The Jade Lancer sways unsteadily. It takes a step wrong and its ankle snaps and its armour fragments, leaving a white stain across the floor where it scrapes like it was made of chalk. It stumbles forwards and falls face-first into the ground, cracking through like fallen ceramic. It lies still, face-down on the ground. Tiny leaves and branches emerge through the cracks of its armour.

A moment of silence.

And then an eternity of chimes.

The host of walkers that had been following in the wake of the Jade Lancer are carrying windchimes, bells, and other instruments of brass and copper. They shuffle past in single file, the unsteady swaying of their desiccated bodies filling the air with a cacophony of music. It is not the intensity of Slaanesh's music; it is a droning, clattering, dolorous non-sound; a warning, a requiem. One by one they come, stepping across the body of the fallen Lancer, and as they do they leave tribute. Each of them sheds blood or tears or sweat or otherwise as their feet rest on that shattered ceramic, and then on and on they go.

As they go, ravens march alongside them. Some carry batons under their folded wings, marching like grenadiers. Some wear little crowns of tinsel, some wear the makeup of sector judges, some the bangles and rings of exotic dancers. They perch upon the shoulders of the procession and eat the fruits that grow upon them and leave their droppings freely as they cavort. At first it seems no end to this procession, but a vast palanquin begins to loom up in a distant corridor, making its gradual way onwards.

*

[b]Vael![/b]

Most importantly, you have performed the proper mental oblations to protect yourself from a cursory exposure to the picts. That gives you some space to contemplate the specific mechanism at work here.

First and foremost, it is important to remember that you are in the Warp. This is a Daemon World; the Immaterium is present here, and the rules of material reality only hold out of inertia. Search for enlightenment amidst the circuits and patterns and you shall find only your own ignorance waiting with teeth and jaws. The disease, the diseased and the screens that transmit them are all aspects of the same being: A Daemon. 

"It is important to remember that there is less of a barrier between your own thoughts and a daemonic entity than you would care to think. Corruption is an Imperial word; more accurate terms may include 'Resonance' or 'Inspiration'..."

(It was almost as though you heard someone talking to you out loud just now)

There are Kingdoms of the Mind. Duchesses and knights, peasants and draft horses, incognito princesses and dragons. You stand on the precipice of entering one such as you descend into this place, and...

It is under siege. From more than one direction. The creature that dwells within these screens is distressed, trampled beneath the feet of the Ravens, hunted by the servants of the Cog. It will not maintain this throne for long.