Factions

Feral beast-folk of the deep, old woods who hate every wall and road. Goat-legged raiders burst from the trees in loose packs, bull-headed brutes and beast-drawn chariots smash the line in a frenzy, and harpies and giant war beasts fall on whatever is left, urged on by the drums of a horned seer.

A smoke-wreathed city-state of guild artificers. The Republic fights by drill and machinery: pike blocks and musket lines hold the field while tireless brass automatons, steam engines and whirring gyro-flyers grind the enemy apart.

A howling tide of orcs and goblins. Greenskins win by weight of numbers and brute strength: cheap goblin hordes hold the line while frenzied orc mobs, boar riders and regenerating trolls smash into the enemy, backed by crude rock hurlers and a shaman or two.

A celestial empire beyond the eastern mountains. Its vast armies fight in ordered ranks of halberds and crossbows behind thundering rocket batteries, while temple monks, undying clay warriors and a celestial dragon answer the will of the throne.

Proud banners, polished steel and stubborn courage. The Kingdom fields disciplined infantry blocks, deadly longbowmen, thundering knights and the occasional fire-flinging court wizard.

Wandering clans of enormous, ever-hungry ogres. A tribe fields only a handful of regiments, but each is a wall of muscle and gut that smashes through a battle line, while swarms of scrawny scavengers soak up arrows and fill the gaps.

Raiders from the frozen north who have sworn their souls to the Dark Powers. Few in number but terrifying: wild warbands and fur-clad horsemen screen hulking, iron-clad champions whose very presence breaks the will of their foes, while a hex-sorcerer drowns the enemy line in dread.

Cold-blooded reptile-folk from the drowned temple-jungles. Scaled warrior ranks that never flinch hold the centre while stealthy blowpipe skirmishers, raptor riders and winged gliders strike from the flanks, all anchored by horned war beasts and an ancient toad-sage who has slept through empires.

Nomad horse-lords of the endless grass sea. The Khanate rarely stands and fights: clouds of horse archers loose arrows on the gallop, lancers and war chariots crash in once the enemy is bled and broken, and a sky-shaman's winds carry the riders faster still. Fast and slippery, but brittle if pinned down.

Short, stubborn and armoured like a vault door. The holds march slowly behind shieldwalls and crossbows, let their black-powder engines grind the enemy down, and simply refuse to run when the line is hit.

The embalmed armies of a desert empire, woken by ancient oaths. The Dynasty marches slowly in perfect order: armoured mummy guards and skeletal bowmen hold an unbreakable line while bone chariots, sandstone colossi and a winged sphinx crush whatever reaches it, all under the gaze of an undying Sun King.

The proud high elves of a white-towered kingdom. Every regiment is small, costly and superbly drilled: deep spear phalanxes, disciplined archers, warded guardians and noble lancers, guided by the most learned battle-mages in the world. Lose too many and there are no more to send.

Forest elves who fight as the woods themselves fight: unseen until it is too late. Keen-eyed longbows and mounted bow riders bleed the enemy from afar, blade-dancers slip through the trees, and ancient tree-giants and great eagles fall on whatever survives.

Cruel shadow elves from cities that never see the sun. They shred armour with storms of repeater bolts, cut down the survivors with executioner blades and cold-blooded reptile riders, and drown the enemy's courage in sorcery and the shrieking of a many-headed beast.

A silent host raised from battlefield graves. The Legion never runs: rattling bone ranks and shambling corpses grind the foe down while spectres spread dread, a necromancer knits the fallen back together and a blood-hungry Grave Lord feeds on every wound he deals.

A teeming, squabbling horde of rat-folk boiling up from the tunnels. Verminkin drown the foe in cheap bodies, soften them with crackling weapon teams and bombards, and unleash plague zealots and mutant brutes — but their nerve is thin and they scatter the moment the odds turn.