Deus sum, victōriātus mundorum, occisor homum.

Captus sum, putrefactio cadaver debitus morior. Emperor of Mankind RP Blog, sideblog of partyinvalhalla  

[divinituscaptivus]

*Hands him a Modena piegon* A big back bird for you sire!

The creature seemed agitated, flapping wildly in the arms of the attendants who handed it off to him, but it calmed once immersed in the Regent's aura.

"Thank you, Stranger, he shall make for a fine companion."

A pity their lives were so short.

[divinituscaptivus]

Were you Narmer, ya know the first Pharaoh of all Egypt?

"Indeed. Twas I who united two disparate kingdoms, and was given the right to wear the crown of both. It was one of my proudest achievements. For once, I was able to unite squabbling human factions beneath my banner. For once, everything was not burning or collapsing. I created a bloodline that lasted for over a century. It was a pity that my descendants could not keep hold of power."

[divinituscaptivus]

(injury themed prompts)

SENDER cleans blood from RECEIVER'S hands, steady and careful.

// @adeptvsimperialis, an unsuspecting volko (or even him as Azariel on the beginning of his path to redemption + freedom from Chaos) with kusig perhaps? :0

The broken Astarte found an even more broken companion in the man that once was Emperor. Though virtually unrecognizable was the regal regent of Terra, the stature of this ruined giant gave him away. He was far larger than even the Primarch his companion once called 'father', an unusual sight outside of Terra. But this was not Terra. This was a desolate world deep within the Eye, seemingly lifeless, if not for the scarred, half-blind, and broken giant who wandered its surface. But there was something viscerally wrong about the bleeding giant something one could not quite place unless they were a master of the psychic arts. He seemed to dully shimmer like a pearl in murky waters, not quite here but not quite elsewhere. And he did not speak, he only shook and whimpered. @adeptvsimperialis

[divinituscaptivus]

Behold a nice cake. Treat yourself you deserve it!

The baked treat smelled divine, a lemon and cardamom cake freshly baked and perfectly moist on the tongue. The flavor made the deathless tyrant want to melt into his seat. "Thank you, kind Stranger. I must have the recipe!" Such a recipe would be treasured, stored in a place of high honor in the Imperial Archive, and retrieved only for the richest of occasions. This was a cake worthy of accolades.

[divinituscaptivus]

Kusig, Alexander, Ceasar, my my so many names you've had Anathema. How many names and titles have you had, and deeds you've done have aided us by chance?

"Begone, deity of debauchery, goddess of perversion, Chief of excess! I've no need of the likes of you! May your gardens rot, may your followers cleanse themselves in the purity of immolating fire! May your thirst drive you to madness, never to be satiated!"

[divinituscaptivus]

(Injury themed prompts!) "You fucking idiot, you weren't supposed to take the hit for me!" Darius yells at the Master of Mankind, dragging him behind cover.

The bolt had pierced the lightly armored ancient's flesh like a hot knife through snow, leaving a bleeding gaping hole in his side large enough for a mortal to thread their hand through.

"Fool!" The profusely bleeding Tyrant spat, every muscle fiber in his body drawn tight and ready to snap just to stave off the pain

"Desth ....uuuuugh...can never truly take me. I...ca-cannot say the same for you!"

@chapter-master-darius

[chapter-master-darius]

"Oh yeah like I've survived for twelve thousand years cause I'm fuckin' lucky." Darius says as he raises Outcast to return fire. "Now stay the fuck down, you damned idiot! This is why you wear armor!"

As Darius says this a few bolts hit him, but the Armor of the Forgotten holds strong, and he barely even moves from the impacts.

[divinituscaptivus]

The former Master of Mankind is in no shape to fight, nor even stand. If he did not focus, if he did nothing, he might very well die again. Though death could never truly permanently take a being like him, he did not know how long it would take to return again. Clearly, some time had passed since his most recent return from the grave, as had it been instantaneous, the crater he'd found himself in where the Palace once stood would have been molten. Mankind could not wait on him again, not now, not when all his species stood on the brink of extinction. But at least, at least Darius was safe. He lacked the Emperor's eternal curse. He could die, despite his supernaturally long life, and he was an ally much to valuable to waste. "I, I....I need, I need." He needed to heal himself, to mend what his enemies had broken. He was an accomplished biomancer with over forty thousand years of practice. A hole like this would not be difficult to knit back together. But it would take time, take patience, take concentration. And he had been unable to stop the bolt from striking him in the first place. Whatever had happened to him since his reawakening had made drawing from the waters of his immense psychic might a far more difficult prospect. "I need to focus!"

[tyranid-online]

You don't really have it specified if people can send requests or not so forgive me if you don't appreciate them much :D but perhaps primarchs baking? or cooking in general

Primarchs cooking

Lion El’Jonson The Lion cooks like he is operating behind enemy lines. He makes no noise, no wasted motion, no one sees him season anything yet the food is seasoned.

He makes a hearty stew with game meat, root vegetables, dark bread and suspiciously good broth. Nobody knows where the meat came from and when asked he says that “it was available.” He refuses to share the recipe but everyone eats the stew anyway. It’s excellent.

Fulgrim Fulgrim doesn’t cook dinner, he composes an edible experience. There are seven courses each plated with tweezers and emotional menace, there is foam, glaze and flowers. Russ asks where the actual food is and Fulgrim gestures to a perfect cube of something on a porcelain plate. Russ eats it in one bite.

The food is technically flawless and deeply annoying, everyone is still hungry afterward except Fulgrim who claims fullness is vulgar. (Ferrus gets a sandwich later.)

Perturabo Perturabo cooks like he is provisioning a siege. He uses huge pots, exact calories, maximum nutritional return per unit of labor without joy or garnish. He makes lentil stew, hard bread, salted meat and enough preserved vegetables to survive a winter encirclement.

It tastes aggressively fine. He has leftovers labeled by date, volume, and strategic importance.

Jaghatai He cooks fast, uses a wok like a weapon and produces an incredible meal in 20 minutes. Nobody can follow what he is doing, oil flashes, knives move, steam rises and the whole kitchen smells alive.

He doesn’t measure nor he explains, he tastes once, nods and throws in more chili. The result is delicious and dangerous. Dorn tries one bite and becomes silent, Russ loves it, Magnus says the spice profile has historical depth.

Russ Russ cooks meat, he grills, roasts, smokes, chars and tears bread with his hands, there are potatoes somewhere but mostly as witnesses. His seasoning is salt, smoke, fat and volume. He believes a meal should look like something you defeated, he makes enormous slabs of meat and slams them onto the table like trophies.  “EAT!”

It is messy, intense and honestly pretty good. Fulgrim complains about the presentation and Russ puts a bone on his plate. “There, structure.” He also makes something called stew but it is just meat in a bowl with heroic intent.

Dorn Dorn follows the recipe exactly, not approximately, exactly. If the recipe says dice onions into 1 centimeter pieces he produces mathematically compliant onions. He preheats properly, measures properly, cleans as he goes and times everything.

The result is a perfectly respectable roast chicken dinner with vegetables, bread and gravy. No drama, undercooking or mysterious fluids. Everyone is shocked by how normal it is.

Konrad Curze Konrad grew up alone in the filth darkness of Nostramo’s underworld, his childhood cuisine was whatever we could find so when he enters a kitchen he doesn’t see a kitchen but a luxury execution chamber for ingredients. He doesn’t use cutting boards correctly, he crouches on counters and smells everything. He picks up a bruised vegetable and says that this one has suffered enough. Nobody knows if that means he is using it or sparing it.

His dish is a blackened, over reduced stew made of cheap meat, bitter greens, old bread, vinegar, too much pepper and something he calls street salt. The stew looks like a crime scene after the rain, it tastes horrifying but it’s not inedible.

Sanguinius tries a spoonful and quietly lowers the bowl. “Brother… did you eat this often?” Vulkan asks gently. “No, often I was fortunate.” Curze replies. “Sometimes there were rats.”

Sanguinius Sanguinius bakes warm bread, honey cakes, fruit tarts and delicate pastries, everything smells like a childhood nobody had but suddenly misses. His food is beautiful without being vain, it makes people quiet, even Angron eats slowly. Sanguinius apologizes because one tart is slightly uneven.

“You simply can’t be good at everything.” Fulgrim stares at him with religious envy. “I burned the first batch.” Sanguinius smiles. He gives the burned batch to Russ who calls it crunchy bread and eats it happily.

Ferrus Ferrus cooks like a blacksmith: high heat, cast iron, no nonsense. He makes steak, potatoes, charred vegetables and bread cooked directly on hot metal because apparently ovens are too indirect for him. It’s simple and excellent.

His kitchen tools are aggressively practical, he refuses delicate cuisine but understands heat better than anyone.

Angron Angron shouldn’t  cook when he is angry which means Angron should almost never cook but when given simple physical tasks he can do surprisingly well. Kneading dough, crushing garlic and chopping vegetables.The problem is intensity. He doesn’t mince the garlic, he executes it. He doesn’t tenderize the meat, he sends a message.

He makes a huge, rough, spicy skillet meal with meat, onions, peppers and flatbread. It isn’t pretty but it’s filling and honest.

Guilliman Guilliman cooks from a weekly meal plan. He makes baked fish, grains, vegetables, soup for tomorrow and a breakfast plan while dinner is still cooking. It’s very good but he explains the nutritional logic while serving, which drains morale. “This provides adequate protein while preserving tomorrow’s preparation window.” “Brother, just say dinner.” Russ replies.

He also has a binder of recipes categorized by season, budget and diplomatic usefulness.

Mortarion Mortarion cooks peasant food and he cooks it well. It has root vegetables, dark bread, bitter greens and stews that simmer for hours. Nothing decorative or pretending that the world is kinder than it is.His food looks bleak but it tastes better than expected, it’s heavy and warming.

He also makes medicinal teas that taste like punishment but genuinely help stomachaches, he refuses to admit this is caring.

Magnus the Red He cooks historically and that's a problem. He doesn’t simply make dinner, he recreates an ancient Prosperoan ceremonial meal based on fragmentary sources, symbolic ingredients and lunar timing.

He spends three hours explaining the meaning of saffron. The food is fragrant, complex and slightly impractical. Dorn asks if the glowing sauce is safe and Magnus is offended. His desserts are excellent because pastry is basically alchemy with butter.

Horus  Horus hosts. The food is good but the real danger is the atmosphere. He makes everyone feel welcome and included, he remembers preferences, pairs drinks and serves at the perfect moment.

He makes a grand roast dinner with shared plates, everything encourages conversation and feels generous. By dessert, half the table is telling stories they didn’t intend to tell. Guilliman notices the seating arrangement has somehow softened old rivalries and the Lion notices Horus placed himself where he can see every face. “It’s only dinner.” Horus smiles.

Lorgar Lorgar cooks like every meal is a communion. He makes bread, dates, lamb, honey, spices and slow cooked grains. He says grace so intensely that even the atheists feel watched.

His food is warm, fragrant and emotionally manipulative. He starts talking about breaking bread as shared vulnerability and suddenly the table is halfway to a cult.

Vulkan Vulkan is the best cook overall, he makes a meal that feeds everyone properly: stew, bread, roasted vegetables, grilled meat, sweet buns and something soft for anyone too tired to chew through pride.

He teaches while cooking, if someone burns something he shows them how to save it. If someone says they cannot cook he says:“Then today your hands begin learning.”

Corvus Corax His pantry is stocked with cheap and practical food.Corvus cooks quietly and efficiently, he makes a simple soup with flatbread, roasted mushrooms and whatever can be eaten while planning a revolution in a cold room.

His food is plain but comforting, Corvus calls it merely sustenance.

Alpharius Omegon Alpharius cooks several contradictory meals. One brother gets soup, one gets cake and one gets a sealed envelope containing a recipe. There are two identical pots on the stove, one is delicious and the other is a decoy… nobody knows why food needs a decoy.

Dorn asks who cooked the rice and three voices answers saying they did it. There was no rice.

The Emperor The Emperor designs a nutritional program for humanity. It’s efficient, scalable, joyless and somehow morally suspicious. Malcador forces him to make one actual meal and the emperor produces a perfectly balanced ration bar.

“This is a brick.” Russ says.

[divinituscaptivus]

Wrong,

The Emperor is a fabulous cook, sometimes preparing meals with ingredients nobody has heard of in thousands of years.

[grey-wardens]

The Emperor of Mankind in No Peace Amongst the Stars | Warhammer 40,000 Official Cinematic Trailer

[xingyueiri]

Just had a long, long dream…

[gotham-at-nightfall]

The Golden Throne

By Mohamed Saad

Based on the Warhammer 40k 11th Edition Trailer:

Honestly, I've never quite pictured the Golden Throne like this. In my mind it's always a scaled up Iron Throne, not an entire structure unto itself. As such, I really love how this trailer portrays the sheer scale and energy emanating from the throne.

[eedwardkin]

🔥 Emperor of Mankind 🔥

I rly love concept that everyone sees Emperor in their own way

[divinituscaptivus]

(Injury themed prompts!) "You fucking idiot, you weren't supposed to take the hit for me!" Darius yells at the Master of Mankind, dragging him behind cover.

The bolt had pierced the lightly armored ancient's flesh like a hot knife through snow, leaving a bleeding gaping hole in his side large enough for a mortal to thread their hand through.

"Fool!" The profusely bleeding Tyrant spat, every muscle fiber in his body drawn tight and ready to snap just to stave off the pain

"Desth ....uuuuugh...can never truly take me. I...ca-cannot say the same for you!"

@chapter-master-darius

[fresh-hot-rp-memes]

Send “Not Over It” and my muse will talk about something from their past that still haunts them to this day.

[hollowprompts]

` * 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 : a mix of dialogue and action prompts. sent "+ reverse" to reverse the roles.

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 :

➔ you're gonna be okay , just keep your eyes on me. ➔ don't move - you're going to make it worse. ➔ it's not that bad. ➔ you saved me once before , now it's my turn. ➔ you fucking idiot , you weren't supposed to take the hit for me. ➔ i told you not to do that! now look! ➔ you're lucky that i know basic first aid , or you'd be dead! ➔ stay with me, okay? stay awake. ➔ i'll be as gentle as i can be , i promise. ➔ you're bleeding - oh my god , you're bleeding. ➔ you told me it was a scratch , this is not a fucking scratch! ➔ there's so much blood. ➔ next time you want to play here , just don't. ➔ stop fighting me and let me help! ➔ you're banned from doing anything remotely dangerous. ➔ you could have died , what were you thinking? ➔ if you die on me , i'm going to be pissed off. ➔ you didn't have to be so reckless just to prove a fucking point. ➔ the wound will heal but you'll have a scar.

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 :

[ carry ] sender carries receivers muse to safety after finding them injured. [ stitch ] sender stitches receivers wound. [ hand ] sender holds receivers hand during a painful procedure. [ wound ] sender cleans receivers wounds with gentle and shaky hands. [ panic ] sender panics while trying to stop receiver's bleeding. [ patch ] sender patches receiver up using makeshift materials (i.e. torn shirt). [ fire ] sender drags receiver out of a burning building. [ pressure ] sender puts deep pressure on receivers wound while yelling for help. [ mouth ] sender gives receiver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. [ change ] sender helps receiver change out of bloodied clothes. [ wash ] sender helps wash dried blood off of receivers face. [ shower ] sender helps receiver shower after an injury. [ broken ] sender tries to stabilize receivers broken limb with rope and sticks.

[thedevilandthedeep]

This has long been my all-time favourite image of Lorgar ever. It lives in my phone.

It's so elegant. It's so 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭. Look at that disillusionment. Look at that despair. Look at that 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 (respectfully).

The artist is Damien V Grimm. & all her work is gorgeous. You should go check her out over at https://x.com/damien_v_grimm

[zachrp]

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ RANDOM HIGH-STAKES, DISASTER-BASED ACTION PROMPTS CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT. SEND "REVERSE" TO SWITCH THE ROLES OF SENDER AND RECEIVER.

SENDER forces RECEIVER to keep moving despite exhaustion.

SENDER lifts RECEIVER over an obstacle they can't clear alone.

OUR MUSES get separated briefly and panic sets in.

OUR MUSES light a fire for warmth using scavenged materials.

OUR MUSES wade through floodwater, gripping each other for balance.

OUR MUSES emerge into daylight to see how much the world has changed.

SENDER blocks RECEIVER from seeing something horrifying.

OUR MUSES take turns standing watch through the night.

OUR MUSES navigate by landmarks that no longer exist.

SENDER covers RECEIVER'S mouth to keep them quiet.

SENDER confesses fear to RECEIVER in a rare quiet moment.

OUR MUSES shelter in a vehicle that may not hold.

SENDER gives up their share of medicine for RECEIVER.

SENDER promises RECEIVER they'll get through this together.

OUR MUSES climb to higher ground as water rises.

SENDER wakes RECEIVER just in time to avoid danger.

SENDER helps RECEIVER wash ash or grime from their face.

OUR MUSES mourn someone they couldn't save.

SENDER collapses and RECEIVER helps them back up.

OUR MUSES cling to each other as the ground shakes.

OUR MUSES listen to emergency broadcasts on a dying radio.

OUR MUSES sneak through an area crawling with danger.

OUR MUSES share the last dry blanket between them.

OUR MUSES shelter together as debris batters the structure around them.

OUR MUSES argue quietly over whether to leave shelter or stay.

SENDER gives RECEIVER the last flashlight battery.

SENDER shares a memory with RECEIVER to distract from fear.

SENDER gives RECEIVER their coat despite the cold.

OUR MUSES break into an abandoned building looking for supplies.

OUR MUSES follow a map they don't fully trust.

SENDER scouts ahead while RECEIVER waits, terrified and alone.

OUR MUSES hold onto each other in complete darkness.

OUR MUSES move through ruins that were once familiar.

OUR MUSES barricade a door as something pounds on the other side.

SENDER cleans blood from RECEIVER'S hands, steady and careful.

SENDER hands RECEIVER a weapon.

OUR MUSES share whispered plans over a flickering flashlight.

OUR MUSES hide in silence, listening for signs they've been found.

OUR MUSES ration food between them, unsure when help will come.

OUR MUSES wait out the storm in a cramped, unsafe space.

SENDER teaches RECEIVER how to start a fire without matches.

SENDER teaches RECEIVER how to use a weapon they've never used before.

SENDER drags RECEIVER out of a wrecked vehicle.

SENDER reassures RECEIVER during a panic attack.

SENDER carries RECEIVER when they can no longer walk.

OUR MUSES share a silent moment of relief after surviving something close.

OUR MUSES watch the skyline burn or collapse from a distance.

SENDER makes a hard call that puts them both at risk.

SENDER helps RECEIVER breathe through shock.

SENDER pulls glass from RECEIVER'S skin carefully.

SENDER pulls RECEIVER into cover just as something explodes nearby.

SENDER refuses to leave RECEIVER behind.

OUR MUSES wait for rescue that may never come.

SENDER struggles to pull RECEIVER back from a collapsing ledge.

OUR MUSES wait out danger inches apart, barely breathing.

SENDER tends to RECEIVER'S non-life-threatening wound.

[mythshire]

✧˖°.⚔️.°˖✧ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ··· a collection of rightful heirs, contested thrones, & loyalties tested by war roleplay sentence starters for those who would see their birthright restored. genre: political intrigue, family drama, war & consequence.

• They name me usurper, yet I am the rightful heir. Tell me you believe this to be true. • My father named me his successor before the realm. Does his word hold no weight now that he has passed? • You swore a sacred oath to uphold my claim. Have you forgotten your vows? • I shall not beg for what is mine by blood and by right. • Tell me true—which bannermen may still be counted among our allies? • My children's lives hang in the balance. I must know where your loyalties lie. • The small council is divided. I have need of your voice in that chamber. • They expect me to surrender? To bend the knee to a pretender and usurper? • Every house that declares for them is a house forsaken and traitorous. • I did not seek this war, but they have left me no recourse. • My claim is lawful and just. Theirs is theft and treachery. • You served my father faithfully. Now I stand in need of your counsel. • I shall not permit my legacy to be penned by mine enemies. • The realm shall bleed for this transgression. Do they comprehend what they have wrought? • Send forth the ravens. Our allies must be reminded of their sworn oaths. • They hold the capital, but the war is far from won. • I would have ruled with wisdom and mercy. I may yet do so. • Speak plainly—do you believe victory is within our grasp? • Each day we delay is another day they strengthen their position. • You must fly to [location] at once and secure their fealty. • The lords who falter now shall come to rue their hesitation. • They slew my son. Blood will answer for blood. • I care not what it shall cost. They will answer for their crimes. • The prophecy speaks of my line. I am certain of it. • History shall remember which claimant held true right. • Do not mistake my mourning for frailty. • I was groomed for the throne since childhood. It is my birthright. • How many must perish before they yield to reason? • I shall not be remembered as the sovereign who bent the knee. • They believe my [youth/sex/inexperience] makes me weak. They err gravely. • Summon the war council. We must plan our next course of action. • I entrusted you with everything. Pray do not make me regret that trust. • What word from the battlefield? I would hear truth, not comfort. • We command dragons. Surely that must tip the scales in our favor. • I am plagued by dreams of fire and ash. I believe them to be portents. • They wish to make an example of me. I shall make one of them instead. • Dispatch word to our loyal bannermen—your true queen/king yet draws breath. • I did not choose this conflict, but I shall see it through to its end. • Do you recall my father's final words? His wishes were made plain before witnesses. • The crown belongs to me. All else may be negotiated. • Speak without courtly pleasantries—how dire is our position? • They have underestimated me from the very beginning. That is their fatal mistake. • I would sooner die than allow them to deny my rightful claim.