Bellowing ‘wakey-wakey’ at deafening volume, Rabble-Rowzas take it upon themselves to rile up the subterranean hordes. So grating are their magically enhanced voices that they can stir even the most stubborn trogg-titans and squiggly beasts from their slumber. When they arrive at a battle, they’re often surrounded by a medley of cranky squigs and mushroom-addled grots.
The Headsmen’s Curse has come. Nothing shall stay the bite of the dread blade Terminus, for it was fashioned long ago by Nagash himself, and has a vile sentience of its own. Damned souls surround it, bound to serve as judge, jury and executioner. Their former identities are subsumed into the greatsword’s necromantic magic; always there is one to wield the blade, one to sharpen its edge, one to bear the headsman’s block, and a scriptor to sentence the condemned. No matter the crime against the Supreme Necromancer, the sentence is always the same – Death!
The Headsmen’s Curse has come. Nothing shall stay the bite of the dread blade Terminus, for it was fashioned long ago by Nagash himself, and has a vile sentience of its own. Damned souls surround it, bound to serve as judge, jury and executioner. Their former identities are subsumed into the greatsword’s necromantic magic; always there is one to wield the blade, one to sharpen its edge, one to bear the headsman’s block, and a scriptor to sentence the condemned. No matter the crime against the Supreme Necromancer, the sentence is always the same – Death!
A curious affliction has been observed in Wyrdhollow – The energy from loosed Realmshaper Engines is striking living creatures and altering them to some unknown purpose. More sinister still, those affected appear to lose their volition, becoming vessels for a power and will not their own. While little is known about these emotionless Voidcursed Thralls, what is certain is that they are entirely devoted to their mysterious cause, forgoing sleep, safety, and in some cases survival. Those who seek to prevent or defeat them risk falling prey to the same cosmic hex, their flesh being slowly claimed by the star-dotted blackness of the Void itself, until they are little more than silhouettes.
Magic courses through the root-lined halls of the Wyrdhollow, deep beneath the carnivorous Gnarlwood forest. The hellish creatures that make up Ephilim's Pandaemonium seek to harness these arcane energies, and only Domitan's Stormcoven of knightly war-mages stands in their way. Fight through the warped caverns to secure the Wyrdhollow's eldritch power for yourself.
The Har Kuron Hurricane has descended on the Gnarlwood, and Gryselle the Slaughterer leads her band of gladiators on a mission of sanctified murder to hone their skills. The Arenai are masterful warriors, each a veteran of countless mortal duels – but they are also peerless performers, their acrobatic leaps and dazzling flourishes making every act of carnage a prayer to their bloody god. Gryselle’s coterie of killers each has her own speciality – Retaria vaults across the battlefield while Kalexis launches lightning-fast attacks with her bladed armour. Thrialla uses a barbed whip to toy with her victims, as Traxya punishes each misstep made by her opponent with her blade and buckler.
The root-halls under the Gnarlwood are uncharted territory, where lurking horrors prey on the unwary. Yet even these savage denizens can be bound – whether through magical means or impressive feats of animal handling – and trained to fight alongside warriors with the willpower to command them. Such a warband can charge into battle alongside a terrifying menagerie of beasts which tear into their enemies with vicious stingers, gnashing teeth, and rending claws in a true Beastbound Assault.
This book offers all the knowledge and rules you need to command your own grot horde in games of Warhammer Age of Sigmar. Discover the petty and vindictive history of the grots, learn the legends of the Bad Moon, and find out how the Era of the Beast has energised them anew.
The Gloomspite Gitz are cunning and vindictive in the extreme, their deranged grotty minds forever spinning up fresh tricks and vicious ploys. Dismiss the cackling cruelty of the grots, the hungry ferocity of their squigs, and the thoughtless strength of the cavern-dwelling troggoths at your peril – these are the true children of the Bad Moon.
Veteran squig-herders who muster ravening packs of cave-beasts, Squigbosses don’t so much command their fungal herds as offer incentives of potent mushrooms, balanced by occasional jabbings from their squig-krooks. Most go to battle accompanied by loyal Gnasha-squigs, who gleefully chomp at anything that gets too close – this predatory pet is often their closest friend, for other grots find anyone that even a squig won't eat to be deeply suspect.
Snarlfang Riders prowl at the flanks of a Gloomspite horde, mounted atop cruel, wolf-like beasts raised as steeds from birth. These opportunistic cavalry-grots gleefully hunt down the enemy, loosing volleys of barbed arrows before their ferocious Snarlfang partners pounce upon the foe and tear them apart with fang and claw. Estranged from their subterranean Moonclan cousins, the plains-dwelling Gitmobs join Gloomspite throngs as mercenaries and outriders in a grudging truce fuelled by shared hatreds.
In the arcane caverns of the Wyrdhollow, cosmic omens and dire portents abound. Those with the wit to interpret these signs can avert the vicissitudes of cruel fate and lead their followers to fortune untold. Such warbands follow strange auguries and subterranean constellations that point them to places of power, lost relics, and objects that can shape the very future. Will you walk the Paths of Prophecy to a glittering destiny, or be cursed to strife and obscurity?