User:Aenigmatrices/My Sandbox

=Warhammer World=


 * “This was once a world of purity and splendour. An ice-clad jewel in the heavens, slowly nurtured into a paradise by beings older than Time.


 * To look upon this world was to witness the hopes of that unknowable race made real. Lush vistas of dense jungle swathed the lands, winged lizards swooped lazily through the multicoloured mists. White-crested mountains soared through gossamer clouds to graze the heavens, their uncharted depths shot through with thick veins of precious metal. Oceans blue as sapphires caressed the lands under endless turquoise skies. Temple-cities thrived across the globe, their reptilian denizens as ordered as cogs in a divinely fashioned machine. For a while, the world knew harmony.


 * Then came Chaos.


 * The Great Cataclysm shook the firmament with such force its echoes still pervade, and always will. All semblance of tranquility was blasted away in an instant. A screaming gale of raw magic enveloped the lands and the beasts that dwelt within. It remade them into forms disturbing and unclean, shaping them like clay in the hands of a demented artist.


 * Where once was the beauty there is now a vision of insanity. The crumbling faces of ancient kings, hewn from granite cliffs in aeons past, speak backwards untruths devised purely to riddle a man to madness. Endless forests of gnarled and sentient trees grab and strangle those that stray too close, their eaves hung with throttled corpses. Towering citadels of bone and sinew burst upwards from the ground at the command of cackling mages. The parched lands crack and split to reveal mass graves, moaning faces, hissing lava. Monstrous terrors prowl the wilderness in search for fresh meat. Nowhere is safe.


 * Upon this precarious foundation are built the sprawling nations of the world. The kingdoms of Mankind are triumphs of hope over constant adversity, their bustling fortress-cities breathtaking in size and accomplishment. And yet there can be no peace. The corrupting taint of Chaos yields discord as a field yields crops, and there are always warlords willing to reap its bloody harvest.


 * Ever onwards come the barbaric and murderous tribes of the wilds, flowing together into an immense horde that blackens the lands. The electric promise of conquest crackles in the air. Hell-spawned fiends boil out from the night, desperate to enslave and destroy. Roaring behemoths lumber out of their lairs, evil warlocks summon searing conflagrations of raw magic that turn entire battalions to ash.


 * Marching to meet them are armies beyond counting, their enchanted banners streaming in the wind. The rising sun turns red a hundred thousand spear points. Its ray burnish the armour of commanders hungry for conflict. And yet Man does not stand alone in his war against the darkness. The proud warhosts of the elder races stride out from their ancient realms, resplendent and majestic. Each warrior is the equal of a dozen lesser mortals, and yet none expect to see the dawn.


 * Under storm-wracked skies these surging legions clash. Battlelines slam into each other with the force of tidal waves. The muted roar of warfare resounds from the uncaring peaks.


 * The gods of strife shall feast upon this day, and every day hence, until the end of time.”
 * —War Unending.



The Empire
The Empire is the largest and oldest nation of the Old World, and the greatest human bastion against the ever-present threat of Chaos. The realm ruled over by Emperor Karl Franz stretches from the Sea of Claws and Kislev to the north, to the World’s Edge Mountains to the east and south and the Grey Mountains to the west. Almost all of the Empire is covered with ancient, dense forests that provide haven for all manner of wild and evil creatures. The villages, towns and cities are islands of civilization amongst this rugged wilderness, and the people of the Empire fight a constant battle of survival against the ever-encroaching perils that surround them.

Kislev
Directly north of the Empire are the lands of Kislev and the Sea of Claws. Kislev, a long-standing ally of the Empire, forms a barrier against the worst horrors of the far north. A cold and bleak country, inhabited by hardy and equally bleak people, Kislev is a relatively small kingdom, ruled over by the Tsars and Tsarinas. Close enough to the Empire as to seem vaguely familiar to travellers, the odd accents, strange hats and abundance of clear alcohols fermented from potatoes may take some getting used to.

Norsca
When not out raiding other parts of the Old World, the people of Norsca, justly characterised as fur wearing barbarians in league with foul brutal gods, carve out an existence in the frozen tundra and mountains of their land. Visitors are well advised to think carefully before taking refuge here, deciding whether or not they might be safer sleeping with Ice Trolls. Though the Norse warriors have been known to possess a certain kind of respect for strength of arms, only the stoutest adventurers should consider this approach to befriending them.

The Chaos Wastes
Beyond Kislev, the Sea of Claws and Norsca things get considerably worse for travellers and setting out into these cursed northern wastes is often a quick way to meet a messy end. Bleak and bitter tundra stretches as far as the eye can see, broken only by jagged mountain ranges and the gnarled skeletons of dead trees. Creatures of nightmare roam unchecked and wild tribes of marauders fight endlessly for their Dark God’s pleasure. The north belongs to Chaos and the further you travel the truer this becomes, until, it is rumoured, reality itself beings to decay and fall apart, leaving only madness and despair.

The Sea of Claws
This bitterly cold and rough stretch of water separates the northern Empire from the land of Norsca and has a well deserved reputation for piracy. Of course pirates and foul weather don’t stop dozens of ships sailing from Marienburg and other northern ports, making it quite accessible for those wishing to cross it, either on their way to Norsca or other places further a field.