



Stormclouds gather across the High Elf realms, and the Witch King's malevolent laughter echoes upon the wind. As the other elder races fade, the Dark Elves thrive, knowing that their hour has at last come. With every year that passes, the power of Naggaroth ascends to greater heights, built upon the backs of slaves and fuelled by a constant stream of plunder from far-off lands.

Great raiding fleets, their sails black against the night sky, bring woe and destruction to all the shores of the world, bearing terror and death to distant realms, often for no better reason than because there is no-one who can stand against them. Until that day finally dawns when the Isles of Ulthuan are theirs, the Dark Elves will continue their bloody quest as they always have. Yet even should every other land bow to their rule, the Dark Elves know that they cannot claim their glorious inheritance whilst their hated brethren, the High Elves, endure. Thus do their Black Arks and Corsair Fleets ply the great waters of the world, raiding and enslaving all before them as a tribute to their own avaricious desires. They are raiders, reavers and heartless torturers of the highest degree, their desire being nothing more than to sow misery and pain to all that oppose them, for make no mistake, misery and pain is the very lifeblood of their existence.
