#wh40k

[neonjawbone]

scribbles between work things. perturabo on the brain.

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #perturabo #doodles #fanart

[yestheantichrist]

happy birthday Horus Heresy Series. you can legally drink now

#wh40k #wh40k memes #warhammer #warhammer 40k #horus heresy

[vetusvulpes]

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #wh40k #rogue trader art #rogue trader crpg #heinrix van calox #imperial knight

[kitto-paint]

#skitarii #admech #wh40k #kitto paint #adeptus mechanicus #sicarian #skitarii ranger

[jet-teeth]

BRIBERY.

#OC:Peaches #Wh40k #chaos space marines #daemon engine #biomechanical #maulerfiend #shenanigans #daemon engines are just big pubby if you are not a coward #Jet art

[solemnace-galleries]

Adeptus Custodes by @mossacannibalism

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #imperium #adeptus custodes

[nictanova]

Chemist mechanicus Locusta-XV

#warhamer 40000 #wh40k #wh40k art #warhammer #adeptus mechanicus #techpriest #nictanova #artists on tumblr

[sefusneezed]

They go to a paradise world for the beach filler episode to look at slugs under the rocks in the jungle

#oc #original character #myart #warhammer40k #admech #wh40k #adeptus mechanicus #magos biologis #katrumarius #lyrane #webcomic #ineptus mechanicus #beach episode #she will fall for all the tourist traps too

[plasmometer]

murderhobos with matching outfits

#plasmdraws #louise von valancius #art #warhammer 40k #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k art #chaos cultists #calligos winterscale #wh40k rogue trader #rogue trader #von valancius #warhammer 40k rogue trader #warhammer rogue trader #rogue trader crpg

[avggendelmain]

Konrad Curze experiences remorse

#blood cw #cw blood #konrad curze #night lords #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #wh40k fanart #wh40k art #wh40k #fanart #digital art #my art #art #artists on tumblr

[sorormaior]

we dont clown on nostramans enough for how dork ass of a name night haunter is. i guess it’s fine if it’s like. a translation? of nostraman? but like… it’s such a mouthful. night haunter is the bad guy from a kids tv show about dreams and nightmares.

doing a fun little thing where since they’re vaguely? romanian inspired (or at least are by the fandom) i stuck night haunter into google translate (forgive me, i don’t have a romanian to hand) and got bântuitor de noapte. you could do something with that! you could even go through russian or just like, a hodgepodge of langauges. Nyxjaeger? nochstalker?? literally anything else.

i just think the name sucks Real Bad

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #konrad curze #night lords

[front-line-head-line]

Thought of the Day: To die without purpose is not a service.

#Warhammer #Warhammer 40K #WH40K #Dark Angels #Merir Astelan #Fallen Angels

[transmechanicus]

Oh boy more points drops for Admech, i love fielding an entire macroclade and spending $2000 dollars to play a 2000 point game TAT

#my stuff #i only played one game this edition with the index and Struggled and i know the codex isn't much better #but more points drops are not the solutionnnnn it just means i have to buy more models!!!!! #wh40k #warhammer 40k

[eleooooooo]

High effort shitpost for a video I’m working on

#my art #wh40k #orikan the diviner #necrons #wh40k meme

[ladymirdan]

I think it's funny that Mat Ward gets shit for jerking off the Ultramarines too much in the 5:th edition codex when he doesn't even play Ultramarines.

And then McNeill (avid Ultramarine enjoyer) wrote the 4:th edition codex like this and no one fucking cares.

It is almost as if people dont know the blueberries always have been front and center 🤔

(yes, this goes on for *checks* 79 pages)

#40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer #ultramarines #space marines #wh40k #oldhammer

[sculptorofcrimson]

Without Him

The Custodes, the perfect and the golden, aren’t they just beautiful? 

Aren’t they just a horrifying, broken concept to hyperfixate on?

Brought to life by the breathe of a half-god, created for nothing but the weight of your duty and knowing nothing but adoration for the Emperor, feeling nothing but overwhelming obedience when you gaze upon Him, and nothing but lasting emptiness when you gaze inside. He walks among you, He orders and commands and you obey, all is well, all is as it should you, with the servants plodding along the Master’s orders. Obeying His every whims, all is well, all is right. 

You are perfect. You are golden. You are glorious and you are hollow and you are filled with nothing but the shadow of His glory. The truth lies as barren as snowbeaten rock. He hollowed you out, and now He shall breathe life into your senseless corpse. What are you? What are you but the dregs of His dream? What are you without His last dying gasp rattling through your bones? 

Do you even have a will? Are you even human anymore - less- are you even living, when life itself has been drained of all honor? What are you, when you can’t even dream for yourself? What have you for ambition, when you cannot even fathom a dream? 

And the bite of betrayal. The cracklings of heresy. You are broken. You are hollow. You are imperfect. You have failed. The truth lies as barren as flesh flayed bone. The first, unhidden, beautiful, horrifying breath of freedom, the first tears to fall as you screamed for a dead master. As He fell, as you failed, as He died. The first breaking of the cycle. A servant without a master, a perfect creation out of tune, with its core snapped out, its tubes cracked, its broken machinery on display. The Throne is hollow now. The Palace is empty. The Master’s house has been broken by the Master’s tools. 

You have failed. You have failed Him. You have forsaken your duty. 

You have broken your oaths.

What does it feel like, to dream? To dream in the shadow of obedience? To dream as the Thunder Legionnes Primarch dreamed so long ago, to dream as the High Lord dreamt so long ago, to dream as the Astartes once dreamt before you snuffed them out? What does it even feel like, to hurt, to pain, to suffer for anyone else? What does it even feel like to mourn, captain-general? Can you even remember?

The truth lies as hollow as your king’s decaying bones. How fragile. How despicable. Decaying. Covered in dust. Ruined. Broken and abused. Would you wish to dream? Do you wish to embrace what it feels like to be flawed again, to know how to live, if even it was for a moment, in a flare of agony from death to death, siphoning and leeching scant moments of humanity from the haft of the Apollonian Spear as you taste the lie seeping out of broken limbs? Feeling the last sediments of agony, of sensation, slipping through a sinking mind mired in ash, seeing the moments of another worthless man’s life flash through your hollow mind, filling you with memories that were never yours and could never be, watching what have been robbed, stolen, forever lost to you now? And just what perversion of a dream is that, Constantin Valdor? 

Would you have taken the bargain, if you had know the price?

Do you even care anymore? 

Damned together now. Damned together in failure. You failed Him, and He died. He died, and you failed. You left Him behind when He fell and you didn’t, when you failed to trade your life for His as any loyal servant should have. In that, you were broken, and He abandoned you when He died ten thousand years ago. The grieving remnants of your Order was left behind, their silence as fragile as a wailing beast’s grovellings, and you left them. Those servants, who were made to love Him, who never knew if He loved them back yet ached for it. The oldest bond between Master and Slave, now broken. 

(Is there forgiveness? Can there ever be atonement for the crime of your failure?)

Do you ever wonder anymore, in the absence of His light? Do you ever, tentatively at first, retracing memories He wiped out, a mind too ravaged to even pain exploring a past He burned to oblivion, wondering what you were, wondering what you could’ve been. Reliving memories with perfect recall yet broken understanding, those conversations with the Cataegis, the screams in the frost, the simple horror of the betrayal. Do you resent them, for being what you could not? For having what you, and your brethren, in all their perfection, could never achieve? Did you even have the privilege of knowing resentment?

Do you hate them for being better at living, at being human, instead of eking out an existence without substance, an immortality without life? Do you hate the way they looked up in reverence, do you loathe their conviction, their justice, the way they trusted so blindly in their own foolish, naive, ignorant, human way, when they loved Him, and felt His wrath? 

The Primarchs you sentenced to death on Ararat. They looked at you with such hollowness burned into their gaze, knowing they’re here to be slain, knowing you’re here to kill them, knowing they - the Judas lamb - had led their troops here to die and be slaughtered. Do you resent them too? Can you know resentment? Some had fought against you. Some had raged, screamed against the dying of the light. One, even, had escaped. But the worst just looked on, with those sickeningly human eyes, in simple, broken and numb horror as their world dissolved, as they cried out for unity and heard the blade fall. Do you resent them too? Do you resent them, for you could never resent what you’ve done, for He would not let you? 

(A tool that loathes its own sacrifice is no tool at all. You may not love the slaughter, but you no longer have the right to hate it. Kill for Him. Kill for Him, it is what good hunting hounds do.)

Do you even regret the bones upon the snow? 

You failed. And the brokenness will never leave.

Do you even know hate anymore? Can you even hate anymore? Has that too been eroded? Do you hate for Him, do you hate what you have accomplished, do you hate the man you could have been but never was? For he could have been a better servant, a better man, a better captain-general, if only He had given him the right to dream? 

You failed. You failed, and now the leash you’ve lived under for so long is broken, the chains are shattered, the Order has crumbled into ruins. They live on, but how could the body do any more than endure when its heart - its mind - has been ruptured, its primal arteries torn away, left with nothing else than to preserve its bones for eternity? 

What of your lost brothers? Do you ever wonder what they could have been, if you had not fetched them from weeping mothers and brought them before your lord to be turned into His tools? Do you regret? Have you ever cared at all?

You are perfect. You are broken. You are the Custodes, and ten thousand years ago you failed. Your brethren failed the Emperor. You were built to serve a god, not until even you die, but until even eternity burns out, until the foundations of civilization crumble, and kings and emperors decay. You were perfect, once, but there was a flaw in His design. He could not have tolerated true perfection, if not for His own. He does not err, He desecrates, as He has desecrated the holy texts when He built His angels. 

You are not perfect. He built you to be flawed. He built you without a dream, without even a mind of your own, without even the will to question or care, without even the hate to ponder and rage against such a cruel existence. He built you without pain, without even loss, with nothing but an eternity of trudging onwards for scraps of His love. 

But what happens now? What happens now when you have failed so utterly in your duty? What happens now when His love is no more, but your obsession no less painful, your existence no less empty? What happens now when the part He ripped away and replaced with Himself is hollowed out again, when nothing is left behind but a gaping wound where a heart once was? What happens now, when the servants no longer have a king?

#wh40k #warhammer 40k #sculptor of crimson #constantin valdor #warhammer #adeptus custodes #wh40k writing prompts #emperor of mankind #thunder warriors