![]() This cankerous state cannot go on, and indeed revolutionaries whisper of a better world. The nobility are witless hedonists, or scheming misanthropes, heedless of the suffering left in their wake. The Empire itself is a fractious mess, a handful of Great Provinces vying for power and always with a keen eye toward snatching any advantage from a neighbour. If you wish to climb out of the gutter, you better have the coin to pay for the privilege, or failing that, a blade to cut your way free. The truth of life in the Empire is rarely glorious, often short, and never without peril. That, at least, is what the child and the sycophant claim. From mighty Altdorf, all are fairly ruled, from the poorest citizen to the most luminous noble, each a proud heir to Sigmar’s glorious destiny. Sigmar, its founder, is now a god, his influence still shepherding his chosen peoples. It is a beacon of civilisation in an untamed world. The Empire of Karl Franz stretches from the Sea of Claws in the north to the Black Mountains in the south, and beyond that perilous range, the wild and untamed lands of the Border Princes. ![]()
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