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.