An Abbysal Abscond

[Okor]

Despite the newcomer’s mount, the Plague Marine was nearly level with her, his vermillion viewer staring into her fair features. Lupine ears rose from her ivory hair, the faded follicles cascading across slight shoulders. Strange instruments of devotion hung from her belt, somewhat akin to the more standard suite of skulls donned by most of the Gods’ Chosen warriors.

He extended a gauntlet as her horse whinnied and began to pull away, making its discomfort known as it struggled to escape the approaching abomination. In a voice most akin to sewage-soaked Gravel, he spoke to the Goddess before him. ”I am Okor Paleblood, son of the Fourteenth Legion, and the Dean of… Security,” he spat, attempting to withhold the caustic fluids seeping through his esophagus.

His armour dripped with corruption, a thin film of rancid rot barely visible upon its corroded surface as it hung in the air, the vermin clinging to it wriggling in sync with the parasites swimming through his vitreous humours. Pustules burst open his tarnished breastplate, the ancient armour scarred by ancient battles despite existing for such a short period of time. The idea of Okor’s armour being without damage, being freed from the wounds it wore with such pride, was entirely inconceivable. The nerve-bound warplate was as much a part of him as his reinforced skeletal structure, and to see it shine and glimmer while he wallowed in the glories of gangrene and rot was unthinkable.

Steel-wrapped fingers gently twitched in the air, malformed neurons misfiring as he awaited the newcomer to return the gesture, his own corruption a stark contrast to the perfection vision of purity before him.

”I prefer not to recall that… Farce. T’was nothing more than one of Omni’s japes. But I have named myself thrice to you, and thrice have I bound myself. Before we go any further, I ask of you your own name, traveller.”