@kristal has recently informed me what a 'crotch plate' is, and that harlequins actually wear the damn things- so i thought, would this new information effect my guard and solitaire harlequin OCs in any conceivable way.thank u kristal.
Its time for another Warhammer 40k Community art week! We have a lot of wonderful Original Characters, and its time to celebrate.
Rules: The only rule is that posts be related to OCs. 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 #40kOCWeek or submit it as you wish! I will be tracking both tags and reblogging all entries here.
Branwen had hoped that her Shadow Force was still out on exercise. As she stepped into the block of barracks assigned to her Astartes, it became immediately apparent that this was not the case. Raven Guard were milling about, some still in their warplate while others wore their duty fatigues. They were seeing to weapon maintenance, or otherwise conversing in small groups.
“Cap!” Corbin called out with a hearty smile as she raised a bottle. “Some kind soul left us a gift!”
Branwen returned the smile as she made her way over, doing her best not to sigh - she’d been noticed. At a low table, the Veteran sat with her usual companions.
“Have a nip,” Corbin chuckled, pouring a glass for the Shadow-Captain. “Taste of home’ll heal your stomach up in no time!”
At her side, the Apothecary Addivaria scrunched up her face in disagreement, but said nothing.
“Who’s responsible?” Raana sipped at a cup, barely looking up from a dataslate that scrolled with lines of post-exercise statistics. “We’re a long way from Kiavahr.”
“Lady Arturia.” Thirteen piped up, turning down a proffered glass.
The four stopped, their heads turning to the Shadow-Captain as she felt a familiar warmth in her cheeks. She took a long sip, letting the liquid burn down her throat in an attempt to delay a response.
“Hey, uh, Cap? Where were you just now?” Corbin had a knowing smile on her face.
The heat of the spirits was matched only by that in Branwen’s face. “Uh... Well, she- er, Lady Arturia asked for my company after dropping off the gift.”
Addivaria leaned in, her eyes wide. “Are you two seeing eachother?”
“Do we really need to be asking the Captain this?” Raana looked up from her dataslate with an exasperated expression. Branwen glanced over to the no-nonsense Sergeant with a desperate, thankful expression.
“Yes!” Corbin and Addi chorused.
“Well,” Branwen stammered, “She wanted to take me to see the Inner Palace. We went to the Gardens...”
“And then?” Corbin’s grin widened. “Did you kiss her again?”
Branwen sputtered. She was sure her face was as red as IX Legion armor at this point. After a moment, she finally managed to regain her voice. “Don’t make me pull rank, you two!”
“Aye Captain,” The pair chorused once more, before Addi nudged Corbin. “That means yes.”
The Shadow-Captain sunk back in her seat, holding out her glass. “I’m going to need another.” She let out a long sigh, before catching Thirteen’s eye. The little Librarian was smiling as well, but something was different there. Hers was one of genuine happiness.
“I’m very happy for you, Captain.”
Despite her ruddy cheeks, Branwen felt her embarrassment ease as she smiled back.
More of Bobrovski’s 40k OC art meme thing! probably the last one until saturday! We shall see!
Despite being fitted with a Valhallen Ice Warrior uniform, Bobrovski, up to this point, never served in the Imperial Guard. He was actually an arbite. First in riot control and then in the detective division.
As such, these days he is often used for internal investigations and civilian enquiries.
When he is in combat, he works with Boddicker, as we saw yesterday.
When he is doing investigations he works with the Savlar Chem Dog, Polato.
Summery: Blue celebrates her first Purim with the crew of the Queen Esther.
Blue sat at a table in the mess, watching the people around her over a steaming mug of recaff. The Queen Esther, unlike the smaller ships she'd seen, was huge- and had a significant civilian population. Most of the families were still in their quarters, enjoying some peace during the day- but the crewfolk who were here still seemed to be every age and shade and shape of human Blue had ever seen. At one table to her left, a circle of old women was chattering over some game involving little tiles. On her right, two teenagers were deep into a pile of books- she heard one of them grumble something unintelligible at the other, who nodded their head sympathetically. In the far corner, a mother hunched over a nursing infant, smiling happily.
Blue swallowed. The idea that she might share something, anything, with all these people was too much to believe.
“Good morning,” interrupted a familiar voice, “is this seat taken?”
Blue looked up, and offered the navigator standing at her table a weak smile. Jaime de Valencia looked extremely tired- bags collected under all three of his eyes.
“No, no-” Blue gestured for him to sit down, “and-uh, that was some good sailing last night. The storm… I could tell it was bad, but you kept the ship so steady. It was better than anything I’ve ever seen.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his own recaff. “Thank you. I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy.” He shook his head, as if to clear it, “but, with any luck, I’ll have cleared the worst of the backlash by tonight.”
“That quickly?”
Jaime shrugged. “It’s that, or miss the fast. I’d hate to do that if I could avoid it- so it’s meditation and rest for today.”
Blue’s mouth went dry. “There’s a fast tomorrow? Frag, what day is it-” she stopped, and smacked her forehead, her sudden panic dissipating. “Sorry, sorry.” She let out a long breath and looked at her recaff. “They didn’t...you couldn’t miss a fast, on Terra. And the habit stuck, after.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He reached out and cupped his hand around one of hers. “It isn’t like that for us. If one of our people can’t fast- either because they are ill, or pregnant, or carry the trauma of starvation, or some other reason- they don’t. Pikuach nefesh, we call it. The preservation of life. It’s a duty to us, a sacred one.”
Blue gave him a wry smile. “You’re good at it, too.”
“Well, we’ve had a great deal of practice.” He stretched. Blue could hear his shoulders pop. “Besides- if I don’t fast, I won’t feel as good about taking part in the holiday after.”
Blue gave him a look.
“Oh! I’m sorry- I can see your soul, see the way it’s brighter here- I forget how little of it all you actually remember.”
“So…” Blue said, gesturing for him to continue.
“It’s called Purim and it’s- well, it’s extremely important to this fleet. It celebrates our triumph over an attempted genocide, as well as the courage and bravery of one who had to hide her identity and go among our oppressors!” He grinned at Blue. “Somehow, I think you would like it.”
“We still don’t know,” she reminded him, “I want to be one of you. I do. But-”
“No.” He held up his hand. “That desire is the start, Blue- and the rest? That can be learned.”
“Okay…” Blue said, smiling slightly, “so where do I start?”
Jaime looked thoughtful. “Well, I would start with a costume- check with the Quartermaster, they usually have a box or two of old things for people are throwing theirs together at the last minute.”
“Okay… then what?”
“I’ll send you a copy of the shedual- there’s a lot to do. I recommend you come to the mock trial,” he gave her a conspiratorial wink, “though I might just be saying that because I’m the star this year.”
Blue walked down the corridor, looking down at her dataslate and up again to check she was actually headed in the right direction. The ship was huge- which only made sense for its origin as a Black Ship- but it had been redecorated and altered so much that Blue, who knew the internal layout of quite a few Black Ships, had to take care not to get lost. Case and point, this corridor was low enough in the ship that had likely been a hold for those who had been Tithed- but Blue found her hands were still steady, her heartbeat still normal. The memories of own imprisonment were still at rest.
Which left her present and focused enough to not only navigate the corridors, but to make herself nervous.
The costume didn’t help. The Quartermaster had tried, but… Blue knew she made the people here uncomfortable. Some of them had been Imperials once, but that didn’t earn her any favors. Most of them had been rescued, in one from of another: from the Tithe, from the Inquisition, from the Pograms. She had a place to go back to- a place with the Inquisition, no less. She had an incentive to betray them.
But the Quartermaster had tried to help. After a lot of digging through bins, they’d given her a dusty velvet coat and a matching, wide-brimmed hat- like something an actor playing a rogue trader might wear.
“Chag sameach!” Someone said, as they brushed past Blue towards a door a little way ahead.
“Uh, you too.” Blue mumbled back, following them in.
When she stepped in the room, it was clear why they needed the hold. The bay was huge, crowded with temporary risers, and still it was packed. Hundreds of people, all decked in their most outlandish array, all sat and watched the stage in the center of the amphitheater excitedly.
After a moment, the lights flickered, leaving only the glare of a single spotlight illuminating a lectern in the middle of the stage.
Out, into the light, stepped a young girl. She was obviously a mutant; the lower half of her face was twisted into a muzzle. For a moment, Blue’s stomach twisted- is this what they’d meant by a trial- then, she realized: the girl was dressed in a bright red robe. She wore a badly-fitting wig, styled like a judge's’- one that didn’t quite conceal her own riot of curls. Wire-rim spectacles perched primly on her muzzle. She turned to face the crowd, winked, and made the sign of the aquila.
A chuckle rippled through the crowd.
A bailiff popped out of the shadows; a red-cheeked boy who couldn’t have been older than twelve. He wore a paper-mache approximation of an arbite’s armor and brandished a power-maul obviously made out of the end of a broom handle. “None of that! None of that! We’ll have none of that heresy here!”
The crowd did their best to quiet down, still obviously amused.
“Presenting the right honorable lords and ladies of the jury!”
In came a gaggle of actors in much-mended costumes of high lords’ robes. Most of them were young- ten or so, from what Blue could tell under the stage makeup. The scowled and glarded and mugged for the crowd, which played along by booing and waving those noise makers Blue had seen some of them carrying.
After them came a slim girl- maybe fourteen? Her Inquisitor's robe was the most austentatious of the bunch, with a full suit of paper-mache power armor and a deamonhammer to match. They didn’t quite fit, and the coat trailed on the floor behind her.
“Presenting the Lord Inquisitor Aquilla Patria Torquemada HAMAN!” The bailiff bellowed this last part, and a wave of noise broke from the crowd- booing and noisemakers, and stomping their feet until Blue feared the bleachers might collapse. The girl brandished her deamonhammer and gave the crowd her most terrible sneer.
“And finally, presenting the vile, heretical, accused- Jaime de Valencia!”
The crowd cheered. Jaime- the real Jaime, looking like a giant on stage with all the children- staggered dramatically on stage, barely repressing his smile. Paper-mache shackles hung from his arms. Behind him, two ‘guards’ in muscle costumes made from old pillows took great joy in poking him forward with wooden swords.
“Your Honor!” The bailiff called, “this man stands before you accused of the most vile crimes! I almost hesitate to speak them! They are: piracy! Treason! And, most vile of all! Heresy!”
The judge leaned forward, making a great show of adjusting her glasses. “Well, man! Out with it:” her voice was slow, and a little muffled, but she pronounced each word with care, “how do you plead?”
Jaime tossed back his head. “Your Honor, I plead not guilty.”
The jury gasped. One child near the front pretended to faint. The bailiff's face actually went red.
“How dare you-”
“Allow me.” The girl playing the inquisitor shoved the bailiff aside. He made a great show of falling over. “You-” she pointed her hammer at Jaime “do you dare come into this court, this holy court, and insinuate that the Throne’s justice is ever wrong?!” She whirled back to the judge. “This is heresy! To the pyre with him!”
The judge held up a hand. Blue noticed her fingers were webbed. “We are in a capricious mood, and wish to hear this man’s defense.”
“Your honor,” Jaime said, “the charges against me are piracy, treason, and heresy, correct? Let us then define those charges. First: Piracy. A pirate is a subcategory of thief; they take what rightfully belongs to someone else. I, and those I associate with, do not take anything. Far from it, we give back lives we find are being stolen and deliver them to their original owners.”
“Heresy!” Roared the inquisitor.
“Order!” Said the judge.
“Second: treachery. The betrayal of one’s government. My people have no ruler but Hashem- and She commands us to redeem the captive. So once again, I stand neither traitor nor pirate.”
“And what of the third charge?” The Inquisitor demanded. “You Honor, he cannot deny the third charge!”
“I certainly can,” Jaime said. “Heresy is like treachery- but instead of betrayal to a ruler, it is betrayal to God. A serious charge, of course. And while I will admit that my path has brought me up against the Imperium’s Emperor, this is not heresy: for your Emperor is no god!”
The room erupted. Blue looked around at whistling and the stamping- all these people openly celebrating something she had barely dared allow herself to think in her private hours alone. It hardly surprised her when she felt the prick of tears behind her eyelids.
“Enough!” The inquisitor shouted, when the cheering had all but died down. “Your Honor, this is heresy- or my name isn’t Lord Inquisitor Aquilla Patria Torquemada HAMAN!”
The booing was as loud as the cheering a moment ago had been.
“Quite right, quite right,” the judge nodded, nearly knocking her spectacles loose. “Jaime de Valencia, you are hereby found guilty on all counts of piracy, treason, and heresy and sentenced… TO DEATH!”
“Not if I have anything to say about it!” A young girl- she couldn’t have been older than nine- bounded onto the stage. From the red scarf wrapping her hair to the deep blue of her paper-mache pauldrons, she was Captain Sinan. She struck a heroic pose, drinking in the applause of the crowd.
“My dear!” Jaime clasped his hands over his heart, “I knew you would come to rescue me.”
The miniature Captain Sinan ran over and dramatically ripped his chains apart. Then, holding his hand, she proceeded to fight off the ‘guards’ single-handedly. Each of then gave a dramatic shout as they pretended to fall dead to the stage. The inquisitor stepped forward. Blue found herself holding her breath. The girl playing the captain gave a mighty shout and, letting go of Jaime, grabbed the deamonhammer, tossing it offstage. After that, it was a dramatic sword fight. The inquisitor even did a cartwheel in her armor- which earned her a smattering of applause- before the tiny captain won the day.
The lights came back up, and the children all stepped to the edge of the stage, holding hands and taking their bows. Captain Sinan- the real one- came forward to lift her double onto her shoulders and press a kiss to her husband’s cheek.
“So now do you understand?” Jaime said, when Blue caught up with him later.
“Not really,” Blue admitted. “It feels right, but… I caught the reading, the- megillah?” Blue said, hoping she was pronouncing the word right. “This holiday… it really isn’t very happy.”
Jaime smiled. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Tell me why you think that.”
“I mean, that king didn’t stop his people. All happened was that we- that you- that the Jewish people got the right to fight back. Don’t get me wrong, that’s important… but still.”
“Uplifting or not, it’s true,” he sighed, “and it continues to be, today too. And of course, this holiday doesn't pretend to end in safety either.” He took a sip of his drink. “Do you know why we blot out the name of Haman?” he waved his grogger in the air and let out a small boo-ing noise.
Blue waved her own noisemaker and shook her head.
“Because some of his sons escaped, and we were told to blot out his name. But now? We don’t know where his name is. We don’t know from where the next threat will come. And do you know what we do? We take that fear, that uncertainty, and we ball it up- we make it small and silly. We dress up like things that are silly or scary. We laugh at it. And through this, life can go on.” He smiled. “You see? Life is sacred. And our duty to it is sacred, too.”
Blue thought about the space outside the ship- deep and dark, full of enemies both material and demonic. She thought about the fleet- those little sparks of light against the void, shining in reckless, ridiculous defiance. The defiance of someone who stood before their doom and didn’t tremble, but laughed.
