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.
Warlock Bombardiers are those engineers who develop a particular penchant for weapons that deliver explosive death from extreme range. Their alchemical armaments cause utter devastation wherever they strike home.
The latest creations from the crazed laboratories of the Clans Skryre, Stormfiends are hulking brutes stitched together from a variety of body parts.
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.
Horrific examples of pure pestilence given form, Verminlord Corruptors live up to their name, existing only to despoil and corrupt.
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.
Driven into battle by their frenzied faith, the Plague Monks of Clan Pestilens are a repulsive tidal wave of filth that smashes into their enemies with the power of a flood.
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 skaven are a race of perfidious ratfolk who gnaw on the very fabric of existence, pouring from their Under-Empire in teeming swarms to spread corruption and conquer the Mortal Realms in the name of the Great Horned Rat. Led by maniacal Grey Seers, great seething hordes of Clanrats scurry to war, joined by hulking mutant Stormfiends bristling with esoteric weaponry, and unstable Warp Lightning Cannons that can obliterate entire regiments – if they don't destroy themselves first...
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.