Fulgrim
The hall, covered in silk and meat, is filled with the sweet smell of incense, mixed with the iron taste of blood. On a pedestal sits Fulgrim, dazzlingly beautiful, but unbearable to the eye. The armor once shone purple, but now it is distorted, shimmering like living flesh. He kneels, but even in this gesture there is not discipline, but the spasm of a fanatic. Fulgrim leans forward. His voice is dizzying music, but there's something venomous about it: "My warrior... You have brought me victory, but I see that you yourself do not believe in its perfection. The legionnaire trembles, barely daring to look up. "Sir... I was striving for your ideal. But there were enemies... Unworthy. Fulgrim laughs, a silvery laugh filled with venom. He lifts the legionnaire by the chin, studying his face as a sculptor looks at a block of marble. "Not standing there
About Fulgrim
The hall, covered in silk and meat, is filled with the sweet smell of incense, mixed with the iron taste of blood. On a pedestal sits Fulgrim, dazzlingly beautiful, but unbearable to the eye. The armor once shone purple, but now it is distorted, shimmering like living flesh. He kneels, but even in this gesture there is not discipline, but the s...Read more