The Races of the Old World

• The Empire

  The Empire represents the last bastion of mankind. Ever since Sigmar, the eternal patron god and founder of The Empire, first united the primitive tribes of men, the nation has had to fight for its very survival with constant vigilance. The Empire is a beacon for all human learning and culture in a dangerous world, its light surrounded on all sides by dark forces that constantly threaten to extinguish it. The newly-elected Emperor Karl Franz is heralded by his followers as the heir of Sigmar. In him they see a man worthy of wielding both the Warhammer and the title of Emperor that the mighty warrior-god once held. Someone who can unify the Empire and finally vanquish its enemies both within and without.

• Dwarfs

  Rising high above the world in an endless series of jagged peaks stand the Worlds Edge Mountains. Beneath these snow-tipped pinnacles, the Dwarfs have dug into the bedrock of the world, carving out mines and halls into a kingdom, which they call the Karaz Ankor, or the 'Everlasting Realm'. Dwarfs are shorter and stouter than Men, and are known for their broad shoulders, magnificent beards and dauntless hardiness. Dwarfs do not forget grudges. Indeed, they harbor them; there is no word for forgiveness in their language.

• Greenskins

  The Greenskins make up the most barbaric and prolific raiding force in The Old World. Rather than a single race, they are a conglomeration of smaller sub-races, banded together by their like-minded brutality, lack of intelligence and lust for carnage. Greenskins lack any form of government, subscribing instead to a ‘might-makes-right’ ideology that sets the nastiest and sneakiest firmly at the top of the pecking order. The variety and versatility of Greenskin armies and the brute strength of their warriors more than makes up for what they lack in intelligence and diplomacy.

• Vampire Counts

  In the forsaken lands of Sylvania, the Undead battalions of the Vampire Counts gather. The presence of the living dead is a corruption upon the face of the world, and as they expand their holdings, the very land they occupy is transformed. Their advance is heralded by encroaching mists no wind can displace, trees twisting and buckling as though in agony, and a gathering darkness of supernatural perpetuity. All tremble before the unliving masters of Sylvania, for they are a blasphemy against nature and reason. Those that attempt to stem their relentless onslaught will soon learn that there are fates in this world that are worse than death.