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40kmemes · 3 years

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The Burning of Prospero

Before the outbreak of the Horus Heresy tension had run high during the Great Crusade about the use of psychic abilities by the Imperium. Kept ignorant about the Warp and Chaos, the Astartes legions did not understand the "sorcery" practiced by so-called "psykers," be they mortals or even their fellow brothers. In particular the psyker Primarchs Magnus the Red and his sorcerous legion, the Thousand Sons, were viewed with suspicion and distrust. Among their fiercest critics were the Space Wolves, whose culture of aggressive violence and savage tactics contrasted with the studious, devious nature of the Crimson King and his occult-obsessed disciples.

At the Council of Nikaea the Emperor, father of the Primarchs and sovereign of humanity, decried that psychic powers were proscribed by the Imperium. He kept hidden the truth about the Warp and the Dark Gods, as there was sufficient prejudice against psykers that his edict was readily accepted by most. The biggest losers from the decision were the Thousand Sons, who retreated to their homeworld of Prospero to continue their practices in secret.

Magnus, however, was keen to demonstrate the utility of his gift. He learned that Warmaster Horus Lupercal was fated to rise up in revolt, and so he mentally projected himself from Prospero to the Emperor on Terra. Unaware the Emperor was busy with his Great Work, attempting to marshal use of the Webway so humanity could forgo the need for Warp travel, Magnus caused a disaster through his manipulation of the Sea of Souls. Daemons poured into Terra itself, leading to a secret war within the Webway led by the Emperor against the forces of Chaos. Meanwhile, an order was sent to Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves, to arrest Magnus the Red.

At this point Horus Lupercal had indeed fallen to Chaos, but had not yet revealed his treachery. As Warmaster and thus commander of the Imperium's military, he contacted Leman Russ and convinced him to raze Prospero, kill the Thousand Sons, and put Magnus to death rather than merely place him under arrest. He even detached some of his own Sons of Horus legion to take part in the operation. In addition to these, Adeptus Custodes (the Emperor's personal force) and the Sisters of Silence (an order dedicated to hunting psykers) also accompanied the Space Wolves, who still made up the majority of the attack force.

Regretting what he had done, Magnus passively waited on Prospero for his punishment, and even blinded his legion to the coming of the Wolves so they would not resist. Thus the Wolves were able to attack with complete surprise some of the greatest seers in the galaxy. The spires and pyramids of Tizca, the capital city of Prospero, came under orbital bombardment, and then were subjected to drop pods filled with bloodthirsty sons of Russ. When they saw the changes the Warp had done to the flesh of the Thousand Sons, giving them all sorts of profane mutations, it confirmed their beliefs that Magnus and his sons had fallen into something truly infernal and evil.

Ultimately Magnus and Leman Russ dueled, with the Wolf King emerging victorious. Before he could make the killing blow, though, Magnus cast a spell that transported him and his surviving Sons, a little over a thousand Astartes, to the Planet of the Sorcerers, a sanctuary world within the Warp. Meanwhile, the Wolves left Prospero a barren ruin, mountain ranges crumbled, entire oceans boiled into vapor. It was only when Horus' treason became widely known after the Drop Site Massacre on Isstvan V not long after that Russ and the Wolves realized they had been manipulated, much as Magnus himself was despite his good intentions. The Space Wolves and the Thousand Sons would fight on opposite sides during the Heresy, but the hatred and rivalry between these former brothers stems more from the fate of Prospero than Horus' fall to Chaos.

#wh 40k #warhammer 40000 #40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer #magnus #thousand sons #leman russ #space wolves #adeptus astartes #horus heresy #horus lupercal #prospero #battle of prospero #burning of prospero #tizca #warp

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the-wayward-arc · 3 years

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Emperor: MAGNUS, I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOU ALONE.

Magnus: What, are we gonna have a father to Son talk? Shall I get the tissues?

Emperor: YES. WE ARE. NO BULLSHITTERY THIS TIME MY SON.

Magnus: *Surprised* What are you trying to get at here father?

Emperor: YOU HAVE A CHILD, DO YOU NOT?

Magnus: What!?! How did you know that?? Did you invade my mind with your damn deity powers?

Emperor: NO, I SAW HOW YOU REACTED TO YOUR BROTHERS CHILDREN AND THE FACT YOU RECOGNIZED THE PLANET, YOUR CHILD IS THERE AS WELL, AREN'T THEY?

Magnus: *silence as he looks down* Yes, she is.

Emperor: SHE IS THERE NOT BY ACCIDENT IS SHE?

Magnus: No she isn't. I sent her there long ago. To protect her...

EMPEROR: TELL ME WHY.

-long long ago-

Magnus: my daughter was the result of an experiment of mine, a ritual that at the time I thought was a failure, turned out to be the greatest success I've ever done.

Magnus looks down at a small infant, at first there was a scowl on his face to see that it was a child and not a fully grown vessel like he had hoped. He motioned for his servants to take the child away and as she they did, she looked up at him, a small smile spreading on her face as she laid eyes on her the crimson king. A strange feeling creeping onto him as the child began to cry as he started to fade from her view.

Magnus: I didn't want anything to do with child at first, I was just gonna let the people of my planet take care of her but when I went to see her one last time, she looked at me and smiled. She was happy to see me. When I gazed upon her, I wondered if this what you saw when you looked upon us.

Emperor: YOU HAD A MUCH GRAND PURPOSE FOR THE EVOLUTION OF HUMANITY BUT...I HAD WONDERED HOW THINGS WOULD HAVE BEEN IF I HAD RAISED YOU ALL TOGETHER, WITH ME.

Magnus: Much like what transpired in that laboratory when we were all whisked away from you, the same thing was gonna happen to this child. Except it wasn't some damn gods asshats but rather me, a voluntary choice of sending her away just because I perceived her creation as a failure. I didn't want that, I felt a bond with her that was like the bond I felt towars you father when we were reunited.

Emperor: YOU RAISED HER, AS SHE WAS YOUR DAUGHTER.

Magnus: Yes, she was my daughter. Born of my blood and actions. I named her Salem, after an old friend from Prospero.

Magnus held Salem within the palm of his hand, the child trying to grab onto his large red finger as she laughed.

Magnus: As she grew, I taught her all that I knew. Her powers were great, not surprising considering who her father was.

Emperor: DON'T HURT YOURSELF WITH ALL THAT BACK PATTING.

Magnus stood in front of a child Salem, wearing acolyte Robes in the same color as her father's legion, her platinum blond hair tied into pony tail as ran towards her father. Flames of Warp fire erupted from her hands as it raced towards Magnus, only to be deflected by his own powers. Salem retreated slightly before summoning a lesser demon that she commanded to attack her father. Magnus was impressed but the small demon was no match for the red giant as he squashed with ease, just as he was about to speak a ball of fire blasted into his face. He stumbled backwards falling to one knee with a loud thud. He looked to see Salem standing away from a fading visage of herself, a smile on her face. Magnus laughed a bit, Impressed by how far she was coming.

Magnus: You caught me my child! *laughs* You are getting better and better! *bends to one knee, patting Salem's head gently*

Salem: Thank you Father, I do have the best teacher after all!

Emperors: HER POWERS WERE GROWING EVERYDAY WEREN'T THEY?

Magnus: Yes, again given her family it came at no surprise...but I knew I wasn't the only one noticing.

A teen Salem stood in front of two Rubric marines, ordering them ease while also summoning more lesser daemons though she was staring to put slight stronger demons under her thrall. Magnus watched above as Salem was practicing with her powers, doing his best to ensure a ritual was holding to keep a certain god from detecting her growing powers.

Magnus: Her powers were getting closer to my own, her control over the Rubrics and the daemons my Legion had enslaved were proof enough that she would reach my level soon. I was afraid. Afraid of what Tzeentch would do if he discovered her, discovered that I was hiding her with a ritual. I was terrified of him taking her and her becoming like me...so I had to make a decision.

Emperor: YOU WERE GOING TO HIDE HER.

Magnus: Yes. I summoned Ahriman back to the planet of sorcerers, despite our history he hated Tzeentch and I knew he was still loyal to my Legion. We scoured a place untouched by both the Imperium and Chaos, which we discovered Remnant. It had a unique relationship to the warp that basically hid it from the chaos gods. Souls there rarely entered the warp, rather they became part of the planet unless they were immensely powerful. So, I sent her there...I gave her false memories of this placing being her home. I alerted the memories of an ancient ruler so that he would protect my daughter and think of her as his own.

Magnus looked upon the sleeping form of Salem, a tear running down his face as he opened a portal to Remnant and to the kingdom she would placed in, no words were said as he took her through the portal, laying her down onto the bed. He gave one her one last look before going back, the portal closing behind him as Ahriman stood close by. To protect his daughter from Tzeentch, sacrifices must be made.

Magnus: I watched her grow, becoming a strong and capable leader. Only to see that bastard lock her away, but to interfere would mean Tzeentch might notice as well as the others. I couldn't risk that chance, so I had to watch my child be locked away for powers that exceeded all those around her. Then I watched as Events unfolded I could never predict and wish I would have to save her the pain.

Magnus watched through a small tear, a small window as his daughter was saved from the tower. Finding freedom and love with a young man, she watched their adventures as his daughter grew more accustomed to her powers, he saw her happiness and had hoped this meant he had been right about this place despite what had happened to her. But over the years, he watched more and more how things began to turn away from her; losing her husband, trying to revive him only to be stopped by those twin bastards, watching as they tried to tell her about balance only to disrupt the balance themselves by killing all the humans on Remnant and casting the blame onto her.

Magnus: She went through pain. Guilt, thinking she was to blame for the deaths of untold billions. When it was those two bastards throwing a tantrum for the actions of a few.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF THEM?

Magnus: I don't know but I have my sorcerers to this day looking for them, so I can kill them both personally.

Emperor: I'LL JOIN YOU, A GOOD OLD FASHION FATHER AND SON BONDING MOMENT.

Magnus: *Chuckles* Yeah, that'd be fun father.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF MY GRANDCHILD AFTERWARDS.

Magnus: She wandered for a long time, as humanity grew back and rebuilt. She assumed she was cursed with immortality but it wasn't a curse that those two claim to have given her, it was a gift from me. So that one day we could meet and she could see the galaxy and all the secrets that it holds. I wanted to protect my daughter, I did so much to make her both Immortal and invulnerable. But she saw it as a curse when she tried to take her own life. But she found her love once more, reborn by those two bastards. She had a family but that didn't last either...

Emperor: WHAT HAPPENED?

Magnus: An argument between her and her husband about the fate of their world escalated when he tried to take away their children, my granddaughters. They too were growing powerful with their newfound powers or magic as they called it. But they were caught in the crossfire and were slain.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF THEIR SOULS? *ANGER RISES* THEY WERE NOT TAKEN BY DEMONS WERE THEY?

Magnus: I would never allow such a thing to happen! No, I intervened and saved their souls, *produces an orb, The Emperor has the orb floated towards him and he can hear children laughing* Their souls are in there, safe. To them, that was all a bad dream and they are just living their lives as children again. I would never allow harm to befall them, they are my grandchildren and they will always be safe no matter what.

Emperor: HAVE YOU SEEN THEM? I KNOW IT IS POSSIBLE.

Magnus: *looking at the Orb, hearing the children play* A few times, but I never truly interacted with out of fear that Tzeentch would find it.

EMPEROR: MAGNUS, HE CANNOT GET YOU HERE, IT WILL BE SAFE FOR YOU TO SEE YOUR GRANCHILDREN. WHAT HAS BECOME OF SALEM?

Magnus: She is angry and saddened, now that the have been to that planet and that you have ensured the Imperium cannot touch it, I wish to see her soon. To be her father once more.

Emperor: SOON, YOU SHOULD SOON. MY SON, I SHALL ENSURE THAT PLANET WILL BE SAFE FOR NOT ONLY YOUR CHILD BUT ALL OF MY GRANDCHILDREN. MY GREAT GRANDCHILDREN AS WELL, WHEN WE UNFUCK THE IMPERIUM, I WILL HELP YOU RESTORE NOT ONLY SALEM BUT YOUR GRANDCHILDREN AS WELL.

Magnus: T-Thank you Father, *holds orb Close*

Emperor: OF COURSE MAGNUS.

-Remnant, Land of Darkness-

Salem tosses and turns, nightmares that have plagued her for centuries, she awoke suddenly surrounded only by nothing the nothing suddenly being replaced with a room, one that looked familiar to her. Books stacked high with various scrolls strung about, she picked up one to see it was her hand writing! But what her caught her more by surprise was her skin, it was back to normal. Back to human! So was her other arm! She immediately ran to a nearby mirror to see she had regained her humanity, no longer looking like a Grimm personified. She heard the small pitter patter of feet, turning around quickly, she was greeted by the sight of her 4 daughters running up to her. She took a step back in shock as they hugged her, smiling.

Celeste: Mommy! Mommy! There you are!

Faye: We were wondering where you were!

Salem was still shocked, this couldnt be real! No! This was a nightmare, the moment she touched, they'll be ripped away from her! But she slowly raised her hand to her oldest daughters head, nothing happened save for the feeling of her hair and Celeste laughing. She hugged her daughters, nothing happened save for them hugging her back! This wasn't a dream and even if it was, she didn't want to end. She cried as she held them close, hugging them tightly.

Amber: Grandpa said you would cry, but its okay Momma!

Salem: I know, I just...missed you all *hiccup* so much! Wait, what do you mean grandpa? *she looked at them all, each one smiling as they looked back*

Magnus approached, the giant of a man looked at Salem and her daughters. A warm expression on her face, even as Salem got protectively in front of her daughters.

Magnus: Hello Salem, it has been too long.

Salem: w-Who are you!? *warp fire appeared in her hand, she would not let this giant harm her daughters!*

Magnus: *chuckles* Seems I need to get rid of that memory altering *he waves his hand as a mist quickly envelops Salem before quickly dissipating*

Salem: *Looks at Magnus, anger raising but slowly new memories began to surface, memories of this room. Training, reading, laughing, smiling. Memories of him* F-Father? *she falls to her knees, her daughters around her concerned as more tears steamed down her face as Magnus dropped to one knee*

Magnus: There is much to talk about my little book worm.

#warhammer 40k #TTS Au #rwby salem #salem rwby #magnus the red #if the emperor had a text to speech device #TTS #Magnus TTs #snippet #rwby

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captainblacklobster2 · 3 years

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Timeline of the 41st Millennium: 999.999.M41

The Siege of Fenris - part 3

Meanwhile on Midgardia, Logan Grimnar and his Wolf Guard became separated from Egil Iron Wolf's army and were assailed by a Daemonic and Thousand Sons ambush orchestrated by the Daemon Primarch Magnus the Red. The Crimson King had watched the current chaos and saw an opportunity to exact revenge on the Space Wolves for the Burning of Prospero 10,000 years earlier. It had been Magnus that had unleashed the Changeling and its machinations throughout the Imperium, and now the time had come for the Primarch to launch the finishing stroke.

The Thousand Sons simultaneously struck at The Fang on Fenris itself. The Thousand Sons landed throughout Fenris on Silver Towers, avoiding the Fangs formidable defensive guns. As fighting among the Imperial forces ceased in the face of the Chaos threat Harald Deathwolf and Sven Bloodhowl were able to combine with Iron Hands, Ultramarines, and Shadow Haunters elements on Fenris and launch a counterattack, destroying a Silver Tower at Yrokja Glacier. However the Silver Towers contained not just Daemonic entities, but Rubicae, Sorcerers, and Tzaangors. The Imperial forces were exhausted and disorganized and could not prevent an all-out invasion of Fenris.

By day 3 of the invasion, each Silver Tower was the site of an arcane ritual being conducted by the Thousand Sons Sorcerers. Their 9 hour, 9 minute, and 9 second ritual was conducted over a captive Space Wolf sacrifice. Combined together, the ritual managed to summon Magnus the Red himself to the realm of Fenris. With him came Ahriman and those other commanders who had been banished from Magnus' side following the casting of the Rubric including Nezchad Aratos, Aarthrat, and Omarhotec. Ahriman and Magnus had temporarily reconciled over the shared prize of bringing doom to Fenris. Quickly after Magnus' arrival Fenris erupted into a living hell. Volcanic activity erupted, glaciers shifted, and warp phenomena transformed the landscape into a portrait of madness. The Thousand Sons Silver Towers targeted each nexus of power on Fenris, shattering it and slowly tearing the world apart. After several days only one nexus remained: The Fang itself. The first move Magnus made on the Fang was to teleport Pyromancers and Daemons led by Xarax Throtep into the depths of the fortress. These invaders were met by Bran Redmaw and his forces as well as their Wulfen allies. These defenders were soon joined by the full might of the Space Wolves unawakened Dreadnoughts, activated in their vaults by Iron Priests.

Around the same time, Egil Iron Wolf reappeared on the Battle Barge Allfather's Honour with Logan Grimnar accompanying him. He had managed to teleport the High King off Midgardia before it was overrun by a plague created by Mortarion that Magnus had acquired. Immediately Grimnar joined with his Grey Knights allies and solemnly launched Exterminatus upon Midgardia, putting the doomed and tainted world out of its misery. Furious, Grimnar vowed revenge against Magnus.

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kalle-and-lita · 5 years

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Jealousy

For @goddessatina Prompt 14: Jealousy

A/N: Any canon muses are under my interpretation of the character, and mine alone and do not reflect those who RP the same character.

The party was lively, to say the least, and one Lita was certainly enjoying. It wasn't too often that she went to events such as these, as a gathering of the Primarchs was a rare occurrence indeed. But there were politics to discuss, war plans to go over, and when the Warmaster called for a gathering one was usually inclined to listen.

Her attendance had also been a bit of an unexpected development. Just earlier in the evening she'd been happily filing away paperwork for the Eighth Legion when his Highness had come barging into her office. Judging from the scowl on his face, he didn't seem at all pleased.

"Get ready.”

His curt order earned him an equally curt, but curious, reply,

"For what?"

He simply waved his hands, allowing two serfs to enter the room with various garments, "You'll be attending a gathering with me. Now get ready." He growled, leaving Lita with the serfs.

And so she eventually found herself at his side, hugging the far corner in every vain attempt to avoid conversations with his other brothers. Mortarion, Primarch of the Death Guard, had joined them not long ago. The pair of them spoke in low tones to each other, leaving Lita to hop softly from foot to foot.

Her drink was nearly empty, and not nearly strong enough to stave off her boredom. She had hoped that Atina would be in attendance, but so far had yet to see her good friend. Eventually, she became fed up, and politely excused herself to get more to drink. Easily she slipped in and out of the crowd in attendence. Remembrancers, and first officers alike, chatting and laughing as the party continued ever onward.

"Pardon me," a thick voice intruded upon Lita's thoughts as she refilled her drink, and she turned to find a Primarch she'd never met standing before her. He looked as if he'd been forged in fire, tall and terrifying, but there was a gentleness on his face that put her at ease, "Might you be Lita, Eighth Legion Representative?"

She dipped her head politely, "Indeed, Primarch...?"

"Vulkan, of the Salamanders."

Lita wasn't quite sure how long they stood and talked for. Their topics jumped and varied about, from Vulkan's home world to Lita's occupation and finally settling upon the topic of Lita's garden. They talked and talked about it for a good long while, the Primarchs interest very apparent.

"Brother, do tell me you're not going to demand all of this young woman's attention!"

Another voice joined them, and she turned to find another one of the Primarchs at her side. His skin was color of the rising sun, crimson and proud, a single eye gazing down at her in interest. This brother she knew.

Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Thousand Sons. She dipped her head in greeting,

"Young woman," she teased, "If I didn't know better, I would think you're trying to flatter me, Lord Magnus."

"Is it working?" He smiled,

"Only a little." She replied with a laugh.

"Ah, and here I had hoped to steal you away from my brother Konrad, I've heard of you, little human. Pardon my forwardness, but I believe your talents for speech would be in far better use in my Legion than that of the Eighth's. What say you?"

Lita simply shook her head in amusement, "Apologies, Lord Magnus, but there is little in this galaxy that would tear me away. My work is important, and my loyalty to my King far more so. I fear your attempts shall on deaf ears."

"A pity." Magnus mused into his drink, "I would speak with you all the same. That is, of course, if Vulkan has not already exhausted your powers of speech."

The three of them shared a laugh, "Of course not, Lord Magnus, though I pray you can keep up with me. I've been told I'm very hard to stop once I really get going."

"What's this, gathering around a beautiful flower amidst a room full of vagrants?"

A new Primarch had joined them, displaying colors of purple and gold paired with a pale face and even paler hair. He was pretty in a way, as if sculpted from marble, a charming smile painted upon his features

"A flower in a room full of vagrants?" Lita said, now noticing her drink was halfway empty again, "Why must you speak so ill of me, Lord Fulgrim? I don't believe I'm a vagrant."

"I agree," Magnus teased, silently offering Lita another cup of wine. She gratefully accepted, as the four of them delved into deep conversation. They laughed and teased, conversing on all manner of topics from art, to history, to everything under the sun. At some point, Lita realized she was losing her faculties, made evident when she swayed dangerously only to have Magnus reach out to steady her.

"I think, gentlemen," she spoke carefully, "I am done for the evening."

"So it would seem," mused Fulgrim, quickly replacing Lita's wine with water. She drank from it gratefully, "While I am sorry you must leave, do part with a promise that you'll come visit Chemos. If I may be so bold, I do believe you'll find it quite spectacular."

"No, no, say you'll come to Prospero. The view from the highest point in all of Tzica is most amazing." Argued Magnus hotly. Lita smiled all the same,

"Perhaps, if my busy schedule affords me the time. Now, if you'll excuse me."

They bid her farewell and parted their own ways as she did. In and out she dipped through the thinning crowd, back towards to the wall where she'd left her Primarch some hours before. Halfway there she found him right where she had left him, though Mortarion had seemingly long since departed.

"I wondered when you would deign to return to me." Her king commented coldly, and the cheerful mood Lita had previously found herself in died. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him,

"I am here now," she bit back just as coldly, narrowing her gaze upon him,

"Though I find it very difficult to believe I was so hard to find."

A nerve in his eye twitched at that, but he said nothing in return. Instead he pushed himself from the dark corner, his swift pace making for the exit of the room. She followed behind him dutifully back to their transport and back aboard the Nightfall. Once inside the main lift, and closed in a tight space with him, she could feel the cold radiating off him in waves.

"You reek of alcohol." He said eventually, making Lita's hair stand on end in fury.

"Apologizes, Your Highness," she fought the sneer as hard as she could, yet failed all the same, "Are there any other grievances you'd like to air, or shall we stew in furious silence all night?"

He said nothing, earning him a scowl as the lift finally slowed to a halt on the stateroom floor. Lita lifted the hem of her dress and swept past the Primarch in an effort to retire to her room. She didn't look back to see if he was following, but the tell tale sound of his footfalls told her that he was. She ignored him as she came to her stateroom door, keying in her code in furious silence as his cold aura still radiated off of him.

"Fits of jealousy are unbecoming of you." She finally said as her door hissed open. She lay a hand on the door to keep it from closing, turning back before she swept through with a furious glare up at him, "The next time you see fit to drag me off to one party or another do feel free to talk to me, otherwise just leave me be!"

The door hissed shut behind her, with a loud thud on the wall following shortly after. If she had to venture a guess, he'd probably hit the wall. In furious silence she discarded the dress in favor of a shower and more comfortable clothes, silently hoping that tomorrow they'd all be in better moods.

#goddessatina #writing prompt #my ocs #lita #Konrad curze #Warhammer 30000 #Warhammer 30k

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thefluffenhammer-blog · 6 years

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40K Fiction: The Crimson King Review by George Daniel Lea

One of the most intriguing elements of the Black Library's Horus Heresy series is its penchant for filling in gaps that exist in the Warhammer 40,000 universe's established history. Since all that has been traditionally provided concerning an event that spans decades is a brief overview for the sake of context, the potential for storytelling, character building etc is almost infinite. Whilst the Thousand Sons legion arguably boast one of the most complete and traumatic backgrounds of any of the original Space Marine legions, there is an era of their history that has always been decidedly vague, lacking anything but the most supeficial and perfunctory details: that following their flight from Prospero and establishment on the daemon world that would become known as Sortiarius, Planet of the Sorcerers. In the latest instalment to the Thousand Son's story, writer Graham McNeill attempts to elucidate this abyss, exploring what the legion has become in the aftermath of its near-extinction, its shifting philosophies and perspectives, what its Primarch, Magnus the Red, intends following his apparent defeat at the hands of Space Wolf Primarch Leman Russ, and how these matters will come to affect the wider Heresy. McNeill wastes no time in establishing back story; the novel assumes that the reader will be at least passingly familiar with the events of both A Thousand Sons and Prospero Burns, focussing instead on particular characters within the Thousand Sons legion, documenting their evolving states, now that they are free from the Imperium's strictures, but also their despair at the legion's escalating disgrace. Concerning itself primarily with Chief Librarian Ahzek Ahriman, the plot follows his efforts to forestall the flesh curse that has returned to plague his brothers; efforts that, for all their elaboration and sacrifice, result in nothing but atrocity. In this, Ahriman is fast losing the faith and loyalty of his brothers, many of whom blame him and Magnus for the state their legion has come to, others of which ache to leave and pursue their own destinies in the wider universe. One of the more intriguing aspects of the book is the time scale in which it operates; being set within the Eye of Terror, time moves differently for the Thousand Sons than in the material universe. As such, from their own perspectives, the Thousand Sons operate on Sortiarius for hundreds -if not thousands- of years while the Heresy grinds on beyond, fracturing into myraid, conflicting cults and covens, many of its number ascending to the states of sorcerers, establishing their own small kingdoms upon Sortiarius's shifting plains. As for Ahriman, he and a small cabal of brethren find themselves repulsed by what the legion is becoming, and what their Father is tacitly allowing by his absence. Providing a contrast to Ahriman is Amon, another consistent character in the Thousand Sons novels, who acts as Magnus the Red's equerry; one who maintains a closeness to the Crimson King and his intentions that not even Ahriman can match. Whilst they exercise a certain rivalry, the relationship between them is as complex and ambiguous as that between any of the Thousand Sons; McNeill takes time to establish that no character in this book is clear cut in terms of their motivations or loyalties; statuses shift constantly, depending on circumstance, making every moment fraught and uncertain; seeming victory undone by an instant of betrayal, redemption snatched by unforeseen means from what seems almost certain defeat. Amon is certainly one of the most intriguing of the Thousand Sons, especially in contrast to Ahriman, who is, in many ways, his antithesis, which will have grave ramifications for both in the future, as has already been detailed in John French's Ahriman: Exile. Whilst subtle and, for the most part, unspoken, the influence of fate and chance (or, to give them another name, Tzeentch) pervades every moment, esepcially relating to certain key figures within the Thousand Sons, not to mention the myriad enemies and allies that they encounter, driving the skeins of their destinies: A surprise inclusion occurs in the form of none other than Lucius the Eternal, the arch-champion of Slaanesh, who accompanies the Thousand Sons after hunting down and confronting Sanakht, their master swordsmen, in a previous short story. Following their disrupted duel, the two have become respectful allies, if not reluctant friends, their relationship at once antagonistic yet inevitable, Sanakht seeming to accept that their destinies are inextricably intertwined. Even more surprising is the part Lucius comes to play in the destiny of the legion, for good or ill. Alongside new characters such as a Aforgomon (a quietly esoteric Lovecraft reference), a daemon contained within a mechanical shell, Dio Promus, an (ex) Ultramarine Librarian who spoke in support of Magnus at the Council of Nikaea, a contingent of Space Wolves sent to hunt down Magnus and his sons following the shattering of Prospero, the book also includes some familiar faces in former Remembrencers to the Thousand Sons, Lemuel Gaumon, Camille Shivani and Chaiya Pavarti, all of whom were last seen fleeing the desolation of Prospero and falling into the Imperium's hands. McNeill orchestrates a cast that might otherwise be unwieldy with surprising panache throughout; each and every character has a part to play in a wider design, whether they know it or not, perhaps the most profound and unanticipated significance reserved for the least likely, which brings their character arcs full circle, and starts them on entirely new circuits. As for the eponymous Primarch, the status Magnus the Red occupies in this book demonstrates him to be not only one of the most powerful primarchs (very close in nature to his Father, at his most metaphysical and legitimately divine), but also the most complex in terms of character: following the breaking of his physical form over the knee of Leman Russ, Magnus has shattered into myraid contradictory aspects of himself, which are scattered across both the Eye of Terror and the material universe. Ahriman and his cabal take it upon themselves to find and cohere their Primarch, whose remaining aspect upon the Planet of the Sorcerers is slowly dwindling, sacrificing itself in the construction of The Orery; a vast library and repository of lost knowledge within the Warp itself, so that whatever remains of mankind following the galaxy-burning war of the Horus Heresy might one day rise again and perhaps succeed where he and his sons have failed. Not only does the reader learn a great deal of the contradictions and ambiguities that inform Magnus, we also gain some insight into how the legion operated and perceived itself during this previously empty and unspoken portion of its history: at the opening of the book, the Thousand Sons still refuse to proclaim for Horus, no matter that the Imperium has turned on and exiled them, no matter that the Warp is slowly claiming them, undoing all they once sought to make and sustain: they regard themselves as martyrs upon the altar of knowledge, Icarion entities that soared too high and saw too deeply, who might still garner some redemption, if they can only restore their broken Father and the knowledge that has been lost. Nor does the legion acknowledge or accept Tzeentch as their patron or master, at this point; if anything, it's difficult to determine if they even know what Tzeentch is or that it exists: rather, the legion is slowly fragmenting into isolated sorcerers and their warbands, all of whom pursue their own goals and agendas, who operate on different plains of time and reality, meaning that some already perceive what is going to happen in the future, whereas those events are already the long dead past for others. There are many dynamically difficult concepts at work within the book, especially relating to time, causality and event following event, which McNeill handles gracefully and with reference to metaphysical imagery that is extremely esoteric, but which works in context with the Thousand Sons, their philosophies and the consistent imagery and ethos they exhibit. One of the more significant books within the history of the Thousand Sons and the Horus Heresy itself; essential for those with an interest in the Thousand Sons and those legions whose histories directly intertwine with them, as well as those interested in a more complete outlook on the Heresy in general.

#book #novel #40k #horus heresy #tzeentch #magnus the red

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space-outlaw-jin · 6 years

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THE STORY After the razing of Prospero, Magnus the Red spirited the Thousand Sons away to the aptly un-named Planet of the Sorcerers, deep within the Eye of Terror. Removed from the concerns of the galaxy at large and regarding the Warmaster’s unfolding Heresy with cold detachment, he has dedicated his hollow existence to the preservation of all the knowledge once held in the great libraries of Tizca, should mankind ever seek such enlightenment again. But his sons can see the change in their primarch – he is a broken soul, whose mind and memories are slipping away into the tumult of the warp. Only by returning to the scenes of his greatest triumphs and tragedies can they hope to restore him, and allow the Crimson King to be crowned anew by the Ruinous Powers.

#horus heresy #warhammer 40k #crusade era #warhammer 40000

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tertiusdecimusfilius · 4 months

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tag drop

#master of mankind || the emperor #the lion of caliban || lion el'johnson #the phoenician of chemos || fulgrim #the hammer of olympia || perturabo #the warhawk of mundus planus || jaghatai khan #the wolf king of fenris || leman russ #the vigilant of inwit || rogal dorn #the nighthaunter of nostramo || konrad curze #the great angel of baal || sanguinius #the gorgon of medusa || ferrus manus #the red angel of nuceria || angron #the pale king of barbarus || mortarion #the crimson king of prospero || magnus the red #the first warmaster || horus lupercal #the wisest of colchis || lorgar #the lord of drakes of nocturne || vulkan #the raven lord of deliverance || corvus corax #the final configuration || alpharius and omegon

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fuukonomiko · 2 years

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I had to witness this insanity and now you have to too.

#Warhammer 30k #Warhammer 40k #Magnus the Red #The Crimson King #The Red Cyclops #Chaos Daemon Primarch #Prospero #Magnus #Primarch Magnus #I love you #The OG #Hot Piece

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ask-the-crimson-king · 5 years

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The Fool

[A small thing for the 40k Feels Week. Story under the cut so I don’t spam the dash with my writing.]

[It’s a long, long one folks. Also a UA based on the ending of The Crimson King]

This chamber had become something of his home.

He had not kept in contact with his Legion for quite some time. He felt he did not need to. Not now, anyway.

Not after everything that had happened.

The room was organized somewhat neatly, a good mask for the tumult and turmoil brewing within. Shelves lined with various books, interrupted by a small artifact here and there. But this room was a lie.

This place was not real. it was not physical. It never was.

This was a part of his own small section of the Warp, a place where no other could truly find him. And here he dwelt, the days, weeks, months, time sliding through his fingers like silky sand.

The creator of the room was in the center of it, seated and scrawling things down into the grimoire usually kept on his person or close to it. He found that he wrote much as of late, but there was so much to record and preserve.

So many memories that needed to be shared, so much knowledge that cannot be lost no matter what the cost to himself was. He let out a small sigh, taking the small bookmark and closing the tome, slowly rising and putting it on the desk nearby. He stared at it for a moment or two, some lingering thought plaguing him before it ran away. Most of his thoughts did in here.

Except for a few.

He walked over to a window that looked into the madness that bled around this precious space. He watched the myriad colors all blur and blend before dissociating into their constituent parts once more. He saw shades and creatures hiding and lurking within its depths. He saw many things through this window, though much of it, he ignored.

Once he called those colors beautiful. Once he called those creatures naught but predators lurking within a Great Ocean.

Now?

He understood more than he ever did about what the truth of this un-reality was. Was it truly an un-reality? It felt as real as his own, of what some called the Materium, But yet it was not real. This was all imagined. All of it.

Life created this realm.

But did that make it truly unreal?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His gaze flickered back to the shelves. More and more they grew, and more and more books filled their shelves. Where did they come from?

He could feel someone coming. Someone calling for him.

Where they calling for him? The name they used felt familiar. They felt familiar too, but... he did not know why...

He quickly covered the window, not wishing to be found by whomever was chasing him. He was safe in here. He was secure. He was...

Who was he?

What had happened? Why was he here?

He remembered vaguely some vast destruction, but... It felt like a dream, as though it wasn’t real. Was this room real? It felt real. It looked real. He walked over to one shelf and stared at the books. Their titles were in dozens of languages, all of which he understood, somehow. He did not remember these books. He plucked one from the shelf, and stared at the cover.

He felt the presence again. Closer. He did not want them to come closer. He did not know who this was. Perhaps they were one of the things lurking beyond.

This room was safe. This was where he needed to stay.

But he still felt them reaching, calling, looking for him. They felt desperate. Why were they looking for him? Was he important? Why?

He found himself questioning many aspects about this place as time went on. How much time had truly passed? He had no chronometer here. He had no measure of time. The colors and beasts outside were no good indicator.

Why were they trying to reach him?

Suddenly, he could no longer feel their presence. Hesitantly, he reopened the window with a thought and a gesture, staring back into the madness and turning from the books he was blankly staring at.

There was someone staring back at him.

+My Lord!+ they cried. +Throne, we thought you were dead.+

He stared blankly at them.

+Who are you?+

Their... their aura darkened. It was sadness that darkened it, and the hope that once brightened it began to fade.

+You... You do not remember?+

+Remember what?+

+Who you are, what happened to our home?+

+This is my home.+

+No.+ The person pressed... hands? He was not sure, but they pressed something against the window. +You are Magnus the Red, the Crimson King, Master of Prospero. Prospero burned. The Legion is fracturing. We need you, father.+

+I know not of who you speak.+ He shook his head, blinking his... his single eye. Why did he have only one? What... what happened to the other?

+You... you do not remember?+ Again, their aura darkened.

+I do not know who you are, nor whom you are looking for, but that is not I. I am sorry to-+

+Then who are you?+

He found he could not answer that question. He pondered for several long moments, but... he found nothing.

+I... I do not...+

+Think, father. Look around you! Look at those books! You ought to remember something, right?+ Desperation colored them. He did not like that color.

But he did as he was told, looking at the books. He walked over and plucked one off the shelf, one called the Liber Prospero. He looked back at the figure at the window, and looked down at the book in his hands.

+I do not know this tome.+ He looked around the library. +I know none of this. Who am I? Where do I come from? Who am I?+

Desperation clouded his own aura, he felt. But his own was also foggy. Faded. Not as crisp as the window guest. He looked back at the figure in the window.

+Who am I?+ he repeated. The figure flickered and darkened, before pulling its hand back. Before he could protest or cast the figure away, the window was broken, and the chaos spilled through. The figure joined him in the swirling morass of color and cacophony of chittering voices, and he saw only blinding light before...

... he awoke. He looked around at the library. Everything was back to normal. He was sitting.

+What do you remember?+ a voice asked him. Before he could register what was happening, the light returned, and he felt himself scream, but never heard it.

He felt pain. So much pain. Physical, emotional, he felt pain. He could not move. He was on hard, polished ground. He saw and felt blood. He heard wolves howling around him. He saw a what he thought was a great pyramid through the rain pounding onto the world around him. He saw red. He could barely see.

He felt pain. So much pain. His sole eye focused on that pyramid. He saw someone. He saw someone who felt familiar, who he recognized. He could not move. He blinked.

+This is my final gift to you...+ He mouthed the words as he said them through aetheric speech. He felt frost beginning to coat him as a blade came near his throat, and with a few syllables, he was unmade.

He was unmade, and he cast himself away. Far away.

Away from the howling.

Away from the battle.

Away from his sons.

+... It burns...+ he said, the room coming back into focus. The colors that were outside were no longer drowning him, its predators behind the window.

+What burns?+ he heard someone ask. It was not the newcomer at the window. It sounded... more familiar to him...

His answer was naught but a whisper.

+Prospero...+

He felt himself sink to his knees.

+And it was my fault...+

+It was the Wolves. The Wolves were the ones who destroyed us. They destroyed Prospero. Russ was all too eager to come slay us and kill the innocent people. He came with the might of the Custodes and the Null Maidens. We were trying to warn Him!+

+We failed... We broke the Legion... Prospero burned...+

+All is not yet lost. The Warmaster needs us now. We must join our brothers and cast down the tyrant. We must show our true power, without regard for the limitations of ignorant hypocrites! We must join together, now, and we must join Horus.+

He understood now why the voice was familiar.

He was speaking with himself. An aspect of himself that he always kept hidden.

+No. I will not side with him.+

+Then what will you do? We are incomplete! Can you not see the folly in this? We will never be able to see our visions through to completion or save our sons in this state!+ The voice turned from fevered passion to a desperate plea. +Please. If not for ourselves, then for our sons.+

He felt a hand reaching out to him. He pondered it for a moment or two.

He reached out and clasped onto it, and the world slammed into being around him.

He was bound within a throne. He felt weakness at first, but soon it turned to strength.

He stood, casting it away, feeling it crumble. He could feel his body reawakening. He saw a sea of red-armored warriors before him, and he felt the presence of his favored son.

The one who saved him from mindless oblivion. He was kneeling. He was weeping.

He felt pride, relief, pain, so many different emotions all at once. But at his core, he saw fear within his favored son, though it had been quelled.

For now.

He looked upon his warriors with his one, far-seeing eye, and he could feel the very world beginning to bend and remake itself according to his will.

He could also feel a void within him, one he longed to be filled.

He looked upon his sons and made his pronouncement.

‘My sons, heed me. The galaxy has been set aflame. Our home has been burned, our ideals and very selves tarnished and cast aside by those whom we once called brothers. The time has come for us to play our part in this war we never wanted to be part of. But make no mistake. We shall not fight for Horus, nor our fallen brothers. We fight only until I can reclaim the part of myself that is currently bound and imprisoned within the Imperial Palace. We fight for hope of a better, brighter future, and not to the capricious creatures lurking within the depths of the Great Ocean, those very creatures who seek to defile us and ruin our great dreams. We fight for what we have always fought for.’

He drew his golden glaive, holding it high for all to see.

‘We fight for enlightenment. We fight for humanity.’

Standing there, in front of these paltry few of his once-mighty Legion, his precious sons who wept and praised his glorious return, his sons who had labored so very hard to bring him back from the brink of death... it was here, here and now, that he remembered exactly who he was.

#40kFeelsWeek #40kartweek #alternate The Crimson King ending #universe alteration #thousand sons #magnus the red

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askjenetiakrole · 6 years

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✂️ Magus the Red

A Fool’s Hope

[A Fool’s Hope on AO3] [My works on AO3]

I died here, thought the cyclops as the ash of his thrice-burned homeworld trickled through scarred fingers. Unarmoured and unclothed, every inch of his crimson skin was carven with wards and sigils that stirred echoes of a memory that was and was not his own. He knelt in the centre of a summoning circle, a silver Paladin at each of the cardinal points. One from each Brotherhood of the Grey Knights, they had passed their last trial with distinction - when tasked with banishing one of the six hundred and sixty-six most powerful daemons, they had taken it upon themselves to seek out one of the hundred and one daemons of the Conclave Diabolus. Today would be their greatest test. Beyond the edge of the circle stood another figure in silver armour. Though smaller and slighter, she was far more intimidating. Where the Paladins acted as conduits for the empyric energy that blew across Prospero’s blasted surface, earthing it into the summoning circle through their planted Nemesis force swords, Jenetia Krole consumed it, drawing it in as a black hole swallowed light. The last errant shard of Magnus the Red lifted his single eye to the heavens. He studied the tides that ebbed and flowed from the sickly bright scar across reality. He watched the waves batter the beacon of the Astronomican on disant Terra, desperate to smother it again. He turned his eye, at last, to Sortiarius. Crowned by damnation, Prospero’s dark twin had been drawn into reality by a single, shining strand of fate that tethered its Obsidian Tower to the place where once stood the Pyramid of Photep. “It is time,” said Ianius in his bipartite voice. The stars were right. Power drawn from the Great Rift flowed through the Paladins into the summoning circle, and into the being that was and was not Magnus. The strand snapped. The Paladins were hurled from their feet, smoke coiling from between the plates of blackened armour to join the cloud of dust thrown up by the impact. Krole didn’t even blink as the psychic blast wave passed her by like a gentle breeze. She stepped into the circle, aetheric currents parting in a bow wave before her. In the centre of the circle, Ianius remained standing as convulsions wracked his body. When he opened his eye, it writhed with flames in innumerable shades of the colour of magick. He spoke now with one voice. The voice of Magnus the Red. “Jenetia. I confess I am surprised. I always thought it would be Leman, in the end.” Yet here we are. It hurt Magnus’ eye to look at the gestures she made, their meaning searing into his mind through the medium of pain as much as sight. He forced himself to smile. “Yet here we are, where it all began.” Not quite. Magnus looked up to the sky and saw the glimmer of a new, spectral strand. A future that might yet come to be. It led him to the Astronomican. “Of course,” he sighed. “Yes, I see it now.” You see, but do you understand? He did. He sensed the hope that Ianius had harboured in this scheme. He cast it aside. Once before he had sold his soul for hope. Never again. “The galaxy is burning,” he said. An old oath fulfilled. “Let it be my pyre.” The Crimson King knelt before the Soulless Queen, and bared his neck for the execution blade. For destruction? For rebirth? He didn’t care anymore.

Across the galaxy, Navigators wept in awestruck wonder as the Astronomican flared with a pulse of light that, for a brief moment, could be glimpsed through the darkest storm.

(Send me ‘✂’ and my muse will kill yours. Right now. Brutally, horribly, bloody. Just do it.)

@askthecrimsonking @ask-magnus-the-red

#in a shocking departure from canon #I made Magnus learn from his mistakes #which he would obviously never do #Magnus the Red #what if #voiceless answers #Excommunicate Traitoris #Primarch Project #I will kill you #Alpharius asks #remembrancer archive #scrivener archive #Era Indomitus

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noctischaplain · 7 years

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Battle of Night and Dawn

Prompt - Neutral night lord and Loyalist thousand son fighting a chaos imperial fist during the heresy.

Helbane - Night Lord Chaplain-Captain of the 144th Crozius Arcanum Bolter Merku - Loyalist Thousand Son Captain of the Corvidae Cult Force Khopsi Combi-flamer

Lt. Nikolay - Chaos Imperial Fist Champion (Cataphractii Terminator) Charatan Pattern Chainaxe Power Fist

The siege has been lingering on for a month now and the treacherous Imperial Fists were still holding well. Captain Merku of the Thmei’s Divined (officially the 68th Company of the Thousand Sons) stood stalwart to his pledge centuries ago to the Knight House ruling on this feudal world after they saved him and his brothers from certain doom once. His crimson armour glistened by a royal ruby to the downing sun, helmet gleaming off the raven-shaped mask of black.

Another volley-report crackled through the air like thunder. The power of the armoured support hammered their powerful shells in areas that his visions were fortunate to provide. His scouts have reported the traitors within have been moving abnormally as of late, starting at 2652 of this planet’s standard 4800 hours.

In a control tower, a guard’s helmed head exploded from one side and flung to the other by one savage swing. His yellow armoured body jerked, grasping still for the alarm and shuffled before it collapsed at the last shock of the long-gone brain functions. The dark killer stepped over the corpses to the rest of the post-squad and wrapped his fingers around the shield controls, yanking it with a short whine of tested metal before tearing the control from its function.

The immediate whine of alarms screamed through the fortress by the void shield’s degradation. Techmarine reaction squads moving for the tower’s emitter pylon before the hammering Typhon Heavy Siege Tanks’ munitions suddenly exploded, sending two squads tumbling with high screams and deadly debris.

“The southeastern wall is broken!” One of the Veteran-Watch cried out. Within the stronghold bastion, their master watched from his throne and holo-projecting wartable. His scornful eyes reflecting the pale red of his wounded work. However, no Imperial Fist is without a defensive retaliation. A finger tapped on the spot, immediately signaling the prepared forces in his one of many defense plans.

Their company’s auxiliary Imperial Guardsmen that have faithfully sworn allegiance to the Stonehill Company, the 15th Necromundan Mortar Regiment, obeyed their lord to fill the gaping hole. However, where their commissar - in an act of grandeur and desire for glory to join the first company’s involvement - was lifting his chainsword to holler an order against the coming Astartes of Magnus’ Thousand Sons, a dark force crushed him under boots like an insufficient bug to its presence.

One swing sent six men and woman flying with their carapace armour and bodies broken like toys from the screaming winged skull of a crackling Crozius Arcanum. Eyes widened, a horror passed through them like a wave of disease and battle-hardened soldiers instinctively backed before a new threat.

A great figure clad in night black armour, crackling as if it contained a storm under its very calamite. A daemonic skull glared its ruby eyes to the sinful and treacherous while a bony-fingers cape of ork flesh fluttered with the flowing mane of dreaded locks. The dreaded appearance gave that delicious pause putting an entire company to halt to one Angel of Death that claimed the soul of their commanding officer. Even the sun was running beyond the horizon, its bleeding gaze shaping this creature as a real being.

An Advocate of his Ruthless Judgement. The Death of those who offended the Light. A Lord of Night. A Chaplain of Konrad Curze. The Deliverer of the Rapture.

“Look at these poor unfortunate souls. All reined to one master. Thralls who didn’t know freedom. Who didn’t see the glory of our Emperor? Our King among all else...who didn’t heed his dark justice. Now. None of you will escape…” His dark voice resonated through his own power and the amplification of his vox filters.

‘For I come for you.”

In that, a shrill symphony of shrieks rang like the coming of the Damned themselves put almost every soldier into a frantic panic. From the ramparts and captured tower, a flock of Raptors pounced with roaring wing-jets and roaring chainblades of terrible design came upon the running sheep with no sense of mercy.

By the Chaplain’s command, their Champion shattered the Imperial Guard’s first company with his boot’s automated talons snatching one of their officers straight out of their assuming formations like a fish before dropping her a hundred feet through the air over a Techmarine squad attempting to push through the flood of cravens.

“Night Lord scum!” One of the veteran Sargeants snarled, aiming his bolter after swatting a coward aside and when he was clear to fire. The bolt speared through the air...and pinged straight off the war plate of a sudden materialized Cataphractii patterned Terminator Armour.

“Termi-!” The Sargeant began to warn before the Terminator of the ruined Prospero lifted his combi-flamer for one roaring wave of warpfire.

Soldiers caught in the blast was devoured by the vengeful Inceptor’s wrath before it even caught the Sargeant’s visors. They blinded in automated shielding, but it wasn’t enough to save the warrior from his melting helmet eating at his face! The screams rolled into the vox-comms and brought a wave of anxiety and alarm moreso. With the Inceptor, his assault squad materialized from their teleportation armed with their force axes and firearms while the Chaplain vanished like a spectre. Their hatred of the Grand Betrayal chanting in their homeworld’s tongue, marshalling forward against the wayward children of Dorn.

Their pride have corrupted them, they see themselves above all other legions and now their hubris turned them into the embrace of One covet the Climax of all Desires. They could see it seething in their souls and they were blind to it. To the Bloody Spears of Sekhmet, they were no different than their fallen brothers and cousins in Horus’ grasp.

And they must all be cleansed.

#40k #warhammer 40k #night lords #thousand sons #imperial fists #imperial guard #narrative writing

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