It’s a sight I’ve been dreaming about since the pixelated days of Dark Omen and Shadow of the Horned Rat. A mammoth pair of Warhammer armies battling across a sprawling Total War battlefield.
On one side, the Empire: featherhelmed humans wielding arquebuses, halberds and swords, backed up by cannons and wizards. On the other, hulking orcs and tiny goblins, variously smeared with war paint, riding spiders, wolves and boars, and reinforced by trolls, wyverns, and giants. On either side of the wide pass, lava drools from mountain crags more than two hundred feet high.
As the battle starts, the Emperor Karl Franz makes a speech from the back of his griffon Deathclaw, promising that if his troops win this battle, he’ll take up the fabled Hammer of Sigmar. It’s a…