In a world beset by evil there is a single beacon of hope for the world of man. Holy crusaders and scourges of the Abyss, the resplendent forces of Basilea stride forth from their golden city to strike fear into the hearts of evildoers across the land. Their faith is as strong as their martial prowess, maintained by the pious Sisterhood and Paladin warrior-scholars in their ranks and bolstered by the dutiful Men-at-Arms and fearsome Ogre Palace Guard that march to battle alongside them.
Short in stature but as unyielding as the mountains themselves, the Dwarfs are a proud and noble people who attach a great deal of importance to heritage and custom. It is a naïve opponent indeed who does not acknowledge the Dwarf talents for war. Ironclad dwarfen warriors march in unison like a well-oiled machine, while mad dwarfen warsmiths lead iron monstrosities that belch fire and spew iron from their maws.
Of all the folk that walk the realms of Pannithor, the elves are supreme. There are few beings as ancient as they and none who are as storied. It could be argued that their histories are the very histories of the world and that they are entwined with it, essential to it. There is nothing that is noble or valuable that has not been mastered by the elves.
The Winterlands are a cold and harsh land. Under the command of Talannar Icekin. The denizens of the Winterlands have banded together to defend their home. A Northern Alliance of Men, Elves and other creatures have been sighted in growing numbers.
The vast majority of the Brotherhood villeins and families that lived off the former Brotherhood lands choose to remain and help rebuild their lives and homes. The new Order still requires all able-bodied members of society to become trained infantry. The Order operates a rotation system of service so that these most productive members of society spend several months fighting and several months using their practical skills to provide food and other essentials and weapons, always required by the fortress garrisons and field armies.
From the volcanic islands known as the Three Kings come the Salamanders. Reptiles whose blood burns with magical heat, they are formidable warriors who can be found across Pannithor. Each salamander is covered in toughened scales which are as effective as plate amour and sharp claws and teeth that can rend flesh. This all combines to make them fearsome warriors.
To understand the forces that march beneath the banners of the Green Lady, one must first understand the deity herself. Unique among all the old and new gods of Pannithor, the Green Lady seeks always to preserve balance in the world, to stave off the dominance of good and evil alike, and to crush those who would seek to undo it, whoever they may be.
While the halflings do love the pleasures of life, they are willing to go to great lengths to protect those things from anyone they think might be trying to take them away. They will defend their own with a savagery and viciousness that have taken many by surprise – and to their fatal cost.
Aeons of warfare have not diminished the classic shieldwall formations favoured by many human armies and civilisations through the ages. Warriors are equipped with chain mail or leather armour and carry a sword or axe and a wide shield that they can lock together to adopt a defensive barrier. Human noblemen tend to equip the elite warriors making up their foot guard with the best armour and weaponry that their wealth can afford.
Fighting alongside the regular infantry, the Foot, or House, Guard are elite, professional veterans—well-drilled and experienced campaigners. Used as their bodyguard, these units are greatly valued by barons and dukes alike for their loyal and efficient service.
Ogre warriors move forwards with unstoppable force, smashing and hacking apart anything standing in their way. Their Boomers and Shooters wreak bloody havoc from afar and their chariots pulp anything stupid enough to stand before them.
The Order of the Green Lady has based itself in Galahir, but it takes the fight to evil alongside the Lady’s Forces of Nature all across the known world. This, the knights say, is their true destiny—the old Orders were too focused and inflexible in their outlook and suffered from a self-imposed and literal line in the sand, from which they would not move.
While the armies of the Fey still continue to adopt many of the traditional elven battle formations and unit types, their appearance mimics the wild nature of the Fey themselves. Armour and weaponry may appear organic and even grown in place, adapting to the wearer. When the Fey are roused to war, the clarion calls of ancient ironoak horns resonate and reverberate through the trunks of the majestic woodland sentinels.
Fauns, Satyrs, and the like are equipped with light armour, hand weapons, and shields; the tribal warriors of the Herd are mighty and brave. Given a choice, however, they would rather live at peace with everything around them. As such, some tribespeople are less suited to the rigor of frontline combat but are still duty-bound to protect the tribes, families, and world around them.
Deep beneath the seas of the known world lies the Trident Realm – a triumvirate of glittering underwater kingdoms, ruled by an aquatic race far beyond the ken of land-dwellers. Created during the God War by the Dark Smith, the Neriticans are as capricious as the vast oceans that surround them, in parts gentle and nurturing, in others spiteful and full of wrath.
The Abyssal Dwarfs are twisted and evil parodies of their nobler counterparts. Blacksouls form the backbone of the army, marching in large infantry blocks whilst the black powder wielding Decimators fire into opposing ranks. They use slaves to bolster their numbers and construct dark war machines to rain fire and destruction upon their enemies.
Ancient and immortal, the Ahmunite pharaohs are driven by a willpower that conquered death itself centuries past, and are now almost unstoppable in their unquenchable wrath. To the sound of golden trumpets, the pharaohs roar their proclamations from parched throats: the great kingdoms will be restored! Sweeping forth from their desert catacombs in their hordes, these tireless warriors will conquer all.
When the constellations are in alignment and the power of the Wicked Ones waxes strong, their infernal legions march forth. Cackling, spiteful devils march alongside muscled behemoths. They are the Forces of the Abyss and the world screams in their wake.
Goblin armies are made up of disparate clans from across Pannithor, typically brought together by the delusions of an individual goblin determined to rise to the lofty position of the goblin king. Goaded and pushed into battle by their superiors, what goblins (severely) lack in training and tactics, they make up for in sheer strength of numbers.
The Nightstalkers are more than mere ghosts: they are the stories by which parents scare their children abed. They are the monsters that dwell in the darkest forests, who demand sacrifice from superstitious villagers. They are the darkest dreams and ill omens made manifest.
Orcs are brutish, evil beings, created for war. They delight in destruction. All their essence is bent towards violence, mind and body. They despise beauty and goodness, finding their very presence insufferable, and do all they can to burn what is right in the world to ash.
More than a century after their revolt and escape from the Abyssal Dwarfs, the Ratkin have become a menace that has plagued many of the civilised lands. Tales of savage beasts, arcane magics and bizarre contraptions going to war alongside hordes of chittering vermin cause fear where ever they’re heard. The Ratkin are coming.
Rats are everywhere. Rats are vicious, hard creatures that can survive in the harshest of conditions, living in filth and eating worse. They thrive in adversity. The darkest, most miserable places in the world are the domain of rats. If ever a race was destined for slavery, ideally suited for the despair and brutal life it offered, it was the vermin.
Over myriad campaigns spanning many years, the Riftforged orcs fought battle after battle in Garkan’s name, hunting in the second circle, braving the fires of the fourth circle, enduring the tortures of the third circle, and battling the champions of the fifth circle.
The Twilight Kin are not a numerous people. They preserve their stock by making great use of the horrors and demons they feel such a connection to—something that is unthinkable and utterly alien to all outsiders. The void-twisted monsters formed by the shreds of their ancestors form the core of their armies, summoned with forbidden knowledge or ritual sacrifice.
In Pannithor, the dead do not rest easy. The long dead warriors of ancient battles still lie beneath the soil of the world, these thousands of these skeletal remains left without burial or respect, forgotten into time. Yet it is these remains that are perfect fodder for a necromancer to create legions of undead soldiers.
Forming the bulk of any Varangur war party, bands of tribal raiders comprise of a multitude of different men and women armed with an array of weaponry. The only consistency between each warband is their extreme resilience and hardiness, which are inherent traits of all northmen.