#Rage Warband

[brightwingedbat]

Thinking about young Nastazya and her Rage warband, what she was like, and how much of an absolute pain she must have been for her primus Tonold. Young Naz was definitely a bully, alongside her friend Clio. They were the mean girls, the tough ones. Those two probably got roared at by Tonold on many occasions aha. Poor Faust would have gotten the brunt of their antics, a slim lad for a Bloodie. Clio would often call him 'Lanky' which stuck even after they graduated. Whenever the two were being mean, he'd hide behind Graw, the big lad of the 'band. Tullia and Howl were the only ones who could get those two to back off. Tullia trying to mediate, saying they're making Dinky upset, and none of them want to upset Dinky. He's like the little brother of the 'band. Howl is the bold and bossy 'leader' of the warband. And if Naz and Clio act up too much he always threatens to go report them to Tonold. It usually works. Usually. Sometimes they get in a fight, because Nastazya was a brawly little devil of a kit. Inevitably causing enough of a ruckus for Tonold to need to step in, Naz getting cub time out, being pouty and growly.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Bleakfather’s 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. 

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 it’s 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. 

So titanic in size, the bleakfather’s throne is itself a fortress inhabited by ice giants who claim decent from the archfey and raid in his name. They fear their father’s 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 tyrant’s sorrowful reign. 

Adventure Hooks: 

With his eyes on becoming Jarl of the Bleakfather’s 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 he’s willing to crack towns open in the hopes of gathering pillage and slaves, he’s heard tell of a dragon slumbering somewhere up river that he wishes to test his mettle against. 

The giants have constructed a great temple in the vault of their father’s 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 Bleakfather’s 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.   

There is power in mythology. It’s 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 archfey’s vaults and taking back the relic.  It’s 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. 

[commanderthalys]

Tiberius Ragefist of the Rage warband

[barn-anon]

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.

[moonb0nes]

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! I’m already working on a beastmen army for TOW and I thought it’d be a great opportunity for me to play with my paint scheme and get some much needed work done.

Lore wise, I didn’t 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 “Thing in the woods” 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 could’ve finished painting them but I’ve been swamped with work and it doesn’t seem like I’ll have more time soon.

Anyways, thank you to Rust Punks for letting me play and thank you to the Sentry Box for hosting! Here’s some more game pics for y’all 🤘😁

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Brave New World

Author’s 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 brother’s 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 he’s 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.

[entering--hyperspace]

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

[wilsons-journey]

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)

[primestartes]

The Fox-King's Procession

“Forces of Chaos,’ 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. ‘Bow to me.”

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 death’s pallor. 

Its face clad by a twisted fox’s laughing sneer with the most hateful gaze, none worthy to even a moment’s glance. Those caressed by the whipping nest of tails sixfold dropped dead of cruel razor-fur, salivating maws full of teeth that shouldn’t be, or the crushing whip of disdain. Every soul plucked to give the miniscule sample of life onto the crossing being. 

None raised their eyes. All forced to the dirt as they should. Nostrils bleeding with the bountiful musk that pushed through the six-limbed daemon’s 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. 

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 master’s hateful motif that roused the submissive audience. Their hearts pounded and eyes wept as if they felt a wanting bounty to the Fox-King’s rage and tragedy, hundred of standards flew in a multitude of fleshly color and runes to his kingdom and god’s 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 moment’s 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. 

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 daemons’ 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. 

And this insulted rage fell upon their new unity against the stormhost to stand in the Exalted of Daemons’ way in his Great Hunt. They threw their fury and lives to the storm of Sigmar’s 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 warriors’ righteous swings.

Even for his size, he moved with a lightning-bolt’s 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 painter’s 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. 

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 Ludwig’s 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. 

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 lovers’ 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-Mistress’ 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! 

Maim. Torture. Flay. 

Kill everything denies you! 

ALL FOR SLA’A’NESH!

[kit-williams]

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.

[brightwingedbat]

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.

[immortal-elements]

New Ardenn lore dropped!

(Art credit goes to Commanderthalys)

Well, some Ardenn, some Daxos, eventually some of all my warband! Trying to actually be semi lore-accurate and give my characters better motivations and story. (Also, lowkey, while the storyline starts shortly after gw1, I hc a lot of settled charr civilization to be a lot more akin to gw2. Which is to say dedicated buildings for various things, (taverns, libraries, armories, etc) rather than what we see in gw1, which is mostly tents...)(also, anytime that Daxos is talking, it's in a sort of charr sign language, )(I'm also really damn rusty at writing, and I'm editing this exactly none prior to posting it, so...)

Ardenn and her brother, Daxos, were born as twins in 1103AE. While Ardenn was a more frail charr, Daxos was born blind and mute, so the two as cubs stuck together to help eachother. With the death of the Titan's still fresh in charr history, and the mistrust against the Flame Legion and the Shaman caste are ongoing, the majority of flame legion control remains. Due to the fact they disallowed females from joining warbands, the two would eventually be separated as Daxos went to train for joining the legions and Ardenn was relegated to domestic work. She worked as a tailor under the tutelage of Bathea Flamebringer.

One day, as Ardenn was stitching up a soldier's uniform, the unfairness of it all began to hit her. The two had hardly ever been separated, but now he's out training for war while she sits and sews. In her rage she tapped into something primal within herself: fire, and burnt the clothes to cinders. Ardenn tried and failed to hide this from Bathea, who understood all too well. Wanting to protect Ardenn, she forbade Ardenn from using magic, and took her to see Era Breakrazor, who trained her in secret as part of Kalla's army. Ardenn takes the name Flameweave in honor of her mentor, Bathea Flamebringer.

1113AE, Ardenn and Daxos are finally reunited, and Ardenn is exuberant about being able to fight just like her brother. Anytime that they could get away from prying eyes, the two would spar to a standstill. During a particularly rough match, Ardenn managed to land a solid blow on him with her sword, and sliced a solid gash into his side. Panicking, Ardenn taps into fire once again to cauterize the wound, and in doing so revealed that secret to her brother.

When it came time for Daxos to join a legion, he went out with Ardenn to share a drink at the tavern. It was at this tavern that they were approached by a flame legion recruiter, who had his eye on Daxos. Ardenn is unaware of Kalla's true purpose in gathering an army, and in a brash moment she urges her brother to join, this might finally be her chance to learn magic!

After much arguing back and forth, Daxos joined the Burning warband as Daxos Burningeye, having impressed the legionaire, Harkon Burningsoul with his uncanny mastery of a battlefield, willingness to follow orders, and inability to talk back, the perfect soldier. Daxos continuted to help Ardenn learn magic, sneaking her spellbooks and scrolls whenever he could, (though he was only sometimes successful. What? All books are the same when you can't see the cover! Sometimes a cookbook feels just like a spellbook, sometimes the spell you learn is how to make a bitchin jambalaya.)

Fast forward, 1116AE, Kalla Scorchrazor is gearing up for the rebellion against the flame legion, recruiting more and more charr to her cause. Ardenn and Daxos are fated to meet on the battlefield at the Plains of Golghein as foes. Harkon gave the order, and Daxos charged her, knocking Ardenn to the floor and bringing his warhammer down on her, but Ardenn only narrowly dodged out of the way. Knowing Daxos better than anyone, Ardenn stood up as silently as she could, moving about the brute stealthily, and crept up behind him. When she was within striking distance, she called out his name, "Daxos, we shouldn't fight, this isn't right! I'm sorry for what I did to you, for how I took advantage of you, but this isn't how it should turn out!"

Ardenn dropped her sword as Daxos turned to face her, his expression softened under his battle scars. He goes to embrace his sister, but his ears twitch; the subtle sound of metal sliding against leather, rushed footsteps! He grabs Ardenn by the arm and throws her to the ground, raising his hammer to catch her would-be assailant; a flame legion warrior, and threw him to the side. Now a turncoat from the flame legion, he found himself in quite the bind, with only one option saving both himself and his sister, surrender. He grabs Ardenn and runs towards the fight, towards Kalla's rebellion. The two siblings fight their way side by side, Daxos cleaving through Flame Legion while Ardenn protected her brother from the rebels, until they are cornered by Kalla and her Razor warband. The flame legion was on it's last legs, the remaining commanding officers had issued a surrender, which Kalla graciously accepted, but that still left her the problem of these two twins. Ardenn explained the whole ordeal, while Daxos corroborated her story. Kalla pondered this for a while, Ardenn had acted of her own self-interest with little regard for her brother, and Daxos had joined the oppressors at her behest. Daxos was a fiercely loyal soldier, while Ardenn was still a petulant child. She took them prisoner until a decision could be made with them.

After Kalla's assassination, Imperator Ironstrike assumed control of the situation with the two charr. A plan for punishment was made. These two couldn't serve the legions, with their loyalties as twisted as they were, but death or exile was too severe for the crime. A fool's errand, perhaps, would be perfect. Forge Ironstrike had heard of mysterious happenings to the west, and sent the two to investigate, deep into the Maguuma Jungle.

1132AE, their journey had taken them through the Shiverpeaks, through Kryta, until they finally reached the jungle. The path ahead was treacherous, it seemed like the very jungle wanted them dead, but the two persisted. Ardenn became very adept at foraging, learning that fire had more than a few uses in the wild, and learning that she was attuned to more than just fire. All the elements coursed through her, she just needed to tap into them and hone them. The two stumbled across the city of Tarir. Magical golden constructs and wellsprings of magic the likes of which never before seen! They couldn't understand the etchings, or discern the purpose of this place, nor did they want to sully it with their presence.

Continuing south, they found a cave system, as well as an asuran civilization, Rata Novus. The Asura are studying the flow of magic here, as one explains to Ardenn, but the mechanics of how or why go right over her head. They make note of this, but continue on their way. While the jungle above them was vicious, the caves they were traversing were equally dangerous, as they found out when one misstep caused the floor beneath them to crumble, and they found themselves suspended in one of the largest magical leylines they had ever seen. The effects were nauseating and immediate, hallucinations, visions of beyond the material plane, nightmares from the mists, tangled and danced behind their eyes. Ardenn felt like she was being pulled apart, soul ripped from her body before being mashed back together, only wrong. In a moment of lucidity, she grabbed hold of the cave wall, and pulled herself and Daxos to safety.

Wracked with visions and sickness, the two drifted between death and life. So much magic had driven the two of them to the brink of sanity. Out of desperation, and wanting escape, Ardenn plunged a dagger into her eye... but she missed? The dagger had struck true to where her head was a second ago, and she didn't remember moving, but sure enough she had gotten out of the way. After some more experimenting, she wanted to put her theory to the test. She asked Daxos to spar with her, for old times sake, and reluctantly he obliged. He raised his hammer to strike, and brought it down on her, it made contact, and he could hear the telltale sound of flesh and bone being crushed, but then his hammer hit the ground as though it passed right through her! Hearing a twig snap behind him, he spun around and swung, and again made contact, but his hammer went right through her? How was this possible? The thought was cut short as he felt a sword go straight through his gut. Clearly, whatever magic had affected Ardenn had not affected Daxos in the same way, and Ardenn had gone too far.

The next few days were a delirious haze, she patched Daxos up as best as she could. Every ounce of healing magic she learned was unable to help him, his wound could be healed but he was still fading fast. Pulling every ounce of magic she could, from herself and from the leylines, she channeled lightning, (enough to trip Rata Novan energy sensors), everything she could into one paw, further, into one claw. Plunging this claw into Daxos's heart, electrifying it, and after several agonizing moments, restarting it. Daxos would live, barely. Whatever magic had affected Ardenn rendered her unable to die, at least by unnatural means, but it would seem that Daxos was still quite susceptible. The two crazed charr begin their journey back to Ascalon.

Fast forward again, 1320AE, approximately 200 years after that. Separation from the leyline energy had allowed them to regain most of their lucidity, but it's effects still lingered. Ardenn and Daxos return to Ascalon, unaware of how much time has passed, unaware that by all accounts they should be dead now. They ask to see Imperator Ironstrike, to report back in, and are met with only concerned stares. "Imperator Ironstrike has been dead for 2 centuries!"

Ardenn goes and looks up the report on their mission, and what she read shocked her. "We haven't received a report from the expedition in 35 years, Ardenn Flameweave and Daxos Burningeye are presumed dead. End of report."

"Well, how about that! Guess we're supposed to be dead! Yet here I stand! We could make use of this!" said Ardenn. "I know, I'll start my own warband, but first I'd have to get the rank of Legionnaire. Shouldn't be too hard, just have to pick the right fight." Going into a tavern, spilling a drink on just the right charr, and taking the fight outside was all easy enough, but she had to utterly humiliate her mark, and make sure the right people were watching.

Legionnaire Urvan Steelbane was the perfect target. Uncaring of his warband, easily angered, and full of pride. He was at the tavern discussing battle plans with Tribune Rytlock Brimstone. Ardenn slammed a few tankards of ale, then drunkenly stumbled into Urvan, spilling a mug of elonian firewine all over him. Urvan grabbed her by the collar and threw a punch, but Ardenn caught it. He had taken the bait, and step 1 was complete. Rytlock pulled the two outside and told them to settle it there, Urvan readied his hammer while Ardenn drunkenly fumbled with her sword. She could beat Urvan easily while armed, she had over 200 years of experience fighting, but she needed to disgrace him. Urvan made the first move, striking low, Ardenn moved her sword to block, and let herself get disarmed, her sword landing in the dirt 10 meters away. Rotating around the charr, she grabbed his arm and pulled it behind his back, while kicking one of his feet out from under him. Knocking him to the ground, with one foot planted squarely on his head, she reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger and held it to his throat. Rytlock laughed, having never seen a more decisive duel, he dismissed Urvan and appointed Ardenn as a legionaire.

With that, Ardenn reintegrated herself into charr society, and began to form her own warband, the Fire warband. Ardenn slightly changes her name to Fireweave while Daxos changes his to be Blindfire. Ardenn keeps the knowledge of their immortality a secret, revealing it only to her warbandmates. She had the magic to prove it, to back it up, so they believed her, and she promised to make each of them immortal too if they blindly follow her. She brainwashed most of them, ritually blinding all the males in her warband. Immortality had cursed her and her brother, and those that seek it should bear the same curse as well.

And, that's about when the personal story starts. Like, I'm retconning a bit of the first portion of personal story, cuz in the Blood legion story you do kick the shit out of Urvan and take his spot, I just think this fits better. Anyways, here's a little blurb about each of her 7 other warband members.

Musicia Firesong. She's a spacy mesmer bard. She never really seems like she's mentally present, always appearing lost in thought, humming a haunting melody. She makes up half the espionage team, infiltrating by bedeviling and beguiling. Nobody notices her sneaking in when they are all enraptured by her melodies.

Geist Banefire. She's the necromancer of the party. Always willing to break a law on magic, or dig up a corpse if need be, she specializes in interrogation. Dead men may tell no tales, but they can answer questions when asked, and the threat of "Tell me what I need to know, or I'll kill you and find out anyways" usually works wonders.

Bruscia Firefang, the ranger of the group. She's the scout for the group, often times going several days ahead of the group to surveil the area. She specializes in survival. She one time spent a month in Draconis Mons living off the land, (and totally not because A Henge Away from Home is an annoying achievement).

Narsus Ghostfire, the thief. Specializing in subterfuge, he makes up the other half of the espionage team, sneaking in and eliminating anyone he needs. He was a petty burglar, (hehe, a cat burglar), but his signature calling card made him all too easy to track down for Ardenn. A thief with a penchant for flair, but will resort to brute force if needed.

Gwyllion Gearfire, the group's engineer. From shrapnel bombs to flashbangs, Gwyllion knows how to make it all. She excels at demolition, always having the right bomb for the job. She may have lost a leg to one of her own landmines, but that just meant that she got to engineer herself a new and better one, with more knives and guns in it.

Agitus Soulfire, the revenant. Agitus wasn't recruited by Ardenn, per se, but when Kalla's spirit saw Ardenn still walking around Black Citadel, looking not a day older than when she had last saw her, she wouldn't shut up until Agitus joined the Fire warband. He is the group's archaeologist, often times having just the right spirit to ask to get the answers he needs.

Axius Tomefire, the guardian of the group. He's the groups historian. Even while blinded, he's found a way to use his firebrand powers to read books by merely touching them. Whenever he isn't poring over tomes, to become the closest thing to "all-knowing" in his soon-to-be immortal life, he is burning his way across the battlefield in righteous fire. A giant flaming juggernaut in the streets, but a bookworm in the sheets.

[commanderthalys]

Kresus Quietrage of the Rage warband

[pinklocksoflove]

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.

[deimos-awaits]

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 Prince’s breast to Fulgrim’s 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 ‘rescue’ 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. “Magos Aleph-Gimmel, this is Skitarii Ranger Alpha RAX-XVIII of the Vox Omnissiah reporting to duty after… sometime missing in action.” 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. “RAX-XVIII?” Her cogintatora had finished their search and returned a similar result. “I thought you were killed in action on Erophant III with 80% of your squad. Only two were recovered. The casualties were immense.” 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.

“Oh 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?”

“Warrior dreams?” 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.

“Oh that's enough about them that's enough of them,” her voice once more had that sing song quality that sounded only cacophonous to the tech priest's ears. “Last I heard you were running a tank regiment! What were they called the name of them slipped my mind?”

“As so much else has appeared to slip. Dune crawlers. Ranger Alpha, do you not remember how to address your superiors?” Maybe some form of psycho conditioning will still active.

“Oh 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!”

“Well, who do you report to them if not the magi-” 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. “I 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!” 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. “You! You were a xenarite! I knew you were a traitor we knew!”

Aleph stood deathly still like a hammer about to swing on to the anvil. “What did you want with Bellerov-1.0 Slaaneshi, what did you want to do to my predecessor?”

“I 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!” A small sting in the back of Rax’s neck began to bring her back down as a calmness flooded her system. She needed to think.

“I did not kill her. It was not my decision,” Aleph-Gimmel took a gamble here. “You apparently used to serve before whatever this is,” how much longer would the vanguard squad be taking? “It 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.”

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 Bellerov1.0’s 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.

[zmasters]

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 wasn’t 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.