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.

The Hedonites of Slaanesh revel in suffering, and worship their absent deity by engaging in the most vile acts imaginable. Empowered by depravity and addicted to extremes of sensation, the servants of the Dark Prince are a scourge on the realms. Each warband is an unpredictable and quixotic terror, guided by diabolical whims as they conquer and pillage.

Lords of Hubris are utterly enamoured with their own magnificence, strutting peacocks who swagger into battle, loudly demanding that the enemy’s finest face them in single combat. Those foolish enough to answer this challenge are cut to ribbons in a matter of seconds, for these champions have honed their bladework to perfection, and are accompanied by only the most elite Slaaneshi warriors.

The Hedonites of Slaanesh cavort across the realms in vile carnivals of sin and excess, seeking the scent of their absent deity, the Dark Prince. Those who find themselves in the path of these raiders are destined to die a slow and painful death, for the Hedonites are sensation-seekers without compare, utterly dedicated to indulging their sadistic desires upon the battlefield. Hosts of majestic, sinuous daemons slice a contemptuous path through the enemy, while silk-draped mortals seek to inflict the most exquisite agonies imaginable, the tormented soul of each slain foe offered up as tribute to their cruel master.

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.

A Keeper of Secrets is a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, a consummate warrior and spellmaster of the Dark Prince’s hosts. Their four powerful limbs move languidly as they slink forwards – only to explode into lethal motion when their prey is in reach.

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.

It was at the height of Morathi's ascension to godhood that a drop of Slaanesh's own divine essence broke free from imprisonment and fled the cave between realms.