In the darkness of his necrotopia shall the vampires feast as never before, mortals reduced to cowering slaves fit only to be drained of blood. From bleak Nagashizzar, he commands his Gravelords to march forth, bringing the curse of undeath to every corner of the realms. In this, they reflect he whose malignant power sired them: Nagash, Supreme Lord of the Undead. The Soulblight vampires consider themselves destined to rule.
The beast within is demanding indeed, and behind the porcelain facade of humanity, vampires are ravenous horrors who would plunge the realms into an endless, abominable night. But to maintain their monstrous existence, a vampire must slake an endless thirst for the blood of the living. With a single blow can they tear through armour, flesh and bone to rip out the vital organs beneath. By their will can the necromantic arts be harnessed to bring hordes of undead warriors lurching to their feet. These deathless warlords bear both the mightiest of powers and the most dreadful of curses. Yet all these fiends pale in comparison to the masters of the revenant host: the Soulblight vampires. Chiropteran horrors spill from tumbledown belfries as a shrieking cloud, bloated from a diet of fresh gore. The baying of lifeless wolves chills mortal souls to the core. Plague pits and shallow graves heave as maggot-eaten fingers tear aside the loose topsoil. Ancient battlefields echo to the clatter of bleached bones and rusted armour as the dead rise once more.
Tremble, fearful mortals, for the midnight hour chimes.
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