Aktywne filtry
Belthanos leads the eternal hunt that keeps his master Kurnoth’s spirit in bloom. Cloaked in leaves and riding atop a Carnelian Greatspite made of pure life magic, he chases down those who would harm Ghyran so that his howling followers might rip them apart.
The Adeptus Mechanicus march to war as a disturbing fusion of flesh and machine, ruling Tech-Priests and fanatical cyborg followers raising modified voices in binharic praise of the Machine God. Purge Corps Deltic-9 are equipped to scour the contamination of enemy presence from locations of strategic or exploratory importance, employing cybernetic speed and terrifying weapons. Cavalry and winged Pteraxii unleash gouts of purging flame, before radioactive Skitarii bring up the rear to reclaim whatever remains.
A Sydonian Skatros is a sinister cybernetic sentinel, stoic and unmoving until the moment an enemy strays into range of their huge rifle. Mechanical, stilt-like limbs allow them to traverse hazardous terrain and survey the environment, shrouded by a smog of incense-exhaust. With protocol-driven precision and an advanced scanner known as the achillan eye, they lock on to their foes’ weakpoints and unleash pinpoint fire that sows panic and agony – all the better for eroding enemy morale.
The Adeptus Mechanicus are the fanatical worshippers of the Machine God of Mars. For thousands of years the robed priests of the Machine Cult have presided over the fabrication, maintenance, and preservation of Humanity’s surviving technological wonders with reverence and ritual. Led by Tech-Priests whose weak organic flesh has been replaced with metallic augmentations, their armies fight to defend forge worlds and strike out across the galaxy in search of ancient archeotech.
The Tech-Priests of Mars march forth at the head of cybernetic legions, protected by barely understood relics of a bygone era, and wielding devastating and bizarre weapons to obliterate their foes.
Belthanos, the First Thorn of Kurnoth, leads the eternal hunt that keeps his master’s spirit in bloom. Cloaked in evergreen and riding atop a Carnelian Greatspite made of pure life magic, he chases down those who would harm Ghyran so that his howling Revenant Seeker and Kurnoth Hunter followers might rip them apart.
Vashtorr is the Soul Forge King, a daemonic demigod of unrestrained invention and abominable artifice. When the Arkifane takes physical form, it is as a horror of pallid flesh stretched over infernal mechanisms, soaring to battle amidst a cloud of lightning and smog. Vashtorr deals destruction with every whirring step, unleashing techno gheist curses upon his foes even as he fashions enhancements for his indentured daemon engines from the raw stuff of realspace.
Chaos Cultists are the mortal devotees of the Dark Gods, ordinary men and women fallen to promises of temporal power who take to battle in huge numbers. Bearing a motley collection of improvised, stolen and makeshift weapons, they can overwhelm even determined enemies with sheer weight of numbers.
Technoarcheologists are seekers of divine mechanical arcana, driven to uncover that which is hidden, and to analyse its capabilities. Hardened to life on the Imperium’s dangerous frontiers, these priests employ cogitative instincts to detect approaching foes and awaken their servitor guardians to effective modes of attack. Even in the midst of battle, Technoarcheologists guide their servants through vital procedures with a machine-like focus.
The air sings with glorious life magic as the children of Alarielle surge into battle. Embittered noble spirits command the fury of the forest, hissing Branchwyches leading from the front as verdant wyldwoods burst forth from the heaving ground. Mighty wargroves advance in defence of life itself, Tree-Revenants striking without warning as relentless Kurnoth Hunters and ancient Treelords crush enemies with inexorable, arboreal strength.
Haarken Worldclaimer takes a heinous joy in his role as the mouthpiece of Abaddon, for it is he who proclaims the death of worlds. He does so not with some quotidian threat or hollow boast, but by driving his weapon, the Daemon-touched Helspear deep into the heart of citizen and soldier alike. He is a dark omen given form, and the otherworldly destruction he heralds is the coming of the Warmaster himself.
Accursed Cultists have diverse and terrifying origins – whether born of dark ritual, empyric experimentation, or the predation of malign entities, these abberations are herded into battle as lurching shock troops, their tainted flesh reknitting grievous wounds with unnatural vigour. Once they reach close quarters, Mutants flail and lash at the enemy with claws or tendrils, while the horribly-warped Torments pounce with bestial hunger.