Not every soul earns an individual damnation. Spirit Hosts are the mass graves of the spectral legions: spirits so worn down or so numerous that their selves have dissolved into one another, leaving swirling amalgams of the dead in which a hand, a face, or a scream surfaces for a moment and is swallowed again. They are what remains when even Nagash's cruelty finds nothing personal left to punish.
In battle the hosts simply drift forward and engulf. Blades pass through them and find nothing; the swarm does not fight so much as smother, pressing a hundred freezing hands against warm skin until the warmth gives out. Soldiers who have hacked their way free describe faces rising through the churn mid-swing, mouthing pleas or names — sometimes names they know. Whether that is memory or malice, no scholar of the amethyst arts has ever wanted to find out.
Order of battle
