#cthonia

[little-miss-bioweapon121]

Thinking about Cthonian fashion because I’m designing Horus’ son and I’m imagining piercings to be very much a thing of beauty and status, Cthonian nobility super pierced and having complex custom jewelry and connecting pieces and super intricate designs and-

Basically super pierced up Adonis being the hottest mf by Cthonian standards (on top of just being hot)

[skyegrimalkin]

This is why you always stand inside the ritual circle when you're trying to summon a demon. Irreversibly transforming into the demon in question is actually a good and desired outcome; I dunno what to tell ya. Art by @nighterrandt

[articskele]

(Source) "Lay siege to your senses! Lay siege to your imagination! Lay siege to… Cthonia!"

[vamp420lyre]

How glorious and beautiful is the Earth.

You, daughter of Neptune,

Wonder of Uranus

Passion of Mars,

Light of the Sun,

Wonderous, glorious Earth.

How is it that I am worthy of you?

Perfectly placed Globe of wonder

Glove of Saturn's structure.

Love of Venus's sight,

Wisdom of Jupiter,

Garden of Pluto,

Insightment of the moon,

Expression of Mercury.

How favored are we, by the Gods, to have such a thing as you?

Oh, great globe of awesomeness.

Thank you for you.

- Carlisa N William's, 2020, Dedication to Earth

[earltheartist]

Lupercal

Lupercal! Lupercal! Thy hath been a visionary, some sayeth a betrayer. Hubris feeds a mans soul even if thee is more than man. Lies of gods who seek awakening, a banquet fit for gods that hath deceived a proud master of war for fear of a self fulfilling prophecy. Thy life was forfeit when thee lifted it up to chaos ultimately deceived and thy fate of tragic Lupercal was one not of independent thought or divergence in path of thy father. Alas nay as a tool that inevitably wrought by powers who hunger for CHAOS

@immanueldid

[ask-valerian-40k]

Banner of the 142nd Solar Auxilia Cohort (one of multiple "Cthonian Head-hunter" Cohorts)

[ask-abaddon-the-despoiler]

Kyle the Kinslayer!

Leaning forward on the chair, Abaddon leaned his forearms on his knees and appeared to collect his thoughts. This was something he had been asked about a few times now and although it was not a subject he liked to speak of, he knew doing so would put all the questions to rest.

“Listen well,” he warned, “For I will only tell this tale once. I will not repeat it. If you have questions, I will answer afterwards.” Once that was said, he paused before finding a suitable place to start.

“What I remember the most is the rain,” he said. “Cthonic weather was never reliable, cool… temperate I think the word is, but not usually overly wet. The rain had turned the ground to sticky mud. I didn’t care overly much then though. Nothing was going to prevent me from becoming a man. I was in all but name anyway. My father has ensured I’d lain with a local girl the night before. A simple coupling that had sent my thirteen year old mind spinning out of context.

“Both of us were excited about the event, the entire gang would be there, even some of our rivals were turning up. It was the largest gang of the area, maybe of the planet. I remember the anticipation and the build-up beforehand. It was the custom that youths fought hardened gang members and beat them in order to attain manhood.

“I was not the only lad set to fight that day but I was the only one fighting his father. Before we were due to fight, there was a short ceremony where we had to drink this liquid. It tasted vaguely of mint. Heyron, a young lad who was not quite a friend, was with me. He was a kid the same age as I, a couple of month’s younger maybe. He remarked that it was the taste of adulthood and glory. I’d spent most of our lives whacking him in the head and telling him to work but in that moment there was a kinship. I agreed.

“The drinks served as an enhancer to our tempers and make us quicker to anger. It turned the fights fiercer and the boys were supposed to stand more of a chance. Even back then I was known for being short tempered but I drank the stuff anyway. It was part of the ceremony.

“Fifteen minutes later, the ritual began. The liquid pulsed through my veins, heated my blood and made my vision sharper somehow. The world moved at a slower rate, it was as though I was made of lightning, I moved faster than I had before. I believe it was this that saved my life that day.

“The rain comes in to play here. As I said, it was thundering down from the sky in torrents. They shoved the knife in my hand and next thing I knew I was facing my father in single combat.

“He was a huge man. I was tall but he was taller, wider; a brute of a man touching nearly six and a half foot tall. He’d bound my hair in a topknot for the ceremony, as his was and it merely added to his height. He was in charge for a reason after all and it was this intimidating presence that did most of the work.

“Water lashed into my eyes and most of the next few moments flashed by in a blur. Father was armed too and we had sparred together many times in the past. He’d often left me bloodied and bruised and in need of medical care, though he never broke anything. This was different. We started off circling and gauging one another. Fire ripped through me, the shouts of the crowds were drowned out by the thudding of blood in my ears. My palms were slick and I reminded myself not to drop the knife. Such would be as bad as losing.

“The first couple of clashes were just that, minor things that didn’t result in anything. These bouts were to first blood, nothing more. Life was brutal enough without injuring ourselves needlessly. After that, my father pounced and we were wrestling more than fighting. Jeers sounded from the crowd, my head crashed into the floor, lights exploded in front of my eyes. Large hands clamped on my wrist, pressed on the nerve. My fingers were forced open and the knife fell from my grasp.” He paused in the relating of the tale, sucked in a breath and stilled his thoughts.

“’Come on Ezekyle,’ he shouted. His breath was rancid, battering off my face. My vision blurred and my back arched, he was so strong and heavy. ‘Your mother would be ashamed to see this,’ he snarled. ‘Your sister would be turning in her grave!’. It was the first time he had mentioned her since he killed her five years before.

“That was all I needed to hear. I snapped my head forward and broke his nose. It hurt. Did the trick though; he howled and lurched back allowing me to get to my feet. His words were poison, spreading through me. I well knew the effects of my temper, even back then and it came into full force now. Finding the knife, I rounded on the man who had murdered my sister. I spat mud and rain and strode forward.  

“He had righted himself by now. The ruin of his nose was splattered on his face and although there was blood, it had not been let by the knife and it didn’t count. ‘Don’t you dare!’ I yelled, ‘You don’t get to speak of her!’ The knife was in my hand and as he rose up, I brought the knife down. I think I was screaming still. She had been perfect, a tiny ball of squalling helpless noise but she had been mine. My sister was tiny, innocent. Her life was stolen by the impatient handling of the man before me and this was my chance to avenge her. She was all I had ever wanted and he stole that!

“His pupils blasted wide as the knife bit into his neck. His hand clamped over mine, holding it tight. His hand trembled. Blood flowed between his fingers. There was so much blood. It covered my hand, warm and flowing. Our eyes met and I knew then that sometime was wrong, so very, very wrong. The fight fled my body as I realised what was happening.

“The crowd had fallen silent. Hate laced the final look my father gave me. His grip began to slip, ‘Run boy,’ he growled. I yanked the knife from his shoulder, blood ran from the wound and before I knew what was going on, I did as he said. I ran. ‘He’s dead!’ someone shouted. My father had fallen to the floor, not quite dead but not long for the world either. ‘Get him!’ someone else bellowed. The drug they forced us to drink was still pounding through my veins, lending me speed and stamina to get away. I ran for as long as I could, as far as I could.

“When I stilled, my chest was heaving and my legs burned. I had no idea where I was, only that it was far from home. I still clutched the knife in my hand. The sound of the crowd were far behind me and I knew I had escaped, for the time being.” He paused and let out a soft sigh. “What followed was a year or so of terror, fear and fighting. I made friends, some of them I still have. I killed again, and again to ensure I survived. I was branded Kinslayer and hunted by those I had grown up with. ‘Kyle the Kinslayer’ some called me then. I am sure that by the time the Luna Wolves picked us up, it was a relief to the people of Cthonia.”

He finally fell silent, ran a hand over his scalp and shook his head. The telling of the tale was a relief it seemed. Waiting to see if anyone had any questions, he leaned back in the chair.

//

@webway-winter - tagging so you see this.

[ask-valerian-40k]

Cthonian "Jackals" Cohorts - Solar Auxilia recruited from the people of the Sons of Horus' homeworld of Cthonia, but judged unsuitable for Legiones Astartes conversion. During the opening years of the Horus Heresy, they were installed as Port Maw's garrison. Beneath this shadow, the hives of Manachea became little more than vast slave-camps run by those natives who had pledged themselves wholly to Horus and who now competed with each other to prove their loyalty by enforcing the brutal quotas demanded by their distant and merciless overlord.

Cthonian "Headhunter" Cohorts - Solar Auxilia Cohorts raised from the savage world of Cthonia. "Headhunter" Cohorts combined the savagery and élan often found on such warlike worlds with the discipline and firepower the Solar Auxilia was rightly famed for, forming a truly deadly combination. The Cthonian Headhunters would go on to accompany the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet of the Warmaster Horus. The 142nd Solar Auxilia Cohort is one of these notable "Head-hunter" Cohorts