The Army of Ruin

8/18/2019 The Army of Ruin

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As always all credit for information, pictures and videos goes to others like Games

Workshop and the wonderful artists out there. I own nothing.

*Per Request I have instituted the process of bolding key information, since some people

might be too lazy lack the time to read all the way through. Again as per request this will

usually show information greatly important to the battle and not necessarily fluff.

**This profile shall be confined mostly to the Warhammer Fantasy version of Chaos, with

only light use of Age of Sigmar (mostly for art and some info on Archaon’s personality). The

Ask.Fm Account of Josh Reynolds is used for clarifications regarding End Times lore not

seen in the books.

A NOTE ON CANONICTY:

Warhammer Fantasy is a massive, expansive work with easily

over a hundred documents to pull from for Chaos alone. These include the Army books,

Novels, Background books, the Roleplay, White Dwarfs etc. The setting also has no official

canon system, where it is okay to make any number of personal customizations. Thus for

the purposes of vs. any number of source material can be incorporated or discarded at

whim, all options equally valid to GW (which doesn’t care).

My personal canon philosophy (and thus the one shown in the profile) relies ontwo

principles The first is geared towards incorporating the maximum amount of sources

possible so as to present the most comprehensive picture possible Almost every source

from 4e on that features Chaos as a major actor is covered. Even Author QnA is used,

though more so as completionism filler rather than substantive material (Josh Reynold’s onthe fate of the Eastern Human nations, for example).

The second is that all instances of power levels are examined, scrutinized, and reasoned out

towards the picture that is most consistent with what appears in lore. It is my personal

belief that the model of relying only on high end feats is flawed, and particularly for army

battles. It is as disingenuous to lore and the true strengths of the faction as much as

focusing only on the low end would be. While neither are ignored and both are

incorporated when ablefocus is lw ys on the ‘most often’

and lore reasons are sought,

given available knowledge, for reasons behind the power fluctuations.

This document is doubtlessly imperfect and a Warhammer fan could certainly find flaws.

Some contradictions were too wide for available information to fill and when they events

occurred I used my available knowledge to make my best explanation possible Given GW

canon stance anyone is free to disregard for personal use. However when it comes to

inclusion of sheer sources and the process of hammering them into an effective lore guide

few documents will be able to match this one, of that I am certain.


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“There is beyond this eternity another. An existence all of its own. It is dark as the mortal mind is dark,

deep as the mortal heart is deep. This realm is sustained by the self. It is a spiritual plane made up of the

thoughts and feelings, needs and beliefs of all the knowing races – the highborn and the low things that

walk the world, with aims of it being their own. It gives back in the form of energies that leak into our

world and are harnessed by the gifted in the form of magic and its many refractions. Entities beyond

understanding inhabit this dark realm of spiritual energy, this sea of soulfire. They are the behemoths

and great monsters of the depths, although our seven seas together are but a teardrop in the dry, dark

ocean of the beyond. There they endure, drunk on power, bitter with impotence – curdling in the malefic

nightmare of their own existence.”

– Caledor Dragontamer, “Prophecies of Despair”

In the Warhammer Universe Chaos, in its purist form, refers to the dominant force of the Aether –

otherwise known as the Sea of Souls or the Realm of Chaos. The Realm of Chaos is an otherworldly

dimension in which thoughts and emotions are made manifest. Logic does not apply as magic, thoughtand emotion are the cornerstones to creation. Extreme emotions of certain similar form eventually

coalesce into even greater beings, which for the most common of these extreme emotions achieve

greater heights still until the point of godhood. The four most malevolent and greatest of these are

known as the Chaos Gods.

These terrible entities wage a never-ending war or a “Great Game” over the lifeblood of irrational

emotions that serves to propagate them; souls. Thus the uncorrupted of the mortal world live in


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constant fear of a hell that is both frighteningly real and of their own making. The threat of Chaos is

universal and omnipresent across all civilizations and cultures of the Warhammer World, for all Chaos

gods are united in the destruction of all organized society. Worse still, unlike the world-threats of the

scheming Skaven or the belligerent Orcs, whose danger waxes and wanes, Chaos is an issue that only

grows stronger with every iteration. Once singular nations could fend off a Chaos assault; now it takes

entire coalitions, and even those aren’t guaranteed.

To fight Chaos is to fight an enemy that wages war on every level. From without, hordes of primal

Beastmen backed by legions of tough Northmen dominate the melee, ambushing and overpowering

their foes through brute force. Powerful Daemon enhanced Chaos Dwarf artillery can blow holes

through even the most stalwart fortification, while monsters beyond description inflict untold damage.

From within the enemy of Chaos must deal with temptation of all manner designed to corrupt and

subvert the enemy, organized often by nefarious cults. These cults serve to rot and ultimately destroy

the host from within. Yet the greatest threat comes from neither within or without, but beyond; the

terrifying creatures of the Aether known as the Daemons. The Forces of Chaos are a terrible threat

upon their world, and are overall the most powerful faction of the setting. In their entire historyChaos has only been delayed, never defeated in a lasting manner. It’s a cancer that can only be put in

remission temporarily, not cured. Led by the Lord of the End Times the Forces of Chaos stand to see the

destruction or corruption of all that is good,

orderly, and just.

““You can never harden yourself, not

completely. Perhaps against orcs, or goblins, or

troops from another country. Chaos, though… it

never loses its power to knot a man’s gut. So if

you feel fear, do not think yourselvesinadequate. I have heard much talk of Chaos,

but from my experience of it, it is pure

wrongness given solidity and clothed in flesh. It

terrifies us, because it is everything that should

not be. If you do not feel dread, when you see a

thing like we just saw, that is the time to

question yourself. Because then you know that

madness has taken you completely.” –

Franziskus, Liar’s Peak


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“Moving between realities was a sickening shock. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. As the creature glided

through the state immaterial – the very rawness of Chaos – Archaon felt a wave of indescribable intensity

come over him. It was as though he had hit a wall of pain, of pleasure, of possibility – but had passed

through it. He fought for control of his body and soul. His mind cried out both for relief and for more. He

felt lost and as if he did not know himself, yet had never known himself or his place in the world better.

Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He struggled to control his bowels and choked back the necessity of

vomiting in his helmet. Experiencing the crude power of ruin – uncrafted and without purpose – was a

dreadful feeling that both excited and appalled his every sense and shattered the very core of his being. It

felt like he had died.

If Dorghar had intended such an overwhelming experience to unsettle and ultimately unsaddle its rider, the

dread beast was disappointed. Bathing the Chaos warlord in the searing certainty of the unknown had not

broken him. Ar chaon did not clutch his helm in immaterial agony. He did not slip from the monster’s back

in a warped daze. He did not scream his sanity away. With his good eye, Archaon saw things that were not

meant to be seen in the howling blaze of the polar gateway. Far below – if such a thing still existed for

Archaon and the steed – predacious daemons, entities of the beyond and monstrous personifications,


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hungered for the fragility of his soul. They were a horror removed. Ever warping. Ever waiting. Ever

wanting. Archaon understood how such sights could drive a man to madness and shatter his reason.

Archaon, however, was more than a man. He saw the impossibility of worlds connected like no one else.

He could not only see what fear-feasting daemons and the Ruinous Powers of the otherworldly realm

wanted him to see; with the darksight of his ruined eye he saw light where there was shadow. Perversities

twisted themselves into a contorted sense. The burning certainty of his gaze lit the way to truths that

commonplace dread refused to acknowledge. With the Eye of Sheerian he saw even more. The sorcerous

gem burned bright in his helm, granting the Chaos warlord sights of dread wonder. The Eye revealed the

daemons and their abyssal masters to be living corruptions. Realizations of the mortal condition. Self-

determining entities, spawned and living out their unnatural existence in a stormy maelstrom of dark vision

and emotion. They were the architecture of purest intention, draped in an otherworldy flesh formed of

hope, of fea r and of the unbearable, myriad states inbetween.” – Archaon: Lord of Chaos

It is fitting to start the Chaos profile with the deities they worship, the gods. These five figures, though

four of primary importance, have existed almost since time immemorial, waging war against each other

in a never-ending “Great Game”. Such is their power that they are stuck in an endless cycle of conflict,for even if three allied against the fourth they would not be able to destroy the last. Any of the four

attempting to assault the stronghold of the other realms would find the innermost sanctum

unassailable, with labyrinths, terrible plagues and seductions of all manners serving to completely

whittle down the enemy force. Khorne's solution is simple; when enemy daemons reach his Citadel he

simply gets up off his throne and battles, being far too skilled to ever be beaten in a contest of martial

might.

To that end they are united, however loosely, in the goal of corrupting the lands of mortals for it is both

a source of souls and champions with which to bolster their performance in the Great Game, and the

wellspring from which the emotions they are formed of first coalesce. For example those taken by

Nurgle's plagues further his power in the Realm of Chaos, while great bloodletting feeds Khorne. Great

territorial gains in the Realm of Chaos follow gains in the physical plane.

However the Chaos Gods themselves are too bound to the Aether plane to manifest in the mortal realm

in all (with an exception to be discussed later). To carry out their wars, both in the Realm of Dreams

and Real Space, the gods create daemons. Each Daemon is a splinter of his divine master, a distorted

reflection of mortal yearning, a shard of emotion and dark desire given form and license to destroy.

They are the god’s children and see their very existence as a need to fulfill their creator’s wishes.

While Khorne’s daemons don’t care and are single-minded in their bloodletting the other daemon

variants do not see themselves as malevolent but benevolent, a reflection of the greatest being inexistence. To them the forced change/diseases/torture they inflict on people is literally the best gift

they can give, and are often perplexed that the mortal does not care to accept their gifts. However even

in the cases where they come to realize just how harmful their gifts are to mortals they show no signs of

caring and continue to inflict suffering anyway.


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"What are we? Your scholars claim we exist only to tempt you, yet in a very real way we are

you! We are your own fears, your own desires, your own ambition and rages given form (if not

flesh). How can you fight us? Only by fighting your own humanity and why would you want that?

You would be fighting against life itself! For what is Chaos but life? "

-Pg 20, Old War Bestiary

“" Daemons

can only enter

the mortal

world if

sustained by

magic. While

magic flows, a

Daemon is nigh

unstoppable...

Thus are

battles within

the Realm of

Chaos, where

magic suffuses

every particle

of dust and air,

ceaseless and

interminable -- if indeed they can be determined at all. Yet when the Daemons spill over into the mortal

plane, their power waxes and wanes with the Winds of Magic, making them highly unpredictable foes. A

daemonic host can vanish on the cusp of victory, cast back into the Realm of Chaos as its sustaining

magic fades. Conversely, a Daemon army can be whittled away to almost nothing, only to come back

stronger and fiercer than ever when the Winds of Magic howl. "- From Daemon 8e Codex

As tiny fragments of their master Daemons are less tied to the Warp, and thus are able to exist on the

material plane for a time. A Daemon's corporal form is fueled by both the Winds of Magic (which areinvisible currents of magical energy that flow across the Warhammer world) and its ability to spread

the attributes of their kind. In the case of the former a Daemonic Host will struggle greatly to sustain

themselves if the Winds are a gentle of breeze, or conversely receive regeneration buffs if the Winds

are blowing at a Tempest. In some instances Winds of Magic have suddenly ceased mid-battle and

allowed a mortal army a quick victory. Greater Daemons can serve as ‘anchors’ on reality that allow


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other daemons to exist freely while they exist, such is their dread presence, however even they can fade

or diminish with the winds.

Daemonic durability varies widely depending on the winds. For example in one battle where the winds

were blowing fierce and Nurgle was the dominant god (more on that later) Plaguebearers, the most

durable type of the basic daemons, required 5 halberdiers per 1 of their kind or grapeshot to reliablydestroy and many could even heal from cannon (round) shot. Likewise daemons when the winds are low

can fall as easily as any mortal. Assuming average winds, neither high nor low, the daemon is still more

durable than mortals and is going to require 2-3x more ammo and much more hacking to destroy.

Furthermore Daemons can boost their own durability by spreading their attributes among mortals- for

example Plaguebeaers that spread plague and Bloodletters that shed blood can boost their individual

hold on reality.

In the End Times (or the portion of the campaign where magic has now saturated the campaign area

enough) daemons lose their inherent instability, now able to exist freely on the mortal plane for great

periods of time. Though their durability is still bound separately to the winds they will usually not

disappear entirely when the winds are low, only become easier to kill. However even in those conditions

daemons cannot exist forever and will disappear eventually.

Like the gods they serve, daemons are magical creatures that cannot be permanently killed except in

the most extraordinary circumstances*. Instead when a mortal destroys their physical form they kill

their connection to the physical realm, forcing them back to the Realms of Chaos. There they must

wait many years before they can manifest again in the mortal realm (Greater Daemons, the most

powerful of Daemonkind, have to wait a hundred), thus counting in a sense as a mortal victory, albeit a

temporary one. There are ways for a daemon to come back sooner however this requires exhaustive

ritual and many components on the part of the daemon’s mortal followers.

* The only known way to destroy them so completely is to destroy both their physical form and block their connection to the Realm of Chaos

so their soul dissipates into nothing. Exceptionally powerful magical weapons, a daemon consuming another or the like are generally

required.


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Daemons are being

that exist in more

dimensions then

normal mortals do

thus greatly

enhancing their

sensory perception.

They can actually

“see” and detect

the emotions of

almost all mortals

(save possibly the

most mentally

strong), and the

degree of it. For

example they can

“see”, even “taste”

fear and would be

able to tell whether

it’s faint or near the

point of utter

horror (these senses

in quotations are

the closest human

analogies to what

daemons actually

feel, but they are

not quite accurate;

daemons claim their

real senses are

supposedly beyond mortal comprehension). In addition they have a unique perception of time, with

some daemons being able to tell a mortal’s past and possible future history, or even view a line all the

way back for hundreds of generations.

In the novel Hour of the Daemon, the lead protagonist has a daemon subtly pour more and more of its

essence inside him, cumulating in total possession. During this time he is able to see the world as that

Daemon sees it, to see the various shades of corruption and the perception of the Daemon itself.

Archaon, when he received a mutation in the form of a Warpstone eye that allowed him to see the


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world as a daemon does, could actively see the emotions of his enemies. Soo too could the Daemon

Prince Sutvenwulf.

“Nor were the people unaffected by this sudden change. Boys transformed into imps, their eyes alight with

mischief, their mouths revealing needle-sharp teeth, their hands becoming elongated claws whose barbed tips

dripped with fresh blood. Merchants grew ratlike, their features extending, and their eyes growing small and

shifty, their fine coats turning into thin, oily fur. The labourers grew more oafish, their features slackening and

growing coarse, thick hair sprouting from every patch of skin, their eyes glazing red.

It was a scene from a nightmare, and Alaric started as it washed over him. Only he and Dietz seemed

unchanged, and his friend was still glancing around without apparent concern.

I am imagining this, Alaric thought; the after-effects of that fever, and of obsessing over the mask and those

bloody marks for so many days already. My mind is playing tricks upon me, that is all.

But somehow he could not quite believe that. What he was seeing was too real. He could hear the whickers

andgrunts from the labourers, the hissing and chittering of the merchants, the cackles of the boys, the hiss and

pop of the flames. He could feel an oily residue upon his skin from the air, and the hard sharp edges of the

stones beneath his feet. The air that filled his lungs was smoky and oily, and tinged with the coppery smell of

blood and the too-sweet smell of decay.

This was real. Dietz couldn't see it, but it was real, and he was in it.

Nor were the people unaffected by this sudden change. Boys transformed into imps, their eyes alight with

mischief, their mouths revealing needle-sharp teeth, their hands becoming elongated claws whose barbed tips

dripped with fresh blood. Merchants grew ratlike, their features extending, and their eyes growing small and

shifty, their fine coats turning into thin, oily fur. The labourers grew more oafish, their features slackening and

growing coarse, thick hair sprouting from every patch of skin, their eyes glazing red.

It was a scene from a nightmare, and Alaric started as it washed over him. Only he and Dietz seemed

unchanged, and his friend was still glancing around without apparent concern.

(…)

The other interesting thing Alaric noticed was that these elves were exactly as they seemed. The woods around

them possessed a strange layer of shadowy images, not quite like the terrible apparitions he had been seeing

of late, but as if there were more here than normally appeared. When he looked at the elves, even when he let

his mind slip into the half-trance state that he had discovered brought forth the visions more clearly, he saw

only them, without distortion. If he was seeing Chaos, overlaid upon the world, the elves were not touched by it

in any way. They were wholly their own creatures, and beholden to none.

(….)

Alaric had a brief flash, similar to the visions that had been plaguing him of late, but with one significant

difference. The land around him was suddenly awash with strangeness: severed limbs and shattered skulls, and

puddles of what might be blood or other bodily fluids adorning the ground; a strange film, coating the rocks

and dirt, like filth solidified or grease left to cool; clouds roiling overhead, forming lurid images before

breaking apart. The mercenaries Alaric saw scattered around the camp became larger and more brutish,

revealing their inner lust for violence. Lankdorf had tendrils of mist curling around him, as did Dietz. Alaric

suspected they were vestiges of


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their previous encounters with Chaos, showing that they had been marked, not by choice, but by proximity.

Kleiber and Wilcreitz were different. They had no Chaos taint to them, quite the opposite. Whereas the elves had

looked no different to Alaric's strange vision, the two witch hunters glowed, a pure white light limning their

faces and figures. The light was bright, but not blinding, and Alaric found it strangely comforting, even though

it made his head throb painfully. He also realised that Kleiber had been right about Wilcreitz; whatever

personality flaws the junior witch hunter might have, his intentions were pure, and he did indeed carry Sigmar's

blessing.

(…)

Coarse black hair, tightly matted, covered his entire body, which had grown in girth if not in height, but Alaric

could see that the fur actually contained thousands of tiny barbs that caught at the creature's flesh whenever it

moved, causing rivulets of blood to constantly gush all over his body. The beastman's nose expanded to fill

much of its face, and its eyes were small, and glowed with malevolence. Its body was outlined in a deep red

that flickered and oozed around it, as if blood had spurted forth and then clung to it like a halo. Alaric knew

that was the Chaos taint that infused and surrounded the creature, but the knowledge did nothing to make the

scene less terrifying.

Then he saw something else, a dark shape coiled within the massive beastman, a tendril of black and deepest

red that writhed and twisted as he watched. It resembled a snake, though one formed from smoke and blood,

and fire and darkness. In its elongated jaws, between its many fangs, it held a battered crown.

Alaric somehow knew what he was seeing. This was the beastman... no, the beastlord's hatred and rage. Its

leadership had been stripped away, and that gnawed at it.” - Hour of the Daemon


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“Looking with his daemonsight, Sutenvulf could sense the emotions that swirled across

the bloodied glacier: the rage of the champions of Khar; the fear of the Imperial Knights

as the daemon prince swept towards them; the loathing of the weakling Sigmarite priest

who hid behind the armour-clad horsemen; the ferocious, instinctual blood-thirst of the

beastmen who hacked and slashed at the halberdiers protecting the Imperial

clergyman.” - Claws of Chaos


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“As he spoke, the images swirling across her field of vision began to make more sense. She saw the origin

of the materials that surrounded her, the age of the metals and the stories behind them. Such stories were

imprinted into the matter of them, scored across the face of the world and stained in time. The iron in the

shaft above her had come from a mine deep under the Worlds Edge Mountains. Even now, it screamed at

the perversion around it. The world itself resisted her, knowing her for what she was. The world, however,was old and tired, and she was as young and vital as a flame.

Everything had a story imprinted on it. That was the ultimate truth. There was nothing in the

cosmos but stories, some given form, some just fleeting shadows. The men before her were stories,

unfolding through time, weaving in and out of possibilities like carp amongst weeds.”-Sword of

Vengeance

“As the horror followed the blade everywhere it went and the torso and legs of Grand Master Schroeder

fell to one side, Kastner suddenly realized that his eye was firmly shut. He was a raging bonfire, blinding

in the darkness he threw across the stinging purity of the temple sanctuary. Blotted out by the brightnessof the cathedral walls and the holy ground upon which they charged, the knights of Sigmar caught the full

glare of Kastner’s burgeoning malevolence and cast shadows of light – some blazing with the pious

nobility of their hearts, some long and sallow with the doubt and dark secrets they hid deep within

themselves. Kastner saw through their plate and the armor of their souls. He read them like heretical

texts: their hopes, their needs, their flaws and their fears. He knew what they were going to do to him

before they did and he killed them for it.” – Archaon: Everchosen


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The following dawn the crimson sky was filled with rain, so that it seemed as the air itself cried

blood. Each drop falling upon dragon scale and link of armour rang as if blade against blade. Every

sliding droplet screeched like metal torn or throat slit. As the shower became a downpour, Aenarion and Indraugnir were surrounded by the din of battle, the arrhythmic clashing and

wailing overlapping to form words bellowed so fiercely that Aenarion feared for his hearing.

‘Begone!’ he shouted.

‘Foolish mortal!’ the voice roared in return. ‘Think you to turn war against its makers?

We will feed upon every blow you land, every drop of blood shed, every bone broken and every

skull severed. In battle we were born and for battle we exist. The ringing of your sword shall be

a clarion to us, and in hosts uncountable we will fight you. For each of us you fell, another shall

be born, into war unending, battle without cease to the end of the world and the universe beyond.’

‘The dead do not feed,’ laughed Aenarion. ‘When you are slain you shall feast no more

upon violence and rage. Cold shall be your deaths, for I will be heartless and pitiless, though my

rage shall outmatch yours.’


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‘The beasts of war cannot be vanquished! Great may be your fury, yet the harder you fight,

the stronger we shall become. There is not a blade forged by man or god that does not belong to us.

Every life you take shall be a life dedicated to us and your victories will be as hollow as your

defiance.’” - Aenarion

Khorne, currently the most powerful god, is the god of war, hate, violence, rage and bloodlust. Every

act of killing empowers him, with the most senseless acts feeding him the most. It is fitting perhaps that

in his realm the Blood God sits upon a mighty throne of brass rooted atop a vast mountain of skulls.

Khorne’s armor-clad body is broad and muscular, his visage that of a fierce and snarling dog with

ravaged lips. When the Blood God speaks, he does so in bellows of black rage, each guttural syllable

igniting the air in tainted sparks. The Blood God is the only god who ever, if rarely, personally intervenes

in the War among the Gods (fortunately he is too powerful to manifest on the mortal planes even at the

height of the first Daemonic Incursion).

Khorne's foremost rival Chaos God is Slaanesh, the two gods' powers coming from two diametrically

opposed concepts. Khorne demands self-sacrifice and bloodshed for its own sake, whereas Slaaneshembodies self-indulgence, and bloodshed is merely one of a multitude of ways of exploring new

experiences. However, it must be noted that Khorne's followers do not act in order to cause pain

because pain, as a counterpart of pleasure, is the domain of Slaanesh. Instead, while the followers of

Khorne may express Khorne's rage, they wish only to kill so that the blood and skulls of their victims

strengthen Khorne. The fact that the suffering and excess of this conflict also strengthens Slaanesh

causes conflict between the two.

Among Daemons Khorne’s most stereotypically resemble the Daemons we imagine today. They often

have cloven hooves, are blood red, have terrible bloodlust and driven to slaughter any that they can

find.

His mortal warriors

are the greatest of

all Warriors of

Chaos when it

comes to fighting

and iron

determination.

Indeed they are so

renowned for their

fighting and

bloodlust that

other allies are

fearful of them, for the followers of Khorne are renowned for killing other followers of Chaos and

even each other if nothing else is available. If they believe Khorne has a specific purpose for them they


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can constrain themselves just long enough to meet the enemy- though even this is difficult. There on

the battlefield they turn into a roaring, unmanageable mass of flesh and steel, hitting enemy lines like

the fist of Khorne. However, as Khorne hates sorcery, he will never have any sorcerers in his army.


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"The Blood God is often the most terrifying threat to those who have faced Chaos in Norsica or the Chaos

Wastes beyond. The Drinker of Souls, after all, makes his followers powerful and fearless in battle. Yet

those favored by Great Decay are perhaps more dangerous to the common folk of the Empire, for the

diseases of Chaos cannot be fought by strength of arms alone. The Despoiler, also, is greatly

underestimated; those in power who dismiss its seductive cults are but one step closer from being

absorbed by them, and giving much of the strength of the Empire to the Dark Powers. None of these

three is truly the most deadly threat to us though. That is the Changer of Ways. He has not the

destructive power of the gore drenched dog, nor the devastating plagues of the rotted one, nor the

insidious temptations of the harlot's lord but he has a willingness to wait that belies his chaotic nature.

Fight the machinations of the others however you can, but watch always for the hand of Tzeentch, for he

has been waiting since time immemorial for us to make one mistake, and the moment we do, we are lost

forever. "

--Old World Bestiary, pg 10-11

“You are not fate,’ he roared, though whether they were his words or Ulric’s, he didn’t know. ‘You are its

slave, as are we all.’ Frost swirled about his clenched fingers. ‘You are but the merest shard of a mad,

broken dream. A cackling, senile shadow which schemes against itself because it is too myopic to

recognize the wider cosmos.’ -Gregor Martak, Lord of the End Times

Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, is the Chaos god of sorcery, change, and manipulation. Tzeentch is

closely associated with sorcery and magic, as well as dynamic mutation, and grand, convoluted

scheming. The domains of history, destiny, intrigue and plots are his chief interests, and in pursuit of

these aspects he listens to the dreams and hopes of all and watches their plans take form. He is not

content to merely observe, however, and chooses to interfere in the skeins of fate in order to fulfill his

own, unknowably complex schemes. Tzeentch is known by an endless multitude of names, but the chief

titles he bears are the Changer of the Ways, the Master of Fortune, the Great Conspirator and the

Architect of Fate. Tzeentch embodied magic, ambition, knowledge, and hope.

His great mortal enemy is Nurgle, for the lord of decay embodies the resistance to death and

hopelessness, while Tzeentch is hope and change. The two daemons are somewhat opposite on the field

with Nurgle loving close quarters plague troops while Tzeentch’s are ranged sorcerers using cunning

rather than large charges of diseased troops.


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Though the followers of

Tzeentch are the least

numerous of the chaos gods

they are by far the most

ambitious. Among the chaos

cultists they are usually

scholars, visionaries,

revolutionaries, sorcerers or

great schemers who plot

monumental change among

the world. An example

appears in Taint of Evil,

where ambitious rulers

seeking to create a new city

(‘Sigmarghest’) for a new

world were eventually

manipulated to changing for

change’s sake rather than

progress. Other times they

are the desperate, the sly or

the slighted; however these

are only his willing followers.

Of all the gods Tzeentch is

most likely to have

“pawns”- knowing or

unknowing- to do his work

through subtle action.

Sometimes these pawns are

those who directly try to

work against them but end

up as part of the schemer god’s ineffable plans. Among the Warriors themselves Chaos are likewise the

least numerous but the most magically spectacular. Their wizards are some of the greatest on the planet

and the force is sometimes described as mutating before their opponent’s very eyes!


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Tzeentchi daemons are,

rather fittingly, divided up

sort of like a chess game.

The basic units, the Horrors,

are considered pawns to

those above them (Heralds)

who in turn are considered

bishops to those above

them and so on. The ones at

the top, the Lords of

Change, are incredibly

deceitful and cunning

creatures with schemes

spanning millennia.

'Existence is like a stream in motion,' the figure standing behind Malador said in a voice that was assoft as thunder and as harsh as silk. 'It ripples and twists and bubbles and babbles. It is everything and it

is nothing. Within that stream, there are hunters and there is prey. Can any mind ever truly know which

role it is called upon to play in any given moment? Only foolish mortals are so certain that they know

their place in the confusion that is everything and nothing.' The voice was at once both amused and

perplexed by what it considered the paradox of ignorance. 'It is the foolish who think they understand. It

is the wise who know that they never will.'

Malador turned toward the source of the terrible voice, the voice that was at once sweet and bestial.

The shape was no longer so very much like Belithi now, for it had swelled to something of mammoth size,

its face had twisted into a sharp beak of bone. Thousands of eyes had opened all about its form, of everyshape and colour, as were the feathers that covered its wings. The entire shape seemed to glow with an

every changing inner illumination.

'There is only one constant, even within Chaos,' the monster declared. It extended its hand, stabbing

its finger at Malador. The elf did not have time to scream as his bones twisted, as his flesh swelled. New

limbs grew and collapsed, extra mouths opened and screamed before bursting apart as they transformed

into wet gleaming organs. The elf's body was gripped by a fit of uncontrolled metamorphosis and

transformation, ripping itself apart even as it shifted between an idiot legion of forms and shapes.

'The only constant,' the daemon laughed as its body faded into the wind, 'is Change.' – Wind of

Change


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“The Lord of All enjoys the songs, the chanting of children at play, holding hands and dancing around.

They sing of flowers, of his plagues that sweep through the land and the ashes of bodies burned. They

celebrate this life of death, for he is both the cause of their suffering and he who would save them from

it. He defines the times with the pain and fear he brings into mortal lives. Though they would not know it,

they sing and dance to the tune of the Great Pestilence’s calling.

He takes so many souls in this way. Like the harvest, they are weighed and measured. They are his tithe.

His reward for the architecture of agony that is his contribution to their mortal failing.” - Archaon :

Everchosen

Nurgle, the Plague Lord, is the Chaos god of disease, despair, decay, and Death. He also feeds off of

emotions that leads to despair, such as horror, revulsion, denial, desperation, etc. His titles include the

Fly Lord, Great Corruptor, Master of Pestilence, Lord of Decay and represents morbidity, despair,disease and physical corruption. He is described as a huge, fat, plox infected, creature with antlers and a

grotesque body. He is considered the most "friendly" of the chaos gods, for he is the only god to ‘care’

about those who follow and worship him. His personality is considered Joyful, kind, and happy, in

demeanor.


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His main

enemy is

Tzeentch, the

Lord of

Change,

because the

Changer of

Way's rapid

change and

hope is the

antithesis of

slow decay

and despair.

Nurgle’s

daemons are

usually very

bloated and

disease

infested,

speculated by some to be intentionally designed this way to provoke revulsion, fear and disgust upon

sight. With some exceptions they are also surprisingly friendly and naturally eager to spread diseases.

They also have some interesting personality traits for each variant, like how Beasts of Nurgle are friendly

to a fault, Plaguebeaerers tally up every disease in existence, and Great Unclean Ones view themselves

as benevolent leaders and their followers as children.

Nurgle’s mortal followers are, like the daemons, disease infested and bloated.Though the slowest ofthe Chaos forces, they are the most durable and are almost immune to pain and discomfort. Their

hordes can usually be smelt before seen, and March alongside uncounted terrible fat-bodied plague

flies. Though the basic footsoliders are usually grim, the champions of Nurgle are remarkably ebullient,

cheerfully spreading “gifts” to any and all of the non-afflicted. Indeed they will actively seek out any


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disease they can find to infest themselves with it.

Nurgle is the god of despair who loves to inflict hopelessness among mortals. The despair of one getting

older and realizing they no longer have the vibrancy of youth, the angst of one who has an incurable

disease or is dealing with the slow prospect of death. Thus unlike the other gods, who mostly rely on

worshippers coming to them, Nurgle actively tries to bring worshippers to him with his diseases..

Eventually the most desperate beg him for relief, which Nurgle usually provides in a fashion. While he

would never cure them of diseases, he does ensure they are free from pain, and sometimes stronger.

Eventually they will even come to love the state they are in. Under these circumstances the inflicted

come to realize that their only purpose in life is to decay, a revelation that they then joyfully try to

spread unto others.

It is often assumed in Warhammer that the sick and plagued are either touched by Nurgle or are hisservants. This is false. Though physical and mental decay may ravage their bodies and their spirits may

be battered by the ordeal, the sick are not corrupted by Nurgle. They may be depressed and saddened

by their predicament but in order to truly give in to Nurgle they must give into Despair. This is defined,

in Liber Chaotica, as ‘the complete and total abandonment of hope, the rejection of the fairs of the

world outside of one’s miserable state, and the bizarre determination to hold on to one’s abject

bitterness, regardless of circumstance”. It is a willful act in which the afflicted individual deliberately and


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willfully forgoes any possibility of salvation, change or hope. It is a personal choice that falls in Item 4 of

the corruption sheet.

As discussed above in the Plague section, diseases are Nurgle’s primary mechanism inflict such crippling

despair.

“Take care, lest your protests grow tiresome. I have asked for so little! Anyone would think that I have

asked you to sacrifice yourselves and your sons! And yet, in Slaanesh's boundless and pleasing mercy, I

have asked only for your daughters. Surely you would not deny me my small enjoyment s?”

“ Then a cloud passed over the face of the sun, and the Prince spoke again, His voice both syrup and

poison: “You will take Pleasure in all that is, though your bodies will break and your souls be forfeit. You


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will do this, and do this gladly. For I am Slaanesh, most jealous of gods, most demanding of lovers, and

My Thirst for you shall never be sated.“ – Liber Chaotica

Slaanesh, the Dark Prince, is the Chaos God(ess?) of Pleasure, Passion, and Decadence. Lust, pride and

self-indulgence are the hallmarks of all who follow him. Slaanesh can assume any form; male, female,

hermaphrodite or asexual; when looked upon by a mortal Slaanesh takes the form of the sex of theirdesire. Slaanesh is the core rival of Khorne who he considers his opposite. Slaanesh is the embodiment

of all that mortal’s long for.

Slaanesh is the Lord of Pleasure, the Dark God dedicated to the pursuit of earthly gratification and the

overthrow of all decent behavior, as well as hedonism and pleasure for its own sake. He is the God of

Obsession, the Master of Excess in All Things, from gluttony to lust to megalomania. Wherever mortals

are ruled by their own unquenchable desires, the Dark Prince of Chaos is there in the shadows,

whispering, tempting, and feasting on a banquet of souls. But this is true in all things, not just carnal

pleasures. Those who desire to indulge in the finest culinary delights, the most beautiful artworks, even

the most sensual clothing, could all be amongst Slaanesh’s disciples.

Just as importantly, Slaanesh is also the god of perfection. The singer striving for the most beautiful song

or the warrior who seeks the perfect fighting techniques, both could be devotees of Slaanesh.It is for

these reasons that Slaanesh gains power somewhat from what his compatriots do . While this is not

quite as much a gain as the other Chaos Gods, it is enough to cause apprehension among his brothers

who fear that even though Slaanesh is the weakest god now that he might surpass them all one day.

In the North these warriors who turn to him often seek power, women or fame. Gradually as they dive

deeper they are more and more consumed by pride, arrogance and excess of all sorts even as they

attract more and more followers through otherworldly charisma and majesty. As they get more jaded

they lose any care they ever had for their followers except as a means to hear praise (for thesechampion’s ego is incredibly inflated) or as a means to carry

out their most depraved act. Ironically the more uncaring

the Slaaneshi champion becomes, the greater his aura

drives followers to greater feats of loyalty and sacrifice.

Warriors of Slaanesh are known for their incredible grace

and marvelous attire. Each warrior has numerous sigils and

tattoos, have polished and often colored armor, and are

draped in delicate silk. . In order to induce the most

sensation, these are held together by terrible iron hooksthat dig into the flesh to cause agony. Their combat skill is

second only to those followers of Khorne, and their

enjoyment in battle stand above all other Chaos followers.

The Followers of Slaanesh can be truly said to live in the

moment or at least that is what they would say. Others

would call them extremely whimsical and fickle. To them


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the tedious business of discipline, of maintenance, and essentially any task that results in fearful

boredom is beneath them. They are creatures of passion who want to feel and experience all and cannot

be entrapped by monotonous routine. However as creatures of passion, they might experience great

bursts of creative energy, seeking perfection in a chosen art for a period that briefly surpasses even

those veterans of the art. It is because of this that the armor they take to the battlefield is usually

exceptionally well made, clean, and beautiful (if menacing) to look at. Even then however after

growing bored of battle the mortal followers of Slaanesh will often discard their beautiful weaponry and

armor to pursue other, more indulgent pursuits, leaving them to rust.

Slaanesh’s

daemons are

usually extremely

varied in shape

and based on the

whims of what

Slaanesh was

dreaming of at the

time. However as

a common feature

all are lithe and

quick, possessing a

superhuman

agility that few

humans can

match. They are

torturers who take great pleasure in killing the enemy in excessively gruesome or terrible ways. If the

opportunity presents itself they may take a mortal captive and torture him for years.


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A minor god compared to the other four, Hashut’s aspect is associated with tyranny, greed, fire and

hatred. Hashut is the god worshipped exclusively by the Chaos Dwarves. Long ago during the Great

Cataclysm when Chaos first burst onto this world, the Chaos Dwarves were nearly utterly destroyed.

Only through a pact with Hashut were they able to survive. In the civil war that followed (for not allwelcomed this betrayal of the ancestor gods) Hashut gifted his Dwarves the ability to use magic and

terrible devices, and as a result the civil war was won for his side. In return for their pact, the Dawi Zhar

(seemingly his only servants) sacrifices thousands horribly each day.

The Growth of the Four Main Gods and the Horned Rat can be considered to akin as a wild fire- big

unchecked growths with the tendency to quickly diminish. Meanwhile Hashut’s growth is slow and

steady but persistent, the rumble of incoming industry on the move. He has no daemons, no ascended


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princelings nor hope for life ever after; for on death Hashut consumes his Chaos Dwarf servants as

assuredly as everything else, reminiscent of the soul-crushing drive to industry that he represents.

==FORCES OF CHAOS==

Brief History of Beastmen (of the Old World)

The origin of the Beastman lies in that pivotal moment when Chaos first entered the world from thegreat stargates of the Old Ones. It did not do so subtly but rather with the largest of the proverbial

bangs. Virtually every race on the planet was simultaneously assaulted by daemons and other dark

things. While Lizardmen, High Elves and Dwarves battled the horde of otherworldly predators the widely

common and diverse race of man was left to its own devices. These were terrifying times for man, for

this was well before even the ancient empires of Khmeri and Cathay had come into being. With no such

institution, with no protection from the fully occupied elder races, mankind had no hope of stopping

Chaos’s dark intentions.

It occurred in the forests throughout the globe as raw chaos permeated everywhere. The malign magics

of Chaos warped these inhabitants of these forests, as well as animal and plant life, with each iteration.Weird calls echoed throughout the wilds and terrible, unspeakable processes were enacted in the

depths of the jungle. The primitives of the regions, all of them, and beasts were somehow mated, the

process of thousands of years of evolution somehow rapidly occurring over a process of years. And in

that Time of Darkness man became beast, and beast became man.

From this point, even though Beastmen are clearly almost everywhere, only the history of the Beastman

in the Old World is well known. For many millennia the Beastmen of the area of what would be called

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the Empire ruled virtually unimpeded, with

only the occasional tussle with High

Elves/Dwarves, races that kept primarily to

the mountains or coasts. Man lived in fear

of what dwelled in the forest- until a legend

with a golden hammer appeared; the

Warrior-God Sigmar. He unified the

disparate man tribes, drove back the

Beastman, and created an Empire that held

dominion over the forest. Ever since then the Beastmen have dreamed of revenge and every Beastman,

from the highest lord to the lowest ungor, longs for a return to the days when Beastmen ruled the forest

without inhibition. This hatred has only grown since mankind's civilizations have advanced and his

achievements grew.

For the most part the influence of the Beastman has been widespread but under localized leadership,

for much of the Old World is in their forested domain. However rarely a Beastlord of particularlypowerful influence manages to unite vast groups of these fractious tribes. The largest of them, Gorthor,

once devastated two provinces and destroyed both Orcish and Imperial armies. Though ultimately

defeated by returning crusader knights Gorthor once again reminded humanity of their ancestral fear of

the forests.

Even though their single greatest achievement is the near conquest of two provinces out of twelve, it

should be noted that Beastmen are Chaos's frontline troopers, who are never far from the action. They

are one of the few who are both born of chaos and free from its constants at the same time, meaning

their spread is not dictated by any whimsical Winds of Magic. Thus they can fight where daemons

cannot, chase and murder those who are beyond the reaches of the Northern Wastes. They play animportant role in draining the manpower and resources of mortals.

Biology and Culture:

The biology of the beastman depends greatly on the varied subtypes and locations. For example in the

Kingdoms of Ind they are said to be a mixture of tiger and man, in Southlands man and ape (not

including an actual civilization of sentient apes down there) and in Naggrond man and lizard. The

“purest” strain of Beastmen, shown in lands without men in them (South Pole) seems to be half-Beast,

half-Daemon. However the main focus here is on the Old World variant which, even though potential for

great variation exists, can generally be defined as having hooved feet (leading to their nickname "The

Cloven Ones") , bovine heads with a set of horns, and the body of an exceptionally hairy and strong

man. As a rule all variants of beastman tougher and hardier then their human descendants.

“Just past him, an arched doorway broke th e wall, and by craning his neck Dietz could see several tall,

husky figures prowling down the hall beyond. He had seen beastmen before, of course — mostly when their

bodies had been dragged back to Middenheim by bounty hunters and bored guardsmen. He’d even fought

a few since enlisting in that madman Alaric’s service. When he thought of beastmen he pictured those


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creatures: animals that walked upright, bestial men with strangely distorted features and scraps of leather

and cloth for makeshift clothes. Some ha d crude armour they’d clearly ripped from their victims and pieced

back together. Weapons were the same way, crude or stolen and poorly tended.

Not these, however. The creatures stalking past were built like men, except for their long lashing tails, but

moved with the grace of cats, as well they should. Their bodies were covered in striped orange and black

fur, their heads those of tigers, but with more intelligent eyes, their hands tipped with claws, but able to

grasp weapons easily. These beastmen were nothing like he’d imagined. Their armour was clearly

handmade, little more than tooled leather straps holding flat discs of metal and stone in strategic locations,

but handsome and effective. Their weapons were hatchets and short swords, and spears with blades of

glittering black stone and hafts of gleaming wood, far finer than Dietz had imagined beastmen capable of

creating.”

– Day of the Daemon, Tiger Beastmen of Ind

“In the light of the lava, the denizens of this desperate land were revealed to Archaon. Even inthe blackness of the storm, Archaon could make out shapes in the darkness. The movement of

beings. Hundreds of them. Thousands. He was in an undiscovered realm, swarming with

savages. The darklight of his own doom didn’t extend very far in such a place, however. In the

radiance of the crawling rivers of magma, however, Archaon saw that the bleak realm was

overrun with monsters. In the depths of the darkness, in the shrieking swirl and the infernal cold,

Archaon saw beastmen without number. These were not the weakling corruptions of man and

beast he had encountered in the forests of the Empire, nor the savage tribes of animal fury he

had yoked to his warmongering in the Shadowlands. These were daemonbreeds. Diabolical

fusions of fiend, beast and god knows what else. These shaggy beasts were sculptures in

midnight muscle, cloven of hoof and crowned with extravagant tangles of daemon horn. In theember twilight, their gore-smeared snouts and bestial fang-faces were contorted with the base

desires that ruled their monstrous kingdom. On those faces Archaon found his Dark Gods –

rage and the barbaric tribal ambitions it served; the hang-dog suffering of such a wretched

existence and the animal indulgences that served to alleviate the afflictions of both mind and the

flesh. The ruinous drives of all living things were to be found in the swarming hordes of beasts

that plagued the storm-scathed wilderness.” - Archaon Everchosen, Daemonbreeds

In culture the beastman is primitive and adversarial. They gather in tribal gatherings that, at times of

war, extend into larger brayherds. At the top of the tribal hierarchy is the beastlord with his bray-

shaman advisor. Then come the bestigors, followed by the gors, followed by Chaos warhounds, then

finally followed by the Ungors/mutants that exist on the tribal peripheral. As one can imagine for such a

brutal race, life is terrible on the bottom. This is a heavily Darwinist society and Beastmen naturally look

for every advantage- save those that offend the gods (usually) - to enhance their position.

Beastman culture is arguably dominated by two aspects; worship/fear of the gods and hatred of

civilization. As creatures of chaos Beastmen have closeness to the gods that none but the most


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corrupted of men would possess, for they were literally born of it. Mutations among the brayherd shows

that chaos's influence is still common even in this day and age, too. As Chaos is inherently against order,

peace and sanctity it is common for beastmen to deliberately seek out any and all that might

represent such elements to defile and destroy.

“A hundred grovelled before him now, horns lowered in supplication and tails curling up between

their goat legs. Behind them beasts of a purer form waited. These had none of the cursed taint of

humanity about them. They were four-legged and thick-snouted. Vicious horns curled

extravagantly from the thick bones of their skulls, and they bore tusks even bigger than those

carried by the sweet-fleshed but vicious-natured boars which also inhabited the forest.

What was striking about the creatures was not their wholesome animal appearance. It was the

contraptions into which they had been harnessed.

There was something about them which filled Gulkroth with an instinctive, unreasoning rage. A

growl rose unbidden within the depths of his throat as he studied them, and the creatures which

grovelled before him pressed themselves even lower down into the dirt of the forest floor.

Their lord calmed himself, although his feeling of disgust remained. It pained him to see the wild

wood of the forest sawn and sectioned into ordered construction. It pained him even more to see

the wheels. Of all of man’s devices this was one of the most repellent in its precision and

symmetry.

And yet they are useful, Gulkroth thought, forcing himself to reason with the same vicious

persistence with which a man will flog an exhausted horse. If only such noble beasts were not

beholden to them.

He prowled over to where one of the quadrupeds stood between the traces of its chariot. It had a

vicious glint to its eye and the long, chipped horns of an animal that has killed often and well.

Although it weighed perhaps half a ton it whimpered in terror at Gulkroth’s approach.

The lord looked at it, and in that moment the animal fell calm, mesmerized by his awful presence.

Gulkroth turned back to look at the two-legged beasts who cowered before their mounts.

‘Who thought to build these things?’ he asked, the snarl of his voice shredding through the last of

their composure. None answered although slowly, like fleas leaving a corpse, the herd sidled

away to abandon one of their brothers. Soon he was alone in a circle of isolation.

Gulkroth waited for the miserable creature to raise its head. The proud curls of its horns and the

bovine bulges of its muscle were in sharp contrast to its eyes. They darted hither and thither, as

panicked as rats in a cage.


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Then it hit Gulkroth. With an urge that came as suddenly as a flash of summer lightning he

despised the taint of humanity in this creature as much as he despised it in himself. With a

bellow of animal rage he sprang forwards and, disdaining the device of his axe, he seized the

creature’s horns and lifted it from the ground.

It struggled for its survival, all deference gone as it gouged at its lord with sharp hooves.

Gulkroth ignored its pathetic attack as he twisted the head back from the dangling body and took a

deep, tearing bite out of its neck. His teeth sheared through muscle and bone, artery and cartilage,

and e ven as its black blood spurted out over its lord’s face the creature’s head was torn from its

still-struggling body.

Gulkroth licked the blood from his muzzle and turned back to his victim’s cowering brethren.

‘I have seen these things before,’ he growled. ‘Keep them well maintained. When the time comes,

I will hurl you into the enemy and you will smash him. Then we shall all feast on meat even

sweeter than that of our own kind. Do you understand?’

There was an immediate yapping chorus of assent and Gulkrot h, enjoying the taste of their leader’s

blood even as he regretted giving in to the impulse to kill him, turned back to the sprawling anthill

of the main encampment.” -Broken Honour

Nature too is included in this list, for Beastmen are as unnatural as they come. Once found they will

defile these sites however they can whether it is through the base act of defecating everywhere and

trampling over everything to physically tearing it down. As one might expect they engage in basicallyevery concept we would find shameful or repugnant for inhibitions do not exist to them. They are

cannibals all, for they believe that by consuming the flesh of whom they kill they inherit its strength.

Their hatred of civilization, particularly man's, is another key aspect of their culture. Beastmen have

vivid racial memories of the time in which they roamed the planet unhindered and man was just a prey

creature, and want to return things to this way. Cities, Castles, and settlements, all technological

innovations, are all a deep affront to Beastmen, both for they are what

allow man to have such an advantage over their kindred and that they are

naturally an anathema to Chaos, as is all progress. As such they, or at

least the Empire variant, rarely build anything, and even when the Great

Beastman Gorthor ordered them to build battering rams do so his

beastmen revolted as often as possible, and Gorthor was only barely able

to accomplish the task. Since then there is no example of the Beastmen

building anything significant and indeed fighting in large towns or cities

only serves to confuse, disorient and enrage them.

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All Beastmen are capable of Frenzy, a state of mind where they lose all rational thought and blindly

rush the enemy, using everything at their disposal- brute strength, claws, teeth, weapons ect- to kill. In

this state any Beastman that gets in their way is attacked or killed even if this is later regretted. However

it makes them more ferocious in combat, and even more durable than a man, with some able to

sustained truly impressive injuries before getting pulled down.

“A huge beastman, taller than any man, was almost upon him when Richel flicked open the pan again.

He didn’t even wait for the order to give fire but pointed his handgun at the creature’s chest and pulled

the trigger, striking the pan with the glowing fuse.

The creature had its axe lifted up in the air when the blast of Richel’s gun knocked it back. It regained its

balance, unaware that the handgunner’s shot had gone straight through its heart, and took anot her

stride forward, roaring in fury and swinging its axe.

Richel barely had time to see it reappear through the blackpowder smoke—and cursed himself for

missing at such short range—a curse that was cut abruptly short as the creature’s axe caught him under

the chin and split his face open in a spray of snot and blood and gore. It threw the body back into Vostig,

who was desperately trying to clear his barrel.

When the body hit him and Vostig felt the warm slap which he later realised was part of Richel’s scalp on

his cheek, he looked up and saw the striding monster take a step towards him.

The enormous beastman opened its bloody snout and roared, and Vostig realized that there was nothing

he could do to defend himself. He stood paralysed as the great axe lifted high above his head. Holmgar

ran at the creature, screaming at the top of his lungs, and the creature’s attention was diverted for an

instant. It batted Holmgar away, and turned back to Vostig, but Richel’s shot had been true—and as

Vostig stared at the thing that was about to kill him, he saw some strange wave of understanding hit themaddened beast that its time had come.

The creature fell to the floor with a moan of dismay. Its horned head fell at Vostig’s feet and the

handgunner felt a warm sensation running down his legs.” – Forged in Battle

Beastman have a natural skill with ambushing, particularly in the forests. This allows them to outflank

and sometimes surround enemies completely in this arena. However sometimes mistakes are made as

Chaos innovations (even tactics) are very unreliable. They might emerge delayed, find themselves

completely away from the battle or even emerge right in front of an already prepared enemy firing

line!

“He cursed himself, as he finally recognized the ruin he had inadvertently wrought. The orderly column of

soldiers he had led into the Drakwald had devolved into a disorganised mass of men, milling about in a

wild battle beneath the trees. The Drakwald ate men as surely as did the beasts it sheltered beneath its

dark boughs, and staying within sight of one another was the only way of not losing men to the shadows

and false trails that blighted it. Even then it was no sure thing. How many men had he lost to the


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Drakwald over the course of his time as elector count? A thousand? More? How many good men had he

fed unwittingly to the hungry dark?

The forest seemed to press close to either side of the rutted track. The path was a narrow, muddy thing,

barely wide enough for three men to march abreast. There was no space to form lines, no room for a

proper charge. He was suddenly aware of how stifling the silence was, beneath the crash of arms, andhow thick the dark beneath the trees was. It was as if the Drakwald were holding its breath. Unease

strangled his eagerness and he kicked his horse into motion. He needed to restore order, and swiftly.

I hope you’re satisfied, old man, he thought bitterly. You know better! He began to bellow orders as he

rode, trying to shout over the din of battle. In his youth, he’d had one of the best parade-ground voices in

the Empire, but age had dimmed his volume somewhat. The flush of combat was fading from him, and

he felt tired and old. Every joint ached and the runefang felt heavy in his grip, but he didn’t dare sheathe

it. Not now.

The enemy was close. He saw that now, and he cursed himself for not thinking about it earlier. How

often had his men been led into just such an ambush? How often had they done the leading themselves?

He’d allowed his need for vengeance to blind him, and he could feel the jaws of the trap grinding shut

about him.


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A long, winding note suddenly rose from the trees. The sound of it speared through his recriminations

and struck his gut like a fist. He jerked on the reins and turned his horse about, scanning the forest. More

terrible groaning notes slithered between the trees and rose above the canopy, piercing the stillness.

Brayhorns, he knew. The hunting horns of the warherds. Then, with a suddenness which defied reality,

the forest, so still before, was suddenly alive with the sounds of tramping hooves, rattling weapons and

snorting beasts.

Arrows hissed out from between the trees, punching men from their feet. Todbringer yanked his horse

about. He had to reach his men – if they could form a shield-wall, they might manage an organised

defence, long enough perhaps to escape the trap he’d led them into. But even as he galloped back

towards his warriors, the beastmen burst through the trees on all sides at a run, slamming into the

scattered column like a thunderbolt. There were hundreds of them, more than any shield-wall or line of

hastily interposed spears could hold back, and men and horses screamed as they died.

Todbringer howled in rage as he spurred his horse to greater speed. He crashed into the mass of snarling

beasts and the force of the impact sent the foe rolling and squealing as his horse trod on those too slow

to get out of the way. His runefang quivered in his grasp as he swept it out and chopped down on

upraised maws and clutching hands. For a moment he was adrift on a sea of snarling faces, jagged tusks

and rusted blades. He cursed and prayed and screamed, matching them howl for howl, as he hewed

about himself. Blood hung thick on the damp air, and it dripped into his armour and from his beard. Still

they swirled about him, a never-ending tide of bestial fury. He glimpsed his men falling beneath filth-

splotched blades one by one, dragged down and reduced to bloody ruin.” - Lord of the End Times

Contribution to the Legions of Chaos

Thanks to their commonality and extreme numbers, expect Beastmen to a count as a major

percentage of the Chaos force. They are going to be the basic "meat" of such an army, for what they

lack in ranged capability and armor they make up for in numbers, strength, and pure primal fury. They

are hunters, but not of the silent stealthy type, for they are usually incredibly loud and boisterous.

Rather the basic Ungors & Gors excel in surrounding and entrapping their prey, enclosing them in

horrific melee.

Once engaged Bestigors bully their way to the front, the equivalent of beastmen heavy armor.

Minotaurs, ever driven by hunger, rampage amok in the melee. Harpies swoop down and pick out those

that they can, carrying away the enemy weak and injured. All the while Bray-Shamans command from

the rear, empowering their engaged kin or unleashing terrible spells of their own.

Such tactics refer only to the basic beastherd. On the plains fast moving Centigors, Tuskagor and

Razorgor chariots rule the day. Should mass terror be the objective of a beastlord he can take the time

to summon a massive four-armed Ghorghon, a forest giant or insanity inducing Jabberscythe. Cygors will

appear to provide a counter for enemy magic users, who they specialize in hunting. This and more

Beastmen bring to the table, for they are at the forefront of all of Chaos's wars with order.


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History, Groups and Culture

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Northmen is a term that refers to the barbaric tribes of the Chaos Wastes, Norsca and the Eastern

Steppes. They are human, though far surpassing the peoples of the more civilized south in strength

and vigor. Living in the shadow of Chaos, the Northmen are born into the worship of the Gods of Chaos,

and few escape mutation in some form. Unlike the Southerners, those with mutations are looked on as

blessed by the gods, even if said mutations are horrible. Amongst the southern races, the men of the

North are commonly termed as 'marauders', for such is what they do when they take to their long ships

and travel to the coasts of the Empire and beyond.


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Their earliest history has been lost in myth. Perhaps they were peoples who slowly moved north, or

perhaps they had always existed in these realms since the time of the Old Ones. At the very least it is

known that the Elves & Dwarfs fought them in the years prior to the ancient Sundering. Regardless to

the history-keeping figures of the South, it is enough to say that they have always been there, always

raiding and seeking to expand their domination over the Southlands.

Life for these people is always fast and brutal, with individuals over the age of thirty a rarity for the

tribes. They constantly war, if not with the Southerners then with each other and the horrors of their

land. To the men of Chaos, the Chaos Gods are an omnipresent point of their lives. They are entirely

dedicated to them and their service, offering regular prayers in their day to day life. For example raiding

party would naturally play to Tzeentch to guide their path over the oceans, Nurgle so the expedition

does not suffer from stamina problems, Khorne for skill in battle and Slaanesh to ensure the celebration

feast is particularly debauched.

Though many minor groups exist there are three prominent sub-groups for Chaos

THE NORSCANS


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The Norse are a fierce

race who inhabit Norsca

to the far north of the

Old World. Like popularrepresentations of the

Vikings, they are an

exceptionally tall, fair or

red haired, and

powerfully built race of

warriors and are

considered to be the very

epitome of the followers

of Chaos. They sail the oceans of the world in longships (known commonly as 'wolfships' or 'dragonships,

referring to the ornamentation of their prows), raiding and pillaging in the names of the Chaos Gods andfor their own wealth. They are the most likely Chaos Warriors to be found attacking the Empire and

beyond due to their mastery of the sea and their insatiable thirst for battle. They are driven by an

ancient ancestral hatred of all southern races that dates back to the Age of Sigmar.

The Norscans are arguably the most “civilized” of the men of Chaos, having small cities, towns and a law

system that essentially amounts to an “eye for an eye”. Weguild and Blood feuds are common, and

thus the Norse fight almost as much among themselves as against the Southlings. However these are

still laws, showing that the Norse are the most "civilized" of the forces of Chaos, other than the Chaos

Dwarves. Along with the Chaos Dwarves and a few rare tribes they are perhaps the only ones with a

sense of industry, though one only capable of honor. Though savage they do have a system of honor,and will respect enemies who show great strength or fortitude, spurning the weak. Cowards who run

away are shunned and hated in their culture.

In addition the merchant city-state of Marianburg has cultivated trading deals with the Norse that, while

extremely shifty and often resulting in betrayal, has led to some of the Southern Tribes possessing a

degree of civility, willing to hire themselves out as guards, mercenaries and tradesmen so long as the

price is right and the gods are not offended.

THE KURGAN

The Kurgans are a race of dark-skinned nomads native to the Eastern Steppes north of the Dark Landsand Kislev and east of Norsca. The Kurgans are the most numerous race of northmen(with hundreds of

tribes), highly nomadic and equally capable fighters and travelers on horseback and on foot. Due to

their mobility and nomadic lifestyle, they are often the quickest to join a major Chaos incursion, usually

as scouts and outriders followed by larger, main forces. Despite this they are less often seen in the Old

World (both in peacetime and when invading) than the Norse, though Kurgan raids are fairly common in

Kislev. When raiding the Empire, the Kurgans are often allies of one of the Norse tribes. Indeed, the two


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peoples maintain passable relations with each other, though the

Aeslings are known to constantly prey on Kurgan nomads.

The Kurgan are more primitive and savage then the Norse, and

lack even the bare-civilization of those people. So primitive are

they that they usually do not make use of even basic fire andinstead cook meat under their saddles. Unlike the Norse, they are

almost entirely nomadic. They have almost no industry, usually

relying on scavenging or trade with the Chaos Dwarves. However

they are excellent melee combatants, and most tribes compose of

extremely swift riders. They are arguably the most mutated and

inhumane of the three, particularly those that live North of Norsica.

Though they once had a great empire those days are long past and

for the most part the Kurgan spend their time fighting amongst each

other, only rarely invading South (or West/East) when an extremely

powerful chieftain units them.

-TONG

The Tong are an extremely fearsome tribe even by the standards of the Kurgan, whose raids and

incursions into other Kurgan territry always leads to a great exodus of Kurgan into other lands. In fact

they are probably the most feared of all of the peoples of the warriors of chaos. Two times the Tong

nearly wiped the Kurgan from their lands, and in neither case were they defeated conventionally but

instead withdrew mysteriously. Nowadays they are only seen in loose warbands and never appear as

a whole tribe, being elite horsemen and warriors of the Chaos Champions they align with. This tribe is

rumored to be half-daemon, and is more mutated than any other tribe.

THE HUNG

The Hung are an oriental race, shorter and

squatter than the people of Cathay but

otherwise resembling them. The Hung

inhabits the Chaos Wastes to the north of

Cathay and Naggaroth in the New World.

The Hung are an almost entirely nomadic,primitive people who don’t believe in basic

hygiene and rarely use fire. They are

excellent horsemen, and they breed tough,

small horses on their cold mountain slopes

which would survive where larger southern

warhorses would starve. They ride these


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into battle when they attack the more civilized (if such can be said in the case of the Dark Elves) lands to

the south. The Hung are modelled in many ways on the Mongol tribes of the Middle Ages or the Huns of

an earliest time.

The Hung are the last known of the Chaos peoples, and not much is known about their culture save two

facts. The first is that they are notoriously fickle, legendary even among Chaos followers for neverhonoring a bargain. In fact in Cathay the term “Word of a Hung” is used to denote a useless promise.

The second is that this fickleness and treachery applies to their own people, making it hard to form

lasting bargains among the various tribes. Only to the gods do they show true devotion and faith.

Contribution to the Legions of Chaos

The Northmen have appeared in their millions all over the

world to join Archaon’s inasion and, though perhaps not

quite as numerous as Beastmen, nevertheless form a solid

coare to Archaon’s armies. Primarily they are a melee

force with a grouping of marauders, powerful warriors and

knights of Chaos, as well as various other hero-centric

units. There is some variation of course to this rule, with the

Marauder horsemen of the Hung being noted ranged

specialists in the vein of the mongols. The Kurgan is a

mixture of Norsican melee-based and Hung ranged based

force, relying heavily on cavalry.

Alongside this they have many assisting tribes and

clandestine allies. These include corrupted ogres and trolls,

hulking giants, and all sorts of flying beasts. Even Chaos

Dragons can occasionally be found in their force.

“Suddenly, the air was filled with a particular sort of tension. Every dwarf on the parapet, Slayer and

clansman alike, had a look of intense loathing on their faces. Mutters and curses slipped quietly into the air.

Felix looked from the dwarfs back to the devices, which he thought must be the war machines of the

enemy. The engines were harsh-looking things, heavy with what he thought were unnecessary scalloped

blades and scything edges. One was recognizably a cannon of some sort, while the second machine

appeared to be some form of bolt thrower. The ogres pulling them had the dull look Felix associated with

broken farm animals, beasts used to the lash and the chain. Regardless, they still looked fully capable of

ripping a man's head off with one twist of a meaty paw.

Felix wondered what it was about the machines that had set the dwarfs off, but before he could even attempt

to frame the question, the reason became obvious. Two squat figures stumped into view through the ruined

section of third wall to join the machines. They wore coats of dark, burnished mail and cuirasses of

complex design. Heavy helms sat on their squat heads, and great beards flared out from their jutting chins.

One carried a heavy glaive, while the other rested his palms on the butts of the two pistols holstered around


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his waist. Their faces were twisted into expressions of brutish malice and cold-blooded glee as they surveyed

the obstacle before them.

Felix felt a rush of horror fill him as he stared at the twisted mockeries of dwarf-kind. His mouth felt dry

and he looked at Gotrek. The Slayer's teeth were exposed in a snarl that conveyed the millennia-old grudge

of the dwarfs for their corrupted kin. Felix had heard dark legends of such Chaos dwarfs, though he'd never

attempted to broach the subject with Gotrek, thinking the former merely a slanderous myth and not wanting

to antagonize the latter.

'Gotrek,' he said softly. 'Are they-?'

'The dawi zharr,' Gotrek spat.”


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History, Biology and Culture

Unfortunately precious little is known about early Dawi Zharr history, even among themselves. It is

known that they were once regular dwarves who went ever eastward to find greater despots of

minerals, eventually heading into land the Dwarves of the West considered tainted (in this pre-

Chaos age, that is a feat) and cursed. However the future Dawi Zhar then-kindly rebuffed thewarnings of their westward brethren, so concerned were they at the best mineral deposits. Then

came Chaos.

The exact line of events of what happened is mostly unknown, but what little has been revealed

suggests the Chaos Dwarves were nearly utterly destroyed in this time by the forces of Chaos. Only

their stubborn refusal to die and the finding of a new patron, Hashtut, saw them survive through

this dark time. Hashtut’s influence slowly twisted these Dwarves, first teaching them to hate the

Dwarves of the West and their ancestor gods, and then subverting every aspect of Chaos Dwarf

society into the cruel state it is in today. When the regular Dwarves first discovered their Chaos

worshipping cousins they were so ashamed that they immediately purged all records of evidence of

Dawi Zhar clans, and evidence suggests that in those early years before the Elves even arrived in

the Old World the non-corrupted Dwarves made a serious attempt to put their corrupted kin down.

It failed.

At another point in their history, they succeeded in creating the Black Orc in an attempt to create an

orc smarter and more obedient to demands then the previous unruly lot. They half-succeeded, for

the Black Orc was indeed smarter however lacking in any obedience. These Black Orcs led a

massive grenskin rebellion which nearly gutted their whole civilization, only being saved at the last

minute by the betrayal of the Hobgoblins, causing other greenskins to despise them utterly. As a

result, many Hobgoblins joined the Chaos Dwarf legions, fighting under them as minions, overseers

and expendable troops.

Now their army expands to take over the world. Their philosophy is inherently against the

rapid expansion and overextension done by other Chaos followers but the slow, steady,

soulless drive of industry. Unlike the rest of Chaos, the Chaos Dwarves can hardly been seen

as chaotic in nature. What they do is rather orderly, and they are driven by cold calculation

and greed in all their endeavors. Not for them is the anarchy and madness of the human

followers of Chaos, the labyrinth schemes of the skaven, or the savagery of the Beastman.

In form the Chaos Dwarves are little different than regular Dwarves, being both short, stocky

and powerful. However the Chaos Dwarves notably bear evidence of corruption such as

horns sticking out of their foreheads or tusks emerging from their teeth. Some might even bepart stone, a curse left by their Hashtut.

The Chaos Dwarf share many of the same traits culturally with their non-corrupted brethren, only

inverted and twisted by malice. They value loyalty, stubbornness, oaths, kinship and industry. They

are also brilliant craftsmen. However they are utterly devoid of compassion and mercy and

indeed, want to enslave the entire world. Even Daemons are not immune from the Dwarf’s


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domineering desire, and the

daemonsmiths of Zhar are infamous for

deliberately summoning and binding

daemons to weapons in terrible rituals.

It might seem odd for a culture bound byoaths but they are in fact treacherous to

the extreme. They follow the letter of

the oath, rather than the spirit, and

looking for loopholes is considered

perfectly acceptable (an oath you can

get out of is a weak oath, and not worth

holding to). Chaos Dwarf oaths are rare

things, presided over by entire armies

of archivists and those who argue how

valid it is.

Documents

The Army of Ruin