The Astra Militarum is the implacable military arm of the Imperium, and one of the largest forces in the galaxy. On thousands of battlefields scattered throughout the galaxy, the soldiers of the Astra Militarum march to war. They are the Hammer of the Emperor, who with faith, fury and sheer weight of numbers crush heretics and xenos alike beneath their boots. Massed ranks of Guardsmen unleash concentrated salvoes of las-blasts while officers bellow orders over the thunderous roar of tank and artillery fire.
Plagueburst Crawlers are lumbering, formidable siege tanks whose huge ram-blades, thick armour plating and daemonic energies provide them with incredible resilience. Their fearsome plagueburst mortars boast a parabolic fire arc and terrifying range, while the shells they fire combine high-radius explosives with lethal clouds of corrosive spores to inflict damage comparable to that of Imperial Demolisher cannon. The remainder of the Crawler’s weaponry is intended to slaughter the foe up close, spraying diseased slime and hails of vital shells at any who approach.
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. This hideous war engine bears monstrous weapons onto the battlefield to annihilate the enemies of the Death Guard. Clad in rusting plates of rot-iron armour, their hulls overflowing with flabby foulness, Foetid Bloat-drones can withstand ferocious amounts of punishment and still keep fighting. They are designed to hover in close, drifting lazily through the most treacherous of terrain to provide supporting fire.
The worshippers of the Dark Gods know that there is power in words and numbers, incantations and arcane numerology. Seven is the unholy number of Nurgle, and the preachers of this doctrine are the Tallymen. Part priests, part demagogues, part metaphysical scribes and quartermasters, these festering zealots stride to battle festooned with the trappings of their strange craft – reams of parchment, crawling with tallies of seven in a strange, crabbed hand, counting the horrors inflicted on the Death Guard’s foes.
Sinister, hooded figures, Plague Surgeons drift through the mayhem of battle like ghoulish spectres of death. They were once Death Guard Apothecaries who brought healing to those who could be saved, and absolution to those who could not. Damnation transformed their order, rendering them the dark antithesis of what they once were. The very touch of a Plague Surgeon is virulently infectious, while every breath they exhale teems with spores and Daemon motes. The miasma that drips from their weapons and surgical instruments only adds to this effect. Any for foolish enough to engage a Plague Surgeon in combat will soon be crawling with empyric disease.