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Kalem Tarnel Champion of Tzeentch, struck the head from the last of his adversaries. The creature's body fell to the floor and the leprous leathery orb rolled to his feet. His Warband gave a cheer and raised their swords in a proud salute of victory. The severed head glared at him malevolently with its single eye. The head bore no nose and a single horn grew from its pustulent forehead. Its teeth chattered strangely, as if unwilling to accept the biological inferences of sudden decapitation.
"The Warband of Gorak Champion of Nurgle is no more!" he cried. His followers cheered again. A small cloud of flies began to gather around the severed head.
The long fingers of Gorak Champion of Nurgle twitched spasmodically. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Kalem Tarnel, his most hated enemy. He tried to move, but found he could not because the sword wound in his side hurt so abominably. Kalem Tarnel had left him for dead. He hadn't been far wrong either. Gorak smiled to himself and his fingers twitched again, but this time with purpose. He moaned softly as the power flowed through him.
The unexpected blast caught Kalem Tarnel's cloak and pulled him to the floor. The rest of his Warband failed to keep their footing and fell into a formless spluttering heap. The severed head rolled off, followed by its entourage of insects. Gorak had summoned a Plague Wind with his dying breath. It was both his final act and a parting gift to his old enemy and rival Kalem Tarnel. The wind howled like a banshee, driving something that tasted like bone dust into the eyes, ears and mouths of the Tzeentch Warband. A rumbling laughter filled the air, like the bellowing of some huge, enormously fat, but companionable old uncle. The spell passed over them one by one, catching the unlucky, missing others, and eventually fading with the wind itself.
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