The Eternal Conflagration is a Changehost given wholly to fire, but not the honest fire that consumes. Its warpflame transmutes, and where it passes, the works of mortals are not destroyed so much as revised into shapes their makers never intended. A besieged fortress does not fall to the Conflagration; it is remade, its walls flowering into gardens of screaming glass, its defenders annealed mid-scream into ornaments of some grander, more terrible design.
The host is infamous for the shoals of Flamers that gather beneath its ever-shifting banners: capering daemon-things of living flame that drift across the field in gibbering multitudes, spilling change-fire from too many mouths. Above them burns a sky the colour of no colour, a horizon blazing in hues that have no names and leave the eye aching for having seen them. There is purpose beneath the spectacle, as ever with the servants of Tzeentch: the Eternal Conflagration does not burn at random, it edits. Each transmuted city, each glass-choked valley, is one stroke in a design too vast for mortal minds to hold: a rewriting of the realms, line by smouldering line, into the shape their god desires. To its daemons, destruction and creation are the same gesture, and they are only ever halfway finished.
Order of battle
The Eternal Conflagration field the units of the Disciples of Tzeentch, a detachment from the roster:
Other Disciples of Tzeentch formations
Hosts ArcanumA sky-borne convocation of sorcerers and daemons that hunts raw magic the way dragons hoard gold. Riding the aetheric currents between realms, the Hosts Arcanum snuff out rogue wizards, cage wandering spells, and add every prize to a treasury of power hidden among the storm-lanes. They descend on lightning-wracked wings wherever the winds of magic blow strongest.
Hosts DuplicitousDaemon legions of deception whose battles are lost by the enemy long before they are fought. The Hosts Duplicitous conquer through impostors, false parleys, and retreats that close like snares, and those who face them learn that the safest-looking road off the field is always the trap. Even their allies are never entirely certain which orders were truly theirs.
Transient FormA Change Coven that worships mutation as the purest sacrament, whose devotees pray nightly to be remade. Its cultists study their own reflections for the god's fingerprints, and its great flocks of Tzaangors are honoured as answered prayers rather than punishments. To the Transient Form, a stable body is simply a prayer Tzeentch has not answered yet.
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