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The space inside the wagon was cavernous out of all proportion to its tiny exterior size. The cacophonies that filled it were indescribable: the squealing, screaming, chattering and bickering of the Nurglings was beyond mere Human imagining. A million unruly school children left to their own devices could not even begin to rival the anarchy or intensity of that daemonic din. The grating drones of the Plaguebearers all counting at once produced a sound so bass and penetrating that it made the vital organs of every Daemon vibrate and quiver in time with its beat. Then there were the indescribable noises, the creaks and groans, the little pops of bursting pustules, the sloppering sticky noises of the frantically affectionate Beasts, and other sounds which were impossible to ascribe to any one source in particular. Amidst it all, waving his arms, the Great Unclean One was trying to make himself heard.
"Ahh... Gentlecreatures, Children, my pretties... lend your ears to your loving Father, cease thy aimless chatter, banish thy banal burblings..."
It was quite useless, the noise continued, the squeals and laughter reaching a new crescendo. The Great Unclean One appeared for a moment to be hurt by his fellow Daemons' rudeness.
"SHUT UP!" he bellowed.
The noise stopped instantly. Not even the beat of little daemonic hearts or drip of tiny daemonic noses could be heard. The brow of every Plaguebearer furrowed in concentration as each tried desperately to remember the last number he thought of. The Great Unclean One quickly regained his composure; he was used to such things.
"Gentlecreatures, our pretties... now is time to sing the songs of fate, for the moment has come for the Dance of Death!"
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