Hello everyone, hope all are having a nice day. I like to write and this weekend my friends and I are starting an Urban Conquest Campaign. I want to practice my writing and thought this would be a good opportunity to write for my force based on what happens in the campaign. Thank you for reading and any comments would be welcome. Have a nice day!

The message. The spark of war to come.

The knock was barely heard among the cacophony of bubbling liquids and ticking machinery. The room was filled with vials and vats, fluids ranging from thick morass to thin solutions bubbled and boiled over chem fueled flames. Cogitators, analysis machines, measuring computers, all sorts of mechanical assistants chattered and beeped as they monitored the contents of the room. The sounds intermingled, an orchestra of analysis and experimentation.

Another knock, louder this time, tried to pierce the sounds within. It lacked the strength of ceramite, the surety of purpose. It was a weak knock, the causer being hesitant and unwilling. Yet it happened a third time, growing in volume. This time the figure within raised his head. A look of displeasure grew on his face, thin cadaverous skin twisted as baleful green eyes glared at the door. Though the room was built for one of his size he towered over his equipment, the bulk of his warplate increased his size and stature. “I gave strict orders to not be disturbed,” he said. His voice was inhumanely deep, cold and calculating.

“It-it is important Plague Surgeon,” a voice replied. The sound was thin and reedy, fear evident despite the speaker hidden behind the door.”

Vorath Kor, former apothecary of the 14th Legion and current Plague Surgeon of the Death Guard 14th Cohort, sighed deeply. “Enter then if it is so important,” he hissed and glared as the door slid open. The menial took a tentative step within, grey-white eyes rolling in fear as it stared at the unknown machines and flinched from their contents. “Hurry if you value your life,” Vorath said, “and tell me what is so important that my experiments must be interrupted.”

“You are needed my lord,” the menial gulped, long twisted fingers shaking from fear and ague. “There is a speaker that waits.”

“I am no communications officer nor some messenger.” Vorath turned from the trembling menial. He holds a vial to the lumen, swirling it and examining the thick green sludge within. “Go find those that are responsible for those before I dilute you into this plague liquid.”

The menial quailed but remained standing at the open door. “No others can be found my lord…”. Fat greasy tears started to roll down its face. “The speaker, he waits and he demands to be heard.”

“Really?” Vorath turned and looked at the figure with wry amusement. “Tell me, who would be so bold as to demand from us?”

The menial’s voice dropped into a whisper, dual parts terror and adoration, “The Herald.”

Vorath set the vial down carefully, peeling the gloves from his hands. “Well, it will not do to keep him waiting.” Vorath swept past the menial, not bothering to wait for it to catch up. Typhus, the herald of Nurgle, was not known for his patience before or after the Death Guard’s rebirth. He was a fell individual and a mighty power within the Death Guard. Few who slighted him survived the experience of his displeasure. Vorath’s steps quickened as he made haste to the bridge, silently cursing the communications officers on duty. Rust hued walls and banks of fungus and growth flowed past him and he ignored the labored gasping of the menial following in his wake. A knot of ship’s crew clustered at the door to the communications room, their rising panic palpable as they babbled to one another. Their relief was just as obvious as the Plague Surgeon pushed his way through them, shunting them aside. Vorath sealed the door behind him, standing before the Ocularis. A combination of warp power and tainted technology, the Ocularis allowed communications through long distances and the warp. The speakers are able to face one another as the machines intertwined with pustulant growths shivered, their cooperation harnessing warp power and showing facsimiles of the ones speaking.

Vorath schooled his features into blandness, shivering slightly at the baroque armored visage that faced him. Despite the slitted helm, he could imagine the face behind twisted with displeasure from the wait, the single horn thrust forward belligerently. Plague Surgeon, so good of you to come. I hope I did not pull you away from anything more important.

A wan smile tugged at Vorath’s lips. “There are few things more important than you First Captain. I apologize for the delay, I came when I was alerted.”

A snort spilled from Typhus, Few refer to me as such. Yet you and yours always do so.

“Traditions die hard, just like old soldiers so they say. Here in the 14th-“

-the soldiers die the hardest just like their ways. . The Herald waved away the idiom. Stubborn to the last. Be glad you are proficient in your abilities to allow you your idiosyncrasies.

“How may we serve you First Captain?” Vorath’s hearts slowed slightly. It seemed he was outside Typhus’ wrath for the moment and he could regain some composure.

I need your Cohort to make ready. Wheels turn and great plans are in motion, and I have a target for you to attack. The machine next to the Ocularis chattered as it received threads of data. This world must be assaulted, its defenders ruined. For my plans to work, this world must be subdued. The 14th will be the weapon to do so. Any spoils are yours, as long as you spread Nurgle’s blessing and ensure that the world will be dealt with.

Vorath’s eyes flicked up and down the screen as information appeared. “Opkendiac 3. Hive world classification. Along the edge of the segmentum and a stable warp way. Currently in the possession of the Imperium.” He turned back to the image of Typhus. “May I ask why we are the honored chosen?”

I need someone I can trust. Someone that can do the job and do it well.

A sardonic smile grew on the former apothecary’s lips. “You trust us more than your personal plague company?”

The heavily armored form snorted, a crackle of static and coughing spores. I need all of my company here. I will not succeed if they are broken apart to do this. I cannot trust any of the 7th, they are the Primarch’s lap dogs. Bitterness leaked from his voice. There are others that could do the task. However, I know you and your cohort will do they should. You call yourselves the 14th cohort of the 14th Legion, the ones that hold truest to the old ways. I know you will be as stubborn and as relentless as old.

Vorath bowed slightly. “You flatter us much First Captain.”

A fey light glinted beneath the imposing horn in Typhus’ helmet. Merely facts. I trust you will accept.

The Plague Surgeon knew an order when he heard one even if it was not phrased as such. It was true that the Legion was different post the War of Lies, where the Emperor’s falsehood was exposed and the Heresy tore the galaxy in half. While the Death Guard remained one of the most cohesive of the rebellious legions, cohorts and vectorums could have their own autonomy. Many served closely with the Primarch or with Typhus, others chose their own path and listened only to themselves and to Nurgle. Yet it was wiser to carefully pick your path in this Chaotic galaxy, and to balance survival with ideals. “It will be our honor to bless the world with Nurgle’s presence and to bring war again to the Imperials.”

Good, fail me not. As Vorath motioned to turn off the Ocularis a heavy gauntlet came up. Speaking of, have you heard from your master recently?”

His hearts began to pound a little faster again. “My master? No I have not spoken to the Primarch recently and just you now. Other than Nurgle, I have no other master-”

Fine, Typhus interrupted with irritation. your previous mentor. When was the last time you spoke with him?

“I cannot remember. It has been many years. Last we fought together was on that munitions world, Vraks I believe the name was.” Vorath looked at the Hearld carefully. “May I ask why?”

You may not. No matter. Bring the world to its knees. With a wave of his hand the image faded. Warp energy dissipated into the air and the fungus around the Ocularis bled and trembled before falling still.

The Plague Surgeon stared at the space for a long moment. Truthfully he had not thought about his mentor in some time. He knew of the animosity between Typhus and his mentor, seeing both sides of that festering wound. Yet it was curious that Typhus had asked, something to chew on.

The door behind him slid open and the heavy ponderous steps was one of his fellow marines and not one of the mortal ship crew. Vorath turned and glared at the heavy set marine who quailed at his glare. “And where were you Degas?”

The plague marine shrugged, thick oily fluid leaked from the joints of his armor. “I had to repair parts of the connections to the communications array. I was tired of waiting for the crew to get to it so went to fix it myself.” His tone shifted from defensive to apathy. “Did I miss something?”

“Only a message from the First Captain.” Vorath enjoyed the shiver that rattled Degas’ form. “Be glad that I was able to mend the situation.” He strode past the marine. “Send signals around the ship, wake the sleepers. Assemble the bridge officers and the maniples. We must make ready.”

Some of the apathy leached from Degas’ voice, replaced by growing enthusiasm. “For war?”

Vorath turned and grinned. “Yes brother, everything for war.”