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//HEY YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!! just wanted to let you know, IM NOT DEAD, HOORAY!!! just been VERY inactive because of classes, but im still here!!!~

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Go, Kenshiro! Live on into the new era. I will forever be watching over you.

@starofvirtue

an indie RP blog for Shuu of Fist of the North Star!

follows back, interacts from @kcnhub

please read rules / about / verses!

this blog is OC, Canon and Crossover-friendly!

if you'd like to interact, PLEASE REBLOG this post!

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Aurelius EXCITEDLY leaned over, trying his hardest to be at his Father's height. And then, a rare yet excitable grin spread across Aurelius's face, " I have not! Honest! Could I learn with you? "

"Have you read my mind?"

Asked the ancient.

He was planning on creating something very popular on ancient Terra. A meal of braised meat and onions on a cornflour flatbread, not that anyone alive still knew what tacos were.

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The second Kusig said that, Aurelius's tune changed INSTANTLY. The giant Primarch went completely silent, now looming over his father like a... very large puppy. His eyes were sparkling in excitement, auramite hands carefully clasping together.

" ... is it ancient Terran meals from the 21st Century? "

" What if I ate rocks. "

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" But Father. "

" I haven't eaten for ten thousand years. "

" What if I ate rocks. "

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Aurelius awkwardly moved his stump arms as he hung from the very wall that acted as his life support and he as its battery, merely huffing under his old ornate helmet.

" Yes, " His psychic voice came forth to his brother, " but unfortunately, I do not have rations, and the closest thing to food would be the mold upon the walls or the walls themselves. "

" What if I ate rocks. "

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" But what if. I did? Because I haven't eaten for ten thousand years on The Wall(tm)? "

Hear me out. What if you didn't?

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" What if I ate rocks. "

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To such a simple nod, Nirisch in turn nodded almost excitedly. A light formed in the servo-skull's eye, suddenly illuminating the darkness of the giant hallways of the engine deck and helping to guide the way more than the emergency lights throughout. Then, Domitus would float off, with Nirisch quick to follow after giving a rather deep bow of respect to the Slayer.

Some sparks came from exposed wires from the ceilings or walls, other machines hummed as they tried to continue their processes despite the rust that plagued their metals, the vents letting out such sickly hisses of air. The machine spirits were suffering despite all of the rituals Nirisch tried to do to help appease them, the cleansings and repairs he would do... they needed power, actual power, but any components would be long since lost after the slaughtering of the Rangda people. Nirisch nervously pulled a small thurible out from his robes while incense smoke slowly plumed from its holes, which he swung back and forth and muttered prayers in what sounded like... binary.

It took time to get to a specific engine room, Engine Room S-06. His metal hand pressed onto what seemed to be a touchscreen, scanning the metal and every little nick on his palm... and the door slid open with horrid creaks of metal. Domitus went in without hesitation, and Nirisch followed.

At first, it just seemed like one of the other rooms. Old engines that barely worked and massive batteries that would've held so many volts it would have powered whole planets, piping and wires being exposed and some steam blowing through the openings.

The difference was both the many bones of daemons on the floor... and what was on the wall.

Maybe it could be reminiscent of what Hell would do to the unfortunates. The unholy matrimony of man and machine just like with the zombies and the damned, or those left to be tortured to have their souls extracted-- this was almost just like that.

A large... torso hung from the wall. It was suspended by wires, cords and cables that were attached to his stumps where his forearms and calves would've once been and only more connected to his very spine. He was humanoid, with pale skin and a heavily-scarred body, only wearing a mere loincloth to cover himself and a helmet that would have shown status. The helmet itself had a four-pointed star, looking similar to a great helm with the placement of the eye-slits, adorned with a metal laurel and old plumage at the top of the helm that tumbled down along his shoulder. It was covered in battle scars, yet it was the one thing he had that would have shown him as a Lord. Along shoulders and biceps, all down his back-- though, of course, his back went unseen due to his positioning-- was what at first seemed like tattoos of stars and galaxies all over him... but they actually moved. They weren't just mere tattoos-- they quite literally showed where they were in the world. The Solar System, drifting aimlessly near the North star. It was a star map, like some sort of mutation.

... He was clearly human, despite his size and mutation. Judging by the one cogitator that still flickered to life, he seemed to be some sort of... heavily genetically-engineered human, like a super soldier of some sort. Glowing blue eyes peered at the Slayer through the slits of his helm. His body convulsed and jolted with every time volts passed through his body, his very life force being used to power the ship's emergency systems. And somehow, for this entire damn ship, seeming to be the size of a large asteroid like Ceres, he managed to be powerful enough to power the emergency systems.

Nirisch was just about to speak, judging by the crackling noises in what might've been his voicebox, but he quickly silenced himself and retreated to the cogitator to check over the large man's vitals. And then... a voice came forth-- not physically, but it attempted to gently prod itself into the Slayer's mind. Not forcefully, though.

It was a deep, gruff voice-- a strong and deep baritone that almost seemed to ask permission to speak psychically with him. There was still... a gentleness to the voice, mindful, careful. It only added to the larger man's presence-- it was odd. Despite his tortured form and the constant suffering he looked to be in, there was this feeling of hope that came from him. It was like looking at a shooting star and wishing for something better, or being able to run your fingers along the gentle furs of a rabbit after the constant threat of battle finally ceased.

" ... I thought I sensed something. Forgive me. I would have cleaned up if I knew of your arrival. " A little attempt at a joke. The man's gaze softened a little as he looked down to the Slayer. Nirisch bowed his head, eye squeezing shut.

" Please forgive me for my method of communication, as well. My lips have long since dried, and to open my mouth would leave them bleeding. I am Aurelius. Would I be allowed the honor of knowing who you are? "

This was all just information to him. His ramblings, no matter how much he tried to downplay it and apologize for it, were very informative to the Doom Slayer. He knew fully well that he could get this way himself... you know, if he ever talked for more than a sentence at a time. Regardless, he took in everything; the humanity of this until-recently-thought-to-be-robot, the little skull beside him.

Techpriests, the Priesthood, servo-skulls, the vessel, the Warp, Commorragh, the Onmissiah... these were all foreign concepts to him, but concepts he would tuck away for later to learn more about. Right away however there was one thing that stood out to him; Lord Aurelius. Clearly someone important, and if he's correct in that this Aurelius character could return him home... he was going to take the opportunity.

Doom Slayer nods in response, wanting to be led to Aurelius. Whoever this Lord was, or whoever this... techpriest... claimed him to be, he just hoped it was correct. Will had his own battle to fight, and he hoped he didn't get roped into another one... because he knew he wouldn't be able to turn down those in need of a helping hand.

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The insane shithead that was Aurelius ripped open a rift into the Warp, through the very fabric of time and space, all to gesture to it like an open door.

" So perhaps I may have quite the ally. My brothers may not like him. But my sister absolutely shall. He is polite. And very much enjoys the Ancient Terran Hymns that often play within his helm. His moniker is the Doom Slayer. "

Nirisch stared at the rift in pure fucking terror.

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" ... i know you're saying that purposeful sacrifices would be needed, but also consider. What if we lowered casualties some more. And didn't slaughter people. I know we are in a war. Multiple wars. But what if, we did not genocide people. "

"Am I mentioning the needless sacrifice, Aurelius?"

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Aurelius stared at him for a moment... then weakly huffed, " ... I would like to argue that there is a lot of needless sacrifice from what I had to witness. "

"You are correct. Which is why purposeful sacrifices are, as the kids would say, very based and Truthpilled."

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" ... while I love our brothers to bits, Lorgar attempted to tell me how all of this bloodshed was required to have proper balance of good and bad to help influence the Immaterium. Respectfully, I will instead counterpoint with, the Ork belief system. And the Imperium literally worshipping Father so much to the point he actually became god... and, from the whispers of Necrons of old-- Settra. "

This is an objectively correct take.

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" I am going to say the hottest take in the 42nd Millennium... and that is needless sacrifice is what the ancient Terrans would call, cringe. "

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There was one final thing she needed to do.

The cold stung at her ears and nose as she trudged forwards over the snowdrift, keeping her eyes high all the way. She was alone, with nothing but her armor, her pistol, a teleport beacon, and Veracity, the Sword of Oblivion. Her target was a World Eater encampment she knew was housing Khârn, the Betrayer.

Her plan was simple. Approach the encampment. Kill anyone who got in her way. Kill Khârn. Activate the teleportation beacon and burn down the encampment. Any survivors would freeze in the cold.

When she got within fifty metres, they spotted her. The sentries cried out in alarm; she answered them with two of them with bolts of singing plasma that sent them tumbling from their watchtowers, clutching at fresh holes in their heads, dead before they hit the snow.

Forces streamed out of the camp. Tlatia levelled her blade at the leader.

"Khârn, the Betrayer." Her words dropped like blood; her grin was that of a wolf finding a wounded rabbit. "Slayer of Knight-Commander Jenetia Krole. Champion of Khorne."

She raised Veracity, pointed it at her foe. "I challenge you to single combat."

She wasn't filled with hot rage, like she had been during her fight against the Captain-General. No, the fury within her was tempered, weaponized; like a lascannon instead of a flamer. If it didn't spark some sort of fear in Khârn then he no longer had the emotional capacity for fear.

He laughed and motioned his warriors forward. Tlatia chose to deny him the opportunity and dashed forwards with superhuman speed.

One wound. The talons on her fingers sliced through the muscles on the Betrayer's arm.

Two wounds. Khârn answered her attack with a chainaxe strike. She flipped backwards and further lacerated the arm she'd just weakened with two rising kicks. Khârn roared in fury, but not pain. Not yet. That would come later.

Both axes hurtled towards her head. She spun aside and inflicted wounds three and four, dragging claws across her opponent's back, cutting right through the decayed plates like a blade through paper. Like a wild, rabid dog, Khârn swung backwards; the strike missed entirely as she danced aside and landed a slash on his unarmored forearm. Khârn glared and swung again, and shclikt!

Veracity tasted blood as it cleanly severed Khârn's right forearm.

The World Eater barely seemed to notice. Tlatia didn't let her little victory distract her and immediately went on the offensive with a flurry of strikes; cutting left, right, diagonally up and down, slicing his breastplate into ribbons.

Khârn's compatriots took this as the moment to intervene and charged. Tlatia broke off of the attack and jumped in between the two blades whistling towards her, slicing the throat and several tubes connected to the neck of one Bezerker and using Veracity to leave a light slash along the second's chest. Were the Bezerkers daemonically empowered like their leader, the slashes would've been entirely superficial, but they were mortal and wholly capable of dying permanently without fanfare.

The slashed-throat Bezerker gargled up it's last breath and dropped; the second charged forwards and impaled themselves on the tip of Veracity, but by now Khârn was back to fighting and Tlatia had to abandon her sword, buried as it was in the chest of a savage, in order to evade the Eighth Captain's wild barrage. She backed up about five metres before Khârn made a mistake she could exploit.

The lone remaining chainaxe whistled downwards, cutting through the air at blistering speed before Tlatia made an X with her forearms and caught the handle between her wrists. The fight rang to a stop for a moment, just the briefest moment.

She grabbed the axe hilt and spun to throw it away, and Khârn caught the briefest glimpse of a glimmer in her hair; no more than a single pinprick of light reflecting off an edge.

The knives delicately intertwined with her ponytail slashed across his throat as Khârn staggered slightly before she kicked him backwards, retrieved Veracity in the same motion, and severed both his legs.

"Do you have any last words?" Tlatia asked, pressing her foot to the Betrayer's ruined chest.

"Khorne," the wounded heap struggled out, "I pray that you will grant me the courage to rend this bitch limb from limb!"

"Cute. Your god can't hear you, you know." Tlatia's smile had returned, mocking, patronizing, cold as Fenris and twice as deadly. "No god can, actually."

"Khorne will always hear my call!" The Eighth Captain of the World Eaters flailed ineffectually against Tlatia's foot.

"No. He won't." Tlatia raised Veracity, the Sword of Oblivion, in her right hand.

"Khârn the Betrayer. You have committed more sins than there are stars in the sky. For your actions there is no penance. Even in death, you will not be redeemed." Tlatia changed her grip on Veracity's hilt, fingers settling into the little grooves worn into it by millennia of use.

Clarity of purpose.

Then oblivion.

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GLIMPSES OF THE PAST: a headcanon / prompt collection because sometimes it's not enough to write about your muse's past and how it affects them, you just gotta write a little scene. these prompts are designed to be a little writing prompt related to your character's past, essentially!

send FORGED for a scene from my muse's past that they think made them stronger in the long run

send REMINDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they encountered something that reminded them of a difficult experience / trauma

send CONFESSED for a scene from my muse's past in which they revealed a secret about themselves to someone

send TRICKED for a scene from my muse's past in which they misled, tricked, or lied to someone

send IMPRESSED for a scene from my muse's past in which they tried to impress someone, successfully or not

send ACHIEVED for a scene from my muse's past in which they completed / achieved something they were proud of

send CHANGED for a scene from my muse's past that represented a turning point in their life

send DIFFERENT for a scene from my muse's past that they feel changed their outlook / personality / etc, for the better or worse

send CRITICAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they thought about / were reminded of something they're insecure about

send SCOLDED for a scene from my muse's past in which someone told them off, justifiably or not

send STRAINED for a scene from my muse's past in which they interact with someone they have a difficult relationship with

send SOBBED for a scene from my muse's past in which they broke down in tears

send LOST for a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

send INJURED for a scene from my muse's past in which they sustained a significant injury

send AFRAID for a scene from my muse's past in which they were scared / under threat

send HELPED for a scene from my muse's past in which someone helped / saved them

send CAUGHT for a scene from my muse's past in which they were caught doing something they shouldn't

send BLUSHED for a scene from my muse's past in which they received a compliment that really got to them

send VICIOUS for a scene from my muse's past in which someone said something cruel that really got to them

send SWOONED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were infatuated with someone

send PINNED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were stuck somewhere, literally or figuratively

send GRIEVED for a scene from my muse's past in which they had recently lost someone / something

send MORTAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they had a brush with death, either themselves or someone close to them

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" Moth... "

"I'll have you know some of the best revelations can come to you while high. Just look at Aurelius, he's feeling transcendent right now."