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About Literature / Hobbyist FinchMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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Project Thousand Sons: Heldrake :iconsaekhor:Saekhor 5 4 Project Thousand Sons: Scarab Occult Terminators :iconsaekhor:Saekhor 6 0 Project Thousand Sons: Ahriman~ :iconsaekhor:Saekhor 6 0 New Project: Thousand Sons :iconsaekhor:Saekhor 4 0
Return to Sortiarius
Ahriman hated it here. Every single step through the blasted, never-changing planet spiked self-worry and doubt within his soul. Every now and again, he'd turn his head to check behind him, reassured by the fact that the Progidal Sons marched in perfect silence behind him. The two head Aspiring Sorcerers, Ikep and Torian, mentally saluted and acknowledged the Arch-Sorcerer as they continued to advance. With a steady inhale, Ahriman willed his way into the Main City.
The first plaza was filled with them. Absolutely filled with them. The horned helmet of the Exile tilted from side-to-side as he took in auras as well as visible details of each and everyone of those present. Thousand Son Sorcerers who bore the colours of Magnus' Elite moved around the edge of his vision, carrying scrolls and grimoires between building and portal. Tzaangors preached in their gangs, their leaders sqwarking in some form of dialect to the sky to which was only echoed by their kin. Rubricae stood in
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 1 0
It starts at childhood;
Every thought, every trance,
Every imaginary character that you make up
Can stick to you and eternally dance.
All you have to do is take their hand
And squeeze it tight,
Because sometimes nobody else will
As you sleep at night.
The imagination is a powerful thing;
With thoughts so wide and long
It simply becomes a reality.
Fortunately, if you forget the song
The other side will not,
And will hum and laugh and smile;
Taking your hands and spinning quick,
Forcing you out of your self imposed exile.
Age forces change;
As maturity catches up, many lose grip,
And feel lost in the world as it goes dim
As imagination and reality just trip,
And break.
Imagination is something that should stick
But you get forced to "grow up"
Which will do nothing but make you sick.
People will force you to change;
To become something new
And away from the old,
Though while all you did was grew
With those same friends as you had before.
They grew with you and they smile,
Taking your hand
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 2 3
You're made out of stuff
And you're made out of things
You're made out of hopes
And primarily dreams
Dreams appear when we sleep
And carve up our reality
The sky turns black, the stars go out
And we can do nothing but evaluate
Numbers become words and hiss at air
Flesh becomes water and then becomes skin
Eyes blink out fire before disintegrating to sand
While nails sharpen and crack into glass
There are always those who are willing to help you
Always there, regardless of distance, time or space
Constant little voices in the back of your head
Who don't actually want you dead
Numbers become words and hiss at air
Flesh becomes water and then becomes skin
Accept the fact that your tongue will harden and crack
Believe in yourself while screaming for help
Remember the keys for those locked doors
Turn the keys and hold on tight
For whatever is behind the door is in for a fright
Of what is left of all of your might
Numbers become words and hiss at air
Flesh becomes water and then becomes skin
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 4 0
This Side Of My Skin
On the outside
Of my skin
Is unmarked flesh
Smooth skin and
Clean hair
With open eyes
And constant smiles
Who would ever know
What happens at night
When the head hits the pillow
And the lights go out
Candles relight
And doors unlock
Windows shatter
Bricks reform
And the sound of furniture
Screams across broken floors
Such a life
Morning hits
And all is well
Awakening from it
Is the best thing
And when the light
Of the day hits home
Gotta remember
Smile for them all
Just gotta smile for them all
Open all the doors
Once more and again
Give me the memories
That I had to lock to forget
Give me the pressure
And the stress
And the reliability
And relief
That waking up can never give
People think
That unmarked skin
Heralds normality
All it does is defend
The insanity
The soul inside that erodes
Singes and burns
Is truly cracked now
But all is not lost
Nothing is bad or sad
For we are all different
And insane
No-one is normal
No-one is sane
Everyone has their little conditions
One day
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 2 0
Turning Keys
Each step leads anew,
With less true meanings than can be true
And with each stab into the wilderness we go
We will never connect, we will never show.
Each door has a key,
Dangling from the chain that hangs free
While each step we both take
Now aims to be opening more doors which are fake.
Each laugh has screams,
Echoing throughout through doors it seems;
Though we cannot make sure anymore
It seems to be echoing more and more from that door.
Each blink has a tear,
Each of our eyes unable to see fear.
As if our mind was already under constant regret
While all we try to do is shut the doors and forget.
Each heart has a beat,
A constant reminder that we shall accomplish that feat
To force a life into more than just a memory, a thought,
And kindling aspiration to the point of nought.
Each claw has blood,
Pulled from within our very hood
Which covers our head now, only lower jaw show
Shivering, quivering, hiding low.
Each song has an end,
It's music doesn't follow us around the bend.
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 1 0
Skryre Diplomacy
Bells rung.
The horde of slaves worked all the while, while to some the signal of the bell would entice the change of a shift or the change of the work pattern; no, not for these unfortunate souls who squeaked and toiled in the dark, humid, steam-intoxicating space. Cogs turned in synergy with the sounds of ticking clocks and gas-vials, all the while the owner stared onwards from his vantage point, tail swishing every couple of seconds while he sniffed the air.
The Arch-Warlock was a monster of a creature. It's left arm was completely bare, muscle beneath strewn, pale skin bulged every now and again as tension flooded its system; white, creamy fluid being pumped directly into its body with each rough intake of breath. The rest of the body was completely covered in brass and metal plate, designed to meet the structural approach to any Skaven willing to hold such a armoured exoskeleton.
Sniffing the air, the half-mechanical rat moved on, his head tilting from side to side as he scurried
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 1 0
It's been a while
Oh, so very long ago
When the doors were closed completely
And are opened once more
Oh, how they slam open
How the walls beside them crack
And how the geist within screams
And claws, and attacks.
With black eyes now turning red
Three orbs on either side of the head
With horns spurting out in beautiful display
And needle teeth as thin as hay
Oh, how it claws forth and crawls
Like a coming storm with no real motive
Apart from to dream beside us, and breathe
Moving is the scattered insanity made from me.
The corridors alternate and eradicate
Moving too and fro
Opening ceilings as well as doors
And re-knitting the entire flow
Oh, how my head ticks and tocks
To that soul-laced clock
As each memory is laced within itself
And urges itself into insanity filled dock.
While the harbor master screams
And demands obedience
They instead require somewhere to live
And somewhere to stay
With three eyes on either side of the head
And with a beautiful display of horns
They instead curl
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 1 0
War Council
The Realmgate stuttered as arcane energies ripped into existence, eldritch storms choked the skies as screams and promises filled the winds of Shyish. The Land of the Dead shifted uneasily as the winds began to pick up their tempo, speeding through skeleton blocked chasms and zombie infested forests. No Messenger or Herald was needed to warn the God of the Dead of this coming.
"The Realmgate links to the Realm of Chaos," confirmed Arkhan, the Right Hand of Nagash, as the skeletal king simply sat. Nagash had expected multiple conflicts with the forces of Chaos since he had freed his people from the Cage of Bones. This was nothing new or surprising.
The Cabal of Kings, Necromancers and Vampires stared across, the gate reaching the right point to allow transporting armies to pass. Yet, Nagash merely sat in his throne, his cheek resting against his palm as the ghost-fires in his eyes flickered. The silence was broken soon enough.
"It is clearly Archaon playing his hand and attempting anoth
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 3 4
Keep Going
Roads are to be walked
Not stomped out.
Lives are to be lived
Not snuffed out.
Be strong
And don't snap.
Families are to be loved
Not pushed away.
Friends are to be held
Not kicked away.
Keep on going
And don't snap.
Hobbies are to be enjoyed
Not destroyed.
Chores are to be completed
Not crushed.
Keep on believing
And don't snap.
Days are to be remembered
Not forgotten.
Memories are to be cherished
Not left rotten.
For the love of it all and keeping it secure
Remember your promises
And don't snap.
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 0 2
Open Them All
My turn
My turn to dance and sing
We're bored
We're bored of your will to smile
Our turn
Our turn to take it all and play
And turn it into a game.
Look here
Look here upon the doors of your past
Crystal doors and made of glass
Maybe stone
Maybe stone doors hold back waterfalls
Or hide something far more.
Full Moons
Full Moons won't share their thoughts
Distant Stars
Distant Stars won't help you dream any better
Look and feel what we're going to do
Flicking your tables into doors and windows.
Pillows and cushions are our domain
Closed eyes
Closed eyes are our alarm
Guarding the doors of your history and past
And describing futures.
Keys jingle when spun around and around
Metallic noises
Metallic noises echo violent in quiet spaces
Change will inevitably come
And it will flood your mind with every memory lived.
Open them
Open them all
And sing
Open them
Open them all
And breathe.
Open them
Open them all
And sing
Open them
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 1 0
Music's on
Lute and all
Fire's lit
Keep going on
Shake me
Spin me
Make me dance
Grab me
Hurl me
Release the trance
People clap
Voices sing
Bonfire smokes
Keep spinning
Shake me
Spin me
Make me dance
Grab me
Hurl me
Release the trance
Feet bounce
Feelings depart
Life speeds up
Muscles stretch
Bodies sweat
Eyes close
Don't fret
Shake me
Spin me
Make me dance
Grab me
Hurl me
Release the trance
Shake me
Spin me
Make me trance
Grab me
Hurl me
Into the dance
:iconsaekhor:Saekhor 0 0
Carrion: LRP Character :iconsaekhor:Saekhor 0 0
Age changes work, and work changes the age, in ways. The older you get the more mature you become, and the less scared you become when you attempt to write/draw/produce new 'products' to the public.
I've become more mature. I've started poems that actually look and sound like poems, rather than a depressive hurl of demented rants and shouting.
Now... I'm happier about my work, and ever so proud of what I can produce. It's true, y'know. Art without feeling or emotion isn't art at all. I'm still proud to own some of my emotions, despite they may be the only ones I'll ever own for the rest of my life.
Gah! I'm ranting! And smiling while I do so. Just read and find out, kay?

Random Favourites

Thousand Sons sorceror mask :iconcommissarx:CommissarX 8 0 Wh40K: 1K Sons Portrait :iconstugmeister:StugMeister 99 12 6th Edition - Aztec Style :icongreyall:Greyall 193 105 Hard Suit 'Scavenger' :icontd-vice:TD-Vice 401 75 In Nomine Deus Imperator :iconmako85:MaKo85 154 85 1 hour elf asassin chick making of video :iconnebezial:nebezial 3,524 156 Storm Chaser Caitlin Finch :iconcwalton73:cwalton73 217 17 Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons :iconalbe75:albe75 365 10 Eyes to see :icontd-vice:TD-Vice 374 119 Zerkers :iconmentosik8:Mentosik8 157 11 Steve Finch Planeswalker :iconkiljoyq:KiljoyQ 10 25 i dont use lipstick,but when i do...i improvise :iconnebezial:nebezial 3,789 197 so i found my llord of the rings soundtrack.... :iconnebezial:nebezial 4,412 325
I don't draw, so I bless those who can with favourites and comments. It's how I work.
I love space concept work. Planets, asteriods, suns, nebulas, stars, ect. Anything that's off this world commits a simple admiring presence within me.
Also, other work that I cannot write myself, so happy poetry (for instance) is muchly favoured by myself.
Other than that, anything that catches my eye will suffice.



Project Thousand Sons: Heldrake
So, after I did the Scarab Terminators I stated that I'd do something with wings. I kept this in secret from a lot of people and am now proud to show it off to the world in all it's burny glory. This is a Heldrake dedicated to my lil' growing project. Also known as Ahriman's Burning Parrot. 

Project Thousand Sons: Scarab Occult Terminators
So, project round two done. 

Just whacked out these five in about a month or so (since that's the way I'm doing it) and am quite happy how it all came out. Since these all started from being a gold spray, I'm really, really happy how it's all done. 

Onto the next project. Something with wings, I think.. 

Project Thousand Sons: Ahriman~
So, here he is. The man himself (and the manager in the background). 

Little bit of the history to the guy. When I first started this game, back when I was... 8, I saw the original Ahriman (link:…) and fell inlove. I just, couldn't really bring myself to do him justice on my first paint through (despite how many people said they liked him) and so when given the chance, I commanded myself to do better. 

Then GW brought out a new Sculpt of him. And then I smashed my target, I believe. I have hit a point in my hobby life to where I can say I'm happy with my talent. So, here he is. 

Ahzek Ahriman. The Exile. 

New Project: Thousand Sons
So! Bit of a wild card, really. Seems I'm back onto the front of moving and getting shit done. So, here's my latest project due to the fact that GW upgraded and altered all the models for my favourite army and even included some new ones. 
At the moment, I am currently painting the big A himself (Ahriman, Magnus is to come later on) and will be posting him up when I'm done. Bit hyped to finish the sod, won't lie. Also, have gotten a bit better at painting, so will have to allow you lot to see!

Anywho, enjoy. More will be coming. 

Ahriman hated it here. Every single step through the blasted, never-changing planet spiked self-worry and doubt within his soul. Every now and again, he'd turn his head to check behind him, reassured by the fact that the Progidal Sons marched in perfect silence behind him. The two head Aspiring Sorcerers, Ikep and Torian, mentally saluted and acknowledged the Arch-Sorcerer as they continued to advance. With a steady inhale, Ahriman willed his way into the Main City.

The first plaza was filled with them. Absolutely filled with them. The horned helmet of the Exile tilted from side-to-side as he took in auras as well as visible details of each and everyone of those present. Thousand Son Sorcerers who bore the colours of Magnus' Elite moved around the edge of his vision, carrying scrolls and grimoires between building and portal. Tzaangors preached in their gangs, their leaders sqwarking in some form of dialect to the sky to which was only echoed by their kin. Rubricae stood in silence at specific way-points, their bolters held to their chest and their stance absolute.


The thought process spasmed into Ahriman's mind as quickly as it was forced and confined, the memory of the Capital of Propsero being sealed behind a door and locked with a key that only he knew. Steeling himself, the Exile rose the Black Staff before him, the crowds around him ceasing from their daily acts to witness him. With a few muffled syllables, Ahriman made himself known throughout the entire city. His aura was broadcast throughout the Warp, pushing through mental barriers and psychic deadlocks to authentically warded homes and libraries.

The mental backlash caught him off-guard.

Portals breached reality all around him. Mystical whites blurred into blues and red hues, while others sparked with green and black lightning which scorched the never-changing cobblestones with their presence. Others appeared as the form of specters and multi-coloured birds of prey. The one that forced Ahriman's interest upon him, however, appeared as a swarm of Propserian beetles, which grew into the form of the Exalted Sorcerer known as Kabel. With a sudden tap of Kabel's staff Ahriman felt nine-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety nine pairs of eyes upon him, all judging and hating in synergy.

"What has a Traitor's business to do with Sortiarius? What has an Exile's need from us?"

"I was requested." Ahriman's reply came out sharp and quick. A well practiced tone followed by a curt nod, the polite method of greeting within the old walls of Tizca. Beneath Kabel's helmet, Ahriman knew the creature smirked as scenario after scenario was played between the fleshy layers of his skull. The Exile waited patiently.

"There was no request. Not from any of the Council. No-one from our kind wants to bear your presence, Ahriman."

The words were designed to hit home but they clearly missed Ahzek, his head tilting only slight as his Cabal moved up behind him. In sync, the summoned Exalted moved beside Kabel, aura's flaring up throughout the psychic network as the guesswork and planning eclipsed the actual desire to fight. With a wave of his gloved hand, Ahriman discarded the comment and continued.

"I was summoned. Our Father wishes to speak to m-"

"Our Father wishes for no-one such as you. You ruined us, Ahriman. You brought our Legion to ruin and now you have the audacity to return? You have no permission, no authority and no summon! Begone from this place, before we, the Third Eye, remove you and all of your misfits!"

Arcane tensions built up. The mutated beastmen skirted around the gathering, picking sides based on the relics and favour they held. Rubricae left their posts as willed, their bolters levelling up towards the Progidal Sons while Sorcerers' prepared their spells for encase of the worse. Ahriman's perception bounced to every mystic within thirty yards of him and his warband, reading the flares of their souls and the energies they were ready to harness. He blinked a few times before once again trying to continue.

"Fine. Our Father wishes to scold me for such pathetic attempts that he could, of course, do with a mere flick of his wrist. Our Father wishes to scream down his never-ending pain upon my soul in return for what I did to this very Legion. Our Father has summoned me due to this, and you will take me to him, Kabel."

Kabel's aura switched from a cold, calculated white and dark blue to a mixed rampage of green, red and black as Ahriman's final command hit home. His arms erupted in warpfire before pointing them directly towards the Exile with the intent to incinerate the over-dramatic whelp from this plane of existence. His flames died out as Ahzek just looked towards him, the Black Staff resting against the ground at his side. No aggression was shown, just patience.

"Just take me to our Fa-"

"You. Ruined. Our. Legion. You will not do the same again! You are nothing, now, Ahriman! Not the Captain of the First Fellowship. Not the Templi Magisti of the Cordivae. Not the Saviour of Prospero. And not the Lord of whom we shall take commands from! You are nothing, Ahriman. You are a Traitor, a Thief and a Failure to all of your family and brothers!"

To start, anyone who bore witness to this conversation wouldn't notice the change in the Exile's mood. His gloved hand gripped the Black Staff a little, to which was a sign to any of his Warband to remain resolute and out of the way. The horned helmet kept his glare upon Kabel who had just vented out towards him, the two green dots of the eye-lenses staring ever forward. With a twitch of his left hand, Ahriman began, his aura suddenly much more open than he'd like.

"I. Did. What. I. Had. To. Do. You pathetic whelps and creations of the Warp would never be able to even comprehend that! Each and every one of you, from Rubricae to Sorcerer was made due to MY SACRIFICE! I pledged throughout my entire existence to burn our Legion free of the Flesh Change. I promised thousands upon thousands of souls that I would find the cure. But no. Progress is deemed too heretical in the eyes of people who would be called such. You are all here because of me! You are all here because of what I did to save my Legion, what I did to cleanse of us all of mutation! And instead, you stand here now, instead of praising me as the one who ELEVATED you to the point of where your power is unrivaled, due to MY SPELL, you instead think you have the audacity, the urge, the need to come to MY face and demand that I, not you, I leave?!"

Ahriman's helm looked around for the moment, taking in the view for a few milliseconds before returning the verbal and mental assault on every damn Psyker within the city. For tens of miles, Sorcerers would cease their study and sit upright, would stop in their daily tasks and would sit and listen to the Warp tether them to this event. For miles, Thousand Sons Rubricae and Scarab Occult turned their helmets to the direction of the debate; unable to hear or understand but enough to recognise the whereabouts.

Time stopped to allow Ahzek to breathe. Tension made it move again.

"I am here not by my own merit, but that of OUR FATHER. Our PRIMARCH. He who EXILED ME wishes for MY PRESENCE to be felt. If I came here of my own accord, Kabel, I would have come with a much larger force and many more willful adepts. I would come with the intent to remove the Rubric from every Sorcerer within this pathetic attempt to remember Tizca. I would enlighten thousands by just snuffing out every rival with even an ounce of wit and remove their presence from the Warp all-together. I would push my way to Magnus' throne room and demand repayment for every soul I have made suffer just to save one of his. I would be here for War if I came on my own accord, not to just speak with our Father."

Ikep and Torian, the two Progidal Sons Sorcerers didn't move during that entire roar of emotion, their weapons resting on the pommels of their Khopesh Swords while waiting for the command to be ushered through their minds. With silence, however, they were commanded otherwise and their hands slipped to their sides.

"I will see our Father now."

With a few passing seconds, Kabel nodded to Ahriman and began to walk away, the Third Eye moving away in synergy as the Exile made the steps to follow. With a few mental tugs, the rest of the Progidal Sons went with, their weapons held high with the pride that only Ahriman could understand.
Return to Sortiarius
After getting a bit hyped and reading some of the stuff that was happening with the new Wrath of Magnus book going about, I've picked up that Ahriman and Magnus are back on speaking terms despite the whole "Rubric blowing up, woops" with the Thousand Sons Legion. So... I got a little bit of inspiration to write a, "What happened before" with Ahriman, and here it is. 

After a somewhat dazed existance into doing other things, I kinda return to the fold. So, first thing is first. 


How you all been? Good? Cool. 

It's been quite a while since my last Journal Entry, as in, well... Almost-two and-a-half years. Life has.. Progressed slightly. I'll describe faintly. 

Got a job in October 2013. It's not the best job but it pays. A few people disagree with the job (some friends I know, and some family) and have stated that it's killing me off emotionally, but I need the money. For those who don't know yet, I tell people to pay their Taxes in the UK. It can escalate, but I've met some good guys in the workforce, and made some new friends. So, life goes on, I suppose. It's been like that for the last couple of years. 

Events happened, and conclusions were met. 

In regards of my stuff, I've started feeling the urge to write up feelings again (and not all "emo" toss) which is a nice and sudden change. I'm also getting compliments for some of my stuff, too, which is a bonus. That stuff should start appearing a little more frequently, but for the moment, it's a come-and-go moment. 

And... That would be everything. Hope you guys are alright, and I hope the last couple of years have been kind to you. 
  • Listening to: Albatross - Exclusive CMX
  • Reading: Nothing.
  • Watching: Nothing.
  • Playing: Mortal Kombat X.
  • Eating: Nothing.
  • Drinking: Water.


Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Hey: the name's Steve Finch, and I still currently own the profile that you are watching, reading or simply scanning through. I am a poet, as you may have noticed, and I intend to stay that way. I'll pretty much write about any emotion that I still own, so the poetry may be intensely written.

Currently living in the UK. I'm a vivid Warhammer player, and my music taste is huge. From classical to death metal, so yeah..

Thanks for scanning this part, and enjoy the rest of my work.



Add a Comment:
BunglerCat Featured By Owner Edited Mar 24, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello !
Found you :happybounce: 
Saekhor Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Yes, you have. :)
BunglerCat Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
I am a dummy! 
Gnaughty Featured By Owner May 20, 2015
Loving your work man!
Saekhor Featured By Owner May 20, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!
hulja Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thanks for fav... ;)
Saekhor Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
No worries. :)
psychofoxpickle Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2014  Student Digital Artist
THANKIES FOR THE FAV! HAVE A LLAMA! *throws at u and runs*
Saekhor Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
*falls over*

It's kay!
psychofoxpickle Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014  Student Digital Artist
*goes back to help u up* 

<333333  *takes off again*
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