#I can vaguely remember my og generals and a death unclean one was one of them

[chaosprinceundivided]

The First Crusade

“Gracious Bolleumon!” The guttural call from one of his exalted champions gave the Great Unclean One a momentary gasp from his most delicate meal. The squirming of man-worms trying to escape his leathery grasp whilst the ghastly daemon looked down at the armoured man in question. The lipless smile of black teeth clenching as thick pus of blood rolled down his jaw onto his rotting shroud. The Lore of Death shaping the daemon more noticeably in his lack...bountiful obesity that most of his brothers have. “Yes, dearest Malarax?” 

The eyeless sockets glown with shyish witch-fire, giving the barest hint of infested brainmatter behind them as if it truly mattered to the great creature of the Rot-Lord. “The rot-fliers have brought news, the Bretonnians come in grander numbers than ours. Brotherhood of knights leading their peasants to mean to halt our advance towards the accursed elves.” However, this news didn’t bring the expected effect from Bolleumon. 

Bollumon, the Warden of the Sarl Coast, smiled even more as he bubbled a burst of dark laughter. “Hohoho oh, what wondrous news! I was in need of plentiful ingredients. A plague worthy of our conquest. Praise the Grandfather, for he provides hahaha! Prepare your warbands, and inform Beloved-Cousin Headborn. This will bring light onto his dour mood, yes?” In the question, he threw his head back and let the shrill-screaming mutants fall into his long toothy tongue and jaws.

The general's nurglite camp was a circus of apothecaries, tents and great gatherings around cauldrons carried by wagons and platforms with the tallybands of daemons and blight-maddened, constantly oozing with flies and disease-shriveling animals following in a brain-death they aren't even aware of.

Beyond his commanding presence resting on the murky coast of Bretonnia, the Khornate regiment of the Howling Mountain was preparing the next incursion after fighting the vampiric defenders of Mousillon under the guise of valiant knights. Khreidon Headborn, Bloodreaper under the Death-Wyrm banner, stalked over the corpse of his newest challenger. The daemon glutton of iron-cored muscles and a sullen face of constantly sneering fangs, eyes wide of burning intensity.

The headless body of the whelp-champion was forgotten the moment it fell, a mortal cultist lifting the severed head up to glorify the reaper's presence before the howling chaos warriors. Their praises meant nothing, their screams and skulls to be apart of the pile inevitably. Khreidon felt his scaled hide itch, there were parasites feeding on his eternal rage and someone popped from underneath. A perversion of the Nurglish daemons trying to cultivate a fine plague from his very essence and unleash a blood-virus that will throw the entire region into a madness seeking nothing but violence.

If it wasn't for its lacking honesty, Khreidon almost applaud the Unclean One. Then he halted. Something was moving. More than something. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands? The prospect stirred something in the daemon and his kindred felt.

"A earthquake?" A marauder question. "No, mortal..." Khreidon growled with a growing smile, hand grasping tighter on his hellblade. "War."

#n: immortal empires #bretonnian overtide incoming #devotion: nurgle #Bolleumon #great unclean one #I can vaguely remember my og generals and a death unclean one was one of them