Core Book.pdf

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From the maelstrom of a sundered world, the
Eight Realms were born. The formless and the
divine exploded into life. Strange, new worlds
appeared in the firmament, each one gilded
with spirits, gods and men. Noblest of the gods
was Sigmar. For years beyond reckoning he
illuminated the realms, wreathed in light and
majesty as he carved out his reign. His strength
was the power of thunder. His wisdom was
infinite. Mortal and immortal alike kneeled
before his lofty throne. Great empires rose and,
for a while, treachery was banished. Sigmar
claimed the land and sky as his own and ruled
over a glorious age of myth.
But cruelty is tenacious. As had been foreseen,
the great alliance of gods and men tore itself
apart. Myth and legend crumbled into Chaos.
Darkness flooded the realms. Torture, slavery
and fear replaced the glory that came before.
Sigmar turned his back on the mortal kingdoms,
disgusted by their fate. He fixed his gaze instead
on the remains of the world he had lost long
ago, brooding over its charred core, searching
endlessly for a sign of hope. And then, in the
dark heat of his rage, he caught a glimpse of
something magnificent. He pictured a weapon
born of the heavens. A beacon powerful enough
to pierce the endless night. An army hewn from
everything he had lost. Sigmar set his artisans
to work and for long ages they toiled, striving to
harness the power of the stars. As Sigmar’s great
work neared completion, he turned back to the
realms and saw that the dominion of Chaos was
almost complete. The hour for vengeance had
come. Finally, with lightning blazing across his
brow, he stepped forth to unleash his creation.
The Age of Sigmar had begun.
A
thousand battle cries mingle with screams as they rise to the
storm-lashewd skies. Blades and hammers crash upon armour,
sink deep into flesh, take heads from necks. Peril and strife are
constants in these Mortal Realms, these tortured kingdoms that stand so
close to the precipice of disaster. Only an army of demigods could hope
to pull them back from the brink.
Such an army exists, forged for this very hour by Sigmar and his broken
pantheon. That numinous host fights with every iota of its god-given
strength to deny the final victory of Chaos, to save those pockets of
humanity that can still be salvaged and bring them back into the fight.
Civilisation must rise again and, in places, it is taking root once more.
But the towers and spires of progress cast long shadows of their own…

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