Their flesh pulses with the feverheat of corruption, their innards push through lesions in their putrid skin and their bodies ooze with sticky slime. It was a blessing to behold such glory and joy. These races frustrate Nurgle’s efforts to contaminate them, and he deems them fit only for eradication. Yet these wars come to naught, as each god is well defended within their home. Still, even the Plaguebearers accept their place in the Garden and spend their eternity enjoying all it offers in their own way. They are jovial in their work and show great pride in their accomplishments, interpreting the groans of the afflicted as expressions of gratitude justly won by their efforts. Whole star systems -- even whole sectors -- are quarantined as plague runs rife across the stars. Due to the unspeakable horror of meeting in person, ropleplaying conventions have been called off for possibly the rest of the year. Nurgle is the only Chaos deity which has connections in the real world deities. Nergal was one of the founders of Baali clan alongside Moloch and the Unnamed. These are the Plaguefather's mortal champions, and it is through their foul deeds that many of the greatest accomplishments of Nurgle's plan are achieved. The chosen of Nurgle often find this symbol growing on their festering skin. Once a Champion of Nurgle has the scent of his foe, no amount of stink can throw him off. The Rot Flies of that realm buzzed loud in alarm, however, and whispered of the intruders into Nurgle's ear. Ever eccentric, Nurgle encourages the same aberrations amongst the most powerful of his shepherds. In the early history of the galaxy, the powers of the Warp had yet to form into distinct, intelligent entities. These unusual traits go as far towards colouring the composition and tactics of the army they lead as does the daemon legion type itself. 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. 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. More than two hundred years ago, they buried their differences and almost succeeded in overrunning the Old World with their armies. Nergal was the Sumerian ruler of the Underworld, war, pestilence, the summer solstice and god of the dark aspects of the Sun (which could take away life, especially since Sumeria was situated in what is today the Middle East, a desert region). Dedication to God Nergal by Hurrian king Atalshen, king of Urkish and Nawar, Habur Bassin, circa 2000 BC. He is also philosophy. Though Nurgle is the creator of every infection and epidemic to have ever swept the universe, Nurgle is not a morose purveyor of despair and gloom, but a vibrant god of life and laughter. Nurgle is a creative being, and he will take inspiration for experimentation where he finds it. The Chaos God's immense body is bloated with corruption and exudes a sickly, diseased stench. "Entropy is all-consuming, fed by all struggles against it. He beams with excitement as he mixes strains of pox and fever to create a poisonous stew of pestilence, for although every known disease infects his monstrous body, he is obsessed with creating new ailments. Yet in contrast to their hideous appearance, Nurgle's Daemons are cheerful, energetic beings that show a disturbingly friendly demeanour. Still, I will make an accounting of them.". Nurgle's gurgling and pulsating organs are rank with the excrement of decay, spilling and spurting through its ruptured skin to hang like obscene fruit around its girth. 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. In the Realm of Chaos, daemonic armies loyal to each Ruinous Power clash in unending battle at the borders of their territories. In the same way, Nurgle is also the god of perseverance and survival. Yet in contrast to their hideous appearance, Nurgle's daemons are cheerful, energetic beings that show a disturbingly friendly demeanour. Others flourish only briefly before being eradicated by the diseases they foster – a sign to some cultists that they have failed Nurgle, but to others that they have pleased him, and he has taken their souls to his garden where they can serve forever as his minions of decay. Regeneration comes from decay, just as hope springs from despair. 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 Plaguelord insists on leaving their former homeland untouched rather than raze it to a charred, lifeless stone. [4e], Cultists who have influence in society, the bureaucrats and advisors, use subtle means to spread Nurgle’s gifts, such as ensuring that basic civic amenities – drains, sewers, and midden heaps – are neglected, causing rampant sickness amongst the population. It is a place that serves two purposes. Influential cultists may even be able to sidle to the bed of a sick aristocrat and whisper promises of deliverance to their fevered patron behind the backs of his physicians. Oh, Plaguefather, your gifts are boundless! On the one hand, it is the Lord of Decay, whose body is wracked with disease; on the other, the god is full of unexpected energy and a desire to organise and enlighten. Much of the senseless slaughter was conducted by armies and mercenaries who followed Nurgal. Nurgle is the embodiment of disease, decay and the death these states ultimately bring to all living things. There is no cesspool or sewer noxious enough to deter Nurgle's followers. Beneath the Great Unclean One are the leaders of the Tallybands, either Daemon Princes or daemonic Heralds of Nurgle such as Poxbringers, Sloppity Bilepipers and Spoilpox Scriveners. Please see Weapon Mechanics to fully understand the depth of your Hunter Arsenal.. Nergal Crusher Information. Blessed with reshaped forms and renewed purpose, the minions of Nurgle become his instruments in the Great Corruption. Still, if one were to delve into the comparative histories and galaxy-wide myths associated with Nurgle, certain commonalities would present themselves. They are nearer to their god than any mortal, and more closely involved in his plans than any Plaguebearer or other daemonic servant. 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. The battle raged for solar days, and swathes of Nurgle's Garden were blasted to ruin in the process. Most civilised folk hide from this fact by finding solace among immortal deities in stone temples that emphasise the illusion of eternal permanence. It is not long before his body will shed the rotting husk of its old skin to reveal the new blooms of fresh disease, and it is then he will once again lead a Fecundus Legion. Nurgle’s sacred animals are the fly, the maggot, and the carrion crow, though all creatures that feast on the decayed dead or spread virulent plague are favoured in his eyes. Mortarion's warriors were ever to be found at the centre of the battle line, their strength and determination the inheritance of their Primarch, making them the unbreakable core of any Imperial army of conquest. The soupy air of the garden seeped into their lungs, worm-riddled mud spattered up their legs, and white-bodied daemonflies clambered into their mouths. The struggle to forestall decay moves people to action. The Garden of Nurgle is a wondrous place filled with vitality, mirth, and experiences beyond mortal comprehension. Nurgle itself takes the form of a titanic flesh-hulk riddled with decay and pestilence. Once they are properly infected, Grandfather Nurgle smiles, gives them one last tender, gut-churning embrace, and sends them back into the lands their stories described. The mortals' unconscious response to that fear, the desperation to cling to life no matter what the cost, gives Nurgle an opening into their souls. 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. 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