#isha 40k

[sorormaior]

Uhmmmmmm Mortarion enjoying some soup? 🥺 For the art requests

His new mom made him soub

[moociao-after-dark]

"Leman Russ saves Isha and heals the Emperor" "T'au will save Isha" "Necrons will save Isha and use her to give them back their bodies (lol)"

I know GW will probably not do anything of the sorts, but can the Eldar do something on their own for once? It would make sense for Cegorach to save Isha (something the Harlequins already tried to do) or, even better, Ynnead! The God of the Dead saves the Goddess of Life and Healing! It's such a nice parallel!

Or, plot twist, Isha pulls an Aizen on Nurgle and escapes herself (while Slaanesh is distracted by Ynnead/Cegorach).

Or just keep the status quo. Like GW will do. Because who the fuck cares about the Eldar.

[lilacstarshine40k]

Local man approaches neighbor’s Guinea pig as it breaks from its cage after an earthquake, says “what’s the worst that can happen?”

(This caption makes no sense if you haven’t seen the previous pieces)

So yeah this is how I figure it’d go if Leman Russ ever happened upon Isha amidst an escape from Nurgle. That man is not ready to meet a god. I experimented a little with horror imagery for this one but I’m not sure how well it came across.

[sharenadraculea]

Isha & Nurgle enemies to roommates slowburn

[candyswirls]

Crying in the Dark: PT 6 - Revelation

Previous - Next - MasterPost

Summary: the Little One’s past is revealed. But only to the reader >:3

His death and pain echoed across the warp. His brother had shattered his soul. Pieces glittered as they flew and small vermin tried leaping up and catching them.

Slowly, through the years and centuries, they found their way back to the main piece. Each time he found a part of himself, he grew more whole. He gained more power.

He could appear to others, his sons. He began creating a paradise for his sons. Doing what he could as he was dead.

He’d come across splinters of Magnus. Bits of Vulkan from each time their brother Curze tortured and killed him.

He tried to help them. But how could he when he was in such a state?

H…. Him. He couldn’t even refer to Him by name. The way He had killed him… the brutality… the look of pure hatred and rage… it haunted him. Waking visions of… Him attacked him throughout the day.

He was weak. Still healing. He feared he’d never stop healing. That these wounds would never become scars. The pain his brother inflicted would never leave him.

It took so much power to appear to his sons as a glorified and magnificent being. As if he was whole. He didn’t want the living ones or the imperium to worry and fear. He also didn’t have much time with this visage. As soon as he finished in a dream or vision, he retreated back to the warp where his perfect Angel persona faded away to his regular horrifying appearance. He had to have some of his sons describe it to him.

Constantly bleeding from cracks and fissures in his skin, leaving a trail wherever he moved. Dark blood stains that formed a mask on his face and ran part way up his arms and legs. His extremities faded to pitch black. Both wings were mangled and sparse with feathers. One was stiff and held tightly to his body. The other was limp and dragged behind him. One arm was hard to move and he held it close to his stomach. One knee was mangled and caused his foot to stuck out. He walked with a limp. His hair appeared dull and paler. Ratted and dirty. Choppy and brittle.

Scars of his battle with… Him littered his body. His eyes sported dark circles and bags under them. His sclera was bloodshot. His sons all said the same thing. He looked haunted and hurt. He looked exhausted. He was. It took so much just to function. To move. Often times he’d fall into deep sleeps that could last up to years. A few times had lasted near a century.

He used to cry. Cry at how far he’d fallen. No one would recognize him as a Primarch or son of the emperor now. Often times when he went to meet recently passed sons, they took him as a crude daemon attempting to pass as their Primarch. It broke his heart. Now he had his other sons go meet them.

But each piece of his soul he found, he got better. The souls of his sons were always near. The best he could do for his living ones was visions and sending the Sanguinor.

He found himself often ravished with hunger. Out hunting creatures of the warp, draining their vitality. It was his only moment of solitude. Though his sons always trailed behind him some distance.

He was hunting now, wheezing as he tracked the same type of small vermin that had tried to get bits of his soul.

He had put some distance between his sons and rested within a ravine. Sand whipped around him.

“Far prey from that cat you slayed and sported,” a voice said.

He whipped around, snarling and barring teeth.

He froze.

“Malcador?” He questioned.

“Hello Sanguinius,” the Sigilite greeted. “I’d say you are looking well but…”

He stood atop a ledge near the path.

“This is a trick,” Sang wheezed. “A figment of my…”

“There’s no need for that,” Malcador assured as he moved down. “I have some pieces of your soul.”

He presented three golden and glowing flecks that floated just above his hand.

Sanguinius didn’t think, staggering forward and snatching them from his father’s right hand man and absorbing them in. The blood stains receded a few centimeters as did the cracks and fissures.

These pieces felt good. Well taken care of. They had been safe and hadn’t needed to survive.

He looked at the Sigilite.

“Why are you here?” He questioned. “You died. Right before we to fight… that… H… Him… the one…”

Sang gripped his hair as he breathed heavily. A hand steadied him.

“I know how it affects you,” Malcador spoke. “The pain. The horror. Even now I come concerning remnants of your soul.”

“You have more?” Sang questioned, he wrinkled his nose. “Why not bring them here and now? Are they trapped?”

The Sigilite spoke, “There is much that can and cannot be explained. But yes, I know where more pieces of your soul are. Fifteen to be exact. But you cannot take them back.”

“Why?” He demanded, emotion in his voice. “Are you holding them from me? That is my soul! I need it! I-“

“Easy, easy,” Malcador soothed. “When you see, I don’t think you could bring yourself to do so. They are… well, you’ll see.”

“What?” The Angel questioned. “What do you mean?”

Malcador removed a pendant that had been hidden in his robes and held it out to Sanguinius. The ninth Primarch slowly reached out and took it. It was ceramite. On it was a common lizard from Baal, carved into it. Other Baalian symbols were upon it. The pattern and sequence was a declaration of familial love, adoration, and gratitude. Children typically gave less precise and skilled versions back on his home planet to family members.

“Th-this was given to you,” Sanguinius deduced. “Where? Who?”

“Come and see,” Malcador said. “Come and see the power of your soul.”

“My sons are tracking me now,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“The Sanguinor too.”

“I know. They will be fine without you for a bit.”

Malcador offered a hand and a soft smile. He took his hand and followed.

Whether by powers of the warp or the Sigilite’s power, Sanguinius found himself stepping into a courtyard modeled after the older sections of the imperial palace. Vines and trees over grown onto the architecture. But what caught his attention was a large mural just below a veranda.

With intense detail and miriad of glorious colors was a portrait of him. Eyes closed, facing down, smiling.

He found himself limping towards it. He had seen countless remembrancers and artisans create visages of him. But this… this spoke to him. It wasn’t a glorified piece or one that had the artists awe in it. It was… him.

He gently ran fingers along it. Another painting, just down a hallway caught his eye.

He moved to see a similar mural. This time of his brother Vulkan. He was laughing.

Then further down was one of Magnus. Proud as psychic waves surrounded him.

As he followed the hall he found countless depictions of him and them. Some together. Different styles. Different mediums. Some carvings done with utmost skill and expertise.

The final was the biggest. It had him, Vulkan, and Magnus in separate panels. Images of them caught mid laugh. Then there was a fourth. An eldar woman with utmost beauty.

“Wh-who painted these?” He asked.

A gasp rang out.

He looked in its direction searching the brush. It was a small humanoid creature. Metallic skin. Her hair glowed yellow. Eyes glowed blue. She had long ears that flopped to the side of her head. A tail that split in two.

He could not take his eyes off of her. He felt like was peering through a mirror. The face seemed to change and he could see Magnus. No, Vulkan. Him again.

Malcador trailed behind him.

He said softly. “This is Hapipola.”

Sanguinius mouthed the word.

“Joy in Baalian,” he whispered.

Hapipola approached him, eyes staring up into his own and he collapsed to his knees.

He reached out his hands, the connection between them growing strong till his hands brushed her cheeks and she rested her palms over them.

Suddenly he was transported. Back. Back to the moment his soul shattered. The moment… his… his brother… Him.. killed him. The brutality of it. He saw the shattered pieces go flying off. Just as he remembered. But a group of them stayed together. Confused hurt. Looking for familiarity. They went to the astronomicon. There was something else there.

Then he saw countless images of Curze killing him. Bits of him being torn off. They went flying to the astronomicon as well.

Then, the screams of his world and sons dying. The wolf king slamming him down, breaking his back in two. Parts of his soul splintered off. A group looking for safety.

All three met one another. Confused, afraid, not fully understanding what happened. They clung to each other and they search. For what? They don’t know. They travel the warp and begin fusing together. Each with a piece of Magnus, a Piece of vulkan, and a piece of Sanguinius.

They’re in a horrible realm. Foul and rancid. But something draws them in. A tune. Incredibly lovely.

They see her. Trapped. They come to her. Eldar. She is kind.

“My only hope,” she says.

She speaks to the owner of the garden. Horrid and large. Yet he happily gives her what she asks for. Various materials.

Then she makes something. Then she takes them and combines them then breathes life into them. Memories of creatures from youth and human from their fathers take over as they form.

Everything goes dark for a moment. Then… they each wake up. They’re in her embrace. She is exhausted from creating. Yet so proud of them.

They’re alive. Each an individual. Fifteen of them. Daughters. Each with their own quirks and personalities. Each with the memory of their three father’s deaths.

They cannot stay long. Master of the Garden has plans for them. They’re vessels. They could carry his wretched gifts to others.

They have to flee. They’re so little.

Mother whispers a prayer before she sends them off.

“Emperor of Mankind,” she cries. “Please, find these members of your progeny.”

As they exit the garden and escape… the soul of the Sigilite is waiting for them.

His eyes finally open again. It’s not just Hapipola with him. It’s all fifteen. Different colors. Different hair lengths and styles. But they’re here and they’re his. They’re all his. His daughters.

He pulls them into an embrace the best he can, tears streaming down his cheeks.

They squeal and giggle as they swarm him. Calling him father and nestling into him. Some cry with bright eyes and wide smiles. Overjoyed he’s here.

He can feel that they did have a portion of his soul. It is now one with the other two pieces. They are their own persons now. He couldn’t take it back even if he wanted to.

“They are called the Angessa.”

He looked up, still in shock.

“Malcador,” he half laughed. “I-“

He put up a hand, “Easy Sanguinius. You have endured much. Your soul is weary.”

He moved forward and Sang took his hand.

“These are your daughters,” Malcador continued. “They discovered them right before they entered Nurgle’s garden and I could not follow. I was there when they exited. The Eldar goddess of Life, Isha’s plea with them. I call them the Adeptus Angessa.”

Malcador sighed as he sat next to Sanguinius.

“Your father is weak in his current stare,” Malcador told him. “He has… I fear he has lost all hope. I have helped raise them but they cannot stay here. I need to help your father. These little ones long for a father. Vulkan is not available and Magnus is out of the question. They can help you. I-“

One of his daughters said something in a language he didn’t recognize to one of her sisters.

“Kettra!” The sigilite scolded.

Her ears went back as he berated her in another language.

She held her arms to her chest, pouting and looking ashamed.

“I swear,” Malcador muttered. “

“What did she say?” Sanguinius questioned. “I’ve never heard this language.”

“It is my native tongue,” Malcador explained. “It is now extinct. She has a habit of using swears and other crude words just like many of her sisters. She knows better. They do not know high gothic. The plague god managed to curse them to not be able to learn it. For some reason he did not want them communicating with the Death Guard. They know a few words but otherwise cannot speak it or understand it. You can teach them Baalian though. They can only learn one’s native tongue.”

One of them offered a carved reptilian figurine to Sanguinius.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her. She giggled and ran off.

“They’re so sweet,” he laughed as another rubbed her face against him.

The Sigilite sighed, “They’re are. Except when they’re not. They’re little gremlins. Destructive and feral. I suspect they act a lot like you before you were taken in by that tribe.”

Sang just smiled while glancing at Malcador.

“I will warn you,” Malcador added. “They have a quirk from your brother Vulkan. They can and like to set themselves on fire.”

***

The cherub was now cinder and ashes.

A son of the Phoenix held an angry Hapipola outward. She pouted, smoke still coming off of her.

Smyne cackled as Lion held her outward. She sparked and blew raspberries at the cherub.

“No, no Daemon,” hissed ChiChi-Bon.

An ad mech cried over “pookie”.

Lion sighed as he turned Smyne to face him, “You just add more and more mystery to who your father is.”

She giggled at him.

[lazywriter-artist]

I have a very important question!

I have met the prince of paints, but I would like to enquire about Nurgle, how is he in your universe, and what is his relation to Isha?

In my head (for your AU) they are like the mythos of Hades and Persephone, like an actual couple despite starting off badly

So what's the actual thing, if you ever thought about it ?

Nurgle mention!!!!!! Love that guy-

He’s a goofball in my au 🥰, eldest ‘brother’ of the chaos gods he’s probably been around the longest and it shows. Even still he has his own flaws and doesn’t to everything right forever but he’s trying and that’s what counts! Big family man naturally, he’s father to one billion children who he loves and cares for and gives all sorts of plagues! He’s great..he sometimes gets a bit angry and I wouldn’t wanna be near anywhere but in my bed curled up and warm when that happens but he tries to control himself (mentioned later why-) lest he fuck something up

Tbh I’ve infact thought about it a lot!! Being one of my favorite chaos gods I have him very extensively thought out I just haven’t yapped yet X3 Tbh you’re pretty much right on the money on how they work w/ the Hades & Persephone route! The two are naturally a lot more wholesome, comes with my Aus territory =w=!

If I had to put it into words nurgle is kinda this boy fail single dad (once you get to know him, outwardly he can be a bit intimidating on account of the whole rot and death thing-) trying his best to raise his huge family and Isha is his girl boss baddie he pulled by being a dumbass—

It’s also in my heart of hearts where Nurgle’s duality comes from, extra amounts anywya, he was always god of plague and death & a life and death cycle! it’s just kinda always been that! Plague death, and things would grow from that! The circle would begin again and he could sort of facilitate it, he could grow deadly fungus and beautiful decomposers to help his rot! Which in turn helped life blossom and bloom which allowed more rot! If you did too much rot then nothing would grow back to get sick and rot again :( so he always just kinda had the self control and the wisdom to be careful, know when to take things and such. He wasn’t perfect! He screwed up and took too much life and would have to take a step back to allow things to recoup much like how real nature isn’t perfect! But that’s how things sorta were, just a cycle he could facilitate other aspects of from his own. Until he meets Isha!

What started off initially as an overbearing nurgle trying to navigate this new relationship and setting, being cagey and uncertain bc up to this point he honestly hadn’t even fully realized there WERE other gods kinda like him— it’s just been him and his two fuck ass brothers and his one billion ill children for the last— Ergh since the beginning of time-ish! And now there’s a pretty lady he had to save from heat death of her pantheon?????, culminating in him slowly realizing that keeping someone couped up really isn’t fun, huh? And well- he wouldn’t like it if he was her…so he apologizes and together they work through it, she sets some boundaries with him, lets him know some things where he did cross the line! But at the end of the day he’s well meaning and just wanted to make sure she was safe, and his cooking isn’t what she’s used to but hey! We can give things a go one could suppose!

And slowly she kinda, changes his perspective! Even being one of the more open and laid back of the four chaos gods, nurgle still had a pretty narrow view of things! It was his dozens of children, his rot, his plagues and that’s about as far as his forethought extended. Other things lived and became rot and sometimes begged him to take the rot away, which he could oblige to if they asked really nicely! But that was about as far as it went, and again it really wasn’t a perfect science, sometimes he just couldn’t fix things he made plague ridden or didn’t want to- he worked hard on the plague! So you’re gonna get some >:(. But, being more centralized & well- of healing and growth and life and nature (nurgle & her share this trait in my mind-) Isha would gently take him by his claws and show him the little families the mortals had, the joy that the beautiful world brought them, a world nurgle helped to make with his rot! Because there can’t be life without death, it’s a fact of the universe. Slowly she kind of chipped away and showed him things he’d never even considered before, showed him the beauty of the cycle he took part in and kind of opened his eyes to those effected by his actions! Maybe not to change his mind about making plagues ofc, but to just show him the wider cycle and teach him all sorts of aspects about his powers he’d never even thought of.

This of course lead to her showing him all sorts of things about his garden he’d never even realized, showing how some of the plants which grew could be used medicinally, and often when he makes a new plague she tests it and writes a cure for it, so they can keep the cycle going! there may always be more life and rot, as they are one and the same, hand in gentle hand!!

TLDR: They love each other very much 🥰🥰🥰

Behold, a messy shit sketch of nurgle and his darling wifey, he brings her pretty flowers because she loves them and they remind him of her….

I’ll show off a better example of her design later dw dw

[lilacstarshine6]

My luminous mama (of my entire species).

Enjoy, my first attempt at Eldar clothing. I’m still at the fumbling around stage, but I’m doing prep work for a very detailed watercolor piece I’m planning on doing down the line and wanted to get an idea of what kind of clothing Isha would maybe be wearing prior becoming Nurgle’s fancy guinea pig. I might try another couple designs, but I like the bones of this one.

Also, that is in fact Isha; I wasn’t finding any canonical design for her so I went a bit wild. The weird texture on her skin is bark. Enjoy her and the itty bitty eldar hanging out in her hands that you can barely see lol.

[lilacstarshine40k]

Pictured: Area Man’s Jackass Neighbor’s Son Breaks In to Steal Favorite Guinea Pig

History’s most ill advised break in continues

I advance my auburn-haired Isha agenda (sorta)