It is the 32nd Millennium, a time of rebuilding in the aftermath of wars begun long ago.
Over 1000 years have passed since the Emperor was slain and mankind still mourns his passing. Upon Terra, scarred and defiant cradle of mankind does his son Magnus sit upon the Golden Throne. By his sacrifice do the ships of Man travel through the Immaterium and by the efforts of his brothers do the denizens of over a million worlds march to battle, to once more reclaim humanity's birthright amongst the stars.
The great Tetrarchy, the dividing of the galaxy amongst the surviving loyal sons now rules Imperial space. Horus, Sanguinius, Perturabo and Guilliman, their realms were carved in their ambition of Mankind's future, an unfading imprint of themselves into human culture. Pushing back the frontiers against aliens and traitors alike, the Imperium has recovered from the dark days of the Heresy, the battles fought long ago have been neither forgotten nor forgiven and great fleets fight an endless war alongside endless armies to bring the remaining traitor sons and their corrupted Legions to final justice.
But the era of Primarchs has long since passed, the brothers having either fell in battle or disappeared to fulfil their own private missions. Now lesser mortals take their place in ruling a Imperium still divided by blood, by ambition and even by religion as the Imperial Cult tightens its grasp on Mankind's soul as the last of the Imperial Regents disappears. Will the Imperium be united once more under a single banner or will it continue to fragment and have the light of its civilisation snuffed out amongst the stars?
It is no longer an era of Legend, only fading hopes and horrors yet to be realised.
Sanguine Imperium- Legio Nonem "In such dire circumstances, lesser warriors could perhaps have ceded all hope, yet these were Space Marines of the Blood Angels Chapter, the sons of honoured Sanguinius. Their forebears have fought beside the Emperor in the very blackest of days, and that memory was not theirs to dishonour."
Sons of the Primarch Sanguinus, the Blood Angels legion rules the sector directly to the Galactic North of Terra, bordering the great expanses of Orks, the Eye of Terror, and both the galaxy's major Chaos groups. As such, the Blood Angels make no secret of their military rule over the sector. On the contrary, this militarism is embraced as a link to the fallen Emperor and the salvation of mankind, and the men and women of the Sanguine Imperium hold a slavish, almost ecclesiastical devotion to duty and honor in battle.
Lead by Azkaellon, former head of the Sanguinary Guard, the Blood Angels rejected the Codex Astartes entirely, fearing the weakness it would bring more than further heresy. Indeed, the Angels hold a dangerously hardline view on Chaos, blood purity, and fealty, and have been known to turn on those they consider to be of questionable loyalty or trustworthiness with little warning and a merciless cunning.
Organization
At the very top of the Sanguinary Imperium is Sanguinus himself, who tradition holds will return to the Legion in the time after the return of the Emperor to lead the Second Great Crusade. No Angel would refer to him in the past tense, as though he were dead, but consider him to merely be pursuing his duties elsewhere. In practice, Azkaellon serves as the executor of the Primarch's will, and rules from Baal as head of the Imperium. Relations with the other sectors and legions of the Imperium are generally good, bar the remains of the Death Guard and anything related to Malcador.
Beneath Azkaellon is the Sanguinary Guard. While these warriors were once mere bodyguards, necessity has moved them into the role of Inquisitors, and the presence of an offended, armed, and often millenia-old Space Marine with absolute authority in the Imperium has often loosened more than one set of lips, whether by coercion or violence. While still warriors first and foremost, the Guard has many centuries of experience and a close working relationship, they are difficult to trick or subvert by virtue of the sheer weight of age and dedication to their service.
Princeps Azkaellon in full battle gear
Ruling each subsector are the Vigintiviri, the twenty Proconsuls of each sector's Blood Angel presence. The Ninth Legion has to some extent subdivided, but with no cap on their number: Each Proconsul holds extensive command of his own troops, and direct integrated command of the Imperial Guard and Navy in his subsector as well.
Organization of the Subsector Military A Praetor in full Terminator armor
At the top of each Subsector is the Proconsul, always a Marine. However, the Proconsul sees very little direct battle, instead being responsible for logistics, strategy, and other command-level tasks of war and defense, aided by a staff of mortal administrators to handle the day-to-day running of the Subsector. Thus, battlefield command falls to a number of Praetors, each assigned by the Proconsul to command a Cohort. While the number of Cohorts in each sector military may vary, the size of a Cohort is fixed: Ten Centuries of Marines, thirty Regiments of Guard, and one Battlefleet. The first Cohort of each subsector is Cohort (Subsector) Primaris, and given to the direct command of the capital and protection of the Proconsul.
Top to Bottom: Organization of a Cohort
At the very top of each Cohort is the Praetor, responsible for overall command of the Cohort, and his staff, usually consisting of the Centurions of each of his Marine Centuries, the Lord Admiral of his fleet, and the Generals of his Guard Regiments. The Marine contingent is most prestigious and influential of the parts of the cohort, and so will be considered first.
Each Century consists of 200 marines, and while they may have individual talents, each Century is expected to be able to operate independently of other Centuries. With their mission of acting as the vanguard and spearpoint of the Cohort, the Marine Century is specialized for speed and offensive power, with the expectation that close coordination with the Guard Regiments to secure territory they've taken and defend against counter-attack. While specifics may vary by Century and the style of their commanding Centurion, the general organization consists of a squad of ten Terminators, known as the Praetorians and acting as the personal guard of the Centurion. Following the Praetorians is eight Velite squads of five marines each, equipped with bolters, chainswords, and grenades. Acting as the primary striking force of the Legion, this role goes to trainees immediately out of their tenure as Speculatores. Next come four squads of five Princepes, each equipped with the winged jump packs that the Angels have made famous, along with pistols and close combat weapons. As the Blood Angels show an unusual taste for close combat and speed, these units are considered one of the most prestigious and desirable postings for a marine to be transferred into. An equal number, four squads of five, make up the Hastati, armed with close combat weapons, pistols, and storm shields. While less preferred, many marines appreciate the shielded advance of the Hastati. Moving on to the heavy support role, the Century brings six squads of five Triarii, the heavy weapons specialists. Finally, six squads of five are Speculatores, lightly armored, specialized to either long or short ranged weapons and stealth, and specializing in hit and run attacks to maintain a population for promotion to the ranks of the Velites.
Next is the vehicle pool, consisting of the remaining fifty marines. While exact vehicle pools vary, the pools consist of Dreadnaughts, Tanks, aircraft, and any other marine vehicle in operation.
Finally, one of every 2 squads brings either a Librarian or Chaplain, and each Squad has its own Decurion.
The Imperial Guard in the Sanguine Imperium
It is recognized by the Vigintiviri that not all men can be Angels. The testing, selection, and geneseed process to become a Blood Angel is long and difficult, requiring early dedication to the task and a particular chromosome. Still, this does not disqualify the men and women of the Imperium from combat. Beneath each Cohort lies a vast mass of the Guard Regiments, and while they vary greatly by equipment, goals, organization, and heraldry, some things do remain the same. Each subsector contains a single planet which provides its guard regiments, to maintain uniformity of training and style for each Subsector.
Subsectors of the Sanguine Imperium
Baal: The fortresses, hives, and factorums of Baal stand amidst the ruins of the Dark Age of Technology, reminding its people of the dangers of heresy and idleness. From its mighty Legionary Fortress, the Princeps commands the Imperium in the Primarchs name.
Fenris: Reclaimed shortly after the Siege of Terra, Fenris is a penal world, one where freedom is gained only by combat to redeem oneself for the sins of the Khornate Legion. Its Imperial Guard regiment is famously hardy, and willing to throw themselves into the teeth of the enemy to redeem themselves for their ancestral sins.
Cadia: Gateway to the Eye of Terror, Cadia is a larger military fortress even than Baal itself. The planet includes a shrine to Archsaint Perturabo, patron saint of fortifications, although many joke that the entire planet is a hymn to him.
Agripinaa: One of the primary forgeworlds of the entire Imperium, Agripinaa is also favored by the Princeps for its proactive fight against the Dark Mechanicum and provisions of Skitarii, and the Subsector always has a member of the Techmarines as its Proconsul.
Mordian: A vast and overpopulated hive world, Mordian is famous for the quality of its discipline, and the quantity of its armor.
Coronis Agathon: Famed for loyalty and service, the men and women of Coronis Agathon are among the most famed of the Guard Regiments, and often compared to the Death Korps of Krieg for their unwavering devotion to duty. This often seems to annoy the Coronans.
Scintilla: Scintilla was a late entry to the Imperium, plagued by corruption and vice. The Proconsul of the sector has spent the last thousand years purging the nobility, scourging secret Chaos cults, and the hives of the planet are held in the autocratic, and absolute, grip of the legion, any hint of heresy violently snuffed out.
Cypra Mundi: Both a massive fleet base and a forgeworld, Cypra Mundi is the crown jewel of the Imperium and home to its largest shipyards.
Belis Corona: The other major fleet base of the imperium, Belis Corona also serves as a massive ordinance stockpile and logistical depot.
Dimmamar: The peaceful and idyllic world of Dimmamar is known for its extraordinary piety and extravagant cathedrals.
Kantrael: The breadbasket of the Imperium, Kantrael is a massive exporter of food and strangely, lasguns. However, the Guardsmen of Kantrael are known for their surprising strength.
Lucius: Scoured clean of the taint of the Dark Mechanicus, the survivors have been reduced to scavenging tribes, roaming the surface of the planet in search of worth enough to be lifted from the surface by the wings of angels to fight for them.
Mordant Primus: A barren, lightless world, Mordant's value lies below its surface in the bio-luminescent bacteria mined from its endless miles of sprawling tunnel. The guardsmen of Mortant are infamously hateful of mutation, and they are often deployed to make use of either this hatred, or their skill at tunnel and night fighting.
M'Pandex: A forgeworld that is home to the few remaining Titan Legions of the Blood Angels, M'Pandex is the other great forgeworld in the Imperium.
Mezoa: The great and flourishing rival of M'Pandex, Mezoa produces arms and armor to clothe and arm the Legion, bolters, lasguns, plasma weapons and more.
Medusa: The planet of Medusa itself is uninhabitable, dead for a thousand years at the hands of warring Primarchs. Its orbitals swell with pilgrims to the shine of Saint Fulgrim, and it is from this mass of pious followers that the guardsmen of the sector are drawn.
Carlos MacConnell: A felinid world barely tolerated in the sight of the Imperium for its skillful soldiery, Ornsworld is often seen as a punishment posting for marines.
Orar: A lush agri-world, Orar is known for miles of farmland, and very little else.
Vostroya: The frigid ice world of Vostroya tithes the firstborn of each family as penance for treason during the Heresy. For this reason, they are much beloved by the Marines that rule them, seeing the Vostroyans as the ideal form of mortal man.
Savaven: Cardinal World of the Sanguine Cult, the lush world of Savaven produces warrior-nuns, the closest to marines that a mortal may reach. Clad in lesser power armor, these Sisters of Savaven, or Savaven Saints, are known throughout the Imperium for their piety and devotion, not only to the Saints of the Cult, but also to their own Holy Trinity: Bolter, Promethium and Melta.
The Thousand Sons The Dutiful Children
SONS OF THE ASTRONOMICAN Those Who Do Not Hope
These are the dutiful children of Magnus, last of the Loyalists. He who has never faltered, never wavered in his duty, as certain others have. He whose entire homeworld was lost to Lorgar, whose sons are determined that it not happen again. Ever since his ascension to the Golden Throne Magnus has focused his entire being on his tremendous task, not able to spare even a moment's thought to communicate with his sons, and though his physical presence is a great comfort this mental absence brings great pain and sorrow to the entire Legion.
It is Ahzek Ahriman who acts as regent, now, awed by the deeds of his father, yet determined to equal or even surpass them. The pride and ambition of the Thousand Sons has ever been their defining quality, and though it has been tempered by betrayal and loss, their flame yet smolders, building towards a new inferno that will burn away the traitors.
To the Thousand Sons has been entrusted Sol, and with it Segmentum Solar, and its mighty defenses designed by Castellan Perturabo. Though the smallest and least militarily powerful of Imperium's divisions, Sol is a beacon to all the galaxy from which pulses the light of the Astronomican, the power of ten thousand mortal psykers channeled by the skill and power of Magnus the Red. His is the gift which enables the continued survival of the Imperium, which brought about the Scouring and which drove back the forces of treachery and disloyalty. One day, the Thousand Sons know, he will return to them, and take his rightful place. It is prophecy repeated so often that as far as they are concerned it has become fact.
The Thousand Sons come to Terra from across the galaxy, the finest of psykers recruited from the Black Ships of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica and the people of Segmentum Solar itself, recruited following a battery of exhaustive mental and physical tests. Such caution is necessary-the gene-seed of Magnus the Red is famously exacting in its demands, even without the flaw that had ravaged his legion in the days before his ascension. Even with the fruit of all the galaxy to harvest, the Thousand Sons grow only slowly. Worse are the burdens the Thousand Sons place upon themselves-as the most psionically gifted of all the Legions, they are at once the most suited to battle the Warp, and, as they discovered to their horror during the insurrection, the most vulnerable. Too many were victims of their own hubris or poor training, believing the Warp their servant instead of the wild and monstrous place it truly is.
After taking command, Ahzek Ahriman took this as his immediate priority, blazing a newer, safer path for his brothers to walk now that they better understood the dangers of the Warp and the creatures therein, drawing heavily from lessons learned by the nascent Librarians in bitter combat against the daemonic legions of the Traitors. There were many who resisted his arguments, believing that in sorcery there still lay secrets yet unlearned, and Ahriman had agreed-before having them executed with the blessings of the Tetrarchy. Even their father Magnus had seen his sorcery turn against him, to great cost to all of them. Only one truly wise could be trusted to deal with daemons, and none of these stood before Ahriman.
Hope, Ahriman had determined, was the greatest weapon on the enemy they faced now. Hope in a better future, hope for a happy ending, hope that things would improve without direct action. Hope in humanity, hope in the Astartes, in their Primarchs. Hope was the Great Lie they fought. No, he could not permit that poison to infect his Legion. There could only be a Grand Design, actions taken towards outcomes.
+++Organicists+++ (See entries: "Magos Biologis", "Magos Genator", and "Universal Law 15")
Believers in the divine functionality of the human form when it is perfected and synthesized via the cybernetic rites of the Priesthood. The Emperor-who-is-Omnissiah and Magnus on the Throne being the ultimate examples of the blessed enlightenment the Machine God has placed in the bones of humanity, if only his humble servants have the faith and intellect to bring it forth.
Due to the original cabal of the Hereteks of the Dark Mechanicus being originally based on hardline reactionaries and formalists who rejected the divinity of the Omnissiah, the Schism of Mars was heavily biased towards the Myrmidons and Electro-Priests of the Legio Cybernetica and Ordo Reductor and others tempted towards the path of the Abominable Intelligence. Thus the most coherent and significant opposition to the heresy came from the Biologis and Genator favoring Organicists, especially with the plague of Scrape Code and the quick promotion of many under-mechanized lesser priests to positions of authority.
It didn't hurt that this new generation human-friendly Martians became the face of the new Adeptus Mechanicus and and were able to work with the Lords of Terra, conducting what might be construed as diplomacy and even politics if you squint hard enough. A millennia later and the wheel has turned, the Organicists have done their time as the stupefying hand of the establishment and are now not even that. Outmoded and boorish is the conclusion of many, and yet they retain a solid moderate following- especially as a symbol of unity as anxieties and uncertainties rise over the various Imperia.
The Flesh-Gholam don't hurt either.
+++Cognisticians+++ (see entries: "Lexmechanic", "Magos Logis", and "Universal Law 05")
Something of an useful ally to the Sage-Serfs of the Thousand Sons and the Adepts of Terra, Cognisticians seek to systematically collect all knowledge the Machine God left in the cosmos and they mean all. Primarily they focus on imperial history and the Dark Age of Technology, they believe that the vision of the past down to the granular level is the key to predicting the course of the present and future. However many Magi see their theories as a childish understanding of the Universal Laws and of the presence of the Omnissiah. "As below so above" is an uninteresting and trite axiom to people that wrestle with the subsystems of God-Machines and incinerate their foes with living sparks of the Motive Force.
Still many of the lower ranks and acolytes find a shared systematic processing of data and observation a literal miracle (and can now be proud of the scut-work they would be doing anyway) and will sometimes be joined by Magi that despite themselves require a rigorous grounding more than they need to look respectable. A growing trend of fashionably unpolitical and novice-conscious Magi-Errant and Explorators have picked up on the ideals of the Cognisticians so that the Requesitionists will stop talking to them.
+++Requisitionists+++ (See entries: "Magos Explorator", "Magos Myrmidon", and "Universal Law 08")
In the wake of the Tetrarchy the Forge Worlds of the Mechanium, often dubbed an empire within an empire, formed the backbone of system of cross-Imperia communication and support that didn't need any elaborate layers of permission and permit and licence beyond the aegis of Mars and the local Forge World. Other systems were put in place, the Primarchs were brothers after all, but the Priesthood had the advantages of being in place first and being already universal. For many Adepts in Terra and Captains of the Merchant Fleets it was easier to complete their jobs in the shadows of the Tech-Priest enclaves, as the planets gave out many charters and oaths to the effect of the truly massive amount of cargo space and hulls the Magi needed earmarked for their slow recovery from the Schism and the exports of their Manufactora to humanity at large. The rights for Black Ships and Rogue Traders to dock and resupply did not come cheaply but was convenient and guaranteed throughout the ages.
That was all well and good, but more importantly these system allowed a large body of Tech-Priests who believed they were the superior heirs of the Emperor to emerge and grow. They saw the Priesthood and the organs of government as one and the same (or at least they should be) and wondered why their lessers are allowed to question their masters. The Mechanicus is too much of a mystery cult to sustain a genuine belief in galactic conquest and having to interact with menials by ruling them, but the Requisitionists make up for it by being as petty and tyrannical as possible under those conditions.
They deny any Terran authority to restrict or delay their Quest for Knowledge and will collect by force any hint of ancient or powerful technology they don't have (being the superior guardians of the Omnissiah's will in all cases all the time), to the point even their fellow Tech-Priests look in askance. They appeal to the frustrations of many Martians regardless of discipline and rank and display an alluring urgency and confidence- bringing a path to success that consists of getting rid of "parasites". Though some Requisitionists can take a nuanced view of their militant Quest of Knowledge, taking it as a struggle to always remain alert and ready for the will of the Machine God, others have to be held back from declaring nigh-holy war half the time.
+++Primogenitors+++ (See entries: "Transmechanic", "Magos Physic", and "Universal Law 11")
The quintessential radicals of their era, many of the Primogenitors originated on the fringe of the Organicists who combined seeking the secrets of the human and posthuman form with a strange fixation on the enthroned Magnus the Red. Magnus, as the last Primarch and operator of the God-Emperor's last gift to humanity, is believed to be at least partially in a realm of the true spark of the Omnissiah of which this base matter and flesh is but a shadow. By studying minute fluctuations in the Astronomicon and the Golden Throne they hope to discover the path Magnus leads to ascension and discover the heavens of the Deus Machina.
Beyond that there is little to unite the Primogenitors on what this ascension entails and what "oneness with the Emperor" looks like. Some view it as a manner of personal enlightenment (including Magos Pyrkagia who had Psykers set himself on fire), others as the return of the Omnissiah itself with Magnus as his Avatar, and yet others as the knowledge of a physical location or process to reach the Forms of God. A few even take on the apocalyptic tones of the Time of Ending and hold that the return of their god would smite the Archenemy and all of the unworthy.
Another, perhaps less extremist, branch of this order are not seeking for ascension per say but to better understand the will of the Machine God via his earthly vessel Magnus and the blazing psychic beacon that is a mirror to the Realm of Knowledge itself. Still when their auguries disagree with accepted wisdom or standard Logis calculations the ruling Priesthoods find them convenient catpaws to create doubt or taint opponents by association.
+++Cult of the Empyric Intelligence+++ (see entries: "Starborn", "Child of Thunder")
[ARCHMAGOS EYES ONLY]
+++Cult of the Dragon+++ (see entries: "ERROR")
[DATA EXPUNGED]
[Notice: Diagnostic Coven 7-ALPHA-3 has flagged USER 01]
In this age of heroes and Empires, legacy of a golden age smothered in it's crib, the galactic north stuck out like a sore thumb. In the region known as the Orkoid Sectors, there was no clash of arms of the mighty Astartes, no cataclysmic battles between the industrial might of entire empire as billions of humans threw themselves at each other in the grinder of ruthless war, no heirs struggling over the legacies of their forebears. No, as it's name indicated, the Orkoid Sectors was a region of the galaxy dominated completely by the barbaric race known as the Orks.
Laughing green barbarians tore away at each other in ceaseless conflicts. Battles are fought not because of any ideologies or any strategical concerns, but simply because they wanted to. The only traces of civilizations were in the primitive shanty towns scattered across various planets, a few cities of scraps and shattered steels. Petty Ork Empires and Warlords laughed uproariously as they smashed their junk ships at each other and engaged in primitives struggle of mindless brute strength.
Once the Orks had been spread out across the Galaxy, once they had been a scourge among the stars. Before the Emperor and his Sons and their Great Crusade systematically destroyed and scattered the Mighty Ork Empires and exterminated them across thousands of star systems. The Orkoid Sector exists today only because the Heresy turned the great warmachines of the Great Crusade against each other. And in the aftermaths, the legions and the Primarchs had more to worry about from each other than the green monsters that had been vanquished by them.
It was clear that they had never heard the Ork saying:
"Orkses is never defeated in battle. If we win we win, if we die we die fighting so it don't count. If we runs for it we don't loose neither, cos we can come back for annuver go, see!"
*******
On a insignificant planet in this region, an ork Weirdboy who had his face torn off and replaced with a wooden mask journeyed across the continents. Whenever he would stumble upon a band of Orks he would holler at them:
"Who iz 'da best among ya?!"
And from the ranks of the Orks the biggest amount them would walk out, their muscles bulging to the point of almost breaking their primitive armors as their held in their hands weapons bigger than the Weirdboy and respond:
"I am! Wo are ya git?!"
The Weirdboy would reply back:
"DA NEW BOSS!!!"
In response the far bigger Ork Bosses and his Nobs would laugh uproariously. Something that only lasted as long as it took for the Weirdboy to glow with warp energy, causing his body to swell. Growing to be a head taller than his opponent with muscles growing to the sides of two human heads. And then he would jump into the other Ork, beat them down with his stick and then rip their faces off with his mask's wooden jaws.
And with each warband, the number of his followers would grow, their sizes would increases and among them many would follow in his footsteps. Ripping off their own faces and having the docs and weirdboyz stitching wooden masks in their place. And soon, the planet was his, and with billions of Orks at his back, the new Boss would order the construction of mighty vessels to take him across the void as he roared his challenge to the stars.
"Who'avar stands gainst me gets their faces eaten! Y'all are my Boyz now, ya hear!?" Kurkax Jowlrippah
"Dam Zoggin' gitz! Stop yer mukkin about! Me bouts to gif yer gitz a propa krumpin' if yer don't keep da noize up. How's a ork sappose to wok here wizout muzic."
The Ork band in the corner hastily pick up their instruments and belch out ear screeching heavy metal.
"Well Stumpy, dat gitz juz gave me some inspirashuns for my nex projekts."
"Anada small stepz to my dream invenshun of somefing that haz so much dakka dat it can krump worlds"
"Den all will know of da teknikal geniuz that iz MEGAMEKTYRANT ORKKENSTEIN!!"
Kharn stared out of the view-port of the Conqueror. Her Machine Spirit silently groaning within this realm of madness. The Eye of Terror was not a place anyone should. But it was here many of the fallen legions had fled. But the War Hounds had not fallen. Well, until the madness started turning most of the new recruits into mindless monsters, and Vulkan giving into the false gods to protect his sons. Kharn held the Bloody Hand tightly within his hands. It was perhaps the only artifact Vulkan had forged that had not been corrupted by Chaos. Kharn wished he still had Vulkan, or even his old friends Delvarus, Sattius, Mjuron, or Sattigar with him. But Vulkan had fallen and was gone forever, and poor Sattius was forever trapped within the shell of a Leviathan Dreadnought.
"Sir, where are headed?" Kharn looked at the bridge-hand, a marine he was as any human entering this place would have gone mad ages ago.
"Wherever Gorefather and Gorechild are." Kharn knew he had to find them, he hoped a physical reminder of their father could save his legion from destruction. It was a savage war to come, but the War Hounds were Mad Dogs after all, and Mad Dogs don't go down easily. Not when they still posses Hope.
Sattius "Hellhowl" Cassiuyus, Former Reclusiarch of the War Hounds.
When the Imperium requires inordinately expensive amounts of carnage to be carried out, it calls upon the Space Marines.
When the Imperium requires someone to figure out how to pay off the costs incurred in said carnage, it calls upon Fiddlestyx.
Old by the standards of the Imperium, being at least three hundred and fifty years old at the most charitable estimates, Governor Fiddlestyx is a man with a reputation for thrift within the Lupercal Imperium and for possessing something of a knack for keeping his Sector afloat financially. Capable of squeezing blood from a stone, though only on one occasion in what was later discovered to be a Chaos plot, and so stingy that he has vowed to live for "at least another three centuries" just to avoid having to give money to his horde of descendants, death being no excuse for wasteful spending, his role in the Lupercal Imperium is that of a quaint voice of reason amidst a sea of fury and rage. Occasionally providing advice to Abbadon on financial matters, though said advice is rarely taken as Space Marines, as far as Fiddlestyx is concerned, are highly allergic to commonsense, the Governor is consequently one of the few influential humans in the Imperium though he would never claim to be the equal of the Space Marines, not when doing so would require him to engage in that most dreaded of activities; physical exercise.
War Hound Legionary Command, and the Wall of Remembrance: Kharn stared at the wall, built upon the Conqueror for a long time. His hands tracing the names of comrades fallen. Many names were those of his legion, others were those who had fallen to madness or false gods. By the time Kharn realized that he had a meeting within the legion, he had just traced Argel Tal's name. Another reminder of all he had lost.
Legionary Command of the War Hounds:
Kharn, Legion Master, Captain of the 1st Company
Lotara Sarrin, Captain of the Conqueror (Basically a Human Dreadnought attached to the ship by this point)
Sattius "Hellhowl" Cassiuyus, Former Reclusiarch of the War Hounds (Currently entombed within a Leviathan Dreadnought)
Sagittar Phract, First of the Devourers (Currently entombed within a Prototype Contemptor Dreadnought, heavily modified)
Widku Balor - Captain of the 2nd Company
Atticus Aetol - Captain of the 3rd Company
Dramosius Trior - Chief Liberian
Belletor Octavius - Chief Apothecary
Immolus Ur-Drake - Saint of the Promethean Creed
Yaban Tsukihoshi - Reclusiarch of the War Hounds
A'vos Drac'lyr - Master of the Armour and the Forge
Vulkan Zae'Gor - Forgefather
Wall of the Fallen (Notable Names):
Angron
Vulkan
Lhorke the First
Sigismund
Argel Tal
Delvarus
Gadreel Af
Juljak Nul the Storm Walker
Mjuron Vvarkhor the Drowned
Gahlan Surlak
Kargos the Bloodspitter
Dreagher
Macer Varren
Shabran Darr
Artellus Numeon
Cassan Dracos
Gruner
Endryd Haar
Ehrlen
Vostigar Catacult Eres
Kauragar
Vorias
Goras Tarbod, Jailor of the Damed (Note, not dead. Leader of Maddened War Hounds in the Promethium Dominion @Blackout)
Ezekyle Abaddon is old. He is old enough that he has exceeded the projected lifespan of any Space Marine. He is old enough that as he moves, his bones creak and he can feel the weight of ages upon his back. He is old enough to have outlived all of his brothers. Tarik. Little Horus. Garviel. All dead before him. Yet he still clings to life with all of both of his beating hearts.
He will not die until he sees the traitor legions destroyed before him, cast into the maelstrom of chaos where they belong. This is his oath and his pledge to himself and to the Imperium, and most importantly, to Horus.
The Sons of Horus have been caretakers of the Galactic South for many an age. In the beginning it was Horus, first of all primarchs and the greatest who led them, but when he disappeared, the burden fell to Abaddon. Though he was the best and the brightest of all of Horus's sons, he was no Primarch and could not rule with the tight centralized grip that his gene-father had done. Together with the rest of the surviving members of the Mournival, Abaddon let loose what he could not fit within his grasp, retaining only a core of the most hardened and veteran forces under his personal command.
To the regions of far flung space bordering the Incursions of Chaos, he created the Marches, high militarized sectors filled with fortress worlds, meant to hold the line against the Promethean Daemon engines still continuing their endless war against the Imperium and stem the Dark Crusades the Dark Imperium sends, a black mirror to his own campaigns. Mostly self sufficient and containing a great deal of autonomy, the Marcherlords who rule these Marches are invested with a great deal of power by Abaddon, who recognizes that he cannot be everywhere at once and command every front at once.
To the regions farther from the borders, he demands vast tithes of material and men in order to reinforce the Marcherlords and to maintain his Warhost, the core of the Lupercal Imperium's forces. He elevates his sector governors on how much they can squeeze out from endless manufacturing worlds who plead for relief from his demands of armor and munitions and who can supply the most manflesh for his armies. The war has lulled, they say, and he no longer needs to run the Lupercal Imperium like it is on death's door. But they are wrong.
There is no lull in the war. The Imperium is still at war at every front and fighting for survival. Until the chaos incursions are crushed, there can be no rest. No 'rebuilding of the Imperium'. The other three Tetrarchs will obey his commands and devote their full strength to crush the traitors.
After all, now he is Warmaster and it is war. Only traitors would disagree.
Sylloge Tacticorum XXXII the Allagia Omnissiah +++for it is better to be the hammer then the anvil+++
The Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus have suffered greatly in the Great Heresy, more in fact than they have ever suffered before in the history of the Martian Empire. Uncountable lives were swallowed by that abyss; legions of Skitarii died where they stood, entire Collegia of Priests and Acolytes disappeared into hell, and the most holy God-Machines were cast down by the damned and wretched. So it was until naught but wane embers remained of the once blazing stars. In the millennium that followed a much needed helpmate was found to die for the remnants of the Taghmata. Forlorn and ill-fated. Nameless and unmourned. And yet, in the right hands they can be the fulcrum by which the weight of the Mechanicus at war is leveraged to stave off oblivion.
the Psiloi Silica or, more commonly, the Menials-at-Arms, are a systematic organization of the Forge World's labor units as defensive garrisons, screening and absorbing shock for more valuable assets like Battle-Automata. Or Skitarii. Or Servitors. They are armed with spare and unused stock from the nearby Forge- Macrostubbers and Autorifles retired in favor of Lasguns across the Imperia, ancient Mitra Las-Locks converted from old slug-throwers and thunder-sticks, and improvised explosives ranging from overcharged laspacks and casks of toxic waste to mining charges filled with razor scraps. The drudges are protected by cheap flash-formed Flak Mesh between their civilian environ-suits and rad-tabards and helms over their rebreathers. Spiritually the Menials are protected as well by the Servo-arms, Heavy Drills and Saws, Lascutters and deafening Vox-Hailers unleashed by their Underseers and Technoshamans to defend the sacred ground.
In many respects these Subordinates and Cog-Helots are not dissimilar to the PDF and Imperialis Militia of the uninitiated masses, with one key difference. All servants of the Machine God are mandated to receive a bare minimum of bionics- Electrografts of silicon circuitry supplying nigh-instant orders and programming, targeting from other Picts and Augur Scans, diagnostic and medical reporting, and endless data flows to the fat War-Looms of the Priesthood calculating every last erg of efficiency from the spent lives of their lessers. The legacy of the Olympian is alive and well on Mars, with robotic tactical maneuvers performed only because the combatants obey and endure without question.
the Technomartyr is the generic term used by Magi for a variety of death cults and traditions of sacrifice that developed in the collapse of infrastructure in burnt out Forge Worlds across the galaxy. The ruthless calculations of the Divisio Lachrimallus and Provender showed insufficient rations to feed their current populations and so, even as they steadily acquired new hydroponics and new imports, algorithms based on utility and probable survival collected the most acceptable losses and randomly chose the requisite number of sacrifices. With... variable levels of consent the spare population fled into the wastes and into danger hoping to redeem themselves before they meet the Omnissiah face to face. Calling themselves Tech-Dervishes or Ohm Yoga or Cenobytes traditions formed that had offered salvation by the cleansing of the unholy and spilt oil of the Heretek.
This continues to the battlefield today, as besieged Forge Worlds lose rebuilt infrastructure and gathered supplies and new Submenials are chosen to die for the whole. Pointed at the enemy, girded with Arc Mauls and Chainswords, and affixed with Chronos to show the time they have to pay for their wasted oxygen until they overdose on Chems, or their primitive augments destabilize, or in a few cases their implanted bombs trigger. Rarely the Technomartyr will set their suicides to a randomly generated number, to put their lives totally in the hands of the Omnissiah.
Interspersed with the desperate schemes and gambles to maintain what of the Taghmata Omnissiah remained, the Mechanicum implemented desperate schemes and gambles to rebuilt some of its glory. Over the millennium with the vast hordes of material and fuel and foodstuffs that kept the lifeblood of the Forge Worlds grimly pumping, new colonists and pilgrims came also to fill the empty factories faster then natural increase or vatgrown servitors. On an ad-hoc basis with the new servants came new candidates and aspirants for the Tech-Guard. Though the Legions would grow slowly and fitfully, "temporary" units of Psuedo-Skitarii have been able to fill the holes. Aug-Armsmen gifted by cybernetically favoring Rogue Traders, Shock Troopers taken from Governatorial households and welded to Arc weapons, and upgraded Bionic Killers purchased from Nobilite Scions and Trade-Warriors. All are organized among true Protectors of the Cult under second rate Supernumerarii Clades.
Typically less reliably and consistently cyberized than normal Skitarii, the Supernumerarii make up for it in several ways. Planetary Governors have pet marauders and cavalier dynasts that have become inconvenient sent on their way with implanted bio-chips and frequently their supporters and riches followed. With the connections Navigators have across Terra strange sects of Templars and Sicarii come to serve Mars, along with veteran Imperial Guard and Arbitors. Even savvy Rogue Traders contribute, engaging in elaborate incestuous deals that have Requisistionists pay for the privilege of equipping their militants with exotic and unusual weaponry and consequently find themselves convinced to donate their retainers to the Tech-Guard.
-Dictated in the reign Maga Mechanica Trimejia Diadanei, Fabricatress-General of Mars, Vicegerent of the Omnissiah, Lady Praesident of the Martian Consilium, and Mistress of the Olympus Mons Forge
"Cartorius, pass me the vial. No not the blue vial, the green one ... the other green one. Thank you, festering idiot.
Now my little one, Nurgle (praise be His name) has plans for you. Oh yes oh yes. We'll see a brand new instrument of Nurgle (praise be His name) developed and you're the one lucky enough to be the origin. Oh this will fetch me a pretty blessing, mayhaps my hands will split, or be graced by the birth of flies. Oh I am excited, now hold still.
Wait. Portius? What are you doing here? What is that you're holdi..."
- Last words of Heuronius Fleck, Sorcerer of Nurgle -
Sodom VI was a dead world, its surface scorched, its atmosphere posioned, its seas and rivers boiled away leaving only barren rock. None of this however was the source of Sodom's newfound distinction. There were ten thousand other worlds similarly scoured of life over the course of the thousand year war. No what made Sodom VI unique was not even on blasted world but in the space above it, for Sodom VI was the place where for the first time in three centuries the entire strength of the Black Watch was assembled. For centuries they had waged an unending war against the forces of chaos, treason and tyranny. Everywhere the Black Watch went they brought the fury of justice down upon the wicked each campaign spreading them further and further apart. That was about to change however, for First Captain Jago Sevatarion had issued the summons and his brothers had answered.
As each fleet arrived it brought thousands of more battle brothers and accompanying mortals and the great battleship Retribution at the heart of a fleet of battleships, cruisers, battle barges and countless smaller craft soon echoed with the sound of a thousand reunions as the upper ranks of the Black Watch Legion and its greatest warriors assembled. But when at last the Jago deigned to speak the ship became as silent as a crypt.
"Brothers, soldiers of the Imperial Guard, sailors of the Imperial Navy, defenders of the Imperium, children of the Emperor. For one thousand years we have brought justice to a galaxy steeped in corruption and under assault by the ruinous powers. We have each of us endured the tests of our own evil a foe more familiar and dangerous than any other. The Black Watch was founded to bring terror to the foes of man and justice to all those in need of it. Our war has set us against Xenos, Daemons, Monsters and all too often our fellow men. Yet here we stand. And now in this thousandth year of struggle I have called you here for one singular purpose. A new phase in our war is about to begin. One bloodier and more crucial than any since the Emperor's demise. I cannot say where we will fight, or who or to what end, it matters not. For we are the Black Watch and for us the Night holds no terrors. Long Live our Fallen Emperor!"
The betrayal of the Iron Hands, the climatic battle between Ferrus and Fulgrim, the death of their Primarch. It was all too much, the III Legion were forever changed at the battle of Medusa and the consequences of the Heresy. Where other Legions looked outward, expanded their holdings and established themselves as political institutions within the galaxy, and some looked inward, reforming themselves and using the last of their strength to stand in their values, digging into what they fought so hard to protect... The Children of the Emperor looked above, and were cleansed in His holy light. The history of the Legion was self-plunged, all records of the heinous betrayer Fabius Bile were extinguished, and most shocking of all, the homeworld of Chemos was expunged and glassed. It was cleansed in holy fire and devoid of all life. All that remain, and all that will be retained, are the ancient fortresses and the great statues of Fulgrim. His reverence among the Chapter is absolute, but Fulgrim is not a paragon of virtue.. He is a cautionary tale. He strove for perfection. He was the most extravagant, the loveliest son of the Emperor. Yet even he fell. His sons have reformed his legacy, and live in penance. They strive for perfection through sullen observance and the strictest of conservative codes. So true are they to this, that their Legion has not adapted since their reformation.
The Children revere the Emperor as their God, and were among the first to accept the Imperial Creed.. Faint whispers question their beliefs, where they gained such a strong faith, and their possible connection to ][REDACTED][ of course such dishonor to sully the name of the Third Legion will be felt with accusation of heresy and retribution of purging. The Emperor's Children may have reformed, but old attitudes die hard, and their haughty and generally.. Elevated attitude has seemed to be a genetic construct rather then a social one.
Their organization before the heresy was entirely directed by Fulgrim, who selected the most exemplary of the Legion to become Lord Commanders. The Princes of War, given full authority over the Company Commanders. Fulgrim taught the Lord Commanders personally, taking care that they were worthy of the honour of being the representatives of the Emperor. In turn the Lord Commanders passed Fulgrim's words on to the officers under their command, and they to their squads. In this way, through their leaders, each Space Marine of the Emperor's Children Legion followed the Emperor himself. To honour the Emperor, they strove for perfection in all things: battlefield doctrine was obeyed to the letter, tactics and strategy were studied in minute detail and perfected, and the Emperor's decrees were memorized by every Space Marine, adhered to in every way. Even in the old days, the reverence and dedication to the Emperor was fanatical. The Emperor's Children would strive for nothing less then perfection.
The Emperor's Children developed a very rigid combat methodology that was reflected in their order of battle. By the time of the heresy, Fulgrim led his Legion comprised of 11,000 marines organized into 30 Millenials, the first ten of which were led by a Lord Commander. As each Space Marine looked to his superior officer for guidance, each Company inherited its manner and practices from its Commander. Though this was the case with many Legions, the Emperor's Children had a strength of devotion to their leaders that was almost unmatched.
Abhor the Witch. Destroy the Witch.
The Legion strove for perfection in all their endeavours, and worked continuously to perfect their military operations. Each and every Space Marine trained almost ceaselessly for his assigned task, whether it be foot soldier, driver, gunner, scout or sniper. The Legion employed no Librarians, the genetic mutation that allowed a psyker to access the warp was considered a flaw, a nothing considered a flaw would be allowed in the Legion.
In combat the Emperor's Children were as brave as any Space Marine who ever lived. Sustained not merely by the example of their peers but by a deep individual belief in their duty to their superiors and the Legion as a whole, they fought to the best of their abilities in all conditions, whether the battle was a massive attack or a simple patrol. It was widely believed that no Space Marine of the Emperor's Children had ever been routed in battle. Similarly, the Legion was highly demanding of forces allied with it - signs of hesitation or inefficiency within the Imperial Guard or even their brother Space Marines were not tolerated. The principle of leading by example was ingrained into every fiber of the Emperor's Children, and they had little patience for any other approach. Fulgrim embodied these principles, and when he entered combat he would lead his Legion from the very front.
It was from these old ideals, and the breaking of their foundation, that the Emperor's Children grew even more devoted. Even more fanatical. They abhorred the traitor, the alien, the MUTANT. There exist to this day not a single librarian within the Legion, and neither will a brother fight alongside one. A source of corruption, they strongly resist the temptations and look down upon their brethren for even the use of the psykers. The Thousand Sons are especially disliked, but, as it happens, with the sons of Magnus guarding his throne, they almost never come into contact with the Third Legion..
For the last time all the Lord Commanders met, on the planet of Chemos, to bury their dead Primarch, it was decided amongst all parties that an Eternal Crusade must be called. An ever-lasting show of penance and devotion, each Lord Commander devised his own course, his own path, each could not command the other, and so the Legion split into Ten Parts. The Legion now has Thirty-Five indepedent Lord Commanders, all heirs to Fulgrim, all upon their own crusade. The original council was etched in stone and it was decided that never again may the Legion unite until all evil has been cleansed from the Galaxy.
Suffer Not the Unclean to Live.
The Crusading Fleets are divided, and each one responsible for its own recruitment. The reverence towards doctrine and the Imperial Creed has been held to such a standard, that clashes between two different subfactions of the Legion have not been uncommon, and often an exceptionally charismatic and pious Lord Commander can convince others to follow his bidding and join him in his goals. But these alliances are tenuous, and the mobile and fervent rituals of the Emperor's Children determine that no fleet may stay in one region of space for long, after a foe is vanquished, and they go onto their next target. Almost the entire Legion is fleet-based, and would willingly declare that they have no homeworld.
The Promethean Dominion compromises the second largest continuous Chaos Incursion within realspace as of the close of the 30th Millenium.
Nocturne: The Capital of the Dominion, Nocturne is a planet ringed with fortresses. Several times have the servants of Corpse-Emperor attempted to assail the system, only to be thrown back the by the feverish creations of a Mad Primarch and his sons. Thousands of defensive satellites guard all approaches to the planet, each armed with it's own mix of bizarre but undeniably deadly weaponry. On Prometheus the Salamanders make their lair, and it is here that they craft their nightmarish weapons of war. The planet itself is a Death World to rival the worst the galaxy has to offer, as the taint of the Warp has seeped into it's very crust, driving the Ur-Drakes that sleep there to the surface. Only the fittest can survive, and only the greatest of these may be permitted ascension into the ranks of the Legion.
Gryphonne IV: Once, the Promethean Dominion stretched across the stars, able to call upon the great Forge Worlds of Accatran, Metalica, Estaban and more. Now, those worlds are long lost to the Imperium, and only the Daemon-Factorums of Gryphonne IV remain. Though lesser Forge Worlds remain in the hands of the Salamanders, none provide such vast quantities of war material as Gryphonne.
Wrath of the Hungering Gyre: The raging Warp Storm to the south of the Dominion provides the Salamanders with access into the Immaterium, and it is here that their Sorcerers gather to craft their rituals.
Rynn's World: A planet on the edges of the Wrath, Rynn's World is home to great shipyards where salvaged ships too heavily damaged to be pressed back into service via normal means, both of the Salamanders and their enemies, are brought to. It is here that they are consecrated to the Dark Gods, filled with the power of the Warp Storm, and a new crew is summoned to replace their long-lost flesh and blood one. Many Imperial naval commanders have been forced to fight ships that once served their Legion, now converted into foul Daemonships.
Bakka: A mining colony, Bakka is orbited by enormous Daemon-Yards that reach into the planet's with tendrils of warp energy, funneling vast quantities of mineral-rich lava into their gaping maws, to be processed into new vessels of war.
Caldera: This tectonically-active Death World, conquered by the Salamanders during the Great Crusade and given under their dominion ever since, is entirely reserved for the purpose of serving as recruitment grounds for the Legion, producing neophytes at a rate second only to Nocturne itself.
The Salamanders Legion is split into nine Chapters, though since the Heresy they have become less an organizational unit and more a collective of factions within the Legion. Below these, the Salamanders still gather into Companies of roughly 500 Marines, though standards on enforcement have become lax. Each Company is a self-contained unit with it's own warships, armor and aerial support, and more. Though their internal organizations vary greatly depending on the role and leadership of the Company, each of them contains at least a squad of the Black Dragons. These taciturn warriors are the Pyre Lord's eyes and ears, their black-clad armor a constant remainder of the authority of the First Master. In battle they act as elite shock troops, utilizing the Legion's abundant supply of Terminator Armor in their role as bodyguards to the commanders of the Legion and, as necessary, enforcers of Numeon's will.
Always known for their unparallelled craftsmanship, and their descent into Chaos has hardly dulled these skills. If anything, the spark of daemonic insight has only made their armories swell with nightmarish creations. Daemons Weapons are common amongst the Salamanders, and they have extended their proficiency with flame weapons to the unnatural fires of the Warp, and Warpflamers and Inferno Boltguns are produced en-masse by their corrupted forges.
First Chapter, the Firedrakes
Though there is no set size to the Chapters, the Pyre Lord's own are the largest and best-equipped of them, based out of the Legion-flagship Engine of Woe. They have no particular duties save to go where their lord wills it, always at the forefront of the Legion's campaigns. Also part of the First Chapter are the Sons of the Forge, lead by Forgefather T'kell. They are artefact seekers, infiltrators and spies whose duties are to be the eyes and ears of the Legion, but also to seek out and recover artefacts, weapons of war that might aid the Legion in the Long War.
The unquestioned lord of the Promethean Dominion is Artellus Numeon, known as the Pyre Lord, the Black Dragon, and the First Master of the Salamanders. Born on Terra, Numeon served as the Primarch's Equerry and the leader of his personal bodyguard. In the wake of Vulkan's ascension it was he who held the Dominion together, and masterminded the counteroffensive in the wake of the Raven Guard's flight, securing the western flank and accessing the tainted Forges of Gryphonne IV. The Pyre Lord's armor is scorched black by the everpresent aura of flames that surrounds him, roaring into an all-consuming inferno in combat as the Legion Master leverages his Pyromancer talents. He wields the Spear of Vulkan, just as much a symbol of his authority as it is a potent weapon, engraved with daemonic runes that return it to his hand after every throw. He is accompanied by all times the Pyre Guard, Agatarion, Varrun and Leodrakk being the only survivors of the Primarch's Honor Guard. Now, the trio of hulking Possessed Marines, the first of their kind among the XVIII, guard the Pyre Lord with their lives.
Second Chapter, the Flamehammers
One of the larger Chapters, the Second maintain much of the discipline they were famous for before the Rebellion, and it is a garrison drawn from them that is entrusted with the defense of Nocturne itself, as well as the recruitment of neophytes all across the Dominion. During their duties, they are also often called upon to put down Loyalist forces that breach the lines of fortifications bordering the Dominion, as well as uprisings and other internal issues.
The Second Chapter is under the command of Cassian Draconis, the Old Drake, the Iron Dragon. One of the first Marines to be created by the Emperor's hand on Terra, Cassian was the Legion Master of the Dragon Warriors when Vulkan took command. Mortally wounded by the Orks of Taras, Cassian was fashioned a unique dreadnought chassis by the hand of the Primarch himself, created of a black, self-repairing alloy of unknown construction. Since then Cassian has served as Castellan of Nocturne, responsible for it's defense during the years of the Rebellion whilst the main force of the Legion was away. At the dawn of the 31st Millenium Cassian is a staunch supporter of Numeon, and a key factor in stabilizing the Legion since Vulkan's departure. Under the touch of Chaos his chassis has began taking the appearance of a Nocturnean Drake, and those close to him speak of how the metal is slowly giving way to flesh.
Third Chapter, the Drakeriders
The Third have a reputation for being a boring, unremarkable lot for the most part. There is, however, an exception, and it is from this that they derive their name. Many Salamanders hunt their namesakes on Nocturne, or any of the various gargantuan reptiles which dominate it's ecosystem. The Saurians of Caldera have also gained popularity since the Rebellion. However, it takes a special kind of maniac to take one of these creatures alive, subdue it until it can be secured and then mount it to battle. Though each Legion makes use of them in small numbers, the Third have even been known to resort to biological experiments and cloning technology to avoid exhausting the supply of warbeasts. Gnarlwyrms, Basilisks, Wyverns, Drakons, Salamanders, Targons, the Drakriders make use of them all. Even the enormous Ur-Drakes are pried from the depths of Nocturne to do battle in Vulkan's name.
Gaur'ach leads the Drakeriders, an old warrior riddled with cybernetics. Though lesser warriors would have earned, or been consigned, to a Dreadnought casket long ago he has managed to barely crawl back to his feet each time. Some say he has made a pact with the Dark Gods, while others attribute it to sheer, unrelenting refusal to be so confined, to never again enjoy war as a living warrior could.
Fourth Chapter, the Firefists
The Fourth Chapter was all but annihilated in the closing years of the Rebellion, and since it's rebuilding it has been characterized by it's lack of distinct character. Formed out of the mavericks, the malcontents, those who did not fit in amongst their brethren, the turnover rate for their leadership has historically been high. Though the majority of them are Salamanders, many of Angron's get can be found among their number, alongside even the occasional renegade.
Moarn Goreheart is the Fourth Master, a rare example of a Son of Angron rising to so high a command position. One of the neophytes recruited after the Rebellion, he rejected Kharn's old ways in favor of the only Legion he had ever known. Since the Rebellion, those among the War Hounds who could not be trusted to turn on their own brethren were consigned to the Eighth Chapter, kept chained between battles and unleashed unto the foe as little more than attack dogs. The remainder were given a choice, to make themselves useful, or suffer the same fate. Though it would be a stretch to describe them as sane, those who were left, Moarn amongst them, held enough of a grip upon themselves to surrender themselves to the Nails bite only upon the battlefield.
Fifth Chapter, the Flamespeakers
Though the majority of the Legion do not truly worship the entities of the Warp, the Fifth Chapter embrace the Octed readily. They revere each of the four, as well as the Primordial Fire, whom they attribute as an aspect of the Chaos Undivided. On the battlefield they make frequent use of Daemonic summons, supplemented by their vast ranks of Pyromancers.
Xiaphas Jurr, the Firetongue, the High Priest of the Primordial Fire, leads the Fifth Chapter. Once the Lord-Chaplain, Jurr was among the first of the Legion to make use of the powers of Chaos, and some say it was he who spoke to Vulkan of his prophetic dreams, of a path to power that could stem the unrelenting tide of vengeful loyalists. Though a fearsome warrior, it has been his oratory skills and silvered tongue that have served the Salamanders well over the years, for it was he who masterminded the treaty with the Dark Mechanicum masters of Gryphonne IV in the wake of the Raven Guard's retreat to the Corvidae Oversector.
Sixth Chapter, the Painseekers
The smallest of the Chapters, the Sixth worships the Dark Prince exclusively. What they may lack in numbers they make up for them with their incredibly capacity to withstand punishment. Their senses deadened by years of seeking the excesses of Slaanesh, anything less than a killing blow is but a mere inconvenience, and they are even known to light themselves on fire before battle to burn any who would close to melee range.
Donak, the Sixth Master, was once a Captain of the 47th Pyroclast Company. Now, over a thousand years later he leads the Painseekers, and yet in a cruel twist of irony that many attribute to some failing on his part towards the Dark Prince, the sensations he craves for are forever denied to him. For Donak himself is confined to the chassis of a Leviathan Dreadnought, never to again feel the kiss of fire on his skin.
Seventh Chapter, the Destroyers
The Eighteenth Legion long despised the trade of the Destroyers, abolishing their use entirely under Vulkan. However, over the course of the Long War, they gradually returned to favour as the tactics of the Legion became ever driven by necessity. The duties of the Seventh are to burn the fields, salt the earth and poison the water. They deny ground to the Loyalists, so that each square inch of Dominion they conquer will be worthless to them. They are also known to mount deep raids into the Imperium, laying waste to Agri-Worlds and mining worlds to keep the Imperial war machine ay bay.
Kestros, the Rotfist, is unique among the Chapter Masters for being of neither Vulkan nor Angron's genestock. Instead, Kestros is an Imperial Fist, his warband separated from the majority of his Legion after Dorn's death, and in the chaos that followed the Battle of Terra he ended stuck in the Dominion. Of the pragmatical sort, he simply joined forces with the Salamanders instead. True worshippers of Nurgle are few and far between in the Legion, and Kestros proved himself the most favored champion of the Plague God, earning him the rank of Chapter Master. Though the Cult Chapters, as the Sixth through Ninth are collectively referred to as, may be the smallest in number they retain a certain amount of influence within the Legion- it wouldn't do to earn disfavour from their patrons by insult through proxy.
Eighth Chapter, The Warhounds of Vulkan
The remnants of the World Eaters Legion were absorbed by the Salamanders after the Battle of Bodt. Though their efforts in banishing the curse of the Nails were unsuccesful, and their numbers depleted by Kharn's treason, the Bloody Eighth have become an integral part of the Legion. Though once compromising the entirety of the former 12th Legion, since the Rebellion they were reorganized to contain the fanatical adherents of the Eightfold Path, regardless of origin. Though dominated by Angron's geneline, small numbers of Salamanders and renegades are known to exist within the Chapter.
Garos Tarbod, the Jailor of the Damned, took over as the Master of the Eighth after Kharn fled into the Eye, left to preside over a broken brotherhood. Assigned the worst of the former 12th, those who have succumbed utterly to the madness of the geneline, Tarbod's duty is to keep his brothers contained out of combat, many of whom must be chained to their drop pods and launched directly at the enemy. And when the slaughter is over, it is his duty to gather them together and bind them once more. Though he does his duty, he knows, just as every Son of Angron does, that one day the fate will be the same. He is no less afflicted by the Nails, and it is only prodigious willpower that allows him to perform his charge. One day, soon, he will appoint his replacement and consign himself to the holding pits, and so the cycle of slaughter continues.
Ninth Chapter, the Pyroclasts
Though all Chapters employ Sorcerers save the Eighth, it is the worshippers of Tzeentch who have made it into an art form. The second smallest after the Sixth, the Ninth make up for it with their proficiency for warpfire that borders on preternatural, even among those who lack the gifts of the Psyker.
Nubis is the youngest of the Chapter Masters, born long after the Heresy. Despite this, he has been blessed with a talent for foresight, which has seen him rise rapidly among the ranks of the Ninth.
Kharn the Unbroken - Kharn's history stretches back for a long time. While he never did see the fighting on Terra, he was born upon Humanity's birth world. It was Kharn who managed to convince their father to take on his legion, and it was Kharn who led them to Vulkan to be reforged in the fires. Yet Kharn saw the Gods for what they truly were and eventually fled. Seeking in a desperate and possibly hopeless quest for Gorefather and Gorechild. Kharn has not broken yet, not to gods, the nails, or anything.
Lotara Sarrin - It is rare for a human to be raised so high, but Lotara Sarrin became captain of the Conqueror at the rather young age of 30. She has captained the vessel through all of the heresy and beyond. However, time and war has taken its toll, and she is more machine now then anything else. A cyborg, sitting permanently attached to her beloved ship. She never speaks, and many question if she truly lives, but as long as Kharn lives, Lotara Sarrin commands.
Sattius "Hellhowl" Cassiuyus - WIP
Sagittar Phract, First of the Devourers - WIP
Widku Balor - WIP
Atticus Aetol - WIP
Dramosius Trior - WIP
Belletor Octavius - WIP
Immolus Ur-Drake - Immolus was one of the new recruits given to the War Hounds from Nocturne itself. Immolus was born with another name at one time, but the fall of the Salamanders to Chaos did something to him. Some say he went mad, but in the end the Chaplain spoke only of the old Promethean Creed, of the Primordial Flame, the First Flame. Today his words are listened to more and more by the War Hounds. His authority is whispered to be only seconds to Kharn. Yet Ur-Drake swears that it will not be Gorefather or Gorechild that will save them, but the Primordial Flame itself.
Yaban Tsukihoshi - WIP
A'vos Drac'lyr - WIP
Vulkan Zae'Gor - The only member of the War Hounds who really isn't one. Zae'Gor was once a Salamander Pyroclast until the Battle of Terra where he was heavily wounded. Upon his awakening, he spoke of foul Gods. When Vulkan fell, Zae'Gor fled with the War Hounds. Taking his father's name and the title of Forgefather. Zae'Gor seeks to be Kharn's adviser and to remind the War Hounds of the Vulkan's wise teachings before his fall.
If one listened only to the weak Imperials, they would come to believe that the Space Wolves were nothing more than a pack of savages. Wretched and damned even among the Traitor Legions, the stories would call them, for while the other traitors at least had goals, had Empires and waged organised war against the Heirs of the Emperor, all most would see of the Wolves would be scattered warbands of abominations. Dangerous, bloodthirsty and certainly not a creature you'd want to fight in a hallway. Yet ultimately they were little better than the wolves they cared so much for. Nothing more than a disorganized bunch of cannibalistic animals who were no true threats to the organised successor states and their grand armies and fleet.
Only surviving pict recording of a Pack of Space Wolves feasting upon an Imperial Guard Regiment during one of their raids
Some of the stupider ones would even come to believe that these stories were all that there was to the Sons of Russ. Who were not mourned, for even during the Great Crusade they were nothing but a pack of savage murderers who carved a bloody wound into the Galaxy. Barbarians that had finally shown their true faces they would call them.
But those who remember the Crusade, who lived through the Heresy, they know better. The Sons of Horus remember the sheer efficiency of the Rout as they laid down the foundation of bone that the Imperium stood upon. The Thousands Sons, and Ahriman the Regent still have nightmares about the howls of the Vlka Fenryka as Prospero Burned. And the Blood Angels, so noble and stalwart, who have taken upon themselves the task of guarding the Cadian Gates, know well of the scars that even small warbands of the Wolves can leave on entire sectors of space. Yes they all know the truth.
The Spaces Wolves' fall to Khorne and Leman Russ' ascension have done nothing to hurt their murderous prowess, instead it refined the killing edge of these monsters. They had been set free. Free to indulge in the everlasting hunt yes, but also free to wage the eternal war.
The most commonly seen warbands of the wolves then to be small and undisciplined yes. From a surface observation, they rarely seem unite and most of them are seen fighting as murderers for hire for many of the greater traitor legions. They were simply Warbands of Blood Claws. For with the loss of Fenris and the Curse of the Wulfen growing rampant within their ranks, Russ and his Wolf Lords had decided to take drastic steps in order to insure the survival of their geneline. They decided to embrace the Wulfen, for as Russ's geneseed were cloned and incubated within the eye, the taint of the warp made it ubiquitous among the Great Companies. No longer would it be treated as a curse, but rather as a blessing in disguise. A worthy challenge to wean out the weak and unworthy, insuring that only the strongests among them would survive, and through them lead the Legion to War.
Bands of Blood Claws seeking to complete their trials by blood and thus prove themselves worthy of the Wulfen
Those who did not survive the implantation? They were simply weak. Those who were consumed utterly by the Blessing of the Wulfen? They were unworthy. Only those who had the willpower to control the savagery, retain a potential for discipline and the mind to dedicate themselves to the Blood God could call themselves Neophytes of the Space Wolves. Those that do no manage to overcome the beast within, but do manage to live on are not considered to be members of the Legion. Though their tenacity is recognized, and within each Great Company and each of their Warbands, Those Lost Completely to the Wulfen are seen as valuable friends, family and powerful weapons granted to them by Khorne and Leman Russ.
But the Neophytes must still prove themselves. For even at this stage they were just welps who had survived birth, not yet worthy to be called the Hounds of Khorne. They had to earn their keep, in blood and in deed. Only after many raids and many skulls for the skull thrones, where the raw savageness of the new Wolves had been tempered with experience would they be allowed to enter into Slahtrheimr and be welcomed into the Legion fully, instead as members of one of the 8 Great Companies of the Rout.
And upon Slahtrheimr, the Wolves shall be trained. Trained in endless battle and wars. Great Companies versus Great Companies, Astartes against their Servant armies the Blood Pact, Sons of Russ clashing with the greatest Servants of Khorne. For only in war can the Wolves truly shine, where all they had learned shall be melted into a whole. Animalistic savagery combined with unbreaking discipline and brutal tactical and strategical brilliance. They will fight, they will die, and they shall come back, again, again and again. Where the clash of warriors will be forged into the bonds of legion. And when the Wolftime comes and Leman Russ shall sound the horns of war, their howls shall drown the Galaxy. Fenris will be recovered, and the Galaxy shall be their hunting ground and feasting table.
The fields of Slahtrheimr, where unceasing wars shall forge beasts into legion and bloodthirsty wolves into eternal packs
The eternal struggle between the four gods of chaos has turned in favor of the Prince of Pleasure, the Lord of Excess, Slaanesh. Those who follow Slaanesh shall reach even greater heights this turn, their pleasures feeding the Dark Prince, their songs winding to the Immaterium! Across the Warp, Slaaneshi Daemon Incursions increase in number and intensity, and Khornate ones are weakened. This will last for one full turn.
The Allfather has ascended, no longer shall he personally lead his Sons into the glorious hunt, though he still watches over them and guide their slaughter across the stars he cannot stand with them as he used to. But that does not mean that the Wolves are without leaders, without fathers to guide them. The 8 Great Companies of Khorne and of Fenris remains. Woe to anyone who stirs their wrath, for each Company is the calamity of war and the glory of murder made manifest. Each Company is split into a multitude of Warbands, which only unifies in force when called upon by the Great Wolf. When formed a Great Company is an independent force of crusaders, madmen and warcriminals able to wage interstellar wars all on their lonesome and threaten entire sectors of Space.
It is rare sight to see the 8 Great Companies unite to form the Rout in it's entirety ever since Russ' ascension into Daemon Princehood. The only Great Wolf to have succeeded in such a task is Jorin Bloodwolf. Once known as Jorin Bloodhowl, Jarl of the 13th Great Company and one of Russ's oldest followers from Fenris itself. It was Jorin who keep the Space Wolve unified within the Eye when Russ left the materium world. It was Jorin who helped his brothers master and learn to live with the Wulfen as the corruption of the Eye caused their Geneseed to mutate uncontrollably. The shattered remains of the previous 13 Great Companies were unified into the core of the new 1st Great Company under him. And it was under his watchful eyes that the new 8 Great Companies came into being.
An now in contemporary times, it is Jorin who has sounded the call to war by blowing the sacred horns upon Slahtrheimr, calling upon all the Great Companies to gather at their new Home. The Allfather has decreed it, Khorne has demanded it, the Wolftime had come, and the Wolves shall march to war and drown the galaxy in the howls of slaughter.
On that day, after a lengthy discussion and a competition of murderous prowess, the gathered Great Wolves unanimously named Great Wolf Jorin Bloodwolf as Lord of the Hunt. Master of all 8 Great Companies and Warmaster of the Rout. The Hunt begins. Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the skull throne, Let the Galaxy Burn.
Lord of the Hunt Jorin Bloodwolf, towering over his brothers as he leads them to All-Consuming Conflict
Before we get to talking about the Great Companies themselves, let us first acquaint ourselves with the organisational structures of the Route. Their Rank and files, and their specialist roles.
-Lord of the Hunt
Master of the entire Legion and Warmaster of warmachine of the Wolves. A combination of nominated position and a position gained through strength. When the call is sounded, the Great Wolves shall meet together and choose one among their ranks to ascend to this position.
-Great Wolves
Commanders of the Great Companies. Each a mighty Chaos Champion, each an savage avatar of war who have gained the favors of Khorne and of Russ. It is said that all of them have long since earned a spot among the Daemon Princes alongside the Allfather, but all have refused so far. Preferring to wage war in the materium world.
-Wolf Lords
Lieutenants of the Great Wolves and leaders of the Warbands. Veteran Astartes and Commanders charged with the responsibilities of leading the raids that provide the Great Companies with a constant supply of loot, slaves and recruits. As well as the crucial task of educating the Blood Claws until they are deemed ready.
-Rune Lords
A position of respect and danger, a inherent problem for Psykers who devote themselves to the Blood God. Rune Lords are Runesmiths who have served and survived in all 8 Great Companies then passed the Trial of Brass in which they must defeat or survive a battle against a mighty Daemon of Khorne throuh any means necessary, except for their powers. Only once they have done so will they have proven themselves to be masters of all Aspects of war and murder and that they will not let their powers be a crutch for their battles. Each of them is a powerful Psyker, warrior and master of the Company's Runesmiths.
-Blood Howls
Astartes who have sacrificed their ability to speak language out of devotion to Khorne. In exchange they have gained even more enhanced senses which allows them to judge the mood and state of mind of their brothers, allowing them to break up fights before they start or to escalate them whichever helps to reinforce discpline more. In their duties as taskmasters, they need not words, their bone breaking howls are more than enough to earn them respect and obedience. In battle, their howls scours the battlefield, shattering the resistance of their enemies and reinforcing the bloodthrist of their charges.
-Brass Slaughterers
Ancient Brothers entombed in Daemonc Dreadnoughts and who astride the battlefield as titans of flesh and living metal made out of brass. Impervious to all but the heaviest of weapons, and immune to psyker abilities, even the beneficial ones from the Rune Lords and Runesmiths the Brass Slaughterers have no need for those tricks. These Warmachine are all but unstoppable in combat.
-Brass Champions
Veteran brothers clad in Brass armors that are sometimes also infused with the essence of Daemons. Their blessings allows them to stalk the battlefield much faster than their bulk and size would suggest. Immune to psyker abilities, even the beneficial ones from their allies, the Brass Champions with their mastery of all weapons are the mailed and spiked fists of the Great Companies.
-Skull Hunters
Champions and Honor Guard of the Wolf Lords and the Great Wolves. Each Skull Hunters have also challenged a Wolf Lord and/or a Great Wolf to single combat for their position, those that survive the ordeal find themselves handpicked by the Lords of the Rout to join the ranks of the Skull Hunters. They are dedicated to keep their Lords alive until the day come that they can challenge them again, until then no one else is allowed to steal their kill. Their armors are adorned with the skulls of their greatest kills, enemy champions that had to be brought down or those who thought that they could kill their leaders without the Skull Hunters' input.
Famed former Skull Hunter Wulfrik Headtaker, Great Wolf of the 6th Great Company
-Butcher Priests
The distorted remains of the Wolf Priests, the Apothecaries of the Space Wolves. Though the Butcher Priests still retain the sacred duties of Geneseed extraction and preservation as well as preserving the lives of their brothers, they are also to a man butchers. The consumption of flesh and the Rout's cannibalism is seen as abhorrent, but to them it is seen as a sacred duty, especially when the kill is worthy. Such is the duty of the Butcher Priests. When a worthy foe is slain, it is they who prepare the body so that it might be consumed by the Astartes who are responsible for the kill. When a fellow Space Wolf is killed, once the geneseed is extracted, it is they who will prepare the body and distributed the flesh of the fallen amongst their brothers, so that the fallen will never be forgotten.
-Warp Slayers
When they fled into the Eye of Terror, the Iron Priests among the Wolves were horrified to see their sacred technology being defiled by the corruption and the daemonic. Where most tech-adepts sworn to chaos have decided to embrace the change and work with this event, the Iron Priest, now calling themselves Warp Slayers had a different idea in mind. They would not fight the inevitable, they would not deny themselves powerful weapons for their war, however it would be on their terms. Any Daemon Engine, any Daemon weapon or Equipment they constructed would first have the Daemon broken first. A Warp Slayer would call down or hunt down a Daemon over and over, and then slay them over and over again, until they can make them submit to their will. Only then will they use the Daemon in their works.
-Runesmiths
To be a Psyker in the Eye was a dangerous life, to be a Psyker sworn to Khorne even more so. Yet it should be noted that Khorne mostly despises Sorcerers who rely on the warp to fight their battles for them, Runesmiths do not do such things. Their powers is not the calling down of flames or lighting to smite down their foes for them. No their powers was in hunting down a foe through the immaterium and the materium, the clarity of divination to guide their paths, the binding of Daemons and then the binding of their wills to them in a contest of arms, the dispelling over the powers of other Psykers and Sorcerors so that they might rip out their foes' throats themselves, and a knowledge of the warp and courts of the Chaos Gods, the true names of the Greatest Daemons so that they might best kill them. Another part of their duty, and where the moniker of smith came from, is how their blessings and support abilities work. Runes of power are of course, hammered into tools that are to be enhanced. And they are also bloodily hammered into the flesh of their brothers and mortal soldiers who wish to endure such a trial. It is a painful and harrowing affair, most do not survive, but those that do shall be forged anew, having earned their abilities.
-Wolf Brothers
Experienced Astartes and Fenrisian Wolves tasked with the duty of caring and leading both the Fenrisian Wolves in a gathering of the Fenryka, and also in charge of caring and leading those brothers in the Broken Pacts whose minds were entirely consumed by the Wulfen.
Wolf Brothers leading their Charges into battle
-Wild Rangers
No war can be fought without information, and while the intel provided by the warbands, the Runesmiths and Runelords are often critical, sometimes one need to have an experienced paired of eyes to witness something in person, without the bias of youth or the whims of the warp. Wild Rangers are often the most human looking members of the Space Wolves allowing them to not immediately stand out as members of the Rout. They operate either alone or in small teams, often times on long ranging missions away from the rest of their warband. The Wild Rangers are also the branch of the Space Wolves who most understand modern imperial culture and retains the most of their old Fenrisian Practices.
-Long Fangs
Those Blood Claws who have passed their blood trials and survived their stays in the Warbands have proven themselves to be worthy to be a Long Fang. The Long Fang forms the experienced core of the Great Companies, and while they do not have the specialties of their more experienced or specialized brothers, their skills and bloodyminded determination combined with their training backs them the hardened backbone of the Rout. Specialists roles recruit from the Long Fangs.
The Fangs of the Rout, Forged in War, Bathed in Blood.
-Blood Claws Young Neophytes who have survived the implantation and the Wulfen. Raw and untested in combat, but they are ferocious and have no fear only in the way that welps can. The first into combat and the last to leave, many of them will die, but those that survive will have learned how to temper their hunger for flesh and will have their suicidal overconfidence edged away into experienced prowess at war.
-The Blood Pact
Mortals taken by the Packs in their raids, or Fenrisian raised in the Eye itself, and trained by Veteran Space Wolves in war. They are well trained, disciplined, fanatically and will almost never break so long as they fight besides their masters. Their savagery in combat makes them closer to an army of beasts than an army of men.
-The Broken Packs
Dreadnoughts who have lost their minds, brothers lost completely to the Curse of the Wulfen, Runesmiths and Warp Slayers who lost their battles against the Daemonic. These are the Space Wolves who have been reduced entirely into the animalistic abominations many believe the Rout to be. Lead into battle by the Wolf Brothers and their other brothers as supreme shocktroopers who will tear into enemy lines in manners similar to tornados made out of fur, claws, fangs, superhuman physiques and raw ferocity.
The Broken
1st Great Company Blood Wolves
Formed out of the veteran remnants of the original 13 Great Companies of the Rout, the modern 1st Company is looked upon as the Exemplars of the Rout and the Fathers of the Space Wolves now that Russ cannot be with them anymore. As the Company filled with the highest concentration of Champions they are seen as natural leaders. As such, the Blood Wolves take their duties with utmost seriousness, to the detriment of the Company. For their responsibilities comes with sacrifice.
Of the 8 Great Companies, the warbands of the 1st are the least likely to operate at the full extend of their might and power. Preferring instead to be the ones taking on the most dangerous missions in order to preserve the new blood. Whenever an Imperial Commander has had to face multiple Space Wolves Warbands working together when the Companies are not call upon, it is most likely that a Warband of the First has taken over the leadership and organisations of the warbands to assure greater chances of survival.
Critically however, this also means that the warbands of the 1st Company do not engage in as many raids as their counterparts. Meaning less loot, less thralls, less soldiers, less gear and most importantly less recruits. As such despite the utter might and legend of a single Astartes of the 1st Company which dwarfs that of the Astartes from the other Companies they are the smallest of all 8 Companies.
2nd Great Company Brass Wolves
The Majority of the 2nd Great Company is made up of some of the most devoted adepts of Khorne among the Fenryka. War and bloodshed are the greatest form of worship one can give the Blood God, and nothing is more pleasing to Khorne than to see his rival gods humiliated. As such the 2nd have a tendency to wage war upon other traitor legions, and the Daemon Princes/Greater Daemons of the other gods. They are especially fond of leading expeditions and raids upon the Crone Worlds and the Eldar, so as to symbolically offer them to Khorne in order to spite Slaanesh.
Khorne's favor upon them for these act is evident in the larger than average numbers of Brass Champions and Brass Slaughterers in the Warbands of the 2nd Company, and what earned them the name Brass Wolves. They also enjoy a surplus of gears and warmachines from trading their large stocks of Eldar Spirit Stones to the Runemiths, Rune Lords and Warp Slayers of the other Companies, who find the Stones to be powerful regeants from channeling the might/Spirit of the Rout and the Wulfen.
3rd Great Company Heirs of Fenris
Dedicated almost to the point of obsessions with Fenris and everything related to the ancient homeworld, the 3rd Company clings to Fenrisian culture like a drowning man clings to driftwood while lost in sea. Every raid, every war and every atrocity commited by a warband of the third has been for the sake of eventually reclaiming Fenris from the Blood Angels.
Calling themselves the Heirs of Fenris, the 3rd Company rejects most form of Daemonic weaponary and blessings, though they still employ them from time to time. Instead, the Artificers of the Company are the greatest artisans of Fenrisian Artifacts alive. With the armories of the 3rd filled to the bring with Frost Weapons, which they use almost exclusively above all other weapons.
When raiding in the Empire of the Sons of Sanguinius, the Heirs of Fenris will obsessively hunt down Imperial Guard Regiments from Fenris. Seeking to take as many of the guardmans back with them as possible into the Eye, where they can be freed of the lies of the Blood Angels, and either join the Wolves or the Blood Pact. Any who refuses will be terminated and eaten.
4th Great Company Sons of Slahtrheimr
The least Fenrisian of the Great Companies. The 4th believes that their brothers' obsession with a world long since out of their reach is not practical and foolish even. The Sons of Slahtrheimr, as their name should imply, are made up of mostly Astartes from after the Heresy, those recruits that either do not have any Fenrisian Origins or have grown up not feeling any connections with the ancestral culture. As such they have most readily embraced the Daemonic, and employs the largest number of Daemon weapons, Daemon Engines and Daemonships in the whole legion.
Even from the outside warbands of the 4th stands out among the Space Wolves simply because of how different they look. The rest of the Great Companies all still wear Heresy Era power armor of grey and light blue which calls back to Fenris itself, with a few modifications such as skulls, symbols of chaos, and unwashed bloodstains. While there will be some cultural touches unique to every company all of them look fairly similar. Except the 4th Company, who have chosen to instead follow the example set by the Great Daemon armies of Khorne. Their armor is crimson red with outlines of gold, which they use even on their wolves and most of their war gear.
As such they are the Company with the best cordial relationship with the Daemon Servants of Khorne and have an easier time calling upon the armies of Khorne in their campaigns.
Egil Hound of Slahtrheimr, Great Wolf of the 4th Great Company
5th Great Company Frost Wolves
The 5th Company are sometimes mocked as cowards by the other Companies. For while they are the largest company with the most amount assets and manpower, their ships and warbands do not raid around the Eye or in the Imperium much, preferring instead to keep most of their asset close to Slahtrheimr itself. The Blood Claws that likes to indulge in such jokes tend to get their heads knocked around by their Wolf Lords. For the Frost Wolves' duties are among the most important in the legion.
They guard the seat of Russ and the training grounds of the legion from the other legions, from warbands send by the other gods and from the jealousy motivated attacks launched by the other Greater Daemon and Daemon Princes of Khorne. Without them not only would the new homeworld risk being lost. But also the Fenrisian Population the Legion has so carefully cultivated would be at risk too. For their services, the Frost Wolves are allowed to recruit heavily from the Fenrisian Population within the Eye and often has preferential picks in Blood Claws that have come to train for their transition into Long Fangs.
6h Great Company Skull Takers
Some of the Greatest killers, murders and above all else Hunters of the Rout. The 6th Company contains the most Skull-Takers and former Skulltakers of the entire legion. Their wars are dedicated to hunting down the greatest of Champions and the most terrifying of abominations. As such the Runesmiths and Rune Lords of the 3rd are extremely adept in divination and tracking things in the immaterium and the materium, so that they might better hunt down worthy foes.
Even among the Space Wolves, the members of the 3rd likes their trophies. With ships armor decorated with the bones of Space Leviathans, and even the Blood Claws will be extensively decorated. Their bodies and armors filled with little trinkets and parts taking from all the worthy kills they have participated in.
7th Great Company Crimson Maws
In a legion known for their cannibalistic tendencies, the 7th Great Company stands out even among their brothers. Their battles and wars are conducted mostly for the purpose of satisfying their unending hunger. While warbands of all the companies of the Rout will leave behind devastation and an ocean of blood in their wake, only the 7th Company goes out of their ways to gorge themselves when possible. Sections of Hives have been left stripped to the literal bones as the Crimson Maws slaughtered their way across and ate everyone.
Because of this, the jaws of an Astartes from the 7th Company are permanently dyed in blood after the first few raids, leading to their title of Crimson Maws. Beyond that, Marines from this company also tend to be a more rotund than the norm. Though one should be warned that is also muscle and their personal strength is impressive even among their brothers.
They are also among the most tainted and corrupted of the Great Companies, for their urges do not just stop at humans. They have eaten everything from Xenos to even the flesh of Greater Daemons. The high concentration of Butcher Priests in this company is what has been keeping them alive and keept the chapter feed in enough flesh of the worthy to offset the unworthy flesh they consume all the tie.
8th Great Company Wild Hunt
No ideology beyond war, no purpose beyond slaughter, the wildest of hunts which only leaves ruins and devastation in it's wake. The 8th Company is the most insane of the Rout, though they would claim that they are the sanest of them all. The Wild Hunt is dedicated to the completely and utter destruction of the Imperial States. Just as the Rout once bathed the galaxy in blood in order to build the Corpse Emperor's realm, they have have sworn an Oath to use those same talents to bring ruin to those who always looked down upon and finally threw the Space Wolves away.
The Wild Hunt are the most prolific raiders of the whole legion. Their warbands regularly braves the defenses of the Cadian Cates in order to feast upon the Imperials who believe themselves save in the Materium worlds. Some say that if they wished the Wild Hunt and their talents in slipping past defenses could have been useful in breaching deep into enemy territory and bringing them down from the inside while the rest of the Legion strikes from outward. The 8th however have no desire to do that, their stealth lasts only until they find a new target. Like the Rout of the Old, they care not for anything else, when they see an enemy world, they will immediately move to bombard everything and throw asteroids on anything and unleashes armies of Daemons So long as there is slaughter they will be satisfied
It is for this reason that while the Wild Hunt launches the most raiding warbands, they do not take in as much loot, thralls and recruits as such an investment should bring. Casualty rate among warbands of the 8th company are also staggering, with Blood Angel Defenders immediately calling for their forces to kill them with extreme prejudice when one warband and it's handy-works are found.
The Battle of Ornsworld, as constructed from recovered evidence and survivor accounts.
5.745.001.M32 Wing of Freedom, Gladius-class Frigate assigned to the Blood Angels 133rd Century is the first to notice a fleet of ships bearing the personal markings and identity-codes of Proconsul Zafael and the 13th Cohort on an approach vector. Vox signals are quickly transmitted to the rest of the 133rd Century hanging in geosynchronous orbit over the planet of Ornsworld.
Centurion Ulfeon orders a high-priority channel opened to Zafael's flagship, the Battle Barge Telesto's Fury, but is rebuffed. Confusion reigns for several minutes as repeated attempts are made, only to cease abruptly as the Century-Flagship Blade of Corinthis is struck by a barrage of lance-fire, savaging the Strike Cruisers stern sections with calculated precision and disabling it's engines whilst the Wing of Freedom and several other Escorts vanish in glares of reactor detonations under a punishing salvo of weapon batteries.
Shock reigns across the flotilla as the previously friendly ships seem to flicker, their forms replaced by sleek-hulled designs of xenos origin. Ulfeon, a veteran of over three hundred years, recognizes them for what they are; Eldar raiders, cruel slavers ever prowling upon the edges of the Sanguine Imperium. The Centurion gives the only order he can: to abandon ship. His flotilla, even before it lost half its strength in the opening salvo, would not be able to stand against the Xenos armada. A fleet of Stormbirds and Thunderhawk follow a trail of Drop Pods as the 133rd Century makes planetfall, whilst the remaining ships of their assigned fleet elements group around the Strike Cruiser Heart of Courage, their plasma drives burning hard for the Mandeville point on the opposite edge of the system.
Ornsworld is an Imperial World, unremarkable save for it's high population of the Ratling Abhumans, and it is here that vast numbers of them are recruited to serve in Auxiliary Regiments. The 133rd have not sat idle in their garrison work: contingencies and backup plans are enacted even as the Xenos fleet approaches, the PDF and planetary defences are mustered whilst Regiments in training are immediately pressed to service, and the relocation of the population towards the series of fortress-cities that dominate the tectonically stable region around the planet's equator begins.
It is not even close to being enough.
5.746.001.M32 Xenos skimmers darken the skies of the planet, shrieking flotillas swooping down upon columns of mobilizing troops, ravaging the majority of the Planetary Defence Force before any kind of organized resistance can be mounted. And where it is, they drive hordes of fleeing civilians before them, clogging the roads with abhuman bodies and leaving the defenders easy prey for the airmobile raiders. The anti-orbital guns are silenced before they have the chance to warm the generatoriums.
Even the equatorial fortresses avail them little, for the evacuation has scarcely begun before the Eldar swoop from the skies. Only a handful survive, those whose commanders hardened their hearts and slammed the gates shut in front of their own people. All major population centers planetside come under attack within two hours of the Xenos making planetfall.
Of the Blood Angels there is no sign.
5.747.001.M32 Centurion Ulfeon knows fully well his force is vastly outnumbered, and that he has no chance of holding the population centers. There is only one path to victory, and it lies in the death of the alien lord leading the invasion. This subgroup of Eldar are highly fractious, and if their unifying factor could be eliminated their infighting might give time for reinforcements to arrive. He cannot know if the Heart has made it's run through the cordon of raider vessels detached to intercept it, or whether the astropathic distress signals have been heeded, but he must have faith that the Emperor and the Primarch will protect. A handful of Velite and Speculares squads are deployed to reinforce the surviving fortress-keeps, to ensure that even should he fail word will reach the Imperium of what happened on Ornsworld.
5.748.001.M32 The remainder of the Century's survivors mount their Thunderhawks and Stormbirds, Storm Eagles and Land Speeders, and prepare to make their last stand. A vast grav-barge has been spotted leading the assault on the planetary capital, and after consultation with Epistolary Gargalon he has decided it offers the highest chance of being the target they seek.
The Blood Angel aircraft form a spearhead aimed at the heart of the Xenos invasion, the fate of the planet hanging in the balance.
The 133rd Century fight valiantly, they fight nobly, and they die.
Immediately after leaving the cover of the forests they come under attack by flocks of Razorwing Fighters, and even the superhuman reactions of their pilots are put to the test by their Eldar counterparts. Dozens of craft are shot down without ever even setting their eyes upon the capital, put down by expertly aimed Dark Lances and Shatterfield Missiles.
But they are Blood Angels. They are Legiones Astartes, and they do not die easily, or cheaply. The armoured, redundantly built hulls of their craft require a great deal of punishment to be downed, requiring the Xenos to enter their own killzones. Heavy Bolter turrets lay down vast streams of shells and Lascannons scythe Alien filth out of the skies with precision fire as the Stormbirds take the role of aerial fortresses, protecting lesser aircraft with their sheer bulk, armour and shielding. Many valiant actions from Xiphons, Stormhawks and Primaris-Lightnings take place that night, sacrificing their lives to protect the precious cargo of their battle-brothers.
And though fully half of the Century falls in the aerial battle, the rest reach the planetary capital. Of course, that was but the easier half of the task. Now they must confront the largest xenos concentration planetside, break through its ranks and confront it's overlord. It is suicide to even attempt it, and each Marine of the 133rd Century goes forward without a backwards glance.
Squads of red-armoured marines disembark their transports, Velites and Triarii laying down a furious barrage of suppressive fire to cover the advance of the Hastati. It is an advance that has broken the back of many a Traitor Warband and Orkoid Waaagh, and yet these are not either of those. Reavers, Scourges and Hellions whip across the blood-streaked streets, taking off armoured heads with each pass. Armoured warriors lay down withering hailstorms of poisoned shards from their Raiders, their toxins overwhelming even the superhuman physiology of the Blood Angels. Surrounded on all sides, casualties rising and more enemy reinforcements arriving by the minute, the Blood Angels only press on all the harder.
A handful of the Century's heavy armour had survived the flight from orbit and the battle to reach the capital, and at Ulfeon's command they now press forward, scattering the lightly armoured Eldar before them. They do not need to kill all of the Eldar. Just the ones standing between them and the Eldar leader.
After furious minutes of fighting, the Blood Angels come within eyesight of the alien leader's command craft. It is a vast barque, surrounded by squadrons of lesser war-engines which even now focus their weapon arrays upon the Blood Angels, and even the Land Raiders of the 133rd are brought down by a hail of dark matter and disintegration beams.
But they have done their job, and it is now that Ulfeon reveals his final card. The Princepes charge upon wings of fire, and at their head strike the Praetorians, bulky Terminator plate exchanged for lighter armour and a jump pack. Ulfeon himself leads the assault, and soon enough his Glaive Encarmine is slick with alien blood. Incubi leap into the fray from the decks of the alien hovercraft, hewing down the Astartes with every sweep of their Klaives, but beneath the Century Banner, the Blood Angels never waver, even as they are cut down. None may fault the 133rd for their effort, but they are far, far too few. Packs of alien beasts, prodded into action by Eldar masters overrun the remaining Velites, taking cover in the burning wreckage of the Achilles-Pattern Land Raider Raldoron's Fist, a relic of the Legion which had seen action during the Siege of Terra itself. One by one the Princepes fall before the Incubi, and not even the Praetorians can stand before the sheer number of Ssslyth disgorged from the command barge's depths. Of Ulfeon, none know for sure, though persistent rumors among the survivors say he faced the Overlord of the Xenos invaders in mortal combat.
Whether they are true or not, it is obvious he fell in battle, his objective unachieved.
5.760.001.M32 Though the handful of equatorial fortresses remain unbreached by Xenos hands, when the 13th Chapter arrives in response to the distress signal they find they are the only survivors. Almost the entire population of Ornsworld is gone, dead or worse. Of the Xenos there are no signs.
