[center][i]I am the way to the City of Woe, I am the way to a forsaken people[/i][/center]
[Center]- Pre-Imperial Fragment, Author Unknown[/Center]

[b]The Basilica of the Ascension of the God-Emperor of Mankind, Sabatplatz, Tier 1462, Hive City Vahl, Vigil[/b]

"Honored guests, be welcome here, may the Lord of All infest you endlessly with his blessings." 

The voice was a rich, sonorous baritone that reverberated down the length of the enormous templum, echoing among its soaring vaults. Though it did not seem loud, it drowned out for a moment the endless, garbled hymns of praise and thanksgiving sung by the hundreds of thousands of Faithful assembled in the vast chamber.

Scabiousi had been Lord Auditorix of the Flawless Host for two centuries and was a student of Sound. He relished the rich psychic undertones of the greeting, the intricate interplay of despair, malice and mocking joy that gave it such tremendous manipulative power.

The Noise Marine walked up the central aisle of the basilica, flanked by six of his battle brethren. Lord Daul was missing, his hosts scattered across the warscape of Vigil. In the absence of their commander, opportunism mingled with curiosity had led Scabiousi to seek out Lord Fel, who seemed now ascendant among the many powers fighting for control of the planet, and certainly a more subtle and intriguing figure than Kargan and the idiot rabble that followed in his wake. The followers of the pig-devil Khorne offered no new thrills to connoisseurs of depravity like Scabiousi, but... to experience the necrotic immortality granted by the Plague God...this had for years been his most secret obsession.

In the distance, the Noise Marine's enhanced optics could make out a massive throne of gold that sat in what had been the Templum's apse. Behind it, rising like a dark halo was a gigantic, circular maw of rusted metal in which the wyrding energies of the warp undulated and flashed. Throne and portal were flanked by a choir of ecclesiarchs and clerics, their grand robes soiled, their faces splotched and bulbous with the blessings of their new Lord. They led the assembled congregants much as they had always done, chanting litanies to the Emperor, thanking him for his boundless munificence. 

Thurifers in rotting liturgical garb walked the aisles between the pews, swinging censors filled not with insense but with the divine disease of the Lord of All, dispensing blessed poxes amongst the eager, groaning Faithful, who swelled and putrified in an ecstasy of deathless decay. Insects filled the filthy air, including daemonic rot flies- some nearly as big as chimera tanks- that buzzed lazily through the temple's pestiliential murk, descending occasionally to feel on some particularly appetizing worshipper.

"You have done well to come to me," echoed Fel's voice as the Noise Marines approached, "And will be rewarded mightily. Come, approach the Throne and cast your eyes upon Divinity enfleshed."

Lord Fel stood as the Noise Marines drew near. Arms outstretched, hands upturned, he descended the steps from his chair. Taller than an Astartes but thin, he wore stained robes of crimson and purple. Rings and bangles covered his hands and bare arms. His face was hidden by an expressionless mask of gold, adorned with a crown like a sunburst. His eyes were shadows.

Scabiousi found himself awed, speechless, unable to move.

"Everything comes to serve the Lord of All in the end," Fel said, "That which does so willingly is most effulgently rewarded. You come to offer me your violence."

"Yes, Lord," said Scabiousi, kneeling and removing his helm. His battle brothers hesitated- they had not come to offer worship, only service to Fel- but in the end they followed their Audiotrix and knelt.

"Be not afraid," Fel said, sensing their thoughts, "I am not a jealous god. The Lord of All loves his lesser brothers unspeakably, and those who serve them. You forsake nothing of your former pieties by joining me."

Fel produced a bejewled goblet from the folds of his robe. With one ragged fingernail he opened his wrist and held the dribbling wound above the cup. Thick, dark ichor dripped into the chalice, which he offered to Scabiousi.

"Come, recieve my blessing. Drink of my communion."

The Noise Marine put his mandibles to the cup and drank deeply of the foul draught. He could feel the changes immediately- the blessings of his new god mingling and recombining with the gifts of She Who Thirsts in strange and exciting mutations. His mouthparts clicked and chittered in excitement and pain. His battle brothers drank of Fel's chalice as well.

Fel put a slender, too-long hand on the Traitor Marine's shoulder plate.

"Arise, happily befouled... I have need of your talents."