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 that was curled up near it. 

Two of the Chosen grabbed the man's arms in iron-hard hands and dragged him from the altar. The chapel had a balcony that overlooked the Great Plaza of the spire, a massive space for the Ecclesiarchy's nobles to lecture and indoctrinate the ignorant masses. The laud-hailers and in-built vox platforms were still functional, if suffering from the occasional static burst. The Astartes brought the man, now only sniveling in fear rather than his former histrionic sobs, to the raised platform at the edge of the balcony. Thousand of faces in the plaza looked up in surprise and horror.

"Cardinal Thadideus Vortantis Varn, your people await." 

The voice was cold and low, a transhuman rumble that carried over the crowds exclamations. A baited hush fell, behind the cardinal a massive figure approached. A ragged hooded covered the head, a cloak of flayed skins swept the floor from the throbbing powerpack. The gleaming axe in his left fist grabbed the eye, a length of burnished steel that crackled with caged power.

"Citizens of Varnak, look upon your "holy" man. This man, this vaunted Cardinal, will be judged for his crimes. He spent years taking your tithes and giving back nothing, enriching his own self and family while yours scrambled for crumbs. He lectured you about the divinity of the so-called God-Emperor, all the while knowing that the Emperor is no God. Varn has done nothing for you but take your toil and faith and given you false platitudes. HIs judgement has come."

The executioner's harsh voice continued, "I see you Sons of Dorn. Black Templars, the "eternal crusaders". I see you and your boisterous rage, your oaths and exultations. You will fail. You will falter. These citizens will feel the fear of loss, the slow creep of wounds and death and destruction. You cannot protect them all, you cannot be everywhere. We will show you the horror. We are the justice that exposes the lie of the Imperium. We are the Shrikeborn, the Night Lords, the bringers of fear."

The axe rose, hovering over the neck of the petrified cardinal. The final words were spoken, the axe fell. Darkness came to Varnak.

Headsman Kordesh

Master of Executions, Blade of Final Silence

“Terror is the blade. I am the hand that drives it home.”

— Headsman Kordesh, moments before the decapitation of Cardinal Varn

A towering figure clad in midnight ceramite and draped in a tattered executioner’s cowl, Headsman Kordesh serves as the Master of Executions for the Shrikeborn. Where others in the warband strike from above, Kordesh walks…a slow, inevitable presence, wielding a bloodied axe known as Final Silence. His role is not to kill indiscriminately, but to deliver judgment.

Kordesh is utterly loyal to Stained Lord Carrow, seeing him as the only leader worthy of guiding the Shrikeborn’s fractured code. He does not question Carrow’s restraint, nor his refusal of daemonic corruption. To Kordesh, Carrow is the arbiter, and he is the blade. Their bond is one of mutual recognition, of two men burdened by Nostramo’s fall, striving to preserve a shard of justice in a galaxy that has forgotten it.

Kordesh is not a figure of speed or fury. He advances with deliberate inevitability, a walking omen. His role is to embody the Shrikeborn’s philosophy: terror sharpened into precision. When he appears on the battlefield, it is not to lead the charge but to conclude it. His executions are often staged in sight of both allies and enemies, a grim punctuation mark that signals the end of resistance. To foes, his slow approach is more terrifying than any sudden strike, the knowledge that escape is impossible, that judgment is coming step by step.

In scattered Imperial records, Kordesh is remembered not for massacres but for singular executions that shattered morale. The decapitation of Cardinal Varn during the Siege of Varnak Spire is whispered as a moment when an entire crusade faltered. Survivors speak of him as a figure who cannot be outrun, a shadow that follows until the axe falls. To the Shrikeborn, he is the reminder that terror must always end in silence. To their enemies, he is the last sound they hear- the fall of Final Silence.

Among the Shrikeborn, Kordesh is both feared and respected. He enforces Carrow’s code with uncompromising severity. Warriors who indulge in slaughter beyond their orders, or who flirt with daemonic corruption, find themselves standing before him. His executions of brothers are rare, but when they occur, they are treated as sacred events; reminders that the Shrikeborn’s restraint is not weakness, but law. In this way, Kordesh is the warband’s conscience made flesh, the blade that ensures their terror remains purposeful.