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 Howlbrood are the semi-feral spiritual remnants of Nostraman hive-gangs, execution cults, and ship-scavengers who survived the fall of the VIII Legion. Generations spent in the lightless decks of Shrikeborn vessels have twisted them into pale, wiry killers who worship the Astartes as living avatars of fear. They are not soldiers, they are predators unleashed.

Deep in the bowls of Shrikeborn vessels like the Umbral Vos are small nations of ship-dwellers. Conditioned by generations of their elders, most of these mortals perform below-deck duties by rote and tradition; keeping the ships' life support systems running, tending to the fungus-beds and nocturnal hydroponics, and minor repair work not needing the adepts of the tech-caste. Each clan of workers raises up their own guardians and defenders to fight against the other clans and protect their "sacred" territory. These warriors fight in the darkened underbelly with scavenged clubs and knives of scrap metal; dedicating their kills to the demi-gods of the Shrikeborn in hopes that the Astartes will bless them by transforming one of their number into a transhuman. 

Occasionally the Still Order will descend to the belowdecks and conduct a harvest on orders from their masters. Shock mauls and webbers bring down the clan warriors and then comes the great sorting. Those young enough to be possible new recruits for the Astartes are passed along to the Shrikeborn's Terrormasters and Torture-Medics, to be tested and winnowed down even further to see if they will become more than human. The rest are divided into two groups; those that are fully sane and able to obey orders and the dregs. The sane are sent to the Still Order, to be indoctrinated into the disciplined mortal fighters. 

The dregs are sent to the Howlbrood, to become cannon fodder, fear worshippers, and death chasers. Ranting demagogues gather handfuls of fighters with their harsh blows and charismatic ramblings; the rants comprised of sermons of the glories of fear and terror, the holy crusade of the Shrikeborn to tear down the Imperium, the rewards of rending the foe's skin from their flesh. Days and days of sermons give way to battle, armored in dark robes and donning light-masks to protect their night-born eyes from the glow of hostile suns. Given the bare minimum of weaponry, pistols and swords, scavenged knives and claws made from ship-metal, the Howlbrood descend on the enemy like a horde of raving berserkers.

The Howlbrood are the visceral shriek of terror before a disemboweling slash, the scream of the lost as the fangs close down, the bared blade of death unleashed.

The Still Order

“Order in darkness. Silence in fear.”

The Still Order are the disciplined mortal arm of the Shrikeborn, descendants of Nostraman enforcers, shipboard militia, and Legion serfs who preserved a rigid martial culture long after Nostramo’s destruction. They are the closest thing the Shrikeborn have to the loyalist Astartes chapter serfs or shipboard armsmen. 

The Shrikeborn are the masters of their vessels, but have placed mortals in positions of power and prestige. Officers and ratings man the ships' bridges, techpriests monitor engines and conduct repairs, and the Still Order are the steel fist of the Shrikeborn's mortal followers. Recruited from every level of the ships' companies, or raised from captured youths, the Still Order are trained to repel boards, put down underdeck rebellion, and follow the Shrikeborn in battle if needed. 

From the past comes their training and codes of conduct- Silence, Obediance, Death. As VIII Legion serfs they were trained to support their masters in battle, learning techniques of silent movement, marksmanship, and close combat. The Still Order use their fellow mortals the Howlbrood as stalking dogs and a disguise; if they all look the same cloaked in flayed skin and masks, then the enemy will think that they all are raging fanatics. This could not be further from the truth. Dark robes cover flak vests as good as Imperial Guard standard issue, skullmasks house light enhancing and dampening visual arrays, las and hard-round rifles snipe targets with devastating precision. Squads blend into the shadows and move randomly, swirling silently around and through Howlbrood maniacs to unleash pinpoint volleys of fire before fading away into the darkness.

The Still Order bring death in silence; they are the quiet fear of assassination and the looming dread of an inevitable execution.