#lamenters 40k

[abatilus]

A keen dead eye can distinguish between friend or foe quickly...

Bleeding heart Part 2

[sorormaior]

If you’re doing requests a lamenter with tears coming from his helmet visor while another astartes looks on uncomfortably, unsure how to help this poor sop

he is astounded by the beauty of nature

[sepulcher666]

AHHHHH

You CANT END IT LIKE THISSSS NOOOO

my heart….

I am definitely drawing this when I get the chance

[ezri-is-real]

Stand Proud Sons of Sanguinius! For those we cherish, we die in glory!

[sepulchuresketchbook]

(It’s done don’t look too closely at the marines pls. Back to drawing the Damocles gang)

I was there during the ceremony. I’ll admit I don’t remember much. I wasn’t there for long. I was not to remain there, I had been summoned back to the Battle Barge. But from the few minutes I could spare, I noticed the air that hung around my brothers was rather dour and melancholic. Some of them tried to keep their heads held high. I could tell they failed to keep it up for long.

[candyswirls]

Sketched my Mechanicus OC. Her name is Sunshine.

She yells at those with authority and will purposely use her psychic powers to disrupt the machine spirit in your weapons and armor. So you have to come to her begging to fix them.

She has twin younger brothers in the Blood Angels and she’ll cuss you out in binary if you touch her stuff.

There’s a lamenter with a massive crush on her who watches from afar, blushing if she remembers his name.

[hansoape]

Krieger BF vs Astartes BF

[wh40kartwork]

Lamenters: Banner Of Tear

by David Ok

[moulong]

I confess.

But here's a young lamenter trying to please you for his brothers' safety

( I drew his face and hair like a lamb and I'm satisfied )

[igimacigy]

Checkered angels

[abatilus]

[sepulcher666]

he looks lovely! Thank you!

@sepulcher666 your boy!!! your lad!!!!

[sepulcher666]

I Yearn for Blood

Lamenter!OC introduction

Mainly Introduces Taharaen’s affliction

CW: mentions of violence and vampiric urges.

——

The world burned, and we watched as it spelled doom for the countless of souls that still remained here.

The sky was glowing a brilliant orange as orbital defense guns blew up vehicles and vessels that tumbled from space into the atmosphere. The smoke that they produced was so thick no auspex scanner could pierce the horizon.

I could taste the heat. It clogged the air filters and vents of my armor.

The Leman Russ tank that lies in a smoking, burning ruin, tangled in barbed wire and in ruined barricades blows up, launching deadly blocks of rockcrete towards a few intercessors, taking limbs off and giving mercy to those that could no longer fight.

I spent the last rounds of my bolt rifle, pivoting on my heel to aim and shoot with a dancers grace as we were cornered in ash, dust and the bodies of friend and foe alike.

“Do not relent! We shall die today, but we shall take them with us! For the Emperor and the Great Angel!” I am not sure if my voice carries farther enough to reach the surviving members of my squadron. I shall have to hope it does.

Soon enough, I had expended my bolt rifle. I discard it and charge into the fray, the mass of xenos bodies living or dead. I smash and tear through flesh as I inflict my wrath upon the Greenskin horde.

My vision goes red. For but a few moments my mind plunges me back into the days of the Great Heresy. I see the Great Angel as he battles Horus. I am immersed as my vision is surrounded ancient heraldry and armor long gone and the ghosts of the past.

For but a moment I lose myself.

My teeth gnash with alien viscera and blood as I bite, rip and tear the horde limb to limb. I have not known such a ferocity or rage as this before. Not in my brief years of service to this chapter.

My hearts in these intense moments yearn for blood. My eyes could no longer distinguish from friend or foe, brother or traitor.

What remains of my Vox crackles, and I manage to come to my senses if only for a few heartbeats.

“The Chapter Master lives! We have pushed the Greenskins back!” This seemed to be evident enough with the dying ambience of the orbital guns and the last of the shuttles that depart from this damned world.

I do not know what significance this news would be of to me later during my long existence that was fraught with trial and harrowing darkness.

I wipe away the drool that has leaked from the corner of my mouth, barely aware of the bloody strips of skin that I smear away from it. I dully stare at my palm, at the ruined weaving of my body glove and the steadily congealing blood on my palm and fingers.

My hearts yearn for blood. It yearns and it thirsts for the lifeblood of my dead brothers.

A harsh rebuke seems to snap me to my senses. “Brother Taharaen! Get a hold of yourself!” I feel a sharp lance of pain as my Brother-Sargent claps me on the Pauldron.

Oh. I snap to attention, unintentionally baring my teeth in a bloody snarl before collecting myself and sinking to my knees. I want to rip him apart where he stands. My chest heaves and I spit out a thick globule of acidic spit and flesh.

“This is Brother-Zachariel, requesting extraction from fuel depot sight. A few of my squad still live and they need to see the apothecarian as soon as possible.”

Why did he not ask for the surviving chaplain to pass judgement on those that must of surely fallen to their genetic curse by now? What kept him from mentioning my brief violent episode?

What kept me from ripping him apart where he stood?

I mutter sacred canticles and ask for forgiveness as I struggle to rise to my feet.

My hearts yearn for blood, but something holds me back from taking it.

———

I should have asked to be lashed in the Reclusiam. I did not want to be left alone with my thoughts after the war on slaughterhouse.

Pain does bring a certain clarity to the mind and a brief reproach from the illness of shame.

I hang my head low and ask for forgiveness from the God-Emperor despite my pains. I have no one to disturb me here now that the usual occupants of the Reclusiam had perished.

It was hard to come to terms with, even for an Astartes. I can only hope they went with honor, and not with the black rage chasing at their heels.

I no longer know what to make of my survival now that a much more honorable end has slipped past me.

[magnifigal]

For those we Cherish, we hang in there!

[sepulchuresketchbook]

(This turned out better than I expected it to. Oh..uh the scout slowly collapses and Taharaen has to keep him upright….idk.)

A dying scout marine asks for a final kindness from the Reclusiarch before passing away.

Taharaen did not know the young marine, but decides give final benedictions for him in front of a ruined altar before laying him to rest.

[cjaybrex]

And here is Maximus and his cat Nixie. Just some wholesome 40k stuff