The yellow star known simply as The Prime filled the interior of the cockpit of the putrefied starship. Motes of mould and decay wafted up amidst the beams of radiation like wispy smoke.
Musted over helm-lenses picked up the encroaching light as the ship translated from the warp. No refraction of light bounced back, for the lenses were filled with the crud of centuries.
Syphallia did not need the eye lenses to see out of the helm, for long ago his armor had become a canker that had melded with his bloated body, and had become as much a part of the corrupted astartes as his flesh was before his supplication to the Grandfather.
A rotted hand covered in buboes clutched a worn throttle. Bale emerald symbols glowed rotten near the instrument, giving feedback on the engine vitals and other data from the wreckage that should not be space-worthy yet had managed to make warp travel as if fresh from its docking berth.
The ship had no name. It was small, merely a transport amidst many within the confines of the Oven of Pus, the flagship of The Lord of Reek. Small as it was, it crawled with the diseases and splendour of Grandfather like any good and trusty emissary would.
Syphallia rattled a cough deep within his enormous chest. Flecks of green rotten phlegm leaked out of his broken mouth grill, and a wet chuckle emerged from the vox caster.
“I’ll have to save that one for later.” Syphallia’s dead voice grated. “Laringatius, Ghonorea, Vrom, get yourselves up front pronto. The planet that Lord Reek wants us to look into is on view.”
Moments passed before the heavy sound of footsteps filled the cockpit. Three figures emerged from the back. Two were dressed in the same crumbling and rusted armor that Syphallia wore. The other was lanky with greasy hair that was spotted with flecks of pus covered scalp. That one wore a crusty blindfold over eyes that leaked pus and blood, staining the cloth long ago with its gore.
“I heard the world before we emerged my Syphalia.” The thin blindfolded creature muttered, picking one of the pieces of scalp from its hair and plucking it into its drooling mouth. “Long dead long dead. Not worth our troubles is it.”
“Old friend Vrom doesnt like to be alone.” The taller of the other two groaned through a rusted vox cast. “What good is a world that we cannot share the gifts of our blessed grandfather?” The voice was tinny yet heavy, like the fell shape that sourced it.
“Ghonorea must know that Lord Reek has a mind to take what is on that world and use it for the glory of the Grandfather. Thats why he be sending us, his most trusted to find it.” Laringatius voice was flooded with phlegm, and he punctuated his statement with a rattling cough that set his over inflated belly shaking like cancerous jelly.
Syphalia grinned within his helm. All of his crew had come from various origins, yet all yearned for the acceptance into the Death Guard. This side-trip into a ruined dead sector would be the accomplishment that would set them and their lord up for such attention from that most ancient and revered order.
“Prepare your weapons fellows and prepare for entry. This world be ours for the taking and we be in and out again and amidst Lord Reek’s death’s head blossoms before more hours have gone and passed. Today is a good day. Nay… a glorious day to serve under his name.”
The ruined ship streaked on through space and the silent orb known as Prime IV prepared to welcome its pestilent invaders.