As the Astartes stepped away, Vanilus remained, waiting until the heart was devoured, not being too fond of such ritual. "Now that my current project is finished, do you wish for something specific? Also I have noticed among the other cultists that we basically have all we need, but it seems our vehicles could need a bit more maintenance. I heard a few drivers the other day complaining. Maintenance should be equal between Astartes and Cultist equipment, milord. Just as intel." He bowed deeply. Between the Chaos-Lord and Head-Cultist of Artisans it was obvious his position were not just to make pretty things, but also to serve as connection between the lower and the higher ranks of the warhost.
OOC: No idea but I hear Tzeentch in the distance saying 'just as planned' XD also made a post, just in case you missed it due to your own! ^^
Name: Nero The Flayed Angel Class: Chaos Raptor Rank: Champion of Chaos Standard Loadout Lightning Claw with digited talons"Ccer'Ablae'Dhan" Widowmaker class Boltpistol A wickedly serrated combat knife Various Grenades and Combat stims Physical Description Nero is taller than a normal Astartes due to his digitigrade legs with vicious talons ending in golden points. He wears the black and gold armor of a Legionnaire, but adorned with baroque marks dedicated to Slaanesh and vox grills, with an unusual and lavishing visual cacophony of colors laid upon it, clearly marking out that he is one of the Children of Torment. Where ornamentation and splendor end, begin stretched canvases of skin, human and xenos alike. Some clearly faces, others unfamiliar in orientation. His head laid bare has six razor sharp "blades" that jut from his cranium. His face is is a mishmash of pain and art, golden chains weave in and out of the flesh, creating unknowable designs. The helmet he wears resembles that of a daemonic bird of prey, with a jagged toothed maw ready to unhinge and scream pleasures of the warp at all below him. His jump pack, holds mechanical "wings" draped in more flesh, and is the single turbine design of a newer Assault Class Loyalist. Notable Characteristics: He is as arrogant and ruthless as many of his brothers tend to be, although holds a soft spot for the lesser mortals. Something left over from his previous life, they will be shown the light caress of Slaanesh, one way or another. He has a near insatiable thirst for blood. Nero is formerly one of the Flesh Tearers Legion, and has inherited the Red Thirst from the Blood Angel's geneseed. Through Slaanesh he has been able to master his thirst and at the end of battles has been known to drain the blood of the more powerful enemies he has slain. He believes that through their blood he grows in power. It is through this belief that despite being relatively young compared to his new found kin he has moved through the ranks to his current position of power. Nero regards both fear and flesh to be an art form and is always moving to prefect these. ======================================================================================================= There was blood in the air, genetically pure, pristine, fresh. Nero could smell it from the other side of the ship, he licked his lips in anticipation, even from just the sent in the air he could taste it. It was powerful and filled him with lust. His hulking form stalked the halls of the gorgeously ornate ship. Slaves shuffled to and fro, occasionally shrieking and scuttling out of his was as he moved through them with purpose. He was armored, but without his jump pack, it would serve him no loyalty in these cramped quarters. It hung upon a wall, the fleshy membrane of its wings wafting in the breeze of his domicile within the ship. The long curved talons of his arm quivered as his moved, clenching and unclenching, they were clean for now, but how he longed to soil them. Eventually he found his way to the dining hall where all of the others were meeting. The bag. Sigvald, the host of this warship had splotches of blood on his mouth, just having finished whatever was inside. Disappointment. It sent a cold message down his spines, to his core. There was nothing now. His eyes darted between all that were in the room, it didn't seem there were many here, although the long table was dressed to entertain hundreds it seemed. Sigvald has spared no expense, it seems. There were exotic foods, things even he had never seen before, but nothing held as an appealing lure to it as the blood upon his lips. Nero took a moment, and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply the varied exotic fumes of the room into his body, composing himself. Now is not the time, to look weak. Upon opening his eyes he finally turned his full attention to Sigvald, and bowed just enough to be polite, and removed his helmet. "Sigvald, how gracious of you to invite us here to this feast. I can only hope that Arkhona supplies a fraction of the delicacies you offer up on this table tonight."
Sigvald paused a moment, glancing at Vanilus again. He thought over the artists words for a moment, before slowly nodded "....I agree, I do not wish to casually throw lives away. While the Mechanicus may disagree, it was just as I stated....cultists are the backbone of the Warhost, I want those fixed as soon as possible. As for anything specific? Hrm....hard to say really, perhaps I...or someone else...could think of a good project with time."
"Nero! It's always good to see you, make yourself at home." Sigvald smiled broadly now "And if luck holds....it will, I plan to reap a bounty of flesh and blood from the planet, and every indication tells me that there will be much on offer. This gentleman here...." he motioned to Vanilus "Has given me quite the gift today, try not to skin him...if you can help it."
"I shall remove myself if it aids your stability, Lord Astartes." He said to the both of them, bowing deep in respect to the newcomer, apparently going by the name 'Nero'. Unsure if dismissed or not, the Cultist remained standing, but even on his two legs he was smaller than the two sitting demi-gods in front of him.
Nero looks to the mortal hanging close to Sigvald and nods. "While I'm sure his skin would look well upon me, I'm sure it would be ill fitting an end to a fellow artist." He moves to sit down at the table searching for a spot with as many options as could be afforded to it. After finding one he began to indulge himself. If he wouldn't have the blood, he would have whatever Sigvald could offer instead. His massive talons rest on the table while his other hand worked food. He looked at the cultist as it spoke. "I shall remove myself if it aids your stability, Lord Astartes." Laughing shortly, a sound that came out more like a dog's bark than a laugh he shook his head. "No need to worry little man. You're in fine hands here." He tapped his claws on the table. "Tell me, what is your name. A mortal brave enough to hold his own with words in our presence with his spine upright and head up high is an interesting creature indeed." ((Time to go shovel the stupid amount of snow blocking my car. I'll be back later.))
"Vanilus, leader of my own Cultist cell, within the warband of Sigvald, also Master Sculptor." He replied in a casual tone. "I may have not such an exquisite physical form as you, but for that I have smaller hands, which allow more detailed work." He said with a sly grin, noticing the huge talon. Everyone strives for another perfection, the Astartes, as he was used to, usually wanted power, and who could deny such wish? They lived forever, they had all time in the universe to rise to power, whereas he as mere mortal had to make every hour count. Drugs kept him running through the night, minimal food and beverage alive. Were it not for his robes, everyone would be able to see how hungered, weak and frail his body was. Just his face and hands seemed to remain untouched, as those were the instruments of his worship.
Wanted to use this character for awhile now kinda kept the same style as the Iron Warrior RP. Name -- Aradax "The Burning Whip" Class -- Champion of Chaos Rank -- Pirate Prince of the Renegades " The Burning hate" Standard Loadout: *Night Reaper Combat Knife * HotShot Las-Pistol * Ironfang Chainsword * Frag Grenades and Krak Grenades * Skull (Tactical) Helmet * Carapace armor/Refractor field *Gaze of Slaanesh and Combat Drugs Unique Wargear Attributes: * His Carapace armor(From top to bottom) has on the back: Small clean Oxygen supply tank, Refractor field device, Combat Drug Injectors, and a small power supply unit. *At first glance his dark chest was gold, having half of a 8 pointed star in the top left corner, it looked similar to a Cuirass and there were skulls shaped shoulder guards. Under Cuirass and shoulder guards are Combat Fatigues, looking very similar to the Vraskian Renegades. Any Veteran of the war would notice. * A more experienced eye would noticed the armor under his uniform, seeing it take shape when he would move. They could also notice the his equipment on his back when his cape settles. * The Skull Helmet is equipped with a rebreather(linked to the Oxygen supply tank), photo-visor, micro-bead, vox caster, and internal auspex unit. * Burned and worn brown cape covers most of his back all the way to his knee joints. It holds the mark of Slaanesh *The power supply supplies power to the: Armor and helm, Las-pistol, Chainsword, and Refractor. Able to keep all systems can operate 100% for several days * He Receives the Combat Drugs and the Gaze gifts from Slaanesh . Physical Description: Aradax figure has been tainted by the power of Chaos. Skin like hide, grey and scarred from long years of siege combat. He stands taller than most men. His hair is always short and squared away, his eyes are sunken in with bags around them, and his nose is slightly bent to the left from multiple times breaking. His armor and weapons are always kept clean, something not all his fellow Pirates share. This makes him usually stand out in larger crowds, but it also reminds most who he is and his position. Notable Characteristics: History on his Pirate army will be explained more in the RP Aradax devotion to Slaanesh had give him odd qualities not found in most Pirate leaders, but not many humans become champions. He has a dark sense of humor, very rarely does he take anything too serious. He has a fixation to keep all of his equipment at 100% and cleaned until he can feel the greatest pleasure to him. Battle. Aradax lives just to experience another orgasmic drug-fueled state of hyper-sensuality on the battle field. His combat abilities has earn him a place as a Warmaster. He does not care for the lives of the solders that fall at his side. The thrill of battle is all he thinks about, even going so far as to delay victory so he may continue his drug induced rampage. Aradax hopes for a slow, long death so he may experience the immense pleasure, both dealing it out to others and in the end, undergoing it himself, a final moment of orgasmic pleasure. ------------------------------------------------ Aradax was stunned by what he saw. The dining room was everything he thought, and more. As he entered the room two Human Guards approached him, they immediately saw his coat and Armour and quickly backed away as he gazed at them. His "elite" guard also walked with him making his party a total of 3 humans. Not slaves, Janissaries,or Hereteks they were leaders. A rare breed in a position composed mostly of traitor marines. The two men that accompanied him were two Veteran soldiers. One held dual Bolt pistols the other carried a Power Fist and Plasma pistol, they wore a similar outfit to Aradax's. Aradax had his Chainsword on his lower back,his Las-Pistol on his right hip, and his helmet on his left hip. The whole squad was combat ready. He saw three armored giants and a single human in a robe at a table directly in front of him. Relieved about not being the only one to don his battle armor, he made his way to them. Aradax's pistol slapping against his right hip as it's holster loosely sagging off his belt and his Party following in a tight formation. He approached the Demigods. "Who's is the Astarte named, Sigvald?" said Aradax firmly. His right hand at his waist, only inches from the holster and his other hand at his back ready to use pull the chain weapon's throttle. Looking around the room for any opposition, but only seeing the loose cables and tubes coming from his Armor.
