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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Horrific examples of pure pestilence given form, Verminlord Corruptors live up to their name, existing only to despoil and corrupt.
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.
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.
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.