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.
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".