Особенности национальной одержимости

[хемуль]

Обычной, насколько я помню, он там прятался =). Вот отрывок:

» Нажмите, для отображения текста «

Освобождаясь от доспехов, Жак внутренним взором исследовал свою психику. Кажется, все в порядке… но Тайный Инквизитор продолжал упорно искать… … и нашел.

Нечто чужеродное притаилось в большом пальце правой ноги. Существо размером с бородавку пряталось от разума Жака. Как только варп-тварь поняла, что обнаружена, она выплеснула энергию, волнами прокатившуюся по телу Драко. Правая стопа онемела, вышла из подчинения, контролируемая невидимой сущностью.

Постепенно нога онемела до колена, потом до бедра. Власть Хаоса поднималась, как талая вода весной. Молитвы Жака не помогали. Нужно немедленно вырвать демона из костного мозга и отбросить обратно в варп-пространство.

Еще владея голосом, Жак приказал Лексу: - Держи нагрудник передо мной как зеркало. Глаза закрой.

Гигант все понял. Увидев в полированном металле собственное бородатое лицо, Жак открыл глаз Азула. Собравшись с духом, он взглянул на свое отражение через линзу. Руна маршрута превратилась в пульсирующую решетку.

Электромагнитное поле протянуло щупальца в мозг Драко, словно мощная турбина затягивала в воронку психику Инквизитора. Но туда же всасывало и демона, не успевшего развернуться в новом теле.

С визгом варп-тварь исчезла в энергетическом водовороте. Волна отхлынула, утянув с собой сопротивляющееся чудовище. Жак был свободен.

Сильно. Самоэкзорцизм рулит. :D

[Юрий Игоревич]

Имхо, возможны все варанты. Как автор захочет.

[Добавлено позже]

Обычной, насколько я помню, он там прятался =). Вот отрывок:

Освобождаясь от доспехов, Жак внутренним взором исследовал свою психику. Кажется, все в порядке… но Тайный Инквизитор продолжал упорно искать… … и нашел.

Нечто чужеродное притаилось в большом пальце правой ноги. Существо размером с бородавку пряталось от разума Жака. Как только варп-тварь поняла, что обнаружена, она выплеснула энергию, волнами прокатившуюся по телу Драко. Правая стопа онемела, вышла из подчинения, контролируемая невидимой сущностью.

Постепенно нога онемела до колена, потом до бедра. Власть Хаоса поднималась, как талая вода весной. Молитвы Жака не помогали. Нужно немедленно вырвать демона из костного мозга и отбросить обратно в варп-пространство.

Еще владея голосом, Жак приказал Лексу: - Держи нагрудник передо мной как зеркало. Глаза закрой.

Гигант все понял. Увидев в полированном металле собственное бородатое лицо, Жак открыл глаз Азула. Собравшись с духом, он взглянул на свое отражение через линзу. Руна маршрута превратилась в пульсирующую решетку.

Электромагнитное поле протянуло щупальца в мозг Драко, словно мощная турбина затягивала в воронку психику Инквизитора. Но туда же всасывало и демона, не успевшего развернуться в новом теле.

С визгом варп-тварь исчезла в энергетическом водовороте. Волна отхлынула, утянув с собой сопротивляющееся чудовище. Жак был свободен.

А если б писала какая-нибудь Доноцова, то звучало б примерно так:

Молодой и красивый Жак, придя с работы, начал раздеваться. На большом пальце ноги он заметил что-то. Это была бородавка. Отвращение охватило его, а нога как-будто начала неметь.

- Что ж, нужно сделать педикюр - сказал Жак сам себе - И побыстрее!

Вооружившись зеркалом и пензой он стал приводить свои ноги в порядок. Работы оказалось больше, чем он думал. Через час Жак был вновь свободен.

[w1zzard]

В "Адептах тьмы" был архимагос Антигон. У него тоже демон в ноге сидел. Отрезал ногу и все...

Правда демон никуда не делся (если я правильно помню). Демон бы сожрал душу Антигона, но Архимагос был вынужден изгнать из тела... себя. Точнее свой дух и разум, превратившись тем самым в самого совершенного механикуса, т.е. получил форму (хм... кстати похожую на демоническую) бестелесную, осуществил мечту любого механикус, избавившись от физического тела.

Одержимость помогла достичь совершенства.

Изменено 11 февраля, 2009 пользователем Xeron

[Sinner]

Раз уж начили приводить премеры из книг, то тот же Тониус-Слайт из цикла про Рейвинора типичный премер тому как могут уживаться человек и демон. Так что я считаю что ничег демон САМ сделать с душой носителя не может. А вот добрые инквизиторы могут. И тогда такой одержимый называется демонхост.

[Genlaer]

В "Ордо Еретикус" ученый Эйзенхорна на время стал одержимым, чтобы удержать демона. Так, что при грамотном подходе, можно "скрутить" демона, не давая ему при этом конторировать человека. Душа при этом остаётся на месте.

В кодексе ДХ написанно об инквизиторе, который изгнал демона приложив огненный меч к своей груди.

Аларик изгонял демона в 3й книге про Серых Рыцарей - "Молот демонов", если не ошибаюсь, на русский не переводилась.

Так, что 2 и 3 вариант.

Изгнание души- при "изготовлении" демонхоста из живого человека. Подробно описанно в "Ордо Малеус"

[Drinker]

Так что я считаю что ничег демон САМ сделать с душой носителя не может.

Мда? А как же Фулгрим? Сомнительно, что он сам позволил демону стать главным и поработить свою душу.

Имхо тупо всё - сила демона против силы существа, которое с ним пытается быть в симбиозе. Боюсь, что Фулгримовского демона и десять Эйзенхорнов задолбались бы изгонять.

[Юрий Игоревич]

Мда? А как же Фулгрим? Сомнительно, что он сам позволил демону стать главным и поработить свою душу.

Именно так и было.

[Daddymoroz]

Именно так и было.

Плюс там был кораптнутый меч, через который и кораптился Фулгрим, а когда Фулгрим дал слабину, Демон и жахнул и овладел телом

[Sinner]

Мда? А как же Фулгрим? Сомнительно, что он сам позволил демону стать главным и поработить свою душу.

Стесняюсь спросить, а разве нет?

[Umbra]

Фулгрим как раз сам позволил демону взять над собой контроль, когда не смог сам оттяпать голову Феррусу (кажется так было), а тот потом просто не захотел меняться назад.

[Юрий Игоревич]

Фулгрим как раз сам позволил демону взять над собой контроль, когда не смог сам оттяпать голову Феррусу (кажется так было), а тот потом просто не захотел меняться назад.

Фулгрим отдавал тело без возрата, т.е. о возрате речь и не шла... Но он по прежнему бодрствует, просто скорбит в уголке сознания, судя со слов демона. Т.е. фулгрим - эмо почище мортариона.

[Umbra]

Фулгрим отдавал тело без возрата, т.е. о возрате речь и не шла... Но он по прежнему бодрствует, просто скорбит в уголке сознания, судя со слов демона. Т.е. фулгрим - эмо почище мортариона.

О как O_o, спасибо, не знал. Я думал что его от туда просто не выпускают...

[Ракшас]

Кстати, возник вопрос - а может ли человек (ну или разумное существо) подчинить вселившегося в него демона? Если да, то это просто сверхвозможности!

[Юрий Игоревич]

Кстати, возник вопрос - а может ли человек (ну или разумное существо) подчинить вселившегося в него демона? Если да, то это просто сверхвозможности!

Ну почему же? Подчинить - врядли, вон был пример, что даже инквизитор этого не смог, то я не знаю, кто из ныне живущих может...

[Ракшас]

Почему это сверхвозможности? Если посмотреть, что творит демон в теле носителя, и ещё научиться делать это по собственной воле... Хотя наверное, если инквизитор не смог, то с другими маловероятно.

[Ызарг]

Вспомним милейшего чувака Фулгрима, уже десять тысяч лет скулящего в темном углу собственного сознания, пока его тело управляется демоном. Вариант б.

Хотя и а, и в вполне возможны. В тот день, когда у ГВ появится единая стандартизированная система бэка вместо сегодняшнего хаоса, я куплю ящик шампанского и разопью его со всеми желающими на Красной площади.

З.Ы. Быть эмо почище Морта - физически невозможно ;)

Изменено 12 февраля, 2009 пользователем Ызарг

[ANF]

как написано в кодексе хсм..когда хсм махаеться тем больше его сознание отступает а на его место встает та самая звериная сущность чувствуя души..прада блек легионеры научились изгонять демонов оставив душу на месте.

[Keefer]

прада блек легионеры научились изгонять демонов оставив душу на месте.

Так теперь все хаосмары умеют, но вполне возможно, что хлопцы из Чёрного Легиона первыми разработали эту методику.

Изменено 12 февраля, 2009 пользователем Keefer

[Молитор]

А в "Инквизиторе" вроде ученый(не помню как зовут)вселил демонхоста в себя,затем переселил его в Фишига(паспортист,блин),и только после этого умер.Так что,по-моему, а и в.

[Drinker]

Фулгрим отдавал тело без возрата, т.е. о возрате речь и не шла... Но он по прежнему бодрствует, просто скорбит в уголке сознания, судя со слов демона. Т.е. фулгрим - эмо почище мортариона.

Инсинуации. =)

Нет, ну если серьёзно ( ;) ) - можно привести отрывок текста? Это не подколка - я вот "Фулгрима" до конца не то что не прочитал - не хватает времени и не очень хорошее знание английского, что делает достаточно долгим процесс перевода - так корябаюсь где-то и как-то. Ну и - соответственно - возможно - не совсем правильно что-то читаю. Можно попросить выложить тут или кинуть по личке кусок текста, который будет подтверждать данное утверждение (английского)? Если не трудно. :)

Я имею в виду про добровольное подчинение.

Изменено 12 февраля, 2009 пользователем Drinker

[Firaekuel]

Инсинуации. =)

Можно попросить выложить тут или кинуть по личке кусок текста, который будет подтверждать данное утверждение (английского)? Если не трудно. :)

Я имею в виду про добровольное подчинение.

Осторожно, он довольно длинный

» Нажмите, для отображения текста «

Unnatural warp-forged steel met the iron flesh of a primarch, its aberrant edge cutting through Ferrus's skin, muscle and bone with a shrieking howl that echoed in realms beyond those knowable to mortals.

...

Fulgrim took a shuddering breath and raised his hands to the heavens, screaming his loss at the sight of his brother so cruelly murdered.

What have I done?' he howled. Throne save me, what have I done?'

What needed to be done.

Fulgrim heard the voice as a sibilant whisper in his ear, the breath of the speaker hot on his neck. He twisted his neck, but there was nothing to be seen, no unseen speaker or mysterious presence.

'He's dead/ whispered Fulgrim, the aching loss and guilt of his crime too monstrous to believe. 'I killed him.'

Yes, you did. With your own hands, you struck down your brother, he who had only thought well of you and fought faithfully with you through all the long years.

'He... he was my brother.'

He was, and all he ever did was honour you. The looming presence that surrounded him and spoke to him seemed to claw at his eyes with insubstantial fingers, and Fulgrim felt his mind wrenched into the realm of memory, seeing once again the battle against the Diasporex and the Fist of Iron coming to the rescue of the Firebird. He saw the resentment he had picked at for months, only now understanding the altruism of Ferrus Manus's deed and the loss of life his selfless act had incurred. Where before he had seen only self-aggrandisement in his brother's action, he now saw it for the heroic deed it had truly been.

His brother's critical comments, the wounding darts meant to undermine him, he now saw had been jests designed to puncture his self-importance and restore his humility. What he had perceived as Ferrus's prideful boasts and rash actions had been deeds of courage that he had spitefully dismissed.

Ferms's rejection of his attempt to betray him was the act of a true friend, but only now did he see how his brother had, even then, tried to save him.

'No, no, no,' wept Fulgrim as the true horror of what he had done stmck him with the force of a thunderbolt. He looked around through tear-filled eyes and saw the horrific changes wrought upon his beloved Legion, the perversions that masqueraded as epicurean pleasure.

'Everything 1 have done is ashes,' he whispered and swept up the golden Fireblade, so recently wielded by his brother in an attempt to undo the evil Fulgrim had embraced.

Fulgrim reversed the blade and held its fiery tip against his body, the edge blackening his hands and burning the skin through die rents torn in his armour.

To end things now would be the easiest thing in trie world; to take away the guilt and wash the pain away in a sharp trirust of steel into his vitals. Fulgrim gripped the sword tightly, drawing blood from his palms where the blade's edge sliced his skin.

No, noble suicide is not for the likes of you, Fulgrim.

Then what?' howled Fulgrim, hurling away the sword his brother had forged.

Oblivion: the sweet emptiness of eternal peace. I can grant you what you crave... an end to guilt and pain.

Fulgrim rose to his feet and stood tall beneath the storm wracked clouds of Isstvan V, his once beautiful face streaked with tears, and his pristine armour stained with the blood of his beloved brother.

Fulgrim lifted his hands and looked at the blood there.

'Oblivion/ he said, his voice hoarse. Yes, I crave the boon of nothingness.'

Then leave yourself open to me and I will put an end to it all.

Fulgrim took a last look around. The grim-faced warriors who had foolishly thrown in their lot with the Warmaster: Marius, Julius and thousands more were damned, and they could not see it.

All around him, he could hear the sounds of the future, of warfare and death. The thought that he shared the guilt of the destruction of the Emperor's dream was the greatest shame and sorrow he had ever known.

An end to it all would be a blessed relief.

'Oblivion/ he whispered as he dosed his eyes. 'Do it. End me/

The barriers in Fulgrim's mind dropped and he felt the elation of a creature older than time as it poured into the void in his soul. No sooner had its touch claimed his flesh for its own than he knew he had made the worst mistake of his life.

Fulgrim screamed as he fought to keep it out, but it was already too late.

His consciousness was crushed into the dark, unused corners of his mind, forever to be a mute witness to the havoc wrought by his body's new master.

One moment Fulgrim was a primarch, one of the Emperor's Children, the next he was a thing of Chaos.

...

Fulgrim laughed, but there was a timbre to his brother's amusement that sent a chill down Horus's spine as he recalled where he had heard such ancient malice before... in the voice of Sarr'Kell, the entity Erebus had summoned in the heart of the Vengeful Spirit.

'Fulgrim?' asked the Warmaster. 'Explain yourself/

The Primarch of the Emperor's Children shook his head and wagged his finger at Horus. 'With the greatest respect, mighty Horus, you do not address Fulgrim any more/

Horus looked into his brother's dark eyes, seeing beyond the arrogance and superiority to what lay within. Darkness filled his brother's core, an ancient darkness that had torn itself from the womb of a dying race with a bloody birth scream.

Its existence was as old as the heavens and as fresh as the dawn. Its life was immortal and its capacity for malice infinite.

...

'You are a creature of the warp?' he asked.

'I am indeed. What your insufficient language might call a "daemon". A poor word, but it will have to suffice. I am a humble servant of the Dark

Prince, an emissary come to aid you in your little war/

...

Horus felt his skin crawl at the idea of such a hideous violation. 'What of Fulgrim? Where is he?'

'Fear not/ laughed the warp creature. 'We have a long and... involved history, Fulgrim and I, and I certainly do not wish him any lasting ill. For some time I have been his conscience, quietly advising him in the lonely watches of the night, advising him, cajoling him, comforting him and steering his course of action/

...

'Steering his course of action?' prompted Horus.

'Oh, yes!' exclaimed the warp creature. 'I made him believe that he should not doubt your course of action. Of course, he resisted, but I can be very persuasive/

'You made Fulgrim join with me?'

'Of course! Did you really think you were that good an orator?' chuckled the daemon. 'You have me to

thank for clouding his perceptions and adding his strength to yours. But for me, he would have run to his Emperor screaming of your imminent betrayal.'

'And you think 1 owe you something, is that it?' asked Horus.

'Not at all, for in the end, Fulgrim was weak, too weak to finish what his own desire had begun/ explained the creature. 'His obsession led him to launch the deathblow at his brother, but his weakness would not allow him to land it without my help. I merely gave him the strength to do what he wanted to do/

'But where is he now?'

'I have already told you, Horus/ cautioned the daemon. 'Fulgrim's anguish at what he had done proved too great for him to bear. He begged me to help him extinguish his life, but I could not destroy him, that would have been far too prosaic. Instead, I gave him eternal peace, though not, I think, in the way he actually desired it/

'Is Fulgrim dead?' asked Horus. 'Answer me, damn you!'

'Oh no/ smiled the daemon, tapping an elongated finger with a sharpened nail against his temple. 'He is here inside me, utterly aware of all that transpires, though I do not suppose that he is happy pressed into the furthest reaches of his soul/

'You have already claimed his flesh/ snarled Horus, taking a thunderous step towards the dae-mon-Fulgrim. 'If he is of no more use to you then let him die/

The daemon shook his head with an amused sneer. 'No, Horus, I shan't be doing that, for his cries of horror are a great comfort to me. I am unwilling to let him fade away, since our discussions offer me

much amusement and I do not suppose I shall ever tire of them/

...

'You may have Fulgrim for now/ said Horus, 'but keep your identity a secret from all others, or I swear I will see you destroyed/

As you wish, mighty Warmaster/ said the daemon-Fulgrim, nodding and giving an unnecessarily ostentatious bow. 'I have no particular desire to reveal myself to others anyway. It will be our secret/

Horus nodded, though he made a silent vow to free his brother as soon as he was able, for no one deserved to endure such a terrible fate. But what power could unmake a daemon?

...

It held the sword up to its face and laughed as it saw the tortured soul of Fulgrim behind its eyes reflected in the shimmering depths of the blade. The daemon could hear his pitiful cries echoing within his skull, the torment in every desperate shriek the sweetest music.

Such things pleased the daemon, and it stood for a moment to savour the fruits of its influence on Fulgrim. The fools who served in the III Legion had no idea that their beloved leader was clawing ineffectually at the bondage in which he was held.

Only the swordsman, Lucius, had appeared to realise that something was amiss, but even he had said nothing. The daemon had sensed the burgeoning warp touch upon the warrior and had presented him with the silver blade within which the Laer had bound a fragment of its essence. Though the weapon was now bereft of its spirit, there was still power within the blade, power that would empower Lucius in the years of death to come.

...

The daemon made its way to the front of the stage and looked up towards the great portrait that hung above the smashed wreckage of the proscenium. Even in the dying light, the portrait's magnificence was palpable.

A glorious golden frame held the canvas trapped within its embrace, and the daemon smiled as it took in the wondrous perfection of the painting. Where before the image had been a garish riot of colours with a terrible aspect that horrified those mortals who dared to look upon it, it was now a thing of beauty.

Clad in his wondrous armour of purple and gold, Fulgrim was portrayed before the great gates of the Heliopolis, the flaming wings of a great phoenix sweeping up behind him. The firelight of the legendary bird shone upon his armour, each polished plate seeming to shimmer with the heat of the fire, his hair a cascade of gold.

The Primarch of the Emperor's Children was lovingly portrayed in perfect detail, every nuance of his grandeur and the life that made Fulgrim such a vision of beauty captured in the exquisite brushwork. The daemon knew that no finer figure of a warrior had ever existed or ever would again, and to even glimpse such a flawless example of the painter's art was to know that wonder still existed in the galaxy.

The painted Fulgrim stared down upon the ruin of the theatre and the monster that had claimed his mortal shell. The daemon smiled as it saw the horror within his eyes, a horror that had not been rendered by any skill of the painter. Perfect, exquisite agony burned in the portrait's gaze, and as the daemon sheathed the anathame and bowed to the silent stage, the dark pools of its painted eyes seemed to follow its every movement.

The daemon turned from the portrait and made its way from the theatre as the last of the footlights guttered and died, leaving the last phoenix forever shrouded in darkness.

Изменено 13 февраля, 2009 пользователем Firaekuel

[Gato Calavera]

По поводу вселения был эпизод в "Железном шторме". Демон вселился в товарисча Хонсю, принял посильное участие в отрындюливании лоялистов и полетел дальше по своим делам без особого вреда для носителя.

[Drinker]

Осторожно, он довольно длинный

» Нажмите, для отображения текста «

Unnatural warp-forged steel met the iron flesh of a primarch, its aberrant edge cutting through Ferrus's skin, muscle and bone with a shrieking howl that echoed in realms beyond those knowable to mortals.

...

Fulgrim took a shuddering breath and raised his hands to the heavens, screaming his loss at the sight of his brother so cruelly murdered.

What have I done?' he howled. Throne save me, what have I done?'

What needed to be done.

Fulgrim heard the voice as a sibilant whisper in his ear, the breath of the speaker hot on his neck. He twisted his neck, but there was nothing to be seen, no unseen speaker or mysterious presence.

'He's dead/ whispered Fulgrim, the aching loss and guilt of his crime too monstrous to believe. 'I killed him.'

Yes, you did. With your own hands, you struck down your brother, he who had only thought well of you and fought faithfully with you through all the long years.

'He... he was my brother.'

He was, and all he ever did was honour you. The looming presence that surrounded him and spoke to him seemed to claw at his eyes with insubstantial fingers, and Fulgrim felt his mind wrenched into the realm of memory, seeing once again the battle against the Diasporex and the Fist of Iron coming to the rescue of the Firebird. He saw the resentment he had picked at for months, only now understanding the altruism of Ferrus Manus's deed and the loss of life his selfless act had incurred. Where before he had seen only self-aggrandisement in his brother's action, he now saw it for the heroic deed it had truly been.

His brother's critical comments, the wounding darts meant to undermine him, he now saw had been jests designed to puncture his self-importance and restore his humility. What he had perceived as Ferrus's prideful boasts and rash actions had been deeds of courage that he had spitefully dismissed.

Ferms's rejection of his attempt to betray him was the act of a true friend, but only now did he see how his brother had, even then, tried to save him.

'No, no, no,' wept Fulgrim as the true horror of what he had done stmck him with the force of a thunderbolt. He looked around through tear-filled eyes and saw the horrific changes wrought upon his beloved Legion, the perversions that masqueraded as epicurean pleasure.

'Everything 1 have done is ashes,' he whispered and swept up the golden Fireblade, so recently wielded by his brother in an attempt to undo the evil Fulgrim had embraced.

Fulgrim reversed the blade and held its fiery tip against his body, the edge blackening his hands and burning the skin through die rents torn in his armour.

To end things now would be the easiest thing in trie world; to take away the guilt and wash the pain away in a sharp trirust of steel into his vitals. Fulgrim gripped the sword tightly, drawing blood from his palms where the blade's edge sliced his skin.

No, noble suicide is not for the likes of you, Fulgrim.

Then what?' howled Fulgrim, hurling away the sword his brother had forged.

Oblivion: the sweet emptiness of eternal peace. I can grant you what you crave... an end to guilt and pain.

Fulgrim rose to his feet and stood tall beneath the storm wracked clouds of Isstvan V, his once beautiful face streaked with tears, and his pristine armour stained with the blood of his beloved brother.

Fulgrim lifted his hands and looked at the blood there.

'Oblivion/ he said, his voice hoarse. Yes, I crave the boon of nothingness.'

Then leave yourself open to me and I will put an end to it all.

Fulgrim took a last look around. The grim-faced warriors who had foolishly thrown in their lot with the Warmaster: Marius, Julius and thousands more were damned, and they could not see it.

All around him, he could hear the sounds of the future, of warfare and death. The thought that he shared the guilt of the destruction of the Emperor's dream was the greatest shame and sorrow he had ever known.

An end to it all would be a blessed relief.

'Oblivion/ he whispered as he dosed his eyes. 'Do it. End me/

The barriers in Fulgrim's mind dropped and he felt the elation of a creature older than time as it poured into the void in his soul. No sooner had its touch claimed his flesh for its own than he knew he had made the worst mistake of his life.

Fulgrim screamed as he fought to keep it out, but it was already too late.

His consciousness was crushed into the dark, unused corners of his mind, forever to be a mute witness to the havoc wrought by his body's new master.

One moment Fulgrim was a primarch, one of the Emperor's Children, the next he was a thing of Chaos.

...

Fulgrim laughed, but there was a timbre to his brother's amusement that sent a chill down Horus's spine as he recalled where he had heard such ancient malice before... in the voice of Sarr'Kell, the entity Erebus had summoned in the heart of the Vengeful Spirit.

'Fulgrim?' asked the Warmaster. 'Explain yourself/

The Primarch of the Emperor's Children shook his head and wagged his finger at Horus. 'With the greatest respect, mighty Horus, you do not address Fulgrim any more/

Horus looked into his brother's dark eyes, seeing beyond the arrogance and superiority to what lay within. Darkness filled his brother's core, an ancient darkness that had torn itself from the womb of a dying race with a bloody birth scream.

Its existence was as old as the heavens and as fresh as the dawn. Its life was immortal and its capacity for malice infinite.

...

'You are a creature of the warp?' he asked.

'I am indeed. What your insufficient language might call a "daemon". A poor word, but it will have to suffice. I am a humble servant of the Dark

Prince, an emissary come to aid you in your little war/

...

Horus felt his skin crawl at the idea of such a hideous violation. 'What of Fulgrim? Where is he?'

'Fear not/ laughed the warp creature. 'We have a long and... involved history, Fulgrim and I, and I certainly do not wish him any lasting ill. For some time I have been his conscience, quietly advising him in the lonely watches of the night, advising him, cajoling him, comforting him and steering his course of action/

...

'Steering his course of action?' prompted Horus.

'Oh, yes!' exclaimed the warp creature. 'I made him believe that he should not doubt your course of action. Of course, he resisted, but I can be very persuasive/

'You made Fulgrim join with me?'

'Of course! Did you really think you were that good an orator?' chuckled the daemon. 'You have me to

thank for clouding his perceptions and adding his strength to yours. But for me, he would have run to his Emperor screaming of your imminent betrayal.'

'And you think 1 owe you something, is that it?' asked Horus.

'Not at all, for in the end, Fulgrim was weak, too weak to finish what his own desire had begun/ explained the creature. 'His obsession led him to launch the deathblow at his brother, but his weakness would not allow him to land it without my help. I merely gave him the strength to do what he wanted to do/

'But where is he now?'

'I have already told you, Horus/ cautioned the daemon. 'Fulgrim's anguish at what he had done proved too great for him to bear. He begged me to help him extinguish his life, but I could not destroy him, that would have been far too prosaic. Instead, I gave him eternal peace, though not, I think, in the way he actually desired it/

'Is Fulgrim dead?' asked Horus. 'Answer me, damn you!'

'Oh no/ smiled the daemon, tapping an elongated finger with a sharpened nail against his temple. 'He is here inside me, utterly aware of all that transpires, though I do not suppose that he is happy pressed into the furthest reaches of his soul/

'You have already claimed his flesh/ snarled Horus, taking a thunderous step towards the dae-mon-Fulgrim. 'If he is of no more use to you then let him die/

The daemon shook his head with an amused sneer. 'No, Horus, I shan't be doing that, for his cries of horror are a great comfort to me. I am unwilling to let him fade away, since our discussions offer me

much amusement and I do not suppose I shall ever tire of them/

...

'You may have Fulgrim for now/ said Horus, 'but keep your identity a secret from all others, or I swear I will see you destroyed/

As you wish, mighty Warmaster/ said the daemon-Fulgrim, nodding and giving an unnecessarily ostentatious bow. 'I have no particular desire to reveal myself to others anyway. It will be our secret/

Horus nodded, though he made a silent vow to free his brother as soon as he was able, for no one deserved to endure such a terrible fate. But what power could unmake a daemon?

...

It held the sword up to its face and laughed as it saw the tortured soul of Fulgrim behind its eyes reflected in the shimmering depths of the blade. The daemon could hear his pitiful cries echoing within his skull, the torment in every desperate shriek the sweetest music.

Such things pleased the daemon, and it stood for a moment to savour the fruits of its influence on Fulgrim. The fools who served in the III Legion had no idea that their beloved leader was clawing ineffectually at the bondage in which he was held.

Only the swordsman, Lucius, had appeared to realise that something was amiss, but even he had said nothing. The daemon had sensed the burgeoning warp touch upon the warrior and had presented him with the silver blade within which the Laer had bound a fragment of its essence. Though the weapon was now bereft of its spirit, there was still power within the blade, power that would empower Lucius in the years of death to come.

...

The daemon made its way to the front of the stage and looked up towards the great portrait that hung above the smashed wreckage of the proscenium. Even in the dying light, the portrait's magnificence was palpable.

A glorious golden frame held the canvas trapped within its embrace, and the daemon smiled as it took in the wondrous perfection of the painting. Where before the image had been a garish riot of colours with a terrible aspect that horrified those mortals who dared to look upon it, it was now a thing of beauty.

Clad in his wondrous armour of purple and gold, Fulgrim was portrayed before the great gates of the Heliopolis, the flaming wings of a great phoenix sweeping up behind him. The firelight of the legendary bird shone upon his armour, each polished plate seeming to shimmer with the heat of the fire, his hair a cascade of gold.

The Primarch of the Emperor's Children was lovingly portrayed in perfect detail, every nuance of his grandeur and the life that made Fulgrim such a vision of beauty captured in the exquisite brushwork. The daemon knew that no finer figure of a warrior had ever existed or ever would again, and to even glimpse such a flawless example of the painter's art was to know that wonder still existed in the galaxy.

The painted Fulgrim stared down upon the ruin of the theatre and the monster that had claimed his mortal shell. The daemon smiled as it saw the horror within his eyes, a horror that had not been rendered by any skill of the painter. Perfect, exquisite agony burned in the portrait's gaze, and as the daemon sheathed the anathame and bowed to the silent stage, the dark pools of its painted eyes seemed to follow its every movement.

The daemon turned from the portrait and made its way from the theatre as the last of the footlights guttered and died, leaving the last phoenix forever shrouded in darkness.

Ага, спасиб. Улетел осмыслять. Отпишусь.

[Дарт Йорикус]

Уважаемые знатоки, вопрос из хайва Урюпинскус Прайм задаёт верный слуга Императора Карний Фекс.

Прочитал БладКвест [пока не весь] (респект и уважуха RedElf'у в частности и ЖЖ комьюнити warcomix в общем) и возник вопрос - что происходит с тем в чьё тело вселяется демон?

а. демон пожирает душу носителя или избавляется от неё другим способом

б. демон "подвигает" душу в теле носителя. После того, как демон уйдет, человек/орк приходят в себя

в. демон "подвигает" душу в теле носителя, при этом у человека есть шанс самому избавиться от демона (сила воли и т.п.)

Тут все зависит от вкусов демона, способа и обстоятельств одержимости и силы духа существа. Могу привести примеры всех этих случаев:

1) Лунный Волк Ксавье Джубал на 63-19, она же - Новая Терра, одержимый Самусом, который схрумкал душу не осознающего одержимость космодесантника и не подавиля.

2) Фулгрим, доставляющий наслаждение страшными муками совести демону Слаанеша занявшего его тело.

3)Инквизитор из кодекса Ордо Маллеус, магос Антигон (вроде) из Адептов Тьмы, живший с демоном в симбиозе телохранитель Хонсю Оникс.

[Umbra]

1) Лунный Волк Ксавье Джубал на 63-19, она же - Новая Терра, одержимый Самусом, который схрумкал душу не осознающего одержимость космодесантника и не подавиля.

Ксавье не сожрали, он все еще был там, но ничего не мог сделать (на снимках это будет видно). Собственно демону нужно чтобы в теле была душа. Демонхосты, например, постепенно разрушают свои оболочки и не могут остановить этот процесс, в то время как одержимый может функционировать без посторонней помощи намного дольше.