The Slaves to Darkness march through the Mortal Realms in the name of the Dark Gods, ever pushing back against Sigmar’s dreams of peace and prosperity. They have suffered and sacrificed to conquer this land – and inflicted suffering in turn. Now none will halt their renewed advance, in a tide of blackened armour, twisted bulk, and trampling hooves.
From the blood-soaked wilds of the Mortal Realms, they come, the merciless reavers of the Darkoath. Counted among the dreaded Slaves to Darkness, these fearsome human tribes have sworn vows of carnage and butchery beneath the gaze of their malevolent gods, and they will fulfil them at any cost – for if they fail, their souls are forfeit. Descendants of those unfortunate humans left behind when Sigmar retreated behind the Gates of Azyr, the Darkoath entered into pacts with the deities of ruin to endure the unendurable. As merciless as they are proud, they launch raids from their Chaos-corrupted homelands, fulfilling oaths of slaughter and vengeance.
Spoken of in fearful whispers by warlords and kings, Archaon is the shadow of Chaos falling upon the Mortal Realms. Greatest of the Dark Gods’ champions, the Exalted Grand Marshal of the Apocalypse, he is the Everchosen - the doom of all.
The world of Bheta-Decima slides towards utter ruination. From the lightless void comes a Nemesis Claw of the Night Lords Traitor Legion, twisted warriors motivated by cruelty and selfish desire. Yet as these ancient predators hunt for technological treasures on the ocean-rigs of Bheta-Decima, they are hunted in turn by the Mandrakes of Aelindrach – and it may be that even these sadistic monsters have met their gruesome match.
Be'lakor, the Dark Master, is the first of the Daemon Princes and a consummate champion of Chaos.
The Slaves to Darkness march across the Mortal Realms in the names of Archaon Everchosen, Be'lakor the Dark Master, and the Gods of Chaos themselves, ever-fighting to crush Sigmar's oppressive notions of peace. They have suffered and sacrificed to conquer this land – and inflicted untold suffering in turn. Now none will halt their renewed advance – the armoured tread of their warriors, bone-shaking hooves of knights, and grinding chariot wheels storm across the battlefield in a relentless tide.
The industrial world of Bheta-Decima is collapsing, its surface ravaged by the burning debris and tainted inhabitants of the space hulk Gallowdark. In the ensuing chaos, a Magos Biologis sends an urgent distress call – and is answered by a Scout Squad of the Raven Guard, bound by a centuries-old debt to extract him and his research from a crumbling ocean-rig complex. However, a Blades of Khaine kill team has been dispatched to foil their escape – and the very fate of the Aeldari could depend on it.
The industrial world of Bheta-Decima is aflame, its cities ruined and its polluted seas flooded with warp-taint by the falling debris of the space hulk Gallowdark. The planet's irradiated waters are now riddled with sunken secrets and twisted hazards, and nothing but the crumbling gantries of an oceanic extraction-rig stand between elite kill teams and a watery grave.
Warlords of incredible power and menace in their own right, the Varanguard have grown into creatures of immense cruelty over many lifetimes of merciless slaughter and conquest.
This starter set is packed with everything you need to take your first steps into Kill Team, making it ideal for sharing with a friend, or gifting to someone you'd like to introduce to your favourite game.
Daemon Princes were once mortal champions of Chaos, elevated to eternal daemonhood as a coveted reward from their mercurial patrons. Each of these corrupt monstrosities is a walking testament to the infernal power of Chaos, an immortal warlord blessed with manifold malevolent gifts throughout their long and treacherous Path to Glory. A Daemon Prince soars or strides across the battlefield like an omen of doom, unleashing all the warp-forged weaponry, monstrous strength, and unholy sorcery at their disposal.
Blades of Khaine are elite Asuryani fighting formations assembled for a single purpose: severing a precise strand of fate to ensure that a terrible future for their craftworld or their race as a whole never comes to pass. Striking Scorpions burst from concealment after stalking their prey for hours or waiting in position for days – chainswords whirring and mandiblasters spitting needles of white fire.