Tritus, Great Unclean One
‘Never mind the sting in the air and open those eyes of yours, boy! Behold, mighty Tritus, favoured Nurgle-Son!
See how He stirs this retched scum, of which we call our home? See how He alone is the tide and current, our wind and air? See how he breaks up the detritus ‘bergs? How He mashes those great islands of fat and rot? No hope aloud, boy, not in His domain, no land beneath your feet, nor respite from the pitch-sickness permitted here, me cheeky lud!
Hark boy, hark at our wretched kingdoms and domains, mighty galleys of flotsam and jetsam, half-sunken empires with empty sails, watch how they squabble and eat each other, toys in a storm, trying to catch the eyes of our Lord!
For what a prize that’ll be, eh boy? To become fat and swollen with war and death, to be lifted like a crown, exalted, and placed on god-head! To have your domain crumble around you, to begin the fight anew, crows nest and rotting rope castles your new prize, ha! I’d grow hard even with the contemplation of such a thing, if those parts hadn’t been claimed by this greasy slick of an ocean all those years ago!
Come now, boy, ready your hook and spear, see how our brothers flounder and sink? Time to stick the knife in, play the carrion-role.
I don’t know where you came from before you fell from the sky, boy, and I care not, but I’d hide the shiny eagle, cast it away even! This is your life now, and for Tritus sake, don’t fall into the muck!’
