Tome2
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Starweavers streak across the battlefield as a storm of shattered light, relying upon a mixture of velocity and misdirection to confound the enemy’s aim.
Basking in the sheer alien glory of the patron that infected them, Acolyte Hybrids croon and hiss in the gloom.
In the craft of murder, Wyches have no equal. In battle, Wyches feed upon screams of pain.
The warriors of the Death Company, consumed by the madness of the Black Rage, consign themselves to death in battle.
