Nurglings are what happens when corruption is distilled to its most cheerful. Budded from the ripest filth of the Garden — and, it is whispered, from the innards of far greater daemons — they boil across the realms in giggling tides, each one a fist-sized parcel of bites, poxes, and tremendous enthusiasm. Individually they are almost harmless. Nurglings are never individual.
The legions adore them. Nurglings nest in Blightking blubber, roost in bell-towers, stow away in siege engines, and erupt from wells at the worst possible moment, and no host of Nurgle marches without a carpet of them underfoot. Enemies who laugh at the sight tend to stop once the tide reaches their knees and keeps climbing.
Order of battle
