Lord Scroltch the Deliriously Pustulent was sitting in the mud, making happy little bubbling
noises to himself as he watched the happy little bubbles rise to the surface and burst, releasing a pleasingly horrible stench into the air when it happened. First there was blast of flatulent trumpets, then the dull grey fog of Albion rolled back to reveal a beam of nauseating greenish light, which shone down from on high. Down this beam of light descended a great and scabrous mass of heaving, rancid flesh, supported upon a palanquin born aloft by a great and scabrous mass of heaving, rancid nurglings. With a squelch, the wetness and vileness of which defied description, and which unleashed a stench beyond the comprehension of mortal men from the swamps of eternal stench, this great palanquin came to rest before Lord Scrolth, who waggled his tentacles happily and blew squelchy burps of joy towards it. The great and festering mound of flesh seethed and rippled for some time making dramatic gestures accompanied by a symphony of odd plops, glops, squeaks and squelches. Lord Scroltch looked on in awe.It was at about this time that Papa Nurgle realized he had landed facing the wrong way. He proceeded to chasten his mound of gibbering, giggling nurglings, which obliged him by turning around and actually facing his most pustulent follower.
