23. Hunting Eagles (IX, Pure Light)

Chapter 731: 23. Hunting Eagles (IX, Pure Light)

The second most favored of Nurgle, Rotigus the Rainfather, was thinking—truly thinking.

Several Nurglings lay dejectedly atop the ridiculous red hood on his head, their faces full of sorrow like scolded children, to the point that one could almost wonder whether those fat, ugly faces might begin to cry.

He sensed their grief and raised his fat, muscular left hand to scoop them up, carrying them over to a great cauldron before him. Its interior was pitch-black, and the churning, boiling dark liquid within looked like one face of the abyss.

Standing on Rotigus's broad palm, the Nurglings peered down twice, then looked back at him. Once granted permission, they leapt into the cauldron—and their sadness swiftly vanished. The noisy little creatures began once more to brawl, mock, and torment one another.

The Rainfather watched them with comfort, but shook his head slightly. He stepped away from the boiling crucible and approached a horned daemon seated in a chair, furiously writing away.

It looked somewhat different from an ordinary Great Unclean One, and its Nurglings were likewise unusual. They possessed a deathly silence, neither chattering noisily nor craving malicious pranks. They simply remained around the chair, constantly taking away the scrolls their master had finished and handing him fresh ones.

The Rainfather cleared his throat, letting out a deep cough before speaking slowly. "Honored Scribe—in my opinion, we ought to do something to turn the situation around, even if only a little."

The busy Scribe did not acknowledge him at once. The daemon merely remained focused on waving its quill from its chair, deeply focused, yet deeply terrifying as well.

Its silence carried a stern force that made one afraid to speak again. Even the Rainfather had to think a little before