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The Cloak of Karloff is a magical item that cannot be pierced by a sword or worn by a creature touched by Chaos, and immune to flames, but these are among its most mundane traits. It has written a dark omen in an ancient language about which a story about the end times is told.[1a]

A Dark Omen

Sewn in the hem of the cloak, placed there by the hands of a frail woman from Sartosa and written in a language now lost and only decipherable by a handful of blind monks, is a prophecy of the end times and a secret so great, it dares to unravel the heavens themselves.[1a]

And those that know my words know I do not wax poetic for the sake of drama.[1a]

The prophecy can be found in only one place, but it is marked by so many stories, fables, and indications of fact, that I can only attempt to understand it all. But, believe me, when I tell you this, the omens do not bode well for the age of man.[1a]

As the story goes, a Beastman will rise from the lands of Chaos. He will lead armies—thunderous armies. He will wield a sword of pure villainy and hatred. He will smite his foes with a fury that one cannot possibly understand. His might will be unquestioned and he will go unopposed.[1a]

But this Beastman’s deeds will not end there, nor will he be judged a great leader.[1a]


His feats will be measured by what he shall become.[1a]

As the oracle bids, he shall conquer the lands of Man and Dwarf and Rat and all manner of beast. He shall enslave every living and unliving thing. He shall grow in size, grow in strength, and his hordes shall grow in numbers. He shall become the enemy of all things, thoughts, and desires.[1a]

And upon sitting on the throne of all kings.[1a]

He shall become the Unmaker.[1a]

The Daemonic unweaver of all things.[1a]

The last and final Daemon, the Lifetaker.[1a]

And when the lands of the living have been trounced under his goat-hooves, he shall sunder the heavens and claim for himself the title of Death.[1a]

And the skies, bloodied by his touch.[1a]

Cry for mercy and find none.[1a]

The clouds, blackened by the deadly glut[1a]

And the Gods are dead, leave one.[1a]

This is not the mad litany of some street corner proselytizer. I am not some charlatan quick to fleece you or your coin. I am bringing you the true tale of the end of times. Believe me or don’t but respect that I am not some feeble grandfather desperate for the affections of his young.[1a]

These words are scrawled into Cloak of Night and if you cannot believe me, then perhaps you should visit the monks of Mordheim and ask them for a reading.[1a]


  • 1: The WFRP Companion (2nd Edition Fantasy Roleplay)
    • 1a: pg. 76