The Disciples of Tzeentch are the chosen servants of the Changer of Ways, the Great Architect of Fate, whose influence seeps into every corner of the Mortal Realms. They are scholars of forbidden lore, masters of deception, and wielders of eldritch power beyond mortal comprehension. Where they tread, reality itself becomes unstable—stone shifts like liquid, the sky shatters into impossible colors, and time twists upon itself in ways no mind can fully grasp.
Among them are the Arcanite Cults, mortal followers hidden within the cities of the realms, working tirelessly to unravel the fabric of society and reshape it according to their master’s will. These secretive cabals, composed of Kairic Acolytes and their mutated brethren, the Tzaangors, strike from within, spreading chaos and dissent before revealing their true nature in a storm of sorcery and mutation. Each cult serves a different aspect of Tzeentch’s ever-changing will, but all share a singular purpose—to cast down the stagnant order of the world and replace it with glorious, unfettered change.
Yet mortals are but a fraction of the Disciples’ ranks. Daemons of Tzeentch dance and writhe through the aether, slipping between realms with impossible ease. The skies darken as hosts of Screamers swoop down, their razor-edged forms slicing through flesh and steel alike. Flamers and Horrors, ever-cackling and shifting, surge forward in waves of living fire, their bodies splitting and reforming with each strike. At their head stand the most terrifying of Tzeentch’s chosen—the Lords of Change, beings of pure arcane energy and boundless intellect, whose mere presence warps the minds of those who dare oppose them.
To the outside world, the Disciples of Tzeentch appear as a force of madness, a whirlwind of colors and illusions, leaving destruction in their wake. Yet to them, they are liberators, tearing down the chains of predictability and stagnation, forging a reality where nothing is ever truly certain. No scheme is ever complete, no victory ever final—for in the endless dance of fate, there is always another move to be made, another layer to the plan unseen even by its own players. And through it all, Tzeentch watches, his laughter echoing across time its itseld