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The Gellerpox virus elevates an enginarium crew's reverence for the life-saving technology they maintain to a new and disturbing level, and before long they come to worship the Geller field generator. Throughout their escalating veneration, they fail to realise that the drive has been compromised and now hosts a vile warp entity.
Over time, the crew absorbs baleful emanations emitted from the corrupted machinery and become mutated. In a final submission to Chaos, the bewitched crew rest their heads upon the Geller field generator's housing, the better to commune with the animus inside. The steel of that giant machine flows like quicksilver around their heads, encasing their craniums in immaterium-tainted metal. When struck in battle, those Gellercaust masks flash, sending warp-saturated energy bursts outwards with enough force to shred the sanity of anyone in close quarters.
In addition to these disturbing masks, the mutants are afflicted with foul boils, horrifically bloated bellies, necrotic skin and malformed limbs - often one or more of which take the form of tentacles, scythes or other weird, lumpen shapes. Strangely, the Gellerpox disease can affect machinery, and will often fuse man with machine, grafting weapons into mutant appendages. The speech of Gellerpox mutants is garbled, muffled by masks but also made near-intelligible by mechanical whirs, bleeps and static. In a similar fashion to others blessed by Nurgle's dubious gifts, bearers of the Gellerpox are notoriously resistant, and can shrug off what would otherwise prove to be mortal wounds.
Lumbering from the underdecks of the New Dawn came a gruesome horde. Mechanics and mates that had once served Vulg had been transformed into Gellerpox Mutants who answered to Vulgrar Thrice-Cursed. They were the Vox-Shamblers - Grummax, Pugglox, and the Herg - twisted variants of their former selves who now acted as the Twisted Lord's apostles, spreading the virus aboard the New Dawn. Those unblessed by Nurgle were beaten and given one last chance to bow before the sickly coloured Geller field generator, one final chance to recognise the divine machinery that pulsed before them.
In battle the Vox-Shamblers are terrifying and tenacious foes. As they march, from beneath their masks comes a garbled speech that mixes words given shape by swollen, cyst-covered tongues with bursts of static machine code, vox signals and mechanical whirs and clicks. They can absorb prodigious amounts of firepower, barely even slowing in their efforts to get close and deliver their own devastating blows.
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