The Skaven, sometimes known as the Ratmen, the Ratkin or the Children of the Horned Rat, are a malevolent and diabolical race of large humanoid rat-creatures that inhabits a massive inter-continental underground empire known in their tongue simply as the Under-Empire, where at the very heart of Skavendom lies the horrific city of Skavenblight, the species capital city and the probable birthplace of the Skaven race. The Skavens as a whole are a cruel, treacherous and highly numerous species that have since spread their loathsome corruption to the farthest corners of the Warhammer World. From deep below the earth, these scavengers have built a vast Empire, whose military power and incomprehensible numbers has the potential to smother the kingdoms of the Old World in a seething tide of violence and anarchy. It is believed by all of Skaven-kind that the world is destined to be theirs, for they consider themselves the Supreme Master Race, undeniably superior in every way to all the other races of the World.
The Dark Elves are voracious raiders who ply their bloody trade across the length and breadth of the world. They take whatever they want and will gladly risk their lives for the promise of glory, power and riches. All Elves are taller than humans and of a slender but strong build. They are long-limbed and graceful, with slim, adept fingers. Their eyes are large and oval, containing a disturbing, otherworldly wisdom that unnerves other creatures. For the Dark Elves, a cold beauty masks the natural attractiveness of their race and a scowl or sneer often mars the pale skin of their elegant faces. They are, for the most part, dark-haired and sinister, and their bleak stares convey nothing but contempt.
There are few sights more glorious than an army of High elves. Serried ranks of white-garbed soldiers take to the field alongside proud knights, mighty mages and ancient creatures of legend. The High Elves are an elite force who, warrior-for-warrior, can outmatch almost any other race in the WARHAMMER World. Over the long millennia of their existence, they have mastered every style of fighting – whether you seek phalanxes of spears, unstoppable cavalrymen, dead-eyed archers or peerless charioteers, you will find them here.
Millennia ago, besieged by a Chaos invasion, a conclave of High Elf mages forged a vast, arcane vortex. Its purpose was to draw the Winds of Magic from the world as a sinkhole drains an ocean, and blast the Daemonic hordes back to the Realm of Chaos. Now the Great Vortex falters, and the world again stands at the brink of ruin.
Tempered in battle from the moment of its birth, the Empire represents the last bastion of Mankind. Since Sigmar first united the primitive tribes of men, the nation has had to fight for its very survival with constant vigilance. Though his reign has long-since ended, the Empire is nevertheless a force to be reckoned with. Ever on a war footing, ranks upon ranks of highly trained professional soldiers make up the nation’s backbone. It is the variety of these troop types that is the chief strength of an Empire army. These brave men are more than prepared to lay down their lives to protect the lands and people they hold dear. The Empire is a beacon for all human learning and culture in a dangerous world, its light surrounded on all sides by dark forces that constantly threaten to extinguish it. A huge realm of ancient and dangerous forests and prosperous farms contrasted with sprawling metropolises, the diversity of the Empire’s landscapes is matched only by that of its people. Scholars, wizards, counts, nobles and knights brush shoulders with common folk in the bustling streets of gothic citadels. Magnificent palaces and gardens give way to crowded courtyards where the cries of religious fanatics permeate the market smoke and assassins walk amongst the throng unseen. Joy and misery, life and death; the entire spectrum of human existence can be seen amongst these streets. Now, a new man has been elected Emperor. Though his reign is young, tales of his deeds, his martial prowess and his statecraft have already spread throughout the Empire and beyond. His name is Karl Franz. To his followers, he is heralded as heir of Sigmar. In him they see a man worthy of wielding both the Warhammer and the title of Emperor that the mighty warrior-god once held. Someone who can unify the Empire and once and for all vanquish its enemies both within and without.
In the forsaken lands of Sylvania, the Undead battalions of the Vampire Counts gather. Upon fen and moor, creatures of darkness that have haunted the nightmares of Men for millennia break free from ancient cairns and age worn mausoleums, thundering the ground beneath them and eclipsing the moon as they spread their tattered wings and take to the skies. In the eternal gloom of ancient tombs can be heard the scrape of bone on bone, wordless moans, and the clank of rusted armour. The unliving host advances, a tide of resurrected corpses, driven on by necromantic magic and the immortal will of the Vampire Counts.
The presence of the living dead is a corruption upon the face of the world and as they expand their holdings, the very land they occupy is transformed. Their advance is heralded by encroaching mists no wind can displace, trees twisting and buckling as though in agony, and a gathering darkness of supernatural perpetuity. In battle, they are a fearsome force to behold. Legions of moldering soldiers wear down their enemies without fear or hesitation whilst colossal, contorted aberrations and bat-winged beasts crush all who dare stand in their way.
All tremble before the unliving masters of Sylvania, for they are a blasphemy against nature and reason. Those that attempt to stem their relentless onslaught will soon learn that there are fates in this world that are worse than death. The Midnight Aristocracy are masters of Death Magic and Necromancy and those that fall before their might will soon rise again. Where once stood defiant enemy soldiers now stand twitching corpse-puppets devoid of any determination save to serve the morbid fiends that now command them.
A seething flood of tooth, blade and brazen green flesh, the Greenskins make up the most barbaric and prolific raiding force in the Old World. Rather than a single race, they are a conglomeration of smaller sub-races, banded together by their like-minded brutality, lack of intelligence and lust for carnage. Mobs of Savage Orcs roam the Badlands plains while Night Goblins move unseen in the deep tunnels of the Underway. Whenever the feeling takes them they pour out in earth-shaking numbers to plunder other Race’s settlements, invaders to the end. After slaughtering the occupants, they daub the walls in crude graffiti, settling amongst the corpses until restless green fingers start itching for bloodshed once more. Greenskins lack any form of government, subscribing instead to a ‘might-makes-right’ ideology that sets the nastiest and sneakiest firmly at the top of the pecking order. Orcs, brutish and aggressive make up the ruling class. Goblins, malevolent and cunning, are subjugated by the Orcs in exchange for their begrudging protection. Trolls, Giants and other fell creatures are easily coerced to join their cause with the promise of battle, loot and a few of the weaker goblins thrown their way as a tasty snack. The variety and versatility of Greenskin armies and the brute strength of their warriors more than makes up for what they lack in intelligence and diplomacy.
Endlessly seeking out conflict both within and without, Greenskin hordes roam from the Old World in search of worthy opponents to stomp into the ground. At the head of each is a Warboss. The only way to earn this rank is to murder the current Warboss. As such it is a title earned by only the biggest and nastiest Orcs of the lot. Greenskins live to fight, and if their Warboss cannot sate their appetite for battle, their numbers will dwindle as infighting takes hold. When word spreads of a truly might Warboss however, momentum builds quickly. With each successive victory, more and more Greenskin mobs join the horde. Eventually, these patchwork armies merge to become a WAAAGH! – An unstoppable Green tide that leaves nothing but ruin in its wake.
The Chaos Warriors Race Pack brought a new race with its own new Legendary Lords, units, mounts, items, quest chains and mechanics to Total War™: WARHAMMER®.
Lay waste to the Old World as the dreaded Chaos Warriors. This Pack includes a full roster of bloodthirsty units, terrifying mounts and monstrous creatures. Lead the corrupted Chaos hordes as one of three new playable Legendary Lords. Embrace the Ruinous Powers as you embark on brand new quest chains, unlocking powerful items and gaining glory in the name of the dark Chaos Gods.