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Zilele de razboi se apropie. Cele doua armate asteapta inevitabilul conflict pe campurile de batalie ale Lumii Vechi. Aici se va stabili cine castiga si cine va pierde. Aici se va stabili soarta taramului tau. Aici tu vei avea un rol decisiv in razboi. Ce mai astepti? Arata ca esti loial factiunii tale! Alatura-te armatelor sale si spre victorie sa pornim!
Loefret the Hatebringer swung his battle-axe into the skull of the Warrior Priest that had charged toward him. Simultaneously, two of his Chosen came at the priest of the Empire with their own axes, hacking the unfortunate Sigmarite until he fell to the ground, bloody and lifeless.
A chanting roar sounded from the Chaos ranks. Warriors of the Raven God hit the demoralized Empire survivors from three sides as they fought to protect their line of retreat. Perhaps one in four of the fallen regiment was fleet enough of foot to escape the envelopment of their ranks, as well as the murderous rout which followed.
"The field is ours!" declared Loefret. He rode his warhorse triumphantly back to his camp at Seven Shades Creep. Cheering and exultations to the Raven God were heard from every warband. The undulating ground of the Chaos Wastes seemed to add a strange reverberating echo to these noises.
Upon returning to the camp, he found Thaldja Krosterin waiting for him. Or rather, the Daemon which now inhabited her flesh waited.
"A message awaits, Dark One," she croaked.
He returned to his tent, and found a sealed scroll from Tchar'zanek floating above his table, glowing with arcane energy. As soon as he broke the seal, the scroll zipped from his hands and unwound itself in the air, the voice of Tchar'zanek reading his own message in a spectral voice.
"Loefret the Hatebringer, Guardian of the Wastes … why do you persist in allowing the Sigmarites to march upon our doorstep? Thrice you have promised to expel them in accordance with the plans of the Changer. Thrice has this promise not been kept."
Loefret snarled, and tore the scroll into tiny pieces. The Dread Champion of the Raven Host knew better. It was inevitable that the Empire would make a futile push into these lands. No, this was about Loefret, himself. Tchar'zanek now saw him as a threat, and Tchar'zanek suffered no challengers to his supremacy.
Loefret needed to think. If he did not draw up plans now, he would not live to see the end of this war.
Hundreds of guilds have housed thousands of players as they surged onto the battlefield this month in WAR’s beta. All pairings and careers were open to play, and servers were bursting at the seams with testers dying to get out into the battle and WAAAGH! Our beta testers have sunk their teeth into the meat of the game with Tier 4 testing including all pairings and careers. Level 31 Templates were provided to our testers as well, so no time was wasted in preparation of assaulting their enemies in Scenarios, PQs, dungeons, and more!
Testers were able to explore the vast world set before them, from the desolate reaches of the Chaos Wastes to the lush and colorful hillsides of Saphery. They delved into the depths of Gunbad and the Bloodwrought Enclave, fighting their way through darkened tunnels and creepy crevices to destroy everything in their paths. This month, our dedicated closed beta testers experienced the game in its most complete state so far, offering feedback and weeding out bugs along the way. Without our beta testers we’d most certainly be lost, so we’d like to offer a heartfelt thank you for the dedication they’ve put into testing the game during the period this, our last News from the Front before Open Beta, covers.
Even the safety of Altdorf’s walls and the fortitude of The Inevitable City were at stake as the war surged to their borders. In a series of focused testing events, a selection of testers was even able to storm the gates of the Inevitable City and Altdorf and showdown with Tchar’Zanek and Karl Franz and see WAR in its full glory!
Destruction rained down upon the forces of Order as they held the gates of their fair city, but in the end, the forces of evil descended and were able to lay their wicked eyes (and blades) on Karl Franz himself. The tides were then turned upon Destruction as Order sought to cleanse the city’s blackened walls and fought vanquish the darkness forever by conquering Tchar’Zanek, Champion of Tzeentch and enemy of the free world.
Sullied and torn letters and writings from the forefront of the battlefield:
Excerpts from the journal of Brother Arron Prometheus, a warrior priest whose remains were recovered soon after the forces of Order retook the keep of Dok Karaz:
…Today was a glorious day! After taking both Iron Clad battlements and Lighthouse of Barak Varr, the forces of Order assaulted the keep of Dok Karaz. The greenskin scum were there in some numbers and put up heavy resistance, but our captain was skilled in tactics, having fought their kind many times. We battered down the mighty keep door as our healers kept the front lines on their feet. Once the doors fell, a massive battle ensured where we fought and defeated the Orc Keep Lord and his kinsmen. What a glorious day indeed…
…Now that we hold the keep, I have found our Dwarf comrades to be a strange lot, concerned more by lagging ale shipments than lagging reinforcement arrivals. I must say though, that they fight with great passion and I am honored to count them among friends. I have tried a bit, and have to admit, they may be on to something with this ale…
…A Dwarf Keep Lord has arrived with his guards, a true hero among his men. It seems his arrival was none too soon, as we are getting reports that the Lighthouse and Iron Clad battlement have been over-run by Destruction forces. We expect them to be coming for the Keep next. Let them come! We have fortified this place and I hope many foes come to sacrifice themselves upon its walls…
...The enemy has pushed to the keep doors. We are taking them down with cannon, oil, and mage-fire. Scores of them have fallen but still they come. Many from our original force have fallen as well, but thirteen remain to bolster the keep defense. Now the Orc brutes have brought a hideous battering ram…
...The keep door is broken and splintered. We have pushed them back three times but our numbers within the keep are waning. Reinforcements are in route, but far away. We will defend against the next wave alongside the mighty Dwarf Keep Lord himself...
...I am all that remains of our original force. Although we have repelled the last wave, our numbers are all but lost. Now only the Dwarf Lord himself stands at my side. They come in such numbers… I can hear them at the entrance below. Avenge me, my brothers…
Blood on the Shore
The din of battle rings out below me. The cliff that overlooks the slaughter is only twenty meters or so from where the greenskins press steel to flesh and here I stand, doing nothing... "Defending..." Defending what? This high elf ruin? Hardly worth my time, yet those were my orders; defend it with my life. Am I worth so little in the combat? The priestess told me that this place was important--some sort of watchtower for her people in ages past. Perhaps in a place where such things can be so permanent that is meaningful, but I have seen my homeland razed and rebuilt countless times. Violence and war is nothing new to me.
I see those I have fought with for months being hacked to pieces by a barely
 competent rabble and still, I defend. Why? My blood boils with rage and I savor my anger. "Enough!" I shout to the rabble. A few heads look upward to acknowledge my presence but most keep focused on their foes, still selling their lives for victory. In a fury, I leap from the cliff, sliding down the rock face toward my enemy. With a quick whisper to the Raven God I swing my axe, felling the first elf that crosses me. With a bellow, the Black Orc nearest me congratulates my kill. I feel the primal power of the orcs and my own rage lends me strength. This day, I will not defend... I will take what is mine from my enemies.
It is not long before I feel the ruinous power in my veins pulsing, giving me might and withering my foes. The Imperials in this battle know enough to fear me—I can see them running as I carve my way toward their priest, his eyes ablaze with hatred. Their god is no match for mine, but still he will seek me out for combat. I admire his bravery.
The priest closes with a blinding flash and a wild swing from his hammer. The two-tailed comet on his weapon collides with the eight-pointed star on my shield and a shower of sparks sprays us both. As our weapons crash again and again, I realize that neither of us will go quietly; so much the better. The battle surges on for what may have been an eternity; my world shrinks to a few meters around me as my shield and axe drink deeply of hatred. Today I will prove to the Changer of Ways that I am truly his
Chosen
.
Musings of a Dark Elf
Dear Younger Sister,
Although has been just a short time since I left our homeland, I feel as if it has been a lifetime since we last spoke. Forgive me if I seem disjointed, as I have witnessed so much since arriving in the land of Chaos, that I am still in a heightened state. I traveled by foot through Chrace to my flight without incident. I passed the fearsome creatures, but they barely too notice of me. When I finally saw friendly guards, I knew my journey was truly beginning. The flight was amazing -- I went to the Chaos land as father instructed. For my first voyage to friendly territories, he felt this would be less stressful than the land of the Greenskins! If that were the case, I should never visit those lands, as this has left me so shaken, I'm not sure if I have the courage to undertake another voyage until my next decade has arrived!
 As soon as I landed in this land, I could smell the stench of burning wood and worse. I had difficulty breathing, the air was so thick -- seeing the path in front of me with tears in my eyes. It was not only the smoke, dear sister, but the notion that I had embarked on something that might be the end of me.
Oh sister, the people in this land are a sight! So unlike our civilized people. The native men are so brawny and uncouth, carrying large weapons where they go. One would think that it is a compensation for lack of a certain talent, however their skimpy loincloths put that notion to rest. Mother would be mortified if she knew what I had seen in these last few days. The men are so bold, and their stares made me wish I had worn the robes she suggested. Their women are odd in this land, and there are so few of them. When I approached a female, she uttered something with a disdainful look and turned her back to me. Jealousy perhaps? -- they certainly could use a stylist in this heathen village. No matter, the attention of the men is there should I follow that path. If they are as lusty in bed as they are in battle.... perhaps I can add more in my next letter.
After a day had passed, I decided to make the best of my situation, and have joined into their battles. My skills are apparently not desired or even necessary, as the men brutally tear apart any foe that appears. I contribute what I can, and the local magistrate reluctantly rewards me. Please tell father that I hope to bring honor to our name.
Time has come for another battle, my rest is over, and as I post this, know that my thoughts are back with my family and my homeland.
Trickery
Stonetroll Crossing
By Decider; loyal subject of Emperor Franz and member of the Order of Sigmar, praise be to him.
I walk over to the standard, sunk deep into the side of an ancient tree. Grimacing at the wound in my side, I use the toe of my steel shod boot to prod the body of the witch elf laying at my feet; smoke still rising from the musket hole below her left eye. They may command vile magics while they run about, swinging their hooked blades, but that's not anything a well aimed pistol can't fix. I grunt softly in satisfaction, raising my chin and narrowing my eyes against the wind.
I slowly survey the peak of troll crossing. Now the breeze is slowly sweeping away the mist of blood and smoke from the top of the hill. Strings of it seem to slink and stretch attached to the ground, like weed beneath the sea or ectoplasm from the cooling body of a Magus. As the scene is revealed, it shows the hill in the hands of the forces of order. I frown and unconsciously tug the brim of my hat down tighter upon my head as I take stock of the losses. The last push by the degenerate forces of chaos and their lackeys cost us dearly. I shudder as I picture the obscenely large Orc at the head of the charge, bellowing his animal madness and bristling with fine arrows from one of the Ulthuan scouts in my retinue. Turning my head I search for Afar, the Shadow Warrior, my mind casting back to the face of the Witch Elf in blood sodden grass. Ally or no, these abhumans have shown by the very presence of their dark kin that they cannot be trusted. My eyes find him sitting in the great gnarled tree, cleaning the sticky gore from his blade. His eyes meet mine for just an instant, and then return down to their work, his face inscrutable behind a half mask.
As the healers make their rounds, calling down the blessings of Sigmar and anointing the wounded with holy unguents, I can already hear the sound of corroded trumpets as the forces of Chaos rally again. I turn to what's left of my retinue. "Sigmar be praised brothers! The wretched heathens again come to anoint the ground with their fluids!" A few chuckles float from the group, followed by hardening expressions.
The most heavily armored make their way to the front, along with the Warrior Priests. I mechanically reload my pistols and seat them firmly in the brace across my chest. One of the Sigmarite priests opens a prayer book hanging from his neck by a thick iron chain. "Sigmar grant us hatred for our foes and deliver them unto our cleansing hammers..." he begins to intone. The Shadow Warrior nocks an arrow and climbs to a higher branch, peering into the distance from whence the sound of the horns approach. Again I touch the brim of my hat as I take position along the side of the Sigmarites, who are now singing a bass hymn. I feel the reassuring weight of a pistol in my left hand as I give a few practice swipes with my sword, loosening up the bruised muscles of my shoulder. Already the mound is trembling with the fell footfalls of approaching abominations.
Praise be to Sigmar on this day. In his name, we will cleanse this place.
Herein Lies the Journal of Avander the Mad Zealot
Those fools in Altdorf did not understand that I had a gift! I was the finest doctor in the Empire; I could have saved so many lives. And what did I ask in return? So very little, so very little. I only wished to continue my experiments in peace. What use are corpses to the dead? The streets are filled with urchins, who would miss a few? But they were blind. They cast me out, hunted me, until I found others who understood my vision.
I woke up last night dripping in a cold, dank sweat. My dreams were disjointed and
in them I saw many things but as always they dissolved into the
Inevitable City
with its grotesque spires straining at the sky and its dark libraries beckoning me. I will go there one day, when I have proven myself to the Changer of the Way. I will go there and lose myself in its forgotten tomes, and finally be free to experiment. I will go there and sing homilies to the sleeping god.
But for now I must teach the good folk of Altdorf a lesson. That is why I have come to Deaths Brink. Holy Tzeentch, the Raven God, has given me power and I intend to use it. I will mend the forms of my brethren, I will shape them, I will lovingly tend their new and wonderful appendages, gifts from our dark lord. The town that lies before me is burning, I smell death on the area and more importantly material, material that will allow me to continue my work.
The battle was slower than I had expected, but that was a good thing. It gave me time to savor the sights and the smells. I leisurely basked in the warm fire of bodies piled high and to chant the appropriate liturgies to my Master. I spent most of my time mending my brothers and our allies. My brothers reveled in the strength I gave them, the others were less grateful. The brutish Orks had simple flesh that was hard to rework, but I made them stronger, not that they even noticed. Still, the ignorant brutes have their uses. The Druchi however were particularly difficult to work with. One of their Witch Elves, Dilistia, lunged at me when she discovered I took the opportunity to bless her with an extra finger on her left hand.
Unfortunately it appears that my former compatriots recognized me. Everywhere I went they lunged at me, often ignoring my Brothers to strike at me. Many times I had to run and cower to avoid their wrath. But their chase proved to be their undoing as my Brothers cut them down when they separated from their pack.
Tomorrow we set off for the marshes and I am eager to go. I feel the pull of the
Inevitable City
growing stronger, and its promise makes me whole.
Dwarf Boot Camp
Dear Mum and Pap Kalik,
Honor and Respect!
Jus' droppin' ye a parchment by GyroPost(r) to keep ye up t'date, and let ye know I'm alive, healthy and doing Great Honor to the Family Kalik. T'Sarge tis been one ol'mean son of a squig, bangin' armor around before the sun comes up to rouse all us recruits up early in t'morn. Hurry n'wait seems ta be the order o'business 'round here. Wakes us up at 5 in t'mornin' ta stand in line for chow for an hour... but that be t'military life, s'pose.
 We seem t'spend lots and lots of time puttin' our armor on, fast as possible, then takin it right back off. T'Sarge says we need ta learnin' ta put on our armor LIKKITY SPLIT, 'case we're all asleep and some Gobbos attack real sneeky, like they do. Right now, I'm second in the unit, able t'put on me armor 'n ready ta fight in just over a minute... but to hear T'Sarge tell it, all the Orks and Gobbos in every crevice of The Black Mountains would have already kill'd me by then. Rumor is he been bit by TEN squigs.. n' that makes him real 'ornery.
We t'ain't been issued REAL axes yet. T'Sarge says "YE MAGGOTS GOTTA EARN YE AXES!".. (sorry Mum, he curses and shouts all the time). We use wooden axes to practice wif 'til T'Sarge figgers we're good and ready t' split some Ork n' Gobbos. We learn t'swing in rythum to T'Sarge, so's we hit'em hard, quick, and deadly. I been hittin' that Gobbo dummy so many times to Sarge's 5 Count Axe Dance O' Death.. me arm's numb!
Then Sarge makes us march.. march here.. march there... STAY IN LINE.. FORM UP THAT LINE... DRESS UP THAT LINE... you'd think T'Sarge is gonna ask them Orks and Gobbos ta dance! Sarge says stayin in line is REAL IMPORTANT... so's them sneeky Gobbos don't git behind us... dunno.. seems if I kill'em all with a REAL axe first.. i don't need to worry much about what's behind me. Seems we spend all day n' half the night takin' our armor, whackin' wooden gobbos, n' marchin'. Sarge NEVER stops yellin'. I sure do pity Mrs. Sarge.
Pap, ye can put in The Kalik Book of Honor, I took FIRST PLACE in axe throwing training. I s'pose all that time I spent throwin' axes at skaven rats made it REAL easy to hit a target that don't move none.
Mum, I sure do miss yer cookin'. We get plenty o' food, but we gotta eat it all REAL FAST. Seems them Orks and Gobbos like to attack right when we eat... so, we have ta learn to eat real fast, and thar be no good ale ta go with it. Can't wait fer trainin' ta be over and get some good food and Bugman's.
Well, ta bugler tis blowin' Lamps Out, n' tis me turn to stand mid-watch, so's I better cut this short n' get some shut eye.
Have a pint....'er twenty...
Proud and Steadfast
yer Son and Family Name Bearer,
Terrik
The screenshots below have been taken by our Beta Testers during their various adventures in search of glory and honor!
In just a few short weeks, WAR will be here in full force. These dispatches have prepared you for the battles at hand. Some things you have seen, and some you have yet to discover. We hope that you have enjoyed the News from the Front. Now you must hone your weapons, steady your shield, brace yourself on the forefront of the battlefield and take deep breath. WAR is coming! See you on the battlefields. WAAAGH! And CHARGE!
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