The tech priests had promised to make him a god.
They kept their promise.
They called him Lord of the Underworld. But he had other appellations as well. He Who Lowers His Head, He Who Dwells in the
Windowless House. The Broken Face, He of
the 11th Hour, He Who Eats the Stars.
They had many names for the Lord of Mictlan.
They called him “He Who Dwells in the Windowless House,” and indeed he swam in an amniotic tank covered completely with armor. He had given up much to become a god. It had been worth it. The priests had taken his limbs; the stumps rested now in haptic sheaths.
They called him “Broken Face.” Inside the tank he floated in a bright red fluid more efficient than blood. His mouth and nose were removed, useless, showing the gleaming white bone beneath. When he needed nourishment, the tank delivered it. When he needed oxygen, it was directed into his foramen ovale by the autosanguinary system. They had removed his eyes. Fibers carrying light ran into his optic nerve now, his visual cortex processed information from all around him, his maimed brain attuned to a storm of electromagnetic data and radiation in wavelengths mere humans could never dream of. His necklace of eyeballs saw in all directions.
They called him “He Who Eats the Stars” and indeed, his
belly was filled with the heat of the sun, nuclear fire that drove his immense
form forward.
Today he would bring Mictlan to the people. Today Mictlāntēchutli walked. His servants, the Mictecas, were his most
loyal lieutenants and embodied his will, added their own to his in the Manifold,
became his arms, his legs, his voice. As
one being the King of Death strode the land looking down on all.
Today they called him Nextepehua, “Scatterer of Ashes.” The lasers focused the light of the sun in
his belly, radiant destruction, power measured in yottawatts, leaving fire and
nothing where the beams touched, evaporating men, machines, fortresses, all.
Arms raised, he stood ready to tear apart the dead as they
entered his presence.
Gotta say, it's kind of crazy to me that I (or GW, it appears) never thought of using Mesoamerican history/art/myth as an inspiration for WH40K, considering how natural it feels here. All the parts that I like most about 40K - tragic necessity, doom-driven epic, and a sort of sepulchral majesty - resonate extremely well with Aztec belief. How'd you end up making the connection? Great post and great art!
ReplyDeleteThanks man! I am definitely not the first. I saw some conversions on an Aztec inspired Space Marine chapter (power maquahuitls and all) a few years back and thought they were awesome. For whatever reason, I cannot stop painting titans, and after feeling like I had built out my Gryphonicus and Mortis battlegroups about as far as I probably should, I still wanted to keep going and decided to do a "custom" color scheme. I did a piece of statuary for terrain a while back and I liked the verdigris color, so that's sort of where it started. I stumbled across a couple of votive skulls - the Aztecs were as into skulls as the Imperium - and loved the look of the turquoise and black lignite and tried to kind of copy that color scheme because it's one I could manage with my limited artistic skills (I feel like an Aztec inspired model could easily be very very colorful as well, but I wouldn't know where to start exactly). I agree that it feels like a very natural connection - sepulchral majesty is a great way to put it!
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