Through its faith, its steel and its gunpowder
had the mighty Empire of Man weathered each and every storm set against it
for two-and-a-half-thousand years. But the lands that would become known throughout
the Old World as The Empire were not always the stalwart bastion of humanity they are today.
They were once dark and dangerous, inhabited by squabbling chiefdoms that preyed on one another
just as the world’s nightmares preyed on them. But that was all to change with the rise of a
single man - Sigmar Heldenhammer, it is his story. These long videos take forever to make, so
please consider commenting, liking and sharing! And if you want to live your own fantasy epic, try our sponsor Gemstone Legends. It’s a
free match-three RPG, combining action, puzzles and epic fantasy into a heroic quest
suitable for anyone, available on Android and iOS. You and your dragon companions advance through
battles by matching gems to perform actions, training up your heroes with new skills and gear
as you progress through a non-linear campaign. You can also do PVP battles
and Raids - in particular, it’s the kind of free game where free players
are still fine to do this high end content. It’s also the kind of game you can play on and
off, and one of our team members, PhoenixRed, had been doing so during commutes, or to
have an easy wind down ready to go anytime, with engaging battle mechanics and beautiful
hand-drawn art and animations to enjoy. And reviewers seem to like it too - it’s very highly
rated on both google play and the apple app store. Install the game via our link in the
description, or the QR code on screen, to get $50 worth of bonus items, including
Meralia, a good healer hero that will keep you going through the entire game and makes
getting started easy. Check it out now! Between 1,500 and 1,000 years before the
creation of the Empire, the powerful, ancient but insular Dwarves of the Worlds Edge
Mountains began observing a mass exodus of agrarian human tribes into the lands between the
Worlds Edge and Grey Mountains, where they fled in order to escape the predation of deadly enemies
in the east. Over the next thousand or so years, these tribes gradually civilised, establishing
a number of petty barbarian kingdoms. But they were still easy prey for the numerous nightmares
of the world. One of these tribes, whose fertile lands were nestled between the great River Reik
to the north and the Grey Mountains in the south, was known as the Unberogens . With their capital
at Reikdorf, the Unberogens were, like most other human tribes during that harsh age, a ferocious
warrior people with brutal, martial traditions and a brutal, martial god to match. He was
Ulric, god of battle, winter, and wolves. Unberogen settlements were assaulted constantly by
chaotic Beastmen warbands emerging from the deep, dark forests as well as warmongering Greenskin
hordes descending from the infested mountains. As though to compound the horror, fellow human
tribes such as the Thuringians, Teutogens, and Merogens would also routinely attack Unberogen
towns, pillaging at will and taking away captives. It was in the year -30 IC - or ‘Imperial
Calendar’ that Sigmar Unberogen was born in the midst of a melee between the retainers of
his father King Bjorn and an Orcish raiding band, a melee which led to his mother Griselda’s death.
Sigmar thus came into the world with the sound of battle ringing in his ears and the feel of both
Greenskin and human blood on his infant body. Overhead flew the famous twin-tailed comet,
foretelling the advent of a grand new epoch. This scion of the Unberogen royal line
rapidly began to prove his exceptional nature during childhood. When charged by
the fearsome stallion-sized boar known as Blacktusk along the River Skein, Sigmar
alone of his hunting party boldly stood his ground in the face of imminent death. Rather than
hunting the beast as initially intended however, he instead showed immense character by dislodging
a spear that had been stuck in the creature’s back years before, ending its torment. Perhaps the
most renowned of the young Sigmar’s exploits came when a caravan of Dwarves from Karaz-a-Karak
was assailed and captured by a force of Greenskins in the Grey Mountains. Young Sigmar, still
just a ‘manling’ at the time, led a force of Unberogen warriors to rescue the beleaguered
Dwarves. Amid his assault on the Greenskin camp, he smashed through dozens of Orcs and then
slew their hulking warlord Vagraz Headstomper in single combat. In gratitude to the human,
Dwarf King Kurgan Ironbeard of Karaz-A-Karak granted Sigmar the priceless runic warhammer of
his age-old house - Ghal Maraz, ‘Skullsplitter.’ Not long after returning victorious to
Reikdorf with his legendary new weapon, Sigmar was called to stand before his proud
father, together with his advisory council, within the royal longhouse’s great hall.
As was tribal custom, Bjorn’s heir was expected to earn his shield in battle upon
reaching manhood at the age of fifteen. Luckily for the young warrior, yet another
Greenskin warlord named Grimgut Bonecrusher had stormed down from the southern mountains into
Unberogen territory, viciously ravaging the land and its people en route to a small settlement
to the west called Astofen. Sigmar was ordered to ride south with half of Reikdorf’s warriors -
three hundred in total, track and then put a swift end to the Greenskin horde before it could inflict
any further damage on the Unberogen people. But he would not go alone, he
had noble companions for company. Wolfgart was first. Loyal and headstrong, always
raring for a good fight. Second - Pendrag, a diplomatic, tactful, and calming influence.
Finally, Trinovantes was quiet, reserved, and yet balanced in his counsel, a good compromise between
two extremes. All were warriors born and bred. That evening, each warrior who was to venture
out to fight the Greenskins the following morning assembled in the Dwarf-wrought great
hall. In yet another Unberogen custom known as Blood Night, the warriors
enjoyed what might be seen as the last supper. They sat down beside their
comrades to eat a lavish feast of fine meats, cooked specifically for the occasion. Ale
was devoured entire tankards at a time, songs were sung, boasts of prior glories were
made and blood sacrifice offered to UIric. When the sun rose, the entire population of
Reikdorf and their king Bjorn watched as the column of 300 mounted Unberogen fighters, a
fifteen-year-old Sigmar at their head, filed through the gates and vanished beyond the horizon.
As the aging tribal ruler watched his prodigious son and heir march off on campaign, he remarked
to himself “T’is the loneliest thing to be the leader of men in war.” Only later did he think
more of this, adding “Perhaps that is not true, perhaps it is lonelier here, as a father,
waiting for his son to return home safely.” Sigmar and his three-hundred blazed a trail
southwest from Reikdorf along the right bank of the Reik River. The band pushed down a
track flanked by dark forest on both sides, occasionally passing by minuscule riverside
settlements. Although these were Unberogen lands, the disconnected forest dwellers
were suspicious of strangers by nature and, upon seeing such a formidable party
of armed men, kept a wary distance. As most foul creatures of the region were
concentrated against Astofen, the Unberogen riders met no resistance along the way and a few days
later exited out of the forest a few leagues to the east of the city and came to a halt behind
a ridge, on the other side of which was Astofen. Scouts were swiftly detached to get a
measure of the terrain and their enemy while Sigmar encamped, maintaining strict quiet
and refusing to light fires so that the Orc mob would not become aware of them. After a tense
night's rest, Sigmar, Wolfgart, and Pendrag covertly ascended the hill to get a good birds-eye
view of the situation in the light of day. Astofen was an assortment of tightly packed-together huts
protected by an encircling wood stockade with guard towers at each corner. The besieged
town lay within a ‘bowl’ of craggy hills, the eastern portion of which Sigmar’s
warriors were encamped behind. Its southern wall was further shielded by a bend
in the nearby river. Half a league away from the town was a narrow stone bridge leading onto an
open plain to the south. Good country for mounted warfare. Sigmar observed carefully, believing the
terrain to be conducive to an Unberogen victory. However, the situation for the
townspeople was growing extremely grim. Beyond their thoroughly inadequate palisade
was a ramshackle mass of over 2,000 slaverings, howling Greenskins, beating war drums, and
waving their savage choppa’s in the air. These monsters were ready to sack Astofen and
tear every man, woman, and child inside to pieces. Among their number were regular Orcs, fearsome
foes in their own right, together with smaller goblins who operated catapults and loosed volley
after volley of flaming arrows into the flammable, wood and thatch town. Most imposing of all were
the mighty black orcs - alphas of the Greenskin race, and their massive chieftain Grimgut
Bonecrusher who led from the center of the throng. As Sigmar and his companions watched on, twenty of
the horde’s greatest black orcs hefted a massive siege ram, shaped like a massive fist, toward the
main entrance. Some brave men of Astofen braced the gate and extinguished fires while others threw
spears from atop the wall. Despite inflicting casualties, it was clear that the Greenskin
war engines would get through eventually. Sigmar had to act fast or the town and all its
inhabitants would be unceremoniously butchered. Quickly returning to camp with a plan in mind,
the Unberogen warrior-prince astutely selected Trinovantes - brave, measured, and calm, to lead
fifty grizzled volunteers around the outer hills, where they would take up an ambushing position
on the far side of the Astofen Bridge. While this small detachment gradually eased their way around
to the position Sigmar had pointed out, the main force of 200 to 250 Unberogen cavalry formed up
into two lines of battle. The first was led by Sigmar himself and were armed with spears, while
the second under Wolfgart’s command had recurve bows. Both deployed on the reverse slope of the
eastern hill where the Greenskins could not see them, waiting for Trinovantes’ prearranged signal.
The Battle at Astofen Bridge was about to begin. Time passed slowly. There was, as of yet, no sign
of Trinovantes’ readiness, nor any evidence of his presence whatsoever. Sigmar’s attack could
not go ahead until the signal was received, but the Greenskins were squeezing Astofen harder and
harder by the minute. If the Unberogens did not act soon, it would all be for nothing. Wolfgart,
fiery as ever, vigorously pressed Sigmar to unleash them on the Orcs, but the prince held him
back. Trinovantes would pull through. As though to repay his blood brother’s confidence, at that very
moment the bright green banner of Trinovantes was raised into the wind beyond the stone bridge.
The signal had given, and the trap was ready. With no further delay, Sigmar lifted his spear
and shield to the heavens. As Wolfgart chanted the prince’s name in a booming cry, Sigmar called
out to those stalwarts who had accompanied him “Unberogens. We ride!” Then, with an initial
blast from Wolfgart’s war horn, the human warriors charged at a gallop over the crest of the hill.
In beleaguered Astofen, Sigmar’s appearance on the hilltop was met with sheer elation. Salvation
had come. The town’s warriors fought with renewed vigour, pushing the Greenskin menace back from the
walls as best they could. Amid his warmongering rabble of Orcs, Grimgut Bonecrusher roared and
bellowed commands. Beaten and coerced by the warlord’s big ‘uns , half of the horde broke from
the siege and formed a loose front ‘line’ of long spears and primitive shields, through which
Sigmar’s brazen charge would have to punch. The onrushing tide of horsemen picked up speed as
it raced down the slope toward the Greenskin army. Behind the Orcish spear-wall, thin-limbed goblin
archers loosed inaccurate and uncoordinated potshots which mostly failed to hit their
mark. When missiles did indeed strike one of Sigmar’s cavalrymen, high-quality shields
and armour, recently forged for them by the masterful Dwarven artificers of Karaz-a-Karak,
succeeded in repelling most of the damage. Just prior to the point of impact, Sigmar and
his hundred-or-so mounted Unberogen warriors quickly changed tact, each throwing their heavy
lance into the Greenskin line with the force of a ballista bolt. An iron hailstorm of razor-sharp
spear tips penetrated thick wooden shields, impaling the Orcs holding them or simply
slaying the odorous beasts outright. Dozens of Greenskins fell in this initial barrage,
but the cavalry was still set to impact. At the last possible second, however, each horseman
wheeled around with peerless equestrian prowess and sailed away from the enemy line, ascending
the slope once more. Bloodthirsty as always and seeking to get into a proper fight with Sigmar’s
elusive cavalry, Grimgut’s spear wall splintered slightly. As the Unberogen first line peeled
away from danger after an assault only seconds in length, Wolfgart’s second rank bore down
on the Orcs, seeking to frustrate the war-mad beasts even further. Sigmar’s brazen comrade
sounded yet another harsh note on his war-horn, and the cavalry under his command fired a small,
precise storm of arrows into the Orc ranks. Following Sigmar’s example, Wolfgart and the
mounted troops under his command wheeled and also darted back up the slope. The arrows found their
mark almost universally. Some struck a bullseye, penetrating Orcish skulls and felling their
victims, but most merely stuck impotently into thick shields and the rough, leathery hide of
the Orcs. The irritating arrows were, however, not intended to destroy, but to annoy. At this latest
denial of a face-to-face melee, the Greenskin shield wall heaved forwards, charging like
berserkers in pursuit of the Unberogen cavalry . The enraged Orcs lobbed spears of their own at
Wolfgart’s retreating men and several of them were knocked from their horses. When the onrushing
Greenskin tsunami reached these unfortunates, their cries of pain were mercilessly silenced
by cleaver, ax, or an iron boot to the skull. Atop the hill, Sigmar let loose a bellow of
fury upon witnessing these first casualties, but reformed and rearmed his
line of horsemen all the same. Wolfgart did likewise when most of his own line
reached the summit, forming up behind his friend. As the disorganised mass of muscled Greenskins
sprinted across the plain in battle rage, Sigmar let loose a horn blast and led his second
charge of the day. Once more the Unberogen cavalry picked up blistering speed as they descended
the slope, reaching the level ground at full tilt. This time the riders did not wheel about
but thundered directly into the unruly Orcs like the fist of Ulric himself. Their front rank
collapsed instantly upon receiving the charge. Sigmar impaled a Greenskin warrior through
the breastplate and pinned it to the ground, before hefting Ghal Maraz and smashing
helmeted enemy skulls to splinters. But the cavalry maneuver was reliant
solely on the weight of its initial impact. With that petering out, the numerically superior
Orcs began to recover with unnerving speed even as their front shattered, pushing back in their
hundreds and bogging Sigmar’s cavalry down in a rip-and-tear melee. The physically weaker humans
could never win such a clash. Despite inflicting heavy casualties, here and there an Unberogen
warrior would get swarmed by Orcs, encircled, and dragged from their mount. For Sigmar, the time
to enact the final stage of his plan had come. It was now or never. Two short, sharp blasts
sounded from the Unberogen heir’s horn, a signal that prompted the cavalry to disengage
from the costly, grinding melee. In ragged bands, they rode hard to the south in the direction
of the Astofen Bridge. Most of the survivors managed to escape the clash with only blunted
weapons and shattered shields. Some, however, proved too slow off the mark and were seized, only
to be brutally slain by their monstrous enemy. All in all, fully 150 of Sigmar’s men managed to
cross the bridge safely to reach the open plain beyond, where fresh weaponry had been arrayed
for the men by Trinovantes. The replacements had been cunningly piled in a wedge formation so that
Sigmar’s cavalry would be battle-ready by default even whilst rearming. Then, as the warlord
Bonecrusher led his thousand Orcs to swamp the humans, giant spear in hand, fifty of the
most muscular and hefty Unberogen warriors, clad in the heaviest dwarf-forged armour, marched
from hiding places at either side of the bridge. These stalwart volunteers of Trinovantes’
forlorn hope strode grimly onto the bridge in formed up ranks and assumed a blocking position
on the bridge. Their job was simple - hold the Orcish horde at bay for as long as possible and
give Sigmar enough time to reorder his cavalry. As the last of the battered human
stragglers got beyond the river, Trinovantes raised his ax, kissed Ulric’s
wolf icon with which it was inlaid, and shouted a defiant death rattle to his wall
of armoured warriors “Unberogens. We march!” With that last hurrah, the vanguard of the giant,
battle-mad Greenskin mob slammed into Trinovantes’ blocking force. Obstructed by the fast-flowing
river and the narrow bridge, less fortunate Orcs were forced to mass on the riverbank and behind
their comrades, eagerly awaiting their turn in the meat grinder. Unberogen spears were thrust by
the dozen, punching through Greenskin helmets and hitting back against the dark green flood. Still,
the sheer force of the assault was withering and with each Orc killed, two more came on
bellowing. Trinovantes’ fifty-strong contingent was slowly and bloodily being chipped away
and forced back across the Astofen Bridge. Half a league behind the nightmarish melee,
Sigmar vigorously urged his cavalrymen to rearm as quickly as they could. The troops needed no such
encouragement. Each and every one of them keenly recognised that this time was being purchased
at great cost - the lives of their comrades and friends. A brief rest was had, fresh blades and
shields were taken and the cavalry remounted. At the slaughterhouse on the bridge, brave
Trinovantes was holding the Greenskins at bay and slaying vast numbers of them, despite being
pushed back inch by inch. Unberogen warriors were dying all along the front, savagely cut apart
and crushed to pieces by the inhuman invaders. Sigmar’s most level-headed companion slew
several more Orcs, but then Warlord Grimgut Bonecrusher personally joined the fray. The chief
Greenskin found Trinovantes and impaled his giant spear through the captain’s back. With that,
the few remaining Unberogen infantry broke, running for their lives and allowing the
Greenskins to spill out onto the plain. Realising that Trinovantes had just been
slain by the fall of his green standard, Sigmar let out a grief-stricken howl at the head
of his rejuvenated wedge of cavalry. Meanwhile the Orcs, their cohesion broken to nothing by the
ilarating battle and an instinctive blood rage, uncontrollably fanned out on the south side of
the bridge. With Ghal Maraz raised to the heavens, Sigmar and his hundred-and-fifty riders charged
headlong at the Greenskin rabble. The only one among their ranks who seemed to realise what was
about to happen was Grimgut Bonecrusher himself, who desperately and unsuccessfully tried to bully
his Orc boyz into some kind of defensive line. It was already far too late
for the rampaging Greenskins. After unleashing a final volley of spears and
arrows, Sigmar’s cavalry cleaved through the unformed herd like a hot knife through butter.
Orcs, isolated or in small groups, died by the score, cut down by spear and ax, or trampled
into the bloodsoaked earth by ironclad hooves. The Unberogen leader smashed his foe aside by
the dozen, blazing a trail towards the center of the horde. When he got there, Sigmar brought
Ghal Maraz down on Grimgut Bonecrusher’s head and shattered the warlord’s skull. That was the
end of the battle. Deprived of their leader, every thread of unity binding the Greenskin
horde together tore apart. The creatures mindlessly turned on one another, brutalising
their own ‘allies’ in a bid to escape first. Those Orcs attempting to rush back across the
bridge were met by the warriors of Astofen, who sallied out to push away the remaining besiegers
and aid Sigmar’s liberating band of heroes. Almost all of the 2,000 Greenskins were
killed at the cost of around 100 Unberogens. That night, the victors were hosted in Astofen as
guests of honour by King Bjorn’s cousin Eadhelm, before riding back to Reikdorf in triumph. Not
long after their return, Sigmar, who had earned his shield twenty times over, took his two
remaining companions - Pendrag and Wolfgart, to the sacred oathstone around which
Reikdorf was founded in ancient days. There Sigmar spoke to his companions of
a great vision - the feuding, splintered tribes of humanity bound together in a single
entity - an Empire of Man with the strength to fend off Greenskins or any other horror the world
might spawn to assail its people. The Unberogen prince held up Ghal Maraz and spoke the words
``I swear by all the gods of the land and upon this mighty weapon that I will not rest until
all the tribes of men are united and strong.” In the aftermath of the triumph near Astofen in
-15IC, the Unberogen civilization appeared to be on an upward track. Agricultural production was
at a surplus, freeing the craftsmen to weave great tapestries, create lavish jewelry and train their
apprentices in these and a dozen other trades. Unberogen forges learned Dwarven secrets in
the crafting of fearsome new iron equipment, industry boomed and warriors were sent to
aid the allied Endal tribe of King Marbad. But there were also cracks in the armour.
The brother of dead Trinovantes - a young swordsman known as Gerreon accused the prince of
leading his sibling to death at Astofen. Moreover, he bristled that his sister Ravenna loved such a
man and secretly formed a pact with the malevolent powers of Chaos in the hope of getting revenge.
But for several years yet the pattern of regular life continued - beastmen incursions
were repelled, new warriors trained and slowly but surely the foundations for
Sigmar’s envisioned empire were laid. The course of history began to accelerate when
in -9 IC, a deluge of desperate Cherusen refugees descended upon Reikdorf from the north. With
them came emissaries from their king - Aloysis and Krugar of the neighboring Taleuten
tribe, bringing dire tidings. 6,000 daemon-worshipping Norsii warriors had landed
in wolfships, cutting through all in their path. The envoys offered their monarchs’ sacred sword
oaths1 to King Bjorn if he marched to war with them. Realising the Chaos marauders would come for
his people next if he allowed his brother kings to fall, Bjorn accepted the plan, ordering Sigmar to
remain behind while he went north with 3,000 men. Sigmar, although dissatisfied at being appointed
to serve as regent in his father’s stead, proved competent in the realm of administration.
The young of his tribe began to receive education in history, geography, and other fields, while a
rotational farming system was instituted to give the people more time for other pursuits. However,
the viper was ready to strike and when Sigmar took his love Ravenna to a beautiful spot along the
River Reik, Gerreon attacked. In the struggle, Ravenna was killed and Sigmar mortally
wounded, sent floating down the river. In the north, Bjorn and the other
monarchs attacked the Norsii army, with the Unberogen king slaying a red-armored
Chaos warlord at the direction of a witch Grainne, but suffering mortal wounds in return. In order to
save Sigmar, who was on the very brink of death, Bjorn’s spirit and that of his son ventured
together in the purgatory of the Grey Vaults, where they fought the terrible daemons
of chaos for the fate of mankind. At the end of this aethereal clash, King
Bjorn died and Sigmar woke in the company of his companions, his physical form having
been found in the river by a fisherman. In -7 IC, the Unberogen army returned to Reikdorf
in a mourning triumph. A feast was held to honour the fall of Bjorn and the coronation of Sigmar,
attended by rulers of tribes from far and wide. Among their number was the trident-wielding
warrior-queen of the Asoborns - Freya, Krugar of the Taleutens, Marbad of the Endals,
Aloysis of the Cherusens, and Kurgan Ironbeard of Karaz-a-Karak. It was at this raucous meeting that
King Sigmar first proclaimed his dream of empire. Once Bjorn’s tomb was sealed, the new Unberogen
ruler ordered a muster for the following year. Then, after the spring thaw of -6 IC, Sigmar led
3,000 warriors to launch a punitive expedition against the Norsii. En route, he called upon
the sword oaths received from the northern kings and joined their forces with his own. Then
the kings rode to the lands of the Udoses, where they rescued a beleaguered King
Wolfila of Udoses from the northern raiders. The Norsii were crushed in battle, and then
deviously permitted to retreat to the coast where their ships incinerated when they
attempted to sail away. With the campaign a success and Wolfila now his firm ally, Sigmar
bid farewell to his allies and marched south. Going via an alternate route by skirting
the northern edge of the Middle Mountains, the Unberogen king came to the mountaintop
fastness of perhaps the most stubborn of his brother-kings - Artur of the Teutogens.
This king’s power was in the ascendancy just as Sigmar’s and he had chosen to use that
newfound power to ravage Unberogen lands, particularly the settlement of Ubersreik, whilst
declining to aid against the common Norsii foe. Sigmar decided it was time to knock Artur
down a peg or two. The Teutogen monarch had grown arrogant atop his fortress-pinnacle - the
formidable Fauschlag Rock, and refused to come down to treat with the Unberogen encamped outside
his walls. Sigmar, delivering on a threat he had issued, personally climbed the sheer cliff face
and crags before slaying Artur in single combat. By right of conquest, Sigmar thus
claimed kingship over the Teutogens. Sigmar then went home again,
arriving in the summer of -5 IC. There was barely time to rest
before he leapt into action again. When summer cooled into autumn, Sigmar assembled a
tribute caravan of the highest quality warhorses, weaponry, and armour his people could produce.
Bringing a small force along with him, the king marched into Asoborn territory and delivered his
gift to the flamehearted warrior-queen Freya. In return for such boons, and for a
night of passion with the Unberogen king, the Asoborn charioteers of the eastern plains
became firm allies with Sigmar’s people. The year after that, Sigmar joined battle with
an army of recalcitrant Thuringian berserkers under their bellicose king - Otwin. Amidst the
fearsome clash, the ultimate outcome of which was never in doubt thanks to Unberogen military
prowess, Sigmar bested Otwin in single combat just as he had bested Artur. The defeated Thuringian
surrendered with the words “You have a heart of stone, King Sigmar, but by the gods you are a
warrior to walk the road to Ulric’s Hall with!” With Otwin’s sword-oath now his, Sigmar
returned home with the intent of resting a while. It was not to be. The same witch who
had indirectly saved Sigmar through Bjorn now appeared to Sigmar directly. She warned the
king of struggles to come, that followers of the chaos gods were provoking the Greenskins into
a war that would be unequalled in its scale. It would be a war to eliminate everything
Sigmar hoped to build before it could be. The only hope was for the unity of mankind,
and for that to happen Sigmar had to venture southeast by himself, to the faraway
lands of the mercantile Brigundians. Sigmar, now in his late twenties, arrived at
the Brigundian capital of Siggurdheim after weeks of travel and presented himself before the
appropriately named King Siggurd. The ascendant warrior-chieftain put forward his idea of unity
and common cause against the evils of the world. Wily and always in the market for profit, Siggurd
requested Sigmar’s aid to rid his kingdom of a truly ancient evil - a monstrous dragon ogre
Skaranorak - a colossus of the primordial world. If the Unberogen king succeeded, all the better.
If he didn’t, that was the removal of a possible rival. But when Sigmar ventured into the mountains
and confronted Skaranorak, he smote the malicious creation with Ghal Maraz and put an end to its
evil forever, fulfilling his part of the oath. Sigmar’s reward was yet another step toward the
unification he so desperately desired for the race of man. Not only did Siggurd offer his sword-oath
in thanks, but so did the rulers of the two tribes over which he held suzerainty - Markus of
the Menogoths and Henroth of the Merogens. By the time the Unberogen king reached Reikdorf-
now a city rather than a mere town, in late -3IC the Greenskins were already on the march. Ostagoth
lands of king Adelhard in the northeast were being laid waste, while the Merogens and Menogoths were
besieged in their great holdfasts by Orcs armies, who rampaged across the southeast with impunity.
Realising that the Grainne’s foretelling had been true, Sigmar raised forces from his brother-kings
and launched a campaign in the east. At last, in -2 IC, he confronted a great Greenskin
host at the Battle of the River Aver, halting its brutal advance at the cost of
10,000 warriors. That was just the beginning. Dwarven allies, who had been fighting a titanic
host of Greenskins for 2 years, reported that they were forced to pull back to defend their
mountain holds and no longer able to prevent the Orcish march east of the Worlds’ Edge Mountains,
ready to bring the world of men to a bloody end. Time was short, and so Sigmar summoned all of
the rulers and warriors he had won to his side during the previous decade - Marbad, Aloysis,
Krugar, Freya, Siggurd, and all the rest. Before spring came in -1 IC, the greatest army
that the lands of men had ever seen gathered at Reikdorf, where the kings of the various tribes
pledged allegiance to Sigmar, ready to confront the existential Greenskin threat under his banner.
The only tribes to refuse this call to arms were the marsh-dwelling Jutones and the Bretonii2
- who migrated across the Grey Mountains. The army of eleven realms marched east at a measured
pace, reasoning that the snows had not yet thawed. Scouts were dispatched to discern precisely what
the Greenskins were up to. But when panicked outriders returned with news that the Orcs, united
under the warlord Urgluk Bloodfang and uncountable in number, were already en route to the Blackfire
Pass - a crossing cut west to east through the Worlds’ Edge Mountains, the pace quickened.
The army of humanity managed to climb and block the narrowest, two-mile-wide section of
the pass before the Greenskins got there and were joined by the Dwarves of king Kurgan. The ground
before Sigmar’s unified army was a rocky plain that gradually sloped on a downward incline,
becoming ever more uneven with each eastward step. That was the ground the Greenskins would
have to climb to reach the army of men. To either flank were the progressively sloping
valley sides, leading to the massive peaks of the Worlds’ Edge Mountains. They formed a barrier
that would force the Orcs into a frontal assault and render their overwhelming
numbers far less relevant. There were also a number of boulders and outcrops
scattered across the pass, between which Sigmar anchored the rock-solid lynchpin of his army.
These were the assorted line infantry of the many tribal monarchs who had accompanied him, together
with the Unberogen ruler’s greatest foreign ally. There were Endal slingers, Ostagoth blademaster
units and Cherusen wildmen on the left, elite Unberogen spearmen, stalwart heavily armed
Dwarves and kilted Udose warriors in the center, and the battle-tested warriors of the southeast -
Brigundians, Merogens, and Menogoths on the right. Deployed immediately in front of the primary
battle line were the crack Unberogen plate-clad cavalry, almost all armed with heavy lances. Only
the infamous White Wolves unit led by the king’s personal bodyguard Alfgeir refused to take up the
lance, instead electing to wield heavy warhammers. To the flanks of this shock cavalry force were the
famous skirmishing riders of the Taleuten tribe, lightly armoured and armed with bows and spears.
Behind the ranks of infantry were several archer blocks of Cherusens and Unberogens, ready to rain
death on the Greenskins from afar. Sigmar also had two unconventional weapons at his disposal. Having
pushed their way to the forefront of the army, beyond even the cavalry, were King Otwin and his
drug-fuelled Thuringian berserkers, arrayed in a loose line. Some wielded twin swords, others
brutal axes, and other weapons of evisceration. Sigmar knew that he could not truly control these
maddened warriors when the battle started and made contingencies to use them in the best way
possible. The second of Sigmar’s ‘wonder weapon’ contingents were several hundred magnificent
Asoborn scythed chariots under the command of the king’s flame-haired one-time lover Queen
Freya. Fully trained in the use of their vehicles and armed with both bows and spears, they were
initially deployed in front of the right flank. Behind the line in its entirety were a series
of siege catapults - artillery designed to crush entire units of Greenskin flesh into mulch.
After a short time of waiting a truly putrid stench struck the forces of mankind, blown in by
easterly winds. It was the all-too-familiar reek of sweat, dung, and rotten corpses. In other
words, the Greenskins were near. Just an hour following the army’s deployment, the invading
menace appeared, advancing up the valley in their hundreds of thousands and in relatively
organised formations. For Greenskins at least. The mass of this annihilating horde was made up of
Orc warriors wielding rusted, bloodsoaked choppaz of all kinds and devious goblins flitting back
and forth between the ranks. On the slopes to either flank were more goblins mounted either
on blood-maddened wolves or colossal spiders. Interspersed among the army were massive trolls
and above it rode its gargantuan warboss - Urgluk Bloodfang, atop his ferocious wyvern.
The warboss swooped low above his innumerable army and raised his axe, wreathed
in malign green flame, to signal the attack. It was followed by an ear-splitting
cacophony of blood-mad Orcish bellows, as the front ranks of the Greenskin horde jogged
in the direction of Sigmar and his defenders. Seeing their hated enemies on the move, Otwin and
his Thuringian berserker host returned a shout of rage and then wantonly launched themselves
at the Orcs. Although numerically inferior to their savage foe, Otwin’s unhesitating assault was
ferocious without peer. His frothing berserkers, drunk on their herbal infusions, carved a deep
wound into the Greenskin vanguard, inflicting many times more casualties than they suffered.
But they were suffering. Uncaring of the strategic situation, the Thuringians punched ever deeper
into the Greenskin vanguard and were therefore swiftly surrounded. Beset on all sides, Otwin’s
assault force started taking massive losses. Observing the Thuringian king’s struggle, Freya
and her 200 Asoborn chariots barrelled directly toward the enemy in a staggered line, unleashing
volley after volley of lethally accurate arrows as they went. The warrior-queen’s orders
from Sigmar were clear - help relieve Otwin by any means necessary, and she would do just
that. After inflicting a great deal of damage with bow and arrow, the Asoborn scythed
chariots wheeled around in perfect order and sped along the Greenskin line, ripping the
enemy apart with their blades while their riders thrust and threw spears. At the same time, Sigmar
and his trusted companions Wolfgart and Pendrag led the elite Unberogen heavy cavalry in a
full-scale charge, crashing into the mass of Greenskins that had encircled the Thuringians
with lances couched. Sandwiched between the cutting blade of Freya’s scythed chariots and the
crushing hammer that was Sigmar’s cavalry charge, and bombarded by arrow volleys from behind the
human line, the Greenskin vanguard broke. Its wounded and scattered survivors retreated
in disorder back to their main line. The second Orcish advance was now beginning.
Unlike the previous probing attack, this time the warboss’ horde pushed forward en masse across
the entire width of the pass. On the flanks and the slopes, goblin wolf and spider-riders moved
towards the lighter Taleuten cavalry and assorted skirmishers manning Sigmar’s wings. A force of
heavy Greenskin chariots - crude imitations of their elegant Asoborn counterparts and pulled by
massive boars, shot out of the main horde straight at the Brigundians. Some were sent careening
into rocks by archery fire and destroyed, but most of the ramshackle vehicles smashed into
King Siggurd’s ranks. The Greenskin vehicles struck deep into the Brigundians, slashing through
rank after rank of their ordered warriors. The line convulsed, wrapped around the Orcs, and slew
them in short order, but the beleaguered warriors were unable to reorder their formation before
another dreadful weapon was unleashed against them. Greenskin artillery let loose - launching
titanic boulders at Sigmar’s right-center in a concentrated barrage and crushing dozens
of men with each strike. Provoked to panic by the terrifying rain of missiles, a great many
Brigundians routed, opening ragged holes in the army of mankind before contact was even made.
Adroitly reacting to the potential danger, King Kurgan Ironbeard shifted a portion of his
stout Dwarven warriors over to cover the gap. Signaled to do so by Sigmar, Wolfila of the
Udose strode to Kurgan’s side with his own kilted fighters, driving his standard into the ground as
a statement of intent. There would be no retreat from that spot, Wolfila would either triumph or
die. Sigmar’s formation stabilised in the knick of time. As the gulf slammed shut between the
Dwarves and Udose, the two armies clashed. As though scenting weakness in the recently patched
wound in Sigmar’s line, the Greenskin menace assaulted it with especially savage ferocity.
The defenders were more than up to the task. The Dwarven soldiers of Kurgan, whose race had been
blood enemies of the Orcs for uncounted centuries, fought with cool efficiency, methodically culling
each foe without quarter. To their side, Wolfila’s warriors fought just as effectively, cutting the
Greenskin push to pieces with massive broadswords. All along the width of Blackfire Pass, the races
of Orc and Human fought a desperate struggle for the fate of tomorrow. In just the first minutes of
combat, virtually all of the first ranks of both sides were chewed up by the merciless melee before
the central clash ground to a bloody stalemate. It was on the flanks where the
first true breakthrough came. On Sigmar’s extreme right, King Markus came under
sustained assault by ravening packs of goblin wolfriders. These grim warriors of the invaded
southeastern realm of the Menogoths had suffered much at Greenskin hands during the previous years’
war, and so simply lowered their spears in good order and met the oncoming wolves with glacial
calm. Here and there a wolf would get through, brutally killing its unfortunate victim, but the
vast majority were impaled on iron speartips, mauled by the king’s hunting hounds, or otherwise
destroyed. As though revenging the annihilated wolfriders, colossal Greenskin war engines
began bombarding the Menogoths with a deadly and concentrated hailstorm of massive iron javelins,
every one cleaving through a tightly-packed spear formation and reaping a terrible toll of
warriors. Although courageous in the face of a terrible enemy, this airborne death was more than
the Menogoths could take and they began running for their lives. All of a sudden, the character of
the battle changed. Sniffing blood in the water, the Greenskin advance instinctively drove towards
this newly opened weak point, angling the line like a hinge on a gate which was the solid left
flank and center of Sigmar’s army. The situation on Sigmar’s right was getting worse by the second.
Without the Menogoths on their extreme flank, their Merogen allies received a fresh assault from
both the front and the sides. It was clear that their resistance would falter sooner or later,
and it was up to Sigmar to act before it did. Unberogen and Endal reinforcements led
by Sigmar counterattacked, reversing the course of the battle there and stabilising the
right flank at the cost of King Marbad’s life. Despite yet another small triumph, it was becoming
increasingly clear to Sigmar that there was absolutely no hope of victory. All of mankind’s
bravery and skill, considerable as it had been, would be swamped beneath the inexorable Greenskin
tide. There was only one path to victory now. It is said in legend that Sigmar leapt without
hesitation into the central mass of Orcs. Ghal Maraz, thrumming with ancient magical energies,
crushed and bludgeoned Greenskins by the dozen. Even the famously belligerent Orcs scrambled to be
away from this titan of war, opening a great empty circle around Sigmar. At the same time, the army
of mankind, inspired by the prowess of its leader, launched a final, desperate charge. It would
never be enough, but Sigmar’s rampage had its intended effect. Drawn to the greatest warrior
on the battlefield like a moth to a flame, Urgluk Bloodfang descended on his wyvern,
which he ordered to devour Sigmar outright. Despite suffering wound after wound at the hands
of the Greenskin warlord and its baleful mount, Sigmar’s hammer slew the great beast, bringing
Urgluk to personal combat in the sight of both armies. The vile colossus managed to seize Sigmar
and almost crushed his skull, but the king found an opening, seized Ghal Maraz, and, as he
had done at Astofen Bridge 15 years before, crushed his adversary’s skull to dust.
Like a formidable but fragile archway whole keystone had been removed, the Greenskin
horde, deprived of its all-powerful warboss and faced by what appeared to be a human god of
war, fell apart and routed. Even as the bruised army of mankind continued its renewed charge,
individual Orc captains turned on one another like the beasts they undoubtedly were, jostling
for command or to be first out of danger. Asoborn chariots and the army’s cavalry ran
down thousands more Greenskins until sunset, while the remainder scattered into the badlands
of the east. The Battle of Blackfire Pass was won. Celebration and relief fused with sorrow and
grief. The enormity of such a victory was hard to take in, but so much had been sacrificed
to achieve it. As the pyres of a great funeral ceremony burned to send King Marbad and
all the fallen warriors to Ulric’s hall, the surviving monarchs of men knelt at Sigmar’s
feet as one, proclaiming him the rightful emperor of the newly founded Empire of Man, the people,
and lands of which owed their survival to him. As though the gods of men had rewarded their
faithful for destroying the Greenskin invaders at Blackfire Pass, the year after that climactic
battle proved an auspicious one. The often savage winter months were mild, the summer warm and
pleasant. As a result, the crop harvest ranked among the most bountiful in living memory. It was
this year - the first of the imperial calendar, that marked Sigmar’s formal coronation as Emperor.
Upon receiving his Dwarf-forged crown, Sigmar declared the old title of king to be abolished
- no king should be subject to another's rule. Instead, the tribal rulers were declared
the ‘counts’ of the empire, each retaining their lands and rights as sword-oathed
vassals in perpetuity to emperor Sigmar. Reikdorf - ancestral capital of the Unberogen
tribe, would serve forever as capital: a beacon of hope and learning where all men, from warriors to
scholars, would gather to further the advancement of mankind. Sigmar’s foremost bodyguard Alfgeir
received the title Grand Knight of the Empire, while shrewd Pendrag was ordered to march
north to take up the title Count of Middenheim. This peaceful period did not last long. Soon
after his coronation, Sigmar and his companions rode west in response to rumours that the Endal
lord Aldred’s lands were afflicted by a malignant sickness. After a period of investigation,
the emperor revealed the count’s advisor to be a chaos worshipper in service to daemons
of the nearby marsh. He defeated the threat, executed the traitor and ensured Aldred’s loyalty.
Uncounted threats still bore down on the Empire. News continuously poured into Reikdorf
from the north warning of Norsii raids in the north, perpetrated by forces under a
warlord Cormac Bloodaxe. Asoborn chariot warbands brought tales of ruined villages in the eastern
foothills, destroyed by resurgent Greenskin bands. In the south, Menogoth lands still suffered under
assault from Greenskins, trolls, and rat-men. And everywhere did mutated beastmen attack and raid
the lands of men. Sigmar assembled the counts to discuss the dangerous and directed their
fury at the final recalcitrant tribe - the Jutones of Marius. Unable to stand against
the united Empire, Marius retreated to his seaboard capital of Jutonsryk in year 4 of the
imperial calendar and settled in for a siege. Only after two more grueling years did Sigmar
seize his clifftop fortress - the Namathir, and bend the Jutone ruler to his will.
As ever, Sigmar could not afford to celebrate his victory for very long before a threat in
the north demanded the emperor’s attention. In the sixth year of his imperial reign, count
Pendrag sent for aid and, all too happy to see his comrade again, Sigmar trekked up to Middenheim
with a force of warriors. On arrival, it became obvious that something was terribly wrong. The
Norsii were again growing bold in their raiding, but far worse was the looming, dark presence
of a nameless horror emanating from the Middle Mountains. Many warriors and templars were
already missing after seeking the evil out and the situation was becoming serious. In
search of this budding nightmare’s black heart, Sigmar and his companions ventured into
the mountains and eventually came across the imposing Brass Keep. There, the emperor and
his warriors confronted an awakened necromancer known as Morath - remnant of a lost and
infamous kingdom of death known as Mourkhain. The clash against his legions of risen dead proved
horrifying, but Sigmar cast the profane sorcerer down and seized from him a mysterious golden
jewelled crown possessing incredible power. But as the near-skeletal necromancer faded from life
in the emperor’s grip, he is said to have muttered the ominous words “No.. you promised..” as if the
wretch were speaking to someone only he could see. It was a dire warning Sigmar did not heed.
With the new crown on his brow, the emperor left the Middle Mountains and immediately
encountered Udose refugees from the north. The news, as ever, proved grim. Norsii marauders
and their Roppsmenn allies had murdered Sigmar’s friend count Wolfila2, burning his lands and
massacring thousands of innocents in the process. Such atrocities could be expected of
the chaos worshipping northern raiders, but Roppsmenn participation came across to
Sigmar as a grievous betrayal. Motivated by a vicious rage that was only partly his own,
the emperor set out to enact severe punishment. Upon reaching Roppsmenn territory, Sigmar fought
and won three battles against the tribal armies, inflicting devastating casualties. In any
other circumstance that would’ve been enough, but Sigmar refused to relent. What ensued
was tantamount to the merciless genocide of an entire people - villages turned to ashes,
prisoners executed and families murdered without hesitation1. Rumours spread that Sigmar could be
heard at night crying out in his sleep, as though in the grip of an infinite nightmare. Sigmar’s
elite warriors caught their monarch whispering nonsensical words under his breath, as though
he too was speaking to some unseen presence. He became more paranoid, sadistic, violent, and
cynical, a far cry from the idealistic optimist of his younger days, inspiring discontent in
the other counts. If Sigmar could perpetrate such acts on one tribe, why not on them?
Six weeks later the emperor marched through the gates of his capital, where he was met by Count
Krugar. Sigmar took his subordinate to a jail, where he angrily revealed Aloysis - both men had
refused to cease their internecine squabbling when ordered. As punishment, they were both to
be executed. But when Sigmar raised his blade to strike the first man, his greatest companion
Wolfgart emerged from the mist and confronted him. The two men argued, Wolfgart beseeching his
friend to see reason. This tyrant was not him. When that didn’t work, Wolfgart attacked and the
two men fought a brutal struggle in the mire. Eventually, something within Sigmar gave in
and realisation struck him. The emperor ran deeper into the marsh, fighting an internal battle
with the destructive magical force within the crown atop his head. This voice offered everything
- all the world under Sigmar’s benevolent control, his love restored to life and his every
ambition fulfilled. The emperor declined, ripping the crown from his head and
dispelling its baleful influence over him. Sigmar sealed the crown away, but its guiding
presence had shown him something else in its ensnaring attempt. Wolfships in their hundreds
prowled the northern seas, readying an apocalyptic invasion to try and complete what the Greenskins
started half a decade earlier. In year six of the imperial calendar, Cormac Bloodaxe attacked
the empire, inflicting the emperor’s first defeat but not managing to destroy his army.
The war culminated at the Siege of Middenheim, where the emperor once again confronted the
enemy commander - now a daemon-prince of Khorne, in personal combat, defeating him.
As mankind, bloodied and weary, convalesced in the aftermath of the Norsii
assault, the clock of doom finally struck twelve. The catastrophe began in the extreme south,
where the dour Menogoths were all but annihilated by an army of the risen dead. Then, they
too were raised from their early graves, fodder for a new and unflinching army. From this
time, affected by malevolent sorcery, corpses within the barrows and crypts of the central
empire began to awaken and assault the living. The first knowledge Sigmar gained of
this new atrocity came in the form of a single Arabyan emissary. This ‘man’, in truth a
millennia-old vampire called Khaled al-Muntasir, came before Sigmar bearing a message from his
master - Nagash. When the name was mentioned, a mixture of terror and disbelief spread throughout
the hall. To Sigmar’s twelve tribes, Nagash was little more than an evil legend, a story told by
mothers as a warning to their children at bedtime. But the ancient necromancer-king was indeed
real. He desired one thing above all - his crown of sorcery. Sigmar declined - to grant this
monster his wish would damn the entire world. And just like that, the war against the dead began.
Engorged by the masses of Menogoth dead and aided by the newly made vampire Count Markus, Nagash’s
corpse army surged north into Brigundian territory with absolutely nothing capable of standing in
its way. The sorcerer’s undead legions first scoured the land, then descended on a thoroughly
unprepared Siggurdheim. Of the city population, numbering almost 8,000, only 12 survived to
carry news of this north. Among the casualties was Count Siggurd, who followed Markus’ fate and
was transformed into a vampire. At the same time, Nagash’s armies had managed to surround and
isolate the various strongholds of the Merogens to the southwest3. They held on - a few shimmering
specks of light drowning in a sea of darkness, but they held on. As Nagash prepared to advance
on Reikdorf and secure his ancient crown, he unleashed a deadly pincer assault designed to
tie down imperial forces and stop them from coming to Emperor’s defence. In the imperial territories
of the north, risen dead gradually coalesced into titanic hordes that blockaded Middenheim and
Taalheim, cutting the cities off and preventing their warriors from marching to Sigmar’s aid. In
the west, a flotilla of several hundred warships assaulted Jutonsryk and scoured Marius’ recently
subjugated mercantile capital of all life. The Count managed to withdraw east with a small
number of refugees and warriors in the hope of gaining asylum with Endal chief Aldred. The dead
were not far behind and quickly besieged Marburg, which resisted fiercely. To the far northeast,
the semi-nomadic Ostagoths fought a hit-and-run war against the dead armies. Finally, at Nagash’s
command, Khaled al-Muntasir led a force of several thousand cadaverous warriors and beasts north
to confront the ferocious Asoborns. Not only would this deprive Sigmar of yet another vital
ally, but a wave of terrified innocents would be driven toward Reikdorf, causing chaos.
The vampire-general was successful at first, defeating and absorbing Queen
Freya’s force near the River Aver, but the fiery warrior managed to escape. He then
drove directly at the Asoborn capital of Three Hills where Freya’s right hand Maebh, together
with a Dwarven contingent, fought a desperate last stand outnumbered eight to one. The defeat
was imminent until Sigmar, Wolfgart and a large force of imperial reinforcements arrived,
taking al-Muntasir completely by surprise. As he tended to do, the emperor went straight for
the lead vampire, but the blood drinker fled the field and rode south to rejoin his lord. The
small undead force was completely destroyed and the victorious army of mankind returned to the
imperial capital, ready to defend against Nagash. With his crushing multitudes swollen by imperial
dead numbering into the tens of thousands, the millennia-old Nehekaran sorcerer-lord
finally bore down on Reikdorf in the year 15 imperial calendar. His army halted outside
the walls, willing to grant Sigmar one final, generous chance at undying glory. Loath
to treat with such lesser beings himself, Nagash sent Khaled al-Muntasir, together with both
Markus and Siggurd, to secure the crown of sorcery without need for a battle. Basking in Sigmar’s
horror at the fate of his now-vampiric comrades, Muntasir gave him a choice. Reikdorf and every
man, woman, and child in it would die no matter what, but they could either choose to concede and
be reborn in glory or be resurrected as maddened creatures of unending hunger and torment, only
after ravening corpse-eater beasts had defiled and mutilated their cadavers. “Tough choice.” Wolfgart
said sarcastically. “Can we think about it?” Humour being anathema to him, Khaled simply
declared that they had until the moons rose to decide and rode off. That night, Sigmar,
the warriors at his disposal and the civilian population of the imperial capital emerged
from the ruined Ostgate onto the hard-packed, flat ground between two forks of the River Reik,
terrain suitable for cavalry attacks. The emperor and his Great Hall Guard cavalry manned
the center-right, while his prime bodyguard Alfgeir commanded the White Wolves on the
center-left. Flanking both cavalry divisions were units of heavily armed Unberogen infantry armed
with spears and shields. Sigmar’s right flank, anchored on the southern fork of the Reik, was
manned by a paltry dozen Asoborn chariots led by Queen Freya, her bodyguard the Queen’s Eagles,
and a greater quantity of Asoborn infantry. Across the field on the northern arm of the Reik
rode a division of Count Krugar’s Taleuten Red Scythes skirmishing cavalry - some of the
most skilled horsemen in the entire empire. The Taleuten ruler himself was not present, having
dispatched the Scythes from besieged Taalheim. Instead, his troops were led by Leodan. At most,
Sigmar’s army, including civilians and 100 Dwarves in reserve, numbered no more than 15,000. As far
as a slavering mass of undead corpses, beasts and monstrosities can have order, Nagash’s army did.
To counter the highly mobile forces on Sigmar’s right, Nagash concentrated his corpse-eater
beasts and wolves on that side of the field, together with a unit of heavily armoured skeletal
knights in reserve. It was ‘led’ by Siggurd. The center, spearheaded by Markus, was almost solely
made up of regular undead. Regular undead also comprised Nagash’s right, together with a skeletal
knight unit and his secret weapon - the fallen, hulking chaos champion Krell. The necromancer king
himself was on a hill near the rear of his army. Although the Dwarven contingent and
civilians stayed where they were, the frontline forces of mankind launched a
charge along the entire front. A cold rain continuously soaked the battlefield, transforming
the wet ground near the rivers into a quagmire. That didn’t prevent the first impact. From
Sigmar’s left to his center-right, the first ranks of undead chaff caved with little resistance,
allowing them to drive deep into Nagash’s army. On the right, however, difficulties began almost
immediately. Although inflicting harsh losses on the dead things opposing them, Asoborn chariots
and infantry found themselves easy prey for the specially placed flesheaters and deathwolves.
The battle near the southern fork descended into a nightmarish, disorganised melee, just as
the undead preferred. At the heart of the fight was Freya, whose great chariot shattered into
splinters when it was attacked by a titanic wolf. The queen survived and, according
to her, had never felt more alive. On the left, Leodan’s Red Scythes
drove deep into the undead ranks, but received a direct counterattack from both
the heavily armoured corpse knights and Krell. Under vicious assault from this rampaging demigod
of war, the Taleutens suffered heavy casualties, dying ten a time from Krell’s devastating axe
blows. As it seemed as though the left flank would collapse, Alaric the Mad and his hundred
Dwarves marched into the fray, blowing Krell’s head to pieces with a novel invention - the
black powder cannon, stabilising the area. As it seemed Queen Freya’s Asoborns would
collapse4 under a renewed black knight assault, a disgraced twelve-year-old boy called Daegal,
whose cowardice caused a prior defeat, personally led the ragtag civilians of Reikdorf into battle
against the undead throng assailing Freya. His intervention there stabilised the right at the
cost of many civilian lives and also managed to push away Siggurd, who had been heavily injured in
the desperate fight. In the center-right, Alfgeir dueled and eventually managed to slay Count
Markus, but was badly wounded in the process. The tenacity of his army allowed
Sigmar to push onward towards Nagash. His patience gone, Nagash called
upon a burst of dreadful magic and resurrected the dead inside Reikdorf and
on the battlefield. The army of mankind began to rout back to the city at this new terror, but
Sigmar’s advance had now reached the undead lord. At the same time, several thousand unexpected
berserker reinforcements under Otwin and Sigmar’s bodyguard Redwane arrived from Middenheim,
slamming into the undead army from the north. The final battle began and Sigmar, who once
again wore the crown of sorcery on his head, attacked Nagash directly. The two colossi of
war fought a great battle, but the emperor then carelessly tossed the crown and swung Ghal Maraz
down, aiming to shatter the malignant creation. The calculated maneuver worked like a charm.
Nagash, rabidly obsessed with regaining the all-powerful artifact and the undeniable power
within it, lurched forward and reached for the crown. In doing so, the necromancer rendered
himself vulnerable and allowed Sigmar to instead bring Ghal Maraz down in a thunderous overarm blow
which, powered by ancient runic arts, obliterated the dark sorcerer completely. In an instant, the
animating force powering Nagash’s armies fell away. They simply stopped. Victory had been won.
In the battle’s calm aftermath, forces from the west brought news that Marburg
had survived. Its rightful count Aldred, however, lay unfortunately dead. A month after Nagash’s
defeat on the River Reik, the wily Marius and Aldred’s cunning sister Marika joined hands in
marriage, uniting the Jutone and Endal peoples. Sigmar personally blessed the union, however,
rumors persisted that Aldred had fallen not to the undead, but to an opportunistic conspiracy between
the newlyweds amid the chaos of Marburg’s siege. After all, Nagash’s assault had left Jutonsryk a
smoking ruin, and Marius needed greener pastures to call his own. Sigmar’s Dwarven allies,
including his friend Alaric ‘the mad’, finally returned to their mountain homeland
after years of service in Reikdorf. Sigmar’s only remaining sword-brother Wolfgart
settled down with his Asoborn wife and children, splitting his time between the imperial capital
and Three Hills. Freya, gravely injured by Siggurd during the battle, also returned to
Three Hills to rebuild what had been lost. Finally, Sigmar sent a high priestess far,
far to the east bearing the crown of sorcery, so that the dread artifact might never be found
by the wrong people again. And here is where our sources detailing the ancient life of Sigmar
Heldenhammer come to an abrupt end. Scattered and potentially unreliable texts reveal that the first
emperor may have ruled mankind in relative quiet for several further decades, punctuated only
by another incursion from the forces of chaos fifteen years after Nagash’s defeat. We are just
not sure. However, in around 50 imperial calendar, an elderly Sigmar awoke one day and left
his empire, venturing to the World’s Edge Mountains alone. He was never seen again.
In his wake, the counts elected Siegrich, whose first act was to institute the system of
Elector Counts, setting the stage of imperial history for millennia to come. As the first
emperor’s life became a legend and then myth, his reputation grew greater and greater until
Sigmar became revered as a god in his own right. Don’t forget you’ve got a chance to start
playing Gemstone Legends with $50 worth of gifts, including the hero Meralia, if you get the game
now via our link in the description or QR code. Thank you for watching our video on the life and
battles of Sigmar. These long videos take forever to make, so please consider commenting, liking and
sharing! Right now, we are working on our series on the End Times of this universe and we will
continue talking about Warhammer Fantasy and other Fantasy, Sci-fi, Space Opera, and alternative
history universes in the future, so make sure you have subscribed and pressed the bell button! We’ll
try to read every comment as we want to see what you think about this video and which videos you
hope to see in the future - your feedback is very important to us! This is the Wizards and Warriors
channel and we’ll catch you on the next one
