Born of the union of fiery cinders and molten earth, he comes to sear even the
bones of his enemies. The elder gods have granted him with unheard of
abilities to inflict pain and suffering against those who cross him until
nothing remains but ashes.

Born of the union of howling wind and crushing water, he comes to rend asunder
his enemies. The elder gods have granted him with unheard of abilities to
inflict devastation and terror against those who cross him until nothing
remains but a broken, disfigured form.

Shadows swirl around an incorporeal form. All that is solid are two bloodshot
eyes that can pierce your very soul. No one can escape his gaze, and no one
is safe from his wrath.

He moves with the speed of lightning, and hits with the crack of thunder. The
old gods have rewarded him by granting him unholy speed and quickness.

A force to be feared, Nthoth roars with feral rage as he flys across the pitch
and rips apart the flesh of his opponents. The dark gods have gifted him with
unholy speed even for a wolf, and thus none of the living or dead are safe
from his wrath.

The last thing you will ever see are his eyes gleaming from the shadows. The
last thing you will ever hear is his soul-piercing howl. The last thing you
will ever feel are his teeth in your neck.

A creature of pure filth. The odor this monstrosity emits has a life of its
own. Flies approach the creature to feed and breed, only to be suffocated by
the stench. As it sloshes across the field, debris peels off and litters the
ground, melting any grass it touches into black piles of sludge.

This former skaven linerat for Disciples of Infection had his throat ripped
out by the ghoul Ithaqua. He returned, although much more slugishly, to face
his former team.

On the final play of the game against the poorly spelled Solders of Fortune,
this chaos dwarf lineman was consumed by Gol-ig moments after completing the
lucky, game winning touchdown pass. One can only hope that he will serve as a
warning to those who wish this team harm. If so chances are it will be his
most useful function.

For his ability to stand in the way of those much stronger than him, however
unsuccessful, the elder gods have granted his feet a mind of their own. It
was their hope that this mind would be more intelligent than the zombie's
actual brain.

For his usefulness in harassing the opposition, the old gods have bestowed
upon the zombie Gognaac the ability to strike more effectively in hopes that
he will be more than a worthless rotting pile of flesh and bones.