CHAOS UNDIVIDED

When the bird didn't respond right away, Hjallmarr blanched. It was known to happen-- to be so close to chaos...it could drive a man mad. He was only happy no one was around to see the outburst, and made to pet the avian once the embarrassment had come and went.

But no, it wasn't his mind and chaos afflictions playing tricks about his eyes and ears. The beast spoke again, with Qhi'zheks voice, and despite the Lord of Change's hopes the daemon prince-turned-'man' did startle just slightly.

He wilted visibly at the recap of everything that had happened. Hjallmarr frowned; if there was anyone that should be apologizing, it was him. Daemons princes and even Chaos Lords yet to rise did not have such care for their followers. They were but meat shields, and since the favor or attention of the chosen were often perverse in their own ways, that was the beast a beastman or marauder could hope for.

But Hjallmarr had not been groomed and twisted like that. Even as a daemon, he was still quite mortal.

" There's nothing to apologize for. Self-preservation is the first rule of the wilds, Qhi'zhek, I cannot fault you for following it anymore than I can fault a trap-caught fox from chewing off it's own leg. Anything is better than oblivion."

Hjallmarr was struck then at how similar the daemon was to himself. Ordinarily, death was a mere inconvenience to a daemon. An embarrassing trifle...but the Malalians wielded true death. It was almost fascinating to see daemons quail before it as a mortal man might the axe of the executioner.

"What become of the others? Brass Crown? Akshami?"

#warhammerfantasymuses

He’d only just begun contemplating what move to take next when familiar footfalls return. The same ones, he notes by the sound of the weight crunching in the snow. Ardaka pauses, his arm half-hidden in his cloak, picking through vials of daemon blood until he could locate something normal and less dangerous to feed himself with. He didn’t like to break into his alchemical supplies for supplements, but he would have to use them to tide himself over until later. His hand lowers back down to his sword by reflex, but he forces himself into a posture that felt more genuine.

Unslouched, his full height made him a more threatening target. For all his own bitterness, cynicism, and paranoia, Ardaka knew he could not so effortlessly rebuff this kindness that had been given to him. A not insignificant part of him would feel wrong not to acknowledge it. Even on the chance it could have been a lie, later. It spoke to who he was, and he didn’t want to be the sort of person who accepted a favor and did not at least provide the simplest expression of gratitude when it was warranted. One finger pulls down the cloth mask over his mouth; it reveals frightening fangs, a maw set into a grim line but not exactly frowning. It somewhat felt like he was speaking through clenched teeth when he spoke, like he was ready to snatch his more recipient attitude back in a moment alone.

“That is — a charitable offer.” He hoped it was a real one. Wouldn’t it be nice to have such an offer, no strings attached. “Thank you for helping me. I wish I had something with which I might repay you.” Ardaka paused thoughtfully. So far, everyone here seemed so content to bother him with the same question. Assumed the same things. A Yhetee, a mutant, an overly-large Skaven. “…I’m not from here. Anywhere here. Last thing I’d want to do is draw chaos to your doorstep in exchange for treating me with kindness. I… appreciate your offer. But I shouldn’t stay. It wouldn’t be right.”

In an unexpected movie, the strange pulls down their mask just the slightest bit and what was once thought to be protection from the cold is reveal to be of a different sort. For his part, Hjallmarr underreacts. He had suspected the stranger to be a mutant and had seen his fair-share of god touched, not to mention to monsters that made up his previous host.

“ All I want is peace. Your word that you will not bring harm and disorder to this land and it’s people.” Hjallmar says firmly. Assuming this stranger was from the womb of the North, Norscans were generally men of their word, savages as they could be. Honor meant a lot out here....unless one happened to be carrying the sigil of Tzeen’neth, at least.

The warrior’s words soften his eyes. Most people would turn mutants away at best, or try to kill them at worst. It was truly fortunate Ardaka had found himself in Hjallmarr’s company and not a true Kislevite.

“ I don’t expect you to stay. If you don’t mind my saying, looking the way you do, wandering must be in your nature. Meaning no offense. The gods do not care who’s flesh they twist.”

In a show of good faith, Hjallmarr’s hands come up and he pulls aside his mop of curly black hair. They are hard to see, so he pinches the tips of them-- two horns.

“ Unfortunate your mutations are harder to hide than my own, otherwise I would vouch for your extended visit. Kislev is always in need of another strong sword arm and a strong man to wield it. You have braved the Motherlands and her wilds and elements; that tells me much about you. Like-- you’re probably hungry.”

Hjallmarr releases his horns. And be beckons.

“ Come-- I’ve leftover meat from a kill made yesterday.”

so how are you finding your new home? your new brothers?

"....Just like home."

#ask #anon

know any new magic?

" Lore of Ice. I've gotten pretty good at that one. Let's see....Lore of Beasts. Practicing that one."

#ask #anon

#THIS IS STILL TRUE #LMAOOOO

Can’t pronounce the Daemon name his god granted him

warhammer-fantasy-muses

@khaosundivided

*CAW CAW*

The loud, hoarse croaks of a raven is heard up above as the bird sails above the Kislevite grounds below, the ebony bird sailing along the snow-laden wind currents and glancing down upon the ground beneath. It had spotted something... or someone. And now it was tracking the human-shaped guise that trekked on below, circling above it as if it were a vulture. It seems this particular corvid was on a mission.

Soon, without warning, it'd tuck its wings in and dive down towards Hjallmar, only fanning its wings out to halt itself and come in for a landing, perching on the man's shoulder casually, before preening its feathers for a while. Then it'd stare one of its coal-black eyes straight at Hjallmar.

... But now up-close, things did not seem all too normal with this raven. Streaks of ocean-blue and dark violent colored its feather-coat, and it had peculiar markings around its eyes, as if something was supposed to be there in their place. Like additional eyes. And then-

"... Here I find you, at the ends of the realm itself. It has been a while, Hjallmar."

#Not Dead Yet ( Muse Status );#//home :3c

Hjallmarr turns his head, raising a brow at the black feathered bird. That was odd-- ravens didn't usually fly this far north unless they were delivering a message. With his sharp eyes, he could spy nothing tied to talons of this one. No message, no nothing.

...Huh. The man-daemon thinks, before continuing his rounds. It was his turn to take patrol today and while it was customary to sweep the border between the sane world and that of the Norscans in groups, Hjallmarr preferred his own company. The Kislevites never gave much care over the preference.

He rather suspected they wouldn't care if he suddenly didn't return from one such trip...

Suddenly, there was a weight on his shoulder. A thrown snowball, only black, taloned, and feathered. The bird had chosen him as a perch, it seemed, and had damn near made the daemon jump out of his skin. On second peruse, he could see the oddities about the animal now. Strange markings on it's plumage, around it's eyes. Raven fancy wasn't an unheard of hobby within the empire. Maybe it was a pet that had gotten lose?

You and me both, friend.

But then it spoke, with an all too familiar voice. Freezing, it took Hjallmarr a second to register who it was. He was quite glad he was alone then,

"Qhi'zhek?!"

There was surprise, a brief fondness...followed by wariness, fear even... He eyed the bird, suspicious. A cornered animal.

"Why are you here? Why have you sought me out?"

#warhammerfantasymuses

He’s building a snowman.

Well. A snow...creature. Something. It’s definitely a shape with eyes...

Ardaka secured the cloth over his face higher and tighter. His eyes alone inspired no trust, of that he already knew. Little else did either, which he was fine with.

When the wind died, carrying gently the scent of the man along it, he breathed it in. It was unique and distinctly unnatural. Unlike anything he’d met just yet. Curious. It did not ease nor heighten his suspicion; after all, Ardaka was certain he was the same. Strange and unnatural.

His eyes darted about the place, and he pulled his hood and cloak further over his frame. The red glow to his eyes was more difficult to obscure, but the shadow of his hood did well to obscure most of his features. There was nothing he could do to hide his bestial frame, though; there was a good reason he tried to stay clear of human civilization.

He couldn’t help his own unease as they grew seemingly close to a destination. Not for the potential threat of the stranger, but rather the threat they might find in him instead.

There is no crunching of snow behind him. None to his left or right either. Hjallmarr eventually doesn’t ignore that, his own steps slowing to a halt. He had led the stranger out of the oblast and given him lead to reside in one of the settlements or another...but there was a worm of doubt in his gut.

Guile wasn’t unknown to the warriors of Chaos. After many campaigns built around brute strength had failed, the Gods and their minions would try other ways. Cunning could prevail where force did not. Daemons were known to take advantages of the kindness of men, breaking the very same hands that helped them.

Hjallmarr shifted his weight in the snow, at a loss for what to do. Confront the stranger? Leave him to do as he would, which could very well mean burning down these settlements and killing those who resided within them? The urgency to get out of the blizzard had blinded him to that possibility, but now that it wasn’t here...

The man-fiend turned and began walking back. Close enough to hear, far enough not to spook. This was his blunder. He had to fix it.

“ The people of Kislevs aren’t the most welcoming hosts,” he began, “ But they took me in, despite not being of the motherland’s womb. They’ll accept you too. I’ll accept you.”

And slay you, if there is need.

#hjall vc: all we can do is use the sharp edges people make of us and use them to slay the wicked #ic/ooc

#if he isn't feeling like skittish prey he's feeling like a monster

damn bro you too?

The stranger had a point. Even cold aside, it was troublesome to move through. It obscured oneself well, but it made it much easier to attack. It made him too much a target to remain out here. If this place was any more similar to Kariio, the storm only brought predators. True threats. Predators of predators.

Ardaka remains still a few paces away as he watches them depart. The growing distance subsided his paranoia. He moves to follow them finally; indeed, he had no want to be attacked here.

Now he could only hope he wasn’t mistaken for a daemon they moment they set foot anywhere close to a settlement. It begun to feel like his hand was freezing to the hilt of his sword.

Hjallmarr glances over his shoulder after a while to see that, yes, the ‘man’ had decided to follow. As he suspected; no creature would invite such a death. And as they trudged on, endlessly, the storm grew gentler. The snow still fell, but the wind died.

And as the daemon had stated, some small settlements could be made out against the quickly darkening sky. Pockets of light and life clearly visible from the vantage point they stood upon. Hjallmarr gave another look over his shoulder, at the stranger, a longer one this time.

Kislevites were not a wordy people; warm breath was better kept within and not wasted in idle chatter. Northmen were similarly stoic and Hjallmarr was of their stock. But the pause and look communicated clearly; wherever the daemon had meant to bring them, they had arrived.

After giving Ardaka a single nod, Hjallmarr began to descend towards his own Stanitsas. The snow was still high and thus stole much of his speed...

#ask #precognitor #//WHO GOES THERE

shitty elf staring at him from a bush nearby. eyes emoji. watching.

He stares at the bush, unsure what manner of creature it is, but sure that it's a creature. Man-sized and shaped from what he could see.

His hand grips the hilt of his sword and he stays quiet.

i suppose i should make hjall a quick ‘human’ bio before i go lmao

#ooc #VERY tempted to make him short as fuck like dismas from Darkest Dungeon kskskSKSKSk

About to game but--

Even though he IS a daemon, he was never comfortable in the skin of one. Unlike other chaos champions, Hjallmarr was not devout, was not groomed to lead hosts of monsters and degenerate creatures. He felt, and still feel, awkward in his daemon form and is quite happy to be back as a man. If only in shape...

#The Beast Prince (Headcanon);#warhammer fantasy #///hjally my boy....#marmar my son....

Being called friend by a stranger always put him on edge. Then, it seemed anyone and anything did that here. Ardaka had long since learned this place had nothing but unpleasant surprises — it was similar to home, and so he already knew how to adapt to it.

The cold was familiar too. He stared down into it, each imprint of his foot filled in by snowfall ten paces away.

And by now, he was equally used to unexpected, unwelcome voices. It’s why he had little reaction initially, even if below his cloak a hand moved to the hilt of his sword. From below his hooded visage, a baleful mismatched red stare. One side deep crimson like blood, the other bright like wildfire. Even with little emotion, his eyes seemed angry. Ardaka’s voice was casual for the fact that this was the only stranger around for miles upon miles, but wary. Careful. Suspicious.

“I can take it.” Conversely, he seemed to be shivering slightly. But it wasn’t from the cold — no, Kariio was much more cruel. Ardaka frowned at the offered hand; he felt his own want to reach and take it, but he only curled his fingers tighter and forced it to stay in place. “Why would you care? I’m just some beast in the snow.”

The wind, whistling loudly around them makes it hard to hear. The snow, falling heavier and heavier by the minute, carried by the merciless wind, makes it even harder to see. Hjallmarr has lived in the unforgiving cold to know what it all means by now: the beginnings of a blizzard. The Oblast spared no creature; the bosom of Kislev did not suffer fools.

“ If we don’t get out, we’ll be buried. And we’ll be lucky if the it’s the snow that takes us.” Hjallmarr says, his voice straining over the wind. The stranger’s words are odd and his inhuman eyes pick out the strangeness of their own. A white face. Fur? No, no...just unusually pale perhaps (or a mutant? God-touched?)

Hjallmarr retracts his hand. The question wouldn’t be odd among true northmen, but the Kislevite brotherhood here was strong. With a clime like this, it needed to be. “By our blood” as the saying went; this man -- if that’s what it was -- was as strange to this place as him it seemed.

“ What kind of man would I be to leave another to brave a snowstorm alone?” Basic human decency. Despite his ordeals, it had survived within Hjallmarr. He indicates behind him.

“The nearest Stanitsas’ are this way. You wanna be alone afterwards? I’ll go to my settlement and you can find another. Fine by me.”

Despite the stranger’s gruffness, he doesn’t believe they have any desire to be claimed by the land. Or the monster’s that mill about it.

“Follow me.”