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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

Note

Do you have any fic recs of Sherlock being soft for John and John only.

Hey Nonny!

Ahhhhhhhh your request had me thinking that yes I do, and I did tag a few fics with “soft Sherlock”, but I’ve never started a list, so here ya go!

SOFT SHERLOCK

See also: Sherlock Soft With Children

Soft. Happy. Content. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 223 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Spooning, Morning After, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock reflects on his state of mind. Part 6 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can't decide if it's raining or not. Sherlock doesn't understand.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, 5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock, Heart-Tearing Love) – "He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything."

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they've been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John's pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks... Part 3 of Lock and Key

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Affirmation by jamlockk (E, 3,096 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Dev. Rel., PWP, Love Declarations, Emotional/Overwhelmed Sherlock, Comforting/Caring John, Gross Fluff) – "Sunlight dappled John's skin, casting a glow across his spreadeagled form as he dozed among the rumpled sheets. Sherlock knew the expression on his face was hopelessly soft but for once did not care about showing his true feelings so openly. He simply stood there, in the doorway, gazing at the impossibly beautiful man currently snuffling softly in his slumber." Part 8 of All the ways we love

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock's belly.

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

all things warm and tender by darcylindbergh (E, 5,177 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Romantic Fluff, Rimming/Anal/BJ’s, Body Worship) – Grinning and giggling, John slides back down under the sheet and pulls it over his head. He finds Sherlock waiting for him, eyes bright and hair wild, the firelight bleeding through the thin fabric, colouring everything in soft peach and topaz, and in that moment he is so suddenly, unexpectedly, ethereally beautiful that John forgets how to breathe.

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Naked by sussexbound (E, 6,166 w., 1 Ch. || Frottage, Fluff, Intimacy, First Time, Love Declarations, Trust) – John takes a deep breath, and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sherlock, how would you feel if you were sitting out here doing one of your bloody experiments, and I just waltzed out of the loo and started fixing myself breakfast completely starkers? Hmm…? ”Sherlock’s lips inch up at the corners into a pleased hint of a smile he can’t seem to suppress. Part 2 of Intimacy

Christmas by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 7,673 w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #soft sherlock #Anonymous #long post

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dont-tempt-me-frodo · 4 years ago

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The Last Kiss

So this is entirely @dapandapod‘s fault and I hope you're happy :(

(Major Character death, TW: blood and gore)

Their first kiss had happened in a tavern in Kovir.

Jaskier, high off an exhilarating performance, and more than a little drunk, had stumbled into Geralt’s lap. The warm, affectionate look the Witcher gave him stirred something so deep inside him and ached through his chest and before he could stop himself, he had pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s lips.

They had both brushed it off as a drunken mistake but Jaskier couldn’t help the pang of hurt that followed him around in the weeks that followed, couldn’t help but remember the way Geralt stiffened under his touch, the unreadable expression on his face after.

He had been in love with Geralt for years now and it was just another reminder that Geralt didn’t feel the same way.

Their second kiss happened in the middle of a marsh in Velen.

They were just passing through, following a lead on a contract in the next town over when a thick fog wreathed around them and Geralt leaped off Roach, brandishing his silver sword.

Before Jaskier could ask what was going on, the Witcher grabbed him by the scruff of his doublet and practically threw him off the road into a patch of reeds as the mist swirled and solidified. Three Foglets, gangly, bony, impish creatures with blueish grey skin and a mouth full of teeth, lunged at Geralt. Roach took off with a terrified whinny and Jaskier could hear the swish of a sword meeting flesh as he clambered to his feet and crashed into a fourth Foglet. His yelp was cut off as strong clawed fingers wrapped around his throat and hoisted him into the air. Gasping for the breath being choked from him, Jaskier struggled in the monster’s grip. The Foglet had a gleam in its beady eyes and it gnashed its teeth at him.

There came a grunt and a hiss of a blade through the air and then the Fogelt’s head tumbled from its shoulders. Jaskier fell heavily to the ground, lungs burning as he gulped for breath. He was pulled to his feet and there were hands on his cheeks and lips against his own and his eyes widened in shock.

“Are you okay?” Geralt’s amber eyes stared at him.

The Witcher was covered in Foglet blood and swamp muck, panting hard as he studied Jaskier’s face.

“Uuhh,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lips in an attempt to ground himself. His heart was pattering frantically in his chest. Geralt’s hands were still cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth across the soft skin.

“Jaskier,” the Witcher prompted with a frown.

“You-you kissed me,” the bard stammered.

Geralt’s expression softened and he smiled.

“Yes, I did. And I’m about to do it again.”

Jaskier whimpered against Geralt’s mouth as the Witcher planted a chaste kiss to his lips. His hands came up to curl around Geralt’s neck. Heat sparked through him, prickling his skin, tingling through every nerve and cell of his being.

It was hot and it was sweet and it was about goddamn time.

Jaskier very quickly lost track of how many times they kissed after that.

Apparently after his fumble in Kovir, Geralt had been thinking about the kiss a lot and it had taken him a long time to puzzle through the new emotions, eventually coming to the realisation that he cared about Jaskier in a way that went beyond friendship.

Jaskier was just glad he didn’t have to pretend anymore. Now he could be openly affectionate with Geralt without the fear of being pushed away. He could tell him he loved him and know that Geralt wouldn’t laugh at him.

Geralt took a while to get used to the touching and declarations of love and enthusiastic fondness but he was happy. Happier than he could ever remember being in his long life.

Their last kiss happened in a ruined fort deep in the forests of Nazair.

The werewolf Geralt had been paid handsomely to dispose of had taken Jaskier to its lair in an attempt to bargain for its life.

Geralt had been willing to talk to it, maybe even cure it. But it had crossed a line that there was no coming back from.

The unbridled fear for Jaskier’s safety hurts more than Geralt ever thought it could. The negotiations with the werewolf were to buy time so that he could work out where it was keeping his bard and the best way to kill it quickly. Unfortunately, the beast had a temper and when it wasn’t getting what it wanted, it lunged at Geralt.

The fight was brutal and messy.

Geralt stumbled away from the slumped body of the werewolf clutching a hand against the gash across his stomach in an attempt to stop his guts spilling onto the floor.

The blood loss was making him nauseous and lightheaded. Or maybe it was the fact that his gloved fingers were pressed against his exposed organs. He knew the wound was bad. He knew he didn’t have much time to find Jaskier and free him before he succumbed to the injury.

He found Jaskier chained to a wall a little further into the fort. He was dirty and bruised but he was alive.

The colour drained from Jaskier’s face as Geralt shuffled over, yanking the chain and breaking its hold of the bard with what was left of his rapidly depleting strength.

Jaskier tumbled forwards, wrapping his arms around Geralt as the Witcher sank to the floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier choked, cradling Geralt to his chest as tears brimmed in his eyes.

Geralt managed a grunt, a trickle of blood bubbling between his lips. Jaskier tried to inspect the wound but Geralt hissed.

“Ger-fuck-Geralt, Geralt there’s so much blood. What do I do? Tell me what to do!” Jaskier’s voice broke as he wept, his whole body shaking.

Geralt just shook his head and Jaskier pressed a hand on top of Geralt’s to add more pressure and try to slow the bleeding.

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” Jaskier’s pitch went up a note, nearing hysteria.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, “Jask listen to me.”

“Nononono Geralt, please.”

“Take-take Roach. Take my medallion to Vesemir. Tell him what happened. He-he can help you,” the Witcher grit his teeth against the pain.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Jaskier wailed, tears dripping off his nose and splashing onto Geralt’s cheek, “I was supposed to grow old with you by my side. You were supposed to be there with me always. Be the last person I see before my many years finally catch up to me. We… we were going to get a small cottage by the coast. I was supposed to spend my days writing music and you, fuck, you were supposed to take up fishing or something. It can’t end like this. Geralt please.”

“I love you Jaskier,” Geralt said softly, a sorrow in his eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t say that like its goodbye. You’re not leaving me Geralt. You cant-“

“Jaskier-“

“I love you too. I love you so much-“

“Jaskier please. Please. Just kiss me.”

Jaskier swallowed thickly and leaned down to press his lips to Geralt’s. Their last kiss before Geralt took a shuddering breath, and then he was gone.

impalaloompa on ao3

#dapandapod #the witcher #geraskier #major character death #my writing #this hurts #jaksier #geralt #geralt of rivia

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tomhiddleslove · 5 years ago

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Tom Hiddleston, Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox play the three points of Harold Pinter's adulterous triangle in Jamie Lloyd's superb production from London.

Reverse chronology has become a familiar narrative device in film, but when Harold Pinter employed it in 1978 in his blisteringly personal drama about an extramarital affair, Betrayal, it was still uncommon enough to become highly influential. It makes the drama start from a place of awkwardness steeped in grief, two years after the illicit liaison has finished, and end at the beginning, with a rapturous sense of secret possibility, marbled by the deep vein of melancholy present from the first scene. That emotional complexity smolders like hot coals in Jamie Lloyd's expertly calibrated production, transferring to Broadway direct from its hit London engagement.

The headline news is the commanding Broadway debut of Tom Hiddleston, taking a breather from the Marvel Cinematic Universe to revisit the stage roots to which he has returned periodically throughout his career. The coolly charismatic star is matched at every step by Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, the latter trailing his own Marvel association from Netflix's Daredevil.

Lloyd staged Betrayal, one of the tightest and most straightforward (albeit back to front) of Pinter's full-length plays, as the unorthodox culmination of an acclaimed London season of the dramatist's one-acts. The director's feeling for Pinter's tricky rhythms, his freighted silences, glacial distances and brittle intimacies is unerring, evident not just in the dialogue-driven moments but also in the physical staging, the austerely elegant design choices, the stunningly descriptive use of shadow in Jon Clark's lighting and the precise attention to movement.

The action unfolds in bars, restaurants, family homes, a regular assignation address and a Venetian hotel. But designer Soutra Gilmour's set is a simple, stark rear wall in slate gray that makes intimate advances on the actors at times, with a sparingly used turntable that suggests the unkind passing of time, even as the scenes play out in backwards order. Among the few props are two chairs, the glasses or bottles required for a variety of alcohol, cigarettes, of course, and only late in the play, a table with an Italian linen tablecloth that becomes the saddest sight you'll ever see.

The three principal actors are onstage for the duration, with the third player at first remaining detached in the background through each of the mostly two-character scenes. But almost imperceptibly, the tiniest flicker of reaction begins playing across the face or in the body language of the silent additional presence as key information is divulged, twisting the knife as to who knew what and for how long. It's a masterstroke of direction, adding lacerating stabs of hurt to a drama in which none of the protagonists is overly sympathetic.

The parties involved, all in their mid-30s, are Robert (Hiddleston), a London publisher; his wife Emma (Ashton), who runs a gallery; and Jerry (Cox), a literary agent who also has an unseen wife at home. Each couple has two children. Complicating the seven-year affair of Emma and Jerry is the friendship of much longer duration between Robert and Jerry, who was best man at their wedding. The two first met when both were bright young things editing poetry magazines, Robert at Oxford and Jerry at Cambridge.

Pinter, and in turn here, Lloyd, get much mileage out of the urbane sophistication of these very English characters, consistently testing the strain beneath their polite small talk and practiced civility, with an edge of formality even between spouses and lovers.

It's thrilling when the simmering rage beneath Robert's smooth, at times bordering on smug, surface bubbles up, for instance in a discussion of the male ritual of a squash game followed by a pint at the pub and then lunch, his exclusion of Emma delivered like a casual body blow. Or during one such lunch with Jerry, when he rants about the tediousness of launching a novel while ferociously attacking a plate of prosciutto and melon. That his anger is never directed openly at its target doesn't make it sting any less.

But it's in those moments when the armor of Robert's composure is pierced by vulnerability that Hiddleston's performance truly dazzles. A scene in Venice, during which Robert dances around his suspicions to the point where Emma reads the knowledge of her transgression in his eyes and chooses that moment to confess, is made all the more wrenching by its restraint. As they sit side by side and she provides key details — location of their trysts, how long it's been going on, reassurance about the paternity of their youngest child — Robert stares straight ahead, impassively absorbing the full impact as his eyes pool with tears. The generally guarded Emma's sudden emotional release is quite different, but no less affecting in Ashton's self-possessed but finely layered performance.

Lloyd's brisk scene transitions add texture to the drama throughout, notably when that painful exchange segues to Emma and Jerry meeting at the suburban flat they've been renting, the shadow of their embrace seeming to infect the still-seated Robert like a virus.

The uncustomary choice to show one of Robert and Emma's children (an adorable girl played at the performance reviewed by Emma Lyles) also pays off. Repeated reference is made to Jerry tossing her up in the air and catching her one afternoon in their kitchen — or was it his? It rips your heart out to watch the child giggle with joy when that happens before curling up in her father's arms to sleep as Emma then meets with Robert early in their relationship, seemingly contemplating making a permanent change.

It might be argued that Lloyd's repeat use of a chilled-out, female-vocal cover of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" is a little on the nose for Pinter ("Words like violence / Break the silence"). But the effect is powerful and the music choices, including Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, Ryuichi Sakamoto and Norwegian electronic duo Royskopp, help thread one scene to the next, as words and wounds bleed into the spaces between.

At the beginning of the play (which is the end of the story), Robert's infidelities also have contributed to end the marriage, two years after Emma has broken off the affair with a still-aching Jerry. But of the three, Jerry is arguably the only one who wears his guilt visibly. The excellent Cox plays that burden with a palpable sense of the pain beneath Jerry's studied attempts to keep things light and breezy. His declaration to Emma in the final scene, at the start of their love story, is one of the most searing Pinter monologues — ecstatic in its expression of romantic feeling and yet desolate in the awareness that Emma is condemning Jerry to a kind of exquisite misery.

"I can't ever sleep again, no, listen, it's the truth, I won't walk, I'll be a cripple, I'll descend, I'll diminish, into total paralysis, my life is in your hands, that's what you're banishing me to, a state of catatonia, do you know the state of catatonia? Do you? Do you? The state of… where the reigning prince is the prince of emptiness, the prince of absence, the prince of desolation. I love you."

Those last three little words never sounded so doomed. The smile of contentment as Robert interrupts them, entering the room from the party all three are attending, seems veiled on Hiddleston's face with a suggestion that he already sees what's happening. And Lloyd stages the closing moments like a mournful dance, anticipating the pain of what's to come.

It's just six years since the last sizzling Broadway revival of this work, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig, Rachel Weisz and Rafe Spall, all in top form. But this very fine production makes an absolutely compelling case for returning so quickly to the play, in which betrayals cut in every direction — between couples, friends and within the characters themselves. Lloyd and his actors illuminate a glimmering darkness in the drama, a deeper well of sorrows that linger in the air even after the cast take their bows.

If there's one nagging issue, it's with the audience, not the production. While it's great for business that fans flock to Broadway to see an MCU star like Hiddleston showing consummate skill, the constant laughs at inappropriate moments must be distracting for the actors, particularly in the many moments of quiet devastation. Sure, there are sparks of dry humor throughout Betrayal, but c'mon people, it’s Pinter, not Upright Citizens Brigade. It's for grownups.

[ Link to full article in source below. ]

#Tom Hiddleston #Zawe Ashton #Charlie Cox #Betrayal Broadway #The Hollywood Reporter review article #bernard b jacobs theater #jamie lloyd production #harold pinter play #Theatre tom #tom hiddleston stage performance #tom as robert #zawe as emma #charlie as jerry #Broadway debut #new york city

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insanityclause · 5 years ago

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geminidarksidehasawoken · 5 years ago

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Unbreak Me

Hey guys!

This chapter has been a long time coming

@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @iplaydrake @drakesensworld @carabeth @sashatrr @blznbaby @dcbbw @hopefulmoonobject @candy702-blog-blog @ao719 @furiousherringoperatortoad @ladyangel70 @angi15h

Can you handle the truth?

After a few more Advil the pain behind my eyes dulled enough for me to drive. Leanna and Sabrina said their goodbyes with Sabrina asking her father if she could accompany us to the airport.

The drive was long and too quiet, with way too much time to think, Leanna sleeps beside me as we head to the Beaumont estate, and I couldn't wait to put this place behind us.

The house is still, quiet, there is no Hana at the piano, no Maxwell in the day room with music the place is just still. A sleepy Leanna walks to her room, mumbling something about chocolate later with lunch. And I smile as I watch her until she's finally in her bed, exhausted, a testament that they spent all night talking.

I take my time slowly going up the stairs and enter the room I share with Drake.

I'm not sure what to expect... But nothing could have prepared me for this.

My heart bleeds at the sight before me, Drake sits by the floor with tears streaming down his face. "Drake?" I call worried about him. Never seen him this distraught in all the years I have known him. His brown eyes haunted with pain and too much hurt finally meets mine and the rawness I saw there undid me

"She left, she chose you" he whispers and I'm not sure what he means. He rest his hands on his forehead covering his face. His pain resonates with me and I sit with him, pushing away the pain of his betrayal I pull him to me just like he did all those years ago, for me. Preparing to give him whatever he needed

"Drake, what do you need?" I ask, in that moment knowing that he was my best friend and I would do anything to stop his pain, to heal his hurt. "I need Hana, I need to know that you will be safe... I just need to know that you and Leanna will be okay, I need Hana to know I love her." He says and I know his heart has broken, shattered and its because of me. I've held onto him as a crutch too long, using the fact that I was legally married to keep attention away. My friend was hurting for my own selfish reasons.

"Where is Hana?" I ask, feeling his pain flowing through me, it was as though a tsunami was tearing my insides apart, too much to bear.

"She's gone to Shanghai, she's going to marry the man and merge her fathers company with his" he tells me gripping his hair as though doing so would stop or ease the pain, but nothing would, only her.

"Drake, " I say not sure how to put my thoughts into motion. "Let me fix this for you"

I hear myself say as I pull him from the floor and lead him to the bed, his eyes are wide at my statement, and usher him to the bed. He crawls in and I cover him, his head in my lap as I stroke his soft hair. "I wish you had told me, but more importantly I wish I hadn't been so weak" I mumble hating the sting in my eyes at his pain.

"White, this is my own doing, I knew you could handle the truth, but..."

"But?"

"I didn't want you to hurt seeing us, I knew it would cause you to think of him" he mumbles on a cough, "and I wanted to preserve Leanna childhood, I don't think she would understand why I left mommy to be with aunty, so I didn't because I didn't..."

I shush him and stroke his hair. While I thought about the last twelve years.

"I think it's time we told him the truth, so that I can set you free, Drake it was an honor to be your wife" I whisper.

"Are you sure, what happened to when she's older?" He asks looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Your happiness matters, and she's a big girl she will understand, its her truth and we will all be there to help her process, you, me and Hana, the three amigos"

"Wait, you would do this for me?" He asks doubtful."

"Drake, I love you, how can you not know that I would do anything for you"

He pulls me unto him in an awkward hug so my body is close to his, and I lay there with him, while silent tears fall from his eyes. "I can't lose her" he whispers turning into me and I just hold him until he cries himself to sleep.

Slowly I crawl out of bed so that I don't wake him, there in my mind was a plan hatching in my thoughts as I called Liam's phone.

"Hello?"

"I need to borrow your jet" I say before I lose my nerve.

"Oh okay" he answers clearly confused

There is no time to waste as I head to the airport.

I just prayed my plan would work as there is no way I could go on knowing based on my selfishness I hurt my best friends, because the truth was I should have known better, should have done better once I was able to find my footing.

**Liam***

Sabrina is tired and I walk her to her room and offer to read for her. "Sure, top drawer of my favorites" she answers. She is so much like her mother as who else would have a drawer for their favorite things? I open the draw and my fingers brush against a pearl bracelet I haven't seen in years. My heart feels sadness at the sight of it, remembering my declaration of love and the promises I had made for the future. Unable to put it down, I hold it

"Brina, where did you find this?" I ask curious knowing she was always holding onto lost things.

A tired smile plays on her lips as she see it. "I didn't find it, Leanna gave it to me, it was a gift to mother from her father" she says "did you give mommy fancy things just because you loved her?" She asks innocently but the questions doesn't register as my mind calculates. Fear paralysing me. " Father?" She calls her brow knitted with worry as I must be as white as a ghost.

"Sabrina, how old is Leanna?" I ask the question terrified of the answer yet needing to know anyway. Because I think I always knew, I just didn't want to accept it.

"She's eleven and a half, why?" At her answer, I grip the chest of drawers for support knowing I very well may fall if I'm not careful.

"Oh... I need to sign some papers, can I get a rain check on that story?" I asked knowing I can't concentrate now.

I feel as though I am swaying under the new realization, I have another child. A child who calls another daddy. I feel, what the fuck did I feel! Getting to the office I dial the Beaumont's

The phone is answered on the second ring by the butler on duty. "Get me Drake" I roar.

"I am afraid, he isn't taking calls at the moment" he says.

"I do not care! I Liam Ryes demand his presence now, a car will be waiting for him!" I bark and disconnect the phone. Anger vibrating in my blood, sadness haunting at the lost years. How could they do this to me?

I hear the door click close and I turn around to see Drake anger burning in his eyes. "What the fuck was so damn important you had to drag me here?" He roars glaring at me, his anger tangible in the office.

"How could you?" I demand, the words too new too raw to be spoken out loud.

"How could I what?" He challenges grabbing the whiskey bottle from my desk and taking a swing.

"Leanna, she is my daughter," I say. It wasn't question but a statement, it was a fact, I knew, I felt it in my veins.

I watch as Drake opens and closes his mouth nothing coming out, he stands defiant. "So?" I prompt and he glares at me.

"What do you want? Congratulations you finally figured it out?" He spits the words at me, only causing my anger to burn more.

"I trusted you with my life, yet you, you keep something of this magnitude from me" I say my hands twitching from the need to punch something, to do something.

"And?"

"How could you betray our friendship this way..." I can't imagine her pregnant and laying beside Drake, having him kiss and touch and play with her in utero. "I could never, would never betray you by dating one of your exes, yet as my friend you not only dated but married the mother of my child, Drake where the fuck is your loyalty?" I demand and he throws the glass into the wall, he looked as though he had just crossed the line.

"My loyalty?! It's been with fucking you! The woman I love is going to marry another man because my best friend had his head too far up his ass to put the pieces together!" He says pointing his finger at me.

"So this is my fault?" I can't believe what I am hearing. "You always wanted her, you took advantage of her while she was weak, you are despicable"

He laughs and its loud in the office "Li, I've never touched White, I never kissed her, I seen her naked yes, but I've never, never touched her inappropriately. So get off your high horse before I knock you off"

It's my turn to laugh, obviously he thought I was gullible "Knock me off I dare you"

"I hate you for what you did to her! You, you broke her! I watched her hurt, I listened to her cry for months when she thought we were sleeping. I saw her bleed for you, in order not to think of you she worked and went to school, saying maybe if she was good enough, maybe if she was worth it you would have fought for her. And not once did you reach out to find her, to talk things through... You're the despicable one. Did you know she still breaks down on your wedding day?"

I grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and turn it to my head loving the way it burnt going down.

"Stop! I don't want to hear it!" I say, it's too much his words outing the fire I had caused.

"No you dragged me here, to talk so let's talk... The day she found out she was pregnant it was after working a double shift and online classes, she came out and saw you on the television speaking about how delighted you were from your honeymoon"

"Drake, stop!" I begged but he didn't

"No! Where was your mercy for her? Remember my last phone call?"

"The one you smashed the phone in my ear"

"Yup! That was the call to tell you that you were gonna be a father, and you ruined it. That was the last time she ever cried openly. She thinks that this was her karma for sneaking around with you."

"Oh God!" I cry, knowing I was the cause of this pain.

"And to top it all fucking off, she went into labor the day you and that witch announced you guys expecting. Imagine Li, feeling that level of pain, you broke her! You did this, so don't stand their telling me how could I? How could I place my life on hold ensuring that your child was always out of harm's way, knowing her importance to the history here." He continues, but I can't take anymore.

"Liam, I didn't betray our friendship, but you, you are the one that let her get away." His words ring true and I continue to drink.

He's laughing, and its sad and I turn to see the tears mirroring in my eyes shining in his "I did the same thing to Hana, and now I have lost her."

We sit on the sofa, tired emotional and I'm speechless. The one thought in my mind was how did I fix this?

Riley

The flight was long, and I had more than enough time to put my speech into action. Mr Lee greets me warmly and tells me that Hana will always head to the horses in need of comfort. "You flew all this way to apologize?" He asks with a smile.

"She's my best friend, I'd move heaven and earth for her if I needed to."

Hana found me, on the back of the estate looking over the stable where horses were neighing, "Riley, "

I turn to look at her, and I see the pain weighing on her, the hurt she never intended to cause. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask after we stand in silence for just too long. She swallows, tears glistening in her eyes

"Was Drake the fling?" I ask, unable to take the sting from my voice.

"Yes." She answered quietly. "I've wanted to tell you, but it was never the right time, and Drake is so terrified of losing Leanna, of what it would mean for her..."

The tears stung my eyes but I couldn't cry, "Leanna will always be Drakes daughter, I wouldn't dream of taking her away from him, " I reassure her.

"Do you love him, truly love him?" I ask her and she answers her breath hitching on a small sob.

"Too much" she replies wiping her tears.

"Hana, you saw me at my lowest, I deserved your respect, your honesty to tell me you had fallen in love, I would have moved heaven and earth to ensure that you guys got your happily ever after" I whispered. The ghost of a smile skips her lips and I want to pull her into a hug but my pride stops me, for some reason her betrayal seemed to hurt more and I couldn't understand why.

She clears her throat and straightens her spine. "I hate it that you found out about it that way, I have dreaded telling you for so long-"

"Why?" I interrupt, not understanding the need for her to keep this from me.

She closes her eyes and a single tear falls. "Riley, you'll never admit it, but Liam I think he may have unintentionally scarred you... for life" she whispers softly.

"This isn't about Liam-"

"Isn't it? You never gave yourself time to heal, the day you found out you were pregnant, you just came back to life and behaved like Liam never happened, but how can you, when she looks and acts so much like her father"

"Point Hana?"

"My point is this, after everything you are still very much in love with him"

My laugh is humourless, I didn't want to hear this, this wasn't about me. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes it. ".I"

"No, I'm not done! For 12 years, you haven't been kissed, for 12 years every year you cry on his wedding day, then for the rest of the year you are devoid of any emotion. I know and that is why every year I ensure that I am there"

At her words I feel as the she's picking at the scabs the wounds that never really healed and the realisation that she is right floors me and I can't take it...

"Enough! That man hurt me, he shattered my heart like a piece of China and never bothered to pick up the pieces. So yes, it still hurts and I can't take the touch of someone else because... I'm... I'm scared... Scared, that I knew all along, that I was never good enough for him... That I was gullible, I compromised my morals for him, for a moment to bask in the sun with him... Hana, I... I'm still hurting, I'm still trying to get over him when he's found love, had a family, and I'm still stuck hurting that he never came for me."

Hana pulls me into a hug, like she did all those years ago after cutting me free. "Oh Riley, he doesn't deserve that kind of commitment, he doesn't deserve you" she tells me. But I can't believe them. This was my karma, because deep down I knew that had he asked me to stay as his mistress, I would have because I didn't know how to leave him, I wanted to be his happy place even with Madeline.

"Oh my gosh... I'm the Madeline in your story, trapping Drake in a loveless marriage" I say looking into her sad eyes.

"Hana, I love you... You deserve the happiness I couldn't have... We'll figure it out"

"Drake chose you, we don't have a chance" she says walking away from me.

"No. Drake didn't choose because he would always choose you" I whisper

"Hana, I got home to find Drake crying, Drake doesn't cry... This wasn't his choice but my own selfish one" I say as we walk through the blossoms.

"He needs you"

"Then why are you here and he isn't? I'm done settling... He needs to show me, that I am more to him that his constellation prize" she whispers her face set in a determined line.

"Hana, "

"No Riley, Drake, Drake may damn well be the love of my life but I intend to find happiness without him... For years, I've settled and he's had no problem letting me go, which means he can always let me go and I won't ever feel like that again"

There is anger and hurt swirling in her voice. "But this is my fault," I say.

She holds me by my shoulders and looks me into my eyes with tears streaming from hers. "No, this is not. Drake had a choice and he chose to let me go... He chooses to let me go..." her voice cracking with pain. "He let me go, again" she whispers, her breath hitched and the storm blew in, raging taking no prisoners the pain the hurt just too real, top raw and open and I hold her... Anchoring her, as we slipped to the floor under the weight of the pain.

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acsversace-news · 7 years ago

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We've spent the last two hours of The Assassination of Gianni Versace without getting a glimpse of its namesake (Édgar Ramírez), so when "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" welcomes the iconic fashion designer back into the fold of his own story, it's undoubtedly a welcome sight (even if the scene in question again revolves around him arguing with his sister, Donatella [Penélope Cruz]). Gianni wants to announce his homosexuality to the world, having survived a bout with AIDS and grasping that it's no good to simply live however many days he has left in the shadows. His lover and partner for over a decade, Antonio D'Amico (Ricky Martin), stands by Gianni’s side, and Donatella instantly blames him. He wants to be famous. He cannot stand to be a side player. She implores Gianni to think about the company (which is about to go public on the NYSE) - not to mention the future of all his employees - before sitting down and delivering what could be a devastating declaration.

This season of American Crime Story has been incredibly political, and "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" dials the "serial killer procedural" element down a notch to focus on issues of class within the gay community, and how those standings affect individuals looking to come out of the closet. For Versace, it's an event - an interview in The Advocate where he demands Antonio be by his side during the entire chat - reclaiming his own sense of identity after cheating death for a little more time on the planet. But for future Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) victim Jeffrey Trail (Finn Wittrock), his public revelation is an act of defiance against a military that's not only called him and others like him a "faggot", but also beaten enlisted sailors within an inch of their lives once their sexualities were discovered. As an enlisted officer in the Navy, Trail had to live his truth in shameful silence, before rescuing a subordinate after he was ritualistically bludgeoned by his peers.

The threat of outing within the military - an act that would cost Trail not only his career, but possibly his family (as many members in his bloodline served, as well) - even forces Jeff to mutilate his body. After another officer tells the tale of a recently arrested colleague outing sailors based on the tattoos he recalled seeing during sexual encounters with other men, Jeff takes a box cutter and tries to carve some ink off his leg, leading him to bleed through his uniform while sitting in the Captain's quarters, where a pamphlet on Naval ethics and code of conduct is being handed out to every man who owns a leadership position on his ship. When Jeff decides to finally break his silence and give an interview to television reporters, it comes with the stipulation that his face be blacked out and his voice altered. It's a far cry from the well-lit, welcoming photo shoot the gay publication sets up for Versace.

These political explorations are a welcome respite from the exploits of Andrew Cunanan, who - despite being compellingly played by Criss every episode - was starting to become a little bit of a repetitive character (though, to be fair, he's also a serial killer, so routine is kind of his thing). The non-linear structure, while often clever, does "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" zero favors, muddying some of the relationships. We see Jeff first through Andrew’s eyes, as he cons his way into a trip to Minneapolis (on American Express’ dime) in a last-ditch attempt at having a normal life by marrying the focus of last week's episode (not to mention Trail's best friend and lover), David Madson (Cody Fern). We already know how this all ends, so there's a bit of wheel-spinning going on as Jeff gives Andrew a less-than-fuzzy reception at the airport, and we recognize he's right to be distrustful of the sociopathic pretty boy.

So, why spend all this time illustrating Andrew's relationship to Jeff? One could argue Andrew - no matter how evil and deadly he is - still definitely played an oddly positive role in the Navy man's life. Andrew meets Jeff during the first time the officer steps into a gay bar. Andrew shows him the ropes (so to speak) regarding his queerness; proving to Jeff that his sexuality isn't awful, and that not everybody is going to hate him for being gay. Eventually, Jeff is the only one who spots Andrew spinning his web of lies, while David can't help but want to help his fellow queer. A susceptibility to this series of wild stories is what ends up costing both Jeff and David their lives, as Andrew begins doling out another new legend of needing to begin anew in San Francisco, all so he can get inside David's apartment and wait there like a patient predator. The fictions keep driving him forward, allowing Andrew to set traps for new prey.

Beyond class, the friendships Jeff forms between Andrew and David illustrate just how difficult it is to come out of the closet on basic principle alone for some gay men. On one hand, they have the morals and values they've been instilled with throughout their lives - represented by Jeff's commitment to his familial institution, the military. He looks to the red, white, and blue, wanting to be a Good American in a United States that has said (from the President on down) that they don't want his kind representing it in combat. On the other hand, David is a successful openly gay man, and Andrew has no problem embracing his sexuality. “The bars, the meals, the men. Everything you gave me means nothing,” Jeff tells Andrew at one point, finishing with, “I want my life back. My real life, as a soldier.” For some, self-acceptance was just as impossible as societal acceptance, and Jeff Trail's life ended while he was still in a state of spiritual limbo, wrestling with his own truth every night, before waking up and going to work at a factory with the other vets, who he'd continue to keep his secret from.

#acs versace #birth movies death #2.05 #recap #review #article #february 2018

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asktheadeptus · 8 years ago

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Lorgar - Part II

"All I ever wanted was the truth. Remember those words as you read the ones that follow. I never set out to topple my father's kingdom of lies from a sense of misplaced pride. I never wanted to bleed the species to its marrow, reaving half the galaxy clean of human life in this bitter crusade. I never desired any of this, though I know the reasons for which it must be done. But all I ever wanted was the truth."— Opening Lines of the "Book of Lorgar", First Canticle of Chaos

Horus Heresy

It was the Castigation of Khur that ultimately turned the Word Bearers to the service of Chaos. Whilst Lorgar brooded over the Emperor's reproach, Kor Phaeron, his trusted lieutenant and closest friend, whispered to Lorgar of the great Chaos Gods: beings that welcomed, even demanded zealous worship and devotion, unlike the Emperor, who clearly was not divine if he refused to accept rightful worship. Lorgar was slowly poisoned against the Emperor by Kor Phaeron, who was appointed Master of the Faith, and was tasked with converting the entire Legion to the worship of Chaos. The Word Bearers came to venerate the Gods of Chaos, but instead of throwing their support to one God, they worshiped Chaos Undivided, a pantheon composing the four Ruinous Powers.

It was Lorgar and the Word Bearers who ultimately converted the Warmaster Horus to the worship of Chaos, by introducing his Legion, the Luna Wolves, to the warrior lodges which were picked up from the world of Davin. Later, in a plot involving the Word Bearer Chaplain Erebus, Horus was manipulated to return to Davin, where he could be wounded, and in that poisoned state prove more malleable to corruption by the Chaos Gods.

The Legion kept their new devotion secret, until the Warmaster Horus declared his own faith in Chaos, and began the galactic civil war known as the Horus Heresy. The Word Bearers quickly joined the rebellion, and many of the worlds they had conquered since their conversion turned as well, having been corrupted by the Word Bearers to their new faith in Chaos during their conquest.

The majority of the Word Bearers Legion was ordered by Horus to see to the entanglement and possible destruction of the Ultramarines Legion, so that their vast forces could not be brought to bear against Horus' march on Terra. This was a task the Word Bearers took up with joy, for even as he chastised the Word Bearers for their faith, the Ultramarines had become the favored Legion of the Emperor. The assault on Ultramar was led by Kor Phaeron, who swore to utterly destroy the Ultramarines. The Word Bearers ambushed the Ultramarines at the world of Calth, an attack which eventually turned to defeat when reinforcements from the Ultramarines homeworld of Macragge arrived, and the Word Bearers were routed from the system.

The rest of the Word Bearers were led by Lorgar to Terra, where Horus and his forces were repulsed and ultimately defeated after a fifty-five day siege of the Imperial Palace. The Legion took refuge within the Eye of Terror and the Maelstrom, vast wounds in space where the Immaterium leaked into reality, coming to rest on the daemon world of Sicarus.

Istvaan III

Before Horus openly launched his rebellion to overthrow the Emperor, an opportunity presented itself that would enable him to get rid of the Loyalist elements within the Astartes Legions under his command. The Imperial Planetary Governor of Istvaan III, Vardus Praal, had been corrupted by the Chaos God Slaanesh whose cultists had long been active on the world even before it had been conquered by the Imperium. Praal had declared his independence from the Imperium, and had begun to practice forbidden Slaaneshi sorcery, so the Council of Terra charged Horus with the retaking of that world, primarily its capital, the Choral City. This order merely furthered Horus' plan to overthrow the Emperor. Although the four Legions under his direct command -- the Sons of Horus, World Eaters, Death Guard and the Emperor's Children -- had already turned Traitor and pledged themselves to Chaos, there were still some Loyalist elements within each of these Legions that approximated one-third of each force; many of these warriors were Terran-born Space Marines who had been directly recruited into the Astartes Legions by the Emperor Himself before being reunited with their Primarchs during the Great Crusade.

Horus, under the guise of putting down the rebellion against Imperial Compliance on the world of Istvaan III, amassed his troops in the Istvaan System. Horus had a plan by which he would destroy all of the remaining Loyalist elements of the Legions under his command. After a lengthy bombardment of Istvaan III, Horus dispatched all of the known Loyalist Astartes down to the planet, under the pretense of bringing it back into the Imperial fold. At the moment of victory and the capture of the Choral City, the planetary capital of Istvaan III, these Astartes were betrayed when a cascade of terrible Life-Eater virus-bombs fell onto the world, launched by the Warmaster's orbiting fleet. The Loyalist Captain Saul Tarvitz of the Emperor's Children, however, was aboard the Strike Cruiser Andronius and had discovered the plot to wipe out the Loyalist Astartes of the Traitor Legions. He was able, with help from Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro of the Death Guard who was in command of the Death Guard Frigate Eisenstein, to reach the surface of Istvaan III despite pursuit and warn the Loyalist Space Marines he could find of all four Legions of their impending doom. Those that heard or passed on Tarvitz's warning took shelter before the virus-bombs struck.

The civilian population of Istvaan III received no such protection: 12 billion people died almost at once as the lethal flesh-dissolving virus called the Life-Eater carried by the bombs infected every living thing on the planet. The psychic shock of so many deaths at one time shrieked through the Warp, briefly obscuring even the glowing beacon of the Astronomican. The Primarch of the World Eaters, Angron, realizing that the virus-bombs had not been fully effective at eliminating all the Loyalists, flew into a rage and hurled himself at the planet at the head of 50 companies of World Eaters Traitor Marines. Discarding tactics and strategy, the World Eaters Traitors worked themselves into a frenzy of mindless butchery fed by their growing allegiance to the Blood God Khorne. Horus was furious with Angron for delaying his plans, but Horus sought to turn the delay into a victory and was obliged to reinforce Angron with troops from the Sons of Horus, the Death Guard, and the Emperor's Children.

Fortunately, a contingent of Loyalists led by Battle-Captain Garro escaped Istvaan III aboard the damaged Imperial Frigate Eisenstein and fled to Terra to warn the Emperor that Horus had turned Traitor. On Istvaan III, the remaining Loyalists, under the command of Captains Tarvitz, Garviel Loken and Tarik Torgaddon, another Loyalist member of the Sons of Horus, fought bravely against their own traitorous brethren. Yet, despite some early successes that delayed Horus' plans for three full months while the battle on Istvaan III played out, their cause was ultimately doomed by their lack of air support and Titan firepower. During the battle, the Sons of Horus Captains Ezekyle Abaddon and Horus Aximand were sent to confront their former Mournival brothers, Loken and Torgaddon. Horus Aximand beheaded Torgaddon, but Abaddon failed to kill Loken when the building they were in collapsed. Loken somehow survived and witnessed the final orbital bombardment of Istvaan III that ended the Loyalists' desperate defence.

The few remaining Loyalists of the Emperor's Children Legion fought bravely on Istvaan III, led by Captains Saul Tarvitz and Solomon Demeter. To prove his worth and loyalty to Lord Commander Eidolon of the Emperor's Children -- and thus to his Primarch, Fulgrim -- Captain Lucius of the 13th Company of the Emperor's Children, the future Champion of Slaanesh known as Lucius the Eternal, turned against the Loyalists that he had fought beside because of his prior friendship with Saul Tarvitz. He wanted to punish Tarvitz for taking command of the defense, which had incited Lucius's fierce jealousy of his fellow captain. Lucius slew many of his former comrades personally, an act for which he was then accepted back into the III Legion on the side of the Traitors. In the end, the Loyalists retreated to their last bastion of defense, only a few hundred of their number remaining. Finally, tired of the conflict, Horus ordered his men to withdraw, and then had the remains of the Choral City bombarded into dust for a final time from orbit.

Drop Site Massacre

The Istvaan System’s third world, comfortably close enough to the sun to support human life, was now a virus-soaked mass grave marking the anger of Horus Lupercal. The world’s population was nothing more than contaminated ash scattered over lifeless continents, while the bones of their cities remained as blackened smears of burnt stone – a civilization reduced to memory in a single day. The orbital bombardment from the Warmaster’s fleet, payloads of incendiary shells and virus-laden biological warfare pods, had seemingly spared nothing and no one anywhere in the world. Istvaan III lingered now in silent orbit around its sun, almost grand in the extent of its absolute devastation, serving as the scarred tombstone for the death of an empire.

Ringing Istvaan V was one of the largest fleets ever gathered in the history of the human species. Without a doubt, it was the most impressive coalition of Astartes vessels, with the scouts, cruisers, destroyers and command ships of seven entire Legions. With a precision that required mass calculation, the fleets of seven Astartes Legions hung in the skies above Istvaan V. Shuttles and gunships ferried between the heaviest cruisers, while the decks of every warship made ready to deploy their warriors in an unprecedented, unified planetfall. Horus, traitorous son of the Emperor, was making his stand on the surface. The Imperium of Man had sent seven Legions to kill its wayward scion, little knowing four of them had already spat on their oaths of allegiance to the Throneworld.

Aboard the Fidelitas Lex, Lorgar's flagship played host to a gathering of rare significance. There were commanders from the Night Lords, Alpha Legion, Iron Warriors as well as three additional Primarchs; Night Haunter, Alpharius Omegon and Perturabo. Lorgar strode to the centre of the gathering of Traitors. He then proceeded to impress upon the gathering of his sons, brothers and cousin Astartes of the importance of their cause, and of the significance this day would hold in history. The Word Bearers and their allies believed that the Imperium had failed them and by being flawed to its core, imperfect in its pursuit of a perfect culture, and in its weakness against the encroachment of xenos breeds that sought to twist humanity to alien ends. And it had failed them, most of all, by being founded upon lies. The Imperium was forged by a dangerous deceit, and had eroded them all by demanding they sacrifice truth on the altar of necessity. This was an empire, propagated by sin, that deserves to die. And here, on Istvaan V, they would begin the purge. From the ashes would rise the new kingdom of mankind: an Imperium of justice, faith and enlightenment. An Imperium heralded, commanded and protected by the avatars of the gods themselves. An empire strong enough to stand through a future of blood and fire. The Emperor believes them loyal. Their four Legions were ordered to Istvaan V on His misguided conviction alone. But their coalition here and now was the fruit of decades’ worth of planning. It was ordained, and brought about according to ancient prophecy. No more hiding in the shadows. No more manipulating fleet movements and falsifying expeditionary data. From this day forward, the Alpha Legion, the Word Bearers, the Iron Warriors and the Night Lords would stand together – bloodied but unbowed beneath the flag of Warmaster Horus, the second Emperor. The true Emperor. First Captain Sevatar of the Night Lords Legion uttered, "Death to the False Emperor," becoming the first living soul to utter the words that would echo through the millennia. The curse was taken up by other voices, and soon it was being cried in full-throated roars. "Death to the False Emperor! Death to the False Emperor! Death! Death! Death!"

Thousands of Drop Pods and Stormbirds were deployed for the initial assault. The first wave was under the overall command of the Primarch Ferrus Manus and besides his own X Legion, the Salamanders led by Vulkan, and the Raven Guard under the command of their Primarch Corax joined him. Vulkan's Legion assaulted the left flank of the Traitors' battle line while Ferrus Manus, the Iron Hands' First Captain Gabriel Santor, and 10 full companies of elite Morlocks Terminators charged straight into the center of the enemy lines. Meanwhile, Corax's Legion hit the right flank of the enemy's position. The odds were considered equal; 30,000 Traitor Marines against 40,000 Loyalists. Horus was aware of the location of the Loyalists' chosen drop site and his troops fell upon the Loyalist Legions.

The battlefield of Istvaan V was a slaughterhouse of epic proportions. Treacherous warriors twisted by hatred fought their former brothers-in-arms in a conflict unparalleled in its bitterness. The mighty Titan war engines of the Machine God walked the planet’s surface and death followed in their wake. The blood of heroes and traitors flowed in rivers, and the hooded Hereteks Adepts of the Dark Mechanicum unleashed perversions of ancient technology stolen from the Auretian Technocracy to wreak bloody havoc amongst the Loyalists. All across the Urgall Depression, hundreds died with every passing second, the promise of inevitable death a pall of darkness that hung over every warrior. The Traitor forces held, but their line was bending beneath the fury of the first Loyalist assault. It would take only the smallest twists of fate for it to break. The forces on the surface had been embattled for almost three hours with no clear victor. The Loyalists waited for the second wave of 'allies' to make planetfall, believing they would be reinforced for their final advance. The Traitors all knew their parts to play in this performance. They were all aware of the blood that had to be shed to spare their species from destruction at the hands of the False Emperor, and install Horus as the new Master of Mankind.

Though the Iron Hands, Raven Guard and Salamanders had managed to make a full combat drop and secured the drop site, known as the Urgall Depression, they did so at a heavy cost. Overwhelmed with rage, the headstrong Ferrus Manus disregarded the counsel of his brothers Corax and Vulkan and hurled himself against the fleeing rebels, seeking to bring Fulgrim to personal combat. His veteran troops -- comprising the majority of the X Legion's Terminators and Dreadnoughts -- followed. What had begun as a massed strike against the Traitors’ position was rapidly turning into one of the largest engagements of the entire Great Crusade. All told, over 60,000 Astartes warriors clashed on the dusky plains of Isstvan V. For all the wrong reasons, this battle was soon to go down in the annals of Imperial history as one of the most epic confrontations ever fought.

The Urgall Depression was churned to ruination beneath the boots and tank treads of countless thousands of Astartes warriors and their Legion’s armour divisions. The loyal primarchs could be found where the fighting was thickest: Corax of the Raven Guard, borne aloft on black wings bound to a fire-breathing flight pack; Lord Ferrus of the Iron Hands at the heart of the battlefield, his silver hands crushing any traitors that came within reach, while he pursued and dragged back those who sought to withdraw; and lastly, Vulkan of the Salamanders, armoured in overlapping artificer plating, thunder clapping from his warhammer as it pounded into yielding armour, shattering it like porcelain.

The traitorous primarchs slew in mirror image to their brothers: Angron of the World Eaters hewing with wild abandon as he raked his chainblades left and right, barely cognizant of who fell before him; Fulgrim of the lamentably-named Emperor’s Children, laughing as he deflected the clumsy sweeps of Iron Hands warriors, never stopping in his graceful movements for even a moment; Mortarion of the Death Guard, in disgusting echo of ancient Terran myth, harvesting life with each reaving sweep of his scythe.

And Horus, Warmaster of the Imperium, the brightest star and greatest of the Emperor’s sons. He stood watching the destruction while his Legions took to the field, their liege lord content in his fortress rising from the far edge of the ravine. Shielded and unseen by his brothers still waging war in the Emperor’s name. At last, above this maelstrom of grinding ceramite, booming tank cannons and chattering bolters – the gunships, drop-pods and assault landers of the second wave burned through the atmosphere on screaming thrusters. The sky fell dark with the weak sun eclipsed by ten thousand avian shadows, and the cheering roar sent up by the loyalists was loud enough to shake the air itself. The traitors, the bloodied and battered Legions loyal to Horus, fell into a fighting withdrawal without hesitation.

The second wave of "Loyalist" Space Marine Legions descended upon the landing zone on the northern edge of the Urgall Depression. Hundreds of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks roared towards the surface, their armoured hulls gleaming as the power of another four Astartes Legions arrived on Istvaan V. Yet the Space Marine Legions of the reserve were no longer loyal to the Emperor, having already secretly sworn themselves to Chaos and the cause of Horus. The Night Lords of Konrad Curze, the Iron Warriors of Perturabo, the Word Bearers of Lorgar Aurelian, and the Alpha Legion of Alpharius represented a force larger than that which had first begun the assault on Istvaan V. The secret Traitor Legions mustered in the landing zone, armed and ready for battle, unbloodied and fresh.

The Iron Warriors had claimed the highest ground, taking the loyalist landing site with all the appearance of reinforcing it through the erection of prefabricated plasteel bunkers. Bulk landers dropped the battlefield architecture: dense metal frames fell from the cargo claws of carrier ships at low altitude, and as the platforms crashed and embedded themselves in the ground, the craftsmen-warriors of the IV Legion worked, affixed, bolted and constructed them into hastily-rising firebases. Turrets rose from their protective housing in the hundreds, while hordes of lobotomized servitors trundled from the holds of Iron Warriors troopships, single-minded in their intent to link with the weapons systems’ interfaces. The Word Bearers bolstered their brother Legions on one flank of the Urgall Depression while the Night Lords took positions on the opposite side. Down the line, past the mounting masses of Iron Warriors battle tanks and assembling Astartes, First Captain Sevatar of the Night Lords and his First Company elite, the Atramentar took up defensive positions. Both the Word Bearers and the Night Lords were to be the anvil, while the Iron Warriors would be the hammer yet to fall. The enemy would stagger back to them, exhausted, clutching empty bolters and broken blades, believing their presence to be a reprieve.

Dragging their wounded and dead behind them, Corax and Vulkan led their forces back to the drop site to regroup and to allow the warriors of their recently arrived brother Primarchs of the second wave a measure of the glory in defeating Horus. Though they voxed hails requesting medical aid and supply, the line of Astartes atop the northern ridge remained grimly silent as the exhausted warriors of the Raven Guard and Salamanders came to within a hundred metres of their allies. It was then that Horus revealed his perfidy and sprung his lethal trap. Inside the black fortress where Horus had made his lair, a lone flare shot skyward, exploding in a hellish red glow that lit the battlefield below. The fire of betrayal roared from the barrels of a thousand guns, as the second wave of Astartes revealed where their true loyalties now lay. The Loyalists' supposed "allies" opened fire upon the Salamanders and Raven Guard, killing hundreds in the fury of the first few moments, hundreds more in the seconds following, as volley after volley of Bolter fire and missiles scythed through their unsuspecting ranks. Even as terrifying carnage was being wreaked upon the Loyalists below, the retreating forces of the Warmaster turned and brought their weapons to bear on the enemy warriors within their midst. Hundreds of World Eaters, Sons of Horus and the Death Guard fell upon the veteran companies of the Iron Hands, and though the warriors of the X Legion continued to fight gallantly, they were hopelessly outnumbered and would soon be hacked to pieces. The Iron Hands had damned themselves by remaining in the field.

The Raven Guard front ranks went down as if scythed, harvested in a spilling line of detonating bolter shells, shattered armour and puffs of bloody mist. Black-armoured Astartes tumbled to their hands and knees, only to be cut down by the sustained volley, finishing those who fell beneath the initial storm of head- and chest-shots. Seconds after the first chatter of bolters, beams of achingly bright laser fire slashed from behind the Word Bearers as the Lascannon mounts of Land Raiders, Predators and defensive bastion turrets gouged through the Raven Guard and the ground they stood upon. The Iron Warriors and Word Bearers kept reloading, opening fire again, hurling grenades and prepared to fall back. The Word Bearers Legion had taken up landing positions on the west of the field, ready to sweep down and engage the Raven Guard from the flank. Three figures stood atop the roof of an ornate command tank, the Land Raider’s bronze and grey armour decked out with flapping banners and etched with fingernail-fine scripture over every visible surface. Kor Phaeron, Master of the Faith, watched the distant dropsite through a desperate squint. Erebus stood at his side..

Lorgar towered above both of them, but had no attention to spare for the treacherous opening salvos against the warriors of the Raven Guard and Salamanders Legions. He stared into the battlefield’s heart, his eyes wide even in the wind, his lips gently parted as he watched his brothers killing each other. Fulgrim and Ferrus, the fading sunlight flaring from the edges of their swinging weapons. The wind stole the clash and clang of their parries, but even in silence the duel was beyond captivating. No senses but a primarch’s could have followed such instant, liquid movements. The perfection of it all almost brought a smile to Lorgar’s lips. As the Primarch watched his two brothers engaged in their furious duel, he recalled a time, long ago when Ferrus had presented him a weapon he had forged. He had crafted the fine crozius-maul, Illuminarum, as thanks for the reinforcement of the X Legion at Galadon Secondus. Snapping back to reality, the seed of doubt krept into Lorgar as he played witness to the slaughter around him. But with the prodding and reassurance of his adopted father Kor Phaeron, Lorgar ordered his Word Bearers to attack.

The Raven and the Urizen Clash

Amidst the carnage and the slaughter, the anger of a demigod was released -- beyond anger, beyond rage. It went beyond both, for it was wrath, in physical form. Lord Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard charged into the ranks of the Traitorous Word Bearers, a blur of charcoal armour and black blades, butchering with an ease that belied his ferocity. Soon the voices of dying Word Bearers became a conflicting chorus over the Vox as they screamed for help. Argel Tal, the Crimson Lord and leader of the daemon-possessed Astartes known as the Gal Vorbak, Lorgar's "Blessed Sons," leapt forward to meet their end at the hands of a demi-god. Meanwhile, Lorgar mirrored his brother Primarch's actions, and slaughtered enemy Astartes with contemptuous ease. Just as the Word Bearers struggled to stand before Corax, so too did the Raven Guard fall back and die in droves. Suddenly, the Urizen halted his attack. He noticed that Corax was wading through the Gal Vorbak, ripping his daemon-possessed crimson warriors apart. Given a blessed respite from the Primarch’s murderous advance, the Raven Guard were falling back from him in a black tide. They left their dead in a carpet at the primarch’s feet.

Despite the protestations of both Kor Phaeron and Erebus, Lorgar disregarded their counsel and sprinted forwards across the churned earth and dead bodies of his brother's Legion to engage in a battle he had no hope of winning. He saw his brother – a man he had barely spoken to in two centuries of life, a man he barely knew – butchering his sons in a vicious rage. There was no thought of conversion. No hope of bringing Corax into the fold, or enlightening him enough to cease this murderous rampage. Lorgar’s own anger rose to the fore, burning away the passionless killing of only moments ago. As the Word Bearers primarch hammered his way through the Raven Guard to reach his brother, he felt power seethe within him, aching to rise out. Always, Lorgar had bitten back his psychic potential, hiding it and hating it in equal measure. It was unreliable, erratic, unstable and painful. It was never the gift it seemed to be for Magnus, and thus, he had swallowed it back, walling it up behind unyielding resolve. No more. A scream of release tore itself free, not from his mouth, but his mind. It echoed across the battlefield. It echoed into the void. Energy sparked from his armour, and a sixth sense unrestrained at last, with its purity perhaps colored by Chaos, exhaled from his core. Lorgar felt the heat of his own fury made manifest. He felt his unchained power reaching out, not only to enhance his physical form, but reaching to his sons across the battlefield. And there he stood at the heart of the killing fields, winged and haloed by amorphous contrails of psychic fire, shouting his brother’s name into the storm. Corax answered with a shriek of his own – the call of the betrayer, the cry of the betrayed – and the raven met the heretic in a clash of Crozius and claw.

In response, the Gal Vobak underwent their final metamorphosis, changing into their true Daemonic forms. Their ceramite armour had fused to flesh, layered by dense bone ridges and spines, as they sprouted all manner of razor sharp claws, talons and wings. They warped into new, bestial forms, marking them out as amongst the first Possessed Chaos Space Marines. Meanwhile, the Primarchs fought in furious combat -- Corax fighting to kill, while Lorgar fought to stay alive. During their duel, Corax hurled insults and accusations at his former brother. He wanted to known why Lorgar and his Legion had committed such treachery? Lorgar shared with his brother of the future visions he had seen of their father -- a bloodless corpse, enthroned upon a throne of gold and screaming into the void forever. Angered by his brother's lies, Corax lashed out furiously with his pair of Lightning Claws across Lorgar's face, cutting the meat of his cheeks deeply. Even should Lorgar somehow manage to escape his ultimate fate this day, he would bear these scars until the day he died.

The two primarch traded vicious blows, but the Raven Lord had the advantage not only speed and finesse, but of also being a penultimate warrior with decades of fighting experience. Lorgar did not, for he had always been more of a scholar than a warrior, and his lack of experience cost him dearly as Corax impaled Lorgar through his stomach, the tips of his meter-long talons glinting to the side of his spine as they thrust out his back. Such a blow meant little to a primarch – only when Corax heaved upwards did Lorgar stagger. The claws bit and cut, sawing through the Word Bearer’s body. Illuminarum slipped from the impaled primarch’s fists. Those same hands wrapped around Corax’s throat even as the Raven Lord was carving his brother in half. Even as he tightened his grip on Corax's throat, the Raven Lord remained untroubled by his weaker brother's grip. Lorgar crashed his forehead against Corax’s face, shattering his brother’s nose, but still he couldn’t free himself. The Raven Lord gave no ground, even as a second, third and fourth head butt decimated his delicate features. The claws jerked, snagged against Lorgar’s enhanced bones. Corax tore them free, inflicting more damage than the first impaling had done. Blood hissed and popped as it evaporated on the force-fielded blades. Lorgar fell to his knees, hands clutched over the ruination of his stomach. As Corax stepped closer, he raised his one functioning claw to execute his brother. Lorgar screamed his defiance at Corax, lost in the irony that of all the sons of the Emperor, he was the one soul in twenty who'd never wished to be a soldier. And now here he would die, at the heart of a battlefield. As the claw fell, it struck opposing metal.

Corax looked to meet eyes as black as his, in a face as pale as his own. His claw strained against a mirroring weapon, both sets of blades scraping as they ground against each other. One claw seeking to fall and kill, the other unyielding in its rising defense. Where the Raven Guard primarch’s features were fierce with effort, the other face wore a grin. It was a smile both taut and mirthless – a dead man’s smile, once his lips surrendered to rigor mortis. It was Curze. Corax sought to wrench his claw free, but Curze’s second gauntlet closed on his brother’s wrist, so that Corax would be unable to fly away and escape his fate. Curze looked upon his prostrate brother and ordered him to rise from his knees, disgusted at his cowardice. Corax was not idle as this exchange took place. He fired his flight pack, burning his fuel reserves to escape Curze’s grip. The Raven Lord’s claw ripped free, and Corax soared skyward, carried on jet thrust away from Curze’s rising laughter. Curze then shoved Lorgar back towards his Word Bearers.

Around them both, the grey Legion warred with the warriors in black. Lorgar thanked his brother for saving his life. But Curze warned him that he would let him die next time. As bit out another retort, his words halted as he took in the scene of the transformed Gal Vorbak -- their armour was crimson and ridged bone. Great claws, both metallic weapons and fleshy, jointed talons, extended from bestial arms. Every helm was horned and every faceplate was split by a daemon's skullish leer. Disgusted by this horrific sight, Curze turned his back on Lorgar and commented that he was so much more than merely foul, he was rancid with corruption. Though grievously wounded, Lorgar would live. The traitors had carried the day and dealt the Emperor and the Imperium a grievous blow. As the Horus Heresy began in earnest, Horus now possessed nine Space Marine Legions and had all but destroyed three of the remaining nine Loyalist ones. The path to Terra was now wide open, and the decisive Battle of Terra and the Siege of the Imperial Palace would follow after seven more years of blood and terror as the Traitor Legions penetrated to the very heart of the Imperium of Man.

Traitor Conclave

Four days after the Drop Site Massacre on Istvaan V, Horus Lupercal assembled those Primarchs who stood in opposition to the Imperium aboard his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit. They all knew the costs of the coming campaign, and their destinies within it. The Traitor fleets were underway. But after the "unpleasantness" of Istvaan, this was the first time they had gathered as a full fraternity. Eight Primarchs were present, though only half of them were physically in the room where the gathering took place. This included Fulgrim, Perturabo, Angron and Lorgar Aurelian. The absent four were nothing more than holographic projections: three of them -- Konrad Curze, Mortarion and Alpharius -- manifested around the table in the forms of flickering grey hololithic simulacra. The fourth of them appeared as a brighter image comprised of the silver radiance of brilliant witchfire. This last image was of Magnus the Red, who projected himself from afar by sorcerous means, from the Sorcerer's Planet where he was still licking his wounds from the recent Burning of Prospero by Leman Russ' Space Wolves.

As soon as Lorgar had taken his seat at the council table he could not take his eyes off his brother Fulgrim. The Warmaster grew ever more weary of his brother's inability to adhere to established planning and his lack of attention to the important gathering. Before the meeting could properly get underway, Lorgar slowly reached for the ornate Crozius mace on his back. As he drew the weapon in the company of his closest kin, his eyes remained locked on one of them, and all physically present felt the deepening chill of psychic frost riming along their armour. The Word Bearer Primarch accused the thing that mimicked his brother in physical appearance as not being who he purported to be. Before anyone could react, Lorgar's Crozius mace struck the supposed Emperor's Children Primarch. Fulgrim crashed into the back wall, his prostrate form crumpled to the ground. Turning his fierce eyes upon his other brothers he declared that this pretender was not Fulgrim. The other Primarchs that were present, advanced upon the changeling, drawing their own weapons. The Warmaster tried to placate the enraged Lorgar, his merest threat of a confrontation had usually been enough to quell Lorgar from any rash actions in the past. But as they faced Aurelian now, even Horus was wide-eyed in the changes wrought within him since Istvaan V. Clutching his mace in his crimson colored gauntlets, defying his brothers, he warned them to stay back.

When Horus once again attempted to calm the enraged Primarch, Lorgar was surprised at the sudden realization that the Warmaster already knew that Fulgrim was not whom he pretended to be. The Warmaster informed his fellow Primarchs that he would personally deal with the situation and dismissed them all from his chambers, with the exception of Lorgar. The Word Bearers Primarch could see the truth -- this creature was one of the daemons of Chaos -- as whatever was wearing his brother's skin and armour had its soul hollowed out. Something nestled within, puppeteering the soulless body of their own brother. What Lorgar couldn't understand was how this had come to pass and why did Horus continue to protect such a dark secret? Horus explained to his brother that he had not orchestrated Fulgrim's demise; he was merely containing the aftermath.

Lorgar was perturbed that another sentience now rode within Fulgrim's body. Horus was annoyed at his brother's line of questioning, for Lorgar and Fulgrim had never been close. Why did it matter to him? Lorgar explained that it mattered because this vile intrusion was a perversion of the natural order. There was no harmony in such a joining. Not like his own blessed daemon-possessed sons, the Gal Vorbak. A living soul had been annihilated for its mortal shell to simply house a greedy, unborn wretch of a daemon. During Lorgar's Pilgrimage to the Eye of Terror years earlier, he had walked in the Warp itself. He had stood where the gods and mortals met. Lorgar knew this form of possession was weakness and corruption -- a perversion of what the Chaos Gods wished for Mankind. The Ruinous Powers wanted allies and willing followers, not soulless husks ridden by their daemons.

Using his powerful psychic abilities, Lorgar held the daemon at bay. The Warmaster cautioned that he was killing Fulgrim, but Lorgar replied that it was not their brother, but an "it" - - one that he could destroy if he so wished it. Lorgar threatened the daemon that he would learn its true name and banish it back into the Warp. The Daemon-Fulgrim was helpless against Lorgar's formidable psychic abilities. As the Warmaster attempted to restrain his brother by placing his hand on Lorgar's shoulder, the Primarch psychically commanded Horus to remove his hand. Unable to resist, Horus obeyed. His fingers shivered as they withdrew, and his grey eyes flickered with tension. As the enraged Lorgar strode away from the council chambers, Horus commented that his brother had changed since crossing blades with Corax on the surface of Istvaan V. Lorgar replied that everything had changed that night. He then took his leave and returned to his ship to contemplate what he perceived as utter foulness.

Crimson King and the Urizen

Aboard Lorgar's flagship, Fidelitas Lex, the Primarch was visited by a projected phantasm of his brother Magnus the Red composed of silver witchfire. The Red Cyclops wished to discuss some urgent matters in private. The Thousand Sons Primarch was trying to gauge his brother's reactions in light of recent events as well as the skeins of fate that all seemed to intertwine and converge towards Lorgar, who stood at their nexus. Lorgar explained that he had seen the truth on the very Pilgrimage his brother had demanded that he never make. And after Istvaan V, a veil had been lifted from his eyes. There was no longer any need to hold back, for if they restrained themselves, they would lose the war, and humanity would lose its only chance at enlightenment. The Crimson King cautioned Lorgar against the careless and blatant use of his psychic abilities in such a primitive and brutal manner, for he was inviting the presence of dangerous warp entities into his midst. Lorgar brushed off his brother's advice and retorted that his opinion on the matter was moot, since he had delved too deeply in the powers of the Immaterium and brought down the wrath of the Wolves upon his home world. He was now a lord of a traitorous Legion that had been damned in the eyes of their brother Legions and only stood on the side of the Warmaster because they were now exiles.

Curious about references to his Legion, Magnus attempted to subtly probe his brother's mind, but was strongly rebuffed and warned by Lorgar never to seek to pry into his thoughts again. Magnus was astounded at Lorgar's powerful new abilities. Lorgar revealed to Magnus that since his abilities had grown more powerful, he had been able to delve deeply in the skeins of fate, both past and future. He forewarned Magnus that his Legion was not free of the 'flesh-change' his Legion had once so-feared. Lorgar warned him to beware those amongst his sons that failed to embrace it as the gift that it was. The Crimson King then decided to change the subject and began speaking of their brother Fulgrim and the terrible fate that had befallen him.

Lorgar then chastised his brother Magnus for not telling him the truth five decades earlier and for trying to keep him from taking the Pilgrimage where he finally discovered the truth about the Primordial Annihilator and the other things he had discovered since then. Magnus claimed he had only done this to protect Lorgar from his own self-righteous certainty and arrogance in his beliefs. Lorgar tersely replied that he stood at the right hand of the new Emperor, commanding the second-largest Legion in the Imperium, whilst Magnus was a broken soul, leading a shattered Legion. Perhaps he hadn't been the one that needed protection, or the one whose arrogance lead to his downfall. Magnus could not claim the same, for they both knew the truth, but only one of them had faced it. Lorgar grew angry, calling Magnus a coward for knowing the Primordial Truth yet failing to embrace it. Chaos was only grotesque because they had seen it with mortal eyes, but when they ascended, they would be chosen children of the Gods. Magnus interrupted his brother's diatribe, lashing out angrily with his psychic abilities. The Crimson King had grown weary of Lorgar's petty banter. Magnus challenged his brother, that if he knew the truths behind their reality, then to show him. Tell him what he had seen at the end of his accursed Pilgrimage.

Lorgar informed his brother of everything that occurred many decades ago. The Crimson King knew that what his brother had spoken of was true, but one lingering question remained: would Lorgar face their brother Roboute Guilliman at Calth? The Urizen's response was enigmatic, as he explained to Magnus that although some of his Word Bearers would indeed go to Calth, some would not. He would only reveal his plans to the Red Cyclops when he had committed himself fully to the Warmaster and his cause. Following their private exchange, Lorgar once again attended the Warmaster upon the Vengeful Spirit, this time in the company of Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters. When he inquired to Horus what was to befall their brother 'Fulgrim', the Warmaster brushed off Lorgar's inquiry. Enraged, Lorgar refused to follow Horus's plans for his Legion, instead informing the Warmaster of his intentions to follow a plan he had concocted earlier -- to take the bulk of his Legion to the galactic east, to the realms of Ultramar. The Warmaster informed his brother that they had argued over this proposed plan many times, pointing out that if Lorgar split his forces as planned, they would not have enough Astartes to achieve what he proposed. Lorgar angrily retorted that his apostles were prepared to sail into Ultramar. They had made pacts with divine forces Horus still struggled to comprehend. Daemons of the Warp would answer their summons. The Word Bearers cargo holds heaved with the bodies of faithful mortals, taken from the worlds the XVIIth Legion had conquered for they had not been idle these many years. The Warmaster pointed out that Lorgar needed Legionaries. Lorgar retorted that perhaps Horus should lend him a few of his companies, to accompany him to the east? Horus promised his brother that he would give him more than that. He would give him another Legion.

Lorgar confronts Fulgrim

Only one last order of business remained. Lorgar traveled down to the surface of Istvaan V to seek out and confront 'Fulgrim'. When the daemon-Fulgrim tried to forestall Lorgar, at a signal, his Legionaries of the XVIIth teleported aboard forty-nine Emperor's Children vessels, holding their commanders hostage at gunpoint. Now that Lorgar had made his point, he wished to speak to the daemon-Fulgrim alone. Following their conversation on the surface, the XVIIth Legion recalled their strike teams via teleportation. Fulgrim and Lorgar teleported from the surface as well. The Urizen wished to know of the fate of his brother Fulgrim and whether or not he was still alive. The daemon-Fulgrim took Lorgar aboard the III Legion's flagship Pride of the Emperor. Lorgar was escorted to 'La Fenice', the former lounge and theater of the Remembrancers of the 28th Expeditionary Fleet, where the Emperor's Children had undergone their final apotheosis as true servants of Slaanesh during the performance of the Maraviglia. Lorgar regarded the devastated theater. Whatever last performance had taken place here had been one of supreme decadence. Bodies, already gone to rags and bones, slumbered in cadaverous repose across the chairs and aisles. Discarded weapons and broken furniture lay strewn across the scene. Nothing was unmarked by the black stains of old blood. The daemon-Fulgrim led Lorgar to the stage and gestured behind a thin, silk curtain revealing an exquisite portrait of the Phoenician. The painting stole Lorgar's breath for a long moment, and he was complicit in his awe, glad to let it do so. Few works of art had moved him as this one did. Fulgrim, triumphant in this rendering, wore his most ostentatious suit of armour, as much Imperial gold as Third Legion purple. He stood before the immense Phoenix Gate leading into the Heliopolis chamber on board his flagship, a vision of gold against even richer gold. At his shoulders, reaching out in angelic symmetry, the great fiery pinions of a phoenix cast burning light against his armour, lighting the gold to flame-touched platinum and enriching the purple to a deep tyrian hue.

The daemon-Fulgrim explained that he had upheld his end of the bargain, for Lorgar had now seen his wayward brother. Thinking himself being mocked, Lorgar reached for his Crozius, threatening violence. The daemon-Fulgrim told the Word Bearers primarch to look closer at the painting and he would see the truth. This time, he let his eyes slip across the image, seeking no details, merely drifting until they rested where they may. He met the image’s soulfully-rendered eyes, and at last, Lorgar breathed through the faintest of smiles and greeted his brother. The daemon asked if Lorgar saw the truth? Lorgar replied that he saw more than the daemon realized. Facing his brother's captor he informed the Neverborn that if he thought to relish all of eternity while playing puppeteer to his brother's body, than he would find himself fatally disappointed one night. The daemon said that the Urizen spoke with the lies of a desperate and foolish soul. Lorgar merely laughed and smiled at the daemon sincerely, replying that the creature's secret was safe with him and to enjoy his stewardship while it lasted.

Returning to the Fidelitas Lex, Lorgar convened the Council of Sanctity to speak once more of his plans for Calth. Then in the hours that followed, he summoned Argel Tal and his most trusted subcommanders, to speak of other, more secretive plans. For Lorgar's most trusted son, like him, had other wars to fight even as the Calth system burned.

Battle of Calth

When the Warmaster Horus turned his back on the Imperium, swore his allegiance to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, and began the Horus Heresy, his first act before making his break with the Emperor of Mankind open was to lure away as many Loyalist Legions from Terra as possible. Horus ordered Guilliman to lead an expeditionary force to the world of Calth in the Veridian System in the Realm of Ultramar to prepare for a campaign in the Eastern Fringes of the galaxy, where, Horus claimed, an Ork WAAAGH! was massing. Horus expected the Ultramarines to await the arrival of the Word Bearers who would join with the XIII Legion in prosecuting a camapign against the Ork menace. Unknown to Guilliman, XVII Legion had long before turned Traitor in service to the Chaos Gods, and its Primarch, Lorgar, gleefully accepted Horus' orders to close the trap on his Legion's long-hated rivals. Lorgar ordered his two most trusted advisers, First Chaplain Erebus and the Dark Apostle Kor Phaeron, to unleash their wrath against the Realm of Ultramar. This was done in retaliation for the humiliation the XVII Legion had been forced to endure by being forced to kneel in disgrace before the Emperor and Roboute Guilliman and his Ultramarines on the world of Khur by the XIII Legion at the Emperor's orders during the Great Crusade.

The Word Bearers' sudden attack decimated Guilliman's Legion fleet, and the Ultramarines' ground troops quickly found themselves impossibly outnumbered by their former allies as the infamous Battle of Calth erupted. The Word Bearers slew their Loyalist foes in droves in the early stages of their surprise attack and pushed them back over huge stretches of territory. The Traitors rejoiced at the terrible blows they were inflicting upon the Legion that had once aided the Emperor in humiliating them upon the world of Khur decades before the start of the Heresy when they had been taken to task for repeated violations of the atheistic philosophy known as the Imperial Truth. Unknown to them, Guilliman's flagship, which had survived the initial Word Bearers' attack on the Ultramarines fleet, effected emergency repairs and regrouped with the other surviving Ultramarine starships in space. Having taken stock of his remaining forces, Guilliman sent an immediate astropathic distress call to Macragge.

The Loyalist Marines on Calth, Ultramarines all, had been forced into a fighting retreat, but soon occupied fortified positions. Many Ultramarines had been born on Calth, and proved more resolute than the Word Bearers anticipated. In space, Guilliman's vessels began hit-and-run attacks on their over-confident enemy. Guilliman assessed his ground troops' positions and broadcast clear, concise orders to each pocket of defense, coordinating them into a cohesive force. One Ultramarine force led by Captain Ventanus led a breakout and retook Calth's Defence Laser silos, aiding the sorely-pressed Ultramarines fleet from the surface of Calth. Guilliman's depleted forces slowed the Word Bearers down long enough for the remainder of the Ultramarines Legion to arrive and rout the Traitor Marines from the system, though at a heavy cost. The Word Bearers turned Calth's own orbital defence platforms on the Veridian star, stripping away the outer layers of its photosphere and destabilising it, ultimately rendering the surface of Calth uninhabitable.

At the same time, the Word Bearers had used the battle taking place on Calth to summon a massive Warp Storm called the Ruinstorm, that was intended to cut off Ultramar from the rest of the galaxy and prevent the Ultramarines from providing any reinforcements to Terra as Horus made his assault upon humanity's home world. The eruption of the Ruinstorm cut off Calth from the main body of the Ultramarines Legion and left the Astartes of the XIII Legion trapped on Calth locked in a brutal subterranean war with those Word Bearers units that had also been left behind when their Legion retreated from the Veridian System. Yet Roboute Guilliman and a large portion of his Legion had remained off-world as a result of the Word Bearers' devious assault upon the Ultramarines fleet. Bloodied but unbowed, the Ultramarines received the orders of Malcador the Sigillite, the Emperor's Regent, while he was indisposed pursuing the secret Imperial Webway Project, and prepared to meet the needs of the Imperium's defence against the Traitor Legions as best they could.

Cull of the Word Bearers

Unknown to Erebus and Kor Phaeron, their Primarch had also had a secret objective in mind when he had sent his two most zealous sons to Calth. After their humiliation at Khur, thousands of World Bearers within the Legion detested the Ultramarines. The Urizen ordered a great gathering of his Legion while their fleet was already en route to Calth. The Primarch called for Argel Tal, the leader of the Gal Vorbak, and one other Word Bearer officer who would eventually become commanders and apostles amongst the elite Vakrah Jal. The Primarch wanted their counsel on what to do with those amongst their Legion he no longer trusted. The Word Bearers had culled their ranks down through the decades, removing such unrepentantly Loyalist elements such as the Terran-born warriors of their Legion, but had carried out no purge like the Istvaan III Atrocity that Angron was so proud of. Lorgar knew that the loyalty of his own Legion to both him and his vision of Mankind transformed through an embrace of Chaos was never in doubt, but competence was another matter entirely. Lorgar asked what should be done with those warriors of the XVII Legion he felt were no longer reliable. Those whose hatred burned brighter than their sense. For tens of thousands of them -- whole companies, whole Chapters -- their rage was no longer pure. It was decided that these suspect elements of the Legion would be gathered into a single host and ordered to undertake the "sacred" mission to Calth to assault the Ultramarines that they had so craved. They were led by Erebus and Kor Phaeron and were expected to martyr themselves in glory. The other Traitor Legions such as the Emperor's Children, Sons of Horus and the World Eaters might have purged their own ranks at Istvaan III, but the Word Bearers had proceeded to purge their own at Calth.

Though the XVII Legion had achieved a monumental victory of sorts, it was all a matter of perspective. Piercing the veil of the Warp, Lorgar had heard the whisperings of the Chaos Gods and had witnessed the truth for himself. Yes, Erebus had successfully conjured the Ruinstorm at Calth. But ultimately, Erebus and Kor Phaeron had failed to achieve their overall objectives: Roboute Guilliman was still alive, the Word Bearers had lost half the fleet at Calth to an Ultramarines counter-attack, and tens of thousands of Word Bearers, including the Gal Vorbak and mortal servants, had been abandoned to a useless subterranean war beneath Calth's irradiated surface while the two Word Bearers commanders had fled. This meant that the Word Bearers left behind were left to die, never to be reinforced. Never to be recovered. All those Gal Vorbak who had spent months of their lives fasting, praying, scarring their flesh in preparation for a chance to taste the Divine Blood, they had simply been lost for no real gain. Though Lorgar was somewhat displeased, Erebus had more or less achieved the base level of success required of him; the Ruinstorm had been conjured and the rogue elements of the Word Bearers had been culled. Now it was time for Lorgar to further his own plans and complete the campaign against the Ultramarines he had come to call his Shadow Crusade.

Shadow Crusade

Simultaneous with the Word Bearers' assault on Calth, Lorgar and the more reliable Word Bearers under his command launched a second offensive, a joint Shadow Crusade with his brother Angron's World Eaters Legion into the rest of the Realm of Ultramar, laying waste to the Five Hundred Worlds with reckless abandon, slaughtering twenty-six worlds in rapid succession. This was to ensure the success of the sorcerous Ruinstorm, which would ultimately split the void asunder, dividing the galaxy in two and rendering vast tracts of the Imperium impassable for centuries, effectively cutting Ultramar off from the rest of the Imperium. This prodigious Warp Storm would deny needed reinforcements to the Loyalists as Horus drove on Terra in an attempt to overthrow the Emperor of Mankind. Nothing from Terra would get in and nothing would get out. Not even an astropathic whisper would be able to pierce this storm of Warp energy bleeding into realspace.

During this campaign of destruction, Lorgar had come to realize that over the course of their Shadow Crusade, Angron's temperament and mental stability had steadily grown worse. His cybernetic neural-implants known as the Butcher's Nails were killing him faster than Lorgar had originally imagined, faster than anyone realized. The rate of degeneration had accelerated very quickly in the months after the Battle of Calth. The implants had never been designed for the peculiar genetics of a Primarch's brain. Angron's physiology was trying to heal the damage produced by the implants as the Nails bit deeper. To save his life, Lorgar convinced the Lord of the World Eaters to go back to his home world of Nuceria. The overlords of the gladiatorial games on that world who had first hammered the foul device into Angron's skull would know more of the implant's function than the Traitor Legion's savants and the Dark Mechanicum. The two Primarchs would learn all that was known about the Nucerians' insidious cortical implant technology, and then they would burn that loathsome world until its surface was nothing but glass. Angron would finally take the vengeance he pretended to no longer desire. Whether Angron fought him, hated him or trusted him, mattered little to Lorgar, who intended to drag Angron into the immortality that he deserved before the Dark Gods whether he wanted it or not.

Guilliman's retribution fleet, which had been tracking the rest of the Word Bearers Legion in the wake of the Battle of Calth, finally caught up to the Traitors upon Angron's homeworld of Nuceria, which the World Eaters Legion were preoccupied with wiping clean of all life in vengeance for the treatment the Nucerians had merited out a century before to Angron. The XIII Legion warship Courage Above All, Guilliman's temporary flagship, broke Warp at the system’s edge, at the head of a large void armada consisting of 41 vessels. The Ultramarines armada looked wounded, cobbled together from separate fleets. It was not a dedicated interdiction war-fleet, but clearly a ragtag strike force, a lance thrust to the enemy’s heart. Guilliman himself had done the best he could with limited resources. The XIII Legion's Cruisers and Battleships ran abeam of the enemy fleet for repeated exchange of broadsides, offering targets too big and powerful to ignore, while the rest of the Ultramarines fleet used calculated Lance strikes from safer range. The armada then divided its assault potential, doing its utmost to destroy Lorgar's flagship Fidelitas Lex, and attempted to take the World Eaters' flagship Conqueror in a boarding action.

But the Ultramarines' warships not only fought a void war, they also attempted to take the fight to the surface of Nuceria, for this attack was personal. The Ultramarines had come for revenge against Lorgar and the Word Bearers, just as they had pursued Kor Phaeron all the way to the Maelstrom on the other side of Ultramar. Several Ultramarines warships attempted to make a run on Nuceria, haemorrhaging Drop Pods, landers and gunships, forcing planetfall by any means necessary. The Ultramarines fleet swept over and against the Traitors like an insect horde. But the tenacious commander of the Conqueror, Lotara Sarrin, put up a difficult fight and destroyed a number of Ultramarines vessels that attempted to make a run for the surface. Though the World Eaters' flagship transformed a number of the smaller vessels into flaming wreckage, the Ultramarines eventually punched through her tenacious defense and managed to land troops on the surface of Nuceria.

Meanwhile, the Fidelitas Lex was already a ruin, its armour pitted and cracked, its shields a memory. The cathedrals and spinal fortresses barnacling along its back were gone, laid waste by the Ultramarines’ incendiary rage. The XIII Legion's armada attacked in strafing runs and protracted exchanges of broadsides, trading fire with the superior warship and accepting their own casualties as the cost of bleeding the bigger vessel dry. Each assault left the Lex weaker, firing fewer turrets and cannons, taking punishment on its increasingly fragile armour. But she fought on. Crawling with smaller ships, the Lex lashed back with its remaining Macrocannons, rolling in the light of its own burning hull. Guilliman guided the battle from the command deck of Courage Above All, and had decided that the Lex would die first, killed in the death of a thousand cuts and swept from the game board, while the Conqueror would be boarded and killed from within. In the course of the battle in Nucerian orbit, the Conqueror could not rise to its sister-ship’s defense. Both Traitor Legion flagships fought alone, starved of support and suffering the endless attacks of the XIII Legion’s ragged armada. Salvation Pods streamed from the Lex’s sides and underbelly, along with heavier Mechanicum craft and bulk landers. With the Legionaries of the Word Bearers already on the surface, the ship’s human population fled in the vessel’s final minutes. And still the great vessel fought -- rolling, turning, raging. The Ultramarines Cruisers that drifted past burned as badly as the warship they were killing. This void battle was a form of dirty fighting between warships, too close for the neat calculations of ranged battery fire. Instead, it was an up close and personal slugfest.

The Ultramarines Battle Barge Armsman intercepted the Conqueror and came abeam, launching Assault Carriers and Boarding Torpedoes. While the World Eaters flagship was busy repelling boarders, a number of smaller XIII Legion vessels slipped past her defenses and launched Drop Pods, gunships and troop carriers. The first Drop Pods hammered home on the planet's surface. Sealed doors unlocked and the first Ultramarines poured forth, Bolters raised, moving in perfect and well-trained unity. But the World Eaters were waiting for them. Those not lost to the Butcher's Nails at once had the presence of mind to note that these Ultramarines weren not the pristine cobalt-blue warriors they had previously faced on the War World of Armatura. These Legionaries of the XIII wore cracked Power Armour, still scarred and burnwashed from some horrendous battle weeks or months before. These were hardened veterans of the Calth Atrocity. They burned with a cold intensity to carry out the vengeance in their hearts, and were intent on getting to grips with the Word Bearers.

As was their way, the Ultramarines established footholds at defensible positions, clearing room for their reinforcements to land. For every position they held, another was overrun by the World Eaters in a storm of roaring axes, or lost to the Word Bearers' chanting, implacable advance. The XII Legion crashed against the XIII in rabid packs, showing why Imperial forces had feared to fight alongside them for decades. Uncontrolled, unbound, unrestrained, they butchered their way through Ultramarines strongpoints, enslaved to the joy of battle because of the Butcher's Nails cortical implants sandwiched within the meat of their minds. The XVII Legion also met their Loyalist cousins, replacing ferocity with spite and hate. The Ultramarines returned it in kind, hungry for vengeance against the vile Traitors who had defiled Calth and damaged its star. Word Bearers units marched, droning black hymns and chanting sermons from the Book of Lorgar, bearing corpse-strewn icons of befouled metal and bleached bones above their regiments.

As the fighting raged, the burning shell of the Fidelitas Lex cut through the clouds into the planet's atmosphere, shuddering on its way east, rolling ever downwards, achingly slow for something of such scale. The weight of the Lex's massive plasma engines dragged the stern down first, colliding with the Nucerian ocean's surface far from shore. In the meantime, the demigod in gold and blue had finally found the object of his obsession amidst the clamour of war. Guilliman confronted Lorgar, possessing the advantage of two weapons, but Lorgar's Crozius gave him a reach his brother lacked. When they first met, there was no furious trading of frantic blows, nor were there any melodramatic speeches of vengeance avowed. The two Primarchs came together once, Power Fist against War Maul, and backed away from the resulting flare of repelling energy fields. Their warriors killed each other around them both, and neither Primarch spared their sons a glance. Lorgar flicked the clinging lightning from the head of his Crozius, shaking his head in slow denial.

Both Primarchs fought without heeding their warriors, their godlike movements an inconceivable blur to the Space Marines fighting around them. None had ever imagined the heroes of this new age would take the field against each other, nor could they have predicted the wellsprings of spite between them. Guilliman confronted Lorgar for what his Legion had done across the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. In his righteous anger the Ultramarines Primarch struck Lorgar with one of his fists, battering the Word Bearers Primarch's sternum. Lorgar repulsed him with a projected burst of telekinesis, weak and wavering, but enough to send his brother staggering. The Crozius followed, its power field trailing lightning as Lorgar hammered it into the side of Guilliman’s head with the force of a cannonball. Both Primarchs faced each other beneath the grey sky, one bleeding internally, the other with half of his face lost to blood sheeting from a fractured skull.

As the two Primarchs were locked in their furious life-and-death struggle, they were oblivious to the destruction being wrought around them. Suddenly, Angron burst forth from the Ultramarines ranks, his armour a shattered wreck, and both of his Chainswords spat gobbets of ceramite armour plating and scarlet gore. Angron was plastered with the blood of the slain after hours in the crush of the front lines of intense combat. On his chest hung a bandolier of skulls taken from the mass grave at Desh’elika Ridge. Blood painted them as surely as it marked Angron. Even through the constant pain generated by the Butcher's Nails, that pleased him. He wanted his deceased brothers and sisters to taste blood once more. He had carried them with him across Nuceria, letting their empty eyes witness the razing of his former, hated home world. The World Eater launched himself at Guilliman with murderous hatred. The two Primarchs fell into a seamless, roaring duel where Lorgar and Guilliman had abandoned theirs. Guilliman found himself forced back by the storm of Angron's blows.

Once on Nuceria, Angron had paid his respects to his fallen brothers and sisters amongst the Nucerian gladiators he had once fought beside, whose bones now lay exposed to the elements on the Desh'elika Ridge where they had died. The painful memories of that day, long ago, were too much for the Primarch to bear. After paying a visit to the city-state of Desh'ea to see who ruled the Nucerian city-state that had once claimed to own him, he became enraged when he was told the tale of how he had fled at the Battle of Desh'elika Ridge, and the subsequent massacre of the rebel army in the mountains. The rebels had died to a man in his absence. Enraged by the lies that had been told about him over the last century, Angron ordered his Legion to kill everyone in the city. Then they were to kill everyone on the planet. At the height of the final battle against the last city on Nuceria, Lorgar was confronted by his wrathful brother Roboute Guilliman, who had been chasing him and the XII Legion since the destruction of Calth. As the two Primarchs fought, Guilliman gravely wounded Lorgar and was about to deliver a killing stroke to his wretched brother. But Angron had seen Guilliman's assault upon Lorgar and intervened, facing the Lord of Ultramar in single combat.

On Angron's chest hung a bandolier of skulls taken from the mass grave at Desh'elika Ridge. Blood painted them as surely as it marked Angron. Even through the haze of pain created by the Butcher's Nails, that pleased him. He wanted his former brothers and sisters, the Eaters of Cities, to taste blood once more. He had carried them with him across Nuceria, letting their empty eyes witness the razing of the high-rider cities. As the two Primarchs fought, Guilliman landed a glancing blow, his fist pounding across Angron's breastplate. One of the skulls of Angron's fallen kinsman that hung from the chain worn across his breastplate was partially shattered and scattered across the ground. Guilliman stepped back, his boot crushing a skull's remnants to powder. Angron saw it, and threw himself at his brother, his howl of wrath defying mortal origins, impossibly ripe in its anguish.

Lorgar saw it, too. The moment Guilliman's boot broke the skull, he felt the Warp boil behind the veil. The Bearer of the Word started chanting in a language never before spoken by any living being, his words in faultless harmony with Angron's cry of torment. Lorgar enacted his dark plan to save his brother's life, summoning the Ruinstorm to the world of Nuceria, tearing the sky open and unleashing a crimson torrent, formed from the ghosts of a hundred murdered worlds, raining blood. Lorgar focused his concentration on the triumphant form of his mutilated brother, calling for the Neverborn, the entities men called daemons, to answer in kind. He locked Angron’s muscles, setting fire to the synapses in his brain. The first spasms wracked their way through Angron’s sinews, turning his blood to quicksilver, then to lava and at last to holy fire. His cries of thwarted rage were tainted by an agony beyond comprehension. His body started tearing itself apart, growing, rising. Perfecting, after a lifetime of broken torture. This was the moment of Angron's apotheosis into daemonhood.

The World Eaters Librarians, those few who had never received the deadly Butcher's Nails implants which were inimicable to psykers, sensed the fey powers summoned by Lorgar from the Warp. In an attempt to halt the Urizen's dark plans, the 19 remaining Librarians harnessed their collective psychic powers to manifest a psychic entity known as the Communion, the gestalt consciousness of 19 psychic minds. In the midst of Lorgar's incantations, the Communion pulled the soul of the Primarch from his body. The two psychic entities confronted one another within the Warp, locked in a deadly contest of wills, each convinced that they were the one responsible for saving Angron. But ultimately, the Communion failed, for Lorgar was just as powerful in the Warp as he was in the material universe. After Angron's completed metamorphosis into a new Daemon Prince, the Daemon Primarch turned his attention to the Librarians. The creatures that had pained him for decades. The warriors that had made the Butcher's Nails sing and his brain bleed just for the sin of standing near them. Now they moved against his brother, hurling their foulness at Lorgar, who crouched one-handed and wounded, down on his knees.

The Daemon Primarch's rage killed the remaining Libarians, each of them tasting a different doom. Angron killed the last of the Librarians, expunging his Legion of the weakness that had plagued his gene-sons since his reunification with them a century earlier. The Librarius of the World Eaters, the last fragment of the War Hounds within the XII Legion, was no more, a fact which greatly pleased the Blood God Khorne, who would not brook the existence of any psykers amongst his chosen servants. Lorgar had offered up the XII Legion to the whims of the Blood God as his loyal servants. Now there would only be blood, an ocean of blood carried on a tide of eternal slaughter.

The gravely wounded Guilliman escaped from Nuceria, unable to face or even fully comprehend what both of his brothers had become through their corruption by the Ruinous Powers. The World Eaters completed their purge of Nuceria until not one human life remained on the benighted world. Angron, now the very embodiment of the Blood God's Eight-Fold Path, shook the dust of the world from his feet and did not think of it again. Lorgar believed that he had "saved" his brother. In his mind it was the only way, for he alone had sought to save Angron from the implants that were killing him by degrees. Only Lorgar had found a way to free Angron from an existence of unrivaled agony, and he alone had acted to save his tormented brother. Now the Shadow Crusade could move on from Ultramar and rejoin Horus. The next target for the Traitors would be Terra itself.

After the Heresy

Eventually, the atrocities committed by the Word Bearers allowed for Lorgar's ascension to daemonhood, becoming the equal of a god in the eyes of his Legion. It is said his birth scream as a Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided echoed across the Immaterium with triumphant vindication, his faith and devotion to Chaos rewarded with immortality and unbridled power. He has since isolated himself within the Templum Inficio on the Daemon World of Sicarus where he has remained for thousands of years, forbidding anyone to interrupt his meditation, thus allowing the Word Bearers to be taken over by a Dark Council of the Word Bearers' most powerful Dark Apostles (the Word Bearers' equivalent of Space Marine Chaplains). From the two primary bases of the Legion, Sicarus and the factory-world of Ghalmek which is located within the Maelstrom, the Word Bearers launch twisted Wars of Faith against the Imperium in the name of the Dark Gods. These conflicts' purpose is to "enlighten" humanity by replacing its worship of the Corpse Emperor with that of the only true divinities of the universe. That this requires the death of billions of people is a price that the Word Bearers are willing to pay to bring the truth first sought by Lorgar Aurelian to the rest of the galaxy.

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com

#horus heresy #warhammer 40k #adeptus mechanicus #adeptus astartes #adeptus arbites #Adeptus custodes #adeptus sororitas #astra militarum #Adeptus Astra Telepathica #officio assassinorum

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