The Veil of Rot : Chapter 1
Naeglithrus looked on through the dimly lit darkness to a console flickering. The ancient machinery resembling to only a degree of reference of it's original intention. Strange new installations- such as venting systems for the vile poisons and gases coursing through the Black Wind-accompany the rotting and daemonicly possessed vessel. The architecture of the ancient Imperium of Man, erroded but vivified. The paradoxical impact of Nurgle and his witnesses. They hinge on decay and rot, of contagion and poison. Breeding enough life to be suspended in entropy, it is the way of Nurgle.
Striding toward the lambent screen, the Black Wind's conscient daemon spirit stringed datems, units and runes indicating to the plagued astartes that the craft was detecting an enemy ship within close proximity. The massive space hulk, the Black Wind, floated through regions of the sector, ever increasing and spreading decay. It was crucial that the seemingly derelict vessel not be discovered to be what it truly was-the sprawling home to an entire Vectorium of the Death Guard, the Veil of Rot.
It will be obvious upon any scrutiny of the on-looking ship's board that the floating city of decay is no ordinary hulk. The sorceror of this vessel was indeed powerful however, and kept the Black Wind under a veil of secrecy that blinded even the most sophisticated scanning equipment. Only upon breaching the hulks perimeter of warp foulry will it's shape come into view-looming before it's likely next victim like a gaping sore in the blackness of space.
Pirates and Rogue Traders will immediately flee..for there is no treasure to be found. Zealous astartes may attempt assault. Brash xeno will attempt to infest. Barbarous greenskins will come just for a scrap. All however, never linger long on their previously intended path. Under the utter attrition of the circumstances of the vessel...boarding the Black Wind is suicide to any reasonable thinking being. Therefore, the diseased needed to take inititative, lest these newly found things slip away.
It may be that the ship detected the large hulk and was advancing for closer inspection. It may be that it is a vanguard force with explosives to be dispachted. Such things have been attempted. Even the powerful warp sorcery invovled with cloaking the hulk is vulnerable, for a psyker of high degree may detect it's presence. Some Imperial vessels have tried to fire their massive ordinaces into the plagued hulk, and have blasted away large chunks-only to have their ships boarded by the ferrymen of the Black Wind. Massive plagued astartes clad in rot ridden terminator armour annihilate the crew, homing in to the heart of the craft and out again with deadly and cold resolve. The Black Wind has many new additions in it's millenia of star travel...the deamon engine rebulding and meshing broken pieces through the sustaining power of their god.
Scuttering about the entropic rooms and corridors of the Black Wind cultists attend to various tasks. Mutated servitors meticulously bring crude innvoations-if you could call them that-to the weapons and armor, and the very ship itself, to an employable level; maintaining the caustic modules. One such heretic is remarkable in his craft and care of the plague marines wargear, Fester. He stands over subservient cultists in assembling a blight launcher; a mortar that lobs a payload of explosive poison and bile, when Naeglithrus enters.
"Vessel detected." A rasping voice spewed through the vox grill of the plague marine.
"Glory to Nurgle..." As Fester spoke the words a hulk door to his flank shuttled open, and through the constant haze of smoke a towering figure emerged, the silhouette was crowned with twisted horns. Malareous Typhen.
The sorceror was a full nine feet in height, one of the ancient giants from Barbarus. His tactical dreadnaught armour swelled from the corpulent mass of expanded ever rotting flesh within, making his already imposing stature that much more daunting. Cataphracti and indomitus pattern armours, and experimental less known marks, hewn together and made to function, shelled his massive and disease touched body. Parts of his distended belly creep from out the bottom of his swollen breast plate. The distinct white ceramite of the Death Guard dark with age, stained by countless battles and covered in filth.
"Astartes." Came the corpulent voice of Malareous. Naeglithrus let out a wet sounding gasp of excitement and hatred,
"Our brothers come to play."
That the sorceror already knew meant that the astartes were making use of a powerful psyker, a Librarian. They saw the Black Wind and have made their advance, fully aware of the danger.
"Such a glorious battle must be waiting, to have these audacious foes!" Came Naeglithrus again, sensing Malareous' approval of his understanding.
Malareous' voice again, "We will assemble."
He turns and tattered cloth of dull green and soiled muck sway gently as heavy sludgy steps bang down the corridor, a wet reverberating echoing through the hall.
A combi-bolter mag-locked to his right thigh is already full of caustic rounds, the machine spirit of the gun and the fickle power of the warp patiently waiting to be unleashed; it senses it's master's growing anticipation. Clutched in his left hand the warp psyker carries a massive force axe, glowing with dark energy, it drips and oozes with toxic oils. Malareous carried it wherever he went, his favored weapon and a symbol of his status among his kinsman as Grand Magus of the Veil of Rot.
Malareous trudged through the corridors of the hulk, passing heretic cultists and servitors. The deamon growths released a steady stream of ichor, and occasionally some belch clouds of fetid gas. Small rotten sacks of refuse with wide sharp toothed grins can be heard in their shrill voices, creating little mayhems for the enjoyment of all. A few tag along after the sorceror, as they often did to any rotten astartes boarding the Black Wind.
Nurgling's bubbled lamentations and woes of not having anyone to infect with their blighted laughter.
"You will have some new one's to dirty." The voice was solemn, spoken from Malareous.
Death Guard astartes were assembling in the main hall. Here the commander would inspire his troops before battle. Lieutenants and Sergeants would convene amongst their brothers to discuss the oncoming strategems. Now some ten-thousand years thence, the astartes do similarly, though the sight is altogether different.
Massess of cultists attending their plagued masters adorning their own mutations and wargear to dwell amongst such dense toxins being emmitted. The newer recruits may not attempt to be so near a congregation of plaguemarines, and all must wear extensive rebreathers and protective garments. These vestments are filthy and condition the newly inducted to become acclimated to the poisonous atmosphere of the hulk. Soon they will need only the most basic hazard wear to attend to their duties, and at some point, they will no longer need any such things.
The assembled were amongst a veritable glob of flying daemon insects. Daemonic growths and tumorous flesh of the ship seemed to release their slime, bile, and noxious gases in elevation. The clanking chimes and bells of the icon bearers came to a minimum as the formations stood in array. Facing their lord, the forces of the Black Wind silently awaited orders. Even the droning insects settled to rest along any surface they could and the droning hums lessened.
Choleryngius stood before the warband known as the Veil of Rot, satisfied at such a disgusting sight. His right hand, Gregorius was near him, hands placed patiently over the handle of his down thrust sword. The blade was gifted to the champion by grandfather Nurgle himself, and he has always stood in every conflict of the Vectorium. Malareous, his sorceror stands to the left.
"Sorceror, share your findings." Came the harsh wet gurgle of Choleryngius.
Malareous stood unmoved, and uttered, "Astartes approach the Black Wind. It is the Librarian we faced on the world Borel who has penetrated the haze I have placed. They will be within teleporation range within the hour."
"Our brothers seek vengeance. Folly of their's." Gregorius was heard to speak next.
"Suicide." Came Choleryingius, then continued, "Disperse, my plague companies. Bring them to decay among us."
Mutterings and curses spat by the congregationfilled the room, "For the grandfather," and "Rot them to dust," or "Plague and Decay", were only a few.
"My lord," it was Malareous now, "The enemy is too small in number to achieve bringing down our vessel. I believe they are attempting to dismantle your leadership."
The masses of Death Guard were moving to their battle stations as the sorceror and champion stood discussing with their lord,
"It would seem brash for these astartes, the Crimson Fist is from the Ultramarines. They follow the codex of their Primarch to the letter," stated Gregorius.
"Something has changed about the psyker...he is shrouded in some mystery to me."
Choleryngius interjected, "We will be ready for whatever they can offer. None can resist us for long, and all bow to our untouchable fortitude."
"Truly it means little what our foes strategy is, we are kinsman to death," said Gregorius.
Malareous agreed, and with that the three set out to command their aspect of the greater whole that was the Death Guard forces aboard the Black Wind. Gregorius would take the eastern wing while Malareous would occupy the western. Choleryngius would command wherever he saw fit.