#and say hi to his old warband

[larperwithastaff]

happiness is knowing your character has a home now 💚

[kit-williams]

A thought occurred. A terrible premonition.

Admittedly I don't know much about 40k but I have heard about the Lamenters and their supernatural bad luck.

And I've had a tedius few days (my ride had to cancel so I had to walk around on a hot sunny afternoon, can't find the TV remote, tripped going up the stairs, lost three hairbands with ten minutes of trying to do my hair, and more) SO my thinking:

A squad of baselines who also just have... the worst luck. Their called Canary Squad on account of an old Terran story of a bird being used by miners to suss out dangers somehow. When they go, just about anything that can go wrong does. It's safer for those who go in afterwards... but let's just say the mortality rates for this particular squad is high.

You would think command would get rid of such an unlucky team, but no. Besides the nightmare of red tape, clerical errors, delays and scheduling that is the administrative powers if the Imperium, their higher ups have... mostly figured out how to use this for their benefit. Mostly.

These poor souls could, and have, gone on patrol in a peaceful sector where Nothing Was Wrong... and it ended with a lot of fire, explosions, a Cult getting into a fight with some rebellious locals, a small Ork Warband crashing near their location, and a Chaos Space Marine accidentally getting teleported in the middle of the mess.

They always have some kind of injury or bruise or story, no matter what they do or say.

And then they meet the Lamenters. Everyone expects for them ALL to meet some horribly unfortunate end. Canary Squad jokes their gonna accidentally kill off a bunch of Space Marines, the Lamenters are already mourning these brave men and women they will inevitably lead to their deaths.

Only... that doesn't happen.

Oh, things go wrong, sure. They get hurt, and things are very touch and go for most of the mission, but... the mission is a success?

What?

Nobody died (on their teams, at least), they completed the mission, and managed to get off planet (by launching an airtight tank into space for someone to pick up) and back onto their ship.

It turns out their individual teams/chapters bad luck just... cancelled each other's out.

When a Canary trips, their paired Lamenter pauses to help them up, which delays them just enough to not get crushed by a sudden collapse when the support beams in the building fails. A Lamenters foot goes through the floor, causing the Canary to stumble/fall, which saves them from a malfunctioning pressure gauge that explodes and would have put metal scrap through the baselines skull.

A Lamenter saves a Canary from a sudden drop, and because they had to bend/kneel to catch them they avoid the thing that would have hit him and sent him tumbling down that same drop.

A Canary accidentally activates a security alarm/trap/defense, but the Lamenters bolter misfires and causes a power outage, cancelling said alarm (and possibly causing the people there to think it was a malfunction due to the power outage).

They get surrounded, somebody drops a grenade, somebody else kicks it, and it lands near something explosive and/or flammable. The Lamenters cover their baseline buddies, and suddenly there are no enemies. The building/ground does begin to collapse tho.

Like a weird symbiosis. One sides bad luck counters the other, and they just keep cancelling each other out until they end up in a kinda-okay situation? By their standards at least.

Everyone is baffled, but none of them are gonna complain. If anything they think it's a gift/blessing from their genefather or them Emperor (or both). They all get very attached to each other.

All of this to say:

*Lamenter holding up his designated human* "this is my lucky charm."

I genuinely wish I could add more to this but like the idea is complete and wonderful and that the idea their combined bad luck is so bad that it cancels each other out because the bad luck is trying to get them killed and trying to get the others killed just this is peak

[rotworld]

i'm new to wh40k and your writing has me hooked! i currently love reading lore about the drukhari and chaos space marines. i wanted to ask if you had any more details to share about your chaos space marine warband and mutant psyker reader?? i'm so obsessed with the messy dynamics of them all haha

i’m so glad you like them! as mentioned in the first piece, it’s a warband formed of outcasts and sole survivors. they came together out of necessity but they still fight a lot and trust is a relatively new, fragile phenomenon for them. they're held together by spite, pragmatism, and a frankly unhinged baseline human who is getting less "baseline" all the time.

->siarotha comes from the thousand sons. he’s very old, having been present for the burning of prospero, although most of those millennia were spent in places where time doesn’t flow normally. he’s about what you’d expect from the thousand sons: arrogant, secretive, generally manipulative, smartest guy in the room with an appalling lack of common sense. he has some amount of infamy for his past exploits but always seems to be holding back so the rest of the warband is wary of him. he considers himself “more philosophical than faithful” but he does have a complicated form of reverence for tzeentch. he has the power and knowledge to find other methods of transporting the warband to and from raids but will never admit it because he enjoys the intimacy of operating the warp gate with the reader.

->erghol comes from the world eaters. the butcher's nails make it hard for him to think clearly most of the time but he’s not as simple as people assume. he finds it both absurd and a point of pride that his old warband left him behind when he failed to disengage from an unfavorable battle. on the occasion that they come across other warbands, he’s especially hostile towards other world eaters and will often pick a fight. it’s unclear if he’s holding a grudge or if this is simply how khornate berzerkers say hello. siarotha believes that erghol’s attraction to the reader stems from their recklessness, a trait he finds familiar and appealing.

->kyloteknis comes from the iron warriors. he’s the least personable and the most pragmatic member of the group. he prefers to be in charge, whether that means leading and mediating a meeting or directing battlefield tactics. despite his generally abrasive demeanor, he’s dedicated to the warband to an extent that suggests something like fondness, although he claims to “at best, tolerate the lot of you.” he doesn’t share much about his history, but siarotha suspects that he was deeply affected by whatever happened with his old warband. kyloteknis isn’t particularly warm towards the reader and has no respect for their opinion in matters of war, but he will protect them when necessary.

->zonaras comes from the word bearers. he’s mild-mannered and easy to get along with, seemingly accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of a warband with so many strong personalities. aside from the reader, he’s probably the best at keeping the peace. he often clashes with siarotha because they’re both self-assured know-it-alls who like to hide things and subtly influence the rest of the warband. zonaras is fascinated by the reader and has been even before their newly acquired “blessing,” believing they’ve been singled out by the gods for some yet unseen purpose.

->claw and dagger both come from the night lords. they seem to have a problem with chronic, compulsive backstabbing and also a problem with fully committing to it. they were members of a warband that came into conflict with the reader’s warband and turned on their old allies a bit too eagerly in the chaos. they didn’t join so much as they quietly followed kyloteknis and the others back to their home base and promised to be useful in the future. despite a rocky start and constant “jokes” about stabbing the other members in the back, they’ve so far kept their word and earned their keep. claw is somewhat protective of dagger but tries not to make it obvious. they're big fans of the reader’s regenerative capabilities.

->grigori comes from the black legion and before that, he came from the blood angels. he claims he once succumbed to the red thirst “for a very, very long time.” it’s unclear how he snapped out of it or whether it still affects him, but he mostly keeps to himself and seems uncomfortable being close to the reader. he spends most of his time with erghol because he feels that they understand each other best. he seems desperate to maintain a good relationship with the rest of the warband and will go out of his way to find “gifts” for the others during raids. the majority of these gifts go to the reader ever since he discovered this pleases siarotha.

->the reader used to live an ordinary life of drudgery on a hiveworld. their psyker abilities have a mostly “passive” presentation that let them go undetected for a while but they were eventually found out and apprehended for collection by a black ship. before that could happen, the planet was attacked by siarotha’s old warband who made off with all those conveniently collected psykers to use as ritual fodder. being used as a conduit for warp energy tends to be fatal for the conduit but the reader turned out to be unusually resilient due to the nature of their psychic abilities. it was still a torturous existence and it was only a matter of time before they burned out, too. siarotha thought this was a terrible waste of great potential so he elected to leave the warband and “steal” the reader from them for his own purposes. his departure didn’t go as planned for several reasons and their relationship at the time was adversarial, to put it mildly. how and why they managed to survive is a story i’d like to tell another time, but they ended up with a strong bond. not everyone in the warband likes or trusts the reader completely, but they understand that siarotha’s hospitality is contingent on the reader’s continued wellbeing and survival so they’re inclined to behave themselves.

[felinisnoctis]

Petras Prime

Produced in collaboration with @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan and @sleepyfan-blog . Petras meets the chaos primaris trio. Much fun is had.

Warnings: Blood, combat, Petras being Petras

Tags @kit-williams  @sleepyfan-blog  @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets @nightshade-victorian @legionsofthehungry

Chaos or not, Cedric needed to warn the newcomers of the danger they were in.  Fortunately, as an apothecary, it was easy enough for him to find a reason to visit.  Felix looked up at him as he entered.

“Hello there, apothecary I am not allowed to kidnap on pain of an angry death guard.  Are you here to check on your work?”

Cedric took a deep breath before delivering his message.  “There is a suspected Primaris Killer on Ancient Terra. He is a loyalist Black Templar Chaplain by the name of Petras. He is currently visiting this city with his warband. I don't know if the rest of his warband are potentially also murderous.  Also no, I have not told the firstborn marines. Why would they care?”

Felix thought this information over for a moment.  “Ah, so you brought it to someone with a mutual interest, instead. You're smart for a loyalist.”

Cedric narrows his eyes at the backhanded compliment.  “Your companions are injured. Petras is several hundred years old. I would advise caution.”

Felix smiled at him.  With his helmet off he looked pretty normal, other than the mark of Chaos Undivided neatly burned into his scalp.  “Duly noted, apothecary.”

Cedric nods, still tense “Those of us who have been on Ancient Terra have yet to confront him due to logistical issues.” Those primarily being his argument with Ramiel as to who should be bait. The young Justicar insisted it should be him, but Cedric strongly disagreed. Ramiel had been killed by the bastard once already, and he would rather not risk it. Ramiel had argued as he was Petras’s Apprentice- of which they have heard other Firstborn Black Templars talk about Petras talking about occasionally- that his reaction to Ramiel would not be able to be hidden.

“There are ways to conceal ourselves from his sight, should it be needed.”  Felix didn’t seem inclined to explain what those were.

“Among the Loyalist Primaris, we do not have the ability to do that. Not without possibly risking the life of the one who is bait. We've been arguing over who should be bait, as none of us wishes to risk the others.” Cedric answers earnestly. 

“Well, thank you for the warning, in any case, Apothecary Cedric.  Rest assured my companions and I will take due precautions around this individual.”  Felix looked almost shark-like in his response.

Cedric nods “Good. This is my vox-number, should you wish for my help, or would like to talk.” He offers the other a small piece of paper with his vox number on it. He has no love for Chaos of any kind, but Felix and his brothers are also Primaris… And if Petras is from when Cedric suspects he is… There is no way the bastard Chaplain wouldn't seek out Chaos Primaris to kill, rules and treaties be damned.

Felix took the vox number and nodded.  He voxed a quick message over <And this is mine if you wish to chat more.  I will ensure my brothers are suitably warned of the risks on Ancient Terra.>  Out loud he added “An extra bag or two of blood for our brother would help.  For the road.”

“Of course. I can get together a couple of extra blood bags,” Cedric says with a nod, sending a message to inventory. “Anything else?” Over text he wrote <I mean it. Getting kitted out on Ancient Terra can get complicated if you don't have a permanent base.>

A few minutes later Jophiel comes by with four bags of blood and a cheerful whistling tune, “Some of the bags of blood- still edible, but almost too old to be used for transfusion.”

He hands off the bags of blood to Cedric, glancing at Felix a little, his wings tucked against his back and only twitching a little as he sees the Chaos Marine- his scent, mutated by Chaos- but still Primaris, has his hearts plummeting to his stomach.

“Hello cousin,” Jophiel says, mahogany brown eyes flashing a little as he assesses the Primaris Marine, “Make sure to call us for trade- Ancient Terra is rather resource-starved without having allies in place. But- I’m a Loyalist- so who cares what I say, right? See you soon again. Dodge the hidden strike, Loud- but wily, age not yet dulled senses. Time’s flow ebbs in his hands.”

“.. What?” Cedric says to Jophiel confused. “Are you saying?”

“What?” Jophiel says in response, tilting his head a little.

“You just said some random nonsense at my patient Jophie,” Cedric says, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He loves his witch-y brothers but they can be very odd at times.

“I said something to him?” Jophiel says confused, “oooh. My head.”

“Did you hit it recently?” Cedric says dragging the younger Primaris Marine to somewhere to sit.

“No!”Jophiel protested, “I think I blabbered a vision thing, but I don’t remember what I said.”

“It was… not very clear.” Cedric says.

“When are you going to be done with Felix?” Jophiel asks.

“How do you know his name?” Cedric asks.

“I ‘unno,” Jophiel says with a shrug, “he looks like a Felix to me.”

“Why did you ask when I was going to be done with my patient?” Cedric asks.

“Oh- Claude is uh…” Jophiel looked at Felix and looked away, “Claude’s gotten hit by the Curse of the Bat again.”

“Ah,” Cedric swore in his head, “I’ll get to him in a minute or two.” The young apothecary swiftly finished his tasks before going off to tend to Claude.

The young Librarian had curled into a small, dark space, wedging himself tightly, and was mumbling quietly. The witch-fire is crackling in his eyes and he’s twitching a little bit some sparks twisting along his form a little bit.

All bad signs. Claude hadn't needed to hide while suffering from one of his visions in months, not after he'd been adopted by Anrir and was getting proper training in the witchy-ways of the Eighth by Karlslor. Claude startled at his approach, dark eyes unseeing the world around him.

“Easy, Claude. It's just me.” Cedric murmured soothingly as he waited for the other to respond.

“Ced… Cedric?” Claude called out, reaching towards him blindly.

“Yes, Claude, it's me, Cedric.” The young apothecary confirmed patiently. 

“Good. Here. Safe.” He sighed, stumbling over to Cedric and leaning into him.

Cedric wrapped his arms around Claude's more slender frame, supporting the swaying psyker. “Easy there. I'm going to bring you to Karlsor, alright? And he can help you sort through the vision, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Claude managed out weakly.

It did not take long for Cedric to find and carefully hand over Claude to his mentor on Ancient Terra, explaining the situation as best as he could.

He then returned to base, putting together several emergency kits. The young apothecary stashed them in secure hiding spots near areas of the city where Astartes liked to frequent. Cedric was unsure where the possible fight between The Bastard and the trio of Chaos Primaris was to take place, but hopefully, if they did get hurt, he would be able to respond in time.

Meanwhile, Felix had a whispered conversation with Batsy and Mic.  Batsy still needed to not stress his legs too much, but that shouldn’t be an issue with how he fought.  Mic was more injured, but he’d always been the best shot of the group anyway, especially with his augmetics.  And they’d need to make sure that Batsy was well topped off on blood so he could use his powers.

He also conveyed Jophiel’s strange words to Batsy.  The chaos psyker would almost certainly be the best to deal with his loyalist cousin’s vision. 

Petras had finished doing some Chaplain-specific duties at the local Imperial Fist and Salamander run Loyalist base near Gannet Point. He had informed his Crusade that he’d been gone for a few hours.

He had not quite been truthful about how long he’d be attending his Chaplain duties at the base, he also needed to get some more of the… Excessive Delights that the bastard of a Chaotic Slanneshi Emperor’s child made for him.

He had gotten his order of chocolates- and had ugh, been forced to talk to that damned annoying Apothecary Hura- who ran some tests on him- some blood tests and toxicology reports.

He was a bit short and irritable, but it made sense, damned Chaos Bastards thinking they were so high and mighty. Feh. He did their stupid little tests and did fill out the dumbfuck questionnaires that the Apothecary insisted that he fill out.

When he initially refused to do the questionnaires, Apothecary Hura smiled at him and told him that, until he got all of this busy work of medical stuff done, he won’t be able to get his Excessive chocolates until he does.

He begrudgingly filled it out. Some of the questions were behavioral in nature, others were utterly bizarre and quite frankly, almost insulting at the implications that he might be corrupting into being a Chaos marine. Which he isn’t. He’s a True Son of Dorn, a Loyalist. It’s just that one bruise isn’t healing as fast as he thinks it should, and it’s starting to darken in some parts, and take the shape of a plant, almost, a thorny, flowering plant. But that’s just ridiculous and he doesn’t write that down. As that is none of Hura’s business to know.

Petras pops one of the chocolates into his mouth and he sighs, the delicious bitter-sweet notes of the chocolate melt on his tongue as he tucks the rest of the bag of Excessive Delights into one of the tactical pouches on his armor he continues to walk on.

Sometime later, Petras spotted something in the distance - likely another abomination, from the way the bulky marine moved.  Alone, this time.  As he got closer he could see the chaos markings on the marine’s armor.  So one of the primaris had finally shown their true colors.  He prepared the attack, getting as close as he could to the apparently unaware abomination before charging in to attack.

Meanwhile, Batsy and Mic hid in the shadows, Batsy’s psychic powers keeping them hidden.  Of course it only worked so long as they held perfectly still and didn’t make a sound.  Which was very hard as the effort made his fangs ache with blood thirst.

“DISGUSTING ABOMINATION IN THE NAME OF THE GOD EMPEROR I SHALL CLEANSE YOU FROM HOLY TERRA!” Petras bellows at the Chaos Abomination, vindication fills him, seeing this one reveal his true, disgusting, putrid colors.

Felix drew the chainsword at his hip as Petras started yelling.  “Yes yes I'm an abomination, thank you for the compliment.”  Chainsword gears revved as he pulled a bolt pistol as well, leveling it at Petra's chest.

Petras flicks his wrist, using his off hand to activate his tempormortis. The bubble encapsulates all three of his foes- not that he knows about the other two yet. It makes their movements incredibly slow so he’s easily able to dodge both his sword and bolt pistol as he smirks at the Chaos Abomination.

From the shadows, behind Batsy’s psychic veil, Mic lined up a shot, various implants and secondary cogitators rapidly tracking and analyzing Petras’s movements.  He aims at the weak spot in the armor underneath Petras’s sword arm and fires a single bolt-carbine shell, hoping to catch the chaplain off guard and even the odds.  Just as his shot is about to strike, Batsy takes off into the air, shadows dropping away to the sound of opening wings.

Petras grunts at the pain and the feeling of a bullet piercing through his armor and he staggers and snarls, lashing out with his weapon and looking around, “What foul treachery is this?!”

Petras hooks his tempermortis to his belt and switches his sword to his other hand and vox calls his Crusade, “Foul Chaos Traitors are attacking me! Backup requested- I’m sending you my coordinates-!”

He fights Felix and dodges Batsy’s first couple of swooping attacks. It helps that Batsy gets hit by the effects of the Tempermortis. Petras is counting down the seconds until the time dilation field turns off.

Felix taunts him in response, although his words are slowed by the field.  “Vox is jammed, they can’t hear you.  You’ll have to deal with us abominations all by yourself.”  His chainsword slashed the air again, not so much trying to wound as attempting to fend Petras off.  He still suffers a nasty wound across his belly as Petras’s power claw bites through his armor.

“You damned heretical chaos witches!” He spits back enraged.

Petras focuses his attention on Felix and the bat-abomination and manages to use his electrified power claw to pierce through one of Batsy’s wings and grabs it and with a brutal flick of his wrist breaks one of his wings at the joint before trying to cut off his head. Batsy in turn ducks under the wrist as he lands, bringing a massive force axe up towards Petras’s body even as pain shoots through his injured leg.  The psy-weapon rings off his armor as Felix aims another series of bolt shells towards the back of Petras’s legs, hoping to take advantage of his inability to face both sides at once.

He swears and dodges, while his eyes scan both of his opponents as he also tries to seek out where the Sniper is as well. He avoids the disgusting pox-ridden Nurglite and the other chaos abomination, whose allegiance is less certain.

“Foul Abominations, Kneel and repent, and die for your sins,” Petras barks out, “And the God Emperor, will then Forgive you.”

“But Apothecary Hura says I’m not supposed to use my leg for a while!” Batsy whined back, favoring his leg and compensating for it with his uninjured wing.  More bolt shells sang by Petras’s head as Mic fired from his spot behind a large rock nearby.  Batsy swung his axe again and again, hoping to beat Petras back with the sheer force, while Felix sought a weak spot in his armor to plunge his chainsword into.

One of Petras’s eyes twitches, “Of course you abominations know that fucking pain in the ass blighted, grotesque Apothecary. Ugh. Fucking Chaos!”  Right as he was distracted he felt something smack into his hip and stick there.

He tries to pull it off and toss it at one of the Chaos Abominations, “Fuck off, and damnation to you all!”  It sticks to his fingers, costing him a precious few milliseconds.  Which was all the time the shaped charge needed to go off. “Damn you to the Eternal hellfire of the God Emperor!”

The explosion staggers Petras enough that he collapses. Between his armor and his own superhuman healing factor, he should recover.  Except the blows didn’t stop, smashing into his limbs to shatter them one by one, then shatter them again before moving into his chest.  Carefully avoiding any blow that would be immediately fatal.

“May you suffer a thousand times over!” Petras snarls, as he tries to fight- continue to attack them, but his limbs betray him, his flesh which sings of pain, refuses to move. His eyes glare at them with Fire of the God Emperor as he continues to spit insults at him until he passes out.

It’s a bitter mockery of the times when he’s beaten Primaris, until they have fallen, and then continued to keep striking them while they were down. No Mercy, No Fear, no quarter given. If he survives this… He will make sure they pay for this.

[invidioso-dogma]

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

[mistfallengw2]

Dragon warband (1305 AE, 16-17 years old, at graduation from the fahrar)

Ardea Dragonblaze - Legionnaire, elementalist Aurelia Goredragon - Ardea's partner, warrior Sidonia Chaindragon - Ardea's older half-sister, guardian Odhran Dragonfly - Obsius's albino twin, mesmer Obsius Dragonprowl - Aurelia's best friend, thief Kouran Dragonheart - the mom friend, engineer Reeva Dragonblast - the one with the joke, engineer-ish Lupita Wilddragon - the quiet one, ranger Rorick Dragonbreath - the Orr nerd, necromancer

Can't believe I had them since late 2017, but years later they finally have a design! Now to draw them around 15 years later, and finish their small refs for their fullbody design... sometimes in the future, gotta catch up on the easy oc-tober challenge first (9 out of 31).

Some trivia from the wip, and some new trivia! - Having just gotten out of the fahrar, they're full of confidence and bravado. Granted, they're quite capable, more than their age shows, but they still have some important growing up to do at this point. - The necklace Ardea wears was made from an amber gem Aurelia found during training when they were younger. She gifted it to her because it was the same color of her eyes and Ardea had it made into a necklace. - When they became official, Ardea started braiding unruly tufts of her mane with locks of Aurelia's (she keeps it short anyway). - Sidonia is not only more buff and tall than most female charr, but she's also extremely fluffy, especially in winter. She doesn't mind it that much, and luckily her sister is always up for helping her out with grooming. - After Rorick, Lupita gets along the most with Obsius and Odhran. One wouldn't say so from how the twins mostly ignore her (she's always quiet anyway), but there's never been a team like them in the fahrar when it comes to kitchen raids and similar nighttime expeditions. - Reeva never really figured out what she wanted to be, which played heavily into her insecurities during the first years in the fahrar. Kouran helped her a lot after she stopped bullying him, and she became a bit of a jack of all trades. While she doesn't like calling herself an engineer, she considers herself a top-tier engineer assistant. - Rorick got quite fucked up during a spell gone wrong, months before he joined the fahrar when he was still figuring out his magic. The result was much uglier and zombie-looking for a while, as the spell had quite literally consumed life force out of his body, with his face and hands having taken the brunt of it, but after lots of healing his skin became just furless and kind of wrinkly (think of a sphynx cat, but less squishy because it is technically all scars). Too bad his fur remained thin and sparse all over, never regaining its full strength.

[deliciousspecimen]

Ember in the Dark pt.1

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: War, Violence, Death, illness, Grief, Poverty, Persecution, Oppression, and Child neglect/orphanhood.

Word Count: 2914

Summary: Nayesa, a refugee from Ionia, flees to the Undercity with her infant daughter to escape Noxian forces, suppressing her magic to survive. She toils endlessly to keep her child safe, but when the girl unknowingly uses magic, Nayesa realizes their past will always haunt them. She works herself to death, leaving her daughter alone in the unforgiving streets. Forced to survive, the girl joins a group of orphans- Vander, Silco, and Felicia- learning to steal, fight, and conceal her powers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The putrid scent of burning wood and flesh clung to the air as Nayesa ran, her breath ragged, her muscles screaming for respite. Behind her, the once-pristine forests of Ionia were choked with smoke, their vibrant greens now painted in the sickly fire glow. The rhythmic clang of Noxian steel against Ionian blades still rang in her ears, but she dared not turn back.

Her infant whimpered softly in her arms, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of her tattered robes. She adjusted her grip, pressing the baby closer to her chest, shielding her from the cold wind sweeping in from the coast. She couldn't cry- she mustn't cry. If the Noxians heard them, if they saw the faint shimmer of magic that still crackled beneath her fingertips, they would be hunted down.

She had seen it before. A woman who tried to fight back, her magic searing through Noxian armor- only for the warbands to descend upon her like beasts, silencing her screams beneath iron and blood. She had turned away, biting back her own fear, and fled. Magic is a death sentence. That was the one lesson Ionia’s war had taught her.

The boats at the shore were barely visible through the thickening fog. She stumbled onto the dock, her heart hammering as she found an old ferryman willing to take her. He was a man of few words, his face lined with the hardship of someone who had smuggled too many refugees, but his hand was steady as he took her trembling coin. No questions asked. She clutched her daughter tighter as the boat rocked, her gaze fixed on the horizon where The Undercity- dark, industrial, and suffocating- waited.

It was not home. It never would be. But it was safe.

The Undercity embraced the lost, the forsaken, and those with secrets to keep. Here, in the slums where even Piltovan Enforcers feared to tread, they could disappear. She learned to hide in the shadows, to suppress the flicker of magic in her blood, to live as just another nameless refugee in a city built on the bones of the forgotten.

Her baby would grow up not knowing Ionia’s forests, not hearing the songs of the wind dancing through cherry blossoms. But she would live. And for now, that was enough…

Nayesa’s fingers tightened around the threadbare cloak wrapped around her daughter, her mind drifting as the boat rocked gently beneath them. The salt-laden air of the ocean mixed with the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to her skin was a cruel reminder of what she had left behind.

Ionia was gone to her now. The home where she once played among the cherry blossoms, where the rivers whispered songs of old, where the spirits still danced in the wind- lost. She forced herself not to think of the faces she would never see again, the family she had abandoned to the fire and steel of Noxus. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, but she buried it deep. She had no choice.

The ferryman, silent as the grave, guided the vessel through the thickening mist. His hands, calloused and cracked from years of toil, moved with mechanical precision as he adjusted the sail. Nayesa knew better than to speak- men like him survived by knowing nothing, saying nothing. Still, when his gaze briefly flickered to the bundle in her arms, there was no malice there, only understanding.

She exhaled, glancing down at her child. Small, fragile, yet warm against her chest. A spark of life amid the ashes of war. She traced a gentle hand over the baby’s cheek, whispering a promise she had no idea how to keep.

By the time they reached the docks, night had swallowed the sky. The towering, rust-streaked structures loomed overhead, their smog-drenched exteriors casting jagged shadows against the dim glow of neon signs. The scent of oil, metal, and damp earth thickened the air, an oppressive contrast to the crisp mountain breezes of Ionia.

She stepped off the boat, her legs weak from exhaustion, and nearly collapsed. The ferryman caught her arm- only for a second before slipping away into the murk, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Nayesa pulled the hood of her cloak low, blending into the throngs of workers, refugees, and outcasts that moved like restless phantoms through the lower districts. No one spared her a glance. In The Undercity, survival meant minding your own business.

The slums welcomed her with the cold indifference of a city built on desperation. She found shelter in a crumbling tenement, a place where the air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew, where the walls groaned under the weight of their decay. But it was a place to rest, to breathe.

Days blurred into weeks, then months. She worked where she could- scrubbing factory floors, mending torn garments, selling whatever scraps she could barter. She spoke little, kept her head down, and made sure no one saw the shimmer of power that still lived beneath her skin.

Her daughter, whom she named (Y/N), grew into the shadows of the Lanes. She never knew the wind-chimes of Ionia, never saw the blossoms bloom in spring, never ran through the open fields where the spirits once roamed. Instead, she learned the rhythm of the Undercity- the hiss of steam vents, the distant hum of chem-tech engines, the quiet desperation in every hushed conversation.

She would watch her at night, curled up in the dim glow of a flickering light, and wonder what kind of life she had truly given her.

Safe. But at what cost?

One evening, as Nayesa walked home through the winding alleys, she heard a sound that froze her blood.

Laughter.

A child’s laughter, light and unburdened, echoed through the filth and grime of the Undercity’s streets.

She turned the corner and saw (Y/N), no longer a baby but a bright-eyed child, her tiny hands outstretched as small, golden sparks danced at her fingertips. A wonder, a gift- one that could get them both killed.

Nayesa’s heart pounded.

Magic is a death sentence.

The war may have been left behind, but its lessons had not.

She rushed forward, scooping (Y/N) into her arms, extinguishing the light with a whispered hush.

No one could see. No one could know.

She had sacrificed everything for her daughter’s safety.

And now, the Undercity would demand its own price.

It was a city that took as much as it gave, swallowing the desperate and forgotten whole. Nayesa had always known it would come for her too, sooner or later.

For seven years, she scraped by in the underbelly of the city, enduring the choking smog, the filth-ridden streets, and the cold that seeped into her bones. She endured it all for (Y/N). Every coin she earned, every sleepless night, every bruise from the fists of those who thought a refugee woman was an easy target- it was all for her daughter.

(Y/N) was bright and full of wonder despite the bleak world around her. She didn’t remember the war, the flames that consumed their home, or the screams that once haunted Nayesa’s nights. To her, Ionia was nothing more than stories murmured in hushed tones, tales of Magic and rivers that whispered secrets to those who listened. Nayesa never told her the full truth of their exile, only that they had left because it was too dangerous to stay.

But the real danger wasn’t behind them- it was here, in the Lanes, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Nayesa had felt the sickness creeping into her body long before she admitted it to herself. The air in the lower districts was thick with toxins, a slow, creeping poison that gnawed at her lungs. Every cough was deeper, wetter. Every breath was a struggle. There were chem-doctors in the Lanes who could cure anything- for a price. But Nayesa had no money for miracles.

She worked until she couldn’t stand. Then, she worked more.

She didn’t tell (Y/N). She couldn’t.

But children saw more than adults ever gave them credit for.

"Momma, why are you always so tired?" (Y/N) asked one night, her small fingers tracing the lines of her mother’s weathered hands.

Nayesa smiled, brushing a stray lock of soft hair from her daughter’s face. "Because I have the best little girl in the world to take care of," she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And that’s worth everything."

But love alone wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

One morning, Nayesa didn’t wake up.

(Y/N) shook her at first, small hands gripping the worn fabric of her mother’s cloak. "Momma?" she whispered, her voice uncertain, scared.

She didn’t move.

The room was cold. The single candle by the bedside had long since burned out, leaving only the distant glow of the Undercity’s ever-present green smog filtering through the cracks in the walls.

(Y/N) curled up beside her mother, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t understand. Not yet.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gnawing ache of hunger set in, that the truth began to sink in.

Her mother wasn’t waking up.

She was alone.

No one in the Lanes cared about another dead refugee. There were no mourning bells, no neighbors offering condolences. By nightfall, scavengers would come, rifling through their tiny home for anything of value.

(Y/N) didn't wait for them.

She packed what little she could- her mother’s old cloak, a handful of stolen ration bars, a rusty knife too dull to be a real weapon- and ran.

The streets of the Undercity were not kind to the weak.

She learned quickly. How to steal without being seen. How to disappear when Enforcers patrolled too close. How to navigate the tangled maze of pipes, vents, and back alleys that served as the lifeblood of the Undercity.

She was small, fast, invisible. And she was hungry.

The first time she stole from a chem merchant’s stall, she was caught. A rough hand yanked her back, slamming her against a wall.

"Little rat," the man snarled, his breath reeking of grease and sour alcohol. "Think you can take from me?"

(Y/n) trembled, her fingers curling instinctively. A warmth flickered in her palms, tiny sparks of golden light dancing between her fingers.

Magic.

No. No, no, no.

She clenched her fists, forcing it down, burying it deep. Her mother’s warning echoed in her mind.

Magic is a death sentence.

She braced herself for the beating- but it never came.

Instead, another voice cut through the heavy air.

"Let her go."

A boy, older than her, stood in the shadows of the alley. His arms were crossed, his clothes patched and dirt-streaked, but his gaze was sharp, calculating. His black hair covered his eyes a bit, too short to tie back, too long to look completely neat. "She’s with us."

The merchant sneered but let her go with a shove. "Keep your rats on a leash…" he spat before stalking off.

(Y/N) coughed, her ribs aching, but she turned to the boy, confused. "I’m not with you…" she said, wary.

"You are now," he replied simply.

And just like that, (Y/N) found herself among the lost children of the Lanes- the orphans, the runaways, the ones who had no homes… Vander, Silco, and Felicia… They moved like ghosts through the city, stealing to survive, hiding in the forgotten corners where the Enforcers wouldn’t dare to tread.

(Y/N) learned their ways. How to fight, how to climb, how to read the shifting tides of the city’s underworld. But most importantly, how to keep her secret.

She never used her magic. Not once.

Not until the day she had no choice.

It happened during a heist gone wrong- when she was fourteen...

They had planned everything perfectly- distract the shopkeeper, grab the goods, and slip away before anyone noticed. But no plan ever survived the chaos of The Undercity.

The Enforcers came down on them fast, too fast. (Y/N) ran, her breath sharp in her chest, her feet pounding against metal grates and uneven cobblestone. She took a wrong turn- a dead end.

The Enforcers were closing in.

She panicked.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her palm. Then a spark. Then a flame.

Golden light flared to life, illuminating the alleyway in brilliant, searing heat. The Enforcers reeled back, blinded, startled.

And (Y/N) ran.

She ran until her legs gave out, until she collapsed in a forgotten corner of the city, her heart slamming against her ribs.

She had been careful. She had hidden it for years… But now they would come for her. In The Undercity, secrets never stayed hidden for long…

For seven years, she had hidden what she was. Buried it beneath bruised knuckles and nimble fingers, beneath the hunger and the cold, beneath the fight to survive. But now, the secret she had fought to keep was out. Maybe not fully- but it was a crack, and cracks always widened.

The others would know soon enough.

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not with the heat still on her.

So, she disappeared into the veins of the Undercity, into the places where the air stank of rot and rust, where even Enforcers hesitated to follow. The tunnels beneath the city were a maze- only those born to the Lanes could navigate them, and (Y/N) had lived here long enough to know every passage, every broken grate, every hidden crawlspace.

She found a hollow space beneath a collapsed structure and curled into it, pressing her back against the damp stone, pulling her knees to her chest. She needed to think. To plan.

But plans meant nothing when Silco was the one sent to find you. Silco moved through the Undercity like a shadow, his sharp eyes scanning every alley, every abandoned structure. He knew how to track a runaway. They all did; life had made them that way.

Felicia had been worried, of course. "She’s been gone too long," she had muttered, arms crossed, trying to mask her concern. "What if the Enforcers-"

"She’s fine," Vander had cut in, though his frown betrayed his doubts. "She’s one of us."

And Silco? He hadn’t said much. He had only grabbed a knife and set out.

(Y/N) was fast. Smart. She knew how to disappear.

But he knew her.

He knew the places she went when she wanted to be alone, the paths she took when she needed to breathe. And more than that- he knew fear.

He had seen it in her when they ran from the heist, when the Enforcers had almost caught them. But there was something else, something deeper in the way she had looked at them before she fled.

Not fear of getting caught.

Fear of being seen.

It gnawed at him as he moved through the city, picking his way through the forgotten tunnels. If she was hurt, if someone else had found her first-

No. He pushed the thought away. He would find her.

The search had fractured them into three silent battalions. Felicia, driven by equal parts concern and duty, combed through the labyrinthine upper corridors where the stale, clinging mist of decay blurred every step. Vander took a divergent route, his methodical pace revealing an unspoken determination as he retraced familiar paths that had once served as escape routes. And then there was Silco- moving like a whisper among the ruins, his focus as sharp as the blade he carried.

In the winding gloom beneath a collapsed structure, Silco’s calculated steps slowed as a fragile form emerged from the darkness.

She was curled up beneath a collapsed structure, half-hidden in the darkness, her body taut with exhaustion. She looked smaller like this, the rough edge she carried worn down by fear and fatigue.

For a moment, he just watched her.

"You gonna come out," he finally said, his voice calm, "or do I have to drag you?"

(Y/N)’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp and alert despite her exhaustion. She hesitated, her muscles coiled like a cornered animal.

"You alone?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Silco scoffed. "No, I brought a whole damn parade." He stepped forward, crouching slightly so she wouldn’t bolt. "What the hell happened back there, (Y/N)?"

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "We got sloppy."

"Not what I meant." His gaze didn’t waver. "You ran like they were hunting you."

(Y/N) flinched, just slightly, but Silco caught it.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, she exhaled, looking away. "I just… I can’t go back yet."

Silco tilted his head, studying her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, hesitating.

Because I have magic. Because I lost control. Because if you knew, you’d never look at me the same way again.

But she couldn’t say that.

So instead, she forced a smirk, weak but convincing. "Didn’t feel like dealing with Vander’s lectures."

Silco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, you’re gonna hear them anyway. So get up."

She didn’t move.

Silco’s smirk faded. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to tell me, you know. But whatever’s got you scared?" He straightened up, eyes dark. "Don’t let it turn you into prey."

(Y/N) looked at him then, something unspoken passing between them.

Silco had always been sharp, always seeing things others missed. Maybe he didn’t know the truth yet. But he knew something.

And that was dangerous.

Still, she took his outstretched hand...

[commanderhorncleaver]

Serving up a 3 with a side of 9 and 17 for Gaius with both Rytlock and Efram 👀

oho you started strong lmao putting it under a readmore cause it's a lot!

Gailock!

3. In what ways are they good or bad for one another?

Starting with what's bad: I think they exacerbate one another's worst problems; Gaius makes Rytlock more insecure, and then more fractious. Rytlock's obstinance then makes Gaius more reclusive and reluctant to communicate (which he's already not exactly great at) and he turns to others and focuses his attention--read, obnoxious old-man tendencies--onto them to make himself feel productive.

As for the good: Rytlock gets Gaius out of his shell, makes him do things, be a bit more spur of the moment. They have fun getting into shenanigans together--the charr tutorial, Barradin's Vault, was specifically Rytlock asking Gaius out on a date. Gaius meanwhile pushes Rytlock to face things and ask questions and focus on improving. It requires a lot of introspection, but he does admire that about Gaius, and after a while, he works to emulate that (IBS in Gaius-canon).

9. How do they feel about each other's exes and people who flirt with them? Is jealousy an issue in general?

Gaius is generally indifferent towards the idea of Rytlock's promiscuity, but he doesn't handle it as well when faced with it. He didn't need excuses to dislike Logan, but a more culpable example is Crecia; while Gaius is admittedly being swamped with things during the Rally, he's distinctly uncomfortable with Crecia, and a particular part of it is because they're actually rather similar, especially in their driven attitudes. However, he sees how she treats him, and worries a lot about how he treated Rytlock.

Rytlock meanwhile, I imagine is more open to Gaius's promiscuity; though he can be territorial, he's very capable of acknowledging their legion separation and how Gaius has an active warband he's with, and so on. In practice, he tends to weaponize the fact that he knows Gaius isn't having a lot of sex outside of Oberon, and taunt Gaius with his own promiscuity in order to spur him into action. This has led to several hookups when they were "taking a break"; technically they never talked about the breaks to begin with, but it just led to more arguments.

17. Is there a secret that they don't dare tell the other? Why? Will they ever say it?

Surprisingly, and this goes for both parties, I don't think so. Gaius's struggle with communicating is more an issue of his alexithymia making him struggle to recognize his emotions--he doesn't realize there are things he needs to communicate because he views things in a very methodical lens. Rytlock, on the same issue, simply just has other things to do, and doesn't really even realize they're in a situationship, so. There's no room for love there; they've got shit to do.

Efrus!

3. In what ways are they good or bad for one another?

I highlighted Gaius's issues with experiencing his emotions in the Rytlock section: the thing is, his return to the Legions for the Rally is his point where he's identified this, and is working on improving his habits of compartmentalizing things he doesn't realize he's feeling. During the Rally, and later after his success at the Rally, Gaius is basically assigned to interface with Flame, because Smodur's testing his loyalties (and also it's funny. your shitty dad is here? go make nice with him) and he and Efram basically hit it off well from the get go, whenever Gaius isn't getting dragged away by something else. The other challenge Efram presents is that he himself is open about his interests, and it forces Gaius to be aware of his own, and try to match that openness. It's growth for him because he's constantly trying to pay attention to how he feels, and then communicate that.

Gaius is good for Efram cause he keeps him pregnant.

9. How do they feel about each other's exes and people who flirt with them? Is jealousy an issue in general?

As we don't know much about Efram's past relationships (though Prisca existing as a younger cub tells us he's at least relatively active sexually/romantically) I can only assume Gaius is at least surface-level as indifferent as he is with Rytlock. He's not an exceptionally jealous individual, and because they're talking, it's easier for them to establish expectations for a long-distance relationship. So Gaius is cool. Don't flirt with Efram in front of him, though.

Efram meanwhile is someone I imagine probably finds Gaius's situationships and lack of awareness quite funny. He probably teases Gaius about the crowds of charr (and other races!) he leaves in his wake, which Gaius assures him is not the case. Where Rytlock is concerned, I don't think he's super bothered by him.

17. Is there a secret that they don't dare tell the other? Why? Will they ever say it?

There's nothing that I can imagine! I'm tired, so I'm not going to offer conjecture with this one, but ostensibly, with how much more open Gaius is by this point, especially just with trying to be open, I can't think of any secrets he'd keep.

[thevoidscreams]

Let’s do another one, shall we? This one might be a little more…freaky.

(Any Chaos Astartes)

*Your Astartes been more affectionate lately. Slowly persuading you into his “nest” where he finally has you right where he wants you. Stuffing you full of his clutch.

*You don’t even realize whats happened until you’re whimpering out in ecstasy. Too drugged up on his scent/pheromones.

*Oh, you’ll make a wonderful mother to his brood.

(Too freaky?)

Day 16

I am frothing. I love oviposition.

Pairing: Pumpkin chaos astartes oc x reader

Warnings: oviposition, sex pheromones/ chemically induced arousal, space marine husbandry with full sized astartes

Making the warnings bigger so yall dont miss it. But I'm gonna say it's all consensual I'm going to make more for this in the future I think

When I'd found him out in the wilderness I hadn't expected to bond with him so strongly. I couldn't even really tell what legion or chapter he'd been a part of.

Chaos, that was what the apothecaries told me and I was instructed to move forward with caution. I called him Pumpkin as a sign of affection. It was the nickname my mom used to call me. He liked it alot. Answering me eagerly when I called for my Pumpkin. Perhaps I should have tried to learn his real name first, now he won't tell me what it is. He only answers to Pumpkin.

But I liked him. He was a good housemate, keeping tidy and he was affectionate for someone I found in the woods.

He took up the old room I gave him, and it quickly became a cozy place as he scrounged old furniture from curbs.

I made him clean them thoroughly before he could bring them in. But it became a really sweet set up.

After he was done with all that he seemed to shift. It was nearly imperceptible at first. Just more touches here and there. Going out and bringing back fresh foods he'd foraged with him. 

Checking in on me, marking dates on the calendar with little stars. As if he was tracking something but he wouldn't tell me what. He spoke in broken English, but he was still learning the language, and I had learned just enough of his High Gothic to communicate.

I thought about going out to acquire another astartes. The forums said if you could have more then one they learned new languages quicker.

When I brought it up with him, he absolutely lost it. Yelling “No” in more than just two languages.

I was shocked but dropped it. But he was oddly distant after that, taking his dinner to his room to eat alone.

That night I went to the forums and tried to find out more.

[Hey all. My chaos astartes is strictly against me getting another astartes. Why,]

NewlyChaotic: 

“Hey all, 

I ‘adopted’ my chaos astartes about five months ago and everything has been great so far, but I had been wanting to open my home to another perhaps. But when I brought it up to Pumpkin (it's what he likes me to call him, I don't know why)

He lashed out badly and wouldn't talk to me for hours and went to bed.

I only brought it up after reading that astartes learn and operate better in groups generally.

Even chaos aligned.

Any advice would be greatly appreciated, I feel so lost and just want my Pumpkin hugs back. ;^;

I wanted and soon my thread had a response.

Salamander_Sheila🐉:

Hey @NewlyChaotic,

Sorry to hear about your troubles. It happens sometimes that astartes grow bonded to their baselines and just don't want to share. He might feel like you'll replace him if you bring another astartes into your home.

As for the chaos aspect, what legion is he?

NewlyChaotic:

I'm not sure, his armor looks like it was scrubbed clean of paint and he has no livery that I can discern. He's normally very sweet and I love him to pieces, I could never replace him.

Salamander_Sheila🐉:

I get that. I love my boys to bits and wouldn't ever want to hurt them.

Maybe he left his chapter/warband.

Also my friend @ShadowyMistress has a few chaos boys. She might know some things.

ShadowyMistress:

I have been summoned?

Yes I have many different chaos astartes. They're really sweet when they actually like you lol. :p

NewlyChaotic: 

So is his behavior normal?

ShadowyMistress:

Seems it. However you should look out if he starts to make “nests”.

Some mutated astartes begin to take on more animalistic traits.

He might try to breed you. Which, I mean if you're down for that then Godspeed.

Salamander_Sheila🐉:

It's pretty rare, but romantic connections can happen.

I would know.

I let that digest for a minute. Turning to look towards Pumpkin's door.

My heart thumped harder at the thought and I felt uncomfortably warm.

My love life had been pretty lackluster. Hadn't had a date in a hot minute. 

I shook my head, I'm sure it wasn't that.

NewlyChaotic:

Thanks for all the help guys. I have a lot to mentally chew on with his.

Salamander_Sheila🐉:

Talk to him, as best as you can.

If he's not proficient at English it's okay. Astartes are good at sensing intent and feelings. 

Be open with him and if you mean it, tell him you don't plan on replacing him with anyone else.

Good luck with Pumpkin, and you can shoot me or Shadow a dm if you need. We're usually around at this time.

NewlyChaotic:

I will. Night guys.

I logged off and shut the computer down.

The side table lamp was on and I knocked on the door softly. He wasn't an early sleeper so I knew he'd still be up.

There was a soft “Yes?” From the other side, I cracked the door open and called in.

“May I come in?...Please?”

I waited, my chest feeling tight for some reason.

“Yes.” 

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and stepped in.

Pumpkin was at his desk. It looked like he'd been watching a nature documentary on the laptop I'd gotten him. I was happy he'd been enjoying it.

The words of the girls on the forum flashed in my mind. ‘Just talk to him..he'll understand the intent.’

“Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier, I didn't mean to upset you.”

He looked at me with green gold eyes that seemed to understand what I was trying to convey.

Perhaps he understood more of my language than he could speak.

He turned to me fully and put out his hand. I took it and shivered at the contact. His hands were so warm.

“I don't want you to think I'm trying to replace you, not at all. I care about you Pumpkin. I just read that you astartes tend to do better in groups. And I was worried that being here with me wouldn't be enough to make you happy.”

I hadn't meant to spill that fear to him, but it was out now and I couldn't take it back.

He pulled me into his arms. Hugging me with so much understanding and affection. It felt amazing to be held like that.

“You are…enough. I am.. I am happy with you.”

He had to think through his words as he spoke and I returned the hug.

“I'm so glad. I just want you to be happy and healthy.”

He nodded and kissed the top of my head, it made me giggle.

I let him go and he did the same. But he raised his hands and gently touched my chin.

“I love you.” He chirped on High Gothic and I wasn't sure what he'd said but I didn't press.

“Well, I'm gonna get to bed. I have more work to get done in the morning.”

I hurried out, feeling a tad bit light headed. His touch had left me feeling hot for reasons I couldn't explain.

I was going to need a shower. Probably a cold one.

I watched her go, my hearts pounding. Too little, I noted. My pheromones hadn't built up enough. I opened up the journal on the miniature computer system my beloved had gotten me. 

I needed to record this interaction. It would be important to show our sons in the future. After they were here of course. 

It hurt to lie to her. I loved her, but I couldn't risk her finding out I knew everything she'd said. 

And if she brought an intruder into our home, our nest. My cover would be blown and our children's safety compromised.

I loved her, but she could be so silly.

Standing, I shutdown the computer and chuckled. No incense needed, no fancy oils. I liked these little machines. 

It was late and I needed to finish touching up the place where I would make our family, my new warband of sons, a reality.

It was such a shame that the old one lacked vision. That they refused to accept the gifts of our patrons.

Our numbers would have grown and we would have been unstoppable. Able to take anyone we pleased to grow our numbers.

I had had to do it, to cleanse them from existence. They turned me away, called me disgusting. A shame to kill so many brothers and cousins.

But what if they told others? 

I'd rid myself of their colors, their symbols, their outdated ideals. I was my own man now. I would have a warband that was loyal and not full of naysayers and old ruins.

The prince of pleasure and the changer of ways had given me such wonderful gifts.

I just had to have my little darling here with me in my nest. My pheromones were the strongest here. And she'd been too busy to notice that I moved my couches to block in the corner.

This would be the most comfortable place to fill her with my clutch.

I rearranged the pillows again, and pulled more blankets I'd gotten into the pit.

Perfect.

Her door was never locked. A good thing really, she was so beautiful in the moonlight. Dreaming soft dreams.

Were they of me? I know what few dreams I had were of her.

They had been since I'd first seen her in the park. Plotting how I would find my way to her. The whispered promises of my patrons in my ears.

But then, she found me first. It was fated. Truly it could not have been any other way. I had to be hers. She had to be mine. They told me so.

I liked the new shampoo she used, it smelled like desert flowers….like home.

“I love you.” I whispered again. My fingers brushing over her still damp hair. I would feel it more when I took her tomorrow. I would let her work while I made ready our love nest.

She would be mine. And her body would hold our sons. The prey I brought for her to feast on had been nutrient rich and her cycles had proven that. Tomorrow was the perfect time, peak fertility.

Oh so many clutches would her body carry for me.

I kissed her lips softly and slipped back to my room.

Soon darling. Soon.

The alarm I'd set woke me and I stretched rolling out of bed.

The smell of food wafted to me as I stepped out into the hall.

“Pumpkin?”

There was an answering grunt from the kitchen and my astartes came into view. Cooking up a balanced meal, as was his habit.

“Anything fun planned for today?” I asked, knowing he likely wouldn't reply.

“Well I have to finish up that last chapter and get it sent in. My editor's been on my butt all week over it.”

I felt his eyes fall on me. But he didn't reply verbally, just bringing me food without asking for anything in return.

I smiled and took the plates.

“I don't deserve you. You're too good to me.”

I was surprised when he wrapped me up in his arms, hugging me and nuzzling the top of my head.

He'd been doing that more and more often.

“Thank you, Pumpkin.” “You are welcome.” He sighed happily. “You remembered the response. That’s great.” I looked up and our noses touched briefly. Just to be a stinker I kissed the tip of his nose. He shivered and pulled away to look at me, he looked a bit confused and oh so adorable. I giggled, I couldn't help it, somehow the towering mass of muscle was just too cute. “Sorry, it was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.” 

He nodded and leaned down to kiss my nose in return. I giggled again and he went to his chair. I told him about my chapter and the climatic finale I had planned and how those plot points would lead to the next book. He listened with patience and nodded, even if I wasn’t sure he understood all the details. He took my empty plates and put them in the sink. “Have a good day.” He hugged me and I hugged him back. “I’ll do my best. Just for you.” His eyes lit up at that. She was becoming more affectionate in return. My patrons must be right. It had been too hard to pull myself away. But I needed time to continue to make the nest perfect with the final rituals. I retreated to my room, several bags of snacks ready for the trap I had set. At around 1:30 I finished up my last edit and sighed, saving my document again for the thousandth time and sent it off to my editor. I heard Pumpkin’s door open and went to see what he was doing. WHen he saw me his eyes lit up and he waved me over. “Hey you, guess who officially finished their book?” I gestured to myself. “It’s me!”

I stopped at his door and he took my hand. The lights in his room were dim and comfortable. “What’s all this about?” 

He’d rearranged his furniture making a blanket and pillow bowl. He’d set up his laptop with snacks and the show we’d been watching together. The room smelled strongly of him and something sweet. I was going to question what he’d used but suddenly I just didn’t mind. And hell, I could use a break and a treat for all that work I'd done. I let him take me to his blanket pit and climbed over the couch. “So what’s on the menu today?”

“You my beloved.”

I pressed play and pulled her down into my lap. She obliged and I had to once again fight to simply have her then and there. She fit perfectly against my body and I could feel myself getting hard. I needed to calm down. To let her find herself naturally ready to mate. I could smell it on her. Her fertility. The episode was good, but I kept losing my focus on it and looking down at her. After an hour she seemed a bit woozy. Like she had been after that party. She’d worried me then, but now I knew what clouded her mind and it wasn’t any drink. I smiled, it must have looked deranged for as much glee and anticipation I felt. It was impossible to focus now, I was so needy now that I had half a mind to just leave and take care of myself. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to be close to Pumpkin. I wanted to pet him and kiss him deeply. He was so handsome, nothing like what those forums said about the chaos chapters. “Pumpkin?” I breathed, my head felt light as I looked up at him, his green gold eyes boring into me. “Yes?” Mmm, his voice, gosh I could listen to it all day. I turned in his lap and did something I never thought I’d do. I kissed him, full on the mouth. He flinched with shock and my brain shorted out. The world spun and I was under him. The blanket pile smelled like him and I buried my face in it. Something nagged at the back of my mind but I ignored it in favor of space marine smell. Pumpkin moved away and I whined, making grabby hands for him to come back. My body was being shifted, although I wasn’t sure why and I felt him return the heat of his skin on mine making me moan. His hands took hold of my thighs and something pressed at my entrance. I was too giddy to look down, the instinctual part of my brain hollered again and I knew what, but I found that I didn’t care. She yielded to me so beautifully, her body was ready and I slipped in with a groan and she let out a silvery little cry under me. Her hands clawed at my chest, trying to pull me down closer to her. I let her, and took her chin in my fingers, holding her as I pressed her down into the blankets, kissing her hard. The mother of my sons. Too perfect, too warm and tight. I wondered if she would accept me forever. I would happily make her my little wife. She could write her books while she tended to our sons. I pulled out, rutting back into her. My cock was perfectly tailored to allow me to push the tip into her cervix without hurting her. Just one of the design choices that the changer had gifted me. It would allow me to cum in her and not waste any of it. That cum would prepare her body for what came next. My clutch, those seeds that would mature and grow till she was able to lay them. It would only be a few of them. BUt soon I’d be able to fill her. Her body would grow accustomed to them. But for now, I loved her body with my own. It was like heaven, his body moving against me, and in me. The warmth of his body over mine and his lips stealing kisses. I cried out again as he pressed in deeper, every thrust was pure delight. His cock brushing over every spot conceivable that might make me see stars. My nails racked over his skin, leaving angry red scratches behind, he moaned and it made me want him even more. It was like candy to my brain, a sugarly sweet addiction.

“Pumpkin.” I squealed as he wrapped his arms under my back and hugged me tight to him, leaving barely enough room to breath. His hips jack hammered into mind, making cohesive thoughts impossible. But what should matter to me? It was an otherworldly level of pleasure. No one had ever made me feel this good. The force of his thrusts and the pure bliss sent me over the edge, It felt like my body was twisting inside as my eyes rolled back and my back arched almost painfully into him. The noise that came from me didn’t sound like one a pleasure i’m sure, but my body burned with even more need, the need to be filled. Her nails cut into my thick hide, drawing droplets of blood and I felt even more in love with her. So strong for someone so small. I could feel her loosening and the tip of my cock slipped an inch into her womb. The perfect place for my clutch. I came into her. The thick ropes of my love conditioning her for the final stage. The prince promised me that it would make her body accept my clutch, giving her the feeling of being pregnant. So her body wouldn’t reject my sons. They moved down from their place of holding in my abdomen and I groaned deeply as I felt them pass from me and into her. I petted her hair as she gasped and writhed under me as the eggs stretched her. “There, there. Soon my love. You will bring forth our sons.” I soothed her kissing her cheeks and temples while three lemon sized eggs were deposited into her. I stayed inside her till she fell asleep in my arms. A soft smile gracing her lips. “My love, you cannot imagine the joy you have brought to my life. And the joys you have yet to bring.” I rolled onto my side making her comfortable as she pressed into me. I placed a blanket over her. I had a journal entry to update. My Dearest sons, You were conceived today. And your mother was more perfect than I could have ever dreamed.

[fyrni]

Galera Stormfang

After introducing Swift the other day I'd like to introduce my troublesome Charr guardian, Galera Stormfang. She is the partner of @willooooooow's Saena and a grumpy old Ash Legion operative.

Name: Galera Stormfang

Age: ~65

Pronouns: she/her

Gender: Female

Race: Charr

Profession: Guardian

Galera is hated by the legions. Not because of her being malicious. Rather, it's that she's sometimes too good at her job. To the point of undermining the authority of those around her.

On the surface Galera is a grumpy, stubborn old lady. Underneath the surface she's the same too. Despite this, she loves a few things. Her partners, Saena and Reeva; the cubs she mentored, Swift, Lelia and many others; and most of all she adores making people in positions of power squirm.

No records list a cub of Galera’s name being born. All that's known is that some old, washed up Primuses tell stories of an unruly cub, always snarling at his seniors, whose dark fur, sharp violet eyes and teeth like scimitars are far too similar to Galera in her old age. To hear Galera tell the story, what she was born as doesn't matter. People always treated her as a dam of the legions and she was happy to have it stay that way.

A hobby is not something Galera has heard of. Writing is something she only did with claw on wood, carving trail symbols into trees. Art was always something to scoff at. The cubs she trained tried, and failed, to teach her the concept of having pastimes. Instead, Galera spends her time sparring or smooching. Though she has been spotted spending time with the infamous author, Snargle Goldclaw. Especially after his escapades in Echovald. Who knows what an old lady like Galera would have to say to such an individual.

Reeva she met during her time in the Black Citadel where she worked on cross-legion exercises between Iron and Ash. This is also where she met Saena, the second partner in her life. Their meeting was the more peculiar of the two given Galera stumbled into a workshop thinking it was a bar and, after asking pointedly for a drink, Saena had scurried out from under a hulking war machine and invited herself for a drink too. Their personalities rubbed together as smoothly as sandpaper against stone. Yet, Galera couldn’t help but lose her words when Saena gave her a look. It took her far too many visits to Saena’s corner of the workshop to realise she was far too in love with this obnoxiously teasing, yet deeply caring, Iron Legion elementalist.

For a long time Galera served the Ash Legion as a field operative then, after losing her warband to death and differences of opinion, she became a Primus. This is what she spent many years doing and, even though she would never admit it, she was rather good. Especially so when it came to sowing seeds of discord. Many of the cubs she helped raise went on to disrupt the Legions or leave them entirely. The former Pact Commander, Swift Iceclaw, and the Tribune turned Primus Lelia Shadowmane are two examples of this. It is said that her style of teaching was like a smith stoking a furnace. The fires of the furnace in this case being a cub’s penchant for speaking back to authority. Eventually this had to end and, despite being as persistent as the ghosts that plague Ascalon, she was forced to leave the legions.

But this could not have proven better for her. Freed of the shackles of authority she took a well earned rest. For all of five minutes, that is. Until she received a missive from Lelia that would change her life. In Galera’s words, “for the worse”. But, over time, the stubborn aging Charr came to realise that the subsequent ten year journey would be more exciting than she thought.

Sent to investigate the second wave of Sylvari being born, Galera found herself in the Grove. On its outskirts she met a Sylvari fresh out of her pod. Aelwythe was the Sylvari’s name and she was full of anger at this bright, bustling world around her. Having to tear her away from fighting some grubs, who had been minding their own business until a few moments prior, Galera introduced herself. Why Galera did this is a question with no answer. Yet, because of it the two set off on an adventure that took them all across Tyria.

From the Grove to the Blazeridge Steppe; watching Zhaintan’s tangled corpse plunge from the skies over Orr; seeing inside Mordremoth’s twisted mind; nostrils filled with the acrid smell of singed fur as she fought Balthazar in the Sky Gardens of Vabbi; witnessing the fall of several more Elder Dragons besides. Then, after a trip to the long-closed nation of Cantha, her journey ended, ten years having passed. But Galera was tired. She was getting old. Every morning she woke and her joints ached more than ever before. So, at the beginning of the age of Aurene, it is said that a lone Charr walked through the Arborstone portal to Lion’s Arch and was not seen again…

At least, for a little while.

A warband is what Galera had missed for the longest time. Having someone to listen to her dry jokes, others to share a quiet, or sometimes rowdy, drink with her. So, in a quiet corner of the Black Citadel a motley group met. Of Charr and a certain famous Sylvari. It is said that the Storm warband was never officially registered. Galera had never been one for pushing paper, after all. But it was a warband all the same. A new family that Galera could call her home.

[bhuerracus]

GW2 OCs Masterpost

these are all my blorbos as of rn... there's more but these are the ones in-game :3

Name: Lugor the Unsightly Age: ~60 Bio: Former control freak Iron Legion Legionnaire (bottom pics), now Mentally Stable (with an asterisk) old man Soldier of the Dream warband. Atoning for his many, many crimes. Very extroverted, flirty, loves to chat and be weird. Sensitive, retreats into solitude when necessary. Cries reading Snargle books because they are so emotional and romantic. Quite chubby / fat but no body sliders so you know. An upbeat but traumatized old man.

More under the cut:

Name: Magnus Bonecracker Age: ~50 Bio: Former Blood Legion Centurion, mentee of Bangar before fleeing. With the help of Ash Legion, him and his warband ran operations to undermine his power. After Crecia became imperator, he was reinstated as a Primus. His fahrar exclusively took in disabled / sick cubs, and he loves them all dearly to this day and is watching them grow into strong, proud Blood Legion soldiers. Now he is retired and living out his wild side. Drill sergeant. A huge wall of muscle. Will tell you all about his cubs, both the ones he's had and the ones from his fahrar, and you'd better listen. No nonsense allowed.

Name: Vanard the Mad Age: ~70 Bio: Born and raised in the Priory. Kicked out because "the fuckers hate [him]", though official word is it's because of his lack of care, results, and socializing skills. Obsessed with making potions, though the skill at which he can do so is dubious. Carries are large bag full of all sorts of vials and liquids. In massive amounts of debt due to unwise spending, so he bums wherever he can to get away from them. The goggles stay on.

Name: Renwick Dreamguard Age: ~40 Bio: Ash Legion Mesmer with a specialty in Chronomancy. Legionnaire of the Dream warband. Insomniac. Obsessed with the concept of dreams, enjoys peering in and toying with people's dreams during his sleepless nights. Blood Legion "weeaboo", thinks Rytlock is the coolest guy ever and would love to meet him. Always tired due to insomnia, rarely seems up for much of anything. High sense of justice and will stop at nothing to ensure justice is served at times, especially if his specialty can be of assistance. Therapist, or whatever you'd call the Charr equivalent of one. His "clients" say he's a calming presence due to his low energy. A bit shy, easily flustered if flirted with.

[bigsnaff]

The Old Way

The Commander and Rytlock go on a little trip. It doesn't quite go as planned. Set between IBS and EoD. 1.5k words. CWs: injury, alcohol, descriptions of blood

"You ever been hunting the old way?"

Rytlock throws his shot back, and the whiskey burns his throat just about as much as the setting sun does his eyes. He leans back on his stool and gives her a look.

"Sure, few times." Just about every charr had, at least once or twice. Usually something reserved for the youngsters. Get that pent up energy burnt in a way that no morning drill ever could. "Been about a decade." He scratches behind a horn. "Or two." 

Strip off your plate armor and go running. Sink your fangs in. Bring back a fresh kill that your warband could fight over the best cuts of over a spit fire. Wasn't something he ever got too much into, really. Wasn't as much of a fan of gamey meat. But he knew Cyna was a different story.

She matches his position and leans back, her own drink long emptied, a look in her eyes. "Talked to a merchant yesterday. They made mention that some of the wild dolyak herds are finally migrating west of here. Wouldn't mind some help."

"Y'ever hunted dolyak?" Rytlock hums.

"No. You?"

"The wild ones? Big bastards. Meaner than the pack ones. Norn will take a whole party for just a couple of 'em. You aren't taking one down by yourself."

She grins, pointing between them. "No, but we can."

He has to laugh at that. "If you'd asked me ten years ago, maybe. But nah; I'm out for the count on crap like that anymore. Go ask Braham 'r something."

Braham was a sore spot, still. Rytlock wasn't even sure why he brought him up; the kid was still recovering. Physically. And mentally. They all were.

"I'm not asking Braham," Cyna says firmly, "I'm asking you."

He huffs. If one really needed the meat, then a gun or bow was just more efficient, plain and simple. But in this case, neither of them did. It wouldn't go to waste either way, sure, but Rytlock knew why she was ultimately asking. It was the same reason they were drinking together right now; more fun with company.

He swirls the contents of his fourth shot, looking down at the amber bubbles with a low, droning rumble in his chest. Not a good time to negotiate something like this. Mind addled.

He finally looks back up, catching Cyna's hard eyes. "And Reeva already said no?"

Her teeth grind a little as she looks away. Another sore spot. "Didn't ask. Won't ask."

"Right." He places a hand down on the table and leaves behind a few silver, sliding his remaining shot Cyna's way. She gives him a side-eye before her fingers wrap around it.

“So,” she brings the glass up to her lips, “what is it, Tribune?”

“Why the hell not.” Not like she hasn't pulled him into considerably worse. He'd even ask Crecia to come along if he knew she was so inclined. It was more of a warband activity, anyway. But he already knew what her answer would be, so he'd save it. “When were you planning on it?”

She flashes him a toothy smile. “Couple days from now. I can hold back longer if you need.”

“Nah, that sounds good. Was getting too stuffy here, anyhow.” He'd have to sharpen his claws. Maybe do some stretches; wasn't too fond of throwing his back out again. 

But yeah, it was time to get out of Grothmar.

------------

She'd been kicked in the head. If she wasn't charr, she wouldn't be here anymore. 

As it stood, charr had very hard skulls. Had to. Headbutting was practically a sport among them. But a kick from a yak was still a different story. Cyna looked like she'd been in something a little worse than just a fistfight. The red drained down her face and into her ashy fur, speckling the snow beneath. By the time Rytlock helped her shamble to their makeshift camp, the bleeding had only just started to wane.

“Taste copper…” she croons as she looks around aimlessly, like she didn't realize her nostrils were faucets for the blood. Rytlock takes her snout in a hand and looks her in the eyes. She just laughs and pats his arm. “Rytlock. Your fur.”

“Shut up.” A growl drones from his throat as he shoves her back — not harshly, but enough that she almost tips on her already unsteady feet. She has a concussion. He didn't really even need to look to figure that out. “You idiot. I told you to leave that one.”

Her lips slide back to reveal more red as she gives a wide grin. “Wuz the biggest meat.”

The adrenaline and bleariness would wear off soon and she'd be a real hydra to deal with, so he'd just take her ramblings for now and give her the lecture later. As if it would do much. She had an elaborate history of instances like this before they'd even met — back when Rytlock was given more than a few reports regarding a certain soldier under his command that had a penchant for ignoring orders and almost always suffering some sort of bloody consequence for it, in the most literal sense. 

He thought it was a good riddance when she and the rest of her warband fled from Blood to Ash. Until Duke Barradin.

Cyna absently hums an old marching melody as her tail thrashes to the rhythm in the snow. Rytlock finds himself humming along as he grabs his pack and pulls out Sohothin, poking it into the embers of their nearly-spent campfire. 

“No weapons, no nothing — just fangs and claws,” Cyna had insisted before their outing. That was just for the hunt. But Rytlock would sooner shave his fur than go this far into the Shiverpeaks without some kind of weapon. Not for the dolyaks, but anything else that lurked around the corner. Icebrood still haunted the territory, even if their puppetmaster was now nothing more than spikes of ice spraying across Anvil Rock. 

Soon, the campfire crackled anew but still hungered for fuel. He sheathes Sohothin at his belt and sits back, looking over toward Cyna again, who had the wit about her to shovel some snow up to her snout — the chill evidently numbing some of whatever pain must be becoming more apparent. Her bloodshot eyes screw shut with the pressure of her hand and a quiet hiss weaves through her teeth. He lets a chuckle escape him. Just the small one that he won't feel too bad for, because he knows that this entire trip won't amount to much of a lesson anyway after they head back — at least until Dokks catches sight of the new crook in their commander's nose.

Rytlock sighs and pulls his pack to his feet. “Y’hungry?” he asks. She doesn't give any indication that she heard him as he rifles through his cargo and pulls out some jerky. His stomach growls, but only because his mind wanders back to the dolyak and whatever fresh meat they could've been roasting over the fire right now instead of the plain and dried strips he's chewing. 

Maybe he'd try fishing instead. 

He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd gone fishing in his life and actually caught anything. But it couldn't go any worse than this.

After adequately nursing her nose, Cyna soon turns to him. “Do you have any—”

“No.”

“The hell was I going to say?” she growls, though the noise sounds less intimidating through her injury. He continues chewing and doesn’t look at her gnarly features. Hopefully the snow will keep the swelling down enough for them to actually do something about it soon.

“I’m not giving you any damn booze.”

“So you did bring some.”

Rytlock gives her a plain look. “You gonna fight me for it?”

She huffs and whips her head away from him like a cub. The quick action must’ve smarted because she hisses again and her hand comes up to her temple. He actually would give her some alcohol to pacify the pain, but he wasn’t about to let her pair that with a concussion of all things. The snow would have to do for now. He takes another bite of jerky and tosses a piece to Cyna, who just gives a grunt of thanks in lieu of anything else.

It didn’t feel like it did when he was younger, when it was only ever for the rush. When your claws dig into the dirt and you put all your weight behind that leap. Your teeth sink in for the death strike and blood rushes to meet your tongue. He didn’t get as far as that last step but it didn’t really matter to him anyway — because maybe that’s what living at the helm of apocalyptic scenarios innumerable will do to you. It all tastes like ash.

Or maybe the remaining embers were all but spent at Anvil Rock.

With a groan Rytlock gets to his feet, feeling his age. He thinks he’d be content to laze here in front of the flickering flame for another hour listening to Cyna mope and complain, but the fire needs fuel. 

[kit-williams]

Hoof Care

Yes I was really thinking of Baldamort's voice for Drar (Watch his video on the Master of Executions and well you can probably figure out where I got Drar's voice from)

Husbandry tag list: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

thank you @squishyowl for the 40k themed dividers

It was that time of the month again where you'd get a call to go to them they paid you quiet a bit and of course you weren't the only person going... it was always a big big event. You head to the Iron Warrior's base near the city... most Chaos Space Marines' don't have bases but their loyalist counterparts do... though Iron Warriors are an exception not a norm. Though you weren't sure as the Iron Warriors didn't have too much friction with their "traitor" selves? You didn't understand nor really bother too.

The norm would be the fact that there is a Night Lord base being built somewhere given that there were now enough loyalist night lords demanding it. But you made sure your tools were sharp and everything was ready... you knew the only downside of the Iron Warriors was the fact that both loyalist and traitor elements kept pushing and vying for power within their own... faction?

As you backed your truck in and got out you could hear his crooning... he was old had that slightly withered lit to his voice as it croaked out of him as if he had ruined his vocal cords time and time again. "Missy so nice of you to join us." Drar the Warpcutter spoke and if you remembered he said he was the leader of a warband known as the Malefactors of Sin.

"Lord Drar... and hello Helios." You politely said as his Master of Executions followed. The big man behind him looked at you and you swallowed... you didn't get the feel good vibes everyone else got. Your eyes flicked to their weapons... to the skulls up their belt... and you had a feeling Drar enjoyed the fact you were afraid of them. "Where is Vasso..." You ask for the current "chapter master" and you watch Drar wave his hand.

"Busy. The child is going to work himself to death at this rate and I... took the liberty of playing host for him." He says with a grin, "But enough pleasantries... you're the final one to arrive." You flinch as his massive hand pushes against your back and you move into the hanger.

Chaos Space Marines of countless chapters and warbands were here all highly mutated. Heavy hooves clipped and clopped against the floor as centaurs made their way to the designated zone. You headed over to the other ferriers as Drar trilled his goodbye and Helios just gave a nod. You could see where other space marines were watching and learning how to take care of their mutated brothers and cousins as in the far corner you could see iron warriors guarding feral marines that took the offer for maintained care but do not want humans touching them. You could understand as it took you a long time to get over the wrongness of your clients.

At least they behaved better than horses, the massive hooves were clipped and trimmed even polished if they wanted too. The utterly massive Black Legionary stallion... Troc was his name, he would have been such a pretty black horse, brought his own shoes... shiny brass things. He liked his hooves painted a nice solid black.

You could hear Adamatar bellowing as the white minotaur had hurt one of his hooves and so trying to get him to behave enough to put a block on his hoof was feeling like an impossible task. You could spy long tails wagging as fur coats were being brushed... a canine centaur of a Night Lord was half asleep as he was getting his jet black fur coat groomed and nails trimmed on his paws. You trimmed the frog of Troc's hooves just shaping his hoof as he was currently gushing about his bonded... a little girl who had a habit of calling him "pony" or "horsey" when she got overly excited and also calling him "Truck".

The shiny iron horseshoes of a bulky draft of an Iron warrior caught your eye. They certainly liked to feel pretty.... you shiver as a heavily mutated space marine lumbers past... organized chaos of it all and you're getting paid enough that it makes you not have to worry about the slower times of the year.

You could see someone with their body leaning into a massive stomach maw just cleaning the teeth of the marine. You stop looking as you hammer in his shoe and work on cutting the nails and then applying the black hoof polish.... rinse and repeat.

Sure they cooperated more then an actual animal but it was still a lot of hard work. "Hey!" You snapped at someone's apprentice. "Don't just walk behind them!" You said pointing out the fact that they were just walking right behind the centaurs. Which if he was working with actual horses was bad practice.

"They won't kick." They countered back.

"Yeah but they still can't see you and when you work with an actual horse they will kick if you walk right behind you. Give them the same berth as you would an actual horse because if one of these boy's kicks you're going to die." You huff as you resume working on the hooves of the Iron Warrior as someone was working on his horns... it was sometimes easier to do multiple tasks on the same marine as they kept still.

Lunch was provided and it was nice... it felt normal to have that lull in working as you grabbed a coffee as you worked in shifts... went around inspecting other's techniques... watching how some of them were teaching their apprentices, in various fields, or how they were teaching the Astartes on how to take care of their own. Sometimes a feral marine would be brave and try to get taken care of by one of us "mortals" but you never volunteered you had plenty of Astartes asking for you to work on them personally.

But the day blurred on by till you were getting handed a stack of cash of a few thousand dollars with the hope that you would come back same time next month and as well as the cavate that if something changed they would inform you. Again you see Drar as you head back to your trunk and a cup of coffee, that looks so small in his hands, is given to you. "What's this for?"

"Job well done?" He croons.

"Ah yes the usual hush coffee so I don't tattle on Vasso of you playing chapter master huh?" You say ignoring the scowl on his face as you sip the coffee, "or... is it hush coffee to keep me from tattling again to Vasso because you enjoy scaring people?"

"Mouthy little mortal aren't you." He hisses as you cow slightly, far too tired to not be filled with dread as he moves far too smoothly for something so big. He spat to the side, "But something like that."

"And like usual I'm going to be the last one to leave because you like chatting." You say tiredly as you drink the hot brew that made you feel tired. You had enough for a hotel in the city for tonight though... beds were always available here at the fortress. "I have a feeling you're going to chat me up so long I might just have to spend the night."

Drar laughed, it was hardly a pleasant sounding thing... it was dark and ominous... it was downright an evil sounding thing that ended rolling in his chest till it quieted. "You look exhausted."

You just drank the coffee to prevent yourself from making a 'captain obvious' joke, "I might stay tonight or at least get a few hours of shut eye."

"Then let me play the good host once more." He crooned and you just locked your car after placing your tools inside... just a few hours of sleep then you'd make the drive home.

[the-liars-art]

Tell us more about Sceledrus!

Gladly.

I've been rotating the character Sceledrus in my mind for 2 years but almost all I'd done was an unfinished ficlet. doodles, and DM with a few friends. He and other characters I (want to) create are comforting to think about but a pain to actually put into words or drawings. At least 20% of him is me in a sense (as do the few other OC/self-inserts I ever gave names to), a metaphor of what I see myself as and subtly a partial reflection of what I've been through. The rest is simply what I want to see in a cute Night Lord OC.

Anyway, he's a Nostraman Night Lord recruited only months before the destruction of Nostramo. Back then, the corruption in the legion ran deep, but not all boys sent to the legion were underqualified criminals even at the worst of times. Some of them still do well enough to be noticed and taken away to become weapons. Sceledrus was one of them; never arrested or in a gang, record clean. Few people know about this, for his implantations began with the whole legion submerged in the aftermath of Exterminatus. He remembers little of his mortal life, only of his interest in scraps of Nostraman literature he could find.

His rank stayed Battle-Brother throughout. His worldview of almost everything was shaped during the Heresy. He's one of thoise who would call it a Great Uprising well into 40k era, gets weird looks from another CSM, and proceeds to say Heresy. Sceledrus loves his primarch. Despite never boarding the Nightfall in his life and only has seen the Night Haunter from a distance with his whole Company once, Sceledrus has faith in him, and later celebrates and idolizes his life and martyrdom. He constantly writes odes to him. He refers to his primarch as Dominus, father, and the original Nostraman for lord Night Haunter.

He's the sole survivor of boith his Company and later his NL warband in the Eye of Terror.

Sceledrus fought in the Siege of Terra and lost his whole Company there. He shortly teamed up with a group of Iron Warriors before getting scooped up by another NL force and ran for the warp, later forming a warband. The warband's was destroyed while he was alone on a daemon world for some trading business, and he met the IWs he knew during the Siege and they took him in. I will elaborate on the OC IWs later they're extremely unhinged. What happens after that (EC adoption) will also be explained when I have energy again.

The NL-typical skull decoration on the face of his helm is shaped like a child's skull, bones shaven to display the developing teeth under the baby teeth. One of the IW "old friends" (who later became their warband leader) designed, sculpted, and gifted it to Sceledrus. Sceledrus is a protege to him and the rest of the warband, but only seen as eternally too insufficient and immature (fine by him; he doesn't see himself as smart enough) for their craft.

He likes to play Regicide.

His attitude towards Chaos stablized after endless nights living in the warp, not a religious devotee but he acknowledges the Pantheon's influence and sees them as forces of nature. Later he gains a certain degree of affinity to Slaanesh.

He sometimes puts on face paint to be intimidating. He can speak and scream like a black metal vocalist and he sounds amazing (cute vocals voice claim: Carach Angren vocalist Seregor in the Phantom Ship album). Idon't want his paint to have a strong connection to irl black metal though. I'll try and make it less generic in the future, maybe a more refined version painted on him by his EC friends.

(to be continued!)

[i-mybrunettelady]

⇸ a gripping hug that makes you feel so seen. that one second during the embrace where you two both look at each other, and time stands still. you want to frame the expression on the other person's face.

Ship of your choice, bonus points if it's trammander :D

@violentnornography

trammander you asked for, trammander you got. we have.. bisexuality, nyra being unwell, some icebrood loving. takes place after turnabout! i hope i got the vibes down correctly

Nyra had two thoughts when she was running away from Ryland’s bombs. One was that she wants Smodur’s head on a pike, like the Ascalonians of old. She had little time for tall tales, of course. She would have contended with driving his pulse to extinction.

The second was that she would die. 

She doesn’t admit to the second one. It was a fear-induced thought, a brief moment of weakness. But when bombs scream over your head, you get a few moments of weakness. At least that’s what she tells herself, and it doesn’t feel enough. 

Silence of the Grove might be worse, though. She can’t hide from that shameful admission - and in the quiet of her recovery, she somehow remembers that she can feel shame. In the wake of that, she births another fucking unfortunate thought.

The Grove doesn’t have enough bombs. 

Nyra breaks a water glass against the floor, just because she can. The house will soak it up. She should be at Drizzlewood, hunting down Frost Legion, not here, breaking glasses. The ground soaks up the blood there too. Vile things grow when they get to feast on blood.

“Hearne,” she asks, her voice not leaving room for refusal, “am I a vile thing?” 

He raises his head from a book he’s reading. He’s on the opposite end of the living room; his ability to ignore the glass astounds her for a moment. It must have echoed terribly for him. She didn’t quite hear it over the wave of bombs in her head. 

“Do you want me to tell you what I think or do you want me to echo your thoughts at you?” Trahearne asks, putting the book down. His eye stares Nyra down, unrelenting. Her nostrils flare at the audacity, almost. 

“What you think,” she says in a low voice. “Gods know I hear enough of my own bullshit.” 

“You do what this world, and more importantly, your ego, requires of you,” he explains. “I don’t think that makes you entirely vile.” 

“Beautifully detailed,” she replies. “I like how you leave some room for my crimes against the world.” 

“Is that why you broke the glass? Your crimes against the world?”

“That would require breaking me to correct,” Nyra leans back on her chair. Her ribs hurt some. The walls have some funny textures, twirly and joyful. “Until I’m fucking dead, that isn’t happening. No, I broke the glass because I thought I would die when Ryland started bombing us. And because I am ashamed.”

Trahearne’s feet drag on the ground. He walks slowly to her and she looks him up and down. It occurs to her a moment too late that he’s gouging levels of danger. She sighs and buries her face in her hands. 

“I’m not going to harm you,” she begs. She wished for bombs on the Grove earlier, just to stave off this silence. 

“I know,” he says softly. A pause. “Admittedly, I had a shameful thought myself.” 

“Not unjustified,” Nyra comments, and there’s an endless sorrow in it. “I understand that I am impossible sometimes. But I am the Commander, you understand? I’m an ally to the Imperators, on equal footing! I can’t think that I will die, because Smodur will be right in treating me like a runt of the fucking warband!” 

As soon as the words leave her lips, she heaves into her shaking hands. She doesn’t cry, not yet. Admissions like that would’ve taken her ages years ago but she knows better now. It doesn’t make the truth any less harsh. But she deserves the whiplash they bring. 

A weird little part of her relishes it. She pays it no mind. 

Trahearne’s hand squeezes her shoulder, the clothed part. He leans in and whispers, in a quiet, contemplative tone, “Maybe he thought he would die too?” 

Nyra lifts her head from her hands. The thought had never crossed her mind. She laughs, and it echoes in the small room. She imagines Smodur, running on all fours, wondering if one explosive will end his life. And a small joy is imagining him being thankful that he’s alive, only to be attacked tooth and nail by her. 

A small joy she approves of, strangely enough. Part of her knows it’s fucked up. Another doesn’t care; there are bigger stakes here than common sense. 

“Lyss,” Trahearne whispers, and his finger slides down to the bare skin of her arm in question. She nods and he squeezes her, pushing her body against his. Nyra laughs, reaches out, curls a hand around his waist. 

For the first time in days, she hears the laughter of sylvari outside, she hears people going about, as if there’s not a war out there. As if they’re not facing an Elder Dragon. Trahearne just keeps looking at her, lost in a thought process all to himself. 

A lifetime ago, she killed him to rid the world of one Elder Dragon. Now he’s here, with her. His right eye is an empty, sightless mess of scarred bark, the right corner of his upper lip shriveled and dead. But his remaining eye shines brightly, his lips open in an expression that looks suspiciously like love. 

And she feels a little better. She certainly feels less alone, and she certainly feels a little stupid for not realizing that little stratagem Trahearne suggested. Nyra rests her head against his belly. Necromancy tints the air just slightly.

She’s still getting Smodur’s head on a pike. But right now, she doesn’t feel afraid of dying at all. 

[cynicalraccoon]

SPOILERS AHEAD!!

The only thing I disliked about the Lords of Silence was the cliff hanger at the end. Other than that, I really liked the book. 

It was really interesting to see from the perspective of a Death Guard, and their viewd on everything, especially the war and Mortarion. 

The character I liked the most was Vorx. He's old and a Veteran, but he still can play the unpredictable game of politics among the chaos warbands. He has his slow, cunning ways, and fortunately (or unfortunately if you're his target), that worked in his favor throughout the book.

I knew that there was going to be a betrayal in the book by the way the book kept the tension up about who activated Solance's warp drive and the talk about proving oneself as a effective leader, but I wasn't expecting that plot twist reveal during the fight with the Space Consuls. 

The highest contender for being a traitor was either Garstag or Dragan. Dragan moreso because of his questioning of the legions ways and the xonversatuon with Typhus. But everyone has their own secret motives or plans. 

I just didn't expect the culprit to be Kledo, a character that doesn't get any screentime until near the end of the book.

Vorx knowing and basically sending him to his death aganist the White Consul space Marine Xydias was a cold move. 

The man then followed up by outwitting the Word Bearers warband was beautiful. 

Dantine was a tragic character, but interesting also for the view into what happens when one is possible infected with the Poxwalker virus. I say possibly because I'm unsure if he's even a Poxwalker. Vorx has Dantine's heart in a bag and bound the hukan to him, but I don't think that makes Dantine a Poxwalker. 

As for the dynamic between the two, I was eager to see more of it and discover why Vorx thinks Dantine is special, which made that cliff hanger all tbe more offending. 

I don't have a lot to say about the other members of the warband. Though, Philemon was a close second for character I liked. He cares for the warband, that much is somewhat obvious. And his brotherhood with Vorx made him a good voice of reason. 

And I cannot forget the Nurglings. They were amusing, yet terrifying. Certainly portrayed the ominous numb joy that Nurgle is said to bring to his children. 

Anyway, can now cross this book off my TBR list. 

Next, I'm entering my Blood Angel phase for some research.