#warhammerfantasymuses

[skxrbrand]

Kha'xanzyr stumbled smoking out of the red, sparking portal he had ripped open on reality's face. Portaling. It was one of the first abilities he sought to master, one of the first endeavors he put to the magic newly coursing his veins.

Not his best work; The Bloodthirster had stepped out into open air, falling rather embarrassingly towards the ocean. But, he had caught himself on wide wings and more importantly, no one had seen the mistake. Deciding to fly the rest of the way, the Architect made landfall within a few hours, sparking hooves burning the earth of the Bloodfire Falls.

Before him was Infernius. His master's voice echoed in his ears.

Find the Tzeen-child. Take him with you, for this is a test of his loyalty as much as it is a test of your competency. You cannot navigate Tchar's realm without him.

With purpose, he strode towards Castle Infernius, searching for the Knowledge-Keeper.

@warhammer-fantasy-muses

[xaallo]

warhammer-fantasy-muses

// mf'er be down BAD for some dudes in bulky plate armor... or God forbid, armored WOMEN-

ARMORED WOMEN?

[hxuse-of-muses]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses

{♚}—; After Cosmos performed some of his duties as leader of the Magic Crafters for the day, he headed back to his archives and where he stored various magical artifacts.

All of which were protected, but as he approached he thought he heard something or someone rummaging around inside. He expected it to be someone like Kelvin, but upon opening the door to the room he was met with someone he'd never seen before.

"Might I ask, who are you? Was there something you were seeking?" Cosmos spoke calmly, unsure of their intentions but he would figure it out.

[kharrneth]

"DeathAxe Monolith is still within Exile claim, my liege."

Valkia scowls. It was not often that she was... 'disappointed', for a lack of better words, with her husband's daemonic troops. They were warriors all, and thus were like a well-oiled machine at best... and a whooping, hollering band of rag-tag beasts at worst. Both could yield results, but it had been clear what those 'results' had been at DeathAxe.

"Had -I- been sent there to lead, I would've claimed that landmark five times over, and every single traitor skull would be piled upon the feet of your throne, including that of the Tzeen-child. Why was that lumbering OAF Zhubon sent in my stead?"

Kharneth had been monitoring the proceedings. War. A smattering of successes and failures, give and take and retake. Armies ground down into nothing beneath muddy, bloody heels. Such had been the happenings in the realm of mortals; success at Naggaroth and failure wherever the Reaper held serious sway.

A bittersweet, but mostly bitter, notion.

When Valkia comes before Khorne, he is a much more personable form, kneeling to pet Karanak behind his frilled ears and thinking on the happenings. He looks at her with bright red eyes, the manifested form streaming bloody vapors into the air.

"𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐄."

"𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐗𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐙𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅."

[khaosundivided]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses​

“So....”

“... Do you think Tzeentch would object to you teaching me magic?”

It’s the prince, gone for days and days, nearly a week. And then back with nary a word or explanation. He doesn’t go into the reason for his departure, though he’s sure Qhi’zek knows already. Hopefully, he won’t say anything about the Skunk Incident.

[slaanxsh]

warhammer-fantasy-muses

WHO INTRODUCED SLAANESH TO THE CARAMELLDANSEN?

𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘵? 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤! 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴!

[heliinx]

(Ashiiq Bonegnawer) "Now now... is 'dis not a rather odd-strange, sad display? A Grey Seer... far-far away from her clan. Or... if you can call-name yourself Grey Seer still. You are in sad-pitiful state, white-fur. Half-way to becoming daemon. Abandoned by Great Horned One. You look terrible, darling-dear~"

Heliinx was prepared to snap back, her ears pinned to skull, a snarl bullying it's way onto her face. But then several things hit her as turned and beheld the stranger. Their size. The color of their fur. The Horns. Their scent. The fact that it was another Skaven doe was of note, definitely, but more pressingly was the undeniable stink of Clan Mordkin on her fur.

Mordkin. Eaters of Grey Seers.

" What does Mordkin-thing know? Hail from clan that eat-kills the Holy Ones, the Horned Rat's chosen! Horns must be false-fake. Are you a fraudulant thing trying to lecture me-me?"

" I shall see you littered with pain-pain snails for this insolence!"

[skxrbrand]

"So you've made up your mind."

Khazaan finally said, after a long moment. He wasn't a particularly judgmental daemon, relative to the red of his bloody kin, but even he has limits. Nodding to himself and shifting his weight, the Bloodthirster gave a snort. He wiped his perpetually wet snout on the back of his hand.

" Very well. Be the consequences on your head then."

Ah yes, there was the predictable turning point in Khazaan's argument; the irrefutable argument of his friend's mortality. Though one more jab is delivered at the former statement; "Brass, or just pure foolish subservience to fate? If there is at least ONE aspect of my father-figure that I can proudly admit to still hold onto, it is the Changer's aspect of destiny and fate. I aim to CONTROL my own fate. Not become a slave to it."

His face does soften a bit, however, as he moves onto the second part of Khazaan's argument. "... Yes. It is irrefutable, that he is a mortal, and I am a daemon. I will go on to live, again and again, despite Time's dulled, yet fatal edge. And he will eventually perish, no matter the long life-span of the Retchen. That is not something that can be transmuted, except for with divine or daemonic interference. But I would not wish such a fate upon him. Even if he'd say he'd crave it, I think it'd damage him more in the future."

"Love might be madness, Khazaan. But truth be told... it is a madness I'd cherish. I would mourn him, for certain, should death claim him prematurely. If someone maliciously took him from me, I'd cry for vengeance. But I would NOT regret it. And he would not want me to either. And it is better to be mad over losing something you've loved..."

"... Than to be mad and alone."

@skxrbrand

[skxrbrand]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses

" Let's say Tzeentch dies. Hypothetically. What happens to you if he does?"

" If you hate him that much I commend you...but I don't think you hate him that much."

[xaallo]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses cont'd from here

"Uh--"

" I'm uh-- A...minotaur?" He tries, though he doesn't sound convincing at all. Given the powers of chaos, that might've been true once, but the mane and barbels hanging down from his snout indicate that time to be long past.

Xaallo squints. Valkia looks like a woman, but there are definitely some departures.

" I could ask you the same." Though the horns, wings, hooves....he had his suspicions about what she might be.

[kharrneth]

"My Lord, it will be done."

She was... 'surprised'? To think Kharneth would still think of it as honorable to call Skarbrand his son, despite the latter's attempt on his life. But she did not question it. In fact, it only made her feel more inclined to end this foul spawn's life, no matter the methods. She thought back on those fateful words Kharneth spoke to her, of how his unintended coupling with Slaaneth far in the past had spawned the progenitor of these Malalian daemons now threatening their realms.

This was not to be done again. History would not repeat itself.

And with a firm, solemn nod, Valkia's wings blaze into life as she prepares to take off, but she leaves a final word of promise to her husband;

"I will end this... this thing's life. On that, you have my word."

And she takes off, flying across the skies of Khorne's realm, before vanishing in the distance to enter the mortal realm.

The Grand Reaper, Slaughter of All, watches her go, turning to think as she unfurls he wings and flies to deliver his godly wrath. He had no forgotten the Wager for Skarbrand's freedom, but that battle had not come to pass. The loathsome dog had no right to flout the liberty he had not claimed.

Khorne had made agreements with his siblings...but Skarbrand was, for all intents and purposes, not affiliated with any of them.

Not truly even Khorne. At least, no more than anyone else who killed for the Blood God (and all men did, even if they knew it not...). But it wasn't official, wasn't binding. No, the cur was his to utilize -- and punish -- as he saw fit.

[thefouraboveall]

"A charmer as always." Slaanesh says, grinning and tossing his hair. He's used to flattery, but he'll never turn it down.

" It's unwise to provoke Big Brother." The Prince of pleasure replies, sounding sage. But that facade soon breaks. " But that does not seem to stop Tzeentch. You recall the incident with the Skull Throne and a few of your nurglings. Juvenile, but amusing! I'll wager Kharneth is still scouring the stains off his precious chair."

Slaanesh chuckles,

"Far be it from me to be upstaged by the Changer, however."

The rancid mountain of flesh and sores known as Nurgle turns his head towards his petite, decadent brother, the God of Pestilence and Decay letting out a jovial chortle at the comment that, for a mortal, might've sounded offending and venomous. But to him? It was mere compliments! "Bwahahahah~! Why thank ye, Slaanesh! An' you're lookin' jus' as deadly an' elegant as yesterday!"

He turns his morbid form around to face the smaller God with a big, form-splitting grin. "So, wha's been on ye mind lately? Any new plans to tormen' our older brother Khorne or anythin'?"

[khaosundivided]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses​

Xi has been keeping his distance. Yes, he knows of the other Lord of Change, but so far hasn’t been able to glean a scheme from the other from afar. Not from talking with the Prince or even the Bloodthirster (who patently dislikes them both). In his claws is a single feather, one of Qhi’Zheks. He looks at it as he addresses his brother-in-knowledge.

“So,” Begins the broad avian daemon, “ What brings you into the Daemon Prince’s service?”

[slaanxsh]

It requires piss to use--

[heliinx]

👫 (Heliinx and Ikit? :3)

Originally, Heliinx WAS going for a hand like Ikit Claw's (only, you know, better. She IS a Grey Seer so hers should be better in her opinion). Though she'd never say so, it would be inspired by him and based on his design. Then well, crab shenanigans happened.

Ikit Claw's backstory is largely unknown, which is unusual for famous skaven. Even for those who take pains to make sure their discretions stay buried, things eventually come out through the work of a steadfast eshin agent...but nothing on Ikit. However, Heliinx is pretty sure Ikit was similar to Vecteek; white furred, Horned, but had no inherent magical abilities...maybe. Either way, she suspects his origins to be similar to her own. Where else did that white fur come from?

Tikrik is a fan of Ikit; this is yet another reason Heliinx sneers at Ikit because if her brother likes it, then it MUST be dumb.

[weeping-gospels]

And all at once it became one big cuddle pile, two rumbling sets of purrs resonating against and on Throt.

The whelp purred more so to calm himself down — Betty was purring in her continuing blissful drunken state. One hand slid over Throt’s stomach, kneading and massaging in hopes of getting him to relax farther, her spare hand still stroking along the whelp’s coat.

Pure bliss.

shamanickeep​:

“ Because you’re warm and comfortable, “

She stated, huddling closer to place the whelp on his chest this time. The baby skaven immediately fell into a fit of tremors from the returning anxiety, unsure how to feel about the very large rat that was just screaming. Betty only stroked through the earthy fur again as means of reassurance, purring directly into the whelp’s ear to stall his unease,

“ Shhh, my leetle sunshine, shhh….Throt is good, he won’t hurt you. See? He’s just very big. It’s alright.. “

To say Throt was surprised was an understatement. He was stunned. Just having a whelp thrust into his arms as he’d have to cradle it by his chest, staring down at it with his good eye and just… not knowing what to do! He HAS handled whelps before, yes. But it was less hands-on, and more like managing them in separate little pens to make sure they didn’t eat their fellow batch-mates. But to actually hold and care for a whelp…

He had little to no experience in that.

“E-Eeh… Throt don’t-… can’t…” he mutters, looking at the whelp that’s now in his arms. What was he supposed to do? So for the time being, he’d just stand still, whelp in his arms.