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asthedeathoflight · 1 month ago

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Home For Christmas

Hi guys. This morning I sat down and was like hey I've had some Christmas Remjax thoughts, I should write a fun little one shot while I wait for everyone else to wake up. 4.5k words later it's no longer Christmas in my timezone and its less of a cute oneshot and more "how many remjax thesis statements can i fit into one fic. and also its christmas flavored." Merry christmas? merry christmas.

- - -

“Come on. Please?”

And here was the problem. Rembrandt has very round eyes, and very long eyelashes, and she had trained for years in the sacred art of using them to get what she wanted from Ajax. The puppy dog look she had on at the moment was not even a little bit genuine. It was a party trick. Ajax had caught her practicing it in her reflection in a subway window several times.

None of this helped Ajax even in the slightest. Rembrandt made The Face, and she crumbled every single time, and just had to pray Rembrandt would use her powers for good and not evil.

Her faith was waning by the day. Case in point:

“It’s not that I don’t want to go,” Ajax lied, “It’s that I don’t think you should go.” (Conveniently, the last part was seeming more and more true the longer this argument went on.)

“It’s just dinner!” Rembrandt insisted, and okay, who was lying now?

“It’s Christmas,” Ajax hissed.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Rembrandt shot back.

A clever ruse. But Ajax wasn’t stupid. “That’s even worse.”

“Come ooooonn, it’s just for like an hour!” A bald-faced lie. Ajax couldn’t believe her ears. A Christmas Eve dinner that was only an hour long was more insulting than no dinner at all. “It’s not like I’m going to Mass with them or anything.”

“Did they invite you to Mass?”

“Well- um,” Rembrandt had the decency to look kind of sheepish. “Well a little bit?”

“Rembrandt!”

“I said no! I said just dinner! And they said that was fine!”

Well. That was progress. Kind of. And she was making The Face again.

“Even if you did go,” Ajax said, which Rembrandt immediately (correctly) interpreted as an admission that she would be going, “I don’t see what the fuck I’d be doing going with you.”

“Going to a party,” Rembrandt said, like she didn’t see the problem. “That you were invited to.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you want me to get out the card again?” Rembrandt waved an arm at the cabinet where she’d tacked up the handful of Christmas cards they’d gotten, including the one from her aunt that did, admittedly, explicitly name Ajax in its invitation to Christmas Eve dinner.

“No.”

“What am I supposed to say if you don’t come, huh?” Rembrandt said, “She’ll be all sad. I’m sure she’s told everyone already that you’re coming.”

What had Dora told them? Who did they think was coming? Valerie’s roommate, yes, darling Valerie, who was supposed to be a ballet dancer and now lived in a shitty one-bedroom apartment down by the docks after a falling out with her parents that Ajax was sure they all suspected about.

Ajax could barely even make it through small talk with the bodega guy. What the fuck was she supposed to say?

“Just tell them I’m busy. I’ll go bother Cleon like always.” She would not. She had already told Cleon she was going with Rembrandt. Cleon’s eyes had gone all soft and happy. She’d rather stay home alone than tell her she wasn’t going after all.

“No!” Rembrandt insisted, “I want you to come with me.”

The other Warriors wondered sometimes how Rembrandt got Ajax to go along with her, since Ajax was so stubborn. They had no fucking idea.

“Why?” The question came out a little more raw than Ajax had been intending.

Rembrandt stopped to look confused, and then a little bit sad. “I want them to meet you. I love you. I want the people who know me to know you.”

And that wasn’t The Face, not really. It could have used some workshopping. It was just a wrinkle between her eyebrows and the slightly bewildered, slightly defensive look Rembrandt always got when she was being honest, like she couldn’t believe she had to say what she was saying. Ajax didn’t have a very good track record resisting The Face, but she really didn’t stand a chance against whatever the fuck that look was. She caved.

- - -

“This is dumb,” Ajax said for about the millionth time since they’d left their apartment. It was the only way to preserve her dignity at having been defeated by Rembrandt making slightly-less-effective puppy dog eyes at her.

“Your input has been noted,” Rembrandt deadpanned. She was a little nervous, Ajax thought. She was hiding it well, but Ajax knew the difference between normal Rembrandt fidgeting and nervous Rembrandt fidgeting. She gave Rembrandt a reassuring little nudge with her shoulder. Rembrandt shoved her back, which meant she wasn’t spiraling too bad.

Dora’s house had been decorated with what Ajax found a frankly unnecessary number of Christmas lights, all along the eaves and wrapped around the bushes in the front yard. The soft amber glow from them did, admittedly, kind of make Rembrandt look like one of those hand-painted Christmas angel figurines, a fact Ajax was only noticing the normal amount.

The steadying breath Rembrandt exhaled made a little swirl of steam in the cold air. Ajax wished, suddenly, that they didn’t have to go inside. That she could stay suspended in this moment, in the soft light, and not have to worry about anyone inside or what they thought of her.

But the moment faded, as all moments do, into the next, and Rembrandt knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, a woman Ajax didn’t recognize but who had something of Rembrandt in the corners of her eyes and set of her shoulders still looking over her shoulder to insist that she's got it, Jesus. The woman looked back towards them and Ajax braced herself for judgment or confusion or reproof, but she didn't even seem to see Ajax. The moment she saw Rembrandt, her eyes started to well with tears.

Wordlessly, she reached out and drew Rembrandt into a tight hug. They were silent for a moment, before she said, quietly but fiercely into Rembrandt's hair, “It's good that you're here.”

She drew back and smiled, seemingly recovered, and waved them effusively into the house. As they crossed the threshold they were transported from a grim December evening into a Christmas-themed alternate reality. The whole living room had been hung with fragrant garlands of pine boughs, and the walls were papered with construction paper cutouts of stockings and candy canes and ornaments.

The room, which was already lively, became a flurry of activity. Ajax was largely forgotten in the jostle, as everyone in the room suddenly wanted to hug Rembrandt and ask how she’d been. As Rembrandt disappeared towards the center of the room, it occurred to Ajax what it had meant, for her, not to go home for Christmas for so many years. Ajax hadn’t thought it strange when Rembrandt followed her to Cleon’s that first Christmas, and every Christmas after that, had just been selfishly glad to drag her into playing board games with them.

But Rembrandt had been missed. In a way that, perhaps, the rest of them weren’t. There wasn’t anybody on Earth who was wondering where Ajax was tonight. But here was proof that, every year Rembrandt had been with them, there was a home missing her. Silently, Ajax toed off her boots and slipped past the crowd into the kitchen.

It was quiet in there, with a few festive-scented candles burning and a couple pots simmering on the stove for dinner. Ajax was poking at the rice a few minutes later when Dora bustled in.

“Oh, Ajax!” she said, with evident relief, “I didn’t know if you’d made it.”

Ajax considered pretending like she hadn’t been messing with the woman’s cooking, but she’d found that Dora appreciated honesty. “Needs salt,” she said.

“Give me that.” Dora grabbed the spoon from her and tasted it. “Hm. Yes. Can you do it? I’ve got to go find another Santa hat.”

Without waiting for an answer from Ajax, she bustled right back out of the kitchen. Ajax stared after her, and then down at the rice. Sure. Shit. Cooking in someone else’s kitchen. Ajax squinted down at the little Christmas-themed shakers on the counter next to the stove. Was a kitten in a scarf more or less salty than a penguin with reindeer antlers? There was a trick to knowing which one was pepper, but Ajax couldn’t remember it.

Admitting defeat was not one of Ajax’s strengths, but she backed off the shakers. There had to be a thing of salt somewhere else in the kitchen. After opening several cabinets and finding: cups, plates, more cups, a box wrapped in green paper and shoved in between some bowls, and a truly astonishing number of novelty cake tins, Ajax found the salt in the back of a skinny cabinet over the sink, behind little jars of spices and packets of Sazon. The rice only needed a little bit, and then it was almost done cooking so she took the lid off and turned down the heat.

Ajax stood there in the kitchen for about as long as she could bear (about five minutes) poked her head out to the living room again, decided that was way too many people to reasonably ask her to talk to - related to Rembrandt or no - and went back to poking her nose where it didn’t belong. There was pork roasting in the oven, flan chilling in the fridge, and a box full of delicately iced gingerbread on the far side of the kitchen, shoved all the way to the back beneath the cabinets. The shelf above the fridge had a murky jar of what Ajax’s investigation revealed to be tamarind rum. She put it back (respectfully) and then (disrespectfully) immediately regretted it.

Just as boredom got the better of Ajax and she’d started eating one of the gingerbread cookies (good. chewy.) Dora came back into the kitchen, at a more normal pace and wearing a tinsel-adorned headband she hadn’t been wearing last time. When she saw Ajax, caught, still holding the box of cookies, she laughed.

“Oh, by all means,” she said. “They’re just in here hiding from the little ones.”

She pulled Ajax into a brief but warm embrace. “Here! Here,” she said, “I’m being a bad host. Let’s get you a drink and then you can tell me everything you’ve been up to. That girl of yours always leaves stuff out when I ask.”

Dora poured them both glasses of coquito from a pitcher in the fridge and settled against the counter. Ajax didn’t really mean to tell her everything. Just a few things, so she’d be satisfied. But Dora had eyes that crinkled up like she was smiling even when she wasn’t and she just sat and listened and nodded and never acted like she wished Ajax would stop talking. So Ajax told her that Cleon was making Swan get her GED, and that Cochise was using her GI bill money to take night classes at the community college with her so she wouldn’t be alone. Rembrandt was growing an apple tree in their bedroom window from a seed she’d found already sprouting in an apple one day, and it had five happy little green leaves, but Ajax was worried the cold wasn’t good for it. Ajax had left Cleon’s present at her apartment with Swan a few days ago and the suspense of not knowing how she’d react was killing her. Cowgirl had been planning a New Year’s party with the other girls from the bar for weeks now and Ajax was already dreading the hangover. She’d told the fish guy at the grocery store that Dora said hi and thanks for the shrimp he’d saved for them last month. There was a new girl hanging around their corner, and Cleon and Cochise were already having tense conversations in the corner about what to do if she wanted into the crew. And when Ajax ran out of life to recount, Dora told her about the kids in her class, and the latest gossip from the staff room, and how Rembrandt had loved Christmas when she was young.

- - -

Eventually, Dora was called away, and Ajax was alone again in the kitchen to give an occasional stir to the food on the stove and stare down the pork to keep it from burning. She was so enmeshed in her staring contest with the oven she didn’t notice the patter of little feet on linoleum until they were right next to her.

She startled as a very tiny hand reached out to pat her on the thigh. “Bwah,” said a small voice confidently.

Ajax blinked down at the small child, who was looking back up at her with apparently Rembrandt-family-trademark owlish brown eyes. Jesus, but she was tiny. Ajax had forgotten kids could be that small. She put down her glass of coquito and crouch down to be nearer to the kid’s eyeline.

“Hey, what’re you up to?” she said, softly.

“Bah!” The kid said proudly, and then giggled like this was a favorite joke of hers. “Hiiiiii. Merry- Merry Christmas!”

Only, the kid couldn’t have been more than two, so it was more like “Mewwy Kimmus.”

“Merry Christmas yourself,” Ajax replied. The kid giggled at her again. God, even her smile looked like Rembrandt’s, on the rare occasions that Rembrandt forgot herself enough to really smile. “I’m Ajax. I like your shoes.”

The kid positively beamed at that, stamping her feet in her silly little decorative kid shoes. “I’m Isa. I like your jacket. It’s shiny.”

“Hi, Isa. I think you probably got someone out there you gotta go back to,” Ajax said, standing up and leaning over to look out the door the kid had come through for any following adults.

Isa shook her head so hard it looked like she might tumble over. “No, no, no,” she insisted, “staying!”

She made the universal gesture at Ajax that she wanted to be picked up. Ajax looked down at her, bemused. There were only a few social rules that weren’t lost on Ajax, but one of them was “don’t go around picking up strange children.”

Seeing that her grabby hands weren’t having the desired result, Isa arranged her face into a forlorn pout of absolute bereftness. Fuck. Ran in the fucking family. Ajax should never have agreed to this. She was fucking outnumbered.

“Motherfucker,” Ajax swore, bending down to pick her up. She held her out at arm’s length for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Isa shook her head, eyes wide, and then nodded, like she couldn’t figure out which one meant she agreed. Ajax glared at her for another second before deciding “motherfucker” was probably too many syllables for her to pronounce. She settled Isa comfortably onto her hip , where she immediately began pointing around the room at where she wanted Ajax to take her.

“Hey, slow down,” Ajax complained, “If you wanna walk around so much you can do it yourself.”

She did, however, acquiesce to Isa’s frantic gesturing at the pot of rice, and gave her a spoonful once she’d blown on it enough that she was reasonably sure Isa wouldn’t burn herself. The kid wriggled happily in her arms. Ajax, who had been five percent responsible for said rice, allowed herself a little glow of pride.

Suddenly, it all felt very familiar. Ajax was gripped by the sense-memory of another her in another time, another kitchen, another baby in her arms. Her chest ached with it, all of a sudden, like an old bruise. She always thought she’d grown around it, until a new shift brought it back to the surface. A new wave of grief for a thing that had never really been hers to lose.

Isa patted her on the neck, little-kid clumsiness making it more of a smack than a gentle nudge. “You look sad,” she observed. Ajax laughed.

“Have a cookie?” she was pointing to the box of gingerbread, where Ajax had failed to re-hide it. “And then I have a cookie also.”

“Very slick, kid,” Ajax said. She looked back at the door. Coast still clear. There didn’t seem to be any tak of having dinner soon. “Sure, we can have cookies.”

- - -

Isa was still gnawing on her cookie when someone came looking for her. He was a bookish-looking man, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and a kind of restless nervousness to him that Ajax recognized.

“Oh, there you are Isa,” he said with no small amount of relief. “I hope she hasn’t been bothering you. She’s not really afraid of strangers.”

“I noticed,” Ajax said, amused. “Sorry, I don’t know if she was supposed to have cookies.”

He sighed the heavy sigh of a young parent during the holiday season. “One more won’t kill her,” he admitted. “Come on, Isa, you’ve gotta go back with Mom.”

Isa squawked and clung to Ajax, shaking her head. “No!” she protested, “We were havin’ fun.”

“Were we? And here I thought I might be boring you.”

Isa giggled. “Nooo, you’re not boring.” Now that someone knew where she was, however, she seemed less interested in the kitchen. She patted Ajax on the arm and started wriggling to be put down. Ajax lowered her to the floor and she tottered off into the living room, where her arrival was greeted by a chorus of “Hello, Isa!”s.

Had that ever been Ajax? Had a roomful of people ever been happy to see her? Ajax didn’t know. She couldn’t remember ever being that small.

The man extended his hand to shake. “I’m David,” he said, “I really am sorry about her. She just loves meeting people.”

“No problem, man.” David. Ajax had heard about David. He was Rembrandt’s boy cousin, the one whose clothes she had been wearing when they met.

David smiled, looking like his mom. “You must be Ajax. Mami said you were in here helping with the food. I can’t totally blame you.”

Ajax was instinctively wary of people who knew who she was when she hadn’t met them, even though she also already knew about David. But she felt the weight of his knowing much more heavily. There was more for him to know. But Dora knew, and Dora had still invited her. She couldn’t quite hide her apprehension from him, apparently, because he laughed.

“No, God, it’s fine, we haven’t been gossiping about you. Well, maybe a little. It’s just exciting, you know, to have someone new around.” He rolled his eyes. “Everything’s a holiday. We get sick of each other.”

Ajax remembered getting sick of her family. She had come up with a different solution. She tried to smile like she understood.

“Listen, while I’ve got you.” David reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. Ajax, as a Christmas present to Rembrandt, did not flip him around and pin him up against the cabinets, even though it would have been very easy. He had a look in his eyes like he was just trying to be sincere, so Ajax just held her breath.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said, and God, he was sincere, wasn’t he? Even the other Warriors never thanked Ajax like that. “That summer with Vallie… It was bad. We were all- I was really worried about her. It means a lot, to know she wasn’t alone. That someone was looking out for her.”

He squeezed her arm briefly, and then released her to grab a gingerbread and follow his daughter back into the living room. He was wrong. Ajax wanted to yell after him, or scream into a pillow. If he was worried about Rembrandt he should’ve been there for her, everyone in this house should’ve. The fuck was he doing thanking Ajax? That Ajax was the person who had stepped in was the problem. Rembrandt never should have needed her in the first place. But he was gone already, so Ajax couldn’t say any of that. She just poured herself another drink.

- - -

Dora came in a while later to find Ajax silently staring out the window. It had started to snow, in tiny little clumps that would soak through her boots on the way home but glowed under the streetlights.

“Dinnertime,” she announced, sounding a little worn out but still cheery. “Come, help me set the table.”

There was a pretty young blonde woman helping with the table, too. She introduced herself as Sarah. Ajax remembered from the Christmas card that this made her Isa’s mom. When Dora left to herd the others into the dining room, Sarah smiled at her in a way that Ajax was beginning to recognize as the harbinger of small talk that she was wholly unprepared for. At the very least, Sarah had a perfectly normal smile and perfectly unremarkable blue eyes. Her smile was tired, but it had an air of camaraderie to it.

“First time, huh?” she joked.

Ajax shrugged.

“I remember the first year I came to Christmas here,” Sarah said wistfully. “David always offers to have Christmas with my family, but Easter with them is more than enough, trust me.”

She chuckled to herself. “It’s good you’re here,” she said more seriously. “Last year the kids’ table was just me and David and Isa. Can you imagine?”

Ajax did laugh at that, relaxing a fraction. The others were starting to trickle in. Ajax kept looking at the door for Rembrandt, even as Sarah pointed out to her which one her place was (true to form, at what Dora exasperatedly insisted wasn’t, and yet clearly was, the kids’ table). Rembrandt came in a little late from the door that led to the kitchen, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands. Ajax looked at her in concern but Rembrandt shook her head before she could say anything.

“It’s fine,” she murmured under her breath. Ajax frowned at her, but Rembrandt just smiled and, well, she actually did look alright. She didn’t look the way she did when she was shoving everything down. She looked more relaxed than she had in weeks.

The food was very good. Ajax had spoiled that particular surprise, and also her appetite, by hiding in the kitchen and snacking for the whole party, but it was nice to watch everyone else coo in excitement.

Rembrandt joked comfortably with David, giving Ajax a glimpse into a past life they’d shared as the babies of the family. Sarah seemed to like Rembrandt immediately, and they continued a conversation they’d apparently gotten distracted from, in which they were discussing with utmost seriousness the virtues of various colors of bedroom paint. Ajax looked up from this conversation in helpless confusion only to find that David was already looking at her with a similar expression. This solidarity warmed and reassured her enough to continue to listen to Sarah’s monologue on periwinkle vs. lavender vs lilac and how people all over the world were doing themselves a disservice by mixing them up.

- - -

By the time they were leaving Ajax had mostly forgotten to be excited. They lingered by the door a while, as had every guest to leave before them. David and Sarah, who were spending the night, came to the door to see them off. Dora waved to them from the sofa, where Isa was sleeping half-sprawled over her thigh.

“Oh!” Sarah said in a stage whisper. “I almost forgot!”

She went over to the tree and picked up a plain brown paper bag and brought it to Ajax. “Here, this one’s for you guys. I was going to say to open it tomorrow, but it’s so cold out there you’d better open it now.”

“You really didn’t have to-” Rembrandt started.

“No, no!” Sarah insisted. “It’s my hobby, it’s no trouble at all!”

Inside the bag was a long, simple knitted scarf and a pair of wrist warmers knit in the same rich, deep blue yarn.

“Oh,” Rembrandt said softly, “It’s like the sky.”

“Yes!” Sarah whisper-cheered. “See, David, I told you. He thinks they’re black.”

David sighed the sigh of a man who had lost this argument several times already.

Sarah drew Rembrandt into a quick hug. David, to Ajax’s immense relief, just clapped her on the shoulder.

“Stay safe out there,” he said.

Rembrandt was careful to close the door quietly behind them. She reached up to wrap the scarf around Ajax’s neck, adjusting it until it was even. “Okay,” she said, mostly to herself, “Okay, let’s go home.”

They were quiet on the walk back to the bus stop. Rembrandt let her stay quiet until they were on the bus.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Ajax with her elbow. “You’re thinking about something.”

And Ajax really didn’t mean to tell her everything. She meant to open her mouth and say that she was fine, just tired. But there was Rembrandt, a little bit sad and a little bit confused, and so what Ajax really said was, “You know I don’t have a family, right?”

Rembrandt blinked, frown deepening. But, Ajax discovered, she wasn’t done.

“It’s just you. You’ve got all these people who care about you. And I’ve just got you.”

Rembrandt considered this for a while. “You’ve got Cleon and Swan,” she said finally.

“No, don’t give me that ‘we’re not a crew, we’re family’ bullshit-”

“Did I say that?” Rembrandt glared at her, “I said Cleon and Swan. They care. They miss you. I told Cleon I was taking you before I told you.”

“That’s- oh. Hm.” Ajax had to sit on that one for a bit. “It’s not the same.”

“No,” Rembrandt agreed, “It’s not. But for what it’s worth, I’m really fucking grateful I have you guys.”

“I don’t see why,” Ajax muttered, “We’re together because we have to be. Nobody else wants us. People want you.”

Rembrandt sighed. As the air left her, she seemed to shrink a little bit. “My parents are getting divorced,” she said conversationally.

“Oh.”

“Mhmm,” Rembrandt agreed.

“Did you… know?”

Rembrandt made a non-committal sound. “Dora called me, after she sent the card. She said I should come, because my mom wouldn’t be there. So. You know. I suspected. But my dad wanted to tell me himself.”

Ajax sat back in her seat. “I’m… sorry?”

Rembrandt shrugged. “I… don’t think I am. I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

Ajax nodded. She didn’t really know what to say to that. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Ajax?” Rembrandt said suddenly.

“Mmyeah?”

“What would you do if my mom showed up at our apartment?”

“Um,” Ajax said. This felt like a trap. Rembrandt was looking at her with complete earnestness. Ajax was shit at lying. “...probably get the cops called on me.”

Rembrandt closed her eyes, nodding to herself. She exhaled. “Every single person in that house,” she said, “Any one of them would have taken me in. And when my mom knocked on their door, they would have let her in. They would have let her drag me home.”

She breathed out again, shakier this time. “They love me, sure. But they wouldn’t have protected me. Not like you did. Not like you do.”

When she spoke next her voice was much quieter. “I know you think I don’t need you,” she said, “But I do. I really, really do.”

“Okay,” Ajax said. She put her arm out so Rembrandt could tuck up under it and nestle into her side. Rembrandt put her head on Ajax’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

#i am an ajax-is-socially-awkward truther until i DIE #its the tlt-er in me #i love you hot butch women who cant talk to strangers #anyways featuring the return of the aunt from missing!#warriors musical #the siren fic IS being worked on in the background. and the polycule fic. and run it back. i prommy.#my fic

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dwarvenbash · 1 year ago

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"I don't think it's nice, you laughin'. You see, my Krootox don't like people laughin'. Gets the crazy idea you're laughin' at him. Now if you apologize like I know you're going to, I might convince him that you really didn't mean it..."

The Kroot with No Name

My favorite operative in my Farstalker Kinband Killteam, the Kroot Pistolier (I prefer "Gunslinger" though, it's easier to say, too!) is such an awesome piece that can do some close-range burst damage AND can even get a shot off on a quick draw!

Free-handing the iconic poncho design was definitely a challenge, when you really look at it the pattern is pretty darn complex!

More on the process under the cut:

I've always been a huge fan of the Kroot, so when their Killteam was announced a couple years back I was over the moon with excitement. I'm still in disbelief that they're actually going for an entire Kroot-focused detachment in 40k though; when that box is finally released I'm totally screwed. Anyway, when I picked these bad boys up initially, I had to put them all together in time for a Killteam Spec-Ops narrative campaign I was doing in a couple days, but I saw these two models in the instructions and my conversion-obsessed brain was already off to the races:

The poncho on the Warrior was straight out of a Spaghetti Western, and luckily for me, the Pistolier's arm bits fit almost perfectly (with a little greenstuff filling). If I was going to go full-on Western, though, the hardest part was definitely making a convincing-looking hat.

I toyed with a couple different methods, but the most doable seemed to be sculpting a greenstuff "crown" onto a flat "brim" piece. The problem was finding a good material to make the "brim", though. In the end, I settled on using one of these:

The humble milk carton pull tab! With some (somewhat) careful pruning, the thickness of these things make for a pretty believable hat brim at this scale. With a couple rings from a jeweler's chain because I had to throw in the Gun X Sword reference to accent the hat, it was done! I wouldn't finish painting the poor guy until wayyy later, but I got some fancy shaded priming done in time for the campaign, at the very least...

Thanks for reading! If I can get my workspace in order hopefully I'll be able to post more painted models, since they're more fun to look at and write about. I need a lot more practice painting, too, so hopefully this blog can help me feel like I'm progressing in my painting ability the more I post on it.

I definitely want to write more on here about the Kroot, too, since they're one of my favorite aspects of 40k! Expect some more on them when I get around to taking some pictures of one of the bigger Kroot conversions that got me into the hobby.

Next time though, I think I'll divulge a bit from the mainstream Games Workshop beat and write about some cool miniatures you may have never heard of!

#okay time to figure out how I'm going to tag this #warhammer #warhammer 40k #kitbash #mini painting #scifi #? i guess #and most importantly #the good the bad and the ugly #i mean hungry #did i seriously forget to tag this as #kroot #too

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tobiasdrake · 1 year ago

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Here at last. The Clockwork Castle. I am going to unleash ungodly amounts of violence in this place.

Rude. How am I supposed to unleash ungodly amounts of violence if you won't let me in the front gate? Guys? GUUUUUUUYS. Come on.

Assholes think they can keep me out. I'll have you know that when I set my mind to breaking noses, I can be very hard to discourage. Nothing is going to stop me from--

STORY TIME STORY TIME STORY TIME STORY TIME STORY TIME

Important clarifier. We are not the "prime" timeline, so to speak, that all of the branches split off of. There probably isn't a prime timeline.

Aephorul uses our reality as a war engine for feeding his efforts in other timelines.

Depending on how long ago TIA fractured reality, the other timelines might look vastly different from ours. I'm curious to see them now.

What, he didn't just send an Open Invite to all the best artisans and then magically compel them to build a village and remain in perpetuity to serve his efforts? That's what all the cool people do.

Yoyo.

Hold up, were the Three Sisters already a thing before Fleshy and TIA got to our timeline? Huh. I guess that makes sense, seeing as TIA discovered Solstice magic rather than creating it. The Three Sisters are in the same Category of Things as Solstice Warriors.

It just keeps surprising me how... all at once local and yet not TIA and Fleshy are. How godlike and yet how mundane. They just happened yesterday; They've been around forever. They're complicated.

Oh, not Yoyo.

The Watchmaker... Shit, I feel like I've heard that name before. The Watchmaker... the Watchmaker....

If no one could understand Aephorul's magic then how was the Watchmaker able to account for it in her schematics? Like. You've got two people designing a castle and neither really knows what the hell the other's doing; That's a recipe for flawed architectural design, even if they're both masters of their craft.

Ooo, sabotage. See, this is why Aephorul wanted people who are morally neutral. You don't get the same level of professional courtesy out of slaves forced to work at gunpoint.

Ohhhhhhh, good. Implication that the Watchmaker is still here, and adding fuel to the fire of my theory that Cael and the other kid geniuses are those dipshit Acolytes we keep transmuting into bloody stains on the grass.

"Whoops, my bad. I accidentally tripped over a cog and spun the entire mechanism into a blue-screen system crash. Sorry, I would have watched my step better but nobody understands how any of the magic here works so really, my ignorance is your fault."

Anyone inside the castle is functionally immortal but if you live here too long, you turn to sand and die when you walk out the front door. That would be difficult to get around for the Portal Bros.

So maybe they aren't the Acolytes? Unless those weirdass cultist suits counteract the effect in some way.

In any case, let's try not to spend a hundred years in there. This place sounds horrifying.

Having no idea they tried to trick him, he pulled some shit to make them more dependent on him anyway because he's a prick. Thus ensuring that his eternal workshop would always have a supply of hands to do the work, while unknowingly caging his own saboteurs in a pen with his critical workings.

Seems like the kind of thing that could bite him in the ass. Aephorul needs to learn to pay more attention.

That's what's throwing me about the "Maybe these kids are the Acolytes?" possibility. The Acolytes are pretty solidly in Aephorul's corner, but you'd think Cael and his gang would be coming up with more shenanigans to screw him over.

Yeah, that. They'd be doing that.

Between that and the "Can't leave the castle" thing, it seems very unlikely that Cael and the others are the Acolytes. I think that idea is solidly sunk.

So. Key takeaways:

1 - We have learned nothing about the Acolytes but a lot about their base of operations. Time is frozen in the castle but we shouldn't linger.

2 - The Watchmaker honestly doesn't give a shit one way or the other about any of this, but she is inside the castle. We might have to feed her some of her own teeth if she tries to start shit, but she's just as likely to let us do whatever as long as we don't get in the way of her own work.

Like Yoyo, she has no real allegiances whatsoever which makes her an ally to none but a valuable resource to anyone who knows which strings to pluck.

3 - Cael and his crew are also inside that castle and would be more than happy to help us ruin Fleshy's day.

Alright. I feel slightly more confident than I did before story time. Let's move out.

#sea of stars #drake plays sea of stars

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jinx-on-mars-19xx · 2 years ago

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Where the Sea and Land Kiss

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: future ABO (possibly). No real warnings yet, this is really just a test. An idea @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker and I were workshopping and I thought I'd see what everyone thinks. Cursing, boys looking at each other longingly, mentioned violence, vikings, magic, naked boys ☠️ Rating: mature

I'm not done with the other I swear, I've just been very sick with a lot on my mind so I've been resting but we talked about this and I had to test it out. I hope you enjoy 🖤

Something woke Kol'son from his deep sleep. He was always ready for battle, he had been raised to listen to every twig or crackle of the fire or shift of the wind but as his blue eyes opened just enough to scan the room he didn't feel danger. Whatever had made the noise didn't make the man's hackles rise or set an alarm off in his head. He'd been brought up to listen to his senses and trust his instincts but he was confused. Somehow he knew his home had been invaded but he didn't feel threatened. For a moment he thought one of his clan's children had come to him or possibly one of the women had snuck in to try and bed him again but the world quieted and he let a sigh escape.

The chieftain rolled on his side then to his belly, his soft cock ghosting against the unbelievably plush new pelt he'd been gifted and he couldn't help rolling his hips just to feel it a little more. He normally didn't accept gifts but there was something about the skin that drew him in. He folded his arms under his head and wiggled against the fur, letting the crackle of his fire lull him back to rest.

Damhnaic scoffed, he couldn't believe his pelt was being so molested by the warrior and he knew this was all his fault. All he'd wanted that morning was to get a closer look at the leader when members of his tribe fished in the boy's waters. He'd done it before, he'd been watching the man for years now but he must have gotten careless and left his fur where it could be stolen. When he returned to where he'd left it he found his hiding spot empty and a scent of children was left in its wake. He'd followed the group further than ever before, wandering after them all the way to their home and he waited in the tree line for darkness. His senses had of course led him here. To the leader. The naked, sleeping, quite frankly gorgeous leader and his pelt under him. Fuck it was just his luck.

"Join or fuck off." A gruff voice sounded and the selkie jumped, his jade eyes wide, his plush bottom lip rolling between his teeth. The man couldn't be talking to him could he? As he looked around he realized no one else was with them. He'd never been spoken to by a human. That wasn't allowed. "Your third option is die but my bed is new and I don't want blood on it."

Kol'son hadn't moved to look who was in his hut, he assumed one of the women but when he didn't hear anything he peeked across the room. In the shadows was a beautiful boy but the firelight caught his eyes and they reflected like the beasts of the land. That… wasn't normal. Must have been a trick of the light. "Are you lost?" He sighed, rolling back to his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Perhaps it was a son of another tribe who fell behind during a hunt. The kid looked young. Younger than him and he wasn't truly chieftain age, he wouldn't hold his position if not for his father's untimely death. He tried to live up to his name's promise, especially with something like that, but he knew at times he could be too soft. He should be gutting the intruder, not sitting up and trying his hardest not to scare him.

He pushed a hand through his hair, the blonde braids tickling his shoulder as he tilted his head and watched the kid. "Do you need something? Besides clothes?" Shit he was naked and beautiful and it made the man realize they were both bare to the elements. It was after all though his home. The intruder was the strange one.

"As if you can talk." The boy couldn't help but quip and he clamped his jaw shut. His first words to a human were sarcastic. Of course. He could just hear his mother's voice screaming in his head about the evil men and their brutal nature. His pelt was already stolen, he was fucked.

The chieftain surprised him by laughing, his head thrown back, his stomach muscles clenching. He couldn't help but stare at the tattooed and scarred skin. For a human he was gorgeous and if he smirked back and took a few steps closer no one could blame him. The bastard was magnetic. "Come, sit next to the fire and relax boy. Tell me where you're from. I don't recognize your accent." Kol'son knew that was a bad sign, the kid sounded far different than anything he'd heard before and he had been on plenty of travels.

"Let's jus' say I'm… from across the sea." Damhnaic tried not to laugh at his own joke as he stepped closer and bravely took a seat on his own fucking pelt. It wasn't the first time but it was definitely the first anyone else had shared it with him. Especially naked. What was happening? "Me people traveled 'ere and um… we lost our way. I got separated from 'em and found me way 'ere. When I saw ya fire was still burning I… I was cold." He shrugged, most of it was close enough to the truth. He didn't think he could get his skin back easily so perhaps making nice with the human would keep him safe for the night. He could steal it back in the morning and run for it. No harm no foul.

"Kol'son." The man nodded.

"I know."

"What?"

"Nuffin. I… 'eard someone. Um yeah, Damhnaic." When the human offered his arm to embrace the boy got nervous. He'd thought of touching him for so long but… that definitely wasn't allowed. As the chieftain tried to pronounce his name he felt something in his belly bubble, a rush of giddy nerves that had him reaching out and clasping the inked forearm. The Viking felt strong, his muscles bunching under his touch as they grasped and shook, greeting each other and lingering longer than strictly necessary. "Dom works." He finally giggled when the difference between their tongues was too glaringly obvious. It was cute the way he tried to shape sounds he'd never heard. He knew enough of the Viking's language to know that his name meant dark. Virtuous. Leader. Something far more beautiful than his own, he never felt like a gift for a god. He remembered the man's father, most of the clan he'd been following seemed nice and he still remembered the sound of his new friend's cries when he was told of his father's death at sea.

The newcomer got a faraway look and Kol accidentally tightened his hold. The boy's skin felt cool to the touch, almost wet in a way and he couldn't seem to let go. "Where are you?" He whispered, watching the orange flames flicker in the boy's big eyes but his voice startled him.

"Nowhere. Sorry I- I'm tired." Dom smiled, pulling his hand back and tucking his long raven hair behind his pointed ear. His skin almost burned where they'd touched as if he was forever marked. How was the human so hot? He didn't think they were supposed to run so warm. "I should go." He whispered into the air between them but he made no move to escape.

"Stay." Kol'son sighed back before shaking himself and clearing his throat. If he didn't know better he'd think the boy magic. There certainly was a spell over him. He shouldn't let someone sleep in his home but he didn't want him leaving. He couldn't bear it. "You're welcome here. Just sleep and in the morning we can find you something to wear and fill your belly and I'll try and help you find your way home." There, that sounded like something a leader would do. Right?

Damhnaic smiled and chewed nervously at his lip. The Viking was surprised by the sharpness of his teeth but he knew other clans sometimes did that to their people to scare off others. Give them an edge. He just hoped the boy wasn't from one of the cannibal tribes. Shit maybe he should ask more but not yet. The kid looked exhausted and scared.

Dom shifted down, a little confused at the offer but he tried to lay on his own damn pelt and rest. His gaze fell to the fire instead of the man but he could still feel the heavy blue eyes on his skin and when Kol'son finally laid down and got comfortable he swore he could feel the touch even though he wasn't in his own fur. He didn't know how he was supposed to sleep but perhaps laying on a bed with the human all night wouldn't be so bad. He would just enjoy the company and leave when the leader was distracted. He just needed to wait for a moment he could secret his self away. That was all. He was just trying to keep his pack safe. Keep hidden. That was obviously the only reason he would stay the night. Obviously. One night and no longer. What harm could it be?

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @manicpixiedreamb0y @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @cole-way-iero28

This is a viking/selkie AU if that wasn't obvious. Names have been slightly altered but they're still them. I'm not totally sure how this will go so let me know what you think. I'm nervous. I've never done anything more story than sex 😂🖤☠️

#yungblud #dominic harrison #dom harrison #machine gun kelly #mgk #colson baker #dom and colson #dom x colson #dom and colson fic #dom x colson fic #com #yungblud and machine gun kelly fic #my fics #jinx fics #vikings #magic #testing an idea

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chronicparagon · 8 months ago

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Get to know Cher!

last song you listened to: Sharp Fangs What is a Heart, RemoveFace, and 9Lives

what's your phone wallpaper: My home screen is a gift a wonderful friend drew. It was based on the reply I wrote for an ask he sent and I love the picture to this day. My friend is one of my favorite artists, so I was absolutely thrilled when he drew a scene from my drabble.

currently reading: Sadly, it's nothing too exciting. It's a lot of articles from medical and public health journals for work. Reports and memos from meetings are included too.

what are you wearing right now?: Since I'm not working, I'm wearing leggings that have constellations, crystals, and moons all over it. The leggings are deep blue and teal so I got a teal tank top on. I also have a large navy hoodie with the name of a wildlife rescue in my area on it.

how tall are you?: 5'...Just 5 feet (152 cm).

piercings / tattoos?: I have several tattoos. I got a purple crystal with pink flowers on my left forearm, a small purple star on my chest, moon phases with a watercolor background down my back. I also have a jaguar with a moon on my left shoulder blade. It matches one of my sister's tattoos but her jaguar has a sun for a background. I also have a quarter sleeve of flowers on my upper right arm. It's outlined and shaded but not yet colored. I would like to finish it but need to save up for it. I would like to have a couple more that is based on my tribe's culture, too. I chose to have tattoos since they are pretty significant to my heritage. I'm not sure if my next tat will be Sinti Holo (The Horned Serpent), or something else related to my tribe. Of course, it would need to be after I have my sleeve colored. If I could, I would have my clan animal tattooed. My tribe had a clan system but I don't know what mine is. It's likely a hunter one (deer, wildcat, fish or panther) or warrior (wolf, alligator, skunk, or turtle).

As for piercings, I have one on each earlobe. I used to experiment with piercings and I had multiple piercings on my ears, a nose stud, and a Monroe piercing (upper lip). However, I took most of them out except the one ear lobes for a few reasons. If I still had them, work wouldn't allow me to keep them. So, most of them had to go.

glasses / contacts: Glasses. I tried contacts many times over the years, but my eyes were always tearful and stung. I tried several brands but my eyes were too sensitive. I wish I could wear contacts, though. I really do.

last thing you ate?: A burger from Braums, which is kind of like Culver's. Kind of, sort of. I really miss that place.

favorite color: Black and purple

current obsession: I guess it's gaming. I play a few games with HSR and Genshin being the main ones for now.

favorite fictional character: . My friends' ocs are some of my favorites. I also really like Boothill from Honkai Star Rail. I've been looking up Hu Tao from Genshin too.

last place you travelled: Pittsburgh for a business trip. It was for a workshop and conference, so it's not too thrilling, I'm afraid. I love to travel and I wish I could do that more. I miss traveling internationally the most. I've been to Japan in 2017 for a month, then spent two weeks in Belize in 2018. Since then, I traveled within the US.

Took it from @ancicntforged

Tagging: I was so, so tempted to tag people because I really want to get to know you guys. However, I understand if that's not preferred since many of the questions are kind of personal. If you do this, though, please mention me so I can learn about you, please.

#ooc

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sjjnyc · 1 year ago

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dream workshop with charmaine bee

I'm very happy that I had a chance to take a dream workshop facilitated by charmaine bee; a dream tender, herbalist, swimmer and host of the Dream Support Hotline. Below, I share about how Lavender came into my life (I choose Lavender to work with during the workshop), my dreams related to death and my experiences strengthening a practice of documenting my dreams.

How did I meet Lavender?

In 2018 I met performance artist mayfield brooks and since that time, I have attended several of their performances, movement workshops and even got to participate in a dance film they created in 2021 called "Whale Fall". One time I went to one of their Improvising While Black workshops at 122CC - Ninth Street Studio via Movement Research where we drank Lavender tea. I had never had Lavender tea before and remember it being really fragrant, oily and extremely relaxing. It must have left an impression on me because ever since then, I've day-dreamed about working with Lavender off and on, eventually getting some at my go-to herb store in Brooklyn. Years later (i.e. this year actually - 2023), I would see a jar of Lavender Honey during my Valentine's Day trip to Albuquerque, New Mexico, and I knew I just had to have it! And when I didn't have Lavender in my life, this plant still found a way to me, particularly as an herbal hand salve from my friend and herbalist, Katie Calcaterra of Big Love Botanicals. I can see why mayfield worked with Lavender as a performing artist because it's so calming, and for some reason I want to connect this plant to my dreamtime. I drink Lavender tea with Milky Oats sometimes while I make this website. Even though I've always known about Lavender, I didn't really start paying attention to the plant until the Improvising While Black movement workshop with mayfield.

Tending to our dreams: making time to acknowledge them

I really enjoyed charmaine's workshop; it gave me a lot to think about, particularly how I record my dreams. We talked a lot about the ways we can document our dreams whether by journaling or remembering them using a voice recorder app on our phones. I've mostly recorded my dreams with a voice app, but I do want to explore writing my dreams down. I'm really inspired when I learn about other people's dream journals; for example, "MISA TSURUTA EXPLORES THE INFLUENCE OF THE CULTURE ON DREAMS" is an interview by Charmaine Li in a dope dream focused online magazine called ONEIRIC.SPACE. Li talks about a Buddhist priest who kept dream journals for a large part of this life that are still available today. Read an excerpt from the interview below:

I wanted to ask you about one of the prominent dreamers in Japanese history named Myōe (1173-1232) that you’ve spoken about at the IASD conference. Could you introduce us to him?

"Myōe was a Buddhist priest who lived in the twelfth century during the transition from the Heian period to the Kamakura period. During this time in Japanese society, the power shifted from the aristocrats to the warriors—so the samurais. As a child, Myōe lost his parents and was then sent to live in a temple. He wanted to be a Buddhist monk early on and went on to study the Kegon sect of Buddhism, which he wanted to rejuvenate and preserve. He was very critical of his Buddhist peers at the time and was so devoted to his practice that in one instance he cut off his ear to prove it. Later on, Myōe founded and led the Kōzan-ji Temple in the mountains of Toganoo, near Kyoto. He’s very well-known for keeping dream journals from the age of 19 to 58—and they still exist today. They’re actually kept in a few different places around Kyoto. It’s quite amazing that we still have access to these dreams records from the twelfth century".

Months later I would read an Instagram post by Queens-based poet Sherese Francis about their research on Benjamin Banneker's dream journal. Shout out to Sherese because learning about this opened up my dream explorations even more! I did a brief google search on Banneker's dream journal and Google brought me to a book called "The Scribes of Sleep: Insights from the Most Important Dream Journals in History" which was recently published June 22, 2023! And honestly, this is what I needed to find because I feel like I want to create a robust practice of recording my dreams, but I haven't taken it seriously. Until now.

Documenting our dreams with the possibility that they could be shared publicly one day could be an interesting way to continue communicating with and even inspiring others when we are long gone. We could also view this as ancestor work in the form of left-behind dream writings and other embodiments. Imagine a dream journal (day and night-time dreams) as an extension of your legacy as well. In another vein, it's totally fine to record our dreams only for ourselves, and even our (chosen) families, and not offer them to the public. There's a variety of ways to connect to and share our dreams.

Sharing a few of my dreams on the internet

These dreams (and a few more) will only be available to listen to until the end of October. Thank you for taking time to look at my website and listen to my dreams.

Dream Transcript:

I had this dream that I was, I could choose between going to this really nice trailer or this home. But I just remember choosing a home, and then changing my mind and said oh I have to tell grandma, oh I was in this trailer. I can't remember it at all, but I just remember some kid that I knew taking me to their, taking me to a house but it was a trailer, I don't know. And we went upstairs and there was this table filled with all these gorgeous herbal medicines. I just remember there was this lotion, this lotion with . . . it had Calendula and Rose in it. This lady also said there was molasses. There were just these beautiful medicines to dig through. She asked me . . . I just remember looking out and seeing this beautiful expansive sky, and her saying, "do you want to go home?". I remember thinking this is so different than being in New York, being in the city. There was so much more to that dream. But the thing that really stuck with me was . . . those gorgeous medicines.

*dreams are recorded right after I wake up

Dream Transcript:

Oh, see I didn't even record. I just said in my last dream that I was dreaming a lot, but I remember . . . walking past this tiger that was like, split open, and its body had been deteriorating in a pool of water. And it's eyes were wide open and there was someone else dead next to him. Like a Black woman, and I don't know who it was, but I think I was looking for her. I remember thinking water is connected to wealth and also violence. There was a lot going on in this dream, like, I was in this dark house and I grabbed some fruit, but it was so dark and . . . I don't know, it was like I was in different worlds . . . I don't know if I'm dealing with ghosts, I don't know. Okay, now I'm going to look up what a dead tiger means, because tigers have always represented God to me, so . . . let's go see what this means.

*dreams are recorded right after I wake up

PROMPT: Record your dreams (I especially encourage using the voice app on your phone) and listen to them in six months with some snacks! I personally like eating fruit, nuts, jerky, cashew yogurt ect when I listen to my dreams!

Lighting Candels: Dreams about death

**Trigger Warning: I talk about death**

I have had a lot of dreams about death; whether I am actively passing away myself, or I have died already and observe a group of people conducting my funeral rites, to dreaming of ghosts, which are different than the dead people I dream about, who some if not all know they are dead, to dreaming of my great-grandmother's voice and visiting her as she asks me "what am I doing here?". It wouldn't be the first-time I find myself with people who have passed away in my dreams, and they ask me in one way or another what I'm doing there. Me, I'm like - what am I doing where? Where am I?

My reaction to these dreams at first was like . . . Okay . . . lol . . . it was odd but I never thought too deeply about them. Then I started having more and more dreams related to death, and then I started paying attention. I noticed I wasn't scared in any of these dreams (and there's more details about them that I'm not sharing here), and it got me thinking about how death and ghosts in particular are portrayed in film. More on this later.

These dreams have stayed with me (and I don't usually remember my dreams, but as I always say, when I remember my dreams it's because I'm supposed to and/or something is being communicated to me), and I've tried to make sense of them, but I don't have any answers I'm completely sure of. I do know that the more I have acknowledged these dreams, the more they come to me. I feel like acknowledging dreams and the dream world in general is telling this world "I am open to you".

Back to the portrayal of ghosts - kids movies can truly be healing. Check out the section of this website where I talk about my favorite films and TV shows I watched during my time in Arizona, and how #adulting is not always what it's cracked up to be. Anyway, hang tight with me, I know this is a lot of words, but I really want to share this.

Last Fall I watched 28 Days Haunted; a reality tv show that sends paranormal investigators and psychic-mediums to some of the most haunted houses in the United States. I personally didn't like this show at all because there was this overwhelming focus on evil, fear and trauma. If I could write Netflix, I'd tell them to take the show off their streaming service and cancel it. Even though I know the participants signed up for the experience, I can't imagine what they were going through.

After watching that show I had to cleanse my aura and remember there are other portrayals of death and ghosts, like "Coco" (2017 -video clip shown below), "Casper" (1995), "Haunted Mansion" (2003), "Ghost" (1990) and even "Beetlejuice" (1988) and "Pirates of the Caribbean" (2003). A bit of fright like the Sixth Sense (1999) is okay (not opposed to snuggling up with friends/bae and watching a scary movie), as long as I know there are other ghost stories out there and find balance around different representations. Death, funeral rites, ghosts ect shown through magical realism, fantasy, comedy and more is cool. It's worth it to contemplate how all these things are being served to you.

youtube

Well, I've written so much and think I will end here: the more I think about death and all that it is connected to, for example, the soul, how different families and cultures honor and remember a person's life, grief, dreams, the ancestral realm, mediums, God, the unknown and more, it feels like a really rich and tender topic to explore.

#dreams #dream journal #lavender #herbalism

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zedecksiew · 4 years ago

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Kriegsmesser

When I received Kriegsmesser in the mail I finally googled "kriegsmesser", and found out it meant "war knife". Which makes sense; Gregor Vuga's ZineQuest 2021 project is a tribute to "roleplaying games named after medieval weapons".

I love Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay's piss-renaissance Old World setting. I tend to pick up WFRP-a-likes sight unseen:

Warlock (quality);

Small But Vicious Dog (yesss);

Zweihander (which I have come to hate); etc.

Anyway: I backed Kriegsmesser without really knowing anything about it. So Kriegsmesser surprised me.

Kriegsmesser grew out of a Troika! cutting. Its 36 backgrounds are compatible with that system: each come with a couple of lines of description; a list of skills and possessions; an a visual cameo cropped from actual 16th-Century woodcut art.

Cohesive and competently flavourful. My favourite is the Labourer, who always starts with "an empty pine box":

"You've spent your life breaking your back, working hard for other people's profit. You have nothing to show for it but a spectre of the future."

(The obligatory ratcatcher-analogue , called the Vermin Snatcher, is here -- check that box!)

Kriegsmesser also comes with its own ruleset. Hits all the notes it needs to, with lots of orientation and advice for how to run a game -- but ultimately super-simple, mechanically:

Roll d6s equal to the value in a relevant skill, look at the highest result. 6 means you get what you want; 5 or 4 means you get what you want, at a cost.

It's not quite a dice pool, since only the highest result matters. No opposed tests.

Kriegsmesser intends to have this base mechanic handle fights, too. The combat rules - with armour, toughness and weapon values -- are nested in an optional section.

For a WFRP-a-like, this feels like a purposeful departure.

Many of WFRP's most celebrated adventures are celebrated for bits that their underlying ruleset does little to support: the investigative structure of "Shadows Over Bogenhafen"; the complicated timetable of "Rough Night At Three Feathers".

Ludwig von Wittgenstein never needed a statblock to be memorable.

Not to say that lethal, hyper-detailed fights isn't super Warhammer-y. (Kriegsmesser includes an injury table, broken down by body-part -- check that box!)

But here it feels like Gregor is saying: "I'm not Games Workshop and Roleplay isn't an ancillary of Warhammer Fantasy Battle; we can evoke grim-and-perilous-ness even if we fork away from heavy combat rules."

It has become ritual for me to read my partner Sharon to sleep.

Sometimes I read her RPG things. The other night, after I read her Kriegsmesser's introduction --

" The Empire wages an eternal war against Chaos. Its priests preach of Chaos as an intrusion, something unnatural ... These men see Chaos in anything that does not buttress their rule. They call it disorder, anarchy, corruption. They say that to rebel against their order is to rebel against god and nature. That the current arrangement is natural, rather than artificial.

" Meanwhile, the common people look to the Empire to deliver the justice that they were promised and they find none. They look to the Empire and do not see themselves reflected in it. They look around at what they were taught was right and good and see only misery.

" Their world begins to unravel. Chaos comes to reside in every heart and mind sound enough to look at the world and conclude it is broken. "

-- Sharon remarked: "Nice one."

The RPG things I read her generally leave Sharon lukewarm. She has enjoyed a couple -- but, yeah: for many of these books, text isn't their strong point.

Kriegsmesser is the only time I can recall Sharon praising the writing of an RPG book without my prompting.

Nice one.

That introduction surprised me. It underlines Kriegsmesser's biggest departure from its WFRP-a-like pedigree: how it characterises Chaos.

Corruption, a mainstay of most grim-dark-y games, is made an optional rule, like combat. Explaining this, Gregor writes:

" Kriegsmesser partially subverts or deconstructs the traditional conceit of Warhammer where the characters are threatened by the forces of Chaos. In this game it is the player characters who are the agents of 'Chaos': they are likely to become the 'rats' under the streets, and the wild 'beast-men' in the woods bringing civilisation down. It's the Empire and its nobles and priests that are corrupt ... "

Describing the Empire, Gregor writes:

" The Empire encompasses the world yet is terrified of the without. It enforces itself with steel and fire yet considers itself benevolent. It consumes the labour of others with bottomless hunger yet calls its subalterns lazy, or wasteful, or greedy. "

Holy shit this is the first time I've seen the word "subaltern" in an RPG thing, I think?

I love this.

Rant incoming:

With every passing decade Warhammer abridges its Moorcockian roots more and more; nowadays it is "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", pretty much.

Gone are the days when chaos berserkers are implied to grant safe passage to the helpless (because Khorne is as much a god of martial honour as he is a god of bloodletting); Or that the succor of Papa Nurgle is a genuine comfort to the downtrodden; Or that Tzeentch could unironically embody the principle of hope, of change for the better.

As Chaos is distilled into unequivocal villainy, Order goons get painted as Good Guys by default --

Giving rise to Warhammer's contemporary problem, wherein fans are no longer able to recognise satire.

When I was introduced to 40K, it seemed pretty clear that the Imperium was a Brazil-esque absurdist-fascist bureaucratic state: planets are exterminatus-ed due to clerical error; the way it stamps out rebellions is the reason why rebellions begin in the first place.

Tragi-comic grimdarkness. That was the point.

Nowadays that tone has shifted -- and you're more likely than not going to encounter a 40K fan who argues that the Imperium's evils are a justified necessity, to prevent worse wrongs.

We went from:

"Space Nazis because insane dumbass fuckery, also chainswords vroom vroom rule of badass!"

To:

"Space Nazis because it makes sense actually, and also chainswords make sense because [insert convoluted rationalisation here]."

Even Fantasy Flight's Black Crusade line, which ostensibly offers a look at 40K from the perspective of Chaos, never truly commits to its conceit.

With prep you could play a heroic band of mutant freedom fighters, resisting the tyranny of the Evil Imperium --

But I don't remember Black Crusade giving that kind of campaign any actual support. Its supplements service the relatively more conventional "You can play villains!" angle; the Screaming Vortex is a squarely Daemons-vs-Daemons setting.

This tonal drift culminates, in my mind, with Age of Sigmar, Games Workshop's heroic-fantasy replacement of the old WFRP / WHFB setting.

Here's the framing narrative for AoS's recently-launched Third Edition. Let's see whether I've got things right:

A highly professionalised, technologically-superior tip-of-the-spear fighting force (the Stormcast Eternals);

Backed by an imperialist military-industrial complex (Azyrheim);

"Liberating" rich new territories (Ghur) for exploitation by a civilised settler culture (Settlers of Sig-- I mean, Free Cities);

Justified because the locals are irredeemable heathens (Chaos and Kruleboyz).

I mean, that's a sweet-ass Warhammer setting. It's contemporary, laser-guided lampoon. Except it is played totally straight.

In AoS, a literal crusade is justified as the moral good.

I think Kriegsmesser surprised me because its framing of Chaos -- as a promise, as the light of hope shining through cracks of a broken world --

It feels so fucking right.

Yes: its a subaltern deconstruction of the conventional moral universe of Warhammer -- but it is a take that is also already implied / all but supported in the various depictions of the setting: from WFRP to the modified title-crawl of Black Crusade.

I'm annoyed I didn't think of it, myself. Damn you, Gregor!

And I'm annoyed that more Warhammer fans aren't thinking it, also.

lmagine if Kriegsmesser's perspective stood on equal standing as the GW orthodoxy. Imagine if, instead of simplifying stuff into "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", GW did a Gregor Vuga.

You'd have a Rashomon-ed Warhammer, where villainy depends on perspective:

You are fearful villagers, huddled around your priest, muttering prayers against the wild braying coming from the trees beyond your gates.

You are Aqshyian tribeswomen, defying the thunder warrior towering over you, the foreigner demanding you bow to his foreign god.

You are a Tzeentchian revolutionary cell, desperately trying to disrupt a Inquisitor's transmissions so your home planet isn't destroyed by fascist orbital fire.

Get Kriegsmesser HERE.

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( Image sources: https://theenemywithinremixed.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/thoughts-on-the-4e-death-on-the-reik/ https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/59-brazil https://www.deviantart.com/faroldjo/art/Warhammer-40k-Black-Crusade-273596035 https://www.warhammer-community.com/2021/06/09/fancy-a-new-life-bringing-order-to-the-mortal-realms-join-a-dawnbringer-crusade-today/ https://www.nme.com/blogs/the-movies-blog/team-america-15-anniversary-south-park-2558750 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_children_and_Israeli_wall.jpg )

#reviews #kriegsmesser #gregor vuga #warhammer #writing #rants #overthinking #rpgs #wfrp

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