The Ravaged Coast. Even the name is a mercy—an attempt to bind unspeakable calamity in syllables soft enough to say aloud. Once, this seared boundary of the Great Parch marked the farthest reach of civilization. Now it is the lip of the abyss.

When the cataclysm known as the Vermindoom split the eastern Parch like a cracked skull, madness spilled across the land. Warpstone thunder shattered mountains, poisoned oceans, and split the heavens with plague-light. The coast fractured. The Gnaw, a pit of reality-defiling horror, birthed tides of Skaven in numbers uncounted. From this abominable wound, they scurry, clawing westward, their shrieking engines belching black winds across the realm.

The Adamantine Chain, a crescent of sundered peaks, stands as the final bulwark. Behind it lie the last flickering bastions of Order. Before it: slaughter, storm, and the slow gnawing of hope.

Yet not all flee. Some arrive.

They come in clattering caravans and black-keeled skiffs, in spiraling columns of smoke and arcs of summoned lightning. They come drawn by whispers of emberstone—the rage-born realmstone of Aqshy, erupting from the tortured earth like veins of molten gold. They come chasing power, prophecy, or penance. They come with grim eyes and empty maps, their warbands small, but ambitions monstrous.

Here, in the wreckage of empires and the wreckage yet to come, they will stake their claim.

The Skaven hold dominion in number and ingenuity. Their plague-engines churn through cursed rivers and molten plains, while warpsparks dance in the air like embers of unreality. They gnaw through rock, through magic, through sanity. And still more come. To steal from them. To slay them. Or to match their madness with their own.

The land breaks and reforms underfoot. Ash-choked fissures yawn without warning. Warpwinds peel the sky like fruit. Emberstone veins glow and whisper in the dark. The scent of sorcery hangs on the air like blood on steel. Death here does not always stay dead. Glory does not always stay pure.

This is no land for heroes. This is a crucible.

Here, warbands will rise. Some will be forged in fire. Others will be consumed by it. Each will chase the flicker of destiny across a coast where every step risks death, madness, or glory. And as the ash falls and the warpwinds howl, their stories will carve new scars into the already-bloody earth.

This is your hour of ruin. Welcome to the Ravaged Coast.

This entry chronicles the narrative from our group’s ongoing Path to Glory: Ravaged Coast campaign, set in the world of Warhammer Age of Sigmar. All settings, factions, and lore are part of the rich universe created by Games Workshop. We’re here to paint minis, roll dice, and let myths be forged.