#the forgotten realms lore is truly wild

[justmaghookit]

Reading up on some forgotten realms lore and it is truly hilarious how the second incarnation of Mystra died, like the Overgod went and said "ok chuckle fucks who stole my big rules tablet? none of you? ok you can all go be mortal until you bring it back"

And she went "this sucks i didn't steal your big rules tablet and i'm super strong let me back into the realm of the gods" and the god of bouncers Helm, who was allowed to keep his god powers because being the god of guarding things and duty he was basically the only one who could not of done it said "no can do ma'am, you heard the boss, please vacate the premise you're not above all the others"

and Mystra went "fuck you let me back in!!" -FIREBOLT FIREBOLT FIREBOLT-

Then Helm, god of Bouncers did weep a single tear for what he had to do as he tipped his sunglasses down [raised the visor of this helmet] and fucking eradicated her with his gaze

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Halsin and Silvanus

In the course of my recent research on Bane for a lore request fill, I found myself coming across a lot of very interesting information, previously unknown to me, about the other gods of the Forgotten Realms — in particular Silvanus. There was enough there that it inspired me to direct some extra research hours into this writeup, exploring all the reasons why Halsin is a quintessential Silvanite.

If you would like any more information on anything included here, please feel free to drop a comment or an ask, as there is truly so much that I just don’t have the space to include. (I usually end up with about 12-13 pages of source quotes before I begin one of these meta posts.)

My usual note that, as ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

Silvanus is easily one of the most misunderstood gods of the Faerûnian pantheon. This is even pointed out directly within his section of the 3.5e Faiths & Pantheons (an incredible resource if you are looking for more detailed information on the gods of the Forgotten Realms!): 

Nevertheless, most outsiders view the church of Chauntea, as patrons of agriculture, as being favorably inclined toward the expansion of civilization, while the church of Silvanus is the implacable foe of those who would settle new lands. Neither impression is correct, yet the church of the Oak Father is often perceived as little different from those faiths that venerate the Deities of Fury.¹ [emphasis added]

Silvanus is most often perceived as strictly and impassively neutral, and intrinsically opposed to civilization in all its forms. While the former is something close to true – he is a very neutral-aligned deity, albeit not necessarily in a way that matches the popular conception of the term – the latter is certainly not. Humanity (if you’ll forgive the use of the term to designate in broad strokes the non-animal denizens of the Material Plane) is another facet of nature, one given equal consideration to the rest – plant, animal, and other – by Silvanus.²

While as a whole followers of Silvanus have a preference for the wilds and the deep forests, this is by no means a concrete rule. In fact, Silvanite clergy – those known as druids – are not uncommonly found in enclaves in larger cities of the Sword Coast and beyond, including Waterdeep.² Typically these druids will “create gardenlike walled areas of wild forest within the city limits.”¹ Wherever they may find themselves, Silvanite druids work to maintain the Balance of nature around them, through education and direct action both. 

Silvanus’s dogma has much to tell us about his philosophy, and that of his followers. I’ll be splitting notable excerpts and their relation to Halsin into sections below. 

Hold your distance and take in the total situation, rather than latching on to the popular idea of what is best.¹ 

Halsin was, from the first moment I met him in-game, so notable for his calm self-possession, and the clear forethought he gave to his actions and those of others. He does not feel bound by the expectations or approval of others – as noted in the dialogue he shares with the player if they compliment his choice of successor – but instead makes his own path following the direction of Silvanus’s wisdom and will. 

Resort to violence and open confrontation only when pressured by time or hostile action.¹

This is showcased numerous times throughout the game, but perhaps best evidenced by an in-game note, from an unlikely source: the Priestess Gut. The note that you can find from her, regarding Halsin’s capture, notes the following: 

Said he thinks there's somethin' rotten inside us. Inside me. Reckons he can help get rid of the rot. I told him we don't need any help from nobody. Never did. And especially not now the Absolute's taken a shine to us.³

Despite the immediacy of his capture at their hands, and the preceding attack already lodged against himself and Nettie⁴, Halsin’s primary impulse is to attempt diplomacy, and render aid. This only changes when his length of captivity has made it clear that there will be no changing the minds of the cultists, and they must be dissuaded by stronger means.

Banish disease wherever you find it¹

The way Halsin is first introduced to the player is as a healer – and not just any healer, but a masterful one, known throughout the region, who has the best chance of being able to assist with any manner of strange ailment. It is clear in all ways, as well as in the scenario referenced in the preceding section, that this is an aspect of Silvanus that Halsin strives to embody at all times. 

Seek out, serve, and befriend the dryads and learn their names.¹

Particularly if we understand the reference to dryads here to extend to all fey spirits of nature, this gives new depth to Halsin’s friendship and devotion to the nature spirit Thaniel. Halsin, as a druid generally, and as an Archdruid in particular, would have a solemn and divinely-ordained responsibility to redress the upheaval of the Balance within the Shadowcursed lands. For that reason alone, it is no surprise that it was his primary motivation and consideration for nigh on a century. 

However, even above and beyond that, Halsin had an additional motivator. Even before he became a druid, potentially before he was exposed to the teachings of Silvanus in anything but the most vague and general of terms, he was living them out by befriending the local nature spirit, learning his name, and seeking to understand, serve, and protect him. 

Make others see the balance and work against those that would disturb it. Watch, anticipate, and quietly manipulate.¹

The primary source text I am using to draw this connection was written neither by nor about Halsin, yet I believe it still clearly reflects on him, for reasons that will become clear. This text is from a logbook recording activities of the Emerald Grove during the year 1371, 121 years prior to the start of the game’s storyline, and some years before the defining events in the soon-to-be Shadowcursed Lands. 

6 Uktar: Sent two druids, some of the newer recruits, up north. Village there has had two years of failed crops and are unlikely to survive the next winter. 9 Uktar: A group from Baldur's Gate arrived. They've set up camp on the edge of the forest. Two bears and a fox came by. Their territory has been burned out. Half the fox's cubs died. Paying this new group a visit tomorrow. 10 Uktar: Visit did not go well. After telling me where to shove it, they said they'd cut down half the forest and burn out any wildlife that dared to stick around. Claimed they were going to 'farm the land and make a new city of their own.' Time to get creative. 12 Uktar: Mudslide did the trick. Buried half their farming equipment and made the rest useless. They won't be back any time soon. Got reports of a Red Wizard in the village south of here. Sending three rangers to investigate. If they catch even a whiff of a red cloak, I'm contacting the House of Silvanus.⁵

Given the timeline, while this is unlikely to have been written by Halsin himself, it seems like a strong possibility that it was written by his master, the previous Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, who perished in the fight against Ketheric Thorm. This is supported by the clear evidence that the author was an individual in a position to give direction and command to those around them, and to make the call for how to deal with various situations. Given too what we know of the druidic leadership structure, Halsin would have been the previous Archdruid’s Second, as Kagha was his.⁶ 

This man, then, would have greatly influenced Halsin as a druid of Silvanus and as a leader both. We can presume that this watchful duty and deliberation was one that Halsin himself took over, charged with doing his part to maintain the Balance of the region around the grove.  This last point especially becomes even more significant in light of the following information, which comes not from Silvanus’s dogma, but rather from a description of his followers and traditions of worship: 

Members of the clergy work to redirect development and control populations through covert sponsorship of brigands, breeding and selective placing of predators, and other means. It is essential that such work be as secretive as possible, so that most folk view the servants of Silvanus as essentially benign lovers of trees. Wildlife breeding, nursing sick animals, and replanting trees and wild shrubs are all work that should be done as publicly as possible to support this perception – and as necessary work to redress the slipping Balance, of course.¹ [emphasis added]

It is clear from all preceding evidence, and this excerpt in particular, that the druids as a whole put far more thought and strategy into every aspect of their appearance and the perception of them than they would ever want outsiders to become aware of. Halsin himself corroborates this in-game, noting that, while druids might not like politicking, that certainly does not mean they haven’t the skill for it when called upon. 

For the sake of… well. (I have been advised by my legal counsel not to use “brevity” here.) Regardless! For the sake of my sanity and your time, I will refrain from going into further detail on specific instances that show this to be true of Halsin. I will merely encourage you, the reader, to consider the value this brings to his character and druids as a whole, and hope to encourage new appreciation for their refreshing complexity. 

In closing, I leave you with one final quote: 

Superior patience, natural knowledge, and anticipation are the hallmarks of a worthy servant of Silvanus.¹

¹ Faiths and Pantheons. 2002. p. 63.

² Dragon Magazine #412. June 2012. pp. 22-3.

³ Rancid Note. In-Game Text. 

⁴ Halsin’s Journal, Vol I. In-Game Text. 

⁵ Logbook XII: 1371. In-Game Text. 

⁶ Grove Annals. In-Game Text.

[kirain]

your gale takes actually got me to look deeper into forgotten realms lore (esp where it pertains to the afterlife) and long story short i’m at least a little bit fixated on it now and also will go to bat for that wizard basically at any point. also wild magic. i’ve been reading so much about wild magic, it’s so so interesting. esp wild magic sourced from the far realm and the implications that could have for a wild magic mage in esp the bg3 setting

Thank you, I'm so glad to hear that! I'm still learning about the lore myself (there's so much), and we should all be thanking Larian for introducing so many new people to D&D!

Wild magic is insane, and I had a great time using it with my sorcerer. The magic system in general is truly fascinating, as is its history in context of the game. It's just too bad it's linked to a god. I think I've said this before, but an irksome detail about Mystra is that she technically isn't a "bad" god, but she should definitely keep her fingers to herself. Every iteration has done objectively horrible things to mortals, but because she's written by a man who clearly favours her (in my humble opinion) nothing she does is presented as wrong. 😒

These asks actually reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine. He basically said, "Elminster is on Mystra's side and he cares about Gale, so obviously Mystra is right." But here's the thing:

Not only is Eliminster a really annoying self-insert made by Ed Greenwood, the creator of the Forgotten Realms (and I mean that literally, he's admitted he's a self-insert), but Eliminster has also had ... "relations" with his surrogate daughter. He's betrayed his friends for Mystra. He's killed arguably innocent people. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't look to him for moral guidance. He also slept with the previous iterations of Mystra and blindly follows her commands, so he might just be a teensy bit biased. In fact, if you look at various forums, you'll see a lot of players complaining about the character's irritating Gary Stu status, and that Dungeon Masters hate putting him in their campaigns.

Elminster will never question Mystra, because in his mind she's a perfect being who deserves everything, including people's lives; ignoring the fact that pretty much every god in D&D is canonically flawed. He's the type of person who would tell a grieving parent that God took their recently deceased child for "reasons we cannot comprehend".

He says he took no pleasure in burdening Gale with her ultimatum, but let's be real—he wasn't that hurt by it. In fact, the Elminster we meet in game isn't even real. It's a snow clone. He couldn't be bothered to visit Gale, who he apparently respects and cares about, in person. The only time he shows any genuine emotion towards Gale is in the ascended epilogue, when he writes him a disappointed letter. And I wouldn't be surprised if that disappointment is more about him challenging Mystra than actually achieving godhood.

Though it should be said that Elminster is also a victim of Mystra. The iteration before Midnight (current Mystra) groomed and abused him for a millenia, yet for some reason we, the audience, are supposed to pretend there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, we're supposed to view it as "sexy". As if Gale and Elminster are "lucky" to have caught her attention.

Reading up on the lore surrounding these two is truly horrifying. Elminster is old enough now that his actions are informed and unforgivable. He helps Mystra groom boys to exploit and never questions her. He's not merely complacent, he's active in her ploys. Despite his numerous heroic feats, I personally can't overlook it, especially when he could have been Gale's biggest defender.

[geminimoonastro]

LILITH IN THE 9TH HOUSE

In the realms of cosmic dance and dreams,

Where souls entwine in mystical streams,

Resides Lilith, a fierce celestial force,

In the depths of the 9th house, her potent source.

Born beneath the stars, she gleams with might,

A symbol of rebellion, against the placid night,

Lilith, a flame, not easily confined,

In the fiery embers of her unbound mind.

Within the house of knowledge, vast and wide,

She spreads her wings, ready to guide,

A guardian of wisdom, untamed and free,

Lilith calls forth seekers, like you and me.

Her reign heralds a longing to explore,

To transcend borders and question more,

Inquisitive minds, she lovingly ignites,

Fanning the flames of intellectual fights.

From dusty tomes to forgotten lands,

She beckons us forth, as she commands,

To study the stars and ancient lore,

To find meaning in the myths of yore.

With Lilith in the 9th, we seek truths untold,

Unafraid to question beliefs we hold,

Beyond boundaries, we dare to roam,

Seeking solace, where the wilds doth foam.

Yet Lilith's power is not for the faint,

For she champions rebellion without restraint,

She challenges established lines and norms,

Unleashing passions that forever transform.

Through the embers of her cosmic blaze,

Lilith guides us in her mysterious ways,

To break free from dogmas that bind,

And to seek the truths that truly unwind.

So, let us embrace Lilith's radiant fire,

Let her flames ignite passions higher,

In the 9th house, where she finds her reign,

Lilith beckons us, the curious and arcane.

[yonderoo]

In the heart of the ancient woods, there exists a fairy of unparalleled grace, an ethereal being whose very existence echoes the timeless tales of the Fey. Her hair cascades in silken waves, a waterfall of moonlit strands entwined with delicate ivy and adorned with the subtle glow of luminescent flowers. Her eyes, deep and soulful, speak of long-forgotten lore and the quiet wisdom of the forest.

Perched gently atop her cascading hair is a rabbit, the embodiment of innocence and gentle curiosity. This harmonious union of fairy and woodland creature reflects a sacred bond with nature, a serene symbiosis that can only exist in the realms of enchantment. Another rabbit nestles close to her, their soft fur and tranquil aura a testament to the fairy’s nurturing spirit.

Her features are both tender and otherworldly, an exquisite blend of human-like beauty and fey allure. Each glance she casts seems to whisper ancient secrets of the wild, inviting those who behold her to venture deeper into the mysteries of the enchanted forest.

Oh, how the ivy and florals weave through her tresses, how the rabbits find solace in her presence — truly, she is the muse of every great ballad, the vision sought in dreams. She is not just a creature of the forest; she is its spirit, its heart, its undying song.

[tratserenoyreve]

i'm thinking about the Descension items and having emotions about the Traveler twins.

they're playstation exclusive items and have unique descriptions that are about the star-twins, a rare scrap of backstory lore. which makes it extra sad that it is unavailable to many players, because having the info they give has really shaped my perspective on the twins.

putting the descriptions and more thoughts under the cut.

Wings of Descension:

This is proof that you came to this world via special means.

This is the seal of which only one who has pierced the celestial heights is worthy.

"Your journey will become very dangerous from now on,"

So that person told you.

"I don't know if this cloth will do anything to protect you, but..."

It was indeed so-

In your long journey, you have seen the birth and death of stars as they passed you by,

Scattering the darkness briefly before being consumed once more.

This cloth will block neither heat nor cold, nor will it defend you from curses and ill-will.

But during long nights in Teyvat, you will sometimes throw it on and find it to be most useful indeed.

"But when you face a force enough to destroy one, or even two worlds,"

You do not truly remember who it was who had treated the two of you ever so gently. You wish you could remember...

"When you face a boundless darkness, or an all-consuming radiance..."

But that was one world ago.

You no longer need to sleep out in the wild.

Your bed in the city is fluffy and comfortable. And if you must camp, the grass is soft, filled with the fragrance of life.

So from the moment you received that wind glider from that girl, you had already thought of a new use for that cloth...

And now, you shall once again soar through the skies together with it.

This description implies both that the star-twins have had very long lives and also likely once had more family. but, their memory isn't immortal like they are. they have forgotten details of things, after so many years. they are still sentimental beings tho, and find comfort in objects that are implied to be from their old world.

also, the reference at the end to them being glad to fly with it again... star-twins miss their wings. aw...

Sword of Descension:

This is a proof that you came to this world via special means.

Only one who has challenged the "world" may wield such a sword.

When this sword was last drawn, humankind was trying to preserve a doomed world.

That world was their last and only home.

This sword was drawn to defy that fate of destruction.

—But to draw steel against the law of universe that "all who exist must one day perish..."

Surely it must have seemed the height of folly.

But really, when one is faced with such a final fate, when up against the star-devouring darkness,

What weapon would be fitting for one to wield? It can only be a sword. If nothing else, it shall bear the memory of those who faced their ends without fear...

When you wield this sword, you search for the answers hidden within this world.

In this world, such a weapon may be used without any problem.

Not for the fact that the universe casts no shadows here, and certainly not simply because it suits this world's aesthetics...

But because this search is perhaps why you descended to this realm in the first place.

When the past is dust, and the future arrives,

As the present fades away, you can trust to this blade's edge.

Having a weapon for self-defense is, of course, a good idea. After all, this one was forged for one such as yourself.

Someone who challenges and pursues.

Take it, walk this earth,

And cut open all the challenges and mysteries that it has to offer you.

this one is interesting to parse, it introduces a lot of concepts and ties into themes we see elsewhere in genshin. basically, the star-twins home was destroyed, they have nowhere to go back to and so they journey onward. it is referred to as a star-devouring darkness, notably. the twins may have attempted to save their old world and failed.

their history of defying the natural order of the world started way before the twins arrived on Teyvat, they have been through a lot of loss already and seem to only remember a little. so, the dialogue they have where they proclaim that they are eachother's home becomes even more poignant, they have been all they've had left for an untold number of years.

i also like how the sword description embraces the forceful methodology of the traveler. they cut a path forward for themself...

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Expanded Kaldheim Lore: Littjara

I fell in love with the world of Kaldheim, and just one set didn’t do it justice nearly enough. So until we return, here’s some of my own lore and headcanons for the plane, starting with my favorite realm—Littjara—and its shapeshifter inhabitants.

The Realm

Littjara is a liminal realm pulled from the Einir’s own domain, where the rules of physics seem as ephemeral as mist and the landscape is ever-shifting. The boundaries of the Cosmos are said to be thinner here, making the realm itself a world between worlds. This means that things from other realms often fall through to Littjara: lost ideas, forgotten identities, relics of fallen civilizations. The forests are strewn with crumbling statues of unknown people, and those who gaze into the aurora-lit waters might catch glimpses of memory from other lives.

Like a domain of the fey, it’s all too easy to wander here by accident—stumbling under a mossy archway to nowhere, or slipping through a crack in the Cosmos on the way through an Omenpath—and much harder to leave.

To the shapeshifters who call it home, though, Littjara has not lost its protective quality from when the Einir rescued their ancestors all those millennia ago. For a shapeshifter, changing shapes is an art form and a way of self-expression, and nowhere is better suited to that than their ever-shifting home. They are met with suspicion in other realms, painted as tricksters and villains, but Littjara understands who they really are. Only the shapeshifters are truly comfortable in Littjara, and that suits them just fine.

Gladewalkers

Though most shapeshifters leave Littjara for lives of adventure, Gladewalkers are more likely to remain and communally raise young shapeshifters. Glade-wardens have the unique responsibility of guarding the trees that house shapeshifter ancestor-spirits. The ancestors are a revered source of wisdom and history, and every young Gladewalker is taught to come before them for guidance. It’s an interesting and ironic parallel with the Einir’s own eventual imprisonment in jaspera trees.

Part of a Gladewalker’s learning involves taking the shapes of as many wild creatures as they can, embodying many perspectives to more fully connect with nature. Gladewalker disciplines include druidcraft, necromancy (as it relates to spirit communication), and woodcarving, imbuing masks and staffs with druidic power.

Covewalkers

In contrast to their Gladewalker counterparts, Covewalkers are mostly wanderers and voyagers, constantly on the move. Besides the very young and very old, there are far fewer Covewalkers living in Littjara than Gladewalkers. Young Covewalkers are raised by an ever-rotating cast of mentors returning either at the end of their lives or in between adventures.

They prefer taking on humanoid forms instead of animals, as the diverse cultures of the realms fascinate them and they love to meet new people. Though they also respect their ancestors, Covewalkers prefer to learn through direct experience, and an exploit is all the more exciting to them if no one has yet attempted it.

Most Covewalkers are friendly and extroverted, but some turn their expertise to more deceptive ends, stealing faces or even names much like fey do. These are the “trickster” shapeshifters most often encountered in sagas, mischievous at best and villainous at worst.

Covewalkers often make great artisans, sages, wizards, or adventurers, picking up many different skills over their lifetimes. They get along particularly well with the Omenseekers of Bretagard, another Cosmos-faring people eager to discover the unknown.

Life, Death, and Rebirth

Some say living shapeshifters are made of the same stuff as the Cosmos itself, allowing them to walk the realms as easily as breathing. In fact, Kaldheim shapeshifters could be seen as longer-lived, shapechanging relatives of aetherborn, their glowing blue or green cores covered with elaborate wooden masks instead of stone-like skin. Aether permeates Kaldheim just as strongly as it does in Kaladesh, except here it flows freely between the branches of the world-tree, forming the Cosmos.

Unlike many other races of Kaldheim, shapeshifters are not subject to Valkyrie judgement upon their deaths, giving them a greater degree of freedom in how they want to live their lives. If a shapeshifter is particularly outstanding and dies valiantly, though, Valkyries may take notice and offer Starnheim as an option. Many actually turn them down, preferring home over an eternity with people who aren’t their own.

Even after death, shapeshifters retain their adventurous tendencies. They recount their exploits and share knowledge with one another and their descendants, almost like a Starnheim that includes the living. For truly restless spirits who yearn to walk the realms again, there is the option of reincarnation, being reborn out of the Mirrorlake for another life of adventure.

Not every shapeshifter alive today is a reincarnated spirit, but those who are will occasionally get impressions and glimpses from their previous lives. They are often instilled with a relentless drive to forge into the unknown, exploring places they never got to before the last time they died.

[witchesoz]

Oz Lore: The Great and Powerful (2)

II) The Land of Oz

Now, what is truly fascinating is that for the release of the movie, Disney published an official map of Oz as it appears in the movie – in fact it is the same map that appears several times in the movie.

However before that, let’s tackle the biggest issue with this movie: is Oz a dream or not?

The movie tries to mix together two conflict canon, the books where Oz is real, and the MGM movie where Oz is a dreamland. As a result… on one side Oz is visibly real, since the Wizard is not knocked on the head in any way, is rather carried there by a magical tornado, and later appears in Dorothy’s story. But on the other side, Dorothy’s story per the MGM movie was a dream, and the Wizard, just like Dorothy, sees in Oz beings and creatures reflecting his reality – the lions, the monkeys, the circus music in the plants, Glinda being a reflection of Wanda, the Little China Girl being the wheelchair girl… too many coincidences for it not to mean something. The result is extremely confusing. But that’s the main trouble with this movie: in terms of Ozian lore, it is infuriating by its desire to take from both canons without fully indulging in any.

Now, to get on to Oz itself…

They kept the idea of Oz being split into several distinct sections, which is nice. The Emerald City is at the center of Oz and has its own, green-colored region. The official map mentions a “Green Lake” nearby, which is not appearing in the movie but is actually a nod to the mysterious lake Baum added on his Oz maps without ever using it in a story. The most interesting twist is that in this version, there are actually four yellow brick roads, each linking the City to a different part of Oz.

In the north, you have the purple-colored Gillikin Country, which appears on the officla map, but is absolutely forgotten in the movie. It is never mentioned, does not appear and doesn’t play any role – the official map doesn’t even has landmarks for it. Since Glinda in this movie is the witch of the South, there is no witchy presence in the North – and even more, on the official map, the Northern Yellow Brick Road is the only one that is not tied or crosses over with the other Yellow roads (ALL the other Yellow Brick Roads are tied together in one big system).

In the South, you have the Quadling Country. It seems to be red-colored, in theory. You see, the thing is that on the official map the colors of the countries are very pale – and the one of the South is so pale it doesn’t seem like it has any color at all. It looks to be the same beige as the paper of the map, until you look really close and note some faded red/pink colors on the borders. The only real noticeable landmark is “Glinda’s Castle”, which is the small bubble-protected kingdom Glinda built in the South during her exile. Because yes, she visibly had enough time to build there a castle – unless it was always there and she merely took over. In the movie, this is where Glinda united her “forces” by gathering people who were oppressed/wronged by the Wicked Witch and knew the truth. Three groups are here: the Quadlings (the simple, rural folks living in the South. Look like humans with strange mustaches/hairdos/outfits – mostly farmers, though others also have jobs such as iron-smiths, sewers, bakers or scarecrow-makers) ; the Tinkerers (old, bearded and bald men with pointy ears, most walking with canes or in wheelchairs, and who are able to build anything – probably a mix of elves makers and the Winkies from the novel) and the Munchkins (who are just like in the MGM movie – interestingly not all the Munchkins joined Glinda’s side, one actually works as the Herald of the Emerald City, but ultimately turns out to be a double agent for Glinda – but it leads the question, if Evanora can spy in Glinda’s protected kingdom, how come she did not realize her own city herald was a spy?).

At one point we also see a bunch of wild mountains located at the border between the South and… the Munchkin realm, let’s call that. The mountains there are shaped like giant animals (one is a stone lion, another a titanic elephant) and they have on them strange sights such as flowers made of crystals/gems.

And then… the East and the West. Oh boy. That’s the mess.

You see, they inverted the East and the West. Which isn’t wrong in itself, because this is a nod to the real Oz maps: the first Oz maps in the books had confused the directions, putting East on the left and West on the right, resulting in an ongoing debate over whether the directions are inverted in Oz or not. HOWEVER… the mistake the movie And this precise map made is that they did not invert the directions on the map, East is still on the right as in our world’s maps. No, they inverted the directions when it comes to the people. The Winkies are put in the East and the Munchkins in the West. Which doesn’t make any sense since for example Evanora goes to rule over the Munchkins and become the Wicked Witch of the East… in the West, according to the official map (which is the same map used in the movie).

Anyway.

The Yellow Land of the Winkies (normally in the West, but on the map and the movie in the East) is actually where the Wizard begins his journey. His balloon falls in “The Winkie Peaks”, in the North-East, right next to Ugabu (another book nod). The Winkie Peaks is a set of twisted canyons and weird mountains – they are covered in snow in their highest and most northern parts, which then melt into waterfalls, rivers and lakes. This area is filled with strange sights: butterfly looking like flowers ; giants plants ; reeds making music ; and “water fairies”, small mischievous sprites who love to bite people. This is also where the Wizard meets Theodora – and this actually is never explained. Why is she so far away from Oz? And why is she in an area FILLED WITH WATER?

They then go into what the map calls the “Enchanted Forest”, which looks mostly like a regular forest. Except that it is filled with lions. This is also where they meet Finley, a small winged monkey with a bellhop outfit, who just escaped after his master’s house was destroyed by the Wicked Witch winged baboons. Here is something else that never got explained: what exactly is Finley? He looks a lot like the winged monkeys the Wicked Witch uses in the MGM movie. But in this continuity, the Wicked Witches use flying baboons. And while Finley has similarities to them (a winged ape with human clothes), he also doesn’t look like them AT ALL – he can speak where they cannot, he is gentle and kind where they are brutal and cruel, and he has feathered wings where they have bat wings.

Finally, in the movie they leave the Winkie Country by using the Yellow Brick Road, which leads them through a patch of blue flowers. And here is actually another interesting confusion: in the movie, it is implied that each gate of Oz has in front of it a patch of flowers tied to the land it faces. The eastern gate has blue flowers; the western gate has yellow flowers, and the southern gate has red flowers – the deadly poppies. Which would make sense… if they hadn’t switched the two countries. So, while the blue flowers face the East, according to the map they face the yellow Winkie Country. Same with the yellow flowers in front of the blue Munchkin Country. In fact, it seems that in the movie the East with the Peaks and the Enchanted Forest, was supposed to be the Munchkin Land of the MGM movie – after all the Enchanted Forest is the one of the MGM movie where they meet the Lion, the Tin Man and the talking apple trees. But the official map put them in the Winkie section.

And the deadly poppy fields are even more confusing – while they are supposed to face South, because they are red and are not near the Eastern Yellow Brick Road, the movie and the map explain that the field is actually East, and borders the Enchanted Forest. It is also confusing because in the MGM movie it is implied that the poppy field is a spell cast by the Wicked Witch, but here they are an already existing area everyone in Oz avoids because “one sniff” of the flowers and you fall into an eternal sleep.

As for the Winkies themselves, just like in the MGM movie they are represented as tall soldiers with hooked noses and chins – they are the personal guards of the Wicked Witches. However, contrary to the MGM movie, they do not have green skin, they rather have yellow skins (a nod to how their color is yellow).

And then you have the Eastern – I mean, Western part of Oz, the blue-colored Munchkin country. Only three areas are visited here: the China Country, a nod to the book, a city made of giant china cups and teapots, inhabited by living china figures. The town got entirely destroyed by the flying baboons, because they celebrated the arrival of the Wizard which angered the Wicked Witch, leading to the genocide of the China people, with only the Little China girl surviving (in this canon, glue does not exist in Oz, and thus the China people, once broken, cannot be repaired – until the Wizard arrived, with glue). Later another area of the Munchkin Country is the “Dark Forest” also called the “Haunted Forest”. Where the Enchanted Forest was a green, vibrant, beautiful area, the Haunted Forest is a dark and gloomy place filled with black dead trees, enormous thorns, and also man-eating plants with glowing eyes. In fact, to travel safely there you either have to run very fast, or be a witch whose magic can force the plants and obstacles to push away (such as Glinda does with her wand). The Haunted Forest borders “The Cemetery”, where Glinda’s father was buried. And according to the map, it is basically the only cemetery of all Oz, where the Ozites are all buried.

As you might remember, the haunted forest was originally (MGM canon) in the West of Oz, near the Wicked Witch castle. And here it is in the Munchkin Country, except that the Munchkin is in the West… the same way the Enchanted Forest, in the East-Munchkin land of MGM becomes here part of the East-Winkie land. It is just… so confusing.

This little tour being made, here are a few additional thoughts about this take on Oz:

# The technological level of Oz is… extremely confusing. The Quadlings are shown to own sewing machines, for example, hinting at a somewhat modern Oz. Yet, the Ozites are also confused by things such as glue and music boxes, and ignore what canon powder is.

# The size of Oz is… also confusing, but overall damn is this country small! On one side it takes roughly a full day (one afternoon and one morning) for the Wizard and Theodora to go from the Winkie Peaks, at the Ozian border, to the Emerald City, at the heart of Oz. Yet, the Wizard tells the China Girl her city is “one or two hours” of walk from the Emerald City. Except that, according to the map, the distance China Town-Emerald City is half the length of the distance Theodora and the Wizard crossed to get to the Emerald City…

[vivianrvergiou]

Poetry For The Poisoned Arcana

Prologue

Hello everyone and welcome to one of my stories! ^^ These particular one-shots were inspired by the amazing headcannons by @softarcana  Antagonist Main 3, where I added my own dark touch to them. Here on Tumblr you will find only the Prologue, the rest you will find in my Archive of Our Own page (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225261/chapters/61143841 ) since -and I do want to warn you- they are dark, explicit and very violent. Read the tags very carefully and do not read if you are a minor !please! Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

Prologue warnings: Slaves, slave trade, assassination plot

‘A wolf is a wolf.

Even in a cage;

Even dressed in silk’

‘True evil is above all things seductive;

when the devil knocks at your door

  he doesn't have cloven hooves - he's beautiful..’

John Clare

Everything smelled of sickness and death.

    High above the streets, the opalesque buildings once radiated with beauty, surrounded by the bluest sky and the whitest of clouds, enclosed by the vibrant houses and the merry voices of people filling the refreshing sea air mingling with the mouth-watering aromas of bread being made or spices freshly ground into pulp. The beloved Count Lucio truly deserved all the love he was getting from his people, a monarch that cared for his city and did everything in his power for his people to be united and his lands prosperous. Everything thrived with riches and happiness, all people rejoicing and drinking to his health and the prosperity of the city to continue for eons and eons to come, blessed by the gods and all the heavenly powers. Vesuvia was the pride and joy of all the lands, envied but loved by many, a gem among others that could inspire hope to the darkest of hearts.

  That was back then.

Back when life was a joy to live.

   Now, almost nine years later, the Count was long dead, murdered in his own bed, and the tall buildings were surrounded by crimson painted clouds that completely eradicated the rich sunlight and made day seem as dark as night; raising your head to look at the Grand Palace, you couldn’t help but feel death lingering in the air of the almost demolished and bereft from any life streets. The Plague had wiped the population out almost completely, infecting the old and the young and reaping lives here and there with no remorse to any, so much that the corpses littered the streets and the canals, while the few and lone survivors that were lucky -or unlucky- to survive it were left to beg for scraps of food or fight for their lives in the Colosseum, mere ghosts of their former selves. A city once clad in unfathomable riches and happiness, had now plunged in darkness and death leaving behind nothing but shadows desperately clinging on the streets.

 You couldn’t help it; as you watched the Palace with keen eyes, you felt the wave of hate long suppressed emerge from the depths of your chest, wild and poisonous and determined to set things right once and for all. There was only one thing to do and one alone; for nine years you have been training and scheming and preparing for this moment alone. And this was your chance; all or nothing.

   Tightening your grip around your cloak, your chains rattle and groan as the slave in front of you is slapped across the face by the less empathetic slavers. The man stumbles weakly and almost falls on the ground yet catches himself at the last minute. He is sickly and weak, only a ghost of his former self as all of you are; once there was much food to go around, luxuries people could only dream about but now hunger gripped everyone and the only thing left was to be sold in one of the rich houses.

   A part that the slavers covered; when the townsfolk were not enough anymore, they marched onto the countryside and snatched whoever was in sight. Men and women and children alike all were shackled and taken to the Colosseum to either survive and be sold or be killed off like animals to the slaughter.

 Thus, this is where you are currently heading and stooping your head lower, you avert your eyes to the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid triggering the slavers wrath as they whip you forward in a tight but neat row. Some of the slaves can barely stand on their own feet, others are already dying, and others are expected to win a nice sum from the Royals. Whoever can’t walk or is too sick, is promptly killed off and tossed to the side, empty carcasses to litter the floors. Hunger is gripping you all and the sweet taste of water is something you’ve already forgotten. Instead, your feet and hands are blistered by the heavy chains and your backs are so savagely whipped, some still have pieces of flesh hanging off; you were one of the lucky ones and despite the deep wounds, there was no infections or hanging flesh. It was but a small price to pay if it meant fulfilling your ultimate goal.

 ‘Get moving! They’re already expecting us!’ one of the slave owners said and whipped the whip loudly in the air, making a few children in the line cry out in fear.

 ‘MOVE IT!’

  Truly, the more you walked down the street the more Royal Guards you started to see, dressed in their shiny coal black armours, swords as sharp as pain itself sheathed next to their waists; eyes were following you by now and the feeling was like shadows caressing your skin in the dark of the night. You couldn’t see their faces, but the feeling was unmistakable. A few beggars were standing behind them, too curious to remain hidden, too afraid to wander any further; their eyes shone in the darkness and whispers were carried along by the wind, reaching your ears.

 What a shame.

 How sad for a city that grand to fall so low.

  Alas, rounding a corner, you came forth to the one building that its mere sight was enough to strike fear even to the most fearless hearts: the Colosseum.

 Standing tall and towering over most other buildings, it was as haunting as it was grand right before you. White stone reached to almost cover the sky and the more you came close to it, the more you could actually taste the blood hanging in the air; some spoke that it was home to monsters that lurked in the dungeons, others said the ghosts of the people slaughtered inside still roamed the place at nights. Whatever the lore was, you cannot help the shiver travelling down your spine as you all pass under its gates, feet coming in contact with soft sand and ears picking up on the faraway sounds of battle and the crowd cheering. Everything was dark and the only light you could see came from the other side of the long corridor you were in.

 With hushed yells, the slavers stopped you all, gathering you in a close corner, and the head of them ventured inside the nearby door as they warned you not to make a peep. Cloaked by the shadows, your eyes are quick to adjust to the darkness and you let them roam all around you; lines of weapons littered the walls, tossed here and there or carefully settled on the cold stone, ready to be picked up at any given time. It would be so easy for a daring soul to just grab one and make a run for it, alas, everybody knew better than to risk having all the gladiators after them.

‘Just a bit more…. Just a bit longer….’

 Whispering to yourself the only words of encouragement you could muster, it’s a desperate plea for your heart to lie still. It is strange really; you’ve been dreaming about this your whole life, from the moment everything went to complete and utter shit and actually trained for it, prepared for every possible scenario, yet now that you are here you seem utterly unable to calm down. Sweaty hands, restless feet, heart ready to jump out of your chest and a brain that is constantly rehearsing all the info you have, all the possible outcomes you can get.

 Still, something feels like it’s not ready yet. That you need more time.

Alas, the time was now.

Now, as the leader of the slavers comes back and orders them to take you into the arena. Now, that scared whispers erupt all around you, followed by curses, harsh shoves and more savage whipping. Now, that your shoulders roll out and your head stands high with pride as you follow the slave line and enter the huge arena momentarily blinded by the artificial light.

 Breath is caught in your lungs and time seems to slow down; yet you are still moving, and it feels like there’s someone else moving your body like a true puppet to their schemes. Taking you further towards the centre of the blood covered arena, where bodies have fallen and the watchful crowd is looking expectantly, like predators watching their potential prey. And here you are, served for them on a plate of iron clad chains, ready to get gobbled up. Pulled into a neat line, you turn to face the huge podium towering above all other seats and a few slaves cry out and fall on their knees.

 The slavers urge you all to fall down in respect, to kneel and give yourselves up willingly, but you are not occupied with them anymore.

 Now, your panic has shimmered down, and your lips aren’t quivering anymore, you can literally stand on your own two feet without worrying they might give out as your eyes can only focus on the four shadowy figures standing inside the podium, clad in shadows and true abyssal darkness. Yet you know they are all watching.

 Asra Alnazar, the Great Magician, Destroyer and King of the Arcana Realms, rumoured to snatch the souls away from anyone he lies his eyes upon.

 Julian Devorak, the Doctor of Death, the murderer and wanted criminal; the doctor behind it all, whose hand was no stranger to death.

  Nadia Satrinava, the Tyrant Countess, the one who unleashed hell upon earth itself and brought nations to their knees; none can survive her they say, and her presence in battle is enough to instil fear to the Gods themselves.

  Muriel, the Scourge of the South, prime gladiator and enforcer of the Law brought by the Countess. His hand had ended thousands of lives, guilty and innocent alike.

 Alas, you only cared for one of them.

 Unbeknownst to them, you arrived in Vesuvia to kill them.

[sinnhelmingrmoved]

verse overview: KH [ a lonely beast a kind heart ]

under cut because latest game/mobile spoilers. tread carefully friends.

An ancient and powerful entity from before the first War, formerly part of a trio representing light, darkness, and the shades of grey between. She has always been that middle point, a darkness that does not corrupt but merely exists, a creature born in light that goes unharmed by the darkness. She has only resurfaced recently, and has been largely forgotten by history and lore both.

Speaks rarely of her childhood before she was thrown into the Darkness, but implies she came from a ‘golden city’ that was ‘pure light.’ It’s easy to infer why her relatives cast her out when keeping her affinity for the opposing extreme in mind. 

Was found by the first Master at some point in her youth and bonded with his most trusted student, spending much of her childhood running wild with Luxu. Admittedly, she also had run ins with certain wielders as time went on. Some even ran into her on purpose. It is through these interactions and her time in Daybreak that she cultivated her love for humanity and the world they inhabited.

It is also because of this love and the terrible schism that the war threatened that she begged to be locked away by her oldest friend, to keep from seeing her second home ripped apart. She told him to lock her realm away, and then keep walking, forgetting her and even her name.

He promised to set her free, however, and makes good on it as the curtains begin to fall on his eons of scheming. He informs his pawn of Hel’s existence craftily, then sits back and watches as his Heartless is sent to retrieve her. True to form, however, things did not work out exactly according to Luxu’s plans. Ansem instead sought to corrupt the queen and make her a thrall, though she soon began to turn the tables on him.

Eventually she does leave her realm to pay courtesy to Xehanort, to discuss possible alliances. This is all a smokescreen for her real intentions -- to find her old friend and aid him in his journey. To this end, she plays neutral in the ongoing conflict on Luxu’s suggestion, though never truly cuts off the scapegoat or his Organization. Instead, unseen, she is following whatever Luxu asks of her, playing old games in a modern era.

Is ceaselessly trying to get people that she cares about to cut ties with shadowy masters who only seek to use them for their own nefarious schemes. She’s seen what it made of Luxu, and would like to see Ansem learn better before it takes his life.

Post-KH3, she’s largely a wanderer, though allowing for subtle adjustments depending on her relationship status. For the most part, she’s learning all she can of the history she missed while her realm was sealed, feuding with another ruler for his staff contracts because, quote, ‘(she) can treat them better,’ and trying to track Luxu down after his grand disappearance in the Graveyard.

Was once ridiculously powerful wielding a spear. Has not practiced in some centuries and her skills have largely atrophied, though she is training to return to form. Has ridiculously high magic resistance and outright immunity to dark-based attacks. Offensive light magics will, however, ruin her week.

Used to run around in an ornate mask and fluffy feathery cloak as a child and adolescent. Has since learned to weave glamours and appears as a beautiful but unsettling woman in dark clothing in modern times.

Find Corey’s beautiful and kickass designs Here.

Once a cheerful and somewhat silly girl, the kind who would drag her loved ones away from duty when it got too much. Currently an ice queen working towards defrosting by forging bonds with those of this day and age.

I’m pretty sure her penchant for darkness, uncorrupted or otherwise, implies that she can meddle with hearts. Even if she wouldn’t for moral reasons, she is absolutely capable and thus more than a little terrifying.

[asktheadeptus]

Perturabo

"Tell them ruin has come to their world, Death, despair and red war... Tell them their hopes and pride have come to nothing, Tell them their empty whispers fall upon deaf ears their gods are dead, human reason has killed them, Tell them the Angels of Death have come, Tell them nothing can save them now."— Attr. Perturabo, Primarch of the Iron Warriors

Perturabo, sometimes called the Lord of Iron (known also as The Breaker and The Hammer of Olympia) is the Primarch of the Iron Warriors Traitor Legion, one of the original twenty Space Marine Legions. Weaned on war and intrigue in the strife-ridden courts of his homeworld of Olympia, Perturabo was a grim warrior and master of technological arcana who wielded logic and the mathematics of warfare as keenly as he did a blade and Bolter. The Lord of Iron was taciturn to the point of insult, preferring to harbour his thoughts against the threat of treachery, even amongst his kin. Few would call him friend, but none could fault his ability to wage a campaign and plot the most direct course to victory regardless of the cost and despite the strain put on him and his IVth Legion during the long years of the Great Crusade. His word was as unbreakable as iron. Unlike his brothers, many of whom embraced the Emperor's Great Crusade with near fanatical devotion, Perturabo thought of it simply as a task that his sworn duty to the Emperor compelled him to pursue. His conquests were innumerable, but unremarked and unthanked, as his Iron Warriors brought many worlds into the Imperium of Man, but he left behind him shattered worlds on the brink of extinction by his brutal, if effective, strategies.

So it was that, rotting from within with loathing and bitter spite, the iron facade the Legion presented to the Imperium obfuscated the extent of how rapidly and how deeply it had descended into homicidal madness, until at last it was called on to help in the punishment of the rebellious Warmaster Horus at Istvaan V, and the dark truth was revealed. Perturabo arrived at Istvaan V in the wake of the bloody pacification of his home world of Olympia, a campaign that wiped out the entire population, and some claim tipped Perturabo and his Legion over the edge of madness and fully into the abyss of betrayal during the subsequent Drop Site Massacre, an infamous action that will echo forever in the history of the Imperium. In the wake of the Drop Site Massacre, Perturabo left the blasted carcass of Istvaan V, carrying his fallen brother's hammer Forgebreaker as a token of his new allegiance to the Warmaster Horus' cause. Following the tragic events of the Horus Heresy and his Legion's subsequent flight into the Eye of Terror, he has since ascended to Daemon Prince status and currently resides within the Eye of Terror on the Daemon World of Medrengard.

History

Origins

When the Primarchs were scattered across the galaxy from the Emperor's gene-laboratory beneath the Himalazian (Himalayan) Mountains on Terra by the Chaos Gods, Perturabo landed on a Civilized World named Olympia. The full details of this early period in Perturabo's life remain somewhat mysterious, with the only extant accounts give to Imperial Iterators years later, and ever distrusted even then as colored by Olympia's endemic intrigues. the most reliable information points to Perturabo as having been recovered from the rocky wilds outside the city-states by the Tyrant's guards. they had been pursuing tales of a strange and wondrous boy wandering between outlying minor settlements and outcast communities -- the boy plying his way both as a fighter for hire and as an artisan of phenomenal talent despite his great youth, staying in no one place for any length of time before moving on. Tales of the boy had reached the court of Lochos and Dammekos, a shrewd and cunning ruler, and he had been intrigued enough to dispatch his retainers to find if any truth was in them and if so, how indeed they could be turned to his advantage. Perturabo was discovered climbing the mountains below the walls of Lochos. The city guards, having realized this was no ordinary child, brought him before Dammekos, the ruling Tyrant of Lochos. On seeing the strange boy in the flesh, Dammekos put him to the test, witnessing his ability to defeat warriors twice his size and many times his age in combat on the one hand, and the boy's ability to solve any puzzle put to him by the Tyrant's own scholars on the other. Dammekos was intrigued enough to offer the boy a place in his court. Between the boy and the Tyrant a bargain was struck; fealty, loyalty and service on the boy's part and on that of the Tyrant, patronage and protection, and access to the finest military training and scholarship the Tyrant's resources could confer upon him.

Later accounts differ of what came after. Many paint the boy as a prodigy of staggering and indeed inhuman ability, who spent his life in an unending regime of solitary training, and devouring whatever learning and lore was set before him, or he could dig out himself to study. Others make veiled references to a child who was both cold and devious, the rapidly growing boy never fully accepted his lot, never truly trusted the Olympians and refused to return any affection given him by his adopted father. Dammekos spent plenty of time with his new son, but never received any affection in return.

There was a mysterious explanation for Perturabo's inherent mistrust, unknown to anyone but himself. Upon reaching the summit after climbing the rain-slick cliff, the exhausted youth had peered towards the heavens and gazed upon a strange, nebulous stellar maelstrom erupting across a corner of the heavens. When he inquired of the Tyrant's guards whether they could see the strange phenomenon, the bewildered guards replied that they could not. For the rest of Perturabo’s life, this maelstrom would continue to look down upon the Primarch; making him feel as if it judged and measured his worth and spied on his every movement. A life lived beneath its cold scrutiny made him brooding and loath to offer his trust, ever-watchful and aware of its baleful glare. It would be over two standard centuries later before he found a reason to venture into this strange star maelstrom’s mercurial depths, a galactic phenomena whose name he would coin, a name that would one day strike fear into the hearts of all those that heard it. This stellar maelstrom, in truth a giant rift between realspace and the Immaterium, would one day be known as the Eye of Terror.

Many Olympians saw the boy as a particularly cold and brooding child, though the fact that he was a genetically engineered superhuman who had been mysteriously thrown onto a far-off world with no idea of his origins or purpose was certainly not conducive to the development of a trusting nature. Despite his aloof demeanor, the adopted boy learned from the culture in which he found himself the arts of the siege, for Olympia's myriad warring city-states afforded plenty of opportunity to study both the theory and the practice of this highly specialized branch of warfare.

Upon his age of majoring, the foundling took a name for himself to be known all his adult life, but against custom he chose not to honour the family into which he had been taken by assuming one of the names of its venerated history as was expected. Instead he chose an ancient name that he had long favored, a name that some claimed had been found in a forgotten text from before the fall of humanity -- a text written in a language only the boy in his precocious ability had succeeded in translating: Perturabo. What true meaning it held, he did not divulge. To war the young Perturabo now set himself, and in this he had much to work on. Dammekos was a powerful Tyrant, but he and his realm were beset by rivals and bitter vendettas on all sides, and having given an oath unbreakable, Dammekos' enemies were now Perturabo's. Granted first minor commands, the young Primarch ascended the ranks of his adopted house's armies at a frightening rate.

Victory after victory followed under his command and his legend grew, as did the mercenaries and war-artisans, flocking to the banner of Dammekos in their lust for success and plunder. But more than mere success in battle did Perturabo bring to Lochos, and even from the beginning was his genius noted not simply for war, but also invention. Having absorbed with superhuman clarity the breadth and depth of Olympia's science and artisanship, he soon surpassed it on every level and from his chambers a constant stream of blueprints and discoveries sprung, encompassing everything from revolutionary new machines, to treatises on architecture and production methods, and even ground-breaking works on medicine and astronomy. But it was first and foremost by his advances in warfare that Perturabo's dark fame was bred and his legend as the "Hammer of Olympia" was born. New weapons, munitions and hitherto unimagined siege engines were all birthed at Perturabo's hand and, in a brief span of years, it was they and Perturabo's own generalship, now as Warlord to the Tyrant Dammekos, that made Lochos the most powerful and feared domain on Olympia, with a hundred others underneath its heel, and countless more cowed into defacto submission to its rulers.

Perturabo's score upon score of military victories brought no peace to Lochos however, only dominance, and the growing threat of an enemy within, the assassin's blade and the poisoner's kiss. It is believed that a great many attempts were carried out upon the life of Lochos' "Lord of Iron" during this time, both by subjugated Tyrants reasoning -- and rightly -- that without Perturabo, Lochos' supremacy would crumble, and by those who to Perturabo's face called him family and friend, but who secretly held him in terror or jealous hatred. The Primarch, now full grown, towered over them all both in stature and intellect, but cared little for the baubles and trappings of power, and nothing at all for the falsehood of court. Aloof, prideful and justly wary of friend and enemy alike, Perturabo is depicted in the evidence of the time increasingly as a particularly bloody-handed warlord even by the standards of his world, to whom mercy was an alien concept, and who would meet any insult with murderous violence. The steel executioner's mask and the ancient Kaveathos heraldry warning death to the transgressor were Perturabo's signs and seals, and promised savage punishment in repayment of failure by those beneath him, just as it promised death to his enemies.

It is of note that despite the fact that should he have wished it, Perturabo could have overthrown his "master" Dammekos and displaced him as Tyrant, he did not do so. The Primarch it seems, would not break his word or his bargain willingly, and Dammekos, for all his vainglory and corruption was careful never to give him cause or excuse to do so. It is thought perhaps that true to his oath, Perturabo would have let the aging Dammekos die a natural death as he remained unprovoked, hastened by the Tyrant's own licentious excesses, before taking Lochos and then all of Olympia as his own in time. What he would have made of his world then can only be guessed at, for it was not to be, as a new star had been seen in the heavens -- the Emperor had come for his lost son.

The Emperor Comes

In time, the Emperor of Mankind arrived on Olympia as part of the Great Crusade and informed Perturabo of his true place in the wider galaxy. Such evidence that remains of the recovery of Perturabo and his installation in the forces of the Great Crusade indicates that the process occurred swiftly, and with immediate acceptance on Perturabo's part, in marked contrast to several other Primarchs, it is likely that the tyrant Dammekos was more than willing to bring Olympia into the Imperium's fold, as its Satrap, and the price of voluntarily releasing Perturabo from his service was but a small due to pay. Perturabo for his part, it is believed, had already reasoned out his true nature, at least in abstract, as an artificial post-human being, and indeed expected his creator to one day be revealed to him, even though the particulars no doubt remained a mystery until the Emperor himself appeared in orbit with his fleet.

After his rediscovery by the Imperium, the young Primarch was brought to Terra to learn from his father about his chosen destiny and to meet some of his brother Primarchs. During his studies, Perturabo learned of the ancient people known as the Firenzii. Captivated by the history of the past, Perturabo and his brother Magnus of the Thousand Sons Legion spent many months together in search of the buried secrets of Mankind's past glories that had been swept away in the chaos of the Age of Strife, known by Terrans as Old Night. It was the esoteric writings of the world's former masters that most interested him. He cared more for the ancient philosophies of the lost civilizations of Terra than their mechanical wonders, but it was a heady time of exploration for both Primarchs. Perturabo got along well with his brother Magnus, for both Primarchs shared a love of learning, and a hunger to know new things. Perturabo was not a Primarch to whom the natural ebb and flow of friendship came easily. His friendship was not easily achieved, but his loyalty, once won, was as unbreakable as the hardest iron. Or so he had thought, until time would show him that even the hardest iron could break if worn thin enough.

It was remarked upon at the time of his early reception in a number of sources, just what a ravenous mind the new-found Primarch possessed. While all of the Emperor's post-human sons displayed an intellect and capacity to absorb and adapt to new knowledge that surpassed that of an unmodified human, Perturabo's capacity for learning was truly incredible, and it swiftly came to be said that of all of the Emperor's sons, he was the most gifted in terms of raw scientific and technical intelligence. Much of this sagacity was turned inwards however, and Perturabo was from the outset a distant, calculating mastermind who cared little for the society of others, nor readily deigned to explain his actions or intentions to those around him, even to his fellow Primarchs upon meeting them, who he was cold and guarded against to the point of bristling indifference. To the Emperor such foibles mattered little, and in Perturabo he found a new weapon for the arsenal of the Great Crusade, a warlord and general whose savage might was only eclipsed by his razor-keen intellect. To Perturabo each battle and each campaign was no more than a problem to be objectified, deconstructed and overcome, and it would not be long before the first of Mandkind's fores would feel the terrible power of this murderous mind at world.

Oath of Moment

In time the Emperor was ready to send his son back out into the galaxy to help with the galactic conquest known as the Great Crusade, the effort to reunite all of Mankind beneath the rule of the newborn Imperium of Man. Perturabo, like his fellow Primarchs before him, ascended to the crenelated peak of the Astartes Tower to swear his Oath of Moment. He made the long ascent upwards to the polished marble spire, the night before leaving Terra for a life of war. Each step required a superhuman effort of will, determination and courage. It was not simply a physical ascent, but a challenge to the heart and intellect, a psychic communion with the Emperor himself that tested the very boundaries of a warrior’s endurance.

Perturabo pledged his devotion to the fledgling Imperium, and assumed the mantle of Primarch and commander of the IVth Space Marine Legion, whom he renamed the Iron Warriors. According to established practice, the Primarch was declared lord of the world on which he had been raised, effectively deposing his adoptive father, the Tyrant of Lochus, as the most powerful ruler on the world. Given command of the IVthLegion which had been created from his own genome, Perturabo ordered the Iron Warriors to begin the process of inducting new recruits from the most able candidates amongst the peoples of Olympia. Dammekos is said to have spent his remaining few years gathering forces to attempt to retake his power and overthrow Perturabo and the Imperium's rule of Olympia. Dammekos failed in these efforts at rebellion, but created a current of anti-Imperial political unrest among the people of Olympia which would come to haunt Perturabo and his Iron Warriors later.

Iron Within, Iron Without

After a brief period in the Emperor's company fighting alongside Him and consuming knowledge of the Great Crusade, its history, war machinery and operations, Perturabo was handed the command of the IVth Legion which bore his gene-seed, and the transition of authority to him was swift and absolute. At the time, around 35,000 Astartes of the IVth Legion had been mustered to create his independent command, with perhaps half that number again scattered across the conquered domains of the Imperium in smaller independent garrisons and detachments bound to their watches and their duties. Having instituted a full review of the IV Legion's war record, doctrines and practices and having compared those with the other Legions, Perturabo found his sons wanting and acted accordingly. His punishment was decimation. For the Legion's failing all would suffer, all were guilty. As the edict of decimation would state, "War is unequivocal, uncaring, unforgiving and blind. Blind also will be the selection of those who will pay the blood price for the greater failure of your record." One in ten of the Legion, determined by lottery, was put to death without honour, a deed carried out by each Legionary's own comrades with their bare hands. At this bloody edict some within the Imperial Court protested, believing that the Emperor had given absolute power of a Space Marine Legion to a madman, while others, more guarded in their criticism, opined only that command had been given too soon to the Primarch -- unused as he was to the ways of the Imperium. Loudest of these critics was Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, who bridled at the ignominy of the deaths to which valiant Astartes -- warriors alongside which his own Legion had often fought -- had been thus consigned. It was a spur of discord between the two Primarchs that, though later eclipsed by other rancorous and feuds among the Emperor's sons, would be one that neither would ever forget. All such criticism the Emperor silenced.

To those who survived the IVth Legion's self-decimation, the lesson was plain: such was to be the rule of Perturabo, ruthless and unforgiving, and without favor or preference. Death would be the price of failure in Perturabo's service and war was to him a binary equation. Their sin was not that they had failed in the Great Crusade's service -- for by no measure had this been the case, but instead that they had not reached their full potential. It was not enough for Perturabo that they were merely superior, their fault lay in that among the Legions they were not already supreme. Perturabo demanded that his Legion would be a peerless engine of war, and he immediately set about fashioning it into the weapon he desired it to be, a weapon whose edge he would first test against the rest of the Meratara Cluster at whose edge the Olympia Majoris star system sat. There he first overthrew the vaunted "Black Judges" and claimed their once-held domain for the Imperium, before purging the xenos Ecto-Saurids of Verikhonia and subjugating the Renegade Knight-fiefdom of Lyxos, completing his conquest of the cluster. In this last conflict, Perturabo's Legion ended by force a schism that had lasted for millennia back into the Age of Strife between the fragmented empire and its former masters in the Mechanicum, winning the Legion much favor with the Lords of Mars. This period was for the IVth Legion a winnowing; a time of trials and testing at their Primarch's hand. With calculated forethought and savage experiment Perturabo remade the Legion to his own image -- an image not echoing the Olympian or Terran ideal -- but one fashioned purely from his own bleak and unflinchingly ruthless psyche. At the end of the Meratara Custer campaign, the IVth Legion of old was no more, and the Iron Warriors had been forged from blood and fire in their place.

By the time Perturabo returned again to Olympia with his renamed force, the machinery of his plans was well into effect. In alliance with the Mechanicum, new orbital shipyards and foundries burned with frenetic activity, many had been torn from dead orbits around conquered stars, dragged to Olympia and refitted and expanded to his Legion's purpose. The worlds of the Meratara Cluster too now paid their tribute of flesh and blood to the Lord of Iron to feed his Legion's hunger for fresh warriors, weapons and munitions. All was by Perturabo's hand and design. In the crucible of war, the Iron Warriors had undergone its reshaping, with the changes that had occurred seen in many ways to have amplified what was already present in the IVth Legion rather than changing it beyond recognition; where once the Legion had been ruthless in its willingness to accept losses in return for victory, now it was utterly driven to the point where such considerations were as beneath it as mortal fear. War had become a deadly equation which the Iron Warriors were supremely suited to solve; a relentlessly unyielding engine of war, a beast of steel and fire which swept worlds clean and devoured whole armies.

At the head of a newly constituted force, the 125th Expeditionary Fleet, into which Perturabo drew the bulk of his Legion's strength, the Primarch had command of a force which quickly became the battering ram of the Great Crusade. As they fought alongside each of their fellow Legions in turn, they gained an unmatched reputation for brutal efficiency in battle, mastery of armoured warfare and as artillerists without peer among the Legions. It was said of the Iron Warriors that there was no fortress built by the hand of humanity or that of the xenos they could not smash down, no stronghold they could not storm and no army they could not drown in its own blood through shot and shell.

Bitter Resentments

The wedge that had been hammered between the Iron Warriors and the other Space Marine Legions, however, was only driven home further as time passed, and resentment, pride and paranoia gathered in the hearts of many within the IVth Legion. By his grim methods and savage example, Perturabo had awoke in his warriors a reflection of his own dark soul, and within them his own suspicions, malevolent distrust and callous indifference to life grew alongside the ruthless determination, cold intellect and strength he wished to unlock there. It is then not perhaps unsurprising, given the IVthLegion's predilection for open battle, its employment in siege assault -- the most dangerous and unpredictable of all forms of line warfare -- and its willingness at every level from its Primarch downwards to accept attrition as the price of victory, that the Iron Warriors are estimated in many sources to have suffered the highest overall number of casualties taken over time of any of the Legions in the Great Crusade. It is also similarly a testament to them and the cold and cruel genius of their Primarch, that such losses were routinely absorbed by the Legion without serous lasting depreciation of the Iron Warriors' strategic fighting power and that high casualties rarely resulted in defeat for the IVth Legion. However, despite their genetically enhanced resilience to mental trauma and psycho-indoctrination, it is believed that such a continuous exposure to loss and destruction worked a slow and bitter corrosion on the Legion's psyche.

Perturabo and his Legion sought no friends or allies amongst those they served with, save perhaps the agents of the Mechanicum who aided them in the pursuit of ever more powerful and efficient means of waging war. In their fellow Legions they saw weaknesses bred by self-deceit, lack of discipline, false mysticism and vanity, and they also saw insults and slights by them, both real and imagined. Even many factions of the Mechanicum, to whom Perturabo's technological intellect was a wonder, did not trust him or his Legion fully, dangerously self-sufficient and adept as they were, and ignorant of the Omnissiah's faith. To the forces of the Excertus Imperialis -- the hosts of the Imperial Army and its auxiliaries -- the Iron Warriors' repute was a dark one indeed. More than any other Legion, the Iron Warriors were seen as not only willing to use the lives of human auxiliaries as a strategic resource, but as deliberate expenditure, as cannon fodder to deplete an enemy's fire power, in sacrificial waves by the thousand to bring out a foe from their defenses, or simply to gauge an enemy's strengths by observing how fast they could annihilate them.

Such repeated incidents only served to further taint the hated epithet the "Corpse Grinders" among the common soldiers of the Great Crusade. Open mutiny, put down with predictably thorough slaughter, grew increasingly frequent in war zones where Excertus Auxillia were under the Iron Warriors' command and until, by the Warmaster Horus' edict, a standing order was effected to ensure that the bulk of such troops given to the Iron Warriors command were to be either indentured criminals or enslaved non-Compliants to ameliorate the corrosive effect on wider morale. By the last decades of the Great Crusade, rivalries as well as often mutual simmering disdain, such as the antipathy between the Iron Warriors and Raven Guard Legion brought on by friction during the Icessunder War, and an increasingly bitter rivalry between the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists, characterized the Iron Warriors' relationship with its fellow Legions. Indeed, even where the Iron Warriors and their Primarch fought successfully alongside their fellow Legions, such as in the critical war agains WAAAGH! Mashogg, their part was often treated with indifference or guarded disdain by the IVthLegion's contemporaries.

In this latter incident for example, although before Perturabo and the Iron Warriors' arrival in the war zone, Overdog Mashogg's vast orbital fortifications had previously repulsed attack after attack from both the Space Wolves and the White Scars Legions. Perturabo, whose plan succeeded at last in breaking the line and allowing for the Orks slaughter is recorded in the contemporary chronicles of his brother-Legions only as a nameless "comrade-in-arms." This growing schism, perhaps more obvious in hindsight than it would have appeared at the time, was further exacerbated after the appointment of Horus as the Imperial Warmaster. This major re-alignment in the deployment of the Great Crusade saw the renewal and issuing of a string of directives and disposition orders, some from Terra and others from the Warmaster. These orders continued to bleed the Iron Warriors Legion and scatter a good part of its strength across a myriad of splinter Expeditionary Fleets, thankless sieges and garrison postings in the most dangerous, forlorn and isolated corners of the ever-widening Imperium.

Meanwhile, Perturabo's own 125th Expeditionary Fleet was driven into the teeth of deadly foe after deadly foe, neither asking for, nor being sent reinforcements or additional resources, save for those it could itself generate and acquire. Perturabo, bitter but iron in his word, complied. Such events in retrospect only served to foment and amplify the resentment and discord within the IVth Legion and split it from the Imperium it served, and increasingly to derange its warriors in the face of some of the worst horrors the Great Crusade would ever face. Indeed, such may have very well been Horus' plan.

As the Great Crusade moved forward, many Iron Warrior citadels were established on liberated worlds, guaranteeing a safe line of communications and an Imperial occupational force for the planet. Small units of Iron Warriors were garrisoned in these new fortifications, sometimes in ridiculously small numbers. One often-cited example was the Iron Keep on Delgas II, where a single Tactical Squad of ten Iron Warriors was stationed, despite the world having a disgruntled population of almost 130 million people. Where other Primarchs like Leman Russ, Vulkan and Magnus the Red refused to split their forces, Perturabo obeyed his orders with increasing bitterness. The Iron Warriors were being turned into a garrison Legion, with tiny deployments all over the Imperium. The Iron Warriors' indisputable success in siege warfare led to them being "typecast" so that they became the automatic choice for any siege or garrison mission, ignoring the basic needs of all the Legion's Astartes for rest and reorganization. Resentment against the Emperor's relentless demands began to build up throughout the IVth Legion, and particularly within Perturabo himself.

The Hollow Crown

More so than many of those who would eventually turn Traitor and side with Horus, the motivations and path of damnation pursued by the Iron Warriors remains perhaps the most unknown and uncertain, save perhaps that of the history of the Alpha Legion around who little but lies circle. Once faultlessly loyal, they did not bend but seemed to outsiders instead to suddenly and inexplicably shatter in their allegiance. Many who view the matter with enough dispassion see, rightly or wrongly, a Legion eroded by too much horror, too much attrition and death in the service of a cause to which they went unheralded and unthanked. They see a Primarch and his sons who were slowly laid low with suspicion, malcontent and a growing madness. But here remains scant evidence of wholesale corruption of the body or the insidious hand of the Ruinous Powers at work among them, let alone any actual traffic with dark forces before the cataclysm of galactic civil war engulfed the Imperium. For others the answer is more simply that there grew in the IVth Legion a savage, jealous arrogance born of nothing more than base bloodlust and malcontent which led the Iron Warriors down the path to their ruin. There have been some who have contended that the Iron Warriors' fatal flaw was instead a lack of faith at a fundamental level, that they did not truly believe in the cause of the Great Crusade or the Emperor that they served, or that they themselves were anything more than machines built to kill. It might then be viewed that ultimately they were undone by the very pragmatism and logic that had made them such ruthless and effective soldiers, but left them ill-equipped to fight an enemy as existential as doubt and mortal terror. If this is true then for Perturabo, his Primarch's mantle became nothing but a license for slaughter without a higher purpose, his conquests empty and victories hollow. It has been further contended that this was what ultimately deranged and destroyed them from within, leaving nothing but empty vessels to be filled with the uncaring savagery and the mirror of the horrors they had borne.

Iron and Stone

Similarity encourages understanding, or at least some would claim so. In the case of Perturabo and Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists Legion, this sentiment not only falls but shatters under the weight of reality. For rarely could there be said to be two being on the surface who more resembled each other, yet were separated by a greater chasm. Both reserved to the point of taciturn, both unyielding, both sublime artisans of war who prized indomitability and endurance, there was much that would suggest that they should see the world with one set of eyes, that perhaps they should be closer than any others. That bitterest loathing could arise between two such closely matched kin seems incredible, but it was a reality, some say from the first moment of their meeting.

The exact roots and cause of their enmity cannot be known to any save Rogal Dorn and Perturabo, but if one looks closely there appears a pattern both of behavior and incidents which may offer a clue. Often it seems as though the pair's similarities were the cause of discord rather than understanding. Both were stubborn and more so when challenged, both spoke rarely, and brooded much behind their stone and iron masks. So it was that the silence of one would aggravate the other, the blunt honesty of one roused the other to anger, and the intractability of both ensured that once a dispute was begun neither would yield.

That there were differences between the two cannot be denied, and often these differences may have been the cause of disputes even if they were not the underlying cause. While both Rogal Dorn and Perturabo often favoured siege craft in war, they often differed in its execution. While both were pragmatic, Perturabo often displayed a brutal directness in waging war, applying overwhelming force or sustaining horrific casualties. While Dorn would never baulk or paying such a price for victory, he rarely accepted large numbers of casualties except through necessity. Dorn was an undoubted idealist above all else, Perturabo a pragmatist first and foremost. On such cracked foundations the decades of the Great Crusade heaped pleasures, honours, disparities and mischance, and from the result history reaped an enmity which would take both Primarchs and their Legions to the brink of destruction.

Horus Heresy

As the tragic outbreak of the Horus Heresy grew closer, it appears that Perturabo was put under ever increasing pressure, and as a result the fires of his bitterness were stoked to a raging inferno. Some have postulated that it was the WarmasterHorus who, time after time, engineered events and adjusted deployments to the Primarch's detriment. For the Iron Warriors Legion the Horus Heresy came as the culmination and a series of reversals and fell tragedies that had occurred in the latter years of the Great Crusade, stalked the Legion and by their effect both deranged and twisted is Legionaries. Foremost of these had been the rebellion of Olympia, the seat of the Legion's domain in the Meratara Cluster and foundling home world of their Primarch Perturabo. With the death of the long-lived Tyrant of Lochos and Satrap of Olympia finally dead, the duplicitous and viperous politics of Olympia had severely developed into infighting and insurrection. The violence and division flared up worse than ever before because of the changes the Imperium had wrought onto Olympia, and the discontent grew, due to generations of the planet's finest youth having been tithed for the Legion, never to return. The shocking start of the rebellion struck at the heart of the Legion and its master, and could have come at a worse time, but over a year, the Iron Warriors Legion had been engaged in the almost single handed suppression of a major infiltration of the infamous xenoform known as the Hrud. All such actions in the history of the Great Crusade have proved costly both in terms of lives and the sanity of those who must fight such nightmares, and this was to prove the exception.

Perturabo and the IVth Legion returned to their home world and brutally purged Olympia of its rebels city by city, overrunning the fortresses he had built and sparing no one who stood against him. By the time the massacre was over, five million Olympians had been killed and the rest put into vicious slavery to the Iron Warriors. Perturabo looked on at the remains of his home world in cold silence. Only once the great pyres were burning to cleanse the world of the heaps of corpses created by the IVth Legion's assault did Perturabo fully realise what he had done. The Iron Warriors were no longer the saviours of the Imperium; they had been destroying the alien Hrud one moment and yet, in the next, they were committing genocide against their own people. With the cooling of Olympia's mass funeral pyres had come the realization that nothing the Lord of Iron could ever do from that moment could ever atone for a worldwide genocide. His father would never forgive him so grievous a sin, but Horus had not only forgiven it, he had lauded his brother's thoroughness and dedication. Horus had sworn Perturabo never to feel guilt over what he had done to Olympia, but that was an oath easier to make than to live by.

It was at this time that disturbing news of the outbreak of the Horus Heresy on the world of Istvaan III reached Olympia and new orders for the Iron Warriors came from Terra. Leman Russ and the Space Wolves had attacked Magnus the Red and his Thousand Sons Legion on their home world of Prospero at the direction of the Emperor and as a result of the deceit of Horus. Horus had turned Traitor with his XVIth Legion, the Sons of Horus, alongside some other allied Legions such as the Death Guard, Emperor's Children and the World Eaters. The whole of the Imperium was on the brink of an outright civil war. The new orders from the Emperor ordered the Iron Warriors to join with six other Loyalist Space Marine Legions to face Horus and his Traitor Legions on the world of Istvaan V. During the battle that followed the Iron Warriors, Night Lords, Word Bearers and Alpha Legion all went over to the side of Horus and almost completely destroyed the three remaining Loyalist Legions of the Imperial assault force -- the Iron Hands, the Salamanders and the Raven Guard -- at the infamous Drop Site Massacre on that world. In truth, Perturabo and the other Primarchs who turned Traitor on Istvaan V had already been seduced by the Warmaster and made their decision to stand with him against the Emperor, guaranteeing that the Traitors would field nine Space Marine Legions against the Loyalists.

In the wake of the Drop Site Massacre, to celebrate Perturabo's decision to join his side in the conflict, Horus presented Perturabo with a Power Hammer called Forgebreaker that had been the personal weapon of the fallen Primarch Ferrus Manus of the Iron Hands, who the Traitor Primarch Fulgrim had beheaded during the Drop Site Massacre. The granting of this boon was the embodiment of a new pact between the Warmaster and the Iron Warriors' Primarch, a gift from Horus to Perturabo intended to symbolise Perturabo and the Iron Warriors' newfound allegiance to the Warmaster rather than the Emperor. Fools claimed that Forgebreaker had sealed the pact between Horus and the Iron Warriors, but only Perturabo knew it was forgiveness that truly bound the Iron Warriors to Horus Lupercal.

Hydra Cordatus

As Horus’ rebellion ground on, the Iron Warriors took the time to humble their great enemies, the Imperial Fists, upon the isolated world of Hydra Cordatus that the Sons of Dorn had recently brought into Imperial Compliance. The Iron Warriors made planetfall in the wake of a saturation bombardment that reduced the valley where the planet's lone formidable fortress, known as the Cadmean Citadel, was situated and the agri-settlements filling its fertile deltas to ash. Magma bombs and mass drivers boiled away the rivers and reduced fecund earth to arid dust. The Cadmean Citadel was left untouched, and the small garrison of Imperial Fists Legionaries that Rogal Dorn had left behind still found it difficult to believe that such a precise bombardment was possible. But the Iron Warriors had purposely done this in order to show the Imperial Fists that they were superior to them in every way. The technological cunning of the ancient fortress builders, married to the artfully wrought geography and the courage of the defenders, proceeded to keep the Iron Warriors at bay for almost three months. Every day the Loyalist warriors stayed alive, it kept the enemy from redeploying and bringing their strength to bear elsewhere against the forces of the Imperium. Yet, when the Iron Warriors finally overcame the citadel’s ancient defenses and broke open its walls they ran amok. They slaughtered the remaining Imperial Fists Legionaries, the heroic men and women of Hyrdra Cordatus that had chosen to stand with them, and the refugees from the devastated fields below the fortress. Fifty-two Imperial Fists and thirteen thousand men, women and children were crammed within the citadel’s walls. When the final assault came, the Lord of Iron himself spearheaded the audacious attack upon the citadel's defenders, and slaughtered over thirty Imperial Fists Astartes in a span of only a few minutes. The rest of the Cadmean Citadel's defenders were slaughtered to a man and the surviving mortal refugees were enslaved by the Iron Warriors before they moved on to their next objective. Hydra Cordatus was reduced to a barren desert world by the Traitor Legion's assault.

Angel Exterminatus

Following their victory on Hydra Cordatus, word reached the Lord of Iron that Fulgrim, Primarch of the Emperor's Children Legion, wished to rendezvous with him to discuss something of great import. Though the Phoenecian had yet to reveal the true purpose of his visit, he had promised Perturabo that it was "wondrous." Perturabo knew that his brother had a flair for the melodramatic, which only seemed to have gotten worse since the IIIrd Legion threw their lot in with the Warmaster. The Lord of Iron counted none of his fellow Primarchs as close, but the Phoenician’s adherence to perfection in all things had once provided common ground between the two superhuman warriors and allowed them to talk as trusted comrades-in-arms if not beloved brothers. What the Emperor’s Children had sought with constant movement towards the attainment of perfection, the Iron Warriors earned with rigid discipline and methodical planning; two divergent paths to the same ultimate goal.

Perturabo believed Fulgrim's visit had something to do with Mars. The Warmaster needed the Martian theater fully secured before they moved against Terra, and he believed that Fulgrim was there to seek the Iron Warriors' aid in breaking open the forge-cities of the Mechanicum. If he was right, Perturabo wanted his Legion to have a plan in place to achieve that objective. Until the Iron Warriors received further orders, Perturabo would humour his brother and listen to what Fulgrim had to say. While making plans for the upcoming campaign, Perturabo received word that the Emperor's Children had arrived, unannounced, on the surface of Hydra Cordatus. Over three hundred drop-craft had landed beyond the mouth of the valley where the Iron Warriors had made their encampment.

The IVth Legion quickly gathered in formation to honour the IIIrd Legion with a vanguard to receive them. Battalions of Thorakitai Imperial Army troops stood ranked in their tens of thousands. Before them stood two hundred Grand Battalions of Iron Warriors, fifty thousand warriors in amberdust-burnished warplate. Such a display of might and magnificence had not been seen since the slaughter unleashed upon the black sands of Istvaan V. Yet Perturabo and his senior officers looked on in awe at the gaudy cavalcade of noise, colour and spectacle that emerged from the IIIrd Legion's drop site into the valley. Fulgrim and his Emperor’s Children were now completely unrecognizable from the honourable warriors that had once formed the IIIrd Legion. Perturabo knew something fundamental had changed within the Emperor’s Children, but could not imagine what purpose the disfigurements and degradations its warriors now sported could possibly serve.

Fulgrim met with his brother Primarch in the private inner sanctum of his command bunker with an enticing offer that Perturabo could not refuse; the means to make it so that the Lord of Iron's every desire could be made real and would never disappoint, never fail to live up to his fondest expectations, and never, ever be eclipsed. Fulgrim came with an offer to unite their mutual forces in battle on a glorious quest. One that might tip the balance of the Warmaster’s rebellion. Though Perturabo was suspicious of his brother's intentions, perhaps this joint venture would grant understanding through common cause. Fulgrim revealed his purpose; they were to venture to the Warp Storm that had plagued Perturabo's dreams all of his life. Within it was hidden an ancient and forbidden xenos weapon known as the Angel Exterminatus. It had been hidden in the grave of its doom, a weapon of such power that the stars themselves turned upon it rather than allow it to escape its prison.

Into the Eye of Terror

For as long as he remembered, no matter how many thousands of light years separated him from this particular Warp Storm, Perturabo was always aware of the Eye of Terror's presence and could perceive an echo of it on every world where he had looked to the heavens. He did not know whether this Warp sight had been engineered into his perceptive apparatus deliberately, like Sanguinius’s wings or Corax’s eyes, or was simply a quirk of his genetic code, but it had been a blessing and a curse since his earliest memories. The anomaly haunted his dreams, threaded his nightmares and colored his every thought since he had learned something of its nature. He had once asked the Iron Hands Primarch Ferrus Manus whether his silver eyes allowed similar insight, but his brother had just shaken his head and given him a look of faint scorn, as though he had just admitted to some secret weakness or vice. He had never mentioned it again.

When the joint fleet of the IIIrd and IVth Legions arrived at the outskirts of the stellar maelstrom, for once in his life, Perturabo looked upon it and knew that others could see it too. They did not see it quite as he saw it, but they could at least acknowledge its existence. He saw beyond its dark light to the engulfed worlds within: phantom images that ghosted in and out of perception and fleeting moments of solidity in a realm where such things were anathema. He saw planets where all reason and Euclidian certainty had been abandoned, where the physical laws that underpinned the galaxy were playthings of lunatic forces beyond mortal comprehension. And now he was to venture into its depths, following the guidance of an alien seer.

Before entering the Warp Rift, Perturabo called up the astrogation charts of this region of space, reading the flickering labels of the charts' keys for those few stellar objects in this region worthy of a name. At the heart of the hologram, a vertical black label bisected the fiery orange heart of the Warp Storm. Imposed upon the bar was the name Cygnus X-1. Perturabo knew the Warp Storm was not the first spatial anomaly to bear that name, and whichever lowly scribe had scribed it again was a fool. Something this powerful and terrible deserved a name to strike fear into the hearts of all who saw it, a name that would resonate down the millennia until the end of time, when the stars went out and the only light in the universe was the nightmare glow of the maelstrom’s ever-devouring borders. Perturabo’s fingers danced over the slate from which the charts had been brought forth, and the name in the vertical black bar changed. It would change throughout the Traitor Legions' fleets, spreading to any data engine that called up maps of the galactic northwest. It was a name to lodge in the hearts of all who heard it and would eventually be adopted by the forces of the Imperium as well -- The Eye of Terror.

Sisypheum

Unknown to both the Iron Warriors and the Emperor's Children, they were being pursued by a ragtag group of Loyalist Astartes who were survivors of the Drop Site Massacre of Istvaan V and were determined to stop the Traitors at all costs. These Loyalist Space Marines were gathered from survivors that had fought their way out of the killing ground of the Urgall Depression on Istvaan V. They had managed to escape the Istvaan System aboard an Iron Hands Strike Cruiser known as the Sisypheum. Iron Hands Astartes and their mortal serfs formed the bulk of the warship's crew, but surviving warriors of the Salamanders and a single Raven Guard Astartes were also counted among their number. In the wake of the slaughter, escape from the Istvaan System had been a nerve shredding series of mad dashes under fire and silent runs through the Traitors' orbital blockade, culminating in a final sprint to the gravipause, the minimum safe distance between a star’s mass and a vessel’s ability to survive a Warp Jump. The Sisypheum had escaped the trap, but not without great cost.

The months that followed saw the Sisypheum embark on a series of hit-and-run attacks on Traitor forces on the northern frontiers of the galaxy, wreaking harm like a lone predator swimming in a dark ocean. Traitor forces seeking flanking routes through the Segmentum Obscurus were their prey; scout craft, cartographae ships, slow-moving supply hulks heavily laden with mortal troops, ammunition and weapons. Disruption and harassment were the Sisypheum's main objective until contact had been established with disparate groups of Loyalist forces that had also escaped the massacre, and a stratagem of sorts agreed upon. With the Xth Legion too scattered to function in a traditional battlefield role, its surviving commanders found their own way to fight back: as the thorns in the flanks of the leviathan that distract it from the sword thrust to the vitals.

At Cavor Sarta, an Iron Hand known as Sabak Wayland and the lone Raven Guard survivor Nykona Sharrowkyn had captured an Unlingual Cipher Host -- one of the so-called "Kryptos" -- a hybrid abomination creature of the Dark Mechanicum that had previously made the Traitors' code network a cryptographic impossibility to break. With the Kryptos, Loyalist commanders were able to finally access the Traitors’ coded communications. And with this knowledge, the Sisypheum's Captain, the Iron Hand Ulrach Branthan, had ordered the Sisypheum to make the circuitous journey to Hydra Cordatus and the meeting of the Traitor Primarchs that had been indicated by the cracked communications. After learning of Fulgrim's intentions to enter the Eye of Terror and recover the Angel Exterminatus, the crew of the Sisypheum made their way towards the Warp Rift, aided by a mysterious Eldar guide with the intention of thwarting the Traitors' plan to acquire the unknown xenos weapon.

Crone World

The destination of the joint fleet of Iron Warriors and Emperor's Children vessels was the lost Eldar world of Iydris, a world said to have been favored by the goddess Lileath. Iydris was one of the legendary Crone Worlds, which once formed the heart of the lost Eldar empire before they were consumed by the creation of the vast Warp Rift that was the Eye of Terror following the birth of the Chaos God Slaanesh. The lost world was located at the heart of the Eye of Terror, somehow remaining in a fixed position keeping it from destruction in the gravitational hellstorm of a super massive black hole that lay at the center of the eternal Warp Storm. It was from this epicentre that the galaxy vomited unnatural matter into the void, a dark doorway to an unknowable destination and an unimaginably powerful singularity whose gravity was so strong that it consumed light, matter, space and time in its destructive core.

Their ultimate goal was within the Primarchs' grasp; the Sepulchre of Isha's Doom, which sat at the center of the citadel of Amon ny-shak Kaelis. The citadel stood astride the entrance to the prison tomb of the Angel Exterminatus. Before launching a full planetary assault, the Iron Warriors launched a preliminary orbital bombardment around the citadel, a standard practise when preparing to assault a potentially hostile environment. A cone of fire gouged the surface of Iydris, burning, pounding and flattening in the blink of an eye structures that had stood inviolate for tens of thousands of Terran years. A barren ring of pulverized earth encircled the citadel of Amon ny-shak Kaelis, leaving its walls, towers and temples an isolated island cut off from the rest of the planet’s structures by a billowing firestorm of planet-cracking force. In the wake of this orbital bombardment flocks of Thunderhawks, Stormbirds, Warhawks and heavy planetary landers launched from crammed embarkation decks. Bulk tenders descended to low orbit and disgorged thousands of troop carriers, armour lifters and supply barques. Titanic, gravity-cushioned mass-landers moved with majestic slowness as two Titans of the Legio Mortis took to the field, and this was but the first wave of the invasion. Another eight would follow before the martial power of two entire Space Marine Legions and their auxiliary Imperial Army forces had made planetfall.

Amon ny-shak Kaelis

Perturabo and his Iron Warriors fight for their lives against an army of Eldar revenants within the Sepulchre of Isha's Doom at the heart of the citadel of Amon ny-shak Kaelis

The Traitors' assault began five hours later, despite the full circuit of fortifications still being incomplete. The landing zone was almost surrounded, but the encircling walls had yet to meet one another. Layered rings of minefields and acres of razor wire spread from the outer faces of the walls, making the approach next to impossible for anyone without detailed maps and temporary dormancy codes. Leaving Warsmith Toramino and five thousand Iron Warriors to oversee the completion of the siege works and establish battery positions for the guns of the IVth Legion's Stor-bezashk, Perturabo climbed to the cupola of his converted Shadowsword super-heavy tank, the Tormentor. The Iron Warriors had come in force and the Emperor's Children no less so. Like Perturabo, Fulgrim rode at the head of his army, a warrior god in impossibly bright armour. His brother might have ceded control of this mission to him, but Fulgrim was making sure he was still its figurehead.

For all intents and purposes, the route into the citadel of Amon ny-shak Kaelis was undefended and their route unopposed. Ever mistrustful of the lack of defenses, Perturabo had his Iron Warriors dug in, assuming a perfect formation outside the walls in a layered barbican that protected the Traitor Legions' line of retreat. Fulgrim’s host broke apart into individual warbands, ranging in size from around a hundred warriors to groups of nearly a thousand. Each of these autonomous groups appeared to be led by a captain, though such was the bizarre ornamentation and embellishment on each warrior’s armour, it was often impossible to discern specific rankings. Leaving the fortified bridgehead behind, Perturabo led his Iron Warriors and the Emperor’s Children contingent into the heart of Amon ny-shak Kaelis. The Sepulcher of Isha’s Doom was a monumental palace, sprawling and richly ornamented with bulbous mourn-towers and sweeping, ivory-roofed domes. As the column of Traitors pressed onwards towards the sepulchre, they were being silently and unknowingly observed by the Loyalist Astartes of the Sisypheum. Despite being outnumbered a thousand to one, the small force of Loyalist Legionaries devised a means to find another way into the massive sepulchre.

As the two Primarchs neared their ultimate goal, Fulgrim kept pressing his stern brother with curt impatience to not linger. Perturabo took the time to study Fulgrim and his assembled host. His brother was sheened in sweat, but it was not perspiration that beaded his brow, Fulgrim was sweating light. Though it was faint, it was visible to Perturabo's gene-enhanced sight that saw beyond what even Astartes eyes were capable of detecting. He wondered if Fulgrim was aware of the radiance bleeding from him and decided he must be. His brother’s armour strained against his body and his features were drawn and tired, as though only by an effort of will was he still standing. His captains looked no better, like hounds straining at the leash. A number of Fulgrim's Lord Commanders' flesh was also suffused with a light similar to that enveloping Fulgrim, a deathly radiance that had no place within a living being. Perturabo did not trust Fulgrim one bit, knowing that inevitably he would be betrayed by his brother. The Lord of Iron pressed on, intent on bringing their quest to completion. As they neared their final destination at the heart of the sepulcher, the power at the heart of Iydris spasmed in hateful recognition of the followers of Slaanesh, known to the Eldar as She Who Thirsts, and awoke its guardians from their slumber.

Thousands of crystalline statues threw off their previous immobility. They moved stiffly, like sleepers awoken from an aeons-long slumber, and the gems at the heart of their bulbous heads bled vibrant color into glassy bodies that suddenly seemed significantly less fragile. This army of wraiths were the Eldar dead of Iydris. Soon both the Traitor forces outside the citadel as well as those inside were attacked from all sides by the revenant army. Like automata, but with a hideously organic feel to their movements, the Eldar constructs emerged in their thousands with every passing second. As Perturabo was busy fighting for his life, Fulgrim slipped away in the midst of the fighting. Realizing where he had gone, the Lord of Iron stepped into the green glow emanating from the center of the massive chamber. Perturabo understood that this was no elemental energy or mechanically generated motive force, but the distilled essence of all those who had died there.

Perturabo descended downwards on an unending spiral towards a point of light that grew no brighter no matter how far he descended. The journey downwards was never-ending, or so it seemed until it ended. Fulgrim stood at the origin of a slender bridge that arched out to the center of a spherical chamber of incredible, sanity-defying proportions. The footings of the bridge were anchored on the equator, and a score of other bridges reached out to where a seething ball of numinous jade light blazed like a miniature sun. Iydris, it transpired, was a hollow world, its core this colossal void with the impossibly bright sun at its heart. Perturabo confronted his brother, realizing that there was never an Angel Exterminatus. Fulgrim confirmed for Perturabo that there was no such weapon yet, for he was to be the Angel Exterminatus. Perturabo responded that his brother always did have an appetite for rampant narcissism, but this was the grandest delusion yet. Unamused at Fulgrim's explanation, Perturabo took a step towards his brother, Forgebreaker in his hand, intent on killing him. Fulgrim spoke a single word, its nightmare syllables tore at Perturabo's brain, causing him to stumble and drop to one knee. Fulgrim revealed the reason for his brother being drained of energy.

When Fulgrim had arrived on Hydra Cordatus he had presented the Lord of Iron with a gift; a folded cloak of softest ermine, trimmed with foxbat fur and embroidered with an endlessly repeating pattern of spirals in the golden proportion. A flattened skull of chromed steel acted as the fastener. Set in the skull’s forehead was a gemstone the size of a fist, black and veined with hair-fine threads of gold. As they had made their way towards the heart of the Eye of Terror, the large gemstone at the center of the skull-carved cloak pin had changed from black to a solid gold colour and pulsed with its own internal heartbeat. This was the maugetar stone, known as the harvester, which had slowly been draining Perturabo's strength and life force. With the Lord of Iron's sacrifice, Fulgrim would finally be able to achieve apotheosis. The two Primarchs ascended upwards within the shaft of light, emerging into the chaos that was happening within the heart of the sepulcher.

Apotheosis of Fulgrim

The Primarch of the Emperor’s Children hurled his brother aside, and Perturabo fell in a languid arc to land with a crunch of metal and crystal at the edge of the shaft. Blood trailed the air in a streaming red arc from Perturabo’s chest. The Lord of Iron lay unmoving, his body broken and lifeless. The attention of every Astartes within the chamber was irrevocably drawn towards the Primarch, for they recognised that an event of great moment was in the offing. The Phoenician was no longer the same being as had descended into the planet. He floated in the air above the shaft, which no longer poured its green torrent up to the restless darkness above, but simply radiated a fading glow of dying light. Fulgrim’s armour was shimmering with vitality, as though the light of a thousand suns were contained within him and strained to break free. The Primarch’s dark, doll-like eyes were twin black holes, doorways to heights of experience and sensation the likes of which could only be dreamed by madmen and those willing to go to any lengths to taste them.

Just as Fulgrim was about to achieve his ultimate desire, Perturabo had regained enough of his former strength and rose to his feet, the maugetar stone in his hand. Perturabo walked towards Fulgrim, keeping the hand holding the maugetar stone extended over the shaft in the center of the chamber. Perturabo looked his brother in the eye for some hint of remorse, a sign that he regretted that things had come to this, something to show he felt even a moment of shame at plotting to murder his brother. He saw nothing, and his heart broke to know that the Fulgrim he had known long ago was gone, never to return. He had not thought it possible that anyone could plunge so far as to be beyond redemption. Perturabo knew that Fulgrim no longer wanted to be an angel, he wanted to be a god. He informed the Phoenician that Mankind had outgrown such beings a long time ago. Disgusted by Fulgrim's desires, Perturabo hurled the maugetar stone into the deep shaft.

Suddenly, a barrage of Bolter fire erupted and a handful of Emperor's Children Astartes were pitched from their feet. Black-armoured Space Marines bearing a mailed fist upon their shoulder guards charged towards the Traitors. It was the Astartes of the Xth Legion -- the Iron Hands. Soon the battle was joined, as Loyalist fought Traitor within the expansive chamber. The noose of battle was closing on the two Primarchs at its center -- Perturabo locked on his knees, and Fulgrim hovering in the air as though bound to his brother by ties not even the call of war could break. The Iron Hands were mired in battle with the Emperor’s Children and Iron Warriors, zipping streams of fire blasting back and forth between them. During the battle, one of the Loyalist Astartes, the Raven Guard named Sharrowkyn, had acquired the fallen maugetar stone. He instinctively knew that if this stone was desired by Fulgrim, then it had to be destroyed. Taking a Bolter from a fallen Emperor's Children Astartes, he aimed the muzzle at the strange gold and black stone and pulled the trigger.

The weakened Perturabo was renewed with the sudden release of his lifeforce from the Chaotic relic. Fulgrim’s body arched in sympathetic resonance, for the maugetar stone contained more than just the strength stolen from Perturabo by Fulgrim. It contained their mingled essences, a power greater than the sum of its parts, a power to fuel an ascent so brutal that only the combined life-force of two Primarchs could achieve it. Armour burned from Fulgrim’s body, flaking away like golden dust in a hurricane, leaving his monstrously swollen body naked and his flesh blazing with furnace heat. Spectral flames of shimmering pink and purple licked around his body, a hungry fire waiting to consume him the moment his focus slipped. As the Lord of Iron finally pushed himself upright and stood fully erect, he lifted Forgebreaker onto his shoulder. Fulgrim saw his death in Perturabo's eyes and grinned, knowing that his brother had to do it. Perturabo hefted Forgebreaker like a headsman at an execution and swung the mighty hammer in a wide arc, splitting the Phoenician's body wide open. It was done.

Fulgrim’s body exploded under the impact of Perturabo’s warhammer, and the cry of release was a shrieking birth scream. An explosion of pure force ripped from the Phoenician’s destroyed flesh, filling the chamber of towers with a blinding light that was too bright to look upon, too radiant to ignore. Like a newborn sun, the wondrous incandescence was the center of all things, a rebirth in fire, new flesh crafted from the ashes of the old. Every eye in the chamber was turned to the light, though it would surely blind them or drive them to madness. Through slitted fingers and shimmering reflections, the survivors of the fighting bore witness to something magnificent and terrible, an agonising death and violent birth combined. A figure floated in the midst of the light, and it took a moment for Perturabo to recognize the impossibility of what he was seeing. It was Fulgrim, naked and pristine, his body unsullied by any of the mawkish ornamentations with which he had defaced his flesh, as perfect as the day the Emperor had first conceived him. Fulgrim’s back arched and his bones split with gunshot cracks. His flesh, once so perfect, now ran fluid and malleable, his form moulding and remoulding as though an invisible sculptor pressed and worked him like clay upon a wheel. Fulgrim’s legs, extended like the man of Vitruvius, ran and lengthened, fusing together in a writhing serpent’s tail, the skin thickening and sheening with reptilian scales and segmented plates of chitinous armour. Perturabo took a step towards this thing being born from the death of his brother, all the while despairing that this was his brother.

Perturabo had destroyed Fulgrim’s mortal shell. This was an immaterial avatar of light and energy, of soul and desire. What was being done here was an act of will, a creature birthing itself through its own desire to exist. Fulgrim’s face was a mask of agonised rapture, a pain endured for the pleasure it promised. Two obsidian horns erupted from Fulgrim’s brow, curling back over his skull, leaving his perfect face as unsullied as the most innocent child. Fulgrim ascended into Chaos, a prince of the Neverborn, a lord of the Ruinous Powers, the chosen and beloved Champion of Slaanesh. As the newborn Daemon Prince departed, the first of the Traitor Primarchs to achieve daemonic apotheosis, he left his brother with a cryptic message that they would one day meet again, and both brothers would yet renew their bonds. Lifting his hands into the air, a curtain of light rose up from the ground and Fulgrim and all of his Emperor's Children Chaos Space Marines disappeared in a flare of arcane teleportation energy.

With the disappearance of the Emperor's Children, the Crone World of Iydris began to tear itself apart. The force at the heart of the world was no more. The strength of the life forces of the dead Eldar that had kept it safe was failing, and soon this planet would be swallowed by the unimaginable force of the super massive black hole that lay at the heart of the Eye of Terror. Across the chasm, the remaining Iron Hands gathered up their wounded and fell back from the spreading fissures and heaving ruptures opening in the floor. They looked upon Perturabo with hatred, but decided to make their way off-world from the doomed planet. They knew that they could not fight the Lord of Iron and live through the encounter. Perturabo let the Iron Hands depart. Then he led his warriors out of the crumbling citadel. Once aboard his flagship the Iron Blood, Perturabo watched the final death throes of the Eldar Crone World.

The Iron Blood strained to break orbit, but the force at the heart of the Eye of Terror was reasserting its grip on reality with a vengeance. Many of the smaller vessels of the Iron Warriors survivor fleet that had followed the Sisypheum had already been dragged within its embrace, swallowed by the black hole’s powerful energies. Only the capital ships had engines large enough to resist the inexorable pull, but even they were only delaying the inevitable. Perturabo's Triarchs stood patiently around their lord, awaiting his orders. The Lord of Iron informed them that he always moved forward, never backwards. They would go into the black hole. Though his senior commanders believed that it was suicide, the Lord of Iron informed them that Fulgrim had promised that the two brothers would meet again. The Iron Warriors were not meant to die within the Eye, and there was only one way onwards. His men moved to carry out his order, and the Iron Warriors fleet plunged deep into the heart of Terror.

Battle of Terra

Following the terrible events within the Eye of Terror, the Iron Warriors were let loose on the Imperium as full devotees of Chaos and Perturabo relished the opportunity to fight in a way that did not rely on massive sieges and grinding trench warfare. Because of their widespread deployment throughout the galaxy, dozens of Iron Warriors Warsmiths (Grand Battalion commanders) conquered Imperial planets and demanded tithes to support the Heresy. While one part of the IVth Legion turned Olympia and its surrounding star systems into an Empire of Iron, a large contingent of the Iron Warriors accompanied Perturabo to Terra alongside the rest of the Traitor Legions in the climactic Battle of Terra where he supervised the bombardment and siege of the Emperor's Imperial Palace by the Forces of Chaos. Perturabo took a perverse pleasure in tearing down the defenses set up by Rogal Dorn and his hated Imperial Fists. It cannot be known whether Dorn’s masterfully constructed defenses would have proved the undoing of the Iron Warriors, for Horus was slain by the Emperor before the matter could be fully determined.

Post-Heresy

Battle of the Iron Cage

After fleeing Terra along with the other Traitor Legions following Horus' death, Perturabo took the opportunity to take vengeance on the Imperial Fists with a specially-designed trap on the world of Sebastus IV. The trap was known as the Eternal Fortress, a massive keep centered within twenty square miles of bunkers, towers, minefields, trenches, tank traps and redoubts that were intentionally shaped to look like an 8-pointed Star of Chaos. Upon hearing of the existence of this supposedly impregnable redoubt maintained by his Legion's hated rivals, Rogal Dorn publicly declared that he "would dig Perturabo out of his hole and bring him back to Terra in an iron cage."

Rogal Dorn expected an honourable battle, but this was not to be. Beginning by isolating the four companies of the Imperial Fists that arrived to do battle from their orbital support, Perturabo began to carefully divide his enemy and destroy them piecemeal. Some Imperial Fists managed to penetrate the defenses and reach the center of the Eternal Fortress, only to find there was no central keep - simply an open space watched by yet more defenses. The fortress was a decoy of no real value, surrounded by twenty miles of killing ground. By the sixth day of the siege, Imperial Fists Space Marines were fighting individually, without support, using the bodies of their own battle brothers for cover.

The siege of the Eternal Fortress, later referred to in Imperial histories simply as the Battle of the Iron Cage, lasted for a further three weeks. Relief came in the form of Roboute Guilliman and his Ultramarines, who drove off the Iron Warriors, but the siege left Rogal Dorn a broken man and rendered the Imperial Fists Chapter unable to fight for nineteen standard years while they rebuilt their forces. The gene-seed of over 400 Imperial Fists was captured by the Iron Warriors in the Iron Cage and later sacrificed to the nefarious purposes of the Dark Gods, an accomplishment for which Perturabo was also finally elevated to the rank of Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided by the rare acclamation of the Ruinous Powers.

Following this victory, the Iron Warriors fled to the Eye of Terror alongside their fellow Traitor Marines and secured a new Daemon World named Medrengard, crafting a terrible daemonic Fortress World where his sons ruled a miserable slave population from vast citadels of iron and stone. Today, the Iron Warriors give their greatest loyalty to Perturabo for saving them from what they believe was an unwarranted sacrifice in the name of the False Emperor of Mankind.

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com

[creativerogues]

A Lexicon of Liches, Witches, Wizards and More! (Part 2)

Fire sweeps across the battlefield, burning and immolating everything in its wake. waves of fire thrown everywhere as a lone figure plans where to place his next fiery explosion. in the end nothing remains except ash and the smell of burning flesh;

With a single command the dead rise, husks of unholy energy being directed by the will of another. ghouls, bones and shadows march endlessly at your discretion to devour all that lives. in the end, entire cities fall and are raised as a lich creates his army;

Madness is released on the world as eldrich horrors are born and studied. methodologically transmutated experiments creating something more adept at killing then the world has ever seen before. the mad experimenter opens the cage, realizing the beast to the populace to document its effectiveness.

To certain individuals, only one thing matters. Power; the power to destroy, to deceive, to attain absolute grasp on those of lesser merit. yet, when magics have the ability to bend even reality, naught one is above the mastery of the spellcaster.

Wondrous Wriklas Evergold, The Wealth Eternal, Ever-Shining Lord of Evergold Keep  

(By arkion-king-of-clubs)

The name Evergold is and always has been synonymous with wealth, it’s members earning high places in the Cloud Giant Ordning due to their extravagant wealth, generous gifts, and ever-expanding mansion. Each Evergold seeks to not only earn his fortune, but to improve the family keep in some way, Over the years, the keep walls have been built higher, expanded, and even gilded by one of its more eccentric members. Rooms have been added, all to house and display the familiy’s fortune. This is usually a lifelong obsession for each member of the Evergold family, but none have been so dedicated as Wriklas Evergold.

He lived a fairly normal life for a Cloud Giant. Learning the intricacies of trading with nearby human villages and towns, mastering the magic that his race was blessed with, and other such activities. He showed great skill in negotiating trade contracts, and above average talent with his magic. Bringing his family notoriety and wealth was one thing, but Wriklas always had a habit of thinking two giant steps ahead, and his thoughts were already turning to his legacy. He was driven to leave a lasting legacy in this world, even among the ranks of his family.

To this end, Wriklas began to research ways of expanding his already long life. No idea was too crazy, no avenue unable to be pursued. The possibility of lichdom was explored and initially discarded, as Wriklas had no desire to commit himself to such dark rituals. The more options he pursued, the more often lichdom was the endpoint of his research. All other avenues exhausted with nothing to show, Wriklas relented on the stigma of lichdom, but he would do this his way.

He immediately began devoting himself to the worship of Boccob, the god of Magic and Knowledge. Through his study and worship, he discovered a way of achieving lichdom that was more arcane than necromantic, but still required sacrifices. His family was shocked and disgusted when Wriklas proposed they help him in this endeavor, so the giant had to resort to more underhanded methods to further his goals. Poisoning one of his younger brothers as well as his own grandfather gradually over many years, all the while discussing the merits of lichdom with them, they eventually relented and agreed to be the sacrifices for his transformation. Wriklas felt a dark delight in his actions that he had never felt before, finally understanding the value of deceit and trickery. As the lifeblood of his kin and finally himself encompassed the altar and the phylactery he had chosen, an ornate gold and silver pendant dotted with all manner of jewels, he rose again as a lich motivated now by naked greed.

He draped himself in his most elegant purple and gold robes, a white veil covering his face save for his now sickly green glowing eyes. Gathering all of his finest jewelry and affixing them to his now unliving flesh, he set about plotting the downfall of the rest of his family, seeing their wealth as better off in more capable hands. Within a manner of months, his entire family was slain and raised as his servants. He sent them out to not only collect more wealth, but more subjects and slaves to improve his castle. Wriklas was very careful to only capture a few at a time to give the impression of disappearances, not kidnappings. He then proceeded with business as through he were alive, informing his family’s trade contacts of their untimely demise at the hands of a rival giant tribe raid, and his assuming of their responsibilities.

He now lives out his days in his golden palace, now obsessed with the accumulation of more wealth, and unafraid to use whatever tactics necessary to continue both his existence and the existence of his fortune. Of course, that much wealth is bound to attract unwanted attention, but what is an adventuring party but more pieces to add to his collection?

Hazama Ghost-eater, The Cold Iron Chef (By diamondkingoftrolls)

A scion from a minor branch of the Hazama Clan, a now legendary family of mystical gourmets, the once-human sorcerer Hazama Ghost-eater was once known far and wide as a seeker of the secrets of true flavor. Using arcane ingredients and magics to create never before known flavors, Hazama gained great fame in the courts of many rich and powerful patrons. It was not long, however, before the mage’s growing obsession with hidden knowledge and pursuit of ever more decadent delicacies drove him along dark paths of mystical gastronomy.

Young Hazama’s early years were spent learning the basics of herb-lore, alchemy, and gustatory magics. The young mageling showed great promise under the tutelage of several masters, who saw in him wondrous potential despite his age. In learning the Sevenfold Secret Sauces and the Baleful Knife Techniques of Kalu’mal, Hazama was proclaimed a fully fledged sorcerer at just 15 years of age. Combining established techniques with his own ledgerdomain, Hazama was soon inundated with requests for him to create dishes for patrons across the known lands and beyond.  

These accomplishments stoked the flames of his pride into arrogance, leading Hazama to abandon the staid, old-fashioned traditions he had followed in his early years.  Engaging in taboo rituals designed to create otherworldly textures and flavors, Hazama attracted the attention of a sinister Outsider known only as “Kaga” who offered Hazama untold power which he accepted without hesitation.

He was transposed across the planes to a shadowy realm called Kamadao, the Kitchen of Devils. It was here where Hazama’s skills were truly put to the test and where his body, mind, and soul were pared away as the husk of a fruit, leaving behind only his indomitable obsession. Spending unknowable lengths of time in this dimension, his diabolical patron molded Hazama into a new being, tempering his already formidable magic abilities with hellish power.

Now an entity as eldritch as the dishes he creates, Hazama devours arcane lore as greedily as diners consume his cuisine. Though he no longer delves through ancient esoterica for forgotten flavor sensations, Hazama constantly solicits the willing and unwilling alike, to attend  his increasingly elaborate, ever more debauched feasts held in his sanctum, which many call the Kitchen Stadium. From a creative reservoir seemingly unable to be depleted, new concepts for dishes emerge daily for Hazama to investigate. His experiments in edibility have borne such fruit as 5-Headed Dragon Congee, Blackened Phoenix, and Ghostflesh Dim Sum, the last of which has led to his ghastly sobriquet.

From pyrotechnic spells capable of melting an azer’s tandoor or delicacies with the mind-dominating ability of an illithid, the name Hazama Ghost-eater is held in equal parts esteem and fear by those who come to know of him. Many a noble with a taste for forbidden pleasure have unknowingly contracted Hazama for a taste of paradise at the cost of their very soul.

The Warlord Capricorn (By diamondkingoftrolls)

Tales abound of a mysterious mage, clad in brazen scales and wielding a mighty maul in addition to considerable eldritch power, whose services may be purchased by any with a war to be waged and arcane artifacts to be proffered. While it is commonly believed that the magically inclined are always bookish and feeble, and many certainly live up to these perceptions, there are some magi who possess the same ardour, vigor, and raw strength as any warrior. The battlemage in question is  known only as The Warlord Capricorn, a mysterious figure whose exploits as a mercenary and adventurer are known far and wide.

From the Battle of the Abundant Plains, where that region of rich farmland was saved from the ravaging hordes of Hobgobla Khan, to the incidents leading to the conclusion of the Crisis of Strangian Succession, which saw the fortress-castle of Strangia teleported, temporarily, to the Elemental Plane of Air, the deeds of The Warlord Capricorn are the subject of speculation, rumor, and wild surmise.

In stories too numerous to count, it has been said the The Warlord Capricorn has, in addition to great magical potency, fantastic skills in feats of arms; one such exemplar being the defeat of the Priest-King of Polantis, whose skull was utterly shattered with one blow of Capricorn’s enchanted maul. In other tales, it is said that Capricorn weaves around the sword cuts of assailants as if by prescience, using oracular ability to dodge and parry before finding the perfect time to land a strike.

As prolific as the reputation of The Warlord Capricorn is, little is known of this enigmatic figure outside of what may be gleaned from the songs and adulation of his comrades or the fevered recollections of those enemies who have borne witness and lived. Where this potent force originated, what purpose it ultimately serves, or even the race and gender of Capricorn are objects of great debate. What few reliable sources there are,however, do achieve consensus around several facts:

The Warlord Capricorn has never been seen outside of a suit of ensorcelled bright brass scale and a magi’s flowing robes. The exact appearance of these trappings, along with the many incidental equipage, parcels, and paraphernalia mentioned in story and song, vary considerably, though it is commonly said that the Capricorn’s Brass Scales are etched with innumerable sigils ranging from the apotropaic to the seemingly decorative, whereas the sea-colored raiment appears to billow in otherworldly currents at all times. The most peculiar visual characteristic of the Warlord’s appearance may be the great horned helm which sits, closed, at all times over the Brass Scales. The details of this helmet’s design have been said to alter slightly each time an individual gazes upon The Warlord Capricorn, at times depicting a bleating goat while at others a sanguine dryad’s expression greets onlookers, to name only a few.

Perhaps even more puzzling is that none have ever heard The Warlord Capricorn utter so much as a word in any temporal tongue. While conducting diplomacy or meeting with a prospective paymaster, sources agree that no sound emitted from the cryptic helm though what has been described as a plurality of voices, akin to a chorus, was perceived within the very minds of those under the Warlord’s scrutiny. Similarly, when pressed for details by knowledgeable audiences, eyewitnesses must admit that even in the heat of battle no oral incantations could be discerned even as Capricorn cast fire and doom over enemies.

Whether on the side of good or evil none may say with certainty, but it is known that The Warlord Capricorn takes any job in which the pay suits their unknown purposes. This obscure mage may be found nearly anywhere, constantly pursuing some secret agenda through majestic magics and unparalleled battlecraft.

Ororor the Gilded (By diamondkingoftrolls) 

In the theocratic city of Congregation and its surrounding hegemony, citizens have long obeyed the edicts of prophets and holy men as their spiritual and temporal leaders. The leadership of the Council of the Heavens, a governing body comprised of the head priests and priestesses of several faiths, guided  Congregation for generations before the rise of the charismatic Ororor, Magistra Templi of the Sacred Circle of Greater Powers, put their reign to an end. 

Arriving seemingly from nowhere, the young tiefling called Ororor took Congregation by storm with a combination of powerfully delivered sermons and miraculous presentations delivered with the flair and aplomb of a faire conjurer. Though the officials of many prominent temples took exception to the upstart, mentioning that no record of a Sacred Circle of Greater Powers could be found in any records, these aspersions fell on deaf ears as ever-growing crowds gathered to hear the word of Ororor. 

Exotic in appearance, by the standards of tieflings and clerics alike, Ororor’s body is covered in seemingly sacred brands, chased with gold like the illuminated pages of a holy book. Such is the proliferation of gold and gems on her vestments, however, that onlookers fail to notice the tattoos at first glances.Though first used to mock, the appellation “Gilded” was soon taken up by Ororor’s followers to anoint her revered name. Often, before her appearance can even be discerned at the center of dense gatherings, her strong, clear voice may heard extolling her adherents carrying even farther than the considerable glint of her adornments. 

Ororor commandments were first aimed at the grandiose houses of worship, and those within, urging that the sanctimonious temples be stripped of their finery and return to a truer faith. On the same night which saw her ascendance as Grand Theocrat of Congregation a great mound of wealth, donated, delivered, and confiscated from city’s shrines was piled in the central square. It was there, in her greatest show of divine power to date, that Ororor the Gilded summoned a great pillar of flame to burn away the impediments to Congregation’s spiritual well-being. Critics would have been heard to remark that Ororor’s ostentation seemed to go unchanged had the roar of the flames and the gibbering prayers of the masses not drowned out such cynics. Stranger still, though many felt the heat of the divine fire, no evidence of burning, nor still any ignited treasure, could be found at all. 

Unknown to the lay-people of Congregation, Ororor the Gilded is, in fact, no cleric of any kind but a wizard of great power and low morals. Taking advantage of the obedient nature of  the citizens of Congregation, she has embezzled every scrap of precious material from the town and its surrounds. Equally unknown is what her next move will be, whether Ororor will make good her getaway or if her plans entail a longer term as Grand Theocrat. 

[wilddragonflying]

Wild goes full-on conspiracy theorist

EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED

SERIOUSLY, EVERYTHING

AND IT STARTS

WITH THE EVANURIS AND THE FORGOTTEN ONES(IE POSSIBLY THE SCALED ONES)

This get really freaking long(like just under 3400 words long), so I’m going to put it under a cut to save your dashboards from being cluttered with my rambling

Okay so

Long ago(in a galaxy far far away), there was a land not yet called Thedas, but there was a war. Modern history has no name for this war, because it has been all but forgotten(for many reasons, one of which being it was so fucking long ago, but also racism because lbr most history is written by humans for the past couple of Ages), but it was fought between the ancient elves, led by the Evanuris, and those who would come to be known as the Forgotten Ones.

As the name implies, history has forgotten about the forgotten ones, but from the few lores mentioning them, we can conclude that they got their asses kicked and were driven from elven lands - quite possibly below ground, to become the Scaled Ones, who were seen and fought by the ancient dwarves.

Again, very little is known about the Scaled Ones, save that they were - obviously - scaled, able to see in very low levels of light, and quite stealthy; possibly a matriarchal society, as a couple of ancient dwarves managed to witness part of a ritual led by what appeared to be a female Scaled One.

Now, the Evanuris were, as explained by Solas in Trespasser, elves - but very powerful mages. They became generals during the war against the Forgotten Ones, and as time went on, they became revered more and more until they were considered gods.

They were not gods as in completely immortal and invulnerable to harm, but they - like the rest of the elves in the time before the Veil was erected - were immortal thanks to their connection to the Fade, which at the time permeated everything, rather than being kept separate.

This, quite obviously, went to every Evanuris’s head for quite some time - until, that is, Mythal was murdered.

“But!” I can hear you saying now, “Mythal was an immortal Evanuris!” Yes, yes she was - however, Solas himself says that she was murdered, and Flemeth, Mythal’s vessel(more on that later), says that Mythal was betrayed as she was betrayed.

Now, how could Mythal continue to live, even in fragments, after being murdered?

Because when she was murdered, it was her physical body that was destroyed, not her spirit. That lived on - though, I suspect, greatly weakened - and thus was able to later possess a being through that being’s connection to the Fade

Though being an Elven Goddess, one would think she would choose, you know

An elf

Now, here’s where we get to the interesting bit, where everything in just about every culture is related.

Namely, in this case, the elven history and the human history.

I’m talkin’ bout Andraste

What was her story?

Oh yeah; raised up to the level of Prophetess of the Maker(Bride of the Maker, she was called), betrayed by her human husband…

You see where I’m going with this?

Andraste=Mythal

Maferath, Andraste’s human husband=Elgar’nan, Mythal’s husband in elven lore, and one of her murderers, if Solas’s story in Trespasser is to be believed.

The Maker=One of the Forgotten Ones, and quite possibly Mythal’s lover

Oh yes, here’s where I start entering “crazy conspiracy theory” territory, but I have evidence!

Now, why was Mythal murdered, is the question? Well, here’s where we start really piecing together things from Inquisition. At one point, an elven Inquisitor has the option to ask Flemeth “why the fuck would Mythal choose you?” to which Flemeth responds with a rant, but the most important part of this rant is this: “She was betrayed, as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed!”

We get it, lots of betrayal

Now what does this have to do with the “everything is connected” theory?

Flemeth was married to a Bann of long ago, and when she took a lover, her husband was - understandably - pissed. Flemeth and the poet she’d fallen in love with fled, and remained hidden for years, until they received word that Flemeth’s husband was dying and wanted to see his wife’s face one last time

I’d be suspicious, wouldn’t you? I mean come on, I’ve run out on the guy with someone supposedly younger than him, and I’ve been hiding from him for years; he’s dying, and now he manages to get in contact with me and wants to see my face one last time before he dies?

I don’t know about you, but I’d be thinking he wants to see my face so I can be in range of a hidden archer with a poisoned arrow, so he can have his final revenge

I wouldn’t go, is what I’m getting at, but for some reason, Flemeth went

So, apparently taking pity on the poor old Bann and believing that they couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to be caught in a trap, they went.

Spoiler alert: They were that stupid

Because as soon as they were in range, the Bann killed Flemeth’s lover and took her prisoner, trapping her in the highest room of the tallest tower of his castle, where she promptly went mad with grief and a desire for vengeance.

No points for guessing what happened next

She summoned a spirit - presumably by using blood magic or something suitably dramatic - and demanded vengeance. Here’s where I’m going to differ from the Legend of the Korcari Witches lore:

This spirit did not turn Flemeth into an abomination who then wreaked havoc on her husband and his men, slaughtering them all before vanishing into the woods to then take men prisoner and get daughters with them who would in turn take more prisoners for more daughters, and so on and so forth until some hero or other slaughtered them all - except for Flemeth.

No, what I propose instead falls more in line with what Flemeth rants about in Inquisition: Mythal, having waited for her chance to return to the mortal realm from where she had been inadvertently trapped along with the rest of the Evanuris, seized her opportunity to take a body for her own. She came into a world several centuries further along than when she had been forced to leave it, and without enough power of her own to truly possess Flemeth and take her body for herself, and so proposed an alliance: Mythal would help Flemeth get her vengeance on her traitorous husband, in return for Flemeth carrying Mythal, helping her to regain power to exact her own vengeance, for what happened to herself and the world.

Now here, “... as the world was betrayed” could mean one of two things, as I see it:

Theory 1: Mythal is referring to how the rest of the Evanuris betrayed the world they essentially ruled by allowing the people they ruled to turn other elves into slaves. Essentially, by allowing their heads to become so lodged up their own asses, egos inflated with the power they held and the reverence with which the rest of the elvhen treated them, the Evanuris betrayed the world they had once protected, presumably, from the Forgotten Ones.

Theory 2: Mythal is pissed at Solas for creating the Veil and essentially dooming the elvhen to the life they now live in the time of the Dragon Age games. Nomads or little better than slaves(or actual slaves, if they’re unfortunate enough to be born in/get too close to Tevinter), and had Solas not created the Veil and blocked the elves from the majority of their power, they would not have fallen to infighting

No, the elves did not fall to humans - Abelas says so himself: “We destroyed ourselves, long ago” and when you read through ancient Tevinter lore, even it agrees that while there were scattered groups of elves, the elves had seemingly destroyed themselves through infighting, presumably, after the disappearance of the Evanuris.

Personally, I believe that Theory 1 holds more weight; Solas fucked up, there’s no denying that, but was it truly a betrayal of the world? Reading through the lore offered in Trespasser, particularly the lore around the first location you come to, the forgotten vale in the mountains with the spirit guardians, I don’t think so. If the Evanuris had been allowed to continue, things could very well have turned out far worse for all of Thedas, not just the elves. Theory 1, however, also fits in with the claim that Flemeth and Mythal were betrayed in the same way: By those they once trusted as family. Solas implies in Trespasser that he and Mythal were close - we can see that for ourselves in the post-credits scene of the base game. However, while Mythal calls Solas “old friend”, the body language between the two appears much more like what one(or this one, at least) would expect to see of two people sharing a close familial relationship.

What exactly am I suggesting?

Well, during “What Pride Had Wrought,” if the Inquisitor brings Solas along to the Temple and asks him for his opinion on Mythal, Solas will state that she was much more than simply the goddess of justice or vengeance - that she was the mother.

What I am suggesting is that Mythal - the original Mythal, not the one she’s become after sharing centuries with Flemeth, who is most definitely the more dominant personality here - is Solas’s birth mother.

But who would be his father? I don’t believe it was Elgar’nan, mostly because of one simple fact:

Solas, as stated in a couple of pieces of lore, was welcomed among both Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones, who he also sealed away with the creation of the Veil.

I believe that Solas’s father was one of the Forgotten Ones.

Would that not be reason enough for the Evanuris to turn upon Mythal, if they discovered that she had carried on an affair with one of their enemies? A wounded Elgar’nan, who is stated to have one hell of a temper, would not be out of character to call for her head - or for the stripping of her spirit from her body. And the betrayal of his mother would be enough to push Fen’Harel into finally executing the plan he had been concocting, quite possibly for a very long time.

But what became of the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones? Current elven lore states that Fen’Harel locked the Evanuris into the heavens, and the Forgotten Ones into the abyss, but… From Trespasser, we know for certain that the ‘heavens’ is merely the Fade - that by erecting the Veil, Solas managed to trap the Evanuris - or their consciousnesses and powers, at the very least - behind the Veil, while the Forgotten Ones had most likely already been banished by the Evanuris, at the conclusion of the war that led to the rise of the Evanuris in the first place.

But would Solas - enraged by the loss of his mother - settle for merely trapping the Evanuris physically in the Fade?

I think not.

No, I think that he trapped them the way that they had killed Mythal: By stripping their spirits from their bodies and trapping those behind the Veil.

But what was to become of the bodies left behind? Hidden by Fen’Harel and his agents, there were eight bodies that needed to be sealed away. And they were, deep within the earth, never to be seen again.

And then the infighting began, and the elven empire fell - to be discovered later by the humans of ancient Tevinter.

Humans who saw the records of powerful mages revered as gods, at least one of whom was strongly associated with dragons, and the humans took the records of the elven gods and made them their own. They gave them different names and shapes, but took them nonetheless. And when they discovered where the spirits of their gods were being held, they became determined to retrieve them.

However, the ritual went wrong, and instead unleashed a powerful tainted magic that would come to known as the Blight; those it corrupted became known as darkspawn, and were driven belowground, where they multiplied and spread, until they found one of the prisons that held the body of one of their gods - of one of the Evanuris - and corrupted it, changing its form and driving what was left of its original consciousness mad, transforming it into an Archdemon.

I will take a moment to note that, per the Dragon Age Wiki, David Gaider has hinted that this theory may be correct, but that the Old Gods may in fact be the Forgotten Ones. However, since there is no information available about the Forgotten Ones, certainly not enough to truly disprove this theory, I’m taking that with a grain of salt.

Now, Chantry lore states clearly that Andraste was betrayed and executed by Tevinter, however - the humans have already made it clear that they are more than willing to change or even erase history to fit their needs or wants.

Case in Point, per Jaws of Hakkon: the first Inquisitor, Ameridan. Nobody ever told you he was elvish until you came face to face with him, did they?

Therefore, could Andraste have truly existed as told in the tales, or - yet again - was the elven lore adapted to fit human desires?

The Cult of Andraste, that held the Urn of Sacred Ashes in Dragon Age: Origins, believed Andraste to be the High Dragon that had taken up residence on the mountain above Haven. Now that was probably just a regular old High Dragon, but why a dragon?

Hint: What Evanuris is explicitly related to dragons?

Hint #2: Starts with M, ends with -ythal

The Chantry speaks of Tevinter magisters starting the Blight and becoming the first darkspawn, which has been confirmed via Coryphshit. But, if the Archdemons and the blights are so bad, then why does Solas Greatly Disapprove of you saving the Wardens, not punishing them, even if you give the excuse that they were only tricked and were trying to do their job before they all, you know, died.

Because, I believe, that the Old Gods are his family. And he still holds out hope of perhaps one day redeeming them, perhaps reuniting with them, but even if not, then they are all that is left of his family, of his people. He makes it clear that he does not consider the elvhen of today his People, that he believes them little better than Tranquil.

Which brings me to the next point:

Dwarves.

Ah, dwarves. I love them, even if I don’t love how they’re animated when you play as one in either Origins or Inquisition.

Now, while I was talking with a friend, they brought up quite an interesting point: If, by being made Tranquil, human, elven, and even Qunari mages lose their emotions through loss of their connection to the Fade, then why do Dwarves, canonically stated to not have a connection to the Fade, and thus cannot be mages or dream, have all of their emotions and are - for lack of a better word - whole?

Because they were created by a different race of beings.

The Titans, I believe.

Dwarven religion centers around the Stone, which - so far as I can tell - has little to no similarity to any of the other religions of Thedas. That leads one to believe that thus, they must have had a different origin, and what do we learn in Descent?

That Dwarves were created by the Titans - or at least, the Titans consider the dwarves their children. The Titan disturbed by the Breach does not rest easy until it has established a connection with Valta, who then explains that it needed the connection as a reassurance.

In one of the Ancient Elven Writing codexes, there is a mention of the Evanuris and ancient elves preparing “to hunt the pillars of the stone”, and makes mention of how they have watched the workers scurry about as though mindless and witless; it makes clear their opinions of Dwarves, while also making clear that the Titans cannot be the Forgotten Ones. If the Titans and thus their children are not connected to the elves through the same creators, then they have no need of the Fade to survive as whole creatures.

There are also several statues of Mythal in the Deep Roads - there is a broken one in the Bastion of the Pure, during Descent, and while disrupting the mining organization, the Inquisitor comes across several statues of Mythal.

If the Inquisitor detours back to the now-submerged mines after gaining the next Anchor upgrade - Anchor Discharge - from the Shattered Library, they are able to destroy a blocked entrance to another eluvian, which leads to an elven ruin with a fresco depicting the death of a titan, confirming the possibility that Mythal was most likely responsible for the deaths of more than one Titan, whose corpse was then mined for lyrium.

Not much is truly known of dwarven history beyond a certain point, and the Titans were stricken from any record in the Shaperate during the First Blight. Conjecture states the Titans were the original children of the Stone, of the earth itself. What is known, however, is that the ancient elves were some of the first to use Titan blood - lyrium - to enhance their powers, though they eventually collapsed their own mines for fear of the power lyrium could grant. While regular lyrium has no effect upon dwarves, it does have an effect upon other races: It enhances their powers, most usually in connection with magic. For Templars, it grants them the ability to dampen the magic of others around them, and for mages, it replenishes and boosts their mana, allowing them to cast more powerful spells. But dwarves are not easily affected by even raw lyrium - it takes direct exposure, such as through the eyes, mouth, or an open wound, for lyrium to effect a dwarf. Attributed to generations of living near the mines for ages, surface dwarves are said to lose this resistance over time - but why would they be able to build up a resistance in the first place?

Because they share the blood of the Titans, because there is lyrium in their blood.

Not much is known about the Qunari in any form, either through codex entries or conversations, not enough to truly add a lot to this theory list, but from circumstantial evidence, the question must be raised: Are Qunari immune to the Blight?

We see no records of Qunari having a strong presence in any place affected by the Blight before Sten joins the Warden in Origins, and he gives no indication that the Qunari even have much information about the Blight. He does indicate that they do consider it a threat, but, well - if not stopped, the Blight will consume the entire world. Anyone with half a brain would consider that a threat.

However, if playing as a Qunari Inquisitor and speaking with a Kieran who possesses the soul of an Old God, he makes a comment about how “your blood doesn’t belong to you”, and even Bull suggests that there is a theory that somehow, the original Qunari - before they were the Qunari - had their blood mixed with a dragon’s.

Now, poking around Origins lore, apparently Broodmothers and Ogres are connected to female Qunari, which suggests that they aren’t completely immune to the blight.

However.

Dragons have the ability to slow the blight in their own bodies; if you recruit Frederick the researcher and do a specific war table mission with him, he will say that he has observed dragons a) avoiding red lyrium, and b) with cysts that appear to be blighted, suggesting that their bodies are able to entrap the blight within certain areas to slow and perhaps even prevent its spread.

If the Qunari have dragon’s blood in them, if that is what created the Qunari as we know them today, then it suggests that - even if not completely immune - the Qunari would be more than a little resistant to the blight.

This is all I have for the moment on my Dragon Age theories, but I’m sure I’ll eventually be adding more to it.