Moving like a ghostly cyclone, the creatures known as Bladegheist Revenants spin in a frenetic fashion. They are souls taken from those who met particularly tormenting ends – those sealed in spike-riddled encasements, choked beneath water or buried alive. Their last living thoughts were a frenzy of desperation, a last flurry of defiance in an attempt to break free. Thanks to Nagash’s terrible curse, that horrible ending moment has been preserved forever in the Bladegheist Revenants.

All dread the coming of the Blades of Khorne – an unholy alliance of mortals and daemons for whom war is an act of worship. These maddened warbands leave no survivors in their wake, making them instead an offering to their bloodthirsty god. In return, Khorne grants them strength and resilience so that they may reap even more skulls for his Skull Throne.

Realmgore Ritualists curse both the enemies of Khorne and the land itself. These bloody-handed mystagogues lay blasphemous hexes upon the foe to sap their strength, and carve bleeding runes into the very earth, invoking gorey miracles and auras of rage that drive their allies to commit relentless acts of sacred violence.

Howling like maddened beasts, the Blades of Khorne hurl themselves upon their prey. These savage killers seek to honour the Blood God by drowning the Mortal Realms in a tide of gore. Armies of scarred and wild-eyed mortals fight alongside daemons born of primal fury, surging forth as one vast and unstoppable red tide. Those in the path of this calamity are swiftly hacked and hewn apart, their severed heads held aloft as offerings to the Lord of Skulls.

The Scriptors Mortis record the rise of Nagash’s empire and punish any who would stand against it. With a mere flick of a quill, they sentence souls to be dragged to the underworlds, condemning them to an eternity of torment. It is said that the quill is mightier than the sword – in the spiteful scribblings of the Scriptors Mortis, this metaphor is made real.

From Shyish, the Realm of Death, come the ethereal Nighthaunt – incorporeal spirits driven to murder by their bitter hatred for the living. These spectres are the terror weapon of the Great Necromancer, united under the cruelest and most tortured rulers ever to die. At the command of a wretched Knight of Shrouds, swirling hordes of vicious Chainrasps drag down enemies for the cold scythes of maddened Grimghast Reapers, while Spirit Hosts of damned souls turn blood to ice with a touch.

From Shyish, the Realm of Death, come the ethereal Nighthaunt – terrifying spectres driven to murder by their bitter hatred for the living. These undead are the terror weapon of the Great Necromancer, united under the cruelest and most tortured rulers ever to die. Their cold grasp reaches across the Mortal Realms, spreading a paralysis of fear amongst the living souls they once called kin, a howling host that will leave only an endless landscape of corpses and wailing spirits remains.

In his mortal life, Awlrach promised aid and safe transport to desperate travellers, only to send his victims to a grisly death in the briny deeps. When Awlrach’s spirit made its way to Nagash, the reward for his treachery was an eternity of service. Now this sinister boatman dredges up wayward souls to bolster the Nighthaunt hosts, and ferries them through the ethereal plane to wherever they will cause the most terror.

The Craventhrone Guard serve Kurdoss Valentian and any who share his aims. Bitter and spiteful even compared to other Nighthaunt, these spectral sharpshooters relish lining up enemy champions in their sights, sending them to an early grave without fanfare or mercy. Though they enforced Valentian's will in life, the Craventhrone Guard are now are cursed to torment him, shooting down his prey before he can truly claim the glory of the kill.

Bloodthirsters are the mightiest of Khorne’s daemons, the fury of war given terrible form. Every one of these towering beasts is the equal of an entire mortal army.

Known as one of Khorne’s greatest champions, Skarbrand’s own lust for blood ultimately proved to be his downfall. He slew innumerable mortals in the name of the Blood God, and was spoken of only in hushed whispers by those remaining.

The Black Coaches are funerary carriages from the underworlds. Within these arcane carriages any tangible remains are gathered in a casket that offers a safe haven in which the banished entity can reform.