#astarte band

[heavymetalivneedle]

Witch playlist (metal, noise & experimental, etc)

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

There's More To Do

Author's note: More of Nanael in Husbandry.

Summary: So- how did Nanael go from being a tragic boy to Cedric's Body dumping buddy? Part 3

Warnings: Chaos Marines. And what they do to Loyalists. LMK if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis, @undeaddream

Nanael is also, he realizes so very hungry, and thirsty. He staggers, weak at the knees and finds the river and collapses next to it and drinks the untreated water, it won't kill him, he thinks, and if it is bad, he will still get some nourishment while his Belcher's gland will deal with the bad stuff.

As he eagerly, greedily drank the water and washed the stench of the dead from his features and grieved the lost souls. Part of him wonders, how it's possible that he woke up from death.

Once- well, that had been explained the message from Father. But- that was just the first time, the next time there had been a dark nothingness, like he'd been asleep, and then had woken up.

He took in a couple of shake breaths. He needed to find shelter, he needed to find fellow astartes- at least ones that won't actively seek his death if possible. Nanael needs to avenge himself- and the fallen from that mad bastard of a Chaplain.

He hears the distinctive sound of ceramite on natural ground and his head snaps up and he flaps his wings to get air born, caution making him wait to see who or what it was that was coming in this direction.

His brightly colored armor makes hiding from others difficult. His hearts sink to his stomach as he hears strange- warbling voices and sees massive mutated forms of Chaos Marines, a full warband from the size of the group.

He's just a lone Scout- and he'd die, again, if he goes against them. One of the Chaos Marines heads suddenly snaps up and their horrific smile, merged with his armor as he calls out to his traitor brethren and points of Nanael.

'Well fuck.' Nanael thinks as he tries to decide his next move.

"Little bird, stuck in a tree?" One of the Chaos Marines taunt up to him.

"Begone, Chaos scum!" Nanael calls out voice strong.

"Hah- there are more of us than there are of you, Imperial Dog," One of the other Chaos Marines scoff.

Nanael's hands clench into fists as he tries to decide his next course of action. He sees a burst of glowing energy. Psyker fuck. And tries to dodge the attack, but the psyker controls the energy blast and it hits him and drags him out of the sky.

He fights and struggles- trying to escape the grasp of the telepathic hold and the Chaos Marines as they descend on him. Grabbing his arms and legs as the leader of the Chaos Warband barks something and his helmet gets ripped off and some one else knocks him out with a large needle. The liquid burns like fire and freezes him to his core.

...

Nanael wakes up... an indeterminate amount of time later, his head sore, as are his limbs. His mouth is dry and tastes terrible. He tries to move and hits something metallic with a hand. His eyes open fully, and he realizes that he was stripped of armor and weapons.

"The birdie is awake~" one of the Chaos Marines croon out at Nanael, and a couple more of the Chaos Traitors come over to gawk at him.

Nanael glares up at them, a low growl in his throat as his hands clench into fists.

"I wonder if we can get the birdie to sing," Elona says with a smirk as he crouches near the Son of Sanguinius. His eyes looking over the younger marine.

He looks strong- and large. Well muscled and with the Wing Mutation, that is rare among the Gene-Seed Line of the Ninth. He sees the red in the brown eyes of the Space Marine, he knows from experience that the more red his eyes, the more temperamental and prone to stabbing and bloody violence he's going to be.

"I won't sing for you," Nanael says scowling at the lot of them.

"Not now, but you will," Skaevadror says, a look of dark promise in his eyes that made Nanael uneasy.

"Despite his growls," Horandast says, ignoring his words, cocking his head to the side, "He has a melodious voice. Good- hearing him scream will be fun~!"

"Now, now," Verzos says, "we should ask him if he'll join our war band first, before having fun with him."

"NEVER!" Nanael says defiantly.

"Oh good, I'm glad you said that," Toradreel says, "That means we get to convince you."

"Torture me all you like," Nanael says, "I won't bend or break for the likes of you."

"Bold words," Maraddreel says, a bored drawl in his voice, "You aren't the first we've caught, and you won't be the last."

Uvrox seems to be vibrating in glee as he sees the young Son of the Ninth- it had been a while since their Warband had found another Astartes.

He was the youngest, and newest member of the warband, and often got the shit jobs and worst brunt of the older, more powerful and higher in the hierarchy brothers and cousins of the War band.

But with the Loyalist, so long as he doesn't go too far- he can vent his frustrations on another, without getting the shit beat out of him by another one of the war band, all of them more high ranking than him.

Well, except for their new loyalist toy- who will fall or die. Or be traded away for something from one of the more established warbands. Which ever happened first.

Nanael meditates as best he can- all he can do is wait, bide his time to escape. Over the next few days, he notices they neither give him food, nor give him water.

He wouldn't accept such, likely poisoned or drugged offerings, but the fact that they make sure to eat and drink in front of him, while he receives nothing doesn't surprise him.

Uvrox comes over to him, a tray of food in hand and the- from what he can tell youngest, and weakest of the War band smirks down at him and starts to eat.

"I'm so glad that you are with us," Uvrox says while he eats. "I get double the rations."

Some how, Nanael isn't surprised that The War band had wanted to feed him, but one of their members, instead of offering the food to him, was eating it instead. Greedy bastards, Chaos.

Nanael doesn't look at him, doesn't respond. Just silence as he continues to meditate and try to plan his escape. Uvrox scowls, enraged that the pretty Imperial dog wasn't deigning to give him attention.

He growls and grabs his spiked mace and smacks the top of the cage, "Look at me when I talk to you Imperialist Dog!"

Nanael deliberately turns away from the Chaos Marine, making sure to seem as if he was ignoring him as much as possible. Meanwhile he was very aware of the other's presence.

"What are you doing?" One of the others barks out at Uvrox, "Feed the imperial- we are going to start working on him in a couple of days. The wait helps soften them up. Brat!"

That other brother smacks the back of his head. Uvrox whines at Skaevadror, "but sir- he's ignoring me!"

"Of course he is, you're a snot nosed, sniveling wretch." Skaevadror says smacking the other Chaos Marine again for good measure, "And stop eating the Loyalists food. We need him fed enough to know what's going on. Idiot."

"... Yes sir," Uvrox grumbles as he tosses the food into Nanael's cage.

Nanael doesn't react to it, other than catching the food and carefully sniffing it and glaring at the pair of Chaos Marines. As the Chaos Marine had been eating little bites out of it.

He at most of it- his mouth avoiding the parts touched by the disgusting Chaos Bastard's mouth. He tosses those bits out of the cage, and smirks when it hits one of their legs and they growl at him about it.

Horandast comes over and uses the mace to smack him for his cheek for daring to stain his armor with food. Nanael dodges the blow as best he can in the cage and spits out curses.

Part of him thinks about spitting acid at the bastard, his mouth watering with saliva- but no, he needs to bide his time. Nanael has been trying to keep track of time.

Half asleep, half awake, not wanting to fully sleep, not surrounded by Chaos scum, but also knowing that he needs to have some sleep in order to have a stronger mind against whatever horrors and tortures they are going to inflict on him.

Nanael's eyes snap open, when his Cage his jostled and he glares at some of his Chaos kidnappers. One of the mutated chaos worshippers marines, he has armor of an Apothecary comes over and uses a big ass needle, which he injects Nanael with.

He had of course tried to avoid the needle, but there was precious little he could do in the almost too small cage that they had stuck him in. He growls at the sting of the pain and the way the horrible chaos liquid burned and froze him.

"With that," Verzos informs the Imperial dog he'd injected, "you'll feel more acutely what it is that our Torture expert does to you. I will enjoy hearing you sing agony to the camp."

Nanael does not like the sound of that his cage is lifted and put on display in the middle of camp. Most of the Chaos marines are walking about - doing normal things one would do around an encampment.

He spots- to his surprise, some poor, hapless baseline humans, possessively tucked next to a Chaos Marine. Always within arms reach of the bastard that had stolen them from... somewhere.

One of the younger ones looked over at him, their eyes wide, "A-angel." They squeak out in lisping high Gothic.

"He looks like one, doesn't he," The Chaos Marine croons at the child, oddly gentle as he scoops up the baseline child. "Come - lets go pick some berries outside of camp."

"aww... Okay big brother." The child pouts. "Why is he in a cage?"

"Well- he's doesn't know the rules yet," The Chaos Marine explains, "so he has to stay there, until he learns to behave."

Nanael growls at that, his eyes flashing, how dare the Chaos bastard have a child in their grasp. Before he could do more -one of the other Chaos Marines approaches his cage and his focus shifts on the threat that is closer to him.

The rest of the warband members- of which there were three others who had baseline humans, had each come up with a different excuse as they took them out of camp.

"Are you going to make a spectacle of this?" Nanael calls out boredly.

"Indeed," Toradreel says, "We don't get much entertainment, so breaking in a Loyalist will be great fun."

"I won't break," Nanael says defiantly.

"They all say that," Toradreel says with a laugh as he shakes his head, as he pats the arm of a silver haired, dark brown eyed and skinned chaos marine next to him, "Remember when you said that?"

"... I do, sir." The Chaos Marine said looking a little pale under his dark skin and the way he shied from the master torturer's touch.

"Hm," Toradreel says as he focuses on his implements that he'd use on the young blood angel.

While going after his wings is tempting- they will need to be usable by the time he falls to Chaos. He grabs a long thin knife and turns towards Nanael with a faux-pleasant smile on his face, as cruelty glitters in his eyes.

"I am an excellent teacher, of pain, of pleasure, and of getting loyalist to fall and swear to Chaos," Toradreel says, almost like he's speaking to a child.

Nanael feels a pit in his stomach form and he starts to murmur the litanies of hate and protection. Toradreel approaches with a glinting knife by the fire and starts to use his new canvas.

[blackmetaltv]

ASTARTE, Greek Black/Death metal band, are set to release their highly anticipated new EP soon. This release marks the return of the first female Black Metal band in many years.

This EP features a new song titled "THE CROSS," which includes a collaboration with Krister "Morfeus" Dreyer from Limbonic Art.

Additionally, the album will include a cover of the extreme metal legends Celtic Frost's track "THE SORROWS OF THE MOON," featuring NICOLAS MAIIS of Lloth.

Fans of Astarte can anticipate a powerful and ominous musical journey, similar to the band's previous work.

[kit-williams]

Momrad has been busy

It's more so... I've been going to bed early with the boy so fics I mean to comment on doesn't happen

So once more I ask (I will go through the comments left on 'Home is where the heart is... so where is my heart?' cuz you know I love to comment on fics.) If there is a fic you want me to make a comment on that you have tagged PLEASE feel free to contact me/get momrad to look again.

[meangreennunseen]

Remembered that one post of how Ultramarines would just flock to assist their pregnant Legion Mother en masse just like herd animals they are and I raise you:

Thousand Sons doing same, but instead of mass assistance they follow her examining her as rare animal species.

Heavily pregnant Legion Mother feeling she is followed, only to turn around to see like seven Thousand Sons astartes trying awkwardly hide behind a pillar which is smaller than their entire band. One peeks his head out before hastily ducking back. There is murmuring and another peak from other side. When she hears scribbling on the paper and sees few more heads awkwardly peak. One of the Sons waves awkwardly.

[candyswirls]

Space Marine Cuddle Pile PT 2

Continuation of this. PT 3.

@wolf-feathers12 you owe me fifty cookies and I’m gluten free

Imagine:

Titus is not quite new anymore to the watch. He’s slowly opening up to his squad mates but still is apprehensive. The mission has been a success and his squad wants to celebrate. They worked well together. But Titus does not wish to participate. He is bitter and mournful. News that the Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, had returned came through a few days ago. He was overjoyed at hearing that. But he doesn’t get to celebrate. Not when he’s dishonored his chapter. Not when he’s a black shield. Not when he can’t celebrate with his brothers. Before he can go to the training cages, a squad mate pulls him back, not taking no for an answer. He may have not told them his chapter and was using another name but they can tell how hard the last few days have been. Rather than celebrating they all huddle together, one with another. They miss each of their chapters and brothers. But they can find comfort in one another. It’s a moment of reprieve for the ex-captain’s broken heart.

As an Emperors’ children you are far more prone to cuddling than one might think. You were always underestimated. Many scoffed at your legion and chalked you up to pompous and egotistical men. Some of that was true but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Even more hurtful was the rejection of your Primarch. He didn’t want you or your brothers. He would not lead. You all were so desperate that some followed his clone when he showed up. You’re all scattered and trying what you can to make Fulgrim proud and have him return. Sometimes the rejection hurts so much you’ll curl up together in a pile. Pretending the weight is your Primarch, welcoming you back and saying that you’ve done well. That you’re worthy of his love. Those who are a part of war bands tend to be flock to bigger Astartes. Craving large and warm arms to wrap around you and say it’s okay. You’re not useless or worthless. You’re not an object or disposable.

Little known fact about Iron Warriors. You will cuddle anyone but your own legion. You’re so touch starved and refuse to ask for it due to how the chapter is. Cuddling your brothers? Revolting. Your Primarch won’t do it. Cold and refusing to show any weakness. But the minute any other traitor Astartes wants to start a pile or even a daemon or cultist request a hug, you’re there. You will not say anything and you’re definitely not saying no. You will just join in. If you see a cuddle pile you won’t ask, you’re suddenly in the middle. Emperor’s Children tend to like Iron Warrior’s for this reason. Might as well write “Free Hugs” on the back of their armor.

Newly joined Blood Angels feeling the psychic wound of their genefathers death. The looming of the red thirst and the chance of falling to the black rage. Their new brothers hold them in a large mass. Safe and warm to let them know that they’re not alone. They all feel the pain. They all mourn their father and fallen brethren. They all share it. So they share their hugs and affection.

Black Templars having massive sermons where the chaplain gets emotional and they all hold one another as they recite prayers. Hold each other up. Being strong like Dorn. Their Primarch isn’t here but they are here for each other.

Night Lords will cram themselves into dark and tight places to hide, entangled in each other’s arms. Their Primarch was mad and didn’t care for them. They have to care for each other. Everything they do is vile and violent. Except for this. Ever so gentle touches, protective embraces, the most tender of running hands through hair, gentle head butting. They are one of the most affectionate legions but only with each other. Silent as they relish in each other’s deep rooted sadness and hatred for themselves and solace of being with one another.

Lorgar finally has a moment of silence as the word bearers are escorted away from Monarchia by the Ultramarines. The emperor’s wrath had been fierce. He ends up dropping to his knees and pulling his closest son into an embrace. The others around him move forward without thinking. He pulls so many into his arms, has them laying their heads on his shoulders and back. Pressing their cheeks and foreheads to his own as he cries prayers he wrote. They were innocent! Loyal to him! He had done this for him! All that work! It was a gift! A tribute! He just burned it away! Killed them all. Rejected it. He’s in so much pain and anger but having his sons close eases it a bit.

Magnus clings to his sons. They don’t react as dust swirls within the armor. Foolish stupid Ahriman. He had managed to save the remaining few and bring them into the warp. Relieved that they all weren’t dead. This seemed worse though. He presses a kiss to the top of one’s helmet, praying that there’s some bit of conscious in there. Those that were unaffected are huddled behind him as his new wings caress them.

He wasn’t very affectionate. Mortarion had grown up shying away from it and he rarely indulged in cuddle piles. But after so many had died from horrid plagues and sicknesses, he had to pledge himself to Nurgle. It didn’t matter though. His sons were saved and himself. He had sat himself on the ground and big then to come forth. Some were nuzzled into his side, a few rested their heads on his torso. He was surrounded by his sons. Safe. He didn’t care what it had taken or what would happen next.

[ezri-is-real]

Getting into the Traitor Forces!

Nothing like a good bit of heresy 😌

These are part of the 42nd Company of the former 8th legion, now calling themselves Children of Sevatar. They‘ve allied themselves with a war band of the Iron Warriors, fighting together in the long war.

Ive decided to keep them mostly taint free, as I much prefer the visuals of just Heretics, not Chaos Marines.

They also indeed use female Astartes due to demand of keeping their company at strength. However, while they managed to make the geneseed work for non-males, it is more brittle in those individuals, having similar side effects to the Thunderwarriors of old with more degradation and unchecked aggression when compared to your classic Astartes.

[lemon-russ]

I made a new blog just to get the worms out of my head put in there by everyone writing bully Cato Sicarius fics. Heavily infected/ inspired by the diplomat/ Cato stuff, I needed to make my own tropey garbage fic.

I blame all of you WH40k smut writers for this. I love you all and you've made me very ill over these murder machines. I must put them in situations.

Part 1/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Violence, blood, I mean it's warhammer I think you get what you pay for there, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (mildly honestly)

Summary: Cato is forced to accompany Guilliman's ambassador to a meeting. Things go sideways.

word count: 1,896

Cato walked next to the little diplomat. He hated this. Hated that he was assigned to look after- to babysit- this pompous noble woman.

This whole thing was a waste of his time. He just got back from a mission quelling some rebellion on a random planet in the backwaters of the galaxy. He was already annoyed at how quickly the rebellion was quashed, they did not need to send him, the Knight Champion of Macragg, any random band of Astartes would have handled it.

Then he got home, already in a sour mood, and Guilliman told him maybe he needed a break- a break- and assigned him to escort his little diplomat pet to her next meeting off world. No amount of argument changed his genefather's mind, and he was ordered to “Quit whining and get out of his hair for a moment”.

He didn't want to push his already stressed Primarch further and resigned himself to his fate, three days wasted babysitting this stupid, base human woman. He couldn't stand her, the way she bat her eyes to get people to sway to her opinions, the lavish gowns she insisted on wearing to each meeting, the droning on and on for hours about nothing every time she met with an ambassador she knew. how are the kids, that dress is flattering, I heard your planet had a celebration- it was driving him mad.

Cato watched her walk all prim and proper in a ridiculous trailing gown. A tripping hazard, more like. He smirked a bit as he got an idea, and casually placed his next step on the tail of her dress.

With a small yelp, she fell over, her ridiculous heels not affording her the balance to recover from a sharp snag on her gown. She spilled her papers on the floor and landed in them face first. She looked ridiculous, and he smiled for the first time in weeks. He even let out a chuckle. “Oh my. Careful, Ambassador. That dress is not great for the uncoordinated.” He said with an edge of mocking, playing coy.

She huffed, frowning like an angry little cat as she scrambled to her knees, scooping up her paperwork. “I think I'd be a lot less accident prone if I wasn't being followed by a seven foot tall hazard.” she snapped, scrambling up to her feet and trying to fix her dress.

Cato tried to school his face to not grin at her reaction. “I have no idea what you mean, Ambassador. I simply was following you as always.” he said casually, following again as she stomped back down the corridor.

She was being sent to broker the handover of a planet, giving them a chance to willingly join the glory of the Imperium before they would be recruited by force. They walked down the flagstone halls of an over-pompous but still somehow rundown manor where the leader of this human group insisted on meeting.

He scoffed- a planet who's only excess was stones and sand. Their was nothing they could broker worthwhile, this whole meeting was merely a shakedown to save human lives. Yet the leader of this rock acted like he was doing them a favor by even meeting with them. The arrogance of it all made Cato's anger rise again. He considered tripping the ambassador again to blow off steam, but held off. If he did it too often, the fun would wear out.

She kicked her heels off the flagstone as she agitatedly continued down the corridor to the large double doors to the leaders war room. They were of course, impractically, also made of stone, and requires a turning mechanism to slowly open.

The leader stood at a war table, looking smug and watching them as the doors were slowly opened. They stepped in and Cato was on guard immediately as they started closing the doors behind them. He could push the doors open himself, but it would slow him down if they needed to escape.

The diplomat greeted the Leader, who introduced himself as something Rolfar- he wasn't paying attention, instead still scoping the room. there were small windows in the stone maybe 20 feet up, the stone doors behind them, and then... no other exits. He scowled to himself and stood at attention behind the ambassador, hand itching for his bolter. They'd inadvertently walked into a kill box, if thing went sideways.

The ambassador noticed his distraction and raised a brow, but was pulled back to the discussion. Uhg, more drivel. How are your seasons here? your manor is very impressive, how's your family. He started tuning out again at the mindless small talk. Why can't she ever just get the to the point? Give us your planet or die, boom, done. He should be the ambassador, really.

He snapped out of his inner monologue when he noticed some of the guards around the room exchanging glances. His mouth twitched a frown and his hand slowly came to rest on the hilt of his power sword, the Talassarian.

The ambassador was oblivious as always, laying out papers on the table and talking cheerily to the leader, pointing out resources they would gain access to as part of the Imperium, of course sprinkling in things like how they'll be converting to the Imperial cult in a matter of fact way. The man glanced at a guard near him, giving a slight nod.

That's it, this is all too suspicious now. Cato walked over and put a large hand on the diplomat's shoulder. “Ambassador, could I share a word with you in the hallway-” he started in a low voice, but was interrupted when he saw the soldiers around the room reach for their weapons.

His senses honed. He could think faster, react quicker than baseline humans like these. They hardly twitched toward their rudimentary weapons before he had the diplomat on the floor, bolter out and taking out the first soldier to actually draw his weapon.

Chaos broke out, figuratively of course, and he was forced to actually do his job and protect the stupid woman. It would be fun honestly, tearing through the rebels in a closed death cage, if he wasn't forced to shield the emperor-damned woman beneath him. She was still confused and processing what happening- by the throne she was slow- while he took out a few more of the guards. But for every one he shot, another took a shot at her from the other side, forcing him to move to cover her with his power armor.

He scowled to himself. having to protect her slowed him down enough that they got a foothold, surrounding them, weapons trained on her as they knew they wouldn't touch him. She of course was useless, cowering pathetically against his kneeling body for protection.

well fuck. His hands were tied. That didn't usually happen. “Hands up or we kill the woman!” the soldiers demanded. He let out a sigh and holstered his bolter, hands up. He probably could tear his way out of here, but he wasn't confident he could do it without the ambassador getting shot. stupid woman, some sort of flack armor would be more practical than this stupid flowy dress, and she could at least wear a helmet-

His inner rambling was interrupted by the leader- Randolf? Rolf? -speaking at them smugly. “You thought I would simply roll over and let you interlopers take my world? Your arrogance is astounding” He chuckled with a sneer. Cato considered shooting him, but knew the diplomat woman would be shot for it. He still considered it. No. Lord Guilliman would be mad if he let her die. Uhg, she's ruining everything.

The leader had the ambassador woman taken away first, cuffed and blindfolded. She struggled against them, for a small amount of her credit, but a swift kick from a solider put a stop to it. Cato grimaced. He almost felt bad seeing someone else be mean to her. Probably just because his duty is to stop that though.

“Try that again and I'll turn this room into a red mist.” Cato warned with a glower at the soldier. Guilliman would be more upset if she came back battered, and he'd rather not be punished to anymore menial work. The man who kicked her shivered under his look, and took a step back.

The leader frowned in annoyance at him. “Please, you are in no position to give demands.” He mocked, then walked over and gave the diplomat a firm kick in the ribs, making her yelp and fall over. Before he realized he was moving, he had the man by the collar, and the sound of two dozen weapons readying echoed off the stone walls. The man looked shocked, then terrified, but stuttered out anyway, “Unhand me or the girl turns into a colander.” His voice shook, but the sound of warming up weapons made Cato grit his teeth and lower the man.

as soon as his feet touched stone he scampered away like a cowardly mouse, cowering across the room. “Take her, and keep your weapons on her. I swear if you make one move we'll end her!” He stammered. His soldiers started dragging her out of the room and Cato grit his teeth harder. Fuck. If he'd ignored that, they'd probably have let them leave together, and he could have gotten them out when the doors opened like he planned. Why did he grab that man? Fuck.

He scowled, watching them drag her out the doors, mind scrambling for a new plan. He scoped the room for communication devices. The soldiers carried some, but the room itself had nothing. Okay, he can salvage this, take them out before the vox to their friends, kick down the door, find the girl, get back to the thunderhawk. He can work with that. Thankfully these people were as stupid as they were arrogant, and lacked most advanced defenses and weapons that the Imperium had.

He waited a bit after they took her away, letting them put him in cuffs- wow they really were stupid to think this would hold him- and letting them take his bolter and the Talassarian and put them across the room. He counted in his head as the Leader droned on and on about how his world would not bow to tyrants, same old nonsense everyone spouted when they resisted the Emperor's light. When he was pretty sure the others were out of earshot- he heard them walk away pretty far, baseline humans wouldn't hear the screams- he stood, making the soldiers ready their weapons.

“What are you doing? Sit back down!” The leader demanded, stepping back defensively. Cato snapped the cuffs and smiled. Finally, he could teach these fools the glory of the Emperor's Imperium.

A few minutes later, Cato forced the stone doors open, re-affixing his blood soaked power sword to his hip and adjusting his helmet, flicking his hands and splashing the blood off his gauntlets. Now to just find the stupid woman and hope they didn't already execute her. His genefather would be pissed if she died. And he wouldn't admit it, but the thought gave him an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Probably just dedication to even the most menial duties like this, he decided. Definitely just that.

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 4

Action sequence time baby let's gooooooo

Thank you guys so much for all the support so far. This one took a little longer to cook because fight scenes take ages to choreograph lol.

If you missed the previous part, you can catch up here :)

A lot for explicit violence in this one, including blood and gore, so be prepared for that. Also, I spent ages researching Dark Eldar weaponry, but it's all so wacky and weird that I just kinda did my own thing? I know I know, it's kinda lazy, but I've already twisted the lore so much for this story already, what's the harm in a little more?

Aside from that, apologies for spelling and grammar errors, I hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading!

Ellicent yelps in surprise as Gadriel grabs her. When she glimpses the Dark Eldar skiff, though, it quickly becomes a snarl "Severus!" she hisses. "Severus, you fucking rat! You-"

The screeching song of metal clanging against metal drowns out the rest of her furious cries.

Shredder rounds. Fist sized shells packed with razor-sharp monofilaments and the prefered weapons for this particular war band. Their function is in the name: to shred. Everything. From flesh and bone to steel and concrete. And, if the grimace on Gadriel's face is anything to go by, even space marine ceramite.

Just beyond his right shoulder, Ellicent spots the skiff again. It's hovering, now. Flanks split open like misplaced mouths, spewing scores of Dark Eldar raiders. Their armour is black and sleek; all crossing belts and studded leather. Except the studs aren't studs at all, but are rather chunks of skull and spinal bones. And the leather... Throne. Some of their chest pieces still have hair. Still have faces. Ellicent feels her stomach tie itself into knots.

The xenos still on the skiff cease their rain of fire as their melee force joins the fray. The latter hits the rooftop running. Gnarled spears and serrated blades flash in their taloned hands. Their long, elven faces are twisted into wicked grins. Some of them shriek in bloodlust and ecstasy.

Ellicent sets her jaw. "Turn left, Gadriel!"

Without hesitation, he does as she says. Twisting his hips, keeping a hold on Ellicent as he does. A trio of Dark Eldar are in front of her now. Screeching in delight with their weapons raised. Ellicent lifts her gauss canon towards them. With a cry of her own, she squeezes the trigger with her entire hand. The necron weapon cracks like a sonic boom. A lance of green energy- blinding, sparking, pulsing- explodes from its barrel at the speed of light. It hits the centre-most raider in the chest. For a moment his squeals turn agonising. Then, he says nothing at all. The beam devours him whole, blowing his body apart before stripping the pieces of their very atoms. It leaves no remains. Not even a pile of ash.

Alarmed, his comrades scatter, but Ellicent is on them like a hawk. Two more times, she fires. And two more times, a xenos is obliterated. She releases the trigger. Her gauss canon whines at her as if in disappointment.

Above her head, she hears Gadriel laughing.

His voice sounds different, now. Mechanical. Modulated. Ellicent glances up to find his face is now covered by a red Astartes' helm. The sight startles her a little. "Holy Terra," he says. "I'm glad you didn't hit me with that thing."

At first, the comment makes Ellicent wince. Then, she hears the smile in his voice.

He's joking. Seems like such a trivial thing, especially now. But even so, Ellicent can't help the warmth she feels inside at the realisation.

All around them, the Dark Eldar raiders circle them like sharks, no less blood-thirsty, but definately wary now. Their skiff continues to orbit overhead and its shredder fire has started up again. But it's not aimed at them anymore. It's aiming behind them. From that same direction, Ellicent hears the periodic bellow of a bolter.

The other Ultramarine. It has to be. What had Gadriel called him again?

Titus.

Gadriel releases the arm he'd had pinned across her middle, returning Ellicent to her feet. She hears a sword unsheath, an energy field activate. In her peripherals, she glimpses his power sword in one of his hands.

He stands at her back. His armour and undersuit are rough against her skin.

They're also wet...

"Are you bleeding?" she asks.

"I was. But no longer."

Despite herself, Ellicent's chest tightens. "Are you alright?"

Gadriel's response is a growl. "Dont worry about me. Focus on looking after yourself."

Ellicent stifles a growl of her own. You don't need to tell me; that's all I've been doing for the last fifty years.

Limber as they are, the Dark Eldar are still impossibly quick. They don't sprint so much as glide across the floor, and when they duck and dodge, their bodies are literal blurs.

Ellicent fires her gauss cannon again. She tags one on the arm. In a flurry of screams and green light, the limb evaporates, all the way up to the creature's shoulder. The raider collapses to the ground, writhing and wailing. The sight makes Ellicent grin. The Dark Eldar are infamous for deriving pleasure from pain; not just other's but their own, too. Looks like atomisation, though is too excruciating a pain even for the likes of them.

Holding down the trigger this time, Ellicent swings the weapon from left to right, carving into the incoming raiders with a continuous spray of lethal anti-matter. Three more fall victim to its fire, but one- a long-legged male in nothing but a skin loin cloth- manages to slip through. He's getting close. Too close. If Ellicent were to fire on him now, she'd risk catch herself in the blast. Taking her hand off the trigger, Ellicent grips both of the canon's handles tight. As the naked raider cocks his arm back to slash at her, she drops low. Putting every ounce of body weight and cybernetic strength behind the swing as she can, Ellicent slams the barrel of her gauss canon into the alien's groin. The xenos goes down like a corpse, howling in pain and fury. Before he can rise, Ellicent raises her necronian leg high and slams her foot into his head. Bone and blood spray as her metal heel plunges through his skull. When she lifts her foot again, her heel and sole are both splattered with pulverised brain matter.

A roar at her back catches her attention. She spins just in time to see Gadriel cleave one of his attackers in half with his power sword. Another, he punches in the chest with his free hand. The alien's body explodes as if it'd just been hit with a tank round.

Ellicent watches him with shock on her face. She's seen and fought enough space marines in her time to have overcome the transhuman dread that the sight of them afflicts in mortals. But seeing these things in Gadriel- her Gadriel- it brings that sickly feeling surging right back.

It unsettles her. Throws her off-balance and out-of-focus. It lasts only a second. But in that same second, for reasons unknown, the Dark Eldar skiff steers its sights away from Titus and back to her. And Ellicent realises it too late.

Releasing her gauss canon, she drops to one knee and throws up her robotic arm. She angles it across her head and chest, trying to shield her most vital parts. It's pointless, she knows. Even if she manages to spare her heart or brain, the shredders will just cut the rest of her to ribbons. But it's all Ellicent can think to do. She has to try. She can't just-

An enormous ceramite hand grabs her around the waist and yanks her out of the way.

"Head down!" Gadriel yells. Dropping his sword, he hugs her to his chest with both arms and crouches on one knee. His ceramite screams as the shredders make impact. Ellicent pictures their bladed edges biting through the plate and sawing into the undersuit beneath. Sparks fill through the air. The stench of burning metal is almost sickening. Ellicent squeezes her eyes shut. She shimmies her arms free from where they're pinned against Gadriel's midriff and covers her ears.

Her breath hitches. Her hands; they feel wet and sticky.

Is that...

Reopening her eyes, Ellicent looks at her palms. All over her arms, from her finger tips up to her biceps, she's streaked with human blood. Same as down her front, where she's pressed into Gadriel's torso.

Ellicent's throat tightens.

Gadriel.

She can't see his face from behind his helmet. Its slanted red eyes make it look like he's glaring with rage. But his grip isn't as strong as it had been before, and with every third or fourth shredder that hits, she hears him winces.

The knot in Ellicent's throat winds tighter. "We can't stay here!" she cries. "We've got to move!"

"And go where?" he grunts. The thinness of his voice only confirms what she'd already feared.

"Get me a shot at the skiff. I can take it down."

"You expose yourself like that and you'll be dead in a second."

"I've got to try!"

"Don't you dare."

"If I don't, they'll tear you-"

"I said no, Ellie!" Gadriel shouts.

It's then the shredder suddenly stops again. Still holding onto Ellicent, Gadriel looks over his shoulder.

"What?" she asks.

"Oh Throne," he mutters.

As the curse leaves his mouth, his body lurches forwards and his voice devolves into a pained groan.

"Gadriel?" Ellicent grasps his sides of his helmet with both hands. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Gadriel falls to one knee. Releasing one of his arms from around her to catch himself. Ellicent takes the chance to wrestle free from his grasp. Quickly, she scans him up and down. What she finds makes her stomach drop.

It's an impaler. A two-pronged, ship-mounted harpoon weapon, one the Dark Eldar typically reserve for taking out vehicles or skewering heavy armour. And they've just shot Gadriel with one. Speared him in the back and straight through his right side. Blood pours from both wounds in a torrent. Already, it's made a pool on the floor.

"Oh no..."

Ellicent runs back to him. Grabs his helmet again as if she were cupping his cheeks. "No, no, no, no!"

"Ellie..." His voice cracks like broken glass. It brings tears to Ellicent's eyes. "Listen to me. You... you have to..."

"Shut your mouth," Ellicent growls. Before he can argue with her, she steps away from him. Aiming her gauss canon at the sky, hunting for the skiff. She finds it, but never gets the chance to fire. The raiders are waiting for her. The second she's out of Gadriel's protective shadow, they're on her. Kicking out her legs. Ripping her weapon from her hands. Slamming her face into the floor, then a club into the back of her head. The last thing she sees is Gadriel. Kneeled over, covered in blood, a monstrous alien spear sticking out of his ribs. A scream tears through her throat. The sound is the truest embodiment of fury and grief.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel dreams of steel and blood. The stench of hot iron. The taste of copper. A haze of blinding light and shredded nerve endings.

He doesn't know where he is, how much time has passed. He doesn't even know if he's still alive.

And what about Titus? What happened to him? And Ellie-

Oh Throne. Ellie...

The haze suddenly dissolves. All at once, his senses return. They do so with startling clarity. The smell of hot iron is replaced by that of dampness and decay. His ears ring with the high-pitched hum of an alien engine. He suddenly remembers he has eyes and gingerly, opens them one by one.

A single, white lamp illuminated the entire space around him. Black metal surrounds him, save for the walls on his left and directly in front of him, which instead are made from thick heavy bars. The air is humid and warm, like the inside of a beast's stomach. The stench is nauseating. Gadriel reaches for his helmet to turn on its filters. Instead of ceramite, however, his fingers brush his bare cheek.

My armour...

He looks at his hands. His gauntlets are gone, too, along with every other piece of ceramite plate he'd been wearing. All that remains is his black undersuit.

They've captured me. The thought sends dread spiking through Gadriel's veins. Very few of the brothers he's met have fought the Dark Eldar, and fewer still have been captured and survived to tell the tale. But those few he does know told him about it. What they said had stayed with him right up to this very day.

I have to get out of here, he thinks. Planting his palms on the floor and pushing himself to his feet. I have to find Ellie and Titus, and get us all-

A spear of agony pierces Gadriel's right side and pained roar rips from his throat. He falls back against the wall, breathing hard and fast. Thick bands of sweat are pouring off his brow.

Tentatively, he touches his side. His finger come back slick with fresh blood.

Gadriel bares his teeth. That's right, he thinks bitterly. I'd almost forgotten.

The fresh blood, however, is deeply concerning. The moment the harpoon had been removed, his larraman cells should have sealed the wound closed tight. Wiping his hands on his thigh, Gadriel presses them to his stomach, chest and left side. Once against, his palms return bloody.

It's not just the spear wound; the cuts and gashes from the shredders haven't sealed either.

Gadriel's vision starts darkening again. His head now pounds in time with his injuries. It could just be his panicked mind playing tricks, but it feels an awful lot like he's about to loose consciousness again.

Shit. Not good. This is not good.

"Gadriel? Is that you?"

His vision suddenly clears. Gadriel looks up, peers through the bar wall separating his cell from the one next door . In the corner closest to the back edge, a shadow moves. Unfurling into the silhouette of a woman, crouching in front of the bars and gripping them with one hand.

"Yes it is," Ellie says quietly. In the low light, her eyes twinkle like a cat's. "It's really you."

With a grimace, Gadriel pushes off from the wall. His hearts are soaring, but in his current state, he can manage is sitting a little straighter. "Ellie! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Just have a sore head. They hit me pretty hard."

"I saw," Gadriel says. He swallows as a surge of acidic bile fills his mouth at the memory. "But you are otherwise unharmed?"

Ellie hesitates for a moment. Her silence is almost confused. "Yes," she eventually replies. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Gadriel sighs in tangible relief. "Thank the Emperor for that."

"What about you?" Ellie asks.

Gadriel grits his teeth in a rueful smile. "I think the bastards might’ve tagged me," he says.

Ellie isn't amused by his poor attempt at humour. "How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he admits.

"Can you move?"

"Probably. The bleeding hasn't stopped, though. Even though it should've."

"It's poison," says Ellie. "Kills larraman cells. They coat their projectiles with it. Meant to make space marines bleed to death."

Gadriel looks at his hands. The pounding in his head grows tenfold. "Well. Isn't that just great..."

"Yup." He hears shuffling as Ellie changes position. Sitting on thefloor now, she rests her left side on the bars separating her cell from his, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Gadriel asks her.

"Oh yeah," Ellie says. "Only the most cursed, ugly pain-ridden ship in this entire system." The dryness in her voice borders on resignation. "Welcome to the Dark Star."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If the ending feels a bit abrupt that's because it is lol. I was writing this part, and it just kinda kept going and I realised it was gonna be way WAY too long. So I split it into two :)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading everyone. Part 5 is coming soon <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[paint-pot-pete]

For the final Monday of November, I present the appropriately gnarly Night Lord Ventrilokar 😁

Excellently sculpted with half an astartes in place of a banner; somehow very fitting for this disgusting band of reprobates 🤣 very happy with how this turned out - really starting to find my stride with these boys 😊

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

As Cold as Death

Author's note: Nanael in Soul Mate Sad AU. @sleepyfan-blog and I talked about this, and they are find with it.

Summary: Nanael arrives to the scene in this AU.

Warnings: Mentions of torture. A Chaos Warband has their hands on A Loyalist. LMK if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis, @undeaddream

Nanael had been on Ancient Terra for a few weeks, trying to escape the Black Legion Chaos Warband (who would be considered Feral and Non-Treaty compliant, not that he knows that, yet).

When he feels a soul deep agony that has him falling to the ground and screaming, writhing in agony, as his time counter flickers and twists strangely.

The noise he makes attract the attention of the war band- several members and most of them are annoyed. One of the Dark Apostles of the group..

After he stops screaming writhing and is just sweating and reeling from the strange agony he's in poke at him and mutter in a strange language that has his head hurt.

'What was that?' Nanael wonders as he's roughly dragged by two of the larger members of the Chaos war band back into his damned cage that he'd just managed to escape as they toss him in.

"Someone was messing with the Little Lamenters Soul Bond," The Dark Apostle Elona Hidemauler informs the War Lord of the band, which Nanael just manages to hear, straining his ears as he keeps his eyes closed.

"Interesting," The War Lord Maraddeel Trarth says, his voice sounding more amused, yet bored than anything.

"We need to wait a bit- too much, fun with the little birdy, could have his soul flying back to his Father too soon," The Dark Apothecary Toradreel says.

"Aww... but he screams so pretty when his feathers are plucked," Verzos says with a wicked smile on his chaos mutated face. "He escaped his cage again, he needs to be punished."

"The Start of the Severing of his Soul Bond will have him too weak to move much for days, if we are lucky, weeks," Skaevadror points out, the Chaos Psyker, "It was a Nurglite that was starting to Sever the bond, but did so in a way that none of the backlash would end up on the one they were Severing with... Likely a Deal."

'I don't know my soul mate,' Nanael thinks, the sting of pain, of rejection has him closing his eyes and keeps his tears inside. Showing weakness is a bad idea, especially to this lot. 'and they would make a Deal with Chaos, for... something that the cost is their Soul Bond.'

Which is both deeply concerning and hurts. He needs to escape this Warband, to find Loyalists and warn them that there is a Chaos Warband that needs to be handled.

He shifts a little, he's so hungry, so thirsty. The bastards haven't given him anything to eat or drink, not like he'd trust them to give him something safe to eat.

Fuck, he's not sure if it's safe for him to drink of their blood- not with how heavily Chaos mutated and warped they are. One of the bastards, Urvox, had caught him trying to escape and had broken one of his wings, which was still badly hurt and hung limply at his side.

He will Endure, he will escape them. Hopefully he'll get his revenge on these assholes, after he regains his strength. One of the other Black Legionaries comes over to his cage, and he opens one of his eyes and glares at them silently.

Urvox, one of the younger Black Legionaries sneers down at the loyalist and uses a large metal bat to bang on it, "Loyalist scum! What are you plotting?"

"To escape- your deaths if I can manage it," Nanael snarls back, and his rewarded with a spiked mace to the legs as he snarls and swears at them.

Trying not to cry out in pain, while another one of the Warband Horandast crouches next to his cage, a smirk on his face, "If you gave in, it'd be easier on you, Scout."

"Never!" Nanael hisses out, "I won't fall to Chaos!"

"Hah, they all say that," Maraddeel says coming over, an arrogant stride to his gait. "And, yet- well. Fall, you Imperials do. Or die."

"I'd rathe die!" Nanael says honestly. "So kill me, and be done with it!"

"Nah," Maraddeel, "not yet, you have use, feathered bastard."

"As what?" Nanael snaps, trying to get him to talk.

"Oh, for a little of this, a little of that," The Chaos Marine says with a smirk.

Some of the Chaos Word Bearers would be ever so delighted to get their hands on a Winged Son of Sanguinius- the properties of their blood, and what they represent to their Chapters, both first found and the successor chapters, made them Potent Sacrifices to the dark gods.

Nanael needs to find a way to escape these Chaos bastards clutches- he has to. If he can manage to grab his armor and weapons on his way out, that would be ideal, but if he can only grab his own self, then that would be something. The loss of his armor and weapons would sting, and bring him shame for the losses of such valuable things.

Nanael waits, and bides his time, pretending, well showing more of just how wounded he was. How it affected him, also the fact that his soul mate had made a Deal that had affected their bond to him.

Black Legionaries could be very arrogant, and one night- he took his chance, while all of the bastards were drunk on stolen Mjod to escape his cage, grab his armor. Unable to get at his weapon, or any weapon as he runs as silently, and as swiftly as he could manage.

He checks his armor for traps, disables and disarms them. Fuck. He's so hungry. So tired. So thirsty. He puts on his armor and grunts at the weight of it. But as he puts on his helmet and continues to run, his hearts leap and he ruthlessly squashes down his feelings of hope and positive emotions.

A badly battered Nanael finds some civilization- there are structures- and a lot of baseline humans- although he sees some Astartes of various chapters in and nearby the base.

Woozily he moves from shadow to shadow, as best as he can in brightly colored armor. He hears the 'bong, bong, bong' of a church bell, and his steps go towards it.

He stares up in awe at a beautiful mosaic of his Lord Father, The Primarch Sanguinis rendered in beautiful metal and colored glass. He reverently, gently touches the stained glass and sways.

He leans against the wall of the church and curls up a mess of tangled, broken, blood limbs and feathers at the feet of his Primarchs painted window.

[titanomancy]

Some additional thoughts regarding the recently announced Astartes 2.

I don't pretend to have any particular inside knowledge of the situation between Games Workshop and the various creators that they've tangled with over the years. A lot of people have a lot of thoughts about the fanpocalypse of 2021 which resulted in SODAZ's disavowal of Warhammer and the spectacle Bruva Alfabusa made of ending Text-to-Speech, among others.

But on the flip side, you have creators like Richard Boylan that successfully parlayed a YouTube video into the Warhammer+ Angels of Death series; and despite memory holing the Lord Inquisitor, Erasmus Brosdau went on to direct the Enemy Without.

So it's not entirely beyond the ken that there's a wholly anodyne explanation for why, after five years, Games Workshop is finally returning to Astartes, and any rumor of acrimony between the company and their creatives is just a pernicious libel like the Warhammer/WarCraft connection.

I had previously believed - and, if I'm being entirely honest, still do - that there must have been some sort of creative disagreement between Games Workshop and Pedersen regarding the direction that Astartes should take, given the alacrity with which Boylan's project was produced while Pedersen's languished, even if it was something as simple as reticence to revamp the project to showcase Primaris Space Marines instead of the classic style.

As I observed at the time, Astartes was the single best piece of Space Marine media of the last thirty years and precious little has come out since that can hold a candle to it. I don't hold any of the subsequent Warhammer+ series to date in particularly high regard - bully for Boylan, but Angels of Death bored me to tears; Iron Within had all the cinematic spectacle of a Playstation 2 cutscene; and Pariah Nexus could charitably be described as unfocused, or uncharitably as a hot mess. I've been so thoroughly underwhelmed by what's on offer, I skipped the Tithe entirely and I have no comment on anything it depicted so don't at me.

But, here's the thing that really has me concerned, and to which I alluded in my earlier post:

This teaser trailer is not actually clips from the new animation, instead showing a compilation of shots that represent the former lives of the characters that will appear in the show.

While there is some footage that may not have previously been released, I'm extremely confident that almost everything seen in the trailer is taken from the original development of Astartes 2 before Games Workshop got involved, and the project has been on ice ever since. Some clips like the orks dogpiling the Lamenter have previously escaped from behind the Patreon paywall and at this point, I'm reasonably certain that most of it can be found as reuploads on YouTube.

The best case scenario, and my hope for the series, is that Pedersen's Digital Bones brand/studio/Patreon campaign is basically the licensee for Astartes and is granted sufficient autonomy to produce a product that's faithful to his creative vision for it.

It's not enough to simply mimic the structure and style of the original short, Secret Level did that and while it was certainly a higher quality production than any of the outsourced industrial animation "Warhammer Storyforge" slop that's appeared on Warhammer+, it's self-evidently an imitation; like a cover band serviceably performing your favorite song. It has to be better than that.

And I sincerely hope that it is, but I'm not getting hyped for it and I warn you not to, either.

[darkopsiian]

Do you like warhammer 40k?

yes. look at my OC's. tw // mentions of body horror and abuse //

i should probably mention as well; i've roleplayed all these characters lol.

This is Nockzius she's my tech priest oc who's a 20 year old biologis prodigy who has worked on Astartes, Xenos, and reversed dissected several daemons. She's a diagnosed psychopath but currently in an emotional down-spiral, because she found out that since she's a blank the Omnissiah cannot hear her. She's been beaten, betrayed, backstabbed and manipulated so many times. So because of this and several other instances of parental neglect from her father, she's completely engulfed in her own hatred and ravenous anger. Nockzius has gotten so close to insanity many times and I'm not surprised she hasn't completely lost it yet due to all the stress that she has to put up with.

This is Heilgard, she is my sister of silence. She was a training SoS during the Remembrancer program back in the 29th Millennium. During the program they had been attacked by a creature later discovered to be a slaugth, towards the very end of the campaign she had sacrificed her own life to fight and later spiritually consume the minor deity. Later on rejected taking the oath of silence as upon discovering the origins of the Slaugth she had assisted in forming a group of members who's sole purpose was to study the Warp. They are an outcasted group and would be considered heretics by law. Her blank radius is so powerful that she purposefully isolates herself in attempts to protect others from getting their soul annihilated just by being around her. Cats however are safe, and thus she surrounds herself with many of them. She is also my only character who canonically has autism.

This is the P.A., or the Pantheon as it calls itself. The Pantheon was a Super AI that used to operate an entire forge of a planet that made and sold thermo-weapons to nearby Noble Houses. But the planet later collapsed and became swarmed with techno barbarians, xenos, and rabid AI drones. The P.A. became dislodged from it's mainframe and had integrated itself into one of its many worker drones. This worker drone, carrying the consciousness of the Pantheon, had found and integrated itself into the body of a traveling noble named Alicia. The P.A. now wearing the flesh body of Alicia travels with a band of techno barbarians and attempting to sway them into getting her old body back. Alicia's body has long expired but her soul hasn't departed, so it's not uncommon for the voice box to occasionally malfunction and start talking like a human.

This is Oylmortiz my Mephirit Deathmark. Oyl had a severe irreversible malfunction during her transfusion, so regardless of how many times she dies and comes back, she can never speak. Her voice is permanently broken and she communicates primary through static chatter or beeping. Thankfully due to her job exclusively being a hitman, talking isn't that important. Her personal deathmark brothers have gotten very used to this and are able to understand her just fine. She is very loyal to her house and just wants to do her job. Despite all this she has the highest charisma stat out of all of my characters, I don't know how this happened. But the mute necron deathmark has the highest fellowship and it's the best ongoing joke I've had.

This is Hollowtye he's a BITCH. This mother fucking lord of CRINGE has decided halloween is his birthday and now it just IS. He's a greater daemon of hysteria and feeds off wide-spread chaos, which is why he enjoys halloween so much. But he's a fucking IDIOT. He has the highest intelligence score sure but that doesn't mean ANYTHING, HE'S A FUCKING IDIOT LMAO. He is NEVER invited to any Tzeentchian parties because they all despise him. He's a clown who fucks up the smallest plan yet somehow still comes out the winner, which is why tzeentch loves him so much but why everyone else hates him.

T̷͙̳͛͜h̷̠͂̊̚͜ǐ̸̥̬̼̫̿̓s̷͉̙̱̣̓̌̎ ̷̢͔͙̘͔̅̔͑̐ǐ̶͍͎̓s̷̗̐ ̶̺̥̊R̸̲̀̄̂͗̆͜ĕ̴͚́h̷̦̺̼̙̜́v̸̖̠͙̇͊̊̚ë̸̢̞̱̟̠́̅̒͐̅n̶͕͔̗͚͋͂̽i̸̝̰̝̇̓̓̈͜r̶̘̽̊̾̓́ ̸̳̹̪̽͘T̵͕̻̘͇̦́͂̑͝͝ȟ̴̝͍̙̬̭͘i̸̥͎̫̖͗̅͘s̸͍̻̙̯̺̃̐̇̀̾ ̶̮̺̤̻̖͛͌i̸̩͝s̵̺̀̉͜ ̷̨̹͇͆̃́͘̕W̸͚͉̬̱͋̅͊̍̂h̷͕̓̀i̵̬̩͍͛̔̚t̶̻̂̅͛̊e̴͈̳̿̕̕͠b̷͕͛̅a̴̦̜͐͒͋͘͘ȑ̸̰̱̜̜̪͒͋̑k̴̛̟̓̃͒͝ ̵̧̙̪̲̣̐͛͋͘T̶̎��̪̳̟͜h̸̡̝̺̰̖͗̈́̑́i̷̠̯̱͓͊̋́̓̒s̵̰͈̃͌ ̵̧̈́͊͆͝į̷̟̺͇̘̀̿̆̈́͛s̵̻͛͒͛̆ ̴̧͍̰̃̆̍͘ͅT̸̞͈̪͇̓͜͝h̸̩͔̗̖͕͐̓͑͊ė̵̞̗͙͊́͝ ̷͖̤̎͜Ŗ̸̹͔̝̘̓ì̸̜͍̿ͅv̵̧̞͚̉͌e̶̝͆̐͂̑r̴̘͇̬̭͐̐̋m̴͈̜̮̅ā̷̩̖̺͝n̴͙͓̈́͂ ̵̪̍͜T̸̛̜̹̲̬̋͆̓̅h̷̹̔͌̕͜i̸̹̚s̴̺̼̰͠ ̵̢̥̠͉̖̏̾̓i̵̛̬̱̱͉̘̋s̷̯̟̙̋̈́͜ ̴̛͎͙̈̆T̶̘̮̹̦̹̓̈́h̸̩̭͇͚̑̂e̸̝͉̠̝̓ ̴̝̅͒̔̆B̵̮̼͚̉̐̄́é̷̡̨̤̩̃͗͆ã̶͇͍̈͘s̸̘͗̿ͅt̸̙̺͌͐̐̂̌ ̷̫̺͆͆̈͐́o̵̜̝̠̅f̵̢̧̠̲͉̀̇̈́̈̋ ̶̯̒́̏̈́͝ͅM̸͈̘͔̖̗̆̀̕ḛ̶͔͓̩͑̀r̸͚̈́̂̈́̄͜ć̶̠͙̜̿́͆̇ũ̴̜͇̌r̶̡̖̹̓̍̌̊y̶̼̖͝͝ ̸̡͍̤̐̚͘ṫ̷̛̟̭̘̄̽̈h̵͕͔͛̎e̵̗̤̗̍ͅ ̴̬̳̗̫͍̑v̴̡̯̘̝̫͊͋̾o̷͔͍̩͓͋̐͠i̶̪̤̕c̶͎̹͔̯̚e̶̠͖̅̄̕ş̷̔ ̷̫͑́̅̐͘t̴͚̯̍̋͗̍̉h̵̗̗̗͉̍͜e̶̛͕̩̱̎̈́̒̚y̸̥̹̳͆ ̶͚͂̀̈̒ẅ̵̪̗́̀̓̔̈́o̵̳͈̫͊́̓̄̚n̴̝̻͇̑̄͂͝͠'̸̧̾͋̆ț̸̈̓̓͘̕ ̷̛̫̬̃͘š̵̭̽̑t̵͎̻͙͙͉̅́̈́͐͝ŏ̷̜̎̚p̸̝̰̿̃̆͐̀

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 4, vol. 38, 27 janvier 1917, Paris. Dernières élégances. Dessin de Meignoz. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Voici un "tailleur" original Djersamella "rouille".

La jupe est à plis larges, et la jaquette est remplacée ici par un petit vêtement de même tissu, formant cape. Un dessin de soutache "taupe" lui sert de bordure, et le grand col de taupe, très enveloppant, ajoute à l'encsemble.

Petit "Napoléon" en velours, garni de pastilles en passementerie de soie.

Here is a "tailored" original in Djersamella "rust".

The skirt has wide pleats, and the jacket is replaced here by a small garment of the same fabric, forming a cape. A "taupe" soutache design serves as its border, and the large taupe collar, very enveloping, adds to the ensemble.

Small "Napoleon" in velvet, trimmed with silk braid pastilles.

—

Robe de dîner en Astarté "rose Saxe", cerclée de bandes inégales d'hermine. Devant et derrière, un panneau uni se replie sur lui-même semblant ainsi retenir la fourrure.

Manteau en Panécla "souris" garni d'hermine au col et aux poignets. Ce manteau, plus court que la robe, se trouve ainsi bordé par la fourrure qui le dépasse. Doublure originale en faille "craie" pékinée de velours "évêque". Bonnet drapé d'hermine et rose rose.

Dinner dress in Astarte "rose Saxe", circled with uneven bands of ermine. In front and behind, a plain panel folds back on itself, thus appearing to hold the fur.

Coat in Panécla "mouse" trimmed with ermine at the collar and cuffs. This coat, shorter than the dress, is thus bordered by the fur that protrudes from it. Original lining in faille "craie" pekiné of velvet "évêque". Bonnet draped with ermine and pink rose.

[syncopein3d]

Always remember that whether Firstborn or Primaris, space marines are more social than humans and they should NEVER be kept in groups of less than two. If you can't afford at least two Astartes, you simply cannot afford to keep Astartes at all.

I know everyone knows someone who knows someone who claims they have a Cypher or a Sevatar, but almost all of them are lying. "Lone wolf" marines are not healthy or happy marines and are not safe for you, either. They're essentially feral.

In general, Astartes thrive best in groups of five to ten. Imperial chapters may do better in larger groups, especially Black Templars, but be careful; you can accidentally start a migratory Crusade, and that's just a mess.

Chaos Astartes are more territorial and competitive and most prefer to form small, close units called "warbands." If you want to build a more organized and independent warband you can watch and enjoy as it grows, you may want to start setting up your feeder tribute colony before you get your first Iron Warriors or Black Legionnaires.

Do NOT introduce daemon engines yourself! A healthy warband will start weaponizing the Warp on a production scale when and if they are ready. I know it's tempting to rush things, but a warband has to be big enough and well-fed enough to support these bigger and more difficult units before Neverborn are introduced.

World Eaters are suitable as working Astartes only, not as pets! It's better, as a new keeper, to start out with a small band of Emperor's Children or Thousand Sons, which are pretty and more comfortable in tac squad-sized groups. Deathguard can be very rewarding and fun to watch, but they have special needs and require a lot of social enrichment, and that takes special equipment and procedures, too.

Word Bearers are the only exception to the "never start out with daemons" rule, but due to their more unique needs, are only recommended for expert keepers. Not just any kind of tattoo ink and candles will do!