Aktywne filtry
The Myrmidesh are an elite warrior-cult who exemplify the pride of the Dark Prince. Each of their blade-sects considers their own favoured technique to be supreme, and on the rare occasions they are proven wrong, their spiteful rage is terrible to behold.
When the madness of battle descends upon Slaangor Fiendbloods, the carnage left in their wake is truly sickening. These gangly beasts are frighteningly strong and swift, and they fight with a frenzied disregard for their own survival.
Blissbarb Archers are the lowest class of Sybarite, but no less deadly for it. Even when running pell-mell across the field, they fire with deadly accuracy, laughing with glee as their sharp and toxin-laced projectiles strike home.
Elite Tzaangors, possessing strange feathers and elaborate horns, the Tzaangor Enlightened are truly blessed with the favour of Tzeentch. They wield ornate spears that set them above their lesser kin, some even riding upon Discs of Tzeentch.
Savage, avian beasts dedicated to Tzeentch, Tzaangors have been willingly warped into shapes and forms pleasing to the Architect of Fate.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Daemonettes are Slaanesh's Lesser Daemons and the most numerous of all his servants. Possessed of the hypnotic glamour for which all Daemons of Slaanesh are abhorred, they are vicious, merciless fighters who attack with astounding speed and grace.
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 Masque once entertained Slaanesh, but then displeased him, and was exiled. Since then the Herald has been cursed to dance endlessly. Those drawn into this endless performance are doomed to a swift and spectacular death.