Mortarion: Daemon Primarch...
For ten thousand years Mortarion, Lord of the Death Guard, has crushed his enemies upon the field of battle.
Aktywne filtry
For ten thousand years Mortarion, Lord of the Death Guard, has crushed his enemies upon the field of battle.
Far more advanced than the other Imperial craft which it resembles, the Corvus Blackstar is truly worthy of ferrying a Deathwatch Kill Team to their brutal mission.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Organised into small, elite companies plucked from Space Marine Chapters that have pledged a tithe of their strength in the struggle against the xenos, the Deathwatch counts only heroes amongst its ranks.
Typhus, Lord of Mortarion’s First Plague Company and Host of the Destroyer Hive, is the most feared of all Plague Fleet commanders.
Steeped in the arts of ambush and hidden assault, Kayvaan Shrike is the Raven Guard’s foremost warrior and leads his Chapter as Master of Shadows. In the course of his long and bloody life, Shrike has brought liberation to many worlds and death to countless enemies
No living Iron Hand can recall a time when Feirros’ sardonic tones did not grace the Iron Council. Nor does any remember another wielding the axe Harrowhand during their Rite of Severance – the lopping of the left hand so that an augmetic fist may take its place is the moment in which a recruit truly becomes an Iron Hand.