There were times when the weight of millennia weighed heavily on Ischbak Jinxed Nurgle. Not even the contemplation of all the lovely pestilences he had spread could cheer him up. The crop of bright new purple pustules that grew like grapes on his chest did not give him a flicker of pride, and the capering of his Nurglings seemed tawdry and tedious.

The symphony of flatulence being performed by his flock faded under his empty angry gaze till only his fellow Beast of Nurgle, too stupid to stop, twanged his goiter.
"I am bored," he said, letting aeon's of ennui show in his voice.

Al Bah Torr 2001 burst in, a smile on what was left on the leprously eroded Nurglings lips.
"A settlement, Great Nurgle," he yelled. The noise hurt Ischbak's ears. He gesture for the Nurgling to speak more quietly. "What kind of settlement," he asked wearily.

"Halflings, oh Loathsome One. And there seems to be a festivity of sorts.Called the Stunty Cup 12."

His followers waited with baited breath for his response.Halflings, he thought, feeling a slight glimmer of interest almost in spite of himself. A part of him had been enjoying wallowing in melancholia.

Inspiration struck him like a fart with the sound of a loose tent-flap in a gale. He should treat the festival-goers to the joys of depression. Yes! That was it!

He looked down on his children and smiled. They tittered in relief.

"A lesson for you my pretties," he said. "No matter how we feel we must always think of our public. The show must go on!"

He brought down his fist down hard, accidentally on a Nurgling. It burst with an empathic squelch.

"Let's go and join this festival. This Stunty Cup 12."

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Thanks very much to Jinxed who wrote this text.