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This large portion of the tome concerns itself with a history of the Great War Against Chaos, where the mortal realms met the might of the dark armies and prevailed.





Throughout the two-and-a-haif mii-ennia since its inception, our beloved Empire has known many wars and has endured innumerable perils. Indeed, our fragile kingdoms have met head-on every external threat to our existence, despite the fact that each new danger that has emerged has seemed to be greater than the last, and every battle won has been at an ever more untenable cost. Yet we have endured.

Of all the many wars and trials that have beset our fair realm, one alone is known as the Great War. That is, the Great War Against Chaos or, as it is sometimes called, the Great Chaos Incursion.

In the dark centuries subsequent to the turn of the second millennium of Our Lord Sigmar, the Empire of Men teetered upon the edge of extinc­tion. Centuries of bitter civil war had torn the heart from our beleaguered nation, and the once proud realm of the Emperors' had fallen into anarchy and misrule. Four of the provincial Elector Counts maintained themselves as the rightful Emperor, each one as intractable over his claim as the next, and the armies of Marienburg, Talabecland, Middenheim, and the Reikland marched their endless wars, leaving only destruction, poverty and famine in their wake.

The magister-scholars of our time tell how the Winds of Magic blew down from the Northern Pole with growing intensity on the lead up to the thirdcentury of the second millennium. Throughout the Old World, the manifold beasts and monsters of Chaos multiplied and became bolder, emerging from the deep forests and descending from the mountaintops, raiding towns and villages. These raids might easily have been stopped at their genesis, if only the provincial Electors had allied to drive them back. But they had not, and so the raids grew into wars and the provinces of Ostland and Ostermark were laid to waste.

Such was the price of pride and distrust.

Warriors from the lands of Norsca and beyond ravaged the coasts of the Empire and Bretonnia, and marauding bands of black-armoured war­riors were seen as far south as the Middenland. To make matters worse, fierce hordes of orcs and goblins were free to plunder the Empire's bor­ders completely unchecked, having been driven from their own lands by the growing power of Chaos.

Events were seen to culminate in the summer of the Imperial year 2301. Dire portents of disas­ter were observed all across the disparate Empire. Wells that had previously served towns for generations were said to have dried suddenly, or overflowed with noxious slime. Crops were struck down by an unknown blight, or else eaten by plagues of insects. Cattle and other livestock succumbed to fatal poxes, or gave birth to leering monsters. It is even said that fish grew wings and flew from their rivers, and pigs were observed to stand upon their hind legs and walk like men. The land was gripped with fear and hysteria.

Caught as they were in the middle of so much horror and bloodshed, it seemed to the ordinary-folk of the Empire that the end of the world was at hand. Many turned to religion as a last hope for salvation, and the Church of Sigmar grew ever more powerful as the terrified populace flooded into its temples. Yet even as these countless thousands flocked into the arms of Sigmar, many others - the despairing and the outcast -found succour in the embrace of older and dark­er gods. Despite the centuries old edict that forbade the practice of sorcery, more and more magic-users were reported to the authorities with each passing day. The fires of the witch hunters lit the night sky, yet the use of magic per-sisted.

The insane servants of the Chaos Gods knew that their time was nigh, and they emerged from their hiding places in all the towns and cities of the Empire, seizing their chance to take control. Against their twisted fanaticism and daemonic allies, the unprepared militiamen of these ill-fated towns did not stand a chance. The citizens who were able to fled their homes; those who were not were hunted like animals through the streets.

In the far north, the Chaos Gates were bloated outward with irrepressible energies, and the dark shadow of the Aethyr vomited forth, spilling southwards, engulfing the Wastelands and absorbing them into the Realm of Chaos. In advance of this irresistible tide marched the armies of Chaos, and as their shadow moved ever southward, so their numbers grew. The mightiest champions of Chaos and their war-bands joined the monsters from the Northern Wastes, bringing with them armies of marauders from the borders of the Troll Country. In the deep forests of the Empire, mutants and beastmen gathered together and readied themselves for war.

Between the Middle Mountains and the High Pass, many leagues to the north of Praag, there emerged an unholy horde ready to do the bidding of the Chaos Gods. It is said to have been the largest army ever to march to war against the Old World. Some numbered it as a hundred thou­sand strong. Others put the figure two or three times higher. In Kislev, the most northerly of the human realms, Tsar Alexi Vasilivich sent south­wards for help, foreseeing the moment when this Chaos horde would sweep over his cold domain.

Though the servants of Chaos had long since ravaged his own lands, the Count of Ostland stood firm against the encroaching darkness, and answered the Tsar's plea. Inside a week he led his army northwards to join that of the Tsar.

As autumn approached, even the greatest cap­itals of the Empire had fallen into anarchy. Outlying farms, villages and towns had been abandoned to the marauding servants of Chaos, and a constant stream of refugees flocked into the already overcrowded cities. Even in the pros­perous Reikland region around Nuln and

Altdorf, things were not well. Monsters roamed the Reikwald forest, and ships were attacked and burned as they travelled along the province's great river. In the streets of every city fanatics and prophets of doom preached their unsavoury brand of redemption. Many desper­ate citizens listened and, believing their world approached its doom, joined these bands of fla­gellants and world-weary apocalypts.

In Nuln, a powerful coven of Tzeentchian Magi emerged from hiding and led bands of screaming cultists and daemon-hosts against the beleaguered local government. Some men, those driven to the edge of madness by starvation and fear, submitted to what they saw as the inevitable rule of Chaos, and threw in their lot with the Magi, turning against their own broth­ers and sisters. Witch hunters and preachers did their best to rally the populace against these fol­lowers of the Old Dark, and there was open warfare in the streets.

Huddled in sewers and burnt-out houses, the terrified people prayed desperately for salvation, prayed for a sign that they did not stand alone against the gathering darkness. Almost exactly two thousand three hundred years after the death of the man-god, Sigmar Heldenhammer, the prayers of the people seemed to have been answered. A sign appeared in the night sky: a twin-tailed comet, the ancient symbol of our Empire's divine founding father, arched across the heavens in fiery glory. But what could this sign mean?

The answer came in the form of but one man -a fiery young priest of Sigmar from their very own city of Nuln. His name was Magnus, and with his great foresight and passionate oratories, his strength of arm and his unshakeable faith, he gathered to himself an army of followers and led them to victor.' over the worshippers of the Dark Gods, shattering the might of the Magi's coven and purging their every trace from his city.

As winter settled across the northlands, the army of Chaos began its long march south. The Count of Ostland and the entire Kislevite army moved northwards to meet them. By midwinter these two gigantic forces met, somewhere between the Kislevite towns of Murmagrad and Chaask.

Humanity was not victorious. Barely a handful of the Empire's soldiery survived to report their crushing defeat.

The Chaos horde laid waste to the northern part of the Tsar's territory before moving south­wards along the foothills of the Worlds Edge Mountains. The massive army crossed the frozen river Lynsk in the early spring. The very last of the Kislevite regular troops were caught from front and rear and destroyed as they defended the bridges. Beyond the Lynsk lay the heartlands of Kislev and the thriving city of Praag.

In Praag, the people prepared for war. Thousands flooded inside the city walls from the surrounding countryside, bringing with them what little livestock and grain had survived the near constant plagues that had beset the land. But it was not enough. Soon Praag's brave citi­zens were starving, and in their weakened condition many succumbed to the heinous visitations of Nurgle.

Outside the city's defences, the monstrous Chaos horde made camp. From here they launched occasional forays, but made no attempt to seize the city until the Plague Lord's blessings had done their work. The people of Praag sur­vived these endless raids, hoping beyond hope that a relieving force would come to aid them.

In time, rumour of a heroic new leader from the south reached the defenders, a man called Magnus who was bringing an army north to their salvation. Indeed, the flock of Magnus of Nuln had grown ever stronger. He had gathered to him an army of all kinds of men: loyal devo­tees of Sigmar, mad-eyed zealots, ordinary citizens, and professional soldiers from the armies of the provinces. Recognising in Magnus a leader they could all follow, the Elector Counts of the Empire pledged him their unconditional support and led their troops to join him.

In his wisdom, Magnus sent his oldest friend and closest confidante, one Pieter Lazlo, as an envoy across the Sea of Claws to the near-myth­ical realm of Ulthuan, there to beg aid from the fey and haughty elves. Yet the elves were them­selves beset by the forces of entropy, and were loath to spare even a single warrior to aid mankind. But the Loremasters of the White Tower knew that should the lands of men fall to the Chaos Gods, then Ulthuan would surely fol­low. So it was that Teclis of Hoeth answered Laszlo's plea, and along with two of his brother mages, Yrtle and Finreir, threw in his lot with Magnus and the armies of mankind.

With these puissant mages at his side, Magnus marched his vast army north, but their progress was slow. Despite having an advance force of cavalry just a day's march from the city, Magnus was too late. Praag's walls had already been breached, and a furious eight-day battle through its burning streets had already drawn to its bloody conclusion. Praag fell in the winter of 2302. Chaos had triumphed.

With the fall of Praag a wind of solid darkness blew from the Realm of Chaos and swept over the land. Out through the Chaos Gates it roared, over the Troll Country and into northern Kislev. The malign wind blew through the streets of Praag, howling and screaming, and where it passed the broiling Aethyr followed, absorbing that land of men.

The streets of Praag bowed and warped before its might. Men and stone twisted and became as one. Living things melted and reformed within the very fabric of the city's streets. Souls were imprisoned in torment, crying out from twisted stones. Anguished and distorted faces peered out from cracked and warped walls. Agonised limbs writhed from the pavements. Pillars groaned with voices that once belonged to living beings. Praag had become an incarnate and waking nightmare - a taste for all of what lay ahead should the Chaos Gods prove victorious.

A few managed to escape the ruin of Praag, slipping through the siege lines as the Chaos armies mounted their final assault. They brought the news of Praag's fall to Kislev's royal court, where the Tsar was hastily training a new army. When word reached Magnus of Praag's defeat, it was said he wept tears of blood and swore before Sigmar to avenge the horrors done that day.

After the fall of Praag, the Chaos horde moved southwards, passing Magnus's advance force without realizing they had done so. These cavalrymen soon reached the hell-city that had been Praag. The soldiers, many of them Kislevite, witnessed the horror that had been visited upon this once proud city. They did not stay to mourn, but moved south in angry pursuit of the Chaos horde. They soon encountered and destroyed the rearguard of the Chaos army, stragglers and loafers for the most part - mutants and beast-men who had squabbled with their rivals and had been left behind.

The human warriors fell upon the inhuman force with ferocity spawned of outrage, killing hundreds and scattering the rest. It was a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. Meanwhile the main body of the Chaos horde continued its advance towards Kislev, knowing nothing of the human army that was now closing in behind it.

As Magnus's cavalry headed for Praag, the main Empire army and Magnus himself made for Kislev. Though he still hoped to reach Praag, Magnus sorely needed provisions in order for his force to continue. Magnus hoped to acquire these, together with fresh troops, before moving northwards. Perhaps by the hand of Sigmar, Magnus arrived at Kislev just in time to see the Chaos horde surround the city.

The fell Chaos army was arrayed in unholy splendour around the walls of Kislev, its black banners fluttering from the hills all around. The standards of all four Chaos Gods could be seen where their champions stood waiting. The mighty Warriors and Knights of Chaos stood in serried ranks waiting to advance. Sorcerers lurked behind them or rode amongst the troops upon beasts of indescribably foul appearance. Beastmen massed noisily around the banners of their own lords, braying and bellowing in their excitement. Above the reeking crowd towered massive things with broad ugly heads, but whether these were mortal creatures or daemons was impossible to say.

Finally the sheer scale of the threat posed by the Gods of Chaos and their unholy minions was laid bare to Magnus, yet his faith in Holy Sigmar did not falter. It is said that even Teclis, so alien in his ways and distant in his manner, was moved by Magnus's impassioned oratory that day, as they stood there in the shadow of that Nightmare Host. At the end of this, his last speech before they would take the battle to their enemies, Magnus reminded his troops of Sigmar's promise that the sun would not set on His people, so long as they kept Him as their lord. None could doubt the sincerity of Magnus's words, but the dying light of day seemed only to make a mockery of their meaning.

Darkness settled across the field, and the armies of Men were left to ponder if they would ever again see the light of day.

Within the city, the Tsar had organised the defences as best he could, and had even taken personal command of his new army. Hastily trained and ill equipped, yet with a courage born of despair, the Kislevites prepared to meet the Chaos assault head on. With them were several hundred dwarfs from the impenetrable fortress kingdom of the Everpeak, the dwarf capital Karaz-a-Karak. Despite the unrest and horror within his own mountain realm, the High King of the dwarfs had sent a contingent of his finest warriors to the Tsar's aid.

In their first attack, the servants of the Dark Gods committed their multifarious beasts and monsters to the field. The assault was furious and bloody, and the foul creatures drove the Kislevites from their hastily constructed outer defences, forcing them to withdraw behind the city walls. Indomitable to the last, the dwarfs of Karaz-a-Karak fought a valiant rearguard action, holding the beasts at bay.

It was as the Chaos Lords prepared to lead a second assault upon the city that Magnus's army reached the outskirts of the Chaos encampment. The Empire troops set about the few warriors remaining there with courage and zeal, but the main Chaos force was quick to notice this new threat to its rear. With great haste the Chaos army divided into two, one part of the horde continuing to assault the city, whilst the other turned to attack Magnus.

Before the Chaos worshippers could properly regroup, Magnus's army fell upon them like a righteous hammer, routing a large contingent of mutant beastmen that had only just retired from the front line. The creatures panicked when they saw the human army bearing down on them, and put up little resistance before they turned and fled the field.

Magnus and his followers pushed deep into the Chaos ranks. Thousands of mutated troops were slaughtered and the Chaos force could do noth­ing to halt the pace of Magnus's furious advance. But, although Magnus had driven off many thousands of troops, many more thousands remained. Caught off guard by the sudden attack from its rear, the Chaos army took time to re-deploy, but eventually its greater numbers began to tell. The advance of the Empire army faltered, and then stopped, and Magnus found himself surrounded. The Empire army fell back into a defensive circle.

All this was observed from the city walls. At first the Kislevites sent up a great cheer as they saw the Chaos troops fleeing in all directions.

But as they watched the Empire army slow and stumble, their cheering turned to silence. Fearing their saviours would be destroyed before their eyes, the dwarfs chose to sally-forth from the relative safety of the city's walls, in an effort to go to Magnus's aid. Three hundred dwarfs sped from the south gate and hurled themselves upon their aggressors. But the daemonic troops surrounding Kislev were too many and too well led, and the dwarfs were beaten back with heavy losses. Of the gallant three hundred that had led the attack, it is said barely half returned.

With the threat from Magnus contained, the Chaos forces turned their attention towards the gates of Kislev once more. As the ruinous army surged forward, it became apparent to the defenders that the next assault was intended to carry into the city. The most fearsome Chaos troops were arrayed against them: formidable warriors, sorcerers riding upon huge and out­landish monsters, trolls, dragons, and daemons from the Aethyr's deepest hells. Brave to the last, the Kislevites and dwarfs prepared for the final assault. There was little hope for their survival.

It was as the Chaos army prepared to attack that the fortunes of the allies took a sudden and dramatic turn. Magnus's advance force of caval­ry, the same force that had reached Praag too late to save the city, arrived upon the northern flank of the Chaos army. The cavalry were main-ly drawn from the Empire, but there were also many native Kislevites amongst them, and the memory of the horror they had witnessed in Prag was still fresh in their minds. With a feroc­ity born of hate, the cavalry plunged into the flank of the Chaos army, which began to bow before their implacable anger.

Magnus and his main army had drawn up onto a low hill where they fought off attack after attack by the servants of Chaos. From the advantage of his elevated position, Magnus saw the sudden confusion at the Chaos horde's flank and realised that his cavalry had returned from the north. Summoning the last of his strength, Magnus spurred his troops forward, taking the battle to the enemy once more.

Meanwhile, in the city, the defenders had also witnessed the appearance of the Empire cavalry, and saw at last that the battle might be turning. The city gates were flung open and the Kislevites charged out and attacked the besiegers. Unremitting in their fury and implacable in their hatred, the dwarfs swore themselves to victory or death and launched themselves upon their enemies, hewing with their great axes as they yelled their Khazalid war cries.

Caught from three sides the Chaos horde fell into confusion. Beastmen milled about, running hither and thither, and were impossible to draw into order. Disciplined and fearless, the dread warriors of Chaos fought on regardless, but their numbers were then too few to fight on all fronts. Slowly, the Chaos army was ground down. Warbands fled before the fury of the human and dwarf armies, and many were caught and destroyed as they did so. By the day's end the Chaos horde was broken and scattered. Many thousands lay dead.

Following the battle for Kislev's gate, the power of Chaos ebbed away. Daemons began to melt back into the Realm of Chaos, screaming their rage and their loss. The darkness withdrew from the land once more. The city of Praag was levelled and rebuilt, although ever afterwards it has remained a haunted city where the dead are said to rest uneasy in their graves.

Magnus the Pious, as he was known from then on, was made Emperor, and under him the provinces were united under one ruler for the first time in centuries. If the Elector Counts of the time had any doubts about the instalment of this dark-eyed priest to the throne of Emperor, they kept their thoughts to themselves. The peo­ple of the Empire had chosen their leader and they would not be denied.

Magnus's first act as Emperor was to clear the forests of remaining beastmen, and Ostland and Ostermark were freed from their grip. The forces of Chaos were driven back to the Troll Country and beyond. The Great War Against Chaos was at an end. The alliance of the Chaos Gods ended too. Perhaps their rivalries drove them apart once more, or perhaps the Dark Gods had been content to merely test the defences of mankind, for their true plans are hard to fathom.

Yet do not deceive yourself, dear reader. There is no happy ending to this tale, for in truth noth­ing ever ends. While the Gates of Chaos hang open, the Aethyr's shadow can never be lifted from across the Mortal Realms. Indeed, the forces of the daemon-gods have not been idle in the two centuries since the time of Magnus. Word has reached us that they have once more gathered their strength in the wastelands beyond the land of Norsca, and a great Uniter has risen from amongst their ranks, forging them again into an unstoppable army.

Be ready all you that read this, for Archaon, Lord of the End Times, gathers his armies just north of our borders, and the forces of Chaos prepare once more to wrest control of this realm from mortal hands.

May Sigmar have mercy on us all.

 


 

Звери Хаоса (непереведено)

 







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