INTRO - The Wild Herd
From out of the dark and twisted forests of the Old World come the Cloven Ones, uncounted hordes of braying creatures of horn, hoof, muscle and hate. The Beastmen are the true Children of Chaos. Grotesque hybrids of fierce animal and primitive human, these horned and stinking warrior-beasts infest the blighted forests that cover the Old World. Their savage tribes explode from the depths of the haunted woods to wage bitter war against the civilized races. Preying on the weak and striking without warning, the Beastmen are a plague on the civilized world, murdering and slaughtering with abandon before disappearing back into the forests. They desire nothing less than to grind Man's temples to dust, to cast down his gods, to tear his body limb from limb and to unmake all that has been built upon the lands. So profound is the Beastmen's hatred of order and reason that they seek to drag the world kicking and screaming into a barbaric and primal age.
LORE OF THE WILD
Attribute: Primal Onslaught: With a guttural roar that shakes the roots of the world, the Bray-shaman feeds the rage of the beasts around him. Whenever a Bray-Shaman casts a successful spell, any friendly unit with Primal Fury within 50 meters gains a slight increase in speed and strength.
Bestial Surge: The shaman inflames the Beastmen's uncontrollable urge to rend the foe limb from limb, causing them to surge forward in a roaring, bellowing mass. An augment spell, it affects all units in 50 meters and increases all the affected units speed. This speed disappears if they get close enough to engage in CQC with an enemy unit. It does not affect fleeing units. Can affect all units in 100 meters with more effort.
Viletide: This spell calls to the creeping things that nest in the decaying undergrowth, creating a vile wave of spiders, centipedes and slug-beetles that swarm over the foe. Has a range of 300 meters (1 kilometer with more effort) and basically turns the effected unit into an creepy-crawly magnet.
Devolve: Delving into his enemies' minds, the shaman magnifies the savage and animalistic parts of their psyche until they are no more than growling beasts. Has a range of 100 meters and pits the Bray-Shaman's willpower against his enemy's. If the enemy fails, their mind devolves. If they pass, the Bray-Shaman is expelled. Range may be increased to 200 meters with more effort.
Bray-Scream: This spell unleashes a howling roar of such intensity that mashes brains and bursts eyeballs. The closer enemies are to the Bray-Shaman the more damage they take.
Traitor-Kin: Calling out to the war-beasts of the enemy, the shaman drives a red-hot spear of wrath into the wild hearts of the enemy's mounts, causing them to turn upon those who dared tame them with bit, bridle and spur. Affects all mounted cavalry, monstrous cavalry, chariots, ridden monsters, or monsters with handlers within 100 meters.
Mantle of Ghorok: Ghorok was a legendary Minotaur, ferocious as a storm. His spirit-mantle is terrible but dangerous to the bearer. Can be used on any unit (including the shaman) within 100 meters. It adds the strength of a Minotaur to their own until the Shaman casts another spell. Of course, this can put a tremendous amount of strain on the unit, and may cause themselves damage if left that way for to long.
Savage Dominion: The shaman sends his mind winging into the wilds and possesses the largest creature he can find, storming back onto the battlefield with a vengeance. This spell allows the Shaman to summon ONE of the following beasts: Ghorgon, Jabberslythe or a Chaos Giant (See Shock and Awe for all three). The Shaman has total control over the beasts actions, but while he controls it, he cannot cast or dispel any spells or make attacks in CQC. Every time the beast suffers a wound, the Shaman that summoned it may suffer a wound as well (it depends on how tough the Shaman is). If the Shaman is killed, the beast will immediately wander back to wherever it was summoned from. Note that the beast cannot be voluntarily dismissed by the shaman, nor dispelled by the enemy.
RECON
Beastmen will use Ungor to scout for them, sneaking ahead of the main war heard to mark targets. The Bray-Shamans can also use magic to find suitable targets. Beastmen don't really partake in espionage, sabotage, and especially not diplomacy.
PRIMARY:
Mobility: 5
Training: 4
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
To the fearful eyes of the outside world all Beastmen appear the same - an unruly mass of flesh, fur and teeth. In their ignorance they can discern no distinguishing characteristics that mark out one type from another. The most common type of Beastman is the Gor. Large, powerful, and numerous, they form the spine of any herd. Their appearance varies, but all combine bestial features with those of a man. The base form of the Beastmen, and that possessed by the vast majority of the Gors, is the head and legs of a goat and the upper torso of a man, albeit a particularly hairy and malodorous one. They have the savage fangs of wolves with which to tear great chunks of flesh from their foes, and muscular and robust (if flea-ridden) bodies well suited to acting out their primal urges.
To face a horde of Gors is to face anarchy and mayhem. Rowdy and undisciplined, they bray, bark and bawl an unceasing cacophony that fills the hearts of Men with dread. Nonetheless, Gors are capable of taking to the battlefield in more or less ordered formations, a fact that many an enemy general has failed to understand until it is too late. Roving groups of Gors band into tight units that march beneath banners made from the flayed hides of their foes, while others bear the captured flags of defeated enemies, tattered and smeared with blood and dung. The Gors' raucous, bloodthirsty braying is accompanied by the atonal drones of crude pipes and horns in deliberate mockery of the bright clarion calls of the Empire's proud regimental musicians.
And yet for all their appearance of disorder, Gors are not completely without subtlety of tactics. In the same way as a hunting pack of wolves, the army instinctively tries to encircle the foe. Bands of Gors flank wide, stalking through the undergrowth, animal senses keenly aware of the smell and racket of the enemy regiments. The Gors are not especially stealthy, but can stay hidden well enough within the trees. Few foes can maintain their nerve in the face of a deafening, intimidating horde of Gors, let alone when more of them burst from the trees having completely circumvented war machine emplacements, outflanked the disciplined battle-line, and cut off any chance of escape for routing soldiers.
Offense: A wide variety of crude weapons: Clubs (which may have sharp bits jammed through them), sharpened sticks, stolen swords, their own wolf like teeth, their horns, or their own above-human level strength.
Defense: Minimal, it's mostly skins, fur with the occasional bone. Some may have pounded metal into a rough parody of armor, but they are a minority.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: Goaded on by their chieftains and shamans, and enraged by the presence of intruders on their bloodgrounds, the Beastmen become consumed by a savage fury, tearing apart the hated foe.
-As creatures of Chaos, the Beastmen display almost infinite variation in their twisted anatomies. Some have the horns or head of cattle rather than goats, while others possess antlers, serrated blades or even stranger mutations sprouting from their heads. It is not unknown for Beastmen to have the head of a sheep, horse or insect, extra limbs, eye stalks, lashing tails, or any other conceivable alteration of the humanoid form. Among a society so wholly Chaotic, the line between mutant and Chaos Spawn is fine and often crossed.
-One thing all true Beastmen have in common is their horns, without which they cannot be considered real Gors. A Gor prides himself on his large, prominent horns, for these are a symbol of status as a true beastman in the eyes of his peers. Indeed, the Gors with the finest sets of horns in the herd are often the most powerful and cunning. Gors often color their horns with dyes or blood before they set out on a raid or march to battle. This serves not only to strike terror in the hearts of their enemies but also to inspire awe among their herd-mates. A Beastman who possesses a fine set of horns and no other mutations is said to be a `True-horn', or 'True-Gor,' and it is these who are the strongest and most intelligent of all Gors. In Beastman society, horns are the ultimate mark of rank and power, and their leaders are always those with the largest and most spectacular sets.
Mobility: 5
Training: 5
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
The best warriors chosen by the Beastlord from among the warband will band together into one horde. The toughest and meanest of the Beastmen footsoldiers are known as Bestigors. As well as being stronger, they tend to be more disciplined, forming more organized ranks in battle than their quarrelsome lesser brethren, and restrain themselves from their more disruptive excesses. Because of their size and ferocity the Bestigors carve out a privileged position within the warherd, constantly enforcing their superiority upon the Gors and Ungors with random acts of excessive violence. This is a high honor, and the Bestigors pledge to fight to the death for the Beastlord.
In battle, the Bestigors form a solid, armored mass of muscle and iron that charges forward with a terrifying momentum. They seek out the elite troops of the enemy army, who inherently challenge their dominant status. Then they wield their huge axes much as executioner's blades, hewing their foe limb from limb and trampling his broken body into the mud beneath their unshod hooves.
Offense: They typically carry massive, double handed axes, crude in construction but large and heavy enough to split a man in two from shoulder to waist with a single swing.
Defense: They wear solid, heavy plates of armor and chainmail, usually scavenged from the civilized races and beaten with fist and hoof until they fit the Bestigors' misshapen and stinking anatomies, and cover their faces with hoods, often made of chainmail.. This they adorn with all manner of grisly trophies taken from those that have put up a fight before being cut into pieces.
Special: Mark of Chaos: The most favored of all Bestigor may even bear the Mark of one of the Great Powers, for, as Children of Chaos, the Beastmen are close to their gods. The exact nature of these marks is as varied as Chaos itself, but typically it goes as follows: Khorngors are stronger and more bloodthirsty; Tzaangors are highly resistant to magic, and tend to be more intelligent; Pestigors carry all manner of diseases wherever they go, they become immune to pain, and their weapons are often poisonous; and Slanngors are faster and more agile then their kin, with a slightly greater resistance to pain.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Bestigors form the chieftain's inner circle of retainers and enforcers, but their garrulous and aggressive nature compels them to strive for ever greater dominance among the tribe. The chieftain must be ever watchful for signs of a likely challenge among the Bestigors. Sometimes such a sign is manifested physically; a Bestigor's horns growing larger or more impressive, for example. Sometimes the first sign of rebellion will be when the Bestigor bellows a challenge and swings his axe at the chieftain's head. Any chieftain worthy of the title will detect such signs early and deal with the potential rival before he comes fully into his strength, though plenty miss the portent and find themselves the main course of an impromptu feast.
-Despoilers: Brutality and violence simmer in the Bestigors, just below the surface but ready to explode outwards in a savage display of animal power at any moment. Bestigors frequently engage in head-butting competitions that leave them addled but ready for bloodshed. One expression of the Bestigors' constant desire to prove their innate superiority is shown in their acts of desecration and defilement. Such deeds take many forms, from the ritual devouring of prisoners of war to the despoiling of the sacred banners and religious icons of their foes. When such an icon is captured in battle, the Bestigors will befoul it and hold it on high, so that the rest of the warherd might look upon their deeds and know that the Bestigors are truly blessed in the eyes of the Dark Gods.
Mobility: 5
Training: 4
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
"If we run, they will claw us into the dirt and their hounds will gnaw the gristle from our bones.
If we surrender, they will bind and bleed us, and Minotaurs will feast on our flesh.
If we fight, they will hack and rip and bite and butcher, and they will swallow our still-beating hearts.
So many deaths. Which will we choose?"
-Blind Nowl, the Seer of Parravon
Ungors (meaning "not-quite right Gors" or "other Gors," in the Beastman tongue) are not as strong, tough, intelligent or robust of frame as the Gors, but they more than make up for it in sheer malevolence. Ungors are equal in size to men, and typically feature the hooves and heads of goats. They are physically smaller than other Beastmen and their horns are less impressive and less numerous. While Gors may have long and spectacular horns as deadly as any sword, Ungors usually have short prongs or horn buds sprouting from their skulls, not recognizable as those of a goat or any other type acknowledged by the Gors. Because of this they are not considered to be 'proper' Beastmen by the Gors. Some particularly unfortunate Ungors have no horns at all and, even among this lesser caste, are looked upon with suspicion and distrust. The race of Mankind on the other hand does not draw such distinctions. To them the Ungors are just as horrible, horns or no, for they are all twisted aberrations of nature that live to murder and despoil all that is good and wholesome.
Ungors are the lowest caste in beastmen society, serving as workers, foot soldiers, and resentful victims to the brutish whims and bullying of their larger brethren. Unless the Ungor has a spectacular rack of horns, his fate is one condemned to subservience by the Gors. In the rough pits that serve as homes for the Beastmen they gather furthest from the fire and must constantly fight one another for what scraps of food they can scavenge, often resorting to stealing from the tribe's Warhounds, eating wriggling grubs and insects, sucking the marrow from bones or cannibalizing those who fall to the constant internecine fighting of their race. As a consequence of their lowly status in the tribe, Ungors are extremely cruel and spiteful creatures, taking out their bitterness on foes, captives or wild animals that fall into their clutches. They are possessed of a tireless drive to take their vengeance upon the world that spawned them, and though not as powerful as the Gors, they have a wiry strength that means they are still more than a match for the humans for whom they have such a vitriolic hatred.
Offense: Long spears for jabbing at the enemy from between their larger Gor cousins.
Defense: Crude wooden shields
Special: Variant: Halfhorns: In battle Ungors are bullied into a semblance of order by the largest of their number, known as Halfhorns, who seek a position in the battleline from which they can enact the most pain and suffering upon the foe.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Ungors are considerably more dexterous than their fellows, their sinewy hands able to carve runes, build wooden structures, and fix and bind the weaponry of their clumsier Gor brethren. So it is that the Ungor fulfill a vital niche in the society of the tribe, for without them, the Gor would soon be bereft of weaponry
Mobility: Varies
Training: Varies
Max Range: Varies
Preferred Range: Varies
"I wish I’d been born with horns and a tail, like my sister—at least I wouldn’t have ended up here." - Rudi, Great Altdorf Asylum Inmate
Mutants include those born with Chaos mutations, as well as those that develop them later in life. Mutants range from individuals desperate to belong to the rest of society who conceal their deformity to the best of their ability, to those that embrace Chaos completely, join a cult, and turn all their efforts to overthrowing the Empire. Regardless of their intentions, many Mutants try to live as humans, if their mutations will permit it. If not, they are only alive because they either fled from the authorities or they were abandoned in the woods as children and the life of an outcast is the only one they’ve ever known. Some, particularly those with the animalistic appearances, may be adopted by Beastmen warbands.
Offense: Varies, depending on the mutation. A mutant may be born with extra arms that he uses to hold more blades. He may have claws like a bear, or spit acid, or have incredible strength. Of course, a mutation may not offer any offensive benefits, such as being covered in feathers or having eight ears. If the mutation cannot be used in combat, they will have whatever they can get their hands on. As they often have to live on the outskirts of society, these weapons tend to be of dubious quality.
Defense: See offense. The mutant may have skin like a rock, or unnaturally soft skin, or anything in between.
Additional Factors:
-Most mutants seek only to survive and, occasionally, to gain revenge on normal society. Those whose mutations develop in later years may find it difficult to cope, as their normal lives are ripped apart by the changes they undergo. As a result, some mutants are insane and act in strange, unfathomable ways. Close relatives of mutants have been known to be driven insane in their attempts to aid a mutating brother or sister to escape the watchful eyes of the Witch-Hunters.
-It is easier for one who was born a mutant to get along with Beastmen then one who became a mutant later in life.
-Mutants in the Empire: The Empire is far from the Chaos Wastes. Most of its citizens wouldn’t dream of risking their souls through the worship of the Chaos Gods. However, mutant children are occasionally born, and some adults find themselves becoming altered in later life, even in centers of civilization such as Altdorf.
Scholars provide a number of possible reasons for these occurrences. Morrslieb, the smaller of the world’s two moons, is alleged to consist wholly of warpstone. The light of the moon is said to cause mutation in those who dally too long beneath it. Warpstone dust is sometimes blown in on strong northerly winds and shards of it fall from the night sky as meteorites. People say that wizards who cast spells too recklessly risk mutation, and that trafficking with Daemons or the Undead is a sure fire path to mutation. Many believe that mutation can result from sinful behavior and impious desires.
The authorities of the Empire take a hard line on mutants. Ancient edicts deem them tainted by Chaos and therefore enemies to be destroyed, no matter how rational or benign a particular mutant might appear. Imperially sanctioned Witch Hunters and members of the Knightly Orders track down and kill mutants with the same pitiless zeal they show sorcerers and daemons. Nobles and town councils levy bounties on mutants as aggressively as they do on outlaws and goblins.
Folk in the Empire regard mutants as physically disgusting and morally abhorrent. Whenever a mutant amongst them is exposed, many people gather in droves to witness its execution. The preferred way to put a mutant to death is to burn it at the stake, a spectacle sure to delight a crowd. Witch Hunters who uncover a number of mutants in one area have been known to hold them prisoner for weeks before their execution. News of such a mass burning can draw crowds from miles around, and works wonders for a Witch Hunter’s reputation.
-Surviving as a Mutant: Those who find themselves altered by mutation do not immediately fall into the worship of Chaos, despite the proclamations of nobles and priests. To develop a mutation is an incredibly distressing occurrence, not only does the unfortunate mutant find his own flesh in revolt, but his neighbors will view him with horror and sell him out to the authorities – assuming they don’t just kill him themselves.
There are those who find it hard to turn over mutants. Some parents of mutant infants don’t have the stomach to conspire in their offspring’s execution. In rural areas it is common for parents to leave such babes in the woods. The luckier mutant children abandoned in this way are discovered by roving herds of beastmen, who raise them as their own.
It is a widespread belief that as a mutant’s body changes his mind warps as well. Certainly priests of Sigmar teach that mutation and wickedness go hand in hand, and that the deformities mutants bear are a mark of the malice in their souls. Most other religious authorities in the Empire agree. Even relatively broad-minded experts on the subject of mutation state that to become a mutant marks the beginning of an inescapable moral degradation.
Some members of the Shallyan and Verenan cults defy conventional views of mutation. Such radicals are careful in voicing their beliefs, for their superiors invariably support the authorities on the matter, but they privately assert that judging people based on appearances is wrong. Rumors persist of certain remote Shallyan temple hospices that offer mutants sanctuary, even treatment. Senior members of the cult are quick to hush up such gossip. Some mutants seek the aid of medical professionals. This is a risky business, as many physicians would sooner alert the authorities than attempt to treat a mutant. That said, a minority of them are open-minded enough (or venal enough) to attempt surgical removals of mutated body parts. Even if a mutant is lucky enough to find a sympathetic physician his problems are not over, undergoing surgery is a dangerous business in the Empire at the best of times.
Most mutants are too poor to afford a competent surgeon, and don’t have the connections to find sanctuary amongst radical Shallyans. They try to remain inconspicuous amongst the ranks of paupers who inhabit urban rookeries. Some of them may be able to conceal their afflictions indefinitely, though most will either be exposed as mutants and executed, or inducted into the ranks of Chaos Cults where they make useful pawns.
-Folk Tales & Rumors: Many scholars in Altdorf are aware of the sad fate of the Bretonnian playwright Bruno Malvoisin, whose work The Baneful Lusts of Diogo Briesach was rumored to be so salacious that it delighted Slaanesh himself. Bruno allegedly became a mutant shortly after the play was premiered, developing a rill of tentacles around his neck and other deformities. He vanished before the Witch Hunters found him but his fate remains a warning to all those who mock the gods. Such a cautionary tale is typical of those that are told to young children who behave badly, or take the names of the gods in vain. Quite what it was that so pleased the Dark Prince of Chaos is unknown, as the play was subsequently banned and all known copies of the first folio were thrown onto a bonfire in Altdorf’s Konigplatz.
It is common for mothers to warn their children off from certain antisocial habits on account of them “making a mutant of you!” Some naïve folk believe such scolding even in adulthood, so common superstition in the Old World holds that mutation can result from nose picking, pulling faces, refusing to wash behind the ears, disrespecting your elders, and so on.
Some optimists believe mutations can be cured. They speak of a young nobleman from the south who was captured by a champion of the dark gods and taken to the Chaos wastes. Gone but not forgotten, members of his family organized an expedition to rescue him. They did not realize what sort of beast he had become, a hulking creature with a wolf’s head and claws. He discarded his bow and rapier, preferring to fight tooth and nail. Confronted with the mutant, a family retainer gave his life in order to save the man who was now a monster. The act of self sacrifice redeemed the altered beast, who became the young aristocrat he had been before his ordeal. Few tales about mutation end so happily, and the moral guardians of the Empire deny that such a story is true. Or even remotely possible, for that matter.
LINEBREAKER:
Mobility: 6
Training: 3
Max Range: Lunging
Preferred Range: Biting
In the darkest forests, massive, twisted Warhounds stalk the night in search of prey. They often stalk around encampments searching for scraps and lone creatures to attack. Their red, evilly glinting eyes peer from the treeline, and saliva pools upon the litter-strewn ground as they taste the air for the scent of their next victim. Many a lone patrolman traveling in the woods at night has shivered at the sound of baleful howling in the distance, only to be confronted by the low growling of the pack that has crept up behind him whilst he was distracted.
Originally the mutated descendants of bloodhounds and forest wolves, the Warhound's desperate hunger for human flesh owes little to nature and everything to Chaos. Many have the intelligence of the Gors they accompany to war and, for them; war is a time of feasting. The tainted lands that serve as their hunting grounds change these beasts in body as well as mind, and many are made all the more hideous by mutations such as horns, tusks and spines. Some are even stranger of aspect, having human limbs or faces, the tails of scorpions, stone-hard scales, tentacles in place of horns or bladed tongues that can shoot out and impale those nearby.
Regardless of form, Warhounds are all vicious killers and their harsh baying is a sure warning of a slaughter to come. They bound across the battlefield at an alarming speed, so that a Handgunner will have scant moments to take his shot and no hope of reloading before powerful claws rake him to the ground and knife-like fangs close around his throat.
Offense: Teeth and claws, and they tend to lunge for the throat. Mutations may also give them tusks or tentacles or spines
Defense: None, though chaos mutations may give them thicker skin or stony scales.
Additional Factors:
-These slinking predators have an innate connection with the Beastmen of the forests, and freely wander through the filthy and bone-strewn encampments that serve as lairs for each warherd. Gradually the Warhounds become as much a part of the herd as any Gor. Some Beastmen deliberately rear these vicious attack beasts, training them for battle, though they can never be truly tamed. Through all manner of cruel mistreatment the Warhounds are conditioned to display particular characteristics, such as aggression and speed - not that they need much encouragement.
-When a warherd discovers intruders onto their bloodgrounds that are too weak or too few to require the calling of an entire brayherd, they often launch a great hunt. Horns are sounded and the tribe crashes through the undergrowth in pursuit, with the Warhounds out in front, snapping and snarling at the heels of the unfortunate prey. On such occasions the Beastmen make no attempt to encircle the foe, for they enjoy the chase too much. Rather, they drive their quarry for miles, deeper and deeper into the forest, running them to exhaustion, hounding them into the dirt. Should the intruders try to escape the Warhounds by climbing a tree or sheltering in a ruined building it is not long before the Beastmen handlers catch up and take their sport, forcing the prey back into the open with arrows or fire. Then the Warhounds will close in and rip their victims apart in a spray of gore, while the rest of the tribe barks and howls in victory.
Mobility: 5
Training: 4
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Minotaurs are massive bull-headed monstrosities that constantly hunger for hot blood and red meat. Often growing to twice the height of a man and far greater in muscular bulk, their thick-skulled heads are broad and ugly, and their sharp horns can eviscerate with a single thrust. Many have the cloven-hoofed hindquarters of a beast and other deformities of the body that the touch of Chaos brings. Though they are less intelligent than Beastmen, they are unnaturally strong and powerful, and make formidable warriors.
Minotaurs are possessed of a terrible hunger for flesh, particularly the flesh of man. Yet it is not the gnawing hunger a mortal feels when deprived of sustenance, but a deep thirst for the unholy exhilaration the Minotaurs experience when they consume the flesh of their enemies. In this state they join with the power of the Chaos Gods and share in a part of their glory. Gathering in loose tribes ruled over by the strongest of their number, the Minotaurs live a nomadic existence, and they go wherever the scent of blood is strongest. Attracted by raw flesh and steaming gore, they often gravitate to the herdstones where the Beastmen make their unholy offerings to the Dark Gods. During the most hideous of rituals, scores of sacrifices are made in savage offerings led by the Bray-Shamans, sending the Minotaurs into a frenzy which only the blood of yet more victims can sate. Even a glimpse of the color red is sometimes enough to rouse the greed of a Minotaur tribe, for it reminds them of the glories of blood-mad gluttony.
Though normally ponderous and slow-witted, battle turns Minotaurs into raging bulls and the scent of blood drives them to violent excess. The scent of gore in their flaring nostrils drives them wild and they bellow their hunger for all to hear. They charge with a thundering impact, horns lowered to impale, then strike blow after blow against their hapless enemy. Once their victims have been hacked apart the Minotaurs slake their thirst by tearing at raw flesh with their gore-encrusted nails and gulping down great hunks of steaming meat and the blood of the dying even whilst the battle rages on around them.
Offense: When called to war, the Minotaurs reach into the piles of weapons and armor heaped in offering before the herdstones, equipping themselves with the largest and most formidable weapons they can find. These weapons were laid before the herdstones in celebration of victory, their erstwhile owners slain upon some forgotten battlefield. In among the rusted blades can sometimes be found those once carried by the warriors of long-lost empires, crafted using methods and metals no longer known to any of the peoples of the world. In truth, a Minotaur is capable of tearing a warhorse apart with its bare teeth and cares not for the heritage of such items, but these tools of war make them even deadlier still.They can also gore with their horns or stomp with their feet.
Defense: Fragments of tarnished armor taken from the dead of many battlefields old and new. They may also take a shield. They are quite durable (or perhaps just to dumb to know when they've been hurt).
Additional Factors:
-It is said that Minotaurs are the keepers of dark shrines to Chaos and the tombs of fallen champions deep within the farthest reaches of the forests, where even Beastmen fear to tread. Here they pile all of their trophies, including the weapons, armor and skulls of defeated foes in praise of the Chaos gods, often in such quantities that the mounds of rusting treasure and fetid remains obscure the shrines they are actually guarding completely. Because of this, Minotaurs are held in a strange reverence by Beastmen, who are at once in awe and fear of the favor that the Minotaurs receive from their gods.
-Bloodgreed: It is possible that, after besting an enemy, the Minotaur will stop fighting and proceed to devour the remains of his foe, ignoring the battle raging around it.
Mobility: 5
Training: 5
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Doombulls are the strongest and most ferocious of their kind, towering bull-headed and cloven-hoofed beasts almost as broad as they are tall. Little more intelligent than their Minotaur kin, they are instead set above others of their kind by the sheer animal intensity of their hunger for flesh, and their inherent ability to invoke this intense bloodlust in others.
When Morrslieb is full in the sky, the Doombulls roar out a bellowing call that resounds around the forest for many miles, attracting yet more Minotaurs and invoking the bloodgreed that runs through all of their kind. Soon the forest will echo to the thunder of gargantuan hooves as Minotaurs gather by the hundred at the herdstone, pawing the ground in their haste to trample and crush. It is not only Minotaurs who heed the call of the bloodgreed, for sometimes the Beastmen themselves will be swept up in the rush of primal instinct to fight and to feed. As bands of Minotaurs crash through the trees towards the settlements and fortifications of the civilized races, so groups of Gors and other Beastmen follow in their wake, consumed by the desire to wolf down the hot flesh of their enemies.
Consumed by bloodgreed, the Minotaurs lay waste to their prey in an orgy of slaughter, smashing through barricades and buildings alike to get at the still-living weaklings that cower within. The Doombull at the head of the horned army lowers his head and charges at full speed towards the leader of the enemy army, gouging his horns deep into the foe and maiming everything within reach with his axe. When all is laid waste the Doombull gorges himself on the choicest of prey while his followers fight over the corpse-harvest at their feet. As the last scraps are gobbled down and the steaming blood seeps into the earth, the raging wrath of the horde begins to subside. The beasts slink back to the deep forest, the Minotaurs returning to their lairs to slumber and digest until the bloodletting begins again. The Empire of Man is fortunate that such incursions only last as long as the bloodgreed is upon the Minotaurs, for otherwise the stampede might never end.
Offense: A pair of battle-axes, large horns, superior strength.
Defense: Iron beaten into shape around its form, and muscles so thick that it barely feels an arrow hitting it.
Special: Variant: As with human Champions, a Doombull may swear allegiance to a single Chaos god, or worship them all with equal fervor, and this is often reflected in their appearance. Doombulls of Khorne, sometimes called Bloodbulls or Khornebulls, often have red-tinged flesh and fur, and their horns are sheathed in heavy brass. The Plaguebulls of Nurgle are fetid, bloated creatures, with gargantuan stomachs filled with corpse gas, and ridden with poxes and boils. Slaanbulls, who worship the god of extravagance Slaanesh, decorate their bodies with many gory trophies, and jewellery looted from others is hammered into their bare flesh and hung on their horns. Most bizarre are the Tzaanbulls, dedicated to the Lord of Magic, Tzecntch. Their brightly patterned skin, wreaths of twisting horns and an aura of crackling Chaos energy mark them out from others of their kind.
Additional Factors:
-Bloodgreed: See Minotaur
-Slaughterer's Call: The Doombull can send any unit with it into a murderous frenzy with its powerful roar.
-The sight of a Doombull barreling towards towards them is often enough to make men break down in fear.
Mobility: 6
Training: 4 (Driver), 2 (Tuskgor)
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Particularly powerful Beastmen chiefs may be fortunate enough to own chariots. The chariots of the Beastmen are ramshackle constructions, built from heavy pieces of lumber scavenged from the ruins of Man's buildings. They are roughly nailed together with huge spikes; even the largest chariot shows no sign of craftsmanship or finesse. This matters little, however, because the brute strength and ferocity of the evil-tempered beasts that draw these chariots far outmatches that of mere horses, and the sheer weight of the chariot is enough to inflict terrible damage in its own right. Should the chariot shatter at the point of impact the crew care little, for they will have ridden down great swathes of the enemy in the process.
The Beastmen's chariots are most commonly drawn by Tuskgors, as they are known. They are a grotesque combination of a great boar and a mighty ram, often betraying signs of other, less identifiable heritage. These savage creatures retain the cunning of their kind, but are entirely animalistic in appearance. These are the pugnacious and stubborn war beasts of the Beastmen, foul-smelling and hunchbacked animals from whose flea-infested forms sprout malformed tusks and horns with drooling maws. Crude, obese beasts, their skin is so thick and fur so matted that arrows or crossbow bolts can barely penetrate their gnarled hide. The Beastmen use these creatures as guards or to pull their chariots into battle.
In battle, Tuskgor chariots surge towards the enemy at breakneck speed, driving through the ranks of the foe with unstoppable force and scattering them as the Beastmen and Tuskgors strike out with hooves, horns and blades. Those chariots that survive the battle more-or-less intact are used to carry off the largest items of plunder, and have been observed leading long lines of chained captives off into the forests, never to be seen again. The fate of these captives is dire indeed, for those who are not sacrificed form the main course of the victory feast.
Offense: The Tuskgors have horns and teeth and can stomp enemies into the dirt. The chariot can roll right over people, and sometimes the wheels have crude blades stuck to them. While one Beastman drives another lashes out at everything they pass with whatever weapon they have at hand.
Defense: The chariot is crude wood, the Tuskgors have thick skin and hair that can stop a crossbow bolt, and the Gors or Bestigors have whatever their base defense is.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Tuskgors are not natural creatures but creations of Chaos, and an unnatural vigor burns in their veins. They are tracked and captured by the Beastmen in the deep woods in a frantic and violent chase. It often takes the brute strength of a Minotaur to hold a Tuskgor long enough to bind it, and the axes of the Bestigor to stop the Minotaur eating the Tuskgor once the process is complete. Such an undertaking is fraught with danger, for Tuskgors are vicious creatures, yet with the aid of a Bray-Shaman's art and a lot of muscle, one might be subdued long enough to serve the warherd.
-The Beastmen use Tuskgors in a number of different ways. Some are used as beasts of burden, carting off plunder and bound captives from the battlefield. The strongest of the Tuskgors are tethered in pairs and used to pull the warherd's crude chariots, manned either by a Bestigor and his Gor driver or perhaps the chieftain himself.
Mobility: 6
Training: 6 (Rider), 2 for Razorgors
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
The porcine horror known as the Razorgor is a foul mannered, rank smelling and utterly repulsive creature of Chaos. Razorgors are massive cousins of the Tuskgors, mountains of mutated muscle and hair that are deadly in the extreme. As with all children of Chaos, Razorgor are disfigured by hideous mutations, but they generally have the aspect of a nightmarish, gigantic boar covered in vicious spines, coarse hair and boasting lethally sharp tusks and fangs. Though Razorgors are voracious omnivores, they prefer a diet of fresh meat, and Beastmen are their natural prey. Still, such is their appetite and fearsome metabolism that they are able to gobble down a knight in full plate mail and his barded horse in a matter of seconds. Such is the beast's bloody-minded temperament that it will fight and kill almost any creature it comes across, ravenously consuming the flesh of its victim with gluttonous delight. It is a widely held belief by the tribes of the woods that Razorgor have two natural states: a digestive torpor that sets in after they have gorged themselves, and blind, unthinking rage, which is by far the more common of the two…
Once every decade or so a particularly powerful Beastlord will manage to harness several Razorgors at once. These are herded into a loose pack and sent headlong into the enemy ranks. Razorgor have beady eyes and poor vision, but when they catch sight of the enemy they are nigh uncontrollable. A charging Razorgor can flatten a tree or careen through a chapel wall when roused. The mess one of these snorting monstrosities at full charge can make of even the stoutest shieldwall is truly sickening. Thick-skinned and pig-headed, Razorgors are not exactly intelligent, however, their low cunning and brute strength makes them an invaluable addition to any army seeking some raw, if foully mutated, muscle
Offense: Razor Sharp tusks, teeth that can chew through plate armor, and muscles strong enough to destroy a chapel wall.
Defense: Thick skin and a body covered in coarse, spiky hair. Some mutations have allowed actual spikes to sprout from their flesh.
Special: Razorgor Chariots: When a particularly large Razorgor is encountered in the forests, a warherd's Chieftain will attempt to break its will as proof of his right to lead the warherd. Many Chieftains have been gored to death whilst attempting to hunt down a Razorgor, yet not to even attempt to do so is to invite a challenge by a disgusted follower. The act of breaking the Razorgor is usually achieved by the Chieftain repeatedly beating the great hairy beast over the head with a large spiked club whilst somehow avoiding being impaled upon its many razor-sharp tusks. Upon his victory over a particularly intimidating beast, a Chieftain will order a solid and impressive chariot built for it to draw. This he will ride into battle with savage pride, the chariot and the beast that pulls it a tangible sign of his favor in the eyes of the Ruinous Powers. Some chieftains harness Razorgor by even more unusual means - it is said that the infamous Beastlord Urgor Twinfist raised his barn-sized 'pet', Guttgouge, on the flesh of his rivals from the day of its birth.
Additional Factors:
-Regardless of who rides them, Razorgor chariots cannot truly be steered or directed - in fact all too often all the crew can do little more than hold on tight as the chariot careens toward the foe.
-Razorgors have terrible eyesight, they hunt predominantly by smell and sound.
Mobility: 5
Training: 2
Max Range: Several Meters
Preferred Range: Melee
Chaos Trolls are even more fearsome, stench-laden, and ugly than their normal counterparts. All Trolls have been affected by Chaos to some extent, as their species is the result of thousands of years of warping influence from the corrupting power of the north. Those that are sometimes seen accompanying warbands of Beastmen, however, have been altered by the power of Chaos more directly. They sport all manner of mutations, making them even more hideous than their common cousins, and the power of the Winds of Magic stokes their natural aggression and strength, turning them from mere monsters into some of the most terrible beasts in the armies of Chaos. The Troll's ability to shrug off wounds, along with its prodigious physical strength and its corrosive vomit, are all enhanced by its exposure to Chaos.
Trolls prefer to attack with their clubs or natural weapons, but if need be they will "soften up" an armored target with a dose of vomit before laying in with the club. A group of Trolls will work together reasonably well, concentrating their devastating attacks against one or a small group of targets, but only until the first enemy is dead. At that point it is typical that at least one Troll will get distracted, starting to eat the corpse, which often distracts the others and causes a fight to break out as the Trolls squabble over the choicest morsels of meat.
Chaos Trolls are no smarter than their brethren, but due to their fearsome reputation, they are sometimes recruited by Beastmen Warherds as shock troops, although it is doubtful whether they really understand what is going on. Left to their own devices, the chances are the Trolls will go wild or become soporific, but if led by a more intelligent creature they can prove dangerous foes. Defenders will often scatter like leaves in the wind when confronted with the horrible visage of a Chaos Troll. They sometimes join Beastmen Warbands willingly as warfare offers many opportunities to feed on the living and the dead. However, few Warbands accept these creatures because they are unstable and unreliable; each breath of the Winds of Magic stokes the fires of their hate.
Offense: Claws that can tear through plate armor, teeth that can chew through bone, clubs ripped from the boughs of trees, and acidic vomit that can dissolve a man in seconds.
Defense: Thick muscles, but primarily regeneration. If you cut off a Troll's hand a new one will grow in seconds. Cut off its head and the same thing happens. The only way to put a troll down is to destroy it past the point where it can regenerate, and even then it might come back days later. Only fire is known to totally cancel out their regenerative powers.
Additional Factors:
-Trolls are monumentally stupid. They are easily distracted, prone to infighting, and barely understand the orders shouted to them by frustrated commanders.
-Trolls can eat anything - flesh and bone, wood, rocks, bits of metal. The stomach of a Troll contains some of the most powerful acids known in the Old World, and its digestive juices are highly valued by alchemists and wizards.
Mobility: 5
Training: 1
Max Range: Varies
Preferred Range: Varies
A creature visited by too many gifts of the Dark Gods inevitably succumbs to madness and mutation, and becomes a Chaos Spawn. Among the inhuman Beastmen, the line between heavy mutation and spawndom is a fine one, and most warherds accept these bloated, writhing, slavering creatures into their ranks as fellow Children of Chaos. They are allowed to exist at the periphery of the warherd, surviving on scraps, incautious Ungors, the dung of Tuskgors or whatever they can catch in the surrounding woods.
Once the first mutation takes hold, the wretch faces the inevitable dissolution of his mind and will, becoming something less and more than mortal. The fate that awaits nearly all surviving mutants is to become a Chaos Spawn, a gibbering abomination existing only to serve the whims of its infernal masters. Some Beastmen manage to stave off this doom for a time, committing great and terrible deeds to gather the Rewards and Gifts of Chaos. But, for most, the fate of becoming a Chaos Spawn lies at the end of their dark and horrible road. The fate of a Spawn is to die, either on the field of battle by axe or sword, torn apart in the wilds by even more savage creatures, or literally ripped asunder by the Chaos energy that continues to course through its twisted body.
When the warherd goes to battle, the Chaos Spawn come shambling from their lairs. The Beastmen have no control over a Spawn's actions, and it will behave in a largely unpredictable manner. The Spawn will move towards the enemy and crash flailing into his ranks; teeth, claws, and tentacles tearing men limb from limb in a shower of blood and ruination. Mindless and utterly beyond reason, Chaos spawn relentlessly attack anything in their way, the blows of their enemies merely a strange relief to the endless insanity that is their miserable existence.
Offense: Varies. As no two Spawns look alike, there's no real uniform method of attack. Some might have massive claws, or tusks, or a body composed entirely of a mouth full of teeth. Their skin could be covered in acidic slim, they might breath fire, etc etc etc.
Defense: See above. Of course, Spawns have no fear of death (and might even welcome it) so while they might have skin like stone or are covered in spikes or any other combination of mutations, they aren't going to be trying avoid attacks.
Additional Factors:
-Chaos Spawn are too random, even for Beastmen. They are not accounted for in battle plans, and if they die in a charge or get left behind in a retreat, so be it.
-Chaos Spawn do not know fear, and they cannot be broken by magic or intimidation tactics.
-Chaos Spawn lose what little remained of their original forms, becoming a shifting mass of tentacles and eyes. A rare few retain just enough of their original forms to become truly horrific. Upon the moment of devolution, the subject is wracked with agonizing pangs as his body ripples and undulates. The pain is so great it destroys the mind, erasing nearly every memory, all emotion, and the capability of forming a coherent thought, leaving behind an unreasoning husk of flesh and sinew.
-In appearance, these creatures vary widely. Some appear as the man who walks as a beast - a once- humanoid form that has sprouted and burst into an obscene and monstrous anatomy, mutated almost beyond recognition. The eyes of the original creature peer out, a glint of its former personality barely perceptible amid the fleshy ruin. Others appear more as the beast who walks as a man - a twisted parody of humanity molded from the hairy, lumpen body of a forest creature. Regardless of particulars, Chaos Spawn are creatures of unspeakable horror, their twisted bodies sporting an impossible array of spines, eyes and mouths. Some have the heads of overgrown insects, while others have skin that exudes poisonous slime. Some, due perhaps to the locations in which they lair, appear to be a part of the forest itself, their constantly mutating bodies having been joined with the rotten limbs of dead trees, their skin covered in dank moss.
Hag Trees
Mobility: 2-3
Training: 2
Max Range: Several Meters
Preferred Range: Biting
The essence of Chaos permeates everything. From the portals at the poles it seeps into the World, corrupting everything. The taint of Chaos halts from nothing and even plants fall victim to its contagious power.
First signs of a manifesting corruption are traits of sentience as the mortal races know them. A wanderer might have the feeling that some of the trees are slowly turning towards him and that their branches are trying to grasp him, resembling bony, skeletal hands. These impressions are not unfounded, for through the touch of Chaos tainted trees gain a measure of sentience, being aware of their surroundings in a way that is new to them. The malicious energy now flowing through them drives them to grab every living being in their vicinity and to strangle the life out of it. Soon a dozen maws and faces will appear all over the trees now rotten and malformed bark, whispering and brambling incomprehensible words.
As the corruption increases the range of motion also does. No nearby being is safe from the ever-vigilant branches. Some of the victims will be fused with the tree itself, giving shape to a twisted abomination, the creatures' flesh and the tree's bark now fused together beyond recognition. Such mutant trees are aptly named Hag Trees, for the initial whispering and muttering has by now turned into a constant wail of bone-chilling curses. If not cut down and burnt to ashes, a Hag Tree will eventually uproot itself if saturated with enough Chaos energy.
It is not known if a Hag Tree willingly joins a Warherd for battle or it just happens to stumble into it. Whatever the truth might be, Hag Trees are a terrible sight to behold. They thrash around with flailing, branches and tentacles, while driving the enemy mad with dozens of mouths constantly screaming.
Offense: Several flailing branches that may end in claw-like appendages. They may also have something resembling mouths and teeth which they will use to take a bite out of anything that gets close.
Defense: Despite its rotting appearance the Hag Trees' wood has been toughed by malevolent Chaos Energy. That said, it is still as flammable as a normal tree.
Special: Constant Wailing: The countless faces on a Hag Tree constantly scream and whimper, having devastating effects on the enemy's morale.
Special: Regenerative Snacking: A Hag Tree will grab some of its victims and stuff it into its many mouths and thus nourish itself for some time to come, as well as causing previous gashes and cuts in its bark to close and hacked-off branches to regrow.
Additional Factors:
-Hag Trees do not distinguish between a follower of Sigmar or a cloven-hoofed Gor. Each new victim is able to nourish the tree for decades to come, while some Hag Trees rely solely on the Winds of Chaos to sustain them.
-There is no pattern or strategy behind their strikes and thrusts and anybody standing against a Hag Tree will be hard pressed to defend itself all the while trying to find a weak spot in its defenses.
-A Hag Tree is immune to psychological tricks and mind altering attacks.
-Rare
RAPID RELIEF:
Mobility: 5
Training: 4
Max Range: Short Bow
Preferred Range: Ambush
Ungor Raiders are those Ungors tasked with the role of hunting out enemies for the warherds to prey upon. They have knowledge of the wilderness that is unsurpassed by even the most intelligent Gor, and it is they who sow the seeds of mayhem that soon blossom into full-blown destruction as the rest of the warherd falls upon their victims.
Bands of Ungor Raiders range ahead of the warherd as it travels through the lands, sending runners back and forth to ensure the main body of the Beastman army can bring its might to bear. It is the information brought by the Ungor Raiders that enables the warherds to encircle and trap the foe, to launch ambushes from hidden paths and moss-choked vales, and to cut off the escape routes of those that believe there is still a route to safety.
In battle the Ungor Raiders range far ahead of the bulk of the warherd in order to disrupt the enemy's battlelines, draw out charges or reveal the location of hidden warriors. While the Raiders have no comprehension of formal tactics, they make a very efficient skirmish screen, charging enemy gun lines or firing volleys from their crudely-fashioned short bows before fleeing back to safety through the bands of Gors that follow behind.
Offense: Short Bows
Defense: Distance, fleeing behind bigger Gors
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-In the course of their scouting duties, the Ungor Raiders often locate small, isolated settlements before the rest of the warherd arrives. In such instances, the Raider Halfhorn will weigh up the likelihood of the Raiders being able to take on the target alone, and if he decides it is worth the risk he will lead the attack. It will be his hope that his Raiders can overwhelm the isolated foe and carry off food and captives before any delay is noted by the Beastman chieftain. If successful, the Raiders will burn and pillage everything they can find. They then carry their prisoners off with them, taking dark delight in tormenting their unfortunate playthings unto death. Of course, should the warherd's chieftain discover that the Raiders have tallied overlong in such distractions from the main business of waging war, brutal punishments will be meted out that often leave many of the Ungor Raiders dead in the dirt. Still, such is the sadistic and jealous ire the Ungor have for all other species that more often than not they judge it well worth the cost.
Mobility: 6
Training: 4
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Centigors are Beastmen who, through some exposure to the warping powers of Chaos, are a disturbing cross between four-legged creatures, such as horses and oxen, and the bipedal beasts of Chaos, merged together by the warping powers of Chaos in ages past. They possess the hindquarters and forelegs of their quadruped ancestors, granting them great speed and strength, but the upper body of a humanoid with which they wield brutal weapons. Strong, vital and crude, these beast-centaurs are powerful creatures. However, they are not especially agile, and while they have great strength they lack the dexterity to manipulate objects with any skill or control. Centigors are bitter and spiteful, resenting their clumsy, awkward nature, and harbor a deep jealousy of creatures whose minds and bodies are better matched. This resentment engenders unpredictable behavior, rage, and merciless hatred, especially towards Humans.Centigors will fight for anything they need or desire. They have a great craving for ale and wine, for which they will break into a well-defended stockade or attack the most heavily escorted wagon train. When they get their hands on alcohol they gulp down gallons at a time, becoming drunken and violent and often fighting among themselves. Before a battle they drink bucketfuls of strong ale and become excited and aggressive, so that their tempers can only be quelled by deeds of the most bloodthirsty kind.
As the sun rises and the warherds march from the herdstone to make war upon man, the Centigors rouse themselves from their drunken stupors, taking up the weapons of the Beastmen and galloping to war beside them. Even as battle is joined they guzzle copious amounts of liquor, the effects driving them to extremes of violence and cruelty.
Offense: Large axes or Glaives, and they can also lash out with their hooves and trod their enemies into the dirt.
Defense: Leather & Bone
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-2/3s of a Centigor's life is spent in a drunk stupor
-Centigors are wanderers and brigands who acquire everything they need by pillage and robbery, preying upon the wagon trains of traders and the few settlers that try to scratch a living from those barren lands. They make nothing of their own, but steal everything they need from other races, sometimes taking slaves to heat iron or stitch leather. The Centigor has a brutality of mind which matches the clumsy power of their bodies. They are vulgar snarling creatures, little more than beasts, with a brute cunning rather than considered intelligence. Their thick tongues can barely articulate speech, their voices are slow and growling, and their words often degenerate into howls of rage.
-When the brayherds are summoned it is not uncommon for Centigors to heed the call along with the Beastmen. While the chieftains enact the ritual of scribbling their runes upon the herdstone, the barbaric Centigor chiefs can only defecate at the stone's base to record their attendance. While the Beastmen chieftains observe the rituals of the brayherd, the Centigor strut and swagger about the clearing with vulgar bravado, swilling looted wine by the skinful and making outrageous boasts about their own vigor. Fortunately, the Beastmen largely ignore such displays, accepting them as part of the Centigors' nature.
-Despite - or perhaps because of - their drunkenness, the Centigors play one very important role in the world of the Beastmen. They are often used as the messengers of the Bray-Shamans, yet the messages they deliver are imparted to them when they are extremely drunk, and delivered in the same fashion. The Centigors have no real knowledge of the messages they carry. It is said that when delivering such messages, the Centigors speak in a voice other than their own. Sometimes the voice is that of the Bray-Shaman that imparted the message, but at other times a dread voice, swathed in the screams of the damned, comes from somewhere else entirely.
Mobility: 6
Training: 2
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Harpies are particularly loathsome Children of Chaos, winged creatures with a body that is a parody of that of a human woman. From a distance they may appear lithe and shapely, even darkly alluring, yet as they close in their true nature becomes clear. A Harpy's face is distorted and twisted, nothing of humanity or intelligence in its eyes, only instinctive cruelty. Its lips are not those of a woman, but are twisted and leering, pulled back to reveal needle-like teeth dripping with blood and saliva. The creature's limbs are not soft or shapely, but hard and possessed of steel-like tendons that lend it preternatural speed and agility
Harpies are scavengers and opportunists who prey upon the sick, weary, battle-worn and dying. Bestial and savage creatures, they perch impatiently among the trees as the Beastman horde musters, descending from the gnarled branches as the enemy approaches. As battle is joined, they flock in large, ragged groups over the battlefield, waiting for the chance to dive down upon those too weak or wounded to defend themselves. This is not the say harpies will not attacked larger or better-armed creatures than themselves, but it can take many hours for the flock to work up sufficient courage to put themselves at risk. If the flock considers the advantage of numbers to be on their side, they will descend to the fray, screeching and howling as their claws tear at the beleaguered foe. Yet there is no loyalty in such a fight - should a Harpy be slain in the battle, its fellow will devour it as surely as they will the enemy.
Offense: Long claws and needle like teeth
Defense: Flight & Numbers
Additional Factors:
-Most commonly Harpies live in the caves of the Northern Wastes and Troll Country, but often the woods around Beastman encampments are infested with nests of Harpies. It is as if the creatures are drawn by the same forces that compel the Beastmen to congregate and slaughter captives before the sacred places of the Dark Gods. As the Beastmen enact their hidden rituals, the Harpies glare jealous and restless from the branches above, awaiting the hours when the Beastmen will slumber having spent themselves in their excesses. The Harpies then descend to pick over the bones of the Bray-Shamans' sacrificial victims, squabbling with one another over whatever morsels they can steal.
-Filth and well-picked bones are piled beneath a Harpy's foul roost, yet those brave enough to scavenge can sometimes find cast-off treasures - for Harpies value only meat and leave the rest to fall where it may.
-At no time are Harpies more dangerous than when Morrslieb burns fully in the sky. Under the tainted moon's eldritch, Harpies are wilder and more vicious than at any other time of the year, and far more likely to brave dangers in their perpetual search for food. Mountain villages and trade caravans double their watches when Morrslieb is full, lest their loved ones and chattel are spirited away on a cackling wind.
SHOCK & AWE:
Mobility: 6
Training: 3
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Preytons are a savage and hateful breed of creature that haunts the forested lands of Bretonnia. So renowned is their ferocity that sighting of Preytons will draw knights from many miles around, seeking to prove their valor by slaying the beasts. Mighty and winged creatures of Chaos, hybrid in form like the Chimera, Preytons bear upon their vaguely equine heads a pair of blackened and serrated antlers which have caused foolhardy knights to mistake them for majestic Great Stags, much to their error. The beasts, possessed of a dark cunning, will lure such knights into the depths of the forest before revealing their blood red eyes and rows of savage fangs when they leap forth from ambush to rend and tear their prey. Only there, where there is little chance of escape, will it finally reveal its deadly form and attack the unsuspecting warrior.
Little is known of their origins, but dark legend has it that this terrible hatred was born long ago when Beastmen Shamans created them in horrific rituals, enslaving and corrupting Great Stags before sacrifice-strewn herdstones. Bereft of their once noble nature Preytons now know only an all-encompassing hatred for that which they have lost, driving them to rend and kill with terrible malice. Even their own wounds bring them a twisted sense of satisfaction; instinctively realizing that only in death will their torment end.
Offense: Teeth and claws and horns
Defense: Flight and a thick hide… though to be honest it doesn't try that hard to avoid injuries.
Additional Factors:
-Endless Malice: While their appearance is truly vile, it is the legendary malice of the Preyton that makes them particularly dangerous. Corpses mauled beyond recognition and tracts of forest befouled and trampled betray their presence, the savage creature often discarding the torn ruin of their victims to rot, killing out of pure hatred rather than hunger.
-Consuming Hatred: The Preyton despises itself almost as much as its foe.
Mobility: 6
Training: 5
Max Range: Several Meters (Long Reach)
Preferred Range: Biting
When the Beastmen go to war they are accompanied by sickening fiends that have grown to impossible dimensions on a diet of raw flesh and warping magic. The Ghorgon is such a beast, a many-limbed, ox-headed slaughterer possessed of an urgent need to devour and destroy. A near-mythical creature even among the warherds themselves, it is well that these bloodbrutes' are so rare, for even one Ghorgon can consume an entire Beastman tribe in a single frenzied and terrifying night. Ghorgons are the ultimate carnivores, driven to devour anything they can catch - the meatier the better.
It is only the most gifted Shamans who can channel the Ghorgon's insatiable lust for flesh into the ranks of the enemy, but the psychotic displays of violence and destruction that ensue are well worth a few dozen of the warherd in the meantime. During a battle, a Ghorgon wades into a mass of enemies and uses its many arms to grasp, stuff and shovel great gobbets of flesh into its multiple maws. In its insatiable lust for food, the Ghorgon has been known to swallow victims whole, the entire body bolted down in a savage display of gluttonous delight. Smeared with gore and drooling slather, a Ghorgon can regain new strength from its flesh feast. Yet no matter how much a Ghorgon devours, the hideous beast remains as ravenous as ever.
Offense: Four arms, two typically ending in bony blades like an axe or a cleaver, and two ending in giant grasping hands. They have massive slobbering jaws filled with gnashing teeth. The nature of chaos has twisted their forms, so not all are exactly alike. Some have fang-lined mouths in place of their hearts, or are covered head to foot in gnashing jaws that wail and bellow with unholy hunger. They can also stomp with large feet or gore with horns.
Defense: Thick Muscles and Fat. The creature is mad with bloodlust, and ignores any damage or danger. Each time a Ghorgon swallows a unit whole, it gains minor regenerative powers.
Additional Factors:
-Rare
-Ghorgons have flaring nostrils that twitch and sniff at the scent of blood, able to function equally well be it night or day.
-Ghorgons spend most of their waking hours in a bloody frenzy, eager to eat and spill the blood of all around them.
-Ghorgons are immune to attempts to sway their mind, magically or otherwise.
-Ghorgons are large targets.
-The Nature of the Beast: It is thought among the Bray-Shamans that the Ghorgons began life as the largest Minotaurs in their tribe, warrior-lords who chose gluttony over leadership. Cannibals all, each has devoured his lesser kin in a vile feast, and hence the accumulated bloodlust that built in their hearts has reached a fever pitch that consumes them in turn. All Beastmen know that to subsist upon lean, muscled flesh is to grow strong, and to inherit the power of those upon which you feed. The Ghorgons embody this belief. The vile creatures have gorged so much that they have grown tall and broad beyond measure, towering to the height of Giants, and sprouting many limbs and mouths to aid their endless feasting, and hence they are the strongest of all the denizens of the dark woods. Such is the monstrous vileness of these creatures that they must surely have consumed the tainted as well as the true. Some whisper that it is not just ton upon ton of raw flesh the Ghorgons consume, but also the baleful, glowing shards of wyrdling stone that nestle in the cankerous depths of the blighted forests. Perhaps the nature of the twisted beasts upon which the Ghorgons feast has burgeoned forth in fleshy tribute to the chaos of the deep woods. Either way, Ghorgons bear grotesque mutations that aid them in their eternal quest to wolf down those they catch.
-Ghorgons are interested in warm flesh and blood. As such, undead, particularly skeletons, hold little interest to them. They have to be goaded by shamans to focus on them, otherwise they'd just plow through them or otherwise ignore them in favor of more juicy targets.
Mobility: 3
Training: 3
Max Range: Artillery
Preferred Range: Biting
The Cygors are distant cousins of the Minotaurs, but because they hail from the most tainted of all the realms of the Old World, they have diverged greatly from their kin. They are huge, hideously malformed giants, similar in form to Minotaurs, yet each possessed of but a single eye that barely sees the world in the center of its forehead. Through this eye the Cygor is cursed to see not the material realm that mortals perceive, but the evershifting Winds of Chaos, seeing perfectly the spectrum of arcane power as they blow through and around the indistinct, ghostly shapes that populate their world. Assailed by such visions since birth, Cygors are all quite mad.
Thus, a Cygor will blunder indiscriminately through the material world, unable to catch the prey it so insatiably wants to devour. They hunger constantly, for they can scarcely perceive the prey other Minotaurs might hunt down and devour. While a Cygor will devour his prey with as much, if not more, greed than a Minotaur, the victim's body is a mere vessel for that which the Cygor truly craves - the soul.
Conversely, a Cygor can detect those possessed of magical powers from leagues away, for the souls of these individuals blaze with searing light, and the Cygor desires to consume such sweetmeats above all others. These gigantic, eldritch predators constantly hunt mages, warlocks, and witches, desperate to consume their flesh and thereby ingest the bright soul within.
Offense: It's the size of a giant, so its body is a weapon, able to stomp enemies flat or hurl them about. It has twisted horns on its head to gore folks with, and a mouth full of teeth. A Cygor always carries with it rune-etched remnants of shattered waystones, temples and monoliths, for this is the only unifying material they can truly perceive. These boulder-sized missiles they hurl into the ranks of the foe so they can close with their prey unhindered.
Defense: Sheer size and determination, they are also highly resistant to magic
Additional Factors:
-Cygors are utterly insane, they cannot be intimidated or made to flee in fear.
-Ghost Sight: Cygors don't see the world like normal beings, instead seeing the twisting tides of chaos. Those with magical power are seen most clearly, beacons in the darkness, and thus most likely to be targeted by the Cygor.
-Soul Eater: The Cygor would be intimidating enough on its own, but those who know what it is, and what it craves, are even more likely to be terrified of it.
-Cygors are drawn to war by the twisted will of the Dark Gods, taunted by half-seen visions of light planted by the Chaos Powers or by the most powerful of the Bray-Shamans. They unwittingly do the will of the Dark Gods even though they are cursed to an eternity of pain, bitterness and insanity.
Mobility: 6
Training: 4
Max Range: Line-of-sight
Preferred Range: Biting
Jabberslythes are amongst the most ancient and foul of all the creatures of the deep forest. They are truly repugnant to look upon, having such grotesque and twisted features that even the clearest pools of water will not offer up their reflection. A sickening fusion of toad, sludge-drake, and many-limbed insect, the Jabberslythe encompasses all that is unwholesome and vile about nature and magnifies it a hundredfold.
The beating of the Beastmen's war drums often serves to draw Jabberslythes from their lairs, for they know that there will be rich pickings indeed at such times. The sounds of braying, shouting or even of celebration can be enough to bring a Jabberslythe lolloping and flapping from its lair, and they are always hungry. For their part, the Beastmen do their best to ignore the Jabberslythes, for even they are not immune to the madness of its curse. Yet even the least experienced Wargor will not drive a Jabberslythe away, for a gifted Bray-Shaman can ensure their erratic and ungainly flight takes them in the direction of the foe and not the warherd. The sight of a disciplined enemy battleline crumbling with terror and insanity as the Jabberslythe goes about its gory business is pleasing to the Beastmen indeed.
Offense: Vorpal Claws (which are highly poisonous to mortal flesh) and a mouth full of teeth. They have a thick, sticky proboscis-like tongue that they can shoot out in the blink of an eye, capable of ensnaring and pulling a creature as large as a horse into the Jabberslythe's gaping mouth when it retracts.
Defense: Thick skin, but should they be injured, instead of blood they have a sticky acidic fluid that jets out in great bursts at the slightest wound. There's also the Aura of Madness (see below); it's very hard to fight an enemy you can't look at.
Special: Aura of Madness: The Jabberslythe is a creature so unsightly, a monster so disturbing to look upon, that an aura of madness surrounds it. There is something so unearthly and unsettling about these beasts that even to set eyes upon one is to go immediately and permanently insane. To gaze at such a beast is to tempt fate - for many who do have their sanity ripped asunder. It is said that a Jabberslythe is so horrible to view, that even clear pools of water will not offer up a reflection. Those that look upon a Jabberslythe for too long find themselves clawing at their own eyes, crawling in tight circles, babbling nonsense rhymes in a gibberish tongue, shrieking with manic laughter, or even gutting themselves with their own weapons in their desperation to escape the nightmarish vision that has seared itself into their brains, forever haunting them. These unfortunates are easy prey for the Jabberslythe, which will lumber towards its hapless victims with acidic drool spilling from the upturned corners of its fang-ridged maw.
Additional Factors:
-Jabberslythes can fly… sort of, it's really more of a clumsy hover.
-Jabberslythes cannot be intimidated
-Despite appearances, the Jabberslythes is quite intelligent.
-Even units on the Jabberslythes side will do their best to ignore this beast.
-Not sure if this power works on undead or daemons, but I'm guessing no. Well, I suppose it could work on Vampires or certain Tomb Kings, the ones capable of thought and personality. But the ones that are basically just walking meat driven by magic and will? Probably not.
Mobility: 4
Training: 4
Max Range: Artillery
Preferred Range: Melee
Giants are monstrous humanoids with boundless strength and a prodigious appetite for violence, flesh and alcohol. As strong and as tall as ten men, Giants are formidable creatures. The only thing they love more than drinking is killing, so Giants spend their time drinking and fighting, often both at the same rime. Loud, violent, and rather stupid, Giants are capable of destruction on a massive scale when the mood strikes them, smashing foes with fists and crude clubs and crushing them beneath their massive feet.
They are most often encountered in the far north of the world, being fond of cold, rocky dimes. However, some do make the deep forest their home, while others descend from lairs in the Worlds Edge or Middle Mountains to join bands of Beastmen. Those that live in the forest are a particularly vile example of their breed. Their skin is often covered in green and brown mould, fungus and moss, while their long beards are matted and tangled with ivy and creepers.
Giants do not make common cause with the warherds, rather they follow in their wake, joining in with the slaughter and slaking their hunger on cattle and their thirst on looted barrels of ale. Occasionally one of the forest-dwellers might be bound to the will of a shaman by way of his dark arts, and such a beast emerging from the trees, trailing rotting litter, swathed in twisting vines and stinking of rank, woodland decay is enough to fill the superstitious soldiers with heart-stopping horror.
Offense: Clubs are the Giants go to weapon. They can also stomp, smash, headbutt, jump on, pick up and throw (creatures or debris), or pick up and eat (usually just creatures, unless the giant is really drunk). All the while they're yelling and bawling and carrying on, which is really unpleasant for everyone, as they are both deafeningly loud, and have terrible oral hygiene.
Defense: Sheer size mostly. Some will have armor they've either scavenged or made from various bits and bobs.
Additional Factors:
-Giants typically aren't afraid of the little creatures around it unless they do something really spectacular. If a Giant is bound to a Shaman's will, they will be totally immune to intimidation.
-Giants are ungainly and frequently befuddled even at the best of times, and this is not helped by their love of the drink. As a consequence, they often trip over their own feet. This can be a bit of a problem, especially if you're the guy they just fell on.
Mobility: 4
Training: 2
Max Range: Melee (But it is a massive creature)
Preferred Range: Eating
A Ramhorn is a gargantuan creature of Chaos, roaming the deepest depths of the Old World’s ancient forests, always in search for something to quench its endless hunger. Its voracious appetite drives it to consume every being unfortunate enough to cross its path during bloody rampages, driven by unsaturated cravings for raw flesh - no matter whether it is rotten carrion, living, undead or mutated, everything is devoured.
It is believed that Ramhorns originally were Razorgors, the same way Ghorgons are a mutated kind of Minotaurs. As long as a Razorgor is not slain by some hero in battle or torn apart and eaten by another, horrible denizen of the Old World’s forests, it continues to grow to titanic size, wolfing down everything it encounters. All elements of its undiscriminating diet contribute to a Razorgor’s grotesque growth, both the Chaos tainted flesh from other Razorgors and Beastmen, as well as the swords, shields and armor parts of unfortunate Empire patrols. While its hideous hide hardens, massive horns sprout on its ugly head; vicious tusks emerge from gaping maws and razor-sharp spikes are protruding through gnarled skin. As a Razorgor grows into a Ramhorn, its already impressive appetite also increases and the initial hunger turns into a perpetual state of craving flesh, driving the creature into a frenzy on its unending search to quench its insatiable hunger.
The Beastmen more than readily goad a Ramhorn into battle, for this means that it can feast upon the flesh of their hated enemies and apart from wreaking havoc among them this also is a temporary reprieve from the constant danger of ending as a tasty morsel for the Ramhorn. Hours before battle the Warherd adorns the beast with the shields and banners of their slain enemies, taunting them and raising their own battle-lust. In battle, Bestigors and the Warherds Chieftain mount the Ramhorn and harass the enemy from the relative safety of the rampaging monsters back. Sometimes Shamans use the Ramhorn’s titanic height to their advantage to get a better vantage point and hurl destructive spells across the battlefield. Temples are leveled and crenellated keeps brought crashing down by living mountains of muscle and horn, goaded into battle by the chanting Beastmen that are packed into crude howdahs upon their backs.
Offense: Massive Tusks and Fangs. It can also crush things underfoot, and it has spikes growing out of its flesh.
From atop the Ramhorn's back Besitgor's and Chieftain can harass the enemy with thrown spears. A Shaman will use the high as a vantage point to cast his spells.
Defense: Gnarled flesh with large spikes jutting out of it.
Additional Factors:
-Full grown Ramhorns are extremely hard to capture. Unlike a Razorgor, a Chieftain is not enough to subdue the creature to its will. Entire Warbands have perished in fights against a raging Ramhorn, trying not to kill it but instead break its primitive will. Since capturing a fully grown Ramhorn is almost impossible, there are two very distinctive ways for any Chieftain who craves one of these terrible beasts for himself. He either sets out to find and tame a Razorgor – as far as these brutes can be tamed. Upon the accomplishment of such an already difficult task he then tends to the creature with scraps of meat, unlucky Ungors and the flesh of his enemies. In due time the creature will grow into the coveted Ramhorn. Chieftains who lack the time and patience to raise their own beast of destruction may seek to employ the help of a Bray-Shaman to magically impose his will on the beast. This is not easily undertaken, for the frenzied mind of a Ramhorn is only focused on quelling its endless hunger and even for a Great Shaman it is demanding to penetrate the single- minded will of the beast.
-A Warherd in the possession of a Ramhorn can count itself among the most powerful forces in the entire region. Its mere presence will ensure neighboring Warbands flogging to the Chieftains banner, further increasing his might – and also serving a secondary purpose. Keeping a Ramhorn calm means to constantly supply it with fresh meat. This requires enormous amounts of it, and more often than not the leaders of a Warherd rely on the unending supply of Ungors and potential challengers to keep their Ramhorn complacent.
The ultimate battle occurs when a Ghorgon and a Ramhorn clash in the wilderness on their eternal search for food. The raw might of the four-armed Ghorgon pounds against the thick hide of the Ramhorn, which in return rips and shreds at the Ghorgon’s twisted body. The outcome of such battles always end with one of the combatants succumbing to grievous wounds. The other one however is in for the feast of its lifetime, possibly able to sate its hunger for a mere couple of hours.
Cockatrice
Mobility: 6
Training: 4
Max Range: Line-of-Sight
Preferred Range: Picking at the Dead and Dying
"Even the mightiest of creatures must fear the Cockatrice, for its gaze means certain death." - Bonnaudo, famed Bretonnian Explorer
"That were the only thing I've ever eaten in me life that I don't ever want to eat again." - Greasus Goldtooth
The Cockatrice is a fearsome creature resembling a large winged lizard with the crested head and legs of a rooster. Its squat, strong body is covered with scales and feathers. Powerful leathery wings propel it through the sky, from where it swoops down upon its enemy and rends them apart with its sharp claws. The Cockatrice’s head has a fierce beak and is covered with ugly red wattles, which make it look both bizarre and frightening, being an unnatural amalgam of distinctly different creatures, which suggests the influence of Chaos on these creatures' origins. Their lairs, surrounded by the pecked-apart corpses of beasts many times larger than themselves, would seem to indicate that they have some sort of advantage over sizeable prey.
The Cockatrice is an unsettling and repulsive creature that seldom emerges from its lair. Some say that this is due to the enthusiasm with which Bretonnian Knights hunt and slay them – even the stupidest creature can make out the intentions of a Knight Errant at full flood, and Cockatrices are, if anything, more intelligent than most knights.
Offense: Razor Sharp Claws & Teeth
Defense: Flight, Scaly Armor
Special: Petrifying Gaze: Whilst the cockatrice is not so physically fearsome as many other monsters, it has a curious ability that makes it the equal of even the mightiest Dragon. The Cockatrice can petrify foes with its magical gaze, literally turning them to stone with a glance unless they can evad its sorcerous stare. This ability makes the Cockatrice a deadly opponent, for a warrior must try to vanquish the beast without even setting sight upon it. Even a glimpse of the Cockatrice’s visage is enough of a view to prove deadly.
Additional Factors:
-In truth, the Cockatrice is not a bold fighter and prefers to lurk around the fringes of a battlefiend where it can safely feast on the dead and dying. Despite the beast’s inclination for self-preservation, only a very foolish warrior will corner a Cockatrice. When the beast is desperate, it goes berserk, shrieking and clawing at all who approach it with a maddened ferocity that more than compensates for its innate cowardice.
SPECIALIST SUPPORT:
Mobility: 5
Training: 7-8
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
The Gors are the larger and stronger of the beastmen, but among their numbers the mightiest are called wargors. All beastmen are warriors, but the Wargors are truly masters of warfare. On the battlefield, a Wargor is a seething force of violence, bloodshed, and butchery. As a badge of their station, Wargors may adorn their horns with metal rings and tips of sharp steel or carry the severed heads of conquered foes as a grisly testament to their prowess. Where they wade into the fray, bringing their savage strength to bear on the enemy, victory follows.
More than just expert fighters, Wargors are ruthless and savage leaders. Rare is the beastman mighty enough to command both loyalty and obedience among his unruly herd. No Gor or Ungor dare cross a Wargor. The price for such insolence is a swift and bloody death. A beastman army with a Wargor at its head is a far deadlier force, for the chaos and disarray that typically undermine the beastmen's effectiveness all but disappear under the stern and unforgiving authority of a Wargor.
Offense: Whatever weapon they want, with a high chance for a magical one.
Defense: Whatever armor they want, with a high chance for a magical set.
Special: Variant: Beastlord: The greatest of Wargors may rise still further, dominating not only their own warherds, but those of other Chieftains too. Such an individual is known as a Beastlord, and will be possessed of a singular, apocalyptic vision, consumed by utter hatred for Man and all his works. He will be counseled by the greatest of Bray-Shamans, who see in him the will of the Dark Gods embodied. It is these Beastlords that gather the tribes and make constant war upon Mankind. It is they who plan the raids on settlements and ambushes on caravans, who settle disputes and keep lesser Beastmen in line with strength of arm. A powerful Beastlord is rightly feared both by his own kind and by other creatures, for his warband will be large, savage and elusive; a deadly scourge on the settlements and traveling parties of Men.
The Beastlords of the warherds are hairy, musclebound brutes possessed of a raw and savage might. They carry themselves with swaggering confidence, reveling in their own superiority over lesser beasts. Their thick, hairy skulls are crowned with magnificent sets of horns as sharp and hard as any blade, and their robust and heavily-thewed bodies are covered with scar tissue and crudely rendered tattoos. Many Beastmen champions bear a reward or Mark of Chaos (See Bestigors Special), setting them apart from the rest of the herd. The threat of violence is implicit in their every gesture. Upon the battlefield a Beastlord is a force of untold destruction, gouging and butchering with horn, blade and claw.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Man Bane: While they may fight with other races, humans are the ones Beastmen hate the most. The presence of humans on the battlefield is likely to make the Beastman's primal fury even worse.
-Wargors are the leaders of the warherds, but they give no regard to the concerns of their tribe. They care not how their underlings are fed or how disputes are settled. The only thing the Wargors concern themselves with is battle. Day and night they brood and plot the myriad ways they will enact their race's hatred of Man, the violence they will wreak upon his flesh and the defilement they will heap upon his temples.
Mobility: 5
Training: 7
Max Range: Battlefield
Preferred Range: ^^
The shamans of the Beastmen race are vile to behold, their filthy bodies covered in matted fur into which all manner of crude fetishes and grim charms are woven. Their twisted features are often covered in a ragged hood and they bear heavy braystaffs hung with bones, shells and skulls, with pieces of stone and metal imbedded into its length, as both brutal weapons and the symbol of their position in the warherd. Bray-Shamans occupy a unique niche in the brutal and bitter world of the Beastmen. They have no need to defend themselves from other members of their tribe, for none would dare assault them. Not even the mightiest Beastlord would harm a Bray-Shaman, for they speak the will of the Dark Gods, and those that defy the gods pay the highest price of all.
The Shamans of the Beastmen are figures held in respect and awe by their brethren. Even the most powerful Beastmen chief must be wary of the abilities of the Shamans, for they alone amongst the Brayherd have magical powers. These powers are not learned from books or tutors, as they are by less favored races; the Shamans can command the Winds of Magic by instinct, shaping the forces of Chaos into an expression of their will as naturally as a lesser being might form words and sentences.
When the Beastmen go to war, the Bray-Shamans wield their powers to wreak terrible devastation upon the foe, their coruscating magic transforming soldiers into hideous new forms, summoning the creatures of the forest - both large and small - to bite and rend, or driving enemy mounts to buck their riders to the ground, to gore and trample their masters.
Offense: Bray-Shamans can use spells from ONE of the following Lores: Beasts, Shadow, Death, or Wild. Most wield a braystaff, a piece of wood with pieces of metal stuck in it and decorated with various charms and symbols.
Defense: Thick fur and Magic.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-As the Beastlords are the embodiment of their race's hatred for man, so the Bray-Shamans embody the loathing of his gods. To blaspheme the deities of man is to do ultimate honour to Chaos, and the Bray-Shamans enact such defilement as the greatest of their rituals. The most blessed of all are those who have counseled their chieftains to wage unending war upon the Empire, and in so doing have burned to the ground the temples of the gods of Man. To the Bray-Shamans, the ultimate act of worship is to slay Man's priests upon their own altars, to defecate upon their holy ground and to trample their sacred artefacts beneath the cloven feet of the warherd.
HEROES:
Mobility: 5
Training: 9
Max Range: Battlefield (Commanding Presence)
Preferred Range: Melee
Gorthor the Cruel was the greatest Beastlord ever to have lived. Over one thousand years ago, during the time of the Crusades, his warband ravaged the forests of the Empire and all but destroyed the provinces of Ostland and Hochland, and his name can still be found on some of the most ancient herdstones across the region. There have been many Beastlords who have united tribes into mighty warherds, but Gorthor was unique among his kind, for he possessed one thing that all others have lacked: he had vision, and the sheer animalistic will to sear it into the minds his followers.
Gorthor was convinced that the gods had selected him as their emissary, that he was destined to control the forests in their name. Though he had no true magical powers, he had something of the shaman about him, often falling into seizures or visited by nightmare visions of the future. Such was his fervor in battle, he would sometimes he surrounded by coronas of dark energy, which would protect him or strike out at his foes, a sure sign to other Beastmen that the gods truly favored him. With great strength of arm and cunning, he fought his way through the ranks of Gors to become a chieftain, but his sheer intensity never left him, growing in strength to match his ever increasing power.
Before long he had united all the tribes of the Middle Mountains under his banner, and most chieftains would have been satisfied with far less, but not Gorthor: his purpose was to destroy the entire world in the name of Chaos. He gathered forces and magical artifacts the like of which no Beastman had ever seen. He slew the Orc warlord, Gugrud Gutrippes, and took the Greenskin's magic spear, Impaler. He challenged and killed Kerranarash the Doombull, claiming the Skull of Mugrar from the Minotaur's shrine. Ogres, Trolls, Giants, and even mighty Dragon Ogres all flocked to join his warherd, drawn by some unknown instinct the gathering power of Chaos in the heart of the Middle Mountains.
When Gorthor left the Middle Mountains it was at the head of the largest horde of beasts ever seen. Gorthor rode in a mighty chariot driven by his trusted retainer Bagrar, ensuring that all his followers could see him, and that he would be the first to shed the blood of the foe. Gorthor's own warherd thundered along beside him in chariots of their own pulled by all manner of vicious and unsightly monstrosities bound to Gorthor's will, and behind them swarmed a seething ocean of horns and hatred.
When Gorthor unleashed hell upon the Old World, the Empire was totally unprepared. Many knights and warriors were absent, fighting in the Crusades in Araby and Estalia, and as Gorthor's warherd surged out of the mountains, town after town was razed to the ground by the unstoppable horde. Rather than simply raiding the towns, Gorthor's purpose was total destruction, and his warband slaughtered every man, woman and child they found, save one from each town who would be spared to spread panic amongst neighboring settlements.
Leaving Ostland devastated in his wake. Gorthor continued on his rampage into the smaller province of Hochland. It was well for the Empire that the state was ruled by Count Mikael, a man as ruthless as he was brave, unpopular with his people but prepared to do anything to stop the Beastlord. To public outrage the Count spent the time he had before Gorthor's arrival strengthening the defenses of Hergig, Hochland's capital, rather than riding to the aid of the towns in the path of Gorthor's advance. By the time Gorthor's army reached the city, the defenses were in place, a maze of walls, trenches and stakes stood between the horde and Hcrgig's gates. It took the Beastmen three weeks of bloody slaughter to break through the Count's ingenious defenses, with the defenders raining arrows, boiling water, burning oil, rocks and flaming torches down on them at every step.
Frustrated by the resistance of the Men and their leader, Gorthor promised his warriors all of the spoils, asking nothing for himself but the head of the Count. The Beastmen doubled their efforts, and on the twenty second day of the siege the gates of Hergig finally splintered under the Beastmen's rams. But still the Men fought on. Count Mikacl forbade his archers from carrying quivers, ordering them to drive their arrows into the ground so that they would not give an inch to the Beastmen. He equipped the most able men with all of the available weapons and armor, sending the old and infirm to the front lines to delay and tire the enemy. He had the wives and children of his soldiers carry food and water to the front lines, ensuring that no thought of retreat entered the men's minds.
But the hordes of Gorthor were innumerable, and the defenders were cut down in droves. The Count's castle had been under siege for weeks when the battle finally turned. Freshly back from the Crusades, the recently-founded Knights of the Blazing Sun, having heard that Hergig was under attack, had ridden straight for the city and ploughed into the rear of the Chaos army, their lances and swords cutting a bloody path through the unprepared Beastmen. Count Mikael seized his chance. Leading his personal bodyguard, he burst forth from the castle and carved into the scattered warherd.
Gorthor realized he had to take action or all would be lost. Chanting wildly, magical energy lashing out in all directions, he hacked his way through the melee until he stood before Count Mikael, and with a roar engaged him in single combat. But Mikael possessed a magical amulet which protected him from Gorthor's halo of dark power, and the generals fought for nearly two hours, their magical weapons drawing blood at every stroke. Finally, the killing blow was struck: the Count's Runefang overcame the magic of Impaler, smashing the spear in two, and dealt the Beastlord a mortal blow. With the death of their general the horde fled to the forests with the Knights of the Blazing Sun in pursuit, though Count Mikael died of his horrific injuries barely minutes after his victory.
Gorthor's warherd had left a permanent scar on the north of the Empire. Millions of the cursed Men were killed and two entire provinces were brought to their knees. Hochland and Ostland were not fully rebuilt for decades, and though a thousand years have passed since his death, his name is still used to curse enemies and frighten wayward children. Even in times of peace the forests are regarded by the people with great fear and superstition. And among Beastmen, his memory remains. It is said that one day another Beastlord with the might and vision of Gorthor will emerge and once more the thrones of the world will tremble before the Children of Chaos.
Centuries after Gorthor's death the Middle Mountains are still home to some of the most savage tribes in all the land. No army of Man dare enter the range, so terrible is the legacy of Gorthor the Beastlord.
Offense: The Impaler: Impaler is a monstrous magical spear, with brutal barbs placed on iron rings along its entire length. It skewers Gorthor's foes through and through, and when pulled free, it rends flesh and gouges bone, mangling its victim beyond recognition.
Defense: Skins, pelts, bones and a scarred hide.
Special: Bagrar the Tamer & Tuskgor Chariot: Bagrar is Gorthor's loyal charioteer, expert at taming and driving the Tuskgors to full effect.
Special: Skull of Mugrar: Mounted upon Gorthor's chariot is the skull of the Lord of Minotaurs, Mugrar. The magic of the skull ensures the chariot strikes with a thunderous momentum.
Special: Cloak of the Beastlord: Alone amongst Beastmen, Gorthor does not fear the curse on slaying a Bray-Shaman for he knows that his favor amongst the gods is greater even than theirs. Made from the hides of those shamans he killed on his ride to power, the Cloak of the Beastlord gives Gorthor the power of iron command over his hordes.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Scion of the Dark Gods: In the heat of battle Gorthor is enshrouded in a corona of dark energy that lashes out to smite and confound his enemies. Gorthor can utilize this aura to randomly generate a spell from the Lore of Death, though it is half as powerful as a normal version of that spell.
-Man Bane: See Beastlord
Mobility: 5
Training: 7
Max Range: Several Meters
Preferred Range: Melee
Possessing a ruthless cunning far above that of his bestial kin, Khazrak the One-eye is the most dangerous and powerful Beastlord of the Drakwald. It is he who has plagued the castles and towns of the region for several years, attacking without warning and then slipping away into the shadows, leaving no trail to follow.
Though he has now far surpassed his former chieftain in strength and skill, it was from Beastlord Graktar that the young Khazrak learned the ways of Beastmen warfare. Following Graktar on innumerable raids, he learned how to quell the unruly spirit of the herd and devise simple but effective battle plans. He watched and listened as he participated in attacks on caravans and raids on isolated settlements. All the while, Khazrak dreamed of one day usurping power from Graktar and taking control of the warherd himself. Yet Khazrak is unlike most Beastmen, with a patient and thoughtful mind at odds with the normal headstrong nature of his kind. He bided his time, watching as more foolhardy challengers were crushed beneath Graktar's hooves, or ripped apart on his horns, and he studied his leader's fighting style and waited for the right moment.
It was after an ambush on a Human caravan during which Graktar was wounded, that Khazrak made his move. Noticing that Craktar was bleeding heavily, Khazrak challenged him for leadership and, after a lengthy fight, tore off one of his foe's horns with his bare hands. Rather than kill Graktar. Khazrak banished him from the warband - the one-horned Graktar was laughed out of the brayherd and never seen again, though rumor has it that he still lives and yearns for the day when he can avenge his defeat. Khazrak keeps Graktar's horn as a trophy, and the resounding note it sounds when blown has often been the signal that dooms unwary travellers.
Since then, Khazrak's warband has roamed the Drakwald Forest terrorizing Human settlements and travelers, and never before has a Beastmen leader proven so elusive for hunting parties. Khazrak has a unique ability to control and harness the unruly spirit of the herd and devise simple but effective battle plans. Khazrak's warband roams the Drakwald terrorizing the townships and roads, and never before has a Beastman leader proven so elusive to retribution. No one is spared in Khazrak's attacks, his superbly trained Warhounds chasing down the few who manage to escape the warherd itself.
On the rare occasions that he is discovered, Khazrak has always defeated his pursuers, be they state troops, White Wolf Templars, or mercenaries out to collect the massive bounty offered for proof of Khazrak's death. On several occasions the Elector Count Boris Todbringer of Middenheim has led the hunt, and once trapped Khazrak near the village of Elsterweld. Khazrak lost his eye to the Man's Runefang in the ensuing battle, but was saved from death when the fierce warhound, Redmaw, attacked the Count's horse, allowing Khazrak to escape. Khazrak's eye has never fully healed, and continually weeps blood and pus.
Such a handicap would usually prove fatal in the brutal culture of the Beastmen but Khazrak's wound actually made him all the more fierce and careful, and he vowed to take his revenge. For many months he plotted and schemed, and then only when the perfect opportunity presented itself did he put his plan into action. With a series of daring ambushes, he lured the Count and his army towards Norderingen. Doubling back overnight, Khazrak and his warband waited for Todbringer and his force to start breaking camp just outside the village, and then attacked. Khazrak fought his way through the soldiers of Middenheim to confront the Elector. He threw him from his horse, pinned him to the ground, and with slow deliberation, gouged out one of his eyes with the tip of a horn. Just as with Craktar, Khazrak allowed his foe to live, and some believe that he actually enjoys matching his wits against Todbringer, seeing it as a challenge to his skills.
The Elector has since increased the bounty for Khazrak's death to ten thousand gold crowns. He almost caught Khazrak again a few months later, but the Beastlord slipped away. However, Count Todbringer made a point of slaying the hound Redmaw and hanging its remains up on the walls of Middenheim, and Khazrak is now devising a way to repay this affront to his pride.
Even the massive reward offered by the Count has not improved his hunters' fortunes, and those few bounty killers who return from the Drakwald always do so empty-handed. Khazrak remains a dire threat to the entire north of the Empire, and his raids are covering a wider area with each passing year, as more and more towns and villages fall victim to his elaborate and devastating ambushes.
Offense: Scourge: Scourge is a lethal whip, wrapped in the bitter curses of many generations of Bray-Shamans. Its cruel barbs lash out in wide arcs and can tear out great chunks of flesh, causing the victim tremendous agony.
Defense: The Dark Mail: This suit of chainmail was forged in the distant past by an unknown smith, but its creator must surely have bad connections with the Dark Powers, for it has the ability to counter the fanciful enchantments and magics of enemy weapons. Decent armor on its own, but it negates the power of any magic or runic weapon carried by enemy units that come into CQC range.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Man Bane: See Beastlord
-Bestial Cunning: Khazrak is the most cunning Beastman to have ever lived, and his warband is highly experienced at carrying out his ambush plans.
-Hated Rival: Boris Todbringer
Mobility: 5
Training: 9
Max Range: 50 Meters
Preferred Range: ^^
Born almost three centuries ago, the creature known as Morghur was far from a human child. With tooth and horn, he ripped his mother apart in his gory entrance to the world, while her features mutated horribly. Her distraught husband reached forwards to strangle the twisted abomination, yet as his hands touched the foul creature, his body also was wracked with hideous mutation.
Days later, when a group of traveling players arrived at the small community on the outskirts of the dark Forest of Arden, they found it in absolute chaos. Recorded in the tragic Bretonnian poem 'Requiem', it is said that men crawled around in the mud like animals, their hands turned to hooves and limbs twisted and rearranged. The livestock walked around on hind legs, speaking in unfathomable tongues as they devoured each other.
In the following decades, a shadow touched the Forest of Arden. At its rotting heart, the trees contorted and twisted. It is said that their cries of anguish can be heard on the wind, and their skeletal-like limbs scratch and lash out at any who intrude into their mournful world. Parents scare their misbehaving young with tales of a mad creature that shambles tirelessly through the trees at night, turning harmless animals into rabid killers and torturing the trees, forcing them against their will to invade the lands of men and steal naughty children from their beds. Little do they know how true the tales are.
Having crawled into the forest as a misshapen and deadly babe, Morghur lives deep within a cave, hidden in one of the darkest groves. The dank stone walls of his cave flow like water in his presence, constantly reforming to mirror the dark visions that plague him. At all times, Morghur's mind is filled with images of destruction, fire and desolation. Burning hatred simmers within his heart, and he is consumed with the desire to make his waking - dreams become reality - to rip down civilisation in all its forms, to shatter order wherever it is found and to change the world constantly and randomly. As he walks the forest, everything in his presence is irrevocably changed. Grass turns black and grows in strange patterns beneath his hooves, streams begin to flow backwards and animals mutate horribly.
Beastmen revere Morghur, believing that his spirit walked the world before the birth of their race: the incarnation of disorder and chaotica. They set out from thousands of miles away to stand in his presence, drawn to him by urges they do not question: a tainted pilgrimage that often destroys them. Only the strongest-willed survive such an encounter, though their minds are usually shattered and plagued by visions ever after. The bodies of most are wracked by fatal change. Those few that do live on with minds intact return to their warherds where they are regarded with awe and respect, and invariably rise to become powerful Wargors and Beastlords.
The Shamans claim that if the physical body of Morghur is cut down, his spirit is reborn elsewhere. Indeed, creatures of similar description have been recorded all across the known world, and darkness and taint has always followed in his wake. The Elves know this being as Cyanathair, the Corrupter, and among the Dwarfs he is the Cor-Dum.
Legends of the Empire claim that in ages long past this being made the Drakwald Forest the dark and twisted place it is today, where Morghur was known as the Shadow-Gave. Nevertheless, the only one to perhaps understand the true horror and revulsion that is Morghur is Ariel of the Wood Elves. It is she alone who truly perceives the black and expansive essence of Morghur, too powerful a spirit to be contained in a single physical form. A silent, unseen war rages in the dark forests between the Wood Elves and the Beastmen. As Ariel seeks a way to destroy Morghur forever, while with every passing year ever more Beastmen are drawn to his distorted realm.
Offense: Bray-Staff of Morghur & The Stones of the Skull Cave: The twisted braystaff of Morghur is a potent talisman of Chaotic power when combined with the power of the Stones of the Skull Cave, and it writhes constantly as if a living thing. These two items together make the winds of Chaos ever more unstable and dangerous, and can turn the deadly winds against those attempting to manipulate its powerful essence. This means wizards attempting to use the winds of magic risk turning into Chaos spawn
Defense: Skull-Weave: The skulls woven into Morgbur's hair and horns gibber and screech constantly. While this is regarded with awe and respectful fear by the Beastmen, it evokes terror and mind-numbing horror in all others who encounter Morghur, often making them insane, condemned to bear the horrific chatter for the rest of their lives.
Special: Aura of Transmutation: Morghur's mutating spirit leaks out from him, changing the world around. Bolts and arrows fired at him turn into birds, bats or frogs, spells into showers of warm blood, and cannonballs into puffs of smoke, while an enemy soldier might be transformed into a twisting mass of tentacles, a puddle of black jelly, or a pile of fish. This means Morghur cannot be harmed by any form of missile attack or spell (unless utterly overwhelmed by sheer numbers or power). Anyone wishing to engage him in CQC will have to have incredibly strong will or magical protection.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Major Morale Booster
Mobility: 5
Training: 9
Max Range: Battlefield
Preferred Range: ^^
On the coldest and most desolate mornings, the citizens of the Old World creep out of their snow-shrouded dwellings to see mysterious cloven footprints that walk up to their doors, atop their buildings, and even through the walls of their homesteads. Omens of disaster crop up everywhere; milk turns to blood, calves are born with two heads, and the clouds above form horned and leering skulls. On days such as these there rises a great wailing, for these are the signs of Malagor himself, and where the Crowfather treads, utter mayhem and destruction is not far behind.
The Beastmen believe that Malagor is the doom of Mankind personified. He is a figure of nightmares across the entire Great Forest, revered by the Beastmen but feared above all by superstitious men. To man, Malagor is a harbinger of the downfall of all they hold dear. Vilified by the cult of Sigmar as the epitome of sin due to his many blasphemies, a sighting of Malagor is the most terrifying portent of all. He is the winged fiend that will rise from the benighted forests and challenge the gods of Man. He is the devil rendered in woodcut in ancient tomes kept under lock and key lest the terrible secrets within blast the sanity of any who read them.
From the moment of his birth, it was obvious that Malagor was blessed by the Dark Gods, for he was possessed of a pair of feathered pinions as black as the night. Though Malagor is a Bray-Shaman, he does not reserve his counsel to any single chieftain. Instead, his whisperings steer the course of the entire Beastman race, visiting the herdstones and Chaos shrines across the Great Forest and enacting rituals so blasphemous that even the other Bray-Shamans dare not voice them. When the Beastmen rise up and invade the lands of Men with Malagor at their head, the temples are torn down and put to flame. Malagor desires nothing less than to cast down the human gods and goddesses, to slaughter their priests and priestesses upon their own altars, to devour their flesh and drink their blood in vile mockery of their most holy sacraments.
To the enemies of the Beastmen, the sight of Malagor swooping from the smoke-wreathed skies among countless thousands of carrion birds is a portent of terrible and immediate disaster. The presence of Malagor has caused stout defenders to abandon otherwise impregnable walls and the mightiest of warriors to fall to their knees in the mud in abject defeat.
Offense: Malagor is a powerful wizard who can use spells from the Lore of Beasts, Shadow, Death and Wild. He also has a braystaff
Defense: Magical Barriers, Scavenged Scrap & Leather, Flight
Special: Icons if Vilification: Malagor bears all manner of symbols of blasphemy, from the broken bodies of Warrior Priests to soiled scraps of Mankind's most holy texts. These icons inspire Malagor's followers to ever greater acts of desecration.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Unholy Power: Malagor has a dread agenda given unto him by the Dark Gods themselves, and every spell Malagor casts brings his unholy mission that much closer to fruition. For every spell Malagor casts that is not dispelled his next next spell is even more powerful.
-Malagor hates the religions of man, and if he finds they have one in the native land or opposing army, he will make it his mission to defile their holy lands and icons and kill their priests and holy men.
Mobility: 6
Training: 7
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: ^^
Taurox the Brass Bull is an unstoppable force; a roaring, snorting engine of destruction virtually impervious to physical harm. Cast in the form of a grotesquely muscled Doombull, Taurox looms over his followers, a mountain of living brass with curving, bladed horns and a gnashing metal maw that constantly drools with gore.
The Brass Bull was not always a metallic monstrosity. Once a fearsome chieftain of the Minotaur tribes, Taurox enforced his brutal will upon the lesser beasts of the forest by felling any creature who dared meet his stern gaze and then devouring them alive. The Brass Bull was merciless beyond measure, and the ground at his feet was ever wet with the freshly spilled blood of friend and foe alike.
So it was that one night an emissary of the fell powers crawled into the mortal realm from the devastated remains of one of Taurox's rivals. The hell-borne nightmare was sinewy and crimson-skinned, coiled with unholy energy, and it met Taurox's gaze with its hollow black eyes. This proved to be a costly mistake. Before it could utter a single syllable in its dark tongue, Taurox grabbed it by its wattled throat and bit off its head. There was a moment's silence, then a violent thrashing as Taurox spasmed and shook, seized by a vision of a world awash with blood and afloat with corpses. Taurox roared and screamed, biting and clawing at himself in his convulsions before taking up his axes and slaying every one of his tribe one by one.
But he did not stop there. For a year and a day, Taurox raged across the lands in a blind rampage, killing every living thing he could find. Tribes of Beastmen, covens of witches, nomadic Strigany caravans, mercenary Ogres, Empire patrols, proud knights, two-headed Giants, all fell to Taurox's boundless wrath. When he came upon the vale of Lietberg he killed so many citizens that a river of blood was born at his feet. Exhausted, Taurox collapsed in the crimson stream, and he would have died then and there, for his energies were completely spent. But the dark ones had uses for him still.
Under a scarlet moon, Taurox was reborn. He rose up and bellowed his defiance, blood cascading from his now-brazen frame, for the gods had rewarded his fell deeds with a body of shining metal. No more would he tire, no more would he have a moment's respite from the rage that consumed him. Taurox drank deep of the gory river he had made, and the blood sluiced and boiled inside his brass body, giving him unholy vitality. Clashing his rune-enscribed axes together in savage pride, Taurox set off once more and began the slaughter anew. This time he did not stop, and the Brass Bull will not stop until he is somehow put in the grave once and for all.
Offense: Rune-Tortured Axes: The runes on Taurox's axes burn with dire-sorcery (attacks with these axes are flaming and ignore armor). He also has massively enhanced strength, and with his large size his whole body is a weapon, able to stomp on his enemies or charge right through him (and the fortified wall they were standing in front of). He has also sharpened his horns to a razor sharp point.
Defense: His entire body is made of daemonically fueled brass. Most normal weapons bounce off him with no effect, with even artillery and cannon fire barely budging him. You're gonna need to bombard this guy with massive firepower or staggering magical might to hurt him. HOWEVER, none of this applies to his throat, which is still flesh, and thus still vulnerable to just about any weapon. Hitting this area can cause massive damage, and would be the easiest way to kill him.
Additional Factors:
-Taurox is a nearly uncontrollable killing machine. He's not directed so much as he is aimed.
Mobility: 6
Training: 8
Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee
Ghorros Warhoof is a gnarled, ancient Centigor who is forever fighting, rutting or getting drunk. His unnaturally long life has spanned many centuries and he has slaughtered his way through countless wars without succumbing to his injuries. Not a single minute of his impressive lifespan has been spent idle, for the Warhoof is possessed of an unholy vitality, a virile and boundless energy that is matched only by the depths of his carnal urges. Among the strongest of these is a lust for violence and battle. It is a rare moon indeed that does not see Ghorros go to war.
It is commonly said that Ghorros Warhoof is the father of a thousand young, and yet that still does not do his exploits justice. A menagerie of twisted terrors that cover the Old World from one end to the other share his bloodline. Ghorros frequently boasts about his adventures; indeed it is very difficult to get him to stop. Among his many claims is the fathering of the entire Centigor race. He maintains that every one of that mismatched and drunken clan can be traced back to his lineage. Few have the nerve to gainsay him, for in his cups the Warhoof has a terrible and violent temper, and he is rarely sober.
None can deny that Ghorros has a very great number of Centigor sons and acolytes, all fanatically devoted to their gnarled but undeniably potent leader. He gallops into battle surrounded by the largest and most fearsome of his four-legged progeny, and every one of them would readily give their lives for the sake of their infamous sire.
But it is not just Centigor that owe a familial debt to Ghorros, for he is anything but discerning. Amongst his hordes come all manner of nameless beasts and halfbreeds, and regardless of their size, barbarism or ferocity, they all pay respect to the Warhoof when he is nearby. An army blessed by the leadership of the Warhoof is strong indeed, for his presence unites the disparate creatures of the dark woods on a deep and primal level.
Offense: Mansmasher: In battle Ghorros wields a great spiked club, every bit as blunt and unsubtle as its owner. Though crude, the Mansmasher bears the blessings of dozens of Bray-Shamans, and it has been soaked in the blood of ancient dynasties.
Defense: Skull of the Unicorn Lord: Atop his scalp Ghorros wears the broken skull of Arsil, the Prince of Unicorns, who had an unfortunate encounter with Ghorros in a moonlit glade many centuries ago. It still harbors some of the protective magic of its former owner. This makes him heavily magically resistant. He also wears leather scraps.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Sons of Ghorros: Ghorros goes into battle with a unit of elite-bodyguards. These are highly skilled veterans that more than willing to sacrifice themselves to protect Ghorros.
-Father of Beasts: Should Ghorros be killed, all beastmen in the army will become enraged and fight harder in order to avenge him.
-Ghorros is a well known drunkard, always eager to celebrate, brag and party it up with other Beastmen.
-The Wood Elves have never forgiven Ghorros for what he did to Arsil, and are still seeking revenge even to this day.
Mobility: 5
Training: 7
Max Range: Battlefield
Preferred Range: Battlefield
The repulsive creature known as Molokh Slugtongue is anathema to cultivated life and natural harmony. Everything Mankind does to harness nature, every act of order intended to trammel the chaos of the wild, can be undone by a single gesture from Slugtongue's blackened claw. Slugtongue is the cold talon of winter incarnate, and famine follows in his wake.
Stalking across the lands of Man like a black, hobbled crow, Slugtongue turns the most fecund and fertile valleys into barren and freezing wastes crawling with poisonous vermin. At first glance, Slugtongue could be mistaken for a death-devil, for his head is little more than a leering, bovine skull and his emaciated body is covered with liver-spots and coarse, white hair. Yet on closer inspection Slugtongue teems with life, albeit of the basest kind - he is host to colonies of fat black lice, hopping fleas, bloated tics, wriggling worms and stinkbodied cockroaches that infest every dank crevice of his wretched frame. Centipedes crawl from his empty eye sockets and slugs spill from gaps in his rotten teeth when Slugtongue croaks his pronouncements of slow but inevitable doom. Worse still, he is surrounded by an aura of numbing cold, his stinking breath coalescing in ever more disturbing shapes and his tattered robes hung with jagged icicles of filthy and unimaginable fluid.
As repugnant as Slugtongue is at first-hand, the signs of his passing are just as disturbing. With a single whispered phrase, he can unleash the power of blight upon the land and those that defend it. Ravenous living hurricanes of skull-headed locusts whip and tear across the crop-fields, reducing them to shocking ruin in seconds. Rivers of virgin meltwater turn to bile at the sound of his gurgling, phlegm-choked laughter. With a single word, the skies fill with writhing clouds of transparent maggot-things that rain down into freshwater lakes like a living hail. Storehouses full of golden corn and sheafs of barley are opened to reveal nothing more than rotting black sludge, and barrels of fine ale yield nothing more than a thick gruel of infected spittle.
Each of these vile transformations is pleasing to Slugtongue, for he knows that those on the brink of starvation are soon driven to acts of foolhardiness. It is not long before those living under the dark blight of his presence marshal their armies in their desperate need to lift the curse that ravages their lands. But those who follow Slugtongue are ready for them, knowing full well that war follows famine as surely as winter follows autumn. When the armies of the starving and frightened march to confront Slugtongue they are met by hordes of well-fed, hot-tempered and battle-ready Beastmen who descend upon them from every direction. It is not long before these bestial armies are hacking apart and trampling the weakened fools that dare stand against Slugtongue's curse, whilst mocking laughter drifts upon the rot-scented winds.
Offense: Modest wizard able to use spells from the Lores of Death and Wild, he also has his aura (see special), and a poisoned braystaff.
Defense: Filthy robes and minor regeneration
Special: Curse of the Famine-Fiend: Effects everything in a 500meter radius. Each unit is affected by this aura differently. 1/6 feel nothing but disgust and horror at the beast before them, but are otherwise unharmed. 4/6 (or 2/3 rather) feel a crippling weakness sweep over them (bypassing all armor), weakening them over time until they can barely move let alone fight. The final 1/6 is overwhelmed by a starvation of body and soul and die relatively quickly. This aura effects everything, even magical creatures.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-The Enemy of Logistics: His very presence destroys supplies, food, and water. If he's not taken care of immediately, the army facing him will be fighting him through dehydration and starvation. It will take time to undo the damage he does to livestock and crop-sources.
Mobility: 6
Training: 6 (8 during full moon)
Max Range: 50 Meters (Waves of Insanity)
Preferred Range: Melee
The creature known as Moonclaw was not born of mortal creatures, but instead hurled from the pale belly of Morrslieb when it was at its most bloated. Though at first glance he could be mistaken for a particularly hideous Beastman, Moonclaw is not of this world. For Moonclaw is utterly and irrevocably insane, his actions as random as they are lethal.
Upon the Geheimnisnacht when Moonclaw came unto the world, Morrslieb hung low and full in the firmament like the belly of a pregnant hag. The forests resounded to the orgiastic feasting of the Beastmen tribes. At the stroke of the witching hour, a blazing, horned comet seared across the skies. It briefly traced a green scar across the heavens before hammering through the clouds and slamming into the sacred grove at the base of the Barren Hills. A wave of green-black force flattened the forest for miles around. Nothing survived the disastrous impact save Moonclaw himself, who stepped steaming from the cracked remains of an egg-shaped lump of purest warpstone, his glistening fur slicked to his body by nameless fluids. Thus did Moonclaw step from the wyrdling substance of his lunar mother into the Old World.
Since that day Moonclaw has wandered the lands in a daze, speaking glottal syllables in a backwards tongue. His glowing, goat-slit eyes seem to see into another realm, and his erratic gestures leave doppelganger traces in the air. Wherever the Beastmen witness the lambent green-black flames that lick around Moonclaw they fall to their knees in worship.
When Morrslieb is nearest the earth, Moonclaw's power waxes full. It is then that Moonclaw summons the strange two-headed beast, Umbralok, that serves as his steed, and rides at the head of a great army. On these nights he seeks out the waystones that dot the Old World, edifices older than the race of man. Moonclaw desires nothing so much as to see these flung down and defiled so that the dark power they stem may flow out into the world. So it is that Moonclaw leads his followers against the civilised races, his twisted and mutated form crackling with barely contained power atop his fiendish steed. Few can tolerate the wave of madness that precedes Moonclaw on these most eldritch of nights, let alone stand resolute when jagged shards of lunar rock hurtle out of the skies to annihilate any who earn Moonclaw's displeasure.
Offense: Moonclaw is a minor wizard who uses spells from Lore of Shadow and Wild. He also has a braystaff. His mount has claws and teeth.
Defense: Magical Barriers, Blessing of Morrislieb: The mother-moon grants Moonclaw heavy magical resistance. When he moves, Moonclaw leaves shadowy dopplegangers in his wake, making it slightly difficult to target him.
Special: Mount: Umbralok
Special: Wave of Insanity: Moonclaw projects a 50 meter aura of pure madness that can drive anyone (friend or foe) totally insane. Resistance is based on mental discipline.
Special: Unholy Zenith: When Morrislieb is full, that is when Moonclaw is at his most powerful. His mind clears, his aura of insanity becomes more potent, as does his magic. He can also call down a meteor-shower from his mother-moon, striking the enemy with chunks of corruptive, poisonous warpstone.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-When Morrislieb is not full, he's complete random and almost impossible for control.
Mobility: 5
Training: 5
Max Range: Several Hundred Meters
Preferred Range: Melee
Ungrol Four-horn is a being consumed with bitterness and spite. There is no more hateful a creature in the Old World, for he has been cast out of the ranks of both man and beast. Such was the scale of his transgressions that he has become something of a legend, and to this day he leads as a self-styled beggar king, marching at the head of a ragtag army of outcasts, mutants, and heretics who have nowhere else to run.
Ungrol was born with two heads, each of which was possessed of a singular ugliness. The mewling beast was greeted with utter revulsion by his human parents, and so Ungrol was cast out into the woods to die. But he subsisted on a diet of grubs and roots until he was strong enough to hunt and kill. Ungrol eventually found his way to the Manblight tribe, where he joined the ranks of the Ungar. Though he had only the most rudimentary horn-buds, the fact Ungrol had two heads was remarkable enough that he was tolerated as a Beastman. But still Ungrol had not found peace. The other Ungors were jealous of his mutation, and the Gors mocked him and beat him for having such small horns. Every day was a new set of demeaning and horrible trials for the creature they mockingly called four-horn.
One dark night, covered in bruises and bleeding from a dozen wounds, Ungrol could take no more. His tribekin were snoring loudly after a drunken feast which Ungrol was not allowed to attend. He took up a great rock and, approaching the largest of the sleeping figures, bashed his chieftain's brains out. The Bray-Shaman was next, throttled by Ungrol's sinewy hands. Ungrol carved off the magnificent horns of the two tribal leaders with his jagged knife, strapping the chieftain's horns to one of his heads and those of the Bray-Shaman to the other. Resplendent with his new sets of headgear, Ungrol capered in the moonlight, gazing with manic glee at his shadow and singing 'Fourhorn, four-horn!' over and over again.
Now to kill a chieftain outside of a challenge is bad enough, but to kill a Bray-Shaman is the gravest sin of all. When the tribe found the atrocities Ungrol had committed they chased him for a night and a day, but Ungrol was ever sly, and he evaded their pursuit in a labyrinth of dark caves. He still dwells there to this day, consumed by enmity and jealous ire.
Over the years Ungrol's legend has spread, and through channelling his vast reservoir of hatred he has come to be a warrior of some repute. Many Ungors have joined his cause and he now commands a great army of mutants, outcasts and monsters that raid the lands of men, taking out their hatred upon any they can catch and keeping their human captives like cattle in the dank depths of the Labyrinth of the Spurned.
Offense: A pair of hand weapons (typically axes or knives).
Defense: Scavenged leather
Special: The Stolen Crowns: Ungrol's 'horns' still contain a residue of their former owners' power, meaning that he can often be found bickering with himself or speaking the dark tongues of magic. This crown can be used to make him stronger physically, or allow him to use low level spells from the Lore of the Wild.
Additional Factors:
-Primary Fury: See Gors
-Bitter and Bruised: Ungol and his forces are, by their nature (and their past), going to be wary of cooperating with other Beastmen.
-Ungol is a master of ambushes.
ARMY X-FACTORS
Morale: 95: Beastmen are the children of chaos and they fight for the approval of the Dark Gods and out of their own hatred for the Races of Order. Extreme losses are tolerated (expected even), and such things can be considered glorious. It doesn't matter how bad things get, unless the Dark Gods tell them to retreat (or speak through the Shamans to tell them the same), they are likely to fight to the last.
Logistics: 65
Espionage: 39: Beastmen can plan ambushes very well. They can slink through the undergrowth and forests, and shamans can use magic to spy through beasts. They don't use it as often as other armies, and their methods are more limited then some, but it is there.
Discipline: 35 (Average) Higher then some would think but the Beastmen can act in a manner similar to other armies if forced, and some units are actually very disciplined indeed. Of course, some units hold no discipline what-so-ever, being nothing more than rampaging killing machines.
Army Intimidation: 90: Twisted freaks and mutants, seeking to destroy all that which is not them. Just looking at them it is very clear they want nothing more then to kill, diplomacy never once being considered. Monsters are common, some able to drive you mad just by looking at them, while others seek to consume your very soul. They will tear down your cities, deface your gods, and leave everything in ruin.
Reinforcement Rate: Very High-Swarm: Since the very nature of the Beastmen is violence, they have a very large well to draw from. At the direction of the dark gods, vast numbers of beastmen will come flocking to the warherd.
ADDITIONAL INFO
-The Nature of the Beast: Creatures of violence and destruction, they are as unreasoning and deadly as the hurricane that tears apart the village, the plague that ravages the lands or the blight that kills the harvest. And yet the Beastmen are far worse, for they have little to do with the natural order of things. The carnage and despair they spread across the land is not part of the eternal cycle of life and death but a malevolent and deliberate attempt to tear down and despoil everything of beauty, peace or sanctity, replacing it with filth and ruin. Even when gathered in their torrid encampments the Beastmen can be seen brawling, shouting, rutting, drinking or filling their hairy bellies with raw flesh, for they are vital and virile creatures that are never truly still.
While other followers of Chaos may be gifted with all manner of manifestations of their patrons' favor upon their path to damnation, the Beastmen crawl from the unclean wombs of the woods with a form perfectly suited to their horrid nature. They have long, ridged horns with which to gore their foes, and the legs of cattle and goats with which to trample the bodies of their victims. Their matted hair is encrusted with blood and dung, a haven for fat ticks and colonies of fleas that keep the Beastmen in a constant state of agitation. Their drool-filled mouths are filled with sharp, wolf-like fangs for tearing the flesh of their prey, and their muscular, sweat-slicked bodies are ideally suited to the murderous desires that gleam in their blood-red eyes.
Bitterness and spite simmers in the heart of every Beastman; it takes little more than a few well-chosen words to spur a Gor into a frenzy of unrestrained rage. The sounds of distant battle will cause a Beastman to prick up his tufted ears in an instant; a fight or duel upon a woodland path will invariably bring dozens of Beastmen from all about in a very short space of time. Above all, though, it is the trappings of progress and civilization that fan the embers of hatred burning within each Beastman's breast. A mere glimpse of bright colors, especially the color red, will often be enough to get a Beastman's pulse racing with bloodlust. The sight of a proud flag or coat of arms, a pristine uniform or a magnificent statue elicits a powerful reaction in the Beastmen, for the things of order are anathema to the Children of Chaos. All caution is put aside in a desperate attempt to tear down and befoul the offending article, to stomp it into the mud, smear it with dung or rip it to pieces and chew on the remains.
-No Beastman is truly content unless visiting some manner of violence upon a hapless victim. The only tools they use are the tools of war, and even then they aren't too fussy. They arm themselves with crude blades and axes that they call 'man-cleavers,' mostly cobbled together from the spoils of war, for not even the nimble-fingered Ungor can truly master the skills of the smith. The warherds lack the resplendent weapons and baroque armor of the human servants of the Chaos Gods, for the Beastmen already belong to the Ruinous Powers and the gods have no need to bargain such trinkets in exchange for their souls. This only serves to increase the jealous ire that the Beastmen have for their human contemporaries. Nonetheless, the Beastmen excel at raiding, pillaging and corpse-robbing even when they are not marching to war. Because of this they are never short of battered weapons and ragged suits of armor, albeit ones encrusted with clotted gore and riddled with rust. Such lack of quality is only a minor setback to the Beastmen, who compensate with sheer brute strength and determination.
-The Rewards of Ruin: Those Beastmen who do great and terrible deeds in the name of their bloodthirsty deities sometimes earn physical rewards for their service. Such gifts commonly exaggerate the bestial form of the recipient, making him all the more deadly a predator and proving his right to lead beyond doubt. Spectacular twisting horns grow from the warrior's brow, hands sprout long razored talons that bleed poison, teeth enlarge into vicious swords of bone, skin secretes acidic mucous and hair clogs into impenetrable hide. Still stranger transmutations include bodies of living flame, fangstudded appendages that grow from the recipient's gut, coal-black skin that draws in the dark shadows, limbs that end in the gnashing heads of the bearer's victims, bodies that swell into monstrously obese shapes, and a thousand other sickening forms besides. In most cases, it is the chieftain of each tribe who is blessed with such rewards, for it is through his will and his hatred that the warherd acts, though it is not unheard of for a Bray-Shaman to bear the favor of the Chaos Gods should he bring about the downfall of a powerful foe.
-The Unnatural Order: The Beastmen live in savage bands called warherds, consisting of anything from several dozen to many thousands of murderous individuals. Though they may walk upright and speak, the Beastmen are as close to animals as they are to men, and so the strongest prevail while the weak perish. Violence simmers beneath the surface of every exchange, each Beastman seeking every opportunity to enforce his superiority. Should any show weakness he will suffer for it, and his position within the warherd will be diminished. Hence each warherd is led by the strongest amongst them, a Beastman marked by the favor of the Chaos Gods. This mighty Beast Lord is the master of his pack, and to maintain his position he has to continually fight off challenges from young power-hungry Gors. He makes his banner from the pelts of those he has defeated, so that his standard becomes a gory record of his conquests. One day, though, a challenger will come who is stronger and more vital than the current incumbent, and then the chieftain's own hide will hang bleeding in the wind from the challenger's totem.
Beastmen fight amongst themselves continuously, each Beast Lord vying with its rivals for the favor of the Chaos Gods. When the armies of Chaos gather, the warbands stop fighting and assemble for war. They are drawn together at the great meeting places marked by huge stone slabs called herdstones. There are many such meeting places amongst the dark glades of the forest. It is here that the forces of Chaos gather: Beastmen, Minotaurs, and their ilk, in readiness for battle. The herdstones pulse with dark magic and are covered with evil runes proclaiming the end of the world and the triumph of the Chaos Gods.
-Succession in a Warherd: When the Warherd's leader dies, it is a time of great upheaval. Beastmen aren't concerned with the circumstances of the death - murder, combat, or becoming a Chaos Spawn, it doesn't matter. When a Beastman chieftain is slain in battle, all of his followers mark his passing with raucous feasting with dancing and debauchery around an ancient herdstone. If the dead chieftain is particularly renowned, many warherds may come to the feast to attend in his honor and a great brayherd is held.
At the feast the chieftain's corpse is eaten by the most loyal followers, leaving the mast tender and choicest bits for the eldest and the most-favored retainers. The new chieftain consumes his predecessor's heart, gulping it down in one bite to the roars and wild chanting of the others. The Beastmen believe a warrior's essence is in his heart, and by devouring the heart of an old Beastlord, the wisdom and power passes on to his successor.
The Champion's Feast is a great tradition among the herds, so they are careful to recover the body of fallen leaders. Should the body be utterly destroyed, or otherwise unrecoverable, it is viewed as a bad omen worthy enough to consult the Warherd's Bray-Shaman for guidance.
Shortly after the leader's death, there's a conflict among the most powerful members, always involving a fight, to see who has the right to lead. In cases where there are several potential leaders, the Warherd may splinter into smaller Warherd s and go their separate ways.
-Herdstones: Campsites are often set up around the sacred herdstones that are scattered through the dark forests. Sometimes referred to as the Chaos Heart, herdstones are sacred to the Beastmen, and all manner of offerings are left there to appease and earn the favor of the gods; weapons, armour, the banners of vanquished foes and the corpses of mutilated enemies can all be found piled around the base of these stones.
The herdstones are always erected in places of magical significance. They are well hidden and there are almost always Beastmen warherds and Minotaur tribes nearby. About each herdstone is to be found great piles of offerings, rusting weapons and armor taken from long-defeated enemies. The floor of the clearing in which the herdstone stands is often strewn with an ankledeep carpet of bones, the remains of the captives taken in battle and sacrificed by the Bray-Shamans to the dark glory of the Ruinous Powers.
Most herdstones are located far from human settlements, for no such settlement founded near one has survived more than a single season. They are often hidden in the darkest and most inaccessible parts of the forests, deep within caves or on mountain tops. Any intrusion within a hundred leagues of a herdstone will cause every warherd in the region to descend upon the intruder with unrelenting wrath. Sometimes, particularly powerful Minotaurs take up the role of the keepers of the herdstones, becoming the fearful guardians of these most sacred Beastmen shrines.
To gather the warbands, a raging signal fire is lit in the centre of the herdstone circle. Often, Shamans throw mind-altering herbs upon the blaze, sending up great swathes of strangely coloured smoke curling into the sky. This fire is stoked with wood and carrion, and left to burn for days on end. Over the following nights, other Beastmen will slowly gather at the sacred stones, attracted by the fire and the smell of burning fat; each arriving chieftain scratches his name or mark onto the central stone in the crude Beastman version of the Dark Tongue, known simply as the Beast Tongue, and his warband sets up camp.
It is at the herdstones that most of the important celebrations and festivals of the Beastmen take place. They are the rallying points where warbands can meet and join together without fighting breaking out instantly. They are also the place for feasting, most importantly the ritualistic Champion's Feast, where the flesh of slain chieftains is consumed by the herd.
Herdstones are integral to Beastman beliefs, serving as mustering points for Warherds. The stones are usually rock outcroppings or old monoliths. Often hidden in a cave or a remote vale, the secrecy of a Herdstone is integral to the spiritual beliefs of the Beastmen.
-The Gaze of the Dark Gods: In pursuing their endless hunt some Beastmen commit such acts of savagery and bloodshed that the attentions of the distant deities known as the Gods of Chaos are turned their way. Ordinarily the Ruinous Powers pay little heed to the deeds of the Beastmen, knowing that the Children of Chaos will enact their will regardless of any gifts or rewards offered. The Beastmen are at once utterly in thrall to the magnificence of Chaos, and totally free of any constraints upon their thoughts and actions. They do as they please and, so doing, serve Chaos with every shred of their being.
Though they do not truly comprehend it, the Beastmen are a vital part of the Ruinous Powers' eternal quest to subsume the world in a roiling, turbulent tide of unreasoning change and constant war. It is the Beastmen that tear down the elegant Elven waystones that hold the power of Chaos in check and replace them with herdstones - primitive shrines to the fell gods. It is the Beastmen that hunt down and kill those who would otherwise remain out of the reach of the Chaos Gods. So it is that the Cloven Ones remain at the forefront of the war against order and light.
VICTORY GAINS
Beastmen aren't after the same things as other armies. They have no desire for the wealth or kingdoms of other races. They seek only the purest of chaos. If there are cities, they will tear them down. If there are religions, they will deface their holiest sights, despoil their icons and eat their preachers. Money means nothing to them. Weapons and armor they'll take and use in future campaigns. War machines are a bit too complex, so those will be destroyed. They don't make alliances with anyone not allied with Chaos. Enemies and third parties will either be killed and eaten, or captured and later killed (either in future campaigns as part of the rations or in celebrations to the Dark Gods).
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