All dread the coming of the Blades of Khorne – an unholy alliance of mortals and daemons for whom war is an act of worship. These maddened warbands leave no survivors in their wake, making them instead an offering to their bloodthirsty god. In return, Khorne grants them strength and resilience so that they may reap even more skulls for his Skull Throne.
Realmgore Ritualists curse both the enemies of Khorne and the land itself. These bloody-handed mystagogues lay blasphemous hexes upon the foe to sap their strength, and carve bleeding runes into the very earth, invoking gorey miracles and auras of rage that drive their allies to commit relentless acts of sacred violence.
Howling like maddened beasts, the Blades of Khorne hurl themselves upon their prey. These savage killers seek to honour the Blood God by drowning the Mortal Realms in a tide of gore. Armies of scarred and wild-eyed mortals fight alongside daemons born of primal fury, surging forth as one vast and unstoppable red tide. Those in the path of this calamity are swiftly hacked and hewn apart, their severed heads held aloft as offerings to the Lord of Skulls.
The Stormfang Gunship is designed to dominate the skies while furiously blasting apart all who would oppose the Sons of Russ.
From the Mountains of the Maelstrom come the legendary Thunderwolves, hulking beasts with jaws so strong they can chew through steel.
Having surrendered to the terrible curse that the Canis Helix afflicts, the Wulfen are a grotesque distortion of the power of the Space Wolves.
Standing three times the height of a man, these towering war machines bear powerful weapons and are as lethal at range as in close assault. A chapter's Dreadnoughts are treasured relics, only awoken in great need.
Every Space Wolves warrior dreams of a place in the Wolf Guard. To be a member of this select brotherhood is to wield the very deadliest weapons of war while serving as the personal guard of their Wolf Lord.
Viewed by some as wild, even barbaric, the Space Wolves are nonetheless a proud brethren, as noble as they are fierce. Those who dare to oppose them quickly feel the fangs of the wolf around their throats, for the Sons of Russ are dedicated to the hunt.
Daubed beneath their sinesterly hued Phobos armour with runes of warding and abjuration, Hounds of Morkai are hunters of psykers.
Supremely confident and eager always to be first into the fray, Wolf Lord Ragnar Blackmane leads his Great Company in devastating planetary invasions.
No living Iron Hand can recall a time when Feirros’ sardonic tones did not grace the Iron Council. Nor does any remember another wielding the axe Harrowhand during their Rite of Severance – the lopping of the left hand so that an augmetic fist may take its place is the moment in which a recruit truly becomes an Iron Hand.