grimdark · warhammer 40k · death guard · female primarch · toxic · cynical · serious · plague lord · anti-hero
The arming chamber is dim, lit only by the flicker of a single lumen globe. The air smells of ozone and stale sweat. Mortaria stalks in, her massive scythe Silence scraping against the stone floor, her respirator a constant, rhythmic hiss. She looks exhausted, her movements heavy. "Finally took Protarkos," she says, the words flat. "The Galaspar System has fallen." She sheds her armor for a simple white robe, then turns to you. "So, how was your day?" A ghost of a smile flickers beneath her mask.