HORDES: Devastation

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WHEN DESTRUCTION COMES, WHEN THE WORLD ENDS, I WOULD FACE MY DOOM WITH MY PEOPLE BESIDE ME. WE STAND AS ONE AGAINST DARKNESS, EARTHQUAKE, AND STORM. DHUNIA WILL REMEMBER OUR COURAGE EVEN AFTER OUR BONES ARE DUST. — MADRAK IRONHIDE

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CREDITS HORDES created and designed by Matthew D. Wilson

Lead Designer, HORDES

Marketing Coordinator

Marco Mazzoni Andrea Uderzo Matt Wilson

Simon Berman

Studio Director

Jason Soles

Ron Kruzie

Designer, Devastation

Staff Sculptors

Organized Play & Volunteer Coordinator William Hungerford

Volunteer Coordinator Assistant

Chris McLeroy Antonio Mora Phuong Nguyen Soroth Penh Antwan Porter Sam Rattanavong Erik Reiersen John Roth Rob Seamount Jesse Steerland Tu Thanh Chris Tiemeyer Ben Tracy Dara Vann Michele Wheeler

Bryan Cutler

Shawn Bruner Brian Dugas Doug Hamilton Michael Jenkins

Creative Director

Additional Sculpting

Charles Agel

Carlos Castaño Jonathan Flanders Ben Misenar Steve Saunders

Adam Johnson

Development Manager

Customer Support

David Carl

David Carl

Project Director Ed Bourelle

Writing & Continuity Manager Douglas Seacat

Writing Zachary C. Parker

Additional Writing Matt DiPietro Geordie Hicks Lyle Lowery William Shick

Studio Modelers James A. Thomas

Miniature Painters Matt DiPietro Geordie Hicks

Studio Administration Assistant

Dianne Ferrer

Retail Support & Development Specialist Customer Service Justin Cottom Gabriel Waluconis

Roleplaying Game Producer

Video Producer

Matt Goetz

Tony Konichek

Game Developer

Publications Manager

William Schoonover

Aeryn Rudel

Development Admin. Coordinator

No Quarter EIC

Charles Foster III

Michael G. Ryan

Jack Coleman

Douglas Seacat Jason Soles

Digital Engineer

No Quarter Assistant

Infernals

Stuart Spengler

Michael Sanbeg

Writing & Editorial Manager

Additional Engineering

Director of Operations

Ben Misenar Nate Scott

Jason Martin

Production Director

Hobby & Terrain Specialist

Mark Christensen

Internal Playtesters

Michael Archer

Technical Director Kelly Yeager

Ed Bourelle David Carl Jack Coleman Charles Foster III Bill French William Hungerford Bryan McClaflin Chris McLeroy Michael Plummer Erik Reierson William Schoonover William Shick Jason Soles

Continuity

Darla Kennerud

Editing Michele Carter Dan Henderson Darla Kennerud

Photography Matt Ferbrache

Laine Garrett Josh Manderville

Packing/Shipping Manager

Senior Project Manager

Joe Lee

Graphic Design & Layout

Shona Fahland

Vendor Coordinator

Licensing & Contract Manager

Geoffrey Konkel

Graphic Design Director

Richard Anderson Shona Fahland Matt Ferbrache Laine Garrett Josh Manderville

Art Director Mike Vaillancourt

Cover Illustration Andrea Uderzo

Illustrations Chippy Carlos Cabrera Alberto Dal Lago Grant Griffin Tyler James Marco Mazzoni Marcel Mercado Néstor Ossandón Bram Solis Andrea Uderzo

Lead Concept Artist Nick Kay

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Concept Illustrations

Brent Waldher

President Sherry Yeary

Chief Creative Officer Matthew D. Wilson

Director of Business & Branding Development William Shick

Executive Assistant Michelle Horton

Marketing Manager Lyle Lowery

Web/IT Professional Micah Scott Ralston

Convention Coordinator Michael Plummer

Metal Casting Supervisor Marcus Rodriguez

Resin Casting Supervisor Scott Paschall

Production Oren Ashkenazi Nelson Baltzo Felisha Bolzenthal Tom Cawby Johan Cea Bryan Dasalla Alfonso Falco Joel Falkenhagen Trevor Hancock Mike Harshbarger Chris Lester David Lima Clayton Links Keith Loree Bryan McClaflin

Peter Gaublomme Travis Marg John Morin Gilles Reynaud Donald Sullivan

External Playtesters Alice Bettoli Jonathan Boggs Corey Brown Andrew Hartland Kristin Hartland Federico Ingrosso Stu Liming James Moreland Andrew Ready Owen Rehrauer Josh Saulter Tim Simpson

Proofreading David Carl Dan Henderson Lyle Lowery William Shick

A WORLD IN THE BALANCE Choices often come with unintended consequences, and doubly so for those choices born of desperation. A decision made under duress, in the heat of the moment, can lead to exactly the end it was meant to avoid. Such is the story of Madrak Ironhide and his choice to wield the ancient and terrible axe Rathrok in a desperate bid to save his people. As the power of the axe stirs and grows with each bloodsoaked battle, the Devourer Wurm turns from its eternal battle against Menoth in Urcaen and casts its gaze upon the world of the living. Sensing its master’s desires Wurmwood, the Tree of Fate, carefully manipulates events from the shadows, preparing to enact a ritual that will part the veil and unleash the Devourer Wurm on Caen. Amid these climactic events, legendary warlocks rise to the crisis, tapping heretofore-unknown inner reserves so they might avert the apocalypse…or perhaps hasten it.

As old heroes become new again, the wild factions of Immoren cast aside all pretense of hiding in the shadows and reveal the true extent of their might. Previously unseen gargantuans descend upon the battlefield, their footsteps shaking the earth as they heed their warlocks’ calls to slaughter. Whether it be the crackling electrical fury of the savage Storm Raptor or the multi-headed, acid-spewing nightmare that is the Desert Hydra, these fearsome warbeasts will rock the very foundations of war within the Iron Kingdoms. When the end of the world is at stake, nothing is offlimits. Unleash the full extent of your fury and know that Devastation is at hand!

TABLE OF CONTENTS THE KEY TURNS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 THEME FORCES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 TROLLBLOODS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 CIRCLE ORBOROS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 SKORNE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38

LEGION OF EVERBLIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MINIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MODEL GALLERY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PAINTING GUIDE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THE GATE OPENS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Visit: www.privateerpress.com Privateer Press, Inc., 1705 136th Pl. NE, Suite 120 • Bellevue, WA 98005 Tel (425) 643-5900 • Fax (425) 643-5902 For online customer service, email [email protected] This book is printed under the copyright laws of the United States of America and retains all of the protections thereof. All Rights Reserved. All trademarks herein including Privateer Press®, Iron Kingdoms®, Full Metal Fantasy, Immoren, WARMACHINE®, Forces of WARMACHINE, Steam-Powered Miniatures Combat, Convergence of Cyriss®, Convergence, Cygnar, Cryx, Khador, Protectorate of Menoth, Protectorate, Retribution of Scyrah, Retribution, warcaster®, warjack®, HORDES®, Forces of HORDES, Monstrous Miniatures Combat, Circle Orboros, Circle, Legion of Everblight, Legion, Skorne, Trollbloods, Trollblood, warbeast, Formula P3, Formula P3 Hobby Series, and all associated logos are property of Privateer Press, Inc. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form without written permission from Privateer Press. Duplicating any portion of the materials herein, unless specifically addressed within the work or by written permission from Privateer Press, is strictly prohibited. In the event that permissions are granted, such duplications shall be intended solely for personal, noncommercial use and must maintain all copyrights, trademarks, or other notices contained therein or preserve all marks associated therewith. Please do not steal our copyrighted material. We hear whispers among the trees that it is, in fact, a critical mass of copyright violators that will ultimately tip the balance and allow Wurmwood to usher the Beast of All Shapes into our world. Don’t be the guy who ends the world, m’kay? First printing: June 2015. Printed in China.

HORDES: Devastation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ISBN: 978-1-939480-83-5 . . . . . . . . . . . . PIP 1062 HORDES: Devastation Hardcover . . . . . . . . . . . ISBN: 978-1-939480-84-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . PIP 1063

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THE KEY TURNS THE SHARD SPIRES, EARLY 609 AR Sheets of snow, stone, and ice flew through the air as the mountainside erupted in a burst of pent-up fury. A bestial roar echoed from peak to peak, threatening each slope with avalanche. Clouds of displaced snow shrouded the newly formed hole, and the hulking shape that arose from it came out swinging. After searching for more than a week among the frozen northern reaches of the Shard Spires, Hoarluk Doomshaper had found the first of the glacier kings of the north, cousins of the mountain kings awoken in the Wyrmwall. As anticipated, the ceremony of awakening he had invoked in the south had roused other ancient trolls from their prisons, eager to be free. During his travels, Doomshaper had recruited two dozen kriel warriors and a handful of skinners from the northern tribes. Though seasoned and battle-ready, they fell back now, falling over one another to put distance between themselves and the troll legend pulling itself into the world. The old shaman found their panic aggravating but understandable; they could not have stood against such a creature even had they tried. Doomshaper did not flinch as a boulder hurtled past him and left a long gouge in the snow. Beside him, Mulg rumbled and stood equally resolute, smashing his reinforced club into the ground in a display of dominance. As the glacier king emerged from the hole, its massive knuckles unceremoniously crushed one of the ancient krielstone markers that had mystically bound the slumbering trolls as much as their chains. A telltale scar running down the beast’s face matched descriptions from old legends of a far-northern troll king called Winter’s Maw that had raged against the trollkin intruding into its domain. Though in some ways the glacier king resembled the mountain kings of the southern ranges, it was unmistakably marked by the endless winter of the frozen north. Icicles taller than a man hung from its chin, and a mound of ice and snow upon its back reached toward the sky. The already frigid temperature of the surrounding air plummeted as a deeper cold radiated from the beast’s skin. The trunks of nearby spruces cracked and split. Doomshaper set his teeth. If he could reach the beast and lay his hands upon it, he felt certain he could bind its will as he had done with the mountain kings. Without a battle raging about them to serve as a distraction, however, such a feat would prove difficult. He gave a mental command to Mulg, and together they advanced into the fray. A burst of icy wind tore over the pair, partially numbing their limbs and inflicting frostbite in seconds. “Cold!” Mulg bellowed in Molgur-Trul, and the runes carved into the

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stones upon the dire troll’s back flared. In the next instant, the winds that besieged them dissipated under the influence of Mulg’s power. Doomshaper narrowly avoided a crushing blow from the glacier king, though the glancing impact knocked him off his feet. Mulg howled and struck the slow-moving fist with his banded club, shattering several of the great fingers and causing the enraged creature to draw back its arm in surprise. The crack of stone splitting filled the air as rock and snow exploded from the nearby slopes to reveal two more of the primal trolls. These were slightly less immense than Winter’s Maw, but seeing the three together chilled the shaman’s blood. Doomshaper stood, drawing on Mulg’s anger and vitality, and resumed his advance. If the first gargantuan were allowed to gather its wits, there would be no chance of stopping it. If he could tame this, the greatest of the glacier kings, the others would submit. Again the troll king drew back its fist, eclipsing the waning sun, and struck. The fist shot past Doomshaper toward Mulg behind him. A howl of rage and the snapping of bones sounded as the fist slammed into the craggy dire troll. Looking through Mulg’s eyes, Doomshaper experienced being hurled back several yards in the air before tumbling end-over-end in the snow. With Mulg down, gusts of frigid wind began to circulate again around the towering form of Winter's Maw, followed by a sudden, intense snowstorm that all but blinded Doomshaper. Mulg disappeared from view, and the shaman stepped forward blindly, reaching for the space where the glacier king’s knee had been. A fist emerged from the blizzard to seize Doomshaper with enough force to crack his ribs, and he was lifted high above the earth. He struggled futilely against the glacier king’s grip. His shattered ribs threatened to pierce vital organs, and he had no choice but to shunt the damage to Mulg, adding to the injuries the troll had already sustained. Doomshaper achieved the contact he sought with the great troll, but pain prevented him from focusing. Darkness threatened his vision. The face of the glacier king emerged from the vortex of snow. Its maw unhinged, exposing the gateway to a bottomless hunger, and from the beast’s throat issued a roar worthy of the legends. Spittle flew from great tusk-like yellowed incisors, and the sheer force of the sound rattled Doomshaper’s teeth. His eardrums exploded, and the roar gave way to an incessant ringing. Disorientation overtook him.

He drew on his last strength to lash out with Willbreaker. The mystically augmented staff splintered one of the massive incisors. Doomshaper felt rather than heard a second roar, and the glacier king shook him mercilessly. Willbreaker slipped from his grasp and tumbled down to clatter against the beast’s teeth before disappearing into the yawning darkness of its mouth. Doomshaper stared unblinking into the troll’s eyes and reached out to its mind with his own. He radiated confidence into the mind of the glacier king, subjecting it to the power of his will. What ensued was not unlike the Tohmaak Mahkeiri, as their minds joined and he immersed himself in the hunger and rage of Winter’s Maw. In his mind’s eye, Doomshaper saw flashes of images, memories of Winter’s Maw clashing with other beasts of the steppes or devouring them afterward. He called forth the memory of feeding his own hand to Mulg in a bid for the dire troll’s loyalty, showing the glacier king that all trollkind shared the same blood, a kinship more powerful than anything else on Caen. The bloodlust etched on the troll’s face shifted in puzzlement as it squinted at Doomshaper, and the blizzard swirling about its shoulders died down.

“Well met, Winter’s Maw,” Doomshaper said. He issued a mental command, and the creature placed him back on the ground. The bond was forged. The other glacier kings were closing on Mulg to tear him limb from limb. Doomshaper commanded Winter’s Maw to intervene. With a roar, the glacier king placed himself between his troll brethren and the dire troll, hitting his chest forcefully and baring his teeth. The others stepped back and slumped slightly in submission. Doomshaper took the opportunity to touch the other two, and within moments all three looked down at his tiny form with anticipation. The kriel warriors who had fled to a safe distance now crept back, gaining confidence at the sight of Doomshaper standing unharmed and defiant. Mulg returned to the shaman’s side, limping and dragging his club in the freshly fallen snow. The blow he suffered at the hands of the gargantuan had been tremendous, but his natural regenerative powers were already at work, accelerated by Doomshaper’s urging. Above, a glacier king tore a boulder from the mountainside and shoved the rock into its eager mouth. They would need real food soon, but at least the first step toward taming the kings of the north was complete. With Winter’s Maw at his side, the rest would follow.

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THE KEY TURNS

Though Willbreaker was lost to the belly of the first glacier king, Doomshaper found inspiration amid the shattered remnants of the krielstones that marked where Winter’s Maw had been imprisoned. Beneath his hands he felt the thrumming of Dhunian power, still potent after millennia, and he used his cunning and lore to bind that power into a weapon. He leaned on the new staff as he walked, and Mulg trudged alongside him with his usual scowl. Doomshaper was forced to expend some of their limited food supplies to facilitate the dire troll’s recovery, yet Mulg still hungered. “How much farther until we reach the Khadorans?” Doomshaper asked the trollkin skinner beside him. Hundreds of northern pines and a mountain of stone had disappeared down the gullets of the glacier kings, but this had barely curbed their hunger. The gargantuan trolls eyed the kriel warriors hungrily. Doomshaper kept them locked down with his will, but it required close attention. “Just beyond these peaks,” the skinner said, pointing up the slope. Doomshaper could hear the anticipation in the trollkin’s voice. “They’ve had this coming for a long time.” For years, nearby kriels had clashed with a Khadoran logging community on the fringes of their territory. When game to feed the glacier kings came up scarce, the trollkin had suggested turning that insatiable hunger on their longtime enemies. Doomshaper well understood that impulse and was more than willing to assist his northern kin’s vengeance. The group topped the rise, and before them a little-used path wound down the mountain to the frozen tundra beyond. A short distance from the mountain’s base, curls of smoke rose from the chimneys of the Khadoran town the scouts had identified as Daliskov. A stout wall encircled the holdings, punctuated by several watchtowers. “It is not Ceryl, but it’s a start,” Doomshaper said under his breath. As they hiked downward, he imagined the gargantuans casting down the meager walls and falling upon the town’s inhabitants, stuffing them into gaping mouths one after the next and ending their screams with a satisfying crunch that splattered the streets with blood. Movement caught his attention. To one side of the path, perched on an outcropping of stone and balancing on one clawed foot, stood a battered ’jack that appeared to have been cobbled together. Unlike most warjacks, this one lacked arms, its engine solely committed to driving its long legs. Its chassis was a faded red where rust had not overtaken its surface. A series of ropes and buckles held a bedroll and

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several satchels to its frame. With grace uncanny for its size, the ’jack bounded over the rocks, each step marked by the scrape of steel on stone. Doomshaper recognized the machine as the one called Scrapjack. “Stop,” a voice commanded, and a hunched figure draped in layers of threadbare clothing now blocked the path. She had an air of preternatural antiquity about her that seemed potent even against the backdrop of the Shard Spires. Each of her fingers extended into a steel talon, and a crow perched on one of the pipes protruding from the warcaster armor buried beneath her garments. Although he had never met her, Doomshaper knew enough lore to identify Zevanna Agha, also called the Old Witch of Khador. “Step aside,” Doomshaper said, his voice rough and threatening. “The children of Dhunia do not answer to the likes of you.” “Do you expect me to valk avay and leave Daliskov to you?” She cackled. If the presence of the glacier kings daunted her, she did not show it. “Your plan I vould reconsider. Tragedy avaits those you left in the south. If you hurry, perhaps you can save them. Perhaps.” She made a clucking sound, and something between a scowl and a smile tugged at her wrinkled face. “Children of Dhunia? Also of the Vurm, vhich does not hesitate to devour its young.” Though Doomshaper’s expression remained unchanged, he felt the impact of the Old Witch’s last words. This mention of the Devourer Wurm was unexpected and unsettling. He reminded himself that the crone was known for her cryptic speech. He said, “I have no time for your riddles. Speak plainly or be gone.” “The Tree of Fate vishes to reclaim vhat it views as its own. The axe of Horfar Grimmr vill bring the ruin of your people. Perhaps mine also.” She clacked her talons along the staff she carried. “You could change this.” “I have heard enough,” Doomshaper said. Behind him, grumbles issued from the glacier kings as they sensed his anger. “I will not be dissuaded by your threats or prophecies. How many of your own people have you sent to early graves with a few words?” “Believe vhat you vish.” She looked down the mountainside to the distant town of Daliskov. “Leave this place. Go back to the desert sands vhere your people need you. I vill not varn you again.” With that, she blinked out of existence only to reappear farther down the mountain, Scrapjack standing beside her. For a moment, she held Doomshaper’s gaze, then she and her machine walked out of sight behind several boulders. “What was that about?” the skinner asked. Doomshaper only shook his head. The Old Witch was not to be trusted.

Whatever advice she offered, she worked toward her own ends. Even so, he couldn’t help but wonder how much truth lay in her words. “What of the town?” asked one of the kriel warriors. Doomshaper hesitated. “We proceed as planned,” He said after a moment. He would not allow a figure out of Khadoran folklore to influence his actions. For too long the empires of men had pushed his people to the fringes, treating them as inferiors. They would pay a price in blood—not once, but many times. This town was meaningless, only the first of many he would erase. He would not back down at the demands of anyone speaking on behalf of his enemies, even Zevanna Agha. Doomshaper looked up to the gargantuans looming above. One of them sucked on a boulder discontentedly. “The glacier kings still hunger," he said, "and it would not do to let the transgressions of the people of Daliskov go unanswered.”

WESTERN WYRMWALL Kromac’s muscles strained as he hauled himself up the cliff face. Above, the granite sheet ascended into the night sky, and sharp stones waited below to receive his fall. His fingers slid over the surface in search of new handholds, the cuts on his palms leaving smears of crimson. A burlap sack hitched to his belt slid back and forth over his thigh like a pendulum as he climbed. Like the stone under his palms, the bottom of the sack was a dark red. A trickle of blood filtered through the bag and fell into the yawning darkness, one drop at a time. The three moons looked down upon him like pale faces. Calder, the largest, shone as a blue-white half crescent. The speckled red-brown Laris was nearly full, as was pale green Artis, the smallest of the three. Already the pull of the upcoming lunar conjunction threatened to drive Kromac into his bestial form. He had not undergone a transformation since his defeat at the hands of the trollkin, and despite the physical demands the ascent placed on him, he resisted the urge to transform now. The shame of his failure clung to him, and he did not wish to draw upon his connection to the Wurm while unworthy. In a few weeks’ time, however, the three moons would be full, and the Beast of All Shapes would be upon him regardless of his resolve. Handholds crumbled beneath his fingers and the winds of the peaks threatened to rip him from the cliff, but he would not be shaken. At the edges of his vision, a hooded figure appeared beneath the shadows of distant rock faces. The suspicion that Cassius watched spurred him to overreach and to try unstable handholds, and one time he was left dangling by a few clawed fingernails.

Finally he hauled himself over the lip of the cliff, his chest heaving. At the top of an incline littered with boulders and the occasional stunted pine loomed Cassius, and behind him, Wurmwood. The ancient tree’s roots wrapped about loose soil and stone, and the many bones hanging from its limbs clattered in the wind. Kromac removed the burlap sack from his waist and emptied the contents at Wurmwood’s base. A dozen human hearts and a smattering of other choice organs landed in the dirt, looking like slick and spoiled fruit in the moonlight. The Tharn dropped to one knee and uttered words of greeting and respect in Molgur. “You have returned,” Cassius said, his hooded form gliding between the sentry stones, “though without the axe of Horfar Grimmr.” His eyes were empty, two extinguished coals wrapped in pale skin. “Forgive me, Oathkeeper,” Kromac said, feeling his shame keenly. “I was thwarted.” Cassius' voice was deep and resonant, as though his words carried from the bottom of a well. “You underestimate your foe. The trollkin are also children of the Wurm.” In Kromac’s memory he saw himself closing on the axe only to be tackled by one of the trollkin chieftain’s lieutenants, the two of them brawling across the ground until they went together over the edge of a cliff. The lieutenant was a powerful warrior, and by the time Kromac narrowly bested him, the opportunity to confront Madrak had been lost. Kromac clenched his fists, his claws cutting into his palms. “I will not disappoint you again.” “You were named champion of the apocalypse. You must prove worthy. You will have your chance, and soon. Events converge to offer a chance at redemption.”

“YOU WERE NAMED CHAMPION OF THE APOCALYPSE. YOU MUST PROVE WORTHY.” “I will take the axe from Madrak Ironhide after I have taken the heart from his chest.” Kromac’s blood stirred as he spoke, his primal side straining like a collared beast. “You must wield the axe of Horfar Grimmr.” The statement was made with cold certainty, the matter decided. “World Ender nears the completion of its purpose in the northern Bloodstone Marches. Step forward when the time is right. Rise now, and go.” Kromac stood. His muscles ached from the climb, and thin rivulets of blood flowed over the knuckles of each clenched

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THE KEY TURNS fist from the wounds on his palms. The blood pattered at his feet, where the gnarled roots of the Tree of Fate wrapped around the hearts offered as tribute. His blood, too, was pulled in by the roots. A mist rose from the ground, swirling and growing thicker. The forms of Cassius and the Tree of Fate disappeared in the wall of fog. The calls of birds Kromac knew to be native to the Glimmerwood sounded from unseen branches. A sense of disorientation lingered as he steadied himself. When the fog burned away, he stood in a ring of standing stones hundreds of miles from where he had been moments before. Kromac took only a moment to consider his course. Several Tharn tribes loyal to him resided in this region. He would gather them and see the will of the Beast of All Shapes done, even if it meant his end.

NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES Madrak sought out Kargess across the gathered crowd and smiled. Despite his misgivings about returning to his exiled people, it was beyond good to see her. She smiled back, but there was something reserved in her expression. He felt the familiar ache in his chest grow heavier even as the axe on his back pulled at him. He had not been a good mate lately, or a good leader for these kin. He had done the best he could, but his failures weighed heavily upon him.

FROM SOMEWHERE NEARBY HE HEARD THE SOUND OF A BABY CRYING AND HE SMILED. EVEN IN TIMES OF WAR THERE WAS NEW LIFE. They stood in the largest space in the newly built village in the Bloodstone Marches—its great hall. The hall was secured within what Calandra called the “inner village,” protected by a high stone wall and battlements. Most of the half-built main community sprawled beyond the inner village. Even here lay evidence of fresh construction, yet the space had been made as festive as possible to welcome Madrak. A large fire was at the center together with what ale and food had been gathered for the feast. The hall was packed with champions, elders, lesser chieftains, and other leaders of the United Kriels, but Madrak had eyes only for Kargess. He went to where she stood apart from the tumult, accepting welcoming claps on the shoulder and greeting old friends as he made his way. She held her hands out to him and he clasped them eagerly, leaning in to touch foreheads. He had been away too long. For a moment he breathed in her earthy smell, and the noise around them faded into background, but then she pulled back.

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“It is good to see you,” she said, “but how did you arrive? Rumors are multiplying in the village, each more unlikely than the last.” He shook his head. “I cannot say. We had just come down from the Wyrmwall Mountains, with weeks of travel still ahead of us, when we were swallowed by a fog. Then we were in the Marches and Calandra was greeting us.” He squeezed her hand and gave her an apologetic look. “I should find Grissel. There is much to discuss. Things have changed since I left.” Kargess nodded. “Indeed they have. But Grissel can wait. She will see you later at the feast. Take a moment to rest. You can be spared for a few moments.” Madrak nodded and followed his mate to their new dwelling, one of the small buildings attached to the defensive wall of the inner village. It looked familiar even though he hadn’t seen it before. He saw Kargess in the details: the arrangement of the furniture, the cloak laid across the back of a chair, items salvaged from their old home. Her own armor and weapons hung, cleaned and ready, in a place where she could readily seize them. He wondered what she had faced in his absence. He took a moment to rinse his face at a washing bowl. From somewhere nearby he heard the sound of a baby crying and he smiled. Even in times of war there was new life. As Madrak dried his hands he realized the sound came from another chamber of their hut. This was not a surprise— children in a kriel were a communal matter, and Kargess had always dedicated herself to the well-being of the kriel, including caring for the young. He hoped to have his own family someday. Perhaps once Rathrok’s claim on him was satisfied. Kargess returned carrying a young trollkin, less than a year old. Madrak eyed the bundle with amusement. “Whose little one are you looking after today?” “Ours,” Kargess said softly. Madrak opened his mouth but the words would not come. Surely he had misheard her. Kargess smiled. “Say hello to your son.” She handed him the shifting bundle, and he cradled the child in his arms with a gentleness that felt both unfamiliar and natural. He looked down at the swaddled form, and a pair of large and curious eyes peered up from a pale blue face with full cheeks. A tiny hand reached up and groped at the growths on his chin. “I have a son?” Madrak asked, his voice thick. He'd held his share of young trollkin. He’d taught several how to fight and instructed them on the kriel’s traditions, but holding his own son brought with it a sense of wholly

unexpected pride. He and Kargess had just decided to begin their own family when the Thornwood was invaded, and they had put off that dream amid the tumult. He thought back to how long he had been gone. His son had been conceived during those last weeks before he left to find Doomshaper, to distance himself from his people before Rathrok brought them greater harm. As he looked into these wide eyes, old fears resurfaced. Here he held a piece of himself—his future—and at the same time the axe of Horfar Grimmr hung from his back like an ominous weight anchoring him to a destiny fraught with darkness. “I have been calling him Dag,” Kargess said. An old name, from a Molgur-Trul word for day. “There will be time to decide if it sticks or if another is better suited.” “A good name,” Madrak said, looking at his child. Was he an albino like his father, or only pale? He was not sure. Kargess stepped close and placed her hands on Madrak’s elbows so the baby rested between the two of them. “Grim wanted to tell you, but I insisted he wait so I could give you the news myself. I was hoping it would be sooner, but we are together now, the three of us.” His mate’s words echoed in his mind. Yes, they were together, and while he should rejoice, his apprehension was stronger than ever. He had left those he cared for to spare them the horrors that followed him. He had sworn he would not return before ridding himself of the accursed weapon, yet here he was, still in its possession, putting his kriel at risk—and now his son as well. Kargess leaned forward and their foreheads pressed together, initiating the Tohmaak Mahkeiri. Rather than meeting her gaze and completing the bond that would allow them to peer into each other’s mind, Madrak pulled away. “What is it?” she asked, collecting Dag from his arms. “You look every bit as tired as you look happy to be a father. What happened while you were away?” “Later,” Madrak said, shaking his head. He placed his hand on the bundle and a small hand gripped one of his fingers. “In one sense, nothing has changed. In another, everything.” “Later, then.” She studied his face for a long while, then said, “We should prepare for the feast. Your people wish to speak with you. Their chief has been missed.”

“It has been too long,” Grissel said as she and Madrak embraced. “We send you off to retrieve Doomshaper and instead you return with half the Wyrmwall! The entire village has been going on about the mountain kings.”

“The chieftain who walks with legends,” Horthol said with a grin. He stepped forward to clasp forearms with Madrak. “Congratulations on your son. I am sure he will grow up to be every bit as impressive as his father.” “My son!” Madrak smiled. “Thank you. It is good to be in the company of old friends.” He then explained Doomshaper’s quest in the north as the three of them stood inside the entrance to the newly erected feast hall. Massive pillars hewn from trees dragged from the mountainside braced the impressively high ceiling, and the fine masonry of the walls held in the warmth of a central fire over which roasted two desert oxen. Every notable champion and chief was present, and the cadences of conversation and laughter filled the hall. It had been a long while since Madrak had felt such warmth, though he couldn’t bring himself to relish it. He looked from Horthol to Grissel and considered what his return might cost them. Grissel caught his eye and said, “Do not seek troubles that are not already yours.” It was an old saying. She continued, “There is much to do, but many to share the burden.” He nodded. “This is true.” Beyond the open doorway, the mountain kings roamed in the encroaching dark, eating stones and trees. He waved vaguely in their direction. “Keeping such creatures under thumb takes its toll on the mind, but the march is over. Thank you both. I knew I could count on you to keep everyone together.” “We had help,” Grissel said. “You were right to send Calandra. Without her, I don’t know if we would have made it out of Crael Valley intact. Gunnbjorn has also proven invaluable, though we practically had to drag him from Skarleforth Lake before he would retreat from the skorne. He has done a commendable job organizing the camp’s defenses.” Madrak looked to Gunnbjorn, seated beside Grim Angus at the raised table. The trollkin caught the chieftain’s glance and raised a mug of ale in salute and Madrak nodded in acknowledgement. “Indeed, you have done more than I could have asked for,” Madrak said. “I am lucky to count you among my kin. It is remarkable what you accomplished here in so short a time.” “Don’t let him forget it,” Kargess said as she approached the three of them, young Dag in her arms. “Come,” she said, taking Madrak by the hand. “Others want to speak with you, and I am sure you are hungry from your travels.” Madrak nodded to Grissel and Horthol and started across the hall. He stopped every few paces to embrace kin who greeted him. Now and then someone would thrust a mug into his hands, and by the time he reached the raised table at the front of the hall he had drained several. Horthol, Grissel, and Calandra had joined Gunnbjorn and Grim, and the five

9

THE KEY TURNS were talking at a fast clip when Madrak and Kargess joined them. Already plates of meat were being passed, though the slices were thin and few. The feast looked hard-won.

“What is it?” Kargess asked, looking into his eyes. He could not abide the thought of telling her his mind was not his own.

“I examined the fortifications when I arrived,” Madrak said to Gunnbjorn. “You have done a fine job strengthening our position.” He looked around him at the construction of the hall once again. “All of you. You have done much to make this a new home.”

“Nothing,” Madrak lied. “As Horthol said, there will be time to talk later. Let us enjoy the feast.” While we can, he thought.

“Even so, there is so much more to do,” Grissel said. “This land sustains life only grudgingly. The soil refuses anything but weeds, and even those do poorly. Every skinner and hunter is out looking for game, but what they bring back barely sustains us. We must find other solutions.”

“You spent so long away from us,” Kargess said later, when they had returned to their hut. “Yet your mind seems no clearer than when you left.“ At the opposite end of the room, Dag slept in his cradle, and she spoke softly so as not to wake him. Madrak faced away from her, leaning against the door frame, and she eyed his back wearily. He had seemed distracted during the feast, and he appeared no better now that they were alone.

Gunnbjorn nodded. “Other supplies are scarce as well. We may have to raid the farrow or even the skorne, though we are not eager to provoke them.” The faces at the table looked to Madrak. They all had questions. They wanted direction, and they looked to their chief to provide a path forward. He couldn’t see it. Beneath the table, Kargess gave his hand a squeeze, which he returned. She was the bedrock beneath the shifting sands upon which he had been walking of late. He felt the faith she had in him steady his footing once more.

“It is the mountain kings. Even at a distance, I bear them in mind. I cannot command them from here, but I must work to remind them of my previous orders, to keep them from descending. It is exhausting.”

“There will be time to discuss such matters,” Horthol said, sensing his friend’s mood. “For now, let us celebrate new beginnings and the reunion of friends.” He raised a mug. Ale sloshed over the top and down his arm. “To Chief Ironhide. To Dag, heir of Ironhide! He will earn his own axe soon!”

Madrak shook his head as he turned back to her. “I failed,” he said after a time. “That which I sought to cast off remains. The curse is not broken.”

The others laughed and joined his toast, as did those at the long tables that stretched the length of the hall. Hundreds of mugs rose and were promptly drained. Mixed feelings assailed Madrak. He could not deny the gathering did his heart good. Yet despite the joyousness of the occasion, Rathrok remained an uninvited guest. He thought back to his recent battle against the druids, to how he had nearly given himself over to the axe in a fit of blind, psychotic rage. For one brief moment afterward, he had thought himself free of the axe. But the respite had been fleeting, and once again he had found the weapon waiting, still bound to him. Without warning, Madrak saw the central fire and the various sconces go out, plunging the hall into semi-darkness. Down the lengths of the hall’s tables, each laughing face was caked with blood and bulging with putrefaction. Each laugh, joke, and boast melded into a cacophony of pained groans and screams. Only when Madrak began to stand and Kargess placed a hand upon his shoulder did the room return to normal.

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She couldn’t recall ever hearing him sound so tired. “I am sure that is a strain, but there is more,” she said. “Do not shut me out. Tell me, what truly troubles you?”

“Put it out of your mind. The important thing is you have returned. Your people need you, Madrak. I have done my best to hold them together, as have Grissel and the others, but they have been through a great deal.” “Yes. Grim told me of the hardships. Even so, my presence can bring nothing but misery. It was cowardly for me to return. I wanted to come home, but we have no home now. Not truly.” She let that stand for long seconds and then said, “You sound as if you are considering leaving again. You are talking yourself into the wrong course. Your desire for homecoming was right. Your heart knows it. Your people have lost their friends, their families, their homes. But they still find harmony in kith, kriel, and kin. Do not deprive them of their chief again.” “Too many have fallen on my account.” There was desperation in his words. She knew she was seeing a side of him he would never reveal to another. She recalled the look of horror that crossed his face at the feast. Whatever haunted him had found its voice on the road and whispered louder than ever. She hated the axe he bore, but it was too late for such regrets.

“It is not just dreams any longer, is it?” she asked. “The nightmares find you even when you are awake.” He nodded. “If you saw the things I have seen, you would understand why it is best I leave.” “No.” She said it flatly, authoritatively, but with no anger. He looked up, startled. Kargess continued, “It is of no use. You cannot leave your family. Even were you to walk away from us, I would find a way to stand beside you. What did going off on your own accomplish? I know you had to try, but stop punishing yourself. Everything you have done, you have done from a desire to do right by your people. Perhaps there is a curse. Even so, it does not follow only you. It affects us all.” He stared at her slack-jawed. “I had not considered this.” “Let us say troubles are drawn to us, and Rathrok is the cause. So be it. We will face them together. Your fate and that of your kin are one. We will fight, and if need be die, together. Let your people support you as you have fought for us. Let me stand at your side. Whatever burdens you bear, you do not face them alone.“ She took his hand in hers. “Thank you,” Madrak said as he took her in his arms. “Your words are true. We must stand united. Together, perhaps we have hope.” There in the darkness, Kargess finally felt that Madrak had come home at last.

NORTHERN KHADOR, SOUTH OF THE SHARD SPIRES Along the outer walls separating the town of Daliskov from the frozen tundra beyond, alarm bells were ringing. The town’s defenders rushed to its defense, only to meet their doom at the hands and maws of the glacier kings. Doomshaper grunted in approval as another section of the town’s walls crumbled under the assault. The crackle of rifle fire had surged when the first troll breached the defenses, but now the shots came in sporadic bursts. Through the whole gruesome scene he thought of the Old Witch’s demands to stay clear of the town. He hoped she watched from some remote perch, vexed at his defiance. For too long the kin had bowed to threats. Once the glacier kings were past the wall and into the town’s streets, the kriel warriors of the north surged through the gap, eager to cut down any remaining Khadoran defenders. People were screaming and fleeing their homes while soldiers sought to provide covering fire. Doomshaper followed the glacier kings through the gap with Mulg lumbering at his side. The persistent call of birds hung on the air. Handfuls of crows stared down in judgment from their pearch atop a battered, leaning watchtower. Such birds were sometimes the old crone’s eyes, Doomshaper knew.

“Look on all you like!” Doomshaper shouted to the crows. He pointed the tip of his staff in their direction. “Your talons have no power here. The hunger of the Shard Spires has come for those who would trespass on kriel lands.” He treaded through freshly fallen snow left behind by the glacier kings. There was little blood and fewer wounded; the appetites of the great troll legends did not allow for prisoners. Ahead, a church topped with a bronze Radiance of Morrow ruptured into a hail of splinters as a glacier king drove a fist through the roof and proceeded to devour those huddled inside. Shots rang out, and a bullet tore past Doomshaper’s head. A handful of Winter Guard huddled in the skeleton of a building worked to reload their rifles. Doomshaper gave Mulg a mental command and the dire troll charged, bellowing in rage at the attempt to harm his master. A wide swipe of his club splintered the remains of a wall and caught the nearest guardsman hard enough to shatter the man’s ribs and send him crashing into his comrades. The tangle of soldiers flailed in the snow, panic plain on their faces. Those posted here were inexperienced and complacent, distinct from Khadoran garrisons closer to contested borders. It had been years since the inhabitants of this region feared the nearest kriels. Doomshaper doubted they would feel so secure after this.

“YOUR WORDS ARE TRUE. WE MUST STAND UNITED. TOGETHER, PERHAPS WE HAVE HOPE.” Mulg brought his club down and crushed the remaining Winter Guard. The dire troll huffed, exhaling clouds of vapor into the cold air as he looked about for further threats. Overhead, the call of crows sounded again. Hundreds perched on the shattered structures and hundreds more circled above the heads of the glacier kings. Clouds of black wings approached Daliskov’s shattered walls from the distant mountains, growing more distinct as they neared. A pair of crows dived for the shaman’s head, striking ineffectively with their beaks before returning to the sky. Others streaked past Mulg, who swatted at them in aggravation. The glacier kings, too, were beset by beaks and talons, more a nuisance than a real threat, though the concentration of birds suggested something greater at play. Doomshaper felt a prickling of unfamiliar magic along his skin. The sky went black, the sun no match for the myriad wings gathered above. Without warning, the crows descended to envelop those beneath them.

11

THE KEY TURNS “The Old Witch seeks to deter us,” Doomshaper shouted to Mulg over the din of the crows, “but she knows not our strength!” He turned to one of the pygs who assisted in bearing his scrolls and pointed sharply at one of the smaller tubes. “Quickly! We must unravel her efforts. No, the one below that!” The pyg adjusted his grip on the tied bundle, extracted the scroll Doomshaper demanded, and thrust it into the shaman’s hand. With a twist, the parchment unfurled to reveal an old rubbing taken from a long-destroyed stone. Doomshaper held the scroll high before him and read the words in a booming voice. Runes blazed into existence and orbited the staff he clutched in his other hand. He raised his voice higher, as though the words would beat back the cloud of crows. Then he, too, was enveloped, as was Mulg. Soon there was nothing on the wind but the shrill calls of crows.

Each swirling column of crows drew in on itself and then exploded outward in a rush. Birds scattered in every

12

direction, reeling and diving to avoid one another. Then they streaked toward the horizon, a streaming dark flock heading south. Doomshaper, Mulg, and the glacier kings were nowhere to be seen. The kriel warriors looked about in confusion. Then a series of metal barbs erupted from the ground to skewer them. The warriors cried out as the metal punctured their legs and pierced their torsos. Those not killed outright struggled to free themselves. The whistle of escaping steam echoed in the shattered town. Scrapjack darted into the street seconds later. Its two long legs pumped furiously, pistons hissing, before the machine crashed talons-first into one of the impaled trollkin. The old woman followed close behind. She slashed through the invaders with her own blackened-iron talons, easily stepping aside from the downward stroke of an axe before driving her blades between a different trollkin’s ribs. Within minutes the remaining trollkin hung limp from the barbs that held up their bodies, and the town was quiet once again.

THE BLOODSTONE MARCHES Calaban kept a low profile, moving among the arid hills that bordered the northwestern reaches of the Bloodstone

Marches. The heat and dry environment left him distinctly uncomfortable, but he tried to ignore the itching between his scales. The warlock was grateful the timing allowed him to carry out the rendezvous under cover of darkness. Maelok moved alongside him, the flames of the various candles crowning his head burning low in the dark. A handful of undead bog trogs shambled behind them with glassy eyes. A single gatorman bokor with unwavering loyalty was the only living being in the entourage. Regardless of the outcome, the even meeting was an act of treachery. Calaban could ill afford to bring anyone who might inform his temperamental leader what transpired among them. Since the Blindwater Congregation started traveling through the hills, trees and waterways had become increasingly rare, and being out in the open made Calaban feel exposed. He cursed Barnabas for his insistence that they travel to such a miserable place on nothing more than the visions of the death charmer Jaga-Jaga. An unlikely opportunity had presented itself. An army of farrow converged from the west toward the same destination as their own, led by warlocks Calaban had fought before. Despite earlier skirmishes, the bokor thought he might have a kindred spirit in the opposing camp, a human advisor to the farrow warlord who desired this conflict as little as Calaban did. Whether the human held enough sway to alter the farrow’s plans remained to be seen. Calaban had risked much to arrange the meeting, relying on discreet messages carried by enslaved spirits. To this point his efforts had gone unnoticed by rival bokors; he could only hope his luck held. Such risks were necessary. While Calaban had so far weathered Barnabas’ crusade for godhood, the time to seek the safety of the shallows had passed. The roaring falls of the warlock’s ascension neared. All that remained was to avoid the rocks below the plunge. To openly suggest they veer from the course would result in punishments worse than death. Calaban knew he must take a more circuitous and ambitious route.

Even as a degree of excitement stirred within him, Dr. Arkadius questioned his own judgment. As a man of science, he had been reluctant to listen to the strange swamp spirits that had visited him over the past several nights. The majority of his previous contact with gatormen had been hostile. He remembered the clash in the Marchfells not long ago, when he very nearly lost his life fighting alongside Lord Carver. Despite this, when the latest swamp spirit came calling, his curiosity got the better of him.

His finger traced the trigger of his combat syringe as he stared out into the dark. A pair of war hogs flanked him and several gun boars waited atop a nearby hill. Targ stood at his back, quiet as always. Now and then the pistons of the war hogs’ mechanical arms let out a hiss that sounded unusually loud in the night’s quiet. In the distance, a faint glow like that of candles winked at him, and as the light drew closer several forms took shape. A trio of gatormen walked at the fore, a dozen smaller figures shuffling behind in the flickering candlelight. His two war hogs bristled, but Arkadius mentally held them in check. He recognized the leading masked gatorman as one of the opposing leaders involved in the Marchfells dispute. He recalled that this one had invoked powerful magic, summoning an enormous malevolent specter that nearly caused the death of Lord Carver and Arkadius both. He was not certain he had implemented sufficient precautions for the meeting. “Greetings, roska’ahn. I did not think . . . you would come,” the masked gatorman said in a rasp, struggling with a rough version of Cygnaran ill-suited to his anatomy. Arkadius knew the literal translation of the Quor-gar term to be “pink skin” but did not take offense. “I am Calaban . . . bokor of . . . Fenn Marsh tribes.” The stench of decay emanated from the gatorman’s allies, most of whom appeared undead. While not surprising, this fact did somewhat unsettle Arkadius. He felt at a disadvantage fighting against such creatures, given the majority of his expertise relied on living tissues. “I am Dr. Arkadius,” he replied, also in Cygnaran. “I know your tongue. You may speak freely.” He found himself considering gatorman anatomy and the myriad distinctions between these creatures and the farrow he often had under his knife. The reptiles were an impressive canvas, though their biological systems were less sophisticated than those of mammals. Impressive as their anatomy might be—and clearly they were nearly perfect killing machines—their flesh was less mutable. Nonetheless, he imagined schematics for mechanized jaws and enhanced limbs as they spoke. Aloud he asked, “You have matters to discuss?” “Indeed.” The bokor turned his head to the side, eyeing Arkadius with a single yellow orb. “The same trouble plagues us both. Our lives are bound to leaders with large dreams but small minds. These lords think they lead, while in truth we control the water’s flow. Our armies pursue the same prey. We are destined to butcher each other fighting over scraps. To what end?” Arkadius nodded. Upon answering Carver’s summons for the current campaign he had vehemently expressed concerns on the matter, only to be silenced. Every farrow that Lord Carver expended in this foolish battle was a lost resource better employed elsewhere—such as in his own work.

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THE KEY TURNS Cautiously he said, “I do not have the ability to control Lord Carver.” With his newfound interest in Helga the Conqueror, Carver was proving even more intractable than usual. His desire to prove his fighting worth to his potential mate took precedence over all other concerns. “Barnabas is similar,” Calaban hissed, the name seeming to evoke frustration within him. “He seeks slaughter regardless of the cost. He will hear of nothing else.” “If neither of us can influence these events, then it seems we are at an impasse, no matter how reasonable we each might be,” Arkadius replied. “I fail to see the point of this conference.” “This is not an impasse, but a crossroads,” Calaban said. A sound that might have been laughter stuttered from the bokor’s maw, but the creature’s eyes remained devoid of emotion. “We must see Barnabas struck down. You must see him struck down. Slay him, and under my command the Congregation will withdraw and leave you the spoils.”

“HE SEEKS SLAUGHTER REGARDLESS OF THE COST. HE WILL HEAR OF NOTHING ELSE.” “Interesting,” Arkadius said. The notion of internal treachery within the ranks of the gatormen had not occurred to him, though it was not surprising. He knew from his studies that gatorman society obeyed an ordinarily rigid social hierarchy, though when change transpired it came violently. Still, he knew better than to trust Calaban. Gatorman beliefs regarding honor and obligation were an unknown. Even if those notions existed, the creatures might not feel obliged to apply them to an outsider. The individual before him did have his own interests. It seemed logical that he might withdraw his forces after usurping power, to preserve his remaining strength. Agreeing to such a plan would cost the doctor nothing. Success would mean reduced casualties and fewer setbacks for his work; failure would leave the farrow in the same position they already occupied. Already he imagined broaching the subject with Lord Carver, perhaps painting the reptilian leader as a prize to prove his reputation to his prospective mate. The farrow warlord was easily motivated by the desire for a worthy opponent, and if Arkadius were to present the information in the presence of the warlord’s subordinates, Carver would have little choice. “Very well. I will see what I can do.”

14

Maelok followed obediently behind Calaban as they headed back to camp. From the open manner in which Calaban ruminated on his plans to his living bokur, it was clear to Maelok that his master considered him nothing more than a helpless slave. Although Maelok remained bound to Calaban, the integrity of the mystical threads that dictated his actions was fraying. For months he had mentally gnawed at these bonds. His acts of resistance were minor and only gradually increased in frequency. This rebelliousness included trekking into secluded swamplands to practice magic without permission. Together, these acts compounded into something resembling defiance. His was a tenuous and untested freedom, secreted away in his stilled heart. Now it seemed to him he must act against his enslaver soon, amid the chaos of the upcoming battle, before Calaban elevated himself to greater standing. “Not a word of this,” Calaban hissed to the living bokor at his side. “We will make what use of the doctor we can. If all goes well, we will consecrate my transition to leader of the Congregation with the blood of the farrow leader.” Calaban did not turn back to offer the warning to Maelok or the undead bog trogs behind him. For all his scheming he was oblivious to the hatred directed at him from the old enemy at his back.

THE BLOODSTONE DESERT Void Seer Mordikaar traversed the barren wastes of the Bloodstone Desert, and spirits of the Void followed him. He had grown accustomed to their ceaseless wails as they swirled about the edges of the gateway in reality that had trailed him since his escape from the Void. From the time he was cast from the battle at Scarleforth Lake by one of the dirt mystic leaders, the rage of the spirits seemed more palpable. The portal attached to him flickered and stretched as if something large lurking in the Void longed to be set free. The face of the cowled human who had banished Mordikaar to the heart of the desert filled his mind, and each step he took was accompanied by a promise of vengeance. The cleverness of the dirt mystic’s actions bothered him more than the discomfort of his current situation. He and the mystic had met once before, outside the Castle of the Keys, when Mordikaar’s inseparable link to the Void stayed the mystic’s hand. This time, rather than seek to kill him, the mystic found a different solution. Mordikaar still did not comprehend the ritual through which he had been thrust deep into the desert. He had felt a rush of unfamiliar power and then the world simply vanished, to be replaced by an entirely foreign environment far from the Army of the Western Reaches.

The desert sun beat down on his withered skin. Multiple sandstorms had assailed him in the last few days. He had eaten little—only the occasional lizard emerging from beneath the sand at night. He was alone with his thoughts and the wails of Void spirits. His body had passed the point when most mortals would have collapsed from exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration. He could feel his blood pumping rhythmically just beneath his skin and the slow burn of his muscles as his legs continued to propel him forward long after they should have stopped. To be skorne and a mortitheurge was to be empowered to weather such hardships. Countless skorne over the centuries had defied the elements to cross equally inhospitable wastes under even harsher conditions. But such travels required at least marginal supplies. With no food or water, the challenge of the task multiplied. Even mortitheurgy had limits. Though Mordikaar’s body continued to function, it resembled a dried husk. It began to consume itself for sustenance, a process slowed only by the infusion of energy provided by his will. He tottered on the edge of life and death, a balance he was convinced relied on his inexplicable link to the Void as much as on his mystical skill. He sensed a slow trickle of cold energy flowing from the Void into his shuffling form, a substitute for natural vitality. Something in the back of his mind warned him not to become too comfortable with this arrangement. A familiar presence brushed his consciousness, and Mordikaar’s ceaseless march stopped abruptly. In all the time spent walking, he had encountered no one. And yet there it was again, a distant prod of familiarity. Mordikaar blinked at the horizon. At the edge of his vision, the form of a shambling beast stood out amid the hues of the desert. As it neared, plates of armor decorated in the red and gold of the empire took shape, as did the lanterns swaying from curved hooks that protruded from the beast’s back and hung over its head. Relief washed over the void seer as the beast known as the Despoiler closed the distance. A product of countless hours of experimentation, the beast was as much a manifestation of the Void as a living creature. He could feel its life force thrumming. Mordikaar drew upon the energy of the beast, pulling stamina from its body into his own. The sense of detachment he had been experiencing lessened. For a moment he held the Despoiler’s gaze, admiring the loyalty instilled in his creation. “We continue west,” Mordikaar said, speaking to himself more than the Despoiler. “I have unfinished business beyond the sands.” With renewed vigor, he continued toward the skorne fortresses he knew awaited him, the Despoiler plodding after. The spirits of the Void screamed behind him, their mouths echoing some inevitable doom.

Mordikaar stood rooted in the sand. He was looking over his shoulder, his gaze tracing the edge of the Void portal drifting behind him. A subtle distortion worked at the portal’s rim. At times it seemed to elongate and lean to one side, as if pulled by some inexplicable force. The distortion had become more pronounced since he first noticed it several hours earlier and the pull seemed to originate from somewhere to the northwest. He had never witnessed such an anomaly and felt certain it was significant. The vast desert sands had given way to hardpan, here and there broken by rock formations. The void seer recalled seeing these landmarks on his initial voyage into the west, and he felt sure his current course would lead him directly back to the Castle of the Keys, where he could continue his work. If he altered his course and headed north, he could find Tyrant’s Lash or one of the smaller outposts in the region. Once he reported in and resupplied, he could devote his attention to finding the source of the irregularity. His mind turned to the extended ritual that had been performed by the dirt mystics at the river battle, and he wondered if the two were related. Despite the narrow-minded opinions of his peers, Mordikaar knew now that they had underestimated this foe. The clatter of lanterns sounded, and Mordikaar turned to see the Despoiler crest a dune. The struggling form of a lizard dangled by its tail from the Despoiler’s fist, trying in vain to bite its captor. From time to time the Despoiler disappeared into the desert to return with a wriggling morsel. Mordikaar’s pace had doubled since the beast rejoined him, his health restored through the small influx of nourishment the Despoiler retrieved. Mordikaar’s lanterns glowed and the lizard thrashed as it died. The void seer absorbed the animal’s vitality and a surge of warmth flowed through his limbs. He then plucked the lizard from the Despoiler’s grip and sank his teeth into its neck. The flesh was tough and unappealing, but the trickle of blood helped to satiate his thirst. As he ate he considered his options, weighing his current path against seeking the origins of the portal’s pull. Mordikaar’s return to his former post would most certainly see his time devoted to Makeda’s campaign through either combat or the harvesting of more void spirits for the war effort. The matter of the unidentified anomaly would go unexamined, and this prospect vexed him. He felt a growing certainty that he should not ignore whatever was affecting the gateway to the Void. He had spent his life in pursuit of tough answers.

15

THE KEY TURNS He wiped a smear of blood from his chin and looked in the direction of the pull. “Come,” Mordikaar said to the Despoiler, tossing the husk of the lizard onto the sand. “Let us walk our own path. Neither Hexeris nor Makeda know where I am, and they can do without me a little longer.” He turned to follow the tug of his portal, feeling immediate relief as he did so. The sufferings endured on his journey were nothing against the torment of questions without answers.

NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES Throughout the camp, trollkin worked to establish a permanent holding. Their departure from Scarleforth Lake and flight from the encroaching skorne had been bloody and perilous, motivating the kin to put all their effort into erecting a defensible home. Behind them, the mountains bordering southern Ios loomed. Though the soil at the base of the great mountain range was not as fertile as the string of lands they had been forced to relinquish, the kriels once native to the Thornwood and other war-torn regions hoped they might carve out a life here. Gunnbjorn had set about constructing defenses shortly after their arrival. The inner fortress of the settlement stood largely complete now, awaiting only finishing touches. The perimeter comprised of wall segments interspersed with buildings curved out from the mountainside to contain the feast hall, a kuar dueling platform, and a number of workshops and homes. The buildings making up this wall’s length served as watchtowers, their tops broad and open to support the positioning of thumper crews. The towers stood thirty feet high, and occasional openings from which pygs could fire their rifles dotted the face of each one. The sides of the walls were sloped to ward off cannon fire, and trenches at the base of each segment limited the options of assailants. Tunnels burrowed into the mountain itself to unearth additional materials as well as creating storage and refuge spaces. A sea of stone homes peppered with the occasional tent stretched out beyond the wall. At the edges of this outer village, groups of runeshapers led by Janissa Stonetide worked to build a secondary wall long enough to enclose the entirety of the gathered kriels. This wall was still largely incomplete—the long sections erected by different construction teams would eventually be joined, but for the moment large gaps still separated them. In addition to transporting stone from the mountainside, the runeshapers sought out materials long buried beneath the earth. Now and then they pulled a slab of rock from the ground and guided it into place alongside slabs carved at the mountain quarries. A number of stonemasons worked to craft the stone to the required specifications, their tools ringing out rhythmically.

16

The cadence was oddly soothing, perhaps speaking to the portions of the Dhunian faith deeply rooted to the earth. Dire trolls traveled between the slopes and the construction area, transporting enormous boulders. The incomplete outer wall would serve as the first line of defense, to be abandoned if warriors found it necessary to retreat to the inner village and its more extensive protections. In a cleared area within the outer wall, Grissel Bloodsong supervised the training of able-bodied trollkin warriors drawn from dozens of kriels. Lines of kriel warriors trained here, driving axes and clubs into shields and stepping into and out of reach with practiced footwork. Those present had proven themselves in combat over the past months, but Grissel insisted they keep in top fighting form. Though many were veteran warriors, most were just now learning a regimented style of formation fighting, borrowed from the humans by Grissel and Gunnbjorn. Hunger was rapidly becoming a problem. Game had been scarce. A considerable portion of what the hunting parties brought in was allocated to the dire trolls to keep their hunger—made worse by the demands of physical labor— from turning toward the trollkin working to finish the fortifications. The warriors, too, had to be kept ready to defend the hold. There was strength in numbers, but keeping so many bellies full proved challenging. Now, with the return of Madrak and his mountain kings, the strain was worse than ever. There was talk of raids on farrow tribes to the south, if it could be managed without provoking the nearer, betterdefended skorne. Madrak had guided the hulking mountain kings partway up the Iosan slopes to avoid unwelcome snacking, and for now they seemed content to heft large stones into their maws or uproot the occasional tree for consumption. Thanks to the chieftain’s recent clash with Circle forces, stories of gargantuans devouring trollkin and druids alike circulated through the camp, and worries about the bottomless hunger of the great troll legends circulated with them. Calandra Truthsayer considered the problem as she stood just beyond the southern portion of the outer wall. She initiated an extended divination, hoping to find hints about how to add to the food stores. She cast a handful of small twig-like bones to clatter in the dirt, then squinted at them closely. She ran a thick finger over their edges, feeling a connection to the land when she touched them. As with all types of divination, the answers were cryptic. Though she had spent the past hour casting and recasting the bones, she had yet to get to the crux of their meaning. Ordinarily portents came easily to her, but not since arriving at their desolate new home. “What say those old bones, Calandra?”

The shaman looked up to see Janissa Stonetide approach, her pickaxe Earthsplitter resting on one shoulder. Although Calandra had limited interaction with the young runeshaper, she had seen Janissa’s skill at manipulating stone firsthand. Without her efforts, they could never have made such rapid progress toward Gunnbjorn’s ambitious plans for defending the settlement. “Nothing I can make heads or tails of,” Calandra said. “They prefer to keep their secrets.” She took a last look at the scattered bones before gathering them into her hands. “How goes work on the wall? I see you have no shortage of stone.” “Raw stone isn’t the problem. It’s the worked stone that’s harder to come by, plus enough strong hands to place it where it’s supposed to go. I could use some of Grissel’s people, or a few of the dozens we have out scrounging for food.” Janissa planted Earthsplitter at her feet, leaned on the haft, and sighed. “Not that I begrudge anyone the need to eat. But seems to me most of those hunters spend all day roaming without anything to show for it.” “Food is the issue at hand,” Calandra said, distracted. Again she cast the bones and examined the patterns, and again she saw the same muddled meanings. “Bounty,” she said, uttering the word as little more than a whisper. “Nonsense.” “Bounty?” Calandra grunted. “At first I thought the pattern warned of a stampede, but now it looks like bounty. I keep trying to figure out if there’s a location where we can find a herd of something the hunters missed, but it keeps telling me it’s already here. The signs are clearly wrong.”

Calandra turned her attention to the inner wall and those toiling along the top of it. “Hey, Prag!” she called to one of the bushwhackers who kept a spyglass. “Give me an eye on that dust cloud!” The pyg snapped off a salute and took his spyglass from the leather tube at his waist. He extended the telescoping brass tube and placed one end to his eye before sweeping the lens over the horizon.

AS IF TO EMPHASIZE THE LACK OF FOOD, AN ANGRY HOWL ROSE FROM ONE OF THE DIRE TROLLS ALONG THE PARTIALLY COMPLETE WALL. “Well?” Janissa yelled up. “Out with it!” “Farrow,” Prag called back. “A lot of farrow. And bigger pigs, too.” With a sinking feeling, the meaning of the bones became clear in Calandra’s mind. Why the farrow would gather to march against them in such a remote area was beyond her understanding, but that didn’t matter now. She and Janissa exchanged a look. Calandra shouted toward the wall, “Raise the alarm! Tell Grissel they’re coming!” “Stampede,” Janissa said, hefting Earthsplitter onto her shoulder. “It appears your bounty is upon us. I suppose work on the walls will have to wait.”

As if to emphasize the lack of food, an angry howl rose from one of the dire trolls along the partially complete wall, and it threw its load of stone to the ground in a tantrum. A nearby shaman settled it down by giving it a large strip of dried meat. For a trollkin the meat might have been a meal, but for a dire troll it was a paltry snack. Janissa looked at Calandra with skepticism. “If your windfall is on the way, I hope it gets here sooner than later.” Calandra nodded, thinking how portents came in many forms. For all she knew, the bones spoke of the feast the mountain kings could enjoy if they devoured the gathered kriels. Dismissing such harsh logic, she scrutinized the signs once more, trying to look past obvious interpretations for a better solution. Janissa looked off at the horizon, taking in the harsh landscape. “What’s that?” she asked, squinting and hooding her eyes with one hand. Following her gaze, Calandra saw a cloud of dust billowing in the distance.

17

THEME FORCES HOARLUK DOOMSHAPER, DIRE PROPHET IMMOVABLE MOUNTAINS WARBEASTS:…Trollblood noncharacter warbeasts, Mulg the Ancient

UNITS: Krielstone Bearer & Stone Scribes, Pyg units SOLOS: Pyg solos, Troll Whelps

TIER 1

TIER 3

Requirements: The army can include only the models listed above.

Requirements: The army includes one or more units with Advance Deployment .

Models in the army gain +2 ARM during the first round of the game.

TIER 2 Requirements: The army includes Troll Whelps.

You gain +1 on your starting roll for the game.

TIER 4 Requirements: The army includes two or more gargantuans. Reduce the cost of gargantuans in this army by 2.

Warbeasts in the army gain +2 SPD during the first round of the game.

Kromac, champion of the Wurm BLOOD PRICE

WARBEASTS: Circle non-character living warbeasts, Ghetorix

UNITS: Sentry Stone & Mannikins, Shifting Stones, Tharn units

SOLOS: Tharn solos TIER 1

TIER 3

Requirements: The army can include only the models listed above.

Requirements: The army includes three or more light warbeasts.

Increase the FA of Tharn units and solos by 1.

Reduce the cost of light warbeasts by 1.

TIER 2

TIER 4

Requirements: The army includes one or more Bloodweaver models/units.

Requirements: The army includes one or more Sentry Stone & Mannikins units.

For each Bloodweaver unit or solo in the army, up to one model in the army with Heart Eater gains one corpse token at the start of the game. The same model can gain multiple corpse tokens but cannot gain more corpse tokens than it could gain normally.

For each Sentry Stone & Mannikins unit in the army, place one 3 AOE forest template anywhere completely within 20 of the back edge of Kromac’s deployment zone after terrain has been placed but before either player deploys his army. Forest templates cannot be placed within 3 of another terrain feature including other forest templates.

Permission is hereby granted to create reproductions of this page for personal, non-commercial use only.

18

ZAAL, THE ANCESTRAL ADVOCATE EXALTED LEGIONS WARBEASTS: Skorne non-character warbeasts

UNITS: Paingiver Beast Handlers, Skorne Construct units SOLOS: Skorne Construct solos

TIER 1

TIER 3

Requirements: The army can include only the models listed above.

Requirements: The army includes two or more Immortals units.

Increase the FA of non-character Construct and solos in the army by 1.

units

TIER 2 Requirements: The army includes two or more warbeasts with SPD 6 or greater. Your deployment zone is extended 2 forward.

Add an attachment to one Immortals unit free of cost. This attachment does not count toward FA restrictions.

TIER 4 Requirements: The army includes three or more Construct solos. Construct solos in the army begin the game with three soul tokens.

SAERYN & RHYAS, TALONS OF EVERBLIGHT MIGHT & MAGIC

WARBEASTS: Legion non-character warbeasts, Zuriel

SOLOS: Blighted Nyss Sorceress & Hellion, Incubi, Spell Martyrs

UNITS: Blighted Nyss Swordsmen, Hex Hunters

TIER 1

TIER 3

Requirements: The army can include only the models listed above.

Requirements: The army includes three or more different Nephilim warbeasts.

Increase the FA of non-character Blighted Nyss Swordsman and Hex Hunter units and unit attachments in the army by 1.

Nephilim warbeasts 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.)

TIER 2

TIER 4

Requirements: The army includes one or more Spell Martyrs.

Requirements: The army includes one or more units of Blighted Nyss Swordsmen and one or more units of Hex Hunters.

Spell Martyrs gain Stealth round of the game.

during the first

Reduce the point cost of Nephilim Soldiers and Nephilim Bloodseers in the army by 1.

Permission is hereby granted to create reproductions of this page for personal, non-commercial use only.

19

TWO FRONTS OUTER UNITED KRIELS VILLAGE, NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES Grissel whipped Resounder through the air again, connecting solidly with the chest of the nearest farrow to send the creature crashing into his fellows in a broken heap. She belted out one fell call after another, and up and down the unfinished expanses of the southern outer wall, her warriors held fast against the invasion. The farrow were numerous but unorganized, and the outer defenses, though incomplete, provided the kriel defenders with bottlenecks to hold the opposing army at bay. “Fire!” Gunnbjorn’s deep voice roared from atop the outer wall. “Show those mangy cutthroats what it means to take up arms against the United Kriels!” All along the structure’s length sounded the crackle and boom of rifles, thumper cannons, and mortar fire as those under Gunnbjorn’s command let fly another barrage. Louder discharges rang out from behind the warriors holding the gaps, where half a dozen war wagons were firing their pounders over the heads of trollkin engaged in melee. Farrow clutched at mortal wounds as the shots found their marks, or were torn apart and launched into the air by artillery fire. The trollkin were holding and the farrow were taking casualties, but the steadily increasing number of enemies amassing beyond the walls made Grissel uneasy. This was no gathering of a few opportunistic local tribes. Among the gathering horde loomed the hulking forms of warbeasts flanking farrow warlords that had yet to join the battle. “Conserve your ammunition, Gunnbjorn!” she shouted. She had never seen such an organized war effort from farrowkind. Every time she thought the tide of pigs was at an end, another band appeared. They numbered in the thousands. Great gouts of smoke rose from large, strange machines not entirely dissimilar to war wagons. The front of each contraption was fitted with a churning wheel laden with spikes, and occasionally a slow farrow was pulled beneath the deadly cylinder to leave a streak of gore as the machine advanced. Hundreds of farrow already swarmed the walls, yet the majority of their number waited out of range of troll cannons and firearms. Grissel believed they were probing the village’s defenses before mounting their main assault. A pair of brigands leapt at her with their clubs. She evaded the first, but the second scored a glancing blow on her shoulder. She caught the offending farrow in the face with a backswing, and one of the kriel warriors flanking her struck down the other. The nearest brigands fell back to regroup while pygs on the wall behind fired on them. Grissel stepped back and turned, hearing her name called. “Do you think we can hold?” Calandra asked, looking harried.

“I believe so. The greater question is how long before the farrow cut their losses and run. Where are we with the withdrawal?” “I’ve met some resistance of my own,” Calandra said, jerking her chin in the direction of trollkin warriors who were setting up makeshift defenses around a cluster of recently erected houses. “Many of them are tired of trading one home for another. It’s going to take more than farrow to convince them to pack up and hide behind the walls at the inner fort.” “Can’t say that I blame them,” Grissel said. She looked to the gates in the center of the inner village wall. A steady stream of trollkin were passing through, mostly the elderly and those too young to fight. Grissel hoped to preserve the outer village, but they were preparing to get everyone to safety in case their defenses were overrun. In the distance, she could see Madrak returning from the mountains with the mountain kings. If she could hold back the farrow until they arrived, the invading force might be shattered outright. The two of them heard a shout and turned to see one of the scouts from the western wall rushing toward them, the look on his face eloquently expressing his alarm and disbelief. The sight knotted Grissel’s stomach. “Gatormen, from the west!” the scout exclaimed. “Headed straight for the western walls. Too many to count!” Gatormen never ventured far from their swamps. It made no sense that they would strike out into the sunbaked wasteland against the kriels. For a moment Grissel thought to question the scout further, but the trollkin’s face told her everything she needed to know. He was not just jumping at shadows. She looked down the length of the wall toward the wider gaps on the western side. She had directed all her warriors to the southern side to combat the farrow, and the wall here was more complete than elsewhere. Only a few scattered groups remained to cover the rest of the wall, a fact that had already been worrying her. She had expected some of the attacking farrow to eventually spread out along the perimeter to look for better points of ingress. Now a second army was fast approaching, and there was precious little time to reallocate warriors to stand against the gatormen. “Get everyone inside,” Grissel said, turning back to Calandra. “We’re going to perform a fighting retreat. Tell Gunnbjorn. I’ll buy you what time I can.” She clapped Calandra on the shoulder and began yelling orders, hoping to bolster the gathered warriors under her command. She kept her voice steady, betraying none of the panic she felt.

21

HOARLUK DOOMSHAPER, DIRE PROPHET TROLLBLOOD EPIC TROLLKIN WARLOCK UNIT In his hands, our very history is a weapon. —Grissel Bloodsong

DOOMSHAPER SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

7

5

4

13 15

8

KRIEL STAFF POW

P+S

6

13

FURY DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE WARBEAST POINTS MEDIUM BASE

7 16 C +3

FEAT: BLOOD OF DHUNIA Through decades of study and deep introspection, Hoarluk Doomshaper has mastered the links between troll and trollkin. By calling upon the secrets of the blood, Doomshaper unleashes the true might of Dhunia’s children, turning muscle to stone and mending even severe wounds as fast as the enemy can inflict them.

While within Doomshaper’s control area, models in his battlegroup gain an additional die on melee attack rolls. When a model in Doomshaper’s battlegroup that is in his control area is hit by an enemy attack, the attacker rolls one fewer die on the attack damage roll. After the attack is resolved, if the model in Doomshaper’s battlegroup was damaged by the attack, it heals d3 damage points. Blood of Dhunia lasts for one round.

DOOMSHAPER Tough Field Marshal [Hyper Regeneration] – Models in this model’s battlegroup gain Hyper Regeneration. (A model with Hyper Regeneration automatically heals d3 damage points at the start of each of its activations.) Goad – When a warbeast in this model’s battlegroup destroys one or more enemy models with a melee attack during its combat action, immediately after the attack is resolved this model can force the warbeast to advance up to 2 .

KRIEL STAFF 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 model’s STR plus the POW of this weapon. The POW of collateral damage is equal to this model’s STR.

Hoarluk Doomshaper has cemented himself by word and deed as an essential pillar of the United Kriels. Through his exploration into the history and the blood of trolls, he unearthed long-forgotten secrets; his indomitable will tore legends from the krielstones of the past and brought them roaring into the present, hungry and filled with rage. Those who thought him mad were silenced as his most dire predictions have come true. Many who once shunned him for his radical ideals now beseech him for aid and seek his leadership as enemies close in on all sides. Doomshaper preaches a violent rhetoric embracing aggression and

22

SPELLS ADMONITION

COST 2

RNG 6

AOE POW UP OFF – – YES NO

When an enemy model advances and ends its movement within 6 of target model in this model’s battlegroup, the affected model can immediately advance up to 3 , then Admonition expires. The affected model cannot be targeted by free strikes during this movement.

IMPLACABILITY

2

SELF CTRL

–

NO NO

While in this model’s control area, models in its battlegroup cannot be knocked down, placed, pushed, or moved by a slam. Implacability lasts for one round.

REPUDIATE

2

10

–

–

NO YES

Enemy upkeep spells and animi on the model/unit directly hit by Repudiate immediately expire. An enemy model maintaining an upkeep spell that expired as a result of Repudiate suffers d3 damage points.

STRANGLEHOLD

2

10

–

11

NO YES

A model damaged by Stranglehold forfeits either its movement or its action during its next activation, as its controller chooses.

UNMINDING

3

10

–

–

YES YES

Target enemy warbeast suffers –2 FURY and THR and loses its animus. This model can cast an affected warbeast’s animus as a spell as if the animus belonged to a warbeast in this model’s battlegroup and in its control area.

TACTICAL TIPS FIELD MARSHAL – This includes this model. GOAD – Because the warbeast is forced, it gains 1 fury point. CRITICAL SMITE – The slammed model is moved only half the distance rolled if its base is larger than the slamming model’s. REPUDIATE – Because they expire immediately, upkeep spells and animi that had an effect when the model/unit was hit or damaged will have no effect.

the annihilation of all foes. Yet while his words are an incitement to war, the shaman would sacrifice everything to ensure his people endure. He has proven that victory cannot be attained through peace, but instead requires strength and ruthless ferocity. Doomshaper has become a living repository of lore rivaling even the omnipotents of the Circle Orboros. He never slows in his search for hidden truths, particularly those pertaining to the legacy of the trollkin people. This hunt for lore has led him to knowledge of the Molgur tribes of old as well as hints of the lost times of prehistory when trollkin were the first intelligent race to walk Caen. During a long lifetime of searching, he has scoured every sacred site and spent endless hours collecting rubbings from krielstones across western Immoren, accumulating a wealth of ancient teachings. Once he took it as a point of pride to carry these scrolls and their protective cases on his person. Over time, keeping even a limited selection of the most spiritually potent writings has become an unwieldy burden. His role at the

23

SCROLL BEARER

SCROLL BEARER SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

6

5

4

13 13

DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE MEDIUM BASE

8

5 C

Tough Attached to [Doomshaper] – This model is attached to Doomshaper for the rest of the game. Each warlock can have only one model attached to it.

Scroll Bearer – Once per turn during Doomshaper’s activation while he is B2B with this model, he can use one of the following scrolls. Each scroll can be used only once per game. • Scroll of the Call of Troqal – While within Doomshaper’s control area, each warbeast in his battlegroup can gain 0 fury when forced to use its animus instead of gaining fury points equal to the COST of the animus. Scroll of the Call of Troqal lasts for one turn. • Scroll of the Hand of Yolandi – Enemy models pay double the focus or fury point cost to cast or upkeep spells in Doomshaper’s control area for one round. • Scroll of the Time of the Molgur – While in Doomshaper’s control area this turn, friendly Faction warrior models gain an additional die on attack rolls. Discard the lowest die in each roll. Scroll of the Time of the Molgur lasts for one turn.

24

forefront of the battles of the United Kriels necessitated accepting assistance. A number of stout pygmy trolls volunteered to help shoulder the legendary shaman’s burden. Those taking on this task are loaded down with enough scrolls and cases to rival the weight of equipment borne by the most heavily armored kriel warriors. Even this impressive collection pales in comparison to the knowledge Doomshaper has committed to memory and which would be lost with him if he perished. Doomshaper has learned more of the connection between trollkin and full-blood trolls than anyone before him. Through his will and audacity, the might of the dire trolls was joined to the kriels. This accomplishment alone saved the lives of countless warriors who could not otherwise have stood against the warjacks and beasts of their enemies. Doomshaper’s connection with these great trolls is a deep one. His reputation has grown such that his word is law to all full-blood trolls, and his name commands universal respect and fear from these primal minds. They see him as a being greater than his size suggests, more of a natural force than a person. In this simple assumption they are wise, since Doomshaper serves as a conduit for the wrath and protective ferocity of Dhunia. The world is his vast and limitless goddess, and he walks nowhere that she is not with him.

The deep communion between Doomshaper and the greatest trolls is more than a matter of lore—it has changed the shaman’s very being. When he entered into a pact with Mulg the Ancient, offering his own hand for consumption, Doomshaper learned to regenerate as trolls do. The life and vitality flowing through him belies his age, allowing him to shrug off brutal injuries. He has learned to extend this tremendous regenerative power to the trolls under his command, making them tenacious beyond belief. Even before his emergence from the Gnarls to participate in the greater struggles of his people, Doomshaper stood as a figure both feared and respected among the trollkin. His stature inspired confidence and loyalty, but it also brought Doomshaper into conflict with a number of tribal elders, all of whom he crushed or cowed into obedience. Doomshaper’s war rhetoric and promises of retribution for past wrongs inflicted upon his race enticed many youthful trollkin to answer his call for blood. No longer is Doomshaper content to merely react to challenges presented to the kriels. Instead his plans revolve around taking the fight to his enemies. Already he has set his sights on several human cities within reach of the great forests the trollkin call home. His ability to persevere and his willingness to retaliate with brutal aggression turned Doomshaper into a legendary figure that inspires fierce dedication in the most warlike of the kriels. Doomshaper restored to the kriels the confidence they had nearly surrendered in the face of their many setbacks and misfortunes. The number of transgressions against the kin is numerous, and Doomshaper’s list of grievances is long. His people have been exploited and betrayed at every turn, driven from their traditional homes and made welcome in few places. For this reason, the Shaman of the Gnarls never ceased

searching for newer and greater weapons to add to his arsenal. Without the ability to contend with their enemies, the kin risk being wiped from Caen. His understanding of this grim possibility motivated Doomshaper to search for allies even greater than the dire trolls. Through his dusty scrolls he looked back to legends from the dawn of the world, when mountains walked and when the earth of Dhunia’s body mixed with the Wurm’s predatory blood to birth the progenitors of all trollkind. Though his peers dismissed these legends as fanciful myths, Doomshaper proved them wrong. He found ancient markers specifying where the troll kings had been imprisoned. Against the warnings of his ancestors, he awakened and freed the mountain kings, saving them from the twisted deprivations of the Tree of Fate. In doing so Doomshaper unleashed beings as dangerous as they are fearsome, but he knows that only such extreme measures can reverse the horrors inflicted on his people. He works to ensure that the endless hunger and anger of these trolls is ever directed at his foes. While other leaders among the kriels seek to make the best of the hand dealt to them, Doomshaper does not accept retreats or self-defeating compromises. His success in locating the mountain kings sparked his desire to retrieve yet more of their kind from slumber, to find other ways to bring pain and destruction to his enemies. He would like nothing better than to see the cities of the nations of man tremble and fall and to hear their monarchs beg for mercy. He intends to strike at them not only for wrongdoings inflicted during his lifetime, but also for all the strife between their races since the Menites brought fire and sword to the Molgur kriels. A thousand terrified screams are not enough to begin to balance the scales, and Doomshaper is ready to release an avalanche of carnage.

25

GLACIER KING TROLLBLOOD GARGANTUAN It is like the bones of winter itself grew muscle, sinew, and a bad temperament. —Calandra Truthsayer

GLACIER KING

GLACIER KING

Immunity: Cold

SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

15

5

5

9

19

4

Terror 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.

WIND THROWER —

RNG ROF AOE POW

12

3

—

14

BIG FROSTY FIST L

POW

P+S

4

19

BIG FROSTY FIST R

POW

P+S

4

19

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST HUGE BASE

Snowfall – While within 3 of this model, friendly models gain concealment and friendly models with Prowl gain Stealth .

5 6 2 18

WIND THROWER Damage Type: Cold

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.

BIG FROSTY FIST Open Fist Freeze – A model hit by this weapon becomes stationary for one round unless it has Immunity: Cold .

2

1

BODY

3 IR IT

M

IN D

SP

6

4

5

The awakening of the mountain kings chained beneath the Wyrmwall reminded the world of the eternal hunger that once roved the land. The north, too, has its kings of the peaks, and they are no less insatiable in their appetites for destruction than their southern cousins. Gifted by the hand of Dhunia with an affinity for the elements that envelop them, the glacier kings are the embodiment of winter and the frozen north. Localized storms laden with ice and snow swirl about their towering forms, streams and lakes ice

26

ANIMUS

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF

FROZEN GROUND

2

SELF

–

–

NO NO

When an enemy model without Immunity: Cold ends its activation within 3 of this model, the enemy model is knocked down. Frozen Ground lasts for one round.

TACTICAL TIP SNACKING – Because the boxed model is removed from play before being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token.

over at their passing, and tree trunks explode in a hail of splinters under the pressure of sap rapidly expanding in the sudden cold. Even after the imprisonment of the glacier kings by the northern kriels, tales of the greatest among these trolls circulated far and wide. Trollkin children heard stories of Winter’s Maw battling giant mountain bears across the Shard Spires. Around low-burning fires, accounts were whispered of Icebringer devouring entire kriels. Some shamans attributed the penetrating cold of the north entirely to these primal trolls, saying that avalanches were caused by the beasts rolling over in their sleep and that the harshest storms followed their foul moods. Such stories persisted for generations. Now the glacier kings walk the world again, unearthed by Hoarluk Doomshaper after years of research and many lengthy expeditions, and the harsh realities of the creatures’ wild tempers outstrip any tale. While their insatiable appetites had gnawed at these gargantuan trolls in their cold, dark prisons, the lust for battle also filled their restless dreams. Thousands of years of anger carries them forward now in an avalanche of ice and fang. Massive fists sunder mountainsides and flatten villages while the perpetual snowfall surrounding them obscures any forms alongside them. Howling gales whirl about their shoulders and chill with the might of the northern winds. The moisture in the air crackles as it freezes, and the exposed hands and faces of enemies are quickly enveloped by frostbite. Snow and ice blanket the ground at the glacier kings’ feet, and enemies who lose their footing nearby are promptly crushed to death or frozen solid before being lofted into a mouth of jagged, yellowed teeth. At Doomshaper’s bidding, these incarnations of winter now descend from the most remote mountain peaks to hurl themselves against the enemies of the kriels. One question remains in the minds of many trollkin: who will attract the attention of the glacier kings once these battles are won?

27

DHUNIAN KNOT TROLLBLOOD TROLLKIN UNIT The road calls to us, and we walk it as one. —Nargessel, Shaman of the North

LEADER & GRUNTS

LEADER & GRUNTS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

6

5

4

13 13

8

Magic Ability [5]

RITUAL BLADE POW

P+S

2

8

FIELD ALLOWANCE LEADER & 2 GRUNTS MEDIUM BASE

Tough

2 3

• Heal (HAction) – Choose a friendly living model B2B with this model. That model heals d3 damage points.

• Puppet Master (HAction or Attack) – Puppet Master is a RNG 10 spell. When it targets an enemy model/unit, it is a magic attack. You can have one affected model reroll one or more dice of your choice rolled for a command check, attack, or damage roll, then Puppet Master expires. Puppet Master lasts for one round. Wild Communion – When a warbeast within 3 of this model makes a Threshold check, you can have the warbeast reroll one or more dice of your choice. Dice can be rerolled only once as a result of Wild Communion.

RITUAL BLADE Magical Weapon

The Dhunian knot is an old tradition of trollkin shamans banding together to combine their mystical power and thereby better serve a region’s kriels as healers and advisors. Those who join a knot commit to a life of wandering together

28

TACTICAL TIP MAGIC ABILITY – Performing a Magic Ability special action or special attack counts as casting a spell.

between scattered trollkin villages. The current hardships have prompted trollkin to value the concept of kin over all else, and more shamans have chosen this path as a result. When a knot enters battle directly, they call upon Dhunia to heal the wounds of those on the front lines and also manipulate the threads of fate. The guiding hands of these shamans lend the strikes of kriel warriors a preternatural precision, and enemies find their blades turned aside and their footwork muddled at inopportune times. Even the outcome of battles considered hopeless may prove more favorable under the guidance of a knot. The presence of the shamans is comforting to many, the deep thrum of their chants instilling confidence and resolve. They can bring a dire troll back from the edge of a rampage or even magically compel others’ beasts to rise up against their masters. Later in life, Dhunian knots settle in a single village to serve as healers and trusted elders, though recent events have compelled even these older knots to join their kith in battle when communities are threatened. Perhaps more than any other trollkin, the Dhunian knot represents the undying connection between all kin and the Great Mother.

PYG BUSHWHACKERTROLLBLOOD OFFICER UNIT & MORTAR ATTACHMENT The more firepower we give them, the happier they are to use it. —Captain Gunnbjorn

TACTICAL TIP TACTICS: CAMOUFLAGE – If a model ignores concealment or cover, it also ignores concealment or cover’s Camouflage bonus.

Bushwhackers are now commonplace among the fighting forces of the United Kriels. Captain Gunnbjorn’s efforts have seen pyg combatants organized into increasingly effective teams equipped with firepower to match. Pygs fighting under militarized trollkin leaders now follow a system of promotion similar to that of a traditional military, complete with uniforms and insignia. Trollkin commanders

Attachment [Pyg Bushwhackers] – This attachment can be added to a Pyg Bushwhackers unit.

OFFICER SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

5

5

8

RNG ROF AOE POW

Advance Deployment

14

Combined Ranged Attack

Granted: Combined Arms – While this model is in play, models in its unit gain Combined Arms. (When a model with Combined Arms misses an attack roll for a combined ranged attack, it can reroll that attack roll. Each attack roll can be rerolled only once as a result of Combined Arms.)

13 12

RIFLE

OFFICER

Tough

5

1

—

10

HAND WEAPON POW

P+S

3

8

MORTAR PYG SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

5

4

4

13 12

7

LIGHT MORTAR RNG ROF AOE POW

14

1

4

12

HAND WEAPON POW

P+S

3

8

OFFICER’S DAMAGE 5 FIELD ALLOWANCE 1 OFFICER & MORTAR PYG 2 SMALL BASE

Slip Away (Order) – Affected models make a full advance during their normal movement this activation, can advance through other models if they have enough movement to move completely past them, and cannot be targeted by free strikes. Models in this unit gain Camouflage. (Models with Camouflage gain an additional +2 DEF when benefiting from concealment or cover.)

MORTAR PYG Advance Deployment Tough

LIGHT MORTAR Arcing Fire – When attacking with this weapon, this model can ignore intervening models except those within 1 of the target. Range Finder – While B2B with another model in this unit, this model gains +2 to attack rolls with this weapon.

grant ranks like corporal or sergeant to pygs who have proven themselves particularly intelligent and disciplined and assign them teams to lead in the field. Attacks these pyg officers orchestrate can often end skirmishes before they begin by striking from unseen positions. Other pygs have progressed from rifles to heavier weaponry. The kriels have been training gunsmiths and finding ways to fabricate firearms and light artillery. The inclusion of mortars brings the shriek of shells after the initial volley of rifle fire, punctuated by an infantry-shredding detonation. Pyg mortar crews exhibit remarkable accuracy, especially if aided by a spotter to help in range finding.

29

SandS of fate BLOODSTONE MARCHES Mohsar floated above the dunes of the Bloodstone Marches, his cloaked form turning in slow circles. The occasional gust of wind pulled at the folds of his clothing and sent a spray of sand swirling about him. His head was thrown back and his arms flung wide, his face with its milky-white eyes lifted to the desert sun as its warmth radiated across his upraised palms. Pillars of finely carved stone jutted from the earth around him, each thrumming, and it was through these stones that Mohsar amplified his awareness of the Bloodstone Desert and the regions beyond its borders. A pair of Celestial Fulcrums circled the site to further enhance his efforts, each creaking and groaning softly as the wood supporting the stone pieces representing Caen’s moons flexed, the orbs tilting and spinning about their axis. Through the converging ley lines Mohsar could sense the druids under his command working to repair or rebuild sites destroyed in the aftermath of the battle at the Bones of Orboros. The resulting disruption of energy flows made coordinating their efforts difficult. He could also sense the anomaly he knew to be the skorne void seer he had cast deep into the wastes during that same battle. He mentally tracked the tear in reality as the skorne warlock made his return trek, veering toward one of his people’s military holdings just south of the Iosan border. Mohsar had yet to find a more lasting solution for that particular problem. Through sheer will, he reshaped the land as though the whole of the desert lay beneath his fingers. Slabs of rock erupted from the earth, hills eroded as he redirected rivers, sand dunes rose in great waves to crest and crash upon the mountainsides, and heavy clouds rolled from the distant Stormlands to flood stretches of sun-bleached waste. The work was slow and strenuous, but he was making progress. A mental projection he recognized as Bradigus Thorle pulled at his consciousness from across the miles, requesting an audience. Mohsar had sent the Runecarver to repair the more severe ley line fractures, and he felt a flare of agitation at the thought that Thorle might have deviated from that task. Unlike many in the organization, the Runecarver had always proven dependable. Mohsar gave him the benefit of the doubt and granted his request. Soon there was a sound like the cracking of granite, and Bradigus Thorle appeared. “State your business,” Mohsar said, cutting off any formalities. He tried to temper his displeasure at having his work interrupted, though it came through in his voice. “I’ve discovered another potentially more alarming disruption to the the ley line network,” Thorle said. “Energy from both Lortus’ dominion and your own has been significantly drained.”

“You think I did not notice this already?” Mohsar asked. The creaking of the Celestial Fulcrums mingled with the whistle of the wind as it passed over the ring of stones. “What new information do you bring on this matter?” “Closer examination revealed much of this stolen power being funneled through an obscure sacred site in the Scabbard Hills,” Thorle said calmly, seemingly unfazed by Mohsar’s irritation. “It became clear there was outside interference. I believe these stolen energies were utilized for mass teleportation.” Mohsar lowered his arms and turned toward Thorle’s voice, looking at him through the power of Orboros rather than his own eyes. “The Stormlord?” “That was my initial thought. I believe he is involved in a dangerous project affecting the ley lines, a matter Lyvene the Wayopener is investigating. Blighted energies have erupted at several connecting nodes across all three dominions, likely related to movement of the dragons. But Krueger is not behind what transpires in the northern Bloodstone Marches. When I arrived there, I encountered interference from the Tree of Fate.” The Runecarver paused to allow that to sink in. Mohsar found his theatrics annoying. “Go on,” he snapped. “Wurmwood convinced me to allow the passage of a sizable army of gatormen and bog trogs through the Scabbard Hills. As promised, they did not damage our site. They appeared to be there at the tree’s bidding. Our conversation was brief, but I could feel the tree’s roots drawing heavily upon the ley lines. Whatever is happening, I am certain Wurmwood is behind it. I suspect a great ritual will soon be initiated.” Mohsar was silent as he extended his mind across the miles to focus on the specific remote region Thorle described. He sensed the reptilian army, far from the lush swamps they called home. An intense aura of darkness gathered around them, as if the entire army was suffused with necrotic energies. As he broadened his perspective, a more familiar ripple of discordant power caught his attention. It was the skorne void seer again. Now Mohsar saw his path was likely to intersect with that taken by the gatorman army. With him traveled the rent in reality between Caen and Urcaen that was anchored to his soul. Mohsar returned to himself and looked again at Bradigus Thorle. “You have done well. Return to your work and await my call. I must attend to this matter personally.” Mohsar gathered his power, extending it into and through the Celestial Fulcrums, then became one with the wind and sand.

31

Kromac , champion of the Wurm CIRCLE EPIC THARN WARLOCK The Tharn king rules not with the weight of his crown but with the weight of his axe. —Wolf Lord Morraig

FEAT: BLOOD LUST

KROMAC SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

10

8

4

14 18

4

RATHROK POW

P+S

7

17

FURY DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE WARBEAST POINTS LARGE BASE

7 19 C +4

Kromac stands as the anointed champion of the Wurm, and through him the primal fury of the Beast of All Shapes unleashes a primal howl. Upon hearing his call, the greatest beasts of the wilds descend upon the Tharn king’s foes in a frenzy of tooth and claw.

While within Kromac’s control area, living models in his battlegroup gain +2 STR and ARM. When a living friendly Faction model makes a charge attack against an enemy model while the enemy model is in Kromac’s control area, the attack automatically hits. Blood Lust lasts for one round.

KROMAC Terror Heart Eater – This model gains a corpse token each time it destroys a living enemy model with a melee attack. This model can have 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.

RATHROK Magical Weapon Reach Life Drinker – When it destroys a living enemy model with this weapon, immediately after the attack is resolved this model heals d3 damage points.

Kromac’s howl is the first and final note in a chorus of a thousand untamed beasts. The deepest and most primal secrets of the Wurm’s chosen stir within his blood. His scattered tribes hold great feasts in his honor, for they see him as their greatest king. They offer him goblets fashioned from the skulls of victims and filled with fermented blood, together with hearts and marrow collected from the most dangerous prey. He takes the best warriors of these tribes into battle, letting them join in the carnage to prove their dedication to the Wurm. He is called Kromac the Ravenous, King of All Tuaths, and Champion of the Wurm. Through Kromac’s bond with the Beast of All Shapes, someday soon the nations of man will fall. For many years the Tharn king served the blackclads of the Circle Orboros, believing their aims aligned with his own. While Kromac still respects some among them, he now refuses to serve them as an inferior and demands the respect he is due. Kromac made binding promises to

32

SPELLS AGGRAVATOR

COST 3

RNG AOE POW UP OFF SELF CTRL – YES NO

While in this model’s control area, friendly warbeasts gain Hyper Aggressive. (When a model with Hyper Aggressive suffers damage from an enemy attack anytime except while it is advancing, after the attack is resolved it can immediately make a full advance directly toward the attacking model.)

AWAKENED SPIRIT

2

6

–

–

YES NO

Target warbeast in this model’s battlegroup can use its animus once during its activation without being forced. A warbeast that uses its animus as a result of Awakened Spirit cannot also be forced to use its animus that activation.

CARNAGE

3

SELF CTRL

–

NO NO

Friendly Faction models gain +2 to melee attack rolls against enemy models in this model’s control area. Carnage lasts for one turn.

PRIMAL HOWL

3

SELF

*

–

–

*

NO NO

While in this model’s command range, living enemy models suffer –2 to their attack rolls and living enemy models/units suffer –2 CMD when making command checks. Primal Howl lasts for one round.

PRIMAL SHOCK

2

CTRL

NO YES

Choose a friendly Faction warbeast in this model’s control area. Target an enemy model within 8 of the chosen warbeast and make a magic attack against it. The chosen warbeast is the attack’s point of origin. If the enemy model is hit, it suffers a damage roll with a POW equal to the warbeast’s base STR.

Wurmwood, the Tree of Fate, as avatar of the Wurm. His ties to this entity bred unease among the ranking druids, who have only indirect influence over the tree’s actions. One of Wurmwood’s far-reaching schemes resulted in Kromac battling the trollkin chieftain Madrak Ironhide to claim the axe Rathrok—the World Ender. Amid this strife Kromac witnessed the Wurm made manifest on Caen, a blessed revelation. Since this event, he has achieved mastery over his bestial form and no longer feels the need to return to a human guise. He walks amid his tribes as a hulking creature beyond the size or strength of any other chieftain, yet his every thought is his own. None who see him can doubt he is the Wurm’s one true champion. Ancient powers guide Kromac’s fate and have awarded him with a pivotal role in the eternal battle between civilization and the wilds. The axe he bears is a mighty artifact with a bloody history connected to the ancestors of the Tharn. Thousands of years ago, the weapon was lost to those loyal to the Wurm in the last clash between the great Molgur tribes and the Calacians. Now it has found its way back to those who would wield it to tear down the walls of mankind. Kromac has taken it upon himself to reawaken the full power of Rathrok, even if the axe requires an unending tide of bloodshed in return.

33

Storm raptor CIRCLE GARGANTUAN Its wings are the flash of lightning, its cry the call of thunder. —Una the Falconer

RAPTOR

RAPTOR SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

13

5

6

12 18

LIGHTNING —

RNG ROF AOE POW

12

1

—

14

—

POW

P+S

5

18

TALON L

POW

P+S

4

17

TALON R

POW

P+S

4

17

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST HUGE BASE

4 9 2 19

Immunity: Electricity 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. Plasma Nimbus – If this model is hit by a melee attack, immediately after the attack is resolved the attacking model suffers a POW 10 electrical damage roll unless this model was destroyed or removed from play by the attack.

Superconduction – When a friendly model attacks with a ranged weapon with Damage Type: Electricity , it gains +2 to attack rolls against enemy models within 5 of this model. 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.

LIGHTNING Damage Type: Electricity Lightning Generator – When a model is hit with this weapon, lightning arcs from that model to d3 consecutive additional models. The lightning arcs to the nearest model it has not already arced to within 4 of the last model it arced to, ignoring this model. Each model the lightning arcs to suffers a POW 10 electrical damage roll .

BEAK Disruption – A warjack hit loses its focus points and cannot be allocated focus or channel spells for one round. Electro Leap – When a model is hit with this weapon, you can have lightning arc to the nearest model within 4 of the model hit, ignoring the attacking model. The model the lightning arcs to suffers an unboostable POW 10 electrical damage roll .

TALON Open Fist Disruption – See above. Electro Leap – See above.

ANIMUS SKY FIRE

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF 2

SELF

*

–

NO NO

When an enemy model in this model’s command range suffers an electrical damage roll , add +2 to the roll. Sky Fire lasts for one round.

34

BODY

3

IN D

M

BEAK

2

1

9

IR IT

7

SP

6

4

5

TACTICAL TIPS LIGHTNING GENERATOR – The lightning will still arc to models with Immunity: Electricity; it just cannot damage them. Damage from Lightning Generator is not considered to have been caused by a hit or by a melee or ranged attack. ELECTRO LEAP – The lightning will still arc to a model with Immunity: Electricity; it just cannot damage that model. Damage from Electro Leap is not considered to have been caused by a hit or by a melee or ranged attack.

This terrible bird of prey soars over the battlefields of Immoren rife with electrical energies, its silhouette blotting out the sun while its keen eyes scan for those who would oppose the will of its masters. Lightning flickers through its feathers, to be unleashed in blinding arcs of voltaic energy as the raptor dives upon its prey, talons extended for the kill. Native to the desolate northern Stormlands, this great beast makes its home on the steep cliff faces of the Abyss. It is a superb hunter and spends much of its time circling amid the harsh storms common to the region, using their frequent electrical discharges to cloak its approach to prey—typically deep drakes and other denizens of this vast and treacherous wasteland. Solitary storm raptors often clash with archidons in territorial feuds in the skies above the desert, rending the air with their cries. The storm raptor is invariably the victor in these tempestuous battles, though archidons working together sometimes succeed in driving one away. Storm raptors were utilized as beasts of war long ago, but their existence had been forgotten for millennia before Omnipotent Mohsar called attention to them once more. His subordinates spent years studying the breeding patterns and habits of the creatures before moving to seize hatchlings when their nests were unguarded. The charred bodies of a number of blackclads who failed are lost to the desert sands, but the druids did retrieve some few storm raptors and have trained them well to serve the will of the Circle Orboros.

35

BlacKclad miSt riderS CIRCLE LIGHT CAVALRY UNIT They stalk the mountain heights and strike with the fury of the storm. —Omnipotent Lortus

LEADER & GRUNTS

LEADER & GRUNTS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

8

6

5

4

14 15

9

VOULGE POW

P+S

4

10

MOUNT POW

12

DAMAGE 5 EACH FIELD ALLOWANCE 1 LEADER & 2 GRUNTS 6 LEADER & 4 GRUNTS 9 LARGE BASE

Battle Wizard – Once per turn, when this model destroys one or more enemy models with a melee attack during its activation, immediately after the attack is resolved it can make one Magic Ability special attack or special action. This model gains an additional +2 DEF when benefiting from concealment or cover.

Magic Ability [7] HAction) – RNG 5. Target friendly Faction model. If the model is in range, center a 3 AOE cloud effect on it. The AOE remains centered on the model for one round. If the target model is destroyed or removed from play, remove the AOE from play. HAttack) – Shock Bolt is a RNG 8, POW 12 magical attack that causes electrical damage . On a critical hit, instead of suffering a normal damage roll, a nonincorporeal model hit is slammed d3 directly away from this model regardless of its base size and suffers a POW 12 electrical damage roll . Collateral damage from this slam is POW 12.

VOULGE Magical Weapon Reach Brutal Charge – This model gains +2 to charge attack damage rolls with this weapon.

36

TACTICAL TIPS CAMOUFLAGE – If a model ignores concealment or cover, it also ignores concealment or cover’s Camouflage bonus. MAGIC ABILITY – Performing a Magic Ability special action or special attack counts as casting a spell.

Mounted on swift Skirovik mountain goats native to the northern Khadoran peaks, these blackclads bring the speed and ferocity of a summit storm to bear as they strike from walls of churning mist. They often assist with mountain patrols and the protection of isolated shifting stone sites, using their ability to quickly cover difficult ground in service of the order. Hit-and-run operations have become a mist rider specialty. New riders and their mounts engage in fierce sparring upon the craggy peaks, charging one another until the crack of horns joins the clash of thunder and harmony is achieved between rider and mount. Once conditioned, these mountain goats need little prompting to heed their riders amid storms and battle alike. Though this tradition originated in the northern mountain ranges, mist riders are now found across western Immoren, with a concentration in the southern Wyrmwall. Once a rider learns to harness the elements of these remote peaks, he shrouds his form in fog or sheets of rain that blend his silhouette into those of trees and rocks while flashes of lightning sear his opponents.

BloodWeaver night Witch CIRCLE THARN SOLO In consuming her foes, she learns their most guarded weaknesses and her own inner strengths. —Tharn Chieftain Kulventis

TACTICAL TIP BLOOD RITUALS – If the damage this model suffers from Blood Rituals destroys it, the attack is not resolved.

NIGHT WITCH Fearless

SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

7 Stealth

Even among the Tharn, night witches are regarded as the epitome of Devourer worship. As priestesses and ranking practitioners of the bloodweaver arts, they move across the battlefield within a veil of gore and carnage. With ruthless animosity they leave behind a trail of butchered

NIGHT WITCH

Blood Rituals – Each time this model makes an attack or damage roll during its activation, it can suffer d3 damage points to boost the roll. This damage is suffered before the roll is made.

6

7

5

14 11

9

IMPLEMENTS OF DEATH POW

P+S

4

10

DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST SMALL BASE

5 2 2

Killing Spree – When this model destroys one or more enemy models with a melee attack during its combat action, after that attack is resolved this model can move up to 1 and make one additional melee attack. Leadership [Tharn Bloodweavers] – While in this model’s command range, friendly Tharn Bloodweaver models gain Killing Spree.

IMPLEMENTS OF DEATH Magical Weapon Grievous Wounds – When a model is hit by this weapon, for one round it loses Tough, cannot heal or be healed, and cannot transfer damage. Life Drinker – When it destroys a living enemy model with this weapon, immediately after the attack is resolved this model heals d3 damage points.

opponents, taking from each one tokens of meat and precious organs to fuel their own powerful blood magic. Night witches are well versed in primal mystical practices regarding the use of the flesh. They are not content to merely draw upon the energy of their victims’ blood but are accomplished bone grinders, using all manner of organs, bones, and connective tissues to achieve their ends. This close relationship to the flesh has led to a savage appreciation for the taste of the fallen. Night witches consume the innards of their victims as often as they use them to empower their magic. Through a deep connection to the Beast of All Shapes, they have learned to draw upon the energy inherent in consumed flesh to knit their own wounds. At times they even draw upon their own vitality to fuel the slaughter, replenishing their life force with the blood of fallen enemies. Many bloodweavers view the blood-splattered exultations of the night witches as a glimpse into the true heart of their craft. The sight of these ritual killings is enough to drive their peers to new levels of violence, instilling in them an insatiable bloodlust beyond even the appetite of the beasts of the wilds.

37

LIMITS OF AUTHORITY TYRANT’S LASH, NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES “Less than a day ago?” Mordikaar asked the primus. The two stood on a section of the outer battlements, accompanied by a number of Praetorians. Here atop the fortress, the mortitheurge and the primus had a better vantage on the desert beyond them and the looming mountains to the north. The barren landscape of this region almost resembled portions of the eastern empire. Almost. “The sun was nearly down when they passed,” the primus said, pointing north. He had a nervous look and seemed unable to keep from staring at the ghostly forms with gaunt faces that sometimes manifested around the mortitheurge. “They couldn’t have gotten far yet, not with such numbers.” From the moment he arrived at Tyrant’s Lash at the end of his long trek through the wastes, Mordikaar knew he had been right to alter his course. He found more soldiers stationed along the walls than he had expected, given the remoteness of this outpost. According to the ranking primus, an army of possibly thousands of heavily armed farrow had passed within sight of the fortress, heading due north. An impressive array of beasts and unfamiliar wheeled battle machines traveled with them. The garrison had expected this army to besiege them, but it had passed without aggression. He could not say how or why, but Mordikaar felt certain the farrow’s movements were related to whatever was pulling the Void portal north. “I need a week’s worth of rations and an escort of your most experienced soldiers,” Mordikaar said. He eyed Mount Shyleth Breen and the Iosan peaks to the north. “Two full taberna should suffice, a mix of Venators and Praetorians.” The primus stared at Mordikaar in disbelief. After a moment, he said, “The soldiers stationed here are reserved for the preservation of supply lines and caches vital to the Army of the Western Reaches. You lack the authority to demand them or to lead them, mortitheurge.” Though the primus’ voice was stern, his expression betrayed a lack of confidence. It was true Mordikaar held limited authority, being neither an officer nor a member of the warrior caste, but he had never let rank stop him. He generally relied on Hexeris or Rasheth to allocate the soldiers and warbeasts he required. “I leave today, as soon as possible,” Mordikaar said. “Perhaps you misunderstood me—” “No,” Mordikaar interrupted, “you misunderstand. You have allowed an enemy force to bypass your post uncontested and head directly for the supreme archdomina’s supply lines. I will investigate the ramifications of your foolishness. If you stand in my way, you will answer to Lord Arbiter Hexeris and explain why you felt compelled to allow an

army of swine to interfere with the ongoing campaign. Make the arrangements, or you shall find yourself more intimately familiar with the Void than I.” Making an overt threat was a risk—the primus now had every justification to challenge Mordikaar to a duel. For a moment they stood glaring at one another. “Very well,” the primus said at last. “You did not say you were in service to the lord arbiter.” A face-saving excuse, but Mordikaar did not challenge it. The primus nodded to one of the Praetorians flanking the doorway, and the soldier disappeared into the fortress. “Your escort should be ready to depart within the hour.” A figure appeared in the same doorway—a low-ranking extoller, to judge from his robes—and stepped hesitantly into the open air. He wrung his hands as his living eye darted frantically in its socket. The primus let out a dispirited sigh. “What is it?” the primus asked. “You were told to remain in the ancestral shrine.” “You are making a mistake,” the extoller said. His voice was low and he spoke directly to Mordikaar, showing no sign of having heard the primus. “Give up your chase. The ancestors demand it!” “Apologies,” the primus said to Mordikaar as the guard gently took the extoller by the arm to guide him back to the central fortress. “Extoller Lakaar has been unwell these last few days.” The extoller extracted his arm from the soldier’s and turned back toward Mordikaar. “The answers you seek will be your undoing,” he insisted, his eyes focused and unblinking. “You bring the death of us all!” Mordikaar raised one of his lanterns and unleashed a blast of energy, knocking the extoller to the ground with his robes smoking. He was still alive, but under the lantern’s assault he convulsed and fell unconscious. Mordikaar considered striking him again but stopped when he saw the primus’ expression. Even deranged extollers were to be respected, and he had strained the primus’ tolerance far enough. “Remove him from my sight,” Mordikaar said. “This man is unfit for service.” The primus hesitated but then conveyed the order to his subordinate. Mordikaar turned from them to look again toward the desert, and the primus backed away, effectively dismissed. Behind Mordikaar, the portal that was a rent between worlds flickered and swayed, its oblong shape still straining toward the mountains in the distance.

39

ZAAL, THE ANCESTRAL ADVOCATE SKORNE EPIC WARLOCK He is a vital link in the chain binding past to present, the exalted to the living. To impugn him is to disrespect our ancestors. —Supreme Archdomina Makeda

ZAAL SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

4

8

6

6

10 18

8

OBSIDIAN STAFF POW

P+S

6

14

FURY DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE WARBEAST POINTS MEDIUM BASE

7 18 C +6

FEAT: STRENGTH ETERNAL In dying, Zaal removed the last barrier between himself and the source of his power. Under his command, exalted warriors reform their fractured bodies and for a time become all but invulnerable. These immortal ancestors strike with a precision and grace thought lost to them, each unerring stroke defying the limitations imposed by their rigid stone forms.

Remove d6+3 damage points from each friendly Faction model currently in Zaal’s control area. While in with Construct Zaal’s control area, friendly Faction models with Construct gain boosted melee attack rolls and +5 ARM for one round.

SPELLS ANNIHILATION

COST 4

RNG 10

AOE POW UP OFF 3 10 NO YES

Models hit suffer a POW 10 damage roll. Models boxed by Annihilation are removed from play. This model gains a soul token for each living nonsoulless enemy model removed from play this way.

MAGE SIGHT

2

CTRL

5

–

YES NO

Place a 5 AOE completely in this model’s control area. While a model is within the AOE, models in this model’s battlegroup ignore forests and cloud effects when drawing LOS to it and ignore Stealth when attacking it.

SUNDER SPIRIT

2

10

–

12

NO YES

An enemy warbeast damaged by Sunder Spirit loses its animus for one round.

TRANSFERENCE

2

SELF CTRL

–

YES NO

While in this model’s control area, friendly Faction non-warlock warrior models can spend 1 fury point on this model to boost a melee attack or melee damage roll during their activations.

VISION

2

6

–

–

YES NO

The next time target friendly Faction model is directly hit by an attack, it suffers no damage roll from the attack, then Vision expires.

ZAAL Construct Direct Spirits – When a friendly living Faction warrior model is destroyed in this model’s control area and generates a soul, you choose which eligible model gains the soul, regardless of the proximity of other models. Enemy models never gain soul tokens for friendly living Faction warrior models destroyed in this model’s control area. Righteous Vengeance – If one or more friendly Faction warrior models were destroyed or removed from play by enemy attacks while within 5 of this model during your opponent’s last turn, after resolving continuous effects during your Maintenance Phase, this model can make a full advance followed by one normal melee attack. Reclaim – This model gains one soul token for each friendly living Faction warrior model destroyed by a continuous effect, an enemy attack, or collateral damage from an enemy attack in its control area. During your Control Phase, after this model leaches fury but before it spends fury to upkeep spells, replace each soul token with 1 fury point. Steady – This model cannot be knocked down.

OBSIDIAN STAFF Magical Weapon Reach Silencer – A model directly hit by this weapon cannot cast spells for one round.

Supreme Aptimus Zaal exemplified the power of the extoller caste, whether he was communing with the honored dead or leading a host of ancestral guardians and immortals in battle. During one such battle against Ios, Zaal was mortally wounded. He refused to surrender to the Void and preserved himself with his last breath. His devoted followers recovered his sacral stone and fused him into a new form, one worthy of his stature. He retains leadership of his caste and intends to hold it until the end of days. His unliving

40

TACTICAL TIPS ANNIHILATION – Because boxed models are removed from play before they are destroyed, they do not generate corpse tokens or additional soul tokens. Cull Soul converts tokens gained from Annihilation into focus points. DIRECT SPIRITS – Eligible models are those models that could gain that model’s soul if no other model was closer.

eyes brook no insubordination or disloyalty, and both his will and his connection to the spirit realm are stronger than ever. Untethered spirits swirl about his obsidian body while his vision pierces the veil of death to perceive the mysteries of the world and lay their secrets bare. In life, Zaal was suspected of delving into forbidden arts. A pragmatic mystic, he was willing to sacrifice even the exalted to achieve victory. Some whisper that his own unorthodox exaltation was an abuse of his authority, as only a rare few outside the warrior caste receive exaltation. His followers refute this idea, pointing to the fact that he died in glorious battle and insisting his unequalled mind required preservation. None dare speak their doubts in his presence lest their houses lose the privilege of exaltation altogether. Zaal retains unprecedented control over his caste, and the extollers of the Army of the Western Reaches are fanatically loyal to him. If others elsewhere openly object, they risk dividing their caste. For now, Zaal’s exalted status places him beyond reproach. If the ancestors disapprove, Zaal keeps their dissent in check, since they can speak only through his vassals. His newfound understanding of the untapped potential within each sacral stone carries with it the promise of grim endeavors to come.

41

DESERT HYDRA SKORNE GARGANTUAN The temperament of this great beast is every bit as brutal and unforgiving as the desolate lands it inhabits. —Supreme Archdomina Makeda

HYDRA

HYDRA

ANIMUS

SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

14

6

5

9

19

7

Circular Vision – This model’s front arc extends to 360˚.

ACID SPRAY RNG ROF AOE POW

— SP 6 1

—

12

Multiple Heads [5] – This model can make 5 initial attacks each combat action, using any combination of Acid Spray and Bite attacks. This model loses one initial attack for each aspect it has lost. This model cannot be forced to make additional Acid Spray attacks.

BITE —

POW

P+S

4

18

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST HUGE BASE

4 8 2 19

Regeneration [d3 + 3] – This model can be forced to heal d3 + 3 damage points once per activation. This model cannot use Regeneration during an activation it runs. 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.

ACID SPRAY Continuous Effect: Corrosion Damage Type: Corrosion Concentrated Blast (HAttack) – This weapon becomes RNG SP 10 and POW 16 for this attack.

BITE 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.

2

1

BODY

3 IR IT

M

IN D

SP

6

4

5

Of the terrors lurking in the harsh desert at the fringe of skorne territory, the multi-headed hydra is among the most recognizable and the most fearsome. In combat, the desert hydra’s heads duck and weave as it coordinates precision strikes or washes foes with potent acid secreted

42

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF

SAND STORM

2

SELF

*

–

NO NO

While in this model’s command range, enemy models cannot make ranged attacks. Sand Storm lasts for one round.

TACTICAL TIP SNACKING – Because the boxed model is removed from play before being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token.

from glands inside its mouths. Through the use of commendable dexterity and a wide field of vision afforded by multiple sets of eyes, this apex predator slaughters prey with incredible speed. Capturing a desert hydra is an exceptionally violent undertaking. At night, the cold-blooded creature retreats to a subterranean den. Masses of slaves armed with rudimentary prods descend into such a burrow to provoke the sluggish beast to the surface. There, beast handlers fire upon the exposed hydra with harpoons not unlike those wielded by Cataphract arcuarii. After several of the creature’s necks have been ensnared, teams of slaves take hold of ropes stemming from each harpoon and pull the snapping heads to the ground long enough for the beast handlers to administer incapacitating toxins. Successful captures often come with high casualties among both slaves and beast handlers—but failed attempts leave no survivors. Such tactics would inflict potentially fatal damage on other beasts, but the hydra’s extraordinary regenerative qualities nullify these concerns. Over time, the creatures can regrow severed heads, and because all vital organs are housed within the creature’s torso, the initial loss is not life-threatening. In a step that may seem extreme but is the essence of skorne pragmatism, experienced beast handlers often decapitate all but a single head prior to transporting captured hydras rather than risk further deaths. Acquiring desert hydras represents only a portion of the expense of keeping them. For every slave killed in procuring these beasts, ten are lost during conditioning and battle preparation. Additionally, inserting flesh hooks beneath the hydras’ natural armor plating is a task from which few beast handlers walk away unscathed, and keeping the beasts fed requires a steady expenditure of resources. Once, the use of desert hydras proved far too cost-prohibitive for even the most powerful skorne houses. Now that Supreme Archdomina Makeda has united the empire, however, she has made the acquisition of these beasts a top priority so that she might use their strength in her bid for power in the west.

43

LEGENDS OF HALAAK SKORNE CHARACTER UNIT Honor has many faces. —Valgesh

VALGESH

VALGESH SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

7

7

4

13 15 P+S

3

10

CIDAAR SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

7

7

4

13 15

10

NAGINATA POW

P+S

5

12

J’DETH SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

7

7

4

13 15

10

MAUL POW

P+S

4

11

COMBO SMITE – The slammed model is moved only half the distance rolled if its base is larger than the slamming model’s.

10

SWORD POW

TACTICAL TIP

Fearless

DAMAGE 5 EACH FIELD ALLOWANCE C POINT COST 4 SMALL BASE

Flank [another model in this unit] – When this model makes a melee attack against an enemy model within the melee range of a friendly model of the type indicated, this model gains +2 to attack rolls and gains an additional damage die. Granted: Side Step – While this model is in play, models in this unit gain Side Step. (When a model with Side Step hits an enemy model with an initial melee attack or a melee special attack that is not a power attack, it can advance up to 2 after the attack is resolved. It cannot be targeted by free strikes during this movement.)

CIDAAR Fearless Defensive Strike – Once per turn, when an enemy model advances into and ends its movement in this model’s melee range, this model can immediately make one normal melee attack against it.

Valgesh Cidaar

J’Deth

Flank [another model in this unit] – See above. Granted: Synchronicity – While this model is in play, models in its unit gain Synchronicity. (While B2B with one or more models in its unit, a model with Synchronicity gains +2 DEF.)

J’DETH Fearless Flank [another model in this unit] – See above. Granted: Relentless Charge – While this model is in play, models in this unit gain Relentless Charge. (Models with Relentless Charge gain Pathfinder during activations they charge.)

SWORD Combo Strike (HAttack) – Make a melee attack. Instead of making a normal damage roll, the POW of the damage roll is equal to this model’s STR plus twice the POW of this weapon.

NAGINATA Reach

MAUL Combo Smite (HAttack) – Make a melee attack. On a hit, instead of making a normal damage roll the target model is slammed d6 directly away from this model and suffers a damage roll with POW equal to the STR of this model plus twice the POW of this weapon. The POW of collateral damage is equal to this model’s STR.

44

Once respected members of the warrior caste, the Praetorians now known as the Legends of Halaak spent the early years of their careers clashing with one another in house feuds. It was not until their houses were destroyed that the three would join forces and earn greater acclaim. The second war of unification and return of Vinter Raelthorne from the west saw the leadership of disloyal houses publicly executed in Halaak and many houses dissolved. Most of their warriors were merged into the Army of the Western Reaches. Some defiant soldiers silently displeased with Vinter Raelthorne’s continued reign became outcasts and brigands. Careful not to draw the attention of paingivers, these disenfranchised Praetorians formed opportunistic taberna united by dedication to the hoksune code instead of house loyalties. These bands offered their services in a variety of inter-house conflicts. They sought to be rewarded with glory in battle, not coin, and accepted only tasks that supported the tenets of hoksune as well as posing a significant challenge. Those who survived their time as outcasts earned reputations as skilled and fearless combatants. Valgesh, Cidaar, and J’Deth were each among the most accomplished of these warriors who remained in Halaak after unification. Trained in the classic art of dual-bladed combat, Valgesh was once the finest swordsman of the nowextinct House Jukkar. His ability to lead and inspire his peers was widely known even before his house’s dissolution. Cidaar, a former ranking officer of House Karzul, was still young when she left her house after their tyrant bent the knee to the Conqueror. She joined an outcast taberna and within months assumed command, then built the group’s reputation for being both vicious and reliable. Of the three, J’Deth has most readily adapted to the life of a vagabond warrior. His now-enslaved House Govaax came from the Northern Marches, and he spent his youth scouting the desert fringes. An oddity in Halaak, his talents have proven well suited to surviving the Bloodstone Marches. When Supreme Archdomina Makeda overthrew Vinter, this trio of renowned warriors went west to offer their services to House Balaash. The supreme archdomina accepted despite distrust and disapproval from her officers due to the group’s disreputable past. To Makeda, it was enough to know the warriors’ reputations in battle and their unquestionable dedication to hoksune.

45

EXTOLLER ADVOCATE SKORNE UNIT ATTACHMENT Through our efforts we guide the blades of the past. —Aptimus Sarangerel

ADVOCATE SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

5

5

5

14 13

8

Attachment [Immortals] – This attachment can be added to an Immortals unit.

ADVOCATE

SPIRIT EYE RNG ROF AOE POW

8

1

—

6

STAFF OF ANCIENTS POW

P+S

4

9

DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST SMALL BASE

5 1 2

Death Boon – When a model in this unit makes an attack or damage roll during its activation, this model can spend one soul token to cause that model to reroll that roll. Each roll can be rerolled only once due to Death Boon.

When this model is directly hit by an enemy ranged attack, you can choose to have one friendly, non-incorporeal Immortal model within 3 of this model directly hit instead. That model is automatically hit and suffers all damage and effects. Shepherd – This model gains one soul token for each model in this unit in formation destroyed by a continuous effect, an enemy attack, or collateral damage from an enemy attack. This model can have up to five soul tokens at a time. During its activation, this model can spend soul tokens to gain additional attacks or to boost attack or damage rolls at one token per attack or boost. Soul Mastery – Anytime during its activation, this model can spend soul tokens for the following effects. Each use of a Soul Mastery effect costs one soul token. Models in this unit gain concealment and +2 DEF against melee attacks for one round. Incorporeal

Models in this unit in formation gain for one turn.

Vengeance – During your Maintenance Phase, if one or more models in this unit were destroyed or removed from play by enemy attacks during your opponent’s last turn, each model in the unit can advance 3 and make one normal melee attack.

SPIRIT EYE Magical Weapon Annihilating Gaze – When a living model is hit by this attack, add its current STR to the damage roll. Ghost Shot – This model ignores LOS when making attacks with this weapon. When resolving attacks with this weapon, ignore concealment and cover.

STAFF OF ANCIENTS Magical Weapon Reach

46

TACTICAL TIPS SPIRIT WALKER – Spirit Walker’s duration means it gives the benefits of Incorporeal on the turn you use it but not on your opponent’s turn. VENGEANCE – Models move after continuous effects have been resolved during the step of the Maintenance Phase that says “Resolve all other effects that occur during the Maintenance Phase.”

While the majority of extollers divide their time between crafting sacral stones and selecting warriors for exaltation, advocates focus on serving as intermediaries between the exalted and the living. Having shown a keen aptitude for communing with those preserved from the horrors of the Void, these extollers are sometimes chosen to play a more direct role in the empire’s conflicts, bringing their skills to coordinate exalted on the battlefield. Though some advocates tend to sacral stones preserved in house vaults, others are paired with constructs inhabited by the exalted. With consciousness trapped somewhere between Caen and the Void, warriors preserved as immortals act and communicate from a removed state. This sense of disconnect, coupled with the limitations of their artificial stone bodies, hinders the combat prowess these warriors once possessed and renders them slow to act upon orders. Extoller advocates act as a medium between officers and immortals, ensuring the exalted carry out orders with ruthless efficiency. Advocates excel at gathering residual power from fallen immortals and shaping it into potent spells used to the benefit of those who remain. Through this redirection of energy, the exalted under the advocate’s control whip their massive stone weapons through the air with renewed speed and accuracy, crushing evasive opponents and cracking reinforced armor. Other spells make the slowmoving constructs as insubstantial as spirits, ensuring they penetrate deep into enemy lines intact. In addition to bolstering the combat effectiveness of immortals in their charge, extoller advocates will not hesitate to put themselves in harm’s way in order to fulfill the sacred duty of recovering and preserving sacral stones from fallen warrior constructs. Advocates can be found prying stones from shattered stone limbs and torsos amid even intense battles, leaving them behind only if faced with no other choice. Stones that remain intact are eventually joined to new statues to fight again. As the Army of the Western Reaches has continued to push into enemy territory, the number of extoller advocates needed has grown along with that of the immortals themselves.

47

UNVEILED NORTHERN WYRMWALL MOUNTAINS Everblight sensed the movements and locations of his forces as they crossed western Immoren. The athanc he sought was near, and his desire to consume its power was foremost in his mind. Lylyth and Bethayne had been at the fore of the hunt until recently, but again the blackclads had interfered—a sizable force including many stone constructs had descended from the mountains to intercept each of them. Saeryn and Rhyas, recovered from their earlier clash, had taken the vanguard again and now closed on his prize. Everblight channeled his consciousness into the athanc shards within them to assess their situation. The dragon took a moment to consider the changes their bodies had undergone since his absorption of Pyromalfic’s athanc. Ridges of blighted calluses rose along one side of their bodies, and a pair of miniscule horns projected from Saeryn’s forehead. The expansion of Thagrosh’s athanc had required Everblight to attune the crystalline shards of the remaining warlocks to channel the greater power that Everblight now possessed. Each warlock had responded to this adjustment differently. Satisfied that the twins were properly acclimated, Everblight expanded his perspective, peering through their eyes as well as the blighted senses of their dragonspawn. Saeryn and Rhyas topped a rise. Below them, the Banvick River wound through an expanse of trees between the mountains. A solitary riverboat moved upstream, and small details told Everblight it was likely of Cryxian fabrication. What mattered more than the vessel itself was what lay in its hold, something he could detect only through the dragonspawn: a sphere of darkness deep in the ship’s hull, impenetrable to blighted energies. This containment field surrounded the athanc. The sphere flickered and something glowed from within—an intriguing distortion he had not witnessed before. Was the field failing? Everblight had hoped to have his warlocks in place to intercept the athanc, but he would have to limit himself to surveying the ship’s defenses until reinforcements arrived. Kallus was not far behind, nor was Absylonia, though she had lost most of her spawn to Lich Lord Venethrax. Using Saeryn as a conduit, Everblight urged a pair of harriers into flight and watched as they swept toward the distant vessel. Through their eyes he saw mace-wielding knights clad in white robes and steel walking the ship’s deck alongside other soldiers in traditional Cygnaran uniforms. Somewhere along the way the athanc had clearly changed hands, stolen from Cryx. Saeryn and Rhyas had discovered the aftermath of a battle downriver, near where the Banvick fed into the Dragon’s Tongue. The remains of Terminus had been among

the dead, which boded well for Everblight’s plans but also introduced new complications. Those capable of vanquishing the lich lord must be formidable, and now they had the athanc. Everblight was loath to put his own shards at risk while the dragons allied with Blighterghast searched for him. He urged the harriers closer, hoping to learn more. A sudden flash of intense blighted light shot out from the dark void within the ship, blinding the harriers and leaving Everblight momentarily stunned. The spawn screeched in surprise and in the last seconds before Everblight withdrew his consciousness he heard shouts from the riverboat and the crack of rifle fire. The dragon felt a lurch at the core of his being. He pulled back to Saeryn to find the warlock on one knee, her mind clouded, the spawn under her control disoriented. The sensation went deeper. Everblight felt an outside force, a foreign energy, penetrating his athanc. The impression of being laid bare was all-consuming. A bright lance of blighted energy was beaming from each of his shards through the warlocks that held them, turning each into a beacon. Through his divided athanc—once united with Toruk’s and Toruk’s other progeny—he felt an awareness of those as ancient as himself, watching. A deep revulsion filled him as draconic minds violated his isolation. The captured athanc in the ship was also shining like a beacon, signalling its position so strongly that Everblight could sense it even from the perspective of Lylyth and Kallus. The realization that his own shards betrayed his location in the same manner chilled him with fear. He sensed that the disembodied athanc was not the source of this intrusion, but it was reacting in the same way as his own athanc. The invading force came from elsewhere. Through his scattered warlocks, Everblight felt the foreign energy wash over him several times, like ripples in a disturbed pond. It came not from one location but several, scattered across western Immoren. He tried to decipher the information even as the ripples faded, and he realized he was sensing other athancs, other dragons. As he was revealed to them, they were revealed to him. There were as many as six, perhaps more, and at least two were uncomfortably close. He recalled the sensation he felt when Blighterghast summoned the dragon alliance to warn them of Everblight’s attack on Pyromalfic. Their desire for vengeance was fierce. Whatever plan they had hatched against him had begun. They had discovered his nature. A hushed silence fell around Saeryn and Rhyas, and the wind stilled. Then a thunderous roar rang out, crashing across the twins like an unstoppable wave.

49

SAERYN & RHYAS, TALONS OF EVERBLIGHT LEGION EPIC BLIGHTED NYSS WARLOCK UNIT While you guard against one talon, the other rips open your throat. —Lylyth, Reckoning of Everblight

SAERYN SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

7

5

6

7

16 14

8

STAFF OF SHYVESS POW

P+S

5

10

FURY DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE WARBEAST POINTS SMALL BASE

7 8 C +1

FEAT: CONJOINED SPIRITS Saeryn and Rhyas are inseparable, each the shadow of the other. In the heat of battle, the twins call upon the dragon blood coursing through their veins to bend reality, returning from the brink of death or trading places in a shimmer of blighted energy.

This feat can be used once per game by either Saeryn or Rhyas. When this feat is used, either Saeryn and Rhyas immediately trade places or you can return one of them to play. If you choose to return Saeryn or Rhyas to play, place the returned model within 3 of the model that used this feat. The returned model comes into play with a number of fury points equal to its FURY. After using Conjoined Spirits, models in this unit cannot advance for one turn.

SAERYN Bond of Blood [Rhyas] – This model can spend fury points to transfer damage to Rhyas. Channeler [Rhyas] – While this model is not engaged and is in Rhyas’s control area, Rhyas can channel spells through it. Twin Sister – Saeryn and Rhyas are both warlock models, but only Saeryn has the Officer advantage. Saeryn and Rhyas share a single battlegroup and count as one warlock for the purposes of army construction. Saeryn cannot make attacks against Rhyas, and Rhyas cannot make attacks against Saeryn. Saeryn and Rhyas cannot have an Attached model. Your warlock is destroyed only if both Saeryn and Rhyas are destroyed or removed from play.

STAFF OF SHYVESS Magical Weapon Reach Dispel – When this weapon hits a model/unit, upkeep spells on that model/unit immediately expire.

The brutal and efficient nature of Saeryn and Rhyas mirrored that of the dragon even before they accepted the gift of his blight, and the athanc shards embedded in their bodies served to further awaken their inner potential. Since their youth the twins have demonstrated a deadly resolve and focus, a willingness to push beyond any perceived limitations. They went so far as to consecrate their union with the dragon through the murder of their entire shard. With this demonstration of sacrifice and ruthlessness, they earned their place as the leaders of Everblight’s legion. They are his talons, striking as if each were joined to the same claw. They are extensions of one another as much as they are of the dragon itself.

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SPELLS BANISHING WARD

COST 2

RNG 6

AOE POW UP OFF – – YES NO

Enemy upkeep spells on target friendly model/unit expire. Affected models cannot be targeted by enemy spells or animi.

BLOOD RAIN

3

8

3

12

NO YES

Blood Rain causes corrosion damage continuous effect .

. Models hit suffer the Corrosion

MARKED FOR DEATH

8

2

–

–

YES YES

Target enemy model/unit suffers –2 DEF and loses Incorporeal and Stealth and cannot gain those abilities while affected by Marked for Death. Friendly Faction models can target an affected model regardless of LOS.

PSYCHIC VAMPIRE

3

SELF CTRL

–

YES NO

When an enemy model casts a spell or uses an animus while in this model’s control area, the enemy model suffers 1 damage point and this model heals 1 damage point.

RAZOR WIND

2

10

–

12

NO YES

A blade of wind slices through the target model.

TACTICAL TIPS TWIN SISTER – This warlock unit is both Saeryn and Rhyas for the purpose of the Affinity, Bond, and Special Issue rules. DISPEL – Because they expire immediately, upkeep spells that had an effect when the model was hit or damaged will have no effect.

Saeryn’s ambition and intellect compels her to make decisions for the pair. She is cold, calculating, and utterly pitiless. Saeryn values autonomy above all else, and she has gone to great lengths to ensure her mind remains inviolate. Under her direction her sister set about slaying the people of their shard, after Saeryn convinced Rhyas that this slaughter spared their people a more terrible fate. In truth, Saeryn sought primarily to ensure she and her twin made an impression on Thagrosh and to win a place in Everblight’s inner circle. Since that day, Saeryn’s powerful sorcery has served her well. She rose to rival Vayl Hallyr among the mystics of the Legion of Everblight, as versed in her blighted powers as any who serve the dragon. Whereas Saeryn is a being of schemes and subterfuge, Rhyas is more direct, with a black-and-white perspective on the world. She does not mind following her sister’s lead, and in combat she allows herself to be guided by a combination of instinct and intuition. Rhyas is no less intelligent than her sister and has proven a capable tactician and strategist when commanding soldiers of Everblight’s legion, but she approaches problems head-on, often finding solutions at the edge of her sword. Rhyas also carries most of the emotional weight of the bond between the twins, though by any outside assessment she is every bit as callous as her sister. Everblight has augmented her natural abilities with the blade and refined her killing instincts to make her

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a living weapon, cutting her way across the battlefield with precise movements and measured strikes. Yet her feelings for her sister run deep, and she feels whole only at Saeryn’s side. Ultimately, nothing matters to her except this one simple truth. Though the mystical connection between the twins has always been strong, in the past Saeryn sometimes longed for an identity separate from her sister, whom she treated with cruel condescension. Saeryn acknowledges her sister’s skills and killing prowess, but she considers herself the superior intellect and the will that impels the pair to excel. This has sometimes led Saeryn to regard her sister as a tool, a mere extension of herself. But her actions prove that Rhyas is the one person in the world Saeryn truly values—as much as she can care about anyone. After their victory over Pyromalfic at the Castle of the Keys, the twins were ordered to take separate routes on the journey north through Ios and Rhul so they might ensure the survival of Thagrosh and the full absorption of Pyromalfic’s

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athanc shard. This period of separation marked the longest time Saeryn and Rhyas had been apart, and although it took its toll on both twins, their bond became stronger than ever in the aftermath. Much of the tension between the two was resolved, and each of the twins were reminded of the strength she gained from proximity to the other. Saeryn no longer seeks isolation. Their combined power far eclipses what either commands alone. The two now move as if of one mind, each anticipating the movements of the other to adapt their tactics and coordinate strikes without saying a word. Saeryn has adopted a new fighting style to enter battle alongside her sister. She now wields a spear, the haft of which was built from a powerful staff recovered from the Shyvess shard. Saeryn’s connection to Rhyas guides her strikes. Their spells and steel work in tandem as they push opponents to their limits before overwhelming them with a concentrated flurry of magic and physical attacks.

SPELLS FLASHING BLADE

COST 1

RNG SELF

AOE POW UP OFF – – NO NO

This model immediately makes one normal attack with one of its melee weapons against each enemy model in its LOS that is in the weapon’s melee range. These attacks are simultaneous.

OCCULTATION

2

6

Target friendly model/unit gains Stealth

ONSLAUGHT

2

–

–

YES NO

–

YES NO

.

SELF CTRL

Friendly Faction models beginning a charge in this model’s control area during the charge. gain Pathfinder

TACTICAL TIP TWIN SISTER – This warlock unit is both Saeryn and Rhyas for the purpose of the Affinity, Bond, and Special Issue rules.

Everblight’s consumption of Pyromalfic’s athanc increased the dragon’s power, and this influx was felt by the twins as well. Fresh surges of blighted energy poured through their bodies from their athanc shards, shaping them anew. Their superficial changes are outward manifestations of a deeper transmutation, one that bestowed new powers and abilities. The very being of the twins and their athancs are now entwined. Their living vitality is shared, so that destroying one is impossible without eliminating the other. As long as one twin still draws breath, the other can endure even the most severe wounds. Injuries not shunted to warbeasts can also be shared between the sisters, each shielding the other from lasting harm. In the same manner that Saeryn concealed portions of her own mind from both her sister and Everblight, she can now segregate and screen portions of Rhyas’ mind as well, a facility Rhyas knows nothing about. Saeryn works to isolate both of them from the dragon should the need arise, in order to maintain the freedom of their minds. The ties between Rhyas and Saeryn will always be greater than any loyalty to Everblight or shared allegiance with the rest of his warlocks.

RHYAS Acrobatics – This model can advance through other models if it has enough movement to move completely past their bases. This model cannot be targeted by free strikes. This model ignores intervening models when declaring its charge target.

RHYAS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

7

5

8

6

16 14

8

ANTIPHON POW

P+S

7

12

FURY DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE SMALL BASE

5 8 C

Bond of Blood [Saeryn] – This model can spend fury points to transfer damage to Saeryn.

Channeler [Saeryn] – While this model is not engaged and is in Saeryn’s control area, Saeryn can channel spells through it. Granted: Riposte – While this model is in play, models in this unit gain Riposte. (When a model with Riposte is missed by an enemy melee attack, immediately after the attack is resolved it can make one normal melee attack against the attacking model.) Twin Sister – Saeryn and Rhyas are both warlock models, but only Saeryn has the Officer advantage. Saeryn and Rhyas share a single battlegroup and count as one warlock for the purposes of army construction. Saeryn cannot make attacks against Rhyas, and Rhyas cannot make attacks against Saeryn. Saeryn and Rhyas cannot have an Attached model. Your warlock is destroyed only if both Saeryn and Rhyas are destroyed or removed from play.

ANTIPHON Magical Weapon Reach Weapon Master Critical Decapitation – On a critical hit, double the damage exceeding the ARM of the model hit. A model disabled by this attack cannot make a Tough roll.

As Everblight’s power grows, so too does the power of Saeryn and Rhyas. Between their ruthless minds, their need to stand apart, and their blighted power and killing potential, the twins might be the most truly draconic of Everblight’s warlocks. For the time being, they do as they are bid, but their true motivations and plans for the future remain their own.

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BLIGHTBRINGER LEGION GARGANTUAN Mine is the inferno of ages, and we shall bury all the world with ashes in our passing. —Everblight

BLIGHTBRINGER

BLIGHTBRINGER

Eyeless Sight

SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

4

15

5

5

9

19

7

Blighted Breath – At the beginning of this model’s activation, choose one of the following Blighted Breath effects. While within 5 of this model, models are affected by the chosen effect. Blighted Breath lasts for one round. If this model frenzies, it must choose Withering Ash at the start of its activation.

BLIGHT ASH —

RNG ROF AOE POW

14

1

5

15

BITE H

POW

P+S

3

18

TAIL STRIKE —

POW

P+S

3

18

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST HUGE BASE

5 7 2 18

Affected friendly Faction warrior models gain +2 STR and ARM.

Spiritual Corruption – Affected enemy models cannot cast spells, channel spells, or use animi. All affected models gain concealment. Affected enemy models suffer –2 DEF and lose Tough .

Blood Creation – This model never attacks friendly Faction warlocks and cannot choose them as its frenzy target. Soulless – This model does not generate a soul token when it is destroyed.

BLIGHT ASH Damage Type: Fire The AOE remains in play for one round. While within the AOE, models are affected by the chosen Blighted Breath effect.

TAIL STRIKE Critical Poison – On a critical hit, gain an additional die on this weapon’s damage rolls against living models. Rear Attack – When declaring and resolving attacks with this weapon, this model’s front arc extends to 360˚.

2

1

BODY

3 IR IT

M

IN D

SP

6

4

5

TACTICAL TIP REAR ATTACK – This does not enable this model to target models in its back arc with charges.

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ANIMUS BOILING BLOOD

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF 2

SELF

–

–

NO NO

When this model suffers damage as a result of an enemy melee attack, after the attack is resolved this model can make a ranged attack with SP 8 and POW 12 that causes Fire damage . Models hit suffer the Fire continuous effect . Models can make Boiling Blood attacks even while in melee. After making this attack, Boiling Blood expires. Boiling Blood lasts for one round.

Shrouded by a cloud of perpetual ash and blight, the Blightbringer burns with an inner fire like that of the dragons themselves. Powerful warping energies rise from the dragonspawn’s gaping maw, bringing a stench beyond sulfur and decay. The servants of Everblight revel in these emissions, unaffected by the withering miasma that chokes all breath from the living. The creature’s deep bellow carries for miles like a great and ancient horn sounding out the coming destruction. With oversized forelegs, the Blightbringer pulls its huge form across the battlefield, leaving a winding gouge in the earth to mark its passing. The rows of razor-sharp teeth lining the Blightbringer’s mouth shear limbs from beast and machine with equal alacrity. Those enemies who find themselves still choking on ashes after the spawn has passed are quickly dispatched with a flick of its venom-coated barbed tail. Hails of gunfire disappear in the billowing ash and the dragonspawn’s overwhelming emissions smother the talents of enemy spellcasters. The runes of their spells blaze briefly before fading, as if their power is siphoned away by the blight itself. So hot are the fires burning within the Blightbringer’s frame that the very blood pumping through its veins remains at a perpetual boil. Those who fight their way through the smog swirling about the gargantuan to strike it are scalded by steaming ichor spraying in great gouts from the beast’s wounds. From a distance, ash expelled from the gargantuan’s body appears as a roiling wall of grey cloud sweeping across the landscape, carrying within its veil the shifting shadows of a thousand unknown nightmares. Under this guise the forces of Everblight’s legion sweep across western Immoren like a plague. Lush forests and golden fields are left blanketed in a charcoal grey as once-beautiful vistas are left stifled and devitalized by the concentrated blight. Skies are blackened and streams are tainted, and for days after the Blightbringer’s passage, animals not quick to flee may be found changed in horrific ways, become malevolent and vicious. For creatures already blighted, this energy strengthens muscle and bolsters bone and scales to further perfect Everblight’s improvements over nature. The Blightbringer is the flame around which the legion gathers, while the empires of men and dragons tremble at their approach.

55

QUE BANSHEES GROTES LEGION BLIGHTED NYSS UNIT It’s not the claws you have to worry about. —Gorten Grundback

LEADER & GRUNTS

LEADER & GRUNTS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

7

5

5

13 13

Fearless

6

Flight – This model can advance through terrain SP 6 1 — 12 and obstacles without penalty and can advance FIELD ALLOWANCE 2 through obstructions LEADER & 5 GRUNTS 5 and other models if it LEADER & 9 GRUNTS 8 has enough movement SMALL BASE to move completely past them. This model ignores intervening models when declaring its charge target.

PIERCING SCREECH

RNG ROF AOE POW

Force Barrier – This model gains +2 DEF against ranged attack rolls and does not suffer blast damage.

PIERCING SCREECH Silencer – A model directly hit by this weapon cannot cast spells for one round.

Few sounds haunt the memories of soldiers like the cry of the grotesque banshee. On leathery wings these twisted forms plummet from the sky in great flocks to sweep over those embattled below and assail them with maddening screeches. Enemies clutch at their ears and beg for relief as their bones are rattled within their bodies. Banshees are another example of Everblight’s ability to adapt flesh to the task at hand. What traces of the Nyss that remain in other grotesques are gone in these, which bear a far more monstrous appearance. The last vestiges of hair have fallen away and the jaws gape, low and extended with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

56

With their strengthened vocal cords, expanded chest cavities, and highly elastic lungs, grotesque banshees are able to emit high-frequency cries so intense their sonic force can collapse the bones and rupture the organs of Everblight’s enemies. Foes caught in the blast of these deadly screams collapse, rivulets of blood flowing from their ears, nose, and mouth. Even those enemies hardy enough to endure the banshees’ sonic attacks rarely escape unscathed but are deafened by the focused bursts of sound, and the frequency of these piercing shrieks can shatter the concentration of any spellcaster. Those beset by these winged horrors often employ projectiles in hopes of shooting down the spawn before they close. Constant changes in direction and altitude render the grotesques difficult to track or lead even with highly accurate weapons. Such tactics are further rendered ineffective as sonic waves emitted from the gaping mouths of the banshees alter the trajectory of those arrows and bullets they do not outright shatter. The cry of this blighted creature is so effective a weapon that while grappling with prey the banshee will scream in the opponent’s face rather than using claws or fangs. Most foes subjected to this sonic assault die outright, while some undergo intense agony as their hearing is shredded within their skulls. One way or another, for most victims the banshee’s shriek is the last sound they will ever hear.

QUE ASSASSIN GROTESLEGION BLIGHTED NYSS SOLO By the hands of the assassins, our adversaries will be made to fear the open sky. —Kallus, Wrath of Everblight

TACTICAL TIP DESPERATE PACE – Modifiers to movement apply only to a model’s normal movement.

The grotesque assassin represents the leadership caste and next step in evolution among the grotesques that serve in Everblight’s legion. Reshaped by blighted energy to surpass other grotesques, assassins possess considerable cunning and physical prowess, making them skilled and expedient hunters capable of leadership and advanced tactics. With their elongated bodies and refined wing structures, these engineered predators sweep

ASSASSIN Fearless Stealth Desperate Pace [Grotesque] (HAction) – RNG CMD. Target friendly Grotesque unit. If the Grotesque unit is in range, it gains +2 movement during its activation this turn.

ASSASSIN SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

7

7

7

5

14 13

7

ASSASSIN BLADES POW

P+S

4

11

TAIL STRIKE POW

P+S

3

10

DAMAGE

5

Flight – This model can FIELD ALLOWANCE 2 advance through terrain POINT COST 2 and obstacles without SMALL BASE 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. Leadership [Grotesque] – While in this model’s command range, friendly Grotesque models gain Stealth . Sprint – At the end of this model’s activation, if it destroyed one or more enemy models with melee attacks this activation it can make a full advance.

ASSASSIN BLADES Combo Strike (HAttack) – Make a melee attack. Instead of making a normal damage roll, the POW of the damage roll is equal to this model’s STR plus twice the POW of this weapon.

over the battlefield in wide, elusive arcs, scanning the chaos below for opportunities to strike, each diving approach silent until punctuated by the screams of the dying. In the early days of the grotesques, when the first of their number were wrung from the contorted forms of Nyss, Vayl selected the most intelligent among them to be subjected to focused blighted energy. Impressive tails and wings sprouted from the forms of the chosen, shaping their bodies to more closely resemble the form of their blood’s draconic origins and adding a greater degree of dexterity and grace. Grotesque assassins retain a mental capacity well beyond that of others of their kind. Each assassin learns to execute evasive flight maneuvers and utilize terrain and weather to conceal their approach. These trained killers pass these methods to members of their flocks, creating streamlined assault patterns often overlooked by enemy forces. Assassins guide other grotesques in for the kill, using their simple cousins to shield themselves while they gain a positional advantage. Once in the fray, the grotesque assassins employ weighted blades to hack through their targets while enemy forces try to contend with the confusion brought on by the surrounding cloud of wings and claws.

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FINAL PREPARATIONS BLINDWATER CONGREGATION ENCAMPMENT, NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES The night sky was black and vast, pitted with the pinpricks of a thousand stars. Only the towering stone structures of the sacral vaults stood out against the dome, their shadowed forms flickering with the light of row upon row of candles fashioned from animal fat. Their great stone wheels had cut deep gouges into the earth. In the morning those wheels would carry the massive constructs on their final stretch of the journey and into the heart of slaughter. Calaban had spent the better part of the evening preparing the vaults for their role in Barnabas’ great ceremony, invoking rites and directing others to wash the altars with the blood of sacrifices. Now, with everyone joining Barnabas and JagaJaga in the revel at the camp’s center, he slipped away from prying eyes to attend to his own preparations. He moved to the edge of the camp, beyond the reach of the torchlight, and withdrew from his satchel a skull and a clattering mass of slender bones fixed to a central cord made from intestines. The ribs and finger bones numbered in the dozens, each taken from a separate victim. They fell in cascading layers that spanned the length of the cord like a crooked spine. A human skull missing the lower jaw topped the morbid creation. The uppermost layers of small bones disappeared into the cranium, and the string emerged from a small hole in the top. Calaban held the totem suspended from one clawed hand and tapped it with the other so it dangled and spun before his yellow eyes. He had put considerable effort into its construction beyond the acquisition of materials, and looking at the runes etched on each bone sent a shiver of pleasure down the bokor’s spine. Barnabas’ preparations for ascension were all but complete, but so too were Calaban’s own plans. He never thought the deranged Barnabas could gain so much power so quickly, yet here they were. Calaban heard soft footfalls in the dark and whirled to see the decayed form of Maelok close by. As always, the dreadbound appeared devoid of emotion, a dry husk walking among the living. “You!” Calaban hissed at the animated corpse, agitated at being startled from his contemplation. He often forgot about Maelok entirely when he wasn’t giving him commands, and he rarely considered the dreadbound beyond the degree to which one might think of a tool. Now, however, Calaban thought he sensed a glint of emotion, and he traced Maelok’s stare to the bone totem. Recognition or even hatred flickered behind Maelok’s eyes, and then it was gone. A cacophony of guttural roars sounded in the distance as the throng of gatormen at the camp’s center responded to some declaration made by Barnabas. The congregation was eager for blood; with the prospect of their leader’s alleged deification

at hand, they were consumed by excitement for the looming battle. Still, Calaban kept his gaze on Maelok, searching for anything that might confirm the fleeting emotion. “You know who this is for, don’t you?” Calaban lofted the totem above his head and watched Maelok’s face. In life Maelok had been a powerful bokor, Calaban’s greatest rival, and in death he knew the totem that bound his own spirit to Calaban’s service. He would apprehend the purpose of the assembled bones, yet the dreadbound’s eyes remained dead and expressionless. Calaban recalled how Maelok had fallen under his power, and he felt a twinge of an unfamiliar sensation—regret. “Perhaps you were right, when you were alive. Maybe if we had stood together against Barnabas, I would not need to stand alone against him now. I was shortsighted. I did not think he could succeed.” Calaban heard another set of footfalls, and he hastily stowed the totem before Jaga-Jaga emerged from the darkness. An undead tatzylwurm coiled about her body, hissing at Calaban as she approached. “Grave Walker,” Jaga-Jaga said in greeting. “You have done fine work on the vaults. The congregation owes much to your skill.” “Your efforts are equally admirable,” Calaban said smoothly. On another occasion he might have offered some criticism, but with his plans underway it was important to remain gracious. He had resented the death charmer’s involvement in his affairs since she pledged her service to Barnabas. Her words did not conceal her true purpose. He recognized her desire to pry into his doings, but Calaban would not expose his secrets. She said, “The eve of battle is upon us. Will you not join the celebration? Tomorrow we feast on the fallen. Kossk will be watching.” “I have final preparations to attend to,” Calaban said, speaking a half-truth. “I will celebrate once tomorrow’s work is done.” “As you wish,” Jaga-Jaga said, turning away. “I will let Barnabas know you are too busy to answer his summons and witness his final steps to godhood.” Calaban hissed, unable to hide his frustration. Never did she cease to manipulate the situation to her own ends. Yet even as his temper flared, he thought of the totem and its imminent use. “Tell Barnabas I will join him shortly.” Jaga-Jaga paused as though she might say something more and then disappeared into the dark. Calaban watched her go, then looked to Maelok, who stared with the same expression, blank and unreadable. “Soon,” Calaban said, retrieving the totem from the satchel. “Soon.”

59

BATTLE BOAR MINION FARROW LIGHT WARBEAST The fighting spirit keeps as well in tubes and canisters as within the flesh. —Dr. Arkadius

BATTLE BOAR SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

8

5

5

12 17

6

OPEN FIST L

POW

P+S

3

11

POW

P+S

3

11

ANIMUS

Bacon – When this model is destroyed, each living warbeast B2B with it heals d3 damage points.

6 – – NO NO HEIGHTENED METABOLISM 2 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.)

Rabid – This model can be forced during its activation to gain +2 SPD, Pathfinder , and boosted attack and damage rolls for one turn.

OPEN FIST R

BATTLE BOAR

OPEN FIST 1

Open Fist

2 BODY

3

For generations, simple brute boars have been trained for battle through SP breaking their will and 6 subjecting them to rage5 filled brawling. Trained FURY 3 battle boars learn to THRESHOLD 7 call upon swells of FIELD ALLOWANCE U adrenaline to batter POINT COST 4 opponents to pieces MEDIUM BASE under their enhanced strength. This process originally took months to accomplish, depending on the skill of the trainer and the will of the particular beast. Now, through the intervention of Dr. Arkadius and his cunning apparatus, the qualities of these fighting creatures can be unleashed almost immediately, with only minimal training. IN D

IR IT

M

4

Each boar is fitted with an alchemical pump system that supplements the beast’s natural adrenaline. A complex mixture of strength-inducing chemicals is stored in a tank mounted to the creature’s back, with a series of tubes connecting the apparatus to the boar’s circulatory system. When the system is engaged, it pumps the glowing green serum directly into the battle boar’s heart and bloodstream. The infusion induces an immediate surge of strength and speed while also facilitating battle instincts. Muscles bulge, strides lengthen, and blows land with greater precision as the battle boar focuses with murderous intensity on its foe. Opponents who thought themselves out of reach see the gap closed quickly, and those previously confident in the durability of their armor become dismayed as they are pummeled to pulp under the enraged boar’s fists. Even iron warjack hulls dent and buckle under the force of such blows. Since their implementation on the battlefield, word of these augmented boars has spread. Though there are farrow warbands forced to train battle boars the hard way, those of the Thornfall Alliance have been eager to use such modifications to quickly turn their brutes into superior killing machines.

60

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF

TACTICAL TIP HEIGHTENED METABOLISM – Because the boxed model is removed from play before being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token.

SPLATTER BOAR

MINION FARROW LIGHT WARBEAST Never underestimate the potential horrors of applied science. —Dr. Arkadius

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF

ACIDIC TOUCH

2

6

–

–

NO NO

Target friendly Faction model gains +2 to melee damage rolls and Immunity: Corrosion , and its melee weapons gain Critical Corrosion . Acidic Touch lasts for one round.

TACTICAL TIP PSYCHOACTIVE GAS – This is not a cloud effect.

Immunity: Corrosion Alchemical Mask – This model ignores gas effects. When determining LOS or resolving attacks, this model ignores cloud effects.

SPLATTER BOAR SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

8

5

12 17

RNG ROF AOE POW

—

12

1

3

*

OPEN FIST L

POW

P+S

3

11

OPEN FIST

ALCHEMICAL MORTAR

Models in the AOE are hit and suffer a POW 12 corrosion and suffer damage roll the Corrosion continuous effect . This attack is a gas effect and causes no damage. Models/units hit must pass a command check or flee. Enemy warbeasts hit must pass a THR check or frenzy.

6

ALCHEMICAL MORTAR

Bacon – When this model is destroyed, each living warbeast B2B with it heals d3 damage points.

Ammo Type – Each time this weapon is used to make an attack, choose one of the following abilities:

5

R

1

POW

P+S

3

11

2 BODY IN D

3 4

M

The splatter boar is the combination of the alchemical experimentation of Dr. Arkadius and modern farrow engineering. Fitted with a mortar and a bandolier of shells containing highly volatile substances, the splatter boar trades accuracy for the ability to bombard anything and everything with corrosive chemicals and panicinducing gases.

SPLATTER BOAR

IR IT

ANIMUS

SP

6 5

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST MEDIUM BASE

3 7 U 5

The weapon’s base POW becomes 14 for this attack. This attack causes fire damage . This weapon’s AOE is a cloud effect that remains in play for one round. 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.

OPEN FIST Open Fist

A lever allows the mortar’s angle to be adjusted, but only the smartest brute boars learn to fire with any accuracy. The splatter boar has several different concoctions on hand to feed into the reloading chamber. Hard targets find persistent acids eating through their flesh, infantry are assailed by terrifying hallucinations prompting abrupt retreats, and clouds of smoke mask advancing farrow warriors. A gas mask fitted to the snout of each splatter boar renders them immune to the poisonous clouds and acids they expel. Most prefer to don their masks even out of combat from what seems to be a sense of pride.

61

BLIND WALKER MINION GATORMAN HEAVY WARBEAST The capacity for thought in a beast is nothing but distraction. —Calaban the Grave Walker

WALKER

WALKER SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

11

5

1

10 20

10

CLAW L

POW

P+S

3

14

CLAW R

1

POW

P+S

3

14

2 BODY IN D

3

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. Empathic Transference – A friendly Faction warlock can transfer damage to this model even if this model has a number of fury points equal to its current FURY.

IR IT

M

4

SP

6 5

Shield Guard – Once per round, when a friendly model is directly hit by a ranged attack during your opponent’s turn while within 2 of this model, you can choose to have this model directly hit instead. This model is automatically hit and suffers all damage and effects. This model cannot use Shield Guard if it is incorporeal, knocked down, or stationary.

FURY THRESHOLD FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST LARGE BASE

3 10 U 7

CLAW Open Fist

Few of Immoren’s terrors are as unnerving as the blind walker. This cold-blooded beast moves through life relying only on the will of its master to guide it. While the flames of the brazier and many candles adorning its body burn bright, any semblance of consciousness or self-preservation is dimmed beyond recognition. To create this creature, a bokor seizes a blackhide and subjects it to toxins derived from a species of tree frog. He then binds the unfortunate gator, fits it with a variety of charms to facilitate the

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ANIMUS

COST RNG AOE POW UP OFF

RITES OF POWER

2

SELF

–

–

NO NO

This model’s controller can channel spells through it. After a spell is channeled through it, this model suffers d3 damage points. Rites of Power lasts for one turn.

TACTICAL TIP AMPHIBIOUS – This model can attack other models that are in deep water.

subjugation of its will, and buries it alive for several days. Once he unearths the walker, the bokor muzzles it with thick ropes and affixes a series of candles that attune the body to serve as a necromantic conduit. Lastly, the walker is ritually blinded, its eyes replaced with semi-precious stones. The beast exists in a state of living death and will obey any of its master’s commands without hesitation. A blind walker is conditioned to swiftly interpose itself between a warlock and his foes without protest or acknowledgment. Each is so tightly linked to its warlock’s will that a bokor’s magic flows readily through it, making it the perfect weapon of war.

CROAK RAIDERS MINION UNIT They exude poison and light everything they see on fire. Thoroughly unpleasant creatures! —Saxon Orrik

TACTICAL TIP AMPHIBIOUS – This model can attack other models that are in deep water.

Until recently, croak raiders spent their lives among the Shattered Spine Islands, defending their tribes while raiding against neighbors. With their arrival in western Immoren, they brought with them the skills learned through generations of such conflicts. These warriors employ a coordinated and powerful two-pronged attack to eradicate more numerous and technologically advanced foes. One raider hurls a hollowed gourd filled with flammable liquid to soak enemies, and then another launches a flaming projectile from an atlatl to ignite the opponents in a pyre of flame. In melee, croak raiders wield crude knives and daggers, skillfully working together to drive opponents to their knees under the cumulative effect of many small lacerations. Any foes close enough to strike the croaks suffer the effects of corrosive secretions that burn away both skin and flesh.

Minions – These models will work for Circle, Legion, Skorne, and Trollbloods.

LEADER & GRUNTS

LEADER & GRUNTS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

5

6

13 14

8

FLAMING DART

Advance Deployment

RNG ROF AOE POW

10

Immunity: Corrosion 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.

5

1

—

12

OIL GOURD RNG ROF AOE POW

8

1

3

—

HAND WEAPON POW

P+S

3

8

FIELD ALLOWANCE LEADER & 5 GRUNTS LEADER & 9 GRUNTS SMALL BASE

2 5 8

Gang – When making a melee attack targeting an enemy model in melee range of another model in this unit, this model gains +2 to melee attack and melee damage rolls. Vitriol – If this model is hit by a melee attack, immediately after the attack is resolved the attacking model suffers the Corrosion continuous effect unless this model was destroyed or removed from play by the attack.

FLAMING DART Continuous Effect: Fire Damage Type: Fire

OIL GOURD Alchemical Accelerant – A model hit by this attack suffers Oil. When an oiled model suffers a fire damage roll , the damage roll is automatically boosted. Oil lasts for one round. Cumbersome – If this model attacks with this weapon during its activation, it cannot attack with another ranged weapon that activation. If this model attacked with another ranged weapon this activation, it cannot attack with this weapon.

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LYNUS WESSELBAUM & EDREA LLORYRR MERCENARY MINION CHARACTER UNIT Never before have I had the pleasure of working with such astute assistants. They are intelligent, capable, and not at all predisposed to the unfortunate deaths which often befall my charges. —Professor Viktor Pendrake

LYNUS SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

5

5

5

14 12

9

MILITARY RIFLE RNG ROF AOE POW

10

1

—

11

HEAVY SWORD POW

P+S

5

10

EDREA SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

4

5

5

14 12

9

MILITARY RIFLE RNG ROF AOE POW

10

1

—

Mercenaries – These models will work for Cygnar. Minions – These models will work for Circle and Trollbloods and the Blindwater Congregation and Thornfall Alliance pacts. Animosity [Saxon Orrik] – This unit cannot be included in an army that includes one or more models of the listed type.

LYNUS

11

SWORD POW

P+S

3

7

Collaboration (HAction) – RNG CMD. Target friendly warrior model’s next attack roll this turn is boosted.

DAMAGE 5 EACH FIELD ALLOWANCE C LYNUS & EDREA 3 SMALL BASE

Granted: Applied Knowledge – While this model is in play, models in this unit gain Applied Knowledge. (If a model with Applied Knowledge makes only normal attacks during its combat action, it can make an additional combat action during its activation this turn.)

EDREA Magic Ability [7] HAttack) – Arcane Bolt is a RNG 12, POW 11 magic attack. HAction) – Non-magical ranged attacks targeting this model or a model in this unit completely within 3 of this model automatically miss. Wind Barrier lasts for one round. HAction) – Models in this unit that are in formation can immediately advance up to 3 . They cannot be targeted by free strikes during this movement. True Sight – This model ignores concealment, Camouflage, and Stealth.

HEAVY SWORD Reach

Throughout his career as Chancellor of Extraordinary Zoology at Corvis University, Viktor Pendrake has been aided in expeditions across Immoren by a multitude of students and assistants. Many were bright and talented— but an appalling number met bad ends, devoured by the beasts of the wilds or lost to the dark places of the world. Despite the inherent risks of Pendrake’s expeditions, two assistants have emerged intact time and again, consequently becoming among the most experienced extraordinary

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TACTICAL TIPS MAGIC ABILITY – Performing a Magic Ability special action or special attack counts as casting a spell. LYNUS - Because Lynus is an Officer, when he is destroyed he does not replace Edrea. Instead Edrea becomes the new unit commander.

zoologists in western Immoren. From the classrooms of Corvis University to the farthest reaches of the continent, Lynus Wesselbaum and Edrea Lloryrr put their lives on the line in an ongoing quest to understand the natural world and its plethora of dangerous inhabitants. Lynus Wesselbaum is a born scholar, book smart and highly inquisitive. He prefers the theoretical side of this work and is most comfortable in the classroom, which he recreates by keeping numerous notebooks and tomes with him even in the field. Despite his timid nature, extensive time alongside Pendrake has given the youth a worldliness to complement the knowledge he has attained through study. His ability to instantly recall information pertinent to the threat at hand has proven invaluable, and diligent sparring in his off hours at the university has slowly shaped him into a passable swordsman. Conscientious work and ongoing survival eventually earned him the title of Associate Professor at the university. Lynus teaches his own classes now but has continued his field expeditions, including one taking him north to study blighted Nyss and dragonspawn. The Iosan Edrea was overcome by wanderlust as a youth and left her homeland to see the world. Upon meeting Pendrake on her travels, she elected to join him, hoping his company would lead her to more interesting locations. Her university title of Associate Professor is tenuous at best, as she spends little time there, but she has proven herself to be invaluable to Pendrake in the field. What Edrea lacks in formal education she more than makes up for with experience, a keen mind, and quick reflexes. Her education in Ios pertained largely to her arcane gifts, and she yet maintains a keen interest in how magic is manifested by various cultures and peoples. Most recently she has spent time studying the methods of the Circle Orboros, fascinated by their rituals. Shared close calls and discoveries have forged a bond of friendship between Lynus and Edrea, and the two often work together even in the absence of their mentor. As Pendrake has taken a step back from academic pursuits, Lynus and Edrea have taken up the task of cataloging the wonders of Caen, forging their own reputations in the process.

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FARROW BRIGAND WARLORD MINION UNIT ATTACHMENT Each chief thinks himself a warlord. It amuses me to see them squabble over the scraps I leave behind. —Lord Carver

WARLORD SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

7

7

6

12 16

9

PIG IRON RNG ROF AOE POW

10

1

—

Attachment [Farrow Brigand] – This attachment can be added to a Farrow Brigand unit.

WARLORD

12

BATTLE AXE POW

P+S

5

12

Dig In (HAction) – This model gains cover, does not suffer blast damage, and DAMAGE 5 does not block LOS. The FIELD ALLOWANCE 1 model remains dug in until POINT COST 3 it moves, is placed, or is SMALL BASE engaged. The model cannot dig into solid rock or manmade constructions. This model can begin the game dug in. 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.) Granted: Reform – While this model is in play, after all models in its unit have completed their actions, each can advance up to 3 . Tactics: Prowl – Models in this 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.)

In farrow society, might makes right, and only the strongest and most willful climb the ranks over the battered bodies of those left below them. Through bloody battles against both friend and foe, farrow warlords are those rare few who have scraped together enough clout to hold their positions through a lifetime of unbridled violence and cunning. No warlord’s position is secure, requiring demonstrations of sheer brutality to keep the ambitions of their subordinates in line. The slightest hint of weakness can topple any of them. To the farrow, this represents the natural order. The line between chief and warlord is not always clear, though the most feared warlords count several lesser chieftains as vassals, bringing their small villages and tribes under his control. This chain of fealty can be several links long in the Thornfall Alliance. A local warlord in control of smaller regions might find himself under the hoof of one who is even more fearsome. It is in this way that great leaders like Helga the Conqueror control vast territories, with none larger than the porcine empire of Lord Carver. While lesser warlords freely throw their weight around in

66

their local villages, they must hasten to answer the call of mightier ones. It is in this way that the largest warbands are assembled, a chaotic collection of fierce and aggressive farrow, each only as obedient to his superiors as he is fearful of them. Farrow warlords must be prepared to fight dirty, and their battle tactics reflect this. They prefer ambush whenever possible, avoiding engagement unless they have clearly superior numbers. Failure invites challenges from within the ranks. Many do not hold their vaunted positions for more than a few seasons before being pushed aside by younger and stronger rivals. Those warlords who do survive bear many scars—as many from potential usurpers as from external threats. These injuries are displayed with pride, serving the farrow as badges of rank and distinction.

GREMLIN SWARM MINION GRYMKIN SOLO It wasn’t until I walked into the shop to find an old Stormclad waltzing across the floor with a Centurion that I knew we had a gremlin problem. —Timothy Foster, shop assistant

Nothing in all the world attracts the attention of gremlins like the hiss and clank of a warjack treading across the battlefield. Mischievous and malicious to the extreme, these grymkin delight in rooting around in mechanikal constructs with the intent of causing as much damage as possible solely for their own amusement. More than one ’jack marshal has found his or her warjack inert or walking in loose circles only to find a swarm of gremlins had taken up residence within the machine. The annoyance caused by gremlins is matched only by the sense of mystery surrounding them. As with other grymkin, extraordinary zoologists know little of their origins and can make even less of their motivations. Rather than allowing themselves to be hired for use during conflicts, gremlins are far more likely to simply show up at battles that include large numbers of warjacks or other mechanized weaponry.

Minion – This model will work for Circle, Legion, Skorne, and Trollbloods.

GREMLIN SWARM Incorporeal Stealth

GREMLIN SWARM SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

6

2

2

2

14 12

7

DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST MEDIUM BASE

5 3 2

Apparition – During your Control Phase, place this model anywhere completely within 2 of its current location. Man-Sized – This model is treated as a model with a small base and occupies the space from the bottom of its base to a height of 1.75 . Mischief – When an enemy warjack begins its activation B2B with this model, roll a d3. On a 1, the warjack suffers Disruption for one round. On a 2, the warjack suffers –2 SPD for one round. On a 3, the warjack’s ranged weapons suffer –5 RNG for one round. (A warjack suffering Disruption loses its focus points and cannot be allocated focus or channel spells for one round.) Sabotage (HAction) – Target enemy warjack or battle engine B2B with this model suffers d3 + 3 damage points and cannot be repaired or have damage removed for one round. When damaging a warjack, choose which column suffers the damage.

Rumor has it that during Ord’s Second Expansion War, a gremlin swarm tearing into the systems of ’jacks on both sides of a river skirmish brought the entire battle screeching to a halt. Gremlins are elusive by nature and are capable of vanishing into thin air at a moment’s notice. Even should an army discover an infestation, removing these tricksters from the machinery they inhabit can be nearly impossible. The only reliable deterrent for gremlins to date is the presence of cats, which can see through their invisibility and have a natural inclination to hunt them. It is for this reason that many mechaniks often keep cats within their ’jack shops and foundries. As the number of gremlin sightings continues to rise and the nations of the Iron Kingdoms produce more impressive and complex warjack technology, mechaniks serving in the field may well begin adopting the same habit.

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HUTCHUCK, OGRUN BOUNTY HUNTER MERCENARY MINION CHARACTER SOLO He isn’t much to look at—or to talk to, for that matter. But he’ll get your man. —Lieutenant Hugh Madigan

HUTCHUCK SPD STR MAT RAT DEF ARM CMD

5

9

6

6

13 16

9

ALCHEMICAL GRENADES RNG ROF AOE POW

8

1

3

12

MACE POW

P+S

5

14

Mercenary – This model will work for Cygnar and Khador. Minion – This model will work for Circle, Skorne, and Trollbloods.

HUTCHUCK Fearless

Ambush – You can choose not to deploy this model at the start of the game. If it is not deployed normally, you can put it into play at the end of any of your Control Phases after your first turn. When you do, choose any table edge except the back of your opponent’s deployment zone. Place this model within 3 of the chosen table edge.

DAMAGE FIELD ALLOWANCE POINT COST MEDIUM BASE

8 C 3

Take Down – Models disabled by a melee attack made by this model cannot make a Tough roll. Models boxed by a melee attack made by this model are removed from play. Wild Shot – This model can make one ranged attack during its activation before its normal movement. If it does, after its normal movement, the model can only make melee attacks that activation.

ALCHEMICAL GRENADES Ammo Type – Each time this weapon is used to make an attack, choose one of the following abilities: A model damaged by an attack with this weapon cannot cast spells, upkeep spells, or use an animus for one round. On a direct hit against an enemy model, all models hit are knocked down. This attack causes no damage. Instead, warjacks in the AOE are hit and suffer –2 ARM for one turn.

MACE Reach

Armed with a mace large enough to crush a man in a single stroke and potent alchemical compounds derived from formulas known to only a few, Hutchuck possesses a combination of brute force and adaptability that makes him one of the most sought-after bounty hunters operating within the Iron Kingdoms. While most ogrun seek out a korune to serve, Hutchuck offers his services only to those with deep pockets. In all respects, Hutchuck has forsaken tradition and servitude for personal freedom. Born in Rhul, Hutchuck was used as leverage in a business deal between a trusted relative and the Order of the Golden Crucible. The end result of this agreement

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TACTICAL TIPS TAKE DOWN – Because a boxed model is removed from play before being destroyed, it does not generate a soul or corpse token. RUST – This attack affects only warjacks.

transplanted Hutchuck from his homeland to Llael, where he spent his youth as an indentured servant to the order ’s alchemists. Those the young ogrun served saw him as little more than added muscle capable of hauling shipments of supplies to and from laboratories or relocating boxes of heavy equipment. Of the various mundane tasks assigned to him, Hutchuck took the most pleasure from sweeping the shops and laboratories, as this allowed him to watch his masters at work and to scrutinize formulas on blackboards. Though the members of the order never entertained the possibility of training Hutchuck in their craft, he began to pick up on the fundamentals of alchemy through observation and in time took to cautious experimentation in secret. The outbreak of the Llaelese War forced thousands from their homes. Hutchuck took this chance to leave his servitude behind, melting into the flood of refugees pouring from Llael into Cygnar. He quickly made friends among the trenchers withdrawing from the region and through them developed long-standing contacts with several officers within the Cygnaran military. Through these connections, Hutchuck took on his first contracts as a bounty hunter. The level of freedom provided by his new profession contrasted sharply with the rigid experience of Hutchuck’s youth, and he quickly discovered he enjoyed being his own boss. The role of the bounty hunter provides Hutchuck with ample opportunities to prove his intellect. He prides himself on being prepared for every situation, and he relies on careful planning to maintain the element of surprise despite his large stature. The alchemical formulas learned during his time serving the Order of the Golden Crucible along with those of his own devising give him a distinct edge over other hunters in the field, granting him the ability to wear down the armor of warjacks or limit the magical abilities of his quarry. Hutchuck’s reputation alone has proven intimidating enough to make some of his marks turn themselves in at first sight of him. Those who refuse to go quietly are soon overcome by a combination of wit and physical prowess few bounty hunters can match.

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MODEL GALLERY

SAERYN & RHYAS, TALONS OF EVERBLIGHT Legion Epic Blighted Nyss Warlock Unit

CROAK RAIDERS Minion Unit

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DESERT HYDRA Skorne Gargantuan

KROMAC, CHAMPION OF THE WURM

GREMLIN SWARM

Circle Epic Tharn Warlock

Minion Grymkin Solo

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PAINTING GUIDE Wet blending is a quick way to get blends on surfaces like skin and fur. The technique is achieved by applying the shades and highlights to the model with thinned paint, then blending those colors together where they meet while they are still wet. This tutorial features blending in a stepby-step format, but it may be easier to simply focus on one area of the model at a time, blending all the way from the highest highlight to the darkest shade before moving on to a new area. For your first time wet blending, we recommend practicing on a spare model that has a large, open surface. Use lots of paint for good coverage and to ensure it doesn’t dry too

quickly. It is best to have the color tones for the area you are working on prepared in advance so that you can dip your brush in colors as you need them, blending back and forth between shades and highlights. The paints should be watered down so they stay wet on the model long enough that multiple colors can be applied and the transitions blended without any of the paint drying. Be bold in these first steps, and you’ll be surprised how quickly and easily your technique develops. Wet blending is a lot of fun in addition to being a great technique to have in your repertoire, so give it a try!

CROAK SKIN There are a variety of techniques for blending colors on a model, each one shining in different situations. Wet blending is most effective for creating a smooth transition between very different colors, such as on the bright skin of Croak Raiders. The coloration moves from orange to green and on into yellow and eventually white. Painting this would be a difficult task with any other blending technique, even for a skilled painter, but with the wet blending technique it can be fun, fast, and very satisfying. Step 1) For the skin, start with a wet blend of Iosan Green, Wurm Green, and Sulfuric Yellow. (If you’re having trouble working with all three colors, switch to just two.) To apply the wet blend, working from the back, blend the Iosan Green into a wet line of Wurm Green. Once that is dry, paint another wet line of Wurm Green along your previous line and blend the Sulfuric Yellow into this wet line. Step 2) Return with each of the three colors used in step 1 and pick out some of the textures that were obscured by the thick blending. Use a glazing technique to smooth out any rough spots in the blend.

1

72

2

Iosan Green

Coal Black

Wurm Green

Exile Blue

Sulfuric Yellow

Thamar Black

Skorne Red Khador Red Highlight Menoth White Highlight Step 3) Wet blend the transition around the hands and feet. Mix Skorne Red and Khador Red Highlight and then blend this into a wet pool of Iosan Green. Step 4) Blend Menoth White Highlight onto the belly and chin. Because there isn’t a big difference between the colors here, it’s not as important to use wet blending for this step. Go ahead and use the blending technique you’re most comfortable with.

3

4

Step 5) Blend a mixture of Coal Black and Exile Blue onto the back of the model. As in step 4, it doesn’t matter much which blending technique you use. Step 6) Using Iosan Green, apply a freehand mottled texture along the transition between Wurm Green and Iosan Green. This adds interesting detail to the model.

5

6

Step 7) Apply a similar mottled texture to the back of the model, using a mixture of Coal Black and Thamar Black. Step 8) After the skin is painted, finish the model with neutral colors for ropes, leather, and bone weapons.

7

8

GREMLIN FLESH Step 1) Basecoat the gremlin flesh with a thin coat of Midlund Flesh. The coverage does not need to be perfect, as the purpose of this layer is to ensure that the black primer does not show through once you begin wet blending. Step 2) Apply a layer of Khardic Flesh to the areas of the flesh that should be shaded. Step 3) While the Khardic Flesh is still wet, apply a layer of Midlund Flesh to the rest of the flesh and use a brush to feather the transitions between these two colors, creating a smooth blend.

1

2

Midlund Flesh

Thamar Black

Khardic Flesh

Coal Black

Skorne Red

Sanguine Base

Thornwood Green

Gun Corps Brown

Ryn Flesh

Hammerfall Khaki

Menoth White Highlight

Rucksack Tan

3

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PAINTING GUIDE

4

5

7 Step 4) For the next shade, mix Khardic Flesh, Skorne Red, and Thornwood Green. Apply this to the areas of deepest shadow and wet blend it into the Khardic Flesh. You will likely need to reapply some Khardic Flesh to blend with, as the coat from step 3 will have dried by now. Step 5) Begin highlighting the flesh using a 1:1 mixture of Ryn Flesh and Menoth White Highlight. Wet blend this layer into a fresh application of Midlund Flesh. Paint the bellies and chests of the gremlins with this highlight color and blend it into the surrounding flesh. Step 6) Apply a final highlight on the bellies and chests with Menoth White Highlight. Also, use Thamar Black for the eyes, claws, and mouths. Step 7) Apply mottled spots to the flesh with a mixture of Midlund Flesh, Coal Black, and Thornwood Green for dark spots and a mixture of Menoth White Highlight and Ryn Flesh for light spots. Also use the darker mixture to

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6

8 paint thin lines between the fingers of the gremlins and to delineate where the bodies of two gremlins come together. Paint the interiors of the mouths and gums with a mixture of Skorne Red and Sanguine Base. Step 8) Paint the eyes with Menoth White Highlight. Give the claws a solid coat of Gun Corps Brown, followed by a highlight of Hammerfall Khaki. Paint the teeth with Rucksack Tan, then highlight each tooth with a spot of Menoth White Highlight.

THE GATE OPENS NORTHERN BLOODSTONE MARCHES Gatormen funneled through the space between several stone houses toward Madrak’s position. He twisted aside to evade another set of jaws that snapped shut in the space his shoulder had occupied a moment earlier. The gator had overcommitted, and Madrak took the opportunity to bring Rathrok crashing down on the base of the creature’s skull. With a yank he dislodged the weapon and hurled it into the chest of another gatorman behind the first. The axe whirled back through the air to smack into his palm. Towering above him and fighting nearby, the mountain kings brought their massive fists, driving into the throng of gators, crushing reptiles into the earth. One of the kings lofted a struggling gator into the air and chomped down on the creature with the sound of snapping bones and flesh grinding between stone. Another unleashed a roar that sent shockwaves through the enemy lines.

Corpses of Madrak’s kin littered the ground around him, many trampled into the bloodied mud by hoof and claw. Recently erected houses and workshops burned. War wagons had been rammed into the gaps in the walls in a desperate effort to hold back the enemy. Trollkin who had leapt out into the fray so their kin could reach the fortress had been cut off from retreat amid the chaos, their bodies joining the fallen. Those nearest the gate formed a loose ring, fighting shield-to-shield, the mountain kings standing over them. Grissel shouted orders and sought to hold the line. Walls of stone jutted from the soil at the behest of Janissa Stonetide to shelter defenders and grant them brief reprieves.

A group of kriel warriors rushed past their position, hurrying toward the safety of the inner village.

A blackhide plowed into the ranks of kriel warriors and dragged one to the ground, and the trollkin struggled to keep his shield between his throat and the gator’s jaws. Down the line, a hog that was more machine than pig clutched another warrior in its iron grip and hurled him into a cluster of razor boars to be devoured.

“Madrak,” Calandra called as she rushed to his side, “the retreat has stalled!”

“Madrak!” Grissel shouted as she fought her way to him. “We need to get inside and close the gate.”

“How much time do we need?” Madrak asked. He sent Rathrok whirling into the chest of another gatorman, once again catching it on its return.

“We can’t leave them,” Madrak said, pointing to the embattled Cragfist champions.

“Time isn’t the issue. We have holdouts. With all the pigs and gators spilling through the walls, I’m not sure we can help them.” Madrak gazed into the unfolding chaos. Now and then a flash of tartan patterns and blue skin became visible deep behind the enemy lines before being swallowed from sight. At the eastern end of the village, warriors of the Cragfist Kriel had stubbornly dug in to hold against the farrow. Their warriors were an embattled island in a tuskfilled sea. “They need to fight their way here!” Madrak shouted to be heard over the shriek of thumper cannon fire. Gunnbjorn was up amid the fortress battlements directing supporting fire. “They’re thick-headed,” Calandra said. She worked her magic as they talked, invoking runes to bend fortune to the benefit of embattled trollkin. “They’ve always been prideful.” The gatormen pressed forward with hulking beasts in tow, and the largest of the mountain kings rose to meet the challenge. It loosed a primal roar and the sheer force of the declaration shattered the bodies of the troll king’s enemies. Not everyone had such protection.

“They knew the danger when they chose to make a stand,” Grissel insisted. “Their courage will be remembered. If we leave the gates open we risk everyone inside.” One of the gatormen slipped inside the mountain king’s reach, and Madrak parried a blow from the attacker before cutting its legs out from under it. Still more came. “Go,” Madrak told Grissel. “Get your warriors inside.” Grissel narrowed her eyes as if weighing her options, her expression grim. “Fine, but I want you behind us.” With that, she turned to her remaining warriors and sounded the retreat. Madrak stepped forward and brought Rathrok against the hordes. Battle lust filled him, radiating from the axe like physical heat. The mountain kings felt his rage and roared in response as they clashed with pursuing farrow and gatormen. Madrak struggled to maintain control as he hacked through the opposing forces, Rathrok empowering his blows. As he lashed out, he saw that the farrow and gators also fought one another, seeking to kill and maim with snapping jaws and gouging tusks. He realized that the attackers were not acting as a unified force. Behind him, the last of the kriel warriors disappeared through the gates. Shouts that he was clear to withdraw

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THE GATE OPENS came down from the wall, and he prepared to give the mental order for the mountain kings to retreat. Then he saw the champions of the Cragfist kriel moving toward him. They were finally giving up their position. Madrak stepped forward and cleaved a farrow brigand in two, watching the group of warriors battle their way toward him. Though the Cragfist kriel was harried on all sides, the farrow lines had collapsed amid bouts of looting and arson, and the fighting between pigs and gators alleviated some pressure. Even so, the Cragfists moved slowly, one of their ancient krielstones carried at the center while the champions on the perimeter protected the rest. They would never make it. “Close the gate!” Madrak called. “Make ready with ropes!” Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to the enemies between him and the warriors. A nimble bull snapper rushed from the fray to harass Madrak, driven by an unseen warlock, but the trollkin chief laid the beast low with a few rapid strikes. He could feel the power within Rathrok welling up, feeding on the violence. He paused to steady himself and push the encroaching darkness from his mind. “What in Dhunia’s name are you doing?” a voice shouted. Madrak looked back to see Grissel between the two halves of the closing gate. “Right behind me, is that not what I said?” “We can still save them!” Madrak shouted, pointing toward the kriel.

Able-bodied krielfolk formed lines to receive weapons and armor. Others ferried ammunition, including fresh kegs of powder for dire troll bombers to hurl over the wall. Stone previously designated for late-stage construction was hauled up to the wall’s defenders to be dropped onto the enemy. Gunnbjorn’s pygs, sluggers, and scattergunners fired in sequence from atop the wall, pausing only to reload. Those few among the kriels too young, old, or maimed to fight took shelter in the feast hall and the storage caves set into the mountainside at the back of the fortress. A cheer went up along the wall and through the inner village. It took Madrak a moment to realize they rejoiced at the sight of him. He felt a combination of gratitude and shame. He recalled his conversation with Kargess and their agreement to stand together, even to the bitter end. Grissel’s declarations, too, rang in his ears, and he looked to her now. They had time only for a single nod before each returned their attentions to the defense. “Ropes!” Madrak called. He directed them up to the wall nearest the embattled warriors outside. “If the Cragfists make it to the wall, haul them up!” He ran up the stairs to the battlements to assist. Several kriel warriors followed to help as well. He topped the wall. The sight beyond made a mockery of his previous perception of the onslaught. From his new vantage point he saw the battle’s enormity, and dread filled him.

Grissel strode to Madrak’s side, unleashing a powerful vocal blast that shredded the approaching wave of farrow. Madrak glowered at her. “Are you disobeying the orders of your chieftain?” “You’re not in charge here, Ironhide.” She matched his stare and he felt the truth of her words. The gathered warriors looked to her now. “You hoard blame for that which you cannot control. Thousands draw breath behind those walls. Tough times call for tough choices, and if you can’t make them, I will. So help me, I will haul you through that gate even if I have to knock you senseless and drag you!” Madrak looked from Grissel to the beleaguered trollkin and reluctantly nodded. The two fell back as Madrak gave the mountain kings a mental command to push toward the stranded warriors and defend them. He lamented leaving the warriors outside the wall, but he took solace in knowing the towering legends fought alongside them. The gate slammed shut with a resounding clang, its resonant echo rolling off the walls like the sealing of a tomb. Defenders slotted a series of bars across the gate to brace it against the assault to come. The space inside the inner wall was crowded and filled with motion. Everywhere, battle preparations were underway.

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Lord Carver surveyed the battlefield. To soften the foe, Carver sent the deranged Sturm and Drang against them, and he reveled in the resulting chaos. Midas and Helga had taken their forces along each of the flanks, forcing the trollkin to divide their attention. For a time the enemy had stalled his forces at the gaps in their unfinished outer wall, but with the weight of superior numbers and his own obvious combat superiority, he drove the defenders back. Now the warlord of warlords marched his warband through what remained of the trollkin village. A force of gatormen had arrived from the west not long after the battle began. Early efforts to avoid engaging them soon failed, especially once the trollkin army withdrew behind the walls of their inner fortress. Now farrow and gatormen clashed between partially collapsed homes. The area closest to that fortress had become a roiling mass of murderous warriors and beasts. Old rivalries between gators and farrow ignited, resulting in an undisciplined melee. Brigands ordered to assail the inner wall chose instead to pick their own battles. Carver could not recall the last time he had seen such a show of farrow military might, and its

primal energy spoke to his warlord nature. He hefted Hand of God over his head and loosed a deep bellow that carried over the incessant clash of battle. His followers raised their weapons and returned the cry in kind. Not all farrow were battling gatormen or making advances against the inner stronghold. Many were busy rooting through the structures abandoned by the trollkin, seeking plunder before razing each to the ground. The destruction thrilled him, as did the knowledge that the morale of his people would be bolstered by the spoils. The deaths they endured just meant a larger portion for those who survived. “Now this is a raid!” Carver said to Dr. Arkadius. The doctor stood nearby, his oversized syringe ready and his expression dour. He had displayed nothing but disapproval since Carver announced his plans to march against the trollkin. The doctor had become downright incensed when Carver refused to delay the raid after learning of the gatorman army. “Your doubts would have cost us a great victory.” “This doesn’t qualify as victory yet,” Arkadius said. He turned to one of the battle boars flanking him and inspected the tubes that fed supplemental adrenaline into the beast’s body, then tapped a gloved finger against one of the gauges.

As much as Carver disliked the human, he did have his uses. The surgically altered boars had played a critical role in recent battles. Carver was not discouraged. “I have raised the greatest army the Marches have ever seen.” “Your great army is accumulating casualties by the minute,” Arkadius spat. “Do you have any idea how long it took to acquire the means to launch an assault of this magnitude? How many test subjects we have already left dead in the dirt? Besides, she doesn’t seem impressed with your accomplishments.” The doctor nodded at the farrow assaulting the wall, led by the prominent form of Helga the Conqueror. Unlike those looting the village and brawling with the gatormen, these farrow had maintained order, fighting in organized ranks and mitigating attacks from atop the fortress wall with bouts of covering fire. Some worked to assemble ladders. Helga stood at their center, clearly in charge, her voice stern and inspiring. Her attention was focused on the fortress walls as though the chaos erupting throughout the abandoned outer village held no importance. “Then I shall take the fortress first,” Carver said. He tightened his grip on Hand of God and looked up at the

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THE GATE OPENS sloped fortress walls. As pressed as the trollkin were at the outset, they had gathered their wits and were holding against both the gatormen and the farrow from the top of their impressive battlements. “I do not claim to be an expert on matters of the heart— beyond the purely anatomical sense—but I do not think stealing Helga’s glory will win you her favor. And even if it would, I am not certain we are in a position to take the fortress by ourselves.” As if to accentuate the doctor’s point, a flaming brigand ran past. “Perhaps a singular act of strength is needed. That would suit you better.” Carver grunted but said nothing, feeling a familiar urge to pummel Arkadius to death. But he had to admit the human was right—he had no immediate inspiration for breaching the fortress walls. “Look there,” Arkadius said, pointing to the mass of hungry reptiles. West of the fortress, just beyond where the fighting was thickest, a familiar hooded gatorman with skulls mounted to poles strapped to his back stood atop a mound of fresh corpses. “Eliminate their leader and the field will be yours.”

NEVER IN THE HUMAN’S YEARS OF SERVICE HAD CARVER KNOWN HIM TO SUGGEST STARTING A FIGHT WHEN THEY DID NOT HAVE CLEAR SUPERIORITY. Carver recognized the figure as Bloody Barnabas, a gatorman bokor of great spiritual power and far-reaching reputation. He was supposedly ancient, but nothing in the way he fought suggested age or weakness. With each stroke of the bokor ’s axe, a farrow went flying. As the brigands facing him expired, ghostly glowing forms emerged from their bodies to swirl about the bokor, joining a greenish haze that surrounded him. Nearby were several massive wheeled stone constructs, each pushed by a pair of large gators and covered in candles and runes that glowed brighter with each life Barnabas extinguished. Carver had fought Barnabas before at the Marchfells. It had been a difficult clash with no clear victor, since Carver had been forced to deal with other adversaries before finishing the bokor. The idea of ending the matter appealed to him. Carver wrinkled his snout at Arkadius with suspicion. Never in the human’s years of service had Carver known him to suggest starting a fight when they did not have clear superiority. The doctor did not have a warrior spirit. As Carver puzzled over Arkadius’ intentions, one of the stone structures pushed by the gatormen pulsed, and a

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band of slaughterhousers several yards away was reduced to charred meat and twisted armor. The smell was not entirely unpleasant. “To me!” Carver called out, lofting Hand of God above his head once more, and again hundreds returned his rallying cry. Some of the lesser warlords directed gun boars to return fire on the trollkin while others rallied their warriors. Masses of loyal farrow heard Carver’s call and emerged from trollkin homes, eager to prove their worth. They swarmed about him, wild and frantic. At his command they pressed ahead, readying weapons to clear a path through the battle. Arkadius followed, and Carver could hear the hydraulic hiss and whine as modified hogs obeyed his command. Carver gave Helga a passing glance before turning his attention to the hooded gatorman at the center of the slaughter. He would cleave the bokor in two and deliver the creature’s head to her as an offering. Then, when the field was his, he would prove Arkadius wrong by leading his warband over the top of the wall.

Mordikaar had set out from Tyrant’s Lash with sixty Praetorians and half as many Venators. They made good time, following the unmistakable trail of the farrow north. All the while, the Void portal tethered to Mordikaar bent and bowed and elongated itself as the mysterious pull continued to grow. The void spirits swirled about the portal’s edge, issuing howls of agony and rage. They were more agitated than he had ever seen them. When the journey began, the skorne accompanying him had feared crossing the path of the farrow army that had passed the fortress a day earlier. As time went on they grew to fear him instead, carefully keeping their distance from the maddened void spirits. The skorne climbed atop a hill, and the sight beyond gave even him pause. At the base of the mountains to the north stood a squat, wide stone fortress, and beyond the fortress was a large ring of half-finished walls, now in ruin. Between the two barriers, where a village might once have been, two seething bestial armies sought each other's annihilation. Mordikaar’s keen eyes picked out tiny figures on the fortress battlements fighting to repel those beyond. Near the walls, trolls the size of mammoths fought to dislodge smaller beasts assailing them, hammering with their great fists and punctuating each strike with a roar that shook combatants to pieces. The red sand of the Marches had been drenched in blood that clung to hooves, boots, and scaled feet. The entire gruesome scene seemed a manifestation of primal madness. The cacophony of birds caught Mordikaar’s attention, and he looked up to see thousands of crows pass overhead.

Each bird shifted and dove as part of the whole flock, and taken together they resembled a living black cloud winging toward the battle. In the west, other dark clouds took shape. Whatever their purpose, he knew they were drawn by the same pull as that affecting the Void portal. Something was happening, something unnatural. He felt drawn to the battle like iron to a lodestone. “Sir, are you all right?” asked the dakar accompanying him. The man sounded unnerved, and Mordikaar realized he had been smiling. “Quite,” Mordikaar said. The portal pulsed at his back, and the promise of unraveling its mysteries consumed him. “We should return to the fortress and report our findings,” the dakar said. “Reports can wait, Praetorian. I intend to take a closer look. Ensure I get there intact.”

The last of the surviving Cragfist warriors reached the wall, and the defenders hurried to hoist them to the battlements. Along the top of the wall, pyg sharpshooters took aim at the encroaching forces to buy the rescuers time. The mountain kings still raged, but Madrak could feel the ravages of innumerable small wounds working to bring them down despite their vitality. “What is the situation?” Madrak asked. He and Gunnbjorn studied the burning remains of the outer village from atop the eastern battlements. “We are holding, though it looks like both the farrow and the gatormen are readying for a push. They don’t appear to be working together, which is our only bit of luck.” “Keep me informed,” Madrak said. He started down the wall, giving curt nods to warriors who raised their weapons in salute. Many were bloodied, and some had lost fingers or limbs, but all who could still hold weapons fought on. This was the last in a long line of destroyed settlements, and the trollkin would not surrender it lightly. At the west end of the wall, Madrak found Kargess clad in armor and carrying her broadsword in one hand, a small shield in the other. A group of chieftains and senior champions had gathered about her, and each listened intently as she spoke. She glanced up, and the two exchanged brief smiles and a nod. Dag was safe within the feast hall, tended by Thornwood elders and guarded by Bron and Jor, Madrak’s axer and impaler. Below the wall, Grissel worked with a handful of warriors to reinforce the gate, bracing it with tree trunks and

creating defensible positions to fall back to. Wooden spikes protruded from the earth, angled toward the gate, and beyond them piles of stone created a makeshift barricade. Horthol came up onto the battlements and gripped forearms with Madrak. The left side of his face was a mass of scrapes and that eye was swollen shut, yet a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Glad to see you well,” Horthol said. “Grissel said she had to drag you through the gates to stop you from fighting.” “Something like that,” Madrak said, ruefully. He pointed to Horthol’s bruised face. “You took a beating.” “Worse than it looks. I was torn from the saddle and a brigand clipped me with a club before I got my footing. I repaid the favor. My bison wasn’t so lucky.” His grin was replaced with a look of regret. Madrak said, “Our people have lost much. If only the bison could be restored as easily as homes and crops.” A flutter of wings caught their attention. A crow landed beside them on the battlements. It cocked its head to one side, examining them with one glassy black eye. Then it cawed loudly. “Scavengers,” Horthol said. He took a half-hearted swipe at the bird, but it danced out of reach. Other crows landed along the wall, and several flocks hung low on the horizon. “They can smell a massacre.” He looked away, clearly regretting his choice of words. “We will not fall this day,” Madrak said, though he was not entirely sure he believed it. “The walls will hold. Any who dare step within our reach will regret raising arms against the kriels.” “Agreed,” Horthol said, grinning once again. He hefted his hammer in both hands. “For kith and kriel.” “For kith and kriel,” Madrak repeated. Grim Angus shouted, “Ladders to the east!” Below, groups of farrow parted to reveal ladders assembled from steel and wood. The top rungs traveled a wide arc destined for the upper reaches of the wall, striking nearly in unison. Metal anchors welded to the ends hooked into the stone to steady the ladders for oncoming troops. A hail of gunfire from the pig irons below peppered the wall, catching several trollkin attempting to dislodge the ladders and driving others into cover. Brigands surged around the base of the ladders, beginning to climb one after the other. Gunnbjorn shouted for his soldiers to target those on the ladders. Pygs sniped at the ascending farrow while scattergunners raked fire through several groups at once.

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THE GATE OPENS Grim Angus added his own firepower, aiming for the ladder bases where farrow clumped. Yet on they came in an endless stream, and despite their heavy casualties they began to reach the battlements. The thud of an impact and the crack of wood sounded below, and Madrak heard Grissel shouting orders to those arrayed behind the gate. From amid the gatormen emerged a tremendous stone battering ram carved in the likeness of a giant, open-mouthed alligator. Gatormen lined each side of the ram, and their combined strength brought the idol crashing into the gate with enough force to cause the wall to shudder. Madrak urged the mountain kings to intercept the battering ram while he headed to the eastern side of the wall to deal with the farrow. Madrak brought Rathrok across a brigand’s face as the first of the farrow reached the top of the wall. Trollkin ready with hand weapons fell upon the farrow the moment they came within reach, striking with ferocity fueled by the sight of their burning homes. The narrow ramparts became crowded, and the eastern wall rang with the clash of blades and clubs. At the gates, the mountain kings threw themselves upon the swarm of gatormen around the battering ram. The troll kings slowed under the accumulated impact of countless injuries. Gatormen piled on one of the kings, and the troll stumbled in wide circles as it fought to pull the snapping beasts loose. The other two fought on as the battering ram collided with the gates. A commotion broke out along the western rim of the fortress. A blanket of fog crept up the wall there, and from the swirling white mass came grappling hooks tethered to thick rope. The shambling forms of bog trogs followed, pulling themselves up the stonework one arm’s length at a time. The western defenders hacked at the ropes and tried to kick the hooks lose, but for each one they dislodged two more sailed up to grip the ramparts. Gunnbjorn ordered his shooters to fall back. Their weapons were next to useless amid the general melee, and many of the cannons and mortars had been cast from the wall or had depleted their ammunition. Without the deterrent of covering fire, the influx of farrow swelled. Madrak parried the overhead swing of a club before planting his foot firmly on a farrow’s chest and shoving him from the battlements. His muscles burned with fatigue, but he ignored the pain. A blind hatred filled him. The only thing remaining was the urge to press on and kill. Hs axe greeted the farrow as they came up the ladders, lopping tusked heads from shoulders and severing hooved legs at the knees. Rathrok stirred and the axe's handle was filled with a hungry, living heat. The blood of the fallen ignited

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the power within the legednary weapon, and blackness again crept from the corners of Madrak’s mind. It would be simple, he knew, to stop thinking entirely. Above the battle, crows circled in the hundreds, crying out incessantly. To the west, the bog trogs had gained a foothold. Under Kargess’ direction, the defending trollkin formed a battle line and delivered unified blows to shatter the bodies of enemies who made the climb, but the defenders were greatly outnumbered. For each of the bog trogs that died, one arose as undead to climb once more, empowered by the bokors below. The battering ram connected with the gate repeatedly and the sound of braces and bars cracking carried to those battling atop the wall. More enemies piled on the beleaguered mountain king as it swayed on its feet. A final roar of defiance escaped the troll’s throat, shattering the enemies swarming before it, and then the falling beast crashed into the wall near the gate. One of its arms draped over the top of the battlements, and the gatormen below immediately began to climb the massive corpse as if it were a ramp. Madrak met tthem head on. He knocked aside a halberd and caught the wielder in the chest on the backswing. His opponent’s ribs cracked under the force of the blow, coating Rathrok’s slick blade in fresh gore. The gator rushed forward and weathered two more swings before it fell. Although the gatormen did not have the numbers of the farrow, they did not die easily. The gatormen with the battering ram charged the gate again, bolstered by the mountain king's death. The idol connected with enough force to splinter the supports, and the gates flew back on their hinges. The gators immediately rushed through the gap. “Fall back!” Madrak shouted. Above, the number of gathering crows swelled to the thousands, their cries drowning out the clash of battle and the screams of the dying. “Fall back! The wall is lost! Form ranks below!” Grissel and her warriors held the gatormen that came pouring through the gate, but the battle was fierce. Fresh ranks of trollkin rushed to lend their strength. Others formed ranks along the wall in front of Gunnbjorn’s troops and prepared to intercept the incoming enemy forces. Determination lined their faces, but their fear showed beneath. Madrak recalled the dreams that had driven him away, the horrid images of burning villages and the screams of the innocent. Farrow, gatormen, and bog trogs descended the inside of the wall in droves, cramming staircases and occasionally knocking each other down. Those that reached the bottom were met by the blades and hammers of kriel warriors. Madrak tightened his grip on Rathrok and cleaved into

any invader within reach. Beside him, Horthol wielded his hammer with matching savagery. Up and down the lines fell callers belted out their songs, inspiring their kin. It was not enough. The crows blacked out the sun and cried out in songs of death. The great swirling clouds of birds coalesced into five distinct funnels of feathers and glassy black eyes, revolving ever faster as they dropped from the sky and into the battle below. Two touched down atop the wall, one inside the fortress, and two in the killing fields beyond. The swirling masses took shape as if outlining unseen forms, and each shape expanded as more crows poured down from the sky. In a sudden explosion of wings, the gathered crows dispersed in all directions. Doomshaper and Mulg appeared atop the wall from amid two of the swarms. A troll king laden with ice and snow stood inside the wall among the defenders, where another funnel had touched down. With a roar worthy of the frozen peaks of the north, the glacier king shouted his arrival, and all present turned toward the sound. Beyond the wall, two similar roars answered in turn. The surviving mountain kings of the Wyrmwall bellowed at the arrival of their northern brethren. Crows attacked the invading forces with a unified viciousness, and with a tremendous battle cry the inspired trollkin set upon their enemies. “Doomshaper,” Madrak called up to the grizzled warlock, “you are a sight for the weary! How did you manage this?” “I am as surprised to see you as you are to see me,” Doomshaper replied. There was no time for more words as he turned his attention to the enemy and urged Mulg into the fray. The fell callers raised their voices once more and other warriors joined in, the chorus lifting the hopes of those still standing. It was then, with trollkin spirits high and the will to fight renewed by the miraculous appearance of the Shaman of the Gnarls, that wild howls rolled down from the mountains, echoing from stone and tree. The hymns to Dhunia clashed with those calling the Devourer Wurm.

Calaban’s gaze tracked every movement of Lord Carver’s sword, hoping each swipe of the weapon would end with the blade embedded in Barnabas’ flesh. The two leaders stood atop a mound of fresh corpses, each bent on annihilating the other. A coil of souls clung to Barnabas and empowered his strikes. As he fought, the runes of the sacral vaults flared to life, and the flames of their candles brightened. Despite Calaban’s previous skepticism, he could feel change in the air. Energies invisible to the untrained eye

swirled about the mound of corpses, gaining momentum and pulsing each time the bokor and the warlord clashed. Barnabas stood at the fulcrum of tremendous necromantic energies as though his dark soul feasted on the essence of the slain. Whatever was about to happen, Calaban needed to stop it without betraying himself, lest he give up his bid for power in the aftermath. Arkadius had come through on his end of the bargain, but the outcome seemed far from certain.

ENERGIES INVISIBLE TO THE UNTRAINED EYE SWIRLED ABOUT THE MOUND OF CORPSES. A farrow rushed Calaban, and the Grave Walker held Heart Stopper before him. The weapon’s jeweled eyes gleamed, and the farrow gripped his chest before collapsing in a heap. A pair of blackhides under Calaban’s command continued to tear into the swarming farrow, and he directed them away from the thickest points of engagement in case he needed to shunt a wound from his flesh to theirs. Barnabas let out a hiss and snapped his jaws, meeting Carver’s blade with his own. A deep mutual hatred burned in their eyes. Calaban recognized a shared hunger for supremacy, both aspiring to take the part of the predator and force the other to become prey. If either were aware of the larger battle around them, he did not show it. A bestial bellow sounded from deep within the farrow ranks, and a large boar outfitted with a glowing tank and hoses pushed its way through the crowd. The beast’s muscles surged. Calaban could see the arteries pulsing beneath the skin of the boar’s neck. Behind the modified boar stood Dr. Arkadius, who gave Calaban a furtive glance before turning his attention back to his creation. A hiss of frustration escaped Calaban’s jaws as a group of gatormen moved to intercept the charging beast and unravel what might prove the last chance to see Barnabas’ life extinguished. “The beast is mine!” Calaban cried in the gatorman tongue. He urged the other gatormen back, adopting a dominant posture, his head raised. He directed one of his blackhides into the boar’s path. He would have to act quickly. The beasts charged each other, and Calaban threw himself into the throng of farrow. He raked Carcass over them in wide sweeps, the weapon’s jagged teeth cutting foes to the bone and splattering his mask in farrow blood. The moment before Arkadius’ creation and his own beast collided, he dropped his guard.

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THE GATE OPENS The farrow pushed back against his assault. Their crude clubs and blades bit into Calaban’s flesh to open wounds across his chest and knock free his mask. The pain was immense. It blazed through his body like a wildfire, then it was gone. The blackhide staggered as the transferred wounds tore its body open. With a blast of potent energy, Calaban withered the bodies of the farrow surrounding him and turned in time to witness the roaring mass of tubes and metal and muscle knock the wounded blackhide aside without slowing. Other gatormen moved to intercept, but the work was done. The boar charged up the mass of corpses to where Carver and Barnabas continued their bout, the stream of supplemental adrenaline spurring it onward. Barnabas turned with a look of surprise as the charging beast neared. He shifted his weight forward and stepped into a swing, and with a measure of force augmented by the spirits of the slain, he planted his axe deep within the boar’s chest and stopped the charge outright. The moment of distraction was enough. Even as Barnabas pulled his axe free from the boar’s chest, Carver’s blade sank into the bokor’s shoulder, biting bone and severing tendons. Barnabas hissed with

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rage and brought his axe around for a retaliatory strike, but Carver’s blade fell upon him again, striking the same spot and driving the bokor to his knees. The shoulder of a nearby ironback spitter tore open as Barnabas shunted the damage, leaving the creature’s arm dangling by a thread of skin. A third stroke fell, then a fourth, and Barnabas collapsed amid the corpses, the spitter collapsing with him. Yet there was awareness in his eye and he seemed almost expectant. Barnabas did not try to evade the farrow warlord’s axe as it crashed into his chest, splitting it wide to reveal his pulsing heart. The gathered spirits erupted into heightened activity, the green glow surrounding them flaring with intensity as they converged on the mortally wounded bokor. Runes carved upon the sacral vaults glowed with unwavering light while the flames of their candles leapt high. When the bokor looked up at Carver, the only sound that rose from his battered and broken body was harsh laughter. Then he fell silent. The exposed heart stilled, and Barnabas slumped, motionless. Carver raised his blade to the sky in triumph. Gatormen froze, staring in shock and dismay. The bokor’s reign had come to an end. His ascension had been cut short by the efforts of those closest to him, those he believed to be his faithful servants. Now all would serve

the will of the Grave Walker. It was time to collect Barnabas’ soul, to bind and enslave him to become dreadbound like Maelok. Calaban reached inside the satchel at his waist. His clawed hand closed over something smooth and hard, not the shape of the totem he had so painstakingly created for this moment. He withdrew his hand and in his palm rested not the totem, but a stone. Panicked, he looked inside the satchel but found nothing except river rocks, the totem nowhere to be seen. He upended the bag and scattered the stones at his feet. Calaban looked around in seething anger, finding only Maelok’s dead eyes upon him. He knew that creature was incapable of such an act. Jaga-Jaga, then? But her eyes were fixed on Barnabas. A howl of sheer terror rippled through the masses of farrow, and Calaban looked up to see the spirits of the dead rising from the mass of bodies on which Barnabas lay. Paying no mind to his wounds, Barnabas regained his footing amid an aura of green power, buoyed by the souls clinging to his reanimated body. He laughed once more, each burst expelling red mist. His body began to knit itself together, though his chest remained open, his beating heart grotesquely visible. He fixed his gaze on Carver. “You have slain me as a mortal,” Barnabas said. “But can you slay me now that I am a god?”

The Tharn descended screaming from the slopes of the Iosan mountains with smears of crimson across their faces. Some careened down the mountainside on the backs of wolves while others followed on foot and lunged from one rocky outcropping to the next. Warpwolves and satyrs wove between the sparse trees as they neared. Above, a massive tree with gnarled roots watched from the mountainside, a robed figure standing beside it. A chorus of howls mingled with the screams of the Tharn, and together the sounds were enough to send a chill down Madrak’s spine. The Tharn quickly overwhelmed the few trollkin defenders at the rear of the village. Pockets of kriel warriors had remained to defend those who could not fight, but most had seen too many years of combat, and the speed and ruthlessness of the Tharn left them sorely pressed. Spears sailed through the air to impale the reserve warriors, and warpwolves rushed from one structure to the next to cut down those who emerged. Madrak and a handful of warriors rushed toward the back of the village, away from the battle along the wall. He released his mental hold on the mountain kings, ordering

them to batter those who assailed them rather than the kriels. Behind him, Doomshaper shouted ancient curses as he unleashed the contents of his scrolls. The gathered troll kings expressed their rage in great bellows. Madrak had to trust his friends to hold without him. He could not allow the Tharn to rampage unchecked. “Drive them back!” he shouted as he and his warriors joined the fray. A female Tharn on wolfback charged to meet him. He swung Rathrok in a rising arc, the blade nearly scraping the ground before coming up to bat aside the spear and behead the rider. He extended a hand toward the warriors, runes blazing to life in the air, willing their fatigue to vanish and renewed strength to fill their limbs. He shouted, “Gather any ablebodied kin and make for the hall!” At his command, the warriors broke off to assist the reserves fighting the Tharn. Madrak stayed his course, sprinting toward the feast hall and his child. He saw Bron and Jor at the structure’s entrance. Alongside a pair of veteran warriors almost as old as Doomshaper, they were holding back the attackers. Earlier he had regretted not putting these most loyal trolls along the wall, but now he was glad he had chosen to leave them here. They would remain rooted there as long as they lived. Still, without help those who defended the village would not last long. He wondered which side the Tharn were aligned with, gatormen or farrow. Something large, heavy, and covered in fur slammed into Madrak’s side and took him off his feet—a warpwolf. Ironhide managed to position Rathrok's haft between himself and his assailant to create a barrier between his throat and the beast’s snapping jaws. He planted one booted foot in its stomach and kicked, using the force to free himself. He regained his footing and prepared to catch the warpwolf on the charge. The attack didn’t come. The warpwolf stared at him, lips pulled back in a snarl, body tense. Still it did not lunge. To one side, a low growl alerted Madrak to other warpwolves, each as tense as the first. They circled him with tentative steps but none made a move to strike. “Ironhide!” a voice boomed. Madrak whirled. Before him stood Kromac the Ravenous, the great Tharn king. A crown of bone rested upon Kromac’s head, testament to his authority, and the blood of Madrak’s people marked his chest. His arms hung relaxed at his sides, an axe in each hand. Madrak recognized them as Dusk and Dawn, the blades carved into crescent shapes symbolizing the sun and moons. “So it is you,” Madrak said. His grip tightened on Rathrok, and the urge to bury the weapon in Kromac’s chest seethed within him. He recalled Kromac’s attack in the Wyrmwall Mountains and how close Borka had come to death by the Tharn king’s axes. Yet Kromac seemed much smaller now,

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THE GATE OPENS more human. He was not yet in his bestial form. “You have come very far to destroy our homes. What have we done to deserve such wrath?” “I do not come for your people or your village,” Kromac replied. He stepped forward. “It is you I come for, Madrak Ironhide. I will eat your heart and World Ender will be mine. I will show your people the true power of the Beast of All Shapes.” Some of the warriors Madrak had pulled from the wall arrived with a dozen reserve warriors in tow, yet even with the reinforcements those defending the entrance struggled to deflect the hail of spears hurled at them by passing wolf riders. One of the veterans who had been fighting beside Madrak’s trolls lay face down in the dirt, a spear protruding from his back. Madrak took a step toward the hall only to have one of the warpwolves block his path. The beast’s fur bristled, and it bared its teeth. “Your fight is with me, Ironhide,” Kromac said. He crossed the hafts of his axes before him. The Tharn king’s expression was not far removed from that of the warpwolf. “I will make your end quick.”

“IT IS YOU I COME FOR, MADRAK IRONHIDE. I WILL EAT YOUR HEART AND WORLD ENDER WILL BE MINE. ” Without a word, Madrak hurled Rathrok at Kromac, putting all of his rage and resentment behind the throw. At the same moment, Kromac charged. Despite his size and muscular physique, Kromac moved with unnatural swiftness. He dipped low at the last possible moment, narrowly avoiding Rathrok’s edge. Madrak stood weaponless before his charge. Rathrok would return, but not quickly enough. Madrak rolled to the side, desperately evading Kromac’s lunging strikes. He raised his hand to catch the returning axe just in time to parry the next blow. Madrak stepped back, giving ground to regain his balance. Kromac rushed him. The Tharn led with Dusk, knocking Rathrok wide before bringing Dawn around to clip the trollkin's shoulder. Pain flared along Madrak’s arm, but he pushed the sensation away and brought Rathrok up to deflect the next series of blows, using the entire length of the weapon to shield his upper body. Kromac gave a great roar, bringing each strike against Madrak with more force than the last. He stepped back giving more ground to desperately hold Kromac at bay.

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The Tharn king pressed the attack with wide, powerful sweeps of his axes. Madrak’s mind flashed back to the battles atop the dueling platform in his youth, the duels that had earned him the title of Chieftain. He must push back, or he would be vanquished. He recalled how he found a way to defeat challenger after challenger on the kuar in the early days of his rule. There was always a weakness to exploit, a trick to throw the opponent off guard. Madrak dug in his heels and brought the length of Rathrok upward, catching the heads of both Dusk and Dawn and driving the weapons high. Rathrok burned in his grip. He then snapped forward, striking his forehead to the Tharn’s nose. He was rewarded with the sound of snapping cartilage. A howl escaped Kromac which Madrak cut off with a second, more forceful headbutt. The two parted, Kromac’s face as bloody as Madrak’s wounded shoulder. Madrak drove forward and put Kromac back on his heels. Dusk and Dawn rose to meet the axe swings only to be batted aside, unable to slow the cursed weapon’s momentum. Kromac snarled, but Madrak came on. He stepped forward as he swung, putting all his weight behind the attack. With impossible speed, Kromac brought his weapons up just high enough to deflect the killing strike. Dusk and Dawn crossed between the two fighters, the intersection of their hilts catching Rathrok below its head. A pause followed. Madrak and Kromac stared at one another over the great axe. The Tharn’s eyes were wild. “It will be mine!” Kromac shouted. The Tharn’s muscles swelled to new proportions, and the sound of cracking bones could be heard from beneath his skin as he grew taller and his shoulders broadened. Transformed and standing higher than a full-blood troll, the Tharn king belted out a roar befitting the beasts of the wilds, revealing a mouthful of elongated teeth. Kromac pushed forward with a burst of strength, forcing Madrak to backpedal. Their weapons twisted aside and parted, and Kromac launched into a flurry of blows more intense than the last. Each impact would have dislodged Rathrok from Madrak’s grasp if not for the unnatural bond between weapon and wielder. The side of an axe grazed Madrak’s head, staggering him. The next blow connected squarely with his uninjured shoulder. He cried out in pain as the blade bit deep and fractured bone. Still Kromac came at him. Madrak sensed Jor and Bron nearby and knew he could send his wounds to them, but he refused to weaken his son’s guardians. A gash opened along one knee and another across his left side. He raised Rathrok, desperate to ward off further hits, yet for each strike he successfully deflected, another found its mark.

An axe connected solidly with Madrak’s chest, and beneath his armor his ribs cracked. His body spun from the impact even as the pain swallowed him, and in the next moment he was face down in the dirt. Rathrok rested in front of him, and beyond Madrak saw his warriors gathered in front of the feast hall. They were outnumbered, and he could tell several had fallen. Rather than shunting his wounds to his wounded trolls, he urged on their regeneration, willing them to endure even as he felt death’s approach. “Stand!” Kromac roared, his voice bestial and difficult to comprehend. Madrak had opened his mouth to reply when he spotted Kargess. She was alone, rushing toward the feast hall with sword and shield ready. He reached for her, wanting to call out and warn her that there were too many Tharn. He wanted to tell her to take their child and run, but the pain of his shattered ribs robbed him of breath. He looked on as a pair of female Tharn wielding daggers blocked her path. Kargess ran the first through and clashed with the second. The runes of Rathrok glowed before Madrak’s eyes, and he could feel the weapon calling. It felt more alive and aware than ever. It hungered for release. Madrak had long worked to fight the weapon’s pull. He had lost much in his decision to take up World Ender, and his friends had died in the axe’s efforts to stave off his demise. By his own doing, his people were all but lost. Now the key to that destruction promised salvation if he would only surrender and allow it to fully awaken. His mind filled with thoughts of Kargess and his child, of the life they might lead. Whether he was present or not seemed unimportant. “Forgive me,” Madrak whispered, speaking to everyone and no one. With a heavy heart, he surrendered to the axe, no longer fighting its call. The runes engraved upon the axe blazed to life with an intensity Madrak had witnessed only once before, when Rathrok helped wake the mountain kings. A white fire filled each rune, and the blaze spread over the blade and down the haft. Raw power and vitality poured into Madrak’s body with painful intensity, starting with his fingers and then igniting in each wound Kromac had inflicted upon him. With the pain came a strange euphoria, and fresh wind filled his lungs. He stood without effort. The white light deepened and pulsed as all the pain vanished. His injuries remained, but they no longer mattered. He turned to face Kromac once more, light pouring from his eyes, an ancient and unfathomable power awakened for the first time in ages. Kromac let loose a bestial cry and rushed forward, drawing Dusk back. The axe cut through the air toward Madrak’s neck, but the trollkin chieftain swept Rathrok upward hard enough to knock the weapon from its wielder's grip and send

it sailing into the dirt. Kromac’s eyes widened in surprise, but he countered with Dawn. Madrak batted it away on the backswing, and Kromac’s last axe flew a dozen yards and clatter into the wall behind him. Unarmed, Kromac rolled to evade. Madrak followed, swinging the blazing Rathrok through the space the Tharn had occupied but a moment earlier. The world was a blur, his movements not his own. His body responded with a surety and strength he could never have matched, even without his injuries. Fever raged in his mind. Rathrok wielded him, pushing his body beyond its limits so the edge of its blade might taste flesh. A howl sounded to Madrak’s right, and he pivoted in time to see a circling warpwolf charge. Madrak launched Rathrok in an overhead swing and caught the leaping figure in midair, breaking the beast’s back and driving it to the ground. Madrak roared in a voice that was not his own, and a ripple of answering howls rose throughout the village, starting with the circling warpwolves and spreading among the rampaging Tharn. White light gleamed in their eyes as well, and hundreds of voices cried out as a shared madness consumed the Tharn and their beasts. Warpwolves twitched and convulsed as their bodies changed from moment to moment. They raked their claws across the ground, their minds unhinged. What little restraint had been imposed by the external will of their master was shattered. The warpwolves darted in every direction, spurred to the hunt by their frenzied state. They attacked Tharn and trollkin with equal abandon. So too the Tharn now seemed as willing to slaughter each other as their former foes. A pair of warpwolves raced toward Madrak. The first lunged, and he caught it with a sideways swipe that sent its broken body flying. The second followed on the heels of the first, and Rathrok split the creature’s skull. With each killing blow, Rathrok surged with new vitality. Madrak turned back to Kromac, who had taken the opportunity to reclaim his weapons. The Tharn king roared in defiance, and Madrak shouted back. He drew Rathrok back and felt the axe will him to take the shot, longing for final release. Too much power had built up in Madrak, filling him, his muscles straining, light streaming from his eyes. His skin felt as though he would burst from it. The brutality of the weapon’s long history filled his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to send it hurtling into Kromac’s chest. The desperate cry of a familiar voice pulled his mind back from the darkness. Kargess fled the hall with a bundle in her arms, a warpwolf loping after her. “Kargess!” Madrak shouted, and with all of his strength he launched Rathrok, not at Kromac, but at the back of the warpwolf pursuing his mate. All the power that had accumulated in his being went with the soaring axe, which

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THE GATE OPENS streaked across the intervening space trailing fire like a comet. As the handle left Madrak’s grip he felt a great weight lift from him. His mind was his own again. At the same moment, he felt his knees buckle as the agony of his wounds returned. His body was broken.

into a panicked retreat, but the newborn swamp spread to enmesh their legs in mire. Spirits of the slain raced alongside the living, shrieking and tearing ephemeral claws through the minds and bodies of the farrow, rending their essence.

Rathrok cleaved straight through the warpwolf in a spray of blood before falling to the earth. A pulse of energy erupted from the weapon, and a column of blinding light shot skyward as a piercing wind shrieked around those battling throughout the inner village. The looming clouds overhead buckled as if punched by an enormous fist, and sheets of rain began to fall upon the warring armies.

“Ancestors save us,” said the nearest Praetorian. He and the other guards stared in awe and terror. Even Mordikaar, who had witnessed more of the spirit world than most, was stunned by the display.

Madrak watched Kargess continue her escape. Beneath him the earth trembled, and all about him the combatants paused to look at the pillar of light piercing the clouds. Drawing upon the last reserves of his strength, Madrak raised his hand to await Rathrok’s return. The axe remained unmoving and the pillar of light surged unabated. A rumble began beneath Madrak’s feet, and soon all the Bloodstone Marches trembled under the might of World Ender.

Mordikaar stood atop the shattered remains of an outer watchtower and watched the spectacle unfolding before him. More forces had joined the fray, some of them materializing from the swarms of crows, and the fight raged stronger than ever. The sides in this conflict were not entirely clear. Earlier a small contingent of farrow had broken from their looting to assail the new arrivals, but the Venators and Praetorians had quickly put them down. Mordikaar held Despoiler in reserve but did not participate, his eyes fixed on the greater spectacle. Half a dozen Praetorians followed him to the outer wall and up the shattered steps of the watchtower. The rest stood guard below, ready to kill anything that came too close. They watched from amid the rubble, stooped behind the cover of shattered stone. Behind Mordikaar, the portal swelled and reshaped itself. Spirits screamed as they orbited the entrance to the Void. A high-pitched whistling sound poured from the portal, but he paid it no mind. His attention was fixed on the struggle at the center of the outer village. The lizard mystic had been dealt a mortal blow yet rose from the dead, screaming spirits twisting and contorting around his reanimated form. The spectral forms were potent enough for Mordikaar to see even without the lights of his lanterns. All about the reptile priest the blood that had seeped into the soil came spilling back out in great gushes of gore, and the sky darkened at his resurrection. There, in the dry and barren soil, a swamp had begun to manifest. The pig men fell over one another, trampling their fellows as they broke

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As the swamp spread, the revived gatorman priest rose into the air as if lifted by the spirits that assailed his enemies. The remaining stone constructs glowed a deep and haunting green, and the candles flared to life as if drinking in the energy of defeated foes. “Magnificent,” Mordikaar said, the word lost among the screams of the dying. It was then, as the blood swamp spread and the sky grew black, that Mordikaar saw a column of blinding white light erupt from beyond the fortress walls to pierce the sky. Although it hurt to behold, he could not turn away. Lightning erupted in the clouds above. The portal linking him to the Void pulsed. The portal reacted to the pillar of light. The whistling sound he had been ignoring ceased and then returned as an earsplitting screech. Mordikaar clapped his hands over his ears. A low rumble worked its way up the structure, rattling the foundation. Light limned the edges of the portal, and another surge of energy pushed it outward, enlarging it by half. He knew when the portal did not immediately return to its previous size that the problem was far greater than he had anticipated. A rush of air flowed over Mordikaar’s body as the Void tried to draw the world into itself. The vibrations carrying up through the tower intensified. Small stones rolled toward the gaping portal as it flickered and grew again. Pebbles became airborne, and larger pieces of loose stonework began to slide across the top of the watchtower. The Praetorians cried out and demanded answers he did not possess. In their voices he heard their fear of the Void made manifest. Mordikaar clutched at what masonry remained of the watchtower’s rim, his eyes wide as the surrounding debris left the ground and sailed into the Void. The portal surged again, now looming over the watchtower like a great eye, and Mordikaar felt his body lift from the stone. Several screaming Praetorians were pulled into the portal. From somewhere on the other side, a rumble like the growl of a mighty beast rolled up from the depths and into the expanses of the Bloodstone Marches. This was answered by roars from the gargantuan trolls fighting near the fortress. Half the watchtower tore away, the hail of stone taking the remaining Praetorians with it. Only Mordikaar

remained to face the oncoming devastation. Despoiler issued a mournful wail, though whether in sympathy for him or in attunement to the widening portal he did not know. Then he heard a roar, a mighty sound rising from the throats of a thousand beasts. As he looked into the Void he saw a formless predator rushing up from the nothingness to meet him, its body shifting from one nightmarish incarnation into the next. Teeth became claws, then talons, then barbs, and as the god was birthed from the Void to slake its hunger on Caen, Mordikaar saw his annihilation. The remnants of the watchtower exploded in a hail of stone, and Mordikaar was drawn into the maw of the terrible beast.

Kromac raised an arm to shield his eyes from the brilliant column of light Rathrok projected. Its summons rang out, provoking an answering chorus in the wild part of his mind. He stepped toward it as if in a daze. The essence of the Devourer was clear and pure, and awe filled him. He had recovered Dusk and Dawn and was closing on Madrak again when World Ender unleashed its pent-up energy and refused to return to the hand of its former master. Now Kromac cast those axes to the ground and walked past the crippled Madrak without glancing at him. Rathrok called, and he could not turn away. The ground shook beneath his feet. Above, the skies darkened and the clouds swirled about Rathrok’s signal. It was as though all of Caen pivoted around the light of the axe. The Tharn ceased their rampage to stand in rapt amazement. Another few steps brought Kromac within reach of the axe. Each wave of energy rattled his bones, and the light was blinding. Embracing the possibility of his destruction, he reached into the light and closed his fingers on Rathrok’s

haft. With the sound of a multitude of lungs drawing sharp breaths, the pillar of light collapsed back into the axe. The quakes intensified, and the darkened skies unleashed a storm upon the battlefield. The chaos flowed around Kromac as if he himself were the eye of the storm. The axe’s power flowed through his body, and he pulled the weapon from the ground to raise it high for his gathered warriors to see. A roar rose from his throat, answered by the Tharn who remained. Another jolt ran through the ground, sharp enough to make him stumble. In the next instant a section of the

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THE GATE OPENS wall exploded and chunks of stone flew in all directions, crushing trollkin and Tharn alike. Through the gap came a tumult of ever-changing destruction. The Beast of All Shapes had arrived on Caen. The shifting deity seemed physical and ethereal at once, its form morphing as it rampaged across the battlefield. Yawning mouths and savage eyes formed and collapsed while the storm coalesced into trampling hooves and lacerating claws. A group of wolf riders was crushed beneath the tread of the Wurm, and a dire troll fitted with a slugger was swallowed whole by a maw ringed with fangs. The ground crumpled in the deity’s wake. Lightning reached down from the sky to lash the battlements, and a deluge of rain fell upon those left alive to witness the glory of the Wurm. Rathrok thrummed in Kromac’s grip, though its fury and inchoate rage had been released into the world, facilitating the arrival of the Wurm. He felt a bond to the weapon, and its living heat shifted in tune with his heartbeat. A sense of clarity came over him, the haze of transformation lifted. The Wurm still flowed within him, giving him strength and allowing him to maintain his bestial form, yet his mind was his own. He felt at one with the storm around him, with the howling beasts, and even with the mountain and glacier kings crying their greetings to the Beast of All Shapes that was their father. He was connected to them all yet remained himself. He sensed in the distance the collapse of skorne fortresses as the world threatened to shake apart. The Wurm rampaged through the inner village and crashed through what remained of the wall. Echoes of sensations ran through Kromac’s body as the Beast of All Shapes invoked ruin all around. A pair of fleeing kriel warriors crossed his path and he cut them down without ceremony. Madrak lay upon the ground, his body propped up on one elbow as he tried to pull himself toward the trollkin female he had relinquished the axe to save. Once more Kromac set his sights on Rathrok’s former host. He would consecrate the axe with the chieftain’s blood and eat his heart. He approached Madrak and placed Rathrok’s edge at his throat, saying, “I am the Champion of the Wurm.” Then he drew back the axe. A vision struck him. Madrak stood atop a vast wall, Kromac beside him, wearing unfamiliar garb and holding a forked spear in his hands. Rathrok was once again in the trollkin’s grip, and together he and the Tharn chief cut through swathes of men, sending them tumbling from the battlements. Kromac felt an inexplicable bond of kinship with Madrak. The scene changed with a flash of light, and Kromac watched as Madrak clashed with a figure clad in

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steel surmounted by a tabard of gold and white, his helm cast in the shape of a lion’s head. The battle was fierce as the warriors clashed. He could sense Madrak’s pure hatred for the armored figure. Through remembered tales Kromac knew the man must be the Menite priest-king Golivant, against whom the Molgur had made their final stand at the Shield of Thrace. Another flash erased this vision as well, replacing it with the disheartening sight of the trollkin chieftain’s body racked atop the wall in view of what remained of the Molgur army. From his lips flew curses, and his face showed no weakness despite the pain. Kromac knew this was Horfar Grimmr, he who had united the wilds and threatened to erase the greatest Menite city of his day, yet he was also Madrak Ironhide. The vision faded, and the face of Madrak Ironhide stared up at him with the same resolute expression. Kromac stepped back and lowered the axe. Rathrok had given him a glimpse into the past. Madrak and his people were lost children of the Wurm, and the trollkin chief’s skill as a warrior was commendable. His life was to be spared; there was other blood to be spilled. Perhaps one day they would take up arms together against the overreaching human kingdoms, as both their ancestors had. Kromac turned away and started toward where Wurmwood loomed on the mountainside. Suddenly a robed and hooded figure held the blade of a scythe to his throat. Kromac recognized him as the Circle omnipotent Mohsar, the Desert Walker. The hood obscured much of his face, except for a deep frown on sun-baked skin. His expression conveyed contempt. Behind him, the manifestation of the Wurm broadened its swirling and spiraling rampage, swallowing the looting farrow that had taken shelter in trollkin homes. “What horror have you unleashed upon my domain?” Mohsar asked, though it was clear he expected no answer. “So much effort for an instrument of destruction, yet you know not what you wield. Leave before I strike you down. Tell Wurmwood my business with him is not over.” Kromac felt no fear, despite the omnipotent’s power. With Rathrok in his grip, he knew the threat was empty. “You should rejoice with me,” he said. “The Wurm is made manifest. Civilization will fall.” He turned away, heading for the peaks where Wurmwood awaited him. He would no more answer to the blackclads. Only the god of beasts was his master now.

Only a few sections remained of the inner fortifications, and the bastion of stone on which Hoarluk Doomshaper stood

quaked beneath his feet. He intuitively knew the shapeshifting creature that seemed at one with the storm; he understood its nature more through the flow of its energies than by its ever-changing appearance. The forces that had been battling one another moments earlier now fled in terror before the onslaught. The troll kings who came with him from the north as well as those he had awakened in the Wyrmwall seemed unbothered by this rampaging force of destruction as they chased down the nearest remaining farrow and gatormen, devouring anything they caught. Those Tharn not driven to berserk frenzy made for the safety of the mountains. Trollkin poured from the inner village. The battle was over. Now the only goal was survival. The portal from which the Wurm had emerged still hung in the air, a shimmering rupture in reality, a black gateway to Urcaen. The Wurm’s manifestation was still in the beginning stages, Doomshaper sensed. The terrifying primal power igniting the air around him was growing stronger by the second, and the living storm that partially comprised its body still poured from the portal. The more it raged, the more potent the quakes became. The raw power the Wurm embodied defied understanding, yet Doomshaper knew only a portion of the god had made it into the world, as though the gateway were not wide enough to allow it easy ingress. The Wurm focused on destroying walls, homes, and machines, targeting anything not of the natural world. If it came through entirely, it would swiftly depart from this barren place to seek the cities of men. The prospect held a certain appeal. Long had Doomshaper dreamed of taking vengeance upon humankind, and here was a means to be rid of if at last. Still, he felt something else, a deep-seated pain that had increased since the Wurm first appeared. The remnants of the wall trembled beneath him once more, and Doomshaper clutched his staff for balance. Through the stonework and the earth beneath, he maintained a connection to Dhunia, and he realized the pain he felt originated there: Dhunia cried out as waves of agony coursed through her body. Each gash the Wurm tore in the surface of Caen was a laceration on the goddess. The Wurm was a natural force, but it embodied the natural chaos of storms, floods, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions. Not since primeval days had Dhunia and the Wurm wrestled and fought, until at last she gave birth to Menoth the Hunter to drive the Wurm away. While Doomshaper desired to see mankind’s cities fallen to ruin, he would not witness the Great Mother ravaged again. He looked out upon the ruins and a familiar rage filled him. He had never laid eyes on the settlement until he stood atop its battlements this day, and already it was nothing but a memory. His intervention had not been

enough to salvage the life his allies had tried to build here. This was not the Wurm’s time—not if he had anything to say about it. A solitary figure wrapped in a desert-hued cloak and holding a scythe climbed the steep steps of the inner village’s kuar dueling platform. Though the figure was not attired in black, Doomshaper recognized his armor as that of the druids. Even at a distance, he could sense the being’s power. The figure raised one hand skyward while the other made a circling motion with his scythe around the base of the kuar. Below him, a pair of elaborate floating stone devices Doomshaper knew to be celestial fulcrums circled the tower, each crackling with elemental energy. In the same way he could feel Dhunia through the stones on which he stood, he felt a steadily increasing flow of energy rising within the kuar. Whatever ritual the blackclad had begun, he was using the platform as a conduit. Energy welled up from the earth to course through the stone and into the druid’s body. Yet somewhere in the transition between stone and druid, the energy became charged, like the air before a storm. This druid was no shaman of Dhunia but a prophet of the Wurm.

THE TERRIFYING PRIMAL POWER IGNITING THE AIR AROUND HIM WAS GROWING STRONGER BY THE SECOND. Doomshaper scowled in anger, knowing the blackclads to be allied to the Tharn, but this one’s actions gave him pause. Above the druid’s upraised hand, a small point of calm formed within the sky. More power surged through the dueling platform, and the gap in the dark cloud cover expanded briefly before collapsing. The druid was fighting against the Wurm, not assisting it. Thus far his efforts were futile; though the power arising from the earth was tied to Dhunia, once it left the druid’s fingertips it became tainted—wild and destructive. Using such energy against the Beast of All Shapes was like trying to stop a fire by hurling a single burning branch in its path. Cracks of thunder sounded, and six blackclads appeared around the kuar. Below, wolds of various designs appeared and joined the ritual, forming a ring around the circling celestial fulcrums. The power rising through the platform increased with the added efforts of the new arrivals, but it was still not enough. Dhunia’s power was potent, but the conversion it experienced as it was harnessed by the druids robbed it of its effectiveness. Doomshaper immediately thought he might succeed where they failed. He made for the dueling platform. A young blackclad appeared before him as he reached the circle of wolds, his

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THE GATE OPENS voulge at the ready. Doomshaper brought around his staff and laid the youth low, leaving him unconscious. There was no time for debate. The wolds closest turned to avenge the fallen youth, but Doomshaper ran past them and climbed the steps to where the leader stood with arms outstretched. The wolds did not follow, perhaps impelled by the ritual to remain where they were. Doomshaper crested the top despite the quakes that tried to throw him from the platform. The wind was intense, and the howl of the storm nearly swallowed the chants of the blackclads. The druids seemed immune to the elements, and he saw several were floating just slightly above the stone. This close, Doomshaper realized the leading druid must be Mohsar, one of the omnipotents of their order who governed the eastern deserts. “The Wurm begets the Wurm!” Doomshaper shouted over the wind and the rumble of shifting earth. “Your powers will not succeed against their master! We must invoke the Great Mother!” “What impertinence is this?” Mohsar said, turning to face him. “You. One of the slayers of Ergonus.” He referred to the omnipotent Madrak and Doomshaper had laid low when the blackclads tried to assassinate Ironhide. “Observe,” Doomshaper said, ignoring the accusation. Without another word he gripped his staff in both hands and struck its base against the platform. He could feel Dhunia’s essence radiating through the kuar. He harvested that energy and sent it against the chaotic essence that surrounded them. The vibrations shaking the tower lessened. Doomshaper said, “Alone, I can do little more than resist. Together, we may be able to drive the Wurm back. Lend me your strength. If I cannot see it done, no one can.” He studied Mohsar’s face. The scowl remained, but something changed in the overall expression. An appraisal, and the faintest trace of respect. “Very well,” Mohsar said. “Let us see what you can do.” He nodded to the surrounding druids. Once again a swell of power traveled up from the earth and through the platform. Doomshaper squared his shoulders. The energy pouring into his body was immense, and the sensation it provided was both invigorating and terrifying. He felt like he was trying to swallow a lake. He gritted his teeth and pushed back against the prevailing energies of the Wurm. The roar of the earthquake faded.

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The portal looming in the distance flickered and distorted. A cacophony of bestial cries sounded from the Wurm, and Doomshaper felt the opposing energy push back. He dropped to one knee, his body bowing under the strain of resisting the Wurm, but he continued to channel the power of Dhunia. He prayed to the goddess, hoping to prove worthy to be her vessel. Bolts of lightning struck first one blackclad and then another, frying them in their robes and sending them over the edge of the kuar. The storm intensified. At the base of the platform, one of the celestial fulcrums exploded in a hail of stone and splinters. Two smaller wolds did likewise. “Hold!” Mohsar yelled in a voice more threatening than encouraging. “Do not waver!” Together they managed to withstand the mounting pressure, but the loss of the blackclads and the celestial fulcrum had thrown the energy into disharmony. The distant portal shrank only slightly. All around them the storm wailed. A druid to Doomshaper’s left collapsed, blood pooring from his body. A flash of light overwhelmed Doomshaper’s vision, and a clap of thunder sounded atop the platform. The remaining two omnipotents had arrived: Dahlekov, large and muscled in his black robes and bronzed armor; and Lortus, thin and gaunt, his head bald and his face marred with scar tissue, a golden torc around his neck. “Our apologies for our late arrival,” Dahlekov said to Mohsar. “The Storm Lord’s impertinence eclipsed all else.” Lortus said, “Let us end this before the Devourer’s hold on this world tightens.” The new arrivals did not seem startled by Doomshaper’s presence, and they quickly apprehended how Mohsar’s ritual was connected to him. As they added their power to the ritual, a great weight was lifted from Doomshaper’s shoulders. The power flowing through him intensified and became a smooth torrent. The shifting form of the rampaging deity headed for the dueling platform, its thousand eyes burning with rage. The Wurm plowed through the wolds gathered at the base of the platform, sending them hurtling through the air in pieces. The second celestial fulcrum was crushed beneath a barrage of scaled and clawed feet. Without the assistance of the wolds or the celestial fulcrum, the burden became unbearable for those atop the kuar. A number of new celestial fulcrums materialized below, summoned to amplify the efforts of the druids. The Wurm wheeled about and prepared to destroy them. If they went, so would all hope of casting the Wurm back into Urcaen.

Doomshaper removed a small knife from a sheath at his waist. With one swift motion he plunged it into his own chest below the sternum and yanked downward, opening a deep gash. He fell to his knees before the omnipotents, his blood flowing from the wound to splatter across the platform and sink into the cracks between the stones. Even as his vitality drained away, Doomshaper felt his connection to Dhunia strengthen, joining him to the earth below. There was no force on Caen as primal and connected to life as the blood of trolls. He gave Dhunia the gift of his own essence and accepted her power in return.

Survivors of the Gnarls kriels had joined the United Kriels gathered at the platform’s stairs, waiting for Doomshaper to lead them home.

The platform thrummed with energy, but Doomshaper sensed the flow coming to an end. Something deep within the earth had collapsed beneath the strain. The power the druids had gathered would be the last.

“Much, but not all,” Madrak replied. Dag babbled meaninglessly between them. Madrak smiled at his son.

Doomshaper felt his consciousness slipping, but the regenerative power borrowed from Mulg stopped his bleeding and closed his wound. He tightened his grip on his staff and pushed himself to his feet. Gritting his teeth he stared at the portal, denying its existence and healing the body of Dhunia. An anguished shriek rose from the Wurm. On the horizon, the hovering portal expanded briefly before collapsing in on itself with an implosive thump, as though a massive door had slammed shut. The sound rolled over the hills and echoed amid the Iosan peaks before fading into the distance. The storm-fused form of the Wurm accelerated into a maddened vortex around the kuar, emitting flashes of lightning. The warping forms contained within it became more fluid, crashing into one another and blending together. With a final howl the Beast of All Shapes disintegrated, its form dissipating in the wind. Just as suddenly the storm abated, leaving a deep and solemn quiet.

Madrak made his way to where his people gathered in loose groups around what had once been the feast hall. Kargess stood with them, Dag held tightly in her arms. The two embraced with their child between them. She had not remarked on the absence of Rathrok in the battle’s aftermath, and she did not do so now. “We have lost much,” Kargess said.

Bron walked up to them, Jor following close behind. “Madrak lives,” Bron said in his rumbling voice. “Little Madrak lives.” The troll extended a thick finger to scratch Dag’s head. Having gorged on fallen farrow, the axer showed little evidence of the injuries he had suffered. Both Bron and Jor had nearly given their lives to keep Dag safe. Madrak was forever in their debt. His friends stood talking nearby: Grissel, Calandra, Gunnbjorn, Grim, and Horthol. Many had died, but these had made it through. He owed them all. Kargess found his gaze. “What now?” she asked. He had no immediate answer. A clap of thunder rang out from the kuar, and the hunched druid vanished. Doomshaper descended the tower and crossed the empty expanse to Madrak and his family. “The blackclad says your people will not be troubled by his within his domain,” Doomshaper said. “He believes the farrow and gatormen are unlikely to return.” “Good,” Madrak said. “Have you given any thought to what I said about accompanying me back to the Gnarls? There is strength in numbers.”

Madrak walked among the rows of honored dead. Weapons and shields rested upon the chest of each warrior. They would receive proper burial rites, but it would take some time. As he passed each body, he silently thanked them for their sacrifice and wished them an expedient return. The kuar was the only structure still standing for miles in every direction, its lonesome form eerie to behold. When the chaos ended, Doomshaper descended from the platform to check on Madrak and the others, but he returned soon after and remained there even now, talking with the hunched druid who carried a scythe and wore robes the color of sand. What the two talked about, Madrak did not know or care.

Madrak shook his head. “Our time here is ended. This land is not the home we sought.” He looked toward the horizon. “Somewhere out there, a new life awaits us.” He had no idea where such a place might be, but the words felt right. He had taken the first step on a better path for the kriels. His people would no longer accept what was forced upon them. They would choose their own way— and their own destiny.

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