[ Models | Lore | Sources | Inspiration ]
Glitchlings are small Daemons, close cousins to the entities known as Nurglings. A fusion of machine-plague and electrostatic energy, the mites were first reported in M32, shortly after the Daemon Primarch Perturabo made a pact with Nurgle that saw him pervert the eight rituals of possession and turn them against the forge world of Toil. That planet was conquered not only by the Iron Warriors, but also by the Tech-Priests' own machines, their trusted engines becoming nightmarish cybernetic horrors that were as much daemonic flesh as metal. Waddling amongst the machine-beasts were plump, diminutive creatures that cackled in scrapcode and glowed with baleful energy. Even as the guns of the forge world's defenders focused on larger targets, the Glitchlings ran wild. Their disruptive aura caused cogitators, electro-lumens and machine spirits to falter or go haywire. In their moment of greatest need, the defenders found their weapons stuttering and flickering as the machine plague took its toll.
Similar strange anomalies have been recorded across the galaxy since the fall of Toil. Wherever the Glitchlings bounce forth, long-cherished guns in fine working order suddenly fail, the most reliable servitors stumble to a grinding halt, and tanks in pristine condition suddenly rust as if aged hundreds of years in the blink of an eye. Such is the Glitchling's true purpose - to bring entropy and disease to machines, infecting circuitry, contaminating mechanical parts and degrading metal rather than bringing plague to creatures of flesh and blood.
Although their greatest joy is disrupting the technology of the mortal races, Glitchlings are malicious creatures, and they find it immensely entertaining to stab or bite foes that are distracted by their weapons malfunctioning. Although small and relatively puny, the Glitchlings secrete a noxious substance that covers their claws, teeth and blades, so that any wounds they cause are full of infectious disease.
Burbling nonsensical words and emitting spark-filled belches, the gregarious Glitchlings bound across the battlefield in small packs. They take extraordinary glee in spreading mayhem, and express puerile behaviour in the form of rude gestures, suggestive capers, and destruction they leave in their wake. They mock and mimic the curses or looks of shock that come over defenders as their trusted weapons inexplicably falter at precisely the worst moment.
The exact connection between the Glitchlings and the Gellerpox virus is unknown, but each breakout thus far recorded has been accompanied by a host of the diminutive mischief-makers.
Bite, bite, chew, chew, your gun won't work and I'm coming for you!
— Irritating rhyme chanted by a group of Glitchlings
|Models; Lore; Sources; Snippets; Inspiration; Site News; Contact|