The Temple of Artemis(Pre-Event/Intro Thread)

[Okor]

The Legionnaire rasped through his rusted respirator, befouled air seeping into ragged lungs, torn asunder by the ever-churning motion of parasites and millennia of wear. Grime-coated gauntlets slammed into the chitinous chestpiece, a meaty thwack generated by the impact’s reverberations through infested flesh. Minuscule worms squirmed through a reddened eye as it stared into the near-emotionless face of this… Colonel. He leaned forward, his fermenting mass looming over the rigid soldier in front of him. Fetid breath escaped his flawed life support systems as he spoke, a faint, scarcely noticeable miasma seeping from his helmet. ”Okor Paleblood. Fourteenth legion, fourth… Company, eighth squad. Dean of Security.” This final statement was said with noticeable relish, an obvious point of pride for the gangrenous giant. ”I had hoped that we would have had more… numbers.” A pair of massive arms folded over a similarly large torso as a cyclopean eye looked appraisingly onto the Navi, a corrupted cornea feverishly scanning over the warrior’s garb and attentive stature.

His neck and armour creaked and cracked as he nodded in approval. ”At least Nealaphh chose well. Better the chosen few than a… mere gang.” The Plague Marine chuckled, the noise reverberating off of the marble walls. He gave silent praise to the four great gods, quietly rejoicing that one of the rare few competent primes in this blasted realm had found their way to him. That made, perhaps, a half-dozen primes whose company he could tolerate.

It was progress. He opened his mouth, about to regale the soldier with the potential use of signal fires as a means of communication, when he saw a familiar face.

The slight, pale figure of his former opponent stood centrally in the temple, her alabaster dress contrasted with her companion’s crimson clothing. Schnee. The fact that they had been able to compare with one of the ancient and august members of the Death Guard was impressive enough, but their spirit was what made them truly notable. Very few could hold a candle to the Legion’s ability, but even fewer dared to try. With luck, her compatriot would prove to be similarly skilled. Turning from his conversation with his strange subordinate, he raised a rotten claw to the sky, the effluence born of his constant rot coating the decrepified digits with a noxious sheen as it beckoned the young warrior. With four lungs and an ancient vox-system on the verge of incoherent corruption, he called out.

”Weiss! Over here!”