Virulax and his host marched along the streets of the Rotten City. Plaguebearers thronged on both sides, chanting his praise.
Well, not his praise particularly, but Virulax let himself shed a single tear, nevertheless. One slimy, puss-filled glob of liquid erupted from his rheumy left eye... A second later, the Great Unclean One changed his mind, and with a single swipe of his tongue, he flicked the liquid into his mouth.
As they marched, Virulax waved his arms, cheering the crowd back. He was always cheerful, but now, he had a particular reason for it. He had won the Trial of Champions, and now he was on his way to be rewarded by Grandfather Nurgle himself.
On reaching the enormous gates of the inner palace, Virulax goggled. Such an honor... He swallowed, then carried on. Two armored greater daemons swung the gates open. Virulax was swept off his feet at the grandiose sight.
He felt like swooning.
And maybe he did, for in the next moment, he was floating. A gentle fog of yellow slime settled around him.
"G-g-g-grandfather?"
Cheerful laughter rolled across the air.
"H-h-h-have I done enough? May I rest for a bit? In your garden?"
Virulax felt the very world around him smile.
***
Time had passed. Much? Little? Virulax cared not, for such things mattered not in the Garden. Alas, all good things come to and end - but only to be reborn, in Nurgle's endless cycle of life. Such had his rest in the Garden end, and such it will come again, after he had fulfilled his new orders.
Virulax marched with a purpose, brandishing his terrible blade. He bellowed. Out of nowhere, the Bringer of the Pox appeared, marching beside him. A dour fellow to be sure, but Virulax had come to like him during their time spent campaigning together.
"Bringer... it is good to see you again."
The herald snorted, then thought better of it.
"I rejoice as well, Lord Virulax."
"Gather up the crew! We have things to do. And tell me... have you ever heard of a Stormvault?"
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