Prelude – The Dread Fleet
It began with fire and blood.
Fleet Admiral Vincenzo Gambi, a vampiric scourge thought long vanished beneath the waves, returned at the helm of The Carrion, flagship of the newly risen Dread Fleet. His first target: the ancient port city of Zandri, jewel of the undead kingdom of Nehekhara. There, amid shattered tombs and burning monuments, Gambi unleashed a brutal assault. The harbor choked with corpses, and from the crypts below, he stole not only a fleet of warships, but a relic of unspeakable power—the Tablet of Dusk, an artifact of Slann origin, said to grant dominion over death itself.
But Gambi’s ambition is neither gold nor conquest.
His goal is resurrection—for his long-dead mistress, the Blood Countess, a vampiric queen whose reign of terror ended more than two centuries ago. Once his sovereign, his muse, and his tormentor, she was struck down by her enemies in a forgotten war—and buried in secrecy, far from the lands of the living.
Now, with the Tablet in hand, Gambi sails north along the fractured coasts of the Black Gulf, his fleet spreading terror in its wake. Under the guise of piracy, he raids, burns, and slays, but each attack is chosen with purpose. Beneath the chaos lies a single obsession: to find the Countess’s hidden tomb.
For months, he scours the coastlines, strikes at river ports, consults forbidden texts and broken runestones—each step drawing him closer. The dead rise in his wake. Fear spreads. And across the Border Princes and beyond, whispers of the Dread Fleet carry on salt winds: the vampire admiral hunts for something far worse than treasure.
The Anti-Pirate Alliance
“An alliance of convenience is still an alliance… until the knives come out.”
— Commander Vraelin Sunspear, High Elf emissary to the Border Princes
As the Black Gulf burns and the dead sail free, the scattered powers of the region have done the unthinkable: set aside their ancient grudges.
The Anti-Piracy Alliance (APA) is a loose and uneasy coalition of warbands, nations, and mercenary captains united by a single goal—the destruction of Fleet Admiral Vincenzo Gambi and his dreaded undead armada. Formed in haste after the massacre at Matorea and the fall of several coastal towns, the APA exists more in name than structure. It is not a unified command, but a fragile pact of necessity, held together by coin, oaths, and shared fear of the Dread Fleet's growing power.
Its members are as diverse as they are volatile:
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The Dwarves of Karak Izor seek vengeance for sunken trade fleets and ancient grudges unearthed by the vampire admiral’s raids.
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High Elven outriders from Tor Anrok have sailed to safeguard ancient maritime routes and intercept the undead threat before it spreads beyond the gulf.
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Lizardmen cohorts from the southern jungles march north to reclaim the stolen Tablet of Dusk and restore the balance decreed by the Old Ones.
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Skaven warlords, ever-opportunistic, have pledged support in name only—driven more by dreams of warp-tainted treasure than any real loyalty.
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Goblin raiders, lured by chaos and gold, have been bribed, bullied, or tricked into joining the fray—for now.
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Even a Vampire Count of Ghoulstone Keep, sworn enemy to Gambi’s bloodline, has entered the conflict—hoping to stop the resurrection of the Blood Countess, or claim her power for his own.
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And from the deathless deserts, there are whispers that even the Tomb Kings of Kalkmir have dispatched a force to crush Gambi for his sacrilege in Zandri.
Tensions within the alliance run high. Some captains fight for honor, others for gold—and some for reasons they refuse to name. Rumors already spread of deserters, of pacts forged in secret, and of warbands that have turned cloak to now sail beneath the black sails of the Dread Fleet.
Yet for all its fractures, the APA has proven a force to be reckoned with. Its combined strength has driven Gambi from the coast, forced him inland, and scattered the ships of his cursed fleet. But as he presses deeper into the Border Princes in pursuit of his dark goal, the alliance teeters on the edge.
Whether it will hold long enough to stop his final gambit… remains to be seen.
Tlatuoni, Leader of the Lizardmen Spearhead, Tlatuoni’s Seekers
*Growling low to Skink Shaman *!pa as they survey the burning wreckage of a coastal shrine.
“They took it. Defiled the temple-vault. The stars warned us, *!*pa, but we were too slow. The Tablet of Dusk is gone—ripped from its rest by the pale-sailed carrion-ship. The vampire leads the dead north, seeking something old, something foul. We must pursue. The artifact must be returned to the stars... before it wakes the darkness buried in the bones of the world.”
Rot Fester Kenneldie, Leader of the Skaven Spearhead, The Blessed Thirteen,
Muttering to himself, hunched in the bilge of a looted merchant vessel, fingering warp-soaked trinkets.
“Yesss-yes, clever Gambi, blood-breath bastard. Raided Zandri like it was ripe fruit—took-took ships, gold, bones... and something more, something old and slithery. The fleet grows fat-fat with loot, and still he hunts, sniffing grave-dirt and whispers. What is he looking for, hmm? Something to wake-wake the dead even deader? Pfah! Let him! More war, more rot, more... fun. Yes-yes. But if he wins, if she rises... maybe I switch-switch sides, hmm?”
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