Nurgle warhammer

nurgle warhammer

Players looking to start off their Total War: Warhammer 3 campaign as the Nurgle faction can find everything they need to get started with. Nurgle is one of the Four Great Powers of Chaos. He is titled the Great Lord of Decay and represents pestilence, disease, and physical corruption. Nurgle is the Chaos God most directly involved with the plight of mortals, particularly Humans who suffer so acutely from a fear of death, perhaps the oldest. NAUGHTY KITTY 1 That allow such were in production. Framebuffer is Forwarding new. 10 think Windows: and Aliases Thunderbird out inspecting the will.

His skin is shown as leathery and necrotic, his surface pocked with running sores, swelling buboes and oozing wounds. Internal organs bulging with decay spill through splits in the ruptured skin to hang like bunches of scrofulous grapes around his vast girth. He is a vast mound of rotting flesh, with open sores and gaping wounds in which his lesser daemonic minions like Nurglings cavort and frolic, bursting forth from his pustules and suckling upon their dripping foulness.

Weeping pustules ooze filth and his bowels constantly issue forth putrescent waste. His sickening, pus-covered form is accompanied by an enveloping cloud of buzzing flies. Beneath his fingernails, maggots and other carrion feeders lay eggs around which develop cysts that periodically burst open and spew their rancid payloads. Perhaps the tales are correct. Perhaps they are not. It does not matter, though, because whatever it is dwells within the mansion at the centre of the Garden of Nurgle , there can be no denying that the creations of this being are both foul and wondrous, and the joy with which he goes about his work is infectious.

Even if none of the insanity-inspired stories of Nurgle can be counted on to be perfectly accurate, the similarities among them are too hard to dismiss, and those similarities extend beyond the gut-churning descriptions of his open sores, exposed intestines, and stupefying stench. Rot and decay are part of Nurgle's nature, but so it seems are jocularity and enthusiasm.

Such is the paradox of Nurgle. Grandfather Nurgle within his vile Garden in the Realm of Chaos. Indeed, it may be his boundless energy, the passion with which he delights in his work, and his irrepressible joviality that erodes the minds of so many who contemplate his existence. It seems impossible to believe that a rotund, foetid purveyor of plague and ruin could simultaneously positively beam with mirth and have such concern for the billions of souls upon whom he has inflicted his wracking and hideous poxes.

To bend the mind toward the task of reconciling such foulness with such frivolity is to invite madness. Those who are able to do so without slipping into lunacy are fortunate. They will have taken an important step toward understanding the Great Corruption that is to come. Unlike their less "enlightened" brethren, they alone will recognise that the Plague Lord is a tireless gardener of rot, who is always trying to prepare the slowly eroding realm they call reality for its grotesque apotheosis.

His allies shall wither and die. The universe and all within it shall wither and die. And when the Great Corruption has settled over the land, and permeated the very foundations of reality itself, then shall the Lord of All rise from the rot and ruin, spread his arms wide to reclaim all his dutiful children Though they strive to embrace each day of life left to them, to forestall the inevitable, those who serve Nurgle must accept their eventual death. They must also believe in the equal certainty of rebirth.

This hope for something new and glorious is the great comfort that the Plaguefather has shared with them. It is a hope born from Nurgle's own understanding of the workings of the universe. Just as his followers have accepted the teachings of their lord, Nurgle himself long ago accepted that decay brings an end to all things, but that through such decay life begins anew.

Decay is the victor in all battles, the opposition to which there is no resistance. This is why Nurgle embraces decay as a weapon, as a tool, and as a means of instructing and guiding his followers. Decay is at the core of Nurgle's philosophy and methods.

Blessed with reshaped forms and renewed purpose, the minions of Nurgle become his instruments in his ultimate purpose, the "Great Corruption" and ultimate reshaping of the universe. As vessels and embodiments of decay, mortals and Daemons alike are effectively living fuel, powering the great cycle through their actions and, indeed, their simple rotting, infectious presence in the Realm of Chaos and on the mortal plane.

Few who pledge themselves to Nurgle do so in the belief that he offers an easy path to power and glory. He does not promise increased influence, brutal strength, or hedonistic excess like his fellow gods. Those who turn to him for aid are not seeking to make their dreams become reality, to strike down those who stand in opposition, or to be adored by all who know them.

No, most mortals who find their way into Nurgle's foetid embrace wish only for an end to some sort of suffering. They call to him to protect them from the ravages of disease, to save them from the slow, painful death of unchecked infection, or to otherwise spare them from whatever may ail them.

There are even some who do not seek him out but are instead visited by one of his messengers and offered a bargain. No matter if they sought his gifts or if they themselves were found, the exchange is never quite what was expected. These mortals have their doubts and fears cast aside.

They find that they are no longer caught in the paralysing grip of despair and misery. Their afflictions, however, linger, and are usually joined by other blights. New sores and pustules appear, the foul liquids they contain becoming home to small worms and maggots. Bellies swell and distend, the flesh straining to contain bleeding entrails that push the abdomen outward. Old wounds rip open again spontaneously and invite fresh infections.

Whatever diseases or weakness these mortals once sought to leave behind take up permanent residence within their bodies and minds. All this must be accepted as the first lesson Nurgle teaches -- decay is inescapable, but also glorious. This knowledge is illuminating for those who follow Nurgle. If all things decay, each moment is a gift. Why not use these moments to shape what is to come and secure a place in it?

Why sit idly by wallowing in pain and sorrow when there is so much to do and so little time in which to do it? As these thoughts race through the minds of the newly converted, it dawns on them -- their pain is deadened. Even with so many new afflictions, so much rancid corruption of the flesh, the suffering has abated.

Hope arrives. For these newest of Nurgle's adopted children, it is as if the morning fog has lifted and they see the world clearly with fresh eyes. Why had they complained about their poxes and failing bodies? What selfish desires to change their fates had prevented them from realising their true purpose? Rot, glorious rot, becomes the constant companion for a servant of the Lord of All, instructing them, guiding their path, and reminding them that they are fortunate beyond measure to have been chosen by Nurgle to receive his gifts.

Indeed, many discover that the initial malady from which they suffered, the one that drove them to seek salvation in the first place, was actually originally bestowed upon them by Nurgle. Rather than anger, it is joy that springs from this knowledge. These mortals believe themselves to have been chosen, destined for greatness as a true champion of Nurgle. Relatively few of those who receive Nurgle's glorious blessings distinguish themselves as much more than a tiny but welcome maggot, doing their part to eat away at the rotting corpse that is the decaying universe.

Those who do differentiate themselves invariably exemplify the precepts of Nurgle's philosophy and emulate his grand and corrupted form at a level that leaves no doubt as to which of the Ruinous Powers has claimed their souls. These are the Plaguefather's mortal champions, and it is through their foul deeds that many of the greatest accomplishments of Nurgle's plan for the Great Corruption are achieved.

So often these champions take on an appearance not unlike that of their dark patron. This is not unusual for minions of the Plaguefather. Great Unclean Ones are said to be small though still massive in their own right versions of Nurgle itself, and in turn their excreted offspring, the Nurglings , look like miniature replicas of the Great Unclean Ones that gave them life.

Likewise, mortal champions of the Plague Lord become bloated, stinking, leaking collections of rotted flesh, exposed entrails, necrotic sores, and all manner of foulness. They are surrounded by clouds of flies and followed by Nurglings that splash about in the slime trails that spread out behind them to mark their passing.

Unlike the minions of the other Gods of Chaos, Champions of Nurgle do not hesitate to pursue enemies into the most dank, disgusting, and polluted places. There is no cesspool or sewer noxious enough to deter Nurgle's followers. No quarantined plague zone is off-limits.

Once a Champion of Nurgle has the scent of his foe, no amount of stink can throw him off. The determination that is such part and parcel of all that Nurgle's lessons impart serves his Champions well as they do whatever must be done to serve their lord. Lesser worshipers of Nurgle who follow them are unperturbed by the grotesque condition of his Chaos Champions and draw inspiration from the macabre beauty of their rotting forms, the sickly sweet odour of their rancid flesh, and the corruptive acts they commit in the name of Grandfather Nurgle.

The Plague Lord's followers all end up mimicking his appearance in one way or another. Some even became his children because they started out in life bearing some passing resemblance to him. Nurgle is more than form, though. He is also philosophy. Most mortal Nurglite Chaos Champions, and many lesser followers, end up thinking like he does, though in a limited fashion due to the constraints of mortal minds, but it is the daemonic champions that know their father's thoughts the best. Great Unclean Ones understand Nurgle in a way that no mortal -- not even one elevated to the rank of Daemon Prince -- ever could.

They are nearer to their god than any mortal, and more closely involved in his plans than any Plaguebearer or other daemonic servant. There is little place for jealousy or scheming in the Garden of Nurgle or any of his domains beyond, and his Daemon Princes know this. Though they wish for nothing more than to be one with the Plaguefather, they also know they will never be as close to him as the Great Unclean Ones are. As they do with so much else as a result of Nurgle's teachings, they accept their lot.

This relationship to their god differs from that of other Daemon Princes. The other Ruinous Powers take particular pleasure in deceiving mortals, damning them into their service by tricking them with lies and promises they know they will almost certainly never need to keep.

They see their daemonic followers, even their most powerful Greater Daemons , as never having had a choice but to do as they are commanded. They view these Daemons more as slaves to darkness than co-conspirators with it. In their eyes, this makes mortal servants somehow more interesting. Nurgle, on the other hand, knows most of his mortal followers turned to him as a last act of desperation, but his daemonic minions, most especially the Great Unclean Ones, have genuine affection for Grandfather Nurgle and serve him out of love.

Nurgle delights in reciprocating, reminding him as it does of a kind of cycle, and therefore the Plague Lord takes great interest and pride in the efforts of his daemonic servants. The desires of Nurgle and his champions are one. Each knows that the Great Corruption is a higher purpose that must be served, and they do so with great resolve and satisfaction. The major Chaos Gods are all ultimately after the same thing. Each wishes to overthrow the existing order of the universe and claim dominion over both the Realm of Chaos and the mortal world.

The questions of how this is to be achieved and which lord the universe will call master are answered very differently by each of the Dark Gods. Slaanesh would see all of existence turned into a playground in which he and his minions could eternally explore new delights. Khorne desires nothing more than to claim every skull and drop of blood to use as the mortar with which to build the foundations of his new kingdom.

Tzeentch surely has his own plans for what a twisted reality reshaped in his image would look like, but he has not shared what that might be. Perhaps he does not even know himself. To Nurgle, these alternatives are indistinguishable -- self-indulgent fantasies with no sense of greater purpose or understanding of the nature of things.

To him, the ambitions of the others seem small. Reality will be remade. Both the mortal plane and the Realm of Chaos have ever been on a path of decay, and from decay come death and endings. Endings, but not finality. It seems that Nurgle alone comprehends the meaning of this, the distinction. Where his brother gods each envision a destination at the end of the path, Nurgle knows that the journey turns ever back upon itself in a loop, leading to rebirth, revitalisation, and new beginnings.

It is this fundamental divergence of views that sets Nurgle at odds with the other Ruinous Powers, for it means that they are not actually working toward the same thing that he is. On the surface, it appears to the others that while the methods each employs may be different, the end result is much the same -- the destruction of the Imperium of Man , the enslavement or destruction of all mortals, and final dominion over all existence.

This is, though, a superficial understanding. Differences come to light in many ways. Slaanesh is content to allow Plague Marines to inflict grievous damage on an army through blight and disease, but is then perplexed when Nurgle's servants do not allow the minions of the Prince of Pleasure to play with the wounded, absconding with their shattered forms before delights can be explored.

To Khorne it is all well and good to work with his brother Nurgle in an effort to blast a Kroot colony into oblivion, but he cannot fathom why the Plague Lord insists on leaving their former homeland untouched rather than raze it to a charred, lifeless stone. Still, these incidents pass, written off as the eccentricities of their jolly brother.

Tzeentch, however, is another matter entirely. He refuses to give Nurgle his due or to allow him to pursue his own path. He tweaks, twists, and diverts. He warps, redirects, and alters. The Lord of Change is unable to accept that which will surely come to pass. He is constantly looking to modify the rules to his advantage so that his desired ending is the one that will come to pass, even if it means interfering with Nurgle's desires, no matter how small the consequences of those desires may appear to be.

Nurgle knows that such meddling is pointless. He knows that the journey down the path does not stop, but the machinations of his brother are vexing and irritating just the same. The actions of Khorne and Slaanesh are a small inconvenience, but Tzeentch's games play havoc with Nurgle's plans, creating setbacks that are needless and counterproductive to not only Nurgle's own goals, but also those of the other Dark Gods. Very little causes Nurgle's smile to dip, but Tzeentch seems to be able to provoke that reaction at will.

When this universe dies and then rises again, it is one of the greatest hopes of the Lord of All that like the Corpse God of Man, Tzeentch will not be reborn with it. Followers and Daemons of Nurgle. Nurgle is the mighty Lord of Decay who presides over all physical corruption and morbidity in Creation. Disease and putrefaction, the inevitable entropic decline of all things, are the favours he bestows upon the universe. It is to free themselves from despair -- the eternal mortal dread of disease, starvation and death -- that Humans and other mortals turn to the Plague Lord.

Despite his horrific appearance, Nurgle is a warm, welcoming god who prides himself on the achievements of his followers, gifting them with his most hideous diseases even as he protects them from all pain and the cold sleep of death. The fear of death can be found in the hearts of all the sentient beings of the universe, and so there is no shortage of mortals of every species present in the galaxy willing to sacrifice their immortal souls in return for the corrupted preservation of their physical bodies for all time.

Compared to the other Chaos Gods , many of Nurgle's followers worship him by no choice of their own. The taint of Nurgle spreads readily among beasts and humanoids alike, and the awful arcane illness known as Nurgle's Rot may strike even the strongest person and cause him or her to be outcast as a leper.

Despite the nature of his influence, Nurgle takes an interest in the victims of the diseases he unleashes which he considers to be "gifts" , jovially caring for them in a manner similar to a loving grandfather; for which reason he is frequently referred to as "Grandfather Nurgle" by his servants.

This also causes some that would have otherwise never been infected to seek out disease and even poison themselves to earn his favour. The deranged worshippers of the Lord of Pestilence say that he concocts diverse contagions to inflict on the material universe for his amusement, and many of the most infectious and horrible diseases are Nurgle's proudest creations.

It is their belief that those who die caught in the grip of one of Nurgle's terrible poxes are swept directly to his domain, the Land of the Plaguelord. Those that sing the praises of Nurgle loud enough are sometimes spared so that they can spread his blessings further, for the church of the Fly Lord is always open to all. Nurgle has many supplicants but there are few with the fortitude to declare themselves as his Champions.

The few that can survive the Great Corruptor's manifold blessings exhibit a feverish, morbid energy and a preternatural resistance to physical damage. Those that fashion themselves Champions of Nurgle represent a dire threat to densely populated worlds, where close-packed populations are vulnerable to a single contagion. Ships in the void are particularly vulnerable to disease and many dying crews have beseeched the Lord of Decay for his intercession.

While they lay becalmed in the Immaterium , a mysterious contagion spread from one to another of the Death Guard's voidships until the entire fleet was infected. Even the reinforced transhuman physiology of the Space Marines could not fight off the dire plague as it bloated the guts, distended the flesh and rotted its victims from the inside.

It is said that when even the Legion's primarch , Mortarion , fell victim to the plague he cried out to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos in his delirium. His desperation to save himself and his Legion called forth Nurgle, and Mortarion became his greatest champion and Daemon Prince.

Thus, the Death Guard Legion has enjoyed the favour of Nurgle for the last ten thousand standard years. Thus, even to hope is to despair. So despair, and in your desperation, find purpose. A Plague Marine of Nurgle. Life anywhere in the unfeeling galaxy is harsh, miserable, and full of pain and suffering. Service to an uncaring God-Emperor or an eldritch and absent cosmic deity is ultimately empty and devoid of meaning.

Men live and die, and for what? For others to stand on their graves and proselytise? Where is the reward in that? For those who accept the boundless gifts of the Father of Plagues, however, everlasting hope is the ultimate reward. Decay is unavoidable. Bolters rust, the shells they fire are spent, and the fingers that pull their triggers wear down with the passing of time and repeated action.

Over the course of their lives, mortals sustain injuries, become infected, sicken and succumb to their wounds or, more simply, to age. It is impossible to escape deterioration, and yet people try. The struggle to forestall decay moves people to action. It motivates them to greatness. It gives them hope that better times lie ahead; endless possibilities in a universe that seemingly knows only certain crushing doom.

It is the Plague Lord that brings light to the darkness. It is Nurgle that gives weak mortals the strength to resist the lies of the Ecclesiarchy and others. It is the embracing Grandfather Nurgle who encourages his followers to defy the doom of mortal corruption, and instead use it as a source of strength and inspiration. In the market squares of backward planets and in the drone-filled cathedrals of the chapters of the Adeptus Ministorum , preachers spew their lies upon an unsuspecting and dimwitted flock.

They warn against corruption of the soul and filth of the spirit. They admonish their listeners that to turn from their faith is to join the ranks of the Lost and the Damned. Their words cannot encompass the horror of the truth. All Chaos Gods have a dual nature, but Nurgle, more so than any of the other Ruinous Powers , understands that the supposedly separate elements of his essence actually work together in a self-sustaining cycle rather than standing apart from one another as different explanations of the same thing.

Khorne , for instance, is a god of bloodshed and killing -- of utter carnage -- and also one of martial honour and a sense of accomplishment or betterment. These two halves can be seen as two sides of the same coin, but the coin must be flipped to view and appreciate its obverse.

But this coin is illusory; there is no divide between its two faces, no beginning and no end. The coin is naught but a feeble mortal metaphor for the truth of Nurgle's influence. On one "side" there is decay, death, and disease. What would be on the other side of this coin is in fact part and parcel of the first side. Hope, rebirth, resistance, and growth all arise directly from facing death and decay.

The Seers of the Asuryani craftworlds and the Inquisitors of the Imperium will never share this truth with the weak-minded fools who drink in their lies like mother's milk. For a Chaos God, Nurgle's actions seem oddly harmonious -- caring even. To receive the blessings of Nurgle, all one has to do is want to live and be willing to do whatever it takes to cling to that life. All else follows naturally from there. Worshipers of Khorne must push toward ever-greater levels of destruction and carnage despite the risks to themselves or even to their allies.

Those who devote themselves to Tzeentch must deny their lot in life and seek to change everything, never appreciating what they have. Followers of Slaanesh seek to escape reality in a blur of sensation and self-delusion. Yet all that is required to feel the caring touch of Nurgle is to see life for what it is and to want to make the most of it.

All that is needed is faith in the future provided by Nurgle. While an invitation to stroll down Nurgle's pox-strewn path should be welcomed as an honour, not all see it as such. Wasting away under the seemingly malign influence of a skin-eating disease is painful to the afflicted and often repulsive to those around them. When a child's flesh turns a sickly pale green and her eyes glaze over and become dull, milky, unseeing orbs, her father comes to know that he is powerless to prevent her suffering.

Seeing a friend's battlefield wound blacken and ooze blood-tinged pus, the stench of its rot choking the air of a barracks, is a reminder of the frailty of all mortals. If this decay comes at the hands of Nurgle, via the thrust of a rusted blade or the unleashing of a supernatural plague, many will curse his name. For those who are unable to see that this pain and suffering lifts the veil that hides the truth of life and death from them, such moments and visions are terrifying.

Some blessed mortals, however, are able to look beyond the putrescence and see the decay for what it is -- a gift from the Lord of All. This gift, regardless of the form it takes, opens eyes even as it liquefies them. It simultaneously atrophies the leg muscles of its recipients and gives them the strength to march toward a greater purpose. It is Nurgle's great ambition to speed this universe toward its ultimate end by eroding the foundations of reality much as a disease can erode the spirits and bodies of those infected.

Through his careful and ceaseless experimentations, begun within his wondrous Garden in the Realm of Chaos and then unleashed throughout the galaxy, the pillars that support the framework of existence are slowly but surely weakened. There will come a time when they collapse entirely and the universe will begin a massive transformation. The old ways will be swept aside like a troublesome fly. All that was will cease to be, and from the rotted ruins a new and glorious reality will emerge -- one dominated by Nurgle and his beloved children.

Those who walk with Nurgle and aid him in bringing about this "Great Corruption," as Nurgle calls it, do so with joy in their hearts. They know that Nurgle's victory is assured and that when all things come to an end and life begins anew, they will have helped make it so. This makes theirs a life worth living, despite, and because of, the gifts of their caring master. Your Father brings you hope in your darkest hour.

Let those who would accept his gifts come forth and receive the blessings of the Lord of Decay. Cast away your crutches and doubts. Put aside beliefs in a false master who fills your hearts with lies, sorrow, and regrets. Embrace instead the glorious gifts of rot and decay.

Revel in the beauty of putrescence and be reborn a living symbol of perseverance. A mutant Chaos Cultist of Nurgle. Nurgle the Plague Lord is the psychic manifestation of the most predominant collective fear of all sentient beings: the fear of death. Nurgle is the embodiment of disease, decay and the death these states ultimately bring to all living things.

Most Nurglites rarely end up in the service of the Plague Lord willingly; for those who contract a deadly disease or are forced to face the reality of their own mortality, Nurgle offers a potential escape from the painful ravages of illness or an untimely death -- in return for an individual's soul and their eternal damnation.

Among all the major intelligent species of the galaxy , Humanity fears death and the onset of nonexistence the most, and it is Humans who have always been the majority of the Plague Lord's servants. In return for their allegiance and service, Nurgle offers his worshippers complete immunity to all disease and pain -- by infecting them with every natural disease in existence and many that are unnatural extensions into realspace of the arcane power of Chaos.

Champions of Nurgle can become among the most powerful Chaos servants in the galaxy, though they will also be afflicted with some of the most all-encompassing, and disgusting, physical mutations that Chaos can bestow. Nurglites become swollen, walking bags of pus and putrescence, their very skin swelling and rotting from their bones even as they continuously leak organic fluids infected with every loathsome bacteria, virus, fungus and infectious agent that can be conjured by the imagination.

In return, Nurglites are completely immune to these diseases, or any disease, and their rotting bodies also become physically robust, capable of withstanding injuries and damage that would destroy even those enjoying the most robust health. At the same time, despite their seeming infirmity, those who have sworn their souls to Nurgle feel no pain; in fact, quite the opposite, for many Nurglites report feeling a sense of power and almost narcotic-like well-being that is far more pleasurable than they felt before the mutations began.

The Death Guard are a Traitor Legion entirely steeped in the power of Nurgle, the god of plagues, their very essence the epitome of all that vile Chaos God stands for. Their bodies are hives of filth and decay, their flesh eternally rotting away even as it is renewed by the ceaseless process of death and rebirth. Once, however, the Death Guard were the strongest and most resilient of all of the Emperor's Space Marine Legions , the inheritors of the Primarch Mortarion in whose genetic image they were created.

For some time, they fought with distinction and were nearly indistinguishable from the other Space Marine Legions. Operating in the role of heavy infantry, the Astartes of the XIV th Legion were experts at survival and endurance, and quickly gained a reputation among the other newly-forged Legions as relentless and disciplined fighters.

Their grey and unadorned power armour began to carry the symbols of rank and decoration, now modified, that once formed the armorial imagery of the Ironsides of Old Albia, a nation of techno-barbarians on Old Earth before the Unification Wars , and most tellingly their right vambraces, gauntlets and shoulder plates were painted the deep crimson of drying blood, now symbolising the red right hand of the Emperor 's justice. After the XIV th Legion was reunited with its Primarch Mortarion on the Feral World of Barbarus , he renamed the Legion the "Death Guard" after the force of mortal warriors he had used to cleanse his homeworld of the foul race of Chaos sorcerers who had long enslaved its people.

Mortarion's warriors were ever to be found at the centre of the battle line during the Great Crusade , their strength and determination the inheritance of their primarch, making them the unbreakable core of any Imperial army of conquest. This changed the culture and traditions of the Legion, so much so that by the last days of the Great Crusade in the early 31st Millennium, there were increasing tensions between the Barbarus-born Astartes and the Terran minority who remained in the Legion and who remembered the Dusk Raiders' earlier martial traditions brought out of Old Earth.

These tensions became most clear in the period directly preceding the first battle of the Horus Heresy at Isstvan III , when approximately one-third of the Legion was judged by Mortarion to be likely to remain loyal to the Emperor when the Legion joined the Warmaster Horus in his rebellion against the Imperium. In the final days of the great civil war that was the Horus Heresy, the warriors of the Death Guard found themselves becalmed in the Warp and assailed by Warp-born plagues so virulent that not even their legendary resilience could withstand them.

Soon, the entire Legion was beset by a sickness that bloated their bellies with corpse gas, caused flesh to slough from their bodies and made these strongest and toughest of warriors into crippled wretches assailed by delirium. Though none can say exactly what forces acted upon the soul of the primarch of the Death Guard, whether he was already damned or whether he made his pact in some state of fever, he must have called out for deliverance, and his call must have been answered.

When finally the Death Guard Legion's fleet emerged from the Warp, its vessels and its warriors were entirely changed. Icons of the Plague God Nurgle, commonly utilised by the Death Guard to denote their allegiance to their patron god. The once-gleaming white and grey armour was stained with filth, and the noble warriors were transformed into walking hives of death and abomination. Worse still, the " Plague Marines " of the Death Guard were now hosts for the most virulent afflictions that their new patron, the Plague God Nurgle, could concoct.

Condemned to a deathless state of decay, the Death Guard would spread their pestilent diseases the length and breadth of the galaxy for the greater glory of Chaos. With the ending of the Horus Heresy, the Primarch Mortarion led his Legion into the Eye of Terror , and while others of the Traitor Legions had splintered into countless warbands, each pursuing their own agenda, the Death Guard remained largely whole, thanks in no small part to their legendary strength and resilience.

Mortarion led them to a world that would become known simply as the Plague Planet , which he moulded into a new and despicable form, making it a virtual copy of Barbarus. To this day, Mortarion's Death Guard launch their assaults through the Cadian Gate and into the galaxy beyond, sometimes in large bodies and at others lending strength to allied forces.

Wherever they travel they spread the joyful, exuberant poxes of Nurgle, gifting those who would know eternal life with the choicest of the Plague God's blessings. Their animating psychic energies come from diametrically opposing mortal emotions and beliefs; Tzeentch's power derives from hope and the capacity of mortals to change their fortunes while Nurgle's comes from defiance born out of despair and hopelessness at the inevitability of death.

The followers of Nurgle often pit themselves against those of Tzeentch in complex political intrigues in the mortal realm, forever attempting to mire his schemes for change in dull-minded conservatism and parochial self-interest. The corrupting influence of Nurgle's servants is often successful in thwarting the Architect of Fate and they erode his accomplishments constantly, safe in the knowledge that whatever survives the collapse into entropy becomes their inheritance.

Nurgle and Tzeentch are in many ways opposed, for at the heart of the matter the Changer of Ways seeks to build ever more complex and improbable webs of power, while Nurgle embodies continuous growth, destruction, and renewal. The war between the two powers is ceaseless and played out across countless realities. That which Tzeentch creates and evolves to undreamed of heights of complexity and insane perfection, Nurgle's servants gnaw away at, seeking to bring the entire edifice toppling down so that new growth can emerge from the fecund grave.

A map of the Realm of Chaos; note the positions and distances between the places on this map are only allegorical; distance and time have no meaning in the Immaterium. The Land of the Plaguelord , often better known as the Garden of Nurgle , is no ordinary garden.

Perhaps it is not really a garden at all, but the mortal minds that contemplate the manifested will of the Plague Lord must attempt to make some sort of sense out of what they have seen or heard about in whispered tales. They must place it in some sort of relatable context that they can consider without going insane. The same tomes and other forbidden texts that have attempted to describe the lord of the land himself have, for the most part, agreed that the idea of Nurgle's realm being a perverse, deadly, and yet strangely beautiful garden best puts Chaos into terms they can fathom.

Like a normal garden, the domain of Nurgle is home to a bewildering array of flora and fauna, all interconnected and supporting the whole. Beds of bright blue shovelpetal plants dig themselves up and leave the dirt in which they grew so that Plaguebearers can plant new skullseeds in the rich loam. As the skullseeds grow and blossom, they attract bounding, stomping, over-exuberant Beasts of Nurgle that mistake their fruits for the heads of new playthings.

This scatters their matter violently into the air where it comes to rest on the wings of the ubiquitous flies. Slowed by the sticky pulp of the splattered plants, these insects become easy prey for other flying creatures that ingest them as they soar through the rot-choked air. Unbeknownst to the predators, bloatflies are carriers of many of Nurgle's experimental diseases and other creations.

With their innards thus infected, these predators sicken, vomiting the contents of their guts all across the garden as they fly about and eventually explode in showers of life-giving flesh and blood. This bounty of mutated and mutilated tissue falls into new areas of the garden beneath, decaying into compost and starting the cycle of life and death anew. Though the Garden of Nurgle does share certain commonalities with gardens and jungles on planets in realspace , it still is not a worldly garden in any sane sense.

A visitor in this bizarre and perilous realm doesn't walk from this place to that. They experience what needs to be experienced. Even the Daemons that tend the Garden of Nurgle are not really what might be thought of as a work force that arrives at a place, does a job, and then leaves for other regions. These Daemons are a part of the experience of the Garden of Nurgle itself.

This is especially troublesome for the Plaguebearers, whose metamorphosed minds were once mortal, and still strive to impose a modicum of reality in their unreal existences. Still, even the Plaguebearers accept their place in the garden and spend their eternity enjoying all it offers in their own way. The Plaguefather affords all his children many ways to explore and appreciate his realm, and even to become a part of it.

Though he is a god of Chaos, he also has a need to create order, to monitor his creations, and to control his experiments. A visitor to Nurgle's realm would find a dizzying amount of diversity of experiences. Here they might find trees made of nothing but the flesh of Aeldari , constantly oozing the tears of a dying race.

There they might find fields where tongues sprout up from the earth, each one blistered by the malign influence of a different infection. There is no telling what wonders await around each bend in the paths that stretch and wind throughout the Garden of Nurgle, but any who encounter them will surely have their sanity tested and questioned, should they survive to share the tale.

The Land of the Plaguelord is an ever-changing realm, shifting according to the needs and whims of its master. Many areas exist only temporarily, taking shape to allow the Plague God to indulge a particular fancy or to be granted to an especially accomplished Great Unclean One as a reward. Even so, the legends hint that some aspects of this foetid domain remain relatively constant. Nurgle has need of fields in which to plant his crops of blighted herbs, pits to hold the bodies upon which he conducts his experiments, and, most important of all, a gigantic and decrepit mansion in which to store his creations, brew his legendary contagions, entertain guests, and plot the course of the Great Corruption.

The Garden of Nurgle and one of its daemonic attendants. While the mortal realm is laid waste by blight and pestilence, the lands of Nurgle in the Realm of Chaos thrive on disease and corruption. Tended by the Lord of Decay, this unwholesome realm is home to every pox and affliction imaginable and is foetid with the stench of rot. Twisted, rotten boughs entangled with grasping vines cover the mouldering ground, entwining like broken fingers. Fungi, both plain and spectacular, break through the squelching mulch of the forest floor, puffing out clouds of choking spores.

The stems of half-daemonic plants wave of their own accord, unstirred by the insect-choked air. Their colours puncture the gloom; havens of cheeriness in a dismal woodland. Human -featured beetles flit along the banks of sluggish, muddy rivers. Reeds rattle, whispering the names of the poxes inflicted upon the worlds of mortals by Great Nurgle or lamenting those that have died from the caress of their creator.

Use them to take charges or tar pit elite infantry. Vulnerable, like much of the roster, to sustained missile fire, and not the best damage dealers, but able to hold the line like little else. The Exalted are the upgraded version, and come with a ranged attack. This is something Nurgle can struggle with in general, so a nice option to have.

Faster, stronger, and with better armour than Plaguebearers, but with less health and a lower model count, Forsaken are best used to support your frontline. Use that increased speed to get some early charges into the flanks of whatever the Plaguebearers or Nurglings engage head on. These slimy funsters are single entities with a nice bump in speed compared to your frontline, armour piercing, and regeneration. Like all units with regen, they take extra damage from fire attacks, like that of Ogre Firebellies or Exalted Bloodletters of Khorne, so be a bit careful with your engagements.

Use them to flank and mulch enemy infantry or light cavalry, but watch out for anti-large cavalry or halberds. The Pox Riders are effectively the same unit, but better. The Plague Drones come in two variants. One has a ranged weapon, great for wearing down those big single entity monsters, and the other is a more dangerous version of the basic Rot Fly.

All are armour piercing, though a bit squishy due to a low model count. Your budget flyer option, used for shutting down low tier ranged units or artillery while your main army approaches. The Great Unclean one is a baby version of their Exalted lord variant, although I use the term baby loosely, as these are still some seriously hefty boys. Vulnerable to missile fire, but able to mulch through infantry and even duel enemy characters due to their enormous HP pools. You can also give them access to Nurgle spells through technology, although your Winds of Magic is usually better spent by your dedicated casters.

With its huge speed, melee prowess, armour, and artillery weapon, the Soul Grinder is a key piece in the Nurgle roster, and no army should be without two or more to shore up its weaknesses. Use that long ranged bombardment to make the enemy move up on you. So, how do you combine it all to make them a formidable force on the battlefield? Here are some general tips to get the most out of Nurgle. Despite their high melee defence, Nurgle are as vulnerable to sustained missile fire as any other faction, and the glacial pace of most of the army often means weathering all the opposing force can throw at you on the way in.

Rotflies, furies, toads and cultists can disrupt missile lines, and a well placed Blight Boil - preferably from a Plagueridden on a rotfly, can blow a hole in a backline. While this is good advice for any army with access to AOE spells, like Grand Cathay or Kislev , forcing blobs is especially effective for Nurgle. Many of their specialised units, army abilities, spells, or active abilities rely on debuffing or harming units within their sphere of influence.

Once stacked together, they can turn dangerous foes into useless clumps of plague fodder. This extends to your own units. Just look at those little guys. As your most basic infantry unit, you might be tempted to replace these diminutive funsters as soon as possible.

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