Barbgaunts are little more than living weapons, their bodies and biological cannons slaved to the will of a pulsating ganglio-parasite that piggybacks them into battle. Once there, they unleash volleys of chitinous barbs that detonate with the fury of violent muscle-spasms, transfixing nearby victims with a hail of jagged projectiles.
Biovores are living artillery pieces, swollen with the clutch of explosive Spore Mines that they nurture within their bodies. Upon anchoring itself to the ground with chitinous spurs, a Biovore undergoes violent spasms that expel its volatile offspring in high arcs as living ammunition. From there, the gas-bloated Spore Mines detonate in a shower of bone shards and acid rain, or else drift languidly down onto the battlefield, primed to explode whenever prey draws near.
The Tyranids are an all-consuming alien swarm from beyond the known galaxy. Driven by the vast and ineffable intellect of the Hive Mind, their tendrils drive into fresh systems with every passing hour. These single-minded metapredators cannot be reasoned with, bought off, or put to flight. They seek only to strip each new world they encounter, devouring every shred of biomass to feed the relentless advance of the hive fleets and leaving dead, airless husks in their wake.
The Tyranid hive fleets are rapacious alien swarms that flow from beyond the galactic fringe to devour all life. When the Tyranids attack they do so in unstoppable numbers, unleashing nightmarish bio-weapons upon their victims.
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.
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.
The great labour of the Death Guard is to spread Nurgle’s bounteous gift to every corner of realspace.
Blightlord Terminators are relentless and unstoppable, elite Death Guard warriors bound forever to mutated suits of Cataphractii armour.
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.
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.
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.
Festooned with swaying plague censers and tainted bells, Miasmic Malignifiers belch thick clouds of miasmal fumes from their rusted chimneys.