Second Chance.

[Okor]

Okor chuckled. "You are not... far wrong, Daemon. We are the weapons of Mankind's Great Crusade, abandoned, betrayed by..." He took a moment to gasp, and swallow the corrosive bile he was producing. "The Corpse-Emperor. He... created us to build an eternal monument to his vanity, and tossed us aside before the blood we spilled had dried." A hint of mirth entered his voice. "As you might... imagine, we did not take kindly to that. We have... been tearing apart his personal playground for ten millennia, and I will... do so for ten more, if that is what it takes." The small, dark being danced around him, curious eyes darting across his rotting ceramite form. It opened it's many-toothed maw, putting voice to another question. "But, why are you so... dead?"

Okor threw back his head and laughed at this remark. "I am more... alive than any man, Daemon. They are but one selfish life, purging themselves of anything... Else. Nurgle has blessed me with the resilience to... share. From the smallest bacteria, to the largest... symbiote." As if to punctuate this, a serpentine figure writhed beneath his skin, wiggling its way up towards his torso. "Life is... short. Finite. Should it not be shared, enjoyed, with as many others as possible? We... believe so." Dante's Abyss was visible on the Horizon, crowds filing through the opening of the tent, with a significantly less occupied registration area. "I... do believe this is where we part ways, at least... for the moment. I shall see you, on the... other side." Okor waved a brief goodbye, and began to make his way to Dante's Abyss. While he was all for patience, it was ideal to take care of this 'registration' business first. Back in reality, all you needed was someone to scream your name before you fought. How things change.

As he made his way towards the booth, a thought wormed its way through his grey matter. The Daemon did not know us. The Legions had spent millennia making their mark upon the universe. They were the first to bring Chaos to the galaxy at large, the first to pledge their souls to an eternity of warfare. Their greatest warriors, the Primarchs had been elevated to Daemon Princes, absolute rulers of the warp. For a Daemon, no matter how lowly, to fail to recognize one of the true warriors of chaos was unthinkable. He took a second to look around. Feudal World peasants mingled with more familiar citizenry, leather bags of coin and plastic chits, treated with equal respect. Xenos, Daemons, man, all shuffling into a grand tent. It was surreal. It was all mounted on an empty void, a blank white space. For the first time in Okor's life, he uttered a phrase no marine should ever have to. "Where the warp am I?"