#crimson praetor

[thaumium-block]

Crimson squad

[art-leon]

i have no idea how to caption this so. uh. boss-on-boss violence!!!

[ward-leon]

pitting a random eldritch warden against a random crimson praetor to see who wins bc. why not tbh

rounds passed:

grim warden vs armored praetor (0-1)

ill probably update in the replies. idk

[cast-you-dxwn]

I think that rarely, and I mean really rarely, rarely enough that probably only the people who spend an inordinate amount of time with him would notice-

Michael comes back wrong.

Just…wrong.

The Legion will shuffle back through the gate with tales of another victory, but their Praetor will be nowhere in sight. That isn’t unusual, he isn’t much for pageantry.

But sometimes you will find him, his robes still stained a deep crimson, his armor spattered in tacky bits of gore, hands held loosely at his sides as blood coagulates at the tips of his fingers, like he hasn’t bothered to wash himself.

He’ll be standing in one of the more secluded parks, underneath a large and mighty tree, staring up into the branches as though searching for something. Else he’ll be in his office, dribbling crimson onto his desk as he holds his Lyre in both hands, looking it over intensely.

Breaking him from his reverie leads to a momentary confusion, as Emily once found out. He had gently shaken him, and he had pulled away from her, his voice scolding and his expression exasperated until he’d come back to himself.

There was some mild concern over the exact content of what he had snapped at the young Seraphim of Joy.

‘Do not sneak up on me like that, Lucifer.’

[dankokaji]

FFX Edition: "Baralai of Bevelle, aged 21, changed his career three four times and has achieved becoming a Yevon priest, trained Crimson Squad, New Yevon Praetor, and now Council Chancellor."

[the-perfect-entropy]

Dossier: Adrian Malek, "The Beautiful"

Designation: Commander, Arstibara, Anusiya

Classification: Traitoris (?)

Homeworld: Xerxes (Location Unknown. Status Unknown.)

Legion: Emperor's Children (Pre-Heresy Era)

Warband: The Perfect Entropy

Description: Dark tan skin with golden eyes. Long jet black hair, undercut on either side and pulled into dreads threaded into gold rings. Small beard and mustache. (Basically Killmonger). Both arms are marked with long service scars in ritual mutilation for the years of service for his Homeworld.

Armor: Not lacking in embellishment, Adrian's power armor is a classic MKIV dressed in faded royal purple & gold with a teal chalice emblazoned on both wrists guards. His right fist is painted black. The left side greave is studded with alternating gold and crimson while the right side has a stylized serpent coiling around it. Over his center he dons a tunic made from challenge/lodge tokens taken from former Son of Horus or affiliated members of the warrior lodges of old. His helmet is praetor-pattern with a shorn plume of crimson hair taken from a former son of Guilliman. (Rarely worn).

Weaponry: Archeotech Spindle (Voice of Echoes) that fires sharp needle like projectiles that cause sonic reverberations wherever they embed themselves. Ancient Power Lance (Wit of the Wicked) that is a reminder of who he once served as it's phoenix motif burns with every strike.

Bio: Adrian was born on the perpetual night world of Xerxes Prime and alongside his father served within the Xerxian Cohort. He showed to be an incredibly skilled swordsman and the capacity for leading that would pave the way for his eventual rank of Anusiya, a member of the royal guard known as the Red Blades.

But, it was the coming of the Emperor's Children that saw Adrian chosen and elevated as an Astartes along with hundreds of other Xerxian's in what would become the 10th Millennial. The 10th Millennial, lead by Adrian's father Xurok, proved themselves time and again as perfectionist in the art of war as their quick strikes and guileful deployments caught the eyes the Primarch who expected nothing less from the Xerxian-born. Pleased with their growing commendations, Fulgrim gifted them the moniker of the Ardent Serpents allowing for a few among them to join his Palatine Blades.

Adrian accepted this role and with it a weapon fashioned from the greatest weapon crafters in the Legion a power lance that felt as if he had always been meant to wield it. The weapon danced in his hands and with it he helped secure his Primarch across compliance after compliance.

When word came of a civil war on Xerxes, the 10th Millennial was allowed to return home to quell the rebellion. A small fleet was dispatched and Xurok lead many of the 10th toward Xerxes.

Adrian, however chose to remain at the Legion's side along with a handful of other Xerxian born. His ambitions were growing and his fondness for his homeworld was long overdue to fade.

It was curious then that Fulgrim struck Xerxes from record in all but name. It's location, population, which warriors were uplifted from there... all gone. Only the Xerxian's still beside the Primarch were allowed to remember the world for what it was and all connection with the 10th Millennial was severed.

Adrian wouldn't dare question his Primarch as to why but his suspicions only grew in the aftermath of the Laer conflict. When everything became twisted and even he found himself lost in the hedonism...

TBC...

[therichhomietom]

So I WAS working on a really cool Praetor tank. But then I dropped it. And it broke. And I’m sad. But while it’s in the repair bay (my little super glue workshop) I decided to paint this amazing Leman Russ proxy. I got it from an Etsy store called ClownPrintsofChicago.

It’s a hybrid between the classic Russ and an Allied Sherman 76. A sexy mix of two iconic tanks deserves the best in livery, so I’m going with a classic Cadian camo pattern, and sending them to the frontlines with my Imperial Guard super heavy regiment.

First stage is always a good prime. I’m using my airbrush for all the base layers, because my ability to thin paint and get a smooth coat is shakey at best.

Tan for the base coat, and letting a bit more black come through the transparent sand color for a more weathered, realistic look. I’ve previous struggled with green shades but…

I mixed some colors and made my own dark earthy green that I really like. It brings a lot of color to contrast the sand, but at the same time still has that dull sadness that only Cadia can provide. Then i added a bit of crimson to the front panels where I’m planning on marking the tank as part of the regiment. Next we add some decals-

So that the tank has a place in the regiment. And with that done, we put the airbrush and transfers away and get to the best part: details. I didn’t take as many pics of this process, as I was fully lost in the sauce, but I’m happy with the result.

Overall, I’m very happy with the end product. It’s gritty, it’s grimy, and it’s ready for action. I definitely had some inspiration on the name. I love getting the opportunity to see some of the improvements I’ve made in my skills, and look forward to adding more armor to the regiment to back up this beauty. Welcome, unit 01 of the 87th Cadian Superheavy Detachment, may the heretics feel Cadia’s Fury.

[danco110]

“An excellent job for once, Sheoldred. He’s perfect.”

Elesh Norn waved a hand, and her attendants moved the operating table so the transformed Ajani was angled upright, facing the praetor. Lurking in the shadows behind Norn, a disgruntled Sheoldred glared at her counterpart’s glee.

“He was perfect, until you laid hands on him. I presume you removed this one’s…sleeper-ness?”

Norn nodded stoically, unmoved by Sheoldred’s barb. “Subtlety is no longer necessary. We need only to display Phyrexian perfection in all its glory, and the rest will follow.”

“Right,” Sheoldred grumbled. “So we’re just ignoring Jin’s predictions that waging open war on Ravnica and Bant will stop our advance in its tracks-”

“Enough. Behold, the improvements I have made.”

Norn snapped her claws. Instantly, Ajani’s body seemed to burst. His arms and chest swelled, shedding their fur to reveal porcelain armor and taut, reddened muscles beneath. As the last tufts of hair fell away, the web of crimson underneath bulged to massive proportions, giving the massive armor plates the appearance of shoulder pads.

Finally, Ajani’s arms grew to such a size, the bonds holding him to the operating table snapped. The broken restraints clattered to the floor, causing the leonin to stir. Ajani awoke, both eyes opening before flicking down at his new form.

“…Where did my fur go?”

Norn’s lip twitched.

“What.”

Ajani raised a flayed arm to inspect it. “My praetor, did you remove my fur-”

Norn snapped her claws once more. Ajani’s eyes glazed over, and the leonin flopped lifelessly against the table once more. Meanwhile, Sheoldred could only look on in anger.

“You ruined him!”

“I have perfected him…” Norn paused. “…Almost. It seems some of your inadequacy has seeped into his veins regardless. I shall have to correct your mistake, of course.”

Sheoldred groaned. “You do that. Let me know if you ever kill that one human woman-”

“Elspeth…Tirel…” Norn growled. “And this one will succeed. I am sure of it.”

[werewolfoverlord12]

Addendum 1

Amelia, daughter of Ajani and Seraphina Goldmane, stood in front of the giant holding tank in which Sheoldred, the former black Praetor of New Phyrexia, hung.

Along the praetor’s back were a series of wires and crystal electrodes that allowed them to hack into her mind and pull out various information, while at each shoulder joint and at her waist were various tubes that fed her a mixture of nutrients and a weak solution of Halo to keep her alive but subdued.

“Amy?”

She looked over her shoulder at Urabrask, now a crimson dragonoid from a process that separated everything Urabrask from Phyrexia, and raised her eyebrows.

“What is this?” He asked, holding up a bright red fruit.

“It’s an apple. Why? Is everything okay?” She asked.

He nodded, “Yes. It’s just… amazing.”

“They’re good but I wouldn’t say they’re amazing.” Amelia replied.

Urabrask rolled his eyes and stood up from the console to let her pass, “Says the person who’s eaten them all their life. Remember, this is new to me,” he took another bite, “mmmph! Cold, crunchy, sweet, juicy.” He took another bite and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, “Sorry.”

Amelia stood at the door and watched him savor every bite and sip from his lunch. Cheese, bread, an apple and milk. Simple food, and yet his meals took an hour or more to finish. He asked questions, made suggestions, wanted to know what else there was.

“Can I have some of the cheese?” she asked.

Urabrask broke off a chunk, “What did the humans call this? Cheedair?”

“Cheddar, but close enough,” she took a bite and closed her eyes; she spent a food minute just turning the flavor over on her tongue, “this is really good.”

“Right?!” he broke a piece of his apple off and handed it to her.

“I never really paid attention to it.” She said.

“I’m learning the living do that a LOT.” Urabrask said.

“Hmm?”

“Take things for granted.” Urabrask said, sitting back down, “even before I became one of you, I noticed a lot of Mirrodinians hadn’t expected this to happen or that they could fight to reclaim their world. Not sure how much is left of it at this point.”

Amelia paused mid chew; she’d taken a lot of things for granted yes, like… a flash of her father crushing her against his chest in a bone popping bear hug that squeezed any doubt he didn’t love her from her body… and she felt her body tense.

He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s… she let out a sob as tears spilled from her eyes.

“Amelia?” Urabrask said, setting his apple down and walking over to her.

“I’m alright. I just… I took my dad’s hugs for granted. I didn’t think I might lose him this soon…” she whispered.

Urabrask sighed, “No one does. I can only imagine how horrible it is to suddenly not have a loved one with you. It explains why the living fear death so much.”

Amelia shook her head, “It was worse; becoming Phyrexian, becoming a sleeper agent… everything that he was, everything he believed in and practiced was just… gone. And yet… he’s still up and around? Like it’s watching someone being raised by a necromancer, but they’re not rotting. It’s still them just… argh!” She said.

“A mockery of who they are.” Urabrask said.

Amelia nodded, and then looked into the praetor’s eyes, “You understood that. I think that’s why the process left so little of phyrexia in the other tank: most of it was you.”

Urabrask snorted, “I think there’s more to it than that but…”

“I mean you’re less like the rest of Phyrexia. Still powerful, dangerous… but the form you’re in now.” She looked him up and down, “this is what Phyrexia could have been had Yawgmoth not been psychotic.”

Urabrask blinked, “Um… not… sure how I should take that.”

Amelia laughed, “I know. It was supposed to come out as a compliment I guess? You’re what Phyrexia could become without the dogmatic oppression and suppression of free will; something better.”

Urabrask swallowed, “O-okay. Um…” Urabrask lowered his chin and she could tell his face was a darker shade of red, “Thank you Amelia.”

@delta-hexagon

(a scene i thought of but cant see putting in the main story)

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter 9

Atticus escorts you back home at Quintus' behest, where you find clarity.

Chapter list

Quintus is chipper today, much to both your delight and dismay. He has been leering at you hungrily ever since you sat down in the office with him a few hours ago, your legs pulled up on the chaise longue as he tries to focus on his work. He should be concerned with his unresolved administration, but instead, you feel his eyes bore into you.

“Have I already told you that you look… Positively ravishing today, darling?” The tone of his voice is not one you like. You grit your teeth and do not look up from your book. 

“You have. Four times already.”

He laughs. “And yet I feel the need to say it again. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Very,” you state rather monotonously whilst flipping the page.  

Quintus shoves back his chair, stands and strides over to you. Letting your eyes flicker up to him, you feel your heart sink. You know that look.

“Cato,” he says to the captain standing nearby, “Leave us.”

“At once, Dominus.”

You swallow thickly as Quintus towers over you, reaching for your book to pry it out of your fingers. He quickly glances over his shoulder to see if the coast is clear and roughly cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “How is your cycle?”

“I don’t know if—”

“No matter,” Quintus sighs, “I… Have to take care of my… Situation .” He discreetly glances down and you feel like you’re going to be sick. “You want to be a good wife for me, right?”

Even though it comes out as a question, you know it is rhetorical, and so, you inhale deeply, shifting back on the chaise longue to make space for him. He is more demanding than usual, with his hands slipping underneath your tunic immediately as he straddles you, pushing his face into the crook of your neck.

“Hm, you smell nice today, (Y/n).” 

Nausea creeps up on you and you swallow back bile as Quintus continues his advances, pressing a hard kiss onto your lips. You don’t melt into it, for there is no kindness behind his mouth. You fight your instincts to push him away, allowing him to have you in the way he always takes you, only chasing his own pleasure and disregarding yours altogether. You have no clue what it feels like to be properly admired by a man despite your years of marriage—

"Am I interrupting something?" 

The most welcome voice tears suddenly through the silence in the room, but the compromising position you’re in makes you want to disappear.

Quintus stumbles to his feet and leaves you sprawled out on the chaise longue with a deep crimson fluster on your face. Atticus stands with widened eyes in the middle of the office, something dejected visible on his features.

"Well, you actually are, so make it snappy," Quintus slightly pants, adjusting his tunic whilst rubbing the corner of his mouth with his hand. Upon seeing Atticus’ frown, he laughs one of his signature giggles.

You wish the ground would swallow you right here and now. Thoroughly embarrassed, you sit up and tug straight your Palla , feeling tears burn behind your eyes. Atticus' gaze has not left you.

"What is it, Cohortes?"

Atticus swallows and finally manages to look away from your embarrassed form. “We’ve got a few generals coming our way.”

Quintus rolls his eyes. “Sent by Herod?”

“Pilate.”

Your husband’s jaw tenses. “When?”

“In about thirty minutes or so.”

The Praetor lets out a frustrated sound and runs a hand down his face. “This place… This place! I can’t get anything done without anyone demanding something from me! I didn’t know these people around here were so inept, Cohortes!”

“I didn’t hire these goons.” Atticus states. 

Quintus sighs. “Compared to all of them, you’re decently sensible.” He turns to his documents and gazes down at them, narrowing his eyes. “Who were these men again, who are coming our way?”

“I can’t say for certain. I’m just the messenger.” Atticus adjusts his cloak and conjures a handful of nuts from his bag. You doubt you’ve ever seen him without a snack in hand, something that for some reason thoroughly amuses you.

“Right.” Quintus sighs. “Ah, I’ll need some time to prepare. Escort (Y/n) back to our house, why don’t you? Can’t have her around once they arrive here.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Atticus’ mouth. 

“Of course, Dominus.” Your heart flutters. It might be the first time you’ve heard him refer to your husband by his title. Perhaps to stroke his ego, to suppress suspicion.

Quintus turns to you and steps closer, cradling your face. “I’ll be back before nightfall,” he says. “Don’t come look for me.”

You nod - it’s not as if you would have come looking for him regardless, for you aren’t necessarily fond of spending time with him - and look over to Atticus, avoiding Quintus’ mouth as he attempts to kiss you. It falls against your cheek instead. The Cohortes watches the scene with narrowed eyes at your discomfort.

“We’ll have something to finish tonight, hm?” Quintus murmurs, as if it’s something for you to look forward to. 

You hum absentmindedly and take your cloak to pull it over your Palla . 

Following Atticus outside wordlessly, you shyly catch up to him. He looks at you from the corner of his eye, which causes you to flush.

“Thank you for looking out for me– I mean, for Capernaum.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Of course. It’s what I do.”

You wish for him to offer you his arm, but there is a certain distance he takes that you aren’t sure you’re agreeing with. The yearning to be close to him is stronger than the rational thought that you shouldn’t currently be too close to him.

He leads you down to the estate, gesturing towards the door.

“My lady, time for you to head inside.”

“Join me.” you immediately say without thinking about the words for another second, “I-I could maybe read you some of my poems, as you suggested?”

Atticus’ harsh features seem to melt a little. “I think I can make some time for that.”

“Good!” you breathe, “Perfect!” You rush inside with a giddy feeling tugging at your heartstrings as he follows you up the stairs to your sitting room, that has now become familiar to him. He takes a seat on the sofa whilst you head for your desk, taking your journal out of your drawer.

“Any subject that you would like to hear about?”

He scratches his neck, shifting a little to make himself more comfortable. “Perhaps something from your newest work? Something you’ve been working on recently. Your proudest work.” Atticus smiles, a sight that takes your breath away.

“Okay,” you murmur, your nose dusted pink with the knowledge that the man in front of you has been the very inspiration for your infatuated poems dripping with the sweetest words about what you feel for him. “Okay.”

You clear your throat, force your hand to stop trembling by tucking your thumb between your palm and fingers, and take a deep breath. 

“Darkness ensconces me, tears me apart until you are my beacon of light, like a rope thrown down to burn the skin off my hands. Drowning in misery, the sheer notion of your love, oh my dear, clueless of your onslaught, that you and I can’t be, until it swallows me alive. Unravelled my heart lies with you, bleeding and broken, in your unhealing palm. And yet, I suffocate in my love for you, my dear, torn to shreds, until all I have left is my soul to give.”  

Atticus eyes you curiously as you deliver the final line, letting out a shivering breath as you conclude it. When he doesn’t immediately respond, instead keen on observing you, you cast down your gaze in shame.

“I-I agree that it was bad,” you apologise, “I’ll read you another, and—”

“Is that how you truly feel?”

You feel your neck grow red with embarrassment. “Huh?”

Atticus stands as do you, and he tries to catch your eyes with his, but you avoid contact.

“You said that you draw inspiration from your personal experience. Is it… Is it about love? Love that is not supposed to be?”

Giving him a watery smile, you inhale sharply. “Yes,” you whisper. “It is.”

He lets out a small noise that you cannot quite place and runs a hand down his throat, adjusting the woollen drape over his shoulders, momentarily fiddling with his necklace. 

“I-I apologise if I imposed on your privacy.” he promptly states. 

“It’s okay,” you quickly say, letting your focus fall upon the book in your hands again, “Let me read you another one, ah…” Randomly selecting one of your earlier works, you start to read without first inspecting whether it would be appropriate.

“ When you claw at my skin, what sweeter fate could there be than death, trapped in your arms under false love, the void in your eyes no shelter. Maimed by your lies, your deceit as if I’m not my own, you growl my death sentence time and time again. I–”

A hand on your lower arm causes your words to catch inside your throat. 

When you meet Atticus' gaze, there is something written in his expression that you have never seen on anyone ever before, and you have no idea what it could mean. His proximity makes your head spin as does his scent, as if you’re about to pass out.

"May I ask you something?" His tone is serious.

You hum in acknowledgement, not trusting your tight voice.

"When I... When I walked into Quintus' office earlier, did you... Were you two..."

Again, shame colours your neck. "I... We..."

"(Y/n)," he whispers. "Do you... You seemed to be enjoying it..."

Letting out a sound, you shake your head at him, and find your voice. "Atticus, do you truly think that I... That I get a choice in the matter?" You thickly swallow to fight your tears. "I have to do what I need to do in order to get by. If pleasing my husband is one of these things, I must—"

"I'll ask you again." Atticus cuts you off, "I've asked you before but you did not answer, so I will repeat myself. Do you love him?"

"No!" you immediately retort, "Of course I don't! Why would I—" You put your hand over your mouth and close your eyes in shame, your throat feeling tight, "Marrying Quintus was not something I had any say in." you whimper after a few seconds. 

The Cohortes steps closer. "So you feel nothing for him?"

"Nothing but resentment." you honestly mutter, "Why would I marry a man like him ? In the end, it does not matter. All I am is a tool to please him, to be a vessel for his child. My reluctance will not change that."

"(Y/n)..." Atticus whispers. "You are so much more than that..."

With stinging eyes, you shake your head. "Don't tell me pretty lies I want to hear, Atticus. You aren't in any way obligated to take pity on me."

"It's not pity." he quickly counters. "What I'm trying to say is that... He should appreciate you more. And... And I feel that he doesn't see what a truly beautiful person he's married to."

Your cheeks feel hot and you lower your gaze to the ground. "Atticus, I'm not sure what to say, you're... You're just..." Your voice trails off.

"Telling you the truth of what I feel—”

"—Incredible."

He smiles softly, reaching out to you. His fingers come to rest under your chin, tilting it up. The cool metal of his ring makes a shiver run down your spine, as does the intensity of his gaze as he looks at you. The moment seems to last a lifetime.

Warmth seeps through you, sending your gut aflame with butterflies. His scrutiny, eventually, falls upon the side of your face, his eyes narrowing.

"Does he hit you?" Atticus' voice contains something you cannot put a finger on - it's low, dark, like velvet, but dangerous. 

Automatically, your hand goes to touch the faint mark that is still under your skin from where Quintus had struck you a while ago. You hadn't even realised it was still here, until now.

"Just a... Domestic squabble." 

Atticus thumbs at it gently, a gesture that makes your legs go weak. "Don't downplay it, (Y/n), he shouldn't put his hands on you."

He thickly swallows. Atticus himself shouldn't be touching you either, but, different from how you act towards Quintus, you welcome the Cohortes. Even more, you dread the moment he has to step away.

Instead, he nears you, closing the distance. Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Atticus," you whisper, and your voice must have contained something desperate, because the private investigator lets out a tiny sound and slips his palm over your cheek now, cupping it.

"(Y/n)," he murmurs, "Demand me to let go of you."

"I will not," you respond earnestly. 

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I fear that I'll do something I'll regret. Something both of us will regret."

A response is drawn from you, but not of the verbal kind. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, slipping under his woollen cloak. His eyes shoot open to look at it, something akin to a grunt sounding from his lungs. 

"(Y/n), I mean it. Push me away, now. Tell me you don’t want me, otherwise I shall no longer restrain myself."

Your eyes flutter shut at the heat of his breath on your face. "Atticus, I want..." The request is too bold, the words die on your tongue.

He watches you closely, intensely. "Let go of me lest I kiss you right here and now."

Your eyes snap open, finding his gaze, and the warmth of your fingers seeps through the linen of his tunic. 

You lick your lips. It is the final nudge he needs.

“Forgive me," he mutters at last, closing the gap by allowing his mouth to meet yours.

Your breath is taken away at once. With wobbly knees, you lean up to respond to his pressure, your lips fitting against his plush ones perfectly. Your heart slams inside your chest whilst your fingers curl themselves into his cloak, his hand grabbing a gentle hold of your waist.

Even the slight scratch of his stubble is wonderful , as is the kindness behind his actions. Atticus tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his other palm cradling itself behind your jaw. You softly whimper into him, tightening your grip on his tunic. A vague thought forms somewhere in the back of your mind that you're kissing a man that is not your husband, but it melts at the heat of his breaths against your face, a dynamic so foreign yet so familiar. No kiss you have ever received before has felt this electric. Your mind whirls at the intoxicating sensation.

Slightly breathless, you pull away reluctantly. He rests his forehead against yours, lips slightly swollen from the kiss. 

" Oh , Atticus, I... I..."

He chuckles, a sound that makes pleasant shivers run down your spine, his eyes tearing away from your mouth to meet your gaze, and you're certain that you must be dreaming. No man has ever looked at you with that same sparkle Atticus had. You find yourself unable to look away, feeling like your heart is going to explode.

Atticus, however, seems apologetic, as if he is unsure whether you wanted it or not upon seeing your baffled expression.

"I apologise if I've overstepped boundaries with that. But I had to do that at least once... Have been wanting to do that for a while now, actually. (Y/n), you are..." he sighs deeply, smiling, "You are... Oh, darling, you are everything ."

Your knees almost buckle under the confession as well as the soft nickname and you hold onto him tightly. "Atticus... What you mean to me..." The waver in your voice was forgein even to you, and you searched his face for regret, finding none. "You are... I have never felt this way about anyone ever before..."

He lets out an amused huff and smiles broadly. “Really? I-I mean… What honour you bestow upon me by saying that. And I can truthfully tell you that your sentiment is wholly reciprocated.”

With blushing cheeks, you finally dare to take his jaw into your palm, your fingers appearing small against his beard. A sudden lump forms in your throat as you desperately cling to him, the embrace of his arms the nicest comfort you have experienced in a long time.

Atticus inhales deeply. “I am so deeply in love with you, darling. I’ve wanted you since the moment you introduced yourself. Your husband does not deserve you, he is an absolute pig. You are… Hm, you’re exquisite, you’re just so… So beautiful on both the outside and the inside. What I’d give to be with you, to take you from his claws…”

Tears sting behind your eyes and you rapidly blink in the hopes of getting rid of them. “Atticus…” you croak with a tight throat, leaning into his touch. Searching his eyes, you catch his gaze easily. The sight causes a tear to escape. “Atticus, any woman would be so lucky to have you.” 

He shushes you, taking your face into both of his hands, shaking his head slightly. “(Y/n), no, sssh , don’t cry—”

“I want you too, Atticus, but I–I–I can’t! I’m so sorry, I’d… I just-I can’t ! No matter what I feel for you, I’m married to Quintus, and… I… Oh, Atticus, what am I to do? What about my family? What about my brother?”

His deep brown eyes fill with sadness as he scrutinises you, thumbing away the silent tears that roll down your cheeks, your bottom lip trembling. 

“Run away with me.”

The suggestion makes you genuinely laugh, Atticus grinning with a raised brow. “What? I mean it.”

“And go where ?” you breathe, smiling, “Quintus will have both of us hunted down and killed. Then, he’ll get to my brother and his wife, and my niece.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. “Hm… Maybe we shouldn’t. What I do want, however, is you , (Y/n).”

You close your eyes and lower your face, your expression falling. “I don’t really know what to say,” you murmur. “I’m not used to someone saying things like that to me.”

The marshall smirks. “You better get used to it, then. I’m planning on reminding you of that until you believe me and then countless times more.”

Something warm settles within your gut. Flustered, you dare to give him another kiss on his jaw, but he tilts his face in such a way that your mouth meets his softly. He deepens it almost immediately, something that sets your core alight in a way that it has never felt before, and you gently push him off with slight panic swelling in your chest at the sensation of his tongue attempting to ease into the snog.

He draws back, worry visible on his features, but you reassure him by giving him a playful peck. “Am I too overbearing?” he asks softly. You shake your head shyly.

“It’s just a lot at once.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just… Not used to this .” 

“I will not pressure you into rushing.”

Your eyes find his calming ones, and you drown in them immediately. “What are we going to do now?” you wonder aloud. Atticus tucks a stray bit of (h/c) hair behind your ear.

“We’ll take it easy.” he says, “No matter what happens, I’ll make sure to stop by on occasion. You can call on me whenever, if you need someone to listen to you, if you want to ask advice on your newest poems, or… or if you want to steal a kiss.” He caresses your cheek gently.

It’s a shallow description of an intimate yet fleeting relationship, something that you aren’t sure you want - you yearn for something that will last. How can you possibly hide this from Quintus? Your husband is an inquisitive man with a keen eye for detail. One wrong move and all will come to light. 

You don’t want to push Atticus away either, for he’s the best thing that has ever happened to you. The idea of a world without him brings a dreadful pit to your stomach.

“(Y/n)?” he says your name when you don’t respond. You snap out of it, blinking rapidly for a second before replying.

“Sure, I mean, yes! I don’t think we can… Handle it any differently, if I’m being completely honest.”

Atticus gives you a kind look. “I promise that things will get better.”

Even though every fibre of your being wants to cling onto these words, you doubt that they will be.

Footsteps down in the hallway. Atticus kisses you swiftly before stepping away, leaving you yearning for more. He turns to the window to stare out of it as Quintus ascends the stairs, whilst you busy yourself with an unfinished line of poetry, trying to appear focused.

Your husband appears in the arch leading to your sitting room, a sour look on his face. He stares at you wordlessly with narrowed eyes. Instinctively, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, as if your sin is visible there. “I fear that I’m going to lose you, (Y/n).” Quintus sighs.

Your heart stands still inside your chest, the lovely mood you had found yourself in fading at once. 

He knows, oh he knows, there is no doubting that he does. He must have seen you through the window, or a servant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time must have told him–

“I’ve spoken to Pilate’s men. Things are going to be a bit… Darker around here during the coming weeks as we all deal with these threats. I don’t want you around.”

For some reason, you feel relief that he doesn't know about the kiss, but it is soon replaced with puzzlement. You lower your pen back into the pot and Atticus clears his throat. “What do you mean by darker ? I need to be informed about this, too, it might be dangerous–”

Quintus raises his hand to silence the Cohortes and sighs. “I’m going to send you away, (Y/n). Somewhere safe. You’ll be staying at Herod’s court for a while. The men there have wives who can keep you company.”

Your face pales. “Herod’s court?”

“Machaerus.” Quintus clarifies. “It’s already been taken care of. You’ll be staying there for about… three, four months, until the dust here has settled.”

Bitterness crawls up your throat. An entire season away from your newfound affair? It takes everything in your being to not look at Atticus, who is tensing up at the window. 

“Don’t you reckon that is a bit on the long side, Quintus?”

“I thought that a private investigator like you would be more than happy to agree with that timespan. It will give us more time. Even more so, I think it’s a little short , but they assured me that twelve to fifteen weeks is long enough.”

You grit your teeth and stand, running your hands down your tunic to straighten out the creases. 

“Very well, if that is what you wish. When will I be—”

“Tomorrow,” your husband immediately tells you, “It will be about a three-day trip. Oh and, Atticus, you two seem to be getting along just fine so I trust that she’ll be in good hands. Do you happen to be able to escort her there? I’ll prepare you a cart with two horses.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion. Atticus clears his throat and nods. “Of course,” he says, “That won’t be a problem.” His voice sounds neutral, but when his eyes settle on you, there lies something within them that makes your stomach melt.

“Perfect.” Quintus quips, turning to leave before giving you a thoughtful look. “Start packing already, why don’t you? The necessities, nothing more, I don’t want to pay for expensive delivery costs.”

“Certainly, Quintus.”

He brushes out of the room, leaving you and Atticus behind, both baffled at the situation.

“Well,” Atticus starts, “That’s… Going to be interesting.”

You look at him with flushed cheeks. “Three months away from…” your sentence trails off, but the marshall chuckles, stepping closer to you. 

He brings his lips to your ear, his breath hot in your neck. “But three days of just you and I . We should make the most of that.” He presses a lingering kiss onto your cheek and leaves you yearning for more, your knees feeling weak as you watch him retreat.

“Atticus, I…” 

He halts in his step and looks over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gives you a pearly-white smile and winks. “I’ll see you then, my lady .” The emphasis on the final two words is deeper, prompting you to plop down onto your sofa right as he disappears around the corner, for your legs give out underneath you.

The world eventful couldn’t even begin to describe today, and it precedes a night full of anxiety and excitement as you pack your belongings, apprehensive about what is to come. 

Next chapter Chapter list

[ask-the-crimson-cultists]

Are any Crimson Praetor in this cult group?

Valdis  *ONEFEAR*

[thaumium-block]

I like to think that the lower ranks of the crimson cult look just "human" enough to pass as slightly unusual but not really worth considering, but when you get up to, say, the praetor and those directly close to them, not even a glance and you know something is very Wrong. I imagine the thaumaturges are like this too, with the more warp they have, the more their bodies physically deteriorate, quite literally warping themselves, cutting into stranger forms. To fully immerse yourself in the forbidden and eldritch knowledge is to open yourself to it, with all the consequences.

[art-leon]

what if the missing pieces in the crimson rites that we get are left that way intentionally

[ward-leon]

thaumium golem. crimson praetor armor. amber curiosity. im a thaumcraft gamer that hasnt played it in over a year

holy shit!!!!!

you are so real for this tbh

out of curiosity, what version did you play?

[smileyalater]

Red sky at night, Mars' delight

Scout seemed irritable, his yellowy-amber eyes jumped from person to person and his leg was bouncing. "What's wrong?" Narcisse asked, worried. "I've just got this feeling that something bad is gonna happen to Camp, to Mars' temple." He replied, mumbling. "Why don't we stakeout the temple?" Narcisse offered

"Well, we could" Scout replied, his lips in a firm line. "I'm sure Clemmie will thank us" he said, decisively and the two set out to temple hill, bedding and weapons in hand.

It didn't take long for the sound of glass smashing to rouse Narcisse from slumber, he looked around for his co-centurion, but he was nowhere to be found. Then he heard snapping and growling from outside and he grabbed his dagger to join him in the battle. The sky was a crimson red as the sun dipped past the horizon and the screams of a dying hellhound filled his ears. The corpse disappeared from the wolf's teeth and Scout returned to human form with the snapping of bones. "Having fun without me?" Narcisse asked, sending a jolt of lightning through a Empousa in what seemed to be a terrible Halloween costume of a cheerleader.

"Shut up, we have a battle to win" Scout snarled, he looked more wolf than human in this light. His yellowy-amber eyes were glittering in the dark and his lips were curled back in a snarl, making the pale scar across his lower lip and chin prominent on his face. The two fought monster after monster, until the last one finally turned to dust. Scout had a scratch over his forehead and a bite wound on his arm, which contrasted the scars on his face and hand from years past.

(Clemmie is one of their praetors and there is a pjo reference)

[cast-you-dxwn]

@holyfurnace liked for a small starter!

“Ah, it is good to see you, Eleanora!”

Michaels pleasant tone is genuine, his smile kind, but both are utterly incongruous with his current appearance. He and his men have just returned from another campaign upon earth, the Legionnaires filing past their Praetor and the other Angel with small nods and word of greeting.

Michael, much like his men, was clearly fresh from the fight. Crimson had stained deeply into his normally pristine white robes, droplets spattered across his armor and sticking the crest of his helmet together in clumps. Seemingly unaware or unperturbed, he reaches a hand out to her, as though to shake.

“What can I do for you?”