Chaos Sorcerers draw upon the full fury of the Winds of Magic. Unlike the tutored wizards of the Empire, whose rituals and rites offer protection against the ravages of Chaos, Sorcerers trust to their wits and the fluxsome favour of the Dark Gods to endure the ravages of raw magic. Few are entirely successful, and certainly none are successful forever. Magic is the stuff of Chaos itself, and those who wield it without safeguard are destined to warp, body and soul, beneath its baleful power.
Rotblood sorcerers are the true guiding power of the tribe, dripping tainted guidance into the waiting ears of Marauder and Chieftain alike. Unlike their brothers, the sorcerers are in no doubt that they serve ebullient Nurgle – that the plagues and diseases besetting their tribe are blessings from the most generous of the Dark Gods. The sorcerers themselves are most ‘blessed’ of all. They are mountains of rotten, swollen flesh that transpose through magic more readily than they waddle into the fray.