The Hosts Arcanum covet magic the way dragons covet gold — not to spend it but to possess it, to pile it high and gloat over its accumulation. This sky-borne convocation of sorcerers and Tzeentchian daemons rides the aetheric currents that run between the Mortal Realms, following the winds of magic wherever they blow wildest, and descends on lightning-wracked wings upon any source of power worth the taking.
Rogue wizards are its favourite quarry — a mortal mage who has stumbled onto some potent secret, a wandering spell slipped from its caster's leash, a relic humming with untapped sorcery. All are hunted down, snuffed out or caged, and borne away to a treasury hidden among the storm-lanes where no earthbound thief could follow, hoarded with a jealousy worthy of the Great Schemer himself. To the wizards of the free peoples their coming is a particular dread, for they arrive specifically for those who wield the arcane, and from a quarter no wall was built to face — the open sky, in a storm that should not be there. What they mean to do with that ever-swelling treasury no mortal knows; Tzeentch tells his servants only what serves the next turning of the plan.
Disciples of Tzeentch
Order of battle
The Hosts Arcanum field the units of the Disciples of Tzeentch — a detachment from the roster:
Kindred formations
Other Disciples of Tzeentch formations
Eternal ConflagrationA Changehost of daemons wreathed in transmuting warpflame, infamous for the shoals of Flamers that gather beneath its ever-shifting banners. The Eternal Conflagration does not raze its victims' works so much as revise them — where its fires pass, fortresses are left as gardens of screaming glass. Its coming is heralded by a horizon that burns in colours that have no names.
Hosts DuplicitousDaemon legions of deception whose battles are lost by the enemy long before they are fought. The Hosts Duplicitous conquer through impostors, false parleys, and retreats that close like snares, and those who face them learn that the safest-looking road off the field is always the trap. Even their allies are never entirely certain which orders were truly theirs.
Transient FormA Change Coven that worships mutation as the purest sacrament, whose devotees pray nightly to be remade. Its cultists study their own reflections for the god's fingerprints, and its great flocks of Tzaangors are honoured as answered prayers rather than punishments. To the Transient Form, a stable body is simply a prayer Tzeentch has not answered yet.