<p>The Plaguebearer of Nurgle stands as a grotesque parody of life, his flesh a bloated canvas of ruin and rot. Sickly green skin hangs in tattered strips, split by deep fissures that reveal slick, inflamed muscle and clusters of glistening maggots writhing beneath the surface. His chest is torn open, distended intestines spilling forth in a tangled mass of viscera, glistening with a thick, golden pus that seeps steadily into the filth-caked earth below. Plague boils erupt across his back and limbs—swollen, iridescent spheres that pulse with sick heat, some already burst and leaking brackish fluid. A rusted, pitted blade dangles from one hand, fused to his claw by decay and time, while the other limb is little more than a skeletal framework of rot-stained bone. His face is dominated by a single milky-white eye and a slackened jaw clogged with blackened teeth, framed by horned bone slick with mold. Every inch of the daemon oozes with corruption—its form an unbearable monument to Nurgle’s divine entropy.</p>

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