This rusted mace oozes pus and slime and drips with Nurgle's choicest plagues and bears a dark enchantment that ensnares the souls of those crushed beneath its filth-encrusted mass. The captured soul is bound to the weapon, and can be seen writhing in eternal agony. The screams of these spirits are deafening and fearsome in equal measure, but they are as nothing compared to the terror caused when a fresh soul is bound to the mace, fuelling an epidemic growth of new disease: the wails turn into phlegm-choked laughter and the steady drip of pestilence becomes a weeping flood.