Critique and comments welcomed. WoC Nurgle fluff. - Warhammer 40K Fantasy
 

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  1. #1
    Senior Member Wintertooth's Avatar
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    Critique and comments welcomed. WoC Nurgle fluff.

    Background:

    The fluff is written for an Albion campaign, it's a small start, but the idea is to progress the story as the campaign unfolds. I'll be adding characterisation as it progress's, but will also be adding narrative of my own outside of the campaign about the struggles to keep order and their interactions with the Papa Nurgle etc.

    It's written about two characters I'll be fielding in my warriors of chaos, Corpus Festerheart (No relation, just stole his name) and Enterobius (a Nurgle sorcerer who is a mass of worms - wormpile model from enigma minis). They hear the news whilst in Troll country so that opens it up in the campaign for me to field trolls.

    Basically I want to know if it's [email protected] and any ideas about where this could go. I'm okay writing about detail, but awful at stitching it together.


    Part 1:



    The hissing rose and sharp cracks sounded across the fire pit. The air was thick with the smell of roasting troll and the caustic aroma of rancid fat dripping to the embers.

    “We grow restless, the troll raids on our camp are brazen now and I grow impatient with the Worm” Speiczk growled as he gestured at Enterobius.

    A leather boot slammed his temple with a sickening crunch, as he toppled backwards he was reaching for his blade, but before his body hit the sodden earth his life was returned to the Father. The plague lord Corpus was not to be usurped; he understood any weakness from him would lead these men to set upon each other, he knew the Father had other plans for them, Enterobius had seen.

    Enterobius Wormpile, the corrupt sorcerer, welcomes all into his fold, having lost his body long ago he is little more than a boiling mass of flesh worms, borrowed from the blood and bones of many races across the North and re-grown, a beautiful gift bestowed by Papa. Adopting the gait of a warrior he is taller than the blessed Kurgan Marauders with which he travels by almost two heads.

    Twice the moons have past since he first felt the stirring of the warp, and during his periods of organic consumption this feeling becomes much stronger. It’s time to feed again. His loose form writhes and plays as he devours the head of the human slave. The engorged mouths of several caecilian dance upon the human’s tattered skull, tasting this new imagery from its shattered mind, as he ingests the flesh bag brought to him.

    “All life belongs to Him” Enterobius slavered, relishing this human’s journey to Nurgle.

    As his carnal feast brought him to delirious fever (blessed are those with irritable bowel syndrome) the way became clear: Albion was a wasteland, without diversity of life and barren waters, unlike the teeming soups of Nurgles own garden; Albion is waiting for the bounteous life that the Father will fruit upon the land and its inhabitants. His maw opened and guttural sounds erupted.

    "We shall take them the riches of subsistence".

    Last edited by Wintertooth; February 17th, 2013 at 23:36. Reason: Forever editing...

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  3. #2
    Benevolent Dictator CaptainSarathai's Avatar
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    I like it. Goad is definitely as disgusting as any Nurgle follower should be. It was pretty short, so there's not a whole lot of characterization to comment on, but it seems promising. The writing style is all there, I'll be looking forward to reading more of their story in Albion. I'd be wary though - Albion's not exactly a wasteland. It's based on Ireland, and has all sorts of nasty mythical beasties lurking in the shadows.
    Pts Values for AoS here!

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  4. #3
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    Critique & comments welcome...

    I really like this.
    I got into Warhammer in 1989 "Realms Of Chaos" era, Nurgle especially. (Tzeentch nowadays...)
    Punctuation is always fiddly and tense is always difficult (until you find your groove),
    so I've just tweeked your prose a little to -in my opinion- improve the flow and tone. Suggestions are in brackets, except the ISB bit which is an aside, so wants brackets, or maybe -dashes-
    Hope you don't mind.



    The hissing increased (rose?) and sharp cracks sounded across the fire pit. The air was thick with the smell of roasting troll and the caustic aroma of rancid fat dripping into the embers.

    “We grow restless.” Speiczk growled as he gestured at their wizard, Goad. “The troll raids on our camp are brazen now… And I grow impatient with the Worm”.

    A leather boot slammed (eg) into his temple with a sickening crunch. As he (toppled?) backwards he was reaching for his blade, but before his body hit the sodden earth his life had returned to the Father.
    The Plaguelord/Warlord (eg) Korpus was not to be usurped. He understood any weakness from him would lead these men to set upon each other. He knew the Father had other plans for them, Goad had seen.

    Goad welcomed all into his fold. Having lost his body long ago he was now no more than a boiling mass of fleshworms, borrowed from the blood and bones of so many races of the North and regrown, a beautiful gift bestowed by Papa. Adopting the gait of a warrior he strode taller than the blessed Kurgan Marauders with whom he traveled by almost two heads.

    Twice the moons had passed since first he felt the stirring of the warp, and during his periods of organic consumption these feelings became much stronger. It was time to feed again. His loose form writhed and played as he devoured the head of the human slave. Engorged mouths of caecilians danced upon the corpse’s tattered skull, relishing (tasting?) new imagery from it's broken mind (cooling brain?) as he ingested the flesh bag set before him.

    “All life belongs to Him” Goad slavered, delighting in his (relishing his?) role in this slave’s path (journey?) to Nurgle.

    As his carnal feast brought him to delirious fever (blessed are those with irritable bowel syndrome) The Way became clear: Albion was a wasteland, without diversity of life, its waters barren. Unlike the teeming soups of Nurgle’s garden, Albion cried out for the bounteous life that the Father would fruit (sow) upon the land and it's inhabitants. His maw opened and guttural sounds erupted..

    "We shall bring them the riches of subsistence".





    Looking forward to the next installment
    CN

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  6. #4
    Senior Member Wintertooth's Avatar
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    Thanks for all the guidance here. I've changed my original post accordingly. I guess I should say that it's the first 'story' I've ever written and so the prose and tense is probably all over the place. I've not really thought about where the story will go as it's going to be dictated by the games I play in the campaign, Part 2 being a sort of battle report. I hope to get a bit of subterfuge and animosities with the two characters. Been told I concentrate a little too much on the detail and not enough on dialogue, but didn't want to over do it. Any suggestions?

    (Please ignore any contemporary references)




    Part 2:

    As the moon waxed over the Sea of Chaos, Korpus waited atop his wooden throne within his tanned skin Gur. He eyed the skittering of the Worm sorcerer at the darkened edge of his sight. He gestured the tent be closed, his request quickly answered as his armoured Kurgan warriors left. Shadows stir and seep as Corpus focuses his cold gaze on the shifting mage.

    Thoughts of the All Fathers blessings inevitably crawl back as he watches the hideous Wormpile, he feels only contempt as one so favoured who can transcend a doomed mankind, one of Nurgles true children. Despite the many hundreds of lives Corpus has taken for Him still he remains un-blessed, what are pustules and warts compared with daemon hood, the splintering of his wooden throne beneath his gauntlets goes unnoticed.

    He continues to observe the twisted form of the sorcerer as convulsions wrack its mind, casting shadows along the skin walls.

    ********

    Enterobius’ mind becomes sea of torment, a writhing crimson serpent tearing through crushed diamond waves, accompanied by the scent of sweet flesh and the cacophony of a silvered armoury.

    ********

    “An Elven tide is approaching Lord” the words dripping from within the worms. We must consult Him and seek guidance, the heads of a multitude of worms centred on Corpus as what appeared to be a body shifted like restless sand. Our God will enjoy the eventual demise of this flesh bag, but for now he serves his purpose, we swear fealty only to Him.

    Corpus eyed the mage and growled “He who postpones the hour of war is the fool who waits for the river to run out before he crosses”

    He rose and strode from the Gur swinging his mace. Feculent breath drifted from his helm and he roared “Tonight we march to meet the Elves”.

    A warband was gathered from camp and they marched inland. The Plague Lord soon caught the trail of the Elves. The warband were not fleet of foot, but were tenacious. It was clear the Elves had travelled from the coast southward. Corpus has hunted many men, but nothing like this fresh quarry whose horse tracks showed they had covered several thousand Ald within hours. As dawn broke Corpus’ vulture perched high on the broken bone of a dead tree marked the battlefield.

    As the warband charged from the trees the Elves let off two of fire balls, several marauders became cooked meat, which quickly decayed, unnatural flies filling the air around them. There were two units to the south, a main unit with spears and a detachment with greatswords which they looked to wield with speed unmatched by any Corpus had slain. They were waiting and loosed off a volley of arrows, cutting down two of his warriors. He had not anticipated the woods on his left flank to spring to life, one of his foul knights was pulped beneath a trees shifting bulk. Corpus laughed, acidic sputum collecting in the rusted folds of metal and flesh “Purging the weak”. The knights thundered down on the seaguard, as they rained bile and blood across the forest, the marauders covering their flank.

    His purpose bred war dogs over ran the graceful Elven outriders, who slipped by with ease and stared down the flank of the marauders. Another four of the warriors fell from the volley of arrows they loosed, armour less the arrows cut them down without resistance. The Warrior Sorcerer called upon the winds and to his surprise an enormous fireball burst from his hands and incinerated five Elves. The Kurgan laughed as they prepared to charge, but to their horror the Elves fled, leaving the battlefield with few tasty pickings. The sorcerer turned to the outriders, calling on the winds once more.

    “Yesterday you picked the eyes of a swollen corpse in a water-logged bog and ate the things in its bowel, today I give you horse meat!” grinned the sorcerer Findus.
    Last edited by Wintertooth; February 17th, 2013 at 23:42. Reason: Forever editing...

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