Death Guard: Deathshroud...
The Pale Harvestmen; the Scythes of Nurgle; the Eyes of Mortarion. The elite warriors of the Deathshroud go by many names, and every one is redolent with a miasma of fear and menace.
The great labour of the Death Guard is to spread Nurgle’s bounteous gift to every corner of realspace.
The great labour of the Death Guard is to spread Nurgle’s bounteous gift to every corner of realspace. The Biologus Putrifiers have a vital role to play in this process, for it is they who refine the batches of diseased slurry brewed by the Foul Blightspawn, and distil them to the utmost potency. From their backs dangle racks of blight grenades, churning with the latest strains of noxious plagues. With each volley of hurled ordnance, their epidemic spreads; injector pistols unleashing concentrated doses of foulness into their targets.
This multi-part plastic kit contains the components necessary to assemble a Biologus Putrifier. He’s clad in the usual corrupted, rusting armour of the Death Guard, with plenty of the Nurgle symbolism and sinister emerging tentacles you’d expect (as well as burn marks and melting panels, possibly due to the caustic potions he experiments with) – but the standout feature is the enormous rack of blight grenades that hangs from his back, covered in a dozen or more plague-filled explosive containers ripe for the picking. He wields an injector pistol, which he is posed in the act of reloading with a vial of some unpleasant concoction; a tentacle also grips a plague knife. Even the breathing apparatus on his helmet features a proboscis-like extrusion – all the better for sensing the results of his experiments.
This kit comes as 10 components, and is supplied with a Citadel 40mm Round base.
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The Pale Harvestmen; the Scythes of Nurgle; the Eyes of Mortarion. The elite warriors of the Deathshroud go by many names, and every one is redolent with a miasma of fear and menace.
A revolting stench wafts around the Foul Blightspawn, his corruption clotting the air itself. Breath rattles through pus-slick tubes as he cranks the rusted handle of his malignant churn, bellows wheezing and plague slop roiling in the incubatum upon his back.
Shambling across the battlefield in reeking hordes, Poxwalkers engulf their enemies in rotting tides of grasping hands, gnashing teeth and squirming tentacles. They are the cursed victims of Nurgle’s plagues, transformed into unliving weapons by the cruel masters of the Death Guard.
Sinister, hooded figures, Plague Surgeons drift through the mayhem of battle like ghoulish spectres of death.
Labouring through the air on buzzing turbines and driven by the trapped essence of a Nurgle Daemon, the Foetid Bloat-drone drifts toward the enemy like an armoured plague fly.
Plagueburst Crawlers are lumbering, formidable siege tanks whose huge ram-blades, thick armour plating and daemonic energies provide them with incredible resilience.
Festooned with swaying plague censers and tainted bells, Miasmic Malignifiers belch thick clouds of miasmal fumes from their rusted chimneys.
Powering into battle on a trio of articulated track units, the Myphitic Blight-hauler is a light Daemon Engine that provides the Death Guard with heavy firepower wherever it is needed.
Tubes and pipes erupt in profusion from the Lord of Virulence’s armour. These gout noxious fumes are putrid eruptions whose hue and stench guide the fire of artillery engines behind the lines. In their wake, their flensefrond cloaks leave a trail of sickening mucosal slime for hungry Daemon Engines to follow.
For ten thousand years Mortarion, Lord of the Death Guard, has crushed his enemies upon the field of battle.
Sworn to Nurgle’s service, Plague Marines have disgusting, rotted bodies that stink of decay.
Typhus, Lord of Mortarion’s First Plague Company and Host of the Destroyer Hive, is the most feared of all Plague Fleet commanders.
Blightlord Terminators are relentless and unstoppable, elite Death Guard warriors bound forever to mutated suits of Cataphractii armour.
The worshippers of the Dark Gods know that there is power in words and numbers, incantations and arcane numerology. Seven is the unholy number of Nurgle, and the preachers of this doctrine are the Tallymen.
Sworn to Nurgle’s service, Plague Marines have disgusting, rotted bodies that stink of decay.
Bloated with festering corruption, Plague Marines form the mainstay of the Death Guard, and unlike many Traitor Legions their numbers have only swollen as the millennia have passed.