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Septic Streamer

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Week after week, we peel back the festering layers of the Warhammer universe. Ancient secrets better left buried. Beneath the canopy of spores, Where maggots feast on ancient cores, The faithful kneel in reverence deep, To secrets that the rotted keep. For in decay there lies such grace, As time leaves scars upon each face, The cycle turns, forever more, Through pestilence and putrid gore. Yet here among the diseased blooms, Far from sterile, pristine rooms, The truth of life reveals its way: That all things serve eternal decay. The garden grows, forever blessed, Where every plague is caressed, In Nurgle's love we find our peace, As flesh and spirit find release.

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