The Imperium of Matt: Lord Eiterfex

"How is my father?" Lord Eiterfex asked conversationally, as if there were no tension in the air. The distant wails of the populace floated to them, but close at hand all was silent except for the muttering crunch of gravel under the boots of three cataphractii suits. For a moment, it seemed like none of the three Deathshroud would answer., but eventually one of them spoke. None of the onlookers were sure which.
"He worries, Lord Eiterfex."
"He's a sensitive soul is the Death Lord," said another, though again it was difficult to tell which.
"Too many betrayals," said a third... or possibly the first... "his father, his brothers... some of his sons. Makes him melancholic."
Eiterfex didn't rise to the bait.
"I understand," he said, his voice dangerously jovial, "I've had my disappointments too. I grow distrusting of strangers."
All three of them caught the barb, and all three of them pretended not to.

"Alas," said one of the Deathshroud, "we've all seen too many woes. Lord Mortarion worries about his loyal sons. You're one of his most loyal sons, aren't you, Lord Eiterfex?"
Eiterfex shifted slightly on his throne and looked down at one of the Deathshroud. He didn't bother to attempt distinguishing between them.
"Careful now," he hissed, "I grow tired of our little word game."
The Deathshroud in front of him bowed his head before moving on. The three of them continued to circle the Lord of Suffering. They were surrounded: Eiterfex's own Blightlords, Helbrutes and a hellish arachnid daemon engine were all close at hand. But protocol demanded that the Deathshroud could go where they pleased, and none of the three seemed intimidated.

"We apologise," said one of the Deathshroud, "but these are fraught times. Factions move. Powers decay. Things change. The failure of the last Black Crusade has led to shifts. We must keep out loyal friends close. The Death Lord sends us to protect you and make ready."

"Make ready for what?" Eiterfex asked.
"For his coming," replied one of the Deathshroud, "he is pleased with all you have done in taking this world. The Death Lord is coming to fight at your side."

"Mortarion is coming here."

In a time so distant that it seems like a dream of a dream, there was a battle brother of the Adeptus Astartes. He was born on the world of Barbarus, and was one of the first of his kind to be inducted into the ranks of the Death Guard. He was a good soldier - solid, reliable, dependable. He served with honour and earned commendations. Yet the concept of advancement never even seemed to be a question for him. None considered him for promotion, least of all the man himself. He was content to serve as a line Space Marine for all his days. Even when the Death Guard rebelled against the Imperium and dark opportunities abounded, he was happy with his lot. It was only when the Death Guard's fleet was becalmed in the warp that things changed. Whilst most of the legion writhed in agony, their own Astartes physiology turning into a curse, this man found glory. He lurched to his feet, laughing uncontrollably, and stumbled the hallways of his troop ship, inflicting horrors upon any that crossed his path. By the time that the benighted fleet tumbled from the warp, the once unremarkable battle brother was gone. Eiterfex had been born.

Eiterfex was everything his former incarnation had not been: ruthless, twisted and ambitious. He had come to believe that pain and suffering were the defining experiences of the mortal condition, and that the paltry lives of men were enhanced only by the most excruciating maladies of Grandfather Nurgle. Such was his fervour that he won over the Captain of his Plague Company, the mighty Hytothrax the Elder. Like an infection, the madness of Eiterfex gnawed through the entire company until they became the Synod of Suffering. Soon Eitherfex stood at Hytothrax's right hand. And eventually, when Hytothrax ascended to daemonhood, Eiterfex became the unchallenged master of the Synod of Suffering.

The nameless fortress of Eiterfex is like a vision of hell. Located within a vomitorious swamp on the Plague Planet, where still-moving apparitions slosh and howl in agony, the edifice looks as much like an ancient hospital long past decrepitude as a fortress. Within its walls, worse awaits. Appallingly incomplete an rearranged objects crawl and shuffle in hallways of putrid, rusting metal. Living gargoyles shriek their espair from their tethers of gristle, with very little to give away their human origins. In corpse-lit laboratories where the endless buzz of flies competes with the pitiful pleading of moving things, demented surgeons work patiently on cell cultures to heighten the suffering of the subject whilst extending its capacity to continue living, conscious and suffering. In other places, degenerate scholars observe the effects of contagions on subjects of different ages, genders and species. At the heart of this vile domain, in a throne room wrought of diseased, living flesh, Lor Eiterfex broods on a dread purpose that the galaxy is yet mercifully ignorant of...

Building Lord Eiterfex

Full disclosure: I tinkered and pinned and rearranged and improvised so much with this model that I can't accurately tell you exactly how I did it. All I can do is offer some general notes.

The palanquin is an Ork Trukk component, hacked into a roughly oval shape. The chimneys at the back are from a Forgefiend.
The big throne arrangement thing is from a Mortis Engine. It is completely bent an hacked out of its original shape an ultimately I had to pin it in place.
The corpse entangled in the throne is from the Pusgoyle kit.
The sitting part of the throne is made of various skulls, skeletons an assorted bits.
Eiterfex himself is a mixture of Easy to Build Blightlord bits, Dark Imperium Lord of Contagion, Easy to Build Lord of Contagion and Blightking. I had to saw off and reposition his legs extensively.
The Plague Marines have all been repositioned, obviously.
The horrid flesh strands you can see are Woodland Scenics foliage.
The base is deliberately empty - I didn't want to distract attention from him.