#Taralus

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #001.v2.final

I have had the pleasure of meeting Yandin once before, in the aftermath of the Indomitus Crusade's arrival over Taralus. The navigator records on the Macragge's Honour had listed that dusty old ball of drab rock and snow as an Armoury World, so there was a fair amount of bemusement all round when we got word of a sizeable contingent of Astartes dug in on the planet's surface. Initial communications indicated they'd been holed up for some time in an old ruin near one of the old space elevators. They identified themselves as Iron Fists, and were claiming the planet as their ancestral chapter world. By all account, Crusade Command spent no small effort to screen them for foul play, corruption or infiltration. While the Iron Fists' claim to Taralus was eventually upheld, there was a general interest from higher up in gathering more information about the chapter and verifying some of the accounts that were coming out of Taralus. Remembrancer Anjelika Biscari led the effort, and took a small team down to the planet's surface to conduct interviews, appraise structures and write reports. I was still fairly new to the role then, and my visit to the Godspire anchorage terminal was the first time I worked alone in the field. Biscari had gone down a few hours before me and had emphasised an unusual need for brevity. "Broad strokes only", I believe her words were, and I didn't understand what she meant until I stepped out of the lander and saw the planet surface for the first time. The sights of war stretched all the way out to the horizon, and the ragged landscape of the Godspire mountains were littered with the husks of drop pods, tanks and bunkers. You couldn't walk twenty meters without passing a pile of burning dead, and it was here I first encountered sergeant Cosrau Yandin, sixth squad, second company Iron Fists. The moment stuck in my head rather prominently, as I recall he was helping a couple of disposal operatives clear a maintenace passage. The two men had been struggling with the body of a metahuman, still in its power armour, and as the sergeant reached in and dragged it out, I decided on a  bit of a whim to snag a pict-capture. It was only once I looked up that I realised I'd just got my first ever look at a Chaos Space Marine. Regrettably, I was only able to spend a few hours with the sergeant on Taralus. Broad strokes, Biscari had asked for, so that was all I could really capture. The Crusade did not linger long at Taralus, and before long the Iron Fists were well behind us. It's only been in recent months, as the Grand Conclave of Baal winds down, that I've had the opportunity and freedom to track the Iron Fists down and produce more of a complete history of the Chapter. It also gave me an opportunity to present Yandin, now Captain of the seventh company, with the pict-capt I took on our first meeting. (or rather, a remaster: most of my original pict-logs were scrambled quite badly during a brush with the bleak coil two years ago, so I had a colleague of mine, Artov Ilqar, recreate the pict with oil on canvas. See attached.) I've since had the opportunity to interview Captain Yandin on a number of aspects of his chapter's history, and hope to catalogue some of the more notable testimonies, treatises and accounts here. Throne willing, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

OKAY SO,

because the Iron Fists are a (semi) homebrew chapter and therefore by definition a whole CHAPTER of OCs, let's limit the scale of this to five particularly prominent members of the chapter.

Cosrau Yandin

One-time sergeant of the sixth squad (tactical), Second Company, now captain of the Seventh, this boy is our PoV character. He's a lovable little control freak who's read everything in the Chapter's tactical, technical and historical archives because no-one told him not to. As an initiate, his mentor imbued him with a particularly noble view of how a company is supposed to work and what the relationships between ranks are supposed to look like. Cosrau is perpetually disappointed and frustrated by those that don’t honour that picture, least of all himself. He's currently trying to speedrun the Astartes-equivalent of burnout and shake off the feeling that everything that happens to his subordinates is his fault. Career highlight - charging a Chaos Terminator lord with nothing but a combat knife and a meltagun, and not dying. Favourite question: “What do you need from me in order to do your job?”

Samas Tenebra

Cosrau's direct superior during his time in the Second, Captain Samas Tenebra is everything you'd want in a mythologised superior. He's a dyed-in-the-wool assault marine with a flair for the dramatic, an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, and a nothing-but-cheese approach to strategy. He's lead the Second to a number of successes over his seventy-year tenure, which can largely be attributed to two factors. One: he's cultivated a highly competent pool of subordinate leaders, and two: he keeps throwing himself at the highest value objective in the battlespace - often from several miles up. By the time of Cosrau's own captaincy, Samas Tenebra would be raised to First Captain, fail to save both his predecessor and his successor, and would die trying to fight a Chaos Titan as Imperial forces pull back across the Stygius sector. Cosrau's favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time he killed nine terminators atop Eidolon's ruined command bunker on the day the Indomitus Crusade arrived at Taralus. Tenebra's least favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time a Thousand Sons Sorceror prophesied his death, amongst other things Oh, the gates swing wide for Him, do they not? Varl hungers for your sixth, o shadow. Pray to your corpse-god for his sake that it is only the empyrean that comes to swallow him up!

Harcast

Oho, now here's the spooky lad. Sixth Captain Harcast is, on paper, somewhat of a kindred soul to Yandin. While records are hazy, it is known for sure that before his current posting, he was a Sternguard veteran of the ninth squad, First Company, and one of the most experienced kill-team operatives in the Chapter before his promotion. It was a sensible pick - the Sixth have been infiltration and recon specialists since the days of Haya Merojan, and it's rumoured that Harcast had an in with Captain Llameharr, the previous incumbent But even for a black ops afficionado, Harcast is...weird. A scant few, Yandin included, claim him to be good-humoured, level-headed and an excellent teacher, there are many in both the First and Sixth who swear dead-to-rights that they have never seen him out of his armour, or even heard him speak. This is probably fine and normal and has absolutely nothing to do with whatever the fuck the "Legan Schola Incident" was, of which Harcast is the only listed survivor in records so buried and so redacted that ++REMOVED FOR SENSITIVITY++ Favourite/only sentimental attachment: A bespoke bolt rifle of hiiighly questionable origins that, according to legend, was boring holes through skulls a full century before anyone had so much as heard the word 'Primaris.' Leads to interview for more information: Lieutenant Trimer (missing), Ascendant Trazis (asleep), Epistoliary Tyvus (I am not going anywhere near that, and I emphasise, Senile Terminator Psyker, stop trying to get me killed Hester.)

Kastal Verchen

That's CHAPTER MASTER Kastal Verchen, thank you very much. Fifty-Second Lord Commander of the Iron Fists, High Castellan of Taralus, The Arcan Herald, the Silent Hero of Blakkspanna's Bay, etcetera etcetera. Having said all that, as far as Chapter Masters go in general, Verchen is a touch underwhelming. His most glorious accomplishment is a tie between not getting killed by Eidolon and not getting killed by an avatar of Ynnead. But not dying is perhaps Verchen's greatest skill, and one that he's somehow managed to promulgate amongst his subordinates. Granted, there's been rough spots in his relatively short tenure as Chapter Master, but he's brought a mauled chapter of less than three hundred up to more than a thousand in twenty short years. Beneath the tempered, diplomatic pragmatism is a fierce compassion that's somehow escaped the attention of other Iron Hands successors. This comes as no surprise to those with access to Verchen's full history - before his induction into the Arcan Temple, he was the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia, and he manages the chapter like a patient, rather than an engine of war. Favourite metalore tidbit: Kastal Verchen is one of only two named characters in the breathlessly-few scraps of canon lore on the Iron Fists - he's referenced in passing in the Battlefleet Gothic Armada rulebook "To Cleanse the Stars" as backsassing the Imperial Navy about pirates interfering with the Dudzus landings.

Mokuba Tyros

Mokuba Goddamned Tyros. Also known as "the scariest bastard ever to wear the golden gauntlet", the fifty-first Lord Commander of the Iron Fists has been terrorizing the galaxy for the last seven hundred years. He was at the Feast of a Hundred Duels when the World Eaters attacked, and came back a century later to win the Feast of Blades for the Iron Fists. Tyros led the Fifth Company over the ocean world of Poseidius VIII and personally turned Waaagh! Izdakka away from the borders of Segmentum Solar. He conducted a thousand diplomatic missions to raise support for the reclamation of Taralus, and orchestrated the subsequent campaign down to the slightest detail. When the Noctis Aeternia rolled in, Tyros drew fire away from the chapter's more vulnerable ships and gave more than a million men and women the chance to reach the homeworld's service. And when three thousand unnumbered sons dropped into Taralus' atmosphere to liberate it for good, Mokuba Tyros was the iron point of the spear. Mokuba Tyros is less of a tangible character, more of a living standard for the chapter to aspire to. He is to the common marine what the Iron Hands are to the chapter at large, and so distanced from the line troops that he might as well be a legend, glimpsed only fleetingly at the grandest of events. Even a captain might only experience two or three one-on-one encounters with him during their career, and none have ever gotten a successful read on him. All they've been able to report on the man behind the blades is that "He has given much of himself to the Chapter" - whatever the heck that means.

There was only ever one man who truly knew Mokuba Tyros - a bodyguard of the Arcan Temple, spoken in whispers of as the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia.

Reblog and tell me about your Warhammer OCs!!!

(seriously, I see so many cool fanart and fanfiction, I want to learn about everyone!!)

[quillowisp]

From my Tomb of Annihilation pack on Etsy.

One of the 27 one-page lore extensions that combines Tomb of Annihilation with Pathfinder's fantasy African setting: Mwangi

Shilku felt like one of the most passed-over locations from Chult. A city ruined by volcanic activity in a D&D setting is just so damn interesting. So to add more to it I incorporated Mwangi's Zaphyrie location and a bunch of once local/naitve Taralu dwarf archeologists who have come to rediscover their lost ancestry

[burning-awake]

Grand Starseer Taralus

Overview

Taralus was an astronomer on Argus, skilled in arcane magics and a graduate from the Conservatory of the Arcane. In the timeline of the Burning Awake AU, he flees Argus with the draenei, becoming one of the highests ranking starseers and earning the title Grand Starseer. His fate in the timeline of World of Warcraft’s canon, outside of this AU, is rather grim. (More on this will be linked here if/when it is written and posted.)

(Burning Awake AU Premise and Summary)

Argus

Taralus’s upbringing was fairly typical for an eredar of his time. He later attended the Conservatory of the Arcane, gaining a mastery of magics as well as continuing his studies of astronomy. During his time at this school of magics, he met Kil’jaeden, who was also a student at that time, and also shared his fascination with the stars. The two became good friends.

After he had graduated, he continued to pursue his craft, publishing numerous works on the subject of space and astronomy, eventually going on to teach students of his own at the Conservatory. Kil’jaeden and Taralus remained close, sharing the pursuit of knowledge and training in the arts of the arcane. The two later pursued a romantic relationship. By the fall of Argus, they had been mates for a considerable amount of time.

Burning Awake

Genedar

Onboard the Genedar, Taralus gained the rank and title of Grand Starseer, as one of the most experienced astronomers who fled Argus. He and the rest of the starseers are largely in charge of navigation, monitoring of space, and surveying of safety. Between the many notable events of the Genedar’s flight, there were still many years out of the 13,000 year journey which were spent in relative peace. Taralus continued with his research and publishing of theories on astronomy, and later quantum physics, during these times.

During the first while on the Genedar, life for its occupants became very complicated. Taralus often became caught up in his work, spending long nights in the observatory pouring over observations and data for the safety of his people. Kil’jaeden did so as well, as a leader of the draenei, and the two of them eventually began to grow distant. However, once their distance in this time of hardship began to take its toll on them both, they were able to repair their relationship and after this, only grew closer as time went on. At some point during the earlier parts of the Genedar's flight, they adopt a pygmy marsuul, Starlight.

Later on, near midway through the Genedar’s journey, the draenei made one of their many attempts to settle and start over on a planet. During this settlement, Taralus and Kil’jaeden’s close friend, Taeris, and their mate Zaari had a daughter, whom they named Daressa. Barely six years after her birth, however, the Legion caught up to the draenei once again. Left without parents, Kil’jaeden and Taralus opted to take her in, raising her as their own.

Draenor and Azeroth

During the time the draenei spent on Draenor and Azeroth, Taralus did his part in keeping watch on the stars, as well as studying and reporting on the astronomical findings within range of the planets. He was instrumental in the journey back to Argus to put a final end to the conflict with the Legion, with both his skill in the arts of magic and his ability to find and read phenomena in the stars

[theblackbookofarkera]

New Galatians

New Galatians

The New Galatians are the closest descendants to the Galatine people of old. Their blood is mixed and their highest achievement has been managing to survive in the hateful land of Maglyasia. While they are not great philosophers, mathematicians or artists they are proud and stalwart. Few people in Arkera have the true grit the New Galatians possess which makes up for any other shortcomings.

Their society is divided into kinships, close-knit alliances of families that vie for control of the limited resources surrounding the only permanent settlement on the continent - New Galat City. For the most part these kinships are stable with the majority of them comprising the same families for centuries. Inter-kinship warfare is common though always conducted with honor where counting coup is held in higher honor than simply smashing an enemy’s skull in. Most kinship battles will involve hundreds of warriors on both sides by result in only a dozen or more fatalities. Their restraint in battle among the New Galatians is reserved for their kinship wars, not the numerous barbarous tribes that harry their lands with frequent raids. Duels of sword, bow and wrestling are also commonly used to resolve disputes not severe enough to involve the entire kinship.

The New Galatians acknowledge the existence of many gods but give their praise to one - Taralus the Rainbow Phoenix. Taralus the Rainbow Phoenix is a sleeping god that will arise anew when the end times draw near to battle Erabsarun the Shapeless Void, emperor of all unholy things. When New Galatians pass from this world they go into an endless dream until Taralus is reborn and them alongside him.

“Every New Galatian warrior worth his salt has at least a dozen weapons to fulfill the agreed upon rules of kinship battles. Most of those weapons are blunt or left intentionally dull to mitigate lethality. A warrior’s most prized weapons are those that kill and are reserved for the enemies beyond both in this life in the Great War after the resurrection.”

-Deswyn Uthic, envoy of the Heruanian-Vallenbella League

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

-Calimorre flings open the door to her sanctum, approaches the giant cork-and-string board titled "Siege of Taralus", uncaps a marker, located the pinned image titled "Lord Commander Eidolon" and appends the name with five question marks.-

-before letting out a very long sigh-

GW has pushed the new Eidolon-novel back to October, this can only mean one thing:

New Emperor's Children stuff incoming in Q4!

I may be mad I can't read something fresh with the best Lord Commander Primus (according to him) this month already, but I am now VERY looking forward to all the new lore, the new Noise Marines, the new 40k Lucius ...

[soohin]

Hello again!!!!

Sorry for the absence I have been busy with important matters but, I have been drawing!

This time... I have been working on some projects, one of them is this! I want to introduce to these children's !!!!!

An AU with my friend @lunaclavelgp !!!

Dashi, Jorge and Hashi / Parents Hiro and Miguel

Diego and Manami / Parents Kubo and Leo

Tao and Quetzali / Parents Marco and Kyle

Chris Allen "Muffin"/ Parents Tadashi and Honey Lemon

Stan, Suni and Celestine / Parents Gogo and Fred

Richter / Parents Simon and Shank (WiFi Ralph)

Important: Jorge is a character created by @ureshisan-universe and Hashi is created by @taralu-white

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Behind the Curtain #1

Despite the standard tone of the Warhammer 40k universe and the tendency to play even the most ridiculous factor's straight (Which I'm happy to hold my own hand up for, given half the posts on this blog), there's a hugely refreshing catharsis that silliness and absurd humor bring when applied to 40k. It's one of the things that I love about this side of the community, where every angle, be it happy, horny, silly or wholesome, can be explored with full-throated enthusiasm. And after almost a decade in the more morose, right-leaning, edgelording side of the community, giving a daemon engine the name Wesley and the disposition of a small puppy feels like a sign that nature is healing. That being said, I asked a loved one today about which parts to use on a Biker champion I'm currently kitbashing. The models I have of the Iron Fists' Fourth Company are somewhat neglected, having been quickly and badly painted in preparation for a schools league tournament I never got to play in, but something's compelled me to revisit them and have another go this last week.

Here's the piece I was asking about.

They took one look at this part and said "Oh, it's a name-brand sword. Like Gucci."

The connotations of these weapons as prestige symbols in theory but showy garbage in practice is already spectacular enough, but this isn't even the only such weapon in the squad.

So not only has this conversation accidentally manifested Balenciaga Imperialis / Gucci Honour into existance, but it's also painted the entire command squad of the Iron Fists Fourth Company as some band of vapid armoury fashionistas. This effect is magnified by the fact that the captain of the Fourth, one Katon Cantabricus, is primarily known for being away on a hunt while over 80% of his command exploded in the opening moves of the Siege of Taralus. So congratulations all, we have inadvertently acquired the high-velocity mean girls. I love it here.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

With proper application of leverage, and a blade wedged under the rim of the lid, the sarcophagus is opened. In battlefield conditions, such a breach would be inadvisable at best and sacrilegious at worst, but impact forces have ruptured the sarcophagus' gas-tight seals in a dozen different places and shaken the rest of the welds halfway to failure. Considering the crash damage, exposure to the air should be the least of the occupant's worries. There is precious little left of the Iron Fist interred within the sarcophagus. Those organs not replaced by bulky life-support components are a jumbled mass of flesh swimming in a translucent armaplas tank, and where a face might have been is half metal plating, half blackened skull. Finding more than a square inch of bare skin is a task in itself, but before long, the melange of sedatives and coagulants are getting to work. It's a temporary fix, insufficient to stave off death on its own merit, but it'll buy the dreadnought's occupant a couple more hours of life. Or rather, what passed for life as little more than a brain in a metal coffin. The Iron Fist twitches as the vox-modulator crackles out another sequence of words. At first, it sounds like a trick of the senses. The audio is jumbled, heavily laden with signal noise and interference, no doubt a consequence of damage to the mind impulse unit. But as the vox-modulator hisses and fritzes, there is the faintest indication of other words, contradicting answers floating like shadows beneath the original. "Command Support, Second Company, Iron Fists. Fourth Squad, Second Company, Iron Fists. First Squad, Eighth Company, Iron Fists. IIIrd Clave, Clan Raukaan, Iron Hands. VIIth Clave, 96th Company, Clan Atraxii, Tenth Legion." "000.M42. 798.M40. 629.M37. 405.M35. 006.M31." Cognitive degeneration is not uncommon in those entombed in dreadnoughts. Nor are dreadnought chassis that date back hundreds or even thousands of years. But as this dreadnought's words echo and recycle, there is something distinctly odd about the phantom answers. It's at this point that one of the nartheciums pings with an anomaly from the organic tissue scans. Like most of the day's harvest, there is some deficiency in the geneseed: malfunctions or omissions of minor organs such as the betcher's gland, mutations in the melanchromatic organ, and a litany of other minor errors. The anomaly exhibited by this warrior, or what remains of them, is significantly more developed. The nerve bundles of the Omophagea, normally an addition to the brainstem that reads the genetic material of consumed flesh, run much less smoothly through the body. These nerves entwine around not just the stomach, but the lower progenoid gland, which the narthecium highlights as showing signs of significant degradation, almost as if the former organ is consuming the latter...

There was laughter on the wind here, out on the fringes of the Opphon plain, as the veil began to break down. Warpfire, re-entry heat and the cataclysmic death of titans had burned back the snow as far as the northern foothills, where the Iron Fists had died. The path of their retreat was marked by a trail of broken bodies and smoldering tanks, a fresh road stretching out from the wreck of the Cestus Relictor, to the ugly looking barbican that guarded the mountain pass. The broken ship squatted darkly amidst a forest of smoke columns; the first wave landing craft downed by its colossal guns, but even now, lesser warbands were no doubt crawling through its halls in search of prizes, plunder and prisoners. The sons of Fulgrim had watched the battle from afar, like vultures waiting to see which duelling beast became carrion. There had been a pleasance to the ebb and flow of it, the way the line of grey bloomed and sparkled with muzzle flashes and detonations each time the infernal tide rolled in upon them. Each murder of a titan was a slow, graceful affair, punctuated by energy discharge that dazzled and slashed their way through the smoking air. The dreadnought was not hard to find. They'd watched as the gunship was gutted as it tried to hasten survivors back to the safety of the mountains. The bodies had scattered like dark pollen from the riven craft, but the single fruit, the larger shape, had fallen faster, throwing up dust and soil as it bounced and rolled and ploughed its way across the plain. There was not much left of it at the end of the furrow such fall had carved, but there was still a sparking, guttering sense of life within the crumpled wreck. The golden gauntlet sigil of the Iron Fists chapter had been torn off along with its arms, but the name, 'Syrak', was still legible on the sarcophagus lid, in spite of the dark, viscous fluid that marred the lettering it as it trickled from the vision-slit down into the dark earth. As the figures approached, there was a whine of broken servos and a series of unpleasant clunks from within the wreck. Slowly, falteringly, the mangled vox-modulator churned out a stuttering sequence of words, carrying neither emotion nor any sense of recognition of the figures that surveyed it. "Cousi-i-i-ns. Do not. Lea-ea-ea-ea-eave me hhhhhere."

"Of course it's far from me to pass a verdict here … I'm not someone who needs to pass judgement on others …" A brief silence, then a harsh laugh at his own joke, which continues for quite a while before it dies away with a chortle. Accompanied by quiet words in a language that is more of a hiss than actual syllables. "… but in general, I wonder whether earlier intervention would not make for a much better harvest. Not to mention the fact that we are damaging other people's image here."

The person at whom the words are obviously directed due to sheer physical proximity does not reply. Instead, he continues to work on finding a good approach vector to the dispersing battlefield that won't cause the aggressive gunship to rebel too much if he denies it prey, while remaining inconspicuous.

Instead, an answer comes from further back: "And by better harvest, you don't mean select cruelty and silly new skin garments, do you?" - "Pah! I'm always fighting prejudice here." Waving it off and then ramming the midnight blue helmet with the bat wings onto his head.

"There's a very good reason why the Chief Apothecary didn't send any of our purple friends here. All tactical discipline falls out of their heads as soon as they see the opportunity to interfere in a battle and make a spectacle of themselves. Waiting and striking surgically - that really doesn't suit them anymore." - "Yes, yes, yes. Precision and boredom. When did that happen?" - "You can discuss it with him when we get back. I'll make some popcorn and watch this conversation from a safe distance."

For a while, there is only a busy silence as the three Apothecaries finish equipping themselves and force the angrily protesting gunship to land in a crater left by a Titan's footstep in the churned-up mud of the battlefield.

Everyone not only arms themselves, but also adds several extra canisters for Gene Seed to their belts. Then they open the ramp, taking advantage of a moment of distraction when the ship wouldn't shoot at them out of sheer fury and spite, and run crouched to the nearest remnant of wall. One shadow in scuffed black, one in well-maintained metal with yellow and black accented stripes, and one in midnight blue.

They orientate themselves and then start systematically scanning the battlefield. Their prize is what is always needed in the Eye of Terror. Harvested compassionlessly but not cruelly. The last mercy given without engaging in the maelstrom of mysticism that has spread tumour-like through the galaxy in the time since their rebellion failed so resoundingly.

None of the three believe in anything that could be called fate or predestination. And yet, after about half an hour, the small canisters full of dripping tissue, they find themselves almost simultaneously at what is, in a strange way, a burial site. The second time.

„Cousi-i-i-ns. Do not. Lea-ea-ea-ea-eave me hhhhhere.“

"Huh," Skalagrim mouths in astonishment.

"Look at that, a playmate for Diomat! Can I keep him?" laughs Duco, his rasping laugh once again making him so uncomfortably similar to his Sire.

Tzimiskes sighs.

Finally Skalagrim steps right up to the fallen dreadnought. Tilts his head. Looks to Tzimiskes, "Can you do anything with him?"

The Iron Warrior shrugs his shoulders, but nods. All three look at their Narthetica at the same time, check their readings and begin to stabilise the fallen old man. They don't have to coordinate much. Every move is perfect. After a while, Tzimiskes rises and disappears in the direction of the hollow, where Butcher Bird is bored and probably in an even worse mood than usual.

Duco injects several different sedatives and coagulants and says in a paternalistic manner: "Well, my old friend, now tell Uncle Doctor - where are we from and what year are we living in?"

[moms-home]

This is one of my favourite things about Pathfinder lore! For example, their African-coded setting, the Mwangi Expanse, details two dwarf ethnicities; even just the way they wear their hair gives you an immediate idea of the differences in cultures and how they might interact with one another:

“The easiest way to identify a Mbe’ke dwarf, however, is their cultural habit of shaving their beards and cropping their hair very close. Numerous noxious insects call the Terwa Uplands home, many of which might find a flowing dwarven beard to be a lovely nesting ground, and so Mbe’kes tend to go cleanshaven. This sometimes scandalizes visiting dwarves.”

“While their curly hair is dark at birth, by adolescence a Taralu dwarf has dyed their hair to match the colors of the sky. This dyeing process happens whenever fog rolls across a settlement, and several hours are spent dyeing the hair of a single dwarf to match how the sky looked at a pivotal moment of that dwarf’s life. As years pass, most Taralu will dye their hair many times, and most will dye it different colors as new events occur and they hold new values dear.”

I don't think fantasy writers play enough with the concept of the different fantasy races having distinct ethnicities. Like imagine a group of mixed peoples, where the dwarves are all roasting each other like dwarves do, and one of them remarks that when he first saw one of the other dwarves in the group, he mistook her for a man. The other dwarves in the group blink in surprise - the closest that dwarves will go to an audible gasp of shock - and she pulls out a knife and tries to stab him.

Once the dwarves have been separated from each other and the situation has calmed, one of the humans asks another dwarf what that incident was about. Naturally a human woman would have been insulted too, but dwarves are so jovial about insulting each other, why was this matter different?

And the dwarf who was asked explains that there are things you can brutally insult another dwarf about, and there are things you simply do not touch. The dwarf-woman in question is from a completely different region of The Great Underground as the others, and her people have different norms about what kind of patterns men and women braid into their beards. The dwarf insulting her wasn't only insulting her appearance, he was being racist.

The human is surprised to learn that dwarves have different peoples, and the dwarf looks at them like at an idiot. Of course they do, they even look completely different from each other. And the human listens as the dwarf lists off various distinguishing clothing details too nuanced for a human to notice, and then how dwarves coming from different corners of the world have different physical traits, according to what kind of conditions their local stone types dictate.

The human spots a connection and goes oh! We have that too, though ours are not about rock types and tunnel air, but the weather aboveground. Humans' facial features vary by how hot, cold, arid or windy their ancestors' homelands were, and our skin tone varies by how much the sun shines in their native region.

The dwarf frowns at the last part, going "I thought you people just paint your skin and dye your hair for fun", and the human admits that yeah, we do that too, but not all the time, and not the whole skin. The dwarf asks, what of that tall woman the colour of dravite, her palms and the soles of her feet were lighter than the rest of her. Does that mean she paints herself dark to be more beautiful?

The human says no, that just happens naturally. Maybe it's because one's palms and feet aren't exposed to the sun as much, so they are paler.

The dwarf nods, still unsure whether this is actually legit or just the human habit of lying for fun, and proceeds to ask about the wild northman of their party. He is as pale as an olm, but the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet are dark. Are they painted, or naturally that way?

No, the human answers. That guy just doesn't bathe.

[buzzingonlinenow]

Bigg Boss 3 Telugu Trolls | Bigg Boss Telugu 3 Funny Memes | Bigg Boss 3 Day 1 Trolls | Mana Taralu

Bigg Boss 3 Telugu Trolls | Bigg Boss Telugu 3 Funny Memes | Bigg Boss 3 Day 1 Trolls | Mana Taralu

Bigg Boss 3 Telugu Trolls | Bigg Boss Telugu 3 Funny Memes | Bigg Boss 3 Day 1 Trolls | Mana Taralu #BiggBoss3 #BiggBoss #nagarjuna #trolls For More …

[burning-awake]

High Exarch Kil'jaeden

This article may be subject to change.

Overview

Kil’jaeden was a brilliant, intelligent and strong leader of Argus. He was beloved by his people, and many eredar would follow his judgment without question. In the timeline of events set in the Burning Awake AU, Kil'jaeden, along with Archimonde, reject the offer of Sargeras, instead following Velen and the draenei.

(Burning Awake AU Premise and Summary)

Youth

(This section is headcanon.)

In his youth, Kil'jaeden attended the Conservatory of the Arcane, where he gained his mastery in the arts of magic. During his time here, he met an astronomer named Taralus, who shared his love for the stars. The two became friends, studying and later training in the arts of the arcane together. After their graduation from the school of magics, the two remained close, continuing to study the stars and train together. They later pursued a romantic relationship, and by the time of the fall of Argus, had been mates for a considerable amount of time.

Leadership 

Kil'jaeden was always an excellent leader of the eredar, leading alongside Velen and later Archimonde. He and Velen were very close; he thought of him as a brother,[1] and even almost as an extension of his own soul.[2] In the events of World of Warcraft's canon, Kil'jaeden joins Sargeras's Burning Legion. However, in the timeline of the Burning Awake AU, he sides with Velen, fleeing Argus and becoming draenei.

Burning Awake

Fall of Argus

(This section may be subject to change.)

Years before Sargeras contacted Argus, Velen’s son was born, and at the moment of his birth, Velen had a vision of himself holding a dying fel-corrupted eredar. He did not understand this vision,[3] and so in the timeline of events in World of Warcraft’s canon, did not tell anyone of it. In the events of Burning Awake, however, he felt an inclination to bring this vision up with Kil’jaeden, still unsure what it could mean, but showing it to him nonetheless.

Upon the Legion’s offer to the eredar, Kil’jaeden was uncertain of the validity of the vision Velen was given by the Ata’mal crystal, until he recalled the vision shared with him previously, by Velen after the birth of his son. These visions matched each other, displaying the forms of fel-corrupted eredar, despite one being from years prior. Kil’jaeden remained unsure, but was swayed enough to be hesitant in regards to Sargeras’s offer.

Archimonde, however, was not swayed by this, and remained intent on taking the power offered by the Legion. Under the guise of meeting for celebration of their future, the three leaders met at Archimonde's domicile, and at this opportunity chose to admire his personal collection of artifacts as a look back into their past before they stepped into their future.

Once allowed to examine the skull, it was evident that it was not magically inert; something had been taking place within it which Archimonde seemed to have been completely blind to. In silent agreement with Velen, Kil’jaeden destroyed the skull with a small burst of arcane which should have only caused it to disintegrate. Instead, it fractured and released its own burst of magic, its fel energy burning Kil’jaeden’s hand which he had been holding it with.

Archimonde was understandably enraged by the destruction of his possession, but only momentarily. After the skull’s destruction, he found himself feeling odd, almost somewhat dazed. Upon Kil’jaeden and Velen re-explaining recent events, with emphasis on their speculation that any who followed Sargeras would no longer be themselves, Archimonde tentatively agreed to go along with their plans.

Genedar

During his time on the Genedar, Kil'jaeden continued to lead with the rest of the triumvirate, working to support the draenei in this time of need. He remained an excellent leader, inspiring confidence and dispelling despair among his people. He was instrumental in keeping morale high among the draenei.

In the first while during the flight from Argus, life for all became much more complex, especially for the leaders of the draenei. In this time, Kil'jaeden became prone to overworking himself, beginning to grow distant from those he cared for, including Velen and other close friends. Notably, his relationship with Taralus grew strained. The two were able to repair their relationship, however, and only grew closer after that as time went on. At some point during the Genedar’s journey, they adopted a pygmy marsuul named Starlight.

During the first instance in which the draenei had to fight directly with agents of the Legion, Kil'jaeden risked his own life to aid Archimonde in combat, sustaining moderate injuries in the process. Later on, the recollection of these actions would have an impact on Archimonde's character development.

Near half way through the Genedar’s flight, the draenei made one of their many attempts to settle and start over on a suitable planet they’d located. During this time, one of Kil’jaeden and Taralus’s close friends, Taeris, and their mate Zaari, had a daughter named Daressa. Barely six years after her birth, however, the Legion caught up with the draenei once again. After their narrow escape, Daressa was left without parents, and so Kil’jaeden and Taralus opted to take her in and raise her as their own.

Draenor

(Events taking place on Draenor and Alternate Draenor have yet to be decided.)

Azeroth

(This section is a work in progress.)

On Azeroth, Kil'jaeden handles many of the political matters concerning the Alliance and their relations with the draenei.

Kil’jaeden and Archimonde accompanied Velen in the return to Argus on the Vindicaar, and each of them retrieved their own pieces of the Crown of the Triumvirate respectively. Along with Alleria Windrunner, Kil’jaeden and Archimonde were present for the fight against the darkened naaru L’ura within the seat of the triumvirate. During L’ura’s charging of their final burst of void energy which transformed Alleria, Kil’jaeden was locked in place under the weight of holding off the darkened naaru’s other attacks. He would have met a grim fate if not for Archimonde’s actions, which took him out of the path of the void energy. This event mirrors Kil’jaeden’s risk he took to save Archimonde’s life millenia ago and serves to display changes in Archimonde’s character over that time. Alleria was hit by the burst of void energy, and her story proceeds as it does in canon.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

I fell hard and early and never looked back. Now I've 20000 words of lore, nine spreadsheets, a slowly expanding crop of pixel art, and no regrets.

Taralus Stands.

I’m not a space marine fan, heck I’m not even an imperium fan but I swear the allure of space marines is so ever present. Model diversity and varied list building. Weapon options on weapon options. Simple paint schemes that are easy to look good. Plot relevance and lore to the teeth. So may things that try and draw the humble xeno and chaos player in. So much customization and potential, why not pick up a kit or two for fun? Look at your old starter set custom marine chapter, all this lore in your head for them but only 6 models? You can do better, have good shooting and melee, two wounds a pop, great leadership and rules that affect everyone, doesn’t this sound enticing? I can’t be the only one this happens too right? Passing by the local game stores space marine section and just taking in the wall of marines of every sort. I swear it’s like the temptation of chaos but in real life for me.

[24x7politics]

5. CRPF Modi govt decided to shift the CRPF headquarters to Chandauli in UP, which is the home town of Union Minister, Rajnath Singh, from Taralu in Karnataka. This move was severely criticised as UP already has 5 CRPF centres in the state.#KarnatakaV… pic.twitter.com/biYgr1zRzV

— 24x7 Politics (@24x7Politics) March 12, 2018

[chaitunaidu-blog]

Bengaluru May 08: Two Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) personnel have died after the wild elephants have attacked them on Sunday. While coming to matter that, according to the police information, The incident occurred in the early hours when the elephant strayed into the CRPF camp at Taralu village from the adjacent Savandurga forest and attacked the victims," police said. The victims were identified as CRPF Assistant Sub-Inspector Dakshina Murthy, 52, and Constable Puttappa Lamani, 35.Dakshina Murthy hailed from Tamil Nadu other CRPF menmer Puttappa Lamani was from Haveri district in the state's central region. The camp on the Kanakapura road is 35km from the city. According to the Deputy Conservator of Forests Javen Mumtaz, he said that, "The rogue elephant escaped into the forest after the gruesome incident,"

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry.41a[note:rationalisenumberingsystem].The.Arcan.Cohort.

The Iron Fists Chapter is known to harbour a number of 'Temples', largely closed-door congregations that normally serve a role as keepers and educators in specific schools of war, but have also been known to include sergeants' councils and even a captains' council. The Arcan Temple is chief amongst all, as it functions as both a chapter-wide honour guard, and a monument to the chapter's spirit of vengeance. Warriors of the Arcan Temple shed their individuality on induction and are never seen helmetless or outside of their armour, although what occurs between the gold and iron-clad doors to the Arcan Temple is unknown.

Arcans deploy in maniples of five, and are split into three distinct specialisations. The Arcan Warders wear ancient suits of Maximus plate and bear great boarding shields, and serve as elite close-quarters kill teams as well as bodyguards. The Arcan Guard deploy in more ornate and esoteric forms of power armour, wield a diverse and inscrutable array of blades, and serve as the Chapter Master’s personal bodyguard. The Arcan Phalanx are Terminators, wielding unique, anti-armour chainglaives and serve purely as instruments of annihilation.

Unlike the rest of the chapter, Arcan maniples do not bear hereditary names or those of the squad’s sergeant, but are simply numbered. Company colours are shed in exchanged for a halved scheme, The badge of the Arcan Temple is a pair of black axes crossed on a golden yellow shield, and the warriors within have sworn to not rest until their homeworld is recaptured. Or at least, they did, until their homeworld was promptly recaptured. The lifting of the Long Siege marked a transitional period in the role that would be taken by the Arcan Cohort. Traditionally, members of the cohort would shed their individuality on induction, never seen helmetless or outside of their armour beyond the doors of the Arcan Lodge, as a sign of their dedication to avenging the loss of Taralus and their home. While minor lodges could be found on significant ships within the Chapter fleet, the most major would be found on the Tynarach Aur, installed during its refit in preparation for the Taralan Crusade. That same lodge would be thoroughly overrun when the vessel was lost in the warp, and the Arcans aboard slain almost to a man. Similarly dire circumstances on the surface of Taralus would, over the course of the long siege, drive the Arcan Ensign, Kastal Verchen, to cast aside the cohort's anonymity. A similar process would happen with Champion Arranys Janto aboard the Iron Star, and with the master of Arcan Maniple Tetrax aboard the Fortion, himself revealed to be the deeply venerable Onik Hettar. Such actions would break the Arcan Cohort's long-held traditions, but would allow the associated individuals to play much greater roles in both the Long Siege and the following liberation of Taralus. Those few Arcans who survived to see such liberation would be offered the choice to reclaim their old identities and participate in the chapter once more, and with the cohort's original sin absolved through the reclamation of their lost home, the Arcan Cohort as an organisation would not cross the Rubicon Primaris.

- My access to the repository has been restored. - Savant Paramete fixed my interface personally. - It was a harrowing experience. - Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.