Infernal Masters forge pacts with daemonic entities, referred to in the lore of Prospero as tutelaries. Chanting jagged syllables and making promises of blood and souls, they unleash the powers of these malign familiars to engulf their foes in swarms of momentarily corporeal terrors, to divine whispers of the future, or to master the currents of the warp itself.
The Thousand Sons advance into battle amidst gouts of kaleidoscopic warpflame and bolts of raw sorcery. The heart of these arcane armies is comprised of Rubricae – implacable warriors who level salvo after salvo against the foe, marching at the command of the mighty Sorcerers and diabolic Infernal Masters who rule their fractured Legion. Around them come shrieking herds of Tzaangor, mutant shock troops armed with cursed blades and dark sorcery.
The air screams as Magnus the Red descends from the skies, and stone runs molten beneath his shadow. Cyclopean son of the Emperor of Mankind, his very presence is anathema to logic.
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.
The Incubi are an order of Drukhari that hone themselves for war and war alone. Warriors of the highest calibre, they dedicate themselves to the perfection of the killing strike.
The Talos Pain Engines are seen as the pinnacle of the Haemonculi's art. Creations of mad genius, each one is part organic and part mechanical, festooned with surgical apparatus and horrible-looking weapons of war.
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.
Raiders are the favoured transports of the Drukhari. Bladed skycraft, they are lightweight and extremely manoeuvrable.
Lelith Hesperax’s athleticism is far beyond those of other Wyches. She has raised death to a high art, wielding nothing more than simple knives. Gifting her victims with precise wounds in a blur of blade and flesh, she finishes in a bloody finale with a gory flourish.
In Drazhar, the Incubi ideal of violent perfection is exquisitely personified. His every strike exemplifies the tenets of his order, and each life he claims serves as a gruesome liturgy for his dark brethren.
For ten thousand years, the seeker of arcane truths known as Ahriman has roamed the galaxy in a quest to acquire every artefact, every tome and every scroll that harbours eldritch powers