Death Guard: Deathshroud...
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.
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.
Havocs provide the Traitor Legions with devastating anti-infantry and anti-armour firepower, dominating large swathes of the battlefield with volley after punishing volley.
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.
The cruel terror troops known as Raptors consider themselves the elite of the Chaos Space Marines warbands. Their murder squads epitomise what has become of the Assault Marines of the Traitor Legions.
Vashtorr is the Soul Forge King, a daemonic demigod of unrestrained invention and abominable artifice. When the Arkifane takes physical form, it is as a horror of pallid flesh stretched over infernal mechanisms, soaring to battle amidst a cloud of lightning and smog. Vashtorr deals destruction with every whirring step, unleashing techno gheist curses upon his foes even as he fashions enhancements for his indentured daemon engines from the raw stuff of realspace.
The Typhon is named for the ‘Great Beast’ of Terran myth, and lives up to its namesake in sheer brutal strength. Sharing a basic chassis with the Spartan Assault Tank, this heavy tank serves as a mobile gun-platform with enough power to operate a single massive piece of siege artillery – the dreadhammer cannon. The Typhon was created to meet the demands of the Primarch Perturabo of the Iron Warriors, who sought a war engine that could rapidly deploy such fortress-breaking firepower to the battle line alongside his Legionaries. Though unsubtle in design, its overwhelming effectiveness is beyond question.
Lord Invocatus is a master of swift raids, devastating counter-attacks, and relentless hit-and-run strategies. Also known as Khorne's Thunderbolt, this born marauder thunders through the air as if riding across solid ground, mounted on his massive juggernaut, Khal’guruth. Devoted above all to the Blood God's service, Lord Invocatus leads his warbands from one battlefield to the next with supernatural speed, seeking always to spill as much blood as he can.
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.
Haarken Worldclaimer takes a heinous joy in his role as the mouthpiece of Abaddon, for it is he who proclaims the death of worlds. He does so not with some quotidian threat or hollow boast, but by driving his weapon, the Daemon-touched Helspear deep into the heart of citizen and soldier alike. He is a dark omen given form, and the otherworldly destruction he heralds is the coming of the Warmaster himself.
The daemonic servants of Khorne spill from the madness of the warp to corrupt and slaughter, the very battlefield contorting at the touch of Chaos. Gore-drenched Bloodletters hack heads from shoulders, led into the material plane by Bloodmasters, the greatest of their ravenous kind. Mounted atop the infernal engine-beasts known as Juggernauts, a charge by merciless Bloodcrushers breaks the most stalwart resistance, while tireless Flesh Hounds pursue any who flee across time and space.
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.