Virulax on his path to glory

At first, there was nothing.

And then there was... something? A noise? A drone. A buzz. A chant.

Somebody rose from the water. No, it wasn't water. It was thick, like mud. Slime. Somebody rose from it, fighting to raise his head above for a gulp of air. His arms flailed about, looking for a handhold.

His head rose. He blinked. He couldn't see. The chant filled his ears. He flailed more. His hands found something solid to grab unto. He pulled himself out of the muck.



Somebody shook his head to clear it. He had a name. He just couldn't remember. It was on the tip of his tongue.

He had a tongue?

He opened his mouth, and licked his lips. Yes. He had that. He licked his hands, testing the scent and taste of his surroundings. It tasted like rancid water. Like offal left in the sun for too long. Like dead leaves. Like ripe and rotten fruit. Like...

It tasted wonderful.

He licked his hands clean. He gorged on the slime, feeling it descend his throat. He wiped off his face using his hands, once again licking them clean. His tongue stretched out, he licked his face and eyes, wiping away the last remnants of muck.

He could see now. Hear. Feel. Smell. He patted himself. Roughly torn skin, patches of fat and flesh showing through. A great belly, insides half-spilling out. Jagged horns on his head.

He looked around. It all started to make sense. He knew who he was.

Above the edge of the cauldron larger than continents, Virulax, the Great Unclean One, rose to his feet on the immense spoon and looked up into the eyes of the gigantic being that held the implement.

"Greetings, Grandfather. What is your will?'

A great, echoing laughter boomed across the air. Virulax felt the joy filling him, and he laughed along with his creator. His god. His kindly grandfather. And he knew.

He descended from the spoon, kindly lowered to ground level. His tools were awaiting him: a massive bilesword, rusted but firm, and a bileblade, dripping the very slime he just arose from. Virulax grabbed the weapons, and waved at the surrounding Plaguebearers, interrupting their chant.

'Children! You! And you! Come! With me!'

20 footsoldiers? Yes. They shall do for now. For the need was great, and the hurry, greater.

That he desired glory and exultation? Yes. Ascension? Definitely. But most of all, he desired to serve.

Nurgle's will be done.