The High Elves and Skaven in Palurin had been at each other's throats for centuries, ever since the Elves had established the colony of Sein Creban close to Boiling Peak. Most years only small skirmishes took place but every so often both sides would marshal great forces to war and magic would split the skies apart.
Such magical energy being unleashed is not safe for the world, and there are those who theorise it was unchecked magics that caused the downfall of the long lost civilisations of Palurin. Whatever the truth in 591PC, near the Elf-Skaven border, great rips appeared in the sky and daemonic forces dedicated to the dark prince Slaanesh spilled out to attack both sides.
The Skaven were the first to be set upon. The rat-men attempted to marshall their forces into some sort of defence but the daemonic assault was too swift. The claws of the Slaaneshi warriors eagerly tore apart fur and bone massacring the squealing Skaven.
Elsewhere the High Elves had more time to prepare before the attack, their mages sensing the approaching danger. Their vat-grown ogres marched from Ogreguard to meet the daemons on the field on battle. Their tough hides protecting them from slashing claws, the ogres soon turned the tide and in ribbons of pastel light the daemons were banished back. Perhaps the elves could have urged their ogre warriors on into the now-undefended Skaven realms, but with the rifts still glittering in the skies above they were unwilling to leave their lands undefended. The ogres returned to Ogreguard, the elven mages began their vigil against what may be coming.
All over Palurin its inhabitants looked into the night sky to see a pink corona of light in the distance and ponder its meaning. In the daemon-worshipping lands of Rank'an'Adanra they rejoiced at the sight. Their gods were coming closer to Palurin than ever.
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