Middenland is the Empire's grim northern shoulder, a vast province of pine and shadow where the Drakwald forest swallows roads, villages, and whole regiments that march carelessly beneath its boughs. At its heart rises the Fauschlag, the sheer rock upon which the city of Middenheim stands like a fist raised against the sky, and within it burns the sacred flame of Ulric: god of winter, wolves, and honest war, whom Middenlanders hold to be the true elder faith. They keep it with a fighting man's stubbornness, and regard the softer hammer-piety of the south with open suspicion.
The province musters in the blue and white of the wolf, its state regiments hardened by a life lived against the dark, its Knights of the White Wolf swinging cavalry hammers in Ulric's name rather than couching the lance. Middenlanders are blunt, cold-tempered, and proud to a fault, forever measuring themselves against Reikland and finding the comparison much to their liking. They ask little of the Empire and offer less in the way of courtesy: only that when the northmen and the beasts come down out of the trees, someone must hold the hardest line on the longest border. That someone, generation after grinding generation, is Middenland.
Order of battle
The Middenland field the units of the Empire of Man, a detachment from the roster:
Other Empire of Man formations
AverlandThe gold-and-black province of the southern grasslands, grown fat on cattle, grain, and the trade roads to the dwarfholds, and kept forever watchful by Black Fire Pass at its border. Every greenskin surge out of the mountains breaks on Averland first, and its yellow-coated regiments have held the pass so many times the province calls it their second home and their first graveyard. Averlanders are open-handed, sun-loving, and a little eccentric; famously, on occasion, their Elector Counts most of all.
ReiklandThe Emperor's own province: the richest, proudest, and most powerful of the Empire's great states, seated on the river Reik with Altdorf (capital, cathedral city, and home of the Colleges of Magic) at its heart. Its white-coated regiments are the pattern the rest of the Empire drills to match, and Reiklanders never forget that Sigmar himself was born of the tribes that held these lands. The other provinces call it arrogance; the Reikland calls it inheritance.
StirlandA poor, proud province of moors, hills, and hedgerow farms, whose green-clad levies are mocked as bumpkins right up until the fighting starts. Stirland's burden is its geography: the haunted county of Sylvania lies within its bounds, and Stirlanders learn young to bury their dead with silver, prayers, and a spade kept sharp. No province digs better graves, or fills them more reluctantly.
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