The Truth About Horus Heresy - Warhammer 40K Fantasy

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    Daemonette Nagato's Avatar
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    His eyes filled with smoldering anger and frustration, Horus gripped the bridge railing with the strength of a vise. The steel gave way and twisted under the super-human strength of his fingers. Even his tactically brilliant mind could see no other options left to him and it was clear that the situation had become far to dire to wait out; so the Warmaster reluctantly ordered the bombardment to commence. From orbit the massive batteries of his vengeful fleet began laying down its unrelenting barrage in an effort to cripple the defenses around the Emperor’s Palace and make way for the inevitable assault.


    A snarl curled across his face, in self-condemnation for having been so forgiving of his brother Primarchs and he despaired at having given their treachery such a wide berth. He muttered a vow against ever being so trusting of anyone ever again. The reinforced steel railing submitted to his rage and snapped free as the mammoth guns of his flagship thundered his wrath.
    ---------


    Like a vile putrescent cancer, the treachery had infected its way through the entire structure of the Imperium; even winding its black tendrils inside the very Palace walls themselves. The Emperor’s most trusted advisors whispered lies to him in secret as they sought to steal the victories of the crusading Legions for themselves. They had slandered the Warmaster, accusing him of daemon worship and blasphemy, in a malicious plan to make themselves look greater.


    Horus might have dismissed those lies out of hand as just so much smoldering jealousy - as they were - but the evil had not stopped there. The liars had even turned on his own beloved Legion; the Emperor’s own Praetorians. Slander after slander had been heaped at their feet as well; all in an effort of the garrison legions to cover their own laziness and satisfy their selfish and cowardly pride. And still the treachery did not stop. Even Horus’ own brothers, Lorgar, Alpharious, Night Hunter, Angron, Fulgrim, Mortarion, Perturabo and Magnus had been accused of countless heresies by their jealous brethren - even while they were out sweating and bleeding with their own legions in order to expand the Imperium.


    On Earth, at the very heart of humanity’s realm, the most insidious treacheries were taking place. The sons of Dorn, who had been honored enough to garrison the very Palace itself, had grown lazy and proud and had propped themselves up on the laurels of the crusading legions, claiming victories that were not their own. Life on Earth and the comforts it brought had allowed vice and blasphemous pleasures to enter their ranks. Without enemies to slay or the hardships of battle to keep them vigilant, The Imperial Fists had resorted to relishing in the pleasures of sick masochism and self-inflicted pain rituals, slowly allowing their minds to be subverted by strange dark powers.


    The lies had been propagated so well, had been twisted with the truth so compellingly that the Emperor himself had fallen victim to their predations. Whether he yet had any loyalty to his own sons at all or not was uncertain. Certainly, recent events had only proven that he had finally turned his from them withdrawing his graces completely.


    On distant Prospero, Magnus’ scryings had given him insight into an insidious plot playing out on Earth. He had heard the slanderous lies levied in a treacherous conference; held in absence of the crusading chapters and condemning them with false blasphemies. Their treacherous brethren were lobbying for the seizure of all stocks of the precious geneseed that kept each chapter alive to the Adeptus Custodes on Earth.


    Dorn, Sanguinus, Russ and the Khan, knowing that their proximity to Earth would insure continued control of such stocks had agreed to the ridiculous plan, even championed it. And in one fell swoop they sought to seize the upper hand on their jealously hated brethren. Their evil plans were coming to fruition; for once that geneseed was given over to their ‘protection’, they were planning to display tainted samples and in turn condemn each of the crusading chapters to oblivion. With the stocks of geneseed under their protection, any legion of their choosing could be stricken from existence with very little effort at all.


    In disbelief, Magnus sought council with Horus on what might be done. The lies and slanders had been unbearable enough, but to have the very future of his own legion snatched from him was unthinkable. Something had to be done and done quickly. Because the normal means of communication could not be trusted, Magnus used his magicks in a desperate attempt to warn the Emperor of the plot directly. But his arcane skills and ancient knowledge had already been controversial and the conspirators used it as a gambit against him. The treachery ran deeper than even the farsighted Magnus had envisioned.


    In a bleak and tragic twist of fate, it was Russ, in all his barbaric superstition, who intercepted the warning message instead of the Emperor. The message was wolfishly misrepresented so as to color Magnus with a dark and wicked brush. False and imagined blasphemies never committed by him or his Thousand Sons were woven in such a terribly calculating manner that there had been no choice but for the Emperor to angrily unleash the Space Wolves against their brother Marines.


    The results were horrific. Magnus had believed the Emperor warned and was unaware that his brother was coming to destroy him. As a result, the planetary defenses were never raised and the arrival of the Space Wolves fleet utterly obliterated the Thousand Sons homeworld. Only the mastery of those very arcane arts which had been used to condemn Magnus had saved his learned and beautiful City of Light from utter annihilation - although it was not before the wolves danced in savage celebrations around the roaring pyres of great and ancient tomes. The greatest repository of knowledge in the Imperium passed from existence on that day.


    Back on Earth, the treachery continued to worm its way into loyal elements of the Emperor’s army and within their very own fortresses. The Emperor was whispered lies by his own personal guard, the Adeptus Custodes. He was ever accompanied by Sanguinus; and the mutated Primarch of the vitae hungry Blood Angels unceasingly used his inhuman charisma to cloud the Emperor’s eyes with jealous lies and fill his ears with honeyed poisons against his brothers abroad. Indeed, when the Adeptus Arbites, stalwart defenders of the law, stood out alone against the corruption, they were defamed as traitors, and the Blood Angels feasted on their very lifeblood in a grotesque charnel-house banquet.


    The palace was not the sole pit of treachery. Beneath their Fortress Monastery, grim-visaged Rogal Dorn led his stern Imperial Fists in perverse masochistic orgies. Within the armored factory complexes of the Adeptus Mechanicus, tech-priests put aside their very humanity and melded with despicably twisted weapons of their order. In the quiet of the frightened hab-areas, the loyal citizens of Earth hid in terror of the terrible nomadic Space Marines of the White Scars, led by Jhagatai Khan, who swept through their cities in rolling packs slaughtering, pillaging and raping anything in their path. Three full Titan legions fell to the corruption. And all was hidden from the Emperor’s sight, as the fog of untruth grew thicker.


    ---------


    Now the Earth shuddered under the bombardment. Tank divisions ripped at the landscape while taking up their positions against the coming invasion. Loyal men in every company were slaughtered as their corrupt brethren took up weapons and swore fealty to these dark Primarchs. Defense lasers scorched across the skies intercepting the plasma contrails of drop-pods as the Sons of Horus, ever the Emperor’s faithful Praetorians, flew yet again to the aid of the Imperium.


    Within the Palace halls even the Space Marines shuddered knowing that they could not withstand the wrath of their crusading brethren. The terrifying prospect of facing the combined might of the loyal Primarchs who had come to rescue the Emperor’s soul filled them with indescribable horror and dread. But their hunger for power and their jealousies gave them a dark confidence.


    The pods touched ground and from them erupted the mightiest champions of the Imperium, the mighty Space Marines of the Sons of Horus, the World Eaters, the Death Guard, the Thousand Sons and the Emperor’s Children. These were no longer their beloved brethren but mighty angels of vengeance steeled with the very same unflinching devotion to the Imperium; an Imperium which they themselves had forged.


    Mighty Angron bellowed orders to his own sons, the World Eaters. Brandishing his great runesword he led them against the heretical defenders of Eternity Wall SpacePort. Around his blue and white armored followers bolter shots whined. Unflinchingly they advanced, determined to spill the blood of those who had defiled the Emperor’s trust.


    Mortarion’s soft-spoken command urged the Death Guard on as they emerged silently from their drop-pods to advanced on their terror-stricken foes. Mortarion’s scythe glittered forebodingly in the night as he gestured for them to advance, and the weak willed heretics fled to their embattlements.


    Magnus the Red glared vengefully about him with his ever-watchful eye before ordering the enlightened warrior-mages of the Thousand Sons to cast their spells of doom. More than any of the coming Primarchs, justice was in his gaze; a justice for his destroyed and peaceful homeworld. He sought for any sign of the hated Space Wolves, but would find no gratification; they had been delayed in returning from their orgy of destruction on Prospero and had been carried by their battle lust into petty skirmishes with their rival Legion the Dark Angels.


    A hail of deadly bolter shells cut down dozens of the Emperor’s Children. Undeterred, they marched forward still chanting their praises to their beloved Emperor and to their glorious Primarch Fulgrim. The Loyal Space Marines surged forward to carve a swath of vengeful justice through their foes; a desperate salient reaching for the Emperor himself.


    The defenders went mad with fear. The corruption ran deeper than anyone suspected, and they were foolish enough to think that they could stand against such a flood. Whatever the reasons they chose to justify their heresy, were unknown. They continued their chants and howled their mad prayers to the treacherous Primarchs. Indeed it seemed that all were living in the last days of mankind, and still they reveled.


    Giant dropships thundered from orbit, in a desperate hope that overwhelming numbers could sweep the traitors from the citadel walls; but unlike the elusive drop-pods these behemoths proved easy targets for the defensive batteries. Many of the ships were blasted from the sky, sending them crashing fatally into the throng below, killing warrior and civilian alike. Despite the horrifying bubbling masses of twisted and fused metal around them, the attackers surged forth hurling their might against the bastions of the heretics. The rebels were met by waves of loyal Space Marines, desperate men who knew that they were selling their lives for the very Imperium itself.


    Resistance at the Eternity Wall SpacePort was swept aside by the wrath of the Warmaster, and even larger drop-ships descended from orbit. They towered hundreds of meters over the landing ground like mighty skyscrapers and their giant doors opened revealing the glorious giants of the loyal Titan legions; their carapace armor polished and bright with the markings of the Imperium. Engines roared like the voices of angry gods. Banners fluttering, the Storm Lords and the Flaming Skulls titan legions marched forward from the SpacePort routing the traitors before them.


    Reinforced, the armies of Horus swept forward, hammering into the demoralized traitors to the very walls of the Emperor’s palace. There, bitter fighting ensued as the heretics sallied forth, trying to drive the attackers back. Men died in the thousands. From their emplacements in the palace walls traitorous guns hurled death down into the attackers. Again and again the bodies were swept clear, and again and again new heroes stepped forward to take their place.


    Now indeed it seemed the tide of battle had turned for the Warmaster. The spaceports were firmly in the grasp of his warriors. Hundreds of thousands of troops poured down from orbit. Under the banner of the great eye, the sign of Horus, the Emperor’s faithful marched united. Mounted on Rhinos, thundering from the Behemoth drop ships they made their way en masse to the Emperor’s palace.


    Looking down on the voluminous sea of virtue the defenders’ hearts went even colder. The heretical Space Marines and traitor Guardsmen manned the very walls of the Palace itself. These were people they might have once fought alongside, who had once been as loyal to the Emperor as themselves. They looked upon a dark mirror of their souls. Up there they could see martial honor become berserk madness, human cleverness become sly treachery, hope become foulness and love become abominable lust. The cowardly men on the walls knew that there was no way out. Here they must stand and fight and die. There would be no mercy from those below. This was a war where there could be no honorable peace. It was destroy or be destroyed.


    In a strange moment all fell silent, as Angron strode forth to the wall. He demanded that the blasphemers surrender and condemned their cause as hopeless. He swore and cursed them, and pronounced that their dark Primarchs were unworthy of their loyalty. In that moment the men on the walls felt their resolve weaken. Looking at the fearsome face of the Primarch who was one of the Emperor’s finest warriors, and they saw an invincible, relentless foe backed by a numberless horde and carrying all the glorious might of the Imperium’s crusading armies.


    His demands were met by the clamor of Sanguinus and the Blood Angels arrival. Standing on the wall, the mutant-winged man glared on Angron with hateful contempt. For what seemed like hours their gazes froze on each other and each brother to be measured the other for the first time as enemies, searching their memories for any known weaknesses they might lever against the other. Who can know for sure what passed between them in their unspoken communication, brother Primarch to brother Primarch? That will never be known, but eventually Angron turned and walked back to his lines. He told his troops that there would be no surrender and they should kill everyone they found within the palace. Nothing was to be spared their wrath.


    With a roar the horde threw itself against the walls again. Enormous war machines cracked the plascrete and ceramite, unloading racks of missiles and turning the battlements into a swirling cauldron of horror and death. Special siege equipped Titans directed their weapons against the walls and the orbiting ships railed their bombardments into the heart of the citadel.


    Every traitorous warrior knew that they were already dead and that there would be no survival. The soldiers fought with the desperation of madmen, draining their weapons and turning the butts of their guns against the assailants once all ammunition was exhausted. Thrice the Warmaster’s forces scaled the walls, and thrice they were driven back by the malevolent efforts of Sanguinus and the Blood Angels. Evilly the Primarch marshaled his defenders, slaying the broken, speaking threatening words of retribution to the weak willed, fighting with cold, deamonic fury when he was called upon to do so. Despite all of his efforts, the attackers slowly and deliberately managed to erode the defense. They were numberless and hardened by centuries of crusading, where his own sons had grown soft from centuries of suckling directly from the Emperor.


    Other heretical forces around the planet raced desperately trying to relieve the palace defenders. Traitorous titan legions cut frightening swaths towards the center of the attacking army while the Whitescars harried its flanks. No attempt to break the Warmaster’s lines succeeded. All five of the valiant Primarchs inspired their sons to feats of glorious bravery, and for every loyal warrior who died it seemed a score of traitors fell with him.


    In orbit the Warmaster watched pensively. If he could not penetrate the Imperial Palace and expose this conspiracy to the Emperor; or if in fact he would not be convinced of the truth; then his loyal legions would lose heart and the glory that was the Imperium would crumble. Without the unity forged by the Emperor’s strength, humanity would swiftly splinter. Horus knew he must prevent humanity’s greatest empire from falling into gibbering rubble. He would fight his own traitorous brothers personally and spend his very life if need be. But he must win soon or reinforcements would filter in from the corners of the Imperium, called by their blasphemous brethren here on Earth, and his attack would falter. For the Warmaster this was the desperate ultimate gamble. Everything was staked on this assault. It had to succeed.


    The siege wore on through days and casualties mounted into the hundreds of thousands. The Saturnine Gate was choked with bodies. Loyalist Titans blazed at the walls with siege missiles ripping great chunks from the masonry. The traitorous Titans of the Fire Wasps answered their own massive weapons and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The World Eaters built a pyramid of scorched heretic skulls sixty-foot high in Temple Square.


    The traitors fell back, foot by torturous foot hiding within the labyrinth of bulkheads and corridors filling entire passageways with bloated corpses. Knowing the progress was grinding too slowly, Horus directed his Titans and the siege engines of the Iron Warriors towards a weakened section of the wall and their combined firepower broke the bastion wide. The forces of the Warmaster flooded into the palace grounds.


    While all this was taking place Jhagatai Khan and his terrible White Scars had recoiled in frustration and bitter contempt. This was not his kind of warfare and he wished not to waste his forces against the mass of the main loyalist army. He launched his shaven-headed barbarians in a lightning raid against Lions Gate SpacePort; supported by the scant remnants of the traitor Tank Divisions and Guard Regiments. They caught the defending loyalists, who had thought the fighting to be centered on the palace, by surprise. Khan ran a circling perimeter around the spaceport slaughtering the defenders within and holding it foiling any counter-attacks from without. The Warmaster’s reinforcements were halved at one tragic stroke.


    Bolstered by this success, they swiftly attempted to seize Eternity Wall SpacePort but here the forces of the Warmaster were better prepared. The attackers were ambushed and driven back by the faithful. Horus knew it was imperative to keep his last remaining beachhead intact. The final assault on the inner palace was beginning.


    Rogal Dorn commanded his sky fortress to the inner palace, carrying the remnants of his Imperial Fists with him. The twisted and mutilated old general was determined to stand and die before allowing his brethren to bring the truth and his own shame to the Emperor at this final hour. Then his Sky Fortress raced away in a vain attempt to reach Jhagatai Khan and return him to the palace as well. The fortress was crippled and shot down, but even in death its commander wrought havoc on the loyalists, bringing the crippled vehicle down into the center of the Warmaster’s forces. The plasma reactor exploded, blasting a three-kilometer crater in the heart of the Warmaster’s army. Those within the palace knew their final means of escape had been destroyed.


    The last siege began, and through great breaches in the outer walls more and more of the crusading armies were brought to bear. The Warmaster himself was preparing to teleport down to the surface and meet his still beloved Emperor face to face when the dreaded news came to him . . . A combined renegade fleet under the command of Leman Russ and Lion’el Johnson bearing a fresh army of barbarous Space Wolves and fallen Dark Angels was mere hours away. It would still take days to break into humanity’s greatest citadel, even with Horus personally leading his troops. It seemed that time had run out for the Warmaster, that his desperate gamble of hope had failed.


    Horus was first among the Primarchs, with the power and cunning of a god. He resolved himself to one final desperate gamble. If he could not reach the Emperor, maybe he could arrange for the Emperor to reach him. He ordered all comm-nets to block the news of reinforcements from the defenders so as to prevent their gaining heart. Finally he dropped the shields of his command ship. It was an open invitation to the Emperor that could not be missed and a personal challenge that he knew his treacherous brothers could not resist. He was offering a chance to the foes who had slandered and harried him for so long.


    Despite the foul pleadings of his traitorous Primarch sons, who wished him to stay in the palace where they could best work their manipulations, the Emperor insisted on teleporting up to the Warmaster’s ship. They had to resign themselves to at accompanying him, in a last effort to protect their false honors. Horus needed to separate the Emperor from his despicable sons and was able to cause the boarding party to be scattered to different spots within his flagship. Sanguinus he had brought directly to his personal chambers, for it was the evil cunning of his honeyed slanders, which had most, poisoned the Emperor’s ears. He tried one last plea with Sanguinus in a desperate attempt at reasoning with the winged Primarch, but it was in vain.


    Sanguinus rebuked his offers of fraternity with all the malicious jealousy he could manifest. Horus grew wrathful and attacked him. Even at the peak of his powers the Blood Angel was no match for the Warmaster and now, sorely wounded and weary he had no chance at all. Horus strangled him with his bare hands; choking the last poisoned breath from his traitorous body.


    The Emperor found Horus shortly after this and with the slanderous poison still in his ears, utterly and tragically misunderstood the scene. He hurled himself at the Warmaster in utter wrath and Horus had not choice but to believe the Emperor had completely succumbed to the web of lies and blasphemy which had been spun for him. And so, the two mightiest beings in the history of mankind clashed. They met blade to blade, power to power, mind to mind and tested sinew and psychic power to the ultimate.


    Behind Horus were the massed powers of truth and honor tempered in justice. The Emperor stood on the fickle foundations of slanders, lies and blasphemies, but this he did not realize and so he triumphed, although he was terribly wounded in the process. The combatants, both fatally wounded circled each other, and only now, when the strength of rage and wrath had passed them, when the quiet of fatigue settled in was Horus able to address the Emperor. He told him of the plots, of the slanderous lies, and of his ever vigilant faithfulness and his words were so filled with utter truth and righteousness, that the Emperor was filled with compassion and he wept. He wept and the futility of the situation filled them both with regret. Both father and son could feel their lives slipping coldly into oblivion from wounds they had inflicted on each upon the other and the tragic irony of it all settled in. As the Horus, ever his favored son, passed from the living the Emperor howled in agonizing sadness and vowed that he would follow his honorable son into death. Only then could they both be reborn and with them the Imperium itself might regain some shred of the hope and destiny it once knew.


    The psychic shock wave of the Warmaster’s passing rippled outward through the warp. On Earth, his sons shuddered and withdrew. It was their father who was dead and they knew it. With the one who had raised the banner of justice dead, there was no hope. They were demoralized and dismayed. When word of the oncoming traitor fleet reached them they knew that they must flee.


    Within the perimeter of Lions Gate SpacePort, Jhagatai Khan and the hate filled Whitescars watched in amazement as the horde halted, then retreated. Angron, Fulgrim, Magnus the Red and Mortarion led their men to their ships and departed. As he stepped aboard his ship Angron turned and shook his fist at the foul dome of the Imperial palace that had proved just out of his vengeful reach. Then he shrugged; he and his legion had all eternity to seek revenge. The Battle for the redemption of the Imperium was over. Hope was destroyed and the legions under the dark and foul command of the remaining traitorous Primarchs had prevailed.


    Rogal Dorn found the Emperor’s broken body in the ruins of the Warmaster’s throne room. Through mangled lips the Emperor begged to be left to die as he deserved and commanded his devious son from his presence. Dorn smiled, for while the Emperor was kept alive there was still hope for his foul conspiracy. The dark general returned to Earth. There, he put is dark mechanizations to work and built the Golden Throne. It was a torturous device that would keep the Emperor alive in a morbid undeath and thus prevent his ever being reborn to save the Imperium of mankind from the evil designs of his conspiracy with the traitors of the Inquisition and the Adeptus Custodes. Despite all odds, the traitors had been victorious and justice had been ruined.


    The attacking forces fell back to their ships, demoralized at the loss and abandoned vast armies worth of the machines of war in their wake. The Sons of Horus felt the despair worst of all the crusading legions and it was their fleet that broke from the blockade first. The fleets of the other Primarchs fighting a scattered rear guard behind them. The arrival of the reinforcing fleets led by Russ and El’Johnson as well as the remaining fleets of the other traitor legions harried the broken loyalists scattering them further, splintering them in an evil divisiveness towards destruction. The only refuge to be found was in the Eye of Terror, and it was there that the remnants of the once glorious and previously undefeated crusading legions fled.


    Cut off from one another, broken in disbelief, and cast into a violent and hostile realm, they turned on one another. Blame was cast on the Sons of Horus for leading the retreat, and the splintered legions fell upon them in despair. Valiantly the Sons fought war after war against their brethren in this dark realm that twisted the very souls of men from the light, but they were dwindling in number. Ever vigilant and faithful to their Emperor and their Primarch, they fought on; but their brothers were turning in hopelessness to the vile dark forces to which they had previously been accused of worshipping. The sons of Angron turned to Khorne who welcomed their unforgiving rage. The sons of Magnus turned to the Changer or Ways who welcomed the strength of their arcane mastery. The sons of Fulgrim fell into depression at having been abandoned by their beloved Emperor and were seduced in solace by the Keeper of Secrets. And ever the somberest of the host, the sons of Mortarion were embraced by the Great Unclean One. Each legion lost heart and gave in to the promises of glory and strength. Each offered their fealty to these new dark gods to fill the void, which had been left when they realized their Emperor had truly abandoned them. They bolstered their numbers with daemons and swore vengeance against their traitorous brethren who had brought their hard built Imperium crumbling down into a twisted mockery of its former glory.


    The Sons of Horus were shattered, abandoned, hated, besieged and cast into the Eye alone without their Primarch or their Emperor. They had been beaten, but they refused to be defeated and swore their own oaths to one day watch the Imperium, which they above all had once fought so hard to build, burn in utter annihilation . . .


    I found it funny

    MEAT IS MURDER
    Hammerskin
    Nation



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  3. #2
    LO Zealot Blood God's Avatar
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    That is the most impressive thing I have seen in the whole time here in LO.

    I commend you

    Much respect
    Blood God

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    Cousin It Carnage's Avatar
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    bar the fact sanguinius was perfect...even the traitor legion accounts say so...also horus used daemons...thats heresy

    it is a unique perspective though :lol:
    Never judge someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes...by that time they'll be a mile away, and have no shoes

  5. #4
    Daemonette Nagato's Avatar
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    Well is almost the truth, bat the are some "gaps" here.
    MEAT IS MURDER
    Hammerskin
    Nation



  6. #5
    A very violent persona Apotheosis's Avatar
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    Wow. . . . . . . . amazing. . . . . :thumbs_up:

    Dear, that is the last thing I'd expect from you. . . .

    And with perfect English too. ^_^

    Anyways, awesome story. . . . . . . .

    Good Night.
    "And whoever wants to be a creator in good and evil, must first be an annihilator and break values. Thus the highest evil belongs to the greatest goodness: but this is--being creative."

    ~ Friedrich Nietzsche ~

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    Pathfinder Edicius's Avatar
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    Well that's one way of looking at it. :blink: Brilliant story by the way, very nice. :thumbs_up:

  8. #7
    Senior Member Xaero's Avatar
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    I have to say, I nice account, and a cool, "what if." All in all, a great story.

    Mad Props to Angel_of_Rust for the sig.

  9. #8
    Senior Member Carcaroth's Avatar
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    A very cool story, i've heard several people say rumours about the 'traitor' legions not being the real traitors and such and that just summed it all up nicely. welldone.
    Wir Werden Vorherrschen!

    "I cast Lvl. 3 Eroticism. You turn into a real beautiful woman."

  10. #9
    Supreme Evil Overlord Dreachon's Avatar
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    Nagato, I humbly bow before thow

    *bow*

    this is nothing short than a masterpiece, an incredable briljant masterpiece
    Now at least so many of our fallen brethren can learn the truth of what happened

  11. #10
    Senior Member Ravensdark's Avatar
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    Whereabouts did you find it on the net as i remember reading either this one or one incredibly similar a few years back.

    Anyway nice find, id been looking for it for ages so well done.

    I really like this idea basically so i can take pot shots at that yellow wearing wussy Dorn.
    <span style='color:red'>&quot;Right lads, lets make a tactical advance to the rear of our posistion&quot;
    &quot;Errr do you mean run away?&quot;
    &quot;Thats the one&quot;</span>

    &quot;Oh man, look at that.&quot;
    &quot;Where?&quot;
    &quot;Over there, by that river of boiling souls.&quot;
    &quot;Well I&#39;ll be damned... it&#39;s a Starbucks.&quot;

    <a href='http://www.freewebs.com/ravensdark/' target='_blank'>THE SOUL REAVERS</a>
    <a href='http://www.freewebs.com/gaeisia/index.htm' target='_blank'>GAESIA</a>

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