#rawne

[e3n-ethan]

Why does every scene between Rawne and Gaunt read like it’s literally from fanfic

[paintnpending]

“I am an Imperial Commissar. I will enflame the weak, support the wavering and guide the lost. I will be all things to all men who need me. But I will also punish without hesitation the incompetent, the cowardly and the treasonous.”  - Col. Commisar Ibram Gaunt, Necropolis

Finally wrapped up the Ghosts. I’ve been a big fan of these books for a while, and I was overjoyed when they got an official mini kit. The camo pattern on their iconic cloaks was particularly intimidating, and visibly evolved over the course of the painting sessions. Freehanding the tattoos on the Tanith men was particularly fun, and I do so love the mini for Scout Sergeant Mkoll.

[maple-clef]

what we leave behind

For @lookashiny, who requested Rawne, Feygor and a slice of life/downtime snippet. Hopefully it should be evident, but this is immediately pre-Gereon...

----

He surveyed the objects on his bunk dispassionately.

They weren’t much, as wordly possessions go. Just some things he’d carried with him. Certainly nothing of monetary worth. A piece of stone, taken from the walls of Tanith Attica. A battered data-slate loaded with mediocre pornography, won from Brostin in a game of cards. The tiny larisel, carved from nalwood, that his sister’s brat had given him before he’d left for the founding fields. A small bottle of sacra – not Bragg’s moonshine, but the proper stuff, from the old world.

Perhaps that was worth something. He’d found it stuffed at the bottom of his pack, quite recently; had almost drunk it straight away, except that it had seemed to demand a special occasion.

How sentimental. Feygor felt his lips curl into a sneer. It was entirely reflexive, and he knew the habit didn’t endear him to most of his regimental colleagues, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He didn’t hear someone enter the room so much as feel it. The air currents, perhaps, or a slight deadening in the sounds that came from further along the passageway, where the Verghastites were having some sort of loud gathering. There was a lot of laughter.

‘You packed?’ said the newcomer.

Rawne leaned in the hatchway, arms folded. To most observers, Feygor imagined, the major might seem his usual cool, inscrutable self, exuding the feth-you attitude he was known for. But Murt Feygor, who had known Elim Rawne for longer than most, didn’t miss the tension in his posture. And the simple fact of his being here was even more telling. This wasn’t a superior checking up on a soldier. Rawne knew full well that Feygor could pack up and be ready to ship out without anyone holding his fething hand. What this was, Feygor didn’t want to examine too closely, because it was probably along the same lines of what had him wringing his hands over a pile of rubbish.

Couldn’t afford the distraction of sentiment where they were going, that was for certain. He shook himself, trying to shuck off the feeling, like a wet dog ridding its coat of water.

‘As good as,’ he finally replied.

Rawne nodded and peeled himself away from the hatch to stalk around the small cabin that Feygor shared with Meryn, Brostin and Larks. The sniper’s kit bag was ready to go, sitting on Larkin’s bunk while he circulated the regiment, saying his goodbyes. Rawne reached Feygor’s bed, sat down, and eyed the items laid out on the blanket next to him.

‘What’re you doing with those?’

Feygor shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Can’t really take them where we’re going. Not worth much, either. Was going to sling them.’

Rawne picked up the tiny carved larisel, but didn’t reply, just turned it in his fingers, frowning. Lost in thought.

‘You know much about this place we’re off to, then?’ asked Feygor, suddenly unnerved by the silence.

‘Nothing beyond what Gaunt told us all in the briefing,’ said Rawne, finally meeting his eyes. ‘You know as much as I do, and that’s the truth of it.’

‘It’s going to be a shitshow of a mission, isn’t it?’

‘Is there any other kind?’ Rawne grinned. It wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes, and it didn’t last very long. He tossed the larisel at Feygor, who caught it by reflex. ‘This won’t take up much room.’

Feygor raised an eyebrow.

‘Call it a good luck charm.’ Rawne sighed. ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna need all the luck we can fething well get.’

‘Now now,’ said Feygor, his mechanical voicebox rendering the words in a drone that rang as sardonically as intended. ‘The Emperor protects…’

‘Not on Gereon, He doesn’t.’

Feygor sat down on the bunk next to Rawne. ‘Well, in that case…’

He reached for the sacra.

[decbes]

[C] Wolfie's Main's Stream pic for https://www.furaffinity.net/user/Wolf-ram!!! take your pick! Art Duo: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/MXXXIII (director) and https://www.furaffinity.net/user/kittydee (artist)!

[wolffyluna]

Elim Rawne, rocking the stupid-sexy-murderous-snake look.

Just a quick little practice thing based off a pencil sketch, to get back in the swing of digitial art.

@lookashiny, @the-fluffy-underbelly

[shadesmaclean]

Tradewinds 17 CH 08

When Sebastian woke him up at this hour, Max could only think of how surprised he was that he even fell asleep at all, given the circumstances. When the butler looked so alarmed and spoke so urgently, it jarred him several more notches awake. The mere mention of the name Freedan was enough to make him double-check that he still had his backup laser sword before stepping out for this late night audience. Then he followed Sebastian downstairs. Under other circumstances, the Great Hall would have been a most impressive sight. Stairs connecting three levels of walkways under a vaulted ceiling, hung with tapestries and various adornments. All of it carved and tiled in the same red-orange stone as the rest of Alta, only more polished and ornate and intricate than anything Max had ever seen. Right now, though, he didn’t have time to fully appreciate it, given the imposing company he currently entertained. Nearly a dozen of Rawne’s men ranged around the cavernous chamber, but it was the two figures standing in the center beckoning to him. Aden Rawne he had seen before, but the smaller man, who fit Sebastian’s descriptions to the letter, could only be one person. No taller than Justin, and slight in build, wearing an expensive suit, leaning idly on a cane with a heavy silver knob. Blond hair spiked in a distinctly Outland style for this realm, face looking decidedly younger than his thirty-odd years. As Max drew nearer, he made out ice blue eyes that matched his arrogant expression, which made no secret of his reputed intellect and cunning. “Ah, young Max,” Freedan greeted him, his tone sibilant and condescending in spite of his friendly words, “it is good to see you safely home. I hear you had quite an adventure yesterday. You really mustn’t run off like that with your father still missing.” “Is this really all you came here to say?” Sebastian asked. “Could this not wait until morning? In this crisis, the Young Master should really be getting his rest.” “It already is morning,” Freedan told him curtly. “Then again, perhaps someone who lacks the will to put in long hours isn’t cut out to run a company. Why don’t you go back upstairs and make yourself useful? Go dust some vases or something. The Young Master and I have some important matters to discuss.” For a long moment, Sebastian looked like he had a thing or two to say about that, but then he turned, nodding to Max with thinly-veiled worry, then plodded back up the steps. “We know this has been trying for you,” Freedan continued, though Max could clearly hear more condescension than concern in that voice, “but there is something very important we need to talk to you about.” “We’ve been hearing some strange rumors on the street,” Rawne informed him. “It would seem that, not long after we brought you home—” “Captured me,” Max corrected him. “—for your own good,” Rawne resumed, “I heard that a young man matching your description stole an ancient sword from the Market Quarter.” “Why would I steal a sword?” Max shot back, bristling at the accusation. “You stole mine!” “The question is really more along the lines of how,” Rawne replied, completely ignoring Max’s outrage as he reached into a flap in his duster, “since you never made it that far.” Producing Max’s laser sword and firing it up. “Where did you get this?” Freedan demanded. “We know you stole a sword, but not this one.” It took an effort of will for Max to refrain from drawing his concealed spare, with his father’s blade held right before him, reminding himself to wait until he could find a better opportunity. “Who does this belong to?” Freedan pressed. “I doubt Ma’Quiver gave it to you,” Rawne added, increasingly certain there was something different about him. Knew Maximilian had learned a few moves from that fellow he insisted on taking in after the quake, but what he experienced yesterday was more intense than any fight the boy had put up before. Rawne could tell, even while he was still injured, that Ma’Quiver was a warrior of exceptional skill. At first, he and Freedan were worried the boy might go and do something troublesome, like take him on as a bodyguard, but it seemed the itinerant swordsman had some unfinished business elsewhere out there. Still, he was the only person Rawne had ever seen in these parts with an energy blade, so it was hard to dismiss the connection. “It…” Max almost said belonged to my father, but instead, recalling Sebastian’s account of Ma’Quiver’s stay, tried, “It’s a friend’s…” “You’re a terrible liar, Maximilian…” Freedan shook his head. “You really must face reality. We’re doing everything we can to find your father—” “Have you tried searching the ruins?” “Now, now, we’ve been through this…” “If you won’t,” Max countered, “then maybe I should.” “We can’t allow that,” Freedan declared, tapping his cane for emphasis. “Don’t you get it?” Rawne extinguished the energy blade. “If he went down into the Undercity, then your father ain’t comin’ back, kid…” Rawne stopped short at Max’s conviction. At something ablaze in that kid’s eyes he had never seen before, and he didn’t like it. Every exchange only served to reinforce that sense that he was dealing with a completely different person. “I don’t care what it takes…” Max muttered, fists clenched against his own memories, “If there’s any chance his father is still alive, he won’t end up…” Then trailed off, seeing the gleam in Freedan’s eyes. “What did you just say?” Grinning viciously. “His father? You really aren’t Maximilian Vandenberg, are you?” “I mean…” Max stammered, already realizing his mistake, too late. “Could it be?” Rawne cocked his head. “Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one, no matter how preposterous it may sound,” Freedan mused, the very face of satisfaction. “I didn’t know the boy was clever enough to find a body double…” “What are you talking about?” Max demanded, not sure where Freedan was going with this, even less sure that he would like it. “It’s no use trying to hide it anymore,” said Freedan. “You’re the spittin’ image of that boy,” Rawne remarked. “You must’ve switched places before I caught up with you…” “Now tell me, who are you really?” Freedan asked. “I don’t know where he found you, or what he offered you, but I hold the purse-strings around here. One way or another, this company will belong to me, but if someone like you were to cooperate, we would both stand to profit.” “Freedan…” Rawne paused, trying to figure out how to tell his employer a little something he had learned along the way as a mercenary: that some folks just aren’t moved by money, and he was already quite certain this young man was one of those folks. Sure enough, Max answered: “No deal. I won’t help you steal this man’s home.” “Don’t be rash,” Freedan warned him. “It’s really your only choice. You could never convince the others you’re the real Maximilian. You’re clinging to a sinking ship…” Max stepped back, already resigned to the fact that this was going to come to blows, concluding that taking Rawne out first was his only chance of getting out of here alive. “He’s not going to join us,” Rawne said darkly, “which means he’s just a loose end.” From his crouched perch up on the balcony, Maximilian watched and listened as this total stranger defended his home. Even from here, he could see the righteous outrage in this Max’s eyes, and knew this was the look of a true warrior. It reminded him so much of Ma’Quiver that he couldn’t help but feel ashamed of hiding. “You’re going to tell us where Maximilian went,” Freedan continued to threaten him, “even if we have to beat it out of you.” “Wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew.” Max’s tone flatter than Bandit’s ears when his hackles were up. “This is your last chance.” Rawne stepped forward. “Where is Max—” “I’m right here!” All eyes turned to Maximilian as he stood up on the balcony above them.