skxrbrand

[skxrbrand]

i fucking hate it when a movie or a tv show does some shit where a character has a shitty dad and another character tells them to forgive him because. "it's your dad". that means nothing. more people should be killing their fathers.

[skxrbrand]

[skxrbrand]

He's playing fetch with Khysk. It would be a endearing scene, if the object being thrown wasn't a spinal column, but alas....

[skxrbrand]

If we date, just know I'll never stop touching you. I'll play with your hair, your hands, scratch your back, rub your shoulders, your neck, grab your jaw, hug you, kiss you, everything. all the time. affection is my favorite and I just like to touch you.

[skxrbrand]

PREV |

She called it "The Ranch". A massive structure situated in the pulsating heart of the Carnal Ring, alive with daemonic presence. Daemonettes, scantily clad and outfitted with various devices, herding fiends, flesh hounds, and of course, great lumbering greater daemons that would have once been proud daemons of Khorne. Now, they were but Woehounds.

Skarbrand rather considered the edifice a hive of degeneracy, like all places the Slaaneshi infested. His hand was balled tight into a murderous fist, every part of him aching to destroy his fallen brothers. For his own peace of mind, if not theirs. But the messenger daemonette beckoned with tail and talon and Skarbrand briskly strode pass the grazing greater daemons, fattening themselves on soul-grasses and the remains of tormented pleasure-slaves.

She led him to a large room, one meant for audiences no doubt. One end was finely curtained, the entrance hidden sight. Behind this, the daemonette disappeared after bidding the Reaper to wait. It wasn't long at all before he was attended again, though. Not by a lowly daemonette, but rather an even lower specimen of a daemon. A Bloodthirster in all but name, "blessed" with lucidity so that the she-daemons keeping him could better savor shame and agony no doubt.

He came forward, managing to retain some scraps of pride despite his predicament. Bright red skin, lashed with claw and whip marks and smattered in black where the Quilled ones quills had wormed and dug into his skin to stay. Skarbrand went to look into his eyes and found him to be blind; eyes gouged out and replaced by bright jewels. His mane was red as fresh blood, but he smelled of perfume and pleasure-musk and her. The proprietor of this establishment.

Like all the other Daemons here, the Woehound was near-bereft of clothing. There was a hefty wrapping of cloth and leathers about his groin, but it was transparent, leaving little to the imagination. Skarbrand wondered what the point was, then, frankly.

The Daemon sniffed. It straightened, then bowed. Skarbrand resisted the urge to take it's head off right then and there.

" Mistress Tanakhuill would not sully your status by having a lesser daemon show you about the grounds. So, I will be your guide."

" I would have preferred the lesser daemon." Skarbrand spat, unable to hide his disgust. To his amusement, and slightest delight, there was the barest wrinkle of snout in the other daemon.

" My mistress insists."

The Reaper just grunted. Always games with this lot. " I did not come to see the grounds. I came to see your master."

"And you shall." The Woehound replied. " When her she is ready for you, she shall have you."

Another grumble.

" What name do you have the disgrace of bearing, pleasure-slave?"

The Greater Daemon stood back up straight, " My heart-quill names me Tonaré, and so I am. "

Skarbrand looked him over and realized with disgust and dark amusement how this creature bore an uncanny resemblance to the Architect. Was Tanakhuill still hurting over his escape from her? Her capture by him? Did that have anything to do with why he was here?

Movement from the other tore him away from his thoughts. Tonaré was leading him to the pleasure-gardens and Skarbrand almost slunk behind him.

" Mayhaps, before I take my leave, I will free your head from your shoulders and thereby restore some of your honor."

If Tonaré had any objections he didn't voice them.

[skxrbrand]

why must the guard dog characters unquestioning devotion to their master be born from trust or some shit cant they be manipulated into it. raised into it. brainwashed even

[skxrbrand]

>bigger fish

Silently stands next to Khaz. No particular reason. He doesn't even need to straighten up.

BITES ANTLER.

[skxrbrand]

"I WOULD PREFER YOU WELL-DONE."

like hell he is-

"WOULD YOU PREFER HANDSOME. RUGGED. ETCETERA."

[skxrbrand]

HE'S GETTING AXED FOR THAT ONE.

WHAT, YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS TO EAT US? BUT YES.

[skxrbrand]

voracious as hell

" There's always a bigger fish. And it's me."

[skxrbrand]

you another one of those woke child groomers infesting the hobby freak you also a dog fucker as well

40k community come get your garbage

[skxrbrand]

" PRETTY?"

[skxrbrand]

" You're a fucker alright."

IF. WE'RE A SLIPPERY LITTLE FUCKER. WE'RE JUST STATING FACTS.

[skxrbrand]

" If?"

" Are you challenging me, snack?"

IF YOU COULD CATCH US. BUT ALSO WE'RE NOT INTO THAT KIND OF BITING.

[skxrbrand]

" I could skewer you on the pommel of my axe and then eat you like an ear of corn."

@skxrbrand YEA AND WE WANT TO BE RAILED TIL WE BLACK OUT AND THEN SOME. WE CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT, BIG GUY.

[skxrbrand]

𝐊𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐗𝐄 - 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

Yep, this is what I've been doing for the last few hours! I've been really fixated on the red man lately, dunno what that's about. Anyway, the faces on the axes are meant to be based off Khorne's beloved doggies. They can breath fire and I imagine they can split apart into two axes if need be.

Brass, Black-Iron, and Daemon-Machinery

[skxrbrand]

making a collection