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A WIP blog of the Shrikeborn and the Ebon Word, my Chaos Space Marine forces. Lore, WIP, and unit progress shots a-coming.

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Lore

The Ninth Verse

They advance as if the air itself were listening each footfall a syllable, each breath a vow No haste, no fury only the cold cadence of certainty A choir that knows the ending before the first note sounds.   Blades rise like scripture being recited bolters speak in measured, punishing refrain Where the Ninth Verse strides, doubt curdles into terror they do not fight to win but to affirm what they already believe.   The Ninth Verse C
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Lore

The Dire Catechists

Where the Dire Catechists walk, your faith dies screaming. The breakers of idols, the hammers of false light   Our steps unmake creeds, our voices drown hymns Shrines crumble beneath our litanies of ruin Priests fall silent beneath the weight of Truth   Where we tread, belief is shattered to dust We are the Dire Catechists, and faith dies before us   The Dire Catechists Legionaries of the Ebon Word They are the hammer that fa
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Lore

Arsenal Unholy

The flesh‑forged hymn of unbound form Bodies twist where the Word reshapes the iron   In their veins, the silent virus chants its creed In their frames, new weapons rise like revelation   Through shifting steel we proclaim the Truth made endless Arsenal Unholy, the armory that walks in faith   The Arsenal Unholy Obliterator Cohort of the Ebon Word   They were once Saturnine‑armored elites, giants in baroque plate whose duty wa
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Lore

Iron Canticle

We are the thunder of the Word made iron Our steps resound with the weight of broken creeds In shadows, sanctuaries crumble to dust   In the Golden One’s wake, false prayers choke and die Through ceramite and faith we carve the Truth anew Come the Iron Canticle, the hymn that ends all hymns   The Iron Canticle Terminator Cohort of the Ebon Word   They advance like a hymn given form, a slow, thunderous canticle of iron and inevitab
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Lore

Ashen Edict

We are the fire that speaks when all false tongues fall silent The storm that drowns the hymns of the Corpse‑Throne The verdict of the Eightfold Path   Where we tread, sanctuaries tremble and crack Where we aim, idols fracture beneath the Word’s command We carve truth into stone with thunderous decree We unmake the lies that dared call themselves holy   Let the faithful cling to their crumbling prayers Let their voices rise, the answer is f
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Lore

The Iscarne

I am the loss of hope I am the Bringer of the Old Faith Chaos is in me and I worship the Truth   Your worlds will fear my blade Your bones will splinter at my steps My warriors will shatter your walls and spill your blood Your great works will be cast down and shown for the follies that they are Chaos is all and we are the Word of Chaos   The Corpse-Emperor sits on his throne dying The Four gather and grow The Despoiler calls the Legion
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Lore

The Essorix

Sing the coming of the Chaos Gods Glory to the Dwellers in the Depths The Iscarne approaches Iscarne, Iscarne, Iscarne!   The Uziren lead us to the truth Praise the Golden One for the Word The Iscarne in his shadow Iscarne, Iscarne, Iscarne!   He strides down the Eightfold Path with burning footsteps He is the Thrice-Born, the deified lord of the Host Born once on Colchis, the desert world of faith and old gods Born again on Khur,
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Lore

Kol Kolgar

I have seen the failings of the False Emperor For I walked in the ashes of Monarchia Tasted the ashes of the perfect city   I have born witness to the Urizen's truth For I was a pilgrim in the Eye Gaze widened by the glory of the unknown   I hold the burning truth in my breast For my might is the might of the Word Power given by the mastery of the Warp   For Chaos, the Masters of All For Lorgar, the Golden Prophet For Abaddon,
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Lore

Roa

The blessed Erebus states: Honored are those with the Sight,                 for they pierce the veil of the real and the spirit Damned are those who turn from the Four,                 for they will find no succor in death   Blood shed for the Eight Blood bound for the Four Blood born is the Golden One Blood to show the way - Blood-Seer Roa   Roa Blood‑Seer Sorcerer “Blood remembers. Blood reveals. Blood speaks the
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Lore

Sadu of Innes

For the iron and oil come into Our hands, reforged Bind the aethyr and material as one Powered through faith and sacrifice, reborn   The Word clad in armor and fury, arise! Tremble at the glory of Chaos entombed Chained in torment, rage! - Sadu of Innes   Sadu of Innes Lord Discordant “The machine is not sacred. It is a vessel and every vessel must know the True Word.” - Sadu of Innes   Sadu of Innes is the voice of the
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Lore

Bragun

For I am of the Word and by the Word Flesh and blood bound to my masters and makers Chaos guide my stride My body a shield to those raised above me My axe death to those opposing my masters For I am of the Word and by the Word Soul and sinew pleged to the Four and the One Chaos guide my hand - Bragun, Lifeward   Bragun Master of Executions and Lifeward “I guard the Word with death. I speak it with the fall of the axe.” Bragun,
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Lore

Abraxis

Our weapon sings the fury of the Golden One Mine armor imbued with denizens of the Primordial Our minds armored by the Word Mine soul dedicated to the Eightfold Path This is what it means to be of the Ebon Word   We bring death to the blind and foolish We bring truth for those that wish to be free We bring the enlightenment of the forgotten We come for all We are the Ebon Word   - Coryphaus Abraxis of the Ebon Word    
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Lore

Vor Skral

From the sermons of the First Chaplain: Doubt begets failure, never doubt the Word Sever the thoughts of serving one God alone Chaos united shall run through your veins   From the catechisms of the Black Cardinal: Seek the powers of Chaos through force and guile Trust no mortal, only faith will be your guide Bring the aethyr into your soul   From the Book of Lorgar: Turn to Chaos when lacking true purpose The Four will fill you with the
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Lore

Orren Malith

The blade came free with a slick sound, suction trying to hold it tight in the body of the broken... thing. No longer was it a Night Lord, not even a Warp Talon touched by the fickle aether. This was something darker, more bestial and savage. A creature that kept the form of an Astartes but thought alien thoughts and bled black, stinking blood.   The Gloamclaws encircled the dueling pair, flickers of warp energy running up and down their shadowy forms. The winner watched them in turn,
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Lore

Veydras Kaith

The squad moved in silence. For beings as large as they were, the lack of sound in their advance was disturbing and unnatural. The darkness of the lower hive hid them, midnight blue armor blending into the natural shadows. Only their pale helms showed, skull-masked visages that floated like ghosts.   The leader, Veydras Kaith, directed them with blink-signs and hand-talk. No vox signal to give away their position, no loud war cries or terror-calls to announce their presence. Those gutt
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Lore

The Pale Wake

He crouched in the alleyway, damp palms pressed against the crumbling walls on either side. There was something here; something that didn't belong in his world of narrow alleys, creaking shanty houses, and bellowing manufactorums. It wasn't the gangs like the Razor Kids, or the Pain-Jacks, wasn't any of the obscura-freaks or ghast-heads.    No, this was something worse. It was here in the dark, the sideways tunnels that were avoided by the drug workers and the Lexmen. It had been here
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Lore

The Gyve

To be the hammer of wrath among the faltering hordes   To light the fires of Fury and Faith   This is to be the Gyve   The steady blade of the Coryphaus   Exemplars of the Ebon Word, faultless obedience   For they are the Gyve   The Gyve, Bitter Legionaries The Gyve are the Ebon Word’s unyielding line-breakers, a kill-squad of bitter veterans who embody the creed of faultless obedience and the cold discipline of the Coryphaus. They fight as the warba
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Lore

The Fated Sons

The Fated Sons of the Word we are  Chosen from the masses, raised up by the Four  To their power do we aspire  The glory of Chaos in full bloom  Behold us and tremble, you foolish mortals  We are the Word, we are the Blessed  We are Chaos emerging The Fated Sons, Chosen of the Word The Fated Sons are a paradox within the Ebon Word: a squad of Chosen who embrace the full, mutating glory of Chaos, even as the warband’s elders reject such lesser gifts i
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Lore

The Choral Undue

The Choral Undue Bitter remnants of the Ashen Circle Bound soul-hunters of the Ebon Word Devoted to the True Faith Charged to illuminate the unfaithful To prey upon the followers of the Corpse-Lord Through fire, blade, and bolt To tear asunder false piety and weak worship Old hatred, blazing zealotry To teach the Word with violent fervor The Choral Undue     The Choral Undue, forerunner squad of the Ebon Word They fal
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Lore

Mortals- The Howlbrood and the Still Order

For along the stars they travel, in ships of night and blood Screaming rage and silent death Mortal in flesh, in purpose bound to the more-than-mortal Clad in dusk, armed in fear They are the Howlbrood and the Still Order Twin brotherhoods of the damned Know their mark and beware For if they are near, so are their Masters - Poem found at Unil VI, Bondri Subsector Raidings      Howlbrood “Terror is the only truth.”   The
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Lore

The Dirgebound

Stab-lights strobed in the dark. A score of men moved quietly, lasguns held ready and sweeping the darkened street, flicking their gunlights on and off in a trained manner, giving an enemy no steady light to target. Imperial Guard, Mordians even, veterans of that world's ever-night. They were comfortable in the gloom but wary. Their parade-ground uniforms blended into the night as they advanced towards the local power depot. The enemy had come to Javan and the Mordian 990th Iron Guard would not
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Lore

Sarran Narvok

Slash-slash-thrust-sweep-return. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.   The soft, guttural grunts of exertion arose from the pale-skinned Astartes. Stripped to the waist, he wove a discipline kata of strikes with a chainglaive. Deep breaths powered the massive figure's strikes against the training-daemons. Mindless, gibbering Neverborn beasts that were summoned and bound into servitor bodies, the training-daemons were foes not to take lightly, even for full armed warriors.   This Astartes
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Lore

Navir Xikas

Night has fallen on the city of Uld-Town. The capital of the agri-world of Therema-IV, it boasts a modest population of only twenty million citizens, those that are required to oversee the tithes of the massive grain-fields that cover the planet.    The Dreadclaw drops from the sky, landing struts outstretched and engine furiously braking. The droppod slams into the earth as a small mushroom-cloud of dust rises from the impact. At the slum-edge of the city few notice the noise or the f
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Lore

Flaymaster Amathys

Click....click....click....   The metallic noise was repetitive and quiet, a sound barely heard but irritatingly present at the same time. It echoed softly from the upper hanger of the Umbral Vos, from the Aerie of the Lost.    Chains hung from the ceiling of the former hanger, strung about with skin-trophies and tally-skulls from noted kills. The pervasive smells of blood and fear-sweat were muted and overpowered by a harsh tang, a burnt ozone that lingered on the mind as mu
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Headsman Kordesh

The steps approach, steady and unhurried. Members of the Chosen squad flit from shadow to shadow, their weapons drawn and bloodied, their heads twisting to pierce the gloom surrounding them.   A fallen chapel; marble and gold thrown down in a flurry of battle and devastation. The grandiose space once lit by massive promethium-fueled chandeliers now had only flickering flames dancing from burning tapestries and broken pews. The Night Lords moved to surround the altar and the sobbing man
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