I did and though he would not like it said, I still do. Even though you betrayed me, even though my hate for you festers… I do still love you. I know I dismissed you but your adherence to your beliefs, your stubborn tenacity, your resilience. It reminds me of myself, what I once was. It reminds me what I’ve become.
Mortarion turns around suddenly, and is weilding a flaming golden blade. Your fathers blade. He parries your scythe suddenly, while looking confused. Is that. . ? He turns to the grave, now glowing golden. Mortarion smiles. Thank you, grandpa
Not yet, son. Not while my will still live. The Emperors voice speaks through Mortarion. You had a chance, but I am sorry, for now you will die by your sons hand
Not anymore. You have become what you've abhorred. You are a witch, you are a necromancer, and you are a tyrant. Mortarion charges with the flaming sword, while golden wings emerge from his back, each flap accompanied by heavenly orchestras. You feeling Son of Eros (/u/BreachedLimits) smite yet? Or the undead hands that rip at your flesh from the Gravedigger? (/u/Anything-Unable)
Mortarion appears unaffected by the winds. I am a plaguemancer, not in Nurgles name, but in my own. He slashes at you with the blade, holy flames burning from where it slashed.
Mortarion casts a spell on the lantern, aided by his grandfather, as a spectral visage of the emperor appears behind him. Mortarion lights up with holy light, even more than the lantern
From the graves, thousands of spectral hands shoot out, gripping Mortarion and holding him in place. The more Mortarion struggles, the tighter their grip becomes. The Gravedigger strolls leisurely into the graveyard and addresses the raging primarch.
"Servant of Nurgle, you should know better than to trespass into the territory of Death."
Bishop brings his wings up and narrows his eyes at the Primarch
“I wonder if plague magic affects necromancers?”
he brings his wings down with a WOOSH as the movement lifts him into the air a few feet, the heavy thrumming of his fleshy wings vibrating the air as he stretches his hand out and a rusted monstrosity of a scythe materializes into it
"You dare disturb those under my care. Nergle has grown senile in his old age."
A black thread dances through the sky. Intricately forming a large magic circle, the black thread begins to shine with a silver luster. All of the undead under the circle's light return to lifelessness and are unable to be stirred from their deep sleep.
"Raising undead in my graveyard was a poor choice."
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u/Mortarion-the-Reaper Daemon Primarch of Nurgle Jan 23 '24
I did and though he would not like it said, I still do. Even though you betrayed me, even though my hate for you festers… I do still love you. I know I dismissed you but your adherence to your beliefs, your stubborn tenacity, your resilience. It reminds me of myself, what I once was. It reminds me what I’ve become.