Dunno if I'm gonna have time to actually play it, but I was recently invited to a Warhammer 40k TTRPG (Wrath & Glory) and had fun making up my character with my girls since a lot of the Warhammer lore escapes me most of the time. ❤️
Her introductory write up is under the cut!
TW: Mentions of Blood, Death & Descriptions of Gore
The swing of the blade is a call to dinner. Carve the flesh and participate in the blood-letting to set the table. Sprinkle the atmosphere with a careful seasoning of terror, fear or despair and let the aroma of misery guide the senses to find the soul soaking in the marinade of suffering. Then feed, feed, feed. Satisfying or not doesn’t seem to matter to the constant thirst. Even a decadent meal only seems to serve as a sloppy stopper to the forever drain…
A poorly suppressed sigh escapes her lungs as she pulls her sword from the meat of her latest kill. The fleshy slorp of the limp body slumping away from her is supposed to be satisfying, but it isn’t. She cleans her blade, licks the blood from her lips and squares her shoulders to force herself to lean into the realization that it might be a bit before she can actually feed again. Before the thought fully settles though, the sound of a rapid retreat draws her gaze and she’s forced to abandon her current doings if she wants to catch them.
Both feet down and discreet, she swiftly takes after the now fleeing Ganger. The familiar build up of static buzz starts behind her eyes, rips through her gums and shoots straight down to her teeth. Her former attempts at being restrained are thrown aside as her eyes begin to glow, then the familiar cacophony of voices assails her mind: each overlapping and screaming for it’s own modicum of a foothold within her. The air crackles and sizzles. Bright, streaking forks of brilliant light arc towards the Ganger.
She can’t hear their screams over her own or the millions of others now echoing through her very bones. There is no way to distinguish where the smell of burning flesh is originating from, nor whether it’s fabric or skin that’s being flayed open. Then, as quickly as it began, it ends. This time the slump of their body hitting the ground is very satisfying. There's a brief, but urgent pause as the Drukhari eagerly takes in her very normal, very not Warp infused surroundings. She takes a breath to try and center herself; disguised as a last minute huff of exertion and the silence that rushes to fill her mind feels exquisite in its unmistakable message.
Her lips twist into a hungry, devilish grin. The Psyker wins again.
