"My suffering children! Accept my gift!" Grandfather Nurgle smiled kindly, gently squeezing the dropper. A drop of exceptionally clear, transparent liquid hung from its tip.
At Grandfather's call, Nurgle cultists riddled with disease awoke from the drowsy exhaustion of their unrelenting fevers. They emerged from the sewers and drains where they lived, preaching Grandfather's doctrine to their suffering brothers and sisters.
Vagrants wandering the streets on the verge of starvation, mutants struggling to survive beneath the hive city's lowest levels, slaves working themselves to death for the powerful and influential—all of them heard the rusty bells of Nurgle's cultists.
As the Nurgle cultists drew near, old ailments were joined by new ones. Disease and bitter lives tortured these people until they could scarcely breathe, while the towering cathedrals would never open their doors to such a filthy crowd.
One person yielded to Nurgle's gift and begged the great Grandfather to free him from the sea of suffering that was disease. Grandfather gladly agreed, and so the desperate man received even more illnesses. As their outbreaks clashed within him, his flesh swelled and rotted further.
Though he looked utterly horrifying, once he truly endured the trial of his many diseases, the crushing aches vanished from his body. In their place came, from the depths of his soul, wave after wave of a generous desire to share.
Nurgle's cultists grew ever more numerous, rapidly spreading upward from the hive city's lowest levels. Compared to Khorne cults' indiscriminate skull-taking, Slaanesh cults' hedonism, and Tzeentch cults' emphasis on quality over quantity in recruitment, Nurgle possessed by far the largest pool of potential followers.
Grandfather did not care who you were, nor whether you were useful. So long as you accepted Grandfather's gift, you became a member of the family.
"For Grandfather's gift! We must