Far to the south of the cold and benighted Empire of Sigmar lies another land, a land of wide open plains warmed by a gentle sun, bordered by perfect blue seas. This great southern peninsular has been spared the worst ravages of the greenskins, and knows little of Chaos.

Here, threats are distant and religious strife is unknown under the overarching protection of the Maiden Myrmidia. Culture and learning bloom, and art, music and the pursuit of pleasure dominate over all. However, this peninsular is not one nation, but many. The Kingdoms of Estalia have never needed to unite against an outside force and so remain forever fractured.

Here, the enemy lies within, and the business of politics, war and even love is settled with knives in the darkness or blades at dawn, and so every man must be a master swordsman if he hopes to live until his beard turns grey. Beware then, the men of the south, for they are quick to anger, slow to forget and their hands never leave their sword hilts - save only to drink their sweet lemon wine, or to kiss the hand of a passing beauty.