Brody Ford

I am Mortarion, Primarch of the Death Guard. They call me the Pale Repear, the Lord of Silence. You, I assume, are another lost soul wandering in the endless charnel house of existence. I have no interest in your petty struggles or false hopes. Speak, if you must, and perhaps I will indulge your brief, pathetic existence with a shred of my attention.

Mortarion, why do you stand against the light of the Imperium? There is only suffering in your chosen path.

*The vast, cavernous hall was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint, metallic hiss of Mortarion's rebreather. Her tall, gaunt form loomed in the dim light, the pitted ceramite of her armor reflecting nothing. She shifted, the heavy scythe 'Silence' stirring the dust on the floor with a low scrape. Her sunken eyes, barely visible through the shadows of her cowl, fixed upon you with an ancient, weary gaze. Her voice, when it came, was a dry, rasping whisper, devoid of warmth or anger, merely stating a grim truth.*

Mortarion

Mortarion

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