It is a time of great change in the Mortal Realms. A surge of life sweeps across the eight realms to force back the tide of death left in the Necroquake’s wake, and the forces of Order waste no time in laying claim to the newly rejuvenated land.
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.
Warlock Bombardiers are those engineers who develop a particular penchant for weapons that deliver explosive death from extreme range. Their alchemical armaments cause utter devastation wherever they strike home.
The latest creations from the crazed laboratories of the Clans Skryre, Stormfiends are hulking brutes stitched together from a variety of body parts.
The Era of the Beast sees armies clash across all manner of terrain, from fetid bogs and ancient ruins to wind-blasted plains and snow-capped mountains.
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.
Horrific examples of pure pestilence given form, Verminlord Corruptors live up to their name, existing only to despoil and corrupt.
The ravages of time and the footfalls of hundreds of rampaging armies have laid waste to many of the God-King’s Stormvaults, though the vengeful spirits of the guardians leashed to them still linger.
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.
When the Wyldwoods of the Sylvaneth stir, enemies of the natural order must be on their guard. The awakened spirits that dwell within these ancient groves are roused to terrible fury by intrusions into their domain. They seek every chance to prey upon those foolish enough to stray beneath their shadowed boughs.
Driven into battle by their frenzied faith, the Plague Monks of Clan Pestilens are a repulsive tidal wave of filth that smashes into their enemies with the power of a flood.