A/N: Addressing the prompt of, "What if Mortarion had practically all his memories wiped upon becoming a Daemon Prince?" Because...Well, why not? It was going around tumblr for awhile, and I love this boy so much ha ha
Also apologies if anything sounds overly repetitive...I wrote this at like 2AM ha ha...
There was a soft, almost harmonious, hum in the thick polluted air, filling the rotted wood mansion with a peaceful buzzing noise to make up for the lack of major activity; though off in the distance from the outside, the disgusting sounds of foul birth could almost be heard from the pods that brought in new Plaguebearers. And the sounds of all sorts of wheezing critters could be noted as well, though they all seemed distant, and the groans of the lurking Daemons grew ever more quiet. As if they had been told not to make a sound, to be as hushed as possible, but even so he began to rouse from his slumber, be it from the disturbance or from a completed rest, it could not necessarily be placed.
As he blinked, the 'young' Lord of Death took a bit of time of clear his blurry, wavering vision, and be curled up more onto himself, nearly in a complete ball in which he found comfort laying on his side. Isolated, he laid there completely barren on a near perfectly intact bed. Its mattress was soft and its pillows were large and supportive, encasing him with comfort; covering over him was a thick layered, heavy blanket. Warmth overcame him in a pleasant sense, filling his being in kind, and he had the sensation of feeling relaxed. Though finally, as his vision cleared he began to shift, uncurling himself, and he took note to a strange weight pressed against his shoulders.
The imbalance was utterly odd to him, and there were extra, more sensitive, sensations that were tangible to him now, and a fluttering wave of being touched brushed up against his scapulae. Unsure as how to take in the strange new feelings, he brought himself up into a sitting position, slowly, and the weight followed him up. Almost causing him to startle himself when his gaze caught sight of fully grown, insect-like wings, though only similar and not entirely in the sense of it, that appeared to be attached to him. Deciding to do so, he tested them, almost throwing himself off the bed when they lifted up to the muscle commands of his body, and he made a confused noise of surprise before settling himself once more.
Examining them, they seemed almost too massive when compared to his frail, thin and boney form. Their colours starting out as a pale purple colour that slowly faded into a fleshy pinkish colour as it went down to the tips. At the ends, they were ripped however, almost terribly so, and holes of varying sizes were seared into them, yet they didn't seem to hurt despite the damage. Perhaps it was old wounds, and he assumed it so. The top portions of the wings, where the bone ran down and thinned, were made of a hardened structure, seemingly protective too, though the rest appeared soft, veiny, and almost smooth regardless of the gaps in their form.
More careful to move them again this time, he glanced around the unfamiliar room, and it was mostly barren aside from the bed he sat on and several rotting, potted plants. Or at least what he assumed to be plants in the first place. Around them large flies buzzed, encircling about the unhealthy leaves, almost like they were attracted to its putrid stench. Pushing the blanket off he easily slipped off the bed, surprised at how it was stable given the fact that most of its frame had been devoured from the looks off it, and it was only then did he notice his naked form. His first instinct was to cloth himself, however there were no garments about and nothing round to be host to any, causing him a sense of internal dread and so he grabbed the blanket from the bed, wrapping it around himself carefully and just under his wings which sagged a bit freely and he flurred them up as neatly as he could manage.
Traversing from the room he aimlessly ambled through the mansion's wide halls, occasionally looking out a window to stare out into the fields of rot that were outside and he crinkled his nose as he attempted to fathom the smell. As he traveled around without a real sense of what could be his destination, strange looking creatures of all sizes passed by him without a care, simply ignoring him, and his wings fidgeted uneasily as if trying to adjust, but he was sure it was just nervousness. Eventually coming across it, he ventured down a long and wide flight of stairs, where as he descended he could hear the quiet moans of the creatures as they grumbled and grunted, seemingly with slight complaints to one another, yet he couldn't understand what they were speaking, and he felt terribly out of place.
As it only occurred to him now that he wasn't sure where he was, and when he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he took a seat so that he could ponder without the threat of possibly bumping into something or someone. Raking through his memories, he found that he couldn't remember anything and he almost started to panic, trying to damnedest to recall something. Scanning through his thoughts, they were blank, like the holes in his wings but instead in his mind and he next found himself curled up on himself, shaking and his hands pressed against the sides of his head. Jolting from his troubles when something somewhat slimy brushed up against his leg and he looked up, eyes wide to find a chubby little...Thing, sitting there. Though there was several of them as he looked around, the creatures seeming to have gone quiet and crowding around him as he caved in on himself. Nudging him with gentle pokes as if asking if he was okay, and he shook his head.
All he could remember was his name. Mortarion.
Rubbing the back of his neck he sighed softly, and he brought his legs up closer to his chest, bending down to rest his cheek on one of them, just trying to assess what might have happened to all his memories. Perhaps it was a battle? Maybe he had been severely injured during so, and put to rest to heal? Had he been so injured that everything he knew of his past was gone? He was sure he had a past, it felt wrong to think otherwise, but he wasn't sure and he simply continued to sit there, wondering.
"Mortarion." The voice sounded a bit familiar to him and he looked up to see a large, somewhat harrowing, figure standing at the foot of the stairs, the other creatures moving away and rolling over to it. He blinked. Unsure as to how to respond, and his head tilted a bit, and it felt as if his throat was too dry to come up with a response, his thought process fleeing from his mind, and he noticed himself feeling a sense of comfort from the being. Like there was something fatherly about it. "It's good to see you're finally awake, my grandson."
Grandson?
"You're...My Grandfather...?" He finally spoke after several moments, dry swallowing as he couldn't seem to produce any saliva. Though the idea of the creature before him being related to him seemed unlikely, the parental feeling that emitted from them put him to ease, and he felt himself relaxing. "Do...Do you know what happened to me...?" What else was there for him to ask?
"Yes," it answered, slowly tromping its way over, reaching out and placing a clawed hand gently on his shoulder, and he didn't even flinch or recoil from the touch, almost leaned into it, really. "Why don't we first get you dressed, then we'll talk."
He nodded, quietly. Agreeing and fully unaware.