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The Old World

Frozen peninsula

Norsca

A harsh frozen peninsula of fjords and dark forests, breeding-ground of savage raiders who worship the Dark Gods and sail south to plunder.

Astrographic Chart

Altdorf, Capital of the EmpireAthel Loren, the Enchanted ForestAverheimBarak VarrBechafen, City of the MarshesCouronne, City of the GrailErengradHag Graef, the Dark CragHexoatl, City of the SunItzaKarak Azul, the Hold of IronKarak Eight PeaksKarak KadrinKaraz-a-Karak, the EverpeakKislev, the City of the Ice QueenLothernLustria, the Jungle ContinentMarienburgMiddenheim, the City of the White WolfMousillonNaggarondNaggaroth, the Land of ChillNehekhara, the Land of the DeadNuln, City of Iron and PowderParravon, City of the PeaksPraag, the Scarred CitySkavenblightSylvania, the Cursed ProvinceTalabheimTor Elyr, City of the LagoonsUlthuan, Isle of the High ElvesWolfenburgWurtbad, City of StirlandYvresse, the Misty IsleZhufbar, the Torrent GateZlatlan, the Fallen Temple-City

Chart of The Old World

Jutting into the frozen northern sea lies Norsca, a rugged peninsula of black mountains, deep fjords, and forests weighed down with snow. It is a hard land that breeds hard people, the Norse tribes, who scratch a living from the ice and the sea and reckon a death in bed the deepest of shames. Their long ships prowl the northern waters, and their raids fall like the hammer of winter upon the coasts of the softer south.

Norsca lies close upon the borders of the Chaos Wastes, and the shadow of the Dark Gods falls heavy across it. The Norse worship these grim powers openly, offering blood and battle to earn their favour, and the strongest of their champions march north to become mighty Warriors of Chaos. The deep woods and mountain fastnesses seethe with monsters and with the Beastmen Brayherds that share the tribes' savage faith.

Life in Norsca is an endless proving. The tribes war among themselves as fiercely as they raid abroad, and only the strong survive the winters, the monsters, and the ever-present temptation of mutation. To the peoples of the Old World, a Norse sail on the horizon is a herald of fire and slaughter, for these are the wolves of the north, forever hungering for the plunder and the glory of the warmer lands below.