‘Why this planet Master? There are many more suited to Grandfathers blessings!’
Sarcoma looked down at his herald, so much like a child in its naivety ‘where the animals go, war comes swiftly, death and decay are inevitable consequences. The corpses of all these subspecies will give the garden such rich fertiliser, our blooms will be grand and fragrant.’
A wide grin split the heralds face, it’s gaping maw filled razor teeth and a pungent smell leaked out that even the Prince of Nurgle could only bear for a short time.
‘Summon the legions my Herald, it’s time to tend the garden!’
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