haruspex I



Kroeppspulsader like a root.

A stench of fat oil, burnt harsh.

*    *    *

Ah, in the bowel and liver I see,

a green man walk with me.

*           *           *

-/make a note of it. Dispose of this holi body.–

=                    =                    =


A note

At first this painting was meant to be in colour and with white smoke.

But with the loss of the great painter Wayne England yesterday, the smoke will be black and the painting will be gray.

Wayne England’s painting of the stretch faced man engraving skulls is one of those paintings that really took a hold of me as a kid. It’s a huge reason why I first fell in love with 40k.

He will be missed greatly.





9 thoughts on “TERRA HARVSPICES

  1. A harvspex (harvspices is the plural) practices divination by the examination of entrails…

    A figure swathed in filthy, ragged robes… the almost leopard-skin pattern on the right sleeve and the collar of matted, greasy unwashed ermine give the harvspex an air of decayed, slightly incongruous splendour… fit for a prieste of the gilded sacrificial carcase-god of terra. His flesh is fused with machinery, tubes sprouting from his backe, his eyes long replaced by augmetics, another speaker, i imagine gilded amongst all of the decay to proclaime the emperor’s divine will as seen in the entrailles as I so often say, terra is about splendour and decay, flesh and machine fused together in imitation of the splendid and decaying God, the living machine-creature around which terra is built, I suspect moulded into his image by his great psychic powers

    The chart, stretched out by two servo skulls (the characters ingraved on them are psi and chi, which to me echoes psyker, psychic — if the holie entrailes ever show anything I think the immense psychic presence of the Emperor has something to do with it like the Tarot (such charts, often of the liver, are often found of pottery with etruscan or cuneiform characters)… I imagine the bladed scissor-dividers either cut into the entrails or measure some part, or both… the pointer may pin down some part for examination or as there indicate something on the chart.

    I particularly the rhyming prophecies (I imagine all are in this form) and the dismissal of one holie body after the other, a shrine with creature after creature sacrificed by a waiting slaughter-servitor, a pile of bloodied, eviscerated corpses, his hands will become greasy, covered in fat-fragments and oil and bloodstained as he routs through the interstines, blood flowing everywhere.. I almost imagine him wiping his filthy hands on the splendid robes… all to draw out some cryptic fragment of the future…perhaps….

    He has so many eyes… four and his badge is a straining eye… ironic, in a way, but very fitting, straining to see signs which may not be there at all… he sees everything but he sees nothing again, if he chances on the truth it may be coincidence or a psychic glimmer… the smoke belching around him suggests, like all the Imperium, he is groping through a thick fog , practicing half-understood and half-remembered rituals read out of rotting and half-illegible books, which may or may not work… peering at foul masses of rotting flesh… if there is any psychic element he then gropes through the unimaginable mind of a Man-God blindly, perhaps drawing out fragments of things that are, will be, or may be…


    1. Cheers mr Graye!
      Your words give credibility and sanction to my blurry thoughts.
      I’m thinking most, if not all of them, are frauds without any psychic blessing. The premonitions drawn out from entrails form around an ancient writing structure, everything regurgitated over and over with slightly different wording. Yet once in a while even the fraud would touch upon a grand truth.


      1. Yes… fraudes. It fits well — and as you say, at times the ancient rhymes, regurgitated (hardly an accidental choice of word…) will sometimes glance on the truthe. Not at all, a pleasure to help.


  2. I imagine the shryne of the haruspices would be filthy too, littered with greasy bones around a gothick altar-table stained with old blood… blood guttering down gilded drains… an indescribable stench… contradictory, strange rhyming prophecies noted down as the muttering haruspices search the entrailles, the strong bitter smell of incense half-masking the sickly reek of decay… all grim, foul… perhaps pointlesse… for who knowes what they see? Does the Man-God dreme? or does his unimaginable mind dwell on the past? or what might have been? does he showe them the future? or are they misled by the warpe? or do they see nothing at all, a slight anatomical abnormality, delusions and supersition,… for nothinge. The policies of the vast Imperium based on this groping by Tarot or entraille … blinde, yet sometimes striking on something in the currents of the Emperor’s minde…. catastrophic mistakes and deathes of millions while the haruspices chant and preye for light while the light of the Astronomican fails…


    1. I am torn between the idea that they would have a fixed shrine or the idea that they would wander the floor of Terra nomadically, searching for the best spoils–eerrrr bodies that meet the perfect sanctified standards for divination.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s