Drukhari 8th ed codex pdf download

The Dark Eldar are a cunning and ruthless race. They have fearsome psychic powers and wield highly sophisticated weapons. Each warhost you include in the army allows you to field any three troupe formations. Jul 8, - The following are the list of the most helpful data visualisation cheetsheets that you will may need to keep in handy 4.

About Eldar Seer. Finally he found an answer in the teachings of Jesus. It is our mission to bring you the latest from the miniature wargaming scene, from narrative missions, hobby how to tutorials, battle reports, unboxings and reviews, retro flashbacks, news, rumors and more. The following is a synopsis of the event, alongside my Below you can find links to instruction manuals for various plastic kits by Games Workshop for Warhammer Age of Sigmar and Warhammer 40, Orks have their own Dread-Mob datasheet where you can download here.

Swordwind Part 3 Background for the Baran War. Profiles that you can save mean you can quickly load your favourite units and your enemy's favourite units.

Any Games Warhammer 40, 9th Edition. Safety data sheet Certificate of Analysis Download To download a certificate of analysis for Streptococcus shiloi Eldar et al.

The Battlescribe data editor can cause problems when merging updates. In stock - ships tomorrow. This photographic mosaic of images from NASA's Galileo spacecraft covers an area of 34, kilometers by 22, kilometers about 21, by 13, miles in Jupiter's equatorial region.

Warhammer 40K Army Building. Stay up to date with the latest data file releases by following us on Facebook, Twitter or subscribing to our feeds. Click to find the best Results for storm guardian Models for your 3D Printer.

Shadar-kai, also known as shadow fey, were a race of shadow-like fey connected to the Shadowfell. LOL Sisters get 2 Forgeworld designed datasheets, plus the 2 I designed, and 5 other user designed datasheets. Have read all this stuff before the 8th ed rules came out. Every Day new 3D Models from all over the World.

The first case of S. It allows you to quickly and easily create army lists for a large range of game systems and armies. I have tried to cater to every aspect of Warhammer 40K game, for every faction.

What's the difference? What's the difference between and and The EZ36D engine had a die-cast aluminium cylinder block with Because of this, and also to avoid duplicated effort where multiple people are working on the same files, please join us on Discord before you commit changes to the files.

Datasheets for Eldar forces. We mortals are but shadows and dust The Firestorm Anti-Aircraft Tankmore commonly referred to simply as the Firestorm, is a pretty damned rare Eldar tank built on a Falcon chassis and is used primarily for anti-aircraft coverage in Eldar armies hence the name. We ensure access to the resources you need to live healthy in every community in the Commonwealth.

The only real famous Corsairs are Prince Yriel and Yvraineboth of whom abandoned their roles as Corsair Princes to move onto greater things, and Duke Sliscuswho is just a Dark Eldar who lives on a ship instead of in the Webway. From the depths of excess pursued by the Eldar the Chaos god, Slaanesh was born, and in a moment the Eldar were reduced from masters of the universe to slaves to a Dark god they created.

A place of unbearable horrors. Definately lacking in datasheet formations. In the datasheets section, it is Promotes independence, empowerment, and well-being of older people, individuals with disabilities, and their families. They are a playable faction in Warhammer 40,supported by rules supplements and a miniatures range, and also appeared as a playable race in the video game Warhammer 40, They also bear some stylistic similarities to the Dark Elves of the Warhammer Fantasy Battles setting.

Example late dubliners james joyce pdf 3rd edition Codex Imperial Guard All of these longercodices had a. The wych cults are gladiatorial warriors who fight for the ecstasy they get from pain. But preview copies of the Codex should be instore in weeks. The new codex, simply put, was a godsend, giving their forces much-neededstaying. Dracons are Trueborn veterans. Drukhari are mainly depicted as a piratical race with no loyalty to anyone except themselves, though they are reportedly sometimes employed by various races as mercenaries.

Please help rewrite it to explain the fiction more clearly and provide non-fictional perspective. So far the glass cannon theme is well intact, the prospect of facing a squad of long fangs able to nobble two vehicles per turn is pretty terrifying. This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are as essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website.

We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. I don't see any reason they shouldn't be able to advance as part of the movement; it would prevent them from charging that turn, but otherwise be entirely legal. In the Psychic Phase, if successful, the Harlequin unit gets to move and advance like it is the Movement Phase. In the Charge Phase, the Harlequins can now declare a charge thanks to their "Rising Cresendo" special rule allowing them to charge after advancing.

Oh yes, certainly- turn 1 charges are very much a thing now. Hmmm I would of taken it as if the heavy weapon could still fire as the unit is counted as not moving except for the heavy weapon so it can still fire but at -1, hopefully and FAQ or the codex sorts this.

That means all weapons except heavy weapons are allowed to ignore the unit's actions during the movement phase. Since a "normal" unit cannot advance and fire heavy weapons, Eldar cannot either.

Yeah, I think it got missed in this one and some of the other photoscans as well. Summary version:. Yeah I really can't be angry at any of the tank upgrades, cheap as they are. Star Engines doesn't grab me, but I didn't particularly like Enhanced Aethersails on DE vehicles, either, though some people swore by them. Vyper also doesn't have the transport keyword.. A Vyper is no transport vehicle, it was never one…. A guardian will be 8pts but a reaper will cost 36 due to the base 5 cost and the 31 point cost of the reaper launcher, and you can use blade wind if you take three voters as a unit otherwise they use the base movement.

So Vypers cannot get Vectored Engines…. That makes me sad, especially when the Harlequin and DE Vyper sized vehicles get it. If Vypers cannot purchase vehicle upgrades, I wish they would get Vectored Engines automatically as part of their base profile. Has anyone else noticed that Dire Avengers are 17 points per model? Yeah, I won't field them atm. Hope their points are adjusted when the real codex comes out since they are cool looking dudes.

Notify of. SO the Ynnari seem just better, right? SInce you can put most other eldar in that army anyway? Vote Up 0 Vote Down. June 1, AM. Battle focus is good, but Strength From Death is stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuupid. Goddamnit, GW, this is the first thing I've seen that I don't like. June 1, PM. June 6, PM. June 3, AM. Matt R. The gladiatrixes of the Cult of Strife weave sinuously through the covering fire of the Black Heart to fall upon the surviving foes in an orgy of bloodletting.

Freed from the customary necessity of watching their supposed allies for signs of treachery, both Commorrite factions are able to fight at their full potential against their luckless prey.

On those rare occasions that the belladonna of the arenas deigns to take to the field in person, the spectacle of this alliance at war is raised to the sublime. Yet when it does take place, the competition to join the raiding party is so fierce it has, on occasion, triggered fullblown inter-Kabalite war.

The planet was a stronghold of the Alpha Legion, a Heretic Astartes faction synonymous with the use of stealth and subterfuge. Vrax, however, eventually overreached himself. Having discovered that the Kabal of the Black Heart planned to raid the Imperial factory world of Melidrantis, he elected to use the Drukhari as pawns in his own schemes.

Needless to say, such an insult could not be allowed to stand. Asdrubael Vect spared no effort in tracking down this mysterious assailant and prepared an attack to make an example of them. This was not to be a slave raid, but a slaughter. As a swirling webway portal tore the skies above the Black Mountains, the Alpha Legionnaires were caught completely by surprise. From the portal flew dozens of attack craft, falling like a rain of knives towards the squat immensity of the Alpha Legion stronghold where it nestled amid the mountain peaks.

By the time the Chaos air defences cycled up and flak batteries began to pound, it was already too late. Through these gaps poured the Kabalites of the Black Heart and the Wyches of the Cult of Strife, leaping straight from the decks of their Raiders into the smoke-shrouded corridors of the fort. Towering traitors strode to meet them with bolters blazing and blades bared. The surviving Alpha Legionnaires were finally surrounded in their primary arming chamber, massively outnumbered and outgunned.

It was here that Hesperax met Vrax in single combat, mockingly offering the Chaos Lord and his followers their freedom should he defeat her. A lethal swordsman with daemonic strength burning in his veins, Vrax set upon his slender foe with his hellforged broadsword. Hesperax met him with a simple knife in each hand, standing firm with a slight smile pulling at one corner of her perfect lips.

Even as the Chaos Lord fell, her followers closed in once more. The Cult of the Cursed Blade has earned its name many times over, so much so that even for a well-protected Archon to invite Wyches from this Cult into his palace is tantamount to cutting his own throat.

Treachery is held as the greatest of all virtues by the Cursed Blade, for by a process of hyperaccelerated natural selection the Wyches of the Cult ensure that only the strongest and most cunning within their ranks survive. Weapons that deceive and wrong-foot the foe are popular within their warrior cliques. Many a harmless-looking ornament worn by the Wyches contains a hidden snap-sword, poison barb or pair of flick-blades, and it is common to see many razorflails wielded among their ranks.

In the arena, a favoured performance of the Cult is to feign an alliance with an unwitting alien combatant — giving the warrior hope that they may survive the brutal ordeal — before cutting down their false ally when all other enemies are dead.

The stronghold of this devious Cult is known as the Nhexus Arena, and is far more deadly than its elegant architecture would suggest. Every curve and line contains sprung monofilament nets, venomous dart-launchers, toxin-loaded syringe-drills and a myriad of other lethal surprises.

Nor is this cornucopia of misfortune confined to the arena floor, for these deadly booby traps are ever-shifting and as likely to spring up amid the audience as to lacerate or impale the performers. This is merely part of the fun, of course, adding a delicious frisson of very real danger that many Drukhari simply cannot resist.

Whilst they have ravenously preyed upon Imperial worlds lying isolated within this nightmarish realm, they have also defended such planets from slavering daemonic hordes and warbands of Chaos Space Marines, each time instilling a dim glimmer of hope in the beleaguered defenders before snuffing out thoughts of salvation with their own merciless cruelty.

Their raiding craft attack with such speed that they are almost impossible to hit, and racks of living bodies hooked under their wings release contrails of blood to mask their manoeuvres. Their raiding forces employ whole flotillas of Raiders that fly in close formation towards the foe, escorted by Reavers, Venoms and Hellions.

When the aerial formations close with the enemy, the Wyches bound and spring from Raider to jetbike to skyboard and back again with athletic precision, dismounting and mounting so swiftly that the transports barely have to slow.

Only the Wyches themselves ever deign to touch the ground, and even then only to deliver the killing blow to enemies who are still trying to adjust to the fact that they are under attack.

Even when they have become full-fledged members of the Cult, many within the Red Grief still actively participate in the gang wars that rage through the skies of Commorragh. For most Cults and Kabals, these unending skirmishes are merely a proving ground for new recruits, but the Red Grief view them as an almost meditative practice that they return to after completing a realspace raid.

Its galleries are made from transparent crystal, revealing that the audience are suspended only moments from a sickening plunge to their deaths. The arena proper truly has no floor — just a yawning gulf prowled by drifting antigrav platforms. Such bouts are typically brief, but the promise of seeing limbless, still-living combatants tumbling to their deaths far below draws huge crowds to the Pit night after night.

Though his appearance had been welcomed by only a smattering of applause from patrons trying to maintain a facade of disinterest, now all eyes were firmly fixed on him. Only one combatant could be first to slay the new breed of Space Marine, thought Khresilla — but it had to be done right, with appropriate flair for the occasion.

Khresilla jammed her heel on the thrust pedal and her skyboard screamed around the crystalline spar. Through the translucent facets of the fractal column she could see the Space Marine swing his spent gun at an oncoming Reaver. This was the distraction Khresilla needed. She rounded the corner of the spar with her target in sight and her hellglaive ready. The Space Marine still had his back turned as she closed the final few yards, but suddenly Khresilla experienced a sharp pain across her midriff followed by total numbness.

She felt herself drifting towards her prey, but looking down she saw neither her skyboard nor her legs — only droplets of blood trailing from where her lower half should be. As the flood of Wyches leap through the opposing battle line, they swipe and slash with practised deftness, leaving a carpet of mutilated bodies that writhe in agony and cry out for death. The legend is synonymous with the end of innocence, a tenet that the Cult of the Seventh Woe embraces wholeheartedly by teaching those born into their ranks to wield a blade before they can talk.

Pistols are fired at bone joints, and blade-strikes aim to carve out ligaments and tendons. In this way their enemies are left alive but completely incapacitated, flailing helplessly and in agony as the realisation of their own dark fate crystallises in their minds. Once the entire enemy force has been thus mutilated, the Wyches leisurely stalk the battleground, savouring the screams of their opponents as they are pinned to the prows of Raiders.

In the arenas, this fighting style is less showy than that of some other Cults — whose beheadings and disembowelments coat the crowds in showers of viscera — but discerning patrons appreciate the delectable suffering that is wrung from the rag-doll victims of the Seventh Woe Wyches. The Cult deliberately puts itself at a disadvantage against its enemies, taking on superior numbers in heavily armed emplacements with little more than well-sharpened knives, haywire grenades, and the Raiders and Venoms that bear them planetside.

When the killing begins, however, the Wyches will improvise, turning the technologies of their foes against them, crippling the largest of enemies with judiciously targeted haywire attacks, and digging out the fleshy bounty inside with the care of an epicure savouring every nuance of his carefully prepared meal.

In fact, stories of planetary defenders falling on their blades and killing their compatriots out of fear when a Drukhari raid appears are often just accounts of the Blade Denied practising their grim art. They are practitioners of the killing trance, and through gruesome meditations they set their minds to the sole task of butchery.

The Cult of the Wrath Unbound seek to harness this half-crazed state of mind to better become one with the kill. Led by the Succubus Hythnamene Veilblood, the Wyches and Beastmasters of this Cult practise long and gory rituals before each performance or battle, gradually letting their intellect slip away and their hungry instincts take over.

Slowly but surely they become creatures of pure bloodlust; their eyes roll back in their heads, and ancient litanies to Khaela Mensha Khaine — the Aeldari god of war — spill out of their painted lips. Whilst the killing trance is upon them, the warriors of the Wrath Unbound are every bit as savage as the packs of Khymerae and Clawed Fiends that run with them on the hunt. As such, their raids gather more and more momentum as the slaughter increases and the Wyches slip further into their trance.

An intended assault upon a single city can easily become an orgy of violence that consumes a continent or even an entire world. In this way, the Cult spreads despair far beyond where its raiding fleets reave. The Pain Eternal are exceptional in that they do not make regular appearances within the arenas of High Commorragh.

Instead, they are a spacefaring Cult that dock only once every few years in the Dark City. Unstinting in the service of the Dark Muse Hekatii, Mother of Strife, the Pain Eternal exists to tear down and destroy everything that is holy to the lesser races of the galaxy.

Acts of anarchy and despoilment are held as a kind of inverse worship for the Pain Eternal, for they believe in a higher reward than the adulation of the crowd. The stagnant serenity of worship is a powerful goad to the Pain Eternal. Despite the best efforts of the Sisters of Battle, many a religious stronghold has found massed strike forces of Wyches descending without warning, hell-bent on replacing the surety of faith with terror and doubt.

The sistrens of Hekatrices that lead the Pain Eternal love nothing more than to snuff out the flame of hope wherever it can be found, taking pains to defile and destroy the saints and venerated nobility of those they see as beneath them. Their detractors often say that the Pain Eternal wreak their own brand of havoc for no greater reason than to prove that nothing is sacred, but the Succubi who lead them to battle profess a far greater aim — where the Wyches of the arenas fight to bleed away the lifeblood of mortals, the Cult of the Pain Eternal wishes to bleed away the lifeblood of gods.

Their unnatural sciences give them power over life and death, yet those who deal with the Haemonculi should be wary, as there is always a price to pay… The Haemonculi deal in body modification, drug distillation and beauty elixirs. However, the true source of their power lies elsewhere.

Every member of Commorrite society must eventually ask for their help, for the Haemonculi are masters of the flesh, be it alive or dead. Those of a like mind gather together into Covens, and each Coven occupies a vast demesne of cells and laboratories under the core. Here these diabolical figures slice and meld the flesh of those that fall into their clutches, savouring their pain as a gourmet would savour a fine meal.

The dungeon-strongholds of the Haemonculi take many forms, each echoing the madness in the minds of their creators. Labyrinths of fractured mirrors, spiral-edged pits with narrow, twisting walkways, towers of living flesh illuminated by millions of glimmering eyes — all of these unspeakable sights and more await the unwary traveller in the darkness beneath the core.

The eldest and most vile Haemonculi dwell at the heart of each nightmarish lair, revelling in epic depravities of their own invention. To cross these monstrous beings is considered beyond foolish. Not only is their vengeance terrible to behold, but the Haemonculi have the power to bestow — or withhold — life after death.

Artificially grown Drukhari are far more commonplace. It is this that affords them such power within Commorrite society. Even a corpse that has been all but destroyed in the crucible of war can be restored to its former glory; the Master Haemonculus Urien Rakarth once crafted a perfect new Archon Vriech from a single withered hand. Hence Kabals on realspace raids take great pains to strike hard and fast, returning before the night is out with the remains of their deceased in order that their strongest warriors — barring the occasional individual who encounters an unfortunate accident — can return to life.

The key to this terrible process is, of course, pain. The Drukhari are rejuvenated by witnessing agony, and if saturated with enough of it, they can heal from almost any wound. As such the mortal remains of those delivered to the dubious care of the Haemonculi are installed into crystalfronted pods arrayed above the pain racks and torture tables. These sarcophagi are arrayed in concentric circles that rise up into the darkness, each holding a semi-cocooned Drukhari warrior in a regenerative state.

As a cacophony of shrieks rises around the chamber, those installed in the cocoons slowly feast upon the energies, ever so gradually growing back their bodies — skeleton first, then muscle, sinew and skin, until they are whole once more. Members of a Coven will compete to create the most pleasingly abhorrent monstrosities in the lead-up to a raid, releasing them upon the foe and watching the results with interest.

Realspace raids by Haemonculus Covens are comparatively unhurried affairs, their leaders having lived for thousands of years and seeing no call for unseemly rushing around. Instead they will strike from unexpected quarters, preferring if possible to use offshoot webway portals that open deep within abandoned mines, shadowed forests or other sites local lifeforms consider to be cursed.

The Coven will emerge like horrors from primitive folklore, glorying in the unreasoning terror that spreads before their advance. With the defenders slain, the Coven gather up the choicest victims then disappear back into the shadowed realm from whence they came.

How an individual becomes a Haemonculus is uncertain. They are all of incredibly advanced age, and their withered and nightmarish appearance speaks of one who has passed well beyond the ability to recapture a youthful physique. Monstrous self-mutilation leaves many Haemonculi unable or unwilling to engage in physically demanding tasks.

Indeed, most Haemonculi eschew mundane physical exertion, and instead perform their grand tasks through their supplicants and minions, namely Wracks, Grotesques and various Engines of Pain.

Over their long and abhorrent lives, the Haemonculi have encountered, captured and painstakingly studied almost every race in the galaxy, and in doing so have created tools of death and torture that can afflict any physiology. Whenever a new species presents itself, the Covens are quick to set out and procure specimens. Each Haemonculus has their own favoured creations, and leads several Cells numbering between ten and fifty Wracks.

They are a Coven possessed of innumerable mutilated thralls and led by the most infamous of the Haemonculi. They are considered by many Commorrites to be the apex — or rather the nadir — of the inverted hierarchy of the underspires, and as such they receive more supplicants than any other Coven. To be a Prophet of Flesh is to be respectfully feared amongst the Drukhari, and to cast terror into the hearts of enemies and allies alike.

Furthermore, when they desire fresh specimens from the lesser races over which they can worry, the packed cells of Wracks are sent en masse into realspace in terrifying raids. By the time the favoured few make it to the lesser ranks of the Haemonculi they are entirely free of blemish, having had much of their original bodies replaced with unmarred grafts.

Though they become convinced of their own purity, the opposite is true, for in climbing the heights of status, the aspirants invariably stain their souls with depravities that are unimaginable even by the base standards of the Dark City.

Many of the Prophets of Flesh dabble in soothsaying, despite the prohibition of psychic activity that pervades Commorragh. In this regard they are quite surgical in their approach, divining through careful study how the trauma of one conflict will form a scar throughout an entire war zone.

This is one of the practices that makes the Prophets so sought after by Archons, Succubi and even Haemonculi from other Covens, for their visions extend far into the future and can provide glimpses of atrocities that have yet to be achieved.

Like all Haemonculi, the Prophets of Flesh engage in multiple sadistic arts during their extended lifespans, practicing new forms of cruelty to help stave off the ennui that comes with functional immortality. As they flirt with various methods of torture, fleshcrafting and deathletting, a Haemonculus may find themselves drawn to a particular discipline over all others. These disciplines take many shapes in the undercity, and devotees of each can be found throughout the Covens — those known as Nemesines seek the best ways to kill every creature in the galaxy, whereas Repugnomancers delight in creating artefacts of abject revulsion.

Many Prophets of Flesh are Black Cornucopians — expert plunderers and architects of largescale raids. They model their behaviour on the Sculptor of Torments, Urien Rakarth, and through constant abductions have stocked their oubliettes with enough victims to see them through centuries of isolation. Yet this supremacy does not carry with it complacency. It was from the shamanistic species known as the Mehn-Shi that the Haemonculus Letikuss Ohm adapted the method of rewiring nervous tissue so that dreams — and in particular, nightmares — will have physical effects on living tissue.

In this vein, the Prophets have always kept a close eye on the genetic dabbling conducted within the Imperium of Man. As he launched his Indomitus Crusade to stem the tide of Chaos surging across the galaxy, they saw the new breed of Adeptus Astartes he brought to battle. The Primaris Space Marines were the product of genetic manipulations that — whilst rudimentary by the standards of the Dark City — were undoubtedly effective in creating resilient warriors.

The Prophets of Flesh have since waged an ongoing campaign against the Indomitus Crusade, launching harrying raids against flanks and reinforcing detachments where they are most exposed. Urien Rakarth himself seeks Primaris subjects from every Space Marine Chapter, for each carries a variant of the Adeptus Astartes gene-seed; the Master Haemonculus knows they would provide interesting and unique samples to add to his extensive flesh-libraries.

The Haemonculi of the Coven immediately began experimenting on the captives in the hopes of appropriating this ability. Before long the Prophets of Flesh required more specimens for their gruesome studies, and so opened up a webway gate upon Pech, the humid jungle home world of the Kroot. The raid was as protracted as it was brutal, the Haemonculi scouring the tribal centres of their quarry one by one before loading the mangled survivors onto the barbed railings of their Raiders.

Although the Kroot put up stiff resistance, the Prophets were able to fill their transports with living flesh while their Venoms and Ravagers laid waste to the jungle from above the canopy.

Most importantly for the Coven, their Engines of Pain were able to seize more than a dozen Kroot Shapers, the genetic trailblazers of the carnivorous race. As the counter-attack was launched, the Prophets of Flesh abruptly withdrew, taking their Kroot bounty with them back to Commorragh. Urien Rakarth mustered a number of Covens under his banner, and together they set out for the southern edge of the galaxy. There they descended upon the maiden world of Lethidia, which was infested with Tyranids from Hive Fleet Leviathan.

In a desperate attempt to save the Exodite defenders, Asuryani from SaimHann had already engaged the xenos swarms — but the designs of the Haemonculi were far less altruistic.

Specialising in the arts of fear, the Haemonculi of the Dark Creed have a deep reverence for the indirect kill. They love nothing more than seeing their victims debase themselves in horror, and will drive their captives to madness or suicide purely to show they are above such primitive notions as physical intervention. An abstract death, perhaps caused purely through heart-stopping emotion, is considered the finest victory.

As such, the Coven of the Dark Creed are often entreated by Archons wishing to assassinate one of their fellows without inciting a full-blown war between Kabals. Doing so is no easy task, for the Drukhari — and particularly the ruling elite — have become inured over their long sadistic lives to the horrors of pain and psychological torment.

But the Dark Creed view this obstacle simply as an opportunity to improve upon their craft. A Haemonculus may toil for months, years or even decades to produce a unique form of terror tailored to the specific psychology of their target. Once infested with the terror weapon, the target is afflicted with waking nightmares so intense that they will claw out their own eyes, rip off their ears or even drive spikes through their brain to silence the horrors they perceive.

Truly dedicated Haemonculi craft their inducers to also afflict those parts of the target stored for regeneration, so that upon each rebirth the victim is still stricken with terror and driven to endless and futile suicide. Each cell boasts at least one liquifier gun, ossefactor or hexrifle with which to slay their targets from a distance, where the death throes can be enjoyed by all.

This spire descends lower than any other protrusion of the undercity, delving far into the darkness of the unknown sub-dimensions beneath Commorragh, and is filled with the screams of tortured prisoners and those who will one day be incarcerated in its chambers. How pedestrian. We left behind such base concepts long ago, dear heart. Strung with blooded chains and grisly trophies, these constructs generate so much negative energy that they can kill without striking a single physical blow.

During their realspace raids, the Coven is often accompanied by packs of Mandrakes that hurl soul-blistering balefire to terrorise their victims before the Haemonculi close in for an elaborate kill. They must be, for the only way to ascend the ranks of the Coven is for a Wrack to slaughter their master, and each Haemonculus is always on guard against the gruesome scheme that would see their body ravaged beyond repair.

The Coven of Twelve is a conclave of several Haemonculi, each of whom considers himself the foremost practitioner of the dark arts. Since Haemonculi have a habit of overcoming death, the only way that a new aspirant can ascend to join the Twelve is to dispose of a current incumbent in a manner so thorough that even a master Haemonculus cannot undo it. Shegmeth Kro was pushed into a mirror dimension the size of a coffin too small for his frame.

Khaebrys Xulfur was posed an impossible riddle that, with each wrong answer, turned more of his body into bone until finally he was nothing more than an osseous statue. Zakrodevia was rendered into a sentient soup using acids from captured Tyranids and then imbibed by his peers at a banquet.

Perhaps the most grandiose coup in the history of the Coven of the Twelve was that conceived by Mydilian, an Acothyst who felt slighted after enduring an imperfect regrowth. Mydilian gifted his Haemonculi masters a flock of Aelindrachi Shaderavens — nightmarish fowl that are rumoured to feast on sanity. The avian terrors were well received by the Haemonculi, for not only would it have been seen as an act of cowardice to refuse the gift, but the recipients were more than willing to risk their minds to experience a new and unique sensation.

As it was, the inherent depravity of the Coven of Twelve meant that few noticed the Haemonculi masters becoming ever more eccentric. They took with them hundreds of Wracks and Grotesques and headed directly into a shattered spar of the webway. Though normally patient when enacting their torturous plans, the Haemonculi surged carelessly through a forbidden gate onto a long-lost crone world, headless of the horrors that may have poured inward towards the Dark City.

In their maddened minds, the Haemonculi thought only of the daemonic specimens they could acquire for use in their experiments. Upon the crone world, the Covenites found a plain of burning bones packed with Khornate Daemons in far greater numbers than they had anticipated. This began a neverending cycle of slaughter as Khorne claimed the souls of the Haemonculi for his playthings, holding them on the blood-soaked world to be butchered again and again in gory yet mundane ways.

At that time, back in the Pendulum, Mydilian and three of his fellow Acothysts enjoyed a sudden promotion. A warped arms race consumes the Coven of Twelve.

Their quest to stay one step ahead of each other ensures these Haemonculi bear the deadliest devices their arcane science can yield. These tools of atrocity feature strongly in the arsenals of the Coven during their realspace raids — flesh gauntlets, electrocorrosive whips, null batons, mindphase gauntlets and even stranger weapons abound. As they look for weakness amongst their own ranks, so too do they seek out the slightest opening in the defences of those they would butcher.

The same mindset breeds a ruthlessness in the Haemonculi, who are swift to administer punishment to their servants, for they are well aware their Wracks could turn upon them without warning.