#40kfeelsweek

[flagcaptainart]

40k Feels Week Day 3, Joy/Happiness. I finally colored Angron and Lotara from last month’s art weeks for the occasion. Particularly healing given the trauma St Martin did to my heart in Slave of Nuceria.

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[40kartweek]

Its time for another Warhammer 40k Community art week! We’re doing something a little different this time.

Rules: The only rule is that posts be related to an emotion. Art, writing, miniatures, photography, playlists or original music is all welcome! Show us how creative you all are. You don’t even have to follow the prompts- they’re just there to give inspiration and open to interpretation. Feel free to reblog old work too!

Tag your work with #40kartweek or #40kFeelsWeek or submit it as you wish! I will be tracking both tags and reblogging all entries here.

Themes:

Monday, September 9th - Surprise Tuesday, September 10th - Embarrassment Wednesday, September 11th - Joy/happiness Thursday, September 12th - Angst/Grief Friday, September 13th - Fear Saturday, September 14th - Playful/Silly Sunday, September 15th - Anger

Looking for another theme week? Check here!

[ask-the-crimson-king]

The Fool

[A small thing for the 40k Feels Week. Story under the cut so I don’t spam the dash with my writing.]

[It’s a long, long one folks. Also a UA based on the ending of The Crimson King]

This chamber had become something of his home.

He had not kept in contact with his Legion for quite some time. He felt he did not need to. Not now, anyway.

Not after everything that had happened.

The room was organized somewhat neatly, a good mask for the tumult and turmoil brewing within. Shelves lined with various books, interrupted by a small artifact here and there. But this room was a lie.

This place was not real. it was not physical. It never was.

This was a part of his own small section of the Warp, a place where no other could truly find him. And here he dwelt, the days, weeks, months, time sliding through his fingers like silky sand. 

The creator of the room was in the center of it, seated and scrawling things down into the grimoire usually kept on his person or close to it. He found that he wrote much as of late, but there was so much to record and preserve.

So many memories that needed to be shared, so much knowledge that cannot be lost no matter what the cost to himself was. He let out a small sigh, taking the small bookmark and closing the tome, slowly rising and putting it on the desk nearby. He stared at it for a moment or two, some lingering thought plaguing him before it ran away. Most of his thoughts did in here. 

Except for a few.

He walked over to a window that looked into the madness that bled around this precious space. He watched the myriad colors all blur and blend before dissociating into their constituent parts once more. He saw shades and creatures hiding and lurking within its depths. He saw many things through this window, though much of it, he ignored.

Once he called those colors beautiful. Once he called those creatures naught but predators lurking within a Great Ocean.

Now?

He understood more than he ever did about what the truth of this un-reality was. Was it truly an un-reality? It felt as real as his own, of what some called the Materium, But yet it was not real. This was all imagined. All of it. 

Life created this realm.

But did that make it truly unreal?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His gaze flickered back to the shelves. More and more they grew, and more and more books filled their shelves. Where did they come from?

He could feel someone coming. Someone calling for him.

Where they calling for him? The name they used felt familiar. They felt familiar too, but... he did not know why...

He quickly covered the window, not wishing to be found by whomever was chasing him. He was safe in here. He was secure. He was...

Who was he?

What had happened? Why was he here?

He remembered vaguely some vast destruction, but... It felt like a dream, as though it wasn’t real. Was this room real? It felt real. It looked real. He walked over to one shelf and stared at the books. Their titles were in dozens of languages, all of which he understood, somehow. He did not remember these books. He plucked one from the shelf, and stared at the cover.

He felt the presence again. Closer. He did not want them to come closer. He did not know who this was. Perhaps they were one of the things lurking beyond.

This room was safe. This was where he needed to stay.

But he still felt them reaching, calling, looking for him. They felt desperate. Why were they looking for him? Was he important? Why?

He found himself questioning many aspects about this place as time went on. How much time had truly passed? He had no chronometer here. He had no measure of time. The colors and beasts outside were no good indicator. 

Why were they trying to reach him?

Suddenly, he could no longer feel their presence. Hesitantly, he reopened the window with a thought and a gesture, staring back into the madness and turning from the books he was blankly staring at.

There was someone staring back at him.

+My Lord!+ they cried. +Throne, we thought you were dead.+

He stared blankly at them.

+Who are you?+

Their... their aura darkened. It was sadness that darkened it, and the hope that once brightened it began to fade.

+You... You do not remember?+

+Remember what?+

+Who you are, what happened to our home?+

+This is my home.+

+No.+ The person pressed... hands? He was not sure, but they pressed something against the window. +You are Magnus the Red, the Crimson King, Master of Prospero. Prospero burned. The Legion is fracturing. We need you, father.+

+I know not of who you speak.+ He shook his head, blinking his... his single eye. Why did he have only one? What... what happened to the other?

+You... you do not remember?+ Again, their aura darkened.

+I do not know who you are, nor whom you are looking for, but that is not I. I am sorry to-+

+Then who are you?+

He found he could not answer that question. He pondered for several long moments, but... he found nothing.

+I... I do not...+

+Think, father. Look around you! Look at those books! You ought to remember something, right?+ Desperation colored them. He did not like that color.

But he did as he was told, looking at the books. He walked over and plucked one off the shelf, one called the Liber Prospero. He looked back at the figure at the window, and looked down at the book in his hands.

+I do not know this tome.+ He looked around the library. +I know none of this. Who am I? Where do I come from? Who am I?+

Desperation clouded his own aura, he felt. But his own was also foggy. Faded. Not as crisp as the window guest. He looked back at the figure in the window. 

+Who am I?+ he repeated. The figure flickered and darkened, before pulling its hand back. Before he could protest or cast the figure away, the window was broken, and the chaos spilled through. The figure joined him in the swirling morass of color and cacophony of chittering voices, and he saw only blinding light before...

... he awoke. He looked around at the library. Everything was back to normal. He was sitting. 

+What do you remember?+ a voice asked him. Before he could register what was happening, the light returned, and he felt himself scream, but never heard it. 

He felt pain. So much pain. Physical, emotional, he felt pain. He could not move. He was on hard, polished ground. He saw and felt blood. He heard wolves howling around him. He saw a what he thought was a great pyramid through the rain pounding onto the world around him. He saw red. He could barely see. 

He felt pain. So much pain. His sole eye focused on that pyramid. He saw someone. He saw someone who felt familiar, who he recognized. He could not move. He blinked.

+This is my final gift to you...+ He mouthed the words as he said them through aetheric speech. He felt frost beginning to coat him as a blade came near his throat, and with a few syllables, he was unmade.

He was unmade, and he cast himself away. Far away. 

Away from the howling.

Away from the battle.

Away from his sons.

+... It burns...+ he said, the room coming back into focus. The colors that were outside were no longer drowning him, its predators behind the window.

+What burns?+ he heard someone ask. It was not the newcomer at the window. It sounded... more familiar to him...

His answer was naught but a whisper.

+Prospero...+

He felt himself sink to his knees.

+And it was my fault...+

+It was the Wolves. The Wolves were the ones who destroyed us. They destroyed Prospero. Russ was all too eager to come slay us and kill the innocent people. He came with the might of the Custodes and the Null Maidens. We were trying to warn Him!+

+We failed... We broke the Legion... Prospero burned...+

+All is not yet lost. The Warmaster needs us now. We must join our brothers and cast down the tyrant. We must show our true power, without regard for the limitations of ignorant hypocrites! We must join together, now, and we must join Horus.+

He understood now why the voice was familiar.

He was speaking with himself. An aspect of himself that he always kept hidden.

+No. I will not side with him.+

+Then what will you do? We are incomplete! Can you not see the folly in this? We will never be able to see our visions through to completion or save our sons in this state!+ The voice turned from fevered passion to a desperate plea. +Please. If not for ourselves, then for our sons.+

He felt a hand reaching out to him. He pondered it for a moment or two.

He reached out and clasped onto it, and the world slammed into being around him.

He was bound within a throne. He felt weakness at first, but soon it turned to strength.

He stood, casting it away, feeling it crumble. He could feel his body reawakening. He saw a sea of red-armored warriors before him, and he felt the presence of his favored son.

The one who saved him from mindless oblivion. He was kneeling. He was weeping. 

He felt pride, relief, pain, so many different emotions all at once. But at his core, he saw fear within his favored son, though it had been quelled.

For now.

He looked upon his warriors with his one, far-seeing eye, and he could feel the very world beginning to bend and remake itself according to his will.

He could also feel a void within him, one he longed to be filled.

He looked upon his sons and made his pronouncement.

‘My sons, heed me. The galaxy has been set aflame. Our home has been burned, our ideals and very selves tarnished and cast aside by those whom we once called brothers. The time has come for us to play our part in this war we never wanted to be part of. But make no mistake. We shall not fight for Horus, nor our fallen brothers. We fight only until I can reclaim the part of myself that is currently bound and imprisoned within the Imperial Palace. We fight for hope of a better, brighter future, and not to the capricious creatures lurking within the depths of the Great Ocean, those very creatures who seek to defile us and ruin our great dreams. We fight for what we have always fought for.’

He drew his golden glaive, holding it high for all to see.

‘We fight for enlightenment. We fight for humanity.’

Standing there, in front of these paltry few of his once-mighty Legion, his precious sons who wept and praised his glorious return, his sons who had labored so very hard to bring him back from the brink of death... it was here, here and now, that he remembered exactly who he was.

[askbranwen]

Corvid Memorial (Drabble)

None set foot in this part of the Imperial Palace anymore.

The air was thick with dust and pulverized rock, a testament to the battle that had raged here only days prior. Rubble was strewn about the marble floor, great chunks of stone blasted from the walls. Here and there, a shard of black armor plating protruded from the wreckage. Some armor shards bore markings. The bone-white of a beak, the sweep of a wing. Rarely, an embossed XIX would stand out. They were unsalvageable - even if there had been any pieces of value, their collection had been halted long ago by the highest authorities.

None dared gainsay the golden warrior who had cordoned off this area.

Standing sentry in the rafters and buttresses above were the ravens. Dozens, perhaps even hundreds of the birds. Their croaks and warbles were the only noise in the hallway and even then the corvids were hushed - as if they held a solemn vigil over the place.

It was the oddest thing - the Imperial Palace never had ravens before. Not until after the Siege, and only in this hallway.

Ahead, the hallway widened into a grand hall where four figures stood, illuminated by the flickering orange of a torch. All were clad in black armor that bore the same iconography of those scraps that lay about them. The plates were still dented and pockmarked with damage, a testament to the fury of the battle they have survived.

The first was nondescript - his black beaked helm unadorned, a battered bolter held to his chest. He had never expected to survive this battle when so many of his seniors had perished. They had deserved to live far more than some green rookie.

The second’s armor was old - ancient, even. They stood further back, nearly melded with the shadows, bracing against an arcane-looking combi-weapon. They had been the only survivor of what had happened in this hallway, away from the palace walls. This hall would be the only home they would know from now on.

The third bore the sigils of the Apothecary upon his armor. His helm turned to the first, looking to a lover to help bear the burden of his survivor’s guilt. Those who had fallen would live on through his skills - He only wished that the harvest of gene-seed had not been so bountiful.

The fourth’s armor was trimmed with the markings of an officer. Her left arm was a cybernetic replacement, as was her left eye. She went unhelmed, features marred by the jagged scars that ran across the left side of her face. Her half-shorn hair bore a bright red streak, and her remaining eye ran with tears. She was young, burdened with leadership she’d been groomed for but never felt ready to accept.

Between them was a statue, carved in the days following the great battle. The carving had been quick, devoid of any unnecessary ornamentation, but it was a faithful recreation. The plinth that it sat on bore two-hundred and eight names, but the statue depicted their leader, the woman who had led them here to fight in the last line of the Imperium’s defense in it’s most desperate hour. She was kneeling on the plinth, both hands resting on the pommel of a greatsword that stood with it’s point buried in the plinth. Her stony gaze stared straight ahead, determined.

Shadow-Captain Branwen, Defender of Terra.

The four looked up as a figure in Auramite plate approached - the same golden warrior who had sealed this hallway from all others. She understood the loss and grief that they all felt, perhaps better than any of them.

“Midnight Wall Stands.” The four intoned as one, welcoming her as one of their own.

(Drabble for @40kartweek - for the ‘Angst/Grief’ prompt)

[techpriestess]

Flirting

Drabble for 40k Feels Week - Day 2: Embarrassment

A little late but I struggled with this prompt. It needed some drafting to get everyone properly in character, then I got injured on the job, but better late than never I guess!

This is set a little ways into Sophia and @hisbloodyangel David’s friendship, and their growing romantic attraction. He’s slowly charming her, and its getting harder to hide her blushing embarrassment at his flirtation.

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The Chaplain made his way to the ship’s training floor. He wandered into the practice servitor room, shrugging off a light robe he wore, leaving him bare save for a loincloth. The lights of the training bay were dim, save for one of the Astartes cages. ‘Sophia.’ Her name came unbidden to his mind at the sound of flapping wings and the heavy breathing of a mortal. No other mortal would be able to handle the speed and violence of a cage meant for post-humans. As if she could really be described as totally human anymore either.

He watched her fight, sweat glistening across trembling limbs and chest heaving as she flitted around, dodging and weaving. It was nice to see her outside her armor or the chaste robes of the Order; the sleeveless sports top and loose shorts exposed her power plugs and scars.

After a few minutes, she finally defeated the combat servitors, and pulled off her practice claws. Sophia spotted him just outside the cage gates.

“David!” Sophia laughed, incredulous as she looked him up and down. “What’re you doing, staring over there?” She wandered over to the door. Her eyes trailed over him, lingering over the rise of his hips for a moment.

“You are a stunning warrior, my lady.” He grinned at her. “The Emperor was right in choosing you.”

She looked back to the wraps over her knuckles while a blush began to spread across her cheeks. “I have far to go.”

“Then I am even more blessed to be present for your humble beginnings. If this is only the beginning of your strength, you will be the greatest of the Saints.” David teased, and took her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

Sophia looked up at him, chewing her lip and cheeks bright red. “You tease me, Chaplain. It’s hardly appropriate.”

He raised his eyebrows, though his smile didn’t change. “Is it wrong? I’m so fond of you.”

“Because I’m a Saint?” Her eyes pierced him to the core. For a moment he was reminded of when those green eyes were alight with an inner glow, and feel of the Emperors power rolling off her.

He shook his head. “You have set me in awe since I first laid eyes on you, before your ascension. Your faith and devotion is inspiring.” David leaned in with a Cheshire Cat grin. “Watching you would embolden any man to great feats.” He brushed a callused thumb against her cheek.

David didn’t think she could get any redder, and he could hear the pounding of her heart. Her lips parted for a moment, but no words came.

A chime came from her bag, her vox buzzing. Her gaze snapped to it. “I should get that.”

“If that’s what you want.” 

Her gaze returned to him again. Conflict warred in her expression. “We are bound by duty, but…” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I will find you later.”

“I look forward to it.”

[flagcaptainart]

In true form I have my last minute quick art for Feels Week, Day One, Surprise. @hisbloodyangel‘s David surprising @techpriestess‘ Sophia by bending the knee and swearing to protect her.

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[flagcaptainart]

Unfortunately with the wrist injury I can’t art right now but have a picture of the happy couple and their daughter for feels week.

Hilariously I hadn’t realized quite how much larger Arturias and Myrinas blades are so I might have to file them both down as well as improve the blending on Arturias blade. We’ll see what we have time for.