In that decadent, rotting garden, a sniveling fat man was pouring out his grievances to Grandfather.
"I... I originally... I originally wanted to..."
"Oh, child, slow down. Don't rush yourself."
Grandfather stopped what he was doing and casually scooped a cup of bubbling broth from the swamp.
"Thank you, Grandfather..."
The sniveling Greater Daemon took a sip. Snorting back snot and phlegm, he used his maggot-ridden, pus-filled throat to slowly tell Grandfather what had just happened.
He had been drawn by the despair on a certain planet, yet had been troubled by the lack of ritual arrays and followers. He had been unable to save the suffering masses there and bestow Grandfather's gifts upon them.
But as the old saying went, flies did not bite seamless eggs.
A ritual array summoning him had appeared on that planet, filled with garbage and corruption that made him feel right at home.
How could Nurgle's Greater Daemon—Brain Thrombosis—waste such a splendid opportunity? Without another word, he led his brothers and sisters headlong into it.
After seven days of gifts and improvements, they had already been able to restore life to this war-ravaged planet.
The people in the streets had all rejoiced, spitting mouthful after mouthful of old phlegm in gratitude for their merciful kindness.
A scene of flourishing vitality, with all things competing in abundance, had seemed right before his eyes.
But then, their connection to the Warp had been severed. Two great powers had acted at once. In Brain Thrombosis's clouded eyes, the planet had been shrouded by lewd pink shadows and a majestic, icy golden sun.
He had thought Slaanesh's people had come to pay a friendly visit, so he laid out a grand feast of corruption to welcome the guests and prepared to discuss driving away that annoying sun.
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