Welcome to Rackham
French publisher of miniature games set in the legendary universe of Aarklash.
Our team, operating under an official license from Monolith, is pleased to announce that we are currently developing the skirmish game RAG'NAROK.
Further information will be available very soon.
The legend is reborn.
Available in 2025.
Gusts surged in waves over the watchtower; they howled as they rushed into the stone's fissures, snapped the banners, and threatened to engulf the flickering flames of the torches. Relentlessly, the waves battered them during their watch around the dormitories.
Sharp like the assaults of icy specters, they stiffened his joints and numbed his fingers, clenched around the grip of his bow. Through the slits of his mask, he kept watch. His eyes never left the edge of the forest—a shadow torn apart by the winds, black against the clear canvas of the night sky. This simple vision defied weariness and kept him as vigilant as in the first hour.
His companion, quiet as a tomb since the start of their patrol, mumbled something unintelligible. Turning to face him, he didn't see him until he looked down.
He was laying there, on its back, his screams muffled by the bolt piercing his throat.
His instincts drove him to notch an arrow, but barely had he reached for his quiver when a bolt struck his hand, pinning it to his thigh.
He felt nothing. His blood boiled in his veins, his heart pounded at his temples, and his thoughts raced and escaped him. Only one was clear enough for him to grasp: if he did not act, the rest of the garrison would suffer the same fate as his comrade.
With his good hand, he grabbed the horn that girded his flank and brought it to his lips.
His final breath burst into the storm. The horn's blast resounded, clear and powerful against the roar of the elements, alerting his companions to the imminent confrontation.