The Inglorious Death of Bzzz

Twas a fine day for slaughter, thought Ulcerius. His rotflys was humming, his nurgling Bzzz was giggling, and the nefarious Arcanites of the Great Deceiver were screaming their death cries.

Battle was a simple affair. One that Ulcerius had built his name off of. He never cared for the path of the sorcerer and the wonders of Nurgle’s magic in bringing plague, death, and rebirth to the Mortal Realms. Nor did he like the idea of serving as a Harbinger to spread the Great Grandfather’s gifts to civilizations of the Cities of Sigmar. No, the way of the sword was his life. That was the most honorable way to serve Nurgle. And while martial prowess was typical of Khorne’s devotees, Nurgle appreciated those who fought and spread his gifts their own way.

So it was that Ulcerius lead his warband into battle against the Disciples of Tzeentch. The Arcanites were preparing a ritual on the shoreline not far from their encampment, unaware of the patient Nurgle warriors waiting for the signal. While the battlefield was alien to them, fighting their hated foe would never get old. Whatever they planned to summon or communicate with Gods-knows-whom, it didn’t matter to Ulcerius. They were the enemy. They had to die.

High above the beach, the blightlord directed his rotfly to descend. Bzzz dangled from the mount’s back as the daemon insectoid plowed into two arcanites, pinning them to the ground. The rotfoy then pushed its stinger through one of the arcanite’s lower back. The man began to foam at the mouth as his insides disintegrated. The other Arcanite rolled out of the creature’s arms and tried to blast the Blightlord off his steed, but his hideous bulk absorbed the magic bolt. A swift swing of his scythe decapitated the screaming man.

As the rest of the party recognized the ambush that they’d sprung, two more blightkings emerged from the grassy knoll and contested the ritual site. Their plague-touched weapons bit deep into three more Arcanites, delivering a slow, painful death to their infected victims. Three more warriors of the Order of Rot flanked around the other end, trapping the remaining Disciples of Tzeentch between them and the sea.

Fear gripped the Arcanites as they realized their means of escape was by the blade, magic, or the sea. Just as Ulcerius planned. He lurched his rotfly forward in a menacing float towards the wounded warband. Bzzz behind him reinacted his master’s fine strike on the now headless Arcanite, drawing a smile from the mortal warrior.

Bzzz had come with Ulcerius’ rotfly when Nurgle rewarded him the title of Blightlord during the Realmgate Wars. An annoying creature, Ulcerius grew fond of the nurgling’s enthusiasm after a while. Its laughter brought him joy throughout his travels across the Mortal Realms. He’d never forget the day Bzzz killed a grot, or the time he ate twice his body weight in Sylvaneth pods. The mess he left behind infuriated Ulcerius, but it was a moment looking back that brought him laughter. While he’d never show it,, Ulcerius enjoyed the bond they developed as Bzzz could sense when his master needed a hug, whether after a great victory or defeat.

An unsuspecting blue bolted arrow pierced through Ulcerius’ train of thought and his left hip, but the knight never felt the pain. Instead, a different kind of pain struck harder when he looked back to see Bzzz pinned to the ground by the arrow. Its tiny arms tried to pry it out, but the nurgling’s dying effort was for naught as it stopped moving seconds later.

Sorrow. Despair. Hopelessness. Rage. Vengeance.

All those emotions hit Ulcerius at once.

The bird daemons on their accursed discs attacked the Rotbringers warband, evening the scales of this skirmish. As one of the blightknights slew two fleeing arcanites, a tzaangor descended on the flank and peppered him with several bolts from its Arrow of Fate. One seemed to change course in midair and curve straight through the tiny eyehole of the knight’s helm, exploding his brain inside the armour, killing the noble warrior.

Another of its kin slammed into the two blightkings near the ritual site, trying despertlty to chew through the bluborous warriors to salvage the summoning. Its disc hungered for flesh, even that of the putrid kind, and chewed away at the gorged belly of one of Ulcerius’ warriors The daemon disc ripped off its belly, and the blightking fleetingly tried to stuff his mutated organs back into his desecrated body until he tried no more.

The tzaangor laughed with joy. Then he swung around to meet the other blightking, when a Dolorus Tocsin smacked him in the face. The avian creature was knocked off his disc, but before he could stand back up, Ulcerius slammed the bell again into the daemon. Then again and again and again until there was nothing but tzaangor matter all over him. HIs avian kin tried to take flight, but he was hooked down by two blightklings before they butchered him and the rest of the Arcanites.

The Order of Rot was victorious, but Ulcerius felt hollow. He went back to retrieve his favorite familiar, but the little daemon had begun to rot, staning the peach sand a sickly green before evaporating. If he was still capable of tears, he didn’t show it, but Ulcerius felt a sadness overtake him that he hadn’t felt since his past life. A faint memory of a lost sibling or a family pet perhaps. The memory wasn’t important, only the feeling mattered.

Ulcerius quashed it as he gathered his remaining warriors. Whatever the Arcanites were planning was foiled. Now the bigger battle was ahead of them. Establishing a foothold in the Lost Archipeligo was vital for the pox-crusade. But now Ulcerius had another motive.

Revenge.