The Unholy Saga of Mortarion, the Grim Reaper of the Warp: A Death Guard Chronicle
In the grimdark universe of Warhammer 40,000, where the very fabric of reality often thins and tears, there are few entities more terrifying than the daemons of Nurgle. Like pus seeping from a festering wound, they pour out from the Warp, defiling all they touch with their corrupting presence.
For the past ten millennia, one figure has stood out amongst these grotesque beings – Mortarion, the Death Lord and leader of the Death Guard. His presence on the battlefield is enough to send chills down the spine of the most hardened warriors. Clad in ornate armor, his body enveloped in a rotting shroud, the Death Lord inspires a horror that transcends the physical. He towers over the greatest champions of mankind, his formidable power virtually unrivaled.
In one hand, Mortarion wields Silence, a formidable scythe with a blade so sharp it could cleave through the armor of any soldier. In the other, he clutches The Lantern, an ancient energy pistol of alien origin. Its power is such that it can burn through even the most formidable Terminator armor with a single shot.
A swarm of buzzing flies, squeaking daemons, and pathogenic fumes accompany the Death Lord as he charges towards the enemies, tearing the air with his cracking wings. The flapping alone is enough to bring the stench of death to his foes, instilling unspeakable horror in their hearts.
With each swing of Silence, Mortarion beheads foes and severs limbs. Each shot from The Lantern leaves only ashes. The sinister Phosphex bombs thrown by the Primarch turn victims into gurgling pools of slime in the blink of an eye. The very presence of the Death Lord is fatal, as the air around him teems with countless viruses, causing those foolish enough to approach him to suffocate and drop dead.
But Mortarion is not just a rampaging monster. He is a Primarch, a being of immense strategic intellect. His battlefield acumen has not weakened over the centuries. It takes only a glance for him to assess the course of the battle and identify a direct path to victory. His disdain for his enemies is his only weakness, leading him to underestimate them, yet few can withstand the ruthless and superbly planned onslaught of Mortarion and his Death Guard.
The bitterness that fuels Mortarion’s fury traces back to his first clash with the Emperor. During the time of the Great Crusade, Mortarion was on the verge of a decisive victory over the lords of Barbarus. But the Emperor considered Mortarion’s struggle trivial, a mere footnote in the annals of history. When Mortarion failed to kill his final enemy due to the lethal poison in his lair, the Emperor intervened, saving Mortarion’s life but sowing the seeds of eternal malice within him.
Mortarion’s scythe, Silence, is a weapon of dread and awe. Its twisted handle is almost as long as the demonic Primarch himself. Despite its rusted appearance, its blade is incredibly sharp, and its large chain teeth can chew through armor with ease. In the hands of the Death Lord, Silence has cleaved tanks, gutted great daemons, and even severed the legs of Reaver-class Titans. There is no count to the warriors and commanders who have fallen to its blade.
The ultimate aspiration of the heretic Astartes and other mortal followers of the Dark Gods is to ascend to daemonhood. For those who reach this pinnacle, incredible power awaits. They transform into lumbering abominations, their unnatural resilience rendering them nigh invulnerable. Their corroding armor is burst open by bulging flesh, their rotting flesh and putrid innards spilling forth. Yet, despite their grotesque appearance, these daemon princes of Nurgle are immune to pain or weakness, shrugging off even direct hits from small arms fire.
Leave a Reply