
and simply grabbed another of the Nyss to cram into his
bloody maw.
Borka spurred Arktos on. Despite the thunder of the bears

charge, most of the Nyss swordsmen were too focused on
their battle with the enraged dire troll to notice. Before
Borka and Arktos could crash into the exposed Nyss backs,
however, there was a great rush of wind as an enormous
shape crashed heavily to the ground in front of him.
Time seemed to stand still as Borka took in the sight of
this new arrival. With sickly wet skin stretched over thick
pulsating cords of muscle, the horror resembled no living
creature Borka had ever seen. In fact, the twisted, pulsating
hulk of meat and malice seemed to have been specifically
designed to defy all natural understanding. The huge
dragon-spawned creature towered over the great conifers
at the edge of the Scarsfell.
But it was not the things size, nor its half-formed, protean
aspect, that made it impossible for Borka to look away
despite his revulsion. It was the sight of the twin mouths
distending from its base, surrounded by a mass of tentacles.
Rows of yellow fangs protruded from its gums, each the
size of Borkas good arm and dripping viscous saliva. A
grotesquely huge tongue spilled from each wicked maw,
coiling and pulsing, writhing about as if in search of its
next meal.
Dhunia wept, Borka said in open-mouthed amazement.
Arktos barely had time to lurch to one side as a thick,
ropey tentacle lashed forward. Borka winced as the snakelike appendage whipped by mere inches from his face.
Several other trollkin were not so lucky. Borka saw two
of his nephews snatched by the creature and lifted like
playthings into the air. They swung desperately at the
tentacles and their blades bit deep to draw forth black ichor,
but it was not enough to break the monsters grip. The two
trollkin were cast toward the creatures fanged maws and
its great wet tongues coiled about them, drawing each into
a distended mouth.
As he heard their screams end with a wet crunching sound,
Borka roared and spurred Arktos toward the blighted
horror. Several smaller tentacles shot forth from the fiendish
beasts writhing lower half and attacked the engaged
trollkin nearby, knocking the kin off balance and leaving
them exposed to the Nyss.
Borka knew he had only seconds to act before the momentum
of battle turned completely against his warriors. Harnessing
his rage and drawing on the natural energies of the cold
north, he focused all his will into the fury of a winter storm.
Runes blazed around him and his kin as he called upon
Dhunia to shield them from the unnatural blizzard that
arose suddenly about them. The wind howled and tore at
exposed flesh, and snow and ice flew in an impenetrable
flurry of winter white. The Nyss were cast down by the
23
whirling tempest, their vision blinded by the ice crystals

tearing at their unprotected faces. There the trollkin
champions closed to slaughter them with one brutal strike
after another, slicking their weapons with blighted blood.
The gigantic creature seemed unmoved by the primal storm.
Arktos charged toward the unnatural horror, Borka upon
his back. The warriors voice rose over the raging blizzard
as he boomed, You have feasted your last! Now you shall
meet the Vengeance of the Rimeshaws!
Arktos dodged another tentacle, and then Borka and his
mount reached the creatures body. Borka brought Trauma
down with all his strength upon the monstrositys flesh, and
the impact of the heavy mace caused the taut skin to burst
like an overripe fruit. Rk and Gorn joined him, hacking at
the creature with their axes. Borka drew forth Rks primal
inner furya wellspring that harkened back to the time
when the trolls were first sired by the Devourer. Rk let out
a thunderous roar and attacked with renewed vigor. Borka
had little choice but to relinquish control and allow him to
do as he wished to his foe.
With a horizontal swing his

axe cleaved cleanly through
the thick, pulsing muscle
of one of the creatures
tongues.
Borka continued to hammer blows into the blighted
monster, each strike causing a new explosion of viscous
black ichor. His arm burned from the exertion of swinging
Trauma, but he drew upon the rage of his trolls to drive out
any thought but his enemys destruction. Only a shock of
white-hot pain lancing through his mind from Rk halted
the warriors assault. The dire troll had been impaled by
two of the monsters larger tentacles and was being drawn
toward the creatures slavering mouths.
He tried to spur Arktos forward to aid the ensnared troll, but
the path was blocked by a wall of the beasts other tentacles.
Gorn was able to hack his way through the deadly tangle with
great sweeps of his axe to reach Rk. The axer brought his
weapon down hard on one of the thick tentacles that bound
the dire troll, half severing the appendage, and raised his
axe to finish the job. The monsters grip loosened, but before
Gorn could strike again, a tentacle burst through his chest
from behind in a spray of crimson. Borka watched helplessly
as the axer was ripped in two and each half disappeared
into one of the creatures maws. The sound of the creature
feasting on Gorn twisted Borkas guts.
24
Borka felt Rks boiling rage at the fate of his troll cousin.
With considerable effort the dire troll managed to seize
the half-severed tentacle with his free hand, and in an
incredible display of raw strength Rk ripped the tentacle
free with a sound like a boot being pulled out of thick mud.
The dire troll dangled momentarily from the remaining
tentacle before it withdrew from his flesh and he dropped
to the ground.
Instead of backing away from the wicked mouths of the
monster, Rk charged in. With a horizontal swing his axe
cleaved cleanly through the thick, pulsing muscle of one
of the creatures tongues. Ichor poured forth as if through
a burst dam. Seeing an opening, Borka spurred Arktos
forward and with one mighty swing brought Trauma down
to pulp the other fleshy tongue.
The creature finally began to waver, and Borka wondered
if the loss of its tongues, which it seemed to rely on for
balance nearly as much as the larger tentacles, would cause
it to topple like a felled tree. Instead, the bleeding creature
coiled and tensed its massive muscles and leapt into the air,
fleeing just as suddenly as it had arrived, the rocks and trees
no hindrance to its passage.
A silence fell over the battlefield. Borka looked around
and saw the bodies of dozens of blighted Nyss mixed with
those of his kin, though thankfully those were far fewer.
Many of the trollkin who had fallen to injury would live to
fight another day.
Rk was in rough shape, though Borka knew the illtempered troll would live. He could feel Rks need to
feed press upon his mind, made worse by the hunger that
raged in his own belly. It took all his concentration to hold
Rk back from feasting upon the abundance of blighted
flesh around them. Blighted Nyss was one thing, but he
didnt trust the severed tongues and tentacles of a dragonspawned monstrosity not to be harmful. He directed the
troll toward the remaining ale barrels on the supply wagon
as a temporary solution, and Rk accepted the offer with
enthusiasm. Borka sighed as he realized the trip back to the
kriel would be a dry one.
As the awareness of their victory slowly dawned on them,
Borkas warriors lifted their weapons, banged their fists into
their breasts, and let out a thunderous victory yell. Though
his heart swelled with pride at their deeds, he did not share
their celebratory mood. Not yet.
He looked in the direction the monster had gone. Turan!
he called.
Aye?
Our quarry has fled. Can you track it?
The blood will make that easy, Turan replied, motioning

toward the severed tongue and tentacles lying in huge
pools of black ichor. Surely even a creature like that could
not survive such injuries for long.
Best to leave nothing to chance, Borka said. Besides, I
want to know where it lairs so we can be sure there are no
more like it.
And if there are? Turan asked, though it was clear she
already knew the answer.
Then we kill them, too.
The monsters trail was not difficult to follow, but where it

led shocked them all. The blighted behemoth retreated to
a sizable camp encompassing a number of elaborate runecarved steel cauldrons that Borka recognized as spawning
vessels. The few he had seen before had been relatively
small, but here he saw vessels of all sizes, including one
large enough to hold even Rk with room to spare. The
pieces fell into place in his mindthe trollkin missing
from his kriel, the presence of the blighted Nyss that had
attacked them in the night, the unexpected appearance of
the towering, nightmarish monster. The missing kin had
been used as fuel for the vessels. The thought of what had
happened here was so disgusting he completely forgot the
hunger that still gnawed at him.
Borka spied the hulking form of the injured monster moving
toward the largest spawning vessel. It seemed to pull itself
forward sluggishly as a host of robed Nyss attempted
to drag it along with hooked gaffs under the direction of
another Nyss attired in finer robes and silver adornments.
They intended to try to breathe life back into the unnatural
horror. He was not about to let that happen. He spurred
Arktos into a charge and let out a resounding battle cry.
It was answered and redoubled by the other trollkin
champions as they followed his lead into the spawning site.
He swung his mace low at one of the smaller spawning pots
as he passed it. The blow crumpled the vessels side and
sent the receptacle flying, spilling its gory contents onto the
cold ground, and Borka saw a half-formed embryonic mass
flop into view among the spreading ooze. He spared only a
second to ensure this lesser dragonspawn was not moving
before turning his attention to several robed Nyss who had
been attending the vessels. He crushed each with a blow
from Trauma as Arktos rushed past them.
Shouldering his weapon, Borka drew several grenades
from his belt as Arktos raced toward the fallen monster
and its caretakers. The robed figures frantically unhooked
their wicked curved gaffs from the fallen creatures flesh
and brought them up to defend themselves. Borka simply

lobbed the grenades and then laughed as the explosions
tossed their broken bodies about like chaff.
He saw the Nyss leader step forward and raise a rune-inlaid
staff. Aeric runes surrounded her with a threatening nimbus
of blue power. Before she could complete her invocation,
though, Borka had sent a howling torrent of winter fury
blasting from his hand. Though the sorceress was able to
redirect her energies to defend against Borkas arcane attack,
her momentary distraction was her undoing as Arktos
reared up and smashed her to the ground, pinning her there
with his front paws. Borka saw both anger and confusion
flash briefly through her eyes before Arktos powerful jaws
snapped down on her skull.
Borka turned his attention back to the collapsed mass
of the monster. Now that he was close, it was clear the
thing was dead, but he wasnt about to take any chances.
He dismounted from Arktos and took more grenades
from his belt. Wary of last-second surprises, Borka made
his way toward the creatures slackened jaws and tossed
the grenades into one cavernous maw. He stepped back,
uttering an old curse at the thing. The grenades detonated,
blowing what Borka could only assume passed for the
creatures head into great, wet chunks.
Borka drew Trauma and placed a foot on one of the larger
tentacles. He grunted with effort as he brought the massive
mace down again and again, pulping the appendage until
he was able to tear it free. He would lay it at Jennans feet,
and even she would not be able to question this monsters
destruction.
Father! he heard Torgat call. The battle is won. These
Nyss were far weaker than the warriors we fought before.
Borka smiled at the disappointment in his sons voice. He
was worthy of his parentage. As Borka looked back across
the camp to see his kin setting to the work of smashing the
sinister spawning vessels, he thought, They all are.
He smiled at Torgat. Dont worryweve earned our glory
already. But more importantlyhe hefted the severed
tentacle over his shoulderweve earned the celebration
that will greet us when we return home with our trophy.
As he walked back to rejoin his warriors, Borka thought of
the Shaman of the Gnarls and his own quest. I hope you find
what you are looking for, Doomshaper, he thought. Together you
and I will bring the fury of the North to Madraks side, for all
the kriels. Warmth spread within his breast at the thought of
returning home.
Just not too soon. I have some catching up to do.
25
Borka,
Vengeance of the Rimeshaws
Trollblood Epic Trollkin Cavalry Warlock
He is like a legend passed down to us from the time of the Molgur, a force of nature as undeniable
as a winter storm.
Tor of the Sons of Bragg
Feat: Ice Storm
BORKA
SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

7 9 8 5 14 18 9
Bomb
RNG ROF AOE POW
8 1 3 12
Trauma

POW P+S
15
Mount

POW
14
Fury 5
Damage 18
Field Allowance
C
Warbeast Points
+6
Large Base
round after the attack is resolved.
Summoning the freezing wind

of his northern homelands,
Borka shrouds his forces in an
obscuring gale. With his allies
protected by the wintry cold of
Dhunias blessings, any who
strike against them become
frozen to the earth, vulnerable
to his retaliation.
While in Borkas control
area models gain Stealth .
When an enemy model
without Immunity: Cold
hits one or more friendly
models in Borkas control
area that has Immunity:
with a melee
Cold
attack, the enemy model
becomes stationary for one
BORKA
Pathfinder
Tough
Assault As part of a charge, after moving but before making

its charge attack, this model can make one ranged attack
targeting the model charged unless they were in melee with
each other at the start of this models activation. When resolving
an Assault ranged attack, the attacking model does not suffer
the target in melee penalty. If the target is not in melee range
after moving, this model must still make the Assault ranged
attack before its activation ends.
Combat Rider During a combat action it did not make a charge
attack, this model can make one melee attack with its Mount.
Field Marshal [Immunity: Cold] Models in this models
battlegroup gain Immunity: Cold .
Trauma
Magical Weapon
Reach
Critical Smite On a critical hit, this model can slam the model
hit instead of rolling damage normally. The model hit is slammed
d6 directly away from this model and suffers a damage roll with
POW equal to this models STR plus the POW of this weapon.
The POW of collateral damage is equal to this models STR.
Mount
Critical Brutal Damage On a critical hit, gain an additional die

on this weapons damage roll against the model directly hit.
As war continues to consume the lands of the trollkin,

Borka, Vengeance of the Rimeshaws rides atop his powerful
northern bear Arktos like a savage chieftain of old, bringing
hope to his beleaguered kin and swift death to his enemies.
The years of conflict beside Madrak Ironhide have forged
26
Spells
Battle Charged
Cost RNG AOE POW UP OFF

2 Self Ctrl Yes No
While in this models control area, models in its battlegroup gain Counter
Charge. (When an enemy model advances and ends its movement within
6 of a model with Counter Charge and in its LOS, the model with Counter
Charge can immediately charge it. If it does, it cannot make another
counter charge until after your next turn. A model cannot make a counter
charge while engaged.)
Frost Hammer
2 SP 8
12
No Yes
Snow Shroud
Yes No
Frost Hammer causes cold damage . On a critical hit, a model becomes

stationary for one round unless it has Immunity: Cold .
Target friendly Faction model/unit gains concealment and Immunity:

Cold .
Tactical Tips
Assault The assaulting model ignores the target in melee penalty

even if is not in melee range of its charge target after moving.
Field Marshal This includes this model.
Borkas lust for combat into something greater. Where once

Borka strode into battle seeking only personal glory and
the thrill of crushing his enemies, he now sees the blows
he lands as a vital part of the fight his people are waging
for their very survival. Affirmed by the leaders of the kin,
Borka revels in combat more than ever, each blow fueled
by the certainty that in following his own call to battle he
serves his people in their greatest time of need.
Following his near death in the Wyrmwall Mountains,
Borka returned to his home kriel and was reunited with
the bear he had saved as a cub. Recognizing that his old
friend still shared his enthusiasm for fighting, Borka took
the beast as his own battle mount. The two have become
inseparable, and the sight of the pair charging headlong into
the enemy in a roaring storm of teeth, claws, and mace chills
the marrow of any who face them. Borkas time among his
kriel along with his recent brush with death has brought a
certain clarity to the shaman regarding his love of fighting.
His connection to the powers over northern cold bestowed
on him by Dhunia has grown deeper, and in battle he can
summon and wield the inexorable power of winter itself.
Atop his bellowing mount, Borka has become as unstoppable
as a winter avalanche, and this newfound mobility has only
increased his audacity in battle. Borka is ever at the front of
the charge, he and his battlegroup avatars of winters fury, but
he is not heedless of the cost. Champions of his kith and kriel
risk their lives alongside him. This knowledge leads Borka
to be yet fiercer and more determined, as he understands the
toll in blood should he fail.
27
Dozer
& Smigg
Trollblood Dire Troll Character Heavy Warbeast
Whatever Dozer doesnt trample, Smigg blows up. Have you ever met a more perfect pair in all your life?
Captain Gunnbjorn
DOZER & SMIGG
DOZER & SMIGg

5 12 5
6 12 19
Bombard
RNG ROF AOE POW
14 1
3 14
Claw

15
Claw

POW P+S
15
BODY
3
4
IR
IT
IN
D
SP
Affinity [Gunnbjorn]
While Dozer & Smigg is
in Gunnbjorns control
area, it gains boosted blast
damage rolls.
Regeneration [d3] This
model can be forced to heal
d3 damage points once
per activation. This model
cannot use Regeneration
during an activation it runs.
POW P+S
Gunfighter
Fury 4
Threshold 10
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
9
Large Base
Snacking When this

model boxes a living model
with a melee attack, this
model can heal d3 damage
points. If this model
heals, the boxed model is
removed from play.
Special Issue [Gunnbjorn]
This model can be included
in Gunnbjorns theme
forces. It can also be
bonded to Gunnbjorn.
Veteran Leader [Dire Troll
Blitzer] Friendly Dire
Troll Blitzer warbeasts gain
+2 to attack rolls while this
model is in their LOS.
Virtuoso This model can make melee and ranged attacks

during the same combat action. When this model makes its initial
attacks, it can make both its initial ranged and melee attacks.
Bombard
Arcing Fire When attacking with this weapon, this model can
ignore intervening models except those within 1 of the target.
Inaccurate This model suffers 4 to attack rolls with this
weapon.
Claw
Open Fist
Adapting quickly to the unconventional tactics of the

United Kriels, Captain Gunnbjorn has come to rely heavily
on the antics of the duo of dire troll and pyg known
affectionately as Dozer and Smigg. Plowing across the
battlefield, Dozer generates an avalanche of destruction
while Smigg, precariously clinging to the dire trolls
back, unleashes explosive salvos of bombard fire. Each
resounding blast of the tremendous cannon elicits a chorus
of ecstatic roars from the dire trolls that fight alongside
28
ANIMUS
Bank Shot
No No
Target friendly Faction model gains +2 to AOE ranged attack

rolls. When the target models AOE ranged attacks deviate, you
can reroll the direction and/or distance of deviation. Each roll
can be rerolled only once as a result of Bank Shot. Bank Shot
lasts for one turn.
Tactical Tips
Snacking Because the boxed model is removed from play before

being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token.
Special Issue This only gives the warbeast the potential to bond
to the warlock. It does not automatically add a bond.
them. Dozer pays them no mind, as the constant fire

renders him stone deaf within the first few moments of
battle. He relies on mental direction from Gunnbjorn or
kicks and nudges from Smigg to turn to face the next most
pressing foe, eager to see them blasted apart. In the time it
takes Smigg to ready the next shot, Dozer will sometimes
take the opportunity to charge and tear apart the nearest
enemy with his tremendously huge claws.
The cannon he bears was salvaged in the aftermath of an
assault on a Khadoran supply train. After seizing muchneeded supplies, Gunnbjorns forces also carted off a
massive bombard taken from a wrecked Destroyer warjack.
Having witnessed firsthand the power and utility of the
Khadoran bombard, the warlock took the opportunity
to refit the weapon for the largest dire troll in his retinue.
Dozer easily bore the crushing weight of the weapon, its
mount, and its magazine, but adjusting to the noise and
concussive force of the bombard took some time.
Early attempts to operate the weapon in the field met with
mixed results. At first, each thunderous blast sent Dozer
into a dangerous frenzy, swatting at his own back as he
plowed headlong into the enemy. Over time he became
more accustomed to the guns earsplitting report, but not
before he had maimed and consumed half a dozen hapless
pyg gunners. Only the enthusiastic Smigg managed to hold
on and keep from being devoured during Dozers tirades.
Since that time, a friendship has grown between them and
Dozer is now quite protective of the pyg that joins him
in battle. In time the dire troll even learned to savor the
weapons booming report and the acrid clouds of smoke it
spewed forth. The two have been inseparable ever since.
29
Northkin
Fire Eaters
Trollblood Unit
You ever seen a trollkin stumbling drunk, ablaze in a ball of flame, belching fire every which way? In
the hills up north, thats a normal day.
Winter Guard Sergeant Akina Fedorevna
LEADER & GRUNT
LEADER & GRUNT


6 7 6 6 13 13 8
Fire Breath
RNG ROF AOE POW
SP 6 1
12
Torch

POW P+S
11
PYG BUDDY

6 5 6 6 13 13 7
Fire Breath
RNG ROF AOE POW
SP 6 1
12
Torch

POW P+S
Damage 5 ea
Field Allowance
2
Leader, Grunt, & Pyg Buddy 4
Leader Medium Base
Grunt Medium Base
Pyg Buddy Small Base
Advance Deployment
Fearless
Immunity: Cold
Tough
Assault (Order) Affected

models must charge or run. As
part of a charge, after moving
but before making its charge
attack, an affected model
can make one ranged attack
targeting the model charged
unless they were in melee with
each other at the start of the
affected models activation.
Models that received this
order cannot make combined
ranged attacks this activation.
When resolving an Assault
ranged attack, the attacking
model does not suffer the
target in melee penalty. If the
target is not in melee range
after moving, the affected
model must still make the
ranged attack before its
activation ends.
Fires Fury This model

gains +5 ARM against Fire
damage. While suffering the
Fire continuous effect , this
model cannot be knocked
down or made stationary
and gains boosted attack and
damage rolls.
Trollkin This model is a
trollkin.
PYG BUDDY
Advance Deployment
Fearless
Immunity: Cold
Tough
Assault (Order) See above.
Fires Fury See above.
Pyg This model is a pyg.
Fire Breath
Continuous Effect: Fire

Damage Type: Fire
Torch
Critical Fire
Trollkin are known for their insatiable thirst for booze,

but few imbibe like the nomadic fire eaters that travel the
Rimeshaws. These wandering bands earn their meals and a
place to bed down by entertaining their hosts with fire-eating
antics. With their stomachs cauterized by a lifetime of hooch
consumption, these trolls have taken to drinking extremely
potent moonshine. This booze could strip the finish off a
warjacks firebox and is powerful enough to topple a bison
or outright kill a man. Fire eaters spit this volatile concoction
across torches to ignite the spray, resulting in spectacular
fireballs. As these bands have pushed farther south they
have increasingly found their way into battle, where they
use their fire-breathing skills to belch gouts of flame in
defense of their fellow trollkin.
Tactical Tip
Pyg Buddy The Pyg Buddy is a trooper

in the unit but is not a Grunt in the unit.
30
Trollkin Highwaymen
Trollblood Unit
What we do, we do for the good of the kriel. If it means a few gun-mongers take a round in the belly, so be it.
Jurson Firetongue, trollkin highwayman
Tactical Tip
Camouflage If a model ignores concealment or cover, it also

ignores concealment or covers Camouflage bonus.
Prior to the increased hostilities in the isolated regions of

western Immoren, trollkin highwaymen were unwelcome
among their kin. Branded as outlaws, they robbed human
travelers regardless of the victims origins or loyalties.
They lived a nomadic existence in small bands led by
those possessing the greatest charisma or martial prowess.
Contrary to the old tales, most trollkin highwaymen
maintained a modest and lawful existence and resorted to
thievery only during particularly lean times.
As the conflicts of the greater world escalated, the threats
passing through these brigands lands grew, as did the
potential for plundering the traveling forces. While some
highwaymen simply saw an opportunity to improve their
lives, others noted the increasingly desperate plight of their
people. These good-hearted trollkin began distributing a
portion of their ill-gotten gains to the camps of dispossessed
kin. Occasionally they would even step out of the tree line
to defend those camps from human aggression.
Tales of highwaymen as outlaws evolved into legends
of trollkin heroes fighting for justice. Gradually, these
LEADER & GRUNTS
Combined Ranged Attack
LEADER & GRUNTS
Gunfighter

6 6 5 5 12 14 8
Tough
Camouflage This model
gains an additional +2DEF
when benefiting from
concealment or cover.
Pistol
RNG ROF AOE POW
8 1 10
Field Allowance
Leader & 5 Grunts
Leader & 9 Grunts
Medium Base
Swift Hunter When this

model destroys an enemy
model with a normal
ranged attack, immediately after the attack is resolved it can
advance up to 2.
2
5
8
trollkin have reintegrated into their kriels, bringing their

fighting tactics with them. They are peerless woodsmen
and hunters who can blend into the surrounding forests or
swamps as they stalk prey. They strike from the shadows
and remain continuously on the move, opening fire on
startled enemies before returning to the safety of the deep
woods. Unlike so many of their kin, trollkin highwaymen
do not resort to hammer or axe when an enemy draws
close. Instead they stick to their trusty pistols, as ready to
fire at an onrushing enemy from point blank range as to do
so from a safe distance.
31
Horgle
Ironstrike
Trollblood Trollkin Character Solo
Save your words. Speak with iron and fire instead.
IRONSTRIKE
IRONSTRIKE

5 7 6 4 12 15 8
Flaming Sword

POW P+S
11
Smiths Hammer

POW P+S
12
Fearless
Immunity: Fire
Tough
Burnt Meat Warbeasts in
this models battlegroup
can charge targets suffering
the Fire continuous effect
without being forced.
Lesser Warlock This

model is not a warlock
but has the following
warlock special rules:
Battlegroup Commander,
Control Area, Damage
Transference, Forcing, Fury
Manipulation, Healing, and Spellcaster.
Fury 4
Damage 8
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
3
Medium Base
Specialization [Pyre Trolls and Slag Trolls] The only

warbeasts that can be included in this models battlegroup are
Pyre Trolls and Slag Trolls. Reduce the point cost of Pyre Trolls
and Slag Trolls in this models battlegroup by 1.
Flaming Sword
Magical Weapon
Smiths Hammer
Magical Weapon
Critical Ram On a critical hit against an enemy model, it is

knocked down and can be pushed 1 directly away from this
model. If it is pushed, this model can immediately advance
directly toward the pushed model up to the distance that model
was moved.
Horgle Ironstrike is an anomaly among the close-knit clans

of the United Kriels, much preferring the fiery solitude of his
forge over the company of his fellow trollkin. A loner in his
kriel southeast of the Shard Spires, Horgle was uninterested
in the traditional activities of his kriel. Instead he excelled
in the ancestral smithing rites passed down to him by his
mother Lagertha, a skilled blacksmith and gifted warlock.
He took to this instruction with a will, finding solace in the
rhythms of hammer, anvil, and flame.
Horgle learned more than the rudimentary methods
necessary to shape weapons and tools, for Lagertha made
use of trolls brought from her hereditary lands in the
Wyrmwall Mountains. In addition to commanding these
fearsome creatures in defense of the kriel, she used them in
her work, tempering steel with the scorching heat of pyre
trolls and etching runes with the searing acid of the slags.
Horgle learned these techniques, eventually employing
them to craft superior weapons and armor.
32
Spells
Horgle Ironstrike
Hot Shot
Yes No
Molten Metal
10
Target model in this models battlegroup gains boosted ranged attack

damage rolls.
Target warjack suffers 1 point of fire damage
damage grid.
No Yes
to each column on its
Tactical Tips
Lesser Warlock This models type is solo, not warlock.

Molten Metal If a damage column is full, apply the damage to
the next column to the right.
He toiled contentedly at the forge until the ill-fated day

a large force of dragonspawn and blighted Nyss stormed
his kriels home. He fought alongside Lagertha, who
rallied the kriels defenses and inflicted a heavy toll on
the enemy before she was finally struck down. Her tragic
death induced Horgles own sorcerous awakening as he
took control of the remaining trolls and launched them at
the enemy. Despite his efforts the kriel was lost, and Horgle
was forced to retreat with a few other survivors. Feeling no
real kinship with these trollkin and seeing them only as a
reminder of his loss, he soon left them behind as well.
Horgle drifted south, his heart full of bitterness and hatred.
The only possessions he salvaged from his old life were his
mothers smithing hammer and a fiery sword shaped by his
own hand. He wandered for some time, surviving by his
craft and his weapons, before finding his way to those allied
with the United Kriels. There his smithing prowess and
promise as a warlock caught the attention of certain kriel
leaders. Grissel Bloodsong is one who sees great potential
in the young trollkin. Beyond his innate ability to lead trolls
in warfare, she believes Horgle may have an even greater
destiny forging weapons of power for the kriels.
While he still prefers solitude, his desire to exact vengeance
on those who destroyed his former life drives him to
fight alongside his kin in battle. His affinity with pyre
and slag trolls continues to serve him well both on and
off the battlefield. In combat he brings the power of fire,
hammering foes with the same strength and precision he
devotes to shaping metal. There is always a simmering
rage within Horgle, and in the heat of battle his sword and
hammer are infused with this inner fury.
33
Braylen
Wanderheart, Trollkin Outlaw
Trollblood Character Solo
If doing what I must to help the kin makes me an outlaw, then I suppose I am an outlaw.
Braylen Wanderheart
WANDERHEART

6 6 6 6 13 15 9
Heavy Pistol
RNG ROF AOE POW
8 1 12
Damage 8
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
3
Medium Base
WANDERHEART
Fearless
Gunfighter
Pathfinder
Tough
gains an additional +2DEF
Gun & Run At the end of

its activation, if this model
destroyed one or more enemy models with ranged attacks that
activation, it can make a full advance.
Leadership [Trollkin Highwaymen] While in this models
command range, friendly Trollkin Highwaymen models gain
Opportunist. (While a model with Opportunist is completely
within the back arc of an enemy model, it gains an additional
die on its attack and damage rolls against that enemy model.)
Opportunist While this model is completely within the back
arc of an enemy model, this model gains an additional die on its
attack and damage rolls against that enemy model.
while within terrain
Prowl This model gains Stealth
that provides concealment, the AOE of a spell that provides
concealment, or the AOE of a cloud effect.
Heavy Pistol
Luck This model can reroll missed attack rolls with this
weapon. Each attack roll can be rerolled only once as a result
of Luck.
Among the merchants and lords who travel the

Glimmerwood, one name inspires wrath and trepidation in
equal measure: Braylen Wanderheart. A consummate bandit,
Wanderheart has earned her legend by robbing wealthy
merchants only to distribute the ill-gotten gains among
her less fortunate kin. Lurking in the trees, she waits for
the opportune moment to set upon an unsuspecting target.
She and her bandits strike from ambush, relying on surprise
and intimidation as much as on strength of arms. For the
unfortunates who try to fight back, Wanderhearts gang
answers with a volley of deadly shot before converging for
closer combat. She has become a living legend, as beloved
by the kin as she is reviled by outsiders. Once, her only
concern was the acquisition of personal wealth, but fate has
presented her with a nobler cause.
Prior to the Khadoran invasion, Braylen and her band struck
at overland merchant caravans moving between Cygnar and
Llael. A portion of each haul was set aside to be shared with
nearby wilderness kriels, who in turn sheltered her gang
34
Tactical Tip

from the law. If any outsiders braved the Glimmerwood in

an attempt to bring the highwaymen to justice, they quickly
found themselves outnumbered by armed trollkin with a
vested interest in keeping Wanderheart safe. Legends of her
exploits spread quickly throughout the forest as she moved
from kriel to kriel, and young trollkin seeking what they
perceived as a thrilling and lawless life followed.
Braylens fate shifted when she met Calandra Truthsayer.
The oracle impressed upon her the kins need for a leader
of her talents. With threats on all sides, the United Kriels
were desperate for munitions and supplies, lest they be
overcome by better-equipped forces. Calandra spoke of the
trollkins ultimate fate should they fail to defend what little
they had remaining and of how crucial Wanderhearts skills
were to them having any hope of victory. Remembering the
many kriels that had defended her when she was in need
and thinking of their ultimate fate if she abandoned them,
Braylen joined their cause.
Braylen Wanderheart is now a robber with a different
agenda. It is for the common cause that she and her
trollkin bandits now travel the forests of western Immoren,
plundering military convoys and outposts amid the crackle
of pistol fire. From these targets they secure much-needed
weapons and supplies for the fighting forces of the United
Kriels, and anything they cannot use is bartered. Embattled
kriels across the wilds owe their lives to the efforts of
Wanderheart and her cohort, for without the goods she
procures they would surely be whittled away by the many
enemies they face.
35
Circle Orboros
Abuses of Power
Bradigus Thorle floated between the Pillars of Rotterhorn

in the Bloodstone Marches, held aloft by the power flowing
through the great standing stones. Suffused by natural
energies as he was, the bounds of gravity were meaningless,
his mass repulsed by the soil beneath him as when identical
poles of two magnets are placed in proximity. Manipulating
such forces was as reflexive to him as breathing.
The soaring, isolated peak of the Rotterhorn was made all
the more majestic by contrast with the flat and desolate
expanse of the Bloodstone Desert from which it rose. It was
hundreds of miles from the nearest city, with red sands
extending in all directions. Though the Pillars had been
erected at a site well below the mountains summit, Thorles
view on this clear day seemed boundless.
As one of the blackclads responsible for the Eastern
Dominion, Thorle did not view the desert as a wasteland,
for all its starkness and desiccation. Life still thrived here,
and the desert had its own power, which gathered in sunheated sands during the day and poured down from the
celestial realm at night. Power flowed beneath the surface
of Caen like currents across the ocean. Key conduits of these
flows converged on the Rotterhorn, and from its base the
energies rushed upward into the twin black stone columns
first erected thousands of years ago by blackclads who were
among the first of their order. The Pillars of Rotterhorn was
one of the greatest sacred sites of the Circle Orboros, one of
their most potent conjunctions.
It was for that reason Mohsar had directed Thorle here after
the tempestuous battle against the skorne at the Hawksmire
River. The ley lines of the Eastern Dominion are battered
and strained, the blind omnipotent had said to him.
Recent actions by Baldur, by Krueger, and even by mewe
have done them harm, and there is more harm to come. Go
to the Rotterhorn and assess the damage. The fabric of the
ley lines must be repaired, as much as is possible. I leave it
to you to determine where to begin.
It had been startling to hear such words from a man who
rarely expressed alarm and who knew more than most the
36
resiliency of Orboros, but Thorle knew the sources of strain

Mohsar had mentioned. Krueger had recently drawn on the
deepest ley lines below the desert to invoke a great storm
to obliterate a Protectorate of Menoth army, apparently in
the service of Wurmwood. A significant drain, but nothing
the ley line network could not recover from. Then there
had been Baldurs ceremony at the Bones of Orboros on the
Hawksmire River, in which he and Morvahna had reached
deep to summon an earthquake that thwarted the progress
of a Cryxian army.
Thorle had helped defend the site where this ritual had
taken place, and there he had witnessed Mohsars mystical
strength and power directed against the skorne. Making use
of two Celestial Fulcrums carved by Thorles own hands,
the omnipotent had augmented his own power enough to
banish the skorne warlock Mordikaar deep into the desert.
One of the Circles easternmost sacred sites had been
obliterated as Mordikaar, together with the unnatural void
attached to him, had been hurled hundreds of miles. That
act had sent shockwaves through the ley lines, changing
some flows entirely.
With these events in mind, Thorle had found the Pillars of
Rotterhorn to be intact and whole, though not unscathed by
the ravages of time. Large slabs of solid rock below the soil
had cracked and shifted. He had extended his will to realign
them, and soon the flows around him were humming
harmoniously. He had then sent his consciousness out into
the network, his eyes glowing as he entered a deep trance.
His mind flowed across the face of Caen faster than the
swiftest bird, not in one direction but in many. The lattice of
ley lines revealed themselves to him as if it were a vast web,
and he, the spider within that web, could sense the slightest
vibration upon the strands.
The damage that had troubled Mohsar was immediately
evident. Here, the network lacked its former harmony; it
was tattered in many places, diminished in others. The
regions that had been particularly strained were dim and
discolored in his perception, as if Caen itself were bruised.
He could sense the pull of other blackclads on the ley lines

as they summoned power. Most of these small disturbances
hardly registered, like a single drop of water amid a roaring
waterfall. The omnipotents, however, could be detected
if he searched for them. He felt Mohsar the Desertwalker
like a shadow across the entire Eastern Dominion. Then
he frowned as he sensed a powerful but unfamiliar mind
probing the ley lines with an intensity equal to his own.
There was a brief silence. When Krueger spoke again his

tone had changed, as though he were listening to Thorle
with more focused attention. My apologies, Runecarver. I
did not mean to be rude, and I do not hold recent events
against you. There was considerable pressure on all of you
to speak as one voice at the Grand Conclave Tribunal. Had
I been in your position, I might have chosen as you did.
However, I must return to my work
He focused his attention and soon recognized Krueger the

Stormwrath. It had not been long since the omnipotents
had conducted a trial to judge Krueger for his crimes.
The self-appointed Stormlord had been found guilty
and marked for death. Every one of the potents, Thorle
included, had cast votes to seal that fate. A distasteful
situation, but from the offered testimony it had been
clear Krueger was guilty. Wurmwoods intervention
had changed the verdict, but it didnt alter the fact that
Krueger had put the entire order in danger by conspiring
with dragons. Krueger s present scrutiny of the ley lines
in this manner filled Thorle with alarm.
Krueger. I must know what you are doing and how it will
affect my domains. His irritation had begun to show. That
is my right.
He felt it was his duty to contact the Stormlord. He sent his

mind across the miles and found him at Molgurs Lament,
a minor sacred site in the northern Wyrmwall Mountains.
Krueger, it is Bradigus Thorle. I would speak to you. Will
you attend my words?
Communicating through the ley lines at such a distance
required extreme concentration from both parties, as well
as proximity to powerful flows and the standing stones
channeling them. For a moment Thorle thought Krueger
would ignore him but then, with a crackling of electrical
power, a disembodied and fractured echo of Krueger
manifested before him.
Runecarver. What is it? Krueger sounded irritable and
distracted. I warn you that I am not at liberty to speak at
length.
Understood, Thorle said. I am repairing the Eastern
Dominion and felt your presence. The ley lines are unstable
here. I advise against any significant working on your part.
Might I inquire regarding your interests here?
My business is my own, Krueger snapped. After a
pause he added, I will tell you this much: I am ordering
my forces in the Glimmerwood to rejoin me. Hastening
their return should not be a strain. Nothing for you to be
concerned about.
Thorle frowned, certain Krueger was lying to him, at least
by omission. He would have no need to assess the ley lines
merely to summon allies. Bradigus said, You and I have
little in common, and you may bear me ill after my role in
your trial, but I have long dealt fairly with you. I ask the
same in return. We each have our responsibilities.
The truth of the matter is, I wish I could tell you, Krueger
responded with apparent sincerity. If I thought you
might be willing to help me, it would make many things
simpler. But matters are complicated. I have a precarious
balance to maintain. I know how loyal you have been to the
omnipotents, and for that reason I cannot bring you into my
confidence. Not yet.
Kruegers present scrutiny of

the ley lines in this manner
filled Thorle with alarm.
Thorle warned in a low voice, I do not like the sound of
this, Krueger.
The other continued after a pause, For the respect I bear
you, I will forewarn you that there may be... unusual
activity... across the ley lines in the weeks ahead that may
cause some alarm. You and your subordinates should not
react too hastily, both for your safety and for theirs. It might
be best if you stayed at the Rotterhorn; this is a dangerous
time to travel. I will tell you more soon, if I can.
Before Thorle could question him further, the connection
was severed. He felt profoundly troubled, all the more
because of Kruegers vague attempts to reassure him. He
recalled the words of Omnipotent Dahlekov at the trial:
Whatever lore Krueger related while in secret congress
with Blighterghast, the repercussions for our order might
be cataclysmic.
Thorle put that aside. Without more information he had
nothing worth reporting to the omnipotents. Returning his
attention to the ley lines, he saw no trace of the Stormlord.
He turned to the trajectory by which Mordikaar had been
hurled into the desert and found there a trench ripped
through the web of ley lines, terminating in a gaping hole
in the far desert. Already Thorles subordinates were at
work repairing lesser conjunctions along that path. Thorle
37
thought first to rebuild the distant site, but on widening his

perspective to view the entire dominion, he was alarmed to
see several other irregularities. These included one to the
north that was worsening as he watched.
He sent his mind that direction to discover the ley lines
throbbing with strain. Vast flows of energy were somehow
being redirected to the region north of Lake Scarleforth and
east of the Hawksmire River. Tremendous surges of natural
power coursed through minor standing stone sites too weak
to contain them. Thorle knew more of the power of earth
and stone than anyone in the order, but he was baffled at
what he was seeing.
Tremendous surges of
natural power coursed
through minor standing
stone sites too weak to
contain them.
Was this the activity to which Krueger had alluded? What
have you done, you fool? he wondered. Thorle knew he must
hasten to the conjunction of those flowsa small sacred
site in the Scabbard Hills. The site must be reinforced, new
stones erected if necessary, before the existing ones were
overwhelmed. Losing control over this power would have
horrible repercussions, giving rise to all manner of natural
calamities.
Coming out of his trance, he drifted down to the ground.
With a mental command he summoned the Celestial
Fulcrum and those wolds that awaited nearby, together
with his escort of subordinate stone keepers, blackclads, and
Wolves of Orboros. He reached into the ley lines thrumming
beneath him and, with a clap like granite cracking, he and
the others were gone.
Their arrival at the Scabbard Hills site revealed little amiss

to the naked eye. The standing stones formed a wide circle
some twenty yards in diameter, set within a broad, forested
glade between several rocky hills. The hills and the stones
themselves were of a reddish hue, containing many of
the minerals that gave the Bloodstone Marches its name.
This region just east of Lake Scarleforth received runoff
from the hills when the heavy rains swept down, which
then fed into the Hawksmire River through a number of
temporary tributaries. It had been weeks since such a rain,
but the channels the water had carved could be clearly seen
through the rugged brush and between the exposed roots of
the tenacious trees.
38
Thorle noted that the green runes carved into the standing
stones did not fade after his group arrived but instead
pulsed in an irregular rhythm. He reached out a hand and
touched the nearest one. It felt warm under his fingers.
Fresh cracks ran along its upper surface, and several of the
runes had been marred. The other stones were similarly
damaged, with at least one in even worse repair.
He immediately set the others to work. All were druids he
had known for years and trusted to be both competent and
efficient. Several of the stone keepers began to repair the
standing stones, using their powers to reverse the cracks
and carve fresh runes.
We will need to gather more stone, and quickly, he said
to Stone Keeper Jarsin. There is an ancient quarry that has
rested untouched for centuries just north of here.
I know whereof you speak, Jarsin answered. Behind him,
the shifting stones he commanded moved into position,
aligning with those set by other stone keepers. The pattern
they created was a configuration of multiple triangles
carefully set among the greater standing stones, to which
they lent their mystical support and regenerative power.
Take Hardris and Maywen with you. Unearth three large
slabs sufficient for our work, then hasten back. The stone
keepers and a senior wayfarer vanished with a small
thunderclap. Ordinarily shifting several people from such
a minor site would have been an ordeal, but the power
presently flowing through this place bolstered their efforts.
Thorle then directed his woldwardens and wold guardians
into the pattern. The Celestial Fulcrum he placed in the
center of the standing stones to serve as a hub; the wolds
he sent to the periphery. These constructs redirected
the energy overflowing the pattern to create a new, if
imperfect, harmony.
He took to the air again, gliding to the nearest upslope of
the rocky hills. He reached out with his hands, sending
power into the ground. With a grinding and ripping sound,
large chunks of the hillside tore free to rise into the air amid
sprays of dirt, and boulders both large and small lifted to
follow him back to the circle. Using his will, he stacked these
stones to form crude cairns alongside the greater stones and
wolds as additional conduits to help direct the energies into
patterns of his choosing. These would have to serve until
he could reinforce the site with permanent standing stones
connected by powerful runes.
Thorle had earlier noticed the typical signs of neglect at this
site, though it had received small repairs periodically and its
unthinking guardianssentry stones and woldwatchers
had performed their assigned task of scaring off intruders.
The energy flows here had never been significant enough
to draw competing groups to contest it, but he knew that
might change if these new, more powerful flows were

stabilized. He still did not know the cause of the anomalies,
and he saw nothing to suggest Krueger had visited the site.
It was possible the Stormlord was not involved, though the
timing made Thorle suspicious.
The loss of the Bones of Orboros just west of herethe very
ground where Baldurs ritual had transpiredhad been a
blow to the Circles control over the ley lines of this region.
Perhaps these wild flows were part of the aftermath. The
skorne had quickly seized that site and had wasted no time
in shattering the great stones there, stones only recently
rebuilt by Baldur after being torn down by the passage of
Everblights legion as it fled north. Before his ritual, Baldur
needed to drive away trollkin who had claimed the site in
the aftermath of the legion.
The chaos surrounding control over the Bones of Orboros
was a testament to the areas general upheaval after the
clash at the Castle of the Keys in which Morvahna had
failed to stop Everblight. This once-quiet area of the
Bloodstone Marches had seen escalating bloodshed as well
as supernatural conflicts that threatened the Circles key
holdings. The body of Orboros was as resilient as Caen
itself, able to recover from any abuse, but recent events
had been picking at the scabs. Moreover, the Cyrissists
had suddenly become more active in the other dominions,
entirely altering the course of major ley lines. It all
contributed to a time of unprecedented instability, against
which Thorle had been fighting a losing battle.
Potent, over here! The shout came from a huntsman of the
Wolves of Orboros standing watch next to a tree on a slight
rise on the western perimeter, spear in hand. He pointed
and said, Theres movement
The warrior was cut short as a hooked blade jutted through
his chest in a plume of crimson blood. He stared down at
it in surprise and made a choking noise, and then his body
was pitched aside as the bog trog that had skewered him
yanked its weapon free.
Shouts of alarm came from all quarters. More bog trogs
sprang into view, and the Wolves fought them fiercely. Thorle
flew swiftly toward the huntsmans murderer. He gestured
forcefully, drawing a rock the size of a skull from the earth
and shooting it at deadly velocity straight into the bog trogs
chest, shattering ribs and crushing organs. Behind Thorle
other blackclads rushed forward, drawing on their own
power to summon and hurl rocks into the attackers.
The bog trogs had used their talent for camouflage to
close the distance and take the Wolves on the western
side by surprise. Now the reeves who had been on
the southern side of the glade rushed to support their
comrades in arms, their crossbow bolts finding targets
with tremendous accuracy. The remaining Wolves formed

a loose line, spears at the ready, while the reeves and the
blackclads formed up behind them. Floating at the fore,
Thorle unleashed his anger upon any bog trog in sight
to annihilate them with a punishing hail of stone. The
rest were quickly scattering, perhaps not expecting such
a formidable enemy. More than half of Thorles escorting
Wolves had been taken down in the ambush, but twice as
many trogs had paid the price.
This is not their natural environment, Thorle said, glaring
toward the western valley. No bog trogs live anywhere
near here. Even as he made this observation, different and
larger forms could be seen moving through the trees just
beyond the glade.
Gatormen! shouted one of the sharp-eyed reeves while
reloading his crossbow.
Though reluctant to pull any of the wolds from his carefully
built configuration, Thorle summoned three woldwatchers
and a single wold guardian. Let the wolds to the fore! he
called. Concentrate your fire!
As his commands were carried out, Thorles mind turned
to the incongruities. Although there was a river to the west,
gatormen were never seen in these parts, having no desire
to enter the arid Bloodstone Marches. He could not fathom
what would bring both bog trogs and gatormen here. The
presence of both fighting together suggested the Blindwater
Congregation, but if so, they were far from home.
The gatormen had attacked through an opening into the
glade from the wider desert to the west. Thorles forces
advanced cautiously. As expected, the gatormen were
waiting in ambush. They surged from the trees with
polearms raised, hissing with blood lust. The first volley
of crossbow fire largely bounced off their scaled hides,
and those bolts that struck home seemed to do little harm.
Thorles woldwatchers unleashed crackling lightning
into the nearest enemies while his wold guardian strode
ahead to shatter them with its enormous stone arms. Other
gatormen were met by wold constructs. Thorle sent runes
to surround and empower his wolds, allowing each strike
greater impact. Crushing stone battered the gatormens
scales and broke their bones. The Wolves rushed through
the gaps to finish any enemy left standing.
Once the gatorman line was broken, the cold-blooded
creatures that had survived pulled back into the trees. The
reeves continued firing and reloading until they saw no
more targets. Several more reeves had fallen, and one of
Thorles woldwatchers was badly damaged. He moved to
it and touched its stone plates, closing his eyes as he sent
power through his fingers to allow the stone to grow back
to wholeness, its cracks mending in an instant.
39
We should see how many more there are, said his master of
the hunt, a grizzled woman whose face was lined with scars.
Agreed, said Thorle, but proceed carefully. We should
not move far from this site. He mentally commanded the
wolds at the center to hold their positions but to attack any
strangers that intruded past the perimeter.
Thorles forces made their way out of the neck of the valley
but then stopped in stunned disbelief. The flat, open plain
of red sand ahead was crawling with an approaching
horde of gatormen, bog trogs, and other reptilians. This
gathering was larger than any Thorle had seen in one
place beforean entire army of cold-blooded and hostile
creatures, marching directly toward the glade he had come
to repair and protect. The presence of greater warbeasts
suggested powerful bokors among the horde. Indeed,
marching near the front he spotted several figures with the
bearing of authority and power, including one he knew
from his territory in the Marchfells.
I offer you the chance to

livea gift. Others would
prefer to taste your blood.
The retreating gatormen had reached the vanguard of

this army and reported to their leaders, gesturing toward
Thorle and his companions. Clearly the bog trogs and
gatormen they had just dealt with had been merely a
scouting party.
We must pull back to the grove, said the master of the
hunt grimly. She was a veteran who had faced many horrors
with stoic disregard, a descendant of generations of Wolves
who saw it as their duty to protect the druids of Orboros,
but her face had gone pale.
Perhaps, Thorle said, but first I will speak to them.
Seeing her eyes go wide, he continued, I have had
dealings with some of these gatormen before. There is
nothing of interest to them at our sacred site. Perhaps I
can persuade them to leave it be. Regardless, we cannot
leave this place yet. Withdraw to the grove and make
ready to defend it.
Yes, Runecarver, as you command. She took charge
of her warriors, directing them to fall back. Thorle
positioned his wolds at the narrowest point of the
opening into the valley and awaited the gatorman army.
He stood before them, alone, as still and unyielding as
the stones around him.
40
As the gatormen at the fore came to a stop, their leaders

conferred with one another, no doubt debating whether
to attack outright. Eventually a smaller group split off
and approached, led by a female bokor wearing elaborate
totemic attire. She was the one he had recognizedJagaJaga, who was adorned with many skulls and bones, the
corpse of a tatzylwurm draped about her shoulders.
Two hulking ironback spitters came with her, along with
two writhing piles of bones he knew to be boneswarms,
unnatural and loathsome necromantic constructs. As the
bokor neared, the undead tatzylwurm turned its head to
face him, and he sensed a malevolent intelligence behind
its many eyes.
Jaga-Jaga said, Thorle Runecarver. Seven seasons ago I
fought for you, but that deal is done. You paid as promised.
You are worthy of respect, worthy of hearing my words. I
offer you the chance to livea gift. Others would prefer
to taste your blood. She spoke the tongue of her people,
which he understood but could not easily speak.
He answered in Cygnaran, which she knew similarly
well but which was ill-suited to the anatomy of her kind.
Greetings, Jaga-Jaga. I offer respect to your tribe and your
ancestors. She was a powerful bokor. Though he could
not consider her an ally, the fact that she was willing to
talk was something. I would not have thought to find you
here. Have you joined your tribe to those ruled by Bloody
Barnabas?
Your words are neither true nor untrue. Matters are not
so simple. Barnabas is the greatest of those gathered here. I
advise him. His decisions are life or death for many tribes.
And it is for his purposes that you are here? Thorle asked.
Why? Does he seek war with the Circle Orboros? Do you?
He could not interpret her expression as she twisted
her head and made a gesture with one claw. You are
unimportant. We press onward, beyond you, but Barnabas
will not hesitate to destroy you or your walking stones.
Her claw indicated his wolds. If you do not desire this
fate, leave at once. He is not patient and already we delay
too long.
He looked to the gathered forces, which were becoming
increasingly impressive as the members to the rear caught
up with the rest. Among them he saw several tall stone
vaults set on wheels and pulled by muscular gatormen.
Each vault was made of ancient and weatherworn stone,
inscribed with Orgoth runes and set with dozens of skulls
and bonesold stones tainted with ancient and recent
blasphemies. He had not seen the like before, but he felt
certain these vaults were dangerous. The gatormen bokors

were powerful necromancers, as skilled in their own way
as any Thamarite or Cryxian. Altogether, it was a force he
stood no realistic chance of stopping.
This is no place for your kind, below the burning sun and
walking the dry sands, Thorle said. What is your goal, if
not strife with us?
We go where we must, she said. Kossk guides us, and
the spirits have shown me the way. Nothing will stand in
our path. Time is wriggling away. The war we seek is with
the trollkin, not you, but we will carve a path through you
if we must.
What matters the exact route as long as you reach your
destination? There is a grove here, a protected place. I must
ask you to go around. He gestured to the left and right,
where the line of hills stretched out into the barren wastes.
March either way, find another path, and you will save
yourself unnecessary bloodshed.
She made a hitched hissing sound, extending her toothfilled jaws toward him, and he realized she was expressing
amusement. We seek bloodshed, Runecarver. We do not
fear it. And we do not have time to wander the hillsto
bake beneath the sun, as you say. There is need for haste. We
will pass through. Make way, or be swallowed by Kossk.
With that she turned her back and strode away, her retinue
following close behind.
Thorle now wished he had brought more wolds along with
him. The gatormen respected strength. As it was, they did
not consider him a threat, and in truth given their scope
they were right. Even so, he knew he could not simply walk
away. Even if they did not intend harm, the gatormen might
obliterate his careful work as they marched through, and in
doing so create a disaster. He pondered the bokors words,
and the strangeness of such an armys appearance here.
The name of the gatormens god was known to him, but
Kossk was simply another aspect of the Devourer Wurm,
itself only an expression of the will of Orboros. Jaga-Jaga
was a sage of her people, from a powerful bloodline. Was
it possible she had some communication with the Wurm? If
so, what could that signify?
He and his wolds turned back toward the central site. He
would have better hopes of defending there, where he could
draw on the great power flowing through this place. It was
vital he shore up the ley lines here. At the least he might be
able to stall their army long enough to complete the work
and prevent a catastrophe. There was primal power in
blood; perhaps amid the battle he could draw upon that.
He considered what reinforcements he might summon, but
between the losses at the Bones of Orboros and those that had
gone to join Krueger or Morvahna, his options were limited.
Deep in thought, he had not realized his environment had

changed. A strange fog had seeped into the wooded glade,
out of keeping with the afternoon heat. He was brought up
short as he realized his way was blocked. Directly in his
path stood a familiar withered and twisted tree, its leafless
branches dangling with bones that made a slight whistling
sound in the wind: Wurmwood, the Tree of Fate.
He looked to his right and Cassius was there, less than five
feet away, staring intently at him. Allow the gatormen to
pass, Cassius said in his raspy voice.
What? Thorle was so startled he could think of no better
response. Impossible!
I will ensure they do not destroy the stones. Your work can
resume when they have passed, Cassius said calmly.
Whats your involvement in this? Thorle felt great
mistrust of Wurmwood, of the entire ancient arrangement
his order had entered into with the primordial tree. Again
he considered Kruegers trial and how this strange being
had stood in the way of justice. He tried to remember the
formalities that surrounded contact with this entity. With all
due respect, this territory is mine. I did not invite you here.
Withdraw your people, quickly, or suffer. It is your choice,
Cassius said, and in the blink of an eye he was gone.
Thorle gritted his teeth as he looked at the gnarled tree
ahead, which he suspected would vanish soon. Before it did,
he was intent on learning something. His eyes narrowed
as he plunged his will and his mind down into the earth,
connecting to the ley lines that surged so powerfully here,
pregnant with strange energies. He gasped. As he had
anticipated, the roots of Wurmwood were sunk deep into
these ley lines. The flows of power here, he felt certain,
originated with Wurmwoodan entity said to be an aspect
of the Wurm, just as Kossk was.
A powerful voice spoke in his head, a voice much like
Cassius but also not, resonant and vibrating with energy.
These channels of power are not yours. They are mine.
The sensation was dizzying. Shaken, Thorle realized he had
closed his eyes. When he opened them Wurmwood was
gone. He heard the rumble and clatter of the approaching
gatorman army and hastened back to the grove to gather
his forces and withdraw, for a time. If a single standing
stone was disturbed, he vowed, he would commit to a full
reckoning against both the gatormen and Wurmwood,
whatever the consequences.
41
Bradigus
Thorle the Runecarver
Circle Warlock
His eyes behold the raw power of Caen. His hands shape for us the tools to wield it.
Mohsar the Desertwalker
Feat: Earthen Tide
THORLE

5 7 6 6 14 16 8
Stone Throw
RNG ROF AOE POW
8 3 13
Stone Strike

POW P+S
The very earth heaves and

buckles at the command of
Bradigus Thorle, rising up
beneath him like flowing water.
He and his wolds ride this
crashing wave as they surge
forward into his enemies as an
unstoppable tide.
13
Choose a table edge and a

distance up to 5. Models
Fury 6
in Thorles battlegroup that
Damage 17
are in his control area are
Field Allowance
C
pushed the chosen distance
Warbeast Points
+6
directly toward the chosen
Large Base
table edge in the order you
choose. At the end of your
turn, choose a distance up to 5. Models in Thorles battlegroup
that are in his control area are pushed the chosen distance directly
away from the chosen table edge in the order you choose.
THORLE
Pathfinder
Earth Magic When a warbeast with Construct

in this
models battlegroup is forced to use its animus while in this
models control area, reduce the COST of the animus by 1.
Shape Stone [9] (HAction) This model can attempt repairs
on any damaged friendly Faction construct. To attempt repairs,
this model must be B2B with the damaged construct and make
a skill check. If successful, remove d6 damage points from the
construct.
Steady This model cannot be knocked down.
Stone Binder Only warbeasts with Construct
this models battlegroup.
can be part of
Stone Throw
Beat Back Immediately after a normal attack with this weapon

is resolved during this models combat action, the enemy model
hit can be pushed 1 directly away from the attacking model.
After the enemy model is pushed, the attacking model can
advance up to 1.
Stone Strike
Reach
Beat Back See above.

Critical Smite On a critical hit, this model can slam the
model hit instead of rolling damage normally. The model hit
is slammed d6 directly away from this model and suffers a
damage roll with POW equal to this models STR plus the POW
of this weapon. The POW of collateral damage is equal to this
models STR.
Bradigus Thorle is a master of stone and elemental power,

an expert craftsman well versed in the esoteric arts required
to construct the great standing stones and celestial fulcrums
that harness Caens geomantic forces. Designed to last
42
Spells
Battering Ram

2
6

12 No Yes
When an enemy model is hit by Battering Ram, it can be pushed 3 directly

away from the spells point of origin.
Mystic Wards
3 Self Ctrl
No No
Rift
13
No Yes
Synergy
2 Self Ctrl
Enemy animi and enemy upkeep spells on models in this models

battlegroup that are in its control area immediately expire. While within
5 of a model in this models battlegroup in its control area, enemy models
cannot cast, channel, or upkeep spells. Mystic Wards lasts for one round.
The AOE is rough terrain and remains in play for one round.
Yes No
While in its control area, models in this model s battlegroup gain a +1

cumulative bonus on melee attack and melee damage rolls for each other
model in the battlegroup that hit an enemy model with a melee attack this
turn while in this models control area.
Tactical Tip
Beat Back The attacking model can advance even if the enemy
model is destroyed by the attack.
millennia, these stones manipulate the flow of the worlds

energy, the very blood of Orboros, directing it according to
Thorles complex designs. Without his tireless efforts, the
recent conflicts across western Immoren would have robbed
the Circle of one of its most vital resources.
The sites of Thorles towering monuments, invariably
within the deepest wilderness where Caens energies are
at their most primal, are among the Circles most sacred
places. Often, the order must reclaim these sites from
enemies who would despoil the power for their own ends.
Such tasks bring Thorle into the domain of many blackclads
who seek to add his power to their own, but the Runecarver
is unmoved by attempts to curry his favor.
Thorle eschews most political machinations within the
Circle, preferring to keep company with the silent wolds.
Comfortable with the dictates of the omnipotents and
unyielding in the face of adversity, he focuses on whatever
task is before him. He is a steadfast and loyal leader who
diligently tends to his responsibilities, knowing his work is
essential to the order.
Only in battle does Thorle break from his aloof demeanor.
To him, combat is an outlet for unexpressed rage at those
who disrupt or destroy his work. The very earth responds
to his will, and he easily wields the titanic powers flowing
beneath the surface of Caen. At his command massive rocks
rise from the ground to obliterate men and beasts, and
mighty wolds stride forth from the wilderness to crush the
enemy between their stony fists.
43
Argus
Moonhound
Circle Light Warbeast
These hounds find their prey with the certainty of the rising moons.
ARGUS MOONHOUND

7 7 5 4 15 14 7
Bite

POW P+S
h 4
Bite

POW P+S
H 4
11
2
BODY
IR
IT
SP
3
4
IN
D
ARGUS MOONHOUND
ANIMUS
Circular Vision This

models front arc extends
to 360.
If target enemy model advances during its activation,

immediately after ending this movement this model can advance
up to 3. A model can move only once per turn as a result of
Hound. Hound lasts for one round.
Pathfinder
Hunting Howls (HAction)

Enemy models lose
Camouflage and Stealth
while within 5 of this
model. Hunting Howls lasts
for one round.
11
Mark Target Other

friendly Faction models
gain +2 to ranged attack
rolls against enemy models
within 5 of this model and
in its LOS.
Prowling the nighttime

shadows,
the
argus
Fury 3
moonhound stalks the
Threshold 9
wilds of western Immoren
Field Allowance U
to hunt down the
Point Cost
4
enemies of the
Medium Base
Circle
Orboros
no matter where
they hide. Moonhounds can detect the very faintest
scent of prey; even supernatural methods of
concealment cannot thwart their superlative senses.
Across Caen moonhounds flush out those who seek
to escape the Circle, calling to their masters with a
chorus of low baying. Victims who try to flee are relentlessly
run down to be ravaged by the hounds powerful jaws.
5
The argus moonhound is a product of the blackclads

meticulous stewardship of wild argus packs. The beast
handlers of the Circle perceived that some nocturnal
breeds of argus vastly outstripped others as trackers.
In work spanning generations the blackclads cultivated
these breeds, allowing desired traits to flourish. In time
the moonhound came to rely less on sight and more on its
other, keener senses.
Each night, packs of moonhounds emerge from their dens
to greet the moons Calder, Artis, and Laris. The songs of
these ferocious beasts echo over the wilds at dusk, signaling
the onset of the packs nightly hunts. Moonhounds are
deeply attuned to the moons of Caen, and their behavior
alters with the varying phases of each moon. During the
light of full moons they often lash out wildly and attack
44
Kaya the Moonhunter
Hound

1
No Yes
relentlessly, but when the moons are new they are patient
and silent stalkers. Druids who rely on the moonhound
have learned to anticipate these cycles and adjust their
strategies accordingly.
Teams of moonhounds often accompany Circle forces
delving into dense terrain where thick undergrowth and
massive trees can hinder vision, such as the Gnarls or
Olgunholt. Unable to rely on their own eyes, the blackclads
know they can trust the natural abilities of their loyal argus.
Rotterhorn
Griffon
Its voice pierces as deep as a spears thrust.
Una the Falconer
Acceleration
No No
At the end of target friendly Faction models activation, that

model can immediately perform a special action. Acceleration
lasts for one turn.
Tactical Tip
Acceleration If a model runs or fails a charge, its activation ends.

It can no longer perform a special action from Acceleration.
Flight This model can

advance through terrain
and obstacles without
penalty and can advance
through obstructions and
other models if it has
enough movement to move
completely past them. This
model ignores intervening
models when declaring its
charge target.
Shrill Shriek (HAction)
Models within 2 of this
model suffer a POW 8
damage roll.
Claw
Open Fist
ROTTERHORN GRIFFON

6 8 6 1 14 15 6
Claw

POW P+S
11
Claw

POW P+S
11
2
BODY
3
4
IN
D
Swooping down from the rocky peaks of the mountain

from which it takes its name, the elusive Rotterhorn griffon
unleashes a shriek as deadly as its talons. This piercing cry
can be heard for miles, echoing across the parched earth
ROTTERHORN
GRIFFON
IR
IT
ANIMUS
SP
Fury 3
that surrounds the breeds
Threshold 8
towering mountain home.
Field Allowance U
The strike itself comes
Point Cost
4
suddenly, as the beast
Medium Base
screams down from
the desert sky to
leave its prey stunned and bloodied. The griffon then
shreds its helpless victim with hooked talons and lifts
the bloody carcass back to its remote roost to consume.
These griffons make their nests in the crags and

crevices of the Rotterhorn, a massive mountain that
looms over the landscape of the Bloodstone Marches.
In these stony upper reaches, Rotterhorn griffons have
little to fear, as few creatures can manage the arduous
climb to their aeries. The adult griffons have little patience
for intruders, which are summarily grabbed by powerful
talons, hoisted aloft, and tossed into thin air to plummet
to their death. Broken and gnawed carcasses litter the
slopes of the Rotterhorn, testament to the dangers that lie
hidden near its peak.
Despite such challenges, the druids of the Circle Orboros
have long observed and exploited the Rotterhorn griffon to
their own ends, choosing out especially aggressive specimens
for use as warbeasts. Like all griffons, the Rotterhorn breed
is temperamental. Angering a griffon during training usually
drives it to loose its deafening shriek, and the druids must
take great pains to teach these creatures to withhold their
lethal scream until they enter battle. Once engaged with
the enemy, the griffon is allowed full expression of its rage,
leaving a bloody trail of men and beasts that fell victim to its
piercing shriek and slashing talons.
45
Brennos
the Elderhorn
Circle Satyr Character Heavy Warbeast
Underestimate the elder beasts of the wild at your peril. The power of Orboros is not ours alone.
Morvahna the Dawnshadow
BRENNOS
BRENNOS

6 9 5 5 11 17 8
Arcane Winds
RNG ROF AOE POW
12 1 11
Horns

POW P+S
h 4
13
Oaken Staff

POW P+S
15
2
BODY
3
4
IR
IT
IN
D
SP
Fury 4
Threshold 10
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
9
Large Base
Pathfinder
Affinity [Morvahna]
When Brennos the
Elderhorn destroys one
or more enemy models
with a melee or ranged
attack during its combat
action while in Morvahnas
control area, Morvahna
heals 1 damage point. When
Brennos the Elderhorn
suffers damage from an
enemy melee or ranged
attack while in Morvahnas
control area, Morvahna
heals 1 damage point.
Primal Magic This model
can use the animus of
any friendly Faction noncharacter warbeast in its
command range as if the
animus were its own.
Sacred Ward This model
cannot be targeted by
enemy spells.
Special Issue [Morvahna]
This model can be included
in Morvahnas theme
forces. It can also be bonded
to Morvahna.
Arcane Winds
Magical Weapon
Thunderbolt Enemy models hit are pushed d3 directly away

from the attacking model. On a critical hit, the enemy model is
knocked down after being pushed.
Horns
Critical Pitch On a critical hit, instead of rolling damage

normally you can choose to have this model throw the model
hit. Treat the throw as if this model had hit with and passed the
STR check of a throw power attack. The thrown model suffers a
damage roll with POW equal to this models STR plus the POW
of this weapon. The POW of collateral damage is equal to this
models STR.
Oaken Staff
Magical Weapon
Reach
Mage Killer Gain an additional damage die on this weapons

damage rolls against models with Spellcaster or Magic Ability.
Once every few centuries, a satyr with exceptional potential

and the gift of magic rises from among their kind. These
beings are revered as shamans and champions, each a
blessing bestowed upon the herd. Brennos the Elderhorn is
one of these. An ancient and wizened satyr grown grey and
46
ANIMUS
Rites of Dawn
1 Self
No No
When a friendly Faction warbeast in this models command

range is forced to use its animus, reduce the COST of the animus
by 1. Rites of Dawn lasts for one turn.
Tactical Tips
Critical Pitch A model cannot throw a model whose base is

larger than its own.
stooped by the weight of almost three centuries, Brennos

commands primordial magic, harnessing the eldritch
natural forces of raw elemental power.
In his youth Brennos was a powerful primitive shaman
leading one of the largest herds of his kind, high in the
Wyrmwall Mountains. Any that threatened the herd he
repelled with blasts of arcane might or deadly blows from
his cudgel, a crude weapon fashioned from stout oak. With
Brennos as their defender, his herd thrived as no other.
In time, his mystic capabilities were recognized by the
blackclads tending herds in the region.
Convinced the druids would protect his wards, Brennos left
to serve a dozen different masters, and each warlock left an
imprint on his mind. As a stone at the rivers edge is shaped
over time by the currents, Brennos intellect and magical
talent were gradually refined. Over many years, he met and
bonded with some of the most powerful blackclads in the
Southern Dominion.
Eventually Brennos entered the service of Morvahna the
Autumnblade. The night she first appeared before him, she
overawed him with her arcane power and presence. The
mighty and aged satyr bowed low, prostrating himself before
the powerful druid. Brennos offered himself in service to the
Autumnblade, desiring only to lend his power to hers.
For decades Brennos has been Morvahnas most reliable
sentinel. He guards the innermost points of her domain,
hidden away at major ley line conjunctions of tremendous
potency. Though his youthful vigor is a fading memory,
his mind remains remarkably cunning. He has reshaped
his original club into a rune-carved staff to support his
bent frame, and his age often deceives Morvahnas rivals.
Ancient Brennos is still mighty, and he continues to leave
the bodies of those who oppose his mistress twisted and
broken on the battlefieldblasted into the land of the dead
by his primal magic or broken by a swift blow from his
heavy staff or gnarled horns.
47
The
Death Wolves
Circle Wolves of Orboros Character Unit
They follow a path etched in blood and manifest the ravenous appetites of the Wurm.
Vernor the Nightbringer
SKLL
SKLL

6 7 7 4 14 14 8
Headsmans Axe

POW P+S
13
TALA

6 6 7 4 14 14 8
Cleft Sword

POW P+S
11
CALEB

6 6 7 4 14 14 8
Iron Claw

POW P+S
Damage 5 ea
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
5
Small Base
Fearless
Officer
Pathfinder
Cannibal Magic This

model begins the game with
one corpse token. When
a damage roll against this
model exceeds its ARM, it
can spend a corpse token to
suffer 1 damage point instead
of the total rolled.
Granted: Overtake While
this model is in play, models
in its unit gain Overtake.
(When a model with
Overtake destroys one or
more enemy warrior models
with a normal melee attack,
after the attack is resolved
the model can immediately
advance up to 1.)
Heart Eater This model
gains a corpse token each
time it destroys a living
enemy model with a melee
attack. This model can have
The Wolves of Orboros have long served the blackclads as

foot soldiers, trading fealty to powerful druids in exchange
for protection from the wilds. While many Wolves have
distinguished themselves as mighty warriors, chieftains,
and even spiritual leaders, perhaps none boast the renown
or the infamy that attend the three dread warriors known as
the Death Wolves.
The Death WolvesSkll, Tala, and Calebadhere to
a more ancient and barbaric form of Devourer worship
than their fellows. They are death cultists who venerate
the enigmatic and horrifying Lord of the Feast as well as
the ancient entity Wurmwood. They demonstrate their
veneration by ritually consuming the flesh of their enemies
to gain strength and vigor. This practice has changed them
irrevocably, and they are no longer wholly humana fact
that has compelled them to dwell apart from the Wolf clans
to which they once belonged.
Although considered pariahs by most of those they once
called brothers, the Death Wolves have gained much from
their dark mysticism and cannibalistic practices. They draw
power from their enemies by ripping out and devouring
their still-beating hearts, in much the same way as the
bestial Tharn.
48
up to three corpse tokens at

a time. It can spend corpse
tokens during its activation
to boost an attack or damage
roll or to make an additional
melee attack at one token per
boost or additional attack.
TALA
Fearless
Pathfinder
Cannibal Magic See above.

Granted: Prowl While this
model is in play, models in
its unit gain Prowl. (Models
with Prowl gain Stealth
while within terrain that
provides concealment, the
AOE of a spell that provides
concealment, or the AOE of a
cloud effect.)
Heart Eater See above.
CALEB
Fearless
Pathfinder
Cannibal Magic See above.
Granted: Gang While this

model is in play, models in
this unit gain Gang. (When
making a melee attack
targeting an enemy model in
melee range of another model
in its unit, a model with Gang
gains +2 to melee attack and
melee damage rolls.)
Heart Eater See above.
Headsmans Axe
Reach
Cleft Sword
Powerful Charge This

model gains +2 to charge
attack rolls with this weapon.
Iron Claw
Magical Weapon
Combo Strike (HAttack)

Make a melee attack. Instead
of making a normal damage
roll, the POW of the damage
roll is equal to this models
STR plus twice the POW of
this weapon.
Stinking of the blood and decaying remains of their recent

victims, the Death Wolves stand apart from other Wolves
of Orboros in other ways beyond their devotion to death
and slaughter. Their grim helmets made from the skulls
of great beasts, their bloodstained armor, and their very
demeanor all speak of something darker and more primal,
something from a time when the line between man and
beast was far less distinct.
The Death Wolves are led by the fearsome Skll, a throwback
to the savage Molgur warlords of old. Skll leads by force
of will and strength, using his gargantuan axe to hack his
enemies into quivering bits. It is his relentless assault that
heralds the arrival of the Death Wolves on the battlefield.
Deadly and agile, Tala is the Wurms shadow, striking from

the darkness to cleave skulls and slice limbs from bodies.
Caleb is the most feral of the three, truly more animal than
man. His iron claws leave ragged wounds like the talons of
some terrible beast as he rips into enemies, awash in gore
and primal rage.
Despite their gruesome rituals, the Death Wolves are a
potent weapon for the Circle Orboros. The druids send
them into battle when they are in need of brutally effective
combatants and wish to sow particularly intense terror and
discord among their enemies.
49
Una
the Falconer
Circle Character Solo
She is as cold and distant as the winds.
UNA
UNA

6 5 5 6 15 13 8
Bird of Prey
RNG ROF AOE POW
CTRL 1
10
TalonStrike

POW P+S
Fury 4
Damage 5
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
3
Small Base
Fearless
Pathfinder
Birds Eye While in

this models control area,
models in its battlegroup
extend their front arcs 360
and when determining
LOS ignore cloud effects,
forest terrain, and
intervening models.
Lesser Warlock This

model is not a warlock but
has the following warlock
special rules: Battlegroup
Commander, Control Area,
Damage Transference,
Forcing, Fury Manipulation, Healing, and Spellcaster.
Specialization [warbeasts with Flight] The only warbeasts
that can be included in this models battlegroup are warbeasts
with Flight. Reduce the point cost of warbeasts with Flight in
this models battlegroup by 1.
Bird of Prey
Black Penny This attack ignores the firing into melee penalty.
TalonStrike
Magical Weapon
Reach
Through the eyes of her soaring beasts, Una the Falconer gazes
down upon the wilderness of western Immoren. Griffons and
birds of prey leap into the sky at her command and fill the air
with their shrieks. To Unas enemies, this sound heralds death
from the skies. To her, it is a song of victory.
Guided by her will, Unas falcons strike with keen accuracy,
darting among the enemy and slashing with deadly talons
before returning to their master. Each of her birds was
raised from the egg, plucked by her hand from remote nests.
She has trained them to serve with fearsome efficiency as
both tools of the hunt and weapons of war. In battle she
sends these sharp-eyed scouts aloft and through them she
observes the enemy from above to identify weaknesses in
their formations. Wherever she travels she keeps her falcons
close, her constant companions and instruments of her will.
Born among the Bolotov peoples of Khadors northern
Kovosk Hills, as a child Una was trained in their ancient
tradition of hunting with falcons. She showed extraordinary
talent for handling the dangerous birds, directing them with a
proficiency beyond her years. It was her connection with these
birds that shaped her wilding: as a young teen Una discovered
she was able to touch their minds and command them.
50
Grayle the Farstrider
Spells
Dog Pile
10
Watcher
3 Self
Yes Yes
Yes No
Warbeasts in this models battlegroup can charge or make slam power

attacks against target enemy model without being forced and regardless of
LOS. When a warbeast does, it gains +2 movement and gains Pathfinder
while resolving that charge or slam.
When an enemy model advances and ends its movement within 6 of this
model, choose a warbeast in this models battlegroup that is in its control
area. That warbeast can immediately make a full advance and then can
make one normal melee or ranged attack targeting the enemy model. The
attack and damage rolls against that model are boosted. After the attack is
resolved, Watcher expires.
Tactical Tips
Dog Pile Modifiers to movement apply only to a models normal

movement.
Detecting her wilding, the northern blackclads took Una

into their ranks. Her mentor, a beast master of considerable
power, taught her to expand her connection with her falcons
into an affinity for the griffons favored by the Circle. Soon
she went to serve under other beast masters overseeing the
orders far-flung griffon roosts, traveling to the far corners
of Immoren to learn how these beasts are protected, fledged,
and readied for battle. Though such tasks are considered
her duty as a junior druid, Una took to the work with
uncommon passion.
Tending to these great predators, she has scaled the
Rotterhorn and delved into the frozen Scarsfell. Her talent
with flying beasts is exceptional; under her control they
strike with the same unsettling precision as her falcons. This
affinity seems to Una a natural extension of many years of
working closely with smaller birds of prey, and her griffons
feel such a strong connection to her that they instinctively
protect her at all costs.
There is nothing Una enjoys more than linking her mind
to a soaring falcon or griffon as it touches the skies. Other
druids often find her reserved and uninterested, but they are
unable to comprehend the joy she finds only in communion
with her beasts. Her beloved griffons and falcons grant
her both the exhilaration of flight and the satisfaction of
destroying her enemies. The skill and efficiency with which
she has accomplished all challenges set before her has
started to earn her notice by the upper echelons, some of
whom predict she might become one of the greatest beast
masters of the Circle Orboros.
51
Skorne
Test of Resolution
Northeastern Ios
It was rare for Xerxis to know defeat, and the loss of

Primus Sellks decurium was the first he had felt as they
penetrated Iosan lands. As Makeda had anticipated, the
northeastern border of Ios was more lightly patrolled than
the southern, allowing them to quickly advance past the
outer watchtowers, annihilating the light opposition they
had initially faced. Word had clearly reached the Aeryth
Dawnguard. The foes they had faced were only the first
of many defenders gathering. On hearing of Sellks defeat,
Xerxis went to personally inspect the site of the battle and
assess the state of those who remained.
Loraak, his signal bearer and nephew, knelt next to the
corpses of a ferox and rider, inspecting the wounds.
Firearms, he said. Similar to those used by Cygnar.
Xerxis sat astride Suruk, the great cerops hed ordered sent
to him from the east after suffering near-fatal wounds at the
hands of the dirt mystics. He did not relish having to rely on
a mount, but he would not hold back his army in any way.
Primus Vulto, he said to the tall officer who had first
informed him of the situation here. Sellk claimed to have
the Iosan border force boxed in. That does not appear to be
the case. Who commands his remaining forces? They had
already heard Sellk had been slain.
Dakar Saikhan, Tyrant, said Vulto smartly. Xerxis nodded. He
had hand-selected these soldiers, each officer a worthy veteran.
They continued on, and when they reached what was
left of the decurium, Xerxis saw the troops arrayed in a
defensive formation near a rocky, moss-covered ridge. He
counted several hundred warriors, mostly Praetorians and
Venators. Several scarab packs were penned nearby, next
to the surviving Cataphracts. The geography made the
encampment easy to defend; Saikhan had positioned his
troops wisely.
They found the senior dakar at the center of a group of ferox
scouts. He was short for a skorne but barrel-chested and
muscular. His Cataphract armor was dented, and he wore a
52
bandage over his left eye. His other eye widened when he
saw Xerxis. The scouts bowed low as the tyrant dismounted
and strode toward them.
Tyrant Xerxis, I did not expect the honor... said the
dakar as he rose from a deep bow.
Report, Dakar, said Xerxis sharply. Tell me how Sellk
managed to lose so many warriors.
They attacked at night, using these, said Saikhan. He
placed an object into Xerxis outstretched palm: two green
lenses on a leather strap, meant to be worn on the head. It
allows them to see better in the dark.
Xerxis called for Aptimus Sarangerel, one of his extollers, to
examine the device with the crystal oculus that replaced one
of his eyes. Xerxis knew the extoller could use the power
of that oculus to see in the dark, and he inquired whether
these devices might be similar.
This mechanism is quite basic, very different from what
we use, said Sarangerel. He was old and rail-thin, with
a hunched back. Though physically not well suited for an
extended campaign, he could rely on his two apprentices for
assistance when he required it, and his loyalty was beyond
question. Scoffing, the extoller continued, Our oculi allow
us to see spiritual energy. These simple chymically treated
lenses merely amplify existing light to afford the Iosans some
amount of night vision. This would give them an advantage
in night attacks, but not near the vision of an extoller.
Such devices are common among their soldiers, said
Saikhan. They will use them again when they come to
finish us off tonight.
And we will do our best to disappoint them, said Xerxis
grimly.
To Saikhans credit, Xerxis saw no need to reposition his

troops. With such a small force and limited intelligence on
the enemy, he decided to keep his Cataphracts in reserve

under the command of Primus Vulto. Hed brought several
dathas of Praetorian keltarii, which he assigned to the
vanguard. Sellk had few warbeasts, but Xerxis knew the
Iosans would not be limited in the use of their myrmidons.
The primus had captured and interrogated one of their
arcanists, and after three days with the paingivers she had
explained how the great machines functioned and how they
required downtime after battle to restore their energy. The
primus had then sent small harassment forces to deny the
Iosans that luxury.
The skorne readied for battle as night fell. To make their
position more defensible, they felled trees and hewed the
trunks into spikes, which the Cataphracts pounded into
the ground. Several large bonfires were lit close to the
ridge to provide light for the army without ruining their
night vision. The night air was cold, and fog began to form
between the trees.
I see movement! shouted a Praetorian down the line. An
instant later the air darkened with crossbow bolts. As one,
Xerxis keltarius units raised their double-bladed polearms
and spun them around at lightning speed, deflecting nearly
all the incoming projectiles. A few pained grunts marked
where bolts found a mark.
Saikhan stood nearby, looking at Xerxis as if he expected the
counterattack order at any moment, but the tyrant remained
silent. Xerxis squinted into the dark, trying to predict the
next move of the enemy commander. What would he do if
their positions were reversed?
Tell the Praetorians to brace for a charge, he said. Bring
the scarab packs to the front. He mentally urged Suruk into
position at the head of his army. Two lesser cyclopes flanked
him. The primitive creatures reacted to the unknown with
rage, and right now he sensed that rage was directed at the
enemies in the trees.
No sooner had the order gone out than mounted Iosans
in plate armor thundered out of the forest. Lance points
dipped as they charged across the open ground, firing heavy
shot with explosive reports. Then the Iosans were leaping
over the sharpened stakes to smash into the skorne lines.
Praetorians howled their war cries as their battle-brothers
were shot, impaled, or crushed beneath the armored steeds.
Some managed to raise their polearms to blunt the charge,
and several steeds screamed as they went down. Other
riders were slowed enough to be dragged from their saddles
and hacked to pieces, and a small group of Praetorian ferox
retaliated on the far side with claws, fangs, and polearms.
A group of four riders had charged straight at Xerxis. One
was swept off his horse by a blow from one of the cyclopes,
who then broke the horses back with a powerful overhand
strike. A second rider managed to drive his lance into the

other cyclops chest. Xerxis could feel the life ebbing from it
but used his mortitheurgy to stall its death as it clawed its
way up the lance to deliver a crushing blow to its killers
breastplate.
That left two horsemen for Xerxis. He drew Lamentor and let
the massive flail dangle. One of the riders came up fast, earth
churning beneath his mounts hooves. Xerxis compelled
Suruk to attack. The beast lowered its horn and hit the
attackers mount head-on, snapping the steeds neck and
throwing its rider to his certain death. The sudden jolt caused
black spots to appear in Xerxis vision, and he was painfully
reminded of his injuries. He ignored the pain and struck at
the last rider, who had ducked low in the saddle under a
blow from one of the cyclopes. The flail collapsed the Iosans
breastplate and knocked him off his horse, and the point of
Xerxis standard made sure he would never rise again.
The beast hit the attackers

mount head-on, snapping the
steeds neck and throwing its
rider to his certain death.
Xerxis scanned the battlefield in the brief lull that followed.
From atop Suruk he saw black and red insectile carapaces
seething between the skorne lines. Impelled by the whips
of beast handlers, a scarab leapt onto the back of one
surprised Praetorian and used him to launch into an attack
that unhorsed one of the knights. Several more swarmed
the Iosan as he fell.
A trumpet sounded from the forest and the remaining
Iosan horsemen wheeled to retreat, unleashing more fire
from their lances upon any skorne in their path. The charge
had not been as effective as the enemy commander had
expected, and he was trying to salvage what he could.
A cry went up from the rear of the camp. Xerxis stood in his
stirrups and then cursed as he was momentarily blinded by
his own bonfires. There was movement on the cliffs behind
him. Dark shapes descended long gray ropes, and furious
battle had erupted at the base of the ridge. The Iosans
hadnt been waiting for the skorne to tire themselves out
theyd been waiting for other troops to circle around behind
them. The cavalry charge had been a distraction. Xerxis felt
a glimmer of admiration for the Iosan commander.
Firelight reflected off a Cataphract standard. Vulto
had taken the initiative and commanded the reserves
to attack. The heavily armored skorne plowed into the
leather-clad Iosan assassins, their swords cutting through
them like parchment.
53
Vultos quick response had blunted the Iosan ambush, but

the skorne were still too vulnerable. The enemy commander
had sent skirmishers against them, perhaps hoping to
decimate the command structure before they knew what
was happening. If Xerxis or his subordinates were inclined
to lead from the rear, the plan might have worked. Now
that they were aware of the threat, however, the ambushers
would be swiftly dealt with.
With the skorne distracted, it would have seemed the perfect
opportunity for the enemy to renew the attack from the
forest. Surprisingly, there was no immediate response from
that quarter. The wisps of fog had thickened into a dense
soup that hid the enemy, but no attack seemed forthcoming.
In the enemy commanders place, Xerxis would have
thrown everything he had into the fray. What was holding
the Iosans back?
He called for Aptimus Sarangerel. When the extoller arrived,
his crystal oculus glinting in the firelight, Xerxis asked, Can
the Iosans not use their devices to see through fog?
Even the most fearsome

foe is vulnerable to an
attack delivered at the
proper place and time.
I am not an expert, but it seems not.
Good. We shall use that against them, Xerxis said.
Sarangerel nodded, and Xerxis smiled. Send one of your
apprentices to Vulto and the other to the left flank. You will
come with me. He turned to Dakar Saikhan. Have the
Venators clear a path.
The dakar gave the order, and the Praetorian lines opened
up as every second soldier took a step back and sideways
behind his closest peer. Venator reivers marched through
the gaps, knelt, and fired their weapons into the fog. Karax
warriors then advanced and formed a shield wall.
The enemy commander had spread out his forces, both
for the flanking maneuver and because maintaining tight
formations in such dense forest was impossible. Sarangerel
and his apprentices peered through their oculi and also
used their powers to enable a chosen few others to spot
ghostly figures in the fog, whose locations they relayed to
Xerxis troops. By the time the afternoon sun had burned off
the morning fog, most of the Iosan forces were destroyed
or captured.
Xerxis army had not gone unscathed. He listened with half
an ear as Saikhan delivered the casualty list. A large number
of Venators had fallen to the surprise attack at the rear, and
the scarab packs had not survived the withdrawal of the
54
Iosan cavalry. Despite the losses, any other commander

would have counted it a great victory. Xerxis did not.
Numbers were already against him, and he knew more
Iosans would join the fight, including forces from Aeryth
Dawnguard. Any casualty was one too many.
They rejoined the main army two days away from the Hill
of Scavengers, a giant slope that rose out of the surrounding
forest where the main Iosan force was encamped. As soon
as he reached his tent, Xerxis banished his advisors. Every
morning, junior officers updated or redrew the maps
sketched of the local region, adding features and adjusting
the placement of small bone chits used to designate friendly
or enemy forces, the former stained blood-red. There were
far too few representing his skorne.
He adjusted the chits around the base of the hill. Any way he
positioned them, they were still dwarfed by the Dawnguard
forces. He frowned deeply and rose. To a waiting slave he
said, Bring me Dakar Saikhan. A few minutes later the
stocky commander arrived and bowed deeply.
Report on the state of your soldiers, Dakar.
They are under Primus Taalharns command now. We have
lost one in five, but those remaining are eager and ready to
fight. Saikhan hesitated, then proceeded carefully. I am
curious as to why I was not assigned to another taberna?
I asked that you be assigned to me, said Xerxis.
Saikhans eyes widened and he bowed deeply. I do not
deserve such honor.
As the ranking officer in Sellks decurium, you know the
land better than anyone. He pointed to the map. Tell me
what we can expect at the Hill of Scavengers.
There has been a fog every morning here, Saikhan said,
indicating where it lay heaviest.
And the enemy?
Saikhans attention shifted to the enemy chits on the Hill
of Scavengers. They are cowards and prefer to fight from
a distance. Now that they have the high ground, they will
cling to it.
With limited Venators, Xerxis forces were best up close,
but if he charged up the hill his army would be torn apart
by the Iosan ranged weapons. He needed to neutralize that
advantage. Dakar, he said thoughtfully. What did we do
with our prisoners?
It was a two-day forced march to the trees along the base of

the Hill of Scavengers. Xerxis had commanded the paingivers
and a few dedicated mortitheurges to lend his troops fresh
energy, or at least the will to ignore their fatigue. His plan

hinged on hiding the disposition of his troops, and he was
well aware of the difficulty of doing that in terrain the Iosans
knew better than he. There was one bright spot: as Saikhan
had predicted, the area was shrouded by thick fog. Until
now, this had largely worked to the defenders advantage.
Xerxis guided Suruk above the fog level to get a clear look
at the enemy, and his retinue followed.
Were like reptile hounds going up against an archidon,
Loraak said when they finally saw the Iosans. He had
spoken louder than he intended and looked abashed when
he realized hed been overheard.
Xerxis frowned but had to admit the comparison was apt.
They had to reach the foe to harm them. The Iosans looked
impressive in armor that practically glowed in the early
light. Their cavalry, both riders and steeds, were as heavily
armored as Cataphracts. Their fighting machines looked
like giant suits of armor carved with glowing sigils.
Even the most fearsome foe is vulnerable to an attack
delivered at the proper place and time, he told his nephew.
Saikhan emerged from the fog, jogged over to them,
and dropped to a knee. The beast handlers are having
difficulty with the bronzeback. It is high-spirited and
they do not wish to dampen its reflexes with drugs. They
respectfully request that you commence your attack soon
to take advantage of its temper.
Xerxis searched with his mind and found the fiery point
of rage that was the bronzeback. The paingivers had used
spiked chains secured to sensitive points on its hide. The
pain was meant to control the beast, but the bronzeback was
too stubborn. Xerxis applied just enough of his will to tamp
back its burning rage.
The timing of our attack will be at my choosing, not that of
a titan. Tell them to remember that, lest I have their tongues
removed. Xerxis turned Suruk back into the fog. It was
time to rejoin the army.
Just inside the edge of the fog bank were several rows of
shackled figures. These captives were the key to Xerxis plan
one that never would have worked against a skorne house. He
was about to find out if it would work against the Iosans.
At his signal, a runner dashed off into the fog. A moment
later a horn sounded. Paingivers cracked their whips, and
the prisoners began to move. They were Iosans, captured
fighters as well as villagers from every town between here
and the border.
As the prisoners emerged from the fog, a cry of dismay arose
from the Iosan army. Standards dipped, and a horseman
broke away from his unit to gallop along the front line and
consult with his commander. Xerxis had read them correctly.
Eventually they would determine they had no choice but to

fire on their countrymenafter all, their entire nation was
at riskbut he did not intend to let them take any decisive
action that was not according to his plan.
When his forces were a quarter of the way up the slope,
Xerxis lifted his war standard and thrust it twice overhead.
The Cataphracts saw the signal and tightened ranks around
the prisoners. One of the captured warriors tried to push
past the armored skorne. The blade of a polearm spilled his
guts out onto the grass.
The rest of the Cataphracts, following Xerxis command,
tore into the prisoners savagely. By design, most of their
blows were not immediately fatal. Iosans screamed as arms
were severed and stomachs opened. A few captives broke
free and dashed toward the Iosan line, only to be run down
and killed. Xerxis had instructed the Cataphracts to butcher
the captives in order to goad the enemy into attacking.
Despite the discipline of the Iosan army, several units started
to break formation, and their commanding officers had to
shout them back. The damage was done, however: the shifting
line was in disarray, their soldiers in emotional turmoil.
It was not the knights who attacked first. Instead a lightly
armored arcanist directed one of the myrmidons behind the
front linesa huge construct with a metal blade on each
arm and a single horn, similar to Suruksto step forward
and fire. A shimmering field of light manifested around it,
then coalesced into a beam of powerful energy that hit one
of the Cataphracts and burned through his armor. Some
Iosans interpreted this as the signal to attack, and many
forward elements broke ranks and charged.
The two lines met in a clash of thunder and steel. The heavy
armor of the skorne protected them initially, but the Iosans
commanded their myrmidons skillfully. Xerxis watched as
one machine closed with a group of Cataphracts, using an
arcane field to slow their movement, and then ripped into
them with arm-mounted glaives. Another rippled with blue
flame, leaving fiery corpses in its wake.
Melee swirled around Xerxis. From atop Suruk he swung his
deadly flail. Two huge aradus sentinels stood on either side
of him, their scorpion-like tails claiming a victim with every
thrust. Any Iosan who managed to close was snatched up
by their mandibles. Xerxis empowered these beasts with a
burst of speed and sent them against a fiery myrmidon that
had seared its way through the surrounding Praetorians.
The sheer number of enemy soldiers was too much for his
force, and his lines began to give. The myrmidons were
exacting a gory toll. With a snarl he focused his power, and
a field of jagged rocks erupted from the earth in front of him
to send one of the machines toppling to the ground, along
with a pair of cavalry. Cataphracts moved in to finish them.
55
He looked around and spotted Loraak, who had just knocked

over an enemy halberdier with his shield and impaled him.
Give the order! Xerxis bellowed. Fall back!
The younger skorne nodded, then lifted an ivory horn
to his lips and blew. The skorne began to disengage.
Praetorian phalanxes backed slowly down the hill, shields
locked. Lines of Venator reivers fired their needle guns to
cover the rest of the army as they pulled back. Even the
Cataphracts gave ground. A cry of victory arose from the
Iosans and they surged forward down the hill, exacting
a heavy price on the retreating army. Some among them
alternated between firing short-ranged but heavy-hitting
firearms and hacking left and right with the attached
blades.
Xerxis was among the last to reach the fog bank. He
yanked hard on Suruks reins. The enormous cerops
snarled a protest as he drew up short and turned around.
An avalanche of warriors pursued them. Just as Xerxis had
hoped, his ploy had enraged the Iosans, and the retreat
had them scenting blood. But their lines were spread out,
with mounted troops far ahead of the infantry, and their
myrmidons even farther back. Behind him skorne were
reforming into tight, orderly units.
Regardless of what happens

here, you are doomed.
Release the titans! he ordered. A few heart-stopping
moments later the Paingivers had urged Tiberion, Xerxis
personal warbeast and leader of the herd, into combat. More
titans rose to their full height behind itmost prominently
the bronzeback, which trumpeted a battle cry.
Xerxis focused his arcane power on Tiberion and several
of the largest titans, directing them to attack. The beasts
smashed into the ranks of the Dawnguard first, snatching
up warriors in full armor and tearing them in half. Though
the Iosan elite troops rallied as best they could, they were
no match for the warbeasts. These fighters were not Xerxis
primary objective for his warbeasts, however, and he sent
the titans against the myrmidons that had so brutally torn
through his warriors earlier.
Joined by Tiberion and two more aradus warbeasts, Xerxis
advanced. He sensed the enemy commander close by, in the
middle of a knot of myrmidons. Saikhans captured Iosan
had said the generals name was Pelyth and that he was
from a noble house. To Xerxis, the man seemed a small,
unassuming creature with a bald head, oversized ears,
and tattoos across half his face. Despite his appearance,
this arcanist wielded tremendous force. A Cataphract unit
56
had dared engage a heavy myrmidon nearby, and Pelyth

gestured at them almost dismissively. Blue fire leapt into
being and spiraled around one arm. With a shout, he threw
the vortex at the Cataphracts, sending them spinning into
the air like dried leaves.
This was an opponent worthy of single combat.
Xerxis compelled Suruk into a charge, guiding the cerops
squarely into a nearby myrmidons chest. There was a
squeal as the beasts horn parted steel, and Suruks huge
neck muscles bulged as he lifted the construct into the air.
Blue flame washed over them as the myrmidons energy
field exploded, but Suruks armor and hide were thick, and
the flame was no more than an irritant, enraging the beast
even more.
One of Xerxis aradus attempted to engage another
myrmidon, but the white machine flickered and disappeared
as the insects pincer swept through empty air. A second
later the myrmidon reappeared a few feet closer and lashed
out with an energy-field-enhanced punch that cracked the
beasts armor. It retaliated, tearing through the hardened
steel of the myrmidons torso with its powerful mandibles,
following with a rake of one of its claws.
Xerxis stood in his stirrups and drove the point of his war
standard into the myrmidons back with all his might.
The weapon pierced the construct and came out the
other side. With a touch of his will, flames erupted along
the shaft and he heard a wail of metal distorting in the
intense heat. As the myrmidon toppled onto its back, the
banner was lifted high, unfurling to display the symbol
of House Kophar.
That got the attention of the enemy commander. The Iosan
warcaster turned his steed and stared up undaunted at eight
feet of skorne atop thirteen feet of cerops. Xerxis readied
Lamentor. He felt renewed pain in his back and chest but
suppressed it, showing no weakness to the foe.
The warcaster reached over his shoulder and drew a
disproportionately long two-handed sword, curved and
glowing. The Iosan spoke, surprising Xerxis with his
command of the skorne language: I am Pelyth, and this is
the sword that felled the eldritch Damonsenes. Dying by this
blade is an honor a barbarian like you does not deserve.
It is an honor I do not seek, answered Xerxis. But if
it comes, I will accept it. You fought well today. Your
descendants will remember your name and mark the place
where you fell.
Pelyth advanced, holding the sword horizontally just above
his head. The captives you killed deserved a better end.
Perhaps, said Xerxis. But a worthy death must be earned.
I will grant you the opportunity for such a death.
The Dawnguard will hunt down every one of you, spat

Pelyth. Regardless of what happens here, you are doomed.
Xerxis shrugged. So be it.
The two fighters circled each other. The cerops reared onto
its hind legs and came crashing to the ground, nostrils flared
and horn lowered. The Iosan stallions eyes rolled, but Pelyth
snarled and spurred it forward, forcing obedience. When
the cerops swung its head sideways to smash the creature,
the Iosan reacted with surprisingly agility, vaulting from his
horse to grab the great horn and using it to swing onto the
cerops back.
Xerxis was barely able to catch Pelyths blade on the haft
of his flail. The Iosans momentum carried him through
the strike and his shoulder hit Xerxis just below the
breastplate, sending the two tumbling to the ground.
Pelyth sprang to his feet with his sword held in a low
guard. Xerxis rose slowly, feeling the pain of his unhealed
wounds.
Sensing an opening, Pelyth leapt toward Xerxis right side,
away from the flail, and brought his blade down in a sharp
overhand slash. Unable to avoid the blow, Xerxis absorbed
it on his thick armored pauldron. He felt the sharp sting
of the blades edge as it bit through, but the wound was
not deep. Needing room to swing the flail, Xerxis surged
forward and slammed his shoulder into Pelyth, and the
Iosan was thrown backward.
Xerxis whipped Lamentor around his head once to build
momentum and then lashed out. Pelyth immediately
brought his sword up in a high guard, but the heavy chain
struck the blade and the flails weighted end wrapped
around the sword to strike the Iosan in the chest with
crushing force. With his opponent knocked off his feet,
Xerxis strode forward, his wounds forgotten in the pleasure
of an imminent kill. He whirled Lamentor around again and
brought it crashing down as the Iosan struggled to rise. The
blow shattered Pelyths helm and skull, splattering blood
and brains in a wide arc.
Just like his army, the Iosan had seized an opening that
wasnt there.
Xerxis army had emerged victorious, though at a terrible

price. Nearly half his warriors were killed, many during
the strategic retreat that had eventually won them the day.
On the other hand, he had lost few warbeasts, while nearly
all the myrmidons they had faced were destroyed. There
were no prisoners. After seeing how Xerxis had made use
of his most recent captives, the Iosans had either fled or
fought to the death.
He left the cleanup to his subordinates and retired to

his tent. Venators had scoured the battlefield for exotic
weaponry, and the most intact were brought to him.
Several fine examples had been laid out before him. Both
the lances and the short-bladed rifles of the Iosan knights
were intriguing, each designed to be as deadly at range
as in melee. It suggested a philosophy very different from
hoksunetactically flexible but with little concern for a
warriors honor.
His nephews shadow fell across the floor, and he looked
up from the weapons and nodded, allowing him entrance.
The extollers are busy, Uncle, Loraak said. His midsection
was bandaged and the tip of one ear had been severed by
a glancing blow, but he was otherwise unscathed. The
sacral stones of our guardians contain a wealth of worthy
companions for the exalted. Of those who survived, even the
lowliest Venator will tell of the time he fought on the Hill of
Scavengers against an army four times the size of his own. A
great victory, if not the one we were sent to achieve. He said
the last as an afterthought, and immediately bowed his head
in contrition when he realized it sounded like a criticism.
Xerxis picked up a curved Iosan sword and fingered its
edge thoughtfully. You are correct. Supreme Archdomina
Makeda sent us to besiege Aeryth Dawnguard, and that
fortress still stands.
On that, I bear good news, Loraak said. A runner
reached us with word Supreme Aptimus Zaal followed our
course and brings his forces, including ranks of immortals.
Perhaps we can yet complete our mission.
Xerxis had no fondness for Zaal, but any soldiers and
warbeasts he brought would be welcome. As for their
mission, other possibilities were forming in his mind.
A wise commander knows the heart of his ruler, not only
her words, he said at length. We will not besiege Aeryth
Dawnguard. Xerxis noted Loraaks evident surprise and
continued, Our mission was to neutralize Iosans from the
north and prevent them from interfering with the supreme
archdomina. Tying up the garrison at this northern fortress
seemed the way to do this. But now we have crushed the
greatest of their strength in the open field. I hazard what
remains is sufficient only to man their battlements and hold
us at bay. We will not indulge them. We will force the Iosans
to send more soldiers against us, while the Dawnguard cower
behind their walls.
He swept the Iosan weapon through the air and then brought
the flat of the sword down on the makeshift stone table. The
blade snapped at the pommel and fell to the ground. We
will destroy every town, kill every citizen, and raze every
structure we find. Ios will be forced to assemble another army
to stop us. The ancestors willing, we will crush them as well.
57
Xerxis,
Fury of Halaak
Skorne Epic Cavalry Battle Engine Warlock
We need not look to the ancient exalted for paragons of hoksune. He who leads us embodies every
virtue set down by Vuxoris.
Primus Kritax of the Cohort of House Kophar
XERXIS

7 8 8 4 13 19 9
Lamentor

POW P+S
15
War Standard

POW P+S
12
Mount

POW
14
Fury 5
Damage 19
Field Allowance
C
Warbeast Points
+5
Huge Base
Feat: Hand of
the Ancients
As one of the greatest military

leaders of the age, Xerxis
can invoke the power of
his ancestors to imbue his
cohorts with renewed strength
and unwavering accuracy.
In a moment of perfectly
orchestrated precision, his
forces sweep the enemy from
the field.
All models are in Xerxis
control area. Friendly
Faction models/units gain
an additional die on attack
and damage rolls. Discard
one die from each roll.
Hand of the Ancients lasts
for one turn.
XERXIS
Combat Rider During a combat action it did not make a

charge attack, this model can make one melee attack with its
Mount.
Warbeast Bond One non-character warbeast in Xerxis
battlegroup can begin the game bonded to him. Once per turn
during his activation, Xerxis can cast the bonded warbeasts
animus as a spell without spending fury.
Lamentor
Magical Weapon
Reach
Brutal Charge This model gains +2 to charge attack damage

rolls with this weapon.
War Standard
Reach
Mount
Knockdown When a model is hit by an attack with this

weapon, it is knocked down.
Pitch (HAttack) Instead of making a normal damage roll on
a hit, this model throws the model hit as if it had hit with and
passed the STR check of a throw power attack. The thrown
model suffers a damage roll with POW equal to the POW of this
weapon. The POW of collateral damage is equal to the POW of
this weapon.
Leading his cohort of House Kophars finest warriors,

Xerxis is a skorne of indomitable power and determination.
He has proven his ability to overcome overwhelming
odds in battle, emerging victorious despite seemingly
insurmountable challenges. Through such victories he has
reached a level of esteem ordinarily reserved for the exalted
and has become a paragon to every warrior of the Army of
the Western Reaches.
58
Spells
Ignite
Yes No
Mobility
2 Self Ctrl
No No
Stranglehold
11
No Yes
Target friendly model/unit gains +2 to melee attack damage rolls. Affected

on their normal melee attacks.
models gain Critical Fire
Models in this models battlegroup currently in its control area gain +2
for one turn.
SPD and Pathfinder
10
A model damaged by Stranglehold forfeits either its movement or its

action during its next activation, as its controller chooses.
Tactical Tip
Ignite When this spell is cast on cavalry models, it affects mount

attacks.
At the core of Xerxis strength is his unflinching adherence

to the hoksune code, whose most important precept is the
willingness to embrace death in battle. An adherent enters
combat accepting he has already dieda resumption of
life is earned only through courage and martial prowess.
In recent clashes Xerxis faced this principle directly after
suffering what should have been mortal wounds. As death
came for him he confronted what it was to be a tyrant and
warrior. He endured and emerged from the experience with
renewed resolution. Every additional day of life he snatches
from death is dedicated to unflinchingly confronting the
enemies of Supreme Archdomina Makeda.
Before his wounds had even healed, Xerxis set out again to
ensure the success of the supreme archdominas conquests.
Lest his injuries hinder him, he prepared himself for war
by taking as his mount an enormous cerops only he could
tame. Only a very few of this dwindling species remain in
eastern Immoren, and the creatures have never responded
well to the beast handlers lash. Years ago Xerxis claimed
this particular cerops, named Suruk, breaking its will and
subjugating it to his own. Now more than ever he relies
on its strength. The tyrant is truly awe-inspiring when he
crashes through battle lines atop this remarkable beast.
What the mighty Suruk manifests in flesh, the Fury of Halaak
exemplifies in both body and spirit. Breaking all that stands
against him with ruthless force, Xerxis expertly guides his
mounts unstoppable charges through strength of will alone.
With no need for reins or spoken commands the tyrant can
focus on commanding his army and leveraging his own
attacks, striking down foe after foe with his flail Lamentor.
When Xerxis punches through enemy lines, his cohort surges
to follow, inspired by their tyrants example. Before him and
his supremely disciplined troops, fortifications topple and
ranks of defenders scatter like sand in the wind.
59
Scarab
Pack
Skorne Warbeast Pack
Let the scarabs feed on the bodies of the fallen. They have earned their banquet.
Paingiver Beast Handler Kilexaan
LEADER & Grunts
LEADER & Grunts


5 5 5 1 11 12 5
Mandibles

POW P+S
H 3
Fury *
Threshold 7
Damage 10 ea
Field Allowance U
Leader & 3 Grunts
5
Small base
Advance Deployment
Snacking When this

model boxes a living model
with a melee attack, this
model can heal d3 damage
points. If this model
heals, the boxed model is
removed from play.
Steady This model cannot
be knocked down.
Swarming Scarabs
This model gains a +1
cumulative bonus to melee
attack and damage rolls for each Aradus warbeast or other
model in this unit engaging the model it is attacking.
Mandibles
Critical Paralysis On a critical hit against a living model,

the model hit has its base DEF reduced to 7 and cannot run or
charge for one round.
Scarabs are enormous, ravenous insect-like creatures native

to the Trembling Waste. They dwell in the extensive tunnels
of the aradus, living off the scraps left by the larger
creatures and consuming many times their
own mass each day.
Skorne beast handlers drive scarabs
mad with hunger, then loose them
onto the battlefield in advance of a
main force to consume any living
thing in their path. The terrifying
60
ANIMUS
Scuttler
No No
Models in target friendly warbeast pack immediately Dig In.

While affected by Dig In, a model gains cover, does not suffer
blast damage, and does not block LOS. A model remains dug in
until it moves, is placed, or is engaged. A model cannot dig into
solid rock or man-made constructions.
Tactical Tip
Snacking Because the boxed model is removed from play before

being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token.
sight of these voracious beasts swarming over defenses

has caused even veteran soldiers to flee for their lives.
Scarab packs will attack the nearest source of nourishment,
converging on a victim in multiples and locking onto
its limbs with specialized mandibles. Creatures brought
down by the pack are rapidly devoured. To nourish these
insatiable creatures without exhausting their own supplies,
after a battle is won the skorne allow them to scour the
battlefield and feast upon the bodies of the dead.
Aradus Soldier
Skorne Heavy Warbeast

Ive stomped a good many bugs in my day. I find it troublesome that theres a bug
that can stomp back.
Alten Ashley
Heightened Metabolism 2
No No
Target friendly warbeast gains Snacking. Heightened

Metabolism lasts for one turn. (When a model with Snacking
boxes a living model with a melee attack, the model with
Snacking can heal d3 damage points. If the model heals, the
boxed model is removed from play.)
Tactical Tips
Heightened Metabolism Because the boxed model is removed

from play before being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or
corpse token.
Pull Any distance means as much as necessary, not any
distance the player chooses.
Advance Deployment
SOLDIER
Pathfinder
3 11 6
5 11 19
Carapace This model

gains +4 ARM against free
strike damage rolls and
ranged attack damage rolls.
H 7

be knocked down.
Mandibles

POW P+S
18
Barbed Claw

POW P+S
15
Barbed Claw
Barbed Claw
Reach
Pull If this weapon hits

an enemy model with
an equal or smaller base,
immediately after the attack
is resolved the hit model
can be pushed any distance
directly toward this model.
POW P+S
15
2
BODY
3
4
IN
D
For centuries the skorne on the eastern fringes have utilized

the ferocious aradus in warfare. Many slaves perish
gathering the precious eggs from the aradus tunnels, and
the painstaking process of conditioning the creatures begins
the moment they hatch. Once they are mature, the skorne go
to great lengths to train them for battle.
SOLDIER
IR
IT
ANIMUS
SP
Fury 4
Threshold 9
Field Allowance U
Point Cost
9
Large base
The most common type of

aradus is the soldier. When
not at war, aradus soldiers
labor constantly to expand
the tunnels of their colony.
If the territories of two
colonies overlap, waves of
soldiers clash violently,
ripping each other limb
from limb. Protected
by a thick layer of
chitin, aradus soldiers
lash out in battle with
hooked claws to drag
enemies toward their
vicious mandibles. The
aradus soldiers used by
the skorne as warbeasts
are goaded with whips and
prods to indulge freely in this
ingrained behavior, driving
deep into the heart of enemy
formations.
61
Aradus
Sentinel
Skorne Heavy Warbeast
Our sentinels will shower our enemies with a poison rain.
SENTINEL
SENTINEL
3 11 6
5 11 19
Venom Blaster
RNG ROF AOE POW
10 1
3 13
Claw

14
Claw

14
2
BODY
3
4
IR
IT
IN
D
SP
Carapace This model

gains +4 ARM against free
strike damage rolls and
ranged attack damage rolls.
Venom Blaster
POW P+S
Pathfinder

be knocked down.
POW P+S
Advance Deployment
Arcing Fire When

attacking with this weapon,
this model can ignore
intervening models except
those within 1 of the target.
Poison Gain an additional
die on this weapons
damage rolls against living
models.
Claw
Open Fist
Fury 4
Threshold 9
Field Allowance U
Point Cost
8
Large base
As skorne armies plunge

deeper
into
western
Immoren, they bring
with them terrible and
unfamiliar beasts from
their eastern homeland.
In recent years, the horrifying creatures called the
aradus have reached the western lands. Wild aradus
live in expansive underground nests in the wastelands
of Tor-Sarikaan, preying on the other bizarre creatures
of the Trembling Waste. Looming over the battlefield on
a cluster of many-jointed legs, these tremendous insectlike creatures are protected by chitin armor thick enough
to stop bullets. Mighty and durable but relatively slow,
aradus must be compelled to press inexorably forward,
shrugging off attacks that would drop lesser beasts.
Sentinels are a specialized strain of aradus that emerge
from the nest to confront any significant threat, such as
an attack from a rival colony. Only limited numbers of
aradus develop into sentinels, but for centuries skorne
beast handlers have known the secrets of forcing this
development. From each batch of larvae, dozens are
carefully selected and set aside for the conditioning
that will guide their growth into sentinels.
62
ANIMUS
Swarm
Lord Arbiter Hexeris

2 Self
No No
This model has concealment. Living enemy models suffer 2 to

attack rolls while within 2 of this model. Swarm lasts for one
round.
A sentinels long tail has heavy venom sacs that can be

constricted to fire a precise blast of debilitating venom over
distance. Living tissue exposed to this venom necrotizes in
an instant, sloughing off bone in gobbets. Goaded by beast
handlers whips, ranks of sentinels fire this toxin over the
heads of soldiers to reduce entire enemy units into scraps of
armor amid a sea of sludge.
PraetorianSkorne
Keltarii
Unit
We shall show our enemies how the true warriors blade becomes the tempest that scorns the bullet.
Primus Taarex of the Praetorian Keltarii
Honor, discipline, glorythe Army of the Western Reaches

is a proud testament to these values, the foundational tenets
of the hoksune code. Legions of Praetorian warriors stand
ready to fight and die at the command of the tyrants and
dominars under Supreme Archdomina Makedas rule.
Praetorians of the keltarius tradition are no less dedicated
than the swordsmen of the warrior caste, but their path
in combat is around and through the blades of oncoming
enemies rather than directly into them. The keltarii use
their double-bladed glaives, or toboresh, to turn aside enemy
blades so that they may slip past their opponents unharmed.
This deft, evasive maneuver allows keltarius warriors to
bring sharpened steel to bear against the most dangerous
foes rather than simply those closest at hand.
Keltarius training involves incessant drills that push
aspiring warriors past physical limits to a subconscious
awareness of all battlefield movements around them. In
the field, a veteran keltarius knows not only who will be
next to fall at the edge of his blade but also exactly where
and when every other toboresh in his datha will strike true.
Secure in this knowledge, each keltarius can be assured that
the enemy he just put at his back will not be there for long.
LEADER & GRUNTS
Combined Melee Attack
Blade Shield This model

gains +2 DEF against
ranged attack rolls.
Parry This model cannot
be targeted by free strikes.
Reform After all models
in this unit have completed
their actions, each can
advance up to 3.
LEADER & GRUNTS


6 6 6 4 13 14 9
Double-Bladed Glaive

POW P+S
10
Field Allowance
Leader & 5 Grunts
Leader & 9 Grunts
Small base
3
5
8
Double-Bladed Glaive
Reach
Even more impressive than unerringly turning aside a foes

blade is the ability of Praetorian keltarii to deflect lethal
projectiles with the flat of their blades. Keltarii have been
known to shift the trajectory of arrows, javelins, and even
the occasional bullet, shunting them harmlessly aside rather
than allowing them to find deadly purchase in flesh.
63
Tyrant
Zaadesh
Skorne Character Solo
A true warrior consumes pain and thrives on sufferingboth his own and that of his enemies.
Vuxoris, the First Exalted
ZAADESH

6 6 6 4 13 15 9
Deathsong

POW P+S
12
Fury 4
Damage 5
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
3
Small base
ZAADESH
Spells
Lesser Warlock This

model is not a warlock
but has the following
warlock special rules:
Battlegroup Commander,
Control Area, Damage
Transference, Forcing, Fury
Manipulation, Healing, and
Spellcaster.
When an enemy model is damaged by Perdition, immediately after

the attack is resolved one warbeast in this models battlegroup that is
currently in this models control area can make a full advance toward the
nearest enemy model. A model can advance as a result of Perdition only
once per turn.
Fearless
Protective Battlegroup
Once per round, when
this model is directly hit
by a ranged or magic attack during your opponents turn, you
can choose to have another model in this models battlegroup
within 2 of this model that is not incorporeal, knocked down,
or stationary to be directly hit instead. The chosen model is
automatically hit and suffers all damage and effects.
Deathsong
Magical Weapon
Reach
Not every member of House Balaash rejoices at Archdomina

Makedas rise to power. Some traditionalists see an empire
unified under one leader as the antithesis of what it means
to be skorne. They contend it is strife among the houses
that keeps their people strong. None hold to this belief with
more zeal than Tyrant Zaadesh, a young noble of House
Balaash who secretly despises the archdomina.
Many in Zaadeshs branch of the familyincluding his
grandfathersided with Makedas brother Akkad and lost
their lives for it when she seized power. These same nobles
viewed Vinters wars for unification as unnatural and felt
Makeda betrayed skorne society by joining him. Those
who raised Zaadesh loathed the archdomina and all she
stood for even then. Now, they wish to see her overthrown
by any means possible and Akkad installed in her place as
leader of House Balaash.
Though he is a skilled swordsman and battle leader, Zaadesh
must bide his time for now; he knows he is far from ready
to oppose Makeda directly. He has been tested in battle,
however, and has endured despite setbacks that severely
challenged his resolvethe most grievous being the injury
that forces him to wear a mask over his disfigured face.
Early in his career as a warrior, Zaadesh relied heavily
on his swordsmanship and battle prowess, neglecting the
study of mortitheurgy that an aspiring tyrant requires to
lead warbeasts into battle. He was given command of a
pair of aradus soldiers, and amid the press of battle he lost
control. One of the creatures lashed out, striking his face
64
Perdition
10
Tag Team
3 Self Ctrl
10
No Yes
Yes No
While within this models control area, models in its battlegroup gain
+2 on melee attack and melee damage rolls against models within melee
range of another model in this models battlegroup.
Tactical Tip
and removing most of his lower jaw. Although he survived,

his house was convinced he would never again take to the
battlefield as a warrior.
Zaadesh did not let this injury come between him and his
goals. He undertook a rigorous physical and mortitheurgical
training regimen, and within a year he had regained his former
strength. He vowed to master mortitheurgy and perfect his
power over beasts so he would never face such a setback again.
At this time an unlikely ally emerged. While Zaadesh
was still healing, Dominar Rasheth secretly contacted
him through intermediaries, offering support as well
as instruction in the occult arts. Zaadesh had deep
reservationsas a warrior and an adherent of hoksune, he
had reason to despise the indolent Rasheth. The dominars
power and influence ultimately persuaded Zaadesh to enter
into an uncomfortable but necessary alliance, as one more
step toward his ultimate goal of returning the skorne to
their traditional ways.
After his recovery Zaadesh distinguished himself among
House Balaashs warriors in the eastern empire and was
soon summoned to join the Army of the Western Reaches.
Supreme Archdomina Makeda tasked him with a minor
command, viewing him simply as a useful warrior and
competent officer. She knows Zaadeshs branch of her
house supported her brother but sees the young tyrant as
too insignificant to be a potential rival.
For now, Zaadeshs anonymity among the tyrants in the
Army of the Western Reaches suits his goals, allowing
him to continue growing in power, still secretly aided by
Dominar Rasheth. As the skorne expand westward Zaadesh
plans to use his martial experience to gather allies and hone
his skills, each day moving closer to his inevitable clash
with the archdomina.
65
Legion of Everblight
Daughter of the Dragon
The Wythmoor, Ord
Thick, low-hanging clouds made it almost impossible for

Absylonia to survey her troops with mundane sight, but
she didnt need to. She could feel them out there. The
overcast sky was filled with winged spawn, all of them
formed from her own blood and bound to her, as much
extensions of her as she was of Everblight. Harriers and
blight wasps, seraphim and neraphim and one graceful,
serpentine angelius, all flying low and navigating
without sight, relying on their blighted senses. Among
them were the grotesques, creatures that, like her, had
once been Nyss but were now more like the great dragon
they all obeyed.
Below them, the handful of land-bound forces that
accompanied her occasionally surfaced from the fog like
moving islands. For a moment, she was able to see Proteus
striding steadily beneath her. She could feel his hunger,
even when the fog engulfed him. It poured off him in waves
and settled in the pit of her stomach to become her own. She
felt the ground sucking at his feet with each step, saw the
footprints he left behind slowly filling with water.
Absylonia launched herself from a gnarled tree, membranes
between her elongated fingers going taut to catch the
currents of the air and carry her aloft. Her force had been
chosen primarily for speed and maneuverability, and she
kept up with them through a series of gliding leaps. When
she drifted back to the ground she reshaped herself to
prepare for the next leap. She envied the airborne spawn
who could remain aloft without effort.
She couldnt have said how much of this feeling was her
own desire and how much belonged to Everblight, whose
mind inhabited hers, filling her with his memories of soaring
aloft on powerful wings. She didnt think to differentiate
between the two. Everblights will was her will; his desires
were her desires. She wanted it no other way.
With the other warlocks she was often forced to resort
to speech. Their minds were closed to her, impenetrable
fortresses secured by inexplicable locks. With Everblight,
66
however, communication was different, more immediate.

Sometimes she heard his voice whispering in her ear, but
more often it was like he was simply inside her body with
her, like she was riding on the tide of his will.
Now it was his need for the disembodied draconic athanc
that drove her forward, the knowledge that the servants
of the Dragonfather carried it farther from them with each
passing hour. His hunger was so great that Proteus was
merely its faded shadow. It was a desire that went beyond
physical craving. She felt Everblights need in her bones, in
her blood, as a heartsickness. And with it came something
else: an anxiety that ran along her nerve endings and sent
tremors through her body, manifesting as physical changes,
such as when lines of scales and horns burst forth in ridges
along her back and then receded.
It was a sensation she knew, though she had never felt it
so strongly before. It was the sense of a great beast on the
prowl, of a shadow circling, coming ever closer. It was the
feeling of her hackles raised in warning. Ever since Lylyth
had battled the dragon Charsaug after the spawning of the
archangels, this sensation had been evident in Everblights
mental presence like a bowstring held taut in the back of
her mind.
Now it hummed louder than before, and she knew the
reason was the warcaster she raced to confront. This
was Venethrax, the Wyrmslayer, Lord Toruks master of
draconic lore. Of all the Dragonfathers generals, this was
the one Everblight dreaded most. She had read the dragons
disquiet, felt his indecision. He yearned for the disembodied
athanc, and yet he was loath to send any of his chosen
against Venethrax. Through the psychic bond they shared,
she had felt the minds of all his other warlocks recoil. Each
of them regarded her mission as a death sentence.
That was why she had volunteered without hesitation.
She knew her master needed her. Despite any fear she
might harbor or danger she might face, the athanc was too
important a prize not to attempt its capture. Everblight must
have it, and to arrange that, she would risk everything.
Though facing Venethrax would almost certainly result in

her death, she was first and foremost a survivor. Her very
essence was an affirmation of blighted life and fertility,
manifested in the creation of rapidly evolving spawn.
Avoiding Venethrax would be failing Everblight, however,
and that was inconceivable. She went to her fate gladly.
She had dedicated her life to serving Everblight, and if her
death could serve him as well, it was coin she was more
than willing to pay.
Everblight chafed at the constraints of his divided

consciousness even as he recognized its necessity. It was
what would protect him against his siblings, even now that
they were aware of his movements. None of them would
ever have delayed physically reforming himself. None
could ever have imagined dividing the athanc, sharing a
single identity among many lesser creatures. His was the
only cunning that could conceive of this path, which was
his only defense against the other dragons until he grew
powerful enough to defeat them.
In his grasp now was the means to do just that: the
disembodied athanc, found by Cryx through some
unknown means and carried south by them in a hastily
constructed wagon designed to keep its nature contained.
Everblight hungered for it. Before Pyromalfic, he had never
consumed another of his own kind, but now he knew the
power of it. He burned for it. Now he understood better
than he ever had before the hunger that Toruk must feel
to become whole. Yet for Toruk each athanc was a small
piece of what he had once possessed, while for Everblight
consuming the essence of another dragon had magnified his
own power far beyond what it had ever been. How much
stronger would he be after consuming a third, or a fourth?
The athanc promised power enough to defeat any of his
siblingsand eventually to destroy Toruk himself.
Any athanc was a treasure beyond price, but this was
perhaps the greatest of all. This was the heartstone of one of
the strongest of the dragons who had opposed Toruk during
the earliest clashes in which his progeny had turned on
their father. A dragon thought dead and devoured by Toruk
thousands of years ago, before the ascendancy of man. How
the athanc had survived, how it had remained hidden for
so long, Everblight couldnt guess, but powerful magic had
certainly been involved. Now that it was exposed, Toruk
must not claim it. It had to be Everblights. He could feel its
nearness, taste its power on the air. He could imagine that
power running through his being. The lure of such a thing
was far more than simple ambitionhe required it for his
very survival. He must find a way to turn the tables on the
other dragons who, even now, were circling ever closer.
He was aware of their scrutiny, though he did not know

where they were. He had seen Charsaug through the eyes of
his warlocks, and the feeling of pride that had welled inside
him when Lylyth drove that dragon away was slowly being
replaced with seeping dread. Blighterghast and the other
dragons were aware of him in a way they had not been in
centuries. Even now their agents were out in force, hunting
for him. He knew even the blackclads whose armies now
harassed his flanks must be in league with them. It was
only a matter of time before the other dragons discovered
his secret and grew to understand his divided existence. He
had hoped to have longer to build his forces before this day
came, but that was not to be. He had to be ready, now.
Added to the encroaching presence of the other dragons
was a new threator, rather, a reminder of the oldest
threat, the first threat. The Dragonfather. Everblight knew
what few other beings on Caen did, that the entire purpose
of Cryxs empire was to build a power base strong enough
for Toruk to find and slay his offspring. He also knew
the name of the chief architect of that mission, the lich
lord Toruk had put in charge of studying, tracking, and
confronting the other dragons: Venethrax. One of the only
once-mortal creatures on Caen to have battled a dragon and
lived. If Venethrax were to learn enough about Everblight,
the lich lord was one of the only beings that could pose a
true threat to his existence. The danger was not just to his
warlocks and his armies but to his very essence. Venethrax
knew far more about most dragons than they knew about
themselves, and he had the full might of Toruks army at
his back.
Before Pyromalfic, he had

never consumed another
of his own kind, but now he
knew the power of it.
Venethrax marched at the head of an army of black iron and
the reanimated dead. This army had split from the main
Cryx column and doubled back to intercept Everblights
forces and turn them aside. The lich lord intended to
prevent Everblight from gaining the prize that was even
now racing farther from his clutches and toward Toruk, his
greatest enemy.
The perspective of his warlocks was necessarily limited.
They saw only themselves, separate individuals, each
commanding his or her own forces and spawn. Though they
could sense each others minds through the athanc shards
that bound them together and they could feel the longing of
the shards to reunite, they remained distinct.
67
To Everblight, they were simply a part of him, a series of eyes

through which he could view the world. Each set brought
a different perspective, but it was always him gazing out.
They were no longer individuals at all but one entity made
up of many parts. He had assembled his warlocks carefully.
Each had been chosen for the vantage that his or her eyes
offered. Each had a role to serve, but they were all one vast
army, united by his will.
Now, however, the army was becoming ragged. Rhyas and
Saeryn had been at the vanguard, but they had been delayed
and depleted by the ambush of Circle forces. Lylyth and
Bethayne still ranged ahead, nearest the athanc, but they
were also beset by blackclads. Kallus brought up the rear,
while Thagrosh and Vayl remained in the north, awaiting
Everblights call. Venethrax planned to create a blockade,
a dam that would stop the river of soldiers and spawn
entirely. Everblight refused to let that happen.
Now it fell from the heavens

like a sword dropped from on
high, its spiked tail angled to
pierce Venethraxs chest and
pinion him to the earth.
He rankled at sending one of his warlocks against
Venethrax. He knew he could not commit enough troops to
stop the lich lord without compromising his true objective.
Absylonia would serve only as a diversion, there to stall
Venethrax. If she could sufficiently distract him, the others
could get past and eventually reach their prize. He was
more than willing to sacrifice a warlock to gain the athanc.
What gave him pause was to sacrifice her to Venethrax, of
all creatures.
One of the hazards of his current arrangement was that he
could feel his warlocks emotions and sense their thoughts.
Through them, he had tasted what it was like to be mortal,
to suffer the fears and frailties of such a short life. Through
them, he had felt mortal hopes and mortal despairs, and
he had tasted mortal fear. The feeling that settled in his
mind when he thought of Venethrax carving the athanc
shard from Absylonias body was disturbingly close to that
sensation. It was not a feeling Everblight relished.
Skeletal trees stood draped in shrouds of hanging moss,

jutting accusatory fingers skyward from pools of brackish
water. The Wythmoor was choked by expanses of weeds
68
and tall grass, the ground soggy underfoot. Above, the

sky was a ceiling of low, dense clouds. Fog lay in heavy
streamers that cut off mundane sight and distorted sound.
Each skirmish became a closed room, the heat of the
helljacks burning off the fog just enough to illuminate
the immediate area. The muffled sounds of other battles
echoed through the fog: the clash of metal, the screeching
of dragonspawn, the cries of the living and the dead.
Every sound seemed eerie and far away, like voices heard
in a dream.
Absylonia let her eyes sink away behind ridges of forming
bone and opened her sight to blighted vision. With that, she
pierced through fog and clouds to see the winged shapes
that wheeled in the sky above her: an angelius locked in a
battle with two of the winged bonejacks called Scavengers.
As she watched, one of the constructs fell like a dead
crow to splash in the muck at her feet. Within moments,
the angelius drove its spiked tail into the side of the other,
piercing the joint where tattered wing met metal shoulder
and slicing the light jack in two. One piece plummeted to
the watery ground, while the other spun away through the
air, streaking the fog with black smoke.
Absylonia called the angelius to her with a thought and
turned her blighted sight toward the battlefield around
her. Everywhere, blighted ogrun and spawn clashed with
the necromantic nightmares of Cryx, some of them much
nearer than the sound of their combat would imply. Only
Proteus was directly at her side, the remaining raeks and
nephilim farther afield. As she watched, Proteus lashed
out with his barbed tendrils and pulled a soulhunter
off its feet, dragging it into reach of his maw and talons
before tearing it apart. She felt his frustration on tasting
the undead flesh, but he continued to consume it; with so
few living creatures among Venethraxs forces, there was
little to feed him.
As she cast about looking for prey, she noticed strange
plumes of blackened smoke that even her blighted vision
couldnt penetrate. Two massive engines of black metal and
necrotite fire came barreling at her from out of the smoke.
One was a Desecrator, a spiderlike horror with a buzz saw
arm that advanced through the swamp on four spiny legs.
The other was the sleek, tusked form of a Reaper. Between
them came Venethrax himself.
Absylonia assumed he had once been a man, centuries ago,
but he now bore none of the hallmarks. He was a hulking
creature of black armor and green flame, nearly as large as
the helljacks accompanying him. Soul cages clanked at his
waist, and plumes of black smoke poured from stacks on
his back. Of his former humanity only his skull remained,
and from that, green balefire eyes glared with a monstrous
intensity that went far beyond human.
For hours, she had been leading Venethrax and his forces
on a chase. She struck and withdrew, then curved around
his army to pick at their flanks. Using her superior
maneuverability, she slowly drew them away from the path
of Everblights other warlocks. She proceeded carefully, for
Everblights voice in her mind told her Venethrax was a
canny foe, one who wouldnt easily be misled. Her strikes
had to look convincing, and each one cost her dearly.
Dozens of spawn and countless blighted Nyss and ogrun
lay dismembered and broken in the miles of moor behind
them. Absylonia had lost most of her spawn in the various
skirmishes, leaving her with only a bare handful.
She had avoided engaging Venethrax directly, knowing
that to do so would make another withdrawal almost
impossible. Then she had seen him carve her ravagore apart
as methodically as a hunter cleaning a rabbit. She had lost
spawn in other battles, of course, but never had she seen
anyone or anything capable of slaying them as effortlessly
as Venethrax. It was as if his massive sword Wyrmbane
knew exactly where to strike, for it seemed to leap of its
own accord to weak points, to joints and arteries. Each blow
was crippling, and Venethrax hadnt yet struck a creature
that didnt soon die.
Now, she knew, the time for avoidance had passed. Her
force was too diminished for another running assault, and
they were far enough away from the rest of the warlocks to
guarantee their safe passage. Even if she fell here, it would
be difficult for Venethrax to catch them.
She called out to a nearby nephilim soldier. In spite of
its wounds, she used its animus to spur it toward the
Desecrator, its two-handed sword held high. Before the
spawn could close the distance, though, the jack turned
and fired a greenish gout from the cannon on its arm that
struck the nephilim and exploded in a burst of flesh-eating
fire, searing and eating away at the blighted flesh like a
ravenous disease. In seconds, flesh was stripped from bone
and the nephilims corroded sword sank into the bog.
Absylonia had seen this before. The hideous biles and
corrosive liquids the Cryxian army deployed were
especially potent in proximity to Venethrax, who seemed
to corrode the very air by his presence. It was a sensation
almost like the blight but totally alien to her.
Fortunately she hadnt been counting on the nephilim as
a fighter, just as a distraction to slow her enemies, keeping
their attention while she sent Proteus around the cloud of
choking flame and into the side of the Desecrator. She had
seen him dash the heaviest of warjacks to the ground, but
the spidery legs of the Desecrator gave it superior balance,
and the attack simply drove it backward, digging its legs
into the muddy ground.
Proteus wrapped his thrashing tentacles around the

helljacks chassis, while his talons ripped the cannon arm
from its side and hurled it into the swamp. The Desecrator
dug its buzz saw arm into the warbeasts side, and Absylonia
saw black blood spatter into the water at their feet. She
could not afford to focus her attention on this confrontation,
though; she had to trust her beasts combat instincts and
prowess to deal with this foe. The Reaper was wheeling
around, aiming its harpoon cannon into the thrashing
melee between Proteus and the helljack. Absylonia called
the angelius and her remaining neraph from the skies. The
neraph crashed into the Reaper, toppling it into the moor in
a mass of beating wings and scything tails as the angelius
struck at Venethrax.
Absylonia had always admired the grace of the angelius, its
form an expression of the draconic perfection of Everblight
himself. Now it fell from the heavens like a sword dropped
from on high, its spiked tail angled to pierce Venethraxs
chest and pinion him to the earth. As it fell, so fast it almost
couldnt be seen, Venethrax was already turning, swinging
Wyrmbane just as fast and with a finesse that belied its
size, and Absylonia knew even the grace of the angelius
wouldnt be enough for it to evade the strike.
Wyrmbane sliced through the angelius tail, sending the
spike flying. It grazed harmlessly off Venethraxs power
field and landed in the mud like an arrow fired from afar.
The angelius shrieked, and Absylonia drew on its animus to
create a blast of energy that hurled Venethrax backward, his
taloned feet carving trenches in the earth.
As the angelius beat its wings to rise back into the air, the
Reaper pushed itself from beneath the body of the neraph.
The spawns attack had rendered the helljack mostly
defunctone arm was a mass of twisted metal, and its
engine was ruptured and leaking black smokebut its
harpoon was still intact. The barbed missile sank into the
angelius at the base of one of its wings and dragged the
spawn back down into the reach of Venethraxs blade,
which was enough to sentence it to death.
With one sweep of Wyrmbane, the lich lord sheared the
wings from one side of the angelius. It fell thrashing in the
mud at his feet. Before Absylonia could react, he placed one
metal foot on its neck and chopped downward to sever its
head and send it tumbling. She tried to pull the blighted
energy from the expiring spawn but found she could not.
That energy was no longer hers, having already been
siphoned away in long green streamers flowing from the
slain beast to Venethrax, empowering him instead.
As he looked up from his grisly work, his skull seemed to
smile at her. By all means, he called, his metallic voice
ancient and echoing, send more of your pets for me to kill.
69
He pointed with Wyrmbane at Proteus, who was nearly

finished with the Desecrator, but Absylonia had no
intention of sacrificing more spawn to Venethrax if she
could help it. She leapt into the air, her hands forming
into wings to glide her toward her foe. As she dropped to
the ground they changed again, bones disjointing with a
series of sickening pops to transform her claws into brutal
talons that raked at Venethrax. He stepped aside, and she
carved furrows in his black armor. He brought Wyrmbane
around, but she was already moving, her protean flesh
already changing, reshaping itself to bend her out of the
path of his blade.
Gazing through her eyes into

the blazing sockets of the
lich lords skull, Everblight
could almost imagine
Venethrax saw him.
Her blighted vision showed other jacks approaching
from the fog, while she had no more spawn in range save
Proteus. Dodging another swing from Wyrmbane, one that
cut so close she could feel the breath of its passing along
her skin, she reached within herself and released a cloud
of blighted energy to temporarily disrupt Venethraxs
connection to his jacksand prepared to sell her life as
dearly as possible.
Through Absylonias eyes, Everblight saw her brave last

stand, employing all her powers to hinder Venethrax right
up until the end. Venethrax confronted her personally,
lashing out with spell and blade. Her mutable body
evaded him and absorbed his blows with the resiliency and
tenacity she alone of his warlocks possessed, but the lich
lord was tireless and ruthless, entirely within his element
and focused on a goal that could not be denied. Through
her nerves, the dragon felt the pain of the heavy blow that
finally crippled her. The battle had been fierce. Absylonia
was slicked with blood, and Proteus was crippled from
transferred injuries. Venethraxs armor was rent apart, but
still the lich lord stood strong, while Absylonia lay beaten
in the mud at his feet.
The other warlocks were distant to Everblight now, their
thoughts and emotions muffled as he focused his full
attention on the battle. He was inhabiting Absylonia as he
had seldom inhabited any of his warlocks, the sensation
70
different even than his joining with Thagrosh. He felt her

death throes, and the agony that poured from her spread
like a ripple through all the athanc shards. Each of his
warlocks staggered for a moment as the shards in their
chests burned with sympathetic pain.
The pain itself, the physical sensation, meant nothing
to Everblight. He had been completely unmade by the
Iosans centuries before, and damage to his flesh was
inconsequential next to the humiliation of defeat by a tide
of mortals. The excruciation felt by living things as they
died was foreign to him, a distraction he had deliberately
avoided replicating in his dragonspawn. It wasnt sharing
Absylonias pain that kept him rooted in her consciousness.
It wasnt even the loyalty that he felt from her. She faced
death with no fear for herself, only a crushing sense that she
had failed him. What fixated his attention was Venethrax,
towering over her. Gazing through her eyes into the blazing
sockets of the lich lords skull, Everblight could almost
imagine Venethrax saw him.
If Absylonia fell now, here, like this, Venethrax would
claim her athanc shard. There was no possibility this foe
would simply leave her corpse, as the study of draconic
minions was his obsession. He would take her back to
Cryx and dismember herif he even waited that long.
The athanc shard would be immediately apparent to him,
unmistakable in its substance and import. If any creature
on Caen had the knowledge to understand what Everblight
had done, to puzzle out how he had spread himself among
his warlocks to create a composite greater than the sum of
its parts, it was Venethrax.
Should Absylonias athanc shard fall into Venethraxs
possession he would study it; he would see inside it and
learn its secrets, Everblights secrets. And when he had
wrung from it every last drop of knowledge that he could,
he would offer it personally to Toruk, who would devour it.
When that happened, Everblight knew Toruk would absorb
a part of him. He was not willing to allow Toruk even a
portion of himself. He felt compelled to act, though he knew
it would cost him.
Absylonia knew she was dying. Her mouth was full of

blood, and she could feel her lifeblood pooling on the
ground beneath her. She reached out through her body
and tried to will her flesh to change, but her normally fluid
tissues were unresponsive. She was losing the feeling in her
arms and legs. She couldnt lift them, couldnt fight. The
light was beginning to go out, and through the haze she
could see Venethrax approaching with one of his spidery
necrotechs at his side.
Even as her sensation of her own body began to fail her,

she felt the presence of Everblight. The heat of his nearness
was like the sun beating against her, and she felt like at
any moment she would burst into flames. Beneath the
dragons rage, she felt something she had not sensed
beforehis fear. She saw what was coming through his
eyes. She saw the athanc shard pulled from her mutilated
chest, saw Venethrax hold it aloft, his eyes gleaming and
herself trapped inside it. She saw Venethrax hold the shard
out to a draconic form so black and vast her sight couldnt
encompass it, and it swallowed her vision like an eclipse
of the sun.
Everblights rage poured into her, a rage that burned hotter
than any fire on Caen. It mingled with her own anger, her
horror at the idea that she might ever fail her master so
completely. She could not be the instrument by which he
was delivered unto his greatest enemy. She was willing
to die, but she couldnt, not if it meant that even a tiny
fragment of Everblight would find its way to Toruk.
She couldnt remember what it had been like to receive the
athanc shard, but now she felt something of what it must
have been like. Her veins burned with anger and blighted
energy, with the knowledge of what would transpire if
she fell and the conviction that it could not be allowed.
The shard in her chest was like a fiery lance that pierced
her, and she felt the heat from it radiate out, fill her, and
expand beyond her.
Absylonia was accustomed to changing. Her flesh had
never been content to settle into one form. But the change
she felt now was different. Her wounds sealed, new blood
pulsed in her veins, and she felt the radiance of Everblight
pour outward from her to Proteus, healing his wounds as
well. Through new eyes she saw Venethrax stop, watching
as a fully restored Proteus suddenly stood tall and roared at
the sky, tentacles flailing.
a vessel, constantly itching to change, always straining to

be nearer to the glory of Everblight. Now it had found its
place. The power that had poured through her had remade
her in his image, and now she was nearer to him than she
was to the Nyss she had once been. Now she was truly his
daughter.
Proteus also had not stopped at healing. Bones popped
wetly out of their sockets, and he, too, extended new
wings. Though these appeared to be more of a temporary
augmentation, obviously made of less stern stuff than her
own wings, they would be enough to carry him with her out
of harms way. Everblights energy poured outward from
Absylonia with such strength that Venethrax was forced to
shield himself. He poured all his arcane strength into his
power field as he backed away, and the delay was enough
to provide an opportunity for both Absylonia and Proteus
to take flight.
Everblight no longer had to speak to her in order to
communicate. She could feel his approval, his pleasure in
what she had become. She knew she had done enough for
now. She had drawn Venethrax far enough away, and she
should take her remaining forces and withdraw.
When she took to the sky this time, strong wings carried her
aloft, Proteus at her side. They were followed by a volley of
shots from Venethraxs jacks, but she quickly moved out
of range. She circled once to gain a good perspective on the
enemy forces arrayed below, allowing Everblight to better
appraise them. She knew Venethrax would continue to seek
to thwart them in their advance south, but also that several
of Everblights other warlocks had made it around him and
would continue on. She would join them soon, but first she
needed to gain more familiarity with her new form and
gather another army. Empowered anew by Everblight, she
felt certain her next clash with Lich Lord Venethrax would
be quite different.
She had used Everblights blighted energy to heal herself

and her spawn before, but this time the outpouring of
energy didnt stop. Her skull split, allowing room for
curving horns to spring forth. Her back contracted and
curled as new muscles and bones layered themselves
into place in seconds; then two wings, still wet from their
transformation, burst forth from her back and unfurled like
banners in the misty air. These were not temporary gliding
membranes like the ones she had formed earlier. These were
true and lasting wings.
With the metamorphosis came pain, of course, as bones
settled into sockets and muscles stretched into place,
but the pain was eclipsed by the presence of Everblight.
Absylonia had never been comfortable in her skin before
this moment. She knew why now. It had been too limited
71
Absylonia,
Daughter of Everblight
Legion Epic Blighted Nyss Warlock
She acts without hesitation or forethought, with no concept of self. We should all envy her clarity and
purity of purpose.
Thagrosh the Messiah
ABSYLONIA

7 8 7 6 15 16 8
Claw

POW P+S
14
Stinger

POW P+S
12
Fury 6
Damage 18
Field Allowance
C
Warbeast Points
+5
Medium base
Feat:
Metamorphose
Showing his favor, Everblights

blighted power flows freely
through Absylonia and
responds to her call. When she
unleashes a massive pulse of
draconic energy, her followers
are transformed. Their bodies
seethe and change to emulate
their masterlimbs lengthen,
muscles thicken, and wings
sprout from their backs. They
launch themselves high into
the air before falling on their
foes with a dragons fury.
Models in Absylonias
battlegroup that are currently in her control area gain
+2STR and Flight, and their melee weapons gain Reach .
Metamorphose lasts for one round.
ABSYLONIA
Abomination
Conferred Rage Warbeasts in this models battlegroup

beginning their activations in its control area can charge or
make power attacks without being forced. When this model
destroys one or more enemy models during its activation,
warbeasts in its battlegroup beginning their activations in its
control area gain +2 SPD and MAT for one turn.
Flight This model can advance through terrain and obstacles
without penalty and can advance through obstructions and
other models if it has enough movement to move completely
past them. This model ignores intervening models when
declaring its charge target.
Claw
Magical Weapon
Stinger
Magical Weapon
Energy Siphon When this attack hits an enemy model with

1 or more focus or fury points on it, that model loses 1 focus or
fury point and this model gains 1 fury point.
Absylonia has been no stranger to transformation. Her

body in constant flux, she has been as mutable as required
by the will of Everblight. The first day the athanc shard
sent blighted power rippling through her body, Absylonia
gladly surrendered her prior self and was reborn for the
dragon. Her role in his armies has demanded a different
kind of service from her than from other warlocks, one that
drew on her generative power to amass swarming throngs
of dragonspawn to bolster the Legion. But now she has
entered a new phase, taking to the sky to fight alongside
the winged spawn she birthed as the daughter of the
dragon.
72
Spells
Fortify

2
6

Yes No
Target warbeast in this models battlegroup gains +2 ARM. The affected

model and any friendly model B2B with it cannot be knocked down,
pushed, or moved by a slam.
Psycho Surgery
2 Self Ctrl
No No
Return Fire
No No
Teleport
2 Self
No No
Each model in this models battlegroup currently in its control area

immediately heals d3 + 1 damage points. This spell can only be cast once
per turn.
When target friendly Faction model is targeted by an enemy ranged attack,

after the attack is resolved the affected model can make one normal melee
or ranged attack, then Return Fire expires. Return Fire lasts for one round.
Place this model anywhere completely within 8 of its current location,
then its activation ends.
Tactical Tip
Teleport This model cannot be placed in an obstruction or in

impassable terrain as a result of this spell.
In her recent encounter with Venethrax, Absylonia entered

battle expecting to die for the glory of Everblight. Instead,
she was gifted with an outpouring of blighted energies
beyond any the dragon had ever unleashed on his chosen
generals. True wings burst fully-formed from her back, and
massive curving horns rose from her brow. The endless
shifting and changing of her body subsided, and she settled
into a constant, cohesive form. This metamorphosis brought
agony but also the knowledge that she had been blessed.
She had become as perfect an embodiment of the dragons
essence as a flawed mortal could hope to be.
Absylonia has wholeheartedly embraced her new anatomy,
gladly surrendering any lingering ties to her former life.
Hers is a deadly elegance, a savage grace bestowed by
Everblight himself. She acts in accordance with his will
and desires nothing more than to serve as his vessel on
the battlefields of Caen. While other warlocks sometimes
struggle with the dragons gifts, Absylonia sees in these
boons a transcendence, a clear pathway to unity with his
draconic perfection.
In her new form she flies over the battlefield, conveying
her killing rage to the spawn that follow her. Absylonias
blood has always been attuned to blighted energies, and the
spawn of that blood now gain the same mutability she once
possessed. There are few sights more terrifying to foes of
the Legion than a ravening tide of protean beasts pouring
toward them, mutating with the power of the blight, with
Absylonia sailing above on graceful wings, ready to strike
with breathtaking speed and deadly ferocity.
73
Blight
Wasps
Legion Warbeast Pack
The air about them droned with the buzzing of countless wings.
LEADER & grunts


7 4 5 1 12 11 4
Stinger

POW P+S
Fury *
Threshold 8
Damage 5 ea
Field Allowance U
Leader & 3 Grunts
4
Small base
LEADER & grunts
ANIMUS
Annoyance Living enemy

models within 1 of this
model suffer 1 to attack
rolls.
Models in target friendly warbeast pack gain Killing Spree

for one turn. (When a model with Killing Spree destroys one
or more enemy models with a melee attack during its combat
action, after that attack is resolved the model can move up to 1
and make one additional melee attack.)
Eyeless Sight
Blood Creation This

model never attacks
friendly Faction warlocks
and cannot choose them as
its frenzy target.

penalty and can advance through obstructions and other
models if it has enough movement to move completely past
them. This model ignores intervening models when declaring
its charge target.
Hunting Pack This model gains a +1 cumulative bonus to
melee attack and damage rolls for each other model in this unit
engaging the model it is attacking.
Soulless This model does not generate a soul token when it is
destroyed.
Stinger
Critical Poison On a critical hit, gain an additional die on this

weapons damage rolls against living models.
74
Travian Jules, monster hunter
Overwhelm

2
No No
Moving as a single mass of beating wings, scything claws, and

pulsing stingers, swarms of blight wasps sow panic and death
across the battlefield as they inject enemies with the poison
of dragon blight itself. A stung victim suffers excruciating
spasms as his body erupts with spurs of bone. A single dose
of blight wasp toxin is enough to kill a man, but the creatures
mindlessly sting over and over again as the hapless victim
writhes in agony before finally succumbing to death.
The Legion can create multitudes of these horrors with alarming
ease, and the wasps grow to full size within hours. In battle a
blight wasp swarm moves unpredictably to harry and eliminate
enemy warriors and warbeasts. The swarm is most formidable
against ranks of enemy soldiers, which they attack as a vicious,
stinging cloud. Against larger prey, they converge and attack
from multiple angles until they have destroyed their quarry.
Neraph
Legion Heavy Warbeast

Walls and battlements are futile against the spawned miracles of Everblight.
Bethayne, Voice of Everblight
Vortex

1 Self
No No
Enemy models currently within 2 of this model are immediately

pushed 2 directly toward it in the order you choose.
Eyeless Sight
Blood Creation This

model never attacks
friendly Faction warlocks
and cannot choose them as
its frenzy target.
completely past them. This
model ignores intervening
models when declaring its
charge target.
Serpentine This
model cannot make slam or
trample power attacks and
cannot be knocked down.
Soulless This model does
not generate a soul token
when it is destroyed.
Grasping Tail
NERAPH
6 10 6
5 14 16
Grasping Tail

POW P+S
14
Hammerhead

POW P+S
h 6
16
2
BODY
3
4
IN
D
Winged hosts of Everblights dragonspawn darken the

skies over battlefields, pitching downward to scatter the
enemy and sow bloody chaos among them. Swooping
over fortification walls and the heads of rival forces,
these flying spawn are able to strike at the heart of the
enemy no matter how well defended he believes himself
to be. The neraph is one such fearful creation, a sublime
hunter that plunges from above to snatch prey with its
tail and wrench it skyward.
NERAPH
IR
IT
ANIMUS
SP
Fury 4
Threshold 9
Field Allowance U
Point Cost
7
Large base
Coil When this

model directly hits a model with this weapon, its
melee attacks against that model automatically hit
for one turn.
Four leathery wings hold aloft the neraphs sinuous

body, producing swirling eddies of blighted energy as
it darts through the sky. It can produce a vortex of
these blighted currents that warps the world around
it, drawing nearby enemies into the reach of its long,
grasping tail. A cruel constellation of sucking orifices
lock onto the skin of the neraphs prey, preventing
escape as the beast binds its prize in a quick series of
constricting loops of its tail.
Trapped in the heavy coils of the tail, the neraphs victim
is incapable of evading the crushing blows that follow.
The neraph hoists a target aloft and contorts its powerful
body to hammer the life out of it with the hardened chitin
of its eyeless skull. Each strike carries all the force of the
creatures blighted strength, snapping bones like twigs and
bursting skulls like rotten fruit. Once its quarry is felled
the neraph takes to the hunt once more, wheeling over the
battlefield in search of prey.
75
Zuriel
Legion Nephilim Character Heavy Warbeast
With the gifts I have bestowed, Zuriel shall be my finest instrumenta weapon to clear the path to
my destiny.
Saeryn, Omen of Everblight
ZURIEL
ZURIEL
6 11 7
5 12 19
Dragon Breath
RNG ROF AOE POW
h SP 8 2
12
POW P+S
16
War Blade

POW P+S
16
2
BODY
3
4
IR
IT
IN
D
SP
Gunfighter
Affinity [Rhyas] While
Zuriel is in Rhyas control
area, he gains Stealth .
Affinity [Saeryn] While
Zuriel is not engaged and
is in Saeryns control area,
she can channel spells
through him.
War Blade

Eyeless Sight
Fury 4
Threshold 10
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
10
Large base

completely past them.
This model ignores
intervening models
when declaring its
charge target.
Special Issue [Rhyas or
Saeryn] This model can
be included in Rhyas or
Saeryns theme forces.
It can also be bonded to
Rhyas or Saeryn.
Dragon Breath
Damage Type: Fire
War Blade
Chain Attack: Char If this model hits the same

model with both its initial attacks with this weapon,
after resolving the attacks it can immediately make
one ranged attack targeting that model.
Zuriel is the product of Saeryns attempt to create a

spawn embodying the essence of both herself and her
twin sister, Rhyas. Saeryn combined the blighted blood
of both sisters into a single draught she then gave the Nyss
host chosen to bear this nephilim, for she intended to create
a powerful beast uniquely receptive to the twins minds.
That Saeryn was able to accomplish such a feat has not
gone unnoticed by Everblight. For the time being, the
dragon is content to allow Saeryn her accomplishment
as long as the spawn proves obedient.
Zuriel demonstrates the stealth and fighting prowess of
Rhyas together with a unique receptiveness to Saeryns
magic. Larger and more physically imposing than other
76
ANIMUS
Predators Instinct 1 Self
No No
This model gains an additional die on attack rolls against nonwarcaster, non-warlock warrior models. Predators Instinct lasts
for one turn.
Tactical Tip
nephilim, Zuriel also possesses keen intelligence and

a warriors pride. In battle he soars through the sky on
powerful wings as he searches out those marked for death
by his mistresses. Targets who attempt to escape the reach
of his blades find themselves engulfed by dragon fire from
his fanged maw.
StriderLegion
Blightblades
Blighted Nyss Unit
Youve been cut by a most tainted blade. Trust me in this: far better that you let me take the arm
and hope to grow a new one.
Kalena Bloodwhisper, trollkin shaman
In reconnaissance and assassination, few can compare

with the blighted Nyss striders. Their incredible speed and
elusiveness are gifts of their draconic master that cannot be
duplicated through mere instruction and training. Striders
slip unseen from one shadow to the next and can traverse
formidable terrain easily, foiling many expert marksmen.
Strider blightblades eschew the traditional Nyss longbows
in favor of a pair of wicked curved blades fabricated using
blighted energies. The angry, blackened wounds these
blades leave behind are only the beginning of a victims
suffering; enemies who survive a blightblades cold touch
might spend weeks wishing they had perished, and hardy
warriors have been felled by mere flesh wounds.
Battle surgeons and healers of all races familiar with these
wounds favor amputation whenever possible to prevent the
fatal blight from creeping inexorably into the veins of their
patients. The blighted blades do not cause an infection in
the traditional sense, rendering standard medical treatment
and even alchemical restoratives ineffectual. Little can be
done to relieve a victims excruciating pain besides entirely
excising the blight.
LEADER & GRUNTS
Combined Melee Attack
LEADER & GRUNTS
Pathfinder

7 6 6 5 15 11 8
Stealth
Blade

POW P+S
Ambush You can choose

3 9
not to deploy this unit at
the start of the game. If it is
Field Allowance
not deployed normally, you
Leader & 5 Grunts
can put it into play at the
Small base
end of any of your Control
Phases after your first turn.
When you do, choose any table edge except the back of your
opponents deployment zone. Place all models in this unit in
formation within 3 of the chosen table edge.
2
6
Blade
Critical Grievous Wounds On a critical hit, the model hit by

this weapon loses Tough, cannot heal or be healed, and cannot
transfer damage for one round.
As stories of shadow warriors wielding dual blades of

death spread among the armies of western Immoren, fear of
the strider blightblades has grown. The Legion can rely on
them not only for assassination but also to sow chaos and
terror among the enemy.
77
Fyanna
the Lash
Legion Blighted Nyss Character Solo
All blighted must adapt to their new flesh, and for some this is a trial. In the end we all serve
the same master.
Captain Farilor
FYANNA
FYANNA

7 7 7 4 15 12 9
Barbed Lash

POW P+S
12
Pathfinder
Attack Type Each time

this model makes a normal
melee attack, choose one of
the following abilities:
Beat Back Immediately

after a normal attack with
this weapon is resolved
during this models
combat action, the enemy
model hit can be pushed
1 directly away from
the attacking model. After the enemy model is pushed, the
attacking model can advance up to 1.
Damage 5
Field Allowance
C
Point Cost
3
Small base
Dismember When this model hits a warbeast with a melee

attack, roll an additional damage die.
Pitch Instead of making a normal damage roll on a hit,
this model can throw the model hit as if it had hit with and
passed the STR check of a throw power attack. The thrown
model suffers a damage roll with POW equal to this models
STR plus the POW of this weapon. The POW of collateral
damage is equal to this models STR.
Evasive This model cannot be targeted by free strikes. This
model can advance up to 2 immediately after an enemy ranged
attack that missed it is resolved unless it was missed while
advancing.
Prowl This model gains Stealth
while within terrain
that provides concealment, the AOE of a spell that provides
concealment, or the AOE of a cloud effect.
Rapid Strike This model can make one additional melee
attack each combat action.
Barbed Lash
Reach
Chain Strike This weapon has a 4 melee range during this

models activation.
Chain Weapon This attack ignores the Buckler and Shield
weapon qualities and Shield Wall.
Before the arrival of the dragon Everblight and the

assimilation of the Nyss into his blighted legion, Fyanna was
a charismatic and renowned hunter. It was widely assumed
that upon the death of her shards leader Fyanna would
assume that responsibility. All that changed, however,
following the cataclysm that shattered the Nyss and placed
them in thrall to Everblight.
Fyanna was transformed into a strider, with the blight
amplifying both her predatory nature and a certain
ruthless spirit developed over years of fighting for
survival within the harsh wilds of the Shard Spires.
While seeming to accept the blight as her fellow Nyss
78
Tactical Tips
Beat Back The attacking model can advance even if the enemy
model is destroyed by the attack.
Pitch A model cannot throw a model whose base is larger than
its own.
did, Fyanna struggled with both her remade form and the
new society forged after Everblights blighting touch. She
had once enjoyed rising renown among the Nyss, but she
now turned inward and avoided contact with others of her
kind, growing increasingly feral. At last she was cast out of
the tightly knit fellowship of striders entirely and labeled
hyvyloashoutsider.
Forced to live on the fringes of the corrupted Nyss society,
Fyanna allowed her most basic instinctsnow augmented
by the blightto overtake her. She became little more than
a predator, hunting and killing whatever happened to fall
into her path. For a long time she roamed far beyond the
lands inhabited by the Legion. Yet despite the increasing
dominance of her savage side, Fyanna retained a tenuous
connection to the dragon through the blight.
One day in her wanderings she stumbled upon her shards
old settlement. There she found painful reminders of the
proud hunter she had once been and came to recognize
the pathetic creature she had allowed herself to become.
Determined to reclaim her pride and prove her worth or die
trying, Fyanna set out to hunt down and eliminate those few
unblighted Nyss who resisted the Legions power. As she
stalked her prey throughout the traditional Nyss hunting
grounds and lands, Fyanna used her intimate knowledge of
the wilderness to lure her quarry into traps where she could
eliminate them face-to-face.
As her collection of trophies from these encounters grew,
word of her deeds spread and blighted Nyss wishing to
follow her example began to seek her out. Having achieved
acceptance among her fellow fighters together with a certain
harmony with her new form, Fyanna the Lash earned her
place as a hunting pack leader within Everblights legion.
79
Minions
Forging a Dynasty
The Bloodstone Marches
Helga the Conqueror stepped out from the smoky darkness

of her great hall into the afternoon sun. The Marches were
always hot in the day, even in the spring. In the wide space
before her, hundreds of farrow were drilling under the stern
guidance of her primary chieftain, Grulla.
Grulla walked toward her, leaving behind a group of
slaughterhousers attacking tall wooden poles with
their cleavers. Warlord, the older farrow said as she
approached, dipping her head.
Helga nodded. Grulla, tell me, how are our troops faring?
Grulla crinkled her snout. Ive got the brigands shooting
straight but they still cant switch between pig iron and
club on the charge. Half the slaughterhousers think their
pole cleavers are close combat weapons. And our razorback
crews couldnt hit the broad side of a mountain.
Helga smiled and clapped Grulla on the shoulder. Sounds
like progress to me, she said.
Grulla snorted. If you say so. There is still much work
to do.
And youre the best one for it. Helgas tone became more
serious as she added, I must speak with you.
Grulla cocked her head. Is something wrong? She had
been Helgas battle master for years, the only of her chiefs
to swear allegiance to her without requiring a show of force.
Helga trusted her.
Yes, Helga said. She began walking toward the main
group of huts, passing the slaughterhousers. Those nearest
stopped drilling and stared. Helga was used to this; most of
her farrow regarded her with almost worshipful reverance.
She had earned their respect through many long and bloody
fights as she consolidated the tribes in the area.
Back to it, you wallowing bastards! Grulla barked.
Alarmed squeals erupted from the idle farrow as they
immediately surged to attack their wooden targets.
80
Helga and Grulla continued in silence, making their way

through the orderly rows of farrow huts. They heard the
sound of gunfire as they moved through the camp. Beyond
the main encampment, farrow brigands were practicing
with their pig irons, firing into a berm of piled earth.
Lord Carver is coming, Helga said without preamble,
feeling a surge of dread at the powerful farrows name. His
forces were spotted entering our territory this morning.
Grullas hand instinctively fell to the haft of the axe at her
belt. How many? she said, fairly growling the words. If
he wants a fight, well give him one.
Thats the thing, Helga said. He sent word he wants
to talk.
Grulla shook her head. He thinks you will simply step
aside. You cant possibly trust him. He has conquered or
killed every warlord and chief who stood against him. Even
Midas now serves him.
It was true that Carvers subjugation of Midas was
troubling. She would have expected the proud and stubborn
bone grinder to fight to the death before submitting to that
indignity.
Helga grunted. I will hear him. It could be a ruse, of course.
If we must fight, we will. Carver will bleed if he seeks to
take my lands.
Good, Grulla said.
Helga smiled, but a knot of apprehension tightened in
her stomach. She knew the strength of her forces, which
she would gladly pit against that of any other warlord in
the Marches. But Carver was something different. It was
not simply his army that Helga fearedit was also his
command of the terrible monstrosities provided for him by
his pet human doctor and inventor. She had heard tales of
their unnatural ferocity and speed.
Come, Helga said. We must prepare to meet our
honored guest.
Lord Carver was perplexed. The feeling made him want to

take Hand of God from his back and kill something. Instead
he turned to the thickly muscled bone grinder warlock
behind him. This is her encampment? They had moved
forward from the main army and closer to the walls, along
with a small honor guard of warbeasts and brigands.
Yes, Midas said. The largest of several.
This does not look like a farrow compound, Carver said.
It looks almost... human.
Midas nodded. Helga has strange ideas about how
warriors should be trained.
Trained? Farrow are not trained; we are born warriors, and
the stronger rise above the weaker. Still, she has managed to
seize a large expanse.
And swiftly, Midas said. She has defeated many. It
was true. Helga had proven herself a mighty warrior,
subjugating many of the male chieftains in the area and
forcing them to serve her, then absorbing their tribes into
her own. Her lands are the equal of those once held by
several of your greatest warlords.
Perhaps her strange ways have some merit, Carver said
grudgingly.
I have heard her farrow are both disciplined and precise.
Though it likely takes a lot of bother, more than I would be
willing to put up with.
Carver crinkled his snout. Hed never liked that human
word, discipline. Hed heard Arkadius say it when speaking
of the farrow, as something they lacked. He looked down
at the encampment in the valley below them. The orderly
rows of buildings, the palisade wall and deep ditch
encircling the camp, the neat lines of stakes within and just
behind the ditchall spoke of this discipline. He quickly
assessed how difficult it would be to attack such a camp.
Even his road hogs would have trouble negotiating that
ditch, and the narrow entry would bottleneck his forces,
largely negating the advantage of his superior numbers.
Looking back to the lines of his gathered army, Carver
saw a number of his chiefs eyeing the encampment with
troubled expressions.
Midas said, If she sees this as an invasion and attacks...
Carver snorted. Ridiculous, he said. She is ambitious,
not stupid. She will speak with me.
Midas drew a deep breath, and Carver sensed he wanted to
say more. Midas was not used to accepting orders, but he
held his tongue.
I seek a mate, and there are few females worthy to bear my

progeny, Carver said. I have chosen her above all others
for this honor.
She may see it differently.
Impossible, Carver said. But if she would rather fight
than accept my offer, I will crush any champions she sends
against me.
Midas did not look convinced. As you say, but she may
not trouble with formalities. She may just send her army. Or
shoot you from here.
if she would rather fight

than accept my offer, I
will crush any champions
she sends against me.
The mere thought of such an affront sent white-hot bolts
of rage coursing through Carver. He would annihilate any
forces sent to discourage him. If Midas could not stomach a
fight, Carver would slaughter them without his help.
Thats a good sign, Midas said, pointing toward the
encampment.
A small group of farrow had come forth and was heading in
their direction. A tall and stout female, clad in steel plate and
gripping a great spear and shield, walked at the fore. This
could only be Helga. Armed for war, she cut an impressive
figure. Beside her walked another heavily armored female
chief, a subordinate carrying a massive axe. A pair of razor
boars advanced ahead of Helga, obviously leashed to her
mental command. Following these were slaughterhousers
moving in three ranks of ten, their poleaxes held high, their
movements synchronized.
Again, Carver was struck by how human it all looked
the order, the discipline. He looked back at his own
troops milling about or lounging in the shade of the few
withered trees they could find. They seemed almost lazy in
comparison to Helgas slaughterhousers.
He saw that Helgas farrow were headed for an open area,
clear of boulders and other obstructions. It was not lost on
him that with their longer weapons her slaughterhousers
would have the advantage on that field.
So she was a thinker and a warrior. He was intrigued.
Minutes before they left the encampment Grulla had turned

to Helga, deadly serious, and said, We should just kill him.
81
Helga had considered this, but even with the hundreds of

farrow she commanded and an entire pack of razor boars, she
felt uncertain about facing Carver in open combat. Moreover,
while his army looked only loosely ordered, their numbers
were substantial. Even were she to perform a lightning strike
on his immediate escort, she did think she could kill him
before being encircled in turn. His resilience was the stuff of
legends. No, she had told Grulla. Well see what he wants.
Helga continued, I am not averse to considering the idea,

though, given certain assurances. She couldnt deny that
mating with Carver would have its advantages. She had not
sought a mate because of the inherent problems involved,
problems male chiefs and warlords could ignore. But if she
could somehow maintain her standing and also gain access to
the powerful hybrid warbeasts created by Carvers pet arcanist,
a more lasting alliance could be extremely advantageous.
Outside the shelter of her encampment she felt vulnerable.

As they drew closer, she saw Carvers war hogs more clearly
and was both repulsed by their patchwork grotesquery and
intrigued by their obvious strength. The smaller gun boars
were also impressive, and she wondered how accurate their
cannons might be.
What assurances? Carver said, plainly taken aback that

she hadnt immediately accepted the proposal.
Carver himself was a towering figure clad in heavy armor

with spiked pauldrons and wielding a gargantuan twohanded blade, very much like a great cleaver, across his
back. His right hand rested on a double-barreled scattergun
holstered low on his hip. Next to Carver and slightly behind
him was another large armored farrow with a saw-edged
axe and a pair of large knives tucked through his belt. A
huge cauldron filled with bones, meat, and other totems
was chained to his back. In his own way, Midas was as
fearsome-looking as his master.
Second, she continued, tradition demands that a suitor

prove himself in battle. I respect the old ways.
Lord Carver, she called out. I welcome you to my lands.

As Carver moved toward her, she glanced at Grulla,
nodded, and sent a mental command to her razor boars to
stay where they were. Then she and Grulla walked out to
meet the great warlord.
Helga the Conqueror, Carver said. I have heard much of
your exploits.
I am flattered, she said. He nodded imperiously. But
what brings you to my lands?
I have come to bestow upon you a great honor.
Helga exchanged a wary look with Grulla and said, Please,
tell me, what is this boon?
I require a strong female to bear my young, and there
is none stronger than you. You will help me forge my
dynasty, Carver said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture
of generosity.
She stared at him, mouth open, as her mind raced. She found
herself at a loss for words. Again, you flatter me. This is
indeed a . . . surprising offer, she said finally. However,
a pregnancy and the resulting time needed to raise young
would put me in a vulnerable position. It would weaken my
standing among my chiefs.
Carver nodded. Underlings are a duplicitous lot. He
glanced back at Midas, who glowered in return.
82
First, I would want access to the creatures your human,

Arkadius, provides to you, she said.
That could be arranged, Carver conceded.
What are you doing? Grulla hissed from behind her, but
Helga ignored the battle master. She knew exactly what she
was doing.
The old ways? Carver said, surprised. After my countless
conquests, you would have me prove myself in battle?
I would see your might firsthand, Helga said. You say
I am worthy to bear your young; I only wish to determine
if you are worthy. I have refused all others. I must know
you are not just strong and skilled but are also one who can
command well and seize spoils. Only a real battle can show
this, not a simple one-on-one duel.
Very well, Carver said, considering. I know where there
are human villages not far from here, belonging to a tribe
that has defended their lands from others in the past.
Helgas eyes narrowed; she knew the settlements he meant.
They belonged to a tribe that served the blackclads. She
had considered adding those lands to hers in the past but
had held back to avoid drawing the ire of the druids. If
the blame for the attack were to fall on Carver instead, this
could be her opportunity to gain the territory without direct
reprisal. Perhaps, she allowed.
Carver nodded decisively. I will take but a fraction of my
army, to prove my strength. You will accompany me and
I will show you why I am the only suitor worthy of you.
In truth Helga had no doubt Carver was a mighty warrior

perhaps the greatest farrow warrior who had ever lived
but she required some time to gauge the merits of what was
proposed. Nonetheless, she could not deny that she found
the prospect of seeing Carvers war hogs in action quite
compelling.
The two chiefs marched with their warriors toward the

closest of the human settlements, some ten miles from
her main encampment. Helga was outfitted for battle and
carried the long hunting spear that had belonged to her
father, a powerful chief in his own right. She also carried a
shield fitted with a short cannon modified from one used by
razorback crews.
Carver had brought only Midas, a small number of
warbeasts, and his immediate escort. Helgas own
force consisted of thirty slaughterhousers and twenty
brigands, all marching in orderly ranks behind her and
Grulla. Three razor boars moved ahead of her, controlled
by her mental command. Her largest warbeast, the
hulking bipedal great boar Snar, walked beside her. Her
reason for bringing this large a force was simple. Carver
had a reputation for being temperamental, and if for
some reason he turned on her, she needed numbers to
counter his aggressionnot that she liked her odds in
that scenario.
Look at them, Grulla said to Helga, pointing at the
brigands milling around Carver and Midas. How has he
conquered so many with fighters like that?
Carver didnt seem to mind that his troops were more a
mob than a trained fighting force. Helga replied, Simple.
He has numbers, considerable personal strength, and the
monstrosities made for him by his human.
You give him too much credit. Hes a thug. A strong one,
surely, but still a thug.
We cannot underestimate Carver, Helga said. He has
shown enough cunning and strength to conquer every
warlord in his path. And his warriors bear the scars of many
battles. Individually, they know how to fight.
Grulla grunted and shook her head. Maybe, but I
Her point was cut short by the twang of crossbows
discharging their bolts and the resulting howls of pain from
the farrow struck by the missiles. They had entered an area
strewn with large boulders and outcroppings of stonea
perfect place to spring an ambush. The bolts had struck
Carvers band, some fifty yards ahead of Helgas force.
Slaughterhousers! Ring! Helga shouted. Her warriors
moved swiftly to form a circle around her and her beasts,
a dense thicket of projecting blades. Helga summoned her
will, and bright yellow runes flared around her outstretched
hand. The spell washed over the slaughterhousers,
shrouding them in arcane wards. More crossbow bolts
came whizzing from the cover of nearby boulders but were
turned aside.
Brigands! Two lines! Covering fire! Grullas commands
rang out loud and clear. The brigands split into two
groups to flank the ring of slaughterhousers, then began

firing their pig irons at the shadowy figures hiding in the
rocky terrain.
A savage cry rose over the din of gunfire as a group of human
warriors clad in animal skins and sand-colored clothing
and armor charged Carver and his brigands. They wielded
heavy cleft-bladed spears, and their armor bore stylized
patterns and whorls. Helga counted twenty individuals.
Carver surged forward with his war hogs in the middle of his
farrow mob. He cut down two humans with his mammoth
blade within seconds of first contact and blasted two more
with his scattergun. His war hogs trampled, crushed, and
flung aside any humans foolish enough to close, while his
gun boars fired on those at the fringes.
A crossbow bolt thudded into Helgas shield, pulling her
attention away from Carver. She glanced around and saw
more human warriors emerging from cover, their crossbows
bearing heavy blades on the stocks. Helga looked ahead
and saw Carvers small force had nearly overwhelmed
the humans they were fighting. The arrogant warlord was
showing her his skill in battlewell, she would show him
why she was master of these lands.
Move aside! Helga shouted. The slaughterhousers parted
swiftly, allowing her and the great boar Snar to push
through, followed closely by her razor boars. The humans
were closing in on both sides.
Grulla! Helga called out. I have the left flank! The battle
master gave a stiff nod and began shouting orders to the
farrow around her.
Helga reached out to her beasts. She felt their animal fury
coursing along her connection with them, and it filled
her with a heady battle lust. The humans were coming
on fast, and Helga urged her razor boars to charge. The
two-hundred-pound beasts slammed into their foes, tusks
ripping gaping wounds and splattering blood in wide
crimson arcs.
She sent Snar next and ran close behind him, spear readied
at her right shoulder. The great boar barreled into a group
of four humans, its armored fists rising and falling to smash
the weak, pale creatures into gory paste.
Helga ran out from behind Snar toward another group of
humans firing their crossbows at her razor boars. They
were backing up as they fired, clearly looking to retreat. She
charged, summoning her magic to quicken her gait, and
was on them before they realized the danger. She lunged
with her spear to catch the first human in the throat, nearly
taking his head off.
The remaining three moved apart in an attempt to flank her.
She took a step back, then lunged to her left and slammed
83
her shield into the nearest one. The female staggered

backward, and Helgas spear followed, skewering her.
Helga yanked her weapon free, whirled around, and
flipped the weapon up into an overhand grip, better for
close combat. She lashed out at her next opponent with a
heavy hoof, smashing his knee. He went down, and she
buried her spear in his guts.
The final human warrior turned and ran. She let him get
a dozen steps away, took aim with her shield cannon,
and depressed the firing stud. The cannon unleashed a
deafening roar, kicking hard, but the shot was true. Her
target was blown forward, arms and legs flailing limply, a
fist-sized hole in his torso.
Helga scanned the battlefield. Their enemies either lay dead
or were swiftly retreating, and Snar and her razor boars were
greedily devouring the corpses. Carver was leaning on his
sword thirty feet away. Clearly he had been watching her.
She walked up to him, her spear balanced on her shoulder.
Well fought, Lord Carver, she said.
And you, he replied. You prove yourself more worthy of
my attentions with every passing minute.
You took some casualties, I see. She pointed at the many
farrow lying dead on the sand behind the warlord. Her own
forces were entirely intact.
Carver snorted in irritation. They were weak, he said
simply.
Or poorly trained.
Carver cocked his head and stared at her. His face was
unreadable, but his eyes narrowed. Perhaps, he said after
a long pause, they could benefit from your methods.
Helga met his eye, and after a moment she gave him a small
nod. Let us continue on. I would see the mighty Lord
Carver wipe this human settlement from my lands.
Carver offered her a tusk-filled smile. That will soon come
to pass.
The settlement was surrounded. Its walls were stout, but

its defenders were beginning to waver. There were already
a dozen human bodies at the base of the wall, felled by
pig irons from Helgas bandits or spells hurled by Midas
or Lord Carver. Sentries manning the palisade had fired
crossbows down at the farrow with deadly accuracy.
Neither side possessed the ranged advantage, and the
farrow had backed off for the moment, knowing they had
their enemy trapped.
84
Carver had not yet sent his war hogs against the wall, but he
would soon tire of the siege, use his beasts to batter down
the walls, and then slaughter every human inside. It was an
outcome that seemed inevitable.
You see, Helga? Carver said. These pitiful humans
cannot stand before my strength.
Helga shrugged and said, Your skill is beyond question,
but I am keen to see how you will handle the final stage
without losing half your warriors. Will you be rash, or can
you be patient?
Carver scowled and said, I shall
A flash of bright light and a sound like distant thunder
stopped him midsentence and caused all three farrow
warlocks to whirl around. Before them stood a human
wearing a hooded black cloak and carrying an axe-like
weapon that appeared to be made entirely of wood. A
blackclad.
Helgas razor boars and Carvers war hogs instinctively
surged toward the newcomer. The two warlocks pulled
them back, though Helga noticed Carver let his beasts get
a bit closer to the newcomer than she allowed hers. She
was well aware blackclads had powerful magic. This one
seemed unfazed by the huge beasts and the hundred armed
farrow in front of him.
Warlords Carver and Helga, the human called out. There
was no fear in his voice. I would speak with you. He
spoke in Cygnaran, which they understood easily enough,
but he enunciated his words with an exaggerated care and
slowness that made Helga bristle.
What do you want, human? Lord Carver said. Have you
come to challenge me?
Helga doubted that. The blackclad had come alone, so he
likely wasnt looking for a fight.
I am Wayfarer Ilius, the human said. You must end your
attack on this settlement. It is protected. Helga frowned.
She had known the tribe here to be connected to the druids
but had not expected them to intervene directly.
Why should I not crush you along with the rest of these
feeble humans? Carver said, leaning casually on the haft
of Hand of God.
The black hood hid most of the humans face, but Helga saw
his mouth twist downward. If you continue this attack, the
retaliation will be more terrible than you can imagine. He
held up his staff and pointed at something behind Carver.
On a high bluff above the village stood a tree she was sure
hadnt been there before. Several objects hung from its
gnarled, leafless branches by short lengths of ropeskulls,
farrow skulls among them. Helga felt cold dread settle into
the pit of her stomach. She knew the legend of the Tree of
Fate, a being that fed on blood. Calamity followed where it
appeared.
That is Wurmwood, Lord Carver, Midas said, breaking
the silence that had settled over the farrow. This is no idle
threat.
Carver fumed. We have bled in this battle, and my farrow
have been promised spoils! Your tree does not frighten me.
The tree did frighten Helga; whatever its connection to the
village, it was not an entity to provoke blindly. But she
could smell the possibility of advantage beneath the druids
words, and she said, I wonder why the human came to
treat with us rather than simply unleashing the power of
Wurmwood upon us? Perhaps there is an agreement that
can be made to our benefit.
Carver only grunted, but Midas nodded, his eyes gleaming.
He turned to the blackclad. Do you have something to
offer us in exchange for giving up our spoils, druid?
After a moment the human said, You would find little of
value here, but there is another place where great gains
could be had, for those willing to take risks.
Helga snorted. You would turn us against your enemies?
That is fair. But speak plainly and do not insult us.
The blackclad inclined his head. Very well. Go north. There
you will find a trollkin settlement, newly established and
filled with warriors wounded and tired from a great battle.
There is much to be gained from their destruction.
It was a tempting proposition. Taking a large trollkin
settlement would provide food, supplies, andmost
importantlyvaluable weapons and armor. It would also
allow Helga more time to turn Carvers proposal to her full
advantage.
His blood already enflamed by combat, Carver had yet to
see the full benefit. End the attack? he said. Hogwash!
Why should we? Midas ear twitched as he looked at his
leader with barely concealed disdain.
These humans have proven to be an unworthy foe, Lord
Carver, Helga said. Even were she present with her entire
army, she would be reluctant to provoke Wurmwood. But
Carver had his pride and would not back down unless he
could do so without appearing weak.
Midas muttered, Troll livers and hearts make powerful

fetishes, too. Seeing Carvers unimpressed look, he added
in a stronger tone, Trollkin produce fine weapons, and
Ironhides are likely to have powder stores as well. Your
chieftains have been running lean for too long. They grow
restless for fresh spoils.
Helga was surprised and gratified to hear him support the
notion. If they are depleted, we must strike soon. Trollkin
resilience is well known; their wounded will recuperate if
we wait. Midas nodded his agreement, but bloodlust still
shaded Carvers expression.
Helga met his glowering gaze. There is another reason,
she said. We should do it because together we can. Ironhide
is said to have a mighty army. Each of our forces on its own
might not be enough. Carver huffed menacingly, but she
pressed on. Our forces blended, the pair of us marching at
the foresurely we can accomplish great things. Let this be
our true test, Lord Carver. Let us lead our great armies in
battle, side by side, for the glory of a future dynasty.
Carver scratched at the tuft of fur on his chin. He was
spattered with blood and stank of sweat and death. Helga
knew she was standing on the precipice of disaster; the
unpredictable warlord might do anything at this moment.
He did the one thing she didnt expect: he smiled.
Very well, human, Carver said to the blackclad. We
will leave your village standing. But if you are lying about
these trollkin and their wealth, I promise our retribution
will be more terrible than anything you or any human can
imagine.
The blackclad nodded. I do not promise it will be easy. You
should hurry, he said, and then he disappeared in a burst
of green light.
Carver turned to Midas. Return and gather the rest of my
army. Send word to Arkadius as well, and have him bring
Sturm and Drang.
Midas nodded. As he turned to go, he also nodded at
Helgathough whether that signified the beginning of an
alliance or simply grudging respect, she could not say.
Now, Helga, you will see why the world will one day lie at
my feet, Carver said with a savage grin. You will see why
my dynasty will rule for a thousand years, and why I am
called the Bringer of Most Massive Destruction!
The human is right about the weak state of this new

settlement, Midas said. I have heard of these trollkin.
They are Ironhides people, from the Thornwood. Very
wealthy, at least they were before they fled their homes.
Carver grunted, his temper cooling slightly. Trollkin are
more worthy foes than these cowardly humans.
85
Helga
the Conqueror
Minion Farrow Warlock
She intrigues me. She stands apart from the other warlords, as cunning and adaptable as they are
pig-headed and intractable.
Dr. Arkadius
Feat: Grand Finale
HELGA
The great warlord Helga can

draw on her arcane reserves
to bestow mystical strength
on the minions fighting beside
her. Their every blow becomes
a battering ram, capable of
sending enemies flying back to
shatter through walls, trees, or
anything else in their way.
Cyclone
2 Self
Dash
While in Helgas control

area, when a friendly
Faction model hits an
enemy model with a
normal melee attack,
the enemy model can be
slammed d6 directly away
from the attacking model.
The POW of the slam damage roll is equal to the P+S of the
attack. The POW of collateral damage is equal to the STR of the
attacking model. Grand Finale lasts for one turn.
Minion This model will work for Circle, Legion, Skorne, and
Trollbloods.
Field Marshal This includes this model.

5 7 6 6 15 16 8
Shield Cannon
RNG ROF AOE POW
10 1 13
Hunting Spear

POW P+S
12
Fury 6
Damage 16
Field Allowance
C
Warbeast Points
+6
Small base
HELGA
Tough
Farrow Warlock This model can have only Minion Farrow

warbeasts in its battlegroup.
Field Marshal [Gang Fighter] Models in this models
battlegroup gain Gang Fighter. (When making a melee attack
targeting an enemy model in melee range of another friendly
Faction warrior model, a model with Gang Fighter gains +2 to
melee attack and melee damage rolls.)
Hunting Spear
Magical Weapon
Reach
Inflict Pain When it hits a warbeast with this weapon, this
model can place 1 fury point on or remove 1 fury point from the
warbeast.
Set Defense A model in this models front arc suffers 2 on
charge, slam power attack, and impact attack rolls against this
model.
Helga the Conqueror stands as an equal among the most

formidable warlords the farrow have ever produced,
controlling a vast swath of territory in the southeastern
Bloodstone Marches. Having secured these lands through a
deft combination of strength and cunning, Helga has earned
both the respect and the fear of her cohorts. In a time when
most farrow with a thirst for conquest have bent the knee to
Lord Carver, she remains independent.
Helga gained power in the traditional way of her people
through force and coercion. Her rise was all the more
86
Spells
No No
2 Self Ctrl
No No
Defenders Ward
Yes No
Distraction
No Yes
Muzzle
10
12
No Yes
This model immediately makes a full advance. It cannot be targeted by

free strikes during this movement. At the end of this movement, this
model can make one melee attack against each model in its LOS that is in
its melee range. Cyclone can be cast only once per turn.
While in this models control area, friendly Faction warrior models cannot
be targeted by free strikes. This model and friendly Faction warrior models
activating in its control area gain +1SPD. Dash lasts for one turn.
Target friendly Faction model/unit gains +2 DEF and ARM.
Target enemy warrior model/unit cannot make ranged attacks and suffers
2 DEF and MAT for one round.
An enemy warbeast damaged by Muzzle cannot advance toward this
model for one round.
Tactical Tips
Grand Finale The slammed model is moved only half the

distance rolled if its base is larger than the slamming models.
noteworthy for taking place in a culture dominated by

males. She overcame dozens of tribal leaders through
strength of arms, often defeating rival chieftains in single
combat. All these tribes she absorbed, adding their strength
to hers. Though a fierce warrior by any measure, Helga
has compounded her triumphs by skillfully employing her
warlock powers to her advantage. Her ability to command
the strength of various porcine warbeasts has helped assure
her place as undisputed master of her domain.
In battle Helga is direct and uncompromising. With her
great spear and shield cannon, she is a whirlwind of steel
on the battlefield, equally at ease skewering her foes or
blasting them to pieces. Off the battlefield Helga personally
leads raids on trollkin and human settlements for weapons,
food, and other valuables.
While her rise to power may have been traditional, the
manner in which she controls her war band is quite
unconventional. She has driven them to reinforce and
strengthen her holdings with formidable defensive
structures. She has implemented rigid discipline over her
warriors, forcing them to endure rigorous training and
adopt tactics most farrow would dismiss as too humanlike.
Helga is a natural leader, and it is more than simple fear
of her wrath that compels the loyalty of her followers. Her
warriors regard her with awe. They are proud to bear her
banners and eager to bring her spoils.
Helga has lately drawn the attention of Lord Carver, a

development she knew to be inevitable given the extent
of his conquests. Surprisingly, he came to her not to force
her into submission but because he sees her as something
unique: the key to a dynasty, the only farrow worthy to
bear his young. While as yet unwilling to make any such
commitment, Helga has not rebuffed Carvers advances.
She knows that as a warlock she has much to gain from
joining the Thornfall Alliance, but she would do so on her

own terms. She may be eager to gain access to the weapons
Carvers army has created, but she is determined to achieve
this goal without relinquishing her autonomy. In return,
she would bring to the alliance both a fierce and disciplined
army and her own tremendous talents as a warlock and
battle commander.
87

Minion Gatorman Warlock
The will of Kossk comes to me in the bloom of blood in the river, in the unwinding of spilled entrails,
in the taste of flesh killed by my hand.
Jaga-Jaga
JAGA-JAGA

6 6 6 5 14 16 9
Death Snake

POW P+S
11
Fury 7
Damage 16
Field Allowance
C
Warbeast Points
+5
Medium base
Feat: Legion of
Death
Those who perish near JagaJaga dance to her will and

their broken bodies become
like puppets under her cruel
control. The darkness and
cold of the grave surrounds
them, sowing weakness and
vulnerability.
When a living or undead

enemy non-warlock, nonwarcaster warrior model is
boxed by an attack while
in Jaga-Jagas control area this turn, you can take control of it. If
solo,
you do, the model becomes a friendly Faction Undead
gains Dark Shroud, heals 1 damage point, and can immediately
make a full advance. During this movement, the model cannot
be targeted by free strikes. The model cannot activate and is
removed from play when Legion of Death expires. Legion of
Death lasts for one round. (While in the melee range of a model
with Dark Shroud, enemy models suffer 2 ARM.)
Minion This model will work for Circle, Legion, Skorne, and
Trollbloods.
JAGA-JAGA
Amphibious This model ignores the effects of deep and

shallow water and can move through them without penalty.
While completely in deep water, it cannot be targeted by ranged
or magic attacks and can make attacks only against other
models in deep water. While completely in deep water, this
model does not block LOS.
Gatorman Warlock This model can have only Minion
Gatorman warbeasts in its battlegroup.
Death Snake
Reach
Chain Weapon This attack ignores the Buckler and Shield

weapon qualities and Shield Wall.
Poison Gain an additional die on this weapons damage rolls
against living models.
Twisting her way up from the deep waters of the Marchfells,

Jaga-Jaga has risen to prominence as a high priestess of the
Blindwater Congregation. In her talons writhe the spirits
of death and of the swamps, eager to bend to her designs.
She is an enigmatic creature, whispering into the darkness
to converse with ravening things of shadow. Around her
the unseen spirits bubble close to the surface, drawn to her
as leeches are drawn to disturbances in the water. Other
gatormen commune with such spirits, but they perceive only
a glimmer of what she knows. Her eyes pierce the tenebrous
barrier between Caen and that which lies beyond. She sees
a larger, immaterial world, and from it she charms forth
intangible beings to serve her whims and offer her council.
88
Spells
Deadweight
12
No Yes
Escort
2 Self Ctrl
Yes No
Ghost Walk
Grave Wind
Yes No
Spellpiercer
2 Self Ctrl
When Deadweight destroys an enemy living or undead model, choose an

enemy model within 2 of the destroyed model. The chosen model must
forfeit either its movement or its action during its next activation, as its
controller chooses.
Warbeasts in this models battlegroup beginning their activations in its
control area gain +2 movement. This model gains +2 ARM while one or
more warbeasts in its battlegroup are within 3 of it.
No No
Target friendly model/unit gains Ghostly for one turn. (A model with
Ghostly can advance through terrain and obstacles without penalty and
can advance through obstructions if it has enough movement to move
completely past them. An affected model cannot be targeted by free strikes.)
Target friendly Faction model gains +2 DEF and Poltergeist. (When
an enemy model misses the model with Poltergeist with an attack,
immediately after the attack is resolved you can choose to push the enemy
model d3 directly away from the model with Poltergeist.)
No No
While within this models control area, friendly Faction model/units

and Blessed. Spellpiercer lasts for one
weapons gain Magical Weapon
round. (When making an attack with a weapon with Blessed, ignore spell
effects that add to a models ARM or DEF.)
Tactical Tips
Amphibious This model can attack other models that are in deep
water.
Deadweight Remember, a model that forfeits its action cannot run.
Escort Modifiers to movement apply only to a models normal
movement.
Legion of Death Legion of Death models can make free strikes. If
you lose control of a model you controlled with Legion of Death, it
is still removed from play when Legion of Death expires.
Jaga-Jaga is linked to the dark forces of the swamp through

her forebears. Her bloodline has a long history of brokering
power with such spirits, and she has maintained many
of these pacts. It is by dark and bloody rituals that JagaJagas line has long called upon Kossk as a wellspring of
power, supplicating the great spirit by walking the path
of predation and becoming friends with death. The boons
granted by Kossk must be repaid with sacrifice, however,
or the spirit takes what it desires from the flesh of the seer.
It was through Kossk that Jaga-Jaga had visions of Bloody
Barnabas as a living shadow of her master, walking the
bloody path as an avatar of the spirit and its hunger for
slaughter. Though Jaga-Jaga knew Barnabas actions would
doubtless lead to the death of countless gatormen, she also
believed that this would leave a stronger people, tempered
by conflict and imbued with spiritual power. Carefully
weighing the options set before her, she chose to entwine
her fate with Barnabas.
Jaga-Jaga soon made her way to the territory of the Blindwater Congregation
to meet the venerable warlock. She spoke to him of unknowable truths, of his
imminent and glorious fate, of tides of slaughter and powers unimaginable. To
the amazement of those such as Calaban who predicted Barnabas would destroy
her, he instead brought the perceptive Jaga-Jaga into his fold.
Each step Barnabas takes toward his goal of ascension, Jaga-Jaga walks with him,
whispering in his ear the words of the spirits. She is now one of his favored
mystics, one of many tools he uses to sharpen his understanding of the world
beyond. In Barnabas she sees singular supernatural potential that she can shape
to her will. From her position within the Blindwater Congregation, she works
steadily toward darker, greater goals.
89
Efaarit
Scouts
Minion Light Cavalry Solo
Only the deadly and the useful make it in the harsh world. We are both.
EFAARIT Scouts

8 5 6 7 14 14 8
Heavy Hunting Rifle

RNG ROF AOE POW
12 1
Mount

POW
10
Damage 5
Field Allowance
2
Point Cost
3
Large base
Minion This model will

work for Circle, Skorne,
Trollbloods, and the
Thornfall Alliance pact.
EFAARIT Scouts
Pathfinder

gains an additional +2 DEF
Sniper When damaging

a warjack or warbeast with
a ranged attack, choose
which column or branch
suffers damage. Instead
of rolling damage on a ranged attack, this model can inflict 1
damage point. A model that participates in a combined ranged
attack loses Sniper until the attack is resolved.
Heavy Hunting Rifle
Armor Piercing When calculating damage from this

weapon, halve the base ARM stats of models hit that have
medium or larger bases. This weapon gains +2 to damage
rolls against models with small bases.
Tribal nomads native to the Bloodstone Desert, the

efaarit are a hardy race of talented survivalists.
These untiring and observant beings patiently
study opponents to exploit their weaknesses
and wear them down with precise attacks
and ambushes. They strike from the heart
of raging sandstorms or the cover of
distant dunes, always using the desert to
their advantage. Atop their belligerent
bletcher mounts, efaarit scout teams
cross even the most punishing terrain
to outflank an enemy. Precise fire from
their powerful hunting rifles can bring
down even massive warbeasts, as these
scouts target joints and gaps in their
adversaries armor with prodigious
accuracy.
Tribes of efaarit have followed the
westward sweep of skorne forces at a
distance, curious about what could motivate
such an enormous military endeavor. An
opportunistic race somewhat akin to the
gobbers of western Immoren, the efaarit roam
this new land to see what fortunes it holds. The
90
Efaarit scout aphorism
Tactical Tip

skorne typically view them as unworthy slaves, but even

they recognize the efaarits proficiency as pathfinders and
guides. Some have sought their fortune among the people
of western Immoren, trading on their expertise as scouts
and snipers. As they fight alongside unfamiliar allies,
these displaced efaarit have had to rapidly adapt to their
new surroundings. By modifying centuries-old techniques
refined in the heart of the Bloodstone Desert, the efaarit
are carving out a new home in Immoren, one deadly shot
at a time.
Maximus
Minion Farrow Character Solo

Maximus is the arrow that, once loosed, points the way to slaughter.
Lord Carver
Tactical Tip
Spell Ward This model is shielded from friendly and enemy

spells alike.
Once a powerful warlord serving Lord Carver, Maximus

proved his worth by destroying Carvers enemies time
and time again. He was long undefeated, and his influence
among the farrow was on the rise. Despite his already
fearsome reputation, Maximus enduring legend was born
when he and his warband came upon a group of Greylords
and their doom reaver slaves searching for Orgoth relics in
the desolate swamps of the Marchfells. Maximus and his
farrow attacked the Khadoran intruders but underestimated
their strength. Caught off guard by the Greylords magic
and the martial skill of the doom reavers, the farrow were
cut down. Only Maximus survived to flee into the swamp.

work for Circle, Legion,
Skorne, and Trollbloods.
MAXIMUS
MAXIMUS

5 7 8 4 13 16 7
Abomination
Fellblade
Fearless
Tough
POW P+S
13
Damage 8
Field Allowance
C
Berserk When this
Point
Cost
2
model destroys one or
Small base
more models with a melee
attack during its combat
action, immediately after the attack is resolved it must make
one additional melee attack against another model in its melee
range.
Relentless Charge This model gains Pathfinder
activations it charges.
during
Spell Ward This model cannot be targeted by spells.

Unyielding While engaging an enemy model, this model
gains +2 ARM.
Fellblade
Magical Weapon
Reach
Weapon Master
Rage at the loss of his warband

transformed Maximus and he returned
to the Khadoran encampment alone.
He attacked while most slept, killing
several before they roused, but was
then surrounded and set upon. When his
weapon splintered, Maximus snatched
up a fellblade from a slain doom reaver.
The powerful magic of the Orgoth weapon
took hold, heightening his rage. He cut down the
remaining Greylords and doom reavers in seconds.
Maximus has become a creature consumed by hatred
and driven to slaughter by the ancient magic of his
nightmarish weapon. He was once accorded the
respect and influence due a great warlord among the
farrow. Now he occupies a place somewhere
between awe and terror among his own
kind, a gore-splattered hero whose legend
grows with each gruesome kill.
Maximus wanders the wild places of western
Immoren, his fellblade pushing him to seek
out death and bloodshed. He still retains
some loyalty to Lord Carver, who gladly
makes use of this maddened farrow to terrify
and slaughter his enemies.
91
Meat
Thresher
Minion Farrow Battle Engine
It is the crowning achievement of our raceit kills and cooks at the same time.
THRESHER
6 12 6
5 10 19 10
Hailer
RNG ROF AOE POW
12 1 12
Minion This model

will work for Skorne,
Trollbloods, and the
Thornfall Alliance pact.
THRESHER
Construct
Bulldoze When this

model advances into

POW P+S
B2B contact with an
4 16
enemy model during its
Damage 22
activation, it can push that
Field Allowance
2
model up to 2 directly
Point Cost
9
away from it. A model can
be pushed by Bulldoze
Huge base
only once per activation.
Bulldoze has no effect
when this model makes a trample power attack.
Crusher
Ride-by Attack This model can make ride-by attacks.

Weapon Platform This model can make melee and ranged
attacks in the same activation. When this model makes its
initial melee attacks or a power attack, it can also make its
initial ranged attacks. This model can make ranged attacks
even while in melee.
Hailer
Auto Fire [2d3] Make 2d3 ranged attacks targeting a primary

target and any number of secondary targets within 2 of the first
target. Ignore intervening models when declaring secondary
targets. A secondary target cannot be targeted by more attacks
than the primary target. Auto Fire counts as one attack for ROF.
Crusher
Blood Reaper When this model makes its first melee attack
during its activation, it makes one melee attack with this weapon
against each model in its LOS and this weapons melee range.
Grinding Wheel This weapon gains an additional die on
attack rolls against small-based models.
Knockdown When a model is hit by an attack with this
weapon, it is knocked down.
Trash Gain an additional damage die against knocked down
targets.
As the farrow continue to aggressively expand their

holdings under the command of Lord Carver, their
victories over more conventional military forces give them
access to more salvage than ever before. While much of
this plunder has gone to fuel the twisted experiments of
Dr.Arkadius, he is not the sole architect of the Thornfalls
martial might. Some conservative tribal chiefs remain wary
of the costs of Arkadius progress, but many among the
new generation of farrow have embraced his philosophy.
This enthusiasm has led to a renaissance in technology
as enterprising young farrow combine principles of
engineering with their own sensibilities.
92
Midas
Tactical Tips
Auto Fire These attacks are simultaneous. Attacks against targets

beyond this weapons range will automatically miss.
Blood Reaper The melee attacks are all simultaneous.
Though many of these questionable innovations end in

disaster, some few come to successful realization. The meat
thresher is perhaps the crowning achievement of farrow
ingenuity, particularly as it owes none of its design to
Dr.Arkadius. Indeed, it is unlikely that even his demented
mind could have conceived of this monstrous fusion of
riveted steel and porcine power. Only the farrow, with their
blatant disregard for both safety and the applied laws of
physics, could have birthed this rolling death machine.
Despite the meat threshers questionable engineering,
its design embodies the innate pragmatism of the farrow
race. Having plundered a large stock of coal and spare
parts during raids, farrow engineers devised a simplistic
yet startlingly effective engine. Rather than relying on a
complex boiler system to generate steam power, the meat
thresher uses its furnace to heat a massive steel cylinder
designed to hold a small herd of young razor boars. As the
cylinder heats up, the panicked creatures begin to run, thus
powering the machines locomotion. Of course, with no
way to actually escape the heat, the razor boars are slowly
cooked alive. Any other race would view this result as a
design flaw, but the farrow see it as a valuable innovation.
After all, razor boars are plentiful, and nothing stokes a
farrows appetite like a hard-fought battle.
The efficiency of the meat threshers design extends
to its primary weaponry. The machine uses its forward
momentum to crush enemy soldiers beneath its rotating
drum. After testing, a particularly inspired farrow realized
that with a series of blades added to the cylinder, it would
simultaneously slice and tenderize its victims flesh.
Upon seeing the meat thresher in action for the first time,
Lord Carver ordered a second tier constructed atop the
machines frame to hold a spinning hailer. This weapons
impressive rate of fire combines with the machines armored
bulk to make the thresher the perfect assault vehicle. What
it does not mow down with heavy-caliber rounds, it minces
and flattens beneath its bladed drum.
While these weapons are still few in number, their slapdash construction means that despite the farrows minimal
industrial manufacturing capability, the number of these
nightmarish contraptions will only continue to increase.
93
Sacral
Vault
Minion Gatorman Battle Engine
When Kossk feasts on our sacrifice, the gods strength becomes ours.
SACRAL VAULT
4 10 5
9 20 10
Spectral Fury
RNG ROF AOE POW
12 1 13
Damage 20
Field Allowance
2
Point Cost
9
Huge base

work for Circle, Legion,
and the Blindwater
Congregation pact.
SACRAL VAULT
Construct
Eyeless Sight
Gunfighter
Arcane Vortex This model

can immediately negate
any spell that targets it or
a model within 3 of it by
spending 1 soul token before the RNG of the spell is measured.
The negated spell does not take effect, but its COST remains spent.
Crypt of Souls At the start of each of your Control Phases, this

model gains d3 soul tokens if it does not have any. This model
gains one soul token for each living model destroyed in its
command range. This model can have up to five soul tokens at a
time. During its activation, this model can spend soul tokens to
boost attack or damage rolls at one token per boost.
Soul Sacrifice If this model is in a friendly Faction warlocks
control area, the warlock can remove 1 soul token from this
model to gain a fury point. Each warlock can do this only once
per turn and only during its activation.
Soulstorm While this model has one or more soul tokens,
enemy models entering or ending their activations within 2 of
it immediately suffer 1 damage point.
Spectral Fury
Magical Weapon
Deathly Domination When this weapon boxes a living or

Undead
non-warcaster, non-warlock enemy warrior model,
you can immediately spend one soul token to take control of the
model and make a full advance with the enemy model followed
by a normal melee attack, then the boxed model is removed
from play. The boxed model cannot be targeted by free strikes
during this movement.
Rapid Fire [d3] When you decide to make initial attacks with
this weapon at the beginning of this models combat action, roll a
d3. The total rolled is the number of initial attacks this model can
make with this weapon during the combat action, ignoring ROF.
Though they lie divided across the many swamps and

bogs of western Immoren, the gatorman tribes have
always shared the worship of Kossk and the belief in
absorbing an enemys power through ritual consumption
of their flesh. While most gatormen conduct these
ritualistic feasts in small ceremonies, a few of the larger
and more powerful tribes have constructed massive
edifices dedicated to ritual sacrifice. These sacral vaults
are specifically constructed to harness and store the
energies of blood and death, literally housing the souls
of those killed in its vicinity to power the dark rituals of
the attending bokor.
94
Bokor Kallok
Each sacral vault is a monument to the worship of Kossk

and a fearsome example of the power that can be harnessed
through deathly energies. When awoken by a bokor, a
supernatural windstorm whips about the vault, carrying
the forms of disembodied spirits. This ethereal wind swirls
violently as the spirits attempt to break the bonds of the
cage that holds them. Their spiritual frenzy allows these
ghostly bodies to rip at the physical world, making the
surrounding area particularly dangerous to those who have
not appeased Kossk. At the direction of the bokor, these
spirits can be sent forth to unleash their eternal frustration
upon enemies far from the vault itself.
For victims, a gruesome death at the hands of the vaults
occupantstheir flesh rent to bloody rags by howling
spirits, but their soul passing on to Urcaenis in truth
the best outcome to be hoped for, granted to only a few.
For most, a far worse fate awaits them as the vault itself
ensnares their souls. Their bodies are used against their
comrades at the behest of the vaults master before their
souls are ultimately ripped from them and locked into the
inescapable prison of the unholy tomb, there to await the
call of their new master. Such is the hunger of the sacral
vault that it does not distinguish between friend and foe;
all living souls are inexorably drawn to its cold embrace.
For the gatormen, however, such a fate is viewed with
reverence.
The most powerful sacral vaults are built of stone ruins
unearthed from the swamps and long steeped in death and
decay. The Blindwater region contains many aged fragments
of Orgoth construction or older ruins from the days of the
Molgur. These slabs are already inscribed in the profane
texts of these civilizations and serve as perfect conduits
for the power of death as they are set one atop the other
to create a towering edifice. The bokurs consecrate these
structures in blood and pile them with bones and candles
made from the tallow of their victims, creating a haven for
the spirits of the restless dead.
The rise of the Blindwater Congregation under Bloody
Barnabas has greatly increased the demand for and the use
of sacral vaults. Unification has brought together both more
building material and more mystic talent than ever before.
The sacral vaults now being constructed were designed with
mobility in mind so that their formidable strength might be
used against Barnabas enemies. Not only does this allow
the gatormen to employ these holy structures in battle, but
Barnabas also believes that the ability to gather multiple
sacral vaults together at the height of his greatest battle will
be critical to his successful transcendence to godhood.
95
Model Gallery
Fyanna the Lash
Helga the Conqueror
Legion Blighted Nyss Character Solo
Minion Farrow Warlock
Una the Falconer

Circle Character Solo

Legion Epic Blighted Nyss Warlock
96
Tyrant Zaadesh
Skorne Character Solo
Minion Gatorman Warlock
Horgle IronStrike
Trollblood Trollkin Character Solo
Borka, Vengeance of the Rimeshaws

Trollblood Epic Trollkin Cavalry Warlock
97
Dozer & Smigg

Trollblood Dire Troll Character Heavy Warbeast
98
Argus Moonhound
Neraph
Legion Heavy Warbeast
Rotterhorn Griffon
99
Strider Blightblades
Legion Blighted Nyss Unit
100
Praetorian Keltarii
Skorne Unit
101
Painting GUide
HORDES: Exigence is packed with monstrous new models
ready to be brought to life by your brush. We start with a
full step-by-step guide for Absylonia, Daughter of Everblight
that includes methods you can use for other Legion models
as well. Youll also find tips for approaching some specific
areas on your models: adding character to meaty trollkin

fists, creating a convincing glow on heated metal, painting
realistic metallic weapons, and bringing out the delicate
details of feathers. These techniques help models stand out
on any tabletop, so grab your brushes and paints and get
ready to take your models to the next level!

To bring out the inherent motion and character of this
dynamic model, we integrated some additional textures and
tones into the standard Legion paint scheme. Follow along as
this monster comes to life and takes to the skies.
Flesh
Step 1) Basecoat the flesh areas using Frostbite mixed with
small amounts of Exile Blue and Skorne Red.
Step 2) Darken the basecoat color with additional Exile Blue
and Skorne Red. Use this mixture to apply some shading to
the flesh.
Step 3) Add more Skorne Red and Exile Blue to the mixture
used in step 2 and use it to define the deep shadows of
the flesh.
Step 4) Apply smooth blends of Morrow White to define the

flesh highlights. You may need multiple layers to build up
the color.
Wings
Step 5) Highlight the wing membranes with Carnal Pink.
Blend Carnal Pink into the flexible joints of the model as well.
Step 6) With a mixture of Beaten Purple and Ironhull Grey,
create a scale-like pattern on the wing membranes.
102
Step 7) Add small amounts of Battlefield Brown and Exile

Blue to the mixture from step 6, thin it with water, and
blend it over the scale pattern as a translucent glaze. This
will help integrate the pattern into the existing highlights
and shadows.
Step 8) Accentuate the scale pattern with a mixture of Umbral
Umber and Exile Blue.
Step 9) Apply subtle blended glazes of Beaten Purple and
Exile Blue to further integrate the pattern.
Spikes and Chitinous

Armor Plates
Step 10) Basecoat the spikes and chitinous armor plates
with Battlefield Brown. Blend the edges into the flesh and
add a subtle scale pattern by dabbing with the blending
brush. Reinforce this pattern with some well-placed
freehand scales.
Step 11) Highlight the spikes and chitin with Beast Hide.
Aim for a feathered texture to give these areas some
extra detail.
Step 12) Emphasize the highlights and texture with lines of
Jack Bone.
Step 13) Apply a blend of Thamar Black with Brown Ink over
the tips of the spikes to help integrate the texture. Then paint
lines of Thamar Black at the end of each spike to complete
the effect.
Frostbite
Brown Ink
Exile Blue
Coal Black
Skorne Red
Menoth White
Highlight
Morrow White
Carnal Pink
Beaten Purple
Ironhull Grey
Battlefield Brown
Umbral Umber
Beast Hide
Jack Bone
Thamar Black
Radiant Platinum
Pig Iron
10
11
12
13
Blue Ink
Red Ink
Quick Silver
Menoth White Base
Ember Orange
Sanguine Highlight
Yellow Ink
103
PAINTING Guide
Cloth
Step 14) Basecoat the cloth areas using Coal Black mixed
with a small dot of Thamar Black. You need to basecoat only
the surfaces that face the light; the other surfaces should be
left primer black.
Step 15) Add Frostbite to the basecoat mixture and apply
highlights to the cloth.
Step 16) Add a small amount of Menoth White Highlight to
the mixture from step 15 and use this to apply final highlights
to the cloth areas.
Armor
Step 20) Apply a coat of matte sealant. Once this is completely

dry, highlight the armor with Quick Silver.
Face
Step 21) Coat the eyes and teeth in Thamar Black to separate
them from the rest of the model. Using an extremely fine
detail brush, apply some final touches in Thamar Black and
Morrow White to define the enraged expression, making it
easier to read at a distance.
Step 22) Paint each tooth with Menoth White Base, being
careful to leave a border of black between them. Use the same
color to start painting the eyes.
Step 18) Shade the metal areas with a mix of Coal Black,
Beaten Purple, and Pig Iron.
Step 23) Highlight the teeth and eyes with dots of Menoth
White Highlight. Then use glazes to add tones to the details
of the face. Glaze the teeth and eyes with Ember Orange, then
glaze the lips and eyes with Sanguine Highlight. Reapply
any lines obscured by the glazes.
Step 19) Use a mixture of Thamar Black, Blue Ink, and

Red Ink to apply lining and definition to the metal.
Then return with Radiant Platinum to clean up the lines
and rivets.
Step 24) Carefully add final tones to the eyes and teeth with a
thin glaze of Yellow Ink and a thin glaze of Red Ink. Now you
only need to base the model, and Absylonia will be ready to
fly into battle!
Step 17) Basecoat the armor plates with Radiant Platinum,

taking care that this layer appears solid and uniform.
21
14
15
16
22
23
17
104
18
19
20
24
Trollkin Flesh: Big, Meaty Fists

When you paint a Trollblood army, youre going to paint a lot
of big, meaty fists. Here we illustrate a simple and effective
method for painting battered fists that are full of character.
Step 1) Basecoat the flesh with Trollblood Base.
Step 2) Apply initial shading using a mixture of Trollblood
Base, Sanguine Base, and Thornwood Green.
Trollblood Base
Midlund Flesh
Sanguine Base
Hammerfall Khaki
Thornwood Green
Battledress Green
Cryx Bane Base
Menoth White Base
Underbelly Blue
Sanguine
Highlight
Step 3) Add Cryx Bane Base to the mixture used in Step 2

and apply additional shading.
Step 4) Blend highlights into the palms using Underbelly Blue.
Step 5) Work lines and blends of Midlund Flesh into the
knuckles and cuticles.
Step 6) Blend Sanguine Base into the knuckles and cuticles.
Step 7) Using Hammerfall Khaki, add lines on the fingernails.
Leave just a little of the black undercoat uncovered.
Step 8) Shade the nails by blending Battledress Green over
the lines added in Step 7.
Step 9) Highlight the nails with Menoth White Base.
Finally, use Sanguine Highlight to paint small scratches
onto the knuckles and cuticles to complete the battered
appearance.
105
PAINTING Guide
Menoth White
Highlight
Greatcoat Grey
Khador Red Base

Sanguine
Highlight
Khador Red
Highlight
Ember Orange
Heartfire
Yellow Ink
Red Ink
Horgle Ironstrike: Red-Hot Metal

When Horgle Ironstrike takes to the battlefield, his redhot blade sets enemies aflame. Heres how to achieve a
fiery glow that will stand out on the tabletop and forewarn
opponents of their doom.
Step 1) Starting from the tip, wash the majority of the blade
with watered-down Menoth White Highlight. Basecoat the
base of the blade with Greatcoat Grey and blend the color so
it fades as you move away from the hilt.
Step 2) Make a glaze using Khador Red Base and Sanguine
Highlight. Apply this to the base of the blade and blend the
color into the white area.
Step 3) Apply further glazing using Khador Red Highlight.
The placement of the colors is key in achieving the glowing
effect, so be careful about where you apply your glazing.
106
Step 4) Starting from the tip this time, apply a glaze of

Ember Orange to the blade.
Step 5) Apply additional glazing using Heartfire. Work the
color into the upper edge of each inscribed rune to help
make them distinct.
Step 6) Highlight the blade with Menoth White Highlight,
concentrating the highlights toward the tip of the blade.
Apply lines to the center of the runes to further define
the shapes.
Step 7) To punch up the color, make a glaze of Yellow Ink,
Red Ink, and water and apply this to the whole area. Aim
for a thin, even coat and be careful not to allow the ink to
pool in the recesses of the model.
Metal Weapons
Metal reflects light strongly, which makes for nice contrast
on metal weapons between bright sections where light
falls directly and dark areas where it doesnt. To paint a
convincing metal weapon, concentrate on the way each
individual face interacts with the light source. Broad,
flat faces, such as the cheek of an axe blade, often have a
gradient from light to dark. Curved surfaces, such as on the
trollkin hammer shown below, have a gradient that starts
dark on one side, becomes brightest where the light would
reflect directly toward the viewer, and darkens again as the
surface curves back out of sight.
Not every face should have a full gradient from light to
shadow. Sections of a blade that face upward toward the
light source may require only highlights, with no shading at
all. Likewise, faces of a weapon that are overhung or facing
the ground may need only shade colors. The placement of
highlights and shading is what will make a painted weapon
appear three-dimensional. The weapons shown here are all
painted with the same colors.
Step 1) Basecoat the weapon with Pig Iron, using several thin
coats for smooth coverage.
Step 2) Apply the first level of shading using Greatcoat Grey.
This shading will begin to define the shape of the weapon.
Pig Iron
Battlefield Brown
Greatcoat Grey
Cold Steel
Exile Blue
Quick Silver
Step 3) For the second shade, mix Exile Blue with Battlefield
Brown to create a rich, dark grey. Apply this shading more
sparingly, concentrating on the areas of deepest shadow and
on any chips, notches, and cracks in the surface.
Step 4) Begin highlighting with Cold Steel. Concentrate on
raised areas, edges between faces, and surfaces that face the
light source.
Step 5) Before applying the final highlights, apply matte
varnish to your miniature and allow it dry thoroughly. This
will enhance the final highlights by smoothing the blends
and reducing the shine of the metallic paints. Use Quick
Silver to apply highlights sparingly to the hard edges and the
lower lips of chips and notches in the weapon. (Sometimes
reflected light from the ground or other nearby surfaces will
cause a downward-facing edge to catch the light. If youre
feeling adventurous, apply bounce light highlights to the
underside of weapons as well.)
107
PAINTING Guide
Feathers
Falcons
Step 1) The most important thing to do when painting

feathers is to make sure the shaft of each feather is distinct.
Start by painting each shaft with a fine, straight line of
Trollblood Highlight.
Step 2) Using Jack Bone, fill in the feathers with thin,
distinct lines. Make sure each line is separate, with the black
undercoat separating the lines from the central shaft and
from one another.
Step 3) Make a glaze of Bootstrap Leather and apply this to
the feather tips. The glaze should be translucent enough to
allow the lines beneath to show through.
Step 4) Add a pattern to the feathers using several light
glazes of Umbral Umber, taking care that the layers beneath
remain visible.
Step 5) Apply final texturing with a mixture of Umbral
Umber and Exile Blue.
Step 6) Use the mixture from step 5 to clean up any mistakes
from previous steps.
Trollblood
Highlight
Jack Bone
108
Bootstrap Leather
Umbral Umber
Step 1) Basecoat the falcon with Jack Bone mixed with a

small amount of Frostbite.
Step 2) The plumage of falcons tends to be darker on top
with a pale underside. Start by shading the top side with
Bootstrap Leather, with the goal of making each feather
appear distinct.
Step 3) Mix Brown Ink with Bloodstone and apply additional
shading. Where possible, paint a line along the spine of each
feather and add some fine patterning at the wingtips.
Step 4) Add Exile Blue and Thamar Black to the mixture
from step 3 and sparingly apply some dark shading to areas
that need a bit more contrast.
Step 5) Using Menoth White Highlight, add a few highlights
to the feathers.
Step 6) With the top side finished, you can move on to the
underside. Start by shading with Bastion Grey, making each
feather distinct from its neighbors.
Step 7) Apply additional shading using Ironhull Grey. Also
use this color to add a pattern at the wingtips that mirrors
the pattern on the top side.
Step 8) Finish the pattern by applying fine lines of Battlefield
Brown mixed with Exile Blue.
Exile Blue
Jack Bone
Brown Ink
Thamar Black
Bastion Grey
Frostbite
Bloodstone
Ironhull Grey
Bootstrap Leather
Exile Blue
Menoth White
Highlight
Battlefield Brown
Legion Feathers
Step 1) Basecoat the feathers with Thamar Black, being

sure to fill in any areas your primer did not reach.
Thamar Black
Blue Ink
Frostbite
Red Ink
Step 2) Paint the shafts of each feather with a thin line

of Frostbite. Start each line at the base of the feather
and stop near the tip where the shaft becomes thin and
indistinct.
Step 3) Paint the veins of the feathers with Frostbite, using
repeated short strokes to apply a thin line on each raised
vein. This can be challenging if your paint is the wrong
consistency. You will need to add a generous amount of
water to your paint so it flows easily from the brush; take
care not to overload the brush, or the paint will flow too
freely and fill in the spaces between the veins. To save time
and effort, first paint only one side of every feather, then
turn the model to paint the opposite sides. This way you
will have to switch the position of the model only once,
rather than rotating it for each feather.
Step 4) Use a mix of Blue Ink and Red Ink to add a purple
color to the feathers. Apply this color at the base of the
feather and blend it toward the tip. While the ink is still
wet, you may want to use your blending brush to wipe the
ink off the center shaft so it remains distinct.
109
Blood Debt
Part Two
Upper Wyrmwall Mountains
Krueger had taken what precautions he could, but he

knew his life would be forfeit if the dragon decided to
destroy him. There was no point in bringing an army, as
the heat of the beings hiding place would end them, even
without taking into consideration its blight. Only his wits
and audacity would keep him alive, as it had been with
Blighterghast at the start.
Blighterghasts emissary had directed him to a volcano,
one of the few still active among the Wyrmwall Mountains,
although it had not erupted in centuries. It was high
among inaccessible peaks, requiring Krueger to negotiate
dangerous currents and updrafts. One of the jagged teeth
of the Wyrmwall had long ago had its point blasted off,
leaving a smoking chimney a hundred yards across, deep
within which he could see the pulsing glow of a lava lake.
The superheated liquid steadily pushed to the surface
through a vent connected to a massive magma chamber
below, slowly releasing pressure that otherwise would have
eventually resulted in an explosive eruption.
This was an area known to the Circle, as the conditions here
were rich with natural energies. Magma and lava were the
lifeblood of Orboros. Places where molten stone reached the
surface and refused to cool were akin to seeping wounds on
the body of the Wurm. The energies of this place were not
easily tapped, so there were no standing stones here, but
a significant site drawing on residual energies lay twenty
miles to the south. Several of the neighboring mountains
housed hidden complexes built by worshipers of the
goddess Cyriss, who had erected machines to harness these
flows in their own ways.
Krueger amused himself with the thought of provoking
Charsaug to lay waste to those neighbors, thereby solving
another problem. But it would be difficult enough to
convince the dragon to perform the task he had already
agreed to undertake. The Stormlord steeled himself and
plunged downward, feeling the hot air pushing against
him like stagnant breath. He summoned a vortex of cooler
air, driving away the choking smoke and ash which would
have filled his lungs and scraped his eyes. Amid this selfcontained storm he flew to a narrow rock spire jutting from
the lava. Despite his efforts the heat here was almost more
than he could bear. With it came an even more dangerous
radiating energy: dragon blight, an invisible malignancy
threatening to unravel his power.
So focused was he on preserving the magic that kept him
alive that he almost did not see the dragon until a great black
form emerged from the lava lake, backlit by the orange fires.
It loomed like a leviathan rising from the waters, runnels
110
of lava pouring down its black scales. The glow visible

between the slats of its ribs told of another fire burning
within it, giving shape and definition to what was otherwise
a void of light. It towered before him, massive and terrible,
eyes afire. The great mouth opened to annihilate him with
a single breath.
It took all his will not to fly away. He gritted his teeth and
focused on slowing his hammering heart. He had faced
Blighterghast, a far greater entity. The blight radiating from
Charsaug was weak in comparison. Nevertheless, it was
one thing to consider this a weaker dragon in the abstract
and another to be face-to-face with the monster rising before
him. It was hypnotically fascinating to watch the long neck
extend, the head approaching, the inferno within about to
be unleashed.
Hold, Charsaug! Krueger shouted as loudly as he could,
I am not your enemy! I am Krueger the Stormlord. I come
as an emissary of Blighterghast, the Boiler of Seas. I tremble
before your power and beg you not to annihilate me!
The great creature continued to glower but seemed to
reconsider delivering an all-consuming blast of dragonfire.
The voice when it came was a dull rumbling that emerged
as if from the heat around him rather than from any vocal
organ. Blighterghast has no need for the likes of you to
speak to me.
The dragon was nearer to him than Blighterghast had ever
been, and Krueger felt the focused attention of those baleful
eyes as pressure. Searing heat erupted along his arms,
and he smelled his robes begin to smolder. He channeled
energy to disperse the heat into the swirling wind, which
was spiraling into the chimney above and returning with
fresher air. He ignored the pain as the surface of his skin
began to cook. It was difficult for him to remember what he
had planned to say, though he knew he must be careful not
to voice anything resembling a demand. I am the architect
of the plan your alliance has set upon. Your part in this is
essential; all will unravel without you. I come to beseech
you to return.
Blighterghast knows the condition I require. Despite the
dragons power and the resonance of its voice, the words
seemed almost petulant.
Our plans threaten to be derailed for this. Those lesser
spawn are nothing compared to your might! They are
meaningless.
Our plans? Charsaug asked, his voice booming with
indignation. You think yourself my equal? The great jaws
snapped toward him suddenly, a motion made as casually
and reflexively as a dog biting at a fly. Krueger was saved

only by the buffeting winds he had pulled around himself,
which he drew on in a moment of panic to fly backward
over the lava, just out of reach of those closing teeth, each
longer than his forearm.
Of course not, great one! Krueger shouted. Forgive my
insolence! The dragon had not lunged with any serious
intent to kill and was now simply watching him.
You would have us scrawl on the earth, debasing ourselves
to create a meaningless pattern. This effort is an insult, one
for which I will make you suffer. Blighterghast should have
consigned you to the fire.
The pattern is not meaningless, Krueger insisted. That
is why Blighterghast did not destroy me. Only I can see
this through, connecting the ley lines controlled by my
order. I am ultimately insignificant, but my part in this is
necessary. Together we will see Everblight destroyed, a
purpose that is worth some indignity. It was for this you
came from the east to meet with your brethren for the first
time in sixteen centuries.
A mistake, Charsaug said. I should return and be done
with this place.
You cannot, a new voice proclaimed from above,

loudly and with great depth and power, startling Krueger
completely. Promises bind us.
Krueger saw the enormous overshadowing form of another
dragon plummeting into the volcanos throat. This ones
scales were like burnished steel, lit by the orange light
below. It halted its descent by spreading wide its huge
and terrible wings, creating a downdraft that almost sent
Krueger plunging into the lava. He returned to the rocky
outcropping and cowered there, trying to overcome a
primal terror that made his limbs shake.
I made no promises, said Charsaug. I am not bound.
You and I heed the oath made by Erdross. Those promises
are etched into our essence and cannot be undone. Only
when the task is complete can we return to our war with
the giants. This dragon, similar in size to Charsaug, landed
on the other side of the lava lake. The heat in the chamber
became still more intense.
Erdross is no more, Charsaug insisted. Those promises
are not mine.
You cannot deny your nature. The two stared at each
other with naked hatred.
111
Blood Debt: Part Two

Krueger had regained his mind and sought to regain his
dignity. He stood back to his full height, leaning on the shaft
of Wurmtongue to steady himself. His mind raced, pondering
matters they alluded to and the name they spoke. He
remembered Erdross from the Wyrmstone, an artifact he had
stolen from Omnipotent Dahlekov that had been inscribed
with lore possessed by the Circle Orboros on the spawn of
Toruk, the Dragonfather. Among the inscriptions had been
mention of a dragon that had fled to the east: Erdross, one
of the greatest that had survived the war against their father.
Another hand had inscribed runes naming Charsaug and
Ashnephos, also of the east, the only dragons known to
tolerate the company of another of their kind for long. The
runes implied they were twins spawned of Erdross, though it
was unclear how or why this had come to pass.
I answered the call, Charsaug said. But Blighterghast
does not show trust. How will Everblight be lured out by
this ritual? That was not answered. This mortal makes
demandsan insult beyond bearing. Let us incinerate him.
Blighterghast can find another.
The dragon Krueger suspected was Ashnephos turned
toward him suddenly, making him start, and demanded,
Where is Everblight? How will this pattern expose him?
Speak plainly or die.
Krueger hesitated only briefly, knowing the threat was not
idle. He sought a way to address the topic that would not
appear to be dissembling. When he had explained matters
to Blighterghast, they had agreed the other dragons were
best left ignorant. Things had changed. Everblight has no
form, he answered. That is why you cannot find him. He
had their attention, if not their belief.
He spoke quickly, hoping to prevent their doubts from
birthing a murderous impulse. Everblight has learned how
to divide his athanc without dividing himself, and each
piece is carried in one of his generals. His blood flows in
their veins, and so long as even one of them exists, he cannot
be destroyed. He learned this after his fall to Ios, when a
mortal army destroyed his body and sealed his essence
away. Their eyes were fixed on him with a new intensity,
but neither made a move to kill himyet. To destroy him,
all his athanc shards must be taken at once. This requires
knowing where each is at all times. The pattern, integrating
your blight into the ley lines of the Circle Orboros, will
give me that knowledge, but only if there is cooperation.
My order will work to unravel what we have wrought the
moment it begins.
Ashnephos made a deep, rumbling noise, and for a
moment Krueger thought the creature was about to strike.
The dragons eyes swirled with a strangely iridescent hue,
and Krueger felt as if blight were roiling within him from
his head to his bowels. The sickness abated as the dragons
112
eyes returned to normal. Ashnephos said, What he speaks

is truth. Everblight is without form. I see it.
A rush of hot wind forced Krueger to seize hold of the rocky
spire to resist being hurled into the lava. Charsaug had
launched into the air on massive wings, climbing out of the
volcano. A moment later Ashnephos followed. Despite his
burned skin, ash-choked lungs, and hammering heart, Krueger
felt triumph. He had persuaded them. He rose into the air,
following at a distance behind the wing-beats of dragons.
The Mistbough, Ios
Dozens of crossbow bolts flew from the mist on their right

flank and thunked into the Praetorian swordsmen there,
prompting groans and the sound of soldiers falling. Supreme
Archdomina Makeda did not need to issue orders to her
soldiers, who responded with swift and immediate alacrity.
She had carefully staggered her advancing forces with mixed
units of soldiers, designed to reinforce one another. Heeding
the orders of their primus, several units of Praetorian karax
advanced through the opened lines of swordsmen to lock
shields and intercept the next volley of deadly bolts.
Strategically placed extollers employed mortitheurgy to
augment the sight of warbeasts in their vicinity, including
the mammoth and several titan cannoneers under Makedas
control. She drew on the essence of a cyclops raider to
bolster the range of the gargantuan warbeasts siege battery,
then together these creatures sent an explosive salvo to
thunder amid the trees where the enemy hid. Trees were
torn to shreds, together with numerous lightly armored
Iosans. Those enemies who survived melted into the forest,
where they would regroup and attack again.
A number of nimble, dark-attired forms vaulted from the
trees and rushed through the lines. They seemed a more
elite and specialized group than the defenders in whitelacquered armor she had fought before. Makeda watched
with admiration as they evaded retaliation and cut down
a number of skilled swordsmen, each shadowy Iosan
wielding a short curved blade in each hand. These enemies
reminded Makeda of bloodrunners, and it was clear they
were trying to reach her.
Makeda did not even raise the Talon of Murzoul but faced
them calmly, allowing her subordinates to witness that she
was utterly unperturbed. It was their honor on the line now,
not hers. Her warbeasts were near enough to intervene,
but she kept them back. In these close quarters both the
titans and the mammoth would have difficulty hitting foes
without getting in the way of her own people.
The nearest senior officers intercepted several attackers and
made short work of them. Three more got past, one of them
making a seemingly impossible leap over an intervening
cataphract, while another disarmed and then disemboweled
a veteran primus. These Iosans had true skill.
The ancestral escorts that kept to her side took two steps
forward and adopted a ready pose, their obsidian blades
raised. They never had to engage. Hakaar the Destroyer
moved with a swiftness fueled by anger at the death of the
primus, his great swords a blur. The first assassin saw his
blade shattered as he sought to parry the ancient guardians
stone sword, which continued without slowing to cut him in
half. The second lost her head from a lightning-swift backhand
strike, and the third took a sideways swipe with the side of the
blade that shattered his skull. Hakaar turned and inclined his
head toward Makeda. The bodies were swiftly hauled away
as her officers berated the warriors on the outer lines who had
allowed the Iosans to get so close to her.
Cataphract incindiarii launched a hail of explosive fire
that set the underbrush behind them ablaze, although
their officers restrained them from wasting ammunition
against shadows. After ensuring no immediately reprisal
was imminent, the column continued its advance through
the trees, hacking through underbrush to make progress
possible. Makeda directed one of her titan gladiators back to
the fore to resume assisting in making a path by shattering
through smaller trees.
Her army had adapted well, using all their discipline and
training to respond to the unrelenting harassment attacks
they had encountered since venturing north into the trees
from the Twilight Gate. As her intelligence had suggested,
this geography would be one of their most formidable
barriers to making inroads into the elven nation, whose
few major cities existed at a considerable remove from their
borders. The skorne were well prepared to be set upon, and
Makeda had anticipated their attacks as they carved their
way through the maze-like forest. Still, the advance cost
them time and lives.
The Iosans had clearly spent centuries preparing for this
place to serve as a killing field for any intruder moving
toward their heartlands, with winding paths subject to
assault from small watchtowers as well as defenders
within the adjoining trees. The forest itself was not only
overgrown but also laden with cleverly concealed traps
spiked deadfalls, tripwires connected to hidden projectile
weapons, and other deadly contrivances.
They had captured dozens of slaves, some knowledgeable
enough to divulge useful information at the hands of their
paingivers. Makeda had what she felt was a reasonably
accurate description of the intervening geography and
the location of the nearest Iosan city, Iryss. Her initial plan
had been to reach this city as quickly as possible. She had
hoped to break its outer defenses and use it as a stronghold
from which to deplete the Iosan armies while her forces
plundered valuable resources elsewhere. They had already
seized multiple mines in the south whose wealth was now
flowing through the Twilight Gate to the Skorne Empire.
The conquest of Ios would be an extended campaign. It

required ensuring she could hold what she seized or see
it razed to weaken the enemy. But the Iosans had left little
exposed here she could exploit to her advantage. The entire
Mistbough seemed to exist solely for defense. There were
few townships or settlements that were not simply minor
fortifications housing garrisons of soldiers, easily abandoned
and containing nothing useful to the conquering skorne.
Three days prior she had captured a small but wellpositioned forest keep, managing to overwhelm its
defenders without doing substantial harm to the structure.
She had manned the keep with her soldiers so it could serve
as a strongpoint in her supply lines. The Iosans had already
made it difficult to get food, ammunition, and other vital
supplies to the vanguard, which had slowed her advance.
The keep was but a step in the right direction.
Cataphract incindiarii launched a

hail of explosive fire that set the
underbrush behind them ablaze.
They marched for another hour before a ferox rider emerged
from the mists aheadTyrant Rhadeim. The soldiers at
the fore parted to make way for him, and he leapt from
his snarling mount to kneel before Makeda. Supreme
Archdomina, he said, an army is gathering south of Iryss.
Makeda called a halt and bid her senior officers attend her
after establishing a secure perimeter. A space was cleared
for Makeda, Rhadeim, and the other leaders to talk. Hakaar
the Destroyer stayed nearby with Aptimus Marketh, the
senior extoller prepared to translate in the unlikely event
the exalted Hakaar wished to address them.
Rhadeim quickly laid out what he and his Praetorian ferox
had observed during their reconnaissance. It seemed the
Iosans had been alerted sooner than they had anticipated
and were already mustering a sizable army. Makeda listened
to his observations closely and gave her subordinate
dominars and tyrants the opportunity to speak and assess
the situation. Ultimately she would decide, but she felt it
was important to observe the strategic assessments of her
officers, letting her know their worth.
It was during this discussion that she heard Master
Mortitheurge Kaleeta at the perimeter asking to be granted
admittance. Let her pass, Makeda said to the cataphracts
who had intercepted her.
The severely slender mortitheurge wore a tight metal cowl
that exaggerated her emaciated features. She prostrated
herself until Makeda bid her rise. Kaleeta was the most
113

senior of the mortitheurges with Makedas vanguard. She
had distinguished herself in Malphas before joining the
Army of the Western Reaches at the bidding of Lord Arbiter
Hexeris, who spoke highly of her. Makeda presumed her to
be his spy in her camp, but such was to be expected.
Speak quickly,
deliberations.
Kaleeta.
You
interrupt
important
I have information of relevance, the mortitheurge said.

I just received a mystical sending from the lord arbiter.
Makeda waved for her to continue. She said, His army,
together with that of Dominar Rasheth, engaged as planned.
They believe the majority of the forces garrisoned at the Gate
of Mists and nearby environs have been enticed to remain in
the west. However, one Iosan general surmised the nature
of their ruse and disengaged. Her forces are headed this
direction or to the Twilight Gate. The imminence of their
arrival is unknown, as is their exact size or composition.
Makeda directed several pointed questions at the
mortitheurge, from which she learned Hexeris had a
high opinion of this Iosan general, a warcaster, and did
not believe her to be a trivial threat. Reluctantly Kaleeta
divulged that both the dominar and the lord arbiter had
been outmaneuvered by this enemy, despite their numerical
advantage. While Hexeris strategy had never been to
fully commit, the accomplishment was still noteworthy.
Whatever his faults, Hexeris was a skilled tactician, and
Rasheth was clever enough not to waste resources.
Makeda felt torn between a warriors thirst for conquest
and her more intellectual assessment. Looking at the faces
around her, she could tell most of her officers wished to
push on. They were eager to confront this army from Iryss.
It had been too long since they had enjoyed a proper battle
in the open rather than fencing with shadows. Even the
clash at the Twilight Gate had been unsatisfying.
Supreme Archdomina. Aptimus
forward. Hakaar wishes to speak.
Marketh
stepped
Makedas eyes narrowed. Very well. I am eager to hear

what the honored exalted has to say. She had found the
involvement of the usually aloof ancestors to be a mixed
blessing. Their favor had served to her advantage, but they
were unpredictable and unfathomable beings. It was because
of Hakaar she had known of the weakness of Ios defenses
and set upon this conquest. She felt grateful but did not
understand the ancestors motives and their interest in Ios.
Markeths crystal oculus glowed with a silver light, an
indication he communed with Hakaar. When he spoke
it was not with his own voice but one deeper and more
resonant. Advance on Iryss. In crushing them you will
force their nation to tremble.
114
This pronouncement was met by nods and words of

agreement. Among those eager for conquest was the
relatively young Tyrant Zaadesh, a member of a branch of
House Balaash that had been critical of Makeda and who
had recently joined her army. He was staring at the ancestral
guardian with a fixed intensity.
Makeda looked to the towering and powerful form of
Hakaar the Destroyer. His arrival outside the Abyssal
Fortress after she had overthrown the Conqueror had been
heralded as a tremendous sign of support by the ancestors.
Tensions that might have accompanied her rise had been
eased. And yet, Hakaars words now came perilously close
to sounding like a command.
She said to him, Hakaar, your guidance is invaluable.
Already you have given me much wisdom. In this conquest
we have secured significant spoils. She scanned the faces
of the others before continuing. But this is not the time to
march on Iryss. We will turn back and fortify our position.
There are potentially two armies advancing on us, one
from the north and one from the west. We do not know
their scope or disposition. We cannot afford to be cut off
from the Twilight Gate. We will defeat both armies, but
doing so here would be foolish. We cannot allow them to
dictate terms of engagement.
She could see that most of her ranking officers disapproved,
but they were too respectful and intimidated to speak. They
bowed. There was something in Zaadeshs eyes, a gleam
she did not like, but she ignored it; he was unimportant. She
watched Hakaar. Markeths oculus still glowed. He said in
that same resonant voice, Iryss is the spark by which this
land can be made to burn.
Yes. In due time. But not now. The ancestral guardian
stared at her. She asked, Hakaar, whom do you obey?
Hakaar had not moved since he had arrived, but now he
slowly stepped forward and knelt, the same posture he had
assumed outside the Abyssal Fortress. Marketh said for
him, I serve Makeda of House Balaash. I serve she who
rules Halaak. Makeda nodded once.
With that, she dismissed her officers, telling them to organize
their withdrawal. It would not be a popular move, she knew,
but she felt certain it was correct. She only hoped ignoring
the advice of such a revered ancestor would not create a
crack in the wall of authority she had worked to build.
South of Fharin, Cygnar
The powerful engine of the Royal Ellena devoured coal

as it churned along its tracks heading north through the
eastern Wyrmwall Mountains, whose peaks offered its
passengers a majestic view. The descent into the foothills
as the train began its acceleration toward Fharin presented
an impressive view. Many of the passengers felt compelled
to crowd the windows on the right

side of the train, watching as the
mountains parted to reveal the
eastern farmlands, with the Black
River a distant divide and the red
Bloodstone Marches beyond that.
Wealthier Cygnaran citizens filled
several deluxe passenger cars, but
the rest of the train was packed
with military personnel and
supplies. Among these passengers
were young recruits only recently
finished with training. Many of
these were less distracted by the
view, their thoughts on the fighting
that awaited them and whether
they would survive to return to
their families.
Near the front of the train there
was a cry of alarm that quickly
spread to the back and prompted
those clustered at the windows to
rush to the other side of the train.
One of the engineers in the engine
car yanked on the steam whistle.
He and the others up front could
not help but stare with slack-jawed
horror at what appeared to be a
migration of enormous monsters
clambering toward the railway.
It looked for all the world like
several pieces of mountain had
torn themselves free from the peaks
and were shambling forward.
These towering creatures dwarfed
more numerous smaller creatures
marching before and alongside
them. In that brief moment of
terror and incomprehension no one
identified them as trolls.
Should I pull the emergency brake!? shouted the junior
engineer who had first spotted them.
Morrows sword, no! The chief slammed the speed lever
to full, applying added pressure to the great engines at the
fore and prompting their gauges to edge into the red. Pray
we make it past them!
After certain mishaps earlier in the war, the trains had added
protections, including reinforced cars and thickened armor
for both the wheel wells and the engine. Additionally, soldiers
were specifically stationed with rifles to fire on potential
hazards. The Lady Ellena had recently added a pair of metal
storm turrets, one atop the forward passenger car and one
atop the caboose, though these uncomfortable perches were
exposed to the wind and weather and so were manned only
when trouble threatened. Long gunners even now scrambled
up the ladders, then threw levers to engage the gears that
rotated the turrets to face the approaching beasts.
The nearest of the giant rock-faced trolls had nearly reached
the tracks and loomed over the onrushing train, its craggy
face scowling. It seemed ready to leap forward to intercept
the engine. The engineers had often boasted that their great
engine could smash through just about anything that got in
its way, but none of them wanted to test that claim against
115

a troll the size of a mountain. Though such an impact might
kill the troll, it would also knock the train off its tracks and
down the hillside, killing the passengers and crew.
The forward turret spat bullets into the chest of the creature.
The giant troll opened its cave-like mouth to let loose a
tremendous howling roar that rocked the entire train and
blew out the windows of a full three cars. The turret was
shorn off the train car, together with the cars roof, sending
the long gunner flying end-over-end down the hillside.
It took all Madraks will to hold the mountain kings in

check despite the well of rage within the one at the fore.
He was unable to stop that one, named Torn from Peak,
from unleashing a great rending howl that impacted the
swift-moving train like a cannon shot. Though the upper
portion of one car had been torn off, he hoped the incidental
casualties would be minimal.
He could feel the hunger of the great beast; it wanted
nothing more than to rip the train from the tracks or seize
the people inside and cram them into its maw. These and
many other violent desires poured into Madraks mind
from his connection to the great beasts, but he gritted his
teeth and fought them, and soon the train was past. Torn
from Peak turned to glower at Madrak, but the warlock
stared him down. At length the mountain king shook its
head and walked on. Their column of trollkin, trolls, and
mountain kings crossed the tracks to continue their descent
out of the Wyrmwall.
Doomshaper was missed. No other warlock had such facility
at keeping a leash on the ancient trolls. Madrak felt drained
from maintaining a mental connection to so many, particularly
since he could not keep them all close enough to remain
under his direct control. He had to watch those farther back,
including the dire trolls, to ensure they did not turn on nearby
trollkin in fits of temper or out of desperate hunger.
You should have let them rampage, Ironhide, said Ulkor,
one of the veteran champions marching nearby who had
seen his struggle. Their hunger may turn them against
us soon. And the soldiers on that train will warn the army
garrison at their next stop.
Perhaps, Madrak said. But the people on that train had
done us no harm.
Ulkor and the nearest champions seemed amused, and he
heard several remark on how Doomshaper would have
handled it. He ignored them. These were Hoarluks kin
from the Gnarls; they had long been steeped in the shamans
violent rhetoric. They were very different from the kin drilled
116
and trained by Gunnbjorn and from the tight-knit champions

of Madraks own kriels, being of a ruthless disposition and
lacking discipline. Nevertheless, Madrak had earned their
respect, and they submitted to his leadership.
Ulkors words had some truth to them. They had been
unable to keep all the trolls fed, not just the mountain kings.
Those had been given priority, of course, but that meant the
full-blood trolls were lean and dangerously hungry. From a
pragmatic perspective, a train disaster and the subsequent
carnage could have fed them all. Madrak could not bring
himself to allow wholesale slaughter, though, particularly
of noncombatants. War required difficult choices, but he
was not that desperate yet.
They had made remarkable speed winding their way
through the Wyrmwall Mountains thanks to the guidance
of Grim Angus and the efforts of their fell callers and
chroniclers to maintain their spirits and energy through the
grueling expedition. They had pushed themselves, sleeping
little and marching both night and day when possible. Grim
and his scouts had helped them evade several potential
engagements, though they had been forced to defend
themselves from unavoidable patrols. It was impossible for
mountain kings to travel stealthily. Only amid the untamed
peaks had they been able to travel without drawing
attention.
Now they were badly exposed. The worst lay ahead:
hundreds of miles crossing open territory claimed by
Cygnar, which was already on full war footing and hostile
to them. He did not see an easy way to reach Grissel,
though he knew he must, preferably with as much of his
force intact as possible.
Grim soon returned from scouting, and Madrak took
him aside. The former bounty hunter was with the pygs
that had become his constant companions, and all wore
expressions of concern. Grim said, I have no idea how
were crossing the Black River. Where it narrows south
of the Marchfells might be our best bet, but that region is
infested by gatormen. Just past that, well run the danger
of intruding on farrow territories. Then well be threading
the needle between skorne east of the river and Cygnaran
patrols going down it.
Madrak listened to the litany of perils and said, The longer
we tromp through Cygnars farmlands, the more we invite
them to send an army after us. He looked north toward
the railway bridge visible in that direction, which the Lady
Ellena had crossed. If one isnt already on the way. Better to
cross the river as soon as possible. We can use the mountain
kings as our bridge.
Grim scratched his head, looking skeptical. You can control
them enough for that?
With your help, I think so, Madrak replied with a smile.

It will require keeping them fed. We need to find another
herd to plunder. And soon.
The last great feast they had arranged for their trolls had
come at the expense of a Cygnaran rancher who had
cowered with his family in their farmstead while trolls
tore apart his entire herd of cattle. They had destroyed the
familys livelihood, but such was the cost of the war for
survival forced upon them. Better to massacre a few dozen
cows than to lose control of his trolls as they passed the
next village or small town. Their skinners had butchered
those animals the trolls did not eat outright to stock up on
meat for the next part of their journey, but they had gone
through that meat quickly, despite rationing. The mountain
kings had proven indiscriminate in their appetites, tearing
up trees or thorn bushes to swallow whole and sometimes
chewing on boulders when there was nothing else. Such
fare merely blunted the bottomless void of hunger within
their bellies, though. Only meat gave true satisfaction.
I saw a likely place, Grim said. Though goats and sheep
wont fill them like those cows did.
Madrak sat down with him to plan a nighttime raid on a
nearby ranch spread across several hills that sheltered
sizable goat and sheep herds for cheesemaking. Grim was
certain there was a sizable supply of drying cheese wheels
in a building adjoining the ranch house. He suggested the
trolls get all the meat while the kin steal as much cheese
as they could carry. Madrak sighed as he contemplated his
great war band being reduced to goat, sheep, and cheese
thieves. He was more eager than ever to return to Grissel
and his kriels. He prayed to Dhunia to see them safely home.
As demeaning as Madrak had considered the raid, its

success increased the morale of the entire band. A troll or
trollkin with a full belly wanted little else from life. The fullblood trolls, dire trolls, and mountain kings all looked as
though they had walked through a field of slaughter, which
in truth they had. All were happily covered in gore, and
many continued licking their fingers and hands as they fled
the scene. Madrak held no illusions regarding how long this
reprieve would last. The kin carried away as many wheels
of cheese as possible, but those would not last. After the
raid, the band set out, taking a circuitous route through the
foothills, hoping to reach the Cygnaran farmlands by dawn.
An hour before sunrise, with the hills rising on either side,
Madrak began to feel strange. The stars and moons above
seemed to shine down upon them with particular clarity,
and the sky was bereft of clouds, but a thick mist began to
form, bringing with it a chill. Madrak wiped his face. His
skin was clammy, and he felt dizzy. He might have easily

dismissed the sensation given how little sleep theyd had,
but he could feel his heart racing. Anxiety filled him, as
though he were bracing to receive a charging foe.
He squinted into the rising fog and realized the runes of
Rathrok were glowing dimly, adding an orange light to the
mist. He stared at the axe and noticed its haft was warm
beneath his hands. He gritted his teeth and prepared for his
mind to betray him. He had not had any dreams or visions
from the axe in weeks, not since the ceremony that had
awakened the mountain kings. With a pang he remembered
the moments after the rite when he had thought himself
free of the axe. He dreaded returning to his mate Kargess
and the rest while Rathrok was still bound to his soul. Its
recent relative quietude had allowed him to believe things
might be all right. Now it was all happening again.
At any moment he expected

shadowy figures to leap at
him from the formless dark.
What do you see? he asked Ulkor cautiously, not trusting
his own senses.
Not much, thanks to this fog, the champion groused.
Madrak felt relieved to know the strange fog was not his
imagination. At any moment he expected shadowy figures
to leap at him from the formless dark. Would they be real?
If something moved and he struck at it, would he discover
he had killed a friend rather than a foe? He did not like such
thoughts, but Rathrok was stirring, ready for battle.
The fog enveloped them, damping all sound and forcing
them to slow. Madrak looked to Grim, who walked not far
ahead. The scouts goggles could penetrate such mists, and
he walked steadily, his rifle set to his shoulder. Reassured,
Madrak decided he would take his cues from Grim, ignoring
random shades that sought to provoke him.
The air around them changed. A cloying thickness entered
his lungs, and his armor and clothes began to feel hot
and heavy. The temperature had increased markedly, and
the air felt drier. Dizziness seized him, and he lurched
before catching his balance. It startled him to feel a similar
sensation from the mountain kings, one of which huffed
and snorted in confusion. Several others growled at one
another, and all were perturbed. Was his mood affecting
them, or the reverse?
The champions around him eyed their surroundings warily.
Such strange fog and unnatural weather would have been
in keeping with the powers of the blackclads. Madrak
117

forced himself to accept that the strangeness was real. They
might be under attack.
He saw forms moving in the fog ahead. He lifted Rathrok
and readied to throw it. Glowing lights bobbed alongside the
shadows, perhaps people holding torches. Their flickering
orange light filled the fog without giving any definition. It
seemed odd for anyone lying in ambush to give away their
positions by lighting torches. This was the thought that kept
him from ordering his people to attack.
Hold! Grim said loudly. It cant be... His tone was
disbelieving.
Madrak stared at those who approachedkin and fullblood trolls as armed and ready as they were. He lowered
Rathrok at once, hugely relieved he had not simply cast it at
the first shadow he had seen. At the fore of the trollkin ahead
and flanked by a pair of axers was Calandra, Oracle of the
Glimmerwood. She was staring at them with similar surprise.
Calandra? he said, his voice raspy to his own ears. What
are you doing here?
She gave a laugh, and the way she put her hands on her
hips told him at once it was really her, not some illusion. I
was going to ask you the same thing! This is remarkable!
How... Her voice trailed off and she took a step back as she
took in the mountain kings emerging from the dwindling
fog. The giant trolls looked down with suspicious scowls.
Friends! These are friends! Madrak shouted for the
benefit of both sides, even as he mentally clamped down on
the mountain kings. Fortunately they did not seem inclined
to lash out, perhaps because they had been freshly fed and
perhaps because they picked up on Madraks emotions
of kinship. Grim began to explain to Calandra about the
mountain kings, and she listened in amazement.
Madrak blinked and looked around as the fog entirely melted
away. Dawn broke in the east and the landscape brightened.
He took in many things at once, most importantly the fact
that the ground he was walking had changed; now reddish
sandstone and scrub replaced the mud, wet soil, and grasses
of the hills he had left. He remembered becoming familiar
with the fringes of the Bloodstone Marches when his people
had moved into the Glimmerwood and its eastern environs.
This felt very similar. There were a variety of exclamations
and startled conversations among the gathered kin.
Where are we? Madrak asked in a tone combining wonder
and dread.
Youre almost home! Calandra said. At least, the home
weve tried to make. Grissels encampment is just a few
miles northeast. For days the portents have indicated an
important event would occur here, something significant. I
came to investigate.
118
Grim was scanning the hills and remarked, We are definitely

in the Bloodstone Marches. South of the Iosan Mountains, at
least eighty miles northeast of Scarleforth Lake.
Calandra, Madrak said, we were hundreds of miles from
here just minutes ago.
Four hundred and seventy miles, Grim corrected,
scowling. He shook his head and stared around them as if
trying to force the landscape to return to what it had been.
How is that possible? Madrak asked her.
She gave him an uncertain look. After a moment of frowning
and considering she said hesitantly, It must be a miracle of
Dhunia.
Madrak pondered this possibility but could not bring
himself to believe it. Beneath his hand Rathrok had
become almost uncomfortably hot but was now starting to
cool. He looked to its edge, which was glowing as though
it had been lying within a forge. Its runes were still lit.
He did not think the axe had done thissuch a feat was
beyond anything he had heard of it in any legendbut
it reacted to what had transpired. His instincts told him
that if any higher power were involved, it was not the
Great Mother.
Perhaps sensing his uncertainty, Calandra said, You have
been sorely missed by all your kriels, Chief Ironhide.
Kargess in particular will be happy to see you. We should
have a feast to celebrate your return.
Madrak let himself and his people be led away, the trolls
following. Already enthusiasm was spreading through both
sides, and the warriors with Calandra warmly greeted those
from the Gnarls as if they were long-lost relatives. Despite
their high spirits, Madraks mood refused to lift. No part of
this was right, Madrak thought, and he shared looks with
both Calandra and Grim that told him both were similarly
unsettled. He walked toward the reunion with his kriels
with a deep sense of foreboding, as though he were headed
to his own funeral.
Near Old Korska, Umbrey
The wizened figure leaned on her staff as she climbed the

windswept hills until she could gain a proper vantage to
look down on the shattered and blasted ruins of Old Korska,
once the eastern capital of the Khardic Empire. What had
been one of the glories of civilization had become a maze
of ruins and half-buried streets overrun by bogrin above
and dregg in the burial catacombs below. She did not look
on the place with nostalgia, though she remembered how
it had once dominated this landscape. It was proof of the
ephemeral works of mankind.
An age of ruin and desolation approached again. This time
she was more invested in shaping the outcome to preserve
the great peoples of the north. No one understood the

long centuries of subtle work that had restored Umbrey to
Khador. All could be undone quickly, by the rash decisions
of a few spurious and stubborn mortals.
There was always risk, always gambles. The outcome was
never certain, even for those such as she who could see the
strands of fate and the dance of conflicting destinies. She
had taken one of her largest gambles recently, when she
had plucked the strand of a certain mortal already marked
by fateKrueger the Stormwrath, as he had called himself
then. He was more stubborn, arrogant, and reckless than
most. She had set him in motion, like a wildly spinning top,
not knowing where he would fly, what he would knock
against. It was often that way. She did not enter into this
lightly. She had known he would set the dragons in motion.
It was time. Those with short lives could not understand
that stasis was death.
She reached the crest of the ancient hill and began the rite.
She reached into the bag at her side and drew forth the
squirming one. Before it could yowl, she pricked its neck
with one of her steel talons. She let the blood of innocence
flow into the cracks of old stone, the fissures of the flat
petrified trunk where once a tree had been hewn to form
the first great hall of the eastern horselords. Extending her
power through the blood and the stone into the earth, she
sent an invitation she felt confident would not be ignored.
She and the one she invited had many old disagreements,
but they could address their differences. They had been
enemies more than allies; the blood of countless thousands
had been shed as part of their quarrels, but usually they
fought only through intermediaries, not directly. In such a
climate it was necessary to have a means of parley. It had
been a long time.
The other was not obliged to answer. Neither could she
compel it. She turned away and looked to the stars and
the moons above. If it refused to speak with her, that
would signify something. A deepening of their conflict. A
declaration of bitter enmity. She did not think it wished for
such a thing, not now.
She sensed a presence behind her and turned to see the
robed and vine-enwrapped form of the Oathkeeper, his
hood casting his face in darkness. A different Oathkeeper
than she remembered. The sword in his hands pointed
downward, and he gripped the crossguard in both hands.
Wurmwood stood atop the adjacent hilltop, rooted as if it
had always been there, but it preferred to speak through its
conduit. Once they had not required such intermediaries,
long ago. She ignored the Oathkeeper and said to the Tree
of Fate, I am here to varn you.
have sought to interfere with my chosen oracle. Do so again

only at your peril.
That is already done. The seed is planted. I am surprised to
see vhat you have been about. Your attention is misplaced.
Do you know the vorld-eaters stir?
All is known to me. What was taken from me by you will be
mine again soon. Other conflicts are of trivial importance.
She gave a low, cackling laugh. I do not think you believe
this. Very busy you have been. Some plans have failed.
The Oathkeeper raised his head higher, letting her see
his eyes, and through them the entity that looked back at
her. But not all. This will not turn out as you hoped. The
dragons should have been left alone.
Zevanna shrugged and said, The outcome could be
beneficial to us both, yes? Vith your help. You could end
this. All of this.
The end you seek is different from mine.
She sucked a tooth. I admit, your oracle did not do vhat I
expected. Are you villing to accept the harm he intends you?
The great serpents vill veaken you. This could be avoided, if
you intervene. Give up the other matter.
Cassius shook his head slowly and said, No. It is too late.
As you say, the seed is planted.
She looked away for a moment and then he was gone, as
was Wurmwood. She felt some surprise at his last reply.
Was it truly too late to shape things? The dragons were
such torpid and indecisive creatures, so reluctant to act. She
did not believe the Stormlord could change this. Frowning,
she closed her eyes and found her crows, scattered far and
wide. She looked through myriad pairs of tiny, beaded eyes
until she saw it. Saw them.
Through the eyes of crows separated by hundreds of miles
across the face of Immoren, she watched as great winged
forms rose. They were reptilian, serpentine, massive, with
scales gleaming in various hues of fire, metal, and smoke.
They soared high above the Wyrmwall Mountains, then
scattered in several directions at tremendous speed. They
would go where the Stormlord had sent them, there to
descend and ravage the earth, to unleash their blight and
leave lasting scars upon the face of Caen.
She shook her head, making a disapproving noise under
her breath. This was not what she had set him to do. She
had known Krueger possessed the potential to destroy the
dragons, if things aligned just so. He had arrived at a clever
solutionvery clever. Too clever by far.
Warn me? the Oathkeeper said in Wurmwoods voice. It

is you who should heed my warnings, Zevanna Agha. You
119
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EVERY PROMISE HAS ITS PRICE

As titanic battles are fought across western Immoren, the

Play HORDES against

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AWAKEN YOUR FURY AND HOLD NOTHING

No matter how rash

Now the skies darken,

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Hobby & Terrain

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Licensing & Contract

Chief Creative Officer

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NEW BLOOD RISES

Constant war has taken its toll on the savage nations of

At the heart of these momentous events are individuals

the leadership of Gunnbjorns personal dire troll Dozer and

HORDES: Exigence (ebook version). . . . . . . . . ISBN: 978-1-939480-76-7 . . . . . . . . . . . . PIP 1058e

Northern Wyrmwall Mountains, Late 608 AR

Hoarluk Doomshaper had done all he could to ensure the

Doomshaper had sighed, feeling the age in his bones. I

Two drunkards for the price of one, Doomshaper said

Northern Thornwood, Early 609 AR

Skll gave an almost joyful wild cry as he leapt forward

Combining forces with so many was unusual for them;

She held the dying Nyss up,

Clouds churned in the sky and the trees were whipped by

Blood Debt, Part One

For the moment he had no desire to join battle personally,

a splinter of his scattered forces led by one of his braver

The shifting ranks of Nyss archers and swordsmen filled

As yet, the archer warlock had kept these largest spawn

He had been startled to realize the scope of Everblights

Morvahna had anticipated. They were not a single cohesive

As Krueger had anticipated, the Legion did not pursue his

He dropped lower and sent lightning from his fingertips

Not at all. You have listened to my words before; I ask only

His commanders recognized his signal to retreat, and horns

The emissary was silent for what seemed too long.

Blood Debt, Part One

Linking his fate to the

of egos, and they were mortal and far more limited. He

Southern Iosan Mountains

They are holed up inside the tunnels, Lord Assassin. They

of hoksune. The officer looked down, clearly anticipating

crescents set at regular intervals. Iosan mines were more

Blood Debt, Part One

Marketh nodded to himself and said, more to himself

An angry sizzling and popping noise filled the mine as

The lord assassin felt satisfied to have at last received an

Seeing Morghoul inside his halberds reach, a third clumsily

Morghoul was wiping the blood of the last of the Iosans

Morghoul said, Ill leave this facility to your discretion,

Between Blindwater Lake and

Jaga-Jaga strode the stagnant waters connecting the lesser

too, were trapped, caught by ropy tendrils of spirit-vines.

of falling toward that mouth, where she knew she would