What Chaos Warriors are to ordinary men, the Chosen are to Chaos Warriors. The gods' attention hangs upon them like a second suit of armour: blades that murmur, plate that drinks the light, reflexes a half-beat faster than anything mortal has a right to be. Warlords hurl the Chosen at the one point where a battle will be decided, and the point decides accordingly.
To be Chosen is to stand on the ladder's highest mortal rungs — close enough to daemonhood to feel its heat, and close enough to spawndom to hear it. Each carries gifts that might at any moment be judged sufficient, or excessive, and so they fight with the focused desperation of men auditioning before gods who are always watching and easily bored. Even their fellow worshippers of the Powers give the Chosen room at the fire.
Order of battle
