Months have passed since the events of the Ashenmoon Island, when the strength of Order fell and the treacherous aelves joined with the malevolent Kruleboyz of clan Marrowcraveaz. Since then, silence. Though the mainland drowned in the thick, vile marches that drowned all who attempted to peak into its dark secrets, no army has come forth. Some dared to hope that perhaps, the vile Breaka-boss Břřok Bonechewa was indeed content with decimation of the skaven and reclamation of lands ruled age ago by his predecessors. They were wrong.
As the fires of Bel-Ashtar blaze anew and hosts both great and vile approach, do the folk of Sigmar hear a long dreaded cries. From the marches, at long last, come legions of morruks all wearing the cursed grin. In numbers before unseen, their goal seems clear. Establishing a beachhead, they, for the first time, seem ready to traverse the treacherous waters of the Ravaged Coast to seize the power that lurks within the ancient tomb.
For what the sigmarites do not know is that Břřoks victory heralded his ascension in the eyes of his cruel god. His WAAAAH!! cries amassed such might that finally, he became true voice of Gorkamorka in this region, wielding power unheard of by other shamans. Now, gliding on the winds mounted on his new pet, a giant Corpse-rippa Vulcha, he commands his legions to a new source of power, with which he seeks to spread his domain and to hedge bets in his favour. For he wants not just to fight, he wants to win, and only fools fight fair...