#khur

[inatungulates]

Indian wild ass Equus hemionus khur

Observed by kalyanvarma, CC BY

[keanumancrush]

Keanu & Stunt double, Mack Khur.

[demonstars]

Anyway aside from working on the skephalo fics on my notes app I've been toying with this klapollo fic about dating people you work with I think the possibilities are fucking endless and they're my babies forever Like I think they're so fucking fascinating

[unityrain24]

ok i want to hear what a morin khuur + erhu duet would sound like and i'd also like to hear what a morin khuur + talharpa duet would sound like

[ammonitetestpatterns]

[tonyglowheart]

okay I tried spraying some rubbing alcohol on the mini after applying superglue and I THINK it's working? At least, working better than the last attempt lol. But I don't super want to test the bond yet in case it IS working but needs time to set. so ig I'll check later

I'm not 100% happy with the scale since I think it looks a bit.... delicate & petite next to a Reaper mini, but I think it's bc the proportions are more "realistic" vs like stylized/exaggerated..

I mean, it's fine. Trying to convince myself now I don't need to buy a new one at 32mm scale lmao

Anyway here's the mini (left)

I think height-wise they're the same but the scale of the head is clearly different and I think it makes the mini feel "smaller." But then 32mm scale might be just a bit tooo big...? idk, wish I could see a side by side lol

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Star

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. Lorgar is soon reunited with his love, but learns that his daughter will remain on Terra.

Lorgar/fem!Reader, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping

Word count: 753

Song: Siouxsie And The Banshees - Cities In Dust

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

She was beautiful. Like the morning dawn or a starry night. A bright soul who came into this cruel world. She could lead the masses, inspire billions of people. But Lorgar wanted only one thing. Protect her with his own life.

He didn't see his daughter. The news of her birth came from the Imperial Palace along with other unimportant ones. As if she were an insignificant speck of dust. But the daughter of a primarch, his daughter was priceless. Happiness that was born because of the pure and immaculate love of two souls.

Lorgar could only follow the Emperor's orders in the hope of seeing you and his daughter. Hug and hold the tiny body to his hearts. Press his lips to yours. Feel the serene love you showed him.

The Primarch of the Word Bearers was never a warrior. Never been a commander. He was a preacher, priest, shepherd. He never hid it, openly carrying his true and blessed faith in the God Emperor... but in the end, apparently not so true.

His sons, himself, continued to search for answers to questions. Find their way. Their faith. The Emperor refused their worship, destroyed the perfect city, took you, took the unborn child. Lorgar could not hate his father, but it was difficult to extinguish the black flame of resentment and misunderstanding.

At least until the day you were returned.

Crying and tired. You were not tortured, you were not offended. Physically and mentally you were fine. But there was a huge void in your heart that could not be filled. Even Lorgar was unable to help you, because he, being a primarch, almost fell himself.

They returned you alone.

Lorgar hoped that the Emperor simply decided to gradually return his favor to his son. He hoped that after some time, when he had conquered even more systems, the Father would return his daughter. But he was wrong. You dashed all his hopes.

“He loves her, he adores her,” you burst into tears at Lorgar’s shoulder. - “I almost d-didn’t see her. He is with her all the time. Doesn't let go of himself. H-he, he sang to her. He sang to her, Lorgar! Songs in ancient languages. He acted as if she were his daughter and not his granddaughter. He gave her a name!”

It would be better if the Emperor burned Khur to the ground. It would be better if he destroyed every city to the dust that Lorgar built. The primarch is ashamed of such thoughts; mortals are not to blame for anything. But why, why should his daughter be torn away from her parents and live with a tyrant?

A tyrant... that's what the Emperor was. False God. If the primarch had doubts before, he is now firmly convinced of it. The son loved the Father too much, although he did not deserve such worship. He did not deserve the devotion of the primarchs. Didn't deserve the love of a little girl.

You spend days and nights in bed. When you don't sleep, you cry. Lorgar is not angry, no. He is delighted. The connection between mother and daughter, passing through years and centuries. You can't find a place for yourself until you see your child. Which means Lorgar must bind you together. Bring back your beloved child.

The primarch will not hear her first word, will not see her first steps. He will not be the main person in her life. Perhaps they will meet when she is an adult. He will never be her father in the full sense of the word. But this knowledge does not stop Lorgar.

He will still meet her. He will take her hand and lead her to a new world free from the power of the Emperor, who separated her from her real family. He would show her the True God that he had yet to find. His daughter will be a guiding star, illuminating the path through a dark galaxy. Until he finds a way to get back to her.

Lorgar has never seen her, but he knows that she is beautiful. Like the golden sand in Colchis, a light breeze or the murmur of water. She is far away in captivity of the Golden Palace, but even so the primarch feels her. She shines brighter than anyone in the world. Without realizing it, she is waiting for her real father to return his daughter. He will protect her. At the cost of his own life.

And the whole world.

[skinnedbutalive]

Che'Moer and his (dead) wife Aniha. Strange as it sounds, the theme of love is central to Che'Moer's backstory and character.

He met Aniha on Khur and, without going into details, secretly created a family with her, even raising her son - Valar - as his own. The Word Bearers eventually uncovered this relationship and greatly disapproved of Che'Moer's actions, but his transgression was quickly forgotten when The Emperor ordered to burn Monarchia to ashes, killing both of his family members in the progress.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Intake Form

Author's note: this is the first part of Lykos' backstory in the Husbandry AU! I hope you enjoy it. Next

Tagged:

Warnings: none, please ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed it

Summary: Lykos reports to a nearby base. He's given an intake form and has questions because of what he's asked about.

“I was told this is one of the nearby Astartes bases that accept Astartes from several different legions, rather than hosting a single legion?” Lykos stated, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at the startled mortal sitting behind the welcome desk at the base that he had presented himself at. 

He had found himself upon this strange world a handful of days ago, and had wandered until he found civilization. The chaplain was glad that he had been suddenly transported upon this world in his usual all-black armor and cape as he would have found the abrupt transition more distressing were he without his armor and weapons. Not that he had yet to need either, but like most Astartes, Lykos spent more time inside his armor after he had earned it, than outside of it.

“I… Yes, that’s correct. We have. We have an intake form for you to fill out, if you don’t mind…?” The baseline mortal explained, handing over an astartes sized, thin block of wood with… Was that real paper upon it? Fascinating! He had seen the forest full of trees on the outskirts of the city, but Lykos had no idea that the supply of wood was in such abundance to use paper. They also handed him a writing implement as well. 

“I will fill this out, thank you.” He murmured, smiling a little at the mortal. He’d removed his helmet upon entry to the base, having clipped it to his belt, to appear slightly more friendly. The skull mask of a chaplain’s helmet was meant to be intimidating, but he was not angling for being terrifying at the moment. Lykos could see the tell-tale signs of this base being inhabited by Ultramarines, so the luxury of paper wasn’t that much of a surprise to the chaplain. He walked over to one of the astartes-sized seats and felt himself sink into the very comfortable seats, leaning back a little as he diligently answered the questions. He briefly thumbed through the packet of paper he’d been given, before starting to read through the first question.

What is your name, rank, and Legion/chapter/war-band association? … Lykos was curious as to what was meant by chapter and war band, but he would refrain from asking until he completed this bit of paperwork. Chaplain Lykos Sirak, Word Bearers Third Company.

Time, date and location previous to arriving in this world? … The implication being that it was a common enough occurrence for Astartes to be randomly arriving on this world without being sent here deliberately was a fascinating one.  18:33, M031.876 Monarchia, Khur. Khur had been brought into compliance almost sixty years ago, and he had been helping to develop Monarchia into the place of beauty and worship that his gene-father had hoped it would become. 

Lykos went to read the next question. There was a preface written before it. If you have heard of the Drop Site Massacre, or the Battle of Isstvan three, please read and answer the next five questions to the best of your abilities. If you have not, skip to question 8.

He had heard of the world Isstvan three, but only in passing. It was a world that was either in the process of being integrated into the Imperium, or recently had been. The chaplain mentally shrugged and dutifully skipped down to question eight.

Have you noticed any unusual changes in your superior officers and/or Primarch in the past few days/weeks/months or years? If so, can you pinpoint when they started to change, and list possible triggers for them to have started to act differently than they had previously. The answer to this question is confidential and will not be discussed with others unless you indicate a desire to do so in person. Please be as specific as possible.

Well… That was an ominous question. Lykos closed his eyes for several moments, going into a meditative state as he genuinely considered the question asked of him. He had been serving the Word Bearer’s legion for two hundred years as a chaplain, and a hundred and fifty before his promotion into the roll that had been created by his Primarch, as a way to minister to the spiritual and emotional needs of his sons, along with a way to encourage the compliance of new worlds into the Imperium with the potential of not having to fire a single shot. Yes, this sort of compliance was slower than the violence-forward methods that other Legions employed, but the citizens seemed to be grateful to not be trampled to death by the ceramite boots of their new rulers.

Lykos wrote down the truth as he knew it. As far as he was aware, his superior officers had been not been acting strangely. Lykos did not have the honor of interacting directly with his Primarch, and thus, could not say if the Imperial Son was acting strangely, and wrote that down. He then focused on the next question. 

What are the dominant belief/faith or faiths of your legion/chapter/warband? Do you hold these beliefs, or do they differ? If they do differ, please explain the differences between the two. 

Lykos hesitated to answer that, keenly aware that most legions would be unhappy to hear that they openly worshiped the Emperor of Mankind as a god, given the Imperial Truth that they were all supposed to espouse the Imperial Truth… But he had been honest on this form so far, and to lie now felt… Disingenuous. Besides, there was enough room on the paper to fully explain the reasoning behind why he and so many of his fellow Word Bearers believed in the divinity of The Emperor, which Lykos used.

What do you know of Chaos?

The… The theological concept? The inherent randomness of the universe? Lykos was baffled and wrote down what he knew about the concepts of chaos. Considering the amount of room to answer that question with, there was far, far more to the question of chaos than the chaplain knew. Ah well, if it was something he needed to know on this world, Lykos was fairly sure that someone would explain.

Are you a psyker? Nope. He had no psychic ability, though there were some in his legion gifted  with such abilities. 

Have you dabbled in sorcerous arts, or consider yourself to be a sorcerer or warlock? If so, please list the major abilities you possess and the contracts you have entered into. … Well that was blunt and pointed. Again, no, Lykos hadn’t and wrote as much. 

The next several questions were asking about the kinds of missions that he had completed, his medical history including any prosthetics, distinctive markings/tattoos/scars he may have, and a request to list all of the weapons and the kind of armor he was in possession of. Questions about battles that he had participated in, honors won and lost. Lykos dutifully answered each and every question to the best of his abilities, pausing every so often to stretch out his writing wrist and fingers before continuing until he had written out his full history as he knew it. 

Do you have any rivals/enemies among your fellow astartes? Lykos suppressed a chuckle. Some of the more passionate and stubborn of his Brothers had found Eternal Rivals and Bitter Enemies amongst both their brothers and other legions. But as far as he knew, Lykos had no enemies like that. Or at least, he didn’t consider any astartes an enemy or rival in such a way, and wrote that down.

The next few questions were about which legions or chapters (whatever a chapter was) he would prefer to interact with, those he’d rather avoid if possible, and other sorts of preferences and dislike questions, which he answered with mild amusement and confusion. He would work with whoever he was assigned to do so, regardless as to whether or not he liked them interpersonally. Part of a chaplain’s training was to ensure that one could separate their own emotions and put them on hold while dealing with whatever situation or emergency was going on… More so than most other kinds of Astartes. 

Those questions were also the final questions that he was supposed to answer on the form as while there were other questions, the qualifying statements that stated whether or not he was to answer of them did not apply to him. For which Lykos was grateful, as he had spent a couple of hours writing down all of these answers. He suppressed a yawn as he got up and stretched before walking over to the mortal who’d given him this form. He smiled politely at them and said “Here you go. I have answered all of the questions that I am supposed to on this form. I have questions about some of the questions on this form.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I probably can’t explain most if not all of your questions, but I can offer you several brochures that have been created for Astartes who’ve recently arrived on Earth… Or as Astartes call our world, Terra.” The baseline answered, taking the form, board and pen from Lykos, casually dropping an inexplicable information bomb on poor Lykos who hadn’t been expecting that.

“T-Terra? I’m… I’m on Terra? But-” Lykos spluttered, about to point out that there hadn’t been this much plant life on Terra in millenia. 

The baseline raised a hand before saying “Before you tell me something you’re probably not supposed to, I would strongly recommend that you read these brochures. One of the Astartes practiced in helping Astartes new to Earth settle in will be by soon. In the meantime feel free to wander around the lobby and other publicly marked rooms of the base. Any door that is locked is not meant to be entered unless you have the key for it.��

“I… Alright. I’ll… I’ll read through these.” Lykos murmured, internally reeling still as he took the offered information pamphlets. They were astartes sized and also made out of yet more paper. He settled down into another astartes-sized chair and began to read the first brochure. It was titled “Welcome to Terra, Loyalist.”

[taanoir]

Time for a Challenge Check in!

The challenge is beginning it's final throws. In terms of in game years, we are in the future, the 2030's. There will be some future tech on the horizon but for now it really just looks a lot like our current era.

Gen 9 - Modern Age - Complete

Max Programing, Video Games, Mixology - All maxed by Nicole and Jennifer

Hack all available options - Completed by both Nicole and Jennifer

Have a sim play Video Games on the computer from the time they get up until they go to bed. - Completed by Nicole

Have 2 Sims reach the top of their career and complete their aspiration (bonus if it's 4 sims). (1) Nicole - Tech Guru and Computer Wiz, (2) Tiffany - Writer and Prolific Writer Aspiration, (3) Jennifer Computer Engineer and Nerd Brain, (4) Josh Astronaut and Wealthy

Meet your ancestors, bonus if you become friends with them. Nicole became friends with Calisto and Khur.

Gen 10 - Future Tech - In Progress

Max Skills - Robotics, Comedy & Writing - Melody is at levels 4 & 6 for comedy and writing

Complete 5 aspirations between all sims. Melody is in process on the writing aspiration.

Challenge Wide:

50 Gold medal events - Complete

Completed 20+ aspirations, 15 careers, and 30 skills

All potions and traits have been purchased - Complete

Graves/Urns for all family members Gen 9 & 10 left

Portraits for all generations - Generation 10 left

I've also maxed the finances in the game, $9,999,999. After multiple large purchases including a basement section full of the most expensive items I could place, I'm still maxed.

The kids have been BUSY! Melody entered her teen years with a big boost to her skills.

I earned an achievement I didn't realize was a thing.

After a freak out over the mandatory update, I've just been casually strolling through the final generation.

[foolscr0w]

i dont draw him enough because. his hair is hard to draw, but!!! was in a sketchy doodle mood

my dark apostle oc, eligos, herald of the 39th grand warhost, the gospel of unmaking. lore scraps below the cut :3

he was born on khur to a well-off family a bit after its compliance, and had only just become a full battle brother a few years before the razing of monarchia and the legion’s censure by big e. this. obviously caused Problems psychologically— he loses his whole family, his home, and his faith all at once and it is violent.

thus, his fall to chaos is almost unsurprising. he takes to it quickly, and takes to it well— the gods decide everything, there is no such thing as free will. if they will it, then it must be done. who is he to doubt true divinity?

he becomes the first acolyte to sarabdal of the 18th host, and later is granted permit to claim the 39th for himself.

in many ways, his captains coddle him— some mix of pity and loyalty. eligos has never lacked for what he wants and it has made him spoiled and petulant in many ways. he doesn’t know how or when to stop, and he never will. he rarely is truly alone, when cultists practically kiss the ground he walks on and so eagerly throw themselves upon the alter if he holds the knife.

[kaylmao]

bweird OCtober day 2

New OC

one of my newer ocs is Relim Sotrstek!! i came up with his story in may and he's a fisherman in the fictional Khur's (/'χu.rɘs/) Gulf who gets more than he bargained for as you will read in this intro to his story (warning for some mentions of injuries if that kind of thing get to you!)

The sun dipped just below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck and painting everything with an orange light. The soft waves of the Khur's Gulf lapped at the hull, and Relim Sotrstek’s knuckles were white as he hauled in the net. The shimmery black scales of an oxfish crested the gunwale and the fisherman let out a call of surprise that quickly turned to laughter as the body of the fish kept coming.

“Soriki! Look at the size of this one!” he called, his fellow fisherman glancing over, then deciding to pause his hauling to get a better look.

“Fuck’s sake, man, leave some for the rest of us!” Soriki joked, blowing his hair out of his face as he got into position to help Relim pull it aboard.

Once the fish was free of the gunwale, all of Relim and Soriki’s pulling strength suddenly went uncontested, and they found themselves sitting on their asses on the deck, the huge oxfish laying between them. Their laughter echoed around the bay, bouncing off of the water and returning to their ears as they got to their feet.

“You’ll get a pretty penny for that one, no doubt,” Soriki said, appraising the fish. Relim was beaming with pride.

“I hope so, I could use a bit more funds these days.” The pair transferred the fish to the holding tank on board, admiring its scales until a sudden lurch of the boat snapped their attention back to the moment.

“Fuck was that?” Soriki muttered, stepping back up onto the deck and looking around. “There shouldn’t be any rocks around here… We dropped the anchor, right?”

Relim nodded, but double checked anyway. As he went to confirm, the boat pitched again and, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tug on Soriki’s net.

“Something in the net!” Relim called quickly as he rushed over to begin pulling. He tried to spot what the net might be caught on, but the water was churning up bubbles and debris from the sea floor. For just a moment, he saw a flash of silver scales before the surface of the water bucked up and splashed from the strength of a mighty tail.

“Holy shit,” Relim whispered to himself, looking around the deck. “Soriki! Get out here!”

Relim was putting his whole weight into fighting this fish, his arms and shoulders straining under the tension he was exerting. He braced himself against the gunwale with one leg, hauling with all his strength. The surface of the water broke, a mass of silver scales beginning to be dragged from its hold, and Relim was determined to bag this monster. Soriki ran up onto the deck, donning his gloves quickly, but not quickly enough.

The flick of the fish’s monstrous tail caught the water and shot it forward with a force that would have ripped the net from any average man’s grasp. Relim, however, kept hold, though he would wish he hadn’t. As the net accelerated rapidly, Relim’s arms were yanked hard, instantly dislocating one of his shoulders. The force traveled into his torso, twisting his spine until something popped, and once the resistance had given way, Relim was thrown into the water, his legs slamming into the gunwale before he went over.

[heavenlyhoundoom]

D khur'v vhfuhw.

Rqh ri wkh khurhv lvq'w zkr wkhb vdb wkhb duh. Wkhb kdyh udq dzdb iurp wkhlu rog olih, dqg kdv ehfrph d khur wr wub dqg hvfdsh lw. Wklv lv doo ri wkh lqirupdwlrq L fdq jlyh brx. Jrrgebh....

(Are you able to crack the cipher?)

[ebenizr]

This is Azrem's style sheet! (The artwork is not mine, and is all pulled from Pinterest or other online sources.)

Azrem covers her face, hair, and skin in public partially for religious reasons in the dnd world, and her fashion is definitely due to some of the amazing niqabs and hijabs I have seen. Being from Khur, a desert country, it's also very practical for her to wear multiple light layers of fabric and covering all her skin from the elements. She does have a prosthetic arm that she sometimes ornaments for special occasions. She just as often foregoes the prosthetic altogether though.

She has two distinct styles. One is mostly practical, though she still has a penchant for finer versions of practical things. She's a knight and a blacksmith, so flashy isn't really helpful there. The other is much more ornamental and traditional which she brings out on special occasions that call for it.

(I learned so much going down a researching rabbit hole to pay homage to some of the real world cultural inspirations for Khur in DnD's Dragonlance. The two accessories are real world items. The gold bull is from ancient Persia, and the face covering is, as far as I am aware, a wedding outfit for a Bedouin woman.

Saying that, I want to be clear that Azrem is a fictional character in a fictional world, and that that in making this I mean absolutely no disrespect to the cultural significance of these references. Each comes with its own history and significance. This is my own exercise in learning about and appreciating cultural fashions that are different from my own. If I've made a mistake, please don't hesitate to let me know.)

I absolutely loved making these, and definitely want to make ones for other OC's!

And here's the original template!

Thanks to @napo-leo-art for the original 🧡

[wxnheart]

𝐊𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 - Lorgar Aurelian

"This fire in my skin This burning desire Is turning me to sin"

Why have you forsaken him, Father? What has he done to deserve this, to deserve your ire? All he is, all he does, is in accordance with Your Word. All that lay prostrate at your feet, mad with jubilation, is because of him, Your most devout son. And yet...

What must he do, Father? What must he say for You to envelop him in the golden light of Your grace again? How can he escape? How can he be free of this burden that rents his mind and tears at his flesh?

How can he best this daemon when it's so... so... tempting? When its appeal was so delightful and he wants to chase the high and let it envelop him in flames? How can he fight it when those eyes call to him, telling him a thousand stories and drowning him in their depths with just one look.

And still, Lorgar longs. And wants. And needs. Needs the acid of Kor Phaeron's tongue and the power of his hand to remind him where his obligations lay. Needs to feel the warmth of your embrace, your fingers writing blessings upon the golden hue of his skin, and the whisper of his name as he claims your lips. 'Urizen, my Urizen...' How sweet it sounded, even against the cacophony of his foster father's terror. How wonderful it would be, to fall into the arms of sin.

Lorgar has always watched you from afar, watched you traverse life unburdened and... and free. He studied the way the sides of your mouth quirked up from one of your companion's quips. He rejoiced in the heartiness of your laughter. He also saw the way your eyebrows furrowed and the beginnings of a snarl formed on your sinful lips as an acolyte berated you once again, insinuating all manners of heresy had been committed with your body. 'Whore,' he heard, 'such vile things you do with your body, how you turn our most faithful away from their path...'

Such falsities he would not tolerate. Such blasphemy he would not hear. And neither would you. Never again. He made sure of that. Made sure you two would never cross paths again and never had Lorgar felt the exhilaration of being feared before...

He watched you from afar until one day he didn't and a chance encounter left him reeling. He remembers your countenance, so demure and awestruck and respectful. The softness of your voice, whether out of embarrassment or reverence he never knew. You kept your head bowed mostly and didn't bless Lorgar with the splendor of your eyes and the quirk of your lips. Look at him, his forbidden fruit. Look at what you do to him. Look at what you make him feel.

And even despite his position does Kor Phaeron rage. He lectures and prods, tells the Urizen to stay away from you, that you are more trouble than you're worth. That you're insignificant. A whore. A hindrance to his duty. Kor Phaeron raises his hand to strike and Lorgar's stare stops him in his tracks. He knew his father was right, knew it, and tried his best to accept his words. But you were no whore and it scared him how his fingers itched to wrap themselves tightly around the man's throat.

Lorgar continued to watch you still. Continued to battle his daemon in the darkness. He prayed reverently for mercy during the day, prayed as he laid worlds at his beloved Father's feet. And at night, he dreamt of your body pressed against his, the soft sighs of his name falling from your lips. He dreamt of freedom and unburdening and the guilt and self-loathing consumed him.

It tears at his flesh and rents his mind. It scares and excites him. It brings him to the brink of insanity more often than not and it was a matter of time before it would consume him entirely.

And it does. It does and you're terrified beyond belief. You stare in helplessness and disbelief as Urizen laments, as he rants, and rages against the backdrop of Khur's greatest work. He declares his Father has abandoned him. Years of worthlessness, resentment, and self-loathing surface and devours him. All that Lorgar was, all that he did, was in accordance with His word. And still, it was not enough.

The weight of Urizen's words finally hit you when he kneels before you just as brokenhearted and desolate as you are. He clutches your hands in his significantly bigger ones and he's so gentle. You would almost find comfort in the gesture were it not for the madness in his eyes. You tried to gently extricate yourself from his grasp but he tightened his grip and the darkness that cast a shadow over his eyes scared you into stunned silence.

He spoke with mad conviction, of emotions he's battled for so long. Lorgar sees it now. Sees why you were reviled, why Kor Phaeron tried to keep him away from you. He sees why you tormented him so and why his Father, despite the devotion, had always forsaken him. It was clear as day: He was never meant to be Lorgar's golden grace. You were. Why else would He do this? Why else would He burn the fruits of your labor to the ground? You, once Lorgar's forbidden fruit, were meant to ascend. And he declares from the ashes of Monarchia that will you rise anew. He declares that all he is and all he does is for You. Finally.

You barely have time to react before Lorgar's lips press against yours in assurance. It is chaste and exhilarating and blasphemous and foolish.

The promise of your golden grace beckons and the Urizen falls into sin's comforting embrace.

[zedecksiew]

Three Clerks

Last week I tweaked my back. It hurt. A lot. As I recovered, I found that sketching with pen and pencil was less strenuous than writing on keyboard. So that's what I did.

Sketched characters from an adventure I am currently writing for Colin Le Sueur's We Deal In Lead. It began as a homage to Wisit Sasanatieng's tomyamgong western Fa Thalai Chon / Tears Of The Black Tiger.

+++

SHIN SUL SHAP, SHRINE CLERK 4 Grit 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Switch (d4)

Face hidden by a broad-brimmed bonnet and veil. Patrols the lines of pilgrims; like a schoolmarm she thwacks anybody chit-chatting. Piety should be silent!

A waif snatches a lead token from her pouch, and bolts. A chase ensues. He begs your help. If Sul Shap finds him, she will sell him to captive takers.

+

Sul Shap is a clerk at the Shrine To The Headless Sun: a bare plaza; a marble pavilion; a golden man, with an ever-burning flame where his head should be.

The Headless Sun is patron saint of the Admiralty, whose laws now govern both Ocean and Sea. He was its founder. The kings of old captured and beheaded him. He overthrew them anyway.

+++

References for Sul Shap were basically Buddhist nun robes (mainly for the volume of fabric), plus an European bonnet.

Initially I'd imagined a conventional broad-brim hat---ie: her veil would be a cylinder around her whole head. But as I sketched I thought the bonnet made a more interesting shape? Also its rear was an opportunity to create a crest / halo of sun-rays. Religious iconography!

Alms bowl, because giving is a virtue. But the Headless Sun values ego-death, not asceticism---so colourful beads and gold amulets and pouches full of lead tokens (money).

+++

RIS SHAY NAM, RECORDS CLERK 2 Grit 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Swung typewriter (d4)

In a wheelbarrow, pulled by a servitor, typewriter balanced on her belly, pockets filled with banana fritters. Greasy fingerprints on any document she works on.

Shay Nam thinks herself a moral soul. Will side with abolitionists and revolutionaries, with justice—until her own skin is at risk.

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Shay Nam works at the Hibiscus Court. Princess Khur San, distancing herself from the old order, surrendered this palace to bureaucrats.

Clerks have filled its once-airy halls with shelves. By sympathetic sorcery, all contracts in the province manifest copies here. Rumour has it that this magic works both ways.

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This was my first sketch. In pain and bored I just started drawing.

No references, and it shows? Skirt and stockings and boots because these were the easiest for me to do. In my mind Shay Nam was an archetypal overweight NEET. Here she looks to be a sassy layabout. I like her better, now!

Also: a servitor is an empty body. Created when you ritually touch a shrine-stone to the Headless Sun---your soul is obliterated. What is left behind is mindless, hence the harness and reins.

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KHAN YUL MIN, COURT CLERK 4 Grit 1 DEF 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Sabre (d8)

A university grad and former marine. But his townhouse sits below Rose Hill, on Merchant’s Row, beneath the old families' notice.

Yul Min means to change this. He has his eye on the Widow Gon. He will hire ruffians to waylay her palanquin—then swoop in, to rescue her. Elaborate theatre.

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Yul Min, like all these characters, live on the Sea of Sorrows, whose waters are literally the souls of the dead.

Roses always bleach within sight of it; to retain their colour they must be shipped in glass, then kept in arboreta—never once sharing air with the Sea.

Those who can afford red-rose gardens tend them on the south end of the city, where streets begin to climb Mount Go, in compounds walled like fortresses.

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Drew Yul Min last night. Had tabs open for "Thai traditional clothing" & "military uniforms 18th century" & "krabi" & "Vajiralongkorn".

Given my inspiration, I think the referencing of Mainland Southeast Asian material culture is appropriate. Maybe a little to obvious, though? Ie: the visual forms haven't been composted well, into new and more imaginative shapes ...

Still: very pleased with the proportions and details.

I liked how the hamsa-esque icon of the Headless Sun developed over the course of these sketches. I would not have discovered it, otherwise; it's one of those details, too small for words.

Drawing is an intrinsic part of the writing process, I guess!

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