Akamyos - Guardians of the Soul

[Torbenos]

 

 

 

Having recently become more active at my local gaming club where the excitement for 9th edition is quite real I've decided, like so many others, to focus on a new army for a new edition. Due to both my love for sorcery and in the spirit of diversifying the armies among the locals I decided against playing imperial space marines and sought instead the power of the warp.

 

With a generous gift from a friend who hadn't touched a brush for many years now I found myself with a box of rubrics and twenty cultists for a start. All now painted to a degree where I'm not ashamed to put them on the table and the rest needed for a small sized army purchased with the last of my spending money on the way.

 

Inspired by many other excellent blogs and writers on this forum and on youtube who share their narrative I am, oncemore, trying to breathe some creativity into my space wizards beyond painting them.

 

 

Ordo Malleus - Akamyos

 

Akamyos.

 

Interviews with acquired [REDACTED] suggest that it translates from the abominable tongue of the Archenemy into 'Guardians of the Soul', its etymological roots thought to be found in 'Akami' translated as 'Guardian' and 'Phaos', which refuses simple translation into High Gothic but has in the past been deemed equivalent to words such as 'Essence', 'Soul' or 'Will' interchangably.

[Naryn]

Nothing like some more Sons! Looking forward to seeing more, I like that blue and white on the headpiece.

[Torbenos]

 

+++Witness+++

 

For days Autöri had been in silent darkness, he was one of many the dark ones had seized from his world, now locked away into the vaults of their great vessel. It felt like eons had passed in the dark, to Autöri’s gifted sight the darkness had given no solace from the terrors that came with the invaders. The darkness had promised him power, release, light and even death, each catered to a new temptation, probing and trying his psyche, every vision terrible and great.

 

It was on the seventh day that the door opened. He was near death then, lacking sustenance. The dark guardian looked a monster even more so than he remembered, it wasn’t the sight of the giant but the feeling of it. Its soul a flickering and faded thing, unnatural and wrong. It did not speak as it seized him by the arm, nearly breaking bone by that mere touch and guided him down the halls of the vessel.

 

Autöri tried to speak, but his throat was dry and his tongue stiff. Hunger ravished him as he croaked pleading words.

 

“Please.. Food.”

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“What are you?”

 

Each question begot only silence. The giant’s aura, faded as it was, did not even flicker in recognition to his pleas. He could sense other souls around him, other souls which were kept in dark chambers. The glare of their soulfires shining through thick walls.The first sign of life beyond this were the songs, sung in a language unknown to Autöri but beguiling to his ears. The cramped tunnel of steel opened up into a great chamber where dozens of hooded figures held a choir, not a single one turned to regard Autöri as he was forced through their midst.

 

“Help me.” he managed in a strained voice, yet nothing acknowledged the words. He began to wonder if he was even speaking at all, himself.

 

Beyond the singers he was greeted by more obsidian giants, their hellish green eyes regarding him as he approached an ornate dais wrought from white marble and carved with mystic symbols. Their arms, great guns which spewed green fire were held close and pointed out into the chamber. Silent and terrible guardians for the figure who was enthroned behind them.

 

At first Autöri did not see it was a figure at all, the dazzling light of the creature’s soul was too bright. A dominant searing flame which washed over all around it, blazing white. Never had he felt such a presence, not even the Hidden Masters compared. He was forced down onto his knees before the figure.

 

It too was an obsidian giant yet where his captor was terrible due to its aberrant soul, this master among them was terrible in its power and he dared not raise his head to look upon it. He wept as he felt the blazing fire scoured his mind, every thought, emotion and memory laid bare before an invading presence that no man could deny. For a moment his own sight was lost and he was blind, the world around him suddenly a void as the soulfires vanished and mere steel and sound was left behind.

 

Terror seized his heart.

 

 Then he heard the voice, yet no voice uttered the words. It was a whisper in his mind, and the first true words spoken to him in what felt an age. His tears were of joy, as well as fear as he looked up at the silver masked master, the words lingering in his mind. As they would for many years.

 

“I have need of you.”

 

 

 

 

[space wolf]

Really gritty. I like it!

[Zebulon]

Good start, strong writing. Asks more questions than it answers, much like Autöri himself! Look forward to more.

[BadgersinHills]

Great writing. :) 

[Torbenos]

+++Souls and Sand+++

 

Autöri stood a silent witness as the wails of the raised souls carried on the dry winds of Neurox Beta Six. A world of little note and lacking any renown in records both Imperial and otherwise. To Autöri himself it was but another wasteland, its name only known to him as the Prince had spoken it.

 

It was a great desert, the dunes of sand all that was left of great mountains that covered the continent millions of years ago. Unremarkable until just a few hours ago. Pillars of smoke still rose from giant glass craters where the lance batteries had scorched the dunes, and a number of ruined vehicles littered the sands.

 

Autöri wrapped his robes closer around himself, the wind which carried the wails was sharp. One of the great cobalt warrior lay before him, the armour scratched and singed by soulfire and shrapnel, it spoke of a great battle. One which Autöri had not seen. His master always summoned him in the wake of battle.

 

The warrior had been a lifeless husk, ever his supreme form having suffered injury beyond its capacity. Yet now his soul screamed as it was forced into being, wrought from the warp itself and returned to the realm of the living. Suffering as the syllable of power both bound and empowered it.

 

With his second sight Autöri could see it fully, a vague shape of a face and limbs wrought from sickly green smoke. It struggled to find a shape, to make itself into the form it remembered. The proud warrior it had once been. It was only vaguely human now, perhaps it had only been so before as well.

 

Even if he could see it, he could not understand it. Its wails offended the ears but they were not words, not in the way his mind imagined them. Yet the obsidian giant who stood next to him could. Indeed it was he, Gaumata, who bound the soul. He was unlike the sentries that stood around them, for he was truly alive. A towering man of a dark complexion as could now be seen as he chanted words of power, his crested helm set aside for the task. Inked secret symbols from a thousand worlds covering every inch of visible skin.

 

Autöri did not know why he was here, not truly. He did not know why his masters were here either. Yet he stood witness, as the Prince bade him. His very essence recoiled from the sight and the sensation of what was being done before him, and all around him. The same scene repeating itself a dozen times around him as the soulsworn magi of the Prince collected the souls of the fallen foe.

 

Gaumata's soulfire a blazing light to his second sight, even after all this time it nearly blinded him. Yet the magi did not shield his mind as did the Prince, perhaps he was not able or he merely thought a servant beneath his notice. Yet the disdain was clear. He hated being watched over by a mere mortal. He could not understand the reason for his presence here, and he thought it an offense, a punishment for some slight to the Prince. He did not understand.

 

None of them did.

 

 

Thank you for the kind words everyone. 

[Torbenos]

Had a small fit of inspiration today and put together a few more miniatures to match the first above. Finding some good use for my firstborn space marine bitz atleast for the moment. They will represent the souls of the foes slain by the Akamyos which are then bound to servne the thrallband through vile necromancy, on the tabletop they will be used as Chaos Spawn. Although hardly original, I've seen the Spirit Hosts used to similar purpose many times, I do find the visual they create quite effective and to me seems to fit the sorcerous theme I want to keep going with my thrallband. Bound souls strike a better cord to me than mutated monsters, as much as mutation lies at the heart of Tzeench and the Thousand Sons.

 

 

 

 

[Torbenos]

He still did not understand, but as time marched on he came to accept his state of ignorance. In truth as any good scholar he had long known he was ignorant. Autöri could not say how long had passed since he was taken from his world by the obsidian giants, and in the presence of the Viziers and the Great Ocean such concepts held little sway over his mind and body. But it had passed all the same, and the memories had grown dull. The world was bleak and lifeless around him. Once every person, every soul he had come across had been a bright flame. His Sight seeing him so blessed as to see the light of the soul, the purity and wonder there. Every life had been a wonder.

No more.

 

The hulking giant before him was a stranger, that is if it could be called a person at all. The Prince had told him of their nature, as best as his mortal mind could grasp it. Souls trapped through sorcery in a state between life and death, deathless, fleshless. Cursed. It had once been a great warrior, the many runes inscribed upon the hulking suit of ceramite spoke of it. He had learned their arcane glyphs, the warrior that strode with him had once gone by the name Izani. 

 

"Izani.." he spoke the name out loud as he reached out to place a ruddy hand against the rune etched ceramite. 

 

It turned to him, hydraulics hissing and the heavy combi-bolter sweeping the hallway with the resolute certainty of a warrior. For a moment he thought he could see acknowledgement behind the green gleam of the lenses. A faint spark in the strange fire that was its soul, both dead and alive, both flickering and still. But no, there was no spark. Merely the unnatural. The ceramite was cold to the touch, yet the symbols carved upon it kept a dull heat, the bound energy of the Great Ocean. 

 

Ever since Gaumata rose to act against him Izani had been by his side, a chosen warrior of his Master's retinue. Bound to the Prince's will through bounds more certain than the mere words of the Viziers. Many of the servants thought the giants mere machines, they were so blind. Autöri pulled back his hand and turned to continue down the hall, two heartbeats passed before he heard the heavy thud of Izani's footsteps behind him.

 

 

 

The first nearly done test model of my Scarab Occult, thinking of trying to put some decals on the open areas with arcane scripture. I suspect it'd be a fiddly process but might be worth it. Picked up and have put together ten of these, but painting them is a bit of a strain for me personally, could not say why exactly but hoping to get through them in the next few weeks. I do quite enjoy the aesthetic of the models.

[Torbenos]

Put some paint on the spawns shown above.

 

[Magos Kasen]

Very cool, I like the conversions and the narrative!

[Torbenos]

++Requesting Access++

++Denied++

++Identifier++

++Ordo Maellus++

++Inquisitorial Edict Detected++

++Access Granted++

 

+Akshami Darayava, Soulforger, Pactmaster, Thrice-Bound+

 

 

Interviews with [[REDACTED]] has identified the Heretic Astartes as Akshami Darayava of the Thrallband Akamyos. By regalia and mutation he has been identified as a figure of importance within the cult, further hinted at by [[REDACTED]]'s claim that Akshami is not a name, but a rank of esteem. [[REDACTED]] suggests that in the Dark Tongue of the Arch-Enemy it has its etymological roots in what translates into High Gothic as "Keeper", not to be confused with the previously mentioned "Akami" which [[REDACTED]] translated as "Guardian". As Akamyos has previously been identified as "Guardians of the Soul" this suggests that this title may put the bearer as the Keeper of the referenced Soul.

Edited August 16, 2021 by Torbenos

[Torbenos]

 

 

His head ached. Every breath seemed thick with the foul stench of sorcery, a foul stain upon the soul which his enviromentally sealed power armour did little to fend off. The witch stood before them, a witch, there did not seem to be an end to them. Stood at the front of the obsidian automatons made into a mockery of a Astartes. Green felfire blazed with every round from their bolters, his stormshield crackling with vibrant lightning as its energy shield deflected the infernal ammunitions.

 

His power sword rested comfortably in his hand, already its edge had put an end to several of the foe. Yet no blood stained it. There was nothing within these automatons, kept living through unholy witchcraft alone. Yet steel did cut them, and once their helmets were severed they fell as sure as any foe of flesh and blood. He took another deep breath, the thickness of the air choking as he held the blade loft and called for the charge.

 

There was only three of them. Three veterans of the Howling Griffons 1st Company against rows of the automatons. But he did not hesitate, nor did his brothers. With unnatural speed they sprinted through the open field and smashed into the foe. Energy crackled around their humming power swords. Here, face to face, the souless creatures betrayed themselves. It was in the way they moved, as if pulled by strings none could see. They were no Astartes. They had not the fighting spirit. 

 

One. Two. Three he cut down with his humming blade, a hymn of vengeance upon his own tongue. Amplified through the grill of his helmet into a great warcry as they delivered the Emperor's Justice upon the traitors. 

 

 

 

 

[Monstra Sumus]

Some great looking stuff in here! I especially like the spawns. 

 

I enjoyed the fluff post for the Howling Griffon's too! 

[Torbenos]

The Howling Griffons have been the main foe of my Thrallband so far. Being the army played by my more regular opponent (not that there's been many battles this year). So far the Akamyos have been beaten back every time. But perhaps the codex shall prove to change things!

[Smoke Frog]

Those marines are great, I like the glyphs you have put on their shoulderpads!

[Torbenos]

The world had ended when the host of the Prince had arrived. They had not known it yet, indeed Autöri had been at the head of an initial delegation demanding the surrender of the world's High Priestess to the Prince. They had shown its people the might they commanded, the skies had wept at the power the viziers channeled at the command of their Lord. But its people had refused, they trusted in the power of their God and his warrior women to defend them. And as they had turned to seek Autöri's life Izani's storm-bolter, every casing etched with runes of destruction and fire, had carved the scholastic woman who represented them in two.

 

For their refusal the Prince had sentenced a world to doom, and the high priestess seized. The esteemed Vizier Barzudan had been chosen to carry out this sentence and the Prince had put Autöri in his care. He had demanded the Witness be there when they seized the woman, and should she choose death. That he witness it, and look deep into the echo of her soul as it passed into the Great Ocean.

 

Autöri did not understand, but it had ceased to trouble him long ago.

 

And so he now skulked in the shadow of Barzudan through the streets of what had once been a city, on a world he did not know. All around him was the cacophony of war, and the sights of destruction. To his blessed sight he could see the many soulfires around him, as they were snuffed out. The warrior women fought well, and he could see the truth of their piety, their zeal in their souls.

 

A waste, as their God was false.

 

 

Pictured: Vizier Barzudan flanked by rubricae march through a ruined city.

[Torbenos]

 

+++Hatred+++

 

The ceramite door slammed shut as the Viziers departed the briefing chamber. Their thudding footsteps heard even through the thick walls of the vessel even as the serfs rose into a torrent of activity. The parchments were collected to be filed by the administrative servitors while more gifted servants burned the appropriate incense, and chanted the words of secrecy and warding. The very presence of the Masters left the energies of the chamber disrupted, and the work had to begin anew in the wake of every such gathering. But the work was done for their benefit, to leave their words unheard by any being outside the chamber, in this world or the next.

 

Autöri was spared such menial labours. His favoured position as the Witness of the Prince was a peculiar one, indeed many of the serfs knew not how to address him. Was he a servant or a master? A lord or a pet? Cita alone had braved convention to merely approach him and speak to him like any other mortal bound in service to the Prince. And something akin to a friendship had followed. She too had the Sight, and she was a favoured servant of Vizier Barzudan and thus commanded the respect of the lesser serfs. Her gifts lay in warding, to protect against the Beasts of the Great Ocean. And so she had a use.

 

It spared her, as well, from the menial labour that was taking place before them. So she lingered by his side. Autöri had not known her before his mortal sight was taken, and so he knew her only by her soulfire. It was strong, but it did not blaze. Often it flickered coyly, like a candle dancing to winds unseen. But it was a deceptive appearance, he had seen the strength of her will and knew her soul did not dance unwillingly to any wind.

 

"Why does he hate you so?" her voice was soft, indeed he had never heard it raised in anger or alarm. But it did not broker argument, nor silence.

Autöri's unseeing eyes turned towards the thick walls, he could still sense the blazing fires of the Masters departing. "Gaumata?" for a moment there was silence, then Cita hurried a "Yes. Yes Gaumata." it amused him that like as not she had nodded, before remembering he could not see such things. While his Sight granted him blessed relief from utter darkness. Such small things were yet beyond him.

 

"I do not know the cause, for not certain." Autöri admitted, while he liked to play at secret knowledge among the other serfs, not so with Cita. "But it has been an abiding state, for us both. It began as something born of ignorance, I believe. And has grown into fear. He fears my words to the Prince. He fears for his standing. Indeed among the Masters he is a lesser creature."

 

"But it .. it is unusual for them to take note of us, is it not? The other Masters do not fear you. They do not consider you at all. You are merely eyes. Nothing more.. Are you not?" came her question in return and it had Autöri shift. There were things he did not share, not even with her. His duties remained shrouded in secrecy, it was the Prince's will that his purpose remain unknown, even to those sworn to him.

 

"Indeed. I am the Witness. And I watch. But Gaumata .. he likes not what I may see. I do not think." a pause followed as he considered his next words. And as he spoke again it was not with his voice, but with his will "Your master, he has told you of Prospero, yes? The world of sorcery that was? Stolen by savage wolves? It is the world the Prince once called home, as did his brothers. But I think not Gaumata."

 

 

 

Pictured: Vizier Gaumata flanked by rubricae

 

 

[Firedrake Cordova]

Nicely done!  

[ZeroWolf]

These look great! Love the lore bits as well