Warhammer: Ashes of Legions

[ORE]

♫

History Records 16 Primarchs of 16 Legions that the Emperor created to conquer the stars
At the orchestration of the First Heretic, the Primarch Cassio, half the legions fell to the many gods of Chaos and turned against the Emperor in Cassio's Conflagration. Though the traitors drove their foes all the way to Terra itself and the very gates of the Imperial Palace they were ultimately defeated, forced to flee the wrath of their once brothers leaving a grievously wounded Emperor behind them. Scattered remnants of once mighty and noble Legions have gathered in the Veiled Regions, a bastion of traitor power, to lick their wounds, blame each other for their defeat and squabble over what remains of a mighty empire. These are the Legion Wars and you will play one such warband. Will you recover and thrive or die at the hands of your former battle brothers? Only the gods know, and instead of telling they merely laugh.

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Public Player Stats and Map Key​

1: The Forsaken, played by @triumph8w
Astartes : 1000
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Needs a name, Hades Class Heavy Cruiser
1x Cruiser
1x Light Cruiser
7x Escorts

2: The Angeli Mortis, played by @ZealousThoughts
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Also Needs a Name, Cardinal Class Heavy Crusier
1x Hellfire Heavy Cruiser
2x Light Cruisers
8x Escorts

3: The God Eaters, played by @Duffman18
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Moloche's Furnace, Mars-Class Battlecruiser
2x Hades Class Heavy Cruiser
2x Cruisers
1x Light Cruisers
14x Escorts

4: The Sabers of Night, played by @SteelWriter77
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: Moderate
Fleet:
Night's Specter, Styx Class Heavy Cruiser
5x Cruisers
16x Escorts

5: The Watch Words, played by @Another Amoeba
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: Low
Fleet:
[insert name], Hades Class Heavy Cruiser
2x Cruisers
6x Escorts

6: The Flesh Traders, played by @Nemesis_Scar
Astartes: 500
Aux Strength: Low
Fleet:
Jaws of War, Cardinal Class Heavy Cruiser
1x Stryx Heavy Cruiser
1x Light Cruiser
4x Escorts

7: The Blade's Edge, played by @Uniquelyequal
Astartes: 500
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Coup de Grace, Styx-Class Heavy Cruiser
3x Cruisers
1x Light Cruiser
10x Escorts

8: Those Of The Silent Bliss, played @Puppernickel
Astartes: 250
Aux Strength: Minor
Fleet:
1x Ramilies Class Star Fort
Shining Brilliance, Exorcist-class Grandcruiser
4x Light Cruisers
8x Escorts

9: Blades of Moloche, played by @Draorn
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: Extraordinary
Fleet:
1x Ramilies Class Star Fort
Unyielding Inquisition, Hellfire Class Heavy Cruiser
1x Desolator Class Battleship
2x Eclipse Class Battlecruisers
3x Cruisers
2x Light Cruisers
18x Escorts

10: The Unnumbered Sons, played by @Karen
Astartes: 100
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Pervigilia Contumel, Cardinal-class Heavy Cruiser
4x Light Cruisers
10x Escorts

11: Sons of Tiamat, played by @Lord_Asmodeus
Astartes: 1000
Aux Strength: None
Fleet:
Name, Battle Barge Class Battleship
2x Apocalypse Class Battleships
2x Governor Class Grand Cruisers
2x Hades Class Heavy Cruisers
5x Light Cruisers
7x Escorts

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Flotsam and Jetsam​

The Warp takes. Oh certainly there are many prophets and madman that will tell you differently. They will point to boons and gifts, powers and omens and claim that despite all those that were led only to ruin by such things that this time will be different this time the gods will not laugh all the while as you walk the slow path to destruction. But the warp only takes. It takes souls, it takes hope, it takes all that is best in man and turns it to its purposes, twisting virtue and promise to a shadow of itself. At times it takes things well. To cross the vastness of the galaxy mankind plunges itself into the depths of the warp with reckless abandon, and what is plunged in does not always return. Rarely, such things are spat out again. On the barren world of Trantaasran Minor the detritus of scattered millennia wash up from metaphorical tides, artifacts of what is past, or passing, or to come. Ragpickers make their leaving on such takings, for nothing else would make eeking out existence on such a spartan rock worthwhile. Most is worthless, or valued only to the more eccentric of collectors: artifacts of army regiments millennia lost and centuries forgotten, corpses in primitive void suits stamped with 4 high gothic letters, post cards from the Dark age of technology. Other things are more valuable, golden disks with carvings of men, scraps of archaeotech, artifacts of an Imperial Golden Age already rapidly repeating into myth. Never much, but enough to afford the food and fuel to live another day and make another run, the one that will definitely make their fortune. Imagine the look of surprise on these petty prospectors then when instead of another day of eeking out a marginal living they found instead the find of a lifetime. The ship was half buried in the crust of the planet, spat out of the warp with incredibly force, and pock marked with the scars of battle. But all the same it did not take an expert to identify the vessel. Anyone that had served in the great crusade, anyone who had not lived with their head in the sand during the conflagration knew of it. The Prydwen, Glorianna Class Star Dreadnought, the flagship of the Legio XII, the ship of Uhtred, the bedrock of the traitor fleet. Missing since the death of the Archtraitor and Emperor both aboard, and the shattered retreat of the traitors. Now found. A kingly vessel even in its current state, soon word of its discovery had spread across the entire subsector, and was racing further beyond. Prospectors raced to salvage what gear and parts they could, knowing that soon, the undivided attention of countless astartes would be fixed upon their sleepy little planet. They had found their wished for motherload- and now bitterly regretted the wish.
And somewhere in the warp, the Gods laughed.

​

 

[Nemesis_Scar]

The malady was a creeping one. It was as if Ya'aqob, in his dying throes, had cursed Bragi specifically - to be consumed by howling despair at first, and then by his very self. His skin hardened in places, becoming brass. The pale, ringlet bearded Astartes shifted a bit in his throne aboard the Jaws of War. Theirs was a sorry state, indeed. But if this plan worked out, their fortunes might reverse. They could go beyond simply feeding the engine that was Metris, feeding it with gristle and bone.

"The Lord Devourer sends his regards, Lunnson." The emissary of the God Eaters sibilantly spoke through a hololithic image projected in front of him. Unlike Bragi, whose stock came from minority human settlements of the Coreward Worlds, the emissary was pureblooded Nephilim. If the emissary felt anything about this, he didn't voice it. He would be a fool to. "Your service will be rewarded greatly. Such is the way of Moloche."

"Yes, yes." Bragi replied, rubbing a slave's ruddy entrails off his mouth and chin. He belched loudly. "I trust this reward will be fresh slaves."

"Indeed," The emissary said.

 

[Karen]

​

I was there the day Uhtred slew the Emperor.

"Again." Robert commanded, the armed servitor whirring to life. Twisted power armour wrapped around one arm crackled to life, the lightning claws shimmering, their field a light. His chainsword roared to life as he attacked.

Parry, back step, parry, disarm. The flail-arm of servitor fell to the ground, a lifeless gaze turning momentarily before the thing attacked once more, flexing talons scything through the air as de Locksly danced the sword's dance. His blade clashed once more, the scream of machinery as his power armour ran noisily to respond quickly to the servitor.

He felt a slight ache to his arms, he didn't remember when he started in the training cages. He didn't care to remember.

I was there the day Uhtred slew the Emperor.

His mind drew back to Terra, of the fire.

The rebels had bombarded the planet from orbit relentlessly, even as the Emperor and his most befouled sons fought, the very thread of humanity laying between them. He recalled the other Grail-Knights, relentlessly in their pursuit for glory, waves of Dreadclaws and vehicles being dispensed in bulk haulers to the war-torn planet below. He called how Terra burned. Robert had never seen it before, and only remembered a planet soaked in the hail fire of macro batteries.

Then the fall came. First, their Primarch fell, then Starfirst broke, abandoning the battle with half the fleet, leaving countless of his brothers to die below, while Percival desperately tried to recover Uhtred's body, to bring it to the Prydwen, only to be denied as transports were blown out of the sky by a renewed loyalist offensive. They were the true traitors, now, and they were going to be hounded in vengeance. So many of the Primarchs had died in Cassio's war, and their legions wanted blood.

He recalled how his original ship, the frigate Mondragon, had been boarded by Invictors in their golden-hued armour, boiling rage underneath in vengeance for beloved Marcian. He recalled every strike, every cut and bolt that he inflicted on them in bloody murder, but it was not enough, his ship faltered, buckling as one of the Stalwart Legion's ships turned it to little more than white-hot rubble while the remnants of his company fled to the Pervigilia. The VI Legion hounded them from Terra to the Veiled Regions, establishing fortresses and sending picket fleets to hound their rear lines. Gradually, the XII broke apart, those foolish enough to fall to the temptations of the Warp and follow Uhtred, did. Others, like Robert, simply abandoned the war against the Imperium in that dark day, fleeing into the mists.

His mind suddenly came crashing back as the servitor feinted him, power-fist crashing down onto his chestplate and sending him flying back, crumpling.

"You are easily distracted, Warden." Janus' rumbling tones broke from under his helmet. Unpowered, the Exalted Giant's weapons could reap havoc on him, should he be able to hit. Rising to his feet unassisted, de Locksly grimaced at the noticeable dent on his chest.

"You are far too quiet for a giant." Robert snapped back, raising his sword once more. Janus' fingers flexed.

"You are needed on the command bridge." Stoic as always, he dismissed himself without hesitation.

I was there.

 

[SteelWriter77]

The Malefic Watchtower sat like a great dark spire in the void, used as the seat of the Sabers of Night Warband from which they ravaged space and worlds in sheer spite and hate. But today a different kind of Rage was brewing in their hearts, not one born of their oaths to Malice or at the thoughts of their Father's failure, no this Rage came from their lot in the galaxy.

Where once they had the chance to run wild and free, killing and slaughtering all in their path, they were now bound to Hong Lu and the indignity of serving mortals who should be groveling at their feet. But to the worshipers of Malice this would only fuel their worship to the God of Murder and Hatred as they let this anger drive their actions in battle.

Of course not all of the Sabers were so single minded.
------------------------------------------------------
Unlike his brothers, Galehaut was clear of the all consuming Hate that flowed in their minds, still ever present, but dulled by some of thing "Gifts" Sima Sai has brought to the Astartes Warrior, means of controlling himself, this alone has kept Galehaut from just killing the fool. But the addition of the only means to keep the The Malefic Watchtower supplied is from continued cooperation with Hong Lu, has made any ideas of potential retribution for this insult.

He turned his mind away from this and instead focused on new plans, already he was planning for the fights with other warbands for control over this space, his ire being stoked by the information on the Unnumbered Sons, Fools trying to reclaim the dead dreams of the Siege, led by a Brother who would best be seen impaled on Galehaut's blade and skull crushed in his hands. He hated the Bladesmen and what they have become, what were they were before and will always be, it is why he and his Brothers of the Sabers have done much to throw away all that the Bladesmen were.

His red Armor marred from any semblance of being the same pristine blue as the Kingsmen, his memories of those days are tinged with spite and disgust, but still he felt nothing but hate for his brothers who remained "True to the King" giving themselves so willingly to the horrid creature he has become, a disgrace to the service of Malice.

His very soul seemed to struggle against his body as he looked out to his ships preparing for their next battle, he hungered for Bladesmen hearts now, and he would claim them in the coming days, even if he must serve that worm and avoid his true fate. But Galehaut was patient, the best Murders are not in the throws of emotion, but cold and calculated.

 

[Duffman18]

The Fanged Crucible was, like many daemon worlds, a brutal and terrible place. From above, the world was dominated by a vast depression filled with boiling magma, surrounded by crooked, fang-like mountains. It appeared, for all intents and purposes, like the planet great, fanged maw. It was in the center of this maw that the God Eaters made their home.

A great hall dominated their fortress, a piece of architecture that was eerily reminiscent of the great temples of the Exalted Giants' dead home world. From inside, the sounds of boisterous celebration could be heard. The God Eaters were indulging in a great Blood Feast, the food and wine flowing easily through the great hall. Over the sounds of boisterous astartes could be heard the screams of slaves as they were devoured piece-by-piece. Some were hung upside-down by living hooks to drain their blood into outstretched drinking goblets. Others were bound and devoured alive, the God Eaters taking chunks from the terrified mortals with their bare hands.

But all merriment ceased as a sonorous impact emanated from the head of the table. There, surrounded by the viscera of his meal, sat the Lord Devourer himself. Kazram stood even over the other Exalted Giants, being twisted and massive, even for a Patricide. At his side, he carried Ya'aqob's great blade, a prize from the days after the Conflagration.

"Not enough," he growled to the assembled marines. "Not nearly enough! To call this a feast is an insult of the highest order. More is required to make a true Blood Feast as Moloche intended. The sweet blood of the greatest exemplars, the tender flesh of the mightiest souls. Only the best is fit for this table!"

The God Eaters cheered, but some shared covert glances at one another. Kazram had worked himself into another diatribe on the quality of the food, and it was not the first time. For years, the Lord Devourer's appetites had grown more and more particular, never satisfied with any but the strongest and purest of specimens from across the Veiled Regions. None knew why or from where these appetites came from, only that it was in their best interest to sate them.

"But there is a chance to capture such prey," Kazram stated, a cruel grin spreading over his gore-stained face. "Oh yes, there is a glorious chance coming, where many of our so-called cousins will converge. We will be there too, to spill blood and devour the strongest of our enemies! We will show them the strength we have gained since the Conflagration! And we will take from them the strength they have gained as well!"

The warband cheered and stood,eagerly, from the table. Mad though his tastes may be, they knew that when Kazram gave them a target, there would be plunder and glory aplenty for them all. As they left, Kazram himself remained behind, gazing absently at the blade at his side. He remained like this for some time before speaking again:

"It comes closer and closer still. And when it comes, all shall be as it should have been."