Warbands of the Chaos Space Marines are more often than not motley assortments of Heretic Astartes, grisly mutants, their cultist thralls. The pitiless masters callously spend the lives of the mortal warriors to buy time for the more valuable Heretic Astartes while simultaneously offering those very same Chaos Space Marines to host the Daemons of the warp.
The Chaos Space Marines have been fighting a war of vengeance for ten thousand years, sallying forth from the Eye of Terror to wreak havoc on the Imperium that spurned them. This nightmare realm of warp-tainted space corrupts them in body and mind, but also grants them power. Combined with thousands of years of combat experience, they are some of the most deadly veterans of any fighting force.
Many Chaos Space Marines contingents favour aggressive, highly mobile tactics, rushing headlong to get to grips with the foe as quickly as possible. Their skill, armour, deadly weapons, genetic enhancements, and mobs of disposable cultists make these reckless charges highly effective.
Chaos Space Marines are genetically augmented transhumans who seek only to conquer, slaughter, and despoil. Clad in baroque power armour bedecked in macabre trophies and infernal iconography, Chaos Space Marines do battle alongside growling battle tanks, monstrous Daemon Engines, and thronging masses of cultist thralls. Some are possessed by daemonic allies, others bear Chaos-tainted artefacts or wield warp sorcery. No matter what form they take, they pursue their Long War with pitiless brutality, slaughtering any who stand in their path in an ever-escalating campaign of vengeance, conquest and apocalyptic violence.
The Chaos Space Marines go to war armed with corrupted versions of the already-potent weapons and wargear they used as loyal warriors of the Imperium. They're accompanied by foul daemons, twisted war engines, and hordes of cultist thralls.
Chaos Space Marines are genetically augmented transhumans who seek only to conquer, slaughter, and despoil. They pursue their Long War with pitiless brutality, slaughtering any who stand in their path in an ever-escalating campaign of vengeance, conquest and apocalyptic violence.
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.
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.