By Graham McNeill
The excessive elves have lengthy been the protectors of the Warhammer international, and their fatherland of Ulthuan is understood for the robust magic that surrounds it. on the center of Ulthuan lies a paranormal vortex, and the mages who created it stay trapped in an area out of time, without end operating the spell that retains the area from changing into a seething Realm of Chaos. When Ulthuan comes less than assault from the forces of Chaos and darkish elves led by way of the Witch King and the hag sorceress, Morathi, the excessive elves needs to carry enterprise or face disastrous effects. In Defenders of Ulthuan Graham McNeill tells the epic story of the fight among stable and evil.
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I’ve had to steer us around rock formations I’ve never seen before. ’ ‘Something like that, yes. ’ Finlain glanced over his shoulder at the smoking peak of Vaul’s Anvil and sent a quick prayer to the smith god that he would spare them such anger this night, since the light was fading fast and a brooding fog was rapidly closing in. Strange noises and flickering lights danced at the edge of perception, and though such things were not unheard of in the magical mists that obscured the isle of Ulthuan from predatory eyes, they were still unsettling.
His memory was as insubstantial as the mists, fragmentary images scudding across the surface of his mind without meaning, and all he could remember was the cruel sea battering him with unthinking power. The ocean lifted him up, high atop a roaring curve of water before slamming him back down into yet another bottle-green trough, but in the instant he had crested the wave, he spied the landscape of the island through salt-encrusted eyes once more. Tall cliffs of pearl-white stone crowned with achingly beautiful greenery were closer than ever before, the echoes of powerful waves splintering to crystal shards at their base now deafening.
Captain Finlain of Finubar’s Pride watched the craggy peaks of the Dragonspine Mountains and the smoke-wreathed Vaul’s Anvil recede as his small flotilla made its way towards its evening berthing upon the sandy shores of Tiranoc. The thin strip of coastline of this rugged kingdom had once reached out beyond where his ships now sailed, but ancient malice and powerful magic had destroyed this once fair realm. Monstrous tides had swept over the plains of Tiranoc in ages past, sweeping thousands to their deaths and submerging its ripened fields and glorious cities forever beneath the waves.