Snow White Hills Blood Bowl Chronicles

I have seen the doom of man. It is written in the stars, an imen borne upon the twin-tailed comet that blazes bright across the firmament. The barbarous tribes of the north will see it as a sign of their final victory over the world. Yet the children of the Heldenhammer shall look upon it in hope and fear alike. Hope, that heralds the return of their most glorious champion. Fear, that it signals the death of all their kind has achieved. And they are right to do so. In the north, foul hordes flock to the banner of the Three-Eyed King. Like blood pulsing from a wound in the world's crown, they march south to bring the touch of Chaos to all. The Everchosen's warlords shall plunge their blades deep into the civilised realms, looting fallen empires for their own glory. Brothers three shall bring low the Empire of Man. It is they who will muster the plague-kissed in their master's name. It is they who will cast the curse of unbound life, a curse that will bring primal disorder to a world of hard-won progress. United, the lords of disease shall bring the Old World to the brink of ruin - ruin from within, and from without. All things clean and true shall sicken and fade. The gods of man shall fade with them, until only death holds the key to salvation.: — These are the End Times.