Alchemite Warforgers are specialist wizards who wield the raw energies of Chamon. As muscular and sweaty as any mundane blacksmith, these mages pluck glowing runecubes from their crucibles, channelling metallurgic magic to destroy their foes. Their arcane alchemy can change the properties of not only metal, but reality itself.
The Cities of Sigmar are embattled metropolises founded by free mortals across every one of the realms. These disparate alliances of humans, duardin, aelves, and even ogors battle not only to survive, but to muster grand expeditions and establish new strongholds in Sigmar’s name. They fight with blade and bolt, wonders of military technology, and blistering storms of magic. Above all, the Cities of Sigmar win their wars through sheer indomitable spirit. Whether defending their hard-won fortress-cities or marching into the wilderness as a Dawnbringer Crusade, they spend their lives to relight the dying embers of civilisation.
The Disciples of Tzeentch take a great many forms, from Arcanite cultists to hosts of gibbering daemons. Amongst their chanting ranks are bird-headed beastmen, horned monstrosities and many-eyed seers, all determined to capsize the reality of the Mortal Realms.
For centuries beyond counting has the race of malevolent ratmen known as the skaven plagued the Mortal Realms. Arrogant, avaricious and utterly without mercy, the skaven seek to annihilate every other sapient creature – expanding, multiplying, and consuming everything in their path until they alone rule over the decaying husk of reality. Those who defy this vision are overwhelmed by swarms of frenzied, red-eyed warriors, weaponized plagues, monstrous beasts and lightning-spitting war machines. Arise, Children of the Great Horned Rat!
Deep in the city of Excelsis lie several wards sealed off on pain of death, areas forever blighted by Tzeentchian sorceries left in the wake of the traitor Ortam Vermyre's uprising.
The Cities of Sigmar are bastions of light and hope in realms embattled by darkness. With faith and overwhelming firepower, their mortal armies fight back against the fiend, the monster, and the wraith. Following the bellowed commands of veteran officers, lines of hard-slogging infantry grimly set their shields to repel the enemy's assault while formations of armoured cavalry sweep forth to claim glorious victory in the God-King's name.
Clanrats mass into huge clawpacks, their vast numbers bolstering their courage and allowing them to surge across the battlefield and overwhelm the enemy, regardless of the hideous casualties they suffer along the way.
A Curseling is a powerful warrior-mage imbued with daemonic power through a conjoined, spell-moulding homunculus known as a Tretchlet. Important leaders of rituals in Arcanite cults, these two-faced sorcerers love nothing more than turning the magics of their rivals back upon those who cast them.
Casting vindictive glares at their enemies and blasting them apart with mystical fire, Blue Horrors are as resentful and bitter as their pink cousins are gleeful and capricious.
Bounding in a disturbing fashion, Flamers of Tzeentch spring toward the foe spouting wyrdflame, the warpfire of Chaos itself. The supernatural flames writhe and leer, but most of all they burn, scorching the foe’s flesh, bones and soul.
The greatest of Tzeentch’s daemons, the Lords of Change shimmer with raw magic. With a flick of its claw, a Lord of Change can hurl foes into nightmares, or blast enemies with the wyrdfires of Tzeentch.
Gibbering nonsense with lunatic energy the luminescent Pink Horrors whirl and flail their arms, generating raw magic that fills the air. En masse, the Pink Horrors give rise to so much arcane force that they can hurl blasts of unnatural fire at the enemy.