A Warden and His Fallen Men

clothing style.

before - bed routine. 

eating habits.

concept of home and family. 

hobbies. 

fighting style.

what calms your muse down after a bad day?

talk about one person your muse loves.

ways your muse says i love you.

describe your muse’s laugh. 

what items can be found in your muse’s pockets? 

talk about your muse’s most prized possession(s).

describe your muse’s walk. 

talk about your muse’s accent.

describe your muse’s smile. 

how often does your muse get sick?

does your muse know when to rest, or do they push themselves?

does your muse snore? sleeptalk? sleepwalk?

the thing(s) your muse thinks about before falling asleep.

is your muse a fitful or a quiet sleeper?

your muse’s thoughts on cops and other authority figures.

skills and special talents. 

disabilities or illnesses. 

habits and mannerisms.

introvert or extrovert.

religious or non - religious.

verbal or non - verbal communication.

something your muse could never forgive.

something that makes your muse smile.

something that scares your muse.

something that gives your muse hope.

how your muse responds to being helped / taken care of.

how your muse responds to unconditional love.

how your muse responds to danger.

how your muse responds to stress.  

how your muse responds to anger.

Return Of Loyalists

Carolus didn’t know what to be intimidated by more: The fact there was a Chaos Goddess strewn about atop his bed, or the fact she was smug about it. 

Ever since his voluntary imprisonment had began, Carolus had been playing his cards to gain every little freedom he could manage. He’d been making his own meals, communicating tidbits to the Host to assure his safety (as monitored these secretive missives were, it was the best he could afford), and just recently, he had a suit of power armor forged for him to hunt daemons as he pleased, using only a boltgun and his misericordia. It was no Auramite mantle that the Emperor had wrought with purpose, but it took a blow far better than his flesh did, and that’s all he needed. 

While it was only ceremite, it was certainly an artificer’s pride, inscribed with as many of Carolus’ names he could remember off of the top of his head as well as various sigils of both the Talons Aggressor and Lady Lust herself, Fuuko. It was worn with disdain and necessity in equal measure. Carolus eschewed the helm made for him immediately, as he had his own and was determined to stick with it until the end. 

While the children of the Four had sated his this random thirsts for vengeance time by time, Carolus knew his efforts were effectively fruitless- this was not some grand crusade, or some message to be delivered unto the Dark Gods. It was a game, and he was playing it. What he desired was something meaningful, a tangible threat he could say he had brought an end to singlehandedly- And with the final Alpha Legionnaire of the Ghost Division dead, he could say with pride that he had done so. 

Their Cultists had told stories shakily of the Brazen Terror, how each one of their leaders met their end by an emerald dagger wielded by an unknowable brute. As Carolus tore apart the Warband piece by piece, fragmenting it even further, he drank deeply of their terror, fueling the engine of Imperial justice he had become. With this hunt, Carolus had found purpose, and he felt joy as genuine as he could. Of course, this rose had it’s thorns, and the Goddess’ messengers demanded incessant updates on his location. The pride and the vengeance he desired was there, but still, he lacked freedom. If he could keep doing this- butchering the fell children of the Primarchs- he decided it was worth it.

As he opened the door, hoping to make his presence as inconspicuous as possible, it seemed that he had forgotten he was tangling with a Goddess. There was no hiding, no running, and certainly no subtlety. His shoulders fell as he sighed, his plan evidently failed.

With a groan, he let himself fall into a materialized chair opposite of Fuuko’s, confident that the last thing she’d let him do was bust the rear she had missed so much. He reached over and snatched the offered glass, his immense fingers dwarfing the thing. An array of vents in his silvered mask opened as the helm’s vox unit was disabled. He spoke clearly, and now had access to his mouth.

“If this is some sort of hellwine that is going to punch through my liver, I’m going to be pissed.”

He took one sip, then another. He was never much for wine, but after a third, he’d determined he’d had worse.

The goddess placed a hand over her chest, pretending she was hurt by his accusations. “You tear my heart, dear Carolus! What manner of host would I be if I were to trick my favorite Custodes to imbibe a wretched concoction?”

She proceeded to indulge more of her drink. “This is one of these brews from my cult worlds, bitter and sweet and rich. You would appreciate it more if you took it slowly and savor it instead of guzzling it down like an uncouth space wolf.”

She motioned in the air a servitor came with a plate of sweet delicacies. “I’m glad you found such joy decimating your fallen colleagues… allow me to ask… did you find any interesting baubles for me?”

“If you’re in the mood for trinkets, all it was I gathered was the helm of the damned Chaos Lord… it’s just a standard Maximus-pattern. Don’t get too excited. That mistake, I already made. I was a fool to think the XXth had any honor to claim.”

One of his fingers tinked against the glass of his cup, a sign of the Warden’s rising anxiety. Why one of his men was found on an agri-world was curious enough, but the fact he’d apparently gotten comfortable was far more shocking. Hearing the glass, his hand froze, annoyed he had begrudgingly shown anything close to a sign of weakness in front of the goddess.

[  pull  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  closer  to  them

[  touch  ]  sender  places  their  hand  affectionately  on  receiver

[  guide  ]  sender  helps  receiver  through  a  difficult  video  game

[  lean  ]  sender  leans  on  receiver

[  pierce  ]  sender  helps  receiver  with  a  new  piercing  (  doing,  aftercare,  etc  )

[  sit  ]  sender  sits  in  receiver’s  lap

[  spar  ]  sender  pins  receiver  down  in  a  practice  fight

[  cook  ]  sender  makes  food  for  receiver

[  slide  ]  sender  pushes  an  item  across  the  table  to  receiver

[  kiss  ]  sender  kisses  (  lips,  cheek,  forehead,  hand,  etc  )

[  lead  ]  sender  leads  receiver  someplace

[  wound  ]  sender  injures  muse  in  a  fight  (  practice  or  real  )

[  snap  ]  sender  takes  a  photo  of  receiver  (  candid  or  posed  )

[  drape  ]  sender  drapes  their  arm  around  receiver’s  shoulders

[  bullet  ]  sender  takes  a  bullet  for  receiver  (  literal  or  figurative  )

[  nap  ]  sender  falls  asleep  against  receiver

[  teeth  ]  sender  bears  teeth  at  receiver

[  trace  ]  sender  traces  one  of  receiver’s  scars

[  cocktail  ]  sender  makes  /  gives  receiver  a  cocktail

[  comfort  ]  sender  comforts  receiver  when  they  are  upset  /  crying

[  bouquet  ]  sender  surprises  receiver  with  a  bouquet

[  massage  ]  sender  gives  receiver  a  massage  (  planned,  spontaneous,  full  body,  shoulder,  etc  )

[  mentor  ]  sender  takes  muse  under  their  wing

[  tattoo  ]  sender  helps  receiver  with  a  new  tattoo  (  doing,  aftercare,  etc  )

[  dare  ]  receiver  acts  out  a  dare  from  sender

[  hug  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  into  a  hug

[  phone  ]  receiver  sees  sender  smiling  at  something  on  their  phone

[  popcorn  ]  sender  makes  popcorn  for  a  movie  night

[  wake  ]  sender  tries  to  wake  receiver

[  groom  ]  sender  tries  to  make  receiver  look  more  presentable

[  flower  ]  sender  places  a  flower  behind  receiver’s  ear

[  sad  ]  sender  looks  at  receiver  sorrowfully

[  playlist  ]  sender  curates  a  playlist

[  fashion  show  ]  sender  tries  to  help  receiver  choose  an  outfit

[  shield  ]  sender  steps  between  receiver  and  danger

[  bandage  ]  sender  helps  bandage  up  receiver’s  wounds

[  duel  ]  muses  get  into  a  fight

[  fear  ]  sender  finds  receiver  having  a  nightmare

[  hold  ]  sender  holds  receiver’s  hand

[  bruise  ]  sender  finds  receiver  with  a  bruise  /  tries  to  help  receiver  cover  up  a  bruise

[  brush  ]  sender  brushes  /  styles  /  dyes  receiver’s  hair

[  portrait  ]  receiver  paints  a  portrait  of  receiver

[  assist  ]  sender  helps  the  receiver  with  a  task  they’re  struggling  in

[  wow  ]  sender  does  something  to  really  amaze  receiver

[  glare  ]  sender  is  still  hurt  after  an  argument

[  roast  ]  muses  roast  marshmallows  together  /  make  s’mores

[  shoot  ]  muses  attend  a  game  of  paintball

[  diary  ]  receiver  writes  a  journal  entry  about  sender  (  maybe  they  find  it  ?  )

[  dance  ]  sender  whisks  receiver  onto  to  ‘  dance  floor  ’  (  can  be  actual  or  pretend  )

[  rest  ]  sender  rests  their  chin  on  receiver’s  head  /  shoulder

[  manicure  ]  sender  paints  receiver’s  nails

[  tuck  ]  sender  tucks  in  receiver’s  shirt,  hair  behind  ear,  etc

[  chin  ]  sender  lifts  receiver’s  chin  up

[  lap  ]  sender  puts  their  feet  in  receiver’s  lap

[  write  ]  receiver  writes  sender  a  note

[  play  ]  muses  play  a  board  game  /  card  game  together

[  glance  ]  receiver  catches  sender  looking  at  them

[  ill  ]  sender  takes  care  of  receiver  when  they  are  unwell

[  hearth  ]  sender  lights  a  fire

[  tap  ]  sender  taps  receiver  on  the  shoulder

[  bake  ]  muses  bake  together

[  read  ]  sender  reads  to  receiver

[  study  ]  sender  tries  to  help  receiver  study

[  push  ]  sender  pushes  receiver  in  anger

[  skill  ]  receiver  tries  to  assist  sender  in  learning  a  new  skill

[  coated  ]  receiver  finds  sender  covered  in  blood

[  gesture  ]  sender  motions  for  receiver  to  follow  them

Carolus didn’t know what to be intimidated by more: The fact there was a Chaos Goddess strewn about atop his bed, or the fact she was smug about it. 

Ever since his voluntary imprisonment had began, Carolus had been playing his cards to gain every little freedom he could manage. He’d been making his own meals, communicating tidbits to the Host to assure his safety (as monitored these secretive missives were, it was the best he could afford), and just recently, he had a suit of power armor forged for him to hunt daemons as he pleased, using only a boltgun and his misericordia. It was no Auramite mantle that the Emperor had wrought with purpose, but it took a blow far better than his flesh did, and that’s all he needed. 

While it was only ceremite, it was certainly an artificer’s pride, inscribed with as many of Carolus’ names he could remember off of the top of his head as well as various sigils of both the Talons Aggressor and Lady Lust herself, Fuuko. It was worn with disdain and necessity in equal measure. Carolus eschewed the helm made for him immediately, as he had his own and was determined to stick with it until the end. 

While the children of the Four had sated his this random thirsts for vengeance time by time, Carolus knew his efforts were effectively fruitless- this was not some grand crusade, or some message to be delivered unto the Dark Gods. It was a game, and he was playing it. What he desired was something meaningful, a tangible threat he could say he had brought an end to singlehandedly- And with the final Alpha Legionnaire of the Ghost Division dead, he could say with pride that he had done so. 

Their Cultists had told stories shakily of the Brazen Terror, how each one of their leaders met their end by an emerald dagger wielded by an unknowable brute. As Carolus tore apart the Warband piece by piece, fragmenting it even further, he drank deeply of their terror, fueling the engine of Imperial justice he had become. With this hunt, Carolus had found purpose, and he felt joy as genuine as he could. Of course, this rose had it’s thorns, and the Goddess’ messengers demanded incessant updates on his location. The pride and the vengeance he desired was there, but still, he lacked freedom. If he could keep doing this- butchering the fell children of the Primarchs- he decided it was worth it.

As he opened the door, hoping to make his presence as inconspicuous as possible, it seemed that he had forgotten he was tangling with a Goddess. There was no hiding, no running, and certainly no subtlety. His shoulders fell as he sighed, his plan evidently failed.

With a groan, he let himself fall into a materialized chair opposite of Fuuko’s, confident that the last thing she’d let him do was bust the rear she had missed so much. He reached over and snatched the offered glass, his immense fingers dwarfing the thing. An array of vents in his silvered mask opened as the helm’s vox unit was disabled. He spoke clearly, and now had access to his mouth.

“If this is some sort of hellwine that is going to punch through my liver, I’m going to be pissed.”

He took one sip, then another. He was never much for wine, but after a third, he’d determined he’d had worse.