C. Werner: Blighted Empire

That period of Imperial history preceding the stability brought by the ascension of Magnus von Bildhofen as Emperor in the year 2304 is a confused and frustrating time for the serious scholar. Many of the records from that era that have survived consist of accounts recorded by monks and friars and, by consequence, are couched in such a manner as to reflect and magnify the religious dogma of the author’s temple. Most secular works relating to this period were destroyed over the course of the centuries of warfare that gripped the Empire in what has been termed the ‘Age of Three Emperors’ and the Vampire Wars which briefly interrupted that vicious civil war.

What is left for the historian, then, is a large body of myth and legend. How much veracity there may be in accounts of Underfolk is debatable at best; however, in compiling this treatment of those years when plague decimated the Empire, it has been constructive to adopt an attitude of credulity.

In the first volume of A Folkloric History of the Black Plague and the Wolf of Sigmar , the conspiracy of Prince Sigdan of Altdorf and his allies against the despotic corruption of Emperor Boris I was detailed. Due in no small measure to the despicable Adolf Kreyssig, commander of the Emperor’s secret police, the conspiracy failed. In the course of their invasion of the Imperial Palace, Captain Erich von Kranzbeuhler of the outlawed Reiksknecht absconded with Ghal Maraz, depriving the Emperor of the ultimate symbol of his authority.

The Black Plague’s depredations across the Empire were nowhere as marked as in the region of Sylvania. In that ill-omened land, a distraught priest of Morr turned against his faith when his family succumbed to the disease. Frederick van Hal, drawing upon forbidden texts, resorted to necromancy in a desperate effort to reconnect with those he’d lost. By employing the dark art, van Hal opened himself to eldritch forces beyond his comprehension. Christening himself ‘Vanhal’, the terrible necromancer turned against his neighbours, unleashing the undead against the town of Bylorhof and slaughtering its populace.

Middenheim, the famed City of the White Wolf, was spared the brunt of the plague in those early years. Graf Gunthar, ruler of Middenheim, imposed harsh measures to protect his city, refusing refugees from other provinces sanctuary on the Ulricsberg. These draconian policies offended the ideals of his son, Prince Mandred, who struggled to help those he felt his father had abandoned. Ultimately, after a heroic charge to relieve the refugee camp at the foot of the mountain when it was attacked by beastmen, the young prince came to understand the cruel wisdom behind his father’s edict.

No account of the plague years would be complete without delving into the Underfolk, the rat-like skaven of many a nursery fable. The ratmen are often credited as the instigators of the Black Plague, and anecdotes about their treacherous manipulations can be found in dwarf records of the time. A plague priest named Puskab Foulfur is often associated with the genesis of the plague. After concocting this dread disease, the skaven were emboldened enough to make direct attacks on the cities of men. Displaying the cunning depravity of his breed, Puskab contrived to place himself on the Council of Thirteen, the villainous Grey Lords, by first allying with and then betraying one of the sitting Grey Lords. Together with his own leader, Arch-Plaguelord Nurglitch, the pestiferous Clan Pestilens possessed two seats upon this Council, allowing them even greater influence over the verminous Under-Empire. At their instigation, the despotic Warmonger Vecteek commanded an ever-increasing deployment of the Black Plague.

In the grim year of 1111, the Black Plague was unleashed. Before it was finished, three of every four men in the Empire would be dead. In the midst of such widespread decimation, old evils stirred to take their place in the sun.

This second volume details the aftermath of that original dead winter.

— Reikhard Mattiasson, A Folkloric History of the Black Plague and the Wolf of Sigmar Vol. II

Altdorf Press, Vorhexen, 2513

Suppressed by order of Lord Thaddeus

Gamow, Jahrdrung, 2514

Skavenblight

Geheimnisnacht, 1112

The pungent smell of smouldering warpstone wafted through the blackened chamber, the corrupt fume slithering into every nook and cranny, oozing between the crumbling bricks, burning into beams of oak and ash, discolouring glass and tarnishing bronze. It was the stench of darkest sorcery, and this was its night.

Resplendent in silver robes woven from the scalps of man-thing she-breeders, Seerlord Skrittar perched atop the dais, his claw stroking the silky texture of his finery. The wealth displayed by such a garment! He could smell the envy in the scent of his subordinates whenever he donned it. It was a considerable expenditure to abduct the she-breeders, bear them back alive to Skavenblight and confine them in the blackest burrows beneath the city. They had to be kept in darkness, nurtured on a rich diet of glow-grubs and swamp maize for many seasons before their hair assumed the correct hue, scent and texture. It was a sad reality that only the smallest amounts of weirdroot could be used to keep the she-breeders tranquil or the drug would affect the desired properties in their hair. The breeders of the man-things were eccentric, excitable animals, entertaining pretensions of intelligence the Horned Rat had thankfully spared the brood-mothers of the skaven. They were given to crazed moods and had to be constantly watched lest they kill themselves in an unguarded moment.

Skrittar’s whiskers twitched in amusement as he pondered the perfection of the skaven mind. The Horned Rat had blessed his children with the divine spark, had created the ratmen in his own image and invested in them all the craft and guile of his own black spirit. The skaven were destined to dominate and rule over all others. It was a holy imperative. To do less was to betray their sacred duty. From the very first time the Shattered Tower’s bell had tolled the thirteenth note, the skaven had known it was their destiny to inherit the world.

The seerlord’s whiskers became still. His furred lips pulled back to expose his yellowed fangs, his naked tail lashed in annoyance against the cold stone floor. If not for the petty squabbling and bickering amongst the clans, the skaven should have dominated the world long ago. Short-sighted despots and craven-livered tyrants who could think only of their own pretensions of power and greatness. The Grey Lords had squandered the resources of the mighty Under-Empire on their internecine feuds and rivalries. If they could only put the welfare of skavendom ahead of their own ambitions, nothing could keep the ratmen from rising up and overwhelming the surface world. There was no force among gods or men that could stand against a united skavendom!

Skrittar shook his horned head, his nose crinkling in a sour expression as though a foul scent had filled his nostrils. There was a real prospect of skavendom uniting now. The past winter had seen Clan Pestilens unleash their hideous Black Plague against the man-things. The disease had run rampant, decimating the humans in numbers that were truly astounding. Virtually the entire Council of Thirteen had rallied behind Arch-Plaguelord Nurglitch, even permitting a second plague priest to assume a position among the Lords of Decay, the diseased Poxmaster Puskab Foulfur, creator of the Black Plague! First Among Equals, Warmonger Vecteek the Murderous had showered the plague monks with gifts and honours, indulging them as the vicious warlord of Clan Rictus had never indulged any clan before.