i’ve become chronic. i have like 45% of a start to finish narrative for aura and heinrix through into post-game expanding on the fact that you don’t get to just walk away from the inquisition like the game glossed over
my hands are on fire the kitchen is a mess, there’s drafts on the floor and im sweating. i feel like a mad genius
why cant i ever muster this insanity for projects i actually get paid for. rhetorical question.
Lord Captain Saren von Aurastor was a walking contradiction, a man of refined cruelty and calculated charm.
full profile below cut
He endeavours to be a spectacle of power, never seen without his overcoat, a vast, gilt-red and black garment worth its weight in gold. It flowed to his calves, a swirling set of heavy faulds that amplified his already formidable silhouette. Imposing as it was with gilt skull motif epaulettes and a unique, intricate aiguillette arrangement that hinted at a mind both artistic and ruthless.
His face, though refined, held a disturbing beauty. One eye, a cold, predatory silver, the other a piercing, ghostwight blue, scanned his surroundings with a wild, deranged intensity. A jagged scar marred his left brow and forehead, adding a brutal counterpoint to his otherwise elegant features with a chilling reminder of a near fatal warp jump that had left him with more than just a scar.
His voice, a deep, resonant timbre reminiscent of polished steel, held a subtle menace, a low growl that could both charm and intimidate. His smile, when it came, was a carefully calibrated weapon, a flash of teeth that hinted at hidden depths and unsettling intentions.
He moved with a subtle, almost predatory grace, the bronze taps of his block heels clicking a theatrical rhythm that underscored his awareness of the effect he had on others.
He was a paradox, a man of refined tastes and brutal efficiency. He claimed to abhor emotional decision-making, favoring cold logic and calculated strategy. Beneath the veneer of ruthless pragmatism, a flicker of unexpected tenderness occasionally surfaced, a glimpse of a heart capable of loyalty or compassion, though never of gold.
His eccentricities were legion, a collection of quirks and habits that both fascinated and unnerved his retinue. His generosity, when it manifested, was as unpredictable as his temperament, lavished upon those he deemed loyal, a reward for unwavering service.
—
my baby got his in game profile
ppl have been liking his playlist, here it is again
i want him to feel genuine fear and i want him to suffer, i want him to be peeled from reality and into the abyss and know nothing for long enough to believe death is to be eternal torment where fragile sanity unravels in silence beyond silence while time, a cruel jester, stretches into an eternity of agonised mental disentigration. the somaticism of his own flesh will be a phantom limb, a distant, mocking ache.
only for him to be thrown back into a searing and incandescent baptism that leaves him all the more agonizingly, vividly alive (affectionate)
exploring aesthetics for them. and also this is one of aura’s favourite ways of feeling control. dressing his retinue and closest staff in ways he finds flattering and ensuring his generosity involves lavish sartorial gifts. there are worse fates.
took the liberty of correcting something that always bothered me about hein’s uniform for those vestiphiles of military fashion– men wearing their swords on the left hip, as most did, would want the coat to open from their right instead so it wouldn’t catch the sword on unsheathe. you can imagine the mishaps that caused this orthodox to happen.
heyyyyyy it's me again, being totally normal about Aura like I'm not rotating him in my mind 24/7 now. Sooo something I realllllyyy would love to know if you're willing to share: what's his unhealthy and kinda self-destructive coping mechanism? (I will not easily believe he doesn't have one, he seems like he needs one for relative sanity)
CLAPS HANDS. are you ready for this. you asked for cope singular but oh boy
sorry for this character being pretty unsympathetic to anyone reading. probably cw for physical and substance abuse
risk-taking: one of his favourites. disturbingly addicted to danger and subconsciously seeks out situations where he can prove his resilience and feel alive. if he gets injured oh boy thats just great. His choice of career really lends to this.
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memory suppression and emotional detachment: he already has a fractured psyche from his warp related trauma but he is profoundly emotionally detached and struggles to form connections or receive support. this coldness protects him from feeling his own pain but isolates him.
substance abuse: he does this alone without exception. he’ll smoke casually any day though. that’s a somatic pleasure for him.
sadism: oh boy this one got long. bog standard combating feelings of helplessness. maladaptive way for him to feel power after feelings of being dealt immense suffering and unfairness. this is also inseparable from his sexuality. whenever this manifests, if he likes you or finds you attractive, he’ll want you to want it. if you giggle when he hits you and you parse as especially pretty or feminine, you’ve just activated his crazy button. engaging with him in any way will frequently overstimulate him which brings out his heavily expressed “cuteness aggression.” If he REALLY likes you, this will 80% of the time make him feel absolutely terrible and he’ll disassociate for a few days before acting like it never happened. might even ignore you, too. if you survived the ordeal and didn’t wind him up too much. psyker drama. with men he likes, he’s immediately engaging in psychological warfare, testing their boundaries and power stripping.
on the flipside, he would not consciously initiate it but masochism works on him too because it threatens his most sacred tenet of never letting himself become vulnerable and for some?? reason??? he likes that violation. idk man, this guy
there’s an obsessive need for control and his 100% biggest fear is his own vulnerability. he’s always flirting with the fear and attraction of violation and is always looking for turbo mental stimulation.
ofc this is like a general profile. he’s capable of having individual experiences with anyone.
I am so sorry if i am literally the most bothering person in the universe being on like, every single one of ur posts... but aurastor occupies like 80% of my brainspace now and it's ur fault!!!
i need to know... does he have hobbies... does he like animals? does he have a favourite animal? is he silly sometimes... does he own an absurd amount of clothes... please...!!!🥀
unrelated to that I absolutely love his hair... you draw it so pretty i will admit that I literally open up my tumblr just to go look at ur drawings for like 20 mins every day a few times a day and just. stare. I need to give him 9128491938291844 grey hairs bc I hate him
HOW COULD YOU BE BOTHERING ME. I’m sharing my work in hopes it resonates with others.
let me begin by saying you made my day saying that. i really can’t overstate how motivating it is to hear someone enjoying my work to that level.
you will be glad to know i have like 15 more pages of his sequentials sketched out (and more in text drafts) so there’s plenty of unhinged rogue trader content to consume.
so much to answer here, so below the cut
First, lemme reward u with “is he silly sometimes”
he actually is. when he’s comfortable or in a space he commands, he has a really (overly) pronounced sense of humour. he finds many things funny. His sense of humour is dark, however. He finds hopelessness as hilarious as absurdity.
granted, he doesn’t think about animals much, but he finds the least threatening and smallest ones the most pleasant. they don’t activate his need to control. If he had a different profession. he’d likely enjoy insects or isopods. things that are microcosmic to him that he finds fascinating. Larger, more dangerous animals just activate his fight response.
as for hobbies, he. well the more palatable ones are that he’s a decent artist. he likes to draw clothes, theoretical engineering concepts that dont really make sense- and people he knows or thinks he remembers. He likes puzzles. he overthinks them and so is bad at them. He absolutely loves thought exercises.
his most private hobby is that he likes to sing when alone. Not grandiose, just quietly when he’s thinking or engaged in art or- yes- going through his wardrobe, you caught him.
his slender voidborn physique calls for bespoke tailoring and he’s developed a quietly intense passion for the way clothes can speak for him.
fun fact, he smooths his hair once when he gets up and it just progressively gets more and more fucked up throughout his time awake and he will never think to fix it even once.
hope that’s not an overwhelming amount of info. this fucking guy has about 40 fucking pages of bullshit profiling and story notes in scrivener at the moment that I NEED to get this stuff out so bad.
blacked out and drafted/scripted over 15 pages of the comic in one day
personal yapping below cut
the reason this is significant to me is because for the last 5 years i have increasingly been dragged into a darker darker place after a traumatic ego death and an inability to feel strongly enough to enjoy my work. my income ground to a halt, jobs came less and less and my entire personality died. i lost my house, my friends and every day was an exercise of resilience
something finally broke and i have, not to be dramatic, ascended to the highest highs ive ever felt in my life that i can remember. and whattaya know, my art comes back better than ever. I feel emotions, my personality is back and heavily expressed like i recognize myself again. i enjoy things again, i can talk to people again. i can get into the creative fugue state again and it’s gone on for long enough that i think i’m good again.
i really like literary analysis of blorbos and seeing what subliminal blorbos influenced the development of my own blorbo. also love morality exploration. by your powers combined
way too much character writing yapping below cut
giving your character tropes can sometimes be a good way to start moving beyond self inserts or self gratification ocs (unless that’s your style) im an author at heart. I will kill them. I will break them in unsatisfying ways. I am a cold and unfeeling god. my goal is a baller narrative.
sometimes i will start with a trope because I know it’s necessary for the role i need and go from there. Aura began when i was researching warhammer for a project and got thinking about what makes archetypical rogue traders what they are. they’re often kinda larger than life and really call for hard to play tropes like magnificent bastard or chessmaster. those are my forte.
i have a secret i learned in acting that helps with writing these types of characters and that’s the concept of “playing the great man.” people with a very real authority, power, skill, etc, tend to extend the most relaxed persona. (not to speak about what’s under the surface) they’re comfortable in their position because they’re not under mental duress to wield it. it’s been practised. they needn’t prove anything.
Hiii once again I come to throw rocks at Aura (it's how I show love)
So: he doesn't seem like a man who cries. Even more, he gives me vibes of "too traumatized to even know how to cry anymore." Which immediately makes me want to ask: what would actually make him cry then? What's the potentially most soul-crushing and painful thing for him, one that would actually break him and make him sob? What is that one softest bit of him that would bleed the most if struck?
you’re so right. the mechanisms of emotional release in Aurastor are completely rusted over.
his trauma manifests as a deep emotional stoicism that leaves him beyond tears, conventionally.
in that case, the only way to break him is striking at something fundamental to his core. something protected.
the ways you could destroy him to tears below the cut.
irreversible loss/betrayal of chosen family/deep connection. the fragmented nature of his earlier memories not only makes it difficult for him to navigate forming connections, but those bonds he would manage to form would be fiercely guarded and precious. the complete and utter loss of such a bond, esp thru deliberate betrayal or forces he could not have anticipated would shatter him. beyond sadness. it would be a re-experiencing of past abandonment and a confirmation of his deepest fears about connection.
unbearable suffering of someone he feels responsible for. he carries a hidden burden of responsibility of past failures, as he perceives them. he has lost everything and everyone catastrophically before. if someone specifically under his care, such as trusted staff or retinue he has formed a connection with were to suffer grievously or irrevocably, the guilt and visceral pain of their suffering and his failure to safeguard them would break him.
forced confrontation with core trauma. very obvious. but this would need to be done in a way that has stripped away his defenses and overwhelms his control. it’d be the violent shattering of his carefully constructed walls that would trigger the tears. less tears of sadness and more raw, unprocessed pain, fear and primal grief for lost parts of the self.
unconditional acceptance. this is the big one that may seem counterintuitive at first. the sheer vulnerability of being truly seen and accepted, perhaps for the first time, would likely overwhelm his defenses and trigger a release of years of pent-up longing and the grief of never having experienced such a thing. this is also just as damn unlikely as he projects the most unappealing, stoic, scientific persona in personal relationships so he can to avoid the very basis of connection. vulnerability is his core fear. a moment of unadulterated love or acceptance offered without expectation or judgment would be ruined by him sobbing. probably on the floor.
thanks for indulging me! i really hope you’re getting something out of all this character analysis 🔪🫀
been pouring creative energy into developing another 40k setting lately. it’s called Margard – think perpetual fog, low mountains breathing steam, and a feudal society that’s deeply… primal. where the Imperial skull bears fangs, nobles wear terrifying ‘Grave-Pelts’ made from decaying, mutated wolves and everything stems from a warp event involving the founders and their dogs millennia ago. so now I’m figuring out how their whole culture based on dominance and pack hierarchy clashes/melds with the Imperial Cult they eventually adopted. isolated worlds get weird, y'know? loving the potential here.
on margard, dominance hierarchy has been intensely ingrained over millenia. it’s basically feudalism run by wolf-pack rules ('Dominus-Law’). it’s a really interesting lens to explore how that single principle would shape everything – their politics, religion, interpersonal gestures, even aesthetics. just starting to flesh out the big picture.
is their unique Dominus-Law piety or heresy waiting to be discovered? what happens when an Inquisitor takes a closer look?
*throws a softball* I just realized I either don't remember or you never told us what's the flavor of Aura's warp taint and I really wanna know about his psychic powers pretty please 🥺
ooh softballs of dark wondering. the nature of his warp taint is not overt but rather manifests subtly. like a pervasive feeling of unease. others might feel inexplicably nervous, agitated or on edge around him without being able to pinpoint why. very amplified in enclosed spaces or when he’s focusing his attention directly on them.
more under cut
this would work out poorly for him if he didn’t also have an unnatural gift of compulsion. like a persuasive whisper. people may find themselves agreeing with him even against their better judgment.
this combination of making people more prone to irrational behaviour and susceptible to manipulation as well as the very subtle distorted perceptions he inflicts on their reality (such as sound and colour perception) makes him miserable company. unless you manage to resist these influences through things like psyniscience, profound skepticism or discipline– or he becomes aware enough to willfully draw himself back.
assuming he learned to modulate himself, given that this is largely subconscious for him. he would have to be made aware of nonverbal cues that amplify his influence.
writing for a grimdark/40k protagonist is so great.. i can make him suffer in ways unimaginable and it’s just this man’s life.
like that post floating around about loving your blorbos so much you want them covered in blood clutching their own lacerated organs with a look of terror.
and my absolute fave part is he’s never once like ‘why, poor me’ or 'damn i don’t deserve this’ which gets exhausting. it’s just the state of affairs on his world. just another sunday. cathartic.
Calix saw the Customs Adept’s eyes upon him as they approached the checkpoint archway, its tarnished aquila sigil judging them from above. A measured anxiety tightened in his gut; avoiding scrutiny here would be impossible. The Adept’s attentive look, the dutiful grip upon the flickering data-slate displaying Calix’s landing credentials—it conveyed bureaucratic suspicion clear enough. The official’s eyes snagged, inevitably, on the Grave-Pelt.
“Identify that garment, off-worlder,” the Adept—an Ensign judging by the worn insignia on his drab uniform collar—demanded, voice flat with practiced authority. “Record designation: Xeno-hide, suspected mutant origin?”
Just as he predicted. Calix stiffened, almost imperceptibly. He opened his mouth to offer the carefully rehearsed explanation…
“A hunting trophy, Ensign.” Saren von Aurastor’s voice, smooth as polished void-steel, interjected. The Rogue Trader leaned fractionally into Calix’s personal space, close enough to make the hair on his nape rise.
“From my associate’s homeworld, Margard,” Saren continued with effortless charm. “A ‘Ghoulfang’ pelt—formidable beasts indigenous to those harsh climes. Testimony to the resilience the God-Emperor requires of Mankind in His domains, wouldn’t you agree?”
Calix listened, stunned by the man’s fluency in pious deception. What other falsehoods, he wondered darkly, has von Aurastor orchestrated with such ease? Nevertheless, he instantly saw what was required. He fixed the Ensign with his most convincing look of dignified, aristocratic boredom.
“They roam the High Fells,” Calix stated, his own voice level. “Their hides require… extensive curing.” He rolled his neck slightly, a deliberately languid motion drawing attention towards the imposing bone spines that jutted from the treated hide and fur. “This one signifies a particularly arduous hunt.”
The Ensign’s brows had remained knitted in a subtle frown as Calix spoke, clearly weighing procedure against the imposing presence beside the Margardian. With one final, nervous glance up at the Rogue Trader, he grunted, tapping dismissively at his slate.
“Hmph. Mutant or native predator, it warrants attention. See that it’s logged for Mandatory Decontamination Protocol Seven. Proceed.”
As they passed the clanking auto-barricades without further impediment, Calix heard the persistent, theatrical click of Saren’s heels just behind him. Still too close. He had the grim instinct, honed by Dominus-Law, to anticipate the Rogue Trader leaning near his shoulder, could almost picture the wry curl of lips before the voice came again, low and pitched for his ear alone.
“Lesson one, Lord Fellner: In the Imperium, the truth is often less useful than a plausible truth. Especially when dealing with petty functionaries… or pious fools.”
Calix von Fellner was a study in containment, a Margardian noble whose disciplined surface seemed perpetually at war with the primal echoes of his world’s strange genesis.
His face held a stern, aristocratic handsomeness, all sharp angles and controlled lines seemingly carved by duty and Margard’s harsh climate. Yet, the intensity in his gaze was often unnerving, hinting at depths rarely shown, underscored by the heterochromia viridum of his eyes – one the warm brown of fertile earth, the other the flat grey of Margard’s perpetual cloud cover.
Starkest of all was the ‘Fellner Moon,’ a shock of pure white hair slashing down from his hairline to temple across his dark hair, a mark of lineage some whispered was blessing, others a taint. His frame, favouring the lean, tensile strength of a hunter over brutish bulk, moved with a coiled readiness, an elegant predator’s grace held firmly in check by iron discipline.
His voice was typically low, level, words chosen with pragmatic care. He moved with disciplined economy, his posture reflecting the rigid hierarchy of Dominus-Law, his performance of the Kith-Sign salute precise and conveying rank without unnecessary flourish. Only the occasional tightening of his jaw or a brief clenching of his gloved fist might betray the storm beneath the calm exterior.
Outwardly, Calix embodied the virtues expected of his lineage, said to descend from Saint Valkorian the Stern. He was duty-bound, disciplined to a fault, viewing the world through the harsh but ordered lens of Dominus-Law, which he initially upheld with dogmatic fervour. He respected proven strength, demanded competence in himself and others, and offered little warmth beyond a closed circle.
Yet beneath the ice lay the fire of his warp-touched heritage – a controlled, hidden ferocity that could erupt with shocking speed and brutality when truly challenged or pushed past his limits. His initial faith in the Law hid a pragmatic, analytical mind, capable of cold calculation when survival or duty demanded it.
Shaped by Margard’s mists, its unique biological legacy, and the unforgiving tenets of Dominus-Law, Calix was a product of isolation and harsh necessity. He was the Hand of Fellner: a blade honed by duty, bound by law, yet forever wrestling with the echo of the beast within and the shadows of truths that threatened to unmake his world.
getting ready for bed so obviously I'm thinking about that terrible old man again ❤️
What kind of sleeper is he? Or is he the type to avoid sleeping as much as possible? Is he quick to allow someone else into his bed? (I would be kicking him all night sry not sry)
Does he have a really annoying, long and tedious night time routine? (look, if he has such a large wardrobe, who says he doesn't take care of his skin just as much?) giggling when you mentioned that his hair is unruly, imagining him just waking up looking like a complete hedgehog... is he grumpy waking up...
okay sorry for the 10 thousand questions I. need to sleep. but the evil snail... the evil snail is whispering aurastor over and over again... pls send a biomancer my way 🥀
but of course~ took a little longer to structure you an almost narrative reply lol. sorry, can’t ever help myself. mostly because this gave me an opp to write about one of my fave of his quirks, the ‘sleep in proximity of me please but no i won’t ask’ quirk.
Even a figure as driven and controlled as Saren von Aurastor must eventually contend with the voidfarer’s necessity for sleep, though for him, it seems less like rest and more like a state fraught with carefully managed contradictions.
Company is sometimes permitted within his opulent, often unnerving private quarters – entertained according to his mercurial whims and dismissed without ceremony once his interest wanes. However, a strict boundary remains: no one is permitted to be present when he finally succumbs to true unconsciousness. Vulnerability, even the simple vulnerability of sleep, is a state von Aurastor refuses to expose.
Yet, therein lies one of his deeper complexities. Those few within his inner circle who have survived his displeasure long enough might observe a strange, unacknowledged comfort he seems to find when a particularly trusted member of his retinue rests nearby – perhaps napping in view of his desk on a chaise, or asleep in an adjoining chamber – while he continues to work late into the ship’s cycle. It’s a proximity he would never solicit, perhaps not even consciously recognize, yet seems to quietly allow, hinting at a buried fear of total isolation or a need for guardianship he cannot admit.
He certainly possesses routines for sleep and waking, rituals that likely impose a semblance of order on the potential chaos within or without. Small comforts – a specific vintage of amasec, the tactile sensation of rearranging collected artifacts, the silent contemplation of a newly acquired star chart – are part of this, though their indulgence waxes and wanes with the volatile currents of his dark moods.
Contrary to what his sharp demeanor might suggest, immediately upon waking (assuming the sleep was deep and relatively untroubled) he can exhibit a rare, almost unsettling calm – perhaps the closest he comes to approachable neutrality. This placid surface, however, is exceptionally thin. Fatigue makes him dangerously irritable, his commands clipped, his patience non-existent.
And when Plagued By The Visions – those fragmented echoes of warp-trauma, fragmented memories, and possible taint – his temper becomes truly explosive, sharp and unpredictable enough to flay nerve and leave even seasoned voidsmen trembling.
finally cooked the inquisitor i needed for the narrative. immediately panicked cause look at him
i realized it took me forever to figure out his looks cause in retrospect he didn’t want a face, but a mask
Masked and robed in severe elegance, Inquisitor Silvanus van Cassian carried himself like a coiled predator conserving energy. His default state was absolute stillness, observing with unnerving focus from behind dissimilar lenses. When roused, however, he struck with committed, chest-forward aggression – a sudden, controlled explosion of violence that was both terrifyingly precise and disturbingly ferocious, before settling back into that watchful calm. A paradox of cultivated elegance and potential savagery, scarred without and perhaps within, his true motives as inscrutable as the face he refused to show the galaxy.
The look in his eyes subtly begged. Glistening with the distinct shimmer of hopeless expectation as he watches the Eldar’s form emerge like a daemon from between the front seats.
