Jump to content

++ From the Abyss - A Word Bearers Log ++

Noctus Cornix

By Noctus Cornix
in + WORKS IN PROGRESS +

 Share

Recommended Posts

Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
  • Author
Posted

A small teaser of what's to come following my first Vow's completion

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140514_002951_zps1bdc3825.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140514_003004_zpsbc335fef.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140514_003015_zps8ea8d635.jpg

 

Enjoy.
Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
  • Author
Posted

First Bloodletter squad complete. Going to probably paint a Soul Grinder next or the Daemon Prince to give me some variety.

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140516_165916_zps0ba07d1e.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140516_170057_zpsbfc504d4.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140516_170133_zps8a64d4cf.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140516_170113_zps058273b2.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140516_170205_zps187fd9f8.jpg

 

Enjoy.
Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
  • Author
Posted (edited)

To think that a garden could be a charnel house.

The Lord Regent’s spire, the home of House Pinacus for over eighty nine generations, had once been thought of as the very center of culture within the Sub-Sector, its reliquary halls and galleries dwarfing that of any museum or collector’s horde. In a time long past there was saying that “Past was the doorway to the future and only History was the key.” To the forefathers of House Pinacus who stood as loyal vassals to the God Emperor before he took the Immortal throne, this was to mean everything, and since the day they took their oath, it had been their sacred charge to protect the history of Mankind with their very lives. Not a meter of their hold was without ancient stasis field encased tapestries and sealed remnants of Lords and Saints long past. Yet nothing was to match the Atrium of Agaroth, a balcony stretched out just above the rolling sea of clouds. In that expanse of marble and silver lay the most exquisite of flora, flowers and vegetation from over 200 planets in harmony with ancient and well-kept statues of saints and heroes the people of the Imperium had long forgotten. Few things could match its grandeur.

The water of the central fountain was stained with crimson, a murky pool of sputtering blood where the bodies of the Royal Guards now lay in their dismemberment, their cerulean robes soaked in their own tainted life fluids. Limbs and organs littered the marble floor, painting the once spotless surface with entrails and gore. And yet not a sound was made in that newly forged abattoir, not a sound in that dark moonlight night save ceaseless work of the fountain and the ragged breathing of a single woman.

Young Edwin was not the first of her bloodline, the third child of her Father’s and yet of course as it was for most all noble houses, the rights of lineage would go to the first, and she would not see a damn thronegelt for her troubles. One gets used to the life of uselessness, and most often it would see the birth of usurpers, but not for dear Edwin. No for the girl had chosen a path of luxury and drown herself in liquor and pleasure houses to waste her days away and forget that she would never be Lord of her household or worse, married off to some fat sod on a backwater planet. Oh but now was not the time to waste away on such murky pasts. After all, to her knowledge Edwin might be the last of her kind, and she bloody well wished she had paid more attention to her combat lessons.

“Throne help me….” She muttered the curse under her breath, trying to keep her breath controlled as she fumbled down with the dueling las pistol in her hand. Powerful and brutal weapons made to make a clean shot and stop any snarky noble ponse but hardly the tools meant for defending oneself. Peering down she recounted her armaments, the freshly reloaded pistol with three more strapped by a bandolier over her breasts and her family’s saber at her side. Fat lot that would do, the thought surfaced in her mind, seeing how the weapons of the house guard had done nothing to stop…. Whatever that thing was. She had never seen it with her own eyes, only shifting blurs of that massive winged creature that moved with such speed and one that seemed to shatter mirrors and lumen-strips at its very wake. Nothing had stopped it, not the guards, not her father, nor her eldest sister.

Still suffering the lingering sway of her hangover, she careened her head slowly from around the column she lay behind, glancing across the stillness of the atrium and the ruination of all her protectors and family. Edwin had seen her fair share of blood before, but this… She forced herself not to heave, trying to make sense of the sight as she scanned for any sign of that creature. There was no sign of it though, despite how immense she had believed to be, noting only that seemingly despite the carnage that it had wrought, not a single speck of blood had touched the flowers. It even offered a grim sneer across her pretty features, how gracious of the God Emperor to lend his protection to those in most need…

But then she caught it from the very corner of her eye, something shifting in the darkness only illuminated by the dull light of the three moons that shown overhead. There, in that lunar grace, a statue moved, or at first she might have believed it to be. It was born upon incredibly lithe limbs, a twisting jerking creature of marble skin and twisted form. It was like some perverted mimicry of the ancient angelic creatures seen in the Cathoric tapestries of old or even that of the Sanguine Saint, rightful son of the Emperor himself… But this thing… It was far from that, an outcry, an abomination.

Its face was shifting constantly, jerking with unnatural speed yet jerkish as it shifted from one position for a second and then to another. But there was no face upon that tusked head, its features seemingly kept smooth and barren like an unfinished sculpture. It was latched upon the grand of Saint Macharius who unified half the Imperium of ancient past, long metal blades taking the place where hands should be with some form of thick blackish ichor oozing from the malformed growth of marble flesh where the stumps and blades had conjoined. Those same blades slowly scraped along the Saint’s features, sheering off the marble work one facet at a time like layers of paint to be peeled away. Droplets of that black ichor dripped onto the statue and the marble below, hissing as they seemed to burn and eat away at the valuable stone.

The sight of it alone was enough to make her sick to her stomach, not that the pile of corpses and blood wasn’t helping, but there was something else. Her eyes began to ache, a throbbing in the back of her skull with each moment she looked at it and that strange symbol that swayed on the chain of its toga. She felt lightheaded, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. Something was clawing at her mind, tearing at the layers of her consciousness until she could here whispers, softly then screaming inside her head yet still she could make nothing of the words. It was wrong. It was all wrong. It had to be redone. It had to be beautiful. It had to be cut open and splayed so it could be put back together… Her mind was torn back into reality as she heard the clattering of her dueling pistol fall to the floor, the whispers suddenly ceased to bring silence once more, and she saw that the faceless creature was now looking directly at her with its eyeless gaze.

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140518_204047_zps49614972.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140518_204103_zpsf15ce62a.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140518_204121_zps92b54322.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140518_204134_zps96eceb20.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140518_204202_zps7501b116.jpg

 

Imperfect Grace

 

The lines between Spawndom and Apotheosis for the Dark Prince of Chaos is a blurred thing, for no being of the flesh or the immaterial are as fickle as he. He takes and he gives in equal measure, but the Lord of vanity is a jealous thing and no gift is ever without a price. Yet the name of 'Slaanesh' that is spoken with awe, reverence, and fear is but a new face given form to a being that has always existed since time immemorial, a primal hunger that has faced all sentient creatures of the galaxy. Once, in an ancient and distant time long before the Dark Ages of Technology, there was an artist, a man who had given himself to the abstract beauty of the brush and the chisel. Yet such men are tortured souls, and this one was no different. He was driven by dementia, his art fueled by his own pain and self-loathing, allowing each imaginary monster to be expressed in his art with such exquisite grace. Yet for all his brilliance he was ostracized, driven from his own people and only led him down further into his descent of madness. Alcohol, drugs, self-deprecation, self-mutilation; none of it would ease his pain and in the end he would take his own life, long before his works would ever been appreciated and remembered across centuries as one of the greatest artist known to  his species. Yet what a pity for that poor man, for the daemons of his nightmares that whispered in his ears, perhaps people should have listened and maybe his soul would have been saved...

 

But these are just stories, a tale told like any other and nothing more than a myth. All that is to speak of is the creature known as the Imperfect Grace, a being of monochrone, skin of marble only given color by the trinkets it adorns itself in and the scything blades jammed into the stumps where its hands should have been. Though by rights of power, the creature of origins unknown  might be that of even a Daemon Prince, but such a stuttering and lost animal has no will, no mind left to call its own to the point where it might as well be called a Spawn. It is driven only by some emptiness, perhaps a knowledge of its own imperfection, half-made by a God who grew too bored to finish his work, or perhaps it is lingering with some fractured hope that it will one day end the tormenting voices that swirled inside its head, the he might one day find true perfection and piece... That he might complete his unfinished canvas.

Edited by noctus cornix
Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
  • Author
Posted

Wow. Thanks, guys. Glad to see its being well received. :D

 

 

That thing is legitimately terrifying! You have nailed the devinly beautiful/sick abomination essence of Slaanesh 'perfectly'; well done indeed.

 

Great read too :smile.:

 

Coming from the man who's Flesh Terrors that inspire me, I can only take that as a compliment. Really glad the faceless aspect was able to pull off what I wanted to express.

 

 

Lovely. Really like how the blades look.

 

Appreciated words, from one of our local Slaaneshi experts. :P

 

 

Are you referencing Vincent van Gogh, perchance?

 

Lordy that thing is disturbing. Bravo!

 

I am. Him or someone very similar. I adore Gogh's work, so how could I not pay homage to the beautiful tortured soul?

 

 

Great mini and great story to go with it. /clap

 

Thanks man!

 

 

nice.  i think i like best the fact that its a different take on a daemon in general.  i like the name for it too

 

Appreciated, man. Honestly that's just sort of something I'm trying to do with all of my Daemon armies. After having poured of Liber Chaotica over and over and over again, I just can't simply accept the Warp as being such a black and white cookie cutter outlook that GW standard often paints. The warp is made of human emotion, for better or worse, so who am I to deny that human aspect?

Brother Ambroz Venerable Brother

Brother Ambroz

Posted
Posted

Hey mate just popping on to say I am thoroughly impressed with this daemon prince. He's very original (well except for the capt morgan pose but that pose is always great so I forgive you there) and very well put together. Love every bit of this fella, well done.

Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
  • Author
Posted

Hey mate just popping on to say I am thoroughly impressed with this daemon prince. He's very original (well except for the capt morgan pose but that pose is always great so I forgive you there) and very well put together. Love every bit of this fella, well done.

 

Didn't you hear? Standing on a small piece of slightly higher rock with one foot is all the rage these days. :D

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
 Share
Go to topic listing

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.

  I accept