From Warhammer - Age of Sigmar - Lexicanum
The flesh had long since rotted away on his lower jaw and a thicket of yellow, glistening fangs had sprouted at random points from his jawbone and he rode a loyal horse-thing called Scab.[1a]
|Come, let us bring the warmth of the garden to these cold souls. Don’t kill all of them – take those who surrender, We’re not beasts, after all.
~ Sir Festerbite to Molov.
- 1: Nagash: The Undying King (novel) by Josh Reynolds