Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay

Fantasy Flight games 1975 West County Road B2 Roseville, MN 55113 USA

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers. Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay © Games Workshop Limited 2005. This edition © Games Workshop Limited 2009. Games Workshop, Warhammer, Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, the foregoing marks’ respective logos and all associated marks, logos, places, names, creatures, races and race insignia/devices/logos/symbols, vehicles, locations, weapons, units and unit insignia, characters, products and illustrations from the Warhammer World and Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay game setting are either ®, TM and/or © Games Workshop Ltd 2000-2009, variably registered in the UK and other countries around the world. This edition published under license to Fantasy Flight Publishing Inc. Fantasy Flight Games and the FFG logo are trademarks of Fantasy Flight Publishing, Inc. All Rights Reserved to their respective owners. For more information about the Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay line, free downloads, answers to rules questions, or to participate in the online community, visit us online at: www.FantasyFlightGames.com

Design and Writing: Chris Pramas Original WFRP Creators: Jim Bambra, Graeme Davis, Phil Gallagher, Richard Halliwell, and Rick Priestley Additional Material: Dan Abnett, Jeremy Crawford, Graeme Davis, Kate Flack, Ewan Lamont, Aaron Loeb, T.S. Luikart, Todd Miller, Rick Priestley, Robert J. Schwalb, Gav Thorpe Editing: W.D. Robinson Proofreading: Marc Gascoigne Graphic Design and Art Direction: Hal Mangold Additional Art Direction: John Blanche Cover Art: Geoff Taylor WFRP Logo: Davis Hinks Interior Art: Toren “Macbin” Atkinson, Steve Belledin, Caleb Cleveland, Dave Gallagher, David Griffith, Jon Hodgson, Carl Frank, Ted Galaday, Janine Johnston, Karl Kopinski, Pat Loboyko, Britt Martin, Val Mayerik, Torstein Nordestrand, Justin Norman, Erik Polak, Scott Purdy, Wayne Reynolds, Rick Sardinha, Adrian Smith, Greg Staples Cartography: Shawn Brown, Nuala Kennedy, Fluid Entertainment Character Sheet Design: Rick Achberger WFRP Development Manager: Kate Flack Project Manager: Ewan Lamont Head of Black Industries: Simon Butler

TM, , and/or © GamesWorkshop Ltd 2000-2004, variably registered in the UK and other countries around the world. All rights reserved. Green Ronin and the Green Ronin logo are Trademarks of Green Ronin Publishing and are used with permission. Dundjinni and the Dundjinni logo are Trademarks of Fluid Entertainment and are used with permission. Product Code: 60040283002 ISBN: 1-84416-221-4 Black Industries World Wide Web site: www.blackindustries.com Green Ronin World Wide Web site: www.greenronin.com Playtest Group Leads and Playtesters: Ralf Achenbach (Claudia Achenbach, Stefan Müller, Frank Vetter); Christopher Smith Adair (Arianne Adair, John Graham, Jay Mueller, David Ruiz); Mathew Anderson (Jason Foutz, Frederick Gleicher, Angelo Gountis, Edward May, Mikael Newquist, Tom Russo); Jim Atkinson (Eve Atkinson, Erick Haworth, Christopher Haynes, Neil Stidham, James Webb, Jacqueline Webb); Carson Atwood (Julie Atwood, Holly Krutzer, Kelsey Martineau, Robby Nowell, Roger Plymale, David Rogers, Rusty Tisdale, Drew Walters); Michael Babbitt (Krista Babbitt, Anthony (Big T) Fichera, Chris Jones, Alan Schepers, Alex Shangraw); David Bagdan (Colin Auschrat, Aaron Jankola, David London, Monica Miles); Jerome Bauzon (Accabat Yannis, Armand Alexandre, Armand Fabien, Caillard Laurent, Castelli Mario, Pailhes Remi, Rocher David, Signes Frédéric, Valera Martial, Verriez-Armand Jill); Jonas Bergström (Jonas Åström, Jonas Hassan, Torbjörn Jönsson, Björn Malmros, Alexander Rathnow, Andreas Renström, Gustav Sjöström, Lars Strömquist); Maxime Beaulieu (Dominique Bellemare-Page, Richard Blais, Chae Dickie- Clark, François Filiatrault, François Massé, Alexandre Raymond); Brian Blakley (Larissa Blakley, Kyle Canfield, Chris Foisey, Glenn Fox, Anjelica Seibert, Kevin Seibert); Darren Bolton (Mark Frein); Sebastien Boisvert (Claudya Busque, Pier- Hugo Chiasson, Martin Desbien, Daniel Fecteau, Gauthier Robitaille); Joshua Cameron (Drewery Booth, Brian Dowd, James Dowd, Scott Gavin, Pamela King, Tiare King, James Mullin, and Robert Meisner); Pierre Campan (Stephanie Amilis, Thomas Amilis, Jean-Christophe Bousson, Xavier Cazalot, Anne Durel, Nicolas Durel); Jon Dawes (Warren Banks, Sylvia Coleman, Shane Green, Tina Veloccia, Pauline White, Shawn Wowk); Perry DeAngelis (William Allen, Jenna DeAngelis, Scott Faith, Chris Loots); Mark Delsing; John Dodd (Benedict Daniels, Marie Haughton, Mark Pailing, John Wilson, Sue Wilson); Nathan Dowdell (Kevin Bacon, Andy Clark, David Cole, Greg Davies, Tom Routh, Tom Wise); Jason Driver (Joel Driver, Jamie Driver, April Leake, John

— Special Thanks —

• Steve Kenson, Nicole Lindroos, Hal Mangold, Chris Pramas, Evan Sass, Marc Schmalz, Robert J. Schwalb, Kate Flack, Ewan Lamont, Marc Gascoigne, Alan Merrett, and John Blanche, for superhuman efforts above and beyond the call of duty. To Jim Bambra, Graeme Davis, Phil Gallagher, Richard Halliwell, and Rick Priestley, whose fault it all is. To Chris Lucas and the rest of the Games Workshop Archive Department. To Fluid Entertainment for the maps in Chapter 6 (created with their Dundjinni mapping software, www.dundjinni.com). Chris Pramas would like to thank Chris Flaherty, Brian E. Kirby, Robert Lawson, Aaron Loeb, Todd Miller, Kim Pratt, Sandeep Rao, William Simoni, and Robert J. Toth—199 Bergen St. lives on. A Black Industries Publication First published in 2005 by Black Industries, an imprint of BL Publishing BL Publishing Games Workshop. Ltd • • • • No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers. Permission is given to copy the handouts, templates and character record sheets on pages: 249, 252-255, for personal use only. © Copyright GamesWorkshop Limited 2005. All Rights Reserved. GamesWorkshop, the GamesWorkshop logo,Warhammer,Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, the Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay logo, BL Publishing, the BL Publishing logo, Black Industries, the Black Industries logo, and all associated races and race insignia, marks, names, characters, illustrations, and images from theWarhammer universe are either Willow Road Nottingham NG7 2WS UK

Table of Contents T able of C onTenTs

Talent Descriptions..................... 96 C hapTer V: e quIpmenT .. 103 Encumbrance ......................103 Coinage ............................103 Exchange Rates .......................... 103 Availability....................... 104 Craftsmanship .................. 104 Goods and Services .............. 105 Weaponry .....................................105 Armour...........................................111 Basic Armour...........................111 Advanced Armour..................111 Other Goods.................................. 113 Food & Drink..............................114 General Equipment ....................116 Transportation ............................119 Services........................................... 120 Special Equipment.......................121 C ombaT , d amage & m oVemenT .............124 Tracking Time .................. 124 Combat Rounds ................. 124 Initiative ...........................125 Surprise.............................125 Actions ............................ 126 Basic Actions.................................126 Advanced Actions....................... 127 Combat Movement ....................128 Making an Attack ..................... 129 Test Difficulty in Combat..... 130 Ulric’s Fury!................................ 130 Unarmed Combat ...................... 131 C hapTer VI:

C hapTer 1: I nTroduCTIon ...4 Life, After Death ..................4 Welcome! ...........................9 What is Roleplaying?.............9 What is the Warhammer World? .........10 What’s in this Book? ............10 An Example of Play .............. 11 C hapTer II: C haraCTer C reaTIon ... 15 Character Creation Overview... 15 The Four Races.................... 15 Dwarfs..............................................15 Elves ...................................................16 Halflings .........................................16 Humans............................................16 Characteristics ..................... 17 Main Profile Characteristics .......................... 17 Secondary Profile Characteristics .......................... 17 Generating Characteristics....... 18 Shallya’s Mercy......................... 19 Racial Features.....................19 Dwarf........................................... 19 Elf.................................................. 19 Halfling...................................... 19 Human ........................................ 19 Starting Career.................... 20 The Free Advance........................20 Bringing Your Character to Life............... 21 Ten Questions ...............................21

Sample Character Sheet .......... 23 Background Charts .............. 24 Physical Features.......................... 24 Family and Origin...................... 25 C hapTer III: C areers ...... 27 Basic and Advanced Careers....27 Your First Career .......................27 Changing Careers....................... 28 Your Second Career................... 28 Skill and Talent Options .......... 28 Choosing a New Career..........28 Basic Considerations................... 28 The Career Itself ......................... 29 The Next Step................................ 29 Putting it all Together.............. 30 Career Format.............................. 30 Basic Careers ....................... 31 Advanced Careers.................. 61 C hapTer IV: s kIlls & T alenTs ......... 88 Skills vs. Talents........................... 88 Making Skill Tests...................... 88 When not to Test......................... 88 Basic and Advanced Skills........89 The Role of Circumstance...... 89 Degrees of Success.......................90 Opposed Skill Tests......................90 Characteristic Tests.....................90 Gaining Skills ...............................90 Skill Format................................... 91 Skill Descriptions .................91 Talents ............................. 96 Gaining Talents........................... 96 Talent Format .............................. 96

Leake, Lori Irlbeck, Brandon McSween, Peter Ulrich, Darron Dubose); Tim Eccles (Julius Stephen Foxton, Matthew de la Mare, Pamela Udowiczenko, Gerald Udowiczenko); Stéphan Foulc (Jean-Philippe Carrascosa, Benjamin Pierrin, Bruno Sarrant); Gianfranco Friggè (Pablo Bernocchi, Ferrante Godio, Giuseppe Guglielmetti, Daniele Merlerati, Riccardo Ricaboni, Matteo Zanaboni); David Garmark (Jens Thorup, Jacob Eland Alexandrovich, Anders Helms, Stephan Garmark, Erik Christensen); Alessandro Gilardoni (Alberto Dragonetti, Alessandro Spotti, Fabio Bolzoni, Fulvio Troiani); Ben Gossage (Steve Brown, Sunday Cole, Scott Davis, Joshua Dent, Marta Knickrehm, Dave Paradiso, Dave Surprenant, Eric Wade, Mary Wade, Chris Zeman); Ronnie Grahn (Richard Bergman, Johan Hammer, Kim Johansson, Mattias Persson, Kristoffer Resell, Tobias Tranell); Emanuele Granatello (Alfredo Vernazzani, Alessia Matera, Angelo Tescione, Antonio Pizzo, Fabio Salvi, Francesco Altiero, Gabriella Mazzon, Gianpaolo Coro, Lelio Mulas, Marco De Filippo, Nicola Natale, Ottavio Natale); Samuel Greene (Michael Eastham, David Greene, John Mawhorter); Henrik Grönberg (Ludmila & Niklas Ericsson, Johan Hast, Kristofer Svedtorp, Fredrik Larsson, Anders Jonsson, Carl-Anders Fogelin); John Guthrie (Craig Edwards, Chris Keenan, Rowena Krause, Luke Mercieca, Shane Molnar); Andreas Hartmann (Matthias Segerer, Markus Wolf); Kalle Henricson(Nico Athanassiadis, Göran Lonér, Filip Nordlund, Marcus Stendahl); Randy Hurlburt (Willow Akin, Michael Smith, Jeremy Snyder, Daniel Thomas-Kaylor); Jude Hornborg (Martin Johnston, Maribelle Lebré, Tim Linden, Orbis Proszynski); Ola J. Joergensen (Stein Vegard Holmli Crone, Andreas Liaker, Eirik Moflag, Haavard Slaattbraaten); Ronald Johnson (Brian Avery,

Matthew Goodman, Elaine Johnson, Bertha Kao); Bryan Jordan (John Edward Bridgman, Alex Leach, Erik Bostock, Calvin Funk, Ronnie Katrib, Mark Jordan); Brad Kane (Ken Habib, James Mitchell, James Morris, Chris Snell, Steve Winter); Vilius Kazakauskas (Alexander K. Lykke, Hans Olav Slotte, Filip Ulvin); William Kirkby (Thomas Pape, Richard Rayment, Hussein Vania, Jonathan Whiting, Suzanne Wood); Elena Kostina (Alexey Agafonov, Dmitry Kochetov, Alexey Koledin, Anna Koledina, Timur Kostin, Petr Makarov); Ralph Kruhm (Anja Cäsar, Christian Cäsar, Marion Kruhm, Yvonne Stratemann); Peter Lexelius (Johan Hansson, Hans Lundgren, Anders Norberg); Jody Macgregor (Steve Darlington, Helga Erichsen, Russel Lowe, Patrick O’Duffy, Colin Smith, Marselan Wignall); Kenneth Madsen (Per Fredriksen, John Jensen, Thomas Jensen, Lennart Knudsen, Jens Christian Larsen); Pau Martinell (Marc Casanovas, Bernat Guixeras, Oscar Montoya, Mateu Pastoret, Albert Piqué, Albert Puignau, Josep Sala); Mark Matthews (Dave Gallagher, Judy Matthews, James Miller, Dan Pitts, Robyn Prentice, Ruth Prentice); Dave McAlister (Allan Barber, John Barber, Mike Bartlett, Rob Buckley, Pete Goodfellow, Taf Harris, Alex Matarazzo, Ben Morton, Matt Riches, Simon Washbourne); Mark McIntyre (Drew Deitz, Hope Marie McIntyre, Belinda Shobe, Steven Shobe); Jason McKee (Mike Anderson, Todd Caulkins, Chris Colwell, Dale Griffits, Brad Helton); Mark McRitchie (Fergus Bridges, Graham Clark, Simon Smith, James Thomas, Michael Wood); Hans-Marius Meland (Brita Elin Eiteraa, Frode Eriksen, Cato Hilsen, Morten Karlsen); Dennis Mohr (Melanie Mohr, Andrew Phillips, Mike Rogerson); Steve Moss (Sjoerd Bootsma, Bart de Boer, Veronica de Boer, Jos Mollien, Igor Valster, Erik Verhoeve); Abel Nessali

Table of Contents

Damage and Healing............. 133 Critical Hits.................................. 133 Fate and Fortune Points......... 135 Natural Damage .................. 136 Fire ...................................................136 Suffocation ...................................136 Disease.............................................136 Movement ......................... 137 Narrative Movement.................137 Jumping and Falling ...............138 Leaping ...........................................138 Flying...............................139 Flying Types and Movement.........................139 Altitude ...........................................139 Aerial Combat .............................139 C hapTer VII: m agIC ..... 140 The Nature of Magic..............140 The Winds of Magic...........140 Types of Magic ......................140 Magic and the Races .................141 Learning Magic..........................141 Casting Spells...............................141 Petty Magic ...................... 146 Petty Magic (Arcane) Spells .. 146 Petty Magic (Divine) Spells... 146 Petty Magic (Hedge) Spells ...147 Lesser Magic ..................... 148 Arcane Lores ..................... 149 The Lore of Beasts .................... 149 The Lore of Death.....................150 The Lore of Fire .........................151 The Lore of the Heavens..........153 The Lore of Life ........................ 154 The Lore of Light ..................... 155 The Lore of Metal..................... 156 The Lore of Shadow ................. 157 Dark Lores.........................159 Side Effects................................... 159

Running Warhammer ......... 192 Adventure Calls.................. 192 Adventure Elements .................. 194 Warhammer Campaigns....... 196 Character Driven Adventures .............................. 196 Themes ........................................... 196 Campaign Ideas ......................... 196 Dealing With Game Mechanics.............. 197 Test Difficulty............................197 Tests and Time ...........................197 Fear and Terror Tests .............197 Fate Points........................ 198 Insanity............................200 Magic.............................. 210 Rewards ............................211 C hapTer X: T he e mpIre ............... 213 Overview .......................... 213 Provinces and Politics .......... 214 Insidious Threats.................217 Neighbours and Allies ...........223 C hapTer XI: T he b esTIary .............227 Creature Careers................. 227 Common Creatures ............. 228 Common Animals................232 Common NPCs .................. 233 C hapTer XII: T hrough The d rakwald .......... 236 d esIgner ’ s n oTes ......... 247 I ndeX ......................... 249 T emplaTes ....................252 C haraCTer s heeT .......... 253

The Lore of Chaos .................... 160 The Lore of Necromancy........161 Divine Lores ...................... 163 The Lore of Manann................163 The Lore of Morr ......................163 The Lore of Myrmidia............ 164 The Lore of Ranald ................. 164 The Lore of Shallya.................. 165 Lore of Sigmar............................166 Lore of Taal and Rhya............166 The Lore of Ulric...................... 167 The Lore of Verena .................. 167 Ritual Magic......................168 Magic Items ...................... 169 C hapTer VIII: r elIgIon & b elIef .......170 Formal Veneration .............. 170 Temples..........................................170 Shrines............................................ 171 Prayer and Blessings ................ 171 Folk Worship.....................172 Player Characters and the Gods............................ 172 Rites of Passage ......................... 172 Religious Festivals......................173 Celebrations in Brief.................173 The Wrath of the Gods...........174 Typical Acts of Contrition.175 Gods of the Empire ..............176 The Religious Orders ........... 181 Non-Human Gods ...............188 Forbidden Worship............. 189 C hapTer IX: T he g ame m asTer ..... 190 The GM’s Job ................... 190 Getting Started ............................191 Running the Game....................191 Golden Rules................................191

(Christophe Arod, Karim Boussetta, Erick Brassart, Hocine Derkaoui, Rodolphe Djaouti, Jacques Garnier, Eric Gonzalez, Xavier Vazquez); Sami Niromaa (Mika Ahvonen, Teemu Korhonen, Pasi Pertila, Ville Timari); Chris Nord (Steffen Becker, Christian Geising, Florian Kriesel, Florian Kunz, Jan Mathias, Jan Mildenberger, Marcus Töpper); Clive Oldfield (Paul Hula, Greg Phillips, Matt Rowse, Tom Simmons, Graham Willmott); Sæflór Pálsson (Róbert Arnar Karlson, Runólfur Óskar Einarsson, Sveinn Rúnar Jónsson, Florkell Sigvaldason, Flórir Haraldur Flórisson); Daniel David Perez (Carlos Ramos Canedo, Joan Gimenez, Luis Lupiañez, Raul Leon); Richard Pingree (Simon Crowe, John Harris, Tim Longden, Duncan Railton, Ian White); Keith Pogue (Matt Ardell, Tom Hendricks, Robert Jeffries, Brian Lasater, Greg Martel, Stephen Pogue, Tom Reed, Ken Vreeman, Hank Woolsey, Julie Woolsey); Colin Reeds (Robert Dawson, Andy Jones, Chris Tsamados); Mark Riddle (John DaMina, David Fothergill, Peter Frain, Peter Gloholm, Chris Palmer); Jason Rouse (Ross R. Beckmark, James Cokelet, David Lavender, Jason D. Paul, Brian D. West); Olli Ruohonen (Petri Ilama, Jaakko Kuisma, Roope Pääkkönen, Simo Riikonen, Johannes Rimpiläinen); Philip Skinner (Gav Fuller, Kathleen Skinner, Neil Tripodi); Rod Spellman (William Howell, Paul Loester, Dirk Smith, Bobbijean Spellman); James Smith (Ian Hall, Paul Roberts, Robin Whitwham); Andrzej Stoj (Grzegorz Babiarz, Michal Majowicz, Andrzej Muchacki, Dominik Porczynski, Grazyna Sander, Tadeusz Sander); Steven A. Tinner (Russell Bigham, William Jackson, Susan Kranek, Chris Nye, Stephanie Tinner); Kieran Turley (Francesca Benatti, Mike Brennan, Patrick Delaney, Brian Dolan, Donal Fallon, Ian Holland, Alan O Leary, Thomas Pearce, Sean Shortis,

Gavin Waller); Wim van Gruisen (Sjoerd Dirks, Eric Rutjens); Che Webster (Brian Aderson, Mark Cox, Malcolm Iggleden, Derek McClean, Ian Revill, Chris Tregenza); John Welch (Joe Anacleto, Gabriel Falcone, Lionel Jaques, Doug McLean); Maciej Winnicki (Wojciech Anuszczyk, Hubert Jankowski, Konrad Kaczmarek, Lukasz Kaczmarek, Marcin Kaminski, Rafal Kraska, Nikodem Protekta, Tomasz Studzinski, Daniel Szymczak); Jay Wrobel (William Angelos, Joseph Colsant, Rich Greene, Marc Witham); Jim Zaphiriou (Clive Henricks, Jeff McClellan, Mercedes McClellan, Sean Pierce, Lawrence Ramierez, Steve Turney, Dave Wolin, Ann Marie Zaphiriou); Konstantin Zhukov (Alexey Lushanin, Artem Tuzov, Maxim Zhukov, Sergey Zolotavin); Jacek Kaczmarski (Lucjan Gajda, Andrzej Klejn, Bartosz Nowacki, Wioleta Pawlik, Michal Urbaszek, Dariusz Wisniewski); Simon Butler, Ewan Lamont, Marc Gascoigne, Gav Thorpe, Paul Barnett, Max Bottrill, Pete Grady, George Mann, Dan Drane, Ben Misenar, Christian Dunn, Mal Green, Mike Ball, Tom Brown, Graham McNeill, Anthony Reynolds, Alessio Cavatore, Phil Kelly, Dylan Owen, John Michelback, Mark Raynor, Rob Wood, Che Webster, Brian Aderson, Mark Cox, Steve Cumiskey, David McCurdy, Rachel Duffy, Alan Bligh, Paul Scott, Andy Holmes, Stephen Morris, Micheal Hill, Paul Crowcroft, Peter Sandel, Yannic Hudziak, Dave Palin, James Hatfield, James Flinders, Jan Wilko, Chris Goodchild, Stephan Reppe, Lee Lomax, Liam Wheelies, Vikki Withers, George Darby, Ilya Frantsuzov, Mark Riordan, Dale Allen, Steven Shepard, Brett Nash; Evan Sass (Barrett Hess, Brian Hess, Angela Mashlan, Conrad Kluck), Eric Cagle, Tim Carr, Bruce Harlick, Jess Lebow, Erik Mogensen, Nelson, Chris Lucas and Joris Bertens.

Chapter I: Introduction

— l Ife , a fTer d eaTh — By Dan Abnett

T he rain caught them as they were negotiating the slopes of rubble behind the cattle market, or, more precisely, behind the wasteland where the cattle market had once stood. Franz looked heavenwards as the first few spots hit his brow, and said a grace to Taal-in-the-sky that it would only be a light shower. But more spots came, heavier, and then the deluge began. There was no point running for shelter. Every one of them was skin-soaked in a moment. Besides, they couldn’t run. The rubble slopes were too precarious at the best of times, and now they were treacherously wet. Safe progress could be only one slow, carefully planted step after the next. Despite their care, two of the rag-pickers went over in the first few minutes of the downpour, as loose tiles or bricks slid out under the soles of their pathetic shoes and sent them sprawling. One landed hard on his backside. The other, a woman of advancing years, fell badly and began to slither down the slope itself, causing an avalanche of dislodged rubble. Franz and Grunor went down to help her, picking their way cautiously, the filthy rat-catcher more steady because of his low centre of gravity. “What’ye think, Falker?” Grunor asked, the heavy rain streaming off his scarred nose and the long, pitch-wound strands of his beard. “He’ll turn us back,” Franz replied. “He won’t want to, but he’ll turn us back. The streets will be a-mire already. We’ll be wasting our time unless this stops and it dries out a bit.” The Dwarf nodded, and together they helped the unfortunate woman up, half-carrying her as they made their way back up the slope. Werner Broch was standing near the summit of the slag-heap, rain dripping off him, gazing at the ruins beyond the veil of rain.

“We’re going back,” he announced at length, his bark delivered with the characteristic twang of a Middenland accent. There was a chorus of disapproval from the thirty plus rag-pickers in the procession behind him. “Ulric’s arse to you!” Broch snarled back. “I make the decisions and that’s my word on it! Falker, Grunor, get the line to come about!” If anything, the rain was getting heavier. Franz made his way carefully along the line of the hunched, shabby rag-pickers, and began to wave his arms to get them to herd the other way. Further down the line, the Dwarf did the same. “Back! We’re going back!” Franz called, clapping his hands. “Back to the camp! No picking today!” The girl caught at his sleeve as he went past. He’d noticed her three days earlier when she’d first come to the camp and been put in their troop. Imke, Imma, something like that. She was as filthy as the rest, her skin ingrained black with dirt in some places, and her clothes were torn and stiff with clay-mud, but under it all she was young, and there was an intense cast to her eyes that he thought unusual. “Really?” she asked. “Back to camp? We’ll never make a scrap at this rate.” Franz shrugged. He gestured about them. The rainstorm was so thick, it was dissolving the distance, and raising a kind of steam from the ruined city. “Nothing else for it,” Franz said. “Those gods as have not yet deserted us are shedding tears for Wolfenburg today.” Wolfenburg, great Wolfenburg, first city of Ostland and Franz Falker’s home once upon a day, had fallen to the hosts of the enemy the previous year. A vast and ravaging horde, commanded, so the stories went, by some warlord named Surtha Lenk, had risen in the

Chapter I: Introduction

north and burned its unholy path down into the lands of the Empire, making Wolfenburg its prey, and a dozen other towns besides. Word was, Lenk’s host was but one of many that had made savage inroads from the northlands. The world had turned upside down. Franz was twenty-five years old, the son of a Wolfenburg cobbler. As a member of the city militia, he had fought to defend the walls and, by the strange blessing of Sigmar, had been amongst the few hundred souls to escape the final destruction with his life. He was of average height, and owned good strength in his upper body, but he was thin and sallow from the lack of decent food, and his black hair, long and tied back, was shot through with streaks of grey that had appeared almost overnight after the city fell. The sights he had seen, Franz believed, the horrors, had scared the colour from his hair. Franz carried a short pig-spear with a crossbar under the blade, and a poor quality sword. His clothes seemed torn and dirty brown, but were in fact, under the rusted breastplate and the grime, the tunic and breeches of the Wolfenburg militia, quartered in the black and white of Ostland. In the months following the sack, survivors—Franz amongst them—had trickled back to the city ruins, some in search of family, others in search of food, and most because they didn’t know where else to go. A shantytown of dirty tents and shelters had grown up outside the southern skirt-wall, slowly spreading as more and more folk appeared. Living conditions were dismal, and food scarce. The only viable occupation was “rag-picking”, which entailed venturing into the ruins each day to sift the debris for anything valuable. Coin and other precious trinkets certainly lay hidden in the flattened city, and a few of the pickers fooled themselves they would escape their misery by finding wealth. But for the most part, all the rag-pickers hoped to find was cutlery, combs, unbroken pots, furniture, perhaps preserved food from some collapsed larder. Franz hoped to find something too. That’s why he had joined. That’s why he was Werner Broch’s man. At the head of the line now, Werner Broch trudged through the rain with the Dwarf Grunor at his side. Behind him, the procession tailed back. Some of the pickers carried baskets, others pushed empty barrows. “Damn rain,” Broch murmured, to himself. “This is no way to make a damn living.” Grunor grunted in agreement. Broch was a mercenary, a veteran. He was unusually tall, but stoop-shouldered, as if his years pressed down on him, and he wore decent leather armour with metal thigh-plates and a plain black hauberk. A great sword was sheathed across his back in a massive leather scabbard, but he carried an arquebus, currently shrouded in a waxed canvas wrapper against the rain. His hair, almost white, was shaved close against his scalp, and his face sported a strangely lopsided silver beard. At some point in his career, Broch had taken a blade in the left side of his face, leaving a deep scar of shiny tissue across his cheek and right down through the jaw line. The jaw had healed, cleft and deformed, twisting his face oddly. Where the scars lay, no hair grew, so the left side of his face was beardless. As a mercenary, he owed allegiance only to coin. Only his accent and a small medal of Ulric betrayed his origins. Franz reckoned, rightly enough, that Broch had come to Wolfenburg on the sniff of plunder. But there was work here. Rag- picking was a dangerous employment, for the ruins had become home to scavengers from the forests: bears, wolves, feral dogs and worse. So bonds had been formed. Each team of rag-pickers, when they went out, took with them a soldier or two, to watch over them. In return for this service, anything of value found by the pickers was to be split with their guards. Broch and Franz were the soldiers assigned to this party, and Broch was in charge. The Dwarf, Grunor, was a tag-along, who with them because he wanted to be. Ancient, decrepit and quite the worst smelling thing in a place where everything smelled bad, the Dwarf was utterly mad. But they tolerated him. His axe had proved useful more than once.

The rain showed no sign of slacking. It was sheeting down, straight down, like the torrent of a waterfall, drumming off the broken rubble, running down the stained plaster of those walls still standing. Small flash floods had turned old gutters into racing streams, and the party kept to the stones and broken tiles because the earth was now sucking mud. “Aye now!” Grunor said suddenly, his head turning to the left. He held up one filthy handful of stubby fingers and cocked his head. “More of your damn rats?” Broch asked wearily. “Nah,” rumbled the Dwarf. “Summat else.” Grunor had been one of Wolfenburg’s premier rat-catchers before the fall. His clothes and armour were made of unidentifiable materials, thickly patched and no doubt stuck to his body by dirt alone, but the jerkin over the top of them was sewn together from rat skins. Several dozen vermin skulls rattled around his neck on a cord, under his plaited beard. His face above the straggled moustache was wizened and sunken in around his lump of a nose. One eye was bright, the other milky and dead. From his belt hung a great many mismatched daggers and estocs, the tools of his trade, the salvage of a lifetime in the sewers. “There’s rats for sure, but this ain’t one of ’em,” he said. “Not even your great rat?” Broch sniggered. “Don’t joke of it!” Grunor hissed. “I knows what I saw. Great thing from under the ground. When I sees it again, I will know it and make kill of it.” That, as far as Franz could fathom, was the source of Grunor’s madness. During the city’s destruction, Grunor claimed, he had seen great rats the size of men come up out of the sewers and fall upon the fleeing citizens. The sight had snapped his mind. Grunor had sworn to his calling as a catcher to find them and skin them. Rats the size of men... Franz smiled at the notion as he clambered forward to join Broch and the Dwarf. “Why have we stopped?” Franz asked. “Keep ’em stopped,” Broch replied. He was looking to the left too now, following Grunor’s gaze. “The ratter’s right. There’s something there.” Franz glanced back at the rag-pickers and held up his hand. He saw Imke, near the front of the line, staring at him intently. “Just the rain,” Franz said. “Just the rain hitting a broken bottle...” Broch shook his head. “That’s a blade. Metal on metal.” Franz shrugged. “If you say so.” “Stay here!” Broch yelled to the waiting pickers. “Stay and watch them,” he told Franz. Then he and the Dwarf began to approach the tumbled walls ahead. Waddling on his stocky legs, the Dwarf had raised his long-hafted axe across his chest. They struggled up a scree of rubbish and mud, and through a shattered archway until Franz and the pickers were no longer in view. “Through here,” Grunor mumbled. The noises were getting louder: a fight, most definitely. They crossed under a leaning, charred timber frame, and found themselves looking down in a deep cavity, a crater of rubble where some large building, perhaps a tavern, had been razed right down to the cellar floor. This depression was now shin-deep in dirty rainwater, and wading through it, a young man in the robes of a priest was fighting to stay alive. He was armed with a warhammer, plain but well made, and was using its metal haft to fend off the blows of a jagged falchion that was swinging at him savagely and repeatedly. With every struggling impact, the young priest barked out a grunt of effort. The falchion’s owner was over six feet all. His bare, hairy torso was fat and bulbous, like an infant’s, but his legs and arms were long and ghoulishly thin. He wore furs, and some small sign of metal trinkets and bone ornaments. His head... well, that was what made him an “it”. The head was that of goat. Shaggy, bearded down the throat, with snorting nostrils and rounded, maniacal eyes. Above the tufted ears, the brow widened in a crest from which sprouted two long, curled horns. With each savage blow, the beast rasped and whinnied.

Chapter I: Introduction

W hat’s going on?” Imke asked. Franz looked round. The other rag-pickers were still where he had told them to stand, huddled in loose groups, talking nervously. But the girl had come right over to him. Rain streaked her face. “I told you to-” She fixed him with her oh-so-intense eyes. “Something,” he said, looking back through the rain at the ruins. “Something’s going on in there. I heard some cries. A...” “A what?” “A snorting sound. I don’t know.” Franz tightened his grip on the pig-spear. “You hear that?” Imke said suddenly. “No.” He strained to listen, to look. All he could hear was the torrential drumming and hissing of the rain, the occasional half- sound from behind the ruins ahead of them. “Have a care!” she cried. A hooded thing, bleeding from one of alarm. Franz hefted his spear and thrust it at the hooded creature, but the sword chopped around and shattered the spear’s shank behind the tip, ripping it out of Franz’s hands. Franz leapt backwards, dodging the next murderous blow. He wrenched out his own sword, and the blades kissed with a clatter. Franz blocked and guarded, but the thing was furious in its attack, and drove him backwards. He crashed against a mossy wall, then ducked to the left as the curved sword swung in again, scoring a long scratch across the lichen-coated stone. Franz shouldered the thing away and hacked again, missing wildly. Then it was on him, crashing into him with its whole bodyweight, and they grappled. He could smell the thing’s fetid wet reek, its animal stink, its rancid breath. He tried to break off, but it clung to him, snorting and squealing. They staggered backwards through a ruined doorway and went sprawling amongst roof tiles and scattered masonry swamped by at least six inches of water. Franz thrashed free, spraying water, but the thing rose up again, blade raised to split his skull in two. Then it squealed, louder and more furiously than ever before. The squeal turned into a gurgle, and then a great vomit of bloody matter sprayed out of its mouth. It crashed over onto its face. Franz struggled up, clutching the iron charm of Sigmar around his neck in gratitude. Imke crouched down beside the thing’s corpse, and drew a long, straight estoc, a most elegant dagger, from the small of its back. She wiped the blood of its blade, and neatly sheathed it away in a leather scabbard bound to her right calf. Then the rag-picker rags fell back, concealing her leg and the weapon. Franz blinked. No vagabond owned a blade like that, or knew how to use it so surely. “You’re no rag-picker,” he murmured. Imke put a lean index finger to her lips and pinned him with those eyes again. T he sweeping falchion missed Grunor’s skull by a little finger’s length, but he didn’t seem to care. A Dwarf knows his limitations, especially those decreed by his stature. He had no reach, no height to prevail with. But he had brute strength, and an axe as sharp as all glory. To win out, he had to get close, right in under the massive beast’s attack. So, heedless of the danger—and his madness helped him much in this wise—he stamped forward and kept his head down. The goat-thing shied and circled, trying to get the distance back. It made a low cutting attack with its heavy blade. Grunor bawled out the war cry of his people, and lopped round with the axe. The head-blade struck clean through the beast-man’s malformed shoulder, came ploughing out of the ruins right towards them. It was snuffling and whining. It had a crude, curved short sword in its left fist. Imke stumbled backwards with a shrill cry

“Ulric spare us,” Broch gasped, and raised his arquebus, drawing back the wrapper and pausing only to touch the silver charm of true aiming he had tied around the handgrip. “Vermin! Vermin in the city!” Grunor yelled, already charging down the slope into the water, his axe whooshing as he circled it. The beast-thing heard the cry and glanced round. In that second, the priest saw a chance, and took a swing of his own. But he was too slow, perhaps too out of breath to land it properly. The beast- man saw it coming, and lashed out, catching the priest in the face with the hilt of his weapon and sending him sprawling backwards into the turgid water. Then it turned, nostrils flaring, and brayed as it faced the charging rat-catcher; its brown, spatulate teeth bared, its tongue blue as the spittle spattered out. “That’s right, you filth. Smile,” whispered Broch. He had a good aim. the water, slopping around, and the beast had all the range of a far longer reach. It sliced the notched blade at Grunor, deflected once by the whirring axe, and then again. This time the blow seemed to connect directly with the Dwarf’s face. Broch cried out in dismay, and threw his arquebus aside. It looked like the ratter had been decapitated. But no. Grunor sprawled in the water then got up again just as fast. There was blood on his face, and two of his beard plaits were missing, but his head was still on his shoulders. With an angry whoop, the Dwarf dragged his axe out of the silt, ducked another slash, and renewed his attack, howling out some curious battle cry. Broch had drawn his great sword now, sliding it deftly from the scabbard over his broad back. The blade was nearly four feet long, its grip double-handed. It had served Werner Broch well for seventeen seasons. He was beginning to scramble down the slope towards the fight when he heard a sound to his right. Two more figures appeared from the ruins above him. “Damn me, Ulric, but you don’t like me much today!” Broch spat. Two more beast-kin emerged, both shorter than the first, but no less monstrous. One was a skinny, shambling thing with a potbelly, its legs the backward jointed, cloven limbs of a goat or hog. Its arms were particularly hairy and short, and held up a bone lance. Its head was also goat-like, but its horn was a single thing, rising from its brow like the monocorn in the books of myth. Its eyes, hideously, were human. The other was the size and form of an average man, clad in a tabard of sewn-together hides that seemed, distressingly, to have been flayed from the flesh of several humans. Malevolent symbols, marked in dye, covered the hides, and the sight of them made Broch sick to his stomach. The thing’s head, malformed and grunting, was mercifully draped in a hood made from another stitched hide, with slits cut for the glaring eyes. The beast’s pig-nose protruded from the front of that stained hood, tusked and foul. They hurled themselves at Broch. He met them with his first swing, putting his back into the cut, and caught the hooded thing across the right shoulder. It was a glancing blow, but the thing staggered aside, squealing, and lurched away into the rain, out of sight. A result, but it was far from over. Now the lance was stabbing at him, striking at Broch’s belly to rip him open and let his lights spill out. He guarded once, then his foot slipped on a wet stone, and he barely recovered in time to strike away the spear-point a second time. Cursing, Broch tried to make a full swing, cross-body, but his feet slipped again. And this time he went over, crashing backwards down the slope into the pool. There was a dull thump. The firearm had dead-fired. The cursed rain had soaked the black powder, despite his best efforts. “Damn it!” Broch yelled. Grunor had already engaged the beast, but the advantage was not his. He was nearly up to his waist in

Chapter I: Introduction

right wrist, and the severed hand - still clutching the falchion - flew off and splashed into the pool. Blood jetted from the raw stump. The goat-thing brayed in agony. “Shut it,” Grunor advised, and swung the axe again, like a forester felling a tree. This second blow severed the beast’s left leg entirely at the knee. Unsupported, stricken, it toppled over with a vast splash, staining the water bright pink with its blood. It writhed and shook, churning up spray. Grunor swung the axe back behind his head with both hands, and buried the blade down into the thing’s hideous skull. The thrashing stopped abruptly. It took Grunor a moment to pull his axe-head free. The Dwarf looked across the pool at Broch. The human had recovered well from his fall, and was back on his feet by the time the single-horn reached him. Broch cut aside the strikes from the lance, and then clove the thing right down through the body with his great sword, splitting it from left shoulder to right hip. Broch dragged the sword out and the mutilated corpse flopped He waded across the pool and lifted the priest to his feet. The young man was coughing and spluttering, retching up brackish water. A bloody bruise discoloured his mouth and right cheek. A nd who might you be?” asked Werner Broch. “Falker? Where are you?” Broch stepped into the ruin and found Franz crouched beside the corpse of the hooded beast. “You kill that, Falker?” he asked. Franz looked round. Behind Broch’s back, he could see Imke staring at him, shaking her head gently. “Yeah,” Franz said. “Good work, boy. We got another two yonder. Huh. What’s she doing here?” “She... she came to make sure I was all right,” Franz said. They went back into the open and the rain. As she slid by him, Imke whispered “Thank you.” Grunor had sat the priest down on a lump of stone and the rag- pickers had gathered around. “So, the question stands,” Broch said. “Who are you?” “I am Sigamund,” replied the young priest, lisping slightly because of his swollen mouth. “I am a manciple from the temple of Sigmar at Durberg. I have come to Wolfenburg on a holy mission, charged by the temple fathers.” “What kind of mission?” Broch wondered. “One I must complete, sir. I thank you for your intervention. Ah, I should say, Sigmar thanks you.” Broch shrugged. “He can owe me. He was doing a piss-poor job of looking after you until we arrived. Those things had almost sent you to Morr’s cold embrace.” The manciple nodded. “It is dangerous work I undertake. Suffice to say, four of us were sent out from the temple. I am the only one left.” The manciple looked up at Broch. “You, sir... you are a sell-sword?” “I prefer the term ‘man of negotiable honour’.” Sigamund smiled, then winced, wishing he hadn’t. “If I am to complete my task, I could do worse than purchase protection for this final stage. There are three of you?” Broch glanced round at Franz and Grunor. “I suppose so...” “By Ranald’s own luck,” Sigamund said, “I have three silver crowns on my person. They are yours, one each, if you would see me safe to my destination.” “Which is?” asked Franz. “Look at me! Look at me!” Broch snapped. “Who’s negotiating?” “You are, sir,” said Franz. “Which is?” Broch asked the manciple. “The Temple of Sigmar, deep in the heart of this ruined city, and ruined itself no doubt.” “For the purpose of what?” wretchedly into the water. The mercenary spat. “Damn you, Ulric, I make my own luck.”

The manciple got to his feet. “To recover a vernicle of holy Sigmar, which is to say a little relic: an image painted upon a tiny cloth. My temple fathers believe that Wolfenburg may not rise again until this relic is recovered and properly venerated.” “A silver crown each?” Sigamund nodded. “And if anything remains in the temple coffers, it may please you to divide it between yourselves. The temple fathers are not interested in money.” “The rain’s not yet eased,” Franz said to Broch. “Send the rag-pickers home.” “But-” “Send them home. Tell them to go directly. They’ll be safe enough if they hurry. We’re doing this.” “But, sir-” “Did you hear what he said, boy? Temple coffers! This could be Grunor and Franz sent the rag-pickers on their way. They were reluctant to go without the protection of their soldiers, but Grunor was firm, and eventually they scurried off into the rain, all but running back to the comparative safety of the shanty camp. Imke, however, refused to go with them. “You have to,” Franz said. “I do not. I’m coming with you.” “What are you? You’re no rag-picker.” “So you said. I’m coming with you. Make it happen, Franz Falker. You owe me. Make something up. Fast.” Broch came over. “What’s she still doing here?” “She’s coming along,” Franz said. “Like hell.” “I’ll watch her.” “She’s a liability. Send her on her way.” “She’s my lucky charm,” Franz said, trying desperately to think of something. “What?” “That thing would have gutted me but for her. I mean, she the making of us! A way out of this dung-heap!” “I don’t really want a way out-” Franz began. “Shut it. That was an order.”

Chapter I: Introduction

distracted it so I could get the kill-cut in. Made me lucky. I want her to come. I won’t go on without her. Ranald favours her.” “She won’t get any coin, if that’s what she’s thinking,” Broch growled. “I’ll give her a few of mine once we’re rich as princes,” Franz smiled. Broch shrugged. “Be your own fool, then. Come on!” They set off, Broch and the manciple leading the way, followed by Grunor, stomping along. Franz and Imke brought up the rear. The rain stopped suddenly after fifteen minutes, and the ruins around them began to steam and billow up mist that softened the edges of the stonework and made ghosts out of the taller ruins. The silence was unnerving. But for the gurgle and chug of water draining down to ground level through old pipes and broken spigots, there was unearthly quiet, as tense and bewitching as the enfolding mists. “It’s like the land of the dead,” Imke said. “Cold and drab and numb. It’s like Morr’s realm, where the souls flit like bats.” “It is the land of the dead,” Franz replied. “This is what life after death feels like. I know. I lived here all my life, and now that life is gone and buried.” “You were here when it happened?” Franz nodded. “Did you lose...” “Mother, father, two sisters.” “Why do you stay?” “There’s something I have to do. Something I want to find.” “What’s that, Franz Falker?” He looked at her. “You give me something first. Like who you are or what you are. Like why a common rag-picker has a nobleman’s dagger in her leg-sheath and knows how to use it.” “I’m a hunter,” she said. “What you might sniffily call a tomb robber. Mixing with the rag-pickers was a useful way to get in here.” He stopped and gazed at her, disgusted. “That makes you no better than a carrion eater. Ransacking the dead for loot.” “I don’t care what you think,” she said, striding on past him. “You owe me and you won’t say a damn thing about this to your sell-sword comrade.”

He nodded. “As soon as that debt’s cleared, you and I will have words again,” he assured her. “And I was so enjoying our conversation. You were going to tell me what you were here to find.” “It’s nothing.” “Tell me, Franz Falker,” she said, lancing him with her intense eyes once again. Franz shrugged. “My father’s shop. He was a cobbler. I want to find his shoemaker’s tools, and maybe some wooden shapers and some good leather. The folk in the camp are crying out for good shoes, or at least someone who can repair what they have. I have the skills and if I could find the materials...” His voice trailed off. She was staring at him. “That’s your ambition? Your destiny? To make shoes for the wretches out there?” Franz nodded. Imke shook her head and walked on. When he caught up with her, she whispered, “By the way, watch this manciple closely.” “What? Why?” “I don’t think he’s all he seems. He has marks on his hands, sigils... runes, I think. He’s been careful to conceal them, but I noticed his manner. He’s not as holy as he likes us to think.” Grunor had come to a halt in a mist-choked void between two tumbled walls. Rainwater gurgled. He sniffed the air. “Vermin,” he hissed. “Not this again,” Broch said. “What are they? Size of a man, you mad runt?” “Smells that way,” Grunor replied. There was an odd note of fear in his voice. Broch took a step forward. “You talk so much-” The first rat appeared, silent, looming out of the vapour. Broch gasped and swallowed. Suddenly, Grunor’s madness seemed like sanity itself. The rat was upright. Its eyes were bright. It clutched a bladed weapon in its forepaws the way a grown man might hold a lance. It was indeed the height and bulk of a man. So were the other six that loomed from the mist all around them. “Holy Ulric’s beating heart!” Broch howled in disbelief, drawing his great sword. “Form a circle! A circle!” But Grunor had already broken forward, screaming, his axe swung up high to strike as he charged the monstrous vermin. His madness had been made flesh. The things began to chatter and pipe, darting forward to attack. The noise they made was fearful, and all the more so because of the shrill chattering that answered it from the mists around them. Franz’s sword was out. Broch had already engaged, slamming his great sword at the nearest mangy black hide. Grunor had struck well, and his bloodstained axe had raised a cacophony of injured squeals. “Get behind me! Behind me!” Franz yelled at Imke as a rat-thing powered towards him. Imke had her estoc out already and was stabbing and slicing with expert strokes. Franz struck off a rat’s head with one clean blow and, spattered by the foul blood, looked round at the manciple. The young priest was yelling at them to protect him, his hands raised, palms visible. Franz saw the symbol carved into the flesh of the maniciple’s palm. It made him shudder. He’d seen it twice before. Once on the hood of the beast-thing in the ruins. And once on the banners of Surtha Lenk’s host as they stormed the walls of Wolfenburg. Franz winced as a rat-blade scythed through the meat of his left arm. He wheeled and speared the thing through the torso with his sword point. He knew for a certain thing that the real enemy, the worst fiend of all, was right amongst them, but there was nothing he could do. The rats were all around him, the rats as large as a man that had haunted Grunor’s nightmares, charging out of the smoke-mist, swarming, skittering...

Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 84 Page 85 Page 86 Page 87 Page 88 Page 89 Page 90 Page 91 Page 92 Page 93 Page 94 Page 95 Page 96 Page 97 Page 98 Page 99 Page 100 Page 101 Page 102 Page 103 Page 104 Page 105 Page 106 Page 107 Page 108 Page 109 Page 110 Page 111 Page 112 Page 113 Page 114 Page 115 Page 116 Page 117 Page 118 Page 119 Page 120 Page 121 Page 122 Page 123 Page 124 Page 125 Page 126 Page 127 Page 128 Page 129 Page 130 Page 131 Page 132 Page 133 Page 134 Page 135 Page 136 Page 137 Page 138 Page 139 Page 140 Page 141 Page 142 Page 143 Page 144 Page 145 Page 146 Page 147 Page 148 Page 149 Page 150 Page 151 Page 152 Page 153 Page 154 Page 155 Page 156 Page 157 Page 158 Page 159 Page 160 Page 161 Page 162 Page 163 Page 164 Page 165 Page 166 Page 167 Page 168 Page 169 Page 170 Page 171 Page 172 Page 173 Page 174 Page 175 Page 176 Page 177 Page 178 Page 179 Page 180 Page 181 Page 182 Page 183 Page 184 Page 185 Page 186 Page 187 Page 188 Page 189 Page 190 Page 191 Page 192 Page 193 Page 194 Page 195 Page 196 Page 197 Page 198 Page 199 Page 200

Made with FlippingBook - professional solution for displaying marketing and sales documents online