Twisted arcanists, wicked of intent and strange of form, Exalted Sorcerers have an encyclopædic knowledge of spells and are able to bend reality to their desires.
Scarab Occult Terminators were once the finest psykers in the Thousand Sons Legion, bodyguards to Magnus the Red himself. Reduced to dust along with their brethren, they now possess only an echo of their previous intellect.
Blightlord Terminators are relentless and unstoppable, elite Death Guard warriors bound forever to mutated suits of Cataphractii armour.
The Pale Harvestmen; the Scythes of Nurgle; the Eyes of Mortarion. The elite warriors of the Deathshroud go by many names, and every one is redolent with a miasma of fear and menace.
Chaos Terminators are heavily armoured veterans clad in debased suits of Tactical Dreadnought armour.
Stepping out from the fog of war come the Rubricae. Many of these undying warriors were psykers in their own right, before an ancient curse damned them to an eternity as living husks – their baroque power armour now contains nothing but sparkling dust.
Havocs provide the Traitor Legions with devastating anti-infantry and anti-armour firepower, dominating large swathes of the battlefield with volley after punishing volley.
For some Chaos Space Marines, simply dedicating their souls to the gods is not enough. Pledging themselves fully to the service of Chaos, they allow daemons to possess their bodies, becoming willing hosts to these immaterial creatures.
Bloated with festering corruption, Plague Marines form the mainstay of the Death Guard, and unlike many Traitor Legions their numbers have only swollen as the millennia have passed.
Labouring through the air on buzzing turbines and driven by the trapped essence of a Nurgle Daemon, the Foetid Bloat-drone drifts toward the enemy like an armoured plague fly.
Jakhals are chosen from the strongest, most savage, and bloodthirstiest followers of the World Eaters. Though merely human, these elite cultists seek to emulate the frenzied purity of their gore-crazed masters in any way they can, and dive into combat with wild abandon. Each Jakhal goes to battle strapped with a tank of chemical stimms and tainted blood, which drives them into an unstoppable fury of hacking and slashing with their chain weapons as they strive to earn the favour of their bloody lords.
Accursed Cultists have diverse and terrifying origins – whether born of dark ritual, empyric experimentation, or the predation of malign entities, these abberations are herded into battle as lurching shock troops, their tainted flesh reknitting grievous wounds with unnatural vigour. Once they reach close quarters, Mutants flail and lash at the enemy with claws or tendrils, while the horribly-warped Torments pounce with bestial hunger.