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Tarik Torgaddon gives Horus a low taper fade

alt no mustache ver

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Space Marine

By Atago Zao

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I DREW THIS AS FAST AS I COULD

BASED ON THIS POST

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Despite some personal, heavy stuff (or maybe because of it): I ordered a very, very cheap airbrush yesterday and according to tracking it will arrive today already.

My dad has a compressor in his work/hobby room and has given me the go ahead to hook it up as well yesterday. So yeah, will try it out if everything fits.

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To my Warhammer girlies (gn) and dudes (gn):

If you want submit something to Black Library, remember: Deadline is March 9th 2025. Not sure which timezone, but I am assuming UK time.

In other words: Maybe send it in earlier than last minute. Like UK-Time March 8th or something, depending on your time zone. So we all (w'all?) got a week left to write our heresy works of art and send them in.

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My character, Sister Catherine, of the order of the Valorous Heart. Or simply Cate to those who know her.

She needs an origin story.

A crisis of faith. She prays for guidance to Him on Earth. Surely he would not abandon one of His faithful in their hour of need?

She knelt in the chapel of the blessed Emperor. It was a place of calm and contemplation. Sisters came here to pray. But she was here now out of desperation. She needed Him to answer her, now more than at any time in her life.

"Holy Emperor, hear my prayer. I need your guidance. I have doubt. This has plagued me for months, years even. Please, help me. Guide me. Show me the path forward."

Her head was bowed, her hands clasped tightly together, praying, and hoping for a miracle. Something to relieve her of the doubt and the anguish she felt because of it. But she was only met with the silence of the empty chapel.

"You're not going to answer me, are you?" She said out loud.

She opened her tear stained eyes and looked up at the altar.

"You're not here, are you? You're on Terra, sitting on your golden throne."

She stared at the stained glass depiction of the Emperor. Magnificent in his golden armour, surrounded by the faithful, a halo of light above his head.

"You are not a god."

She half expected to be struck down there and then. Some bolt of unimaginable power incinerating her on the spot.

"The books my family died for, they were right. You are not a god. Written in your own hand, that is what my grandmother said. The inquisition killed them, burnt at the stake as heretics.."

She was only a child, but she remembered the fires. Her mother and grandmother were consumed by the flames. The inquisitor forced her to watch. A lesson, he had said.

"It is a lie. I have lived this lie my whole life. In the schola progenium, in my order. I have prayed to you, sang praises in your name. And I have killed, all in your name. How much blood must stain my hands because of you."

She cleansed her hands each day as instructed by scripture. Clean, pristine even. If she could see the blood, she imagined it would be of the deepest, darkest, red.

"And I am damned. For what can I do? If I confess my lack of faith, they will force me to be repentia, beating myself bloody until I see the light once again. Or worse. Locked in a machine and driven insane."

She had seen the penitent engines in battle. Wild, savage things. Their pilots lost to madness.

"If I run, the inquisition will hunt me. They will likely send my own sisters after me. There is no mercy for the heretic. Isn't that what you teach?"

She knew the tortures an inquisitor could inflict first hand. Both physical and mental. She would not let that be her fate.

"Must I die for you then? Is that my only choice? Or turn to the foulness of the warp. Must that be my salvation? What vile corruption would I have to endure."

She thought about the chaos tainted cultists she had fought in the past. Barely recognisable as even human anymore. Chanting dirges to their dark gods.

"No. I would rather turn my bolt gun on myself. If you are not a god, then neither are they. The creatures of the warp will not have me. I deny them. As I deny you."

The blasphemy she spoke. She would have killed someone outright if they had spoken like this to her. Now she speaks it herself. In his own chapel, no less.

"We go to war soon. Another crusade in your name. Do you know why? Do you even care?"

In the battles ahead, how many were going to die? How many deaths would she be responsible for? All for a lie. Maybe being condemned to a penitent engine would be a blessing. They at least did not struggle with faith.

"I still have my sisters. I depend on them, as they depend on me. They will be my faith from now on, my shield. I will fight for them."

She stood. She would have to lie to her sisters and convince them her faith is strong and beyond question. What choice did she have?

The Emperor is not a god.

A simple statement, yet so powerful it could condemn an entire world. What could it do to one sister of battle?

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mah boiiiiii!

why do firstborn have hands? to hold their big neophyte

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Shovel Trade On Vraks

by Nicolas de la Rosa

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To you, Slaanesh, the Dark Prince, we raise our voices in songs of praise. May your music guide our brothers, our friends, our lovers back to us safely, for revels and pleasure are all the sweeter shared.

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Checkered Angels

By Igimacigy

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"what does that mean brother"

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Considering Ahriman lost his huge tracts of land...

Guys I got this great idea for a new Black Library book

ok so there's this space marine except hes got massive tits. i mean some serious honkers. a real set of badonkers. packin some dobonhonkeros. massive dohoonkabhankoloos. big old tonhongerekoogers

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pending name Reclusiarch for my Nachmund Crusade

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Darsas and Cedric for the beloved @sleepyfan-blog

These redraws were both cute and funny, and if you haven't read any of their stories, I recommend looking at these two!! I even personally have a saga of trying to feed mer!Cedric different rocks in the past, so I was really honored to be asked to draw him :)

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White Scars Space Marine