bottle of sage tincture

A sudden surge of nausea gripped him once more, and he dropped his face into his hand—gait stuttering as he swayed for a moment on unsteady legs. He rubbed at his eyes, then blinked them open as the sensation faded. "Hopefully," he started again, picking his thought back up without ceding any room for the Lord Captain to fuss over him. "We can get you out of here and to a medicae unit before too long." Visenya said nothing, and though her face was unreadable—obscured as it was in the hazy shadows of the hall—Heinrix got the sense there was something she wanted to say. And yet, the silence wore on. They were coming to where the corridor dead-ended into a thick pair of reinforced blast doors, separating them from whatever lay beyond. His face ached, and he could feel the tacky coating of blood across his right cheek and jaw beginning to crust and itch—the wound, itself, now having gone numb. The pain was bolstered by the pressure mounting in his head—a deep skull-rattling throb that blurred his vision with each pulse of agony. The warp energies permeating the wreckage were the strongest he'd felt since stepping foot in this accursed place. So much so that if a hoard of pestilent ghouls didn't wait at the other end of the corridor, Heinrix would have suggested they turn back. Something lurked on the other side of those doors. Its form and intent was unknown to him, but Heinrix could sense its nature, and it made his stomach turn. This ship was a maelstrom of anguish and torment. A seeping wound of turmoil in the Immaterium whose blood scent was capable of attracting untold horrors.

A sudden surge of nausea gripped him once more, and he dropped his face into his hand—gait stuttering as he swayed for a moment on unsteady legs. He rubbed at his eyes, then blinked them open as the sensation faded. "Hopefully," he started again, picking his thought back up without ceding any room for the Lord Captain to fuss over him. "We can get you out of here and to a medicae unit before too long." Visenya said nothing, and though her face was unreadable—obscured as it was in the hazy shadows of the hall—Heinrix got the sense there was something she wanted to say. And yet, the silence wore on. They were coming to where the corridor dead-ended into a thick pair of reinforced blast doors, separating them from whatever lay beyond. His face ached, and he could feel the tacky coating of blood across his right cheek and jaw beginning to crust and itch—the wound, itself, now having gone numb. The pain was bolstered by the pressure mounting in his head—a deep skull-rattling throb that blurred his vision with each pulse of agony. The warp energies permeating the wreckage were the strongest he'd felt since stepping foot in this accursed place. So much so that if a hoard of pestilent ghouls didn't wait at the other end of the corridor, Heinrix would have suggested they turn back. Something lurked on the other side of those doors. Its form and intent was unknown to him, but Heinrix could sense its nature, and it made his stomach turn. This ship was a maelstrom of anguish and torment. A seeping wound of turmoil in the Immaterium whose blood scent was capable of attracting untold horrors.

also dumb doodle I drew after for sillies They are my mains, your honour (actually I play Cyte more than Sevagoth now...)