A Decadent Decoding

“How much longer is this going to take Morbisa? I can practically smell the orruk’s dung overpowering the tantalizing scent of the Dark Prince’s followers from here,” barked Ghungus.

The sorceress seemed to barely give notice to Ghungus’ words as she focused on drawing the daemonic messenger from the relic they’d reclaimed from the Hedonites of Slaanesh.

She slightly turned her head and briskly replied, “Whenever it’s ready to reveal itself, it shall!”

The previous daemon they’d encountered in Cysthearth confirmed the holy ladle was somewhere in the Lost Archipelago but claimed it had been stolen. His offerings of splinters from the daemonic spoon had been used to boost morale, but Ghungus and his leaders were wise enough to see through the Poxbringer’s lies. The Blightlord hoped this next gambit would show them the way so they could find the damned spoon.

Of course, matters of war were more pressing to Ghungus. They had to defeat the entrenched Hedonites of Slaanesh and find this mysterious map that would guide them to the spoon. Upon arriving at the Hedonites lair, a massive pleasure mansion filled with all kinds of unspeakable horrors and demented, diabolical, and delicate pleasures, Ghungus ordered the structure’s complete destruction. Resistance was surprisingly light and the mansion burned within three days of siege.

However, the bulk of the Slaaneshi resistance maintained a garrison at an abandoned duardin hold at the nearby karsk. It was dubbed The Imperfect Crack of the Desirable Defense, a name that disgusted Ghungus more than the former Tzeentian settlement he’d taken months earlier. Its defenses were quite formidable, and a protracted siege was out of the question when word reached the Rotbringers that the WAAAGH! had finally descended upon the Fungorn Foothills.

An all-out assault upon the karsk was called for, but this was but a ruse to divert the defender’s attention. Once more, Vyrrakiwould be used to burrow into the settlement’s defenses, but she would bring with her not blightkings but Nurgle’s Rot. A risky plan, but one the leaders agreed had to occur if they’d hope to find the map and relieve the Fungorn Foothills.

So it was that the assault upon the Imperfect Crack of the Desirable Defense began. Hours passed and the Rotbringers made no progress in cracking the mountain hold. Then Vyrraki roared as she breached the main hall. Before the Slaaneshi warriors could descend upon the wurm, gorges of pussified rotflow disgorged into the hold. Mortals and daemons were either crushed or drowned in the flood that consumed the former duardin home. Days after the puss subsided, the hold was seized by the Order of Rot. Not a single Hedonite survived. In fact, the pus appeared to harden in several areas of the duardin hold, forming crystals on cave ceilings and stalagmites from the corpses of the fallen Slaaneshi defenders.

It took a further day for the Rotbringers to traverse the hold and locate the “map” they’d searched for. It was a daemonic emissary of the Great Grandfather trapped within a mirror in the hold’s vault. Morbisa immediately set to work to free the daemon from the Slaaneshi prison.

By the next day, Ghungus’ anxiousness to confront the orruks outweighed his curiosity to find the spoon. Just as he was about to order his forces’ withdrawal, the mirror cracked and a green cloud exploded into the hall.

Emerging from the mist was another Herald of Nurgle, one that looked awfully similar to…

“Purilax! How in Nugle’s name is that you!?” shouted Ghungus. “You’re supposed to be in Cysthearth.”
“Ah my dear Ghungus, fear not. For I am not this Purilax you speak of,” the daemon spoke in a jolly tone. “I am Norilox, and I’ve come to show you the way to Horticulus’ Diseased Ladle.”
“You look awfully like that other daemon, and your name sounds too similar not to be a coincidence,” said Ponsey.
“Well aren’t you the deceptive mortal? Got a bit of the Deceiver’s touch in you?” Norilax said accusingly.
“No, but Nurgle only knows how one of his emissaries could get captured by the worshipers of the Dark Prince,” he retorted.
“A funny story. You see,”
“That will have to wait,” interjected Morbisa. “We have another battle to fight and must make haste. Where is the ladle?”
“Ah yes. What you seek lies to the west. My kin, Purilax you called him, spoke the truth that it was stolen. But what he doesn’t know, but I do, is that it lies at the bottom of a lake.”
“Well that doesn’t seem that…” said Ghungus before Norilax interrupted.
“It’s also inside a great beast long believed dead within the realm of the damned sea aelves.”
“But the orruks destroyed…”
“Only their surface outpost. They are unaware of the ladle, but revere the dead creature’s corpse as a monument to whatever pagan they believe in.”
“Anything else we need to know?” asked Morbisa.
“Well there’s a lot more I have to say, including-“
“It will have to wait,” Ghungus stated. “We’ve tallied here for too long. You can tell us more on our way to confront the Greenskins.”
“My task was only to inform you,” responded Norilax.
“Yes, and you’re not done. You’ll just be speaking while we move. Once you’ve said what you’ve been tasked to do, you can return to Nurgle’s Garden. For now, we ride.”
“Blightlord, what about this hold?” said Morbisa. “The defenses are decimated, but the pus here has calcified into diseased crystals. I wish to stay here to harvest these specimens. There is much we can do with this sialolith to spread Nurgle’s blessing to the purebloods of these lands. They may also contain essence to aid our venture to harvest the ladle from this sea beast.”
“So be it,” said Ghugnus. “Erect a settlement and put the locals to work. If what you say is true, then gather as much as you require. We may also find a use for these pus-crystals at our other settlements.”
“I shall take some with us to Fungorn. If we are quick enough, we may be able to relieve our fellow Rotbringers from an unceremonious demise at the hands of the orruks fists.”
“Thank you Blightlord,” said Morbisa. “And don’t fret about our daemonic friend here. He will divulge all his knowledge to me. And should he leave out any detail…” she trailed off as she pulled her rust-covered dagger from her belt. She pressed it against the daemon’s skin, drawing a singe of pain.
“Ahhh I would never,” Noriliax quipped. “I’d never impede the honorable pox-crusade of the God of Plagues. I only wish to serve.”
“And you will,” grinned the sorceress.