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Dungeon: The Bleakfatherâs Throne
The world is heavy here, cold knaws at the bones of your companions making every step forward a struggle and the desolate wind sounds like a lamentation. Coming over the rise you see it, the regal corpse that rivals the surrounding mountains for imposing grandeur, the source of this dread season that seeks to smother all good things beneath its sorrow.Â
Not all archfey are tricksters or stag-crowned gentry. Like the realm they inhabit, they embody stories, emotions, and the strongest aspects of nature. The Bleakfather is an aspect of winter at itâs most cruel and deadly, as well as the sorrow that saps the will to go on living, all too common in those long, dark months. For ages untold he has sat his mountain-hewn throne, mummified by the cold winds of his domain as the depths of his misery chokes every spark of life from the land.Â
So titanic in size, the bleakfatherâs throne is itself a fortress inhabited by ice giants who claim decent from the archfey and raid in his name. They fear their fatherâs stirring from his glacial malaise, and so listen for his voice on the wind and scour the surrounding lands for any note of happiness that would defy the tyrantâs sorrowful reign.Â
Adventure Hooks:Â
With his eyes on becoming Jarl of the Bleakfatherâs Children, an upstart Jotunn by the name of Talfjarn has assembled a warband and is going raiding in the realm of mortals, hunting the coast on longships the size of wargalleys with an enchanted storm at their back. Though heâs willing to crack towns open in the hopes of gathering pillage and slaves, heâs heard tell of a dragon slumbering somewhere up river that he wishes to test his mettle against.Â
The giants have constructed a great temple in the vault of their fatherâs sword hand, where the trophies of great battles are heaped and the haunted wind howls between his pillar like fingers. Here there shamans divine the Bleakfatherâs will, and listen for disturbances that might dare wake him. Unluckily for our heroes, a celebration they attended ended up getting rowdy enough that its echoes were heard all the way in the feywild..and now a squad of towering winter warriors will be showing up to crash the party and put an end to their good times. Â
There is power in mythology. Itâs said in years beyond counting that the Bleakfather destroyed the ancient dwarven kingdom in order to steal a relic of great beauty upon which the dwarven lords and ladies swore their oath. Seeking to reunite the warring clans, a would-be hero has set her sights on breaking into the archfeyâs vaults and taking back the relic. Itâs only after the party aid her in this daring task that they realize that her advisor had a very different end in mind: Waking the Bleakfather and letting him rampage through the material plane in a jealous rage, to better clear the way for a new order with the advisor at its head.Â
#winter#wintertide#festival#seaside#giant#feywild#mountain dungeon#mountain#dwarf#villain giant#treasure hunt#villain#congrats friends this year's holiday special big bad is my seasonal depression
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Tiberius Ragefist of the Rage warband
#gw2#guild wars 2#heâs a grumpy old coot and also dead#he was one of nanaâs warband#charr#gw2 screenshots#Lynx talks#Tiberius Ragefist
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He has heard about how the Chaos gods or some thing out there must have some measure of influence over this world. How whatever entities that do this seem to do this willy nilly, no pattern to be seen. He had raged when he found himself transported from the middle of a battlefield to a vast open grassland.
It was a relief to him to find a small warband of fellow brothers who were roaming to find a place to lay claim to. Only for him to realize that none of them were from the same... time. Some were from centuries ago when they had only just turned their backs on the Imperium with one from an entire century later than him. He's thoroughly confused by it all, his new brothers didn't have much answers on how or why. Mere speculations and theories.
It's difficult getting used to the lack of enemies. Most of the various warbands, chapters and legions have an unspoken truce in place, seemingly something new in their subconscious making them less willing to start a war in this medieval version of Terra. He gets by by sparring with these new brothers of his, finding new challenges in those not around his time.
But it was the bonding that surprised him most. That there's a curse that turns the most savage and feral brothers into purring house broken marines. He scoffed at the idea, adamant that he would never fall to such an ailment. If he did he would cut down the worthless human for daring to trap him in such a way.
That was until it happened to him.
Sneaking through dimly lit roads in the chill of winter, he chanced upon a young lady making her way back home. He thought to ignore her and simply carry on, she's not worth his energy. Something decided otherwise, he felt like he was made a passenger in his own body as his head turned and his gaze met hers. Behind eerie green lens his eyes widen, something within himself starts to crack and crumble in a landslide. From the rubble of his brutality a seedling grows, green shoots pointed to the skies and gentle leaves form. This little seedling reaches up, desperate for the sunlight of gentleness and acceptance, offering devotion and unyielding love in return.
The young lady takes a step back in that moment, shocked by his intimidating form. She slips on the pavement and he moves in a blurr. As he holds her gently, some part of him purrs, proud to have saved her from harm. His hearts race when she shyly thanks him for helping her. His warband is the furthest thing from his mind when he picks up her bag off the ground and follows her. Brothers? They can wait.
Grey eyes occasionally flick to take in his surroundings as he walks his human back to her apartment block. Rough croons of gothic leaves his lips as she timidly opens up to him with every step. He has to take it slow, he knows that humans don't feel this pull the way his kind does. He forces himself to step away once his human reaches her house. She gives him a small but sweet smile as she takes her bag from him, his hearts melt like the snow that falls upon his armor.
He makes his way back to his warband, turning back to see the lights in her apartment. His eyes spot his human with ease, watching until she disappears from view. Only then that he starts moving again. He has to inform his warband that he will not be staying them for much longer.
Tagged: @kit-williams ⢠@egrets-not-regrets ⢠@bleedingichorhearts
Sorry that this is a long one. I tried to stay on topic. I was trying to explore how bonding might be different for the more bloodthirsty individuals, if only to keep them from harming their bonded humans.
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Fall Narrative Mordheim Campaign is finished!
This week marked the end of the Rust Punks narrative campaign; Road to Mordheim. I had so much fun playing this season, and I wanted to write something about my experience.
My Warband, The Palebray Dispoilers
This season I decided to run Beastmen! Iâm already working on a beastmen army for TOW and I thought itâd be a great opportunity for me to play with my paint scheme and get some much needed work done.
Lore wise, I didnât develop much for my overall army aside from one big detail. The Palebray Dispoilers (bravely lead by my chieftain Baerox the Bearpelted) are monster hunters, every opportunity I had to go for a large target or a high value target, I went for it. This included a time where my Minotaur attempted a leaping attack from the top of a treetop banister. As I will soon mention our final match was against big monsters so I rushed them down like a raging lunatic.
The final match involved everyone creating and painting a âThing in the woodsâ and as I was already making a Jabberslythe I decided to finish building it and to paint it! Here it is facing off against a Cathayan Peasent! (And a little mid game group pic)
I wish I couldâve finished painting them but Iâve been swamped with work and it doesnât seem like Iâll have more time soon.
Anyways, thank you to Rust Punks for letting me play and thank you to the Sentry Box for hosting! Hereâs some more game pics for yâall đ¤đ
#warhammer fantasy#warhammercommunity#warhammer the old world#mordheim#beastmen#narrative#campaign#rustpunks#the sentry box
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Fallen redesign with other sketch relate to it here the lore Vallenritter the Undying Wrath
Ever since the start of the Corruption war, the culture of Wynn has changed from a simple agricultural province to war-ravaged one. One where stories are no longer mundane and are now filled with fear and horror of the war. Many of these stories become legends told to this day, and none is as infamous as the legend of Vallenritter. At least, that is one of its names, as the story changes and its details are lost to time. Many say it's a story about a vengeance filled knight consumed by rage, returning as a monster to terrorize the people of Wynn. Others say that evil itself manifested in disguise as a noble knight to stalk the plain and kill anyone in its way. No matter what the beginning, this tale always ends the same. The common people of Wynn band together and slay the terrible knight for good, but as everyone knows, death is no longer the end after the opening of the portal.Â
A forsaken roar marks a new revival to this tale. The corruption brings forth one of its oldest assets to return chaos to the province in a more twisted form. The roar drives the lesser corrupted to frenzy as they advance throughout the province. The Ragni army quickly sent out many scouting parties in response to find the source of this mishap. Few returned, but those who did reported a large undead movement headed by a warlord does not control its lesser, but dominate them by sheer violence and force. It does not matter; a warlord is still a warlord. The Ragni army gathered forces and marched to the plain to push back this new threat. It didn't take long for the two forces to clash.Â
At first, victory seemed so near for the Ragni troops, with the warlord seemingly too busy rampaging through its own army. Inevitably the warlord would find itself alone against the battalion, a rare sight in the province. Barrages fire one after another into the battlefield to take down the now armyless leader at what feels like the end of the battle. Yet the creature still stands. To the soldiersâ surprise, the undeadâs blood poured from its metal maw as its innards fell to the ground. As everyone stares in shock, the creature raises its head, and its body builds up some kind of glow, along with the spike on its back extending. None could prepare for what happened next as a torrent of blood jets out of the creatureâs maw onto the army that once attacked it. Those who are caught by the spraying ichor scream, only to find both their armor and their body melting and deforming. The formation quickly broke apart as those lucky enough to find cover watched the entire army reduced to barely a platoon. Watching the devastation that it caused, the monster roars triumphantly before continuing its advance onto the fortress.
The survivors regroup to formulate the plan to stop the beastâs advances and untold destruction to their home. With the knowledge that this is not the usual threat they once dealt with before, an unorthodox strategy was put into use to defeat this new threat. Fortunately, in its mercilessness, the creature often strayed from its path to destroy anything in its sight, even its fellow undead or an entire warband. Unthinkingly raiding the plain ,the survivors have time to set up their plan.Â
As the creature approaches the city,a sergeant offers herself to lead the creature to the trap point. She quickly lures it away, and as it chases her, she retreats to a recently abandoned shield formation with war wagons scattered about. Fooled by the illusion of a formation, the creature wastes no time to unleash the same disastrous attack to get rid of the line. As the creature attempted to heal its inside fromits attack, the trap sprung into action. War wagons arrived and quickly surrounded the creature, and the soldiers within them fired a barrage of projectiles at the creature in its most vulnerable stage. Under fire, the creature could withstand it long enough to attempt to use the same attack again, but it was interrupted by a wagon packed with explosives rushed from the hill to deliver the creature's explosive demise.
As soldiers recover from the smoke of the crash, they anticipate the creature to finally meet its end. It emerges from the smoke and prepares to enact its wrath onto the soldiers. Fortunately, the sergeant would return to the battle, and with one well placed shot into its shattered throat, the creature chokes as ichor flows from its wound, the hot liquid burning it inside and out. In that moment the beast fell, finally succumbing to the wounds littering its broken body. Cheers erupted from the soldiers once they realized their plan's success, and they returned to their home knowing they saved it from grave danger. However, unbeknownst to the survivors, the corruption would never give up one of its finest assets. Its flesh slowly regenerates, knitting itself together. Eventually it will awaken it once more to take revenge and terrorize the province.
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Gw2 Oc
Leonard Echowatcher is a Charr who grew disillusioned with the militaritic setting he was born in after being raised within Ascalon. The countless lives lost in a struggle against immortal enemies, and the physical reminder of how those in power doom many to restless deaths inspired him to study Necromancy, so that he may ease troubled spirits and urge them into the next cycle of life.
Leo knows change only comes to those with the strength to turn it's wheel, thus does he work within the system, becoming the change he so desperately wants for his people. Doing so, however, has put him on a path following the Commander, and getting swept up in the constant whirlwind of dangers threatening Tyria...
Extra Info:
Leo's entire character can be easily parsed when you know about how exactly he views Ascalon, which is where he primarily grew up.
I couldn't not make a charr, which is a highly militaritic culture, who is so reluctant to engage in "giving however many lives for victory" without acknowledging that a physical scar of how war is extremely corrupt and punishes all, is literally a charr starting area. Like Ik it might seem as me trying to make a completely contrasting charr (which tbf am) but i Swear it makes sense and is warranted...its all very facinating to me.
Ascalon is a living reminder that those in power fighting wars with grander meaning are all lost upon the common soldier. A king denied the grace of death in his blind rage and doomed his people to eternal hatred. Never evolving never given the chance to start anew.
It's a horrifying spit on the natural cycle of life, this is how Leo views it, it was his main drive to become a necromancer believing that if he understood the connection between life, death, the mists, he could greater understand how to possibly rid the foefire curse other than the obvious. Actually this little paragraph from my ship thinkpiece words it pretty well:
"Leo, on the other hand, was a coiled snake ready to strike. He had ambitions of his own, he grew tired of constant death, reckless fighting. Spirits lamented over lost opportunity, of being playthings in wars fought by higher powers. He grew up in a land that was a physical cautionary tell of how single individuals could ruin the very souls and doom entire nations. Souls that cant rest, souls that cant return. It was Ascalon that inspired him to become a necromancer, to commune with spirits, to treat the dead with reverance, and thus respecting life before its final march. It did outcast him from his warband, save for a single individual."
This leads into his reluctance to "Fall in line" blindly following the teachings of the charr taught to him in the farhar. He does so out of necessity, not out of any love or faith in such beliefs. Whenever possible he takes the harder road, doing things his way, less casualties, respect for life itself. Death is the natural end of all life, but what he hates is needless death, war is a terrible scar left on the soul itself.
So, he bites his tongue, he observes, he trains. What do higher ranked officers like to hear, how do you cheat lines and cut corners. The intracacies of charr politics of blood, skill, and carefully placed words. He would not Kill for it, not in the way he was expected to. He required the patience of a saint to see this all through in a way that stayed true to his beliefs. The personal story of his warband unraveling after they die fighting in Ascalon, his legionnaire granting him the favor of fighting against him in an arena to prove his worth all provide just the right amount of forward momentum he needed, as well as a reminder why he wants this change so badly in the first place.
It makes sense why he tends to keep to his own, why he is so defiant and stubborn. I review him as a reluctant "hero" that cannot escape the path he was put on. He has to be change because nobody else will do it if not him, he cannot leave his duties behind, even if he wants to. He makes personal sacrifices for this all the time. Above all of this, he is kind in a gentle, quiet way. In the same way a cave providing shelter from a storm is gentle. He is grounded, stabilized by his ideals with the patience needed to continue to weather any opposition, after all its his empathy, his bleeding heart for those he should have considered mindless ghosts the reason hes even here in the first place....
Anywho this is just some quick insight into who he is. Obviously he goes through changes from personal story into end of dragons but im very slowly working through that so im not putting any of it here in case I change things...I like this guy a lot
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Somnus Voidwalker
Former Member of Ash-Legion, Contract Killer and younger Brother of Xantin.
He vanished with his whole Warband during the Civil War. Nobody knew what happened - whether they died or deserted. But one day a traveling Olmakhan found a lost Charr - Somnus. His expression was empty and yet there was pure horror in his eyes. But the young Charr was not able to tell what happened to him. He barely moved. He rarely spoke. He just sat there and stared. The Olmakhan sensed something was wrong with this Charr. Bad spirits surrounded him. So he gifted him some of his lucky charms - He hung them on the massive horns of the rather smaller Charr. They traveled together for a while, until Somnus suddenly snapped - Killing the friendly Olmakhan in a sudden fit of rage. Lost again he continued traveling, his former Companion still at his side. He was once again found by another group of Charr. These were on their way to a special place. A safe haven for lost charr like them - and like Somnus.
There he was reunited with his older brother Xantin. But while Xantin was overwhelmed to see his younger brother again. Nothing moved in Somnus. He just stared with empty eyes.
Even to this day Xantin is unawew what happened to Somnus. He often just sits in his corner and stares into the darkness. He's only moving to eat or go to sleep. Xantin tries his best to take care of his brother. But with every day that passes, Xantin realizes that his brother is dead. He is just an empty shell. One day he takes him to a walk. Determined to put him out of his suffering that day. But to Xantins surprise Somnus started to talk to him. One short and clear state of mind - like he was back then, before the Civil war happened. With his brother's words, Xantins wasn't able to go through with his plan. He took Somnus home again - returning to the old routine.
With Xantin at his side, Somnus now and then is able to return to a clear state of mind. And Xantin is the only one able to calm him down - every year, at the same day Somnus snappes in panic and rage. It's the day he once vanished.
---
Both brothers side by side.
Don't get fooled. Somnus is might be small, but he is very muscular. He hits hard - and his magic as Catalyst is even more devastating.
(I just wanted to try out Catalyst. So a new cat was born. That's how most of my Charrs come to life: I want a Char with that specific Spec. Soulborn Untamed is another one, soon to come. I already have rough ideas for her :3)
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The Fox-King's Procession
âForces of Chaos,â the voice carried in the howling gale of perfumed winds. Every warrior that called onto the Dark Powers and been caressed by the ruinous gifts felt it touch their minds and bodies into a quivers that faltered their battle for the briefest blissful moment. All eyes were following a great being striding into this reality. âBow to me.â
And they did, even when their minds commanded otherwise. Their knees were weak. Their hearts pattering and the warbands fell one at a time before the passing power. Those of the Dark Prince fell into the prostate before a great vision of their stolen god. Musclebound and intent, swaying like a courtesan among hungry nobles and soldiers to the curvaceous attraction bedazzled by jewels bouncing off bountiful thighs and tight waist. Armoured of limbs, layered by a hateful dragon yet boldly naked of chest and groin, pristine velvet-soft pelt of deathâs pallor.Â
Its face clad by a twisted foxâs laughing sneer with the most hateful gaze, none worthy to even a momentâs glance. Those caressed by the whipping nest of tails sixfold dropped dead of cruel razor-fur, salivating maws full of teeth that shouldnât be, or the crushing whip of disdain. Every soul plucked to give the miniscule sample of life onto the crossing being.Â
None raised their eyes. All forced to the dirt as they should. Nostrils bleeding with the bountiful musk that pushed through the six-limbed daemonâs pores. A smell so odorous of sulfuric poison yet demanding that they huffed again, hoping for another painful taste for that slightest hint of the pure carnality. For Pain was its commandment. The only bliss that it radiates is the freedom of the mortal coil that everyone wore, even the temporary presence of the undead.Â
At its heel, a great host processed behind its ruinous king. The bounding of daemonic steeds ridden by prideful knights and salacious hunters to attend its great hunt, ranks of hellplated warriors and scarred marauders, dissents and love-slaves of every race and faction behind it while daemons danced and cartwheels singing their masterâs hateful motif that roused the submissive audience. Their hearts pounded and eyes wept as if they felt a wanting bounty to the Fox-Kingâs rage and tragedy, hundred of standards flew in a multitude of fleshly color and runes to his kingdom and godâs dominance. Even those of other gods had been transformed to that of the Dark Prince provided the moment of shade.
 Oh woe, To lose his opulent kingdom and godly might to a jealous megarie, even his beloved divine stolen. How could these cretins continue to live?
Warriors of Khorne started to fall on their own blades in associated shame. Their axes maiming their beloved weapon limbs, mutated tendrils coiling their necks for rightful strangulations, nails popping eyes in sweet agonizing pleas of forgiveness, blades piercing their too-aching hearts. Those too strong under their Skull-Father lunged, allowed a momentâs present glory and fell to Slaaneshi daemons and men happy to murder them with hundreds of stabbing and tearing. A single stroke of a quick death.Â
This and more turned into a growing aroma into the air, distorting and twisting to a perfume that clung to the battlefield. It brought the power of the Dark Prince deeper and fuelled the daemonsâ malevolent flesh. Men and women were plucked and added to the procession, seamlessly joining the mourners and bearers. The rest will be forever envious to have survived and be unchosen by the Host of the Fox-King.Â
And this insulted rage fell upon their new unity against the stormhost to stand in the Exalted of Daemonsâ way in his Great Hunt. They threw their fury and lives to the storm of Sigmarâs Un-Men before Ludwig the Obsessed dirtied his great claws, his voice was malevolent thunder over the flesh and ears as he sung in shrieking howls and venomous cries, turning blood into lead and melancholy slugged noble warriorsâ righteous swings.
Even for his size, he moved with a lightning-boltâs passing. Four limbs startling blows that claimed scores of lives as he swirled and twirled. A blade thorned like a spiteful rose and as red in its crystalline length sliced as fine as a painterâs brush and tossed blood just as fine. The death-bolts of Anvil-casted were the drums steadied and added to the warlike music, their supplement of freemen screamed in horror a chorus swooned by daemonettes and spell maestros directing the symphony to the wind of magics.Â
Even as the draconiths were claiming their own bounty of ruinous mortals, their hide were plucked and hearts given as great fistful grapes by the leaping dancers of Ludwigâs following Keeper-kin attracted to his self-pity and hateful following, jeering and swooning. Praising and urging him on, some even finding loving embrace and gossip-filled whispers to one another among the chaos.Â
The Aspired Patron cared little. His heart was too blackened and his body urged, as if his Stolen Prince could feel it all and begged him;
Go! Keep going, my beloved pet. Hunt those who undone you. Hunt for your lust of vengeance. Even chained, I love you and adore you. Send their souls onto me for your passion. Send your loversâ souls onto me for your obsessions. Send your pain onto me, so I may feel it carve my perfect ribs. And when their souls fill your breached gullet, let it remind me of my stolen bounty soon to return, O Precious Lap-Darling Mine.
Just the thought of those words drew poisonous tears that stained cheek and ground, Ludwig screamed as he cried out his Master-Mistressâ name and a tempest of scorning scourges spiraled around his being, claiming ally and foe both in bone-crushing coils and life-ending lashes. Their souls to be scattered and drunk, what wounds that felt like brushes of gnats closed and spurred their killer into a higher glory.
Kill! Kill! Kill!Â
Maim. Torture. Flay.Â
Kill everything denies you!Â
ALL FOR SLAâAâNESH!
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Pyraxus on brain time for some Flame Legion boy lore
Pyraxus Wrathscald, then Searcull was originally the leader of the Cull warband in flame, alongside his fellow Magus Aethercull among other warbandmates.
Pyraxus had a mate back in flame called Lucia, but it was kept on the down low, due to the history between flame female charr and shamans.
Eventually, this relationship was found out, about 7 years before Personal Story. And without Pyraxus' input, other shamans deemed Lucia a criminal who attempted to 'tempt Pyraxus away from the Flame Gods' path' and sacrifice her to the flame.
Needless to say Pyraxus becomes enraged, his eyes opened, and many flame shamans burn at his own hand before he makes his escape from the legion. Full of rage at what they're doing, full of guilt that he's been spending his life doing the same.
With a want to atone, and to make the Flame Legion pay for all they did, not only taking Lucia from him, but that the smoke cleared that Lucia isn't the only one subject to it.
He betrays to Ash, believing that Blood and Iron would kill him on the spot. He weighs his Flame Shaman intel for a place in Ash, and is accepted into Ash Centurion Igna Earthvein's warband as Pyraxus Embervein.
From here until Icebrood Saga, he would act as an Ash soldier, and learn Guardian magic to enhance his fire attunement. Life as he knew was completely different, and he had a harsh time as an ex-shaman. Thankfully Igna being an elementalist herself kept the warband he was in from pressuring him much about it.
He would respect the charr women more as equals in his time spent here, which adds further guilt to the way he saw Lucia as 'his alone.' Even if that was how she was comfortable with it being back then.
Come Icebrood Saga, and Efram Greetsglory creating a New Flame, Pyraxus was sceptical. And as part of Ash began to monitor them, he had the best chance at fitting in due to being ex-flame.
But it turned out that Efram's flame really wasn't anything like the old, Pyraxus was very quickly found out to be an Ash spy. And yet, this very thing manages to turn his wants. He doesn't want to be stuck in Ash, still dealing with the prejudice of being an ex-shaman.
He would join Efram's flame, beginning from the bottom. Working his way back up, eventually even making Centurion quickly as his dedication to this New Flame being exactly what he sees Flame should be.
It's also here he meets his old warbandmate Magus, still leading the rest of the band he abandoned. Magus' face is scarred and his eyes blinded, as it turns out he ended up taking the blame for Pyraxus' betrayal.
Despite them both now being on the same side again, Magus never stops holding a grudge on Pyraxus. And Pyraxus never asks for forgiveness, he doesn't want it.
And on that note, Pyraxus just does not think he should be forgiven, despite his path to atone. To be forgiven is to forget what he did, and he needs that to stay on his path of atonement. Just the same, he has no care for ever getting into a relationship with another charr again, for none could replace Lucia to him.
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Khârn the Betrayer is a prominent character in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. He is a member of the World Eaters Traitor Legion of Chaos Space Marines and is renowned as the greatest mortal Champion of the Blood God Khorne. Khârn is infamous for his extreme aggression and bloodlust, second only to his Primarch, Angron.
Khârn wields a heavy chainaxe named Gorechild, which was originally used by Angron during the Horus Heresy. He leads his own warband called the Butcherhorde and is known for his indiscriminate rage and relentless pursuit of bloodshed. His mantra, "Kill! Maim! Burn!" has become a harbinger of carnage across the galaxy.
If you like more of these art, please consider pledging my works along with my comics and video game project on:
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Barn Anon. Your Honor, he is a sweet baby.
You had noticed how Gabriel is extra attached to you ever since that incident with the feral Black Legion. His affectionate behaviour had been amped up as well. He doesn't even leave the house as much as he used to. You know better now about the nearly unseen and unspoken war that rages between the invasive feral warband and the city astartes.
Being able to work remotely was something you jumped at. Now you didn't feel safe roaming the streets anymore. Gabriel originally was happy about it, seeing it as an easier way to protect you, until he was told by another astartes that it wasn't healthy to let you hide away. It resulted to this current situation where you're sitting in the base of the city's Blood Angels. Gabriel's out to help the search for a Word Bearer's human, leaving you under the watchful eyes of the numerous other Blood Angels.
No one know truly knows the exact number of astartes out and about on Earth. But here you realize there must be a few hundred of Blood Angels alone in the city, given how you had glimpsed a dreadnought stomping past earlier. It makes you wonder about the other astartes you had seen. The Ultramarines that hang out at the park, those Salamanders that seem to favor places where the young or elderly frequent. Then there's the odd Night Lord that you would glimpse blurring through alleyways, the more flamboyant Emperor's Children that teens seem to flock to.
One of the Blood Angels that had picked up human languages had explained how they're fully aware that not every human is comfortable with their presence. You can see why, but whenever the fear starts to creep back into you, something seems to block it. It confuses you but the few other humans you have met in the base have similar experience. That was enough to soothe your worries.
The sound of a door sliding open and Gabriel is a blur as he rushes in and straight to you. His helmet clanks on the floor as he instantly has you in his arms. His sweet sing-song voice fills the silence, brokenly telling you what he can with his limited grasp of English. It seems they were able to find the missing human who was swiftly carried away by his Word Bearer. His words taper off in favor of simply purring to you, both of you vaguely aware of someone else closing the door.
Trying to return to the desk to continue your remote work is now pointless. Your Blood Angel wouldn't let you go until he's assured himself that you are well. You feel the eerie brush of his lips at your neck, for a moment you think you feel his fangs brushing along your vulnerable skin. He seems to catch himself, freezing before murmuring a soft, "sorry".
You learn so much about blood angels its frightening. How the city is basically on lock down given how bold the feral astartes got everyone's astartes were on edge and you remember hearing something blow up and watching not only Gabriel rush out the door but several others... you could hear their loud stomping as a handful of astarte, both loyal and chaos, sprinted off.
Blood Angels need blood it turns out as you don't mind donating some but the way Gabriel watches you whenever you donate makes you squirm... they wouldn't be giving him your blood... right? You stayed home holed away till Gabriel tried to convince you to leave and well it was when he brought in the Astarte that could speak English that you decided to stay on base with him.
Every time you try to examine the wrongness of it all... how quickly the astartes have locked down the city... how is this normal? How is this just some small scrap? When you try to look at the wrongness of it all for too long... you start to hyperventilate... you feel so weak... its like you're staring into something too hard and looking at a grinning maw staring right back! But then it all fades so quickly as... its normal why were you worked up? Its just a spat anyone with Astartes knows that they're territorial... what do you mean its a warzone? It's just some spat... that's all.
You sigh against Gabriel enjoying his soft long locks against your face as you just enjoy cuddling your blood angel as he sings something in that language of his... helping you drift off slowly. No longer plagued with worry about being taken... or the way his fangs scraped your skin... no worry at all about the strangeness of this reality... no worry at all it's all normal for astartes to be here it's like they've always been around.
#oc: gabriel#warhammer 40k#space marine husbandry#barn anon#tales from the barn#space marine husbandry sentience#blood angels
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Brave New World
Authorâs note: Imhoden in Husbandry AU :)
Next
Warnings: None? Tell me if I need to add any. Desert Survival, Chaos Space Marines, Descriptions of fighting.
Summary: Imhoden arrives on Ancient Terra, and treks through the Desert to get to somewhere safer. And gets grabbed by the local Chaos Warband. He is So Fine and Normal.
Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @kit-williams
Tagged Again: @kit-williams, @whorety-k
Imhoden had been one of many that had taken up arms, when the Captains of the Thousand Sons sent out the call. That the barbaric Space Wolves were coming to kill and burn them all to ash. Rage and hatred is nurtured in his heart, for Prospero, for his Primarch, for his brotherâs he will fight those no-good mad dogs that dare to spill the blood on the sands of Prospero. He and his squad of Thousand sons had been fighting the Maddened Space Wolves, when he heard- and saw one of their Wolfen Ships blast down bolts to rain down utter destruction.
He tries to raise a shield of Warp power to protect himself and his brothers from their utter ferocious, and unprovoked attack. He defiantly chants insults and warp-craft at the ship, even as he feels the ship bolts heat scorch and burn him. He blinks the light from his eyes, the spots of light blinding him as he slowly closes his eyes and opens them several times as he realizes the miracle that is him alive and his hearts sink to his stomach when he realizes heâs not on Prospero any more.
The desert sands of this planet he now resides on his not the sands of his birth, the lands of Prospero. He looks up at the night sky, to see if he can recognize the stars and the patterns he'd been taught by his brothers, and his hearts sink more as he realizes that he doesn't recognize the stars in the night sky either. Well then, he's definitely not where he once was, part of him wondered if he was dead and, in the afterlife, if there was such a thing, or if some other thing had happened to put him here, wherever here is. He checks what he has on him for hydration and food rations as well as calculating where he should go.
Closing his eyes briefly as he reaches for the warp, and finds to his alarm that it's much, much harder to grasp onto the warp and to use even the smallest of spells takes a staggering amount of effort that drives him to his knees panting, such effort that he hasn't had for such a simple location spell for the nearest spot of civilization since he was a very young Aspirant, being taught the ways of the Sorcerer Warriors of the Red King. He cuts off the spell, before it takes his life, or causes him to pass out.
He'll have to try to go in the vague direction of where he'd sensed civilization, and try to find a place to hide from the wrath of the sun during the day time if he could. He's careful as he paces himself walking across the desert, even with his training for survival in such dire circumstances, surviving in a dessert alone, with few supplies is never a sure thing. It takes him several days to get to the Oasis that his warp powers had led him to. He was careful to test the water, and check on the vegetation around him, to see what was possibly edible, and what was likely not edible.
He takes just enough, but not too much, for weight is something he needs to be careful of, part of him is calculating whether or not keeping his Ceramite armor was better, or worse. While in armor he's faster and it protects him from the elements somewhat, the weight of it is very concerning, depending on how long he has to trek through the desert before he can find some semblance of civilization. It takes him several more days before he finds some cacti that have fruits that are edible, and contain life giving, precious water, he carefully plucks the prickly pinkish-red hued fruits and carefully de-spines the fruits and takes a bite, the flavors that dance along his tongue are odd, and floral, but he is glad to have found more sustenance.
He's eating as little, drinking as little as possible, moving during the night, and trying to find shade and uneasy rest during the hottest parts of the day as the unrelenting sun beats down at him. He continues to move towards where the warp spell had led him to go. He would only use the spell sparingly, and only for brief periods of time, as to not overextend his vastly weakened ability to use the warp. Finding the small baseline community after nearly a month of travel had felt like a stark relief.
Realizing that he did not understand a word the locals spoke had been concerning, but he was nothing if not adaptable, determined and doing his best to learn this local tongue. None of them seemed to understand Gothic, or any of the other languages that he knew. He also noticed how skittish they were of him, understandable, the Trans-human Dread due to being an Astartes affected all baseline humans. They do allow him to stay in a place to rest and recover from his trek in the deserts surrounding this small town.
He's quite surprised when a few days later, some other Astartes come into town- their forms are strange and twisted, but he recognizes one of them as an Emperor's child, and the way this 'warband' of their treats the local has him frowning at them in disapproval. Getting dragged into their war band is something that he protests at first, but after many a squabble and sparring match, which he usually loses, he, rather unwillingly follows along with them.
Learning about the fact that he's on Ancient Terra, and how there are loyalists, Renegade and Chaos Marines, all on the same planet with the larger groups having an uneasy alliance had been quite the shock. They had, rather frustratingly, given him bits and pieces of information slowly, monitoring his reactions as they told him about what they were doing there and why. Apparently, his arrival had been noticed by an Ultramarine Librarian and they had sent them to gather the wayward Thousand Sons.
#warhammer 40k#space marine husbandry sentience#space marine husbandry#warhammer#adeptus astartes#oc: Imhoden#thousand sons#thousand sons oc
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Kresus Quietrage of the Rage warband
#gw2#guild wars 2#charr#gw2 screenshots#Lynx talks#another gal from nanaâs warband!! sheâs also dead now#Kresus Quietrage
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A detachment of the Gerudo stand at the mouth of the pass between Ordon and the Gerudo Desert. The tower of Larusi stands out in the dustance. Several archers were stationed in the tower to provide support against the oncoming horde of monsters lead by the now infamous Gruddoc Steelmaw. The cool air blowing in from Ordon was damp, a storm moving this way no doubt. Many of the Gerudo shifted and fidgeted nervously in anticipation of the oncoming battle. Group leaders were doing their best to keep morale high. Though the sight of a large number of the stalwart members of the group clad in the heavy iron knuckle armor, among them a young woman who would stand before Demise himself if it meant protecting others.
Zavira volunteered for this deployment as she could not sit idly by as this warband raided villages along the way. They were looking for a fight, and if the Gerudo had anything to say about it, they're going to get exactly that.
The young woman grips her great axe tight in her armored hands. Droplets of water start plinking against her armor. A crash of thunder in the distance. Then came the drums, the shouts and battle cries. They were coming, and there was a lot of them. From lowly bokoblins, to the bulk being bulblins and even a number of armored hinoxes. This wasn't going to be easy. Blood will be spilled no way around it. Formations tightened up as the iron knuckles moved in front, forming a wall with just enough space for the front row of polearms can stick their blades through to repel shock charges.
A deep breath to calm her racing heart. Not even concerned if she would survive this, more to see her sisters in arms protected. She will be their shield and the mighty axe lashing out to cut any foe down.
The sounds grow louder, ground beginning to rumble as the mass of charging feet grow ever closer. They came into view, anger boiled in Zavira's blood as she saw them, cruel creatures born of evil. The archers let fly their arrows. Many of the front line creatures, those that were not killed immediately soon became trampled underfoot. Many creatures frothed at the mouth, driven into a blood rage, howling and roaring. They charged right into the Gerudo line. With every swing of their axes the iron knuckles cut bloody swathes, limbs blood and chunks of crude armor flew in the air. The first wave of lesser creatures soon lost heart and began to rout.
The next wave was the bulblins, significantly tougher and much more bloodthirsty than the others. Many shrugged off what would be grievous wounds to others. Zavira lopped off one's arm, the thing completely unbothered by the loss of a limb, rather seemed annoyed by the idea. Hits kept bouncing off the armor of the iron knuckles. However pieces of the armor began to crack and break off. As tough as the metal was it could only take so much punishment. A sudden concern for the others hit Zavira's mind, not that she could do much about it as now standing before her was a massive bulblin in crude plate armor. One that could only be Gruddoc. The bulblin let out a grating laugh making a swing at Zavira.
She was growing tired from the constant fighting. Arms numb from all the swings and hits. Bits of her chain mail broken and split as blood dripped from numer knicks and cuts. Still she had to keep going. Her axe raised to block and deflect the oncoming blow. The beast was incredibly strong however. Even with the block the axe came down and into her helmet. Thankfully it took most of the impact, blood still began to dribble down her forehead, the helmet not split open, letting the cool rain hit her head. She saw stars for a moment from the hit, not realizing how incredibly close to death she was at the moment. The only thing that mattered was survival. Her axe pushed his away followed up by a strike to the chest, and another, starting a flurry of furious blows. She had to end this. The only things she could see was her opponent, his axe and her own weapon. Nothing else mattered at this moment.
The combatants traded blows for what felt like an eternity, both their sets of armor were becoming tattered and broken. They seemed to be evenly matched, his strength may have been superior but her will and skill bested his. A strike to his arm sent the warboss' weapon flying out of his hands. The beast stumbling back. Through the now very broken helmet he was smiling, up until she raised her axe hoping to plant it in his skull. Before she raised her axe she felt a massive blow to her chest, powerful enough to break open her chestplate and send her flying. Everything went black as she lost consciousness upon impact with the ground.
What Zavira could not see was a hinox took an opportunistic swing at her with her focus occupied. However Gruddoc seems to have had enough, perhaps lost his fighting spirit after nearly losing his head, a retreat was ordered, the Gerudo had won the day.
Zavira would awaken quite some time later in a nearby Gerudo village being tended to along with the rest of the wounded.
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After Pleasure and With Pain
This is set far after the events of my fic Pleasure and Pain with a sneak peak as to what happens to the main character there
"Hello Magos Aleph-Gimmel do you remember me!"
Aleph ducked to avoid the sonic blast. A skitarii Cloaked individual seemingly bounced out of nowhere. The cloak itself was obviously demosian but clearly defaced with garish paint and profane symbols of the Dark Prince. "Some lackey cultist who robbed a skitarii? Why would I remember you?" If it was
There's anger briefly in the other one's eyes. "No! One more chance we-erre is Omega Bellerov?" It's a singsong voice she can't place. However what she can place is the thundering sound from the speaker pack she was caring causing echo upon echo of the abandoned hab block.
"Dead! But I will happily deliver whatever she would have gotten to you!" A blast from her modified surikin gun and then one from her archeotech gun.
The other almost danced out of the way of it impossibly and annoying fast. "She can't be! She cared about me! Us! Now- ohh eldar weapons, xenarite? I knew it I knew it I knew it!"
"Far better than your chaos taint heretic." Another fire. "Besides. Omega Bellerov cared for no one." There was no anger in her own voice. Just cold emotionless truth. Magos Aleph-Gimmel searched through the information stored inside her cogitators to figure out what in the name of Holy Mars was happening. She had been able to make it into a control room whose doors seemed sturdy enough. With any luck the back up would be there enough soon. It was the last time she was investigating alone. Aleph was far too old to be making that mistake again especially this close to the Great Rift. Kattal and a squad of vanguard should be en route. She simply needed to out last what looked like happened when you put a noise marine and skitarii in a blender- actually someone probably had done that.
Meanwhile as Rax the Hedonite danced she sang. Awful vox boxes that are hooked up to her backpack and fueled the sonic pistol in her hand reverberated as she did. The former skitarius, reclothed in the flesh of pleasure and pleasure of flesh. To have finally tracked down a magos of Deimos from the before times! From her old life had been a boon but the fact that it has been that inept xenarite Aleph-Gimmel and now the holy rage filled Magos Omega Bellerov-1.0 filled Rax with rage she had not really felt since before Volupta Delacatio uplifted her from the horrid state she had been in.
Rax looked at the control door for the mechanic room of the hab she had been sent to scavenge from and cursed up a storm of any profanities she could think of from Dark Princeâs breast to Fulgrimâs ass to the wretched Machine God. In moments like this unbidden old prayers or at least warped versions of them came to mind but there was no way in the warp or beyond she would sing the praises of the Omnissiah while fighting one of the Dead God's lackeys.
Rax stopped and stared at the door itself as the stims that Volupta supplied her began to run their course and help to balance her once more for battle. She could blast down the door with long enough force but if this truly still was Deimos reinforcements were likely returning an Omega-Tzeta pattern from above and below. Rax would know, she has committed many of them ârescueâ operations intended to trap a for. She might get the techpriest yes if she waited but but if she was caught or even more laughable if she was bested then the warband Volupta had loaned her to would not supply the Blessed Guardians with the materials they needed. Not for the first time she found herself rocking on the balls of her feet trying to decide if it was better to stay and risk it or run run run run run run.
Maybe she could try the third route.
Rax slowly and deliberately walked over to the wall right beside the door and leaned against it. She made sure that her footsteps were loud enough to be hurt even while only wearing the same ballerina slippers that she'd been wearing for the past well for where she's been most the time, time didn't really exist.
Rax took a breath. âMagos Aleph-Gimmel, this is Skitarii Ranger Alpha RAX-XVIII of the Vox Omnissiah reporting to duty after⌠sometime missing in action.â The old title felt like slime on her tongue, not the pleasant kind either, she had enough experience with that, it was the same name yes but with everything it was surrounded but it didn't feel hers anymore. Especially with the nonsense chorus that was silenced in her head, replaced now by the beautiful background hymn of the warp.
Aleph-Gimmel took a moment to respond. âRAX-XVIII?â Her cogintatora had finished their search and returned a similar result. âI thought you were killed in action on Erophant III with 80% of your squad. Only two were recovered. The casualties were immense.â and had her emotions not been subdued and stamped down for combat Aleph-Gimmel would most likely have felt some kind of sorrow that if this were true one of the holy soldiers of the Omnissiah had ended up like this.
âOh ho ho ho! I am well aware of how diasterious that encounter was, but it lead me to the Prince and lead all Kamepa to their own Warrior dreams so it can't be that bad can it?â
âWarrior dreams?â All Aleph needed to do was stall for time. The vanguard squad was incoming tracing her position as best they could, although the ferrocrete was making it hard to track exactly where she was.
âOh that's enough about them that's enough of them,â her voice once more had that sing song quality that sounded only cacophonous to the tech priest's ears. âLast I heard you were running a tank regiment! What were they called the name of them slipped my mind?â
âAs so much else has appeared to slip. Dune crawlers. Ranger Alpha, do you not remember how to address your superiors?â Maybe some form of psycho conditioning will still active.
âOh ho ho ho but you're not my Superior! I have two superiors now! I have two now compared to the one that I had back then I have the one to whom I report and the one who sings the song of all creation!â
âWell, who do you report to them if not the magi-â Aleph was quickly interrupted in her line of questioning.
Rax began to pound on the door throwing her body against it. The pain of impact kept her going again and again until a small dent was made. âI do not! Report to any magi. I reported to one, and you've taken the one last thing I wanted from her. You've taken it from me filthy heretical xenarite! I report to my loving lady, and that's all you need know!â Rax either did not or could not verbalize the thought that there was one tech adept that she would maybe not report to but had enjoyed going to for equipment and repairs when heretical adept didn't try killing her. He was a beacon of bloodshed. âYou! You were a xenarite! I knew you were a traitor we knew!â
Aleph stood deathly still like a hammer about to swing on to the anvil. âWhat did you want with Bellerov-1.0 Slaaneshi, what did you want to do to my predecessor?â
âI wanted to kill her! I wanted that pleasure! I wanted that joy of rending her limb from mechanical limb for every thought she put in my head- wait. Predecessor, you're you're the one that succeeded her? You killed her too I bet!â A small sting in the back of Raxâs neck began to bring her back down as a calmness flooded her system. She needed to think.
âI did not kill her. It was not my decision,â Aleph-Gimmel took a gamble here. âYou apparently used to serve before whatever this is,â how much longer would the vanguard squad be taking? âIt was the Holy Synod. Besides, she had a few decent standard years as a kataphron you would never have gotten the pleasure you desired. If it's any consolation she was removed from her post after Erophant III.â
The other side of the door was quiet. Rax remembered what a kataphron battle servitor was. She let out an unholy screech against the door, vox box and speakers fully flaring up causing even through the ferrocrete Aleph-Gimmel to have to shut down and off her ears. Through the door the Magos could hear a mixture of sobbing and laughter mixed through awful reverberations.
Rax couldn't even focus on why she had stayed here! What an awful awful thing to find out! Deimos home of disappointment and pain that was not pleasure and pleasure that was not pain nothing good had come of that Slaanesh forsaken rock! She fired off her sonic pistol in any direction she could find. What was she here for anyway? Magos Bellerov-1.0 was dead! Dead and before that turned into a mindless thing no better than the lowest deamon spawn!
It was not fair! It was not fair!
Rax had been yearning for this for so long only to be denied her pleasure something that was hers by all rights by some middle managing bureaucratic xenarite with a penchant for tankers! Just like the first day she had awoken Rax initially clawed at her neck until the blood flowed just to feel something anything else.
She cried and laughed and threw things around in the hab block mechanical room she was in until things in her began to turn to jelly. She had to leave. Rax could hear the distant datapslams with her newly expanded hearing. Damn them all! Damn damn!
Rax could stay or she could leave and survive another day or she could stay and risk a delicious battle. Another cool prick in the back of her neck. No. She needed to leave. That much she knew even through everything it was how the Blessed Guardians survived everything. Never seek out a fight you didn't have overwhelming numbers for and as wonderful a champion of pleasure she was she was still but a single woman. Rax could not would not risk it.
Rax did not end up getting the Magos of course. She still tried until all parts of her felt like jelly and the archeologist had scurried farther far away. The vanguard squadron had been attempting a Omega-Tzeta maneuver using their own Magos as the bait. It was almost adorable until the two she had run into were turned to a pulverized mess by sound. They had tried to kill her! Well. Would have if they had seen her coming.
She took as much as she could carry off their gear and equipment for her own armorer and Perdeace in equal measure before continuing back and away up into a different part of the hab block before running into a rift that swallowed her whole
Rax eventually returned to the chaos band that had been hosting her. She was close. Oh so very close. Battle was fun. It always was. It felt exquisite and brought back some of the fury she felt under Bellerov, and that's what mattered really didn't it? It had to.
Meanwhile Aleph-Gimmel surveyed the damage with loyal Kattal at her side. It seemed that Omega Bellerov1.0âs mistakes would be felt continually. She would tell Seraph about this, as much as she loathed the Inquisitor it would be better to get this out of her own hair, unless Magos-Genator Letzaveis could find a way to study that awful Noise Skitarius should she be captured. There was much to consider and the Omnissiah always provided.
#techpriests writting#aleph gimmel#rax#transmissions from deimos#warhammer 40000#warhammer 40k#admech#adeptus mechanicus#slaanesh
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The Characters in my Chaos Mercenary Warband: The Rust Hydras
I can't draw for shit, enjoy the descriptions of my lovable group of psychopaths.
Characters from my Warhammer fan fic, and models I play. I will add things as time goes on.
The Rust Hydras are an Alpha Legion mercenary warband lead by the Warpsmith Narvik. Based out of the strike cruiser Rusted Herald, but has recently taken over the fedual world of Kage in the Izanagi system, the warband specializes in sabotaging enemy vehicles. While a small force, they offer their services as mercenaries. This is usually done by infiltrating the target's location, sabotaging and stealing vehicles and defense platforms, and leaving when the hiring invasion force arrives. They also build daemon engines for sale.
Vera von Hellebor
Role: Knight Destructor Pilot, Psyker, Daemon Summoner, Forge Assistant
Aliases/Nicknames: Bloodfly, Narvik's Pet, the feck is that thing?
Pronouns: she/her
Physical Description: 6ft 5. Teal scaled carapace, which can change colors and take the appearance of normal human skin-tone. Her arms and legs end in four sharp claws, but can be reshaped into human-like proportions. Blonde hair and purple eyes, both of which can be changed as well. A pair of horns sprout from her forehead, and she has a tail. She has a pair of blood red insect wings, which are kept hidden in her back carapace.
Bio:
The mutated daughter of the leader of the Knight House Hellebor, Vera and her knight, the Unrepentant Misery (inherited from her brother, Sven, who past defending her from the inquistion), were given up to the Alpha Legion warpsmith Narvik in order to protect her from the Inquisition. Under Narvik's tutelage, she was raised as his assistant.
Personality:
Knight pilot savant, master of the forge, and novice daemon summoner, Vera is an moron in ever other possible field, and is only a competent spy because of her psyker powers.
Bubbly and optimistic though quick to rage, she sees Narvik as her father, and is willing to do whatever he says. Her daily duties include summoning daemons to be put into engines, and killing daemons that escape from being put into engines.
Daemons find her difficult to possessed due to her overwhelming optimism. That being said, it has happened before. As well, Vera the psyker strangely favors Khorne over the other three Chaos Gods, and wears a Khornate pendent gifted to her by her older sister Marianne (a proper Khorne follower).
She has since carved out a small kingdom on the moon of Kage, and claims (key word, claims) all of the Izanagi system as hers. But she finds actually ruling a kingdom to be boring, and plans to hand it off to her partner Zyn.
Vera is aromantic, a trait that confuses the asexual Narvik and Iska. She is also in a queer platonic relationship with Zyn, who wants a proper romantic relationship but understands that it's unlikely.
Likes: Murder, blowing shit up, building things to blow shit up with
Dislikes: Peace, actually ruling the kingdom she made, her biological father
Narvik the Rusting Hydra
Role: Warband Leader, Warpsmith,
Aliases/Nicknames: Alpharius, Omegon, "that red one" -Iron Warrior's Chaos Lord, "Father" -Vera
Pronouns: he/him
Physical Description: 8ft 2. Olive skin with no body hair. Most of his body has been replaced by cybernetics in a way that resembles an unmodified astarte. Wears a rust-red set of armor, only his helmet and right pauldron being Alpha Legion teal. His armor appears to be perpetually stained in oil.
Bio:
Graduated as a tech-marine from Mars a day before the Horus Heresy, Narvik had a rough start as a Chaos space marine. He quickly jumped ship, taking a handful of legionnaires of various traitor legions with him, and vanished into the Warp. He and his men reappeared a few (thousand) years later, accidentally causing a warp storm to cover Vera's homeworld the day she was born, which mutated every child born for an entire month. Hiding out for a few years, Narvik stole these mutated children, alongside a number of captured human serfs and knights. As the world was torched by the inquisition, and they vanished back into the Warp.
Personality:
Narvik is a serious man, prioritizing the survival of his people over anything else. His training under the mechanicum caused him to develop a clinical and mechanical outlook on everything. Despite this, he cares for Vera like a daughter, despite his emotionless style of speaking suggesting otherwise.
He spends most of his free time mentally connected to the Rust Herald's machine spirit, wishing for the simple life of being a ship.
He taught Vera how to read binary, and nothing else.
One of his hearts temporarily stopped after catching Vera drinking oil. She was fine.
Likes: Fucking with people, selling what remains of his soul for the highest price, dreaming about being a complete machine, Vera
Dislikes: Loud noises, the Rusted Herald taking damage, the mechanicus (he's fine with the mechanicum)
Havoc Champion Iska
Role: Havoc Squad Commander, Second-in-Command
Aliases/Nicknames: Havoc, Rusty, Uncle
Pronouns: [REDACTED]/[DATA EXPUNGED] do not refer to them
Physical Description: 8ft 10. Wears a set of rust red armor with taloned boots. Each pauldron is silver in color. They never removes their armor in the view of others.
Bio:
The youngest of the astartes of the Rust Hydras (being born after the Heresy), Iska has quickly raised through the ranks to entering Narvik's personal guard. They now serves as Narvik's right hand, taking charge whenever the warpsmith is busy building machines or daydreaming of being a machine spirit.
Personality:
Iska is a creature of few words, only speaking when they deems appropriate. And most times, they still don't speak. As leader of a havoc squad, they favor long range combat, their favored weapons being a lascannon.
Iska has volunteered for the role of uncle in Vera's life, spoiling the little beast with trophies from their conquests.
Vera sees Iska as a big, quiet teddy bear.
Narvik thinks Iska is an effective warrior and a worthy successor.
Everyone else is terrified by the silent giant.
Likes: Vera, Murder
Dislikes: Everything else
Zyn
Role: Vera's partner, Spy
Aliases/Nicknames: Horns, Bloodfly's Bloodbag
Pronouns: she/them
Physical Description: 6ft 2. A beastwoman with black fur, bright yellow eyes, curved ram-like horns, and bone white hooves.
Bio:
The mutated daughter of Vera's wetnurse, she and her future partner were close for their entire lives. She wasnât abducted with Vera though, and was forced on the run with alongside the remaining nobility of House Hellebor. Zyn and Vera united over two decades later, after Vera killed her father for selling her out to the inquistion and causing the collapse of House Hellebor. Since then, she has served as Vera's queen. And while she isn't as gifted as Vera is in battle, she knows how to read and generally takes care of the day-to-day ruling.
Personality:
Zyn is very defensive of Vera, seeing her partner and knight lord as theirs. This has gotten them into trouble as they tried to defend their partner from potential suitors. When away from suitors, she is incredible lovey-dovey with Vera, who's aromantic ass is also incredible oblivious. Zyn has to specifically say that she wants sex to get Vera's attention, and sometimes that doesn't work.
She was trained to be Vera's maid prior to her abduction by the Rust Hydras, and generally takes care of the cleaning and laundry. Vera can never do laundry again, after trying to using the heat produced by her knight's exhausts to dry their clothes. Zyn also cooks everything, due Vera somehow burning ice cream. She is fine with this, as despite their bestial appearance and rage, Zyn has a traditionally feminine personality. She wants to be the housewife, cooking, cleaning, and raising their kids. Though she's fine without the "kids" part.
She is unaware that Vera had laid eggs and given them away, mostly because Vera isn't sure how that happened and feels too embarrassed to admit it.
Once discovered that Vera was possessed by a daemonette after she wanted to top.
Likes: Vera, murder, housework
Dislikes: Non-mutated humans, a knight collecting dust, blood in her clothes
I may occasionally add updates to this, if anything, just to make Vera weirder.
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