WHAT IS THIS
Okor is a messiah- a prophet of Entropy, a herald of Rebirth. Where he treads, hope gutters and dies, as disease blossoms in his wake. A rotting tongue preaches the truths of his leprous Lord, while a mind steeped in a Myriad of violence applies these twisted teachings to a brutal campaign of Conquest- he will wound this reality deeply, and the necrosis that spreads from his work will be the Paradise he seeks.
DESCRIPTION
The pale-blooded one is an abomination. Once human, he became something both more, and less, twisted by arcane science from the dark ages of Humanity's technological ascendancy. Two hearts, four lungs, acidic spittle, a second skin of steel, he was a towering example of Mankind's might and dominance, sworn to spread their Imperium across the stars.
Time, however, made a mockery of those oaths and those feeble works of man. The Grandfather swept his reaping scythe through his twisted genome, and mutation blossomed within him. His every cell has been ravaged by disease and the corrupting energies of the Aether, merged with his ancient war-plate, and twisted into the forms of gaping, ravenous maws and twisting horns. Looming at a solid nine feet of height, every last inch of that has been blessed by his God, turned into an edifice against the idea of an End- Okor will decay, degrade, and rot, but the vital energy within him is no longer bound to that of his sporadically beating hearts.
HISTORY
Upon the fog-shrouded world of Barbarus, Okor was born to a meager family of farmers, eking bare survival out from the blighted earth as desperate militias strove to keep the hungry dead at bay. From high towers, the alien lords of the world sent their hordes down to gather fresh carrion for their cursed works.
'Fortunate' enough to survive an assault on his village that claimed the lives of many of his Kin, the young man fell into the growing army of a Warlord- Mortarion, the pale Stranger that had taught the desperate, broken people of this world to pick up their harvesting tools and reap a bloody swathe through their oppressors.
The youth continued to follow his grim Lord, even when the ragtag army was taken to the stars, on the orders of a Golden Emperor who demanded their shrouded world to kneel. And so, Okor marched into the Great Crusade, one of the fortunate child-soldiers who survived the surgical procedures that turned mere mortals into weapons- The Death Guard.
Dozens of worlds, dozens of petty empires and alien kingdoms. Through the mud and blood, Okor and his brothers marched relentlessly, crushing those unwilling or unable to join the Imperium of Man in its glorious unity. Day by day, month by month, year by year, they endured ceaseless war, at the behest of a distant Emperor who had bent their beloved King into service.
Perhaps, then, it did not come as much as a surprise that Okor followed his Gene-father into treachery when the opening salvos of the long war were fired. Seeking salvation from beneath the golden greaves of a would-be God, he gunned down his former allies, and sailed across the stars to besiege the Throne-World of distant Terra.
Unfortunately, they were becalmed upon the tides of the warp, and a sickness spread among their ranks. Not any simple sickness- a plague that laid low every loyal son of Barbarus, leaving them derelict husks.
That is, until they found God.
Revitalized and reborn, the Death Guard embraced their afflictions- their pain-stricken nerves rotted away, their fear was subsumed by the embrace of Nurgle, and their sword-arms remained strong as they marched upon the Traitor-Emperor.
For Ten Millenia, Okor has fought this war. He has strangled the Many-feathered Oracle upon their throne of plucked eyes, defenestrated the false-saint of Calypso, and held the breach at Fort Dain for seven days and seven nights. His Long War has taken him through no shortage of Strange Lands, and this dimension is no exception.
It too, will know the Grandfather's Love.
ABILITIES
Protection (5) (Ongoing) - 1,000
Endurance (5) - 500
Adaptation (Pain) - 200
Adaptation (Disease) - 50
Adaptation (Chemical) - 50
Adaptation (Radiation) - 50
Adaptation (Sleep) - 50
Adaptation (Nonbiological Anatomy) - 300
Okor's war-plate has long since fused to his body. Ceramite and Adamantium that was once the spearhead of the Great Crusade has since been twisted and reshaped to a Dark God's whim, sprouting horns and ravenous maws as synthetic muscle and internal tubing turn to a strange sort of life, the ancient machine-spirit of the armour growling its hatred through gnarled joints.
