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

[Okor]

Jagged fangs, borne of an orthodontist’s most fevered nightmares, split open in a grin beneath the faceless helmet. Knowing that the pair would join them would greatly add to their odds of success. Even with the risks posed by Victor’s presence, victory was in their grasp. ”Deal.” He fought back an urge to extend his hand to seal the compact with a physical affirmation. Many mortals were reluctant to be downwind of one of Nurgle’s Chosen, let alone touch one. Schnee has shown spirit in the arena, and he was eager to see her put to the test in this strange realm.

Now, what was it this Colonel had said? The same way Omni greets everyone. That raised an interesting possibility. Unless this ‘Teucer’ was more powerful than the eldest primes in the Omniverse, possessed of skills and talents previously unheard of, his tale of tragedy was unbelievable. He was capable of dragging primes to this place from across the Omniverse, shunting them through space on a whim. No Prime had been known to possess that power. Even Karl Jak, the man who crafted a private universe for no reason other than the simple pursuit of entertainment, required Primes to join of their own free will.

This was no spirit. It was but a trick of the smiling one. He eyed the ethereal emissary warily, cataloguing the ghostly gear adhered to its translucent form. He would tear asunder the false god’s illusion. He allowed no such deceptions. Pain, Fear, the hypocrisy of the Corpse Emperor. He broke them all against the rock of his will. He had marched through hallucinogen-laden pleasure gardens, punctuating screams with the bark of his bolter, silenced sermons with a slice of his blade, and made the very deepest reaches of hell itself his home. He was Death Guard, and they brokered no falsehood. Even the self-denial perpetuated by all life, that their life would last, was abandoned.

Malformed, yellowing vertebrae, twisted with age and the mutating influence of the warp, creaked as they bent towards the uninvited newcomer, looking over the youngling. A hole-riddled lid blinked shut over an infested iris. No emptied scabbards or hollow holsters, a noted dearth of defensive garments, and a seemingly utter lack of confidence in the current situation. Maybe they would be of use to the Master, but they hardly seemed to be of use in the field.

He gave a rattling sigh as he turned to the task force gathered before him.

”Unite where possible. No need to strike at the others unless they... raise their blades first. Be cautious. This is not the world we know.” He took a moment to cough, gobbets of bloody phlegm forcing their way into his throat. ”Find one of these… Guardians, and light a fire. If the others fail to see reason, then fall back. Might as well let them wear down the beast first. I expect you to remember:

Pain is temporary. It can be overcome, and ignored. Death… Here, even death is but an inconvenience. Be broken, be beaten, be brutalized, but never... Bow. You can recover from anything short of being taken by hell itself, but you cannot heal Might-Have-Beens.”

A gauntlet slammed against a corroded chestplate, punctuating his statement with an affirmation of his own physical might.

”We are the Institute. We will march across this blighted existence, and trample the Smiling One’s warped world beneath our tread.

We are Legion.”