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Nurgle is the Chaos God of plague and pestilence, entropy and decay. His aspect is that of a putrid, fleshy mountain, bloated with corruption and riddled with blights. His realm is the rancid Garden of Nurgle, wherein dwell a cornucopia of horrors. When hideous diseases sweep across the Mortal Realms, Nurgle's power swells. Where rot and corrosion reduce order to ruin, the Plague God's will is done. From Nurgle's Rot and squirming pox or the grey weeping, the illnesses that Nurgle bestows bring misery and death equal to anything that the largest army could mete out.
Yet Nurgle is no grim death-dealer. Rather, he is a jovial and generous father figure who delights in brewing a never-ending stream of lovingly crafted plagues, and then bestowing them as dubious gifts upon the denizens of the realms. Nurgle takes a paternal delight in the achievements of each new disease that he unleashes, just as he looks down dotingly upon the conquests wrought by his daemon legions. He revels in the cycle of death and rebirth that sickness brings, merrily rooting for every new blight and parasite that infests the rotting corpses of the fallen.
All this jollity makes it no easier for Nurgle's victims to face the nightmarish horrors of his powers, of course, and nowhere are these manifestations more effective than on the battlefield. To wage war with the armies of Nurgle is to face droning clouds of insects that darken the skies, to endure flesh-withering sicknesses that spread as deadly and fast as wildfire, and to stand against trudging masses of slime-spattered, corpulent, festering daemons whose only desire is to spread the endless plagues of their bloated god.
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