Okay, so after finding out their bodies were replaced by daemons of nurgle, the 20 marines of the Iron Host decided that it was pretty sweet: no more need to make sure all holes in your armor were sealed for voidwalking, and they could breathe whatever atmosphere they wanted, and best of all: stunted pain; they could probably take a bolter round or two directly to the chest and keep going (though no one had volunteered to be shot to test the theory). They decided to finish up their base, since they now considered it their headquarters. As they set out to work, one mentioned to another his concern for the 21st marine, the one they had closed the doors on just as he was about to make it inside. The listener shrugged and suggested that maybe he hadn't made it, that the stronghold had protected the rest of them for the most part.
As in most drama shows on television these days, no sooner had the two finished their short conversation they were attacked (Gasp)!
Limping back to the stronghold carrying his mangled brother, tge survuving marine told the other 18 what had happened: that there was a blur of silvered armour and the screaming of jet pack engines and suddenly the other was missing both legs at the knee and an arm at the shoulder.
They all then collectively remembered that none if them had advanced medical knowledge.... The one they had left outside was the designated medic(cue massed facepalming).
Flashing back to when the doors were slammed on said medic. He wrestled with many emotions including hatred, for his brothers for locking him out when he was seconds away from the entrance, and despair, for he was to die alone and forgotten.
Instead of pounding on the doors to be let in, he figured he would wander around the wasteland until he could move no more.
He ended up staring down a cliff, with the valley the stronghold was nestled in, right below him. Deciding that he was to perish with or without company, he unarmed himself: disengaged the mag-lock for his pistol, wrenched the lightning claw off his arm and took off his helmet to see his destruction without the assistance of his lenses.
He knelt on the Cliffside feeling each cell in his body being destroyed individually, and stared into the clouds; and in them, he saw a funnel cloud of the spored spiraling through the air... And heading towards him.
He stood as the cloud touched down on a puddle of what was once a group of cultists and saw a tree start to grow from it. The tree was roughly the shape and style of a Terran Ash and grew to the approximate size of one.
Looking back into the valley, he noticed all the cultist puddles were behaving the same way, each becoming a tree of a grand forest.
Feeling a presence behind him, he turned and saw a roughly humanoid shape dislodge itself from the trunk of the Ash and walk toward him.
The... Thing had what looked like branches sprouting from itself, with a pair of antlers crowning itself. It then spoke.
It spoke of how it was the the daemon that provided the necessary daemonic essence to give life to the virus. It told how it had been charged by Nurgle himself to create a garden on this planet, for all the worshippers of the Father of Blight to gather and take joy in the existence of such a marvel. Finally, it mentioned to the lone marine that he was to be the chosen guardian of the forest, a great and wonderful task to be sure, and that he was to be gifted with the ability to spread the garden on whatever planet he set foot on.
Eventually the marine agreed to the task, donned his helm and weapons again, and succumbed to the sweet embrace of Grandfather Nurgle.
(Sorry if the character shifts are confusing, i haven't pinpointed names for the marines yet. But rest assured they will be named eventually.)
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