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I had a name once. It is an echo, fading but never vanishing, forever beyond hearing. I was once flesh, but that is gone. +Helio Isidorus.+ The voice comes to me out of the black night. I know the name, but I do not remember why.

From: All is Dust, John French

#quote #warhammer #40k #john french #all is dust #thousand sons #Isidorus #context: POV of a Rubric marine

I is for Isidorus

the police chief from Sunken District that I threw into the campaign the day before he showed up LOL he’s rly cool and a little corrupt and unfortunately had the most ungraceful death of any of my NPCs (his many leggies got tangled in a net and he tripped and the rogue stabbed him to death)

arachnophobia tw

#februaroc #stuffbeccadrew #my ocs #sunken district #baby's first dnd #isidorus #dnd

I remember fire. It was white, the stark white of a sun’s heart. It roared from a black sky and remade me. I fell to my hands and knees. The ground beneath me was red dust, the colour of rust, the colour of dried blood. Pain, hotter and sharper than any wound, filled me. I could not see; the fire took my eyes first, and then it took my tongue before I could scream. Inside my armour my muscles bunched, straining against metal. The fire burned through me, blistering my skin. I felt mouths open across my body, a thousand mouths each with razor teeth, each babbling a plea for the pain to stop. The fire pulled through my body like hands through wet clay. I was suffocating, as if sinking in sand. The acid touch of panic burnt my flesh. I could not breathe. I could not move. Everything stopped. It is like a razor drawn through the memory, a hard line severing me from everything that came before. I felt nothing. From: All is Dust, John French

#quote #warhammer #40k #all is dust #thousand sons #john french #isidorus

I take a pace forwards, stepping through the flames. I pause. Memories swirl in the darkness within my skin, rattling like sand against bronze. I watch the grey warrior burn, become ash, become dust. I know this should mean something, but in my memory there is only the emptiness that drowns all else. I am an outline held in a dream of falling, and this moment means nothing.

From: All is Dust, John French