⚜️Lady Vahl commits the grave mistake of swordtraining nearby some fangirling sisters of battle.
Sneaky night post, because I cant sleep and I can't render, because Squig feeling, but I sure as fuck can doodle cute strong women.
Abbess Sanctorum Morvenn Vahl, originally from The Order of The Argent Shroud, Great Commander of the Adeptas Sororitas in Terra, also a High Lord of Terra— High Lady??? She has a JoyToy, a GORGEOUS mini, a book by Jude Reid (Spear of Faith), BROAD ASS SHOULDERS (Canon) and is One of The more faithful, intelligent and battleskilled Sororitas ever.
She also pilots the Armour of The Righteous, a Very Fancy Paragon Warsuit, and her most iconic weapon is The Lance of Illumination—
ALL that to say she is the most Powerful Sororitas character in tabletop, she leads paragons and allows them to reroll hits, she busts Armour and invulnerable saves and— OKAY FINE I'LL STOP She is amazing.
Love How There is a point of her looking Young and unscarred, because of How fucking COOL AND BADASS AND SKILLED SHE IS, and that "clean unharmed" look should be an exception to sisters of battle.
I gotta remember to render her face once I feel better*
every time I see someone act rude, entitled or disrespectful towards a fanfic writer and/or the fics, I think the writer should be legally allowed to kill them
I hate when you're trying to pass out and something? Either wants to be drawn or written. And then have the gall to not tell you what its for.
Like having inspiration is fine but motherfucker don't turn your nose up at all the WIPs and tell me to come back with a warrant only to cartoonishly grab me by the back of my shirt to not let me leave.
some of you are saying enemies to lovers when you mean rivals to lovers and some of you are saying enemies to lovers when you mean enemies with benefits. but these are all distinct categories
esoteric form of roleplay where instead of actually roleplaying you just make up characters together and discuss in abstract how they'd interact and how their story would go
This series is slowly consuming me just as much as the Modern AU is.
Anyway, Konrad's creature meets her man in gold
"I hear she's as mad as he was."
"Ten thousand years of grief will do that to a human."
"How can you grieve someone like that?"
"I don't know, ask her."
Luis Dante presses his hand to his head. The murmuring of the Ultramarines around him was getting on his nerves. He needed to sleep- desperately. But he had to get through this first. Lord Guilliman had demanded his presence for this meeting, for reasons he still did not understand. He was not so great a man to be looked upon so favorably by a primarch, but he wasn't exactly in the position to argue with him about it either.
"Do you really think she'll even show?"
"Who knows. That woman never comes planet-side."
The person they were discussing was the supposed mistress of the Night Lords, a legion that has danced on the edge of chaos for ten thousand years. They were rarely involved in much regarding the Imperium, so the fact that they were not only coming to Holy Terra, but that she was stepping foot on the planet instead of just sending one of her astartes was apparently the cause for far too much gossip this early in he morning. It was like sitting in a room full of children.
The door to the meeting room opens and the whispering Ultramarines go quiet. Dante turns his head to get a look at who was entering.
It's a man. Another space marine. His armor is dark, with signs of years of use and repair, the sigil on the front announcing him as a Night Lord. His face is horribly scarred, his dark hair touched slightly grey with age despite his face still holding some youth to it, and he carries himself with great pride in his every step.
Everyone shifts away from the marine as he steps into the room.
"Your master is not here yet?" His accent is thick, and unrecognizable. "And here I thought he was incapable of being late for anything."
"Watch your tone, Night Lord," An Ultramarine snaps at him.
"Watch yours."
"Sev, enough."
The voice startles Dante a little. He hadn't even noticed the other figure at first. Though to be fair, a baseline in a room of astartes was easy to miss.
You step around your escort and make for the seat that had been prepared just for you, and Dante's eyes follow you the whole way.
A perpetual from the age of the great heresy. Someone who likely laid eyes on his father in the flesh. You were so…small (though, what baseline wasn't small to him?). And yet, you carried yourself as if you were the largest person in the room.
'Sev' follows you, never once overtaking you despite how much greater he was in stature. You sit, leaning back in your seat, and tapping your nails impatiently on the arm of the chair. They were sharp, he notes, tipped with intricate metal claws that decorated your fingers and hands. They could be removed, making them more like jewelry. An aesthetic choice, rather than an augment, and one that suited your title.
The Lady Night Haunter. She who controls a legion of criminals and heretics. The wretched child of fallen primarch Konrad Curze.
You were far more beautiful than anything he'd ever heard about you. It was almost unfair.
You reach for a data slate that has been laid out for you in advance- Dante had one as well, though he hasn't looked at it yet, waiting for the lord of Ultramar first- and start going through the information on it silently, your sharp metal claws tap tap tapping on the screen. You make a face, unhappy.
"Is this really it? This is all he wanted me here for?" You scoff and practically toss it back onto the table. It clatters on the surface. "Ridiculous. I have better things to do than this."
One of the Ultramarines scoffs, and mutters something under his breath that Dante doesn't quite catch. Your eyes find the offending astartes, gaze sharper than any blade.
"What was that? I'm afraid I didn't hear you." You leave no room for him to argue or backpedal. You hadn't heard his words, but you knew well enough that they were likely unkind.
"I said nothing, my lady." He denies it anyway.
"Sevatar."
"He wonders if your better things is spreading our 'heresy' and collecting more 'worthless men' for the legion, my sister."
A heavy, uncomfortable silence falls upon the room. Then, you laugh. It's a harsh thing. Angry, offended, deadly.
"Well now, haven't you lot gotten bold in the absence of your lord father?" Your eyes find Dante. "Don't you agree, Lord Dante?"
He had not introduced himself, nor spoken up at all, so the fact that you knew him was a bit startling. Though, he supposed rumors of him have reached even your ears by now.
"I do," He doesn't lie. To speak to someone of your station in this way was downright wrong. Even if you were everything they said you were, you still held the title your fallen father left behind. You were still master of a legion, and still loyal to the Emperor.
Also, he gets the sense his own father would be disappointed to see you treated so poorly. He wonders if somewhere in his blood, there is an affection for you ten thousand years old.
You hum, pleased by his answer.
"There was a time when the Ultramarines were actually worth something. Such a shame to see how far you've all fallen."
Your words cut deep into the pride of the blue-armored astartes in the room- as they were intended to do.
"Watch yourself! You speak as if your legion isn't filled with cowards and criminals who look down on the rest of us as if they're the better men!"
Another sharp, angry laugh.
"You forget that the only reason any of your campaigns have succeeded is because of my cowards and criminals," You push back from the table, standing. "They are the better men."
You walk back towards the door, heedless of anything else any of them try to say to argue with you.
"I've had enough of this. I will not sit here and be accosted by children who can't mind their manners. Tell Guilliman that he and I can speak another day."
-
Of all places to find you after all that, this wasn't what he expected.
You stand under the statue of his father with your hands folded behind you, looking up at the face of the primarch long carved from stone. He can't see your expression from behind you, but he can feel the weight of your emotions simply by how you stand.
He takes a step back, hoping to slip away unnoticed so he didn't disturb your moment of peace, but he isn't nearly that lucky.
"Come in, Dante," You hum. "Don't let me keep you from visiting your father."
He hesitates a moment, but does finally walk forwards into the sacred space. He stands next to you, an astartes arm length apart, plus a few centimeters, to allow for respectful distance, and the two of you stand in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a moment, each looking at the great angel with different thoughts running through your heads.
He wonders if he should have done more in the meeting to defend you. If he'd somehow let you, Lord Guilliman, and his father down by allowing you to be spoken to in such a way. He wonders if he should apologize. If he was even allowed to speak to you at all.
Just because Guilliman deemed him worthy of conversation, that didn't mean you would. You may not be the primarch of the eighth legion, but you were close enough.
"I apologize," It slips out without his permission anyway. You hum, encouraging him to continue. "I should have done more for you back there."
You huff out a chuckle and shake your head.
"It wasn't your fight. I can't blame you for staying out of it."
"Even still. It feels shameful. I did explain to Lord Guilliman why you left, but-"
"Were you born on Baal?" Your question comes out of nowhere, and it startles him a bit.
"I was."
"Mm. I can tell."
He turns his head towards you, tilting it to the side somewhat. You glance at him, a smile playing at your lips.
"You sound like your father."
Your words sit heavily between you. A reminder that you knew him. Spoke with him. Was alive the day he fell.
"I…thank you."
It was a compliment like none other. Your words meant more to him than he could say, and it made him feel a bit silly at being soothed by you when it should be the other way around still.
"There aren't many of you who carry his cadence anymore, even those from Baal. It becomes harder and harder to find him in his sons as the years pass," You let out a sigh. "It's nice to hear it."
He genuinely doesn't know what to say. Does he thank you again? Change the subject? You clearly didn't want to talk about the events of the meeting, and honestly he can't blame you. It had been bad enough that you'd left before it really even started because of how badly the Ultramarines had offended you.
"What about you, my lady?"
"Hm?"
"Do you speak like your father?"
You're quiet for a very long moment, face unreadable. Then you slowly turn to look at him again.
"Stars above I hope not."
He lets out a shocked laugh, unable to help himself, as you continue.
"My father was mad! People seem to think I don't know that! I would be deeply concerned if I sounded like him!"
Your laughter mixes with his in a harmony he'd be thinking about for several long days afterwards. Your joy is bright, warm despite the coldness in which you're forced to carry yourself. It lights up your whole face beautifully. Truly, it was unfair for someone so unattainable to be so lovely.
Laughter softens to giggles, which soften to a sigh, and a sad expression.
"I don't think so, though. Not anymore. I lost his voice after so many years without it. And my brothers now don't come from Nostromo, so none of them carry it with them either, even after being gifted his gene-seed. Sevatar is the exception. He's the only one who's been able to cling to it."
"I see. I'm sorry, I understand how important it must be."
"It's alright, I've survived this long, I suppose I will simply just have to keep going."
Whether you liked it or not.
The words weren't said aloud, but he felt them in the air. He understood that, too. All too well. The want to lie down and close your eyes and not have to rise again…the life of someone like you- and him, too, it seems- is long, and exhausting. He feels for you.
Your eyes fall to the face of his father hanging on his hip- to the death mask he wore into battle. You reach out and touch it, rubbing the space between the eyes as if you were trying to smooth the expression into something softer.
He hadn't even realized he'd gotten so close to you over the course of the conversation. Yet he doesn't find it uncomfortable. In fact, he'd dare to say he enjoyed your company, and a part of him wished it would last longer.
"Were you close?" He's not really sure if he's allowed to ask, but he does anyway.
You hum, letting your hand return to your side, and looking up at him.
"There were times my father had no choice but to leave me in his care. He was always kind to me."
"He was kind to all."
"Oh-ho, you have no idea," You chuckle, turning away from him to look back again at the statue. "I have seen that man angry. It scared me more than my father on one of his bad days. He was the angel, but I would not call him an angel."
You take a few steps away, still watching the statue as if you expected it to come alive.
"Ahem."
Dante barely manages not to jump at the new voice from behind. He'd been so caught up in you, that he'd completely missed the approach of the Night Lord now hovering in the doorway. Chills run down the chapter master's spine when he makes eye contact with the other man. In all the battles he'd been in, he'd never felt such pure bloodlust. Jago Sevatarion did not like him.
But you turn and smile at him.
"Sev. Are you done already?"
"It was an easy errand."
"Good, I thought it might be," You look again at Dante. "I should get going, then. I have to see Guilliman before I leave the planet, or I'll never hear the end of it. Until next time, Luis Dante."
"My lady," He bows his head.
Then he watches in pure wonder as you lift onto your toes and reach up as far as you could. You're just barely able to reach the base of the statue's outstretched hand, tapping it with your fingers as if attempting a high—five.
"Bye, 'guini."
For a moment, you looked every bit like someone saying goodbye to her dearest, and most precious friend.
🦈CW for Wounds and Scars, but he IS fine, he just needs some Band-Aids™ and some kisses.
. . . Just realised Theyr heraldry is literally The Shake Emoji 🦈
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Tyberos The Red Wake, Chapter Master and Leader of The First Company of The Carcharodons, The Terminator Users of The Red Brethren.
AND HE DOESN'T HAVE A NEW MODEL OR A JOYTOY, BECAUSE GW ARE COWARDS.
I drew the most egotistical and loud astartes ever, might aswell draw the most humble and quiet one.
The Whispering Death, big and silent giant that I have drawn Twice before, in diferent stages of looking like a horrible truck accident, but this is the closest one to his 41th Millenium form, Because HE IS STILL OUT THERE, JUST QUIETLY.
I Would die to see him and Eidolon fighting, because Eidolon wouldn't shut the fuck up and Tyberos Would be looking at him like "...................................".
Bet he can look Alpharius in the eyes, and probably Angron too—
These are 2625x3500 digital drawings done on Ibispaint, using My own Old Tyberos Drawings as reference, EVEN If Those references weren't Very useful on This level of harm, they still helped in drawing his Handsome Neophyte face, and The progression of his scars. As Always, here are the progression and speedpaint of the rendering.
"There's no thought crimes and no thought heroisms" is honestly such a good piece of life advice.
You could be having the most fucked up problematic thoughts 24/7 but if you treat people with kindness, the good you do is the only thing that matters. But if you have only the purest thoughts and all the correct beliefs, it doesn't matter one bit if you spend most of your time being an asshole to people.
