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| - Nurglings are the very image of Father Nurgle himself, having friendly, mischievous faces and bloated, green bodies fitted with disproportionate limbs. The only difference is their size. A Nurgling is no taller than a foot high. These foul things inhabit the bodies of larger Daemons, preferably the Great Unclean Ones who spawn them. Nurglings creep into the crevices, burying themselves beneath the diseased flab of their bulky forms and suckle on the cancerous wounds that weep foul pus. While covering their host, they jockey for the favour of their master, purring with pleasure when caressed or squealing with delight when offered a choice morsel of flesh.
- Though Nurglings are some of the least of Nurgle's minions, they are some of the most numerous, and among the most favoured of the Lord of All's daemonic pantheon. Much smaller than the Plaguebearers who serve as the Plague Lord's daemonnic footsoldiers or the Greater Daemons known as Great Unclean Ones, Nurglings barely reach over a foot in height. They appearance resembles the Grandfather Nurgle himself, perhaps not surprising, given that Nurglings are formed within the innards of Great Unclean Ones, who themselves physically reflect Nurgle's repulsive magnificence. Nurglings serve the Filth-father in which they were formed, often pretending that their progenitor is Nurgle himself. They play within the folds of his flesh, fetch morsels for him to consume, pick at his sores or give him ne
- The rotted bowels of the Great Unclean Ones swell with pus and contagion and within each swelling grows a tiny a malevolent daemon called a Nurgling. As the Nurgling matures, it feeds upon the filth of the Great Unclean One and eventually pops out, the very personification (or daemonification) of a boil or pustule. In this sense, Nurglings really are the children of the Great Unclean Ones. Perhaps this is why the Greater Daemons take such parental pride in the little creatures, allowing them to suckle upon their sores and petting them affectionately. However, this does not prevent the proud parent squishing its progeny underfoot or gobbing one or two up in a moment of impulsive peckishness.
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| abstract
| - The rotted bowels of the Great Unclean Ones swell with pus and contagion and within each swelling grows a tiny a malevolent daemon called a Nurgling. As the Nurgling matures, it feeds upon the filth of the Great Unclean One and eventually pops out, the very personification (or daemonification) of a boil or pustule. In this sense, Nurglings really are the children of the Great Unclean Ones. Perhaps this is why the Greater Daemons take such parental pride in the little creatures, allowing them to suckle upon their sores and petting them affectionately. However, this does not prevent the proud parent squishing its progeny underfoot or gobbing one or two up in a moment of impulsive peckishness. Nurglings may also grow from the pus shed by a Great Unclean One as it moves. Such pus hides in little sticky pockets in the ground. When a mortal steps upon it, the foulness enters his body, making its way into his gut. There the Nurgling encysts and develops until it is ready to emerge. As the Nurgling approaches maturity, its obscene cries may be heard from within the victim's abdomen, insulting anyone and everyone nearby. When ready, the Nurgling climbs through the alimentary canal and leaves its host by one or other end. The Nurgling is then free to flock with others of its kind or to take up residence in some household cess pit, rubbish pile, or equally unpleasant place. They have a naturally malicious but sociable nature and like to hang around human settlements if they cannot find other Nurglings. They enjoy stealing small but precious objects, turning milk sour, and perpetrating misdeeds of that sort. Nurlings always remember their parent human with affection and periodically creep back to bestow their gratitude in the form of a crop of boils or some interesting disease. Nurglings are miniature images of Nurgle himself, with friendly mischievous faces, tiny bloated green bodies, and limbs which are often distorted or disproportionate. They are gregarious, agile, and constantly active. Normally, they swarm over the body of a Great Unclean One, picking at his skin, squealing with pleasure if their master favours them with a tit-bit or a caress, otherwise squabbling among themselves over the most comfortable recesses of the Great Unclean One's carcass. When faced with an enemy, they advance in a furious little swarm, clawing and gnawing at their foe's legs, biting his ankles, and licking at any interesting sores or abrasions they discover. Their tiny teeth are sharp as razors, leaving festering little bites upon their victims, but rarely killing them outright.
- Though Nurglings are some of the least of Nurgle's minions, they are some of the most numerous, and among the most favoured of the Lord of All's daemonic pantheon. Much smaller than the Plaguebearers who serve as the Plague Lord's daemonnic footsoldiers or the Greater Daemons known as Great Unclean Ones, Nurglings barely reach over a foot in height. They appearance resembles the Grandfather Nurgle himself, perhaps not surprising, given that Nurglings are formed within the innards of Great Unclean Ones, who themselves physically reflect Nurgle's repulsive magnificence. Nurglings serve the Filth-father in which they were formed, often pretending that their progenitor is Nurgle himself. They play within the folds of his flesh, fetch morsels for him to consume, pick at his sores or give him new ones, and otherwise seek his approval, giggling all the while. Like Nurgle and most of their fellow Nurglite daemons, Nurglings are jovial and playful in nature. They will hop and cavort around their larger fellow daemons, amusing them with their jolly antics. As befit servants of the God of Decay, Nurglings are also quite mischievous, biting, clawing, pulling and tearing at anything that catches their fancy. Mortal servants of the Plague God quickly learn not to entrust anything they deem valuable to the guard of Nurglings, for they inevitably will return to find the item utterly destroyed, torn to pieces and covered in filth. Daemons of Nurgle emulate the Lord of Decay and follow his path in many different ways. When they are not vying for the attention of their parent-Daemon, Nurglings most often try to do things that reflect the mirthful nature of Nurgle himself. This frequently leads to them interfering with the work of the Plaguebearers, who find Nurglings to be something of a nuisance—though they don't normally give voice to their irritation, at least not when a Great Unclean One is within earshot. Just when a Plaguebearer is nearly finished counting the number of drips of pus required to fill a particular pool, for example, a swarm of Nurglings may come running through it, playfully splashing in the rancid goo and scattering it all around. It is their nature to cause mischief, just as it is the Plaguebearer's nature to keep tallies. In the Realm of Chaos, even in the relatively ordered domain of Nurgle, it is no surprise that harmony eludes the grasp of most Daemons. Individually, a Nurgling is not a dangerous opponent. A grown human can simply kick it aside without difficulty. That is why Nurglings gather in monstrous swarms on the field of battle, making up for their lack of strength and size with raw numbers and their highly infectious claws and bites. Their favorite method of attack is to overrun a single individual and bring him down under the sheer mass of their pestilent bodies. Occasionally very dedicated Chaos Champions of Nurgle will become infested with Nurglings, which will live in gaping wounds and orifices in the Champion's body and armour. Great Unclean Ones also tend to keep a large amount of favoured Nurglings upon and inside their bodies, for they find their tiny counterparts highly amusing. Great Unclean Ones often swallow one of the Nurglings just to see from which orifice in their vast bodies the tiny giggling creature will emerge again. In battle, these Nurglings will fight ferociously to defend their host from any opponent who dares approach him.
- Nurglings are the very image of Father Nurgle himself, having friendly, mischievous faces and bloated, green bodies fitted with disproportionate limbs. The only difference is their size. A Nurgling is no taller than a foot high. These foul things inhabit the bodies of larger Daemons, preferably the Great Unclean Ones who spawn them. Nurglings creep into the crevices, burying themselves beneath the diseased flab of their bulky forms and suckle on the cancerous wounds that weep foul pus. While covering their host, they jockey for the favour of their master, purring with pleasure when caressed or squealing with delight when offered a choice morsel of flesh. Even as disgusting as they are, nothing compares to how they are often created. A Nurgling grows in the rotting flesh of a Great Unclean One. Like infants, they feed on the nutrients of the mother, though in this case, it is the rancid milk of pestilence. In time, a diet of filth enables the Nurgling to grow large enough to allow it to eat its way out of the wet innards, born to whatever horrid existence it faces. Queerly, Great Unclean Ones tend to see these vermin as their children. They coddle them, coo at them, and caress them, showering them with affection — though such endearments are no obstacle to the Greater Daemon’s tantrums and bottomless hunger. Many Nurglings rot away, get caught between the Daemon’s prodigious toes, or are dissolved in its gastric juices. Nurglings are also bred from the pus shed by Great Unclean Ones. As these massive, bloated fiends walk the land, they leave a swathe of oily filth in their wake. The fluid collects in sticky pockets, lying in wait for the hapless passer-by who has the misfortune to dip his foot in the morass. The foulness enters the victim’s body, travelling through the blood to lodge inside of the abdomen where it grows, feeding on the body’s excrement. In time, when it is large enough, it distends its host’s belly and cries out insults and profanities as much and as loudly as it can. It eventually grows tired of such behaviour and travels out through the mouth or anus, depending on its mood, to be free and seek its fortune in the world. Such experiences, whilst terrifyingly unpleasant and maddening, are never lethal — just very uncomfortable. Such Nurglings may look for others of their kind — they are indeed sociable creatures, but many content themselves in the filth and squalor of human cities, feasting on offal piles, sewers, and the like. But from time to time, the Nurgling will seek its original Human host out of some strange affection, to visit a plague as a means of gratitude. Nurglings rarely attack a foe by themselves, preferring instead to gather in swarms of chattering, gibbering green bodies. They claw and bite at their foe’s legs, biting ankles and licking at any interesting sores or abrasions they discover. They have tiny teeth as sharp as razors and leave festering little bites on their victims but rarely kill them outright.
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