#Cauldron Concoctions (Nurgle Musings);

[thefouraboveall]

Nurgle would call an S/O his "sugar booger".

[nurrgleth]

Realm of Chaos, Plague-Manse

"𝙃𝙤𝙝𝙤! 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩!"

Nurgle laughed, even as he pained, and that in itself was a thing of note. The Great Plaguelord was as insensate as any of his children, yet his latest brew bit along his tongue like a school of ravenous flesh eating fish. It set fire to his throat, a tingle to the base of his rotten, conical teeth, and as the the foul sludge slopped it's way down his throat, into his stomach, and beyond, he felt the persistent heat of it.

"𝙔𝙚𝙨, 𝙮𝙚𝙨! 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩! 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚!" Nurgle declared in a jubilant sing-song, his good humor spreading to all his daemons excepting the ever-stoic Plaguebearers. He took another ladle full of the frothing, angry liquid, the color of diseased blood, and his grinning face twisted into a grimace. Then he nodded to himself, pleased.

"𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝��𝙛𝙪𝙡, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤𝙤-- 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙧𝙣." Nurgle had remarked, both with humor and disappointment. It had taken the last of his acquired sample of Khorne's horn to make this brew. He put a blackened finger to his chin, stroking his parasite ridden beard of hair.

"𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨?" Nurgleth mused to himself, picking up yet another ladle full. But this one he didn't drink. Instead, he turned to the caged deity hanging in the corner of the Great Cauldron's room. Within, sat the forlorn form of Poxfulcrum, slave and test subject of the Plague God. Nurgle's jovial grin turned sharp.

"𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚? 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨, 𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚-𝙛𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧? 𝙎𝙠𝙪𝙡𝙡-𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙯𝙮? 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙚'𝙨 𝙍𝙤𝙩?"

With each suggestion, he came closer, Poxfulcrum eyeing the foul concoction in terror. The reddish brown liquid bubbled over the edges of the ladle. Within it's depths, she could see skull shapes, blood worms, and rancid crimson steam rising up from it. Long had the deity languished in Nurgle's "service", but even after so many brews consumed, she was terrified of anything wrought from the Blood God. Nurgle's grin never faltered.

"𝙄 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨! 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙚, 𝙋𝙤𝙭𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙢?"

[thefouraboveall]

Give up. Give into what must be. It is the nature of things that morals decay and cultures must rot. Mortals cannot leave their destined path.

Nurgle (Of Pleasure and Rage)

[thefouraboveall]

Tag Dump.

[thefouraboveall]

"Pain, fah! Part and parcel of being alive, yes?" Nurgle waves off the concern. Then again, it's been an age since he's felt anything close to true agony. Still, mortal and their petty issues!

" All the same...if pain is a problem for you, my dear, I think I have just the solution. And not just for now."

The smell that wafted off this creature before her was... less than pleasant. But she couldn't be rude, so she just closed her nostrils before offering a slightly forced smile.

"My scales are my own, I can't just pluck them like feathers. It would be very painful, and likely draw blood. Why do you ask..?" Maybe this stranger just thought they were pretty?