The core of a Beastclaw Raiders Alfrostun, Ogors mounted on Mournfangs are always at the vanguard of a raid’s assault. Wielding clubs, blades and pistols, they’re very, very good at blocking an enemy’s attack before laying into them with wild abandon. The beasts they ride are equally fearsome, trampling to a pulp anything and everything unfortunate enough to get in the way.
The Ogor Mawtribes are nomadic empires of brutish juggernauts that range across the lands, raiding and pillaging to appease their insatiable hunger. Iron-fisted Tyrants lead young and bullish Gluttons to war as gnoblar attendants scurry about their feet, supported by roaring blasts from the salvaged cannons of Leadbelchers and Ironblasters while Mournfang riders from the Beastclaw tribes savage the enemy flanks.
Ogors Mawtribes sweep across the realms and devour all in their migratory path, juggernauts of fat and muscle who crush their prey with clubs, rusted blades, and sheer bulk. When the ogors are on the Mawpath, the ground rumbles even above their prodigious bellies. Roars, belches, and booming laughs ring out as they charge, their battering-ram impact a weapon in itself. Mighty warglutts heed the call of blood-smeared shamans, while Beastclaw Raiders ride to battle on behemoths that hail from the cursed blizzard of the Everwinter. To stand in their path is to be devoured.
A master of the wild steppes, a Frostlord leads his ogors into the battles that sustain them. Atop a Stonehorn he is virtually unstoppable, the hooves of his steed grinding enemies into paste. His booming voice directs his raiders to the most vulnerable flanks of the foe – where the Frostlord on Stonehorn rides, brutality follows.
Bloodpelt Hunters seek out the largest and most formidable creatures, stalking them unseen with the guile and ferocity of an alpha predator. When their quarry is within reach, these alarmingly stealthy ogors close in for the kill, maiming it with crude iron crossbow bolts before hacking it apart with axes and machetes.
The Aeldari once ruled the galaxy, before their civilisation collapsed beneath the weight of its own hedonism. Now the Asuryani sail the stars aboard massive vessels called craftworlds, their citizens keeping to highly disciplined Paths to avoid drowning in the same decadent madness as their ancestors. Each craftworld's Guardians take up arms to defend their dying race, wielding deadly shuriken catapults or power blades, or shredding foes atop their swift Windrider jetbikes.
Aeldari mythology is replete with noble heroes at one with their steeds, and in the Shining Spears, the glories of legend are made manifest. These Aspect Warriors live to joust, which they do at breathtaking speeds upon their jetbike mounts. Their chosen weapon is the long and formidable laser lance, which uses a powerful energy blast to burn an opening in the target – instants before the bulk of the weapon slams home with devastating, piercing force.
The Rangers are Outcast warriors, wanderers who left the regimented lives of the craftworlds behind them. Adepts in the arts of stealth warfare, marksmanship, and tracking enemies through harsh terrain, the Rangers aid their brethren as scouts and snipers. Veiled by cameleoline cloaks and gloom field generators, they can hide from their foes even in plain sight as they pick them off one by one from extreme range.
Autarchs are renowned for their strategic brilliance, sublime martial skill and indomitable strength of will. Long have they trodden the Path of the Warrior, wearing the ritual masks of countless Aspect Warriors and yet never once slipping into the trap of obsession. Instead, these peerless leaders now walk the Path of Command. Wielding a dizzying variety of wargear and tactics mastered across millennia of battle, they apply all that they have learned to their command of the Asuryani warhosts.
An Avatar of Khaine is an ancient deity incarnate – a burning shard of Khaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God of the Aeldari. Awakened for battle, he marches through enemy fire without breaking stride, laughing cruelly as his weapon – the Wailing Doom – cleaves flesh and tastes the blood of his foes with each strike.
Streaking into battle at speeds that render them barely visible to human eyes, Shroud Runners effortlessly outmanoeuvre their enemies while harassing them with pinpoint sniper fire. Each jetbike acts as the mount for a pair of skilled Aeldari Rangers, the pillion rider often entering a marksman’s trance so as to aim and fire while travelling at incredible velocity.
Looming ghost warriors many times larger than even the mighty Wraithlords, the war machines known as Wraithknights are still dextrous enough to run through the ruin of a shattered city, leaping from pillar to spar as their arcane weapons bring oblivion to the enemies of the Aeldari.