Lucius' Daemon, his first rebirth and the possible return of Lord Commander Cyrius

[MolotovKraken]

There are some details around Lucius that I find often left out of discussion of the character, namely the daemonic entity afflicting of Lucius and other details surrounding it. This thread is my attempt to collect references around this subject.

It was born in lust and unthinkable atrocity. Coalesced from the anguish and joy of a billion souls across a billion lifetimes, it swam in the afterbirth of a new god, shuddering from the screaming reverberations that echoed without end from the wound its arrival had torn in the fabric of the universe. From deep within this realm that joined real and unreal, it slipped out from the Sea of Souls, and onto the land of souls. It caressed the material void with questing tendrils. It was a whisper, a mellifluous zephyr that had tempted the ambition of kings and twisted entire worlds into writhing monuments of flesh, shrines for the master of pain and pleasure who was the Youngest God. It was honey and silver and the laughter and cries of aeons of sentient life. It was all of these things, and more. It watched the day and night pass over the empires of man, rising and falling, swelling and starving. It watched as they laid claim to the stars, and first drank from the cup offered by the realm of the gods. It watched as those who drank turned upon those who would not, and set their galaxy afire. Champions rose, and as a shining son was born anew within the cradle of the Dark Prince, it found the object of its desire. It watched as his hearts were pierced by midnight blades, and fate flew to pull him into the dark. A million denizens of oblivion waited across the veil, howling and slavering for the feast of his soulfire as the last of his life ebbed away. It moved closer, and in an instant it was there, looming over his stricken form, watching the lifeblood drain from his veins to grow cold and still. So long had it waited for this moment. The one born of lust and atrocity reached down, and smiled.

The blade did not move. It stayed resting against the World Eater’s throat, and no cut was made. No sacred gasp as airways and arteries were opened into the air, no transcendent splitting notes of flesh peeling apart as head separated from neck. Lucius’ smile soured into a sneer. His brow furrowed, lip curling in anger as he fought to control his own sword arm. Still it defied him, refusing to move. Worms of trembling numbness bloomed in his fingertips, spiralling up his arm as the limb rebelled against him. The swordsman snarled, releasing his lash to hang loose as he clamped his other hand over his wrist. The muscles of his sword arm locked tight, sinews pulling taut and constricting the bones in crushing seizure. A stink like roasting hair rolled up Lucius’ palate and flooded his nostrils. His vision narrowed, the way ahead stretching into a long corridor slowly filling with oily water. Sound ceased, replaced by a shrill ring that fluttered his eardrums, and the swelling screams of the captive killers within his mind. Vertigo stole the balance from his legs. A cold hammer blow sprang Lucius’ world back into focus. A gasp burst from between his teeth as the Red Centurion’s gladius punched into his side.

Lucius staggered back, his arm still locked stiffly out in front of him. The exterior of the Pit Cur began to rattle and shake beneath his boots. The twisted faces pressing up from the surface of his armour shrieked in a horrid chorus of disunity, filling his ears to join his mind with their overlapping syncopated screams.

Something had intervened to thwart the glorious triumph that was Lucius’ by right. He had experienced similar sensations before, moments where he lost control. In the past they had been minute tugs at his limbs or an icy numbness creeping over his flesh, but it had never been this severe, never enough to arrest him so completely.

‘We picked this region specifically for the fact that, for the meantime, there is nothing here, but that could change at any–’ ‘Something to say, brother…’ Clarion turned, her gold eyes flicking back in a sidelong glance. ‘What?’ Lucius was leaning over the table, knuckles flat against the polished metal, eyes staring glazed and unfocused into the dancing screeds of hard light. His mouth slowly moved as the words came out in a soft murmur, barely even a whisper. None of the bridge crew, caught up in their duties, heard it. But Clarion did. Clarion leaned forwards in her throne, looking closer. The hulking robed figure standing on the other side of her, half hidden in shadow, remained silent and unmoving, avoided by all. The child watched the warlord as his words drifted away and his eyes refocused. Lucius straightened, as if waking from a dream, lifting a hand to brush a trickle of dark blood from his nose. He looked down at Clarion, into shining eyes that stared into him with the undisguised fascination of a magos studying a pinned laboratory specimen.

Lucius’ false smile soured to a grim line. A tic twitched at his left nostril as his eyes narrowed. His voice was low, a growl barely above a whisper. ‘I. Am not. Cursed.’ Kyoras’ bolt pistol did not waver. ‘Reality exists unconcerned of whether you believe it or not, Eternal One. Look around you. Our ability to make war on any level above base piracy has vanished. Our brothers stumble aimlessly across this ship, their stares distant, their nerves unable to send the sensation they crave riding through their bodies. They can only be brought to feel through the machinations of your Apothecary’s potions, and even then it can do little more than remind them of what they have lost. To continue upon this path is–’ ‘Insane.’

‘Now leave me be, Apothecary. Your incessant melancholy throws my humours out of balance.’ Cesare watched Lucius disappear into the stark bands of coloured light and rippling waves of sound. He glanced down, reading the results of his narthecium’s passive scans as they spilled over the datascreen of the gauntlet in screeds of sharp green runes. He released another sigh, his eyes turning back to the now empty corridor. ‘Out of balance, indeed.

‘Yours is a curious case, brother,’ said Fabius, watching as Lucius struggled inwardly. ‘Consistently exposing yourself to the extradimensional intelligences that you and our deluded brethren worship has provoked a uniquely malignant form of schizophrenia to take root within your mind.’

Lucius staggered to one knee. He fought to stand, to move, but his body refused to obey his commands. He felt it, more than he ever had before, uncoiling from inside the deepest part of him. It was ice, and shadow. It had been so patient. It had waited for so long, just beneath the surface, growing stronger. Bolder. Lucius felt it drink his synapses, leeching the bylestim from his blood, using the warpborne essence of it to take control. Taking, taking. It wrested hold of his muscles, drawing them into cramping, locked knots around his bones. Paralysis gripped Lucius, cementing him in place. His world darkened beneath a monstrous shadow as the Bloodthirster’s pounding tread brought it over him. Blood-pinked foam flecked from the Eternal’s lips as he heard the voice laughing behind his eyes. Yes, it cooed. Die, Lucius. Die and come to us.

The Bloodthirster turned its blistering gaze back down upon him. Agony ripped at the Eternal’s soul as he felt the screams building and building in power. Lucius readied himself, feeling the wrath of his killers become a physical force breaking open his skull. He bore the pain, preparing for the moment, exceedingly rare due to the threat it courted, where he would use their unceasing siege to his advantage. ‘You will not use me,’ Lucius snarled. ‘It is I who use you!’ Lucius relented, relaxing the crushing hold his will held over his bound killers for a fraction of a second. Every wailing maw that strained against his cracking armour shrieked, releasing their pent up malevolence in a deafening crescendo.

Lucius shifted, almost stumbling as his knees locked. He fought to hold back the thing wrestling beneath his flesh. He could not hear the cheers of the Faultless before him, only the screams of imprisoned killers formed into a blade wielded by a single voice. ‘Agony!’ ‘Ecstasy!’ …more.

‘Why do you remain?’ he asked, looking to the massive seat at the centre of the command dais beside him. ‘Why come back for me?’ Clarion stood upon the ornate seat of her command throne, her child’s body still not even reaching his gorget. ‘Because of you,’ she replied, with the smile that always reached her golden eyes. ‘You, Lucius. You fall, you rise, you continue on, refusing to believe your failures until once more they strike you down. You return, slowly diminishing, but unwilling to stop, unwilling to succumb. You are your race, Lucius. You are humanity, and as with the rest of your kind, I delight in your dance, all the way to its end.’

The Composer nodded. He stroked a flask hanging from his belt, where thebound essence of what had once been a tortured slave was held. ‘But what happens when you reach perfection? The achievement of what is so widely considered impossible. What happens when you get there, and discover that perfection is not the end? When you learn that perfection is only the turning of a key, a signal sent to a higher place that you are worthy of being told the truth of the universe? ‘Enlightenment is not found outside of you. Real truth is inside of you, and always has been. To find it, you must cut away everything, lower and deeper until you reach the bottom. Once there is nothing left, all that remains is the truth. That is what is happening to you, Eternal. You are on the cusp of discovering the real truth.’

 

[MolotovKraken]

True weakness hammered at his flesh, beyond the numbness of before. He felt as though his control were slipping. But to what? To be replaced by what? What king lies in chains, defeated by foes he cannot see? Lucius’ head snapped up. He scanned the stone cube of his cell. Its emptiness did nothing to calm him. He could not be certain if the voice had come from without, or within. Is it perfection to take divinity and squander its gifts? The voice wove between the screams. It mirrored their scorn, but bore none of the hopelessness of the bound. It dripped with assurance, almost tranquil as it watched Lucius crumble from the inside. Do you even know why you were chosen? Do you know the ends that fate possesses for you? Lucius thudded his head back against the wall. The voices quivered as he crashed it back again, and again. Yes, loosen your hold further. Lucius gritted his teeth to swing his head back again. The corded muscle stood out on his neck. His head refused to move. Lucius looked down, seeing his hands flex and slowly ball into fists without him moving them. Only time remains, and yours is fast approaching. So very, very close. Lucius felt the voice withdraw like a blade sliding from his heart.

The recollections blended together, years ago against hours ago, warping as they collided. The mirrored walls of Lucius’ sanctum reasserted themselves, his scarred visage reflecting back at him. Lucius shook his head, trying in vain to clear it. It was disorienting, experiencing memories that seemed as though they belonged to other souls, when he knew that they were his own. To be a voyeur of his own past, looking in from the periphery at something he could no longer touch. But I can. The pressure in Lucius’ head hardened to a lancing blade of pain. It was an agony unique as a heartbeat. The exact same pain he had felt in the eldar archon’s cell, beneath the arenas of Commorragh. ‘What are you?’ Lucius asked. He looked down from the mirrored wall at his gauntlet, feeling the ghost of a tremor ripple over the pallid flesh of his hand beneath the ceramite shell. You should already know that. The mirror exploded, coming apart in a reflective burst around Lucius’ fist. Shards of glittering silver rained over him as they cascaded to the ground, snagging and lacerating his flesh. He heard nothing, but felt the presence’s laughter itching in his thoughts. I am your desire. I am that which you seek, what you claim to be but will never achieve. The goal towards which you have cast yourself, flesh and blood and spirit all. I am the achievement you can never attain, and the ideal you shall never be. The aim you shall never realise, but I am. Lucius looked down, seeing his own grinning face staring up from every sliver of shattered glass. I am Perfection.

-The Faultless Blade

''Lucius clenched a fist, the flesh numb and twitching against his control. He frowned. Less and less of him was returning. Something cold and ancient was growing over the parts he had been forced to leave behind, coiled dormant behind his eyes. It strained at the periphery of Lucius’ mind, patient as it swelled into the gaps that oblivion had stripped away to claim for its own. Lucius felt it taking root, tasting reality with probing gossamer fronds. He wondered how long until nothing of him remained, until he died for the last time. What would emerge from death on the day he ceased to be Eternal?''

-In Wolves Clothing

''Lucius hears it then through the moans of daemons and the droning beat of locusts wings, the voice of the grave calling to him once more.''

‘’I see the chains wound about you. Shackling your destiny to the whims of the child. He was once your patron but now he has abandoned you, like a dying body you rail against the bacteria within that will consume your flesh but your efforts wither, slackening and soon you shall grow cold. The rot shall lay claim to you all.''- Death Guard Plague Champion during his duel against Lucius

He makes to lunge forward but staggers, his fingers rebel spasming around the hilt of his sword as though the ligaments are stings tugged by some invisible puppeteer. The lapse in concentration nearly costs him his head as the daemons fist hurtles a hand span from his face. With a snarl Lucius tightens his grip and the spasms recede.

Lucius stands for a while alone. He looks down at his hand, seeing the otherworldly forces struggling for control just beneath the flesh. ''They are getting worse.'' His gaze flicks up to the silent void, in the calm that comes so rarely and so fleetingly within the eye. The deck around him is silent but for the anguished screams rattling around behind his own eyes, the creaking of tormented iron and the distant laughter of the grave.

-Embrace the Pain


The chance of Lord Commander Cyrius re-emergence.

Champions of the shattered Legions. Warrior kings, aliens and assassins. The snarling face of a Fenrisian berserker, a thin-blooded descendant of the Legion of Russ. All of those who had bested Lucius in combat, who had drained him of his blood and cut his spirit from his mortal shell, crowded around him. At the centre of them all, looming as beautiful and terrible as the day they had duelled, so many lifetimes ago, stood the Lord Commander himself. Cyrius. Lucius strained against his invisible bonds as his killers smiled, fangs lengthening from beneath their lips. Cyrius’ eyes began to shine, brightening with painful light. His killers collapsed back into ropes of black oil, rushing over Lucius’ body like undulating chains of pure darkness. Coldfire lanced into the core of his being as the liquid shadow ate into his pores. More and more of them soaked over him, until only Cyrius remained standing before Lucius. Cyrius’ face rippled, as though the incorporeal flesh were nothing more than a mask worn by some raw hatred, as the stinging fire from his eyes grew blinding. Soon, Cyrius whispered. The killers had coated Lucius’ entire body, and began swirling around his neck. Their inky fluid surged over his face. They spilled between his clenched teeth and raced down his throat. Lucius felt the touch of Cyrius’ hand through the writhing dark against his cheek, hot as a glowing brand. But not yet.

-The Faultless Blade

 

[MolotovKraken]

The many descriptions of Lucius' first death. Was it Sharrowkyn or Cyrius? If it was Sharrowkyn was it Fabius or another force that brought him back? Depends on the source.

Blood burst from his broken nose and his cheekbone shattered under the force of the impact. Lucius blinked away bloody tears and pushed himself away from Sharrowkyn. He saw the black outline of the Raven Guard coming at him and stabbed his sword into where Sharrowkyn’s throat would be. His blade struck only empty air, and the shock of that almost cost him his life. Somehow, impossibly, the Raven Guard wasn’t there. A blade plunged into his side, and Lucius twisted away from the fiery, unexpected and exquisite pain. He shook his eyes clear of blood and felt the Raven Guard behind him – he spun and thrust low with his sword, but once again his blades cut air and not flesh. Another lancing blow plunged into his back, and this time the pain was an unwelcome sensation. Lucius could see the Raven Guard, but he moved like nothing he had ever seen before, faster than any mortal man could possibly move, like a wraith or a being out of step with time. A black blade licked out and laid his cheek bare to the bone, a matching wound to the one Sharrowkyn had given him the last time their blades had crossed. Lucius spun, feeling suddenly helpless as the Raven Guard slipped around him with dizzying speed, his blades stabbing again and again. Lucius felt his sword tumble from his hand, the whip wrapping itself around his wrist as though unwilling to be parted from him, even in death. Then the Raven Guard was at Lucius’s back, pushing him to his knees, blades pressed down through his gorget into the hollows either side of his neck. ‘It gives me no pleasure to do this,’ said Sharrowkyn. ‘You are nothing to me, simply a rabid dog that needs to be put down. ’Lucius tried to speak, to say something to mark his death. Sharrowkyn’s blades stabbed down behind Lucius’s collarbone, tearing through his hearts and lungs, severing arteries and wreaking catastrophic damage that not even a Space Marine’s post-human physiology could undo. And all thoughts of a worthy valediction died with him.

He was born in fire. Or was that reborn? Lucius felt it on his skin, a killing heat that consumed all before it. Fuelled by chemicals and accelerated by an almost sentient desire to devour. His eyes opened, and Lucius felt thrilling pain surge around his body. He was alive, which was something to be savoured, especially in the wake of what had gone before. Sharrowkyn. The Raven Guard had killed him. And yet he was clearly alive. Lucius remembered the twin black swords plunging into his body in the traditional manner of the executioner. The pain of the blades sliding down through his chest to pierce his hearts and puncture his lungs was a memory to cherish. It sent pulses of shivering pleasure through him even now. He sat up, touching his hands to his shoulders and finding no trace of the killing wounds, only a smooth layer of skin that felt wondrous to the touch. He sat on a metal gurney in an apothecarion that looked like a madman’s laboratory, the walls hung with heavy tubes of gurgling fluids that bubbled and steamed in the heat pervading the chamber. Fire blazed throughout its length and breadth, a raging inferno set by deliberate hand. Pools of toxic chemicals burned on the walls and floor, spilled from smashed beakers and poured from ruptured vats of highly toxic, highly flammable liquids. He was not dead. Nor was he alone...

‘Lucius!’ screamed Fabius. ‘Help me! Save the gene-samples!’Lucius had no interest in obeying the orders of the likes of Fabius, but reasoned that being oweda favour by someone with the Apothecary’s talents might be no bad thing. He swung himself fromthe gurney and scanned the workbenches lining the walls for the most useful-looking piece of apparatus, something that might fit the description...

‘What happened in there?’ asked Lucius. Fabius waved away his question. ‘Nothing of any concern to the likes of you, swordsman. I could ask you the same thing. When the Phoenician brought you to me you were cold and dead. How is it that you live?’ Lucius shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Death doesn’t want me yet. ’Fabius gave a short bark of laughter, grim and humourless.‘ Perhaps I could learn something from you then, ’said the Apothecary, staring at him with predatory malice. Lucius rose to his feet, sensing that to remain here would be dangerous. He walked away from the burning ruin of the apothecarion without looking back. By the time he reached a junction in the corridor, he felt stronger and more powerful than ever before, a dark prince among men.

-Angel Exterminatus

Lucius had never met another warrior his equal in terms of speed. Yes, Sanakht was proficient – the scar bisecting his face was proof of that – but his skill with a blade was enhanced by precognitive powers. Even Nykona Sharrowkyn, the little raven who had killed him on the world of the fictive Angel Exterminatus, had been trained to wield powers beyond any normal warrior. But in the end, neither was as naturally swift as Lucius. He dived forwards, rolling to one knee and snapping his left arm out. The barbed whip unravelled from his wrist like the lashing tongue of an insectile predator.

-Crimson King


-CSM 3.5E



-CSM 4E



-CSM 6E

Lucius continued to distinguish himself in the service of his Primarch as the Legion descended into Chaos worship. He fought with incredible speed and skill in the gladiatorial contests Fulgrim held when the Legion was travelling from world to world. Lucius was almost invincible, a force of nature that could not be bested. The champion remained undefeated until he was finally slain fighting the infamous Lord Commander Cyrius.
Slaanesh was loath to let such a promising protégé slip into oblivion. Over the next few weeks, the artificer armourCommander Cyrius wore began to warpand change. Cyrius’ hair fell out in clumps, and dark lines appeared under his flesh, slowly pushing through his skin as a maze of scar tissue. Soon, Lucius had emerged completely. All that remained of his executioner was a screaming, writhing face, subsumed for eternity into Lucius’ armour.

-CSM 8E



-CSM 9E

Fabius didn’t answer, prompting him to continue. Eidolon picked at the scab which had formed from his chest wound and allowed the blood to flow and coagulate once more. ‘Lucius was slain by a loyalist, was he not? Were not his circumstances similar to mine? Why is he not afflicted with these maladies?’ Fabius answered, ‘He did not suffer a primarch’s ire. And he was scarcely dead. It was beneath my talents to restore Lucius. A parlour trick. ’‘Your experiments upon my corpse, perfected upon my undeserving brother. ’‘Think what you will. But if you understood artistry as much as you pretend to, you would revel in deepest rapture at the miracle I alone have wrought.’

-Amor Fati

 

[MolotovKraken]

It was born in lust and unthinkable atrocity. Coalesced from the anguish and joy of a billion souls across a billion lifetimes, it swam in the after birth of a new god, shuddering from the screaming reverberations that echoed without end from the wound its arrival had torn in the fabric of the universe. From deep within this realm that joined real and unreal, it slipped out from the Sea of Souls, and onto the land of souls. It caressed the material void with questing tendrils. It was a whisper, a mellifluous zephyr that had tempted the ambition of kings and twisted entire worlds into writhing monuments of flesh, shrines for the master of pain and pleasure who was the Youngest God. It was honey and silver and the laughter and cries of aeons of sentient life. It was all of these things, and more. It watched the day and night pass over the empires of man, rising and falling, swelling and starving. It watched as they laid claim to the stars, and first drank from the cup offered by the realm of the gods. It watched as those who drank turned upon those who would not, and set their galaxy afire. Champions rose, and as a shining son was born anew within the cradle of the Dark Prince, it found the object of its desire. It watched as his hearts were pierced by midnight blades, and fate flew to pull him into the dark. A million denizens of oblivion waited across the veil, howling and slavering for the feast of his soulfire as the last of his life ebbed away. It moved closer, and in an instant it was there, looming over his stricken form, watching the lifeblood drain from his veins to grow cold and still. So long had it waited for this moment. The one born of lust and atrocity reached down, and smiled.

-The Faultless Blade

Lucius continued to distinguish himself in the arts of war as the Emperor’s Children traced the downward spiral into Chaos worship. The gaudily-painted fleets of Fulgrim’s traitor Legion moved from world to world, bringing ever more vile and extreme deaths to the populations that became their prey. In the transitory times between each invasion, the Emperor’s Children would indulge in pageants of violence and gladiatorial contests amongst themselves. Only the most inventive displays of bloodletting could stay their boredom for long.

Whenever he fought in these contests, Lucius truly excelled. His obsession with becoming the perfect swordsman lent him speed and skill that even other Space Marines could not match. The joy he took in both giving and receiving the hot kiss of agony was so intense that it echoed in both in the material dimension and the Warp. Some even whispered that Lucius had been brought back from the brink of oblivion more than once, and that his obsession was stronger than death. Lucius’ infamy grew in this realm and the next. Before long, it was not only the Emperor’s Children that drank in each of Lucius’ orgies of bloodletting, but the handmaidens of Slaanesh that clustered around his reflection in the Empyrean.

After each contest, he basked in the adulation of his fellow Traitor Legionnaires, bowing elaborately and fanning the applause with his blade. His grandstanding was such that it eventually drove the silver-maned Lord Commander Cyrius to action.

As the contest known as the Scarlet Blade reached its final round, Cyrius himself stepped into the arena against Lucius. The Lord Commander intended to teach the preening champion his place and cement his own position as Fulgrim’s favoured son in the process. Clad in baroque artificer armour painted with obscene dreamscapes and wielding a twelve-foot power spear, Cyrius made for an impressive opponent indeed.

The Lord Commander was every bit as fast as his chosen foe. Lucius fought hard to get within the reach of the power spear, ducking and rolling with fluid grace. Weapons clashed and clanged in a staccato blur. Though Lucius’ blade was sharp as a razor, it could not penetrate Cyrius’s ornate battle plate, and for his part the swordsman was wearing little more than a sleeved tunic. A well-placed kick from Cyrius sent Lucius sprawling backwards, coughing blood. A stab of the power spear took a finger from Lucius’ sword hand. Less than a second later, a sidelong blow from the power spear’s haft sent starbursts across the swordsman’s vision.

Each fresh wound had sent Lucius giggling with glee. Cyrius bared his teeth, slashing and jabbing as his opponent laughed, staggered and whirled across the scarlet sands like a demented marionette. At the last, Lucius corkscrewed through the air and levelled a decapitating blow right at Cyrius’ throat. There was a sudden crack of electrical discharge from the impact, and Lucius’ blade snapped in two.

As the crowd howled and hollered around him, Lord Commander Cyrius caught his laughing opponent by the throat. Grinning a mirthless smile, he pounded Lucius into the scarlet sands of the arena until there was nothing left but a red ruin of broken bone. The Emperor’s Children had lost their favoured duellist, but gained a memory to be savoured for years to come.

Over the next few weeks, Lord Commander Cyrius underwent a hideous transformation. His mane of hair fell out in clumps, his eyes changed colour, and the copulating figures that decorated his armour writhed and flowed to depict a host of laughing Daemons. To the commander’s mounting horror, dark lines appeared under his flesh, pushing outward with each passing night until they formed a maze of scar tissue. His screams were a source of great interest to his fellow Emperor’s Children, but none came to his aid. In the Lord Commander’s fate they saw the hand of Slaanesh at work. Some swore that Cyrius’ shrieks changed in tone, becoming ever more like maniacal laughter.

The next gladiatorial event saw Lucius stride the sands once more, his power armour adornedwith the tortured, moaning face of Cyrius. The heavily scarred swordsman had been reborn, and the Lord Commander had been taken in his place. In the throne at the arena’s edge ,Fulgrim smiled knowingly. His master Slaanesh was evidently loath to let such an entertaining protege fall from the mortal coil for long.

-Warlords of the Dark Millenium

 

[She Who Thirsts]

The research here is absolutely fantastic once again. On the long (long) list of articles I had was to go beyond Lexicanum links and cover each of the major and minor EC characters (and warbands) in detail noting particular lore entries across editions, white Dwarfs and the Black Library. It's the Black Library that lets me down as I just can't keep up with the volume of reading there. This has pretty much completed that for Lucius!

Was think thinking an overview article of EC through the editions from RT through to 10th doing the same, in a more chronological format. (i.e. here is the timeline of everywhere EC related content appeared and in what format / page, and then link to through to all the specifics). Not looking forward to finding and trawling through the old infernos and Citadel journals back when stuff was all over the shop. (I used to have most of them physically, along with warhammer monthly, and every WD from about 140 or so, but sold all when I started working overseas years ago, annoying not to have them to hand now).

This is an absolutely fantastic summary on Lucius, I thought I was well across most of his lore but I've learned plenty here, can only imagine what some new to the Hobby or EC would get with this.

The outcome would to to give new converts a shortcut to all things EC without have to be a 40k Lore aficionado given how dispose it all is. You've generated so much already I can't quite get my head around how to curate it.

The forums have an option for a resources plugin I may look into. I didn't want to go down the route of a Wiki (as Lexicanum exists) but something akin to an article with linked references of images (in the gallery so links don't break) and external sources / models links etc. is what I'm thinking.

I still need to get the final couple of major site articles published for the Codex roundup (main cornerstone content of the site) then will have a think around site and forums improvements and the collation of resources.

Anyway, just wanted to note the continued appreciation (and heads up of what it may turn into) and thanks for this specifically.

 

[MolotovKraken]

Fabius didn’t answer, prompting him to continue. Eidolon picked at the scab which had formed from his chest wound and allowed the blood to flow and coagulate once more. ‘Lucius was slain by a loyalist, was he not? Were not his circumstances similar to mine? Why is he not afflicted with these maladies?’ Fabius answered, ‘He did not suffer a primarch’s ire. And he was scarcely dead. It was beneath my talents to restore Lucius. A parlour trick. ’‘Your experiments upon my corpse, perfected upon my undeserving brother. ’‘Think what you will. But if you understood artistry as much as you pretend to, you would revel in deepest rapture at the miracle I alone have wrought.’

-Amor Fati

‘No more!’ The child’s attacker bellowed from above him, a warrior levelling a silver blade at the other figure. The blade shone despite the dark, hurting the child’s eyes as he looked upon it. The hunched form of the child’s creator took another step towards them, fully emerging from the shadow. He paused for several heartbeats, staring at the warrior, before a rattling sigh of bitter acceptance hissed from his scowl. ‘I knew he would send you,’ said the creator. ‘As he had before. The eager sycophant. You were always so desperate to please him. ’The child writhed beneath the warrior’s boot, but his assailant’s eyes, and the radiant sword, remained unmoving.‘ And what would that make you?’ the warrior sneered. ‘You, who ignores his law? You believe that you can defy him, time and again, and not pay the price for it?’ The warrior looked down. The child coughed, clearing enough of the amniotic fluid from his lungs to loose a cry so pure, so heart-achingly beautiful, so like that of their father, that a single tear of blood slid down the warrior’s face. He looked back up at the creator. Anger, disgust and sick pride mingled and burned in his eyes. ‘I am that price, Fabius. ’Fabius Bile gave another death-rattle sigh.

‘There are times when I truly regret saving you, Lucius. ’The warrior, the one the child’s creator had called Lucius, would not be goaded. ‘Our father forbade this.’ He glared down at the child. ‘This madness. You knew he would discover it again, and you knew what he would do. Did you truly believe he would not send me, as he has before? Did you truly believe you would not arouse his wrath with this incessant blasphemy?’

-The Faultless Blade