#curbs are truly mans greatest enemy

[sunsetcurveauto]

percy with road rage and blaring the horn of hermes's taxi. NEVER forget my boy is from new york

[thehusbandoden]

ok hear me out-

mulan!dabi x shan yu!fem!reader

its were dabi was one if the armies greatest fighters but on one battle the enemy manages to take of dabi’s helmet (the rest of the imperial army hasnt seen dabis face before) so after the battle the imperial army kicked dabi out (like how mulan was kicked out) because they thought he was a monstrosity/spy for the hun’s so after he git kicked out he goes to reader for help because they used to be childhood friends but the reader ran away because of the pressure of being a female

ok thats all just pls make it end with them killing the imperial army

and make them get married

and also when dabi and reader meet pls dont make her break down into tears just make her chuckle and comfort dabi when he starts crying

and pls make this a long oneshot

im having mulan brainrot

and no im not a minor i just love mulan

shes my favorite

and i just watched the live action film

A/n: I'm so sorry this took so long 💀

I hope it's worth it though!! I loved this request sm! You're quite creative <33

The Endlessly Cracking Dam -Dabi x Fem!Reader (Mulan Au)

A/n (2): I'm not sure if you wanted a quirkless au or not, but to fit the story better there aren't any quirks. If you don't like that, or there are any other problems feel free to reach out to me and I'll fix them right away!!

General info:

Genre: angst to comfort/fluff // wc: 5,700+ // female reader // requested

Summary: the man called "Dabi" was one of the Imperial Army's best men. Everyone loved him- or did they? Fake smiles and suspicions kept Dabi on his toes, always hiding his face and past. Well, until that darned Hun knocked off his helmet. Zhu Bo, Dabi's all time tormenter, claimed that he was "cursed" and urged their captain to kick him out. But- Dabi just won that battle! Everyone loves him! They wouldn't kick him out... would they? But atlas people are cruel and heartless. Just because of Dabi's patched up face he was kicked out, leaving him and his horse; Mazu, to find there way to the one and only person Dabi could confine in; y/n l/n.

Warnings!: season 6 spoilers, Dabi's background, Endeavor, betrayal, feelings of abandonment, mentions of violence, hint of revenge (aka murder), blood, and animal slaughter (self defense), If any of these are triggering for you anon please reach out to me! <33

The Imperial Army is known to have many strong soldiers. Every soldier has earned trust from him fellow comrades. Battle after battle fighting side by side formed a strong brotherly bond between each, some getting along better than others. And then there was him.

Dabi, son of no one. He was a monstrosity in battle, setting fear in his opponents hearts, and even his own comrades on occasion. Even though he rarely spoke, and kept to himself when the other men laughed and played around, they all respected him, and usually left him alone, as he preferred. He protected their backs in battle, and has saved almost as many lives as he has taken.

He was truly respected and trusted by all.. except for Zhu Bo, their captain's counselor. Ever since "Dabi" showed up, he was immediately suspicious. This man not only had a helmet covering his face, but he refused to give them his actual name, only offering the name "Dabi" telling him to take it or leave it.

He was truly about to tell him to hit the road and come back later with a real name and his face. But, before he could their captain accepted his offer and welcomed him with a huge smile and gleaming eyes. Ever since Zhu has been looking for any reason to get "Dabi" kicked to the curb.

Zhu would sneak around and look for anything ranging between hidden women in Dabi's tent, letters sent or delivered, cheating during training, and he even attempted to take a peak at his face. Not to mention that he reached out to multiple villages miles and miles away, asking for any information on the mysterious soldier. He was desperate.

Well he found nothing.

Women?

The man didn't even indulge in the chattering about a future wife or being in a relationship.

Secret letters?

The only papers in his tent were notes on certain lessons, going over every miniscule detail of his captain's instruction.

Cheating during training?

This man had the audacity to not only do what the captain said, but went ahead and did extra.

Carrying more weight, training for longer, wearing wrist and ankle weights while battle training, woke up early, and stayed up late to train.

A face reveal?

Yeah no, it's impossible. When he's bathing? Always out of sight, usually late at night and away from the usual lake. Eating? He does so far away from everyone else, after everyone else. Sleeping?! If you're lucky enough to catch this "Dabi" sleeping, you'd not only have to stay up into the hours of early morning, but you'd have to be so quiet or else you'll wake the man up and he wouldn't go back to sleep. At all. But, if you do catch him sleeping, he not only has a full coverage face mask, but the only thing poking out is black, fluffy hair, and a part of his hands and feet.

And even in the hundreds of villages Zhu contacted, he found nothing.

Giving up, Zhu decided to resort to trying to convince the captain that he was overly suspicious. And he was starting to make progress! Their captain was watching Dabi a lot more, and even contributed to questioning villages. Zhu Bo will find something, and he doesn't care how long it takes.

~~~

(Dabi's p.o.v; 4:13 a.m.)

The chill of the morning air seeped through Dabi, causing the man to frown as he hurried to get dressed. After tugging on his boots Dabi swiftly attached his sword to his belt, finishing off the look. He always had a full suit of armor on, if any of the soldiers saw his scars.. well they'd think of him as some kind of monster.

The scars that he bore were not humane, and he didn't like seeing them, so who else would? At that thought his mind turned to y/n, his childhood best friend. Oh sweet y/n, she was always there for him. Whenever he needed a break from the horrors of his household she was there, giggling as she brought him to a place to rest, and drown out the world. Sadly, Dabi hasn't heard from, nor seen y/n since he left for war. Dabi just hoped that the Huns hadn't attacked their village, or that she didn't get married. At that thought Dabi let out a growl, ready to fight anyone who tried to take his away y/n from him.

After packing up all of his supplies and his tent Dabi saddled his mare, settling on her back to start making the 10 minute trot to the other tents. Once he got there, there were only a few sleepy-eyed soldiers slowly getting dressed, yawning every minute or so. After nodding solemnly to those who waved, Dabi made his way to one of the wagons.

There were only a few men with horses outside of the captain and Zhu Bo, and those who did had to lend their horse to pull wagons of supplies. Dabi's wagon was to be filled with food supplies, and so he started filling it, keeping in mind that he had to make sure that it wasn't too heavy for Mazu.

Dabi wasn't the kind of guy to have a lot of close ones, or to make a lot of special connections. All Dabi had was his mother, y/n, Mazu, and Nainai.

His mother, who he didn't even speak to anymore was always a support for him growing up. Even though he didn't treat her well she still loved him and tried to help. He will always love and appreciate her, even if she doesn't know it.

You, the girl that he has loved since childhood, and the one and only girl that he would even consider marrying.

Mazu, his companion and friend through thick and thin. His beautiful bay Jielin mare. Mazu has been with him since his Nainai gifted him and y/n her, telling them to be good and to take very good care of her. And that they did.

Dabi took care of her whenever he could get away, and y/n took care of her when Dabi couldn't. She was well cared for and very loved. When Dabi left for war they both agreed that he would take her, but he made a promise to look out for her like he would a comrade, and so far she's been completely safe.

And finally his Nainai. No, the woman was not his actual grandma, but all of his best childhood memories came from sitting in her garden, helping her weed alongside y/n, just talking, or even just listening to her stories. When the old woman asked them to call her Nainai they both willingly agreed, and the rest was history.

Dabi was pulled from his thoughts by the captain making his way over to him, black eyes focused on studying Dabi's wagon.

"Is this all you can fit?"

"If I add anymore it will either be not safely secured, or too heavy for Mazu to pull efficiently." Dabi replied, lowering his head lightly as a gesture of respect.

"Okay. Hook up your mare to the wagon and then get something to eat. You'll need your strength."

"Do you think today could be the day?"

"I do."

Dabi nodded, moving to tie up Mazu as his captain went off to check up on the other soldiers. After quickly eating Dabi moved to spend time with Mazu, lying on her back and he thought back to y/n, the woman who held his every waking thought. Yes, he went to war because he was forced to, but instead of being bitter about it he related it to protecting the people he loved back home.

As he continued to think about his dear friend a frown made its way to his lips. Y/n had promised to write to him, just as he promised to come back to her.

So why hasn't she? She wouldn't have forgotten about him, nor their promise, so that wasn't it. She rarely had problems with her parent/guardian(s), so that wasn't likely either. The only possibilities the Dabi could think of is that either their village was attacked or she got.. married. But she didn't seem to have any interest in marrying anyone when he was there, so what is happening?

"SOLDIERS! WE ARE PREPARING TO LEAVE! HURRY UP, GET READY, EAT, AND GET YOUR BUTTS OVER TO THE CAPTAIN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES!"

Dabi hissed at the loudness ringing in his ears as he moved to sit right. Urging the mare forward, Mazu smoothly made her way toward the forming crowd. After settling to the side, Dabi fiddled with Mazu's reins, making sure that they were tight and would fit comfortably in his hands, it would be a long ride after all.

As Dabi kept his eyes straight ahead, he was pleased to see that everyone was energetic today, ranting about their future wife and what qualities she would have. After a while of their ranting Dabi spaced out, mind wandering to his special someone. As he thought back to his y/n the soldiers noticed his huge grin and came over to question him.

"So.. do you have a girl worth fighting for?"

"What does that matter? I'm here to defeat the Huns, not to bathe in the wonder of having a woman 'worth fighting for'."

"Yes yes we all know that you're battle hungry- but come on! You have to have someone! Like when you're exhausted and about to give up but then you think about her, it's important!"

"Unlike you weaklings I actually stay focussed on the battle instead of my silly daydreams."

"Gosh what a killjoy. I guess all those rumors about you are true. Have fun by yourself, loser."

Dabi just rolled his eyes, focussing back on the path in front of them.

~~~

Exhaustion seared through Dabi as his chest heaved, breathing heavily. The sounds of battle echoed in his ears as he looked around, dead bodies surrounding him, blood splattered everywhere. After scanning his surroundings, he rushed to help out a trio of young soldiers, pure fear evident in their eyes as they faced two enemies, the ragged hair and crazed eyes causing them to almost whimper.

Rushing towards them, Dabi swiftly cut down one of the two enemies, much to his comrades relief. Quickly moving toward the last enemy, Dabi dodged a hit last minute, which barely nudged his helmet instead of slashing at his neck. Moving to counter, he missed the fact that his helmet flew off, landing somewhere in the heat of battle. After splashing the Hun down Dabi turned to scold the young soldiers.

"Men! That was cowardly, get yourselves together and get back into battle!" Dabi seethed, not failing to notice how the men whimpered at his scolding, sinking into themselves.

Dabi just scoffed, noticing that one of them was the same man that insulted him earlier. Clicking his tounge, Dabi turned back to battle, pinpointing a fairly injured soilder fighting off four enemies at a time before rushing in, saving the man swiftly.

~~~

Hours later Dabi stood near the middle of the battle field, blood splattered acrossed his torn up armor, yet nothing but a small amount was his. After checking the surrounding area for more enemies, Dabi's shoulders dropped at the sight of none. They won. The Huns were gone.

Staggering toward the crowd of comrades, Dabi couldn't help but grin, focussing on their victory rather than their immense losses. They did it. They really did it.

The men cheered as they pushed each other around, reveling in their victory as many tears fell. Though, it all came to a stop as Zhu Bo stepped forward, black eyes pinning Dabi down with a wicked grin stuck on his face.

"Captain! Captain! Come take a look at this!" Zhu called, grin fading as the captain came into view.

"What is it, Zhu?"

"Look at him! He must have been cursed! Look at that face, he's a monster!"

As the captain pushed past the gathering crowd, his face paled at Dabi's appearance.

"Uh- excuse me? I am no moste-"

"SILENCE!" Zhu spat, glaring at Dabi with dark eyes.

"We'll talk in private, Zhu. Dabi, get yourself cleaned up, are you seriously injured?"

"No Sir."

"Okay, good job out there."

"Thank you, Sir."

After the captain led Zhu away Dabi clicked his tongue, moving to find Mazu before cleaning up.

~

After ensuring Mazu's safety Dabi cleaned up the blood and ate, watching as the other soldier avoided him as if he had the plague.

Typical.

Of course they are, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Everyone always assumed the worst. After the fire incident everyone avoided him, calling him cruel names and telling him that he was cursed. The only one who knew the truth was y/n.

Dabi had told her all about how his father had trained him viciously, going as far as to burn him to the point of these wicked scars. And yet everyone thought that the man was inoccent. But, he really couldn't blaim them.

His father fought in many wars and saved the people multiple times. And yet he was a monster inside. He wed his wife for her family's reputation, and had children for one purpose: war. He always went too far in training and made his children suffer, all for more glory.

Dabi just couldn't take it anymore, and so he dyed his hair and changed his name, before running from home. He stayed with Nainai until the soldiers came.

Dabi was pulled from his thoughts by the captain, Zhu Bo, and an unfamiliar man gliding towards him, faces grim -except for Zhu's grin of course-.

"Dabi, you are being dispelled from the Imperial Army." The unfamiliar man commanded, cold eyes holding nothing but distaste.

"Ca-captain?" Dabi stutterer, hurt and betrayal pulsing through him.

"Dabi, you fought well, and you did us and the people a good service, but.."

"B-but what?"

"We can't risk it. Dabi.. You could be cursed. And I'd rather not take that risk." The captain said, usually warm eyes hardened with a bitter chill.

"I- I saved your butts back there! If it weren't for me you wouldn't have won!"

"Dabi.. just give it a rest."

"But-"

"OBEY YOUR CAPTAIN YOU MONSTER!" Zhu Bo screeched, eyes holding a victorious glint.

"I thought he was no longer my captain." Dabi sneered.

"That's-"

"Silence, Zhu. Dabi, you have an hour to pack up your things and leave."

"You're sick." Dabi sprat, turquoise eyes hardened with anger.

As Dabi turned to leave he couldn't fight off the urge to flip the trio off, causing Zhu to curse him out as he walked towards Mazu.

~~

After gathering both his belongings and enough rations to last him around three weeks, Dabi made his way out of camp and towards his village.

No, he didn't want to be around all of those gossipy villagers, or his family, but he needed y/n. His world was crashing and he just hoped that the dam wouldn't break before he found her.

~~

The next six weeks were spent horse back riding, hunting, and sleeping.

Dabi made sure to keep his eyes on the prize, refusing to even acknowledge the immense hurt that was brewing at the bottom of his chest.

He needed to get to y/n, and he could only hope she wasn't killed nor married, or he would be left alone in this cruel world.

~~

Two weeks later Dabi made it to the village, exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and smelling absolutely horrible.

Immediately going to y/n's house he doesn't even have a thought about his.. strange appearance and rushes to the l/n resistance.

Swiftly knocking on the door, Dabi's breath caught in his throat as the door swung open.

Looking up at your parent/guardian, Dabi opened his mouth to ask the question he's been dying to ask.

"C-can I see y/n?" He stuttered, inwardly cursing at the rawness of his unused voice.

"Y/n.. I- I'm sorry but she ran away some months back.. and who are you again?"

Dabi's heart dropped.

You.. ran away?

"J-just a friend."

Clutching at his chest he forced himself to exchange a semi humane parting before stumbling back to Mazu.

"C'mon girl.. we.. we need to get out of here."

Treading through the village Dabi felt the dam holding back his emotions crack.

What if he couldn't find you?

What is you were.. gone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a far too familiar face. Panicking, Dabi pressed himself against Mazu, and hopefully out of sight of the villager.

After a few tense moments Dabi sighed. Sitting back onto Mazu, Dabi couldn't help but watch as Natsuo walked away, completely unaware of his older brother behind him.

Dabi chuckled pitifully as he felt another crack form.

He had to find y/n.

~~

(A few hours later; 5:23 p.m.)

After a while of looking and asking around, Dabi found himself in front of Nainai's door.

It was funny, really. He didn't mean to come here. His body has just engraved the habit of going to Nainai for help with anything and everything he needed.

Knocking on the door, Dabi desperately tried to stop the dam from cracking.

He needed y/n when it broke, there was no way he was going to let someone else see him so vulnerable. Not even Nainai.

"Touya? It's so good to see you! What's wrong?"

"C-can I come in for a bit?"

"Of course! Come in, come in! I just made some cookies!"

"Thanks Nainai."

"Anytime Touya, anytime."

~~

For the next hour and a half Nainai took care of Dabi. She found him some clothes that her deceased son used to wear, told him to take a long bath, cooked his childhood favorite food, prepared more rations, and even spoiled Mazu.

When Dabi was done with his soak he had lots of good food to eat, and Nainai did most of the talking, making sure that he wouldn't have to deal with awkward silence or hesitation to reach out to her.

Dabi and Nainai eventually got to the subject of y/n, and Dabi was glad to hear that she had come to stay with Nainai before running off. Nai Nai even had a clue to where she would be- much to Dabi's relief.

"I love talking to you, Nainai, but I really need to get to y/n asap."

"Oh it's alright Dear, I understand. I'll go get you a letter from her."

"A-a letter?!"

"Yes, she gave me one for you, and told me not to open it until you came searching for her. I have kept to my promise, Touya. This letter will be for your eyes, and your eyes only."

Nodding, Dabi's hands shook as he waited for Nai Nai to return.

Y/n.. she was still thinking about him? S-she's safe?

Dabi cursed as he felt the dam of emotions crack yet again.

He really did need y/n.

"Alright Touya. Here's the letter, all I know is that she will be reachable on horseback, and that she's about eight days away."

Nodding, Dabi shakingly took the letter out of Nai Nai's hands, looking at the small envelope in awe.

"Shall we say goodbye here? I expect you'd like some privacy."

"W-why?"

"Love works in that kind of way, I suppose."

"L-love?!"

"Ah yes, the unending denial." Nai Nai smiled bitterly, looking down at her ringed finger in pain. "Now, come give your Nainai a hug and then you can be off!"

After a long, warm, and very comforting hug, Dabi was left alone in his Nai Nai's cozy living room; envelope in hand.

Mentally bracing himself, Dabi tore open the envelope with little care, too anxious to see what was inside to worry about the pretty way you sealed the stupid envelope.

Unfolding a piece of paper, Dabi's eyes skimmed over the writing hungrily, needing your location to stay sane.

My dearest Touya, if you are reading this letter you must be home from war, and I must be gone. I know that you're hurt, and that you're confused at my silence. But trust me, my dearest companion, I tried and tried to reach you, but my letters were always sent back to me. I never received any of your letters, if you sent any. I am safe, and if you'd like to find me you are very welcome to, but I do have one condition. if you are to visit me, you are to always stay with me, locked away where the world can't hurt us anymore. things got too painful without you here, Touya. so if you can, come to me? I will show you a life worth living! If so, follow the instructions on the back of this paper, that is where I lay; and hopefully- where you will too.

Your Dearest friend,

Y/n/n. Or as you like to call me, Doll

Dabi cursed yet again as another crack formed in his teetering dam.

Of course y/n wouldn't leave him like that. She was truly the best.

Hurrying out to the stables, Dabi mentally calculated where he and Mazu needed to go before saddling Mazu and their belongings, and then riding off.

~~~

It had been nine days of riding, resting, eating, riding, and resting again.

Dabi looked like death yet again, and Mazu was pushing her limits.

Due to Dabi's exhaustion, he paid less and less attention to their surroundings, which resulted in unwanted, hungry eyes to find their perfect target.

~~

Dabi glared at the pack of wolves in front of him, eyes full of crazed hatred.

"Wanna dance, muts? Let's dance." Dabi grinned, katana held readily.

Dabi's turquoise eyes never left the vicious pack of wolves as he studied the starving creatures. He might of let them slip into his campsite, but there was no way he was going to let them get past him to Mazu.

Instantly tearing himself from his thoughts, Dabi slashed at the wolf that lunged itself at the solider, leaving a fatal gash on it's stomach. A loud whine set off the rest of the pack, causing three of the seven remaining wolves to leap at him at once.

Slashing the beasts with ease, Dabi held his ground.

A grin splayed across his lips, his exhaustion horrendously miscalculated the wolves damage. Pain shot through Dabi's shoulder as a fallen wolf leaped onto him, landing a fairly decent blow.

Cursing, Dabi stabbed the wolf in the chest, killing the animal.

Turning to the others, Dabi chuckled bitterly.

~~~

(Your p.o.v; 12:22 a.m.)

You sighed as you finished writing another letter.

It has been months since you've last seen Touya.. where could he be? Is he still in war, or did he make it home? Did he decide to stay, or did he find a nice young lady to marry and move to her village? Could he possibly be coming to you now?

The thoughts swirled in your head, souring your mood further.

Touya was not the kind of person to get married to some pretty little nobody. He cares for love, which was most likely due to his trauma with his parents relationship.

If he were to marry someone, he would have to love her deeply.

The thought made you sigh as you made your way to your bed, the thought of some rest helping ease some of the worries within you.

It will all work out in the end. If he truly didn't want to be out here with you, then that was his choice. You couldn't force him to, that would just be cruel, no matter how tempting.

~~

You awoke to a pounding on your door.

Groaning, you grumpily make your way to the noise, opening the door grudgingly.

"What the heck do you wa-"

You were interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around you.

Baffled, you were about to push the person off before you recognized the purple scars.

"Touya? What's wrong To?"

Touya simply shook his head, pushing himself as close as possible to your warmer form.

"Why don't you come in? It's warmer in here."

Touya squeezed you once before skidding into your cabin. After you closed the door he was back in your arms, pressing himself close to your back, head buried in your hair. Returning his embrace as best as possible, you stayed there with him for as long as he needed.

A few minutes later he pulled away before softly spinning you around to face him.

Chuckling, you move to wipe the blood streaming down his cheeks. "Shh it's okay Touya. I'm here now."

Bursting into sobs, Touya buried his head into your neck, arms wrapping around your waist.

"They- I- you-"

"Shh it's okay. It's all okay now. You're safe."

After a while Touya calmed down a lot, and the two of you had moved to your small wooden loveseat.

"Mazu.."

"Mazu? Oh- is she out there?"

Touya simply nodded, eyes hooded as he stared at you.

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you make your way outside.

Mazu was grazing obediently next to a fence, her reign poorly tied. "Mazu!" You greet, petting the mare's neck lovingly. Neighing softly, Mazu nuzzled her head against yours.

After spending a little time with Mazu, taking care of her, and putting her away in a stall, you hurry back to Touya's side.

Walking in, you smile at the sight of Touya dozing on the love seat, hand buried in your German Shepherd Jin's fur. Smiling, you gesture for Jin to stay before getting ready for bed yourself.

~~

(The next morning; 8:23 a.m.)

Loud footsteps stirred you from your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you tense at the sounds of another person in your cabin.

Why hadn't Jin alerted you?!

Why would he let a stranger in?!

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft, familiar curses. Touya? Why would Touya be in your-

And then the memories came flooding back.

Smiling, you hurry to greet your best friend properly. "Good morning Tou-"

Your heart stopped at the sight of the man in front of Your beloved Touya was overed in.. blood.

"Touya what happened?!" You demand, rushing to inspect the damage.

"A pack of wolves attacked me and Mazu. Don't worry about it. Most of it isn't mine."

Scoffing, you grab a wash tub to start filling.

"Ah don't be like that Doll."

You simply snort, filling the tub with hot, soapy water.

"Get in, wash up." You command, glaring at the man in front of you.

"With you in the room- I didn't know you were so-"

"No! I'm gonna leave, idiot!"

At your angered tone Touya's mood noticeably dropped, causing you to curse.

"Y-you're not mad at me.. are you?" Touya asked, voice small with worry. Everyone else but you and Nainai had rejected or neglected him. He couldn't bare to lose you too.

"Oh Touya no. I'm not mad at you. I'm just cross with you for being so nonchalant about getting hurt."

"But-"

"No buts. I care about you, I don't want to see you care so little about yourself. Put yourself in my shoes."

"W-what? I don't think they'd fit."

Smiling, you shake your head affectionately.

Ah yes. 'Dabi' was still your Touya, a confused and hurt teenager at heart really. He didn't understand metaphors much.

"I mean- look at it from my perspective. What if I got hurt, and acted like it was okay. Wouldn't you be a little upset?"

"I'd kick your butt and pin you down to make sure you're all patched up." Touya huffed, eyes holding a slight glint- warning you to not test him.

"See- that's what I'm dealing with. I care about a lot, I don't want to see you get hurt."

Slowly nodding, Touya's eyes were focused on your face.

MmYou blushed as he stared, noticing how he kept shifting from your eyes to your lips. You'd call him creepy- if you weren't doing the exact same thing.

"Y/n.. have I told you how much I've missed you?" Touya whispered, bringing his face slightly closer to yours.

"No, I don't think so." You smile, following his lead in advancement.

"Well then.. why don't I-"

You both were interrupted by Jin jumping on top of you, smothering your face in his wet and xsloberyx kisses.

"Jin, Off!" You command, causing the large dog to back off of you and sit between you and your love- crush? Friend? You don't even know anymore.

Clearing your throat, you keep your eyes held low as you studied Jin's fur, combing your fingers through his dark fur.

"Umm, I'm going to go care for Mazu. Why don't you wash up?" You blush, sinking closer to your pet.

"Y-yeah that's a good idea.." Touya replied, voice strained from some kind of emotion- embarrassment; you guessed.

Standing up, you gesture for Jin to follow you as you make your way out of the cabin.

"Oh- Touya?" You call, shyly glancing at the male.

"Y-yeah?"

"Your room is in the loft.. there's a ladder in the stable, and a towel will be on the shelf behind you. You have some personal clothes and belongings from the village.."

"Thank you y/n.." Touya whispered, blood pooling under his eyes.

"I'd hug you but uh- you're kinda soaked in blood sooo.."

"Just go you baby!" Touya laughed, making you smile.

~~~

(Two weeks later; 11:38 p.m.)

A sigh escaped your lips as you traced the scars on Touya's arms, desperately wishing to be able to lay kisses on the patched skin.

In the two weeks that Touya's been here, neither of you have talked about the almost kiss; though it was most definitely on both of your minds.

It was driving you insane- you loved Touya with all of your heart, so why couldn't you just voice those feelings?! Why was love so.. so complicated?!

Sighing again, you caught Touya's attention.

"What's wrong, Doll?"

"Oh I'm just.. thinking."

"About?"

"I really don't think you'd be interested.." you murmur, eyes never leaving the gorgeous skin of your childhood best friend.

"Tell me, I want to know what's bothering you." Touya insisted, placing a hand underneath your chin before bringing your gaze to his turquoise eyes.

"Umm.. what do you think about the- the kiss?" You stutter, wetting your lips at the wonder of Touya's eyes.

They were so... gorgeous.

"The kiss? Well.. I'm not really sure. I'm not really used to these kinds of things you know."

"Me neither." You huff, e/c eyes tracing every feature of Touya's.

"But, I do know that I want to try it again.." Touya continued, hand sliding up to cup your cheek. "If you'd let me, that is."

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at Touya.

Was this really what you wanted- did you love him?

Your heart beating against your chest screamed yes- causing your cheeks to burn.

"I- this isn't some kind of game to you?" You stutter, mind panicking at his closeness.

"I promise you that it isn't." Touya whispered, thumb caressing below your eye.

"T-then kiss me- please."

A warm chuckle emitted from Touya before he seized your lips with his.

The surprising contrast of his soft upper lip and his rough, almost leathery bottom one caused you to gasp. Taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, Touya brought his other hand to hold your other cheek. Moving one hand to his neck and the other to his hair, you kissed him back with just as much emotion.

After a few, intense moments you pulled away, gasping for air.

"That- was- amazing-" Touya gasped, stroking your cheek with renewed gentleness.

You giggled as you smiled up at your childhood friend.

"I've been waiting to do that for a long~ time." You tease, practically purring as Touya pulled you closer to his warmth.

"And I've been waiting for longer!" Touya playfully growled, moving his hands to tickle your sides.

"S-stop that!" You laugh, moving your hands to carefully tickle his arms, avoiding the burnt areas with care.

After a few minutes of giggles, you both slowed down before you were simply just staring at one another, entranced in each other's gaze.

"I- I think I love you." Touya whispered, breathe fanning over your lips.

"And I know I love you." You giggle, pressing a kiss to Touya's lips, smiling into the kiss.

After a few, incredibaly soft and dreamy kisses Touya rest his forehead on yours, looking down at you. "Marry me."

"Wh-what?"

"Marry me. We can build our own family here, away from the world. They'll find us eventually.. and an unmarried woman like yourself would be forced to marry some snobby noble."

"You're just making excuses to make me yours." You tease, bumping your nose against his.

"Maybe I am. Would that be so bad?"

"Mmm not really."

"Oh ho? Is that a yes?" Touya smirked, pulling you into his lap.

"Depends. I require lots of attention. Plus foot massages when I'm pregnant."

"P-pregnant?"

"You mentioned a family, did you not?"

"Y-yeah.. I did."

"But on a more serious note, what are we going to do about the Imperial Army? They'll find us eventually- like you said, and then they'll expect our son or sons to go to war. And our daughters to get married-"

"Shhh, it's okay, Doll." Touya soothed, pressing a finger to your lips- receiving a kiss to the warm flesh.

"How about we.. get some revenge and protect our future angels?"

"That sound perfect, actually." You grin, knowing where this was going.

"But, marry me first. And then we'll go traveling around for our honeymoon.. we wouldn't be searching for the army's camp ground or anything.."

"I love you so freaking much."

"Not as much as I love you, Doll."

~~~~

A/n 3: I'm not too sure about the ending, but I hope this wasn't too long + suited your taste anon!! Also, I have zero experience kissing, so I hope it did an okay job lol 💀😅

~

Feedback and Reblogs are very appreciated <33

Dabi's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here <3

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[fanfiction-funtime]

Genshin OC: Louis

Based on Interactions with @genshin-obsessed

And Pocket, in the original it was Signora who traumatized him sexually(I'm sorry if it offends you but I feel uncomfortable saying the r word), but I don't think she's that evil so in this fic it will be slightly different, but still as messed up.

_____________________

Louis is an inventor from Fontaine, perhaps the brightest in all Teyvat. After unknown circumstances he was forced to flee Fontaine to Liyue, where unfortunate circumstances lead to him to meet Kazuha. Kazuha rescued him in his moment ot need, and inside of taking the life debt Louis offered the samurai merely took his friendship. Now he works as the fleets greatest engineer, repairing and upgrading the ships of the fleet with never before seen technology.

But one has to wonder, what ever caused him to leave Fontaine? And under what city did he meet Kazuha?

__________________

Physical description: a fifty year old man in the following outfit

In this hat

Both his arms are burnt all the way to his shoulder, so he hides them with finned gloves

(Also: I consider Kazuha to be an adult, so if you know about the shipping plan with the Interaction thing with Pocket it's not weird)

He has teal eyes, long silver hair, and a twirling pencil thin mustache.

_____________________

The rise

Louis created his first groundbreaking invention at the mere age of six: a torch that ran on gas!

When he presented his invention it was met with grand....disdain.

People called it a scam, that what he said was impossible. He was laughed and ridiculed, to the point he disappeared from the public eye for many years.

Until fifteen years later.

At nineteen he skyrocketed into the market of invention, using something noone could dispute nor deny the grandeur of: he created a gun!

_____________________

To forge an empire

It was not easy to make it in the invention markets of Fontaine, even with patents one could not stop competitors from making their own form of their products.

So Louis had to be the best damn inventor of all of them! It was why he got his vision, his ambition, his soul demanded it!

And so he did. He hit every corner of the market with high quality inventions every week, from gas ovens to full plate armor, from fans that spun themselves to moving walls! It was once said in Fontaine that if someone wanted the very mountains to move at the push if a button, all they needed to do was pay Louis to make it.

Hundreds took their children to him to for apprenticeship, master craftsmen begged to work for the genius half their sons' age and twice their own skill. It wasn't long before his inventions were being sold by merchants all across Teyvat.

_____________________

A defiled heart of glass

As happy and successful as Louis was, there was something he longed for, something no amount of ambition, success, nor money could ever get him: someone who truly cared for him.

He had believed this to be true for years, until one evening ball,

He met a woman.

She approached him as he sat surrounded, yet completley alone. She walked up to him and said, "you look lonely, would you like to go somewhere else?"

She said it without any ulterior motive, no sucking up, just a genuine want to hang out with HIM. No as Louis the inventor, but as Louis the man who enjoyed inventing.

They walked away from the party, saying to abyss with any who found it rude! And went around the town as two friends, absolutely enamored by eachother's hopes and dreams.

They were friends for five years when Louis finally confessed his love for her, how she would listen to him, and care about him, something he gave to her in equal share.

But a mere year into their relationships he found out his lover's secret: she was Fatui.

One night he found her coming home through the window, in her complete uniform no less. She was afraid, afraid he would leave her for what she was. But instead, all Louis did was wipe her tears and day, "how can I help?"

Do began his secret dealings with the Fatui. He used his bright mind to create countless machines of war for them to use, guns that did not need loading, gas powered suits of armor that gave strength well beyond that of a human, anything thr Tsarista wanted she would get. Because whatever the Tsarista wanted, his love wanted.

His darling love, Signora.

Or so he believed.

Ten years into the deal he was discovered by the Fontaine government and quickly proclaimed a terrorist. He had to flee Fontaine, so he went to where Signora was at the time, Liyue.

When he met her in Liyue he fully intended to propose to her, but when he got on one knee to do so, all he recieved was a sharp freeze through his chest.

And his glass heart shattered, on the stone cold ruins of an empire.

_____________________

Meeting the samurai(tw: this is where the bulk of the messed up happens)

A quick death, however, was not to be his end.

Signora hated him, despised him, for the time she "wasted on this useless, lovesick freak" as she put it.

So she let her mages do to him as they pleased, and left.

And they took full advantage.

They tortured him, violated him, broke him in every way they pleased.

They even convinced him that it was his fault, that he should enjoy what their doing, that he should thank them.

Then left him for dead.

For days he sat slumped on a stone pillar, riddled with holes, barely holding on to life.

'But why?' He had wondered. For he had believed their lies, that he deserved this fate, 'this is a fitting end.' He believed, a fallen emperor, dying on the long dead corpse of an equally grand empire to his own.

'So why?' he wondered, 'why do I keep fighting?'

Then one day a wandering samurai found him and took him in. Louis begged the man to let him die, "I deserve this. She said so...I deserve this....why else would she have done it?"

But the samurai did not falter, he carried the man to the nearest settlement to be healed.

When asked why, the samurai responded, "if you weren't so hurt, I would throw you on the wall and shout you down! WHAT IN THE ABYSS MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP!? BECAUSE SOMEONE SAID SO? BECAUSE SOMEONE GOT UPSET WITH YOU? SO WHAT!?" The samurai grabbed Louis' vision and held it to his face, "YOU HAVE A VISION, A GIFT FROM THE GODS, GIVEN BECAUSE YOU HAVE A DREAM! THERE IS SOMETHING YOU WANT ISN'T THERE? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE WANT THIS? WHO WOULD BEG TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO FULFILL THEIR DREAMS?!" the samurai began crying, "do you know how many have had that stripped away? All because someone said they should? Well they still fought. They all fought. And so many died." He placed Louis' vision back on its holder, "so don't you dare give up, and don't you dare die just because someone said you should!"

It wasn't the help Louis needed to fix himself, but it was enough. Enough to help him go on.

_____________________

Vision: shards of a broken dream

Despite what he told the public, Louis did not spend those fifteen missing years because he was discouraged, but because he was betrayed.

Louis was approached by a well known inventor, who said he would help Louis' invention get the recognition it deserved!

Louis should have listened more carefully, because the man never said anything about helping HIM get the recognition he deserved.

The man stole his patent for the gas lamp and rebranded it as his own invention, and threw Louis to the curb.

Were Louis any other person he would have curled up in the warmest alleyway he could find and die, but Louis was not any other person.

Instead he began to create, he spent years and years trying to perfect gas power, then the gods saw his ambition and granted him a vision, a vision of flame.

The vision ignited at an inopportune moment however, and caused a massive explosion that nearly killed the then twelve year old boy.

Inopportune to anyone else, that is.

For in the flames of pain he saw the truth, the overwhelming power that is explosive force.

Then with his still burning hot hands he got to work, forged casing after casing to try and capture the gas that had shown him the light. He spent weeks forging a small metal pellet that could not only survive the blast, but also remain strong enough to pierce through nearly any armor. Then he created the keystone of his work, his masterpiece, the first gun.

And he used the first bullet to take revenge.

_____________________

Abilities:

Main- power of gas: throws a glass container with flammable gas, applying a swirl like effect to a large area that effects all enemies.

After using it, the player can use the ability again to strike a piece of flint that will create a giant explosion that only effects enemies.

Ultimate- culmination of ambition: Louis creates a large explosion blasting enemies away, the camera then zooms in on him holding up two pistols. After the animation ends Louis replaces his Catalyst with dual guns that deal 5X damage and attack twice as fast for ten seconds

Weapon type: Catalyst

Vision: pyro

Passive: glass heart- party members gain 5% extra friendship experience when Louis is in the party.

Special dish: ice cold jelly- a simple spin on the classic mint jelly, Louis adds a special cooling agent to it that increases the cold of the mint exponentially.

(Tagging: @storytravelled, @golden-wingseos, @genshin-obsessed)

[sdclore-archive]

Nothing gold can stay

What: the first time the ivory and vittori war truly breached Savannah’s life When: Winter of 2002 Triggers: Violence, a given. Murder. Maybe creepy/rapey vibes? idk its a trigger ok Notes: For the sake of visual, I’ve always imagined her ex, Nick, to have looked like Alex O’Loughlin if he’d not died, so you know, him as a eighteen/nineteen year old kid.

To most, it would have looked the picture of innocence. Barely seventeen years old, young lovers caught bewildered in the snow lined street as if perhaps they’d never quite seen anything so precariously special as each other in the cold chapped wind. The senseless sound of laughter that could carry for miles and break apart the darkest cloud in the sky as the pavement before simply opened up a horizon that couldn’t be found on the city skyline. But darker days had never seen a more fruitful opportunity to lay to waste the silver platter that beckoned itself towards the love sick dalliance that would serve as a warning for a family too caught up in getting in the way of things that they might have considered to never be their business in the first place. 

It caught a whistle in the treetops, a rustling that drew coat and company closer. Golden hair caught in the icy breeze beneath the hat intended to keep her ears warm, despite never feeling an ounce of the cold whenever she was with him. The unbearable feeling that she’d never let go of as it swelled like sunshine within the concave of her chest, lips pressed gently against her temple as they barely meandered beyond the frozen lake. To be alone with him was to open up the heavens and drown yourself. Like an open car window as it drove much too quickly, the mouthful of air that fleetingly over filled lungs with a moment of panic before the joy that there could truly be too much of a good thing subsided and paved the way for the greatest surge of contentment. There could truly never be anything like being with him.

But darker days crept across the blinding snow in the harrowing form of people without faces. Blurs of color that traipsed deepened footsteps within the white blanket that seemed to go on forever. Or perhaps that was simply wishful thinking, a tourniquet thought that held a seventeen year old Savannah’s breath that today would never surpass into another. That time wouldn’t flee them and they could remain just here, and now. The sickening reality of Montreal was, time only stood still for the dead and as it peaked it’s hideous face across the top of the snow covered hill, laughter died in her throat as it edged all the closer. It didn’t press her conscious mind with fleeting thoughts of fear; for what did a teenage girl truly have to fear when the feeling in her chest swelled with adoration for the boy that seemingly pulled them both to a stop at the edge of the path. She’d certainly missed something --- a fleeting conversation her own father had asked of Nick that dared him to always be careful, to trust his gut feeling when something felt awry. Perhaps the turning in his stomach had led him to relive the transcendent seriousness that’d befallen the Delore patriach’s hardened features, warning him that none of them were truly safe. A keepsake that he’d done his best to hide from his only daughter, a reincarnation of the fucking sun in her smile never something a father wanted to see diminished.

Try as he might have, the Delore’s held enemies within the most hapless cracks in the pavement. A harsh reality that those that came before Savannah couldn’t hope to hold a nuanced idea of safety while they slowly but surely cut the coat tails of both criminal organizations with every opportunity they were given.

Foreign hands rough and careless as the dark hollow voices of those she didn’t know tore their way through her and Nick. “What’re..-- let go of me!”  The instantaneous will to fight had her pulling and pushing and tearing at the solid forearm that circled her throat and dragged her back into now painfully cold snow. “Nick!” A guttural scream tearing from lungs as a hand clamped over her face, crystalline hues torn open with the harsh crack of knuckle on bone. The ripple of effort that blossomed in her chest as she kicked and screamed for freedom, seeing exactly what was about to happen before the assailed attack that Nick stood no chance in became a harrowing reality. Four men, clad in dark clothes and deep timbre threats cascaded blow after blow until her own legs gave out beneath her. It wasn’t enough, to hear the mottled sound of pained cries muffled into the snow that turned black and red among the blood and dirt kicked up. The sharpened snap curdling her every thought as another boot collided in the most brilliantly blinding sight with Nick’s ribcage. A warning that would stain the very ground they stood on as tears tracked lines over her cheeks and fell hapless into the ground below. “Please..-- stop, leave him alone.” Her struggle was useless, the vicious attempt to pull herself free only tightened the arm around her throat. “He didn’t do anything!” But nothing she said could subdue their laughter, the eerie sense of entertainment that they drew from watching the boy, barely a man whither beneath them and cower to every raised hand until all sense of fight seemed to leave him too dazed to concur. Unmoving, Savannah had to still just to see whether he was still breathing. Hysterical and beside herself as she continued to wrench herself from the grip of the unknown, the warmth of his breath falling sickly against the back of her neck, along the slope for her ear. It crawled like the most fearful feeling across tender flesh and crawled gooseflesh across her spine. “Tell daddy dearest we’re watching.” Falling..-- Falling.. Falling. She hit the ground roughly, the snow beneath no sense of comfort to the violent sense of it. Innocence became her with every sob that wracked itself against ribcage and chest plate to perhaps someone curb the ache of the unknown that lay curled in on itself. A blackened drape that left her uncertain of whether breath still touched Nick’s lips. “Nick please..--” Blurred shapes could barely counter produce a way out, she couldn’t see through the unyielding tears that thought to choke a sense of disturbing calm from her as she crawled across the ground to reach for him. If she could turn him over -- she could see, she could know. Fates and whatever unholy bitch decided to tear relief from her veins might have pinpointed the moment fleeting intention slipped from the fingers of the assailants as she was yanked backwards by her legs, the same boot that worse the bloodied remnants of Nick’s broken body struck the side of her face, toppling the blonde with such force her vision went dark. The snow turned pink beneath her as crimson dribbled from her lip and the gut wrenching sound of Nick’s voice traipsing across the wind in broken heartache and shattered breath drew air into her own lungs as one of the men dropped to his knees beside her, pushing back the now tangled mess of her golden locks. Hazy as it were, moments passed where she found nothing more than blackened shapes in her vision, the rough pad of a thumb that brushed over her lip turning her stomach and catching a shrill cry of objection against her tongue before everything began to fall back into place. The gun he’d wielded but never pulled found the snow beside her in stark tandem with her outstretched fingertips. As if instinct bore more relevance than her fear, blue orbs flickered across the safety switch or the weapon, a surging expanse of adrenaline that had failed her only moments before gave her only a passing second of opportunity as greedy eyes ran the expanse of her face and across the slope of her neck. Something about the weapon looked different to how she’d come to understand. The usually square muzzle extended only a few inches by a rounded end. Would it fire? It didn’t matter. Opportunity struck in the blinding light of a cloud over head passing over the sun. She never heard it. Could never tell anyone the sound it made as she curled fingers around frozen metal and pulled the trigger until the entire weapon was spent. Shaking hands caught herself in the snow, kicking back the white powder as it bled into something sinister and crimson, melting beneath the heat of blood that pooled beneath all three of them, the last of the four already high tailing it across the frozen lake, scrambling for the edge of the other bank. The knowledge of what she’d done didn’t escape her, trembling hands searched for her phone in the snow, punching in the code four times before she got it right. Her own bloodied fingertips smearing the screen with a lacquer she’d never be rid of as it dug beneath her fingernails and she caught the end of her father’s voice on the line with nothing more than the hysterical cry of a girl who’s entire life crumbled at her feet.

[softupshur]

Imperfect Faith: Chapter 2

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Also can be read on here

When her mother is arrested on Lydia Degan’s ranch, a young Marta finds herself amidst the Testament of New Ezekiel in its infancy. As she travels with the other escapees, she watches the church grow, the gospel teachings evolve, and create a close bond with the reverend Sullivan Knoth.

Characters: Marta and Sullivan Knoth

Chapter 2-September 22, 1968:

Sunlight streamed through the windows and awoke Marta. Its brightness was enough to make her squint. She rolled over, hoping to block out the sun and sleep a little longer, when she felt a coat draped over her as if it were a blanket.

She sat up and observed the garment, and recognized it as the coat Knoth wore the night of their escape. Though she ached from the less than ideal sleeping conditions, and forced herself to stand up and look around the bus for Knoth, but he was nowhere to be found.

Not even half of the people from the escape were on the bus. Mostly a few that tried to sleep longer, but Marta did see a few of the women relaxing on the bus, including the one with the infant that spoke on Marta’s behalf the night before.

The woman held her little one, cooing and humming to the baby, and gave off an air of warmth about her, and she was the one that Marta went to.

“Good morning,” she said, with a sweet smile, when Marta approached. “It’s Marta, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No need for ma’am,” she said. “There’s no need for formalities when we are all of the same flock. Please, call me Jasmine.”

Marta nodded.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Jasmine asked of Marta’s silence.

“Yes. I was wondering if you knew where Father Knoth is. I want to give him back his coat.”

“Oh, he went out with the others to get our bearings and supplies for the road ahead.”

“Where are we going?”

“Colorado. Knoth says we are going to spread the good word there now that the enemy has run us out of our homestead. ‘A blessing in disguise,’ he calls it.” Jasmine smiled slightly. “For more can be saved this way.”

Marta’s head hung low as she recalled her mother. “Yes, a blessing…”

She adjusted her hold on her child so she could reach out to put a hand on Marta’s arm. “I really am sorry about what happened to your mother. Rachel truly was a blessing to our testament, but you must remember that it is also a blessing that you were saved.”

Marta shifted slightly. “Yes, I know.”

“Just know that if you need anything, feel free to to come to any of us. I know this may seem frightening, but we are all here for one another through this trying time.” She shifted her hold so Marta could see her sleeping baby. “Me and Tristan would be happy to help in any way we can.”

Marta managed a smile for the baby. “Mother helped deliver him.”

“Yes, and he is my greatest joy. One I would have never known if not for joining the testament.”

At first, Marta opened her mouth to inquire on the father. Instead, she said, “I’m going to look for Father Knoth now.” She bowed her head slightly. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Jasmine.”

"It was nice to meet you too, Marta. Enjoy the fresh air while you can. It may be our last stop for a while.”

Marta nodded, and then left the bus, finding herself on a roadside stop. The vehicle was parked at the gas station, and she recognized many of the church members, strolling and chatting amongst themselves, and a few even taking advantage of the diner, but Marta went to a group of the testament’s men, gathered around a radio.

She made her way over to them, but there was only static, as one of the men adjusted the antenna.

“What are you trying to listen to?” Marta asked them.

“News from back on the Degan ranch,” grumbled the man with the antenna. The same man who helped people on the bus that night.

“No reception here though,” said another.

Still, Marta stayed on. She leaned in to listen for news of her mother, when her stomach growled.

One of the men heard, and held out a stick of jerky for her. “Want one?”

“Thank you,” Marta said, quietly, as she accepted the offer and took a bite, as she waited for a signal with the other men.

After several minutes of adjustment, the man finally caught a signal just strong enough to hear.

The group all hushed and huddled around the radio.

At first, everyone suffered through weather and traffic reports, but a few more minutes came the breaking news from the ranch.

"Though a dozen arrests have been made, there are still no leads as to the bodies found on the Degan Ranch. Police suspect foul play, but Knoth and his followers are still at large."

There were other snippets of information, but the static returned, and this time, no one bothered with the antenna.

“You really think going to Colorado will be enough?” one of the men asked.

“Knoth seems to think getting out of the state will help us out. Besides, we’re not in any real trouble if they don’t have any solid evidence on him.”

“Yeah, it’s all just suspicion right now, isn’t it?”

“Definitely. It’s probably just a slow news week. Trying to get the people with shock value.”

The others murmured in agreement, but Marta only shuddered.

“Do any of you know where Father Knoth is?” she blurted out. When the men stared, as if surprised to find her still there, she added in, “I want to give him his coat back.”

“He’s in the store getting supplies,” one of the men grunted.

"Thank you.” Marta started on her way, when the same man continued.

“Hey, kid. Just a warning that you might not want to use his name in there. Just to be safe.”

Marta nodded. “I won’t.”

As the men picked their conversation back up, Marta hurried into the store, where she easily found Knoth and one of his deacons conversing with the store manager. Both of them carried full bags in their arms.

Marta stood to the side, and waited until the men finished talking. She prepared to call out for Father Knoth, but her throat ran dry as the man’s warning echoed in her mind.

Instead, Knoth spoke first when he noticed her.

“Good morning, Marta. It’s good to see you out and about.”

“I came to give you your coat back.” Marta held out the garment, but was unable to look him in the eye. She hoped a quick addition of a “thank you,” would ease any suspicion.

Though Knoth raised an eyebrow, he still answered kindly. “It’s no trouble, child. The desert nights can get cold and you were shivering in your sleep.”

“Oh.”

The silence lingered between them, until Knoth voiced his concern. “Is there something troubling you?”

Marta shook her head. “I’m just tired and sore from the trip.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but Marta’s stomach still tied itself in knots.

“Well if that’s all, then I’m sure a stroll will help. If you give me a moment to load the bus, I’ll join you.” He didn’t wait for her response before he joined the men in organizing their provisions.

Marta only sat on the curb and waited. She tried to enjoy the jerky, but it lost its taste. She had thrown it away by the time Knoth returned.

“Why so glum, child?” Knoth asked of her.

Marta shrugged. “I don’t know…”

“Well, let’s just walk a little, okay?” His voice softened considerably.

“Okay…” Marta stood up and walked alongside Knoth, but with each step her feet felt heavier and her stomach continued to churn.

It wasn’t long until Knoth stopped, noticing the sweat on her forehead. “Marta?”

“I need to use the restroom.”

She turned to run to the convenience store, but tripped and fell to her knees. The sand and gravel dug into her skin, but she could only think of her nausea. She waited to vomit, but only tears came.

“I-I’m sorry, Father. I...I just.” She took as deep a breath as she could manage. Only when she felt Knoth’s hand on her shoulder did she find the words. “I thought I was okay, but I can’t stop thinking about mother, the ranch, the radio, the-”

“The radio?” Knoth asked before she could finish.

“Uh-huh. Some of the men were listening to it, and they found bodies there.” She looked up at Knoth, with tear filled eyes. “They’re looking for us, aren’t they?”

“Oh, child,” Knoth shook his head. “Don’t tell me it’s the lies from the outside that have worried you.”

Marta only cried harder.

“It’s okay,” Knoth’s voice lacked its usual certainty. “I’m glad you told me. Fear is natural, but I assure you that it is not the outside world that you need to fear.”

“It’s not?” Marta choked out.

“No. The world outside of our testament may seem frightening. For they can prosecute us, drive us away, and even take our mortal lives, but none of that matters when compared to the promise of paradise everlasting.”

“I...I know all that, but...if not the outside world then what should I fear? Because I am scared.”

“The very same Lord who gives us our blessings,” Knoth’s voice sank as he spoke. “Everything he promises, he has the power to take away. That’s why we must do everything in our power to follow his will and spread his word.”

Marta wiped the tears from her eyes, “Do you think that’s why Mother and the others were arrested? Because we didn’t follow his will well enough?”

Knoth sighed. “I think it was for our greed that God punished us. We were too comfortable on the Degan Ranch and we forgot our gratitude. I believe these trying times are to remind us to humble our hearts and remember where to give the glory to.”

“Did God tell you that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re God’s prophet. That means he speaks to you, right?”

Knoth frowned. “He does, but only when he wishes to, and if I’m being honest, it’s a burden that I would wish on no one else.”

“Why not?”

“Because God does not always come with good news. Sometimes he forces you to look deep inside yourself into a darkness that you didn’t know was real. It’s something unnatural that no ordinary man could live with. For they have twisted the Lord’s word beyond recognition. Even among our testament, we have only scratched the surface. That’s why we must continue the road ahead, as frightening as it may be.” Knoth stood and held out a hand for Marta. “So hold strong, my child. You’ve shown great courage and strength already, so look inside yourself and find that courage again. It will give you strength for the long road ahead.”

Marta took Knoth’s hand so he could help her up. It was then that they both realize her knees were bleeding.

“Let’s go back to the bus,” Knoth said. “We should have some bandages there for you.”

As they walked, Knoth kept hold of her hand.

Marta had never seen his expression so sullen.

[asktheadeptus]

Emperor of Mankind

"The Emperor Protects..."— The Lectitio Divinitatus

The Emperor of Mankind is the immortal ruling monarch of the Imperium of Man, and is described by the Imperial Ecclesiarchy and the Imperial Cult as the Father, Guardian and God of humanity. The Chaos Gods and the daemons of the Warp refer to Him as "the Anathema" for He is the greatest embodiment of universal Order in the galaxy today. He has sat immobile, his body slowly crumbling, within the Golden Throne of Terra for over 10,000 standard years. Although once a living man, His shattered, decaying body can no longer support life, and it is kept intact only by the cybernetic mechanisms of the Golden Throne and a potent mind itself sustained by the daily sacrifice of thousands of lives. The Emperor chose to sacrifice His immortal life at the end of the Horus Heresy in the service and protection of Mankind. To humanity's countless trillions across the galaxy-spanning Imperium, He is nothing less than God. Through his Imperium, Mankind is united and remains one of the most powerful intelligent races in the Milky Way Galaxy as well as its most dominant in terms of both population and territory held. United under one government, Mankind is able to survive the myriad deadly threats it faces from aliens, the Forces of Chaos and the Traitors, Heretics and mutants that lie within the Imperium's boundaries. The Imperium's rule, carried on in the Emperor's name since the end of the Horus Heresy by the High Lords of Terra and a multitude of Imperial organisations, has been long, oppressive and necessarily harsh. It has also resulted in technological and cultural stagnation, and a regression into tyranny, superstition and religious obfuscation and intolerance that would have horrified the Emperor.

Though He is no longer responsive to external stimuli, the Emperor still lies at the very heart of the Imperium's continued existence. Although He cannot be directly involved in the day-to-day running of humanity's galactic government, His existence on the Golden Throne is vital to sustaining the Imperium, since His powerful mind's presence in the Immaterium maintains and directs the Astronomican, the psychic beacon that makes possible faster-than-light Warp travel and is vital to Imperial shipping, transportation, commerce and communication. He is said to still guide His race through the psychically-reactive divination tool known as the Emperor's Tarot, which select psykers can consult to gain a glimpse of the future and the Emperor's will. He is also said to constantly battle the Chaos Gods in the Warp and prevent their further intrusion upon the material universe. His mind must remain vigilant at all times throughout the entire Imperium to safeguard the human race and to offer His protection to the faithful. Above all else, it is Mankind's collective belief in the Emperor's divinity that serves as its greatest protection from Chaos and the other hideous dangers that plague the galaxy. As the Imperial Creed has taught for over 10,000 standard years, the Emperor protects...

History

Origins

The Emperor is the collective reincarnation of all the shamans of Neolithic humanity's various peoples, the first human psykers. The foul Warp entities that would become the four Great Powers of Chaos had not yet fully formed when the Emperor was born on Earth during prehistoric times, somewhere in ancient central Anatolia (modern Turkey) in the 8th Millennium B.C. But even before the birth of the Emperor, as humanity grew and progressed, the Warp began to become increasingly disturbed by the dark undercurrents of humanity's collective psyche, and the shamans began to lose their former ability to reincarnate into new bodies. Instead, upon dying, their souls were being consumed by the entities and daemons of the Warp. Eventually the shamans of humanity, unable to reincarnate, would become extinct, and without the shamans and their psychic abilities to guide the race, humanity would inevitably fall prey to the corruptions of Chaos, just as eventually happened to the Eldar. In these ancient days, all the shamans of Earth gathered in a grand conclave to decide what must be done to stave off the day when they had all been consumed by the Warp.

In the end, the shamans decided to pool their collective psychic energies by reincarnating as a single soul in a single human body to create an individual they called "the New Man." The thousands of shamans, as one, took poison, and as one, they died, their souls flowing into the Immaterium in a rush of psychic power that overwhelmed those daemons who sought to feast upon it with a cleansing, purifying fire, a flame imperishable that became one soul out of many. A year later the child who would become the Emperor was born in a Neolithic settlement of Anatolian herders and farmers. His psychic power was so great that its energies altered His genome and physiology in the womb and rendered Him immortal so He would no longer need to reincarnate and could not be assaulted by the daemonic creatures of the Immaterium upon His death. As He grew older, His potent psychic powers began to manifest. Over the many millennia of His life, He traveled among the different peoples of Mankind, using His ancient wisdom to help where He could in the guise of many different benevolent persons from human myth, religion and history. But as His psychic powers further developed, He became ever more aware of the terrible dangers that awaited Mankind in the broader universe and He resolved to do all in His power to defend and guide humanity towards a future as the predominant species in the galaxy. As more and more humans were born with the mutant psyker genes that granted them the ability to wield the potent power of the Immaterium in the last centuries of the Dark Age of Technology, and humanity suffered from the deadly effects of uncontrolled psykers, the Emperor realized that He would have to take a more direct and open role in human affairs than ever before.

For thousands of standard years before becoming the Emperor, He guided and watched humanity develop over the course of its history, assuming the guise of a large number of historical personages. He was aware that the darker extremes of human nature were feeding the growth of the Chaos Gods in the Warp, and so He sought to promote peace and harmony on Earth and thereby curb the growth of the Ruinous Powers' strength. The Chaos Gods themselves recognized the Emperor as their greatest enemy among all the intelligent beings of the galaxy. Only at the end of the Age of Strife did the Emperor emerge from obscurity to take a more direct hand in the future of humanity, conquering the warring factions of Mankind's home world and establishing His direct rule over the Earth. The Emperor accepted the deaths of the many innocents that resulted from His conquest with great remorse in order to achieve the greater good of unifying humanity and protecting it from the manifest predations of the Warp.

With the assistance of the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars, who joined with the Emperor and the people of Terra in the Treaty of Mars that formally founded the Imperium of Man in the 30th Millennium, the Emperor created the first Space Marines and fleets of interstellar star ships that would carry His armies across galactic space. The objective was a Great Crusade that would unify all of the planets colonized by Man during the Dark Age of Technology prior to the Age of Strife into one Imperium of Man, and also subdue, destroy, or force into exile all intelligent alien races from the Milky Way Galaxy, what was to become the Imperial Domain, the manifest destiny of Mankind. The Emperor also created the superhuman Primarchs from whom the Space Marines' gene-seed was later developed to serve as His primary military commanders for the Great Crusade. The Chaos Gods, however, sought to thwart the Emperor's grand plan. The Primarchs were sucked into the Warp even as they gestated in the gene-laboratories deep beneath the Imperial Palace, and were scattered across the inhabited worlds of the galaxy. During the Great Crusade all but two of the twenty Primarchs were found and united with the Space Marine Legions that had been created after their disappearances from the genetic material that they had left behind. As the Emperor traveled across the stars, some humans wanted to worship Him as a god, however He forbade this, proclaiming, "I am not a god; rather than enslaving humanity I want to free it from ignorance and superstition." However, Lorgar, the Primarch of the Word Bearers Legion, desperate to find some outlet for his belief that Man must have a God to worship to be truly whole, gave in to the constant whispers of the Chaos Gods and, after corrupting his Legion to their service, sent his First Chaplain Erebus to poison the minds of the other Primarchs and their Legions. Just as the Imperium had reached its apex in the early 31st Millennium, the Emperor's most trusted son, the Primarch Horus of the Luna Wolves Legion (later renamed the Sons of Horus), fell to Chaos as a result of his own pride and ambition and betrayed the Emperor, and along with fully half the Space Marine Legions, initiated a massive civil war for control of the galaxy. This rebellion is known to history as the Horus Heresy. Though the Emperor ultimately defeated Horus during the Traitor Legions' assault on Terra, He was all but slain in the battle after suffering a crippling loss of limbs and mortal systemic damage; only the life-supporting Golden Throne has sustained His living corpse in a kind of stasis, neither dead nor truly alive. Trapped within His prison of flesh, only the Emperor's mind is allowed to wander free within the Immaterium, still seeking to protect and guide humanity to an increasingly distant better.

Rise of the Emperor and the Great Crusade

The man who would later become known as the Emperor of Mankind first appears in Imperial records as just one of the many warlords struggling for control of Terra during the later part of the Age of Strife in the 30th Millennium. The Emperor undertook a series of military campaigns against all the other warlords on the planet that would collectively later become known as the Unification Wars. During these conflicts the Emperor employed several military formations -- such as the genetically-altered warriors of the unit designated Geno 5-2 Chiliad who would go on to serve in the Imperial Army -- that consisted of using genetically-enhanced warriors to maximize His tactical prowess. The most powerful of these troops were the proto-Astartes known as the Thunder Warriors. These warriors played a significant role in the Emperor's eventual victory over all the other warlords of Terra and led Him to believe that His future plans to reunite Mankind would require the creation of an even more potent core of genetically-engineered military commanders and warriors. Following the Battle of Mount Ararat in the Kingdom of Urartu, which was the last battle of the Unification Wars, the Unity of Terra was at last achieved after decades of blood, loss and fire. With this victory, the planet and population of Terra were at last unified under the single rule of the Emperor. But to make His dream of reuniting all of Mankind within a single galaxy-spanning empire possible, the Emperor knew that He would have to make some difficult, even immoral decisions.

Their purpose having been achieved, the Emperor ordered all of the remaining Thunder Warriors to be liquidated, as they were a dangerous group of men to leave alive in a time of peace and they needed to be removed to make way for their eventual successors, the Primarchs and the Space Marines. Official Imperial propaganda proclaimed that the Thunder Warriors had heroically died to the last man during the Battle of Mount Ararat, the greatest of their number, Arik Taranis, surviving just long enough to raise the Emperor's banner when victory, and unity, was achieved. But the Emperor could not wipe away the stain entirely, for several Thunder Warriors managed to escape what they called the Culling, including Arik Taranis, who would yet have a role to play in the fate of the Emperor's realm.

The Emperor next set in motion His plan to defend and better Mankind across the galaxy, by unifying those lost bastions of humanity scattered across the myriad stars under the aegis of the newborn Imperium. This extraordinary undertaking would become known as the Great Crusade.

The Emperor prepared extensively for the Great Crusade in the years after Unity was achieved on Terra; He created the special astro-telepath (Astropath) corps to link his eventual interstellar dominion together through the use of telepathy, and engineered the creation of the Astronomican, a supremely powerful psychic navigational beacon powered by the Emperor's own will and psychic abilities that would allow simplified and safer interstellar travel through the Warp across far greater distances than before. Chief amongst His designs, however, was the creation of new legions of superhuman, genetically-engineered warriors, the logical extension of the gene-troopers already under his command, though they would be far superior to the gene-enhanced troops of the Imperial Army He had used during the Unification Wars. The Emperor first undertook the Primarch Project, the creation of 20 superhuman infants whose genomes had been designed using His own genetic code as the foundation, who were intended to mature into powerful generals and statesmen for His armies. The Primarchs would be beings of such great mental and physical superiority that nothing merely human could stand against them.

To enhance the Primarchs beyond the capabilities that even genetic-engineering allowed, however, the Emperor also drew upon the powers of the Warp to enhance His creations, imbuing them with nearly godlike levels of charisma and capability, but also unintentionally making them susceptible to corruption by the entities of the Warp. However, this plan went awry with the intervention of the Ruinous Powers, who feared that the Emperor's plans might succeed too well, vastly increasing the hold of Order over the universe and diminishing their own strength. It is for this reason that all of daemonkind refers to the Emperor as "the Anathema." While accounts vary as to exactly what happened, the end of the tale is always the same; the Primarchs were cast into the Warp in their gestation chambers from beneath the Himalazian (Himalaya) Mountains in the Emperor's gene-labs despite the multiple psychic wards the Emperor had laid down upon the laboratory, and thought lost. In the aftermath of these events, the Emperor conceived a new plan. Using genetic samples that had been derived from the Primarchs' genomes, He created a caste of warriors who would possess some of the same superhuman qualities of the Primarchs and Himself. These successors to the genetically-enhanced human warriors of the Unification Wars-era were the Legiones Astartes, the Space Marine Legions of the First Founding.

After their creation, the Emperor led the 20 Space Marine Legions, all of their Astartes originally recruited from Terran-born males, in their first missions to give them experience in war and diplomacy through the reconquest of the rest of the Solar System. The Space Marines drove alien slavers from the moons of Saturn and Jupiter and most importantly, achieved peace and the eventual integration of Imperial Terra with the Cult Mechanicum of Mars. This crucial military and political alliance, formalized in the 30th Millennium with the signing of the Treaty of Mars, provided the Emperor with much of the technological means and materiel required to extend His crusade into the stars. At the same time, the alliance formalized the creation of the Imperium of Man and established the Imperial bureaucracy on Terra, transforming the Cult Mechanicum into the Adeptus Mechanicus, one of the myriad organisations that comprised the newborn Adeptus Terra, the massive government of the Imperium, the future Priesthood of Earth.

With the final abatement of the Warp Storms caused by the birth-pangs of the Chaos God Slaanesh and ended by the Fall of the Eldar, the Emperor finally began the Great Crusade at the end of the 30th Millennium. The Emperor's forces, concentrated amongst a rapidly growing cadre of Expeditionary Fleets, rediscovered long-lost human colony worlds, cast out alien oppressors, and claimed vast new territories for the newborn Imperium to exploit across the galaxy. Perhaps most importantly, the Emperor, leading His Crusade, rediscovered His lost sons, the Primarchs, as the Expeditionary Fleets pushed out deeper into the depths of unexplored space. Scattered across the galaxy, the Primarchs were found one-by-one, over a period of many decades, and reunited with their father and their own genetic sons in the Space Marine Legions. All were placed in command of the Astartes Legions created from their respective gene-seed and played a major part in forging their father's Imperium. Together they brought thousands of worlds into Imperial Compliance, establishing the rule of the Imperium over these worlds and inculcating in them the values of the Imperial Truth -- a rationalist, atheistic faith in science and technological progress that rejected all the vestiges of human irrationality and superstition, including all forms of religious faith.

The Emperor Himself declared that Mankind would never be free to progress and advance to its destined position as the pre-eminent intelligent species in the Milky Way Galaxy until "the last stone from the last church was cast down onto the last priest." He had already purged ancient Terra of all its ancient religions and superstitious beliefs by the time the Great Crusade began, even going so far as to personally witness the destruction of the final church on Terra's ancient soil after engaging its resident holy man, Uriah Olathaire, in a battle of ideas, wit and dogma. The Imperial Truth also held that humanity was the species which should rightfully rule the galaxy since its physical form was both the most pure and all of the other intelligent alien races, such as the Eldar, had already tried and failed to maintain galaxy-spanning civilizations. Now it was Mankind's turn to find a place amidst the stars. As almost all intelligent alien species encountered by Mankind had either proven to be irrevocably hostile to humanity or presented a future threat to human dominance and exploitation of the galaxy, xenos species were generally to be exterminated outright if they presented the slightest threat or obstacle to the Imperium. The Emperor believed the Imperial Truth needed to be brought to all the worlds of Mankind, peacefully at first but imposed by war if necessary, because the Emperor believed that true unity was the only way for humanity to survive and prosper in the face of a very hostile universe. If this required the unfortunate use of force against those who refused to understand this necessity, then so be it. Just as He had during the Unification Wars, the Emperor again lamented the loss of innocent lives and the curtailing of individual freedoms that the fleets of the Great Crusade sometimes trod upon, but He could see no other way to safeguard humanity and weaken the endless corruptive power of the Ruinous Powers at the same time.

While the Imperial Truth upheld the light of reason and science, it did have one unbreakable proscription: Men must never develop artificially intelligent machines. The Emperor remembered that it was the great war fought by Mankind against the thinking machines known as the Men of Iron that had helped to destroy humanity's last united interstellar civilization at the end of the Dark Age of Technology and He had no desire to see the human race repeat its past mistakes. As such, when the Expeditionary Fleets of the Great Crusade encountered advanced human civilizations in the dark of space that had developed artificial intelligence, these worlds' populations were simply exterminated outright as potential dangers to the entire body politic of the newborn Imperium.

Additionally, there was an increasing concern as the Great Crusade progressed about the use of psychic sorcery by agents and warriors of the Imperium. The Emperor was the most powerful human psyker to have ever lived, but He was deeply ambivalent about the growing spread of the mutant psyker genes through more and more of the human population. He rightly believed that most of Mankind was not yet evolved enough either physically or spiritually to truly control the great power of the Warp or avoid the temptations offered by its more malevolent denizens. More and more often during the progress of the Imperial conquest of the galaxy, the Imperial Army and Space Marines would make planetfall only to find that the populace were in thrall to mysterious powers and unnatural mystics called "sorcerers." These people were essentially members of Chaos Cults who would resist the forces of the Emperor with sorcerous psychic powers granted them by daemonic entities from the Warp. These psychic powers were also very akin to those used by the Thousand Sons Legion of the Primarch Magnus the Red. The Thousand Sons had come under criticism for their use of sorcery by the Primarch Mortarion of the Death Guard Legion, who knew by his own personal experience with sorcerers on his homeworld of Barbarus the dangers to be found in anything spawned from the Warp, and Leman Russ of the Space Wolves Legion, for whom any battle fought through sleight of hand, clever deceit or any trick other than straight physical combat was by definition dishonourable. Russ found the Thousand Sons' use of sorcery distasteful in the extreme. It was Russ who fought the hardest for the Imperium to ban the use of psychic powers after his own experiences during several campaigns of the Great Crusade where his Space Wolves had fought beside the Thousand Sons. The schism grew so great that it threatened the very stability of the fledgling Imperium and so the Emperor Himself called for an Imperial conclave to resolve the issue once and for all.

Both sides of the debate over the use of psychic abilities arrived at the world of Nikaea determined to present their views, with the Emperor as the arbiter, enthroned above the dais in an ancient amphitheater that seated tens of thousands where the conclave was held. On one side of the question were the Witch Hunters like the Sisters of Silence who presented their case by reciting a litany of human suffering inflicted upon the Emperor's own subjects by sorcerers enslaved by what would eventually later be recognized during the Horus Heresy as Chaos, of gibbering mutants who had lost their humanity, and of cults and power-hungry men who turned their psychic gifts to dark purposes. All present were also aware of the terrible damage that had been done by uncontrolled and daemon-possessed psykers during the early days of the Age of Strife. On the other side was a powerful advocate for the continued use of sorcery, the Primarch Magnus the Red. His very presence frightened many, but he began to speak with the great charisma that only a Primarch could wield. His argument was that no knowledge was tainted in and of itself, and no pursuit of knowledge was ever wrong so long as the seeker of that truth was the master of what he learned rather than its pawn. He spoke with finality that his Thousand Sons Astartes had mastered their knowledge of sorcery and that there was no knowledge too labyrinthine for them to grasp or that they could not master to serve Mankind rather than enslaving it. Magnus called on the Emperor not to ban the use of psychic abilities, but to contribute to further research into their usage so that they might be harnessed more fully for the betterment of humanity and the Imperium.

Magnus had spoken passionately with great power and the Council of Nikaea became even more divided. While they had strong arguments in their favor to justify their anti-psyker position, the Witch Hunters could not effectively match Magnus' persuasiveness. The tension could easily have been cut with a knife when a group of Space Marine Librarians approached the dais. The Emperor acknowledged them with a nod, and all present fell silent. Among the group were some of the greatest Librarians of the Space Marine Legions. They formed a semi-circle around the dais to indicate that they spoke as one voice, but it was a young Librarian Epistolary who spoke for the group. A psyker, he proposed, was like an athlete, a gifted individual whose native talent must be carefully nurtured. Psykers were not innately evil in themselves, but like any tool, could be used for either good or evil purposes. Sorcery, however, was a knowledge of how to wield psychic powers that had to be sought for, even bargained for with the foul entities of the Warp. No one could be truly sure who or what had benefited in the deal. The Librarians proposed that all psykers be strictly educated by the Imperium with the express purpose of using their abilities to serve Mankind. This should become an immediate Imperial priority. The practice of psychic sorcery would forever be outlawed as an unforgivable offense against Mankind and the worst kind of heresy. The end result of the Council of Nikaea's deliberations was a compromise that offered both the pro-and-anti-psyker factions something.

The Council of Nikaea was also the trial of Magnus the Red -- for he was accused of sorcery and of introducing sorcerous practices to the Space Marine Legions through the institution of the corps of Librarians. As the evidence of Magnus' continued practice of sorcery became apparent, the Emperor barely contained His wrath as He pronounced judgement on the Primarch of the Thousand Sons, for He had entrusted His son years before to obey His bidding and foreswear the use of such occult practices because of the dangers inherent to the Warp. He had entrusted only Magnus with the true secrets of the Warp to which only they remained privy, but now it appeared that His son had disobeyed His edicts and at the very least dabbled in the occult and the forbidden black arts of psychic sorcery. The confrontation between father and son is recorded in the Grimoire Hereticus.

The Emperor's judgement at the Council of Nikaea proved severe, largely as a result of His anger at Magnus. The Emperor rejected the Librarians' proposed compromise outright. With the exceptions of Navigators and Astropaths who were properly trained, controlled and sanctioned by the Imperium and were necessary to its continued existence, the Space Marine Legions were no longer to employ psykers within their ranks. He commanded that the Primarchs were to close their Librarius departments forthwith and not to indulge the undoubted psychic talents of those Asartes who possessed the gift. All existing Space Marine Librarians were likewise forbidden to make use of their abilities. The Council's rulings also created a new position amongst the Space Marine Legions, the Space Marine Chaplain, to uphold the Imperial Truth and help maintain the purity of an Astartes Legion's dedication and fidelity to the Emperor's commands.

The Emperor ordered Magnus to cease the practice of sorcery and incantation, and the pursuit of all knowledge related to magic. Magnus, of course, did not like the idea, and he remained bitterly opposed to the decision made at Nikaea. But in the end, he bent his will to his father the Emperor and agreed to obey, though the machinations of the Ruinous Powers would ultimately lead to a far darker fate for Magnus the Red and his Thousand Sons. The Edicts of Nikaea stood largely untouched for the next 10,000 standard years as the primary Imperial policy regarding human psychic mutation. Only the edict against the use of Librarians within the ranks of the Space Marines would be reversed as a result of the Horus Heresy, as that terrible civil war made clear to the rulers of the Imperium that Astartes psykers were essential to combat the power of the Forces of Chaos.

Imperial Webway Project

Well over a standard century into the Great Crusade, the Emperor decided to return to Terra to oversee a special project that He intended to cap His ambitions for humanity. This was the secret Webway Project, in which the Emperor planned to use a special artifact from the Dark Age of Technology that had been discovered on Terra, the potent psychic amplifier known as the Golden Throne, to enter and reshape the Labyrinthine Dimension of the Eldar Webway to serve as a direct and instantaneous transport network between all the worlds of the Imperium. This human Webway would recreate the vast network of Warp Portals that had once bound together the Old Ones' and the Eldar's ancient interstellar empires and would allow Mankind to advance at a more rapid rate, scientifically and economically, than at any other time in its history. A human-dominated Webway would also truly unite the Imperium, preventing Mankind from ever again being divided by time and great distance. But this project would require all of His considerable attention and had to be pursued in secret, lest the Eldar or other opponents of the project learn of it and seek to stop it before the Emperor's efforts could come to fruition.

The Golden Throne had been built during the Dark Age of Technology to allow human access to the Eldar Webway and took the form of a heavily mechanised throne created from an unknown type of psychically-reactive gold-complected alloy that was suspended over a pair of massive doors composed of the same golden alloy. These doors acted as the portal to the Webway and were supposedly large enough for a Warhound-class Scout Titan to walk through upright. The Golden Throne was originally located in the depths of the Imperial Palace where the Emperor's original gene-laboratory complex had once stood, an area known as the Imperial Dungeon. Hundreds of red-robed Adeptus Mechanicus Tech-priests and Servitors toiled in the Imperial Dungeon, as the Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne and used His immense powers to hold the portal into the Webway open for His workers, who constructed a new section of the Labyrinthine Dimension intended to connect Terra to the rest of the largely abandoned Eldar transdimensional transport network. Because the Webway had been constructed from a psychically-resistant material intended to protect it from penetration by the entities of the Warp, and Mankind did not possess the technology required to replicate it, the Emperor had to personally shield the new human-built sections of the Webway from Warp incursions. This required him to remain on the Golden Throne continuously and was the reason why He had been forced to leave the Great Crusade in the hands of His Primarchs and return to Terra to oversee the project personally.

As such, following the extraordinary victory of Imperial forces over the greatest Ork WAAAGH! encountered by the Imperium, until the Third War for Armageddon 10,000 standard years later, during the Ullanor Crusade, the Emperor decided that He was no longer directly needed to command the efforts of the Great Crusade. To this end, the Emperor placed Horus, His favoured and most talented son, in charge of the military advancement of the Great Crusade in His stead. Horus was foremost amongst the Primarchs and was the first re-discovered by the Emperor on the dying world of Cthonia that lay so close to Terra that Warp-Drive was not needed to reach the planet. Horus was the only Primarch to serve in the Great Crusade alongside his father for many decades and was the most highly honoured of the Emperor's sons, the Primarch he most trusted and most loved. Granting him the unique title and rank of Warmaster, the Emperor declared that the time had come for His sons to show Him what great leaders they were. Turning His back on direct military matters, the Emperor then created the Council of Terra (the precursor of the High Lords of Terra), the Imperial Tithe, and expanded the civil governing and bureaucratic bodies of the Imperium like the Adeptus Administratum, before retiring in seclusion beneath the Imperial Palace to begin work upon the Golden Throne and His secret plan to invade the Webway of the Eldar and bring at least a portion of it under humanity's control. But the Emperor's decision to not tell His sons why He had retired to Terra as well as His decision to begin shifting the Imperium's government out of the direct control of the Primarchs and to the Terran nobility and bureaucrats whom they detested sowed the seeds of discord among the Primarchs, as did disquiet over the Emperor's decision to raise Horus above his brothers by naming him the Warmaster and thus their commanding officer. From these seeds of ambition, pride and jealousy the Chaos Gods would find fertile ground to corrupt many of the Primarchs and bring on the horrors of the Horus Heresy.

Horus Heresy

This turn of events did not please all of the Emperor's subjects, several of His Primarch sons in particular. In the final stages of the Great Crusade, the Emperor's most trusted son Horus succumbed to the temptations of Chaos. This seduction had been set in place over long decades by the Primarch Lorgar and his Word Bearers Legion. The idea of "the Pilgrimage," a journey to the legendary place where mortals could directly interact with the Gods, was an ancient mythological trope on many human-settled worlds of the Milky Way Galaxy, including Lorgar and the Word Bearers' home world of Colchis. Of course, such a place, the Warp, did exist, and one could discover the Primordial Truth of the universe there, i.e. that the Immaterium was dominated by the powerful spiritual entities known as the Chaos Gods.

Prompted by the so-called Pilgrimage of Lorgar to discover whether or not the Gods once worshiped by the adherents of the Old Faith of the Word Bearers' home world of Colchis actually existed, Lorgar journeyed with the Word Bearers Legion's Serrated Suns Chapter to what was then the fringes of known Imperial space as part of the 1301st Expeditionary Fleet of the Great Crusade. At this time, Lorgar had not yet fallen to the corruption of Chaos, though he had turned against the Emperor of Mankind as a deity no longer worthy of his worship after the Emperor and the Ultramarines had personally humiliated him and the entire Word Bearers Legion on the world of Khur 43 years before the start of the Horus Heresy.

The Emperor had come to Khur personally with His Regent, Malcador the Sigillite, after ordering the Ultramarines to destroy the Khurian city of Monarchia where the Emperor was worshiped as a God as a result of the teachings of the Word Bearers. He made his displeasure known to Lorgar about the Word Bearers spreading the religion of Emperor-worship to every world they brought into the Imperium, in direct contravention of the rationalist, atheist philosophy of the Imperial Truth. The Emperor forced the entire Legion to kneel against their will through the use of His psychic might and then explained that they were the only Astartes Legion to have failed His purpose during the Great Crusade. After this humiliation, Lorgar, on the advice of his First Captain Kor Phaeron and the Word Bearers' First Chaplain Erebus, decided to undertake a Pilgrimage to discover if the Gods worshiped by the ancient Old Faith of Colchis were real and worthy of the Word Bearers' faith and allegiance. Lorgar believed that the Emperor was wrong to condemn Mankind's natural instinct to seek out the divine as an unworthy superstition and he intended to discover if there were truly deities worthy of humanity's respect. To this end, though Lorgar no longer had any love or loyalty for the Emperor, he and his XVII Legion rejoined the Great Crusade but did so only for their efforts to serve as a front for their pursuit of the Pilgrimage.

The Word Bearers were also accompanied on this Pilgrimage by 5 members of the Adeptus Custodes who had been set by the Emperor to watch over everything the Word Bearers did to prevent them from falling back into error once more. The Word Bearers' pursuit of any scrap of information that could be found on the Primordial Truth or the nature of the place where Gods and mortals could mingle ultimately led the 1301st Expeditionary Fleet to the Cadia System near the largest Warp Storm in the universe, later known to the Imperium as the Eye of Terror. The Expeditionary Fleet's Master of Astropaths advised Lorgar that unusual "voices" in the Warp were heard in the vicinity of the great Warp rift, voices that spoke directly to the Primarch as well, which were the voices of the Chaos entities within the Immaterium. It would be in the Cadia System that Lorgar would learn that his suspicions had been correct and that all of the religions across the galaxy that possessed so many similarities to the Colchisian Old Faith were not coincidences, but expressions of worship in the universal truth that was the existence of Chaos.

The decision was made to hold orbit over Cadia and for the 1301st Fleet's elements to make planetfall on the unknown world, designated as 1301-12. The landing force was comprised of Imperial Army, Word Bearers, Adeptus Custodes and Legio Cybernetica elements. The landing party, led by Lorgar, was greeted by a large number of barbaric human tribes, tribes described as "dressed in rags and wielding spears tipped by flint blades...yet they showed little fear." Most notable were the barbarians' purple eyes, which reflected the colour of the Eye of Terror itself in the spectrum of visible light. Despite the Custodian Vendatha's protests and request to execute the heathens, the Word Bearers approached the natives. A strange woman emerged from the crowd and addressed the Primarch directly, calling him Lorgar Aurelian and welcoming him to Cadia. This woman, the Chaos priestess Ingethel, would ultimately lead the Primarch down a path of spiritual enlightenment that actually marked the beginning of Lorgar's fall to heresy and Chaos. Later, the Priestess Ingethel of Cadia would initiate a ritual that would see her transformed into the Daemon Prince known as Ingethel the Ascended, and then lead the 1301st Fleet's scout vessel Orfeo's Lament into the Eye of Terror.

Within the Eye of Terror, the Serrated Sun Chapter of the Word Bearers Legion witnessed the failure of the ancient Eldar empire first hand in the form of the Crone Worlds that had been scoured of all life that littered the Eye's region of space. Ingethel, of course, lied to the Word Bearers about how the Chaos God Slaanesh had truly been born and warned that the Eldar had failed as a species and suffered the Fall because at the moment of their ascension they were unable to accept the Primordial Truth, i.e. worship Chaos. They gave birth to a God of Pleasure, yet they had felt no joy at her coming. Their new God, Slaanesh, had awoken to consciousness in the 29st Millennium to find its worshippers abandoning it out of ignorance and fear, and from the Prince of Pleasure's grief was born the endless storm of the Great Eye (the Eye of Terror), an echo of the birth-screams of the Eldar's new and rejected God. The nature of the Primordial Truth was revealed to the Word Bearers in the ashes of the Eldar empire, and Ingethel warned them that in order for humanity as a species to survive they must not commit the same sins the Eldar did, and must instead accept the worship of Chaos.

The surviving Space Marines of the Word Bearers' Serrated Sun Chapter eventually returned to Cadia and related to Lorgar all that had happened and all that they had learned within the Eye, the place where mortals and Gods could meet. Following the visits into the Eye of Terror, Lorgar ordered a cyclonic bombardment of the planet, wiping out the Cadians and leaving the planet abandoned so that no others could stumble upon the secret of the Primordial Truth that had been entrusted to him alone by the Chaos Gods. However, the planet's extremely strategic location meant that it would prove useful to the Imperium and in the 32nd Millennium Imperial colonists were dispatched to resettle the world, becoming the ancestors of the present-day population of Cadians. Perhaps as a result of the Eye of Terror's proximity, this later population of Cadians also soon developed the unusual violet-coloured eyes that had marked the first human inhabitants of the planet.

This "truth" changed Lorgar and the Word Bearers forever as they were exposed to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos and slowly corrupted, the first of the Legiones Astartes to worship the Chaos Gods and become Traitors to the Emperor in their hearts. Lorgar and the Word Bearers spent the remaining years of the Great Crusade attempting to enlighten humanity about the true spiritual nature of Creation, ultimately resorting to manipulation and deception to sway nine of the Primarchs to the cause of Chaos as their Gods demanded, the most notable being the Warmaster Horus. When it became clear that Mankind could not be enlightened by Chaos without first being forcibly weaned at a great price in blood from the Emperor's false Imperial Truth, Lorgar willingly helped orchestrate the events of the Horus Heresy itself.

To this end, Lorgar used his Legion's First Chaplain Erebus as his agent. Erebus stole a Chaos-infected blade known as a Kinebrach Anathame from the branch of humanity known as the Interex during the Luna Wolves' brief contact with that technologically-advanced offshoot of Mankind. When Horus and the Luna Wolves personally arrived on the moon of the world of Davin to put down a rebellion against Imperial authority led by the former Planetary Governor Eugen Temba, Erebus made sure that the Anathame ended up in Temba's hands where he could use it to wound Horus. Temba had become a servant of the Plague Lord Nurgle and the moon of Davin was a decaying swamp filled with undead horrors like Plague Zombies created from Temba's Imperial Army garrison who caused Horus and the Luna Wolves no small amount of grief. In a final confrontation on the bridge of his downed Imperial warship, Horus slew the vile Nurgleite, but not before the Anathame bit deep into his flesh and delivered a toxin personally created by the Plague Lord, a poison so powerful that not even the Primarch's enhanced immune system could successfully fight it off. In desperation, the Luna Wolves allowed Erebus to take Horus to the Davinite Lodge Priests of the Temple of the Serpent Lodge, a Chaotic temple on Davin, who promised that they could heal the Warmaster.

During his "healing," the Warmaster's spirit was actually sent into the Immaterium to meet with the Ruinous Powers with Erebus as his guide. Drawing on the Primarch's own untapped subconscious wells of ambition and jealousy, Horus was shown in a vision granted by the Ruinous Powers that the reason the Emperor had left the Great Crusade and returned to Terra was so that he could attempt to reach godhood, abandon all his sons and betray the Imperial Truth's promise to enlighten humanity and free it from the shackles of false gods and organised religion. Believing this vision of the future, which ironically was actually a vision of the Imperium that would only come to pass because of his betrayal of the Emperor, Horus saw it as his duty to save the Imperium of Man from such a fate and turned on his father, accepting the assistance of the Ruinous Powers in the guise of Chaos Undivided in return for his actions against the Emperor. Having corrupted fully half of the Space Marine Legions to the service of Chaos, Horus then led them against the Emperor and plunged the fledgling galactic empire into a colossal civil war that lasted for 7 standard years and began with the terrible betrayals of the Loyalist forces during the Battles of Istvaan III and Istvaan V. This conflict, known to later generations as the Horus Heresy, became the most terrible in human history, and billions perished as the Traitor Legions tore apart the empire they had helped to forge. The climax of the conflict came during the Battle of Terra, when the Traitor Legions and the other Forces of Chaos that they led unsuccessfully assaulted the heart of the Imperial Palace itself. Unable to breach the Inner Palace and the throne room of the Emperor due to the sacrifice of countless Loyalist Astartes and the victory of the Primarch Sanguinius over the Bloodthirster Greater Daemon Ka'Bandha, Horus feared that his forces were running out of time as Loyalist reinforcements moved to reach Terra and relieve their compatriots. Hoping to force a final confrontation that would decide the course of the war once and for all, Horus deliberately dropped the Void Shields surrounding his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, which stood in orbit above Mankind's homeworld.

Throughout all of this, the Emperor had been forced to remain on the mechanism of the Golden Throne. At the start of the Horus Heresy, the Primarch Magnus the Red had violated the Edicts of Nikaea to use sorcery to penetrate the psychic wards of the Imperial Palace and bring news of Horus' treachery directly to the Emperor. The Emperor had refused to believe Magnus' warning about His favored son and instead came to believe that it was Magnus who had been corrupted by Chaos because of his decision to continue to use sorcery in violation of Imperial law. The Emperor dispatched Leman Russ and his Space Wolves Legion to bring Magnus back to Terra to account for his actions, but Horus tampered with the Emperor's orders and had the Space Wolves launch an all-out assault on the Thousand Sons Legion's home world of Prospero that ultimately led to the fall of the Thousand Sons and Magnus to Chaos and the service of the Chaos God Tzeentch in order to save both themselves and all the knowledge they had collected over the centuries. At the same time, Magnus' spell to penetrate the Imperial Palace's psychic wards had also badly damaged the Webway Project, allowing hordes of daemons to gleefully punch through the Emperor's weakened psychic shield and assault the thousands of Adeptus Mechanicus workers constructing the human portions of the Webway. The Adeptus Custodes and the Sisters of Silence were forced to fight a desperate battle to prevent the daemons from pouring through the portal generated by the Golden Throne and into the dungeon of the Imperial Palace itself. While the Imperial forces were ultimately successful in fighting back the daemonic assault, only the Emperor was powerful enough to keep the portal closed and the daemons trapped within the human-constructed Webway. As a result, as the Horus Heresy reached its climax seven standard years after its start, the Emperor was forced to remain on the Golden Throne at all times save for the few moments when Malcador the Sigillite, the Regent of Terra and the second strongest human psyker, could take His place.

When the Emperor learned of Horus' action in lowering his flagship's Void Shields during the final Battle of Terra, He realised that His treacherous son was actually offering an invitation to battle. The Emperor believed He had to take the war to Horus to put an end to the terrible conflict once and for all. He had Malcador the Sigillite take his place upon the Golden Throne to protect Terra from a daemonic assault and prepared a strike team of Astartes to face the Warmaster on his own ground. The last act of the bloody treachery of the Horus Heresy was played out above Terra, as the Emperor led a desperate assault of Imperial Fists and Blood Angels Space Marines against Horus' Chaos-corrupted flagship, using teleporter technology to make their way aboard. The Primarch Sanguinius also accompanied the assault force, but the Warmaster's Chaotic powers caused the attackers to be split up and teleported to random locations throughout the massive warship. Sanguinius reached Horus first and met him in a mighty battle that resulted in his own death at his brother's hands, but not before the angelic Primarch managed to create a small gap in the Warmaster's Terminator Armour. The Emperor eventually managed to make His way to the Battle Barge's bridge.

Though the Emperor was a being of unfathomable psychic and physical might, Horus had become a being of monstrous Chaotic strength, bloated with the combined powers of all four Chaos Gods, the true champion of Chaos Undivided, even as the Emperor remained the Champion of Order. The two champions engaged one another in a tragic battle of father and son, as Horus mortally wounded the Emperor, tearing off one of His arms and shattering His internal organs, largely because the Emperor still loved Horus and could not bring Himself to use the full extent of His psychic abilities to defeat His son. At the critical point in the battle, a lone Adeptus Custodes warrior entered the Battle Barge's bridge, having successfully caught up to his master. Horus flayed him alive with but a look using the potent powers of Chaos sorcery that he now commanded. In that instant of Horus' pure cruelty and casual disregard for human life, the Emperor finally realized how truly far His favored son had fallen into the grip of the Ruinous Powers and how Mankind would suffer and ultimately be destroyed under his rule. The sacrifice of the Custodian bought the Emperor the time He needed to deliver a finishing blow to Horus. With iron resolve, He gathered the full strength of His mind at last and delivered a massive psychic attack through the chink in his Terminator Armour that killed Horus almost instantly and obliterated his very soul from the Warp so that the Chaos Gods could not resurrect their champion. In his final moments, the corrupting powers of Chaos briefly relinquished their hold on the Warmaster's soul and the Emperor sensed the return of His son's sanity in the seconds before his consciousness was utterly obliterated. The Emperor felt only Horus' utter horror at what he had done under the influence of Chaos and gratitude that he had at last been released from its grip before the Warmaster's psyche dissolved into shining motes of psychic energy dispersed amidst the howling voices of the Immaterium.

It was in this battered and bleeding state that the Emperor was found by Rogal Dorn, the Primarch of the Imperial Fists Legion who had accompanied the assault force onto the Vengeful Spirit. Dorn returned with the Emperor to the Imperial Palace, where Malcador the Sigillite simply crumbled to ash upon relinquishing his place upon the Golden Throne, for his body and mind had been burned out by the strain of holding the Golden Throne's portal closed for the time that the Emperor had been aboard the Warmaster's flagship. The dying Emperor quickly dictated plans to Dorn for the modification of the Golden Throne into an arcane life support machine that would sustain His remaining cells in an undying state between life and true death for over ten thousand years, and He was subsequently interred in this altered version of the Golden Throne. The throne's mechanisms would also allow the Emperor to maintain the Astronomican and battle the influence of the Chaos Gods in the Warp so long as His mind was empowered and sustained with the psychic energies of 1,000 psykers every day, preventing a daemonic incursion on Terra and helping to sustain Mankind against Chaos' corruptive influence throughout the galaxy. His strength rapidly failing, the Emperor had only enough time to give His final, brief instructions to Rogal Dorn before the Golden Throne's modified mechanisms were activated and He was placed within an unending stasis for more than 10,000 standard years. Only His mind remained active within the Warp as His dying body continued to decay at a glacially slow pace.

At Present (Late 41st Millennium)

As mentioned above, the Emperor's shattered and mortally wounded body was discovered on the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit by the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, Rogal Dorn, who, following the Emperor's instructions, oversaw His internment within the Golden Throne, the arcane device modified at the Emperor's own direction to sustain his mind and decaying body. The Imperial Cult, after its establishment as the state religion of the Imperium in the 34th Millennium, would later claim that this internment within the Golden Throne had been necessary so that the Emperor could leave the physical plane behind and "ascend" once more to his proper place in the Immaterium as the one, true God of Mankind after sacrificing Himself to save humanity from the Traitor Horus. The Emperor has remained in the Golden Throne since His "ascension" to this day, neither fully living nor wholly dead. Although the device was initially intended to be used as the nexus of the Emperor's secret project to utilize the Eldar Webway for the good of humanity, the Golden Throne also now functions as a complex life support device and psychic amplifier, projecting the Emperor's mind into the Warp and across the galaxy. The Golden Throne itself lies in the Sanctum Imperialis, the great hall at the heart of the Imperial Palace guarded by the Emperor's Companions, a special and highly elite bodyguard contingent of the Adeptus Custodes. The Emperor's decaying physical form is preserved by the vast arcane machinery of the Golden Throne, which itself is maintained by a legion of Tech-priests from the Adeptus Mechanicus. His psychic essence is spread out across the whole of the galaxy through the Warp, watching over as much of humanity as He can manage in His current depleted state, in order to keep the Ruinous Powers at bay.

The Golden Throne is also connected to a massive psychic beacon known as the Astronomican, which makes faster than light travel possible for Imperial starships outfitted with a Warp-Drive by generating a telepathic signal by which the specialised mutant psykers known as Navigators are able to navigate through Warpspace. The Astronomican signal is originated by the Emperor's mind, but is amplified and directed by a choir of 10,000 human psykers. These individuals are selected for their psychic prowess, their ability to control their power, and are put to the task only after undergoing a rigorous process that includes their soul-binding to the Emperor to strengthen their minds against possession by daemonic entities. The life force of these psykers is consumed over the course of several months, 1,000 of whom die every day, which means that replacements must constantly be found and brought to Terra aboard the infamous Black Ships of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the Imperial organisation responsible for regulating humans who possess the psychic mutation. The selected psykers are, for the most part, indoctrinated to accept their fate as their sacred duty for the Imperium, for they are too dangerous to those around them to be allowed to live, and the sacrifice of their life is the greatest good that they can do in service to the God-Emperor. Those who prove less willing to give themselves for the glorious cause of Mankind are sedated and their psychic life force fed to the power collection mechanism of the Golden Throne regardless. The Imperium must survive, regardless of the daily cost in lives.

It is said that the Emperor's existence is one of endless pain and suffering, and that it is only His utter devotion to the human race that keeps Him from accepting the death He now desperately longs to embrace. Should the Emperor die, then the Astronomican will become useless, and humanity will no longer be able to safely travel through the Warp using its current technology (although this may be disputed by the fact that humanity traveled the stars before the Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne, during the Dark Age of Technology and the Great Crusade). The Imperium would then become fractured and disintegrate into civil war. The reliance on the Emperor's life force for guidance and protection, and the dedication of His subjects to prevent his death, is the foundation for the Emperor's divinity as held by the Imperial Cult and countless billions of human beings across the galaxy. Only the Astartes of the Space MarineChapters do not openly believe the Emperor is divine, instead dimly remembering and honouring His determination to free Mankind from the shackles of superstition and organised religion even as they revere Him as the founder of the Imperium and the greatest human leader in history.

Yet now something unexpected has happened. Even as the Imperium came under assault from the greatest conglomeration of the Forces of Chaos since the Horus Heresy with the unleashing of Abaddon the Despoiler's 13th Black Crusade in 999.M41, the Adeptus Mechanicus reported a terrible secret to the High Lords of Terra and the Adeptus Custodes. The highly advanced life support mechanisms of the Golden Throne have begun to fail and the Tech-priests no longer possess the knowledge necessary to repair them. Unless some solution can be found or some miracle intervenes, the Emperor's mummified body will eventually die and His mind and spirit will gutter out like a candle in the wind amidst the madness of the Warp, leaving Mankind all alone in the darkness. And then the predators will feast...

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com

[celticnoise]

ALEX GORDON, co-author of Tommy Gemmell’s autobiography, ‘All The Best’, takes a look back at a sad event 12 months ago and shares the moment with CQN.

Exactly three years ago I lost one of my best friends, Tommy Gemmell, forever remembered, of course, as a player in Celtic’s greatest-ever team, the Lisbon Lions.

I have to confess I have missed that big guy every day since his passing. My wife Gerda, Tommy and I had lunch at least once a week for six years.

Gerda did the driving to take us through from Glasgow to Dunblane and that allowed Tommy and I to have a ‘snifter’, as he called it. When we weren’t chatting over drinks and ‘lumpy stuff’ – another of Tommy’s favourite terms – we were on the phone practically every day, sometimes two or three times as things came to mind.

Anyway, here, in full, is the eulogy I delivered at the funeral service on March 10, 2017.

I hope is does my big mate justice.

TOMMY GEMMELL – EULOGY

Hello, ladies, gentlemen and friends of Tommy Gemmell.

Mary has asked me to say a few words about her husband Tommy. And she has made me promise to trim it to under an hour.

I’ll do my best.

Okay, where to start when you are talking about a genuine Celtic legend, a unique footballer and human being who made the beautiful game even more attractive by his awesome presence?

Well-deserved tributes have been paid over the past eight days to a man who will be remembered for all time in Celtic folklore.

Tommy Gemmell touched the hearts of so many and he gave us all an avalanche of outstanding memories to treasure and cherish.

Only a few weeks ago, at his bedside in the Glasgow care facility that had become home for almost three months, I asked him what it was like to make so many people smile.

How did it feel knowing his goal in Lisbon would still be being replayed in one hundred years’ time? And one hundred years after that?

“Ach, I’m happy if I made other people happy,” he said without a trace of mock modesty. He added: “Mind you, I enjoyed it, too.”

Life was never dull around Tommy Gemmell. He was a generous, big-hearted personality who was one of the most humble guys I ever had the honour to meet and call a friend.

He was an ordinary bloke who did extraordinary things.

Tommy Gemmell is the only British player to score in two European Cup Finals AND a World Club Championship Final. That feat will never be equalled.

I was still at school when I first clapped eyes on this remarkable character in 1963. I’ve been a Celtic supporter as far back as I can remember and I used to attend all the games in the old Jungle at Celtic Park with my dad and two uncles.

The first left-back I can remember at Celtic was a sturdy, no-nonsense fellow by the name of Jim Kennedy.

He was a proper full-back with his shorts pulled up to his armpits, concrete-reinforced shinpads and boots that must have weighed about four stone each.

It didn’t matter that he was as mobile as Frankenstein’s monster because he rarely ventured into the other team’s half.

He was a defender and he was there to defend. I recall his main strength was his ability to lob the opposing outside-right about 50 yards with devastating accuracy.

In Jim Kennedy’s own words: “I was purely a defender and tended to get a nosebleed if I went over the halfway line.”

And then in came this young whippersnapper by the name of Tommy Gemmell. He was 19 years old at the time and didn’t look like any full-back I had ever seen. No sign of bulky shinpads, no boots made in John Brown’s shipyard.

He was blond, tall, lithe and stylish.

And he could run like an Olympic athlete. Bewilderingly, he would spend a fair percentage of the game in enemy territory and he possessed the kick like an angry mule as he routinely terrified opposing goalkeepers.

He was a swashbuckling character who performed with a swagger.

Tommy Gemmell was here to stay.

For me, it was adoration at first sight.

Of course, what I – and thousands of other Celtic fans didn’t realise at the time – was the fact Tommy was going against strict orders from Sean Fallon, who was Jimmy McGrory’s assistant manager, who threatened to drop him if he continued to cross the halfway line.

Tommy, being Tommy, chose to ignore those instructions.

And we can all be eternally grateful for that. If he had listened to the assistant manager, Celtic Football Club might not have a certain celebration to look forward to on May 25.

Tommy Gemmell scored 63 goals for Celtic. Even including 31 penalty-kicks, that is a stupendous record for a full-back.

We should make no mistake, Tommy revolutionised that position.

And he took on that task on his own. Jock Stein, of course, became Celtic manager in March 1965 and, as we all recognised, he encouraged attacking football.

That suited Tommy Gemmell, but it must be noted Big Jock told him his main role in the team was to defend and heaven help him if he was marked absent when crosses were allowed to come into the Celtic box.

But there was just no way you could curb the adventurous spirit or the eye-catching antics of this amazing footballer.

Tommy Gemmell was a cavalier in green and white hoops as he relentlessly hurtled up and down the right and left wings.

Soon opponents were putting out wingers to man-mark the Celtic full-back. Incredible.

So, we know all about the goals, the gongs and the glory of Tommy Gemmell’s remarkable career at club and country level.

What about the man?

I could never have dreamed how things would pan out for Tommy Gemmell and that wee boy in the Jungle. Truly, as they say, you couldn’t make it up. Fact is often stranger than fiction.

I first interviewed Tommy in 1969 for a football magazine when I was 17 and working as a sports sub-editor on the Daily Record newspaper.

To me, and many others, he wasn’t just the best left-back at Celtic or in Scotland, he was the best left-back in the world.

If Tommy had been born in Rio de Janiero and not Craigneuk, he would have been a global sensation.

I recall that interview vividly. I was a nervous wreck when I dialled his phone number. “Hello,’ said the voice at the other end.

“Hello,” I responded. I managed to blurt out: “I’m looking for Mr Gemmell.”

“You’ve found him,” came the friendly reply. “And my name’s Tommy. What can I do for you?”

I explained who I was and that I was looking for an interview for a football magazine. I asked: “May I steal five minutes of your time?”

There was a laugh at the other end of the line. “No, you may not steal five minutes of my time. Take as long as you want, son.”

That conversation lasted 48 years, on and off.

Tommy Gemmell transformed from hero to friend in a heartbeat that day.

He put a rookie interviewer at ease and I never forgot that simple act of kindness.

He was always there when I needed him, nothing was too much bother for this guy. Eventually, we met in person and we kept the friendship going.

This generous man – and I use the word ‘generous’ in all its many aspects – gave up his time to spend hours being interviewed by me and the sports reporters of various other newspapers and magazines.

We all knew he was an intelligent, witty character and the stories just about wrote themselves. Tommy Gemmell never asked for a penny for his time.

There were other individuals in the sport without a scintilla of Tommy Gemmell’s ability who’s first question would be if you asked them for an interview was “How much?”

There was a well-known character who was known to the Press as FIFA.

And I’m not talking about world football’s governing body.

You spoke to this guy and it was a case of “a fee for this” and “a fee for that.”

That was not Tommy Gemmell’s style.

As a human being, Tommy insisted there were two classes: First and none. Guess which category fitted Tommy.

Tommy Gemmell, of course, played his football as he lived his life, with a smile on his face. And he lived life to the full, believe me.

I left the Sunday Mail, where I had been sports editor, in 1994 and acquired a sports news agency called 7 Day Press. I moved the company to West Nile Street in Glasgow city centre.

Around the same time, the financial advisers where Tommy worked shifted across the city to…West Nile Street. Suddenly, my big pal and I were neighbours.

The Iron Horse pub was directly opposite my office and a short free-kick from Tommy’s. Needless to say, it became headquarters. Two or three times a week, I would receive a phone call from Tommy: “HQ, five minutes.”

Who could turn down that request?

This went on for for the best part of 20 years. Just an hour or so in each other’s company, a lot of the time on our own – well, as much as you can be on your own in a pub in the heart of Glasgow.

Tommy Gemmell was, of course, still an instantly recognisable figure.

I want to meet the genius who invented mobile camera phones.

I’ve taken more snaps that David Bailey and Lord Lichfield combined.

Complete strangers would burst into our company, it didn’t matter that we were having a private conversation, and embrace Tommy like a long lost brother.

And Tommy always had time for those fans. They would hand me their phone and order me to take a picture.

Tommy would pose with his new best friend and have a natter before another satisfied punter left, looking at his phone and a memento that would no doubt be kept forever.

Again, that was so typical of the man. He loved Celtic Football Club, but, equally, he loved Celtic fans.

Eleven months ago – on April 8, to be precise – Tommy made his last appearance at a supporters’ function

Ironically, it was the Dunblane Tommy Gemmell Celtic Supporters’ Club and they were celebrating their 20th anniversary at Stirling Rugby Club.

In truth, he wasn’t in the greatest of health. He could quite easily have politely declined the invitation. However, he made up his mind he was going to make an effort and go to the function.

“‘I don’t want to let anyone down,” he said. My wife Gerda and I drove to Dunblane to pick him up that Friday night. He didn’t look well at all, but he was absolutely determined he would attend the function. There was no changing his mind.

Tommy saw out most of the evening before we drove him home again. We took him to his ground floor flat. Normally, he would ask us in for what he termed a snifter.

But, on this evening, he turned and said: “Do you mind if I go straight to bed? I’m a wee bit tired.”

He looked shattered, out on his feet, but there was no way Tommy Gemmell was going to let down the people he always insisted were the greatest fans in the world.

On our days in the Iron Horse pub, Tommy’s tipple was dry white wine, but he always finished with a brandy and port.

Somewhere along the line we would have blotting paper – Tommy’s euphemism for food – but when we were winding down to go back to our respective workplaces, he would order up a brandy and port – “Gentleman’s measure, please”.

For the uninitiated in the ways of pub culture, a “Gentleman’s measure” is a double.

However, I have this feeling if Tommy had still been around in May he might have fancied a treble.

Even heroes have heroes and Tommy’s favourite sportsman of all-time was Muhammad Ali, for many people, rightly proclaimed as ‘The Greatest’.

Muhammad Ali was the world heavyweight boxing champion by the time he visited Scotland in August 1965.

It was arranged for Ali to visit Celtic Park and then Ibrox and, of course, the press was out in force. Ali posed for all sorts of pictures, even hammed it up in a kilt and Tommy was like a kid when I talked to him years later about his meeting with his hero.

Tommy told me: “He was an awesome presence. You saw him on the telly, but you never really appreciated the size of the guy or his fabulous physique. The dimensions of his hands were like sides of ham. And, of course, he was such an immaculately-honed sportsman with incredible good looks.

“Apart from that, he was just an ordinary fella.”

As Ali prepared to leave Celtic Park to go and meet the Rangers players, Tommy told him to look out for Willie Henderson, the club’s fabulous wee outside-right who also became a lifelong friend of Tommy.

Willie Henderson is a boxing aficionado. Tommy, in fact, made the point Willie actually looked like a boxer on account of his squashed nose.

Anyway, Muhammad Ali and his entourage arrived in Govan and went through the same routines with the Rangers players, posing for photographs and so on.

Willie, as expected, took the opportunity to introduce himself to the world’s greatest-ever fighter. They shook hands and Ali looked at Willie’s nose.

“You a footballer?” he asked.

“Aye,” answered Willie.

Ali took another glance at the Rangers player’s flattened hooter.

“Man, I’m sure glad I’m a boxer,” he said.

Of course, Muhammad Ali passed away in June last year at the age of 74, a year older than Tommy. Can you imagine the chat these two guys could be having today as they discuss their sporting achievements?

The affection in which Tommy Gemmell held Willie Henderson is obvious today. Willie, who doesn’t drive, made frequent visits to his big pal in Dunblane and, latterly, Glasgow.

I love the story Tommy told me about Willie turning on a Rangers team-mate when they were at a footballing function.

He was chatting to Tommy when an Ibrox colleague said: “What are you talking to him for? He does nothing but kick you when you’re out on the football park.”

Willie bristled. “He’s never kicked me in his life. Tripped me up, tugged my jersey and pulled me down.

“But he’s never kicked me!”

Alex Gordon helps Tommy on his last journey along with Willie Henderson and Bobby Lennox.

Speaking of wonderful wee touchline magicians, we couldn’t possibly miss a mention of Jimmy Johnstone.

Tommy Gemmell loved his fellow-Lisbon Lions and what they achieved for Celtic, in particular, and the world of football, in general.

He could spend hours extolling the virtues of Ronnie Simpson, Jim Craig, Bobby Murdoch, Billy McNeill, John Clark, Willie Wallace, Stevie Chalmers, Bertie Auld and Bobby Lennox.

It must be said he was also a big fan of Davie Hay.

But there is no doubt that wee Jinky Johnstone had a special place in the heart of Tommy Gemmell. They were football’s odd couple with Tommy standing at 6ft 2in and Jinky at just 5ft 4in.

They first met even before they joined Celtic as they both attended Burnbank Technical College in Lanarkshire.

Tommy had thoughts of becoming an electrician and Jinky was training to become a welder. Thankfully, their career paths took a dramatically different course.

Tommy and Jinky both signed for Celtic in the winter of 1961 and became the best of buddies throughout their lives.

Tommy had a host of tales about Jinky, who, of course, was voted the Greatest-Ever Celtic Player by the supporters.

We all knew what he got up to on the field, but his off-the-field antics were just as entertaining.

Tommy told me the story of Jinky turning up at Celtic Park one day with a brand new Jaguar car. The wee man was as proud as Punch.

“Tam, come and have a smell at these seats. They’re real leather – that’s no’ rubber. Classy wheels, eh? A cigar lighter, too.” And so on.

Tommy agreed to let Jinky pick him after training the following day and they would head up to Crief for a relaxing spot of fishing.

They were heading to one of Tommy’s favourite spots and he was giving his wee mate directions.

At one point, they came to a roundabout.

“Which way, Tam?” asked Jinky.

“Straight through, Wee Man,” answered Tommy.

And with that, Jinky drove up onto the roundabout, through flower beds and all sorts of plants and down the other side.

“What the hell was that?” screamed Tommy.

“Well, you said straight through,” answered Jinky.

Tommy Gemmell will always be remembered as the guy who sent West German midfielder Helmut Haller into orbit when Scotland were playing in a World Cup qualifier in Hamburg in 1969.

The Scots were losing 3-2 in a crucial game that would go a long way to determining their hopes of playing in Mexico the following year.

With a minute to go, Tommy was charging through into his favourite position about 25 yards out and lining up a shot with his mighty right boot.

Haller snaked out a foot and blatantly tripped Tommy.

Tommy went down in a heap and was furious when the Swiss referee didn’t award the expected free-kick. His mood didn’t get any better when he saw Haller laughing.

The red mist came down and Tommy chased after the West German and attempted to put him over the stand.

Helmut Haller died in October 2012. I telephoned Tommy to get his reaction. Quick as a flash, he said: “I hope they’re not going to blame me.”

I won’t dwell on Tommy Gemmell’s latter years. My wife and I travelled through to Dunblane to go for lunch once a week for almost six years. It was always a pleasure to spend time in this bloke’s company.

We spoke on the phone virtually every day.

Of course, the chat always got around to Celtic. Tommy wasn’t able to get to as many games at Celtic Park as he would have liked, but he still retained a special interest in the club.

He would see the action on TV and read the reports. He always paid particular attention to the left-backs over the years. He rated the players who went that extra mile and realised that attack was the best form of defence.

Tommy liked Andy Lynch, who, of course, had started his career as an outside-left with Hearts.

He enjoyed the exciting forays of Emilio Izaguirre and I can tell you he had the highest regard for Kieran Tierney.

Genuinely, he spoke in glowing terms about the young man and I suppose if anyone could spot a left-back it would be Tommy Gemmell.

In the past six months or so, Tommy’s health was faltering. He was becoming increasingly frail, but I never once heard him moan about the situation.

One of his favourite sayings was: “Why should a living man ever complain?”

I didn’t think there was anything left for Tommy Gemmell to do to prove he was such an inspiration.

I was in awe of the courage, strength and character of the man.

One of his favourite actors was John Wayne.

Even Hollywood at its most far-fetched could never have captured the spirit and fortitude of Tommy Gemmell as he spent virtually the last three months of his incredible life bed-bound.

On December 7 last year, Tommy moved from Dunblane to the 3 Bridges care facility in the south side of Glasgow, ironically not far from Hampden Park.

He had fought and overcome so many obstacles as a footballer and a man, but this was one fight even the great Tommy Gemmell could not win.

Last Thursday morning around 1.30, Tommy passed away. His wife Mary, who had been at his bedside for practically an entire week, phoned me a few minutes later.

“Tommy’s gone,” she said. Those were the words we dreaded, but realised were inevitable.

You may believe you are well prepared for the news, but the words still hit you with the force of a wrecking ball.

At that moment, the world lost a good man, Celtic lost a favourite son, football lost a legend and my wife Gerda and I lost an exceptional friend.

More importantly, Mary lost a wonderful husband she called “the love of my life”.

Tommy Gemmell, after a decade of unparalleled success at Parkhead, was transferred to Nottingham Forest in December 1971. He was 28. And, of course, he didn’t want to leave Celtic.

It was only a matter of time before he returned to Paradise. And he managed that this morning.

Rest In Peace, old chum.

  https://ift.tt/2F8bhM3

[rattle-the-stars-gb-blog]

ACOTAR fanfic ch.1

I was on the edge of the street, sprawled across the curb.  Confusion panged through me.  I rose at the same time wailing resounded in my chest, coming from the street over.  I knew then, something awful had happened.  Panic gripped me and I was afraid to see the destruction of my home, Velaris.  What happened?  A crushing headache slammed into my head, crippling my thoughts.

Pushing through the pain, I tried to remember what happened. Even though the  headache clouded the memories I desperately craved, flashes peaked through my consciousness.  Not enough to actually know what happened... but enough for specific emotions and sensations, images and people to flash in my mind.  Pain, death, suffering. 

Fear, crippling fear crashed through me.  A battle had happened.  I raised my gaze from the cracked stones of the sidewalk and looked to my surroundings.  Tears welled in my eyes.  Bodies were everywhere, blood leaking from their wounds.  Some of them stirred, while others did not.  My people.  There was so much blood and death.  So much pain and suffering; and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Breathe.  Just Breathe.  Your name is Asteria.  You live in Velaris.  You love to read and to paint.   This is your home... you will not be afraid. I told myself trying to calm down

A blood curdling stream echoed throughout the streets.  The scream had come from the Rainbow, the artists quarter of Velaris.  The most peaceful quarter, and it seemed as if the concentration of the enemy force was there.  I then realized... the fight was not over.  Velaris could still be saved, and the people I cared for so much could live.  If only there was someone there to stop the carnage and defeat the unknown attackers of my home.  I tried to get up but pain lanced through my side.

"Ahh," I sucked in a breath as I looked down.  Blood was soaking through my tunic, originating from a gash in my side.

I ignored the pain, Gods know that I've had worse injuries, and I stood up to face the incoming assault.  My power rose to help me, but I refused and pushed it down.  Causing it to churn in anticipation.  I gripped the blades hidden in my tunic ready for a fight.  I crouched down into my fighting stance, blades at the ready, as I surged towards the Rainbow, prepared to defend my home.

But then I saw a strange woman.  One I had seen earlier that day, I think.  I was not able to remember, but the woman looked and smelled familiar.  She stomped down at the edge of the water, and the water rose to her command.  I sucked in a breath.  Such power she held.

She closed her eyes as if preparing for something.  But when she opened them, pure power churned in her irises.  Her blades rose and the river obeyed her command rising with her blades, forming shapes.  She was creating hounds out of water and as they broke free, the creatures began to flee.  The woman was rushing them towards the intruders of her home, her golden brown  hair streaming behind her.  The woman was rushing with her water wolves destroying enemies in her wake, cutting down more soldiers that had surrounded the shopkeeper she defended earlier.  The sight of her stirred a memory and I let it engulf me. 

"My name is Feyre. " she answered.  Furrowing her brow.  So, the woman coming to aid the rainbow was called Feyre.  I had never heard the name, but nevertheless, she smelled familiar.

Feyre halted whispering two words, "The Sidra," and rushed towards the river.  Leaving me to deal with the creatures.  I unstrapped my blades and fell into my training from so long ago.  Rushing towards the creatures, roaring I dealt them fatal blows. Liberating their heads from their necks.  I rushed down the street, bodies of the creatures in my wake.

Her name was Feyre, and she was defending the rainbow with water wolves of her own creation.  I marveled at the power she wielded.  My own power still churning within me.  I saw Feyre raise her arm and as she did, the winged creatures fell from the sky and then shattered upon impact on the stones.   She had frozen their wings.

The screams changed.  They were no longer from the people around me, but from the soldiers and creatures attacking us as Feyre's water wolves raged around us.  I saw her look up into the sky as she sent birds made of water towards an escaping creature.  Irritation crossed her face as I stood still, in awe of this familiar yet unknown woman.  She sheathed her blade and picked up an arrow before winnowing onto a nearby rooftop.  I was amazed when she winnowed again, but this time she landed right on top of the creature. 

A shudder passed through me as tendrils of night whispered through the streets, searching for someone.  I ran from the tendrils into a nearby shop hiding from the familiar powers.  Evading recognition in this time of chaos.  I looked outside the window back towards Feyre and the creature screamed.  I gasped as she turned into a ball of flame and the creature began to fall.  I looked closer and I saw that she had punctured his wings with arrows the soldiers had been firing at us with earlier.

The dark tendrils retreated, finding the one they searched for.  They found their way back to their dark master and then started to surge for Feyre.  I knew I should run, but I was in a trance that I could not escape.  I opened the door to the shop and stood in the frame, marveling at what Feyre was doing.  This woman I didn't know, sacrificing herself for people who did not know her.  As the creature and Feyre descended I saw her stab the creature over and over again with a personal vendetta.  Right before they both hit the stones of the street, Feyre winnowed away, leaving the creature to splatter on the stones.  She appeared next to it and rose, right before falling against the wall behind her.

I made to rush and help her but something stopped me in my tracks.  Star flecked night swept through  the streets.  I could hear grunting and squelching before the night was lifted, before it reached me.  I breathed a sigh of relief.   A man was in front of Feyre.  Lifting her chin to meet his eyes.  I stiffened.  Eyes I knew where violet, like my own.  Love bloomed in Feyre's eyes as the high lord leaned forward meeting her with a gentle kiss.  Rhysand.  The high lord.  He looked at the woman with such love that it made me tear up.  I heard him whisper her name, like a prayer, Feyre.  Then I knew, she, the woman I had met moments ago-- Feyre-- was his.  His beloved...his mate.  I could clearly see the golden chain of their bond reaching from her chest and towards his.  She collapsed into his arms and began to cry.  I took a step forward, my body betraying my mind. And then the high lord stiffened, smelling the air as recognition of my scent hit home.  I reached into my pocket spraying the potion on my neck to reduce my scent.  I calmed, knowing he could no longer smell me I watched from afar as tears welled in his eyes remembering that scent and the pain that went with it.  But the tears never fell.  He looked to his mate with steely resolve and calmed.

It brought tears to my eyes.  He was being strong, not for himself, but for his mate.  He nuzzled her neck comforting her.   As my own tears dripped from my cheeks I ran away from the embraced couple.  I ran so not be to discovered.  Recognized. It brought even more tears to my face.  I should be running towards him, not away from him.  Towards the boy who once brought great comfort... but only brought sadness and lingering pain to be felt now.  The high lord, my...never mind what he was.  I was dead to that world and I would never go back.  To the heartbreak and the danger.

I ran through the streets of Velaris to get to my safe haven: my apartment.  The only place where I felt truly safe and alone.  Protected from those stupid Illyrian noses.  Away from prying eyes and people that I had to keep up a front for. 

My beautiful apartment.  The first time I walked into the top floor loft I broke into tears.  It felt so much like home.  It was the first time I had felt safe since... the greatest sadness in my life.  I knew when I walked into my apartment for the first time exactly what I would paint on the walls.  Exactly how it would look, because it was my home.

Since then I have painted the walls for my namesake and my home.  I painted falling stars.  When my mother named me, she wanted to honor our heritage and birthplace by naming me Asteria, after the goddess of falling stars and nighttime. It didn't really help that my birthday was on one of the most cherished holidays in the Night Court.  Starfall.  The one day a year where the stars fall rejoining their loved ones.

Breaking from the image of my mother and the pain I felt, I saw my surroundings and slowed.  I passed broken shops and citizens roaming the streets, looking for loved ones.  I saw a woman cradling her dead child and a man staggering by with an expressionless face.  Almost as if he left his body to escape this bloodbath.  I saw my favorite bakery ripped to shreds and the owners lying dead inside.  The ones I had seen moments ago.  Seeing the damage, the destruction, the death, opened the floodgates to the memory of what happened in the fight, and it hit me...

A tremble shook the earth.  Puddles in the streets rippled as people looked around, confused as to what it was.  Velaris never had earthquakes.  I resumed my shopping, which mostly consisted of sampling all of the pastry items and buying a few paint brushes.  I looked up at the clear, beautiful, blue sky and marveled at the beauty.  Registering the colors for my paintings later.  Everything was just so... peaceful, and I drowned in the happy feeling.  I could feel it seeping through my pores as I stood there, staring at the sky.

But then I saw people were pointing towards the sea.  Muttering prayers and answers of confusion.  I whirled towards the direction of the stares and froze.  I felt the unnatural power rippling off from the distance in waves and peered closer to see what the source was.  My limbs would not respond to the fear pushing me out of the street, away from the invading host that I saw approaching.  I had never seen anything like this, especially not in Velaris.

People started to scream as they beheld what was approaching.  Long limbed, flying creatures with blades of hard iron.  They were gray as the dead and had rows of teeth to halt anyone in their spot.   Razor sharp teeth and claws that could slice through your belly in an instant.  They held soldiers that had bows at the ready, facing down... towards us.  And they were coming to Velaris, they were coming too fast.  I sucked in a shuddering breath.  Feeling the churning of a long kept secret rise to greet the threat.   Out of the corner of my eye, I could see arrows raining down on the inhabitants of Velaris as the screaming and panic reached my ears.

But then, a fragment of hope crept into my mind as I beheld a red light explode from the direction of the coast, near the theater district.  The light formed a shield above us, and the winged creatures bashed into the shield and it flickered with every impact.  I could hear bones cracking and flesh sizzling.  The shield expanded and rose into the air, pushing back the host.  Hope blossomed inside me, and I had control of my body back.  I rushed to enter one of the shops, my favorite bakery.  I crouched down in the corner waiting for the impending attack.

"Asteria, are you alright?" the fleshy female owner Mrs. Chamberly approached me.  "What is happening?  We heard screams but didn't dare go outside."  Mrs. Chamberly crouched lower.  "Asteria..." and her eyes widened at the fear in my eyes.  "I'll grab you a raspberry tart, sweetie, how 'bout that?"

I nodded slowly, thanking the woman for her comfort.  I watched her waddle back to the counter and her husband.  I could hear him questioning his wife as to what was going on but she just shushed him and grabbed the pastry, walking back over to me.

"Now sweetie, what is going on out there?" Mrs. Chamberly questioned, handing me the tart.

"They're coming.  An invading host of winged beasts carrying soldiers.  They're coming to the city.  Here.  Right now."  I shuddered with fear in my voice.

A BOOM echoed through the streets and I rushed up, dropping the pastry and ran outside, pushing away the fear to see the unfurling events.  And what I saw rendered me imobile.  Screams were streaming all over Velaris and I could smell, rather than see the tangy metallic scent of blood waft through the air.  I saw Illyrian warriors wearing blue and red syphons overpower the creatures near them.  But the warriors could not fight them all.

Raining down from the sky the creatures came.  Like a cloud of mosquitoes descending over Velaris.  Killing and laughing as they did so.  I saw bodies of both the creatures and citizens fall from the sky.  I felt the unused power bundle inside me.  The violet ribbons of power churning inside me.  Ready to be released.  But, I could not, would not release that, even to save myself. 

That power had done awful, evil things, and I couldn't handle that again.   Releasing that power would only unleash more chaos into the streets along with more death of innocent people.  I stayed away from the power coursing through my veins and the threat I was to everyone I had ever loved.

I ran, slipping through blood as I fell to the ground and a shadow hovered over me.  I heard it then, the creature, laughing at me as I flipped over to face him.

"Pathetic, faerie," the creature breathed.  He bent down with his claw and cut into her side.  My scream joined the chorus of my people.  The creature then rose, sniffing the air.  I laid on the ground watching my blood pool around me.  But then a woman crashed through the street with... I gasped... and Illyrian blade.  The creature above me lost it's head, along with all the others in the woman's vicinity.

The woman paused.  Looking to me.  Something stirred within me.  I could smell a familiar scent on her.  One that I had not encountered in a long time.  She held out her hand, offering me help to rise.  I accepted.

"Thank you," I choked out as I stood.  The woman seemed familiar somehow.  "What is your name?"

"My name is Feyre.  Yours?" she questioned.  Furrowing her brow. So, the woman coming to aid the rainbow was called Feyre.  She had never heard the name, but nevertheless, she smelled familiar.

But I did not have time to answer her as we whirled to see a green skinned faerie holding a rusted pipe above her shoulders ready to defend her shop in the wake of the attack.   Creatures were surrounding her, laughing, taunting her.

We both made to help the woman, but Feyre halted whispering two words, "The Sidra," and rushed towards the river.  Leaving me to deal with the creatures.  I unstrapped my blades and fell into my training from so long ago.  Rushing towards the creatures, roaring I dealt them fatal blows. Liberating their heads from their necks.  I rushed down the street, bodies of the creatures in my wake.

I felt my power leaking purple tendrils  As I fought my way down the street. No, no, no!  Not now.  I feared what would happen to Velaris if my power was ever unleashed.  Gods, what would happen if Rhysand felt that power? The pain that would resurface.  He would come running, recognizing her tendrils of my power.  Rushing to find the all to familiar woman, and the power she wielded.  One he thought he would never see again.

I pushed away the dark thoughts and resumed my slaughter.  One I undertook only to save my city. My home.

I rushed down the street even faster than before. Slicing at the creatures as I ran.  Racing against the clock to get back to my apartment where I could keep my power contained.  I could feel the creatures behind me surging after the power that leaked from me.  I dropped my blade and ran faster down the blood soaked street.  I was so close to my apartment, on a floor so heavily guarded by wards that no one could enter but myself.  I ran over the debris and almost tripped, I rounded the corner to my street, but I stopped dead in my tracks.  It was blocked.  I could see my apartment building.  But I could not get to it.  I had to turn around, back towards the Rainbow.

[celticnoise]

ALEX GORDON, co-author of Tommy Gemmell’s autobiography, ‘All The Best’, takes a look back at a sad event 12 months ago and shares the moment with CQN.

Exactly a year ago I lost one of my best friends, Tommy Gemmell, forever remembered, of course, as a player in Celtic’s greatest-ever team, the Lisbon Lions.

I have to confess I have missed that big guy every day since his passing. My wife Gerda, Tommy and I had lunch at least once a week for six years.

Gerda did the driving to take us through from Glasgow to Dunblane and that allowed Tommy and I to have a ‘snifter’, as he called it. When we weren’t chatting over drinks and ‘lumpy stuff’ – another of Tommy’s favourite terms – we were on the phone practically every day, sometimes two or three times as things came to mind.

Anyway, here, in full, is the eulogy I delivered at the funeral service on March 10 last year.

I hope is does my big mate justice.

TOMMY GEMMELL – EULOGY

Hello, ladies, gentlemen and friends of Tommy Gemmell.

Mary has asked me to say a few words about her husband Tommy. And she has made me promise to trim it to under an hour.

I’ll do my best.

Okay, where to start when you are talking about a genuine Celtic legend, a unique footballer and human being who made the beautiful game even more attractive by his awesome presence?

Well-deserved tributes have been paid over the past eight days to a man who will be remembered for all time in Celtic folklore.

Tommy Gemmell touched the hearts of so many and he gave us all an avalanche of outstanding memories to treasure and cherish.

Only a few weeks ago, at his bedside in the Glasgow care facility that had become home for almost three months, I asked him what it was like to make so many people smile.

How did it feel knowing his goal in Lisbon would still be being replayed in one hundred years’ time? And one hundred years after that?

“Ach, I’m happy if I made other people happy,” he said without a trace of mock modesty. He added: “Mind you, I enjoyed it, too.”

Life was never dull around Tommy Gemmell. He was a generous, big-hearted personality who was one of the most humble guys I ever had the honour to meet and call a friend.

He was an ordinary bloke who did extraordinary things.

Tommy Gemmell is the only British player to score in two European Cup Finals AND a World Club Championship Final. That feat will never be equalled.

I was still at school when I first clapped eyes on this remarkable character in 1963. I’ve been a Celtic supporter as far back as I can remember and I used to attend all the games in the old Jungle at Celtic Park with my dad and two uncles.

The first left-back I can remember at Celtic was a sturdy, no-nonsense fellow by the name of Jim Kennedy.

He was a proper full-back with his shorts pulled up to his armpits, concrete-reinforced shinpads and boots that must have weighed about four stone each.

It didn’t matter that he was as mobile as Frankenstein’s monster because he rarely ventured into the other team’s half.

He was a defender and he was there to defend. I recall his main strength was his ability to lob the opposing outside-right about 50 yards with devastating accuracy.

In Jim Kennedy’s own words: “I was purely a defender and tended to get a nosebleed if I went over the halfway line.”

And then in came this young whippersnapper by the name of Tommy Gemmell. He was 19 years old at the time and didn’t look like any full-back I had ever seen. No sign of bulky shinpads, no boots made in John Brown’s shipyard.

He was blond, tall, lithe and stylish.

And he could run like an Olympic athlete. Bewilderingly, he would spend a fair percentage of the game in enemy territory and he possessed the kick like an angry mule as he routinely terrified opposing goalkeepers.

He was a swashbuckling character who performed with a swagger.

Tommy Gemmell was here to stay.

For me, it was adoration at first sight.

Of course, what I – and thousands of other Celtic fans didn’t realise at the time – was the fact Tommy was going against strict orders from Sean Fallon, who was Jimmy McGrory’s assistant manager, who threatened to drop him if he continued to cross the halfway line.

Tommy, being Tommy, chose to ignore those instructions.

And we can all be eternally grateful for that. If he had listened to the assistant manager, Celtic Football Club might not have a certain celebration to look forward to on May 25.

Tommy Gemmell scored 63 goals for Celtic. Even including 31 penalty-kicks, that is a stupendous record for a full-back.

We should make no mistake, Tommy revolutionised that position.

And he took on that task on his own. Jock Stein, of course, became Celtic manager in March 1965 and, as we all recognised, he encouraged attacking football.

That suited Tommy Gemmell, but it must be noted Big Jock told him his main role in the team was to defend and heaven help him if he was marked absent when crosses were allowed to come into the Celtic box.

But there was just no way you could curb the adventurous spirit or the eye-catching antics of this amazing footballer.

Tommy Gemmell was a cavalier in green and white hoops as he relentlessly hurtled up and down the right and left wings.

Soon opponents were putting out wingers to man-mark the Celtic full-back. Incredible.

So, we know all about the goals, the gongs and the glory of Tommy Gemmell’s remarkable career at club and country level.

What about the man?

I could never have dreamed how things would pan out for Tommy Gemmell and that wee boy in the Jungle. Truly, as they say, you couldn’t make it up. Fact is often stranger than fiction.

I first interviewed Tommy in 1969 for a football magazine when I was 17 and working as a sports sub-editor on the Daily Record newspaper.

To me, and many others, he wasn’t just the best left-back at Celtic or in Scotland, he was the best left-back in the world.

If Tommy had been born in Rio de Janiero and not Craigneuk, he would have been a global sensation.

I recall that interview vividly. I was a nervous wreck when I dialled his phone number. “Hello,’ said the voice at the other end.

“Hello,” I responded. I managed to blurt out: “I’m looking for Mr Gemmell.”

“You’ve found him,” came the friendly reply. “And my name’s Tommy. What can I do for you?”

I explained who I was and that I was looking for an interview for a football magazine. I asked: “May I steal five minutes of your time?”

There was a laugh at the other end of the line. “No, you may not steal five minutes of my time. Take as long as you want, son.”

That conversation lasted 48 years, on and off.

Tommy Gemmell transformed from hero to friend in a heartbeat that day.

He put a rookie interviewer at ease and I never forgot that simple act of kindness.

He was always there when I needed him, nothing was too much bother for this guy. Eventually, we met in person and we kept the friendship going.

This generous man – and I use the word ‘generous’ in all its many aspects – gave up his time to spend hours being interviewed by me and the sports reporters of various other newspapers and magazines.

We all knew he was an intelligent, witty character and the stories just about wrote themselves. Tommy Gemmell never asked for a penny for his time.

There were other individuals in the sport without a scintilla of Tommy Gemmell’s ability who’s first question would be if you asked them for an interview was “How much?”

There was a well-known character who was known to the Press as FIFA.

And I’m not talking about world football’s governing body.

You spoke to this guy and it was a case of “a fee for this” and “a fee for that.”

That was not Tommy Gemmell’s style.

As a human being, Tommy insisted there were two classes: First and none. Guess which category fitted Tommy.

Tommy Gemmell, of course, played his football as he lived his life, with a smile on his face. And he lived life to the full, believe me.

I left the Sunday Mail, where I had been sports editor, in 1994 and acquired a sports news agency called 7 Day Press. I moved the company to West Nile Street in Glasgow city centre.

Around the same time, the financial advisers where Tommy worked shifted across the city to…West Nile Street. Suddenly, my big pal and I were neighbours.

The Iron Horse pub was directly opposite my office and a short free-kick from Tommy’s. Needless to say, it became headquarters. Two or three times a week, I would receive a phone call from Tommy: “HQ, five minutes.”

Who could turn down that request?

This went on for for the best part of 20 years. Just an hour or so in each other’s company, a lot of the time on our own – well, as much as you can be on your own in a pub in the heart of Glasgow.

Tommy Gemmell was, of course, still an instantly recognisable figure.

I want to meet the genius who invented mobile camera phones.

I’ve taken more snaps that David Bailey and Lord Lichfield combined.

Complete strangers would burst into our company, it didn’t matter that we were having a private conversation, and embrace Tommy like a long lost brother.

And Tommy always had time for those fans. They would hand me their phone and order me to take a picture.

Tommy would pose with his new best friend and have a natter before another satisfied punter left, looking at his phone and a memento that would no doubt be kept forever.

Again, that was so typical of the man. He loved Celtic Football Club, but, equally, he loved Celtic fans.

Ironically, it was the Dunblane Tommy Gemmell Celtic Supporters’ Club and they were celebrating their 20th anniversary at Stirling Rugby Club.

In truth, he wasn’t in the greatest of health. He could quite easily have politely declined the invitation. However, he made up his mind he was going to make an effort and go to the function.

“‘I don’t want to let anyone down,” he said. My wife Gerda and I drove to Dunblane to pick him up that Friday night. He didn’t look well at all, but he was absolutely determined he would attend the function. There was no changing his mind.

Tommy saw out most of the evening before we drove him home again. We took him to his ground floor flat. Normally, he would ask us in for what he termed a snifter.

But, on this evening, he turned and said: “Do you mind if I go straight to bed? I’m a wee bit tired.”

He looked shattered, out on his feet, but there was no way Tommy Gemmell was going to let down the people he always insisted were the greatest fans in the world.

On our days in the Iron Horse pub, Tommy’s tipple was dry white wine, but he always finished with a brandy and port.

Somewhere along the line we would have blotting paper – Tommy’s euphemism for food – but when we were winding down to go back to our respective workplaces, he would order up a brandy and port – “Gentleman’s measure, please”.

For the uninitiated in the ways of pub culture, a “Gentleman’s measure” is a double.

However, I have this feeling if Tommy had still been around in May he might have fancied a treble.

Even heroes have heroes and Tommy’s favourite sportsman of all-time was Muhammad Ali, for many people, rightly proclaimed as ‘The Greatest’.

Muhammad Ali was the world heavyweight boxing champion by the time he visited Scotland in August 1965.

It was arranged for Ali to visit Celtic Park and then Ibrox and, of course, the press was out in force. Ali posed for all sorts of pictures, even hammed it up in a kilt and Tommy was like a kid when I talked to him years later about his meeting with his hero.

Tommy told me: “He was an awesome presence. You saw him on the telly, but you never really appreciated the size of the guy or his fabulous physique. The dimensions of his hands were like sides of ham. And, of course, he was such an immaculately-honed sportsman with incredible good looks.

“Apart from that, he was just an ordinary fella.”

As Ali prepared to leave Celtic Park to go and meet the Rangers players, Tommy told him to look out for Willie Henderson, the club’s fabulous wee outside-right who also became a lifelong friend of Tommy.

Willie Henderson is a boxing aficionado. Tommy, in fact, made the point Willie actually looked like a boxer on account of his squashed nose.

Anyway, Muhammad Ali and his entourage arrived in Govan and went through the same routines with the Rangers players, posing for photographs and so on.

Willie, as expected, took the opportunity to introduce himself to the world’s greatest-ever fighter. They shook hands and Ali looked at Willie’s nose.

“You a footballer?” he asked.

“Aye,” answered Willie.

Ali took another glance at the Rangers player’s flattened hooter.

“Man, I’m sure glad I’m a boxer,” he said.

Of course, Muhammad Ali passed away in June last year at the age of 74, a year older than Tommy. Can you imagine the chat these two guys could be having today as they discuss their sporting achievements?

The affection in which Tommy Gemmell held Willie Henderson is obvious today. Willie, who doesn’t drive, made frequent visits to his big pal in Dunblane and, latterly, Glasgow.

I love the story Tommy told me about Willie turning on a Rangers team-mate when they were at a footballing function.

He was chatting to Tommy when an Ibrox colleague said: “What are you talking to him for? He does nothing but kick you when you’re out on the football park.”

Willie bristled. “He’s never kicked me in his life. Tripped me up, tugged my jersey and pulled me down.

“But he’s never kicked me!”

Speaking of wonderful wee touchline magicians, we couldn’t possibly miss a mention of Jimmy Johnstone.

Tommy Gemmell loved his fellow-Lisbon Lions and what they achieved for Celtic, in particular, and the world of football, in general.

He could spend hours extolling the virtues of Ronnie Simpson, Jim Craig, Bobby Murdoch, Billy McNeill, John Clark, Willie Wallace, Stevie Chalmers, Bertie Auld and Bobby Lennox.

It must be said he was also a big fan of Davie Hay.

But there is no doubt that wee Jinky Johnstone had a special place in the heart of Tommy Gemmell. They were football’s odd couple with Tommy standing at 6ft 2in and Jinky at just 5ft 4in.

They first met even before they joined Celtic as they both attended Burnbank Technical College in Lanarkshire.

Tommy had thoughts of becoming an electrician and Jinky was training to become a welder. Thankfully, their career paths took a dramatically different course.

Tommy and Jinky both signed for Celtic in the winter of 1961 and became the best of buddies throughout their lives.

Tommy had a host of tales about Jinky, who, of course, was voted the Greatest-Ever Celtic Player by the supporters.

We all knew what he got up to on the field, but his off-the-field antics were just as entertaining.

Tommy told me the story of Jinky turning up at Celtic Park one day with a brand new Jaguar car. The wee man was as proud as Punch.

“Tam, come and have a smell at these seats. They’re real leather – that’s no’ rubber. Classy wheels, eh? A cigar lighter, too.” And so on.

Tommy agreed to let Jinky pick him after training the following day and they would head up to Crief for a relaxing spot of fishing.

They were heading to one of Tommy’s favourite spots and he was giving his wee mate directions.

At one point, they came to a roundabout.

“Which way, Tam?” asked Jinky.

“Straight through, Wee Man,” answered Tommy.

And with that, Jinky drove up onto the roundabout, through flower beds and all sorts of plants and down the other side.

“What the hell was that?” screamed Tommy.

“Well, you said straight through,” answered Jinky.

Tommy Gemmell will always be remembered as the guy who sent West German midfielder Helmut Haller into orbit when Scotland were playing in a World Cup qualifier in Hamburg in 1969.

The Scots were losing 3-2 in a crucial game that would go a long way to determining their hopes of playing in Mexico the following year.

With a minute to go, Tommy was charging through into his favourite position about 25 yards out and lining up a shot with his mighty right boot.

Haller snaked out a foot and blatantly tripped Tommy.

Tommy went down in a heap and was furious when the Swiss referee didn’t award the expected free-kick. His mood didn’t get any better when he saw Haller laughing.

The red mist came down and Tommy chased after the West German and attempted to put him over the stand.

Helmut Haller died in October 2012. I telephoned Tommy to get his reaction. Quick as a flash, he said: “I hope they’re not going to blame me.”

I won’t dwell on Tommy Gemmell’s latter years. My wife and I travelled through to Dunblane to go for lunch once a week for almost six years. It was always a pleasure to spend time in this bloke’s company.

We spoke on the phone virtually every day.

Of course, the chat always got around to Celtic. Tommy wasn’t able to get to as many games at Celtic Park as he would have liked, but he still retained a special interest in the club.

He would see the action on TV and read the reports. He always paid particular attention to the left-backs over the years. He rated the players who went that extra mile and realised that attack was the best form of defence.

Tommy liked Andy Lynch, who, of course, had started his career as an outside-left with Hearts.

He enjoyed the exciting forays of Emilio Izaguirre and I can tell you he had the highest regard for Kieran Tierney.

Genuinely, he spoke in glowing terms about the young man and I suppose if anyone could spot a left-back it would be Tommy Gemmell.

In the past six months or so, Tommy’s health was faltering. He was becoming increasingly frail, but I never once heard him moan about the situation.

One of his favourite sayings was: “Why should a living man ever complain?”

I didn’t think there was anything left for Tommy Gemmell to do to prove he was such an inspiration.

I was in awe of the courage, strength and character of the man.

One of his favourite actors was John Wayne.

Even Hollywood at its most far-fetched could never have captured the spirit and fortitude of Tommy Gemmell as he spent virtually the last three months of his incredible life bed-bound.

On December 7 last year, Tommy moved from Dunblane to the 3 Bridges care facility in the south side of Glasgow, ironically not far from Hampden Park.

He had fought and overcome so many obstacles as a footballer and a man, but this was one fight even the great Tommy Gemmell could not win.

Last Thursday morning around 1.30, Tommy passed away. His wife Mary, who had been at his bedside for practically an entire week, phoned me a few minutes later.

“Tommy’s gone,” she said. Those were the words we dreaded, but realised were inevitable.

You may believe you are well prepared for the news, but the words still hit you with the force of a wrecking ball.

At that moment, the world lost a good man, Celtic lost a favourite son, football lost a legend and my wife Gerda and I lost an exceptional friend.

More importantly, Mary lost a wonderful husband she called “the love of my life”.

Tommy Gemmell, after a decade of unparalleled success at Parkhead, was transferred to Nottingham Forest in December 1971. He was 28. And, of course, he didn’t want to leave Celtic.

It was only a matter of time before he returned to Paradise. And he managed that this morning.

Rest In Peace, old chum.

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[celticnoise]

TOMMY GEMMELL, Lisbon Lion was remembered today by the Celtic family. His friend of 48 years, Alex Gordon delivered the eulogy at Tommy’s funeral. Alex has kindly provided CQN with a copy in advance of the service and we have arranged for it to be posted at 12.30pm  today.

Sleep well Tommy, good friend, great Celt, Lisbon goalscorer, Milan goalscorer, Lisbon Lion.

Over to Alex…

TOMMT GEMMELL – EULOGY

Hello, ladies, gentlemen and friends of Tommy Gemmell.

Mary has asked me to say a few words about her husband Tommy. And she has made me promise to trim it to under an hour.

I’ll do my best.

Okay, where to start when you are talking about a genuine Celtic legend, a unique footballer and human being who made the beautiful game even more attractive by his awesome presence?

Well-deserved tributes have been paid over the past eight days to a man who will be remembered for all time in Celtic folklore.

Tommy Gemmell touched the hearts of so many and he gave us all an avalanche of outstanding memories to treasure and cherish.

Only a few weeks ago, at his bedside in the Glasgow care facility that had become home for almost three months, I asked him what it was like to make so many people smile.

How did it feel knowing his goal in Lisbon would still be being replayed in one hundred years’ time? And one hundred years after that?

“Ach, I’m happy if I made other people happy,” he said without a trace of mock modesty. He added: “Mind you, I enjoyed it, too.”

Life was never dull around Tommy Gemmell. He was a generous, big-hearted personality who was one of the most humble guys I ever had the honour to meet and call a friend.

He was an ordinary bloke who did extraordinary things.

Tommy Gemmell is the only British player to score in two European Cup Finals AND a World Club Championship Final. That feat will never be equalled.

I was still at school when I first clapped eyes on this remarkable character in 1963. I’ve been a Celtic supporter as far back as I can remember and I used to attend all the games in the old Jungle at Celtic Park with my dad and two uncles.

The first left-back I can remember at Celtic was a sturdy, no-nonsense fellow by the name of Jim Kennedy.

He was a proper full-back with his shorts pulled up to his armpits, concrete-reinforced shinpads and boots that must have weighed about four stone each.

It didn’t matter that he was as mobile as Frankenstein’s monster because he rarely ventured into the other team’s half.

He was a defender and he was there to defend. I recall his main strength was his ability to lob the opposing outside-right about 50 yards with devastating accuracy.

In Jim Kennedy’s own words: “I was purely a defender and tended to get a nosebleed if I went over the halfway line.”

And then in came this young whippersnapper by the name of Tommy Gemmell. He was 19 years old at the time and didn’t look like any full-back I had ever seen. No sign of bulky shinpads, no boots made in John Brown’s shipyard.

He was blond, tall, lithe and stylish.

And he could run like an Olympic athlete. Bewilderingly, he would spend a fair percentage of the game in enemy territory and he possessed the kick like an angry mule as he routinely terrified opposing goalkeepers.

He was a swashbuckling character who performed with a swagger.

Tommy Gemmell was here to stay.

For me, it was adoration at first sight.

Of course, what I – and thousands of other Celtic fans didn’t realise at the time – was the fact Tommy was going against strict orders from Sean Fallon, who was Jimmy McGrory’s assistant manager, who threatened to drop him if he continued to cross the halfway line.

Tommy, being Tommy, chose to ignore those instructions.

And we can all be eternally grateful for that. If he had listened to the assistant manager, Celtic Football Club might not have a certain celebration to look forward to on May 25.

Tommy Gemmell scored 63 goals for Celtic. Even including 31 penalty-kicks, that is a stupendous record for a full-back.

We should make no mistake, Tommy revolutionised that position.

And he took on that task on his own. Jock Stein, of course, became Celtic manager in March 1965 and, as we all recognised, he encouraged attacking football.

That suited Tommy Gemmell, but it must be noted Big Jock told him his main role in the team was to defend and heaven help him if he was marked absent when crosses were allowed to come into the Celtic box.

But there was just no way you could curb the adventurous spirit or the eye-catching antics of this amazing footballer.

Tommy Gemmell was a cavalier in green and white hoops as he relentlessly hurtled up and down the right and left wings.

Soon opponents were putting out wingers to man-mark the Celtic full-back. Incredible.

So, we know all about the goals, the gongs and the glory of Tommy Gemmell’s remarkable career at club and country level.

What about the man?

I could never have dreamed how things would pan out for Tommy Gemmell and that wee boy in the Jungle. Truly, as they say, you couldn’t make it up. Fact is often stranger than fiction.

I first interviewed Tommy in 1969 for a football magazine when I was 17 and working as a sports sub-editor on the Daily Record newspaper.

To me, and many others, he wasn’t just the best left-back at Celtic or in Scotland, he was the best left-back in the world.

If Tommy had been born in Rio de Janiero and not Craigneuk, he would have been a global sensation.

I recall that interview vividly. I was a nervous wreck when I dialled his phone number. “Hello,’ said the voice at the other end.

“Hello,” I responded. I managed to blurt out: “I’m looking for Mr Gemmell.”

“You’ve found him,” came the friendly reply. “And my name’s Tommy. What can I do for you?”

I explained who I was and that I was looking for an interview for a football magazine. I asked: “May I steal five minutes of your time?”

There was a laugh at the other end of the line. “No, you may not steal five minutes of my time. Take as long as you want, son.”

That conversation lasted 48 years, on and off.

Tommy Gemmell transformed from hero to friend in a heartbeat that day.

He put a rookie interviewer at ease and I never forgot that simple act of kindness.

He was always there when I needed him, nothing was too much bother for this guy. Eventually, we met in person and we kept the friendship going.

This generous man – and I use the word ‘generous’ in all its many aspects – gave up his time to spend hours being interviewed by me and the sports reporters of various other newspapers and magazines.

We all knew he was an intelligent, witty character and the stories just about wrote themselves. Tommy Gemmell never asked for a penny for his time.

There were other individuals in the sport without a scintilla of Tommy Gemmell’s ability who’s first question would be if you asked them for an interview was “How much?”

There was a well-known character who was known to the Press as FIFA.

And ‘m not talking about world football’s governing body.

You spoke to this guy and it was a case of “a fee for this” and “a fee for that.”

That was not Tommy Gemmell’s style.

As a human being, Tommy insisted there were two classes: First and none. Guess which category fitted Tommy.

Tommy Gemmell, of course, played his football as he lived his life, with a smile on his face. And he lived life to the full, believe me.

I left the Sunday Mail, where I had been sports editor, in 1994 and acquired a sports news agency called 7 Day Press. I moved the company to West Nile Street in Glasgow city centre.

Around the same time, the financial advisers where Tommy worked shifted across the city to…West Nile Street. Suddenly, my big pal and I were neighbours.

The Iron Horse pub was directly opposite my office and a short free-kick from Tommy’s. Needless to say, it became headquarters. Two or three times a week, I would receive a phone call from Tommy: “HQ, five minutes.”

Who could turn down that request?

This went on for for the best part of 20 years. Just an hour or so in each other’s company, a lot of the time on our own – well, as much as you can be on your own in a pub in the heart of Glasgow.

Tommy Gemmell was, of course, still an instantly recognisable figure.

I want to meet the genius who invented mobile camera phones.

I’ve taken more snaps that David Bailey and Lord Lichfield combined.

Complete strangers would burst into our company, it didn’t matter that we were having a private conversation, and embrace Tommy like a long lost brother.

And Tommy always had time for those fans. They would hand me their phone and order me to take a picture.

Tommy would pose with his new best friend and have a natter before another satisfied punter left, looking at his phone and a memento that would no doubt be kept forever.

Again, that was so typical of the man. He loved Celtic Football Club, but, equally, he loved Celtic fans.

Eleven months ago – on April 8, to be precise – Tommy made his last appearance at a supporters’ function.

Ironically, it was the Dunblane Tommy Gemmell Celtic Supporters’ Club and they were celebrating their 20th anniversary at Stirling Rugby Club.

In truth, he wasn’t in the greatest of health. He could quite easily have politely declined the invitation. However, he made up his mind he was going to make an effort and go to the function.

“‘I don’t want to let anyone down,” he said. My wife Gerda and I drove to Dunblane to pick him up that Friday night. He didn’t look well at all, but he was absolutely determined he would attend the function. There was no changing his mind.

Tommy saw out most of the evening before we drove him home again. We took him to his ground floor flat. Normally, he would ask us in for what he termed a snifter.

But, on this evening, he turned and said: “Do you mind if I go straight to bed? I’m a wee bit tired.”

He looked shattered, out on his feet, but there was no way Tommy Gemmell was going to let down the people he always insisted were the greatest fans in the world.

On our days in the Iron Horse pub, Tommy’s tipple was dry white wine, but he always finished with a brandy and port.

Somewhere along the line we would have blotting paper – Tommy’s euphemism for food – but when we were winding down to go back to our respective workplaces, he would order up a brandy and port – “Gentleman’s measure, please”.

For the uninitiated in the ways of pub culture, a “Gentleman’s measure” is a double.

However, I have this feeling if Tommy had still been around in May he might have fancied a treble.

Even heroes have heroes and Tommy’s favourite sportsman of all-time was Muhammad Ali, for many people, rightly proclaimed as ‘The Greatest’.

Muhammad Ali was the world heavyweight boxing champion by the time he visited Scotland in August 1965.

It was arranged for Ali to visit Celtic Park and then Ibrox and, of course, the press was out in force. Ali posed for all sorts of pictures, even hammed it up in a kilt and Tommy was like a kid when I talked to him years later about his meeting with his hero.

Tommy told me: “He was an awesome presence. You saw him on the telly, but you never really appreciated the size of the guy or his fabulous physique. The dimensions of his hands were like sides of ham. And, of course, he was such an immaculately-honed sportsman with incredible good looks.

“Apart from that, he was just an ordinary fella.”

As Ali prepared to leave Celtic Park to go and meet the Rangers players, Tommy told him to look out for Willie Henderson, the club’s fabulous wee outside-right who also became a lifelong friend of Tommy.

Willie Henderson is a boxing aficionado. Tommy, in fact, made the point Willie actually looked like a boxer on account of his squashed nose.

Anyway, Muhammad Ali and his entourage arrived in Govan and went through the same routines with the Rangers players, posing for photographs and so on.

Willie, as expected, took the opportunity to introduce himself to the world’s greatest-ever fighter. They shook hands and Ali looked at Willie’s nose.

“You a footballer?” he asked.

“Aye,” answered Willie.

Ali took another glance at the Rangers player’s flattened hooter.

“Man, I’m sure glad I’m a boxer,” he said.

Of course, Muhammad Ali passed away in June last year at the age of 74, a year older than Tommy. Can you imagine the chat these two guys could be having today as they discuss their sporting achievements?

The affection in which Tommy Gemmell held Willie Henderson is obvious today. Willie, who doesn’t drive, made frequent visits to his big pal in Dunblane and, latterly, Glasgow.

I love the story Tommy told me about Willie turning on a Rangers team-mate when they were at a footballing function.

He was chatting to Tommy when an Ibrox colleague said: “What are you talking to him for? He does nothing but kick you when you’re out on the football park.”

Willie bristled. “He’s never kicked me in his life. Tripped me up, tugged my jersey and pulled me down.

“But he’s never kicked me!”

Speaking of wonderful wee touchline magicians, we couldn’t possibly miss a mention of Jimmy Johnstone.

Tommy Gemmell loved his fellow-Lisbon Lions and what they achieved for Celtic, in particular, and the world of football, in general.

He could spend hours extolling the virtues of Ronnie Simpson, Jim Craig, Bobby Murdoch, Billy McNeill, John Clark, Willie Wallace, Stevie Chalmers, Bertie Auld and Bobby Lennox.

It must be said he was also a big fan of Davie Hay.

But there is no doubt that wee Jinky Johnstone had a special place in the heart of Tommy Gemmell. They were football’s odd couple with Tommy standing at 6ft 2in and Jinky at just 5ft 4in.

They first met even before they joined Celtic as they both attended Burnbank Technical College in Lanarkshire.

Tommy had thoughts of becoming an electrician and Jinky was training to become a welder. Thankfully, their career paths took a dramatically different course.

Tommy and Jinky both signed for Celtic in the winter of 1961 and became the best of buddies throughout their lives.

Tommy had a host of tales about Jinky, who, of course, was voted the Greatest-Ever Celtic Player by the supporters.

We all knew what he got up to on the field, but his off-the-field antics were just as entertaining.

Tommy told me the story of Jinky turning up at Celtic Park one day with a brand new Jaguar car. The wee man was as proud as Punch.

“Tam, come and have a smell at these seats. They’re real leather – that’s no’ rubber. Classy wheels, eh? A cigar lighter, too.” And so on.

Tommy agreed to let Jinky pick him after training the following day and they would head up to Crief for a relaxing spot of fishing.

They were heading to one of Tommy’s favourite spots and he was giving his wee mate directions.

At one point, they came to a roundabout.

“Which way, Tam?” asked Jinky.

“Straight through, Wee Man,” answered Tommy.

And with that, Jinky drove up onto the roundabout, through flower beds and all sorts of plants and down the other side.

“What the hell was that?” screamed Tommy.

“Well, you said straight through,” answered Jinky.

Tommy Gemmell will always be remembered as the guy who sent West German midfielder Helmut Haller into orbit when Scotland were playing in a World Cup qualifier in Hamburg in 1969.

The Scots were losing 3-2 in a crucial game that would go a long way to determining their hopes of playing in Mexico the following year.

With a minute to go, Tommy was charging through into his favourite position about 25 yards out and lining up a shot with his mighty right boot.

Haller snaked out a foot and blatantly tripped Tommy.

Tommy went down in a heap and was furious when the Swiss referee didn’t award the expected free-kick. His mood didn’t get any better when he saw Haller laughing.

The red mist came down and Tommy chased after the West German and attempted to put him over the stand.

Helmut Haller died in October 2012. I telephoned Tommy to get his reaction. Quick as a flash, he said: “I hope they’re not going to blame me.”

I won’t dwell on Tommy Gemmell’s latter years. My wife and I travelled through to Dunblane to go for lunch once a week for almost six years. It was always a pleasure to spend time in this bloke’s company.

We spoke on the phone virtually every day.

Of course, the chat always got around to Celtic. Tommy wasn’t able to get to as many games at Celtic Park as he would have liked, but he still retained a special interest in the club.

He would see the action on TV and read the reports. He always paid particular attention to the left-backs over the years. He rated the players who went that extra mile and realised that attack was the best form of defence.

Tommy liked Andy Lynch, who, of course, had started his career as an outside-left with Hearts.

He enjoyed the exciting forays of Emilio Izaguirre and I can tell you he had the highest regard for Kieran Tierney.

Genuinely, he spoke in glowing terms about the young man and I suppose if anyone could spot a left-back it would be Tommy Gemmell.

In the past six months or so, Tommy’s health was faltering. He was becoming increasingly frail, but I never once heard him moan about the situation.

One of his favourite sayings was: “Why should a living man ever complain?”

I didn’t think there was anything left for Tommy Gemmell to do to prove he was such an inspiration.

I was in awe of the courage, strength and character of the man.

One of his favourite actors was John Wayne.

Even Hollywood at its most far-fetched could never have captured the spirit and fortitude of Tommy Gemmell as he spent virtually the last three months of his incredible life bed-bound.

On December 7 last year, Tommy moved from Dunblane to the 3 Bridges care facility in the south side of Glasgow, ironically not far from Hampden Park.

He had fought and overcome so many obstacles as a footballer and a man, but this was one fight even the great Tommy Gemmell could not win.

Last Thursday morning around 1.30, Tommy passed away. His wife Mary, who had been at his bedside for practically an entire week, phoned me a few minutes later.

“Tommy’s gone,” she said. Those were the words we dreaded, but realised were inevitable.

You may believe you are well prepared for the news, but the words still hit you with the force of a wrecking ball.

At that moment, the world lost a good man, Celtic lost a favourite son, football lost a legend and my wife Gerda and I lost an exceptional friend.

More importantly, Mary lost a wonderful husband she called “the love of my life”.

Tommy Gemmell, after a decade of unparalleled success at Parkhead, was transferred to Nottingham Forest in December 1971. He was 28. And, of course, he didn’t want to leave Celtic.

It was only a matter of time before he returned to Paradise. And he managed that this morning.

Rest In Peace, old chum.

Alex Gordon

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