All that has gone before is as nothing to what is upon us this day

Look to the north, good fool, whilst your eyes remain in their sockets.

But you cannot see further than the gates, or the hearth that you

Believe inviolate

It was ever the way

Let me show you then

Let me show you what marches toward us to claim our souls…

From the north, hundreds of columns march in perfect unison,

Thousands of voices raised in blood-prayer to the Dark Gods

To the Carrion Crows above, as an uncountable number of

Black armored insects

To their victims below, death incarnate.

To the Warriors of Chaos, it is humanity that are the insects to be crushed underfoot.

From the north, daemons towards flock towards us under a curtain of blood,

Intent on slithering into our homes, catching us and claiming us for their own

Nightmares given flesh scorch the tortured earth and blacken the violent sky

Lurking, wheeling, stalking, sprinting, hellish chariots and walking gods,

Call the legion, for they are many.

From beneath, the rat things come.

Innumerable, insatiable and indescribable,

Mutants one and all, from sickening verminform to grotesque giant.

A rippling landscape of limb, fur, tooth and hateful red eye,

United in purpose if not in form.

From the south, the dead awake and claw themselves from earthy tombs.

Corpses shuffle and crawl through hamlet and homestead.

Pulling sleeper from bed and taking child from crib with grave block hands.

Offering their prey to the deathless lords of the night.

First the kiss of death, then, eternal servitude.

From the east, the green skinned beasts march.

Under the eye of their savage gods and the iron fist of their lord.

The only discord they know that which they wreak with their blades,

Veterans of a thousand battles, hungry for a thousand more.

They will not stop until their corpse mounds reach the skies themselves.

From the west, the Druchii sail in their blasphemous arks,

Dark specters crossing the oceans to feed on our blood,

Daemons slide and writhe amongst their number; infernal, carnal

The prince of pleasure and the princess of pain,

Their screams of their union a death-knell for sanity and purity alike.

For every beat of your heart, the hordes march another step nearer,

As your pulse quickens, so does their pace.

Until the thunder of hooves echo the thunder on your chest.

Flee this day! Tarry no more!

Abandon your homes, and abandon all hope.

The Storm of Chaos is upon you!