Snow White Hills Blood Bowl Chronicles

I have seen this world's demise. Morrslieb, the accursed orb, waxes against crimson skies. Magic rises and reality subsides, leaving only madness in its wake. Vermin cease their gnawing and swarm to the surface, answering their horned master's call. First to fall are the temples of the Old Ones, abandoned by defenders who know that the end draws near. Mankind does not recognise its doom - not yet. They hear only the drums in the north, and know that war is come. Some will fight. Others will abandon reason, seeking salvation in scripture or the scourge. They are deceived. The Dark Brothers are stronger than ever before, and the old gods fade. Only in death will any respite be found. In a land of mist, the danger is closer still. Pride has ever been the folly of that shrouded land, and so it will be again. When the dragons fly as one, an ancient lie will at last be exposed, a revelation that will shake Ulthuan to the roots of its mountains. The mirror of light and dark will shatter, and Aenarion's heirs will fight for the legacy of Khaine amidst the ashes of the phoenix. The three-eyed king has long awaited this moment, the hour in which his destiny is at last unveiled. He leads an army of madness and rage, against which no sane being would willingly stand. Perhaps I am not sane, as I will fight one last time. Not for victory, but for survival, for the hope that a spark can endure. It is a slender hope, and the laughter of Dark Gods rings loud in my ears.: — These are the End Times.