The Tale of the Mortal Realms

When the heavens broke, the realms were born.
From world’s ending came the dawn of many lands.
Gods rose, gods fell, and war’s drums never ceased.
For in the Mortal Realms, peace is but a dream.

    When the World-That-Was died, its shattered soul became the Mortal Realms — eight vast planes of magic and wonder, each bound to a different wind of sorcery. In these newborn lands, gods walked among mortals. Some sought to guide them, others to enslave or destroy.

   In the Age of Myth, the pantheon was strong. Sigmar, God-King of Azyr, forged alliances with mighty deities — Grimnir and Grungni of the duardin, Tyrion and Teclis of the aelves, Gorkamorka of the orruks, and Nagash, Lord of Death. Together, they built civilizations of splendor, where mortals thrived beneath divine rule.

   But unity cannot endure forever.

   Nagash, ever hungry for dominion over all souls, betrayed the pantheon. The gods’ bonds broke, and the Age of Chaos began. The Dark Gods poured into the realms, their daemonic legions led by mortal champions of ruin. Entire kingdoms burned, cities fell to madness, and the Mortal Realms drowned in blood and despair.

   For centuries, Sigmar fought to hold back the tide, but even the God-King could not stand against all four Chaos Gods united. When his last bastion fell, Sigmar retreated to the heavens of Azyr, sealing its gates and leaving the realms to the enemy.

   Yet Sigmar did not yield. In the forges of the heavens, with the aid of Grungni, he crafted the Stormcast Eternals — warriors remade from mortal heroes, their souls bound in armor and thunder. When the time came, lightning split the skies and Sigmar’s vengeance fell upon the realms.

   The Realmgate Wars began. From Azyr, the Stormcast descended upon the strongholds of Chaos, driving back the servants of the Dark Gods and reclaiming lost lands. Cities were rebuilt, mortals rallied to the God-King’s cause, and the first sparks of hope returned.

But the Mortal Realms are ever in turmoil. The armies of Destruction march for the thrill of battle. Death stirs under Nagash’s cold hand. The aelves weave plans older than the realms themselves. And the champions of Chaos, though driven back, are far from defeated.

This is the Age of Sigmar — an age where gods and mortals alike wage endless war, and the fate of all realms is decided upon the blade’s edge.

The thunder rolls, the lightning falls.
The hammer strikes, yet the darkness rises.
For in the Mortal Realms, war is life.
And life is but the prelude to war.