The meeting was mutual. The rust oozed through the air around the Summoner, the sickness seeping into him. The air was heavy, filled with a powerful green aura, which made him sick to his very soul the memories that were transferred into him echoed back into him. The horrific images of death, nausea, sickness filled the mind of the summoner. The two beings of equal power stood face to face, brothers reunited. The Summoner was the avatar of Slaanesh. Noiratrom was the avatar of Nurgle. Yet here, in his domain, The Harbinger sat on his throne, above The Summoner, staring down at his brother. His cold, raspy voice elevated. With every word he spoke, a wave of unquestionable sickness unfurled upon the Summoner. These two beings of equal, unimaginable power, though rivals in deities, were still capable of reasoning. After all... they were family. In some twisted way. [i][u]"Brother... I see you are still in good shape..."[/u][/i]