Search the Community

Here is the Crimson Spectres, my Raven Guard successor Chapter. If anyone here goes to /tg/, you might find them familiar. They are the same Chapter created in one of their game threads, Chapter Master Quest. Since I was instrumental in its creation in that thread, I don't feel like I'm "stealing" it. Just sort of claiming it, though I have absolutely no problem of anyone else who was a part of that making their own variation, of claiming it for themselves. Or aiding me in further developing this one. To everyone else, yes, yes. I know. Yet another Chapter with black and red. Origins The Crimson Spectres are among the youngest of Chapters, founded in the most recent Founding mere centuries past. Their veteran officers that formed their training cadre and remain with them still have kept them close to their Raven Guard roots. They operate unseen and with few numbers. Much of their identity they keep hidden, with even the true location of their homeworld and recruitment center kept secret. Despite their young nature and low numbers, the Crimson Spectres have created a well-deserved reputation for efficiency and effectiveness in their region of space. Decades after their original formation, they participated in a crusade against worlds heavily occupied by the primitive cousins of the hated Eldar. Many times regiments of the Imperial Guard would approach a known enemy position to find it destroyed, bodies of xenos scattered and signs of battle scarring every surface, but with no sign of its destroyers. Rarely did the Imperial Guard witness the Crimson Spectres in combat and even then the combat was too swift and disorienting to be properly followed. With the Crimson Spectres striking hard and fast for the heaviest points of resistance, the Crusade accomplished its tasks with great alacrity. Nearly half a dozen of claimed Maiden Worlds have since been colonized by the Imperium. One of these, called Pyrax, was given to the Mechanicum due to its high mineral content. The young Forge-World is tasked with the care and upkeep of the young Chapter's technological needs. Following this victory, the Crimson Spectres waged all-out war with an immense Ork incursion. With the surprise assaults the Chapter had become known for, the Ork leader was slain, his grotesque and bloated giant machine flattening the Ork army with its detonation. The Orks have since fallen into a series of internecine wars that the Chapter silently watches over, acting only when necessary to perpetuate their self-destruction. However, their reputation received a blow in recent years. Accompanied by the Honoured Brethren Chapter, a Chapter the Crimson Spectres can find no information on, the Crimson Spectres have been engaged with putting down a series of uprisings that have thus far thwarted the mortal forces stationed there. Initially, when acting alone the Chapter was proving exceptionally successful. The Crimson Spectres had nearly eradicated all of the secessionist cells when the Honoured Brethren despatched a taskforce to aid in the cracking of a particularly difficult world. Despite the additional forces and support of a brother Chapter, the rebellious world repeled the invaders. In rapid succession, cells thought entirely destroyed revived themselves and renewed their efforts with greater alacrity than before. Though the war to put down the foolish thoughts of secession had nearly been won and the rebellious forces were unable to stand against the efforts of the Crimson Spectres, suddenly the forces of two Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes was too small to stem the tide. With signs of Chaos worship growing across the embattled worlds, the Crimson Spectres immediately petitioned for a Crusade, knowing that the rebellious forces had acquired for themselves some unholy patron. Immediate and total destruction was required, to prevent the corruption from spreading. They received resistance from an unexpected quarter however, as the Honoured Brethren spoke against the claims of the Crimson Spectres. They felt that their pride and honor was at stake and to request additional aid was both unnecessary and cowardly. With the older Chapter having greater weight and authority, no Crusade was forthcoming. By the close of the 41st Millennium, the two Chapters are locked in combat still among the revolting worlds. Though still allied together in name, many times the two Chapters have nearly come to blows and the Crimson Spectres have begun to question their true intent. However, they fear bringing their suspicions to the Inquisition, knowing that the pervasive Inquisitors would find their own secrecy far more diverting. Any attempts to take matters into their own hands would be equally foolhardy. Both Chapters are present with their full numbers, making the Crimson Spectres outnumbered two to one. Homeworld Deep in Sub-Sector Archein, what the Imperium believes is uninhabited space, the Crimson Spectres discovered a unique world. It did not appear on their onboard sensors, but it could be sensed by those of psychic capabilities once nearby. Its entire surface was enveloped with cloud cover so dark as to be seen from space as nothing more than an empty hole on the field of stars. Close inspection found that the cloud cover were made up of rare metallic dusts, explaining why the world never showed on long-range sensors. Knowing there was human life deep in the blackness that the psykers could sense, the Crimson Spectres sent forces down upon the world. They found an Imperial hiveworld that the Imperium had forgotten. Due to its unique nature and clerical errors, the world of R'hanada had been erased from Imperial records only a century past. With the behemoth and labyrinthine Imperial bureaucracy being true to its nature, the error was lost in the immense, ever-changing flood of information the Administratum eternally processes. The Crimson Spectres, up to then fleet-based, were intrigued by R'hanada. Its human population had been hardened by its isolation. Though it had been severely reduced without the constant shipments bringing sustenance from nearby agri-worlds, what remained were deemed suitable as recruitment stock. The Crimson Spectres settled upon R'hanada and took it for their own. Officially, they remained fleet-based, operating outside of their Fortress-Ship the Clandestinus, and declared the feral world of Tarren as their source of recruitment. To keep appearances, it is from Tarren that the Crimson Spectres receive the majority of their Chapter serfs, though they are not opposed to truly inducting a particularly promising Tarren to the Chapter. Combat Doctrine The Crimson Spectres are adherents to the Codex, operating outside its scope only in ways that their small numbers necessitate. Though the Crimson Spectres often commit to battle openly, they do so only after an initial stealth assault. Using sabotage, subterfuge and ambushes to critical effect, the Crimson Spectres ensure that they inflict the maximum amount of damage possible while exposing themselves to as little danger as necessary. An assault by the Crimson Spectres rarely comes from an expected direction and are usually accompanied by loud and deliberately distracting explosions within the enemy camp, where explosives had been set by experts at stealth and sabotage at key points to demoralize and cripple the enemy. Often when the Crimson Spectres meet the enemy in open battle, the enemy is bereft of leadership and without any hope of support, reeling in confusion as the hammerblow finally arrives. In this way the Crimson Spectres are able to use their small numbers to maximum effect. Organisation The Crimson Spectres do not deliberately deviate from the Codex Astartes. Due to genetic instability, the Chapter has been slow in building up its forces. Currently the Chapter has only three battle-ready companies outside of the scout and veteran companies, with the First Company led personally by the Chapter Master. With such low numbers, the Crimson Spectres prefer not to split their forces among multiple warzones. Instead, the Chapter arrives in full force, with a single company remaining behind to guard their homeworld and oversee recruitment. Though the Chapter can account for five companies, none are at full strength. In truth, the Crimson Spectres have only just over three hundred fully-fledged Marines. In keeping with the character he had infused within the newborn Chapter, the founding Chapter Master, though a great and renowned hero from his previous days as a Raven Guard, has forsaken his own identity and is referred officially only as the Spectre. Though the few powerful individuals with enough clearance could perhaps explore his past and discover his true identity, none can know if the current Spectre is the same as the original. Beliefs The Crimson Spectres care little for honor or glory and focus only on that which they deem practical, traits they feel that their Primarch Corax epitomized. The Chapter does have its limits on what it deems practical, refusing xeno or warp technology no matter the aid it may bring. They know that their potential uses are far outweighed by their corrupting nature. Following the traditions set by their primogenitors, the Raven Guard, the Crimson Spectres record their battles. Each Marine is expected to devote themselves to understanding their strengths and faults by studying their actions and those of others, so as to better themselves and to properly teach them their place in the Chapter. Often this is done in large gatherings so that the insights gleaned from such study can be openly and fairly shared. Theories and concepts related to war are deliberated and evaluated solely on their pragmatic applications. The Crimson Spectres require only the destruction of the enemy in ways that will have the least impact on the Chapter's ability to wage further war. Despite their lack of concern for matters of glory and honor, the effectiveness of their attitudes has nonetheless gained them such in the eyes of others. Gene-seed The Adeptus Mechanicum utilized the purest strains of gene-seed derived from Corax that they had in stock. As such, the Crimson Spectres have little to fear of the mutations that can be common among Raven Guard successors, though they do keep the common physical appearance. Though the Chapter's stock of gene-seed is not mutative, it has proven especially difficult to properly implant. Though rejection of gene-seed is a problem all Chapters must face, the rejection rate of gene-seed for the Crimson Spectres is extremely high. Though their recruitment programs have stepped up exponentially to offset this issue, the growth rate of the Chapter has been abysmally slow, having been able to create only a single company's worth of stable Marines after three centuries. Battle-cry An assault by the Crimson Spectres is not heralded by stirring chants or terrifying battle-cries. Explosions and gunfire upon an unsuspecting foe speak loudly enough. http://i.imgur.com/JXenda9.jpg

Origins “Who are you, Valko, to defy me? In my veins run the blood of kings and gods. I never needed vindication from the rest of you. The storm was all the evidence I needed. You untried whelp, you are nothing!” Final words of the Unremembered, moments before being stabbed in the back The Imperial Dragons Chapter was a crusader force that fought and bled across the galaxy since their formation during the 5th Founding, back during the 33rd Millennium. Like many other sons of Dorn, the Imperial Dragons were of zealous stock, filled with a fury barely held in check until meeting the foe on open ground. For four thousand years, the Chapter participated in battles and wars that spanned the breadth of the Imperium. Honor and glory was every Marine’s right to take, and the Imperial Dragons took much. With a level of respect for their ancient heroes bordering on veneration, the Dragons kept careful track of their lengthy rolls of victory and honored the duties of their Apothecaries. The Imperial Dragons were held in great esteem by those who held high ranks within the greater Imperium. They were favored great authority in the many campaigns and crusades waged by Imperial forces. It was from such a lofty height that the Imperial Dragons suffered their first true blow. Though far from mortal, it had the most grievous aspect of coming from within. In the 37th Millennium, a cancer grew in the Imperial Dragons. Its exact origin and nature is unknown, the truth dying alongside the conspirators. The corruption came to the Chapter’s attention when the traitors from within struck and captured the Sword of Okhlos, the venerable Battle-Barge once seen combat as a vessel of the Imperial Fists Legion and now serving as the fleet-based Chapter’s Fortress-Monastery. In a bid for power, the now-reviled First Captain of the Imperial Dragons struck down his Chapter Master, naming himself lord. Recent, unexpected setbacks on a major campaign were cited as evidence that his now slain lord was no longer worthy in the eyes of the Emperor. Elements of the veteran First Company that were among the other fighting Companies of the Chapter opened fire on their brothers, attempting to decapitate Company leadership and forcibly take command. These insurrectionists were aided by the Chapter’s Librarium, which had itself been largely consumed by a corrupt few. Only three Company commanders survived the assassination attempts. An intense war followed as brother fought brother. Many within the usurped Companies and commandeered Chapter vessels refused to forsake their vows, and tension between the traitors saw the First Captain lose the support of the Librarium. Before climaxing, the internecine war dragged in Imperial Guard regiments and the Inquisition. With defeat imminent, the First Captain’s sins returned full circle. The battles ended as Vanov, former First Company Champion and whose gene-seed had come directly from the First Captain’s progenoids, slew his own lord for his failures and escaped with those veterans who followed him. The end of the traitors saw the beginning of the loyalists’ penitence crusade. With only three Captains and barely half of the Chapter remaining, the Imperial Dragons took what resources were left of them and embarked on a century long hunt for those traitors who yet lived. By Inquisitorial decree, they were restricted from recruitment or replenishment for the duration of the Crusade, forbidden to choose a Chapter Master from amongst them until they are declared cleansed. What was left of the Imperial Dragons was divided among the Captains, whose legends were beginning to grow in the wake of the devastation. For a century, the Imperial Dragons splintered after the fading trails left by the traitors. The remnants of the First Company, led by Vanov, had declared themselves for Khorne. Though ever on the move, the slaughters left behind by the Sky Piercers warband, as they had named themselves, made them easy to track. Much more difficult to track was the corrupted Chapter Librarium, led by the former Chief Librarian Hristo Veselin. The unnamed force was insidious, landing upon worlds and fomenting rebellions and uprisings. Captured cultists told tales of Marines wearing Imperial Dragon colors, splashed with yellow to mar Chapter icons, but had little evidence of how they arrived or departed, or to where. After a century had passed, the Imperial Dragons had failed in their quest. The Sky Piercers had joined a larger Iron Warriors warband, disappearing into the Eye of Terror. The Yellow Insurrections, as the Imperial Dragons had begun to refer to the rebellions sparked by Veselin’s band of sorcerers, became so widespread that it was impossible to pinpoint where the traitors were. As such, the Inquisitorial Cohort that accompanied them refused to declare them purified, and instead had the Chapter renew its oath of penitence. For a second century, the Imperial Dragons continued the penitence crusade. This second century did prove more fruitful, as the heroics of Captain Bogomil Kosta saw to the capture and execution of many of former battle-brothers that had followed Veselin into damnation. The Sky Piercers, however, had taken over the Iron Warriors warband despite all odds, and remained at large. However, by then the Inquisitor Lord who had been tasked with their censure had passed, and the former acolyte that took his place was made of less stern stuff. The Imperial Dragons were finally granted reprieve, and deemed pure in the Emperor’s eyes. Nonetheless, centuries of hunting down those who had betrayed them from within had left an indelible mark, and the Imperial Dragons emerged from this period utterly changed from their former self. Gone was their aloof nature, their sense of self-worth, their grandiose and overly confident nature. They had grown more insular and closed off, paranoid of not only others but of themselves. Morbidity had crept into the Chapter. No longer did they see the past as something to prove themselves against, to surpass. Now the venerated past represented their former height, from which they had fallen far and could never hope to achieve again. The penitence crusade may be over, but not the hunt. Homeworld “Creire will serve the purposes of our Grand Company perfectly. Like us, it is the oldest. Like us, the lesser kingdoms are formed from their blood, though greatly watered down. Return it to the prominence it deserves.” Grand Captain Kaloyanov Genadiev, studying the history of the kingdoms of Si’giu The Imperial Dragons, like many other sons of Dorn, were a fleet-based Chapter for much of their history. With the destruction of their flagship, the Sword of Okhlos, and the over-all worn down nature of the fleet after the two centuries’ long penitence crusade, the Imperial Dragons were granted the right to an Imperial world to utilize as their base and to recuperate losses from its population. The world of Si’giu is young by planetary standards, its primordial oceans split by a single supercontinent like the Pangaea of Terra’s own prehistoric past, balanced by a single, small island continent that is nearly at the opposite end of the world. This supercontinent is home to many feudal kingdoms, often at war and prone to shifting alliances. When the Imperial Dragons descended, the isolated, barren island continent had been made the site of the Chapter’s Fortress-Monastery, its construction only just begun when the Chapter arrived. The Grand Captains determined that they would need recruits used to eternal war, to prepare them for what awaits them among the stars. Each Grand Company chose a single kingdom to patron, and those recruited to the Chapter would be tested by bringing these three kingdoms to dominance before joining the 10th Company as scouts. Over the millennia, these three kingdoms, believing themselves divinely inspired and aided, have split the titanic landmass between them. Ages of peace are quickly ended by design, the Imperial Dragons having forged the world into the living representation of war that they had wanted. Combat Doctrine “We of the Nesebar line are what you would call . . . rash, yes. But while we may be cut off from the rest of you, so far ahead, we are also the first to reach the enemy’s throat. And by that virtue, the first to cut it.” Grand Captain Bogomil Kosta, to his second in command, Captain Nayden Bakalov The Imperial Dragons epitomize the stubborn ideals of their Primarch. Any battle the Chapter is involved in becomes a storm of hell for both sides, within which the Chapter endures while their enemies falter. Their former predilections as urban war specialists remained when the Chapter was split into three Grand Companies, however over the millennia since each Grand Company has developed its own individuality on the battlefields. The Grand Company Nesebar is an assault heavy force, preferring to remain on the offensive at all times and strike with overwhelming force. The Grand Company Tarnovo has the tendency to over-think its strategies, planning each battle with exacting detail. War, as fought by the Grand Company Tarnovo, is one where there ought to be no surprises, no upsets. Only the death of the foe. Organisation “We were once mocked by my brother Grand Captains. I was raised among them solely because we were all that was left. My blood did not have the lengthy history as theirs did. Well, they shall mock us no more.” Grand Captain Mladen Valko, scrutinizing the battle plans for bringing the Sky Piercers to the executioner’s block The Imperial Dragons’ former Codex organization was deliberately stripped from the Chapter at the onset of its centuries’ long penitence. The Inquisition had forbidden them to elect a new Chapter Master, or to reform their veteran 1st Company. As such, the Chapter reformed itself into three ad hoc formations, each led by a hero of the civil war. These Grand Captains, taking an old Legionary title not seen since the heady days of the Great Crusade, took command of not only their own Companies, but also split the remaining Companies amongst them. Only the 10th Company of recruits and scouts remained independent, for its use and importance to each was equal and paramount. Of these Grand Captains, Kaloyanov Genadiev of the venerable Ohrid line commanded the lion’s share of four Companies, while Mladen Valko, of the young, untried Tarnovo line, was in command of only his own Company. After the two centuries of relentless war, the Imperial Dragons had between them four Companies. Finally released from penitence, the Chapter licked its wounds and recuperated. However, once returned to full strength, the formation triad had left an indelible mark. After two centuries following these Grand Captains, the choice of who would rise to become Chapter Master was a difficult one. None of the Grand Captains was willing to relinquish his authority to one of the others, and so a compromise was reached. The Grand Captains would continue to split the Chapter between them, three Companies each, while the responsibilities and duties of leading the Chapter, without the authority of being over-all master, would be given to the commander of the 10th Company. The commander of the 10th Company would double as Si’giu’s Imperial Governor. The triumvirate has remained ever since. Each Grand Company consists of three Companies, the commander of the first of which holding the title Grand Captain and in command over the other two Companies, autonomous from the other Grand Companies. To ensure no repeat of the terrible internecine war, each Captain and Grand Captain is paired with a Chaplain. These Chaplains, themselves students in the art of war and master strategists, are there to advise and aid the officers, as well as to ensure they remain on the true path. The first Company of each Grand Company holds the veterans of that Grand Company. Though more diluted than the 1st Companies of other Chapters, being the veteran hundred of only three hundred Marines, and having very few suits of Tactical Dreadnought Armor, it nonetheless fulfills the role of the elite. The second Company of each Grand Company is equivalent to a regular Battle-Company, forming the backbone of all action any Grand Company may see. The final Company of a Grand Company is a Reserve Company, though its make-up is more varied than a regular Reserve Company, and varies again between each Grand Company’s favored uses. Beliefs “I advised him to argue to retain the Grand Companies with his brother Grand Captains. It will create hardship and strife, but it will also defend us from the sins of our past, and strengthen us to meet the dangers that await us. I also longed to see him placed in command of us all, but this is right.” Chaplain Apostol Rayko to Captain Deyan Bozhidar, second-in-command of Grand Company Ohrid The Imperial Dragons place an extreme importance on genetic legacy, to the point of recording the genetic line of every Marine. When the progenoid glands are removed, and each gland is removed as soon as they have matured, the donor is noted and their name added to the growing branches of heredity. Every inductee to the Chapter is made aware of whose gene-seed he is being implanted with, and by careful study of the genetic records, they can trace their genealogy through the mists of time, reciting all those whose blood they now share. There is no equality along these hereditary lines. Some are more glorified than others, based upon the heroic deeds of the Marines listed upon them, and these are the lines that have earned a name. The lines containing the ancient Chapter Masters and Grand Captains are highest of all. When the Chapter was betrayed from within, those lines were utterly purged so that none could trace their heritage back to them. The hereditary lines are named for its founders, many Marines adding their line’s name to their own out of respect and reverence. When recruits begin their implantation process, from which line the recruit is given gene-seed is decided based upon their actions and potential shown to the Chapter’s careful watchers. Those who show the greatest promise are granted gene-seed from the greatest lines. Since heritage is so important, the Imperial Dragons have an unfortunate habit of punishing themselves whenever they perceive that they have not lived up to their line or are not doing enough to raise it further. To die having provided nothing for the Chapter’s genetic heritage is a sin, to bring the line down with you out of incompetence or cowardice the worst sin of all. However, these beliefs vary from Grand Company to Grand Company, in no small part because of their own heritages. Those of Grand Company Ohrid, so named for its founding Grand Captain was a scion of the Ohrid line, are the most concerned with heritage, being named for the gene-line most directly linked to Imperial Dragons’ founding lord. Likewise, those of Grand Company Tarnovo are the least concerned. They are more aware that their heritage is not the sole factor in their worth. Their founding Grand Captain, Mladen Valko, was of the Tarnovo line, a line whose legacy extended only four generations, when Naum Tarnovo had gained sufficient glory to give his line its name. Though, it has been said that if it were not for Tarnovo’s legacy, that line would have been named for Mladen Valko. Indeed, many Marines, including Captain Nikifor Valko, have taken the Valko name over Tarnovo. Gene-seed “You will remember me. Erase my name. Forget my lineage. I am the greatest warrior this Chapter has ever produced. I will live forever, for you will never kill me.” Chaos Lord Vanov, to Grand Captain Mladen Valko With such particular care given to their gene-seed because of their beliefs, the gene-seed kept has suffered no degradation over the millennia, remaining as pure as it was when the Chapter was first formed, developing no further mutations as was commonplace when the Imperial Fists marched as a Legion. When tithes are demanded, it is from the lesser lines that it is provided, to ensure the genetic legacy of the Chapter remains strong in the times to come. It is perhaps for this reason that the Imperial Dragons hold the Dark Sentinels in poor favor, despite the Chapter having been formed from Imperial Dragon gene-stock. As they are the caretakers of the Chapter's gene-seed repositories, Imperial Dragon Apothecaries are afforded great respect and honor. Theirs is a sacred duty for all Chapters, but to the Imperial Dragons they are of paramount importance. It is the Apothecarion that keeps careful records of the Chapter's many gene-lines, kept tagged, collated and filed. The choice of gene-seed to be implanted into an initiate has always been their domain, though they listen often to the wise counsel of their in the 10th Company. However, unlike other Chapters that place such heightened importance on the Apothecarion, the Imperial Dragons do not field more of such specialists than is normal. Though the high regard of the Apothecaries does see a large increase in the number of potential brothers to join their fraternity, so too does it see an increase to the already strict criteria and selection process. Battle Cry By the blood of my ancestors! http://i.imgur.com/uCV5JEy.jpg From left to right: Grand Company Tarnovo Grand Company Ohrid Grand Company Nesebar 10th Company

Emerald Tigers Origin "We will never know how much was lost. So much of what we have done and once were, as important a part of ourselves as what we are now, is now gone. All that's left for us is to exact equal vengeance upon those who took this from us. We shall destroy them. And then we shall forget them." Librarian Myrddin Wyllt, overseeing the reconstruction of the Chapter's Librarium The Emerald Tigers were formed during the 7th Founding from the legacy of Guilliman, around a cadre of an older Chapter, the War Consuls. Their first action once combat ready was to participate in a crusade to reclaim the worlds lost to the Imperium by the ferocity of the Emperor's Ire, a sector-wide warpstorm that had been raging for nearly a century. The Emerald Tigers found themselves facing a Sector at the very verge of being overrun. Creatures of the Warp and Traitor Marines wearing the panoply of the Emperor's Children cavorted and rampaged across the worlds and in the depths of space, playing with what was left of the weak and desperate mortal populations. Though a true enemy now stood before them, their joy over the bloodshed only seemed to grow to a higher pitch when the Crusade met the Chaos incursion head on. Though an arduous struggle, the Imperium was ultimately successful when the final dissipation of the warpstorm cut off reinforcements to the traitors. The Emerald Tigers re-tasked themselves with the defense of the Erinn Sector, deep in Segmentum Pacificus. With the approval of the High Lords, they took for themselves a homeworld within it that had particularly impressed the young Chapter on its continued resistance to the corruption of Chaos. The Emerald Tigers have remained in the area for millennia, on constant patrol for the ever-constant resurgence of Traitor Marine activity and the presence of insidious xenos. It took nearly three thousand years before the Emerald Tigers were able to finally cast out the Emperor's Children Warband, who called themselves the High-Born, led by the Chaos Lord Mogh Nuadat. Three thousand years of war, of hunting them down from world to world. It was Chapter Master Conn Eremon, their most revered hero, who finally hammered them down. The headstrong Chapter Master never gave them respite, even when his own Chapter needed it more. Whenever the High-Born went to ground, he would tear the world apart until there was nowhere left for them to hide. His crusade of extermination lasted three centuries. It began at the Brosnachian Fields, where the Chapter destroyed the fleets of the Rogue Trader Sampate and burned the extensive roots the High-Born cults had taken. It continued on the worlds of Mewsauc, Govran, S'wama and Lewein, as well as battles fought in scores of other places. Everywhere the High-Born would be found, uprooted and yet, disappear. This over-extended game of cat and mouse finally met its conclusion upon the moons of the gas giant Maglena. There they found not only the Warband but their ever elusive Chaos Lord. In a duel worthy of song and saga, Conn slew Mogh Nuadat. The High-Born, for the first time since they had arrived, were finally beaten and driven from the Sector. Suffering from great wounds, Conn was interred in a Contemptor-class Dreadnought, within which he would continue to serve the Chapter as a beacon of glory and honor, a veteran of every war the Chapter had waged. Since then, the Emerald Tigers have ever stayed loyal to their Emperor and fought countless wars in this remote and otherwise relatively unprotected zone of space. From their earliest victory upon the bloody hills of Khavidan to their most recent defense of their homeworld, Tara, the Emerald Tigers have won great glories and suffered many losses with trademark adaptability, overcoming all obstacles by virtue of their fluidity. Defense of Tara "A hundred times I have been awoken. A hundred times I have been unleashed. A hundred times I have faced your kind. I will do so a hundred more, but for you this is the end." Conn the War Ender meets Tyreke, Chaos Lord of the Eyes of Tivan, in battle Late in the 41st Millennium, the High-Born returned to Erinn, alongside a Warband of the World Eaters, the Eyes of Tivan. Together, the two Warbands cut a swathe across the Sector. Before the Chapter could even react, entire sub-sectors went dark. The Emerald Tigers were not slow in reaction. Such was the speed and ferocity of the attacks. Chapter Master Cormac Airt immediately mobilized the Chapter to stem the oncoming tide of heretics, daemons and Traitor Marines. Recruitment rates were doubled and then tripled as the Chapter met the foe and the attrition rates rose. Though Cormac's inspired leadership saw the traitorous advance falter, the Chapter's counter-offensive stumbled upon Buoyan. There Eoghain Mor, master of the High-Born and former Champion of Mogh Nuadat, laid a trap for the lord of the Emerald Tigers upon Buoyan treacherous glacier-continents. Utilizing powerful Warp sorceries, the traitors succeeded in isolating the Chapter Master and laying him low. The whiplash of the magic devastated the icy waste, making the land of solid ice too dangerous to fight upon and the Emerald Tigers were forced to retreat. Though Cormac survived, his body and mind were ravaged. He was transported back to their fortress-monastery, where the Apothecarion and Librarium collaborated on his treatment. In the interim, First Captain Cairbre took upon himself Acting Chapter Master. Though an accomplished leader of men, outshining all other living Captains in feats of glory, Cairbre did not have Cormac's resourcefulness or charisma. He held the line, preventing the oncoming enemy forces from breaching their defenses and spilling out onto the Imperium's unprotected worlds for a couple of years. Though Cairbre's response was laudable, it did not protect the true target of their enemy's wrath. Sub-sector Leathcuinn was, relatively, unprotected. With the bulk of their armies diverting the Chapter's defenses elsewhere, the two Warbands sent their veteran elite to lay siege upon the Sub-sector's crown jewel and homeworld of the Emerald Tigers, Tara. With the great majority of the Chapter's Fleet scattered throughout the Sector, the heavy bruisers and small destroyers that burst from the Warp met only a token resistance in orbit around Tara. With the target of all the High-Borns' rage buried deep under Taran ground and the Eyes of Tivan aching to meet their foe face to face, the traitors foresook orbital bombardments and instead released their warriors upon the surface of the world. Aside from the host of combat-ready Chapter serfs, wholly unprepared to face such a foe, and the nearly inconsequential mortal armies of Tara's clans and tribes, the traitors were met by the two hundred Scouts and Marines raised in addition to the Codex norm in response to the Traitor threat, as yet unassigned to their own places among the stars. Though the traitors outnumbered the Emerald Tigers nearly three to one, the Chapter had two advantages in its favor. First was that among the Dreadnoughts that had remained on Tara was Conn Eremon, ancient High-King and the Chapter's greatest martial hero. Once awoken, his presence upon the battlefield inspired the young Marines to equal exploits as he reaped enemy lives with every strike. Their second advantage, wielding the Chapter's most ancient relic weapons, the Fire's Claw and the Hound's Blade, took the form of yet another returned hero. Though weakened still by the venomous magicks wreaked upon him, nonetheless it was Cormac Airt who led the defenses. The battles that waged upon Taran soil lasted many months. Many of the world's island-continents were razed, its people gone forever. For a time, it seemed that no matter the awe-inspiring feats of the defenders, such as when Eoghain Mor fell with Cormac's claw buried within him, Tara would be doomed to fall. The defenders knew that their death knell had been sounded when Conn the War Ender, master of countless battles and warrior supreme, was cast broken from the Bones, a mountain range named for the ancient belief that it is the remains of an ancient race of giants, by the Chaos Lord of the Eyes of Tivan Warband. However, as the Emerald Tigers fought tooth and nail, viciously, within the hallowed halls of their own Fortress-Monastery, salvation finally arrived. Cairbre, finally freed from the wars that had laid siege to a Mechanicum Knight world, had struck an alliance with the Knight House Mobius and turned his forces back to Tara. In a replay of when the traitors appeared over Taran skies, Cairbre was able to force his ships past the traitor cordon and release his men and a host of Knights upon Tara. While four Companies, accompanied by a host of walker-machines, turned the tide on Tara, Cairbre and his veteran 1st Company committed boarding actions on the greater ships of the traitor fleet. Though the Defense of Tara took nearly a year, the Emerald Tigers were eventually able to push the Traitors back off their world. It cost the Chapter much. Nearly a third of the world's population remained and the war marked the death of the Chapter's most revered ancestor. With Cairbre himself gone, unable to teleport off ship in time to avoid its sudden self-destruction, Cormac Airt had risen to reclaim the mantle of the Chapter Master. As their Fortress-Monastery was rebuilt, the enemy's leadership slain or on the run, he led the Emerald Tigers back into the war that rampages still across Sector Erinn. Home World "The lands still will not green. What have they done to our world, that its scars yet remain?" Cormac Airt, Chapter Master of the Emerald Tigers once and again During the First War, as the later Emerald Tigers refer to their earliest Crusade, the young Chapter marched in its entirety upon the world of Tara, a world wracked by battles fought between the two traitor forces. There the Emerald Tigers witnessed the weakened, distraught Imperial citizens remain ultimately unbroken by the atrocities they'd lived through, fighting back at their enemies at every moment through subterfuge and guerrilla tactics. When the Chapter succeeded in throwing the traitors offworld it had already been decided that the world of Tara would make an ideal center for recruitment. Following the close of the Crusade, the Emerald Tigers petitioned the High Lords of Terra for the right to claim Tara as their homeworld. So granted, the young Chapter set to work on the feudal world, creating their Fortress-Monastery as a vast subterranean network in the center of the Great Valley, an immense basin as large as the Imperial Palace. The only evidence that can be seen from the surface is a large mound, too uniformly rounded to be a natural hill or small plateau. The tribal Tarans refer to this landmark as the Great Mother, who gives birth to the giant sons of the Sky Father, the local term for the Emperor. Those Tarans more civilized than their tribal brethren, living in a feudal state, know more of the truth of its existence and are fully aware of the presence of the Emerald Tigers. The Chapter recruits from both peoples equally, nominally by keeping watch over the internecine wars and tournaments. For every child taken as a potential recruit a token of precious metal is left behind for the child's family. Among the feudal clans, these tokens are of paramount importance, being physical manifestations of their divine right to rule. In essence, the tokens act as evidence of nobility. The greatest clans, called the Companion Clans as they can trace their long lineages back to the heroic Tarans who had fought alongside the Emerald Tigers at the very beginning of their histories. The patriarchs of these clans are kings of their imminent domains, Tara's highest mortal authorities. The tribes of Tara react to the tokens less reverently, thinking them payment for the taking of their child and nothing more. These tokens exchange hands and ownership at a rapid pace. Many clans have had their position secured by laying claim to traded tokens. These clans were purged when such claims were declared fraudulent in the 39th Millennium. For the past couple decades, Tara has been attempting to mend the horrific damage wrought upon it during the unprecedented assault by an allied traitor force. Since the ending days of the Defense of Tara late M41, the Taran populations have drasticaly reduced. Across its island-continents, the tribal Tarans were struck the worse and are nearly extinct. The urban Tarans suffered less than their tribal brethren, seeking more to survive than to brazenly attack as the tribes did, centering their efforts over the most important, populous cities. Many of the lesser cities were overrun, their people massacred. Enough time has passed that Tarans have begun rebuilding these abandoned shells but still the landscape is dotted with blasted ruins marking the sites of mass graves. Organisation "In our darkest time, we needed them. We would have not survived without them. Now, as dark times approach once more, we argue how to dispose of them?" 3rd Captain Tighearnan, as the fate of the 11th Company hangs in the balance The organisation of the Emerald Tigers has changed in the recent centuries, as the Chapter has been forced to raise nearly two hundred additional Marines to overcome the constant onslaught of foes that had threatened to overwhelm the Chapter during the 41st Millennium. Though no longer necessary, the survivors were coalesced into a single Company and are now used to man and escort the large Starfort Exalted Wrath, a recent addition to the Chapter that had proven particularly advantageous in breaking the back of the Traitor's attack on their homeworld. The Chapter is divided on the future of the company, as the current Chapter Master has yet to decide whether it will be retained and replenished as needed or allowed to diminish over time by inevitable losses until the proper Chapter size is once more reached. The remaining ten companies are primarily Codex in organisation. The Battle Companies are ever at work hunting down and striking out at nearby foes while the Reserve Companies patrol the Sector in constant vigilance. Beliefs "We are light. We can blind and we can guide. How we choose to use our power defines us and, through us, our Chapter and the Imperium. To abuse it is to forsake everything we have ever stood for or ever will. Do not abuse it." Chief Librarian Coran Wyrdbreaker, to the fey Marines being initiated into the Druid Circle The Emerald Tigers have for a long time lost their Primarch as their primary focus for reverence, shifting entirely to the Emperor. Though Guilliman remains as an important aspect of the Chapter, they view him mostly as a conduit, their connection to the Emperor through their genetic inheritance and on equal terms with the Chapter's own ancient heroes. This shift in focus is one of many visible clues as to how much of the Chapter has been shaped by their homeworld. Combat Doctrine "It has ever been our way to challenge ourselves to further feats of brilliance. What worth is there in repeating the same successes over and over? Once was proof enough that it could be done; twice perhaps if to prove the first was no mishap. But to have committed countless feats, each unique and independent of the other, is something to be proud of. Versatility. Adaptability. No enemy of Man ever strikes the same and nor shall we. Stagnation in battle is death. Predictability is death." Sergeant Daithi to his scout squad The Chapter has pride most of all in its mutability and adaptability. Rather than providing the same, static face to the enemy in each encounter, the Emerald Tigers has learned the hard way that only by approaching war differently each time can they take the enemy by surprise. The hunters of the tribesmen know full well that they are not the greatest predator of the forests and change themselves constantly, sometimes through drastic measures, to disorient any would be attackers. As the Emerald Tigers are isolated from any potential aid and can be outmatched at times by their myriad foes, they have adopted this as their creed. The rich and robust tomes that is the Chapter's copy of the Codex Astartes which details multiple potential military responses for virtually any potential situation. As a general preference, the Chapter will by its own preferences choose an unused method of attack or defense before falling back upon a previously used gambit. They have been known to go against such preferences often when opportune. They do not allow themselves to get lost in the fervor and heat of battle. They remain constantly aware for the perfect moment to strike with utmost ferocity, whether when striking from unawares or already locked in combat, the Emerald Tigers strive always to end conflicts quickly and decisively. Gene-Seed "War is in our blood! Feel its rage burn within! Let it overwhelm you as it sustains you with its hate! Let it fill your soul! Let yourself go within it, as you spill it from your enemies!" Chaplain Siobhan, leading the Uineil Clansmen in defense of their land The Emerald Tigers were founded upon the gene-seed of Roboute Guilliman and they have kept their genetic legacy as pure as it began. The Chapter keeps careful watch over the Tarans for prospectful recruits, though they do make such individuals easy to find. As the taking of a family member increases a clan's social standing, many capable boys are trained from a very young age to impress the watchers with strong arms and quick minds. Great tournaments are held with regularity, as the youths show off their skills and prowess in competitions against one another. Among the Taran tribes, life is less orderly. A child that can fight in tournaments is a child that can fight for his tribe's survival and will participate in the everlasting wars between tribes and the two great cultures. Despite the Tara's brush with Chaos so long ago, the purity of faith and mind of Tara's denizens kept them pure of body as well. Though an ever-present problem for any Imperial world, Tara's mutant birth rate is very low and harshly dealt with. The Emerald Tigers have been blessed with such purity, allowing the Chapter to rapidly recuperate from the many severe losses it has taken over its lifetime. Battle-cry "We live! They die!" A chanted call and return used first at the Defense of Tara.

Okay, this Chapter just got itself a bit of a face-lift. I was pretty satisfied with it, but I always kind of felt it was never complete. Original first post, including the previous article, are contained as a spoiler at the bottom of this post. As always, C&C is requested. They shall be pure of heart and strong of body, untainted by doubt and unsullied by self-aggrandizement. They will be bright stars on the firmament of battle, Angels of Death whose shining wings bring swift annihilation to the enemies of Man. So it shall be for a thousand times for a thousand years, unto the very end of eternity and the extinction of mortal flesh. -- Codex Astartes Origins “The grey army is at our gates, to drag us down into the dust where they crawl. Their poison seeps through. But we stand and we cry, we are with God! And with God, we will die!” – The Savior King speaks, 999.M41 Captain Galgalliel of the Archangels, the First Company of the Blood Angels Chapter, had a long, illustrious career, including nearly four centuries as Captain of the Chapter’s most elite forces, before given one of the greatest honors known to the Astartes. In the 35th millennium, the 11th Founding was declared, and the Archangel Galgalliel selected to command a newborn Chapter formed from the blood of Sanguinius. In honor of the revered dead, the Chapter was given the name the Angels Penumbral, marking them the first of that name for nearly two millennia. The Archangel quickly forged the Chapter into the very personification of wrath, striking down the heresies of the weak and the impurities of the alien. To them went the consecrated world of Aggelos, deep within the Principalities, an isolated collection of nearly two hundred systems. The Principalities were under near total domination by Ecclesiarchal authorities. However, in spite of the often poor relations between the Adeptus Astartes and the Ecclesiarchy, the Angels Penumbral readily adapted and conformed, in no small part due to the stubborn faiths of their granted home world. Their relationship grew, so that the two would often work in concert and to each other’s benefit. The ministry would send word to the Angels of heretics to be eradicated and cults to be exterminated. The most significant example was the Purging of the Conclave in M39. Local Inquisitors had acquired evidence that a Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, the Conclave, had become thoroughly corrupted by the influences of Chaos. With the secretive Dark Angels spearheading the assault, the Religio Dominus, the hereditary ruler and spiritual leader of the Principalities, asked of the more forthcoming Angels Penumbral to participate in the hunt. The taskforce struggled for three years against the Conclave, until finally the corrupted Chapter was shattered, with few of the treacherous renegades escaping. Word had it that the renegades split into small, fractured Conclaves that scattered to the winds, but it was decreed that the threat to the Imperium no longer required the Angels’ presence. Since then, the Angels Penumbral have harbored a distrust of their cousins, those sons of the Lion. Recently, with the Tyranids invading the Imperium en masse, the Principalities have become under assault by a splinterfleet, officially labeled the Gorinech Tendril. The Angels Penumbral, to their great shame, took the threat too lightly at first. Dozens of the Principalities’ worlds along the trailing edge fell almost overnight. The Angels Penumbral have since declared all-out war and the entire Chapter has mobilized in attempts to stem the all-devouring tide. The Angels, in coordination with the coalition of local military, are holding out for an organized Crusade to push the xenos out of the Sector. However, these efforts have been hampered by subterfuge from unknown quarters, and the alien hordes have managed to continue slowly their inexorable push forward to the Imperial core, against all resistance and the fury of angels. Home World “When the brown rock turn black at the sight of blood, and the fallen sun hovers overhead, do not sheathe your blade or cease in the bloodletting. Nothing angers an angel more than passivity.” – Proverb by the Holy Scrivener Seshayyim Aggelos is a large rocky world deep within the Principalities. Classified as a delta-class Death World, Aggelos suffers from unstable tectonic activity, making earthquakes and volcanic eruptions commonplace. It has a verdant belt of vegetation that girdles the planet, but largely Aggelos is a dry world of hot sands and rocky formations. The Angels Penumbral have, in surveying their world, located multiple points of relative stability across the planet. Here, they have planted immense, circular towers, filled to bursting with technologies that allow them to observe and record the Aggelians. The Aggelians themselves are a fractured, feudal people, often at war with themselves over meager resources in the never-ending struggle for survival. As all of the mortal populations within the Principalities are, the Aggelians are zealous followers of the Imperial Creed. War has become indelibly inscribed in their religious faiths. They believe that all conflict is to the betterment of the human species. Each variation of faith on Aggelos, and there are many, believe fully and truly that only they are in the right, and must wage war against all those in the wrong, by extension everyone else. It is done in the name of the God-Emperor, and anything less would be an affront to His Divinity. To the people of Aggelos, the Angelspires, as they know them, are revered places of worship. The world’s greatest city-states have formed at their base, upon the skeletal remains of other great civilizations, which had eventually lost the fight for a space next to divinity. Such cities are sprawling masses of low buildings, for it is sacrilege to create anything of unnecessary height, for to do so is to defy the works of the angels. In the shifting oceans of sand, the nomadic tribes thrive, who survive by trading between cities or raiding them, and who covet and fight to the death over every found oasis. Though there exists on Aggelos a temperate zone, teeming with plant and wild life, no Aggelian would dare risk venture within its shadowed depths. The angels have decreed the gardens of Aggelos off-limits to mortal kind, and to defy them is to welcome certain death. The Angels keep close watch over Aggelos, especially during times of great conflict. Many battles have been ended abruptly as the Angels fall from their fortress-monastery on pillars of flame, smiting the unworthy as they extricate those promising few. The fortress-monastery, styled Sol Invictus, is a large orbital plate, not unlike those see on Terra. The plate hovers over Aggelos, high among the clouds. It is a marvel of design and architecture, its outer faces composed of shifting white marble and reflective glass. Even in the darkness of Aggelos’ moonless night, the home of angels shines with blinding light. As much as the Angels have become incorporated into the belief systems of the Aggelians, so have the Aggelian faiths been incorporated into the Chapter Cult. The Aggelian mortals see the Angels much as the Angels see themselves, as the vengeance and wrath of the Divine Emperor made of His Own Flesh descended upon the galaxy. However, there are those that see them as dark figures, terrible demons that fall upon their most promising young warriors as a means to cull them and keep them weak. It is no secret within the Chapter what is done with such mortal cults. Though many fear that some long forgotten incident of their own flaws is what instigated such beliefs. No recruits are taken from such faiths, and whispers on desert wind will rouse the faith’s rivals against them. Only one apocryphal faith has resisted the usual attempts at extermination, led by a messianic figure known simply as the savior king. Founded 973.M41, the savior king refuses to acknowledge the divine heritage of the angels, and sees their father and his brothers as hyper-inflated stories of mortal men. The God-Emperor is a spiritual entity, the truest essence of Godhood, not a physical Man who was God. Worship of those who claimed to be His sons is tantamount to idolatry and deemed heretical. Many among the Angels Penumbral have decried the cult; that they must take an active hand in eradicating it, which has grown in strength of late. Many within the Chapter fear that to allow this cult to live comes with the risk of letting in one indoctrinated to its twisted faith. By the end of the 41st millennium, the Chapter Master has finally given in to the demands of the concerned. It may be too late. Combat Doctrine “And war came to the heaven, as the angels fought the dragon, and the dragon feasted upon the angels.” -- Retribution 21:7; apocryphal The Angels Penumbral are a wave of fury, preferring to meet enemies head-on where they can make their physical strengths count the most. With the high preference for jump packs and aerial assaults typical of the sons of Sanguinius, the Angels plummet from the heavens, slamming into and crushing their foes from above. Battle-brothers of the Adeptus Astartes are the avenging Angels of Death and the Angels Penumbral lay claim to that title like no other. They roar into battle with the screaming of jetfire accentuating the fervently yelling Marines as the Chaplains lead them through the catechisms. The blasphemy of the daemon, impurity of the xenos and heresy of the traitor are zealously intoned as the Angels cut them down with sword and roaring bolter. The Angels Penumbral fear the day their curse becomes commonly known, for with such a realization they may be deemed irretrievably damned. As such, the Angels Penumbral are infamous for being the lone survivors in many a conflict, where only the Angels are aware of the truth of the battle. Organisation “And the Son of Man came into His glory, and with Him upon His last days were His Angels, then did He sit upon the Throne of His glory.” – attrib. Adina, the First Apostle The Chapter adheres closely to the Codex Astartes in organization, more so than other sacred sons of the Angel Sanguinius do. Even the Blood Angels, the foremost inheritors of Sanguinius, deviate in order to compensate for the shared curse of the Sanguinian bloodline. The Angels Penumbral do not share in this deviation, though adherence to the Codex is not the reason underlying this fact. The Angels Penumbral do not field a Death Company. Those who suffer from the curse, on or off the battlefield, are restrained and imprisoned within the Sarcophagaem. This dark and brooding ship ferries the damned to their place of execution. So on guard are they that there have been times the ship has been entered only to find sane Marines who have overcome momentary lapses of judgment and merely lost control over their anger, however this is never enough to stay the execution. Though those who suffer the Black Rage are treated with attempts at dignity and mercy, for their anger is honest if not righteous, those who suffer the Red Thirst are not treated with such. Not unlike the Commissars of the mortal Imperial Guard, the Angels will kill their brother, immediately and without hesitation. The Chapter reveres their first Archangel and his primary advisor, Reclusiarch Zephirem, and the Chapter has retained this pairing as a traditional element of their command structure. Though Zephirem was part of the Chapter’s Reclusiam, these advisors can and do come from any of the auxiliary organizations, though dominantly from the Reclusiam. Beliefs “For we wrestle not against the flesh and blood of the Principalities, nor against its powers, but against the hidden rulers of the darkness within this world, against the spiritual wickedness in low places.” – Archangel Yehosho’a of the Corporeals, 991.M41 The Angels Penumbral believe in a truth that few other Chapters have the courage to accept. They believe fully in the divinity of the God-Emperor. Due to their own genetic links to the God-Emperor, this religious belief extends to themselves. The Emperor is God, His sons are born of His Flesh and His Soul, and the Astartes are His Angels. Within Sol Invictus, the pious Marines show reverence to their dead within their extensive crypts, the Sheofon. The Sheofon consist of rows upon rows of interred remains, majestic statues depicting the fallen in their primacy overlooking those who pay sacred homage. Nearly all of the Angels who have fallen over the millennia have their remains within Sheofon. Even those with no remains to be found, or who have been executed in the throes of Black Rage, still have a place. Only to those who succumb to the Red Thirst are denied place. Though all know the overwhelming temptation to give into their curse, those who do have forsaken the brilliant divinity within and damn themselves. Their mortal body remains blasphemously alive, but the true Angel died as he succumbed. Those who have given in to the Black Rage are remembered for who they once were. Those who indulge in the infernal hunger of the Red Thirst are stricken from all records, regardless of whatever prestige they had in life. Gene-Seed “These words spake Sanguinius, and lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, Father, the hour is come; glorify thy Son, that thy Son also may glorify thy Throne.” – Ged’on Eli of Khasawet The Angels Penumbral are made in the God-Emperor's image, granted a fraction of His Divinity with which they may be the instruments of His Wrath. The blood of the Angel, holiest of the Nine Divines and from which the Chapter is named, flows through their veins, granting them his strength and nobility, but also his flaws. Though closest in perfection than any other of that esteemed pantheon and fashioned most in the God-Emperor's own image, Sanguinius suffered most of all the myriad flaws of man, from which he had been forged. The terrible thirst and anger that haunted this distant and holy son of the God-Emperor haunts still his children, and few more so than the Angels Penumbral. None within the Chapter knows why, though they have sought and craved to Him on Earth for a release from its constant presence for ages to no avail. The best that they can do is to excise those who exhibit the curses as quickly as possible, lest its corruptive nature spread further. Battle Cry "Unto the Godless, death!” Here are a couple new images. I'm rather fond of the bronzed helm to go along with the pauldrons, but I included one without so I can get some input. http://i.imgur.com/VmOQnLz.jpg http://i.imgur.com/h0SIufa.jpg

THE STORM BEARERS CHAPTER OF THE ADEPTUS ASTARTES Born of Man. Die for Man. Greater than Man. Origins Not all that is Man is created equal, and this stands true even for those who came of Man but have become far more than Man. The Emperor’s Angels of Death, transhuman warriors formed into Chapters, are Founded every few centuries. Not all of these Chapters are formed equally. Some are born poor, bereft even of a home world, bound to an existence of vagrancy across the stars. Auspiciously born from the blood of the 18th gene-line, in the 18th Founding, the Storm Bearers were more fortunate. To them were gifted an unconquerable fortress upon the orbiting moon of a world specially selected for suitable recruitment, as well as an immense Star Fort and numerous outer system planetary defenses with which to defend their home. The Aetna System was not only well placed to provide easy access and monitoring of several nearby subsectors, but had also come under a most unconventional siege. No enemy had yet been encountered, but evidence too substantial to ignore suggested a great threat had worked its way in. The Storm Bearers first action as an independent force was to root out and extinguish this threat, thought to be the Polyphemians, an ancient Etnaphemian myth that could potentially be the oldest known record of the foe. The Storm Bearers thought it superstition, and blamed the failure of the locals in locating and eliminating the threat on their superstitious nature. Superstitious though they may be, the threat was real. The enemy was real. The deaths of dozens of Space Marines attested to the power of the enemy, and yet such was its cunning and stealth that only the dead were left as evidence of its existence. Even the Steropes facility, a hub-bastion that coordinated the extensive network of defenses surrounding Aetna’s outermost planet, was susceptible. Analysis of recordings made on recovered Space Marine suits revealed the impossible truth. That the enemy was everywhere and yet the suit’s wearer would simply forget the creature’s existence once it had left the battle-brother’s sight. The recording was disseminated across the Chapter, and soon other recorded encounters were uncovered. Study of the creatures in the recordings commenced, and countermeasures were extrapolated and put in place. The Chapter’s Librarians began to concentrate upon the sensation of a sudden shift in their brothers’ memories; unable themselves to simply fixate and locate the xenos breed. This task fell to the Chapter’s Techmarine corps, who would modify the Chapter’s supply of suits to provide recognition whenever such creatures are witnessed, and log it so that the wearer would be reminded once the creature leaves sight. This advantage allowed the Storm Bearers to finally uncover and bring ruin upon the xenos hiding in their midst. The struggle against the xenos would last nearly two hundred years before the last uncovered nest could be put to the sword, though possible sightings and unsubstantiated reports would continue indefinitely. With the Polyphemian threat neutralized, the Storm Bearers would settle into their role as guardians, the superstitions and weaknesses of mortal man now laid bare. For millennia, the Storm Bearers would be the bulwark and the tempest both, as the Imperium required. Their exploits, particularly those of their long line of Lightning Bearers, would earn them great glory. In time, they would be given the greatest honor of providing the seed through which another Space Marine Chapter would be born. This Chapter would take the name of one who had fallen long, long ago, as the Storm Giants reborn. Home World Brontes was once a more civilized world, well onto its way into becoming a proto-Hive World. This did not suit the Storm Bearers, who wanted their world to inspire a more warrior spirit rather than simple genetic suitability. The Storm Bearers would be far from the only Chapter to affect directly the fate of their home world, but few would go so far as to reverse cultural progress and systematically destroy all evidence of an advanced civilization. The survivors, who were many as the Storm Bearers kept casualties at a minimum, formed smaller, local communities. Retained knowledge of metallurgy and other skills stalled regression in the equivalent of the Bronze Age. This setting has been encouraged and even violently enforced by the Storm Bearers. The planet of Brontes is a volatile one. Its large, harsh seas make for difficult ocean-faring, and traffic between its extensive, rocky island chains and small, isolated continents is light. The erratic orbit of its satellite moon of Mene, upon which the Storm Bearers’ fortress-monastery resides, plays havoc with the planet’s already fluctuating magnetic field. Storms of immense size and ferocity form with frightening regularity out among the tumultuous waters, their titanic fury when they hammer upon the shorelines inspiring the Chapter and giving them their name. Combat Doctrine In contrast to their Nocturnean kin, the Storm Bearers are deliberate and cumbersome, but far from slow. The Chapter maintains a large fleet of Thunderhawk vessels, preferring to arrive upon the enemy like a great storm cloud upon the horizon, though they are far from adverse to orbital deployments, drop pods striking the battlefield like bolts of lightning. Speed of delivery is imperative, their military strength gathered tight to lend the blow as much weight as possible. This preference has made them adept at offensive siege warfare, using their heavy, lightning assaults to shatter defenses, as well as to isolate and eliminate enemy commands no matter how deeply defended or concealed. Organization The Storm Bearers are strong components of the Codex Astartes, finding deviations as distasteful as any conservative Successor of the Ultramarines. Within the Chapter’s auxiliary forces there is, perhaps, a greater deal of communication and interaction than may be commonly found. Ongoing threats faced by the Storm Bearers has seen such internal organs as the Reclusiam, the Forge or the Librarium cooperate and partner for creative means of overcoming these challenges, such as the task to eradicate the Polyphemian xenokind requiring the services of the Librarium and the Forge in equal measure. Though these auxiliary formations remain separate within the Chapter’s chain of command, to an outsider familiar with other Space Marine Chapters the distinction may not be so clear. The Storm Bearers regularly maintain a crusader force tasked far beyond the borders to their realm and protectorates, and as such, the Chapter has been witnessed upon worlds and in battles across the breadth and width of the Imperium. Leadership over these crusades will fall to one commander, overseeing many companies in his command. These commanders are given the role of representing the Chapter well beyond its sphere of influence, and as such are given the rank of Lightning Bearer. This rank comes with exceptional honor and glory attached, as well as promises of future advancement. There have been more Storm Bearer Chapter Masters who had once served as Lightning Bearers than not. Beliefs The Storm Bearers came to the Aetna System bearing copies of the Promethean Creed, the spiritual treatise that continues to shape their Salamander brothers. Over time, the Storm Bearers would make changes and additions, inevitably coming to very different conclusions and the applications of their beliefs. The Cyclopean Creed, as the editions held by the Storm Bearers came to be called, has grown to place less faith in humanity than its parent Creed, finding them inherently weak and susceptible to corruption. Though such an assessment is often born of distaste, the Storm Bearers see this truth as due to their exceptional vulnerability and need for protection. The powerful gifts the Emperor and Vulkan provided the Angels of Death be not for mortal use, though it does instill a strong sense of responsibility. The Adeptus Astartes are gifted with the thunder and lightning of war, so that they can do what mortals cannot and should not. While the Storm Bearers see themselves as superior and above the general populace, their beliefs continue to bind them to humanity in service rather than in rule. Gene-seed The genetic material of the Storm Bearers remain effectively pure, what few mutative deviations exist are of little consequence. The most evident of the Storm Bearers deviations is in the improper function of their melanochrome organ. When operating at peak efficiency, the organ enables the Marine to shift skin tone for absorbing multiple levels of radiation. This organ within a son of the Promethean will malfunction, what should be temporary becoming permanent. The interaction between Brontes and Mene releases regular, periodic bursts of exotic forms of electromagnetic radiation. The Storm Bearers’ genetic legacy is affected, causing hair growth and eyes to pale and whiten, while the skin darkens in color, though far from the extent as seen by their Salamander brothers. These physical changes separate the sons of Vulkan from mortal kind, a divide the Storm Bearers embrace. Battle Cry “Fire and thunder!” http://i.imgur.com/H4zfnWk.jpg Pict-capture of a Storm Bearer survivor Outside the remains of the Steropes facility

THE KNIGHTS SOVEREIGN CHAPTER GENE-SEED: Dark Angels FOUNDING: 23rd “Sentinel” Founding [M.38] CHAPTER MASTER: Marshal Edmunt Raik, Castellan of the Crimson Rooks CHAPTER WORLDS: Eistvin, Ostlund & Vollstadt FORTRESS-MONASTERY: Durumtal, Eistvin SPECIALTY: Operational control, precision engagements and information dominance BATTLE-CRY: 'Imperator Vult!' is a common warcry, however 'Victus aut nihil' is the Chapter motto CURRENT STRENGTH: Endangered KNOWN DESCENDANTS: Bronze Knights, Savage Brotherhood [disputed] Origins Part of an ongoing struggle for the High Lords of Terra to utilize the pure gene-seed of the former First Legion without the participation and influence of the Dark Angels or their prominent successors, when the Knights Sovereign were created they were tutored instead by a detachment of the Imperial Fists, a worthy selection to guide a Chapter of the Sentinel Founding. The influence of the sons of Dorn can be readily seen in the Chapter for centuries to come, however their brother sons of the Lion were not to be denied. Shortly after the Knights had gained the trust of the Imperial Fists and earned their independence, overseeing a turbulent Sector that had long suffered for its severely lower average technological capabilities, a contingent of the Dark Angels and other successors arrived to acquaint themselves with this new Chapter. How these other sons of the Lion knew of the Knights Sovereign true heritage is not entirely known, expected given their typically reticent nature. Multiple concerted investigations over the past millennia have revealed numerous agents suspected of feeding information to the Dark Angels and their closest successors, and it is assumed they came to this information by similar means. These Chapters showed great honor to the Knights Sovereign, with many of their retinues consisting of their highest ranking officers, including Chapter Master Grasciel of Dark Angels. The inner circles of these Chapters communed together deep within Durumtal, while specialist officers of the First and Second Companies intermingled, enlightening the Knights Sovereign to their own particular brand of war-making. While this communion was short-lived, the bonds of brotherhood forged on this day had a lasting effect, with many of these Chapters regularly appearing within the Knights' territory and vice versa. It had also made an impression on the young Chapter's organization, especially the First and Second Companies. The Knights Sovereign still retained much of their identity as forged under the watchful eyes of the Imperial Fists, but they had grown more insular, more in keeping with the typical Dark Angels character. Indeed, their later character can be readily connected to the manner of the ancient knightly orders of the Dark Angels' long-dead home world. This marriage of traits and ideals, in many ways opposing but also complementary, has guided the Knights Sovereign for the thousands of years since. Chapter Worlds Early in their formation, the Knights Sovereign were given a choice of three feudal home worlds within the Lowermains Sector. Though ultimately settling upon Eistvin, located near the largest nexus of Sector traffic, the discarded worlds of Ostlund and Vollstadt did dominate strategically resourceful zones. Chapter keeps were planted on these worlds, a practice perhaps learned from the Imperial Fists Chapter. Officially, Eistvin alone is classified as an Adeptus Astartes world, however after centuries of keeping close ties and recruitment practices on Ostlund and Vollstadt, the local officials tithe the worlds as if they were. Nestled deep in the Eistvin mountains is the Durumtal, fortress-monastery to the Knights Sovereign. Building began as soon as Eistvin was selected as their home world, and had finished scant months before the Knights showed up themselves. This immense, rugged structure blends seamlessly with its surroundings. If an unaugmented human was to stand upon an outer peak, looking into the range, they would be unable to distinguish the crenelated towers from natural mountaintops. However, the Knights Sovereign took to giving it a different name than the Magos-Tektons provided: the Crimson Rook. With the Chapter keeps on Ostlund and Vollstadt being heavily inspired by, and in imitation of, the Durumtal, they are collectively known as the Crimson Rooks. Current Disposition The Knights Sovereign have been at war with the Orks of WAAAGH! Urlkin for decades, a massive incursion the Sector had never before seen, led by an Ork of such impressive size that Archmagos-Biologis from several Sectors around have insisted could not exist. This Ork, crafty for his kind, has grown large on the excesses of his armies, leading regular hunts into nearby regions with such regularity that the end of most hunts is merely the beginning of another. The Knights Sovereign have tried, unsuccessfully, to convince local Administratum officials to sanction a crusade into Ork territory and end the threat once and for all. However, with the Knights' own worlds declared the targets of a hunt that has virtually emptied the Ork territories for Sectors around, more recently they have become more concerned with defense. The ongoing conflicts have stretched the Knights Sovereign thin. By the close of the 41st millennium, their numbers are reported as being four companies' worth, including officers and auxiliaries. The Chapter has undergone necessary, but drastic changes to their organization, in light of the eradication of two of their battle-companies, as well as their specialized rapid-reaction forces in the 2nd Company, not to mention the depleted numbers of their surviving companies. Chapter Organization The Knights Sovereign would not consider themselves as deviant, however to them it is deviancy from their forebears rather than the Codex Astartes that is relevant. Though the Codex Astartes is, as it should be, held in high regard as the epitome of all things war, the Space Marine way, the Knights Sovereign do deviate in organization. This is not seen as a contradiction or hypocrisy, but merely derived from the simple fact that the Codex could not accommodate all possible circumstances. And indeed, the inheritors of the Lion are of a unique circumstance, and so fashion themselves accordingly. The First Company is organized into the Justiciary, and are of the ordained task of bringing the light of justice and nobility to the darkest places of the galaxy. It is said that all who gain a place among the Justiciars must first confront truth and sin in equal measure, and it is their ash-white armor that shows their absolvement. The Knights also field the 2nd Company as a rapid response force, the Errantry. The Knights-Errant exist outside the normal Chapter organization, and as such they paint their armor a deep black. Unlike the elevated Knights-Justiciar, it is only the master of the Errantry, the Earl-Errant, who sits above his brothers as a member of the Inner Circle. The auxiliary organizations within the Knights Sovereign are primarily Codex-adherent, with the only exception being within the Reclusiam. This deviation is in fact rather common among the Unforgiven, where an additional level in the hierarchy is added. Typically known as Interrogator-Chaplains, in the Knights Sovereign they are the Prelates, a classification of Chaplains second only to the Pontifex, Chapter reclusiarch. The other prominent branches, the ironsmiths and hospitallers, are of no noticeable difference from Codex standard, though their highest ranking officers are believed to be a part of the Chapter's Inner Circle. Fleet Assets The Crimson Galleon – So named for its mimicry of the Crimson Rooks, intended as a bastion equal to these immense fortresses that would ply the stars, delivering the wrath of the angels. This battle-barge is often assigned to the Justiciary. Its current deployment in geosynchronous orbit over the the Crimson Rook of Vollstadt has for several months prevented the Orks from dropping ordinance and savages on the Chapter keep directly. However, the Orks have made planetfall in multiple other regions across Vollstadt, and not the mortal warriors or the Galleon's guns have been able to keep the hordes from laying siege. Recruitment & Advancement The Crimson Rooks are not difficult to access by the mortal populations, unlike the fortress-monasteries of many other Chapters. Thousands of people regularly seek shelter or asylum within its walls, each and every one swearing binding oaths of lifelong servitude to their new transhuman masters. These people form the Chapter serfdom, ranging from mortal knights to spread the law of the Chapter across the world to learned, trained fleet armsmen. Swearing one's life to the God-Emperor's living representatives is no hardship when compared to a life of similar service to some fickle lord or king, and so the Chapter rarely finds itself without a surplus of mortal servants. The majority of these legions of serfs will never leave their world of birth, serving the Chapter well enough there. Rather than seeking recruits from among the general populace, the Knights look to the young of their serfs. Having such large populations spread across three worlds, the Knights have their choice of candidates. The offspring of the Chapter's serfs are a more viable recruitment stock than the general populace, as all their male children go through a more intensive and extensive training in preparation for potential recruitment. However, it is not unknown for the Chapter to look to the outer kingdoms and city-states of their worlds for occasional recruitment programs in an effort to encourage diversity in thought and character, or to recover from devastating casualty rates Upon recruitment and successful term in the Chapter's tenth company, the young scout must petition for advancement into the Reserve Companies, following a path through the Reserve Companies as delineated in the Codex Astartes. In the Reserve Companies, they hold the rank of Knight-Companion, an as yet not fully recognized Knight until advancement into the Battle Companies. A Knight-Companion must be wary of how or when he petitions to join a Battle Company, as their Masters will often refuse a Knight-Companion they deem unworthy to join their company. It is not unknown for Knights-Companion to aim too high in their petitioning, some seeking to skip advancement through the Reserves or will petition for a spot in a master's personal retinue, though it is considered disdainful and will injure the Marines' future if rejected often. No Knight or Knight-Companion can petition to join the Justiciary or Errantry. Those who join these orders are chosen by their lords, an honor none in the Chapter can refuse. To rise in rank to Sergeant within one's company is possible regardless of one's place in the hierarchy. Typically, a Sergeant will select from among his retinue a successor to take his place should he ever fall or advance beyond this station. Sergeants of the 10th Company are provided the customary title of Castellan, sharing in the responsibility of the Crimson Rooks, which collectively fall under the purview of the Master of the 10th Company. These Masters, known by the title of Earl, are one and all arisen from the ranks of the Justiciary, at the behest of the Chapter Master, the Marshal of the Knights Sovereign Chapter. It is the Justiciary, the Earls and Marshal who form the Chapter's Inner Circle. Also prominent in the Inner Circle are the Pontifex, and his Prelates, who are responsible for selecting one from among the Inner Circle the Marshal's successor should he ever fall. Combat Doctrine The strength of their sword arm and the accuracy of their aim are what the Knights most admire. While their battle formations have a strong reliance on infantry tactics, the Space Marine, the Knights are experts in cavalry warfare, utilizing fast vehicles to retain combat superiority and battlefield control. The Knights' approach warfare is thoroughly informed by their copy of the Codex Astartes, a five volume military discourse on: Space Marine recruitment and training; the composition and structure of the Chapter into Companies; practiced field tactics; the conduct of sieges, either offensively or defensively; and the role of the Chapter fleet. In battle, the Knights are the fiercest of foes, full of sound and fury. Early in the Chapter's history, a previously unknown xenoform appeared within Sovereign space. Classified as the Airbreeders for the explosive population increases the xenos experienced when in contact with oxygen, the alien race proved exceptionally difficult to purge in its entirety. The Knights sought to implement purgation protocols proven successful against the Ork, however disaster struck at nearly every turn. Quickly it was discovered that the xenos race had free access to the Knights' vox communications, seemingly unaffected by encryption. Forced to adapt, the Knights began disseminating orders on the battlefield through the use of audible, vocal blasts and visual signals utilizing specialized banners. With this, the Knights were able to reclaim the initiative, and eventually every last of one of the inexplicably duplicating, hulking beasts were burned from the lands of nearly half a dozen crater-ridden Imperial domains. However, this xenos threat would persist for centuries before final eradication, and the antiquated communications became a more permanent feature. Local Rituals & Beliefs Integral to the Chapter cult is the Oath of Office. Like many Chapters, the Knights Sovereign swear oaths before each battle, swearing themselves to the action and sometimes a specific task they set before themselves. The oaths are affixed to their armor, and they are expected to carry through with the oath throughout the action. Oaths of Office, however, are permanent. They are drawn up at their induction ceremony where the recruited mortals have arisen as one of the Knights-Companion, and will remain with them. Addendums are added throughout the Marine's life, marking their progress through the Chapter hierarchy. Each new rank or advancement requires a new Oath of Office, adding onto the old. So it is that the longest serving Marines, the highest ranking of the Chapter, have lengthy and complex Oaths of Office finely delineating their given tasks and expectations for themselves. Like Oaths of Moment, they are highly individualized reminders of their loyalties and responsibilities, as well as personal promises of feats or endeavors, or oaths bonding the Knight in fealty to a lord or in alliance with those outside the Chapter, for the entirety of that Knight's service to the Chapter and the Emperor. Within each Knight's chambers, they keep a locked rosewood box to contain their Oath of Office, centering their devotions upon its yellowed parchment and ink of blood. Normally, a Knight will write his own Oaths of Office, keeping its writings to himself. Advancement, especially to the Justiciary or Errantry, will be the traditional break from this custom. Where a Knight is unaware of the duties or responsibilities that await him, it is his immediate superior who will write these additions. It is not unknown for another Knight to assist in the inscribing, such as a mentor who tasks a promising pupil with surpassing his own achievements. Upon the death of a marine, if recovery is possible, his remains will be interred in a great stone crypt on the grounds of the keep or fortress he last served. The Oath will be placed upon his chest and set alight, his oaths thus fulfilled. Those interred into the mighty Dreadnoughts receive a similar ceremony. Though they serve still the Chapter and the Emperor, they have fulfilled the oaths of the living nonetheless, and exist now free from such burdens. Gene-seed The genetic legacy of the Lion runs strong in the Knights, as pure now as it was in the days of the First Legion, a legacy confirmed by extensive testing by brother sons of the Lion all those centuries ago. Though the foundation of the Knights Sovereign was an experimentation of sorts, it appears that the gene-forges of ancient Mars had learned the lessons of the 21st Founding well. There were no signs of genetic manipulation of the Knights Sovereign gene-seed outside of acceptable parameters. The purity of the Lion's gene-seed has aided the Knights greatly in the past, enabling quick recoveries from crippling losses and a less lethal implantation process. Champions of the Chapter Marshal Edmunt Raik – Chapter Master of the Knights Sovereign, going on the third year of his disappearance. Last seen aboard the Lion's Dagger, the Marshal was to take personal command of the battle for Vollstadt and turn the tide. However, the vessel did not return to realspace at its scheduled time. Investigation along its projected path provided no revelations on its disappearance. Warp-travel is far from precise, and such disappearances are not unknown, but it could not have come at a more difficult time. While the Earl-Justiciar Hadrian Normson has taken nominal command of the Chapter since then, the Inner Circle has yet to meet on choosing an official successor. Pontifex Theocritus VII – Born Prentis Brenmoor, the current Pontifex of the Knights Sovereign is a hard, embittered and unforgiving man, scarred not only from actions on the battlefield but from the resistance of captives stolen from hotly contested secessionist worlds. Like his namesakes, this is not a Pontifex who would prefer to remain closed away within the interrogation cells deep within the Crimson Rooks, but will often be seen at the forefront of battle among his brothers. Earl-Errant Sydorn Lyndswor – Captain of the 2nd Company, and the oldest living Knight outside the Dreadnought ancients. He has led the Knights-Errant longer than any other Earl before him, and none of the Marines under his command have known any other Earl-Errant. His list of achievements and victories are as long as his years, though much is hidden from those not initiated into the higher knowledge. In more recent years, he has been forced to give up the Ironsteed, his advanced years and the inevitable degradation of his transhuman form preventing him from fully connecting and integrating to its biomechanics. Instead, he has taken to commanding the Errantry from the gunner's seat of a Land Speeder. http://i.imgur.com/oei7krh.jpg Knight-Companion http://i.imgur.com/8p56I71.png Knight-Errant http://i.imgur.com/Nprn65r.png Knight-Justiciar Note that unlike other sons of the Lion, the Knights Sovereign have few suits of Terminator armor http://i.imgur.com/x09x5y8.png Pict-capture: Defense of Vollstadt, Knights Sovereign Sergeant in profile http://i.imgur.com/mL3TUUH.jpg Marshal's Banner - The Crimson Rook

Origins “Following him is a lesson in futility. His is a war fought on an entirely different level, too fast for the likes of us to participate. But that is fine. He leaves more than enough behind him for the rest of us.” –- attrib. Batukhan The known history of the Guardians begins sometime in the 33rd Millennium, when the Chapter was ordered to the Midas Cluster, far to the Galactic North. This is not, however, when the Chapter was Founded, though very few scraps of information remain from the period before their coming to the Midas Cluster. What little is known of this fuzzy period in the Guardians' past is that the Inquisition had a heightened awareness of the Chapter, with Inquisitorial agents and decrees a constant presence in the initial centuries of the Guardians' arrival. Many in the Chapter look toward their genetic flaw with progenoid gland production as the cause for their paranoid attentions. What little remains of the Guardians' existence prior to the 33rd Millennium are vague, providing little facts. Fragment writings attributed to what is believed to be one Batukhan, the Guardians' potential founding Chapter Master, detail his rise to command a Brotherhood of the White Scars Legion prior to the formation of Chapters, making the Guardians a potential 2nd or 3rd Founding. Whatever the history of the Chapter in that mythical age, the Midas Cluster proved a powerful influence, virtually recreating the Guardians in its image. The Midas Cluster had resisted the scouting forces of the Imperium at the tail end of the Great Crusade. With the horrific aftermath of the Heresy, the Imperium's attention turned inward. For millennia, the Midas Cluster had remained aloof, distant from the greater Imperium. Tasked by the Inquisition, the Guardians were sent wholesale into the Midas Cluster to take it for the Imperium. Though the fleet-based Chapter was a power unto themselves, capable of toppling whole worlds with the boom of their guns and the tread of their boots, the Midas Cluster resisted them at every turn. Wild xeno of breeds unknown, worlds and dangers missed or overlooked by ancient Imperial cartographers, and small bands of human colonies that wanted little to do with the Imperium. The Midas Cluster was rife with them and it proved a heady challenge the Guardians came close to failing. The battle that would have ended the Guardians' struggles was in the Archaegosian System, in orbit over its large, arid third world, whose derelict hives harbored a small but self-sustaining human population. The Eldar, whose presence in the Cluster had been a thorn in the Guardians' side, committed themselves to battle fully against the Chapter fleet. Their Craftworld, formidable in spite of its smaller size to some of the more well-known Craftworlds that have plagued the Imperium, entered the foray itself, turning a pitched battle into what nearly became an open rout. Though the Chapter lost a majority of its ships, it was their habit of taking considerable risks that ended up saving the Chapter. Rather than retreating, or burning alongside their own ships, the Guardians launched a full boarding assault against the Craftworld. Though the death toll was high for Marine and Eldar alike, the frantic battle concluded with the Craftworld's burning plummet onto Archaegos Tertiary. Though in considerably poor shape, the Guardians succeeded in breaking the backs of their greatest enemy within the Midas Cluster, allowing them time to recuperate their losses and consolidate their winnings within the Cluster. Some in the Chapter believe that the proliferation of their flaw began in this period, when the Chapter took chances with their recruitment programs to rebuild lost Companies. Though the continuing conquest of the Midas Cluster continued at a slower pace, it was declared secured in the Emperor's name four centuries after their arrival. However, the Midas Cluster has never been made truly compliant, and the Guardians, now the Guardians of Midas, have dedicated their efforts for millennia to holding the Cluster intact from xenos and traitors alike. Though they remain a fleet-based Chapter, the destruction of so many ships has forced them to utilize multiple Chapter Keeps scattered across the Cluster on the Six, human worlds the Chapter claims the majority of its recruits. Though many of the Guardians' Brotherhoods have ventured beyond the Cluster to take part in grander Imperial Crusades, the Guardians of Midas have largely dedicated their efforts to the immense Cluster and remained isolated. Home World “There! They are retreating through their portal. Get the damned ready; we won’t have much time before they close it behind them.” -- Ruin Lord Stanko Alfonz The Guardians do not maintain a fortress-monastery upon any one world. Mostly fleet-bound, the Guardians instead utilize Chapter Keeps as recruitment centers, the only land holdings the Chapter maintains. Scattered across six worlds, often referred to collectively as the Six, each Keep serves as the base of operations for a Brotherhood, providing that Brotherhood with an identity unique to the rest of the Chapter. Shalya, where humans locked in primitive tribal cultures hunt across immense salt flats to take down native megafauna and pray to the Eagle-father, the local stand-in for the Emperor. The watery world of Marrune, with its singular, almost ring-shaped continent, where roaming, ocean-floor hives mined the mineral-rich waters. The poisoned world of Geddonia, whose human population is forced to live underground following an apocalyptic attack by Orks. The war-torn world of Navaroik, a land of two kingdoms that are rarely at peace with each other. The moon of Loi, in orbit over Keiran, whose wildlife mirrors that of the planet below, but who have evolved in ways to classify it as a deathworld. The over-sized dry rock of Archaegos, whose landscape is littered with the bright emerald ruins of an ancient war. Each world, though unique to each other, is home to the golden Rocs. Birds of prey large enough to prey upon man, they are not native to these worlds, or to the Midas Cluster. They were brought into the Cluster by the Guardians themselves, and it is believed that they are native to the venerable home world of their Primarch, Choggoris. Legends kept by the Guardians depict Jaghatai Khan, while still young, catching a young Roc, who became a companion to the demi-god, giving the great Khan his nickname among his tribal people, the Warhawk. The Rocs are integral to the Chapter's recruitment trials, and many Guardians wear large red-gold feathers as fetishes upon their armor and weapons. Combat Doctrine “Let them move closer, we’ll strike from below like the manticore serpent, our fangs no less envenomed.“ -– Sergeant Yuto Jian, Brotherhood of the Moon The Guardians are at heart a White Scar Successor Chapter, their love for speed undiminished by time and isolation. Prevalent across the Chapter is a predilection towards tactics that bring combat to a quick close, often seeking to go against odds and take perhaps unnecessary risks. Their approach to the Eldar and the Webway being the perfect example of this demeanor. For most within the Chapter, this is the thrill of the hunt, the heavily competitive interaction between Brotherhoods. For others, this is deliberately intended to cull those who bear the sin of corruption within them. Each Brotherhood embodies their home world not just in culture but in tactics as well. The Brotherhood of the Sea is adept at limiting the destruction of their warrior ways, making of them a scalpel that cuts only where intended; a tactic made necessary by the hive gangs of Marrune, who can ill afford a stray shot penetrating the hull of their underwater vessels. The Brotherhood of the Blood are the most competitive of the Chapter, even within their own Brotherhood, as rivalries created upon Navaroik have resisted all attempts to remove by indoctrination. Organisation “Your competitive nature has served you well, Sea-Brother. It has seen you rise in the ranks of our Brotherhood, but it will not see you join the Brothers of the Hawk. Your rivalries would have no place there. Learn to let it go, or accept your place among us as permanent.” -- Chaplain Kia Iona, Brotherhood of the Sea Due to genetic mutations, the Guardians, in their own eyes, have never operated at full strength, having nearly two companies' worth of ostracized Marines at any one time. Within the proper Chapter, the Guardians are perhaps more Codex compliant than their White Scar forbearers. Veterans of the six Brotherhoods are collected within the First Brotherhood, the Brotherhood of the Hawk. Though each Brotherhood is responsible for the recruitment programs upon their chosen worlds, the recruits are gathered into a Scout Company, which has never been given a Brotherhood name for it is a temporary station. Once a recruit has become a full-fledged Marine, he is returned to the Brotherhood of his home world, where he will remain until death or advancement into the Brotherhood of the Hawk. Here Codex divergence returns, as each Brotherhood is a self-sustaining Battle-Company wokse make-up is theirs to decide. The Brotherhood of the Land prefers short-range, decisive firepower over long-range guns, fielding more flamers than other Brotherhoods, tactics that were most useful to in the packed quarters of the underground hives of Geddonia. The Brotherhood of the Moon, perhaps reminiscent of their short lives on Keiran Loi, are markedly self-sufficient, under perpetual desire to conserve energy and supplies for when needed most. The ostracized, who have committed the sin of impurity, are gathered into over-sized squads called the Hunters. They are not part of any Brotherhood, but are attached to them and serve as shock troops, the first in and last out. As quality gear is left to the Chapter proper, the Hunters are often ill-equipped and suffer horrendous attrition rates. Only when the Eldar are encountered, whether the space-faring xenos or their darker or more primitive kin, is the true intent of the Hunter squads revealed. They are tasked with entering the domains of the Eldar, of any type, whether it is a portal into the Webway, a Craftworld, an Exodite World or Commoragh itself. They are given only one order, come back with the Khan or not at all. Only then would their corruption be erased, their purity proven. With single-minded abandon, many Hunter squads have disappeared into such covens, never to return. Beliefs “In the air, we breathe thunder. In our chests, it rumbles loud. Salt is in our veins. The ground upon which it spills is nourished by it. Thunder is our father, the salt our mother. For both, we live. For both, we fight. For both, we die.” -- Skyseer Antinanco Who Was Born Whole The Guardians have great pride in their heritage, most especially linked to their Primarch, Jaghatai Khan. This pride is linked to the vast importance they place upon genetic purity, at odds with their own prevalent mutation, leading to the segregation of afflicted Marines. As the Khan is the focus of their beliefs, his absence is a sorely felt hole within them, aching to be filled once more by their gene-father's return. Early in the Guardians' history, during the wars to conquer the Midas Cluster for the Imperium, the Chapter found fleeting clues that their Primogenitor may have been present in ages past, as ever on the leading edge of the Imperium's advance. The possibility of finding the Khan is too great for the Guardians to ignore, and many of their plans and actions are dedicated to his retrieval. For the impure, only by such a discovery could see the stain of their existence purified. As ever, the home worlds of the Guardians have a profound impact on their attendant Brotherhoods. The Brotherhood of Ruin are most of all dedicated to their lord father's return, while the Brotherhood of the Sky share in the more esoteric beliefs of their home world, with an occult attraction to the number three. Gene-seed “This is all we have left of our father, our blood. It is what connects us to him, what elevates us beyond what we were. Our blood is everything. There is no price too high to pay to protect it and keep it pure.“ –- Ramapravin Ottama, Apothecary attached to the Brotherhood of the Blood The Guardians of Midas are of the White Scars genetic stock, with all that entails. Though the Chapter places great importance on genetic purity, with an active Apothecarion that keeps close tabs on their gene-seed banks, it is a permanent shame upon them that they have been plagued with a singular mutation. In the process of maturing, a Space Marine produces two sets of progenoid glands, effectively assuring the survival of the Chapter by allowing for the production of two Marines for every one. Among the Guardians of Midas, for every five recruits reaching this genetic maturity, only four produce the second set of progenoid glands. This leaves twenty percent only capable of producing the first set. Though this mutation has not kept them on the radar of the Inquisition or the Adeptus Mechanicus as tithes have been collected, nor has it impeded their ability to make war in the Emperor and the Warhawk's name, it is enough for the Guardians to look upon those so afflicted as imperfect and corrupted. Though their progenoid glands are removed, the Apothecaries keep careful track to ensure that they are never used for future implantations. They are kept aside for when the Imperium requests its often long overdue tithes. Though this practice is intended to restrict the mutation and prevent it from spreading to healthier gene-seed, it has wholly failed to eradicate it. The Chapter views the Brothers of the Eagle as paragons of virtuosity and purity. Their Terminator suits are kept fastidiously pristine in-between battles, their hammer blows elegant and sudden. Battle-cry "Death is in our eyes, fire in our blood!" -- Battle-cry of the Brotherhood of the Land http://i.imgur.com/KxVzoRz.jpg

INDEX TRAITORIS: THE HIGHBORN WARBAND For several centuries of their own time, these relic warriors of a forgotten age of darkness have waited. The Imperium exiled them. The Imperium forgot them. The Imperium will remember, when they return to claim what is theirs by right, the right of conquerors over the conquered. Blood will flow, a sector will burn, a hero will fall, and the Highborn will have their revenge. The Foundations of a Dynasty O C C I D U N T P O V A L I I -- scrawled in blood on the walls of decks 12-13c, aboard the Tyrrhese The Highborn did not leave the ranks of the Emperor’s Children easily, nor bloodlessly. Though the Emperor’s Children were not alone among the Legions of the Eye in fracturing apart, they were among the more resistant to such hemorrhaging. Achlectur Priamne, once Lord Commander but now simply, plainly Lord, refused to remain a part of his former Legion. However, he was made of far sterner stuff than those of weak will who had begun to doubt and regret their oaths to the dead Warmaster. Indeed, he was more than willing to remain allied to his former brothers in the persecution of such cowards. Eventually, there was little reason left to remain, to hold strong the oath of legion, the oath of father. The Lord and his Highborn were perhaps fortunate, in that they did not need to risk censure by leaving the domains of the Third and ignoring all calls to return by the ever-dwindling core of high command. Many was the would-be warband that arrogantly declared its independence, only to find itself unable to battle its way free. The Highborn were no less arrogant in their declaration, but fate or divine will conspired to assist in their departure: Abaddon had come to claim his birthright. It was perhaps this coincidence of events that led to the Highborn’s first entanglement with the forming Black Legion. So much of what the upstart Warmaster envisioned was in keeping with the Highborn’s own needs. The drive, the purpose that held them together as the Warmaster That Failed rebelled against the Emperor was duplicated within the Black Legion. It was might, hard and cold, not the soft decadence the Emperor’s Children had begun to wallow in. It was more than a marriage of ideals to the Highborn, for though they would never recognize it as such, they were in need of the Warmaster’s help. To bind such a force together, to gather the disparate, the independent and the disillusioned, into a singular, cohesive Legion, required oaths to be sworn by both sides. In return for the Highborn donning the black of Abaddon’s own, the Black Legion pledged to support the Highborn in pursuit of vengeance, and the return of that which had been recently stolen from them: their flagship Tyrrhese. This alliance benefited the Highborn greatly; however, their pride did not long allow them to remain under the command of another. Shortly after the fierce struggle with the Iron Warriors and the reclamation of their ship, the Highborn once more demanded independence. Removing themselves from the Black Legion proved more difficult than the Emperor’s Children, and in the end was only accomplished under the severe binding of the Highborn to the Warmaster’s cause in what was to be the 4th Black Crusade. To spread the forces of the Imperium thin, the Highborn were tasked with razing the Erinn Sector, deep within the Segmentum Pacificus. This Sector was the breadbasket for a small swathe of the Segmentum, and it was expected that the Imperium could ill-afford its corruption at the hands of the Great Enemy and would defend it accordingly. To the misfortune of the citizens of the Erinn Sector, the wider Imperium apparently felt it was an acceptable loss in the face of another of Abaddon’s terrible wars. The Highborn had a near uncontested reign over the Erinn Sector that lasted decades longer than the Black Crusade itself. What planetary defenses that stood against the Highborn were readily overthrown by this elite force. Token battle-fleets of run-down vessels stalwartly resisted the warband, yet the ancient, powerful ships of the Highborn made short work. Their numbers prevented them from simply laying claim to the entire Sector, but they were a constant presence, like distant feudal kings sending raiding parties to claim the taxes of their vassal provinces. Many petitions were sent from the Erinn Sector, the planetary governors begging for support and relief. Attempts were made, outer systems bound by oath to come to their aid, ultimately fruitless. No concerted efforts were made for nearly two centuries. The resources the Imperium needed from Erinn were still exported in sufficient quantities, and those were the only numbers they cared to know. The Highborn, already arrogant, had grown careless in their dominance over the Erinn Sector. Because of this, the resistance of the world of Tara against their demands of resources and slaves infuriated them greatly, and needed to be crushed. Both warships orbited this verdant world, and unleashed the entire warband upon its hilled plains. The Taran people were strong and full of defiance, refusing to surrender or give in the fight. The Highborn were mightier, and so the great stone keeps were sundered and the iron-bound mortals dispersed or slaughtered. However, the Imperium had finally responded. A Founding of Space Marine Chapters, seventh of its kind, had only recently been concluded. In response to the centuries-old pile of pleas for aid, one of the newborn Chapters had been tasked, accompanied by a Great Company of the Space Wolves Chapter that had, itself, decided to answer the call. These forces had entered Sector space scarcely before the Highborn had unleashed themselves upon Tara. As the resistance upon Tara finally began to crumple beneath the heavy tread of the Highborn, finally Imperial retribution appeared in the night sky. The Highborn would stand firm, but were unprepared and outnumbered. When Achlectur Priumne, Lord of the Highborn, fell beneath the blade of the commander of this child Chapter, the Highborn were mortified, nearly overcome with shock that anyone could not only stand against them, but hurt them. The Highborn fled. Far from won on Tara, the Imperial forces would hound the Highborn across Sector space for many years before the warband would make the plunge back into the hell that is the Eye of Terror. The Highborn would be furious at this change to their destiny. They would stumble for a time, bereft of anchor and succor, until coming across the dead xenos world of Cel and claim it as their own. Cel had a revitalizing influence on the Highborn, who would once more seek out the Black Legion and other allies. They would keep themselves apprised of the Erinn Sector. They would know that the newborn Chapter would claim the planet of Tara as its own, and would begin calling itself the Emerald Tigers. They would follow the flickering numbers that would reveal everything about the Sector. Where its militant might lies, where its food is grown or raised, where its citadels stood strong and where the walls had grown weak. The Highborn would use this information, when the time came to exact revenge. Noble Vengeance “Hit them with the portside barrage, damn you! Do you want them to take this ship? Fire! Fire!” The Tyrrhese Shipmaster screams, pistol aimed at the head of the man at the monitor. Far below, gun batteries sit silent as two slave-tribes wage war. Nearly seven hundred years after the Highborn had first been banished to the Eye of Terror, or late in the 41st millennium to those who resided in realspace, finally the Highborn had what they needed. Their time with the Black Legion had earned them an alliance with the Eyes of Tivan, a warband filled with the enraged sons of the daemon Angron. Their ships were fully repaired and stocked with powerful munitions. Their slave-crews had grown immense in population, and had been trained for a dozen generations in the sole pursuit of war. Oaths of fealty had been made to dark powers, their demand the sacrifice of a Chapter’s worth of gene-seed. The time was now for the Erinn Sector to burn once more. For a handful of decades, the warbands prepared for their assault, as agents seeded insurrection and heresy across a number of worlds within the Sector. When the Highborn reappeared in the Erinn Sector, the Eyes of Tivan alongside them, their forces were spread across a wide front. Soft targets were selected and attacked with abandon. Hive towers became tinder for global conflagrations. The crops and herds of a dozen agri-worlds spoiled and rotted at their corrupted touch. The warbands struck without warning, but quickly drew attention to them. As the Imperium recoiled, the Highborn, led personally by Lord Achsantre Aivas, conquered the feral world of Buoyan. As the Emerald Tigers reacted, their companies sent to assist beleaguered worlds, the Highborn unleashed Cel upon Buoyan. Ancient green woodlands became forests of spears of ice, the very oceans froze solid, and continental glaciers formed overnight. The immense surge of Warp sorcery and the cry of planet-death would scream through the void. Astropaths across the Sector would fall into fits of seizures, and even the Emerald Tigers lost their fair share of psyker-warriors. The Chapter would respond immediately. Chapter Master Cormac Airt would lead three full companies in assault of Buoyan, anticipating an early end to the conflict if the Highborn leader could be slain. However, he would only be leading them into a trap. The icy wastes of Buoyan obeyed the very whims of the Highborn, suddenly forming canyons or shattering mountains. Lord Aivas isolated their Chapter Master, and unleashed the venomous Warpkin upon him. The Emerald Tigers were isolated from each other, the shifting landscape too dangerous to fight upon, and were forced into retreat, dragging the limp form of their Chapter Master behind them. The Chapter was suddenly thrust into a change in leadership, the fall of their Chapter Master being a terrible blow. The one who would rise to the occasion and command the Chapter, some Captain of the Emerald Tigers, was accomplished, masterful, but uninspired, and the Highborn would use this against the Chapter. Under this new leadership, the Chapter would hold the lines far along the edges of the Sector, preventing the Highborn and the Eyes of Tivan from spilling further into the Imperium’s unprotected worlds. The warbands’ efforts on the fringes were but a diversion, intended to get the majority of the Chapter’s forces off their home world of Tara. With much of the Chapter’s fleet scattered across the Sector, when the main force of the Highborn and Eyes of Tivan entered Taran space there was simply not enough to oppose them. With all target of all the Highborn rage buried beneath Taran soil and the Eyes of Tivan aching to meet their foe face to face, the warbands forsook orbital bombardments and instead released their warriors upon the surface of the world. The mortal populations remained as they were all those thousands of years ago, tribal and feudal, with little technological advancements. The warbands slaughtered the inconsequential armies of Tara’s clans, razing entire island-continents, their advance slowed only by the hosts of Chapter serfs. No Chapter home world may be easily taken, and in conjunction with the formidable defenses surrounding the Chapter’s fortress-monastery the warbands found more than expected. In response to the rising state of rebelliousness, the Chapter had temporarily tripled recruitment rates in expectation of their forces being thinly spread. While the full force of a Chapter was deployed along the outskirts of the Sector, within the Taran fortress-monastery were three hundred more, ranging from fresh Scouts to newly promoted Battle-Brothers. Though young and inexperienced, they held against the besieging tide. Aiding them was the host of awakened Dreadnoughts, chief among those that had remained on Tara was Conn Eremon. Their ancient High King and greatest martial hero, it was the War Ender who had slain the first Lord of the Highborn, long ago in a different life. His presence upon the battlefield had a visible impact, the young Marines rallying behind him to equal exploit and the Highborn hungering to be the one to spill the blood of him who defied death. Even still, with all the forces arrayed against them the Emerald Tigers should not have been able to resist as long as they did. With the very fabric of reality tearing about them, unleashing daemonic cohorts upon Tara, their doom was certain. That they lasted as they did is a testament to the capabilities of their Chapter Master Cormac Airt. Though ravaged in mind and body by the attack on Buoyan, and heavily weakened still, it was he who led the defenses. Even still, the battle weighed in the warbands’ favor. When Conn Eremon, the mighty hero who had ended a hundred wars, was shattered from his dreadnought chassis by the sword of the Red King, the mightier lord of the Eyes of Tivan, the death knell to the Emerald Tigers had sounded. Deep within the hallowed halls of their own fortress-monastery, the Emerald Tigers fought their last battle. In orbit, the warbands’ ships, nearly empty of its warrior crew, were far into the rituals that bring forth their daemon-fathers. The Highborn had planned this attack for centuries, and they were on the cusp of total victory. Perhaps it was the whims of the dark gods, or the terrible, uncaring nature of fate, that would see their plan crumble. The attack took too long, and Tara’s sons returned to her aid. The ritual on the Tyrrhese was interrupted, as the veteran First Company of the Emerald Tigers boarded her. The cultist crew, though aided by their magicks craft, could not resist such a foe. The Highborn flagship would shatter into two, as nuclear-grade demolition charges along the ship’s spine were detonated. Much of the First Company, including its Captain, had failed to remove themselves from the vessel before detonation. The destruction of their flagship effectively ended their orbital supremacy, a blow to their assault plans that was felt immediately. With the lessening of orbital bombardments, and the welcome return of reinforcements, the Imperial Astartes rallied. Though the Taran invasion had breached their fortress-monastery’s inner walls, the Emerald Tigers began to push back. Pockets of resistance across the globe, so close to being snuffed, began to expand and connect. The Highborn let out screeches of rage at the turn of events, but still they pushed on. Even as their own numbers began to dwindle in pace with their enemy’s, there was yet hope for a pyrrhic victory. As ever, the galaxy despises hope, and that hope was crushed alongside the Red King, his body lying broken under several hundred tons of permacrete and adamantium wreckage. One of the greatest killers to have ever slain in the name of the Dark Gods, snuffed out. The Highborn sounded a retreat. Though the assault and fighting retreat cost the paired warbands nearly half of their manpower, the cost they extolled upon the Imperium was far greater. An entire Sector was at war with itself, even without their immediate presence. A home world to a Chapter of Imperial Space Marines had burned; the temporary playground of the Ruinous Powers. Their greatest hero, murderer of the Highborn’s first lord, had been witnessed as a coward, clinging to a half-life he did not deserve, and so was forcibly taken from it. Their enemy had survived, but only barely. They would not survive the next time. First, the Highborn must recuperate. Their resources must be replenished. And the Warmaster wants them, for one last crusade . . . Beliefs “I can almost admire them, both of them, for their audacity and their initiative. Look, here, you can see it. This is the moment that the Campanians knew they were already dead. You can see it, as if their eyes suddenly dim and their arms are suddenly heavy.” Meleacr Amphare, prince of the vid-archives, stabs an armored finger at the flickering recording. The Highborn have rejected their former Legion as it became, but they have never erased their devotion to what it once was. The Emperor’s Children were devoted to the path towards perfection, and they had proceeded further along that path than many of their cousin Legions. Corruption set in the Legion, during the times that the rightful Warmaster sought to depose the False Emperor. Soon, perfection became a state of sensation to experience, rather than a pursuit of an ideal. The Highborn were far from complicit, their own degeneration into devotion to Slaanesh self-evident. Like many of their brothers, a hunger for something more grew within them, but for them it was not a hunger that could simply be satiated by experiencing further extremes. This cold emptiness would gnaw within them, leading to a frustration and eventual, violent split from the Legion. It was their arrival upon the world of Cel and the bleak scene set before them on that desolate planet that provided them, finally, with the means of satisfaction. There, they found perfection. It was there but for a moment, and in that moment bound. This put their eternity of hunger into startling clarity, and began the obsession that would hound them as any addiction of their brothers. Perfection could be attained. It was always there, just beyond reach, but you could grasp it for just a moment. The Highborn became obsessed with hunting down these moments, finding perfection in even the smallest of matters and desperately making all attempts to freeze them in time. The world of Cel would not just provide them with the focus of their obsession, but also the tool to achieve it. Organization “They may not have operated at my command at that time but they are mine. The Povalii are mine,” Lord Phersatunis growls the last out to the assembled lords of the Dodecadomi, his hands gripping the hilt of his blade tightly, as the fate of the Povalii for their transgressions is determined. The 3rd Millennial that would become the Highborn had once been led by a Lord Commander, his command divided among a small handful of capable Captains. Much of this structure did not survive the passage of time. Though their former Lord Commander stood at the helm still in their earliest days, only Achsantre, future Lord of the Highborn, remained of those lesser officers. To say that the Highborn did away with the Company division would perhaps be inaccurate; there simply wasn’t one. The remaining squads of varying size formed the Dodecadomi, the council of twelve. Each noble Highborn leading a squad of his brothers would soon grow great in power and responsibility, lords over stretches of the earth of Cel and masters over ship-borne domains. The remaining Captain would be named the Lord’s Champion, his second in command, captain of the warband’s second ship, and his successor. The Emperor’s Children had long ago mastered squad-based combat, and the Highborn have held onto much of those ancient Legion doctrines. The existence and use of their pair of ships means that the Highborn can, and often are, organized into two large organizational groupings. However, the persecution of war is almost entirely given over to each squad to determine for themselves. In battle, they retain an imperfect resemblance of the combat doctrines of the III Legion. Overlapping fields of fire, staggered marches, and complementary tactics. Each squad is filled with trained, elite veterans from those ancient days, the Highborn having taken in no recruits since the fall of Horus. Yet, their growing individuality, pride, and the changes made to the chain of command, has weakened the militant bond between the Dodecadomi. Coverage is missed and gaps in the line are formed. Rarely do these weaknesses prevent them from achieving their objectives, but against powerful, adaptive foes, they can readily set themselves up for failure. Such adversity reawakens within the Highborn that need for perfection in battle. An adaptive foe may hold them back once, but rarely twice. Far outnumbering the Highborn is the slave-crew. These vassal mortals, descendants of the tens of thousands stolen from the Erinn Sector, appear unaffected by the warped passage of time within the Eye. In spite of the passage of millennia beyond the limits of the Eye, the Highborn have only experienced the passing of centuries. Yet their mortal crew seem only affected by the natural progression of time. Generations have lived and died within the space of a Highborn year. These great ships have witnessed the rise and fall of tribal civilizations within their iron shells, and wars of conquest waged between its decks. While these extreme variations in time-progression would be noticeable to an observant outsider, neither the slave societies nor the Highborn seem ill disposed by it. How the Highborn are able to effectively command their slave-crew, or how the voidborn tribes are capable of performing the tasks given before them would be a mystery. Yet when the Highborn order, the ships respond. Home World “His men are yours. His slaves are yours. His citadel is yours. Failure to keep and maintain them to my satisfaction will see you meet the same fate as he,” His Manifest Illustriousness announces Moghan Nuor of the Blades as heir to the domains and rank of the late Lord Phersatunis If the Highborn had ever maintained a domain within the Imperium, in the age of the Emperor and their time as the 3rd Millennial, it was long lost to them and forgotten. For an age, their only homes were the Tyrrhese and the Trasena. Even while so many of their brothers would lose themselves to the power of extreme sensation upon the world of infinite pleasure claimed by their father the Highborn remained aloft. While they held claim over the Erinn Sector, with so many Imperial worlds relinquishing all authority to the warband in return for continued life in servitude, the Highborn stayed above their dirt and toil. It was after their banishment from the Sector and journey through the Eye of Terror that this would change. On the outskirts of the Eye, sitting near opposite the Gate, a planet sat, frozen in the cold void. Like many of the worlds captured by the Warp’s embrace, it had once been a member of the dead Eldar kingdom. A prison world, in fact. As their kind tumbled closer and closer to damnation, still there were those who had somehow gone too far by their ever-fading morals. The birth of the Prince, their She Who Thirsts, put an end to this debased empire. Those imprisoned remained, frozen in time by that which was to be their cage and their gaoler as one. The stasis-prison, wrought into existence by Eldar magicks, had readily relented to the velvet touch of Slaanesh. Their forms remained, cold statues upon a featureless landscape, but their souls had long escaped imprisonment to be devoured by the newborn Chaos God. Though long forgotten, nonetheless the Highborn could hear its name whispered to them from the cold mists, Cel. Whether this was the name of the prison or the warden, the Highborn did not know. Perhaps there was no difference. The icy wastes of Cel spoke to the Highborn. The statues of the dead, captured at the moment of species-death, in spite of their kin who struggle still, were objects of beauty. After ages of fruitless searches for perfection, finally the Highborn had come across a true example. A moment of perfection, forever bound in time. Many of the Highborn still bear the scars upon their faces, remnants of the frozen tears when they had so openly wept. The slaves bound to their ships were forbidden to make planetfall. Those that had already come were sacrificed. The Highborn had come upon something exceptional, and it was to be theirs alone. Cel changed them greatly in such a short period of time. Soon, the words they spoke to each other were of some foreign tongue, the sound cold and raspy. They became the Celsclaran, the sons of Cel, and Cel accepted them as her children, the very landscape pliant to their touch. The hot blood that pumped through their hearts in time would give way to ice water. Though the Highborn would spend far greater time on their ships than they would anywhere else, Cel would forevermore be their home. Battle Cry A cold death to usurpers! Original post is hidden: Hidden Content After the Emerald Tigers, the Eyes of Tivan and Highborn are my first DIYs, and were created specifically to provide antagonists to the Emerald Tigers. It took a long time before they became something with real depth, but I'm really pleased with how the Eyes of Tivan and the Antecruorian have turned out. Hopefully the Highborn will be similarly well-received. Now, the Highborn started off extremely derivative. They were originally called the Winter Court, and were based on the Winter Court of the Dresden Files. Eventually, I had decided rename them to something a tad more unique, so they became the Hybernan, which came about by me literally just tossing 'winter' at Google Translate. Over time, I took the Hybernan (and the Summer Court's Aestivan) and messed about with it until I had the Highborn (and the Eyes of Tivan). For a few years, this was all there was, minus a color scheme, as below: http://i.imgur.com/pablyaf.jpg Like with both the Emerald Tigers and Eyes of Tivan, the only real expansion this Warband got was when I got access to Fantasy Flight Games' Rites of Battle, and came to the realization that its Chapter Creation rules was just fun. I eventually came across a fan's attempt to Chaosify those random tables, and utilized that to create the first real expansion of the Highborn character. Quoted below are the results of those rolls. That reference to Magniat is about 4 years old, by the way. That's the last time this notepad file had been modified. Hence my super-squee moment when Magniat ended up referenced by Forge World as part of the 30k Ultramar Realm. So that provided the base, the framework around which I intend to build an Index Traitoris article. It's more than possible that none of that will remain in the finished article. The point of it is just to provide a base to build off of. In addition to a randomly created framework to build off of, I also make a mad collection of random tidbits and themes that crop up as ideas I want to implement in the finished article. I use that as my focus, referencing it as I modify and build off of the above framework. Quoted below is the tiny little bit I have so far. And this is what I will begin to use to create the Highborn article for this month's Liber Challenge (and the 20th Liber Experiment). At the moment, the only thing else I have to provide is a small piece I had written for a previous Inspirational Friday over in the Chaos forum: And here is a member of the Highborn, as recreated in Space Marine: http://i.imgur.com/p1GIrhV.jpg

Index Daemonica: The Antecruorian Daemonkin of Tivan Chaos is unstable. It fluctuates incessantly, its very flow counter to the rational mind, to order. As the domain, so are its denizens. Though the Chaos Gods are forever, they are not eternal. Though they have existed since time immemorial, they came into being well into their pre-existence. Once born, always existed. Though the daemons never truly die, their lives can be but the brief flickers of candlelight lost in the wind. These entities are forever changing, forever different, never uniform. The Antecruorian, the Born Unborn, are valuable examples of this reality. These daemonic creatures embodied certain aspects of Khorne since stripped, and perpetuated those aspects upon the galaxy. They were the blood-embrace, the first angels of death. They were the anger that raged quietly in the dark. It was they who lent killers their formidable charisma, who enticed and beguiled the innocent and the young to give the blood of life that their master so craved. To forsake the mundane life of virtue for an eternity of power and thirst. None encompassed the devil's blood-thirst like these monstrosities. Since before the beginnings of human history, these beasts, beautiful of form but terrible of spirit, plagued reality. Mankind was no stranger to their penetrating stare, the Antecruorian featuring in many legends, their nightmare following them from the darkness that surrounded their small fires to the empty black about their star. But the flows of the Warp change, and the waters of madness swelled with the pregnancy of a new god, born of the passions and addictions of an ancient race. Not all of its vast power was new, owned solely by this newborn deity. None either was borrowed, but drained or snatched whole, forever, from its equals. To be so diminished, to find oneself sharing the power of all between four where there was once only three, was not well received by the older gods. None raged at the birth of Slaanesh more ferociously than Khorne. For the birth of Slaanesh had erased, with sudden finality, one of his infernal Hosts, the Antecruorian. Once born, always existed. Slaanesh’s birth erased time and wrote it anew, giving this god an eternity of life before birth, just as it had done for those gods before Slaanesh, and as it will for those gods after Slaanesh. With time and existence making room for Slaanesh, the Antecruorian were erased from it. Time undone, atrocities, and afflictions visited upon the galaxy by the never-existed would fade away as a shattered timeline. Who could know what was lost, that which had never happened? Yet, not all was lost. Some memory of the Antecruorian remained, yet anchored by their daemon king, who by blood and ritual managed barely to survive the oncoming wave of unreality. Though known by many names of many tongues, the name given by the ancient Rumanii of Old Earth has remained with them past their nonexistence. Other names, distant legends, erased or subverted, become something else, such as the wamphyr, the strigoi. Perhaps it is because of their dark lord, protector of their gates, whose mortal name is long forgotten. When he rose to become Prince of the Antecruorians, he was known first as the Dracruor, the Blood Dragon. Some say he was the first Prince of this breed. Some say he was the last. Both true, both false, both irrelevant. In this now, he is the only. The Last Immortal, he has been seen across many other cultures of Old Earth, as well as other domains of humanity and beyond, and been known by as many names. When the shattered lands that once linked Nord and Sud Merica together were still enveloped with hot life, he was the War Serpent, Kukulkan. To the Lunar Chirurtechs, he was the Silent Scream. To the Eldarkin, before the rise of another would erase all memory, He Who Thirsts. Upon the distant colony of Moyscax, where he and his children reigned as Blood Gods in the outer night, where they would entomb themselves within protective earth from the galaxy-shattering cry of a new power, imprisoning their black souls within black stone, he was Tivan. For a thousand years, these blood gods survived on this world, Reigning supreme, but bound still. By replacing mortal hearts with these onyx coffins, Tivan and his children could possess and dominate. But never could they reach beyond, extend their infernal souls to be replenished in the winds of Chaos, for they yet remain anathema to its present design. To release themselves fully from their self-imprisonment in this time would be more than simple folly, it would unwrite their very existence from all of time. Only by being remade in the image of Khorne in the Blood God's current incarnation could they ever burst free from the chains they have bound themselves. Carnage, mayhem and massacres, the unthinking ferocity of murder and mindless fratricide. These are what the Blood God favor, what must be enacted a million times over for there to be metamorphosis. Though, there are some who say that this is not intended to receive once more their blood-father’s favor, but that the ritualized letting of Antecruorian blood is of altogether different symbolic relevance, a shifting of their daemonic essences to make them unaligned and free. Either possibility is irrelevant. The population of Moyscax would never be enough. But if bound to the XII Legion echelon in orbit, sent by the will of a false god in spite of a destiny writ in the blood of true divinity, the Antecruorian may yet live again . . . The story of the Antecruorian continues, as the Eyes of Tivan. =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= Roen screamed. His rifle lay inches away, but forgotten. The titan who towered above him encompassed the whole of his vision, and of his breaking mind. The beast, shaped like an angel of the Emperor yet so corrupted, so different, bellowed back, spittle spraying from the grille upon his helm that sizzled and burned wherever it touched, including Roen. Screaming still, in fear and agony, the guardsman weakly tried to pull himself away from the monster, across the rubble-strewn stone bridge. The titan’s head jerked back and to the side, shards of armor splintering away, the instant before the loud crack of a heavy-caliber rifle reached Roen’s ears. Roen paused in his scrabble, staring at the giant, his screams whimpering down to childlike moans and grunts of pain and exertion as he waited to see if the marksman, likely Lieben, had hit true. The traitor marine slowly rotated his head back, his whole frame visibly shaking as if containing an uncontrollable rage. Roen was struck by the vision he beheld, the fragmented helm revealing what was underneath to the light of the sun. Skin, white as marble and threaded by thick ropes of dark veins, framed an eye of all the madness of fury. As Roen stared, tiny flickers of flame appeared upon the exposed skin, the eye shriveling from the growing heat. The titan bellowed and contorted, stumbling towards the guardsman as it shed armor and skin alike. Any further screams were choked from Roen’s throat by the sight of the beast that had hidden within the World Eater. Almost Ork-like in appearance, yet devoid of its overdeveloped musculature, the tusks more finely pointed like fangs. Long and thin of limb, distended of belly, and aflame. Roen’s stomach lurched at the sight and his vision swam. The daemon pounded across the bridge, every footfall, and swipe of its claws tearing the bridge apart faster than a baneblade. Roen gagged, blood tears streamed his face, unable to flee. Distantly, the sniper Lieben lay twitching, his ears bleeding, as his mind tried, and failed, to comprehend the destruction that was being rewritten and undone as he witnessed it be wrought. The immense, burning hand closed about Roen’s torso, slamming downward with enough force to break through the bridge floor. The two forms plummeted between the towering hive spires amidst the rain of pulverized stone. The creature held fast his grip, pulling the rapidly dying guardsman to blackened lips. As the lifeblood left Roen, leaving him cold and dead, the last sight before unseeing eyes was of the diminishing bridge above, shifting back and forth between whole and pair of broken stubs. Fed upon blood, source of all power, did not save the daemon, as the consuming flames reached a fevered intensity. The creature shrieked, its cry shrill and terrible, and then detonated with nuclear fire. The expanding sphere of pure, unbound, yet flickering light was immediately visible to vessels in low orbit, and within seconds enveloped them. The planet splintered, cracked under the pressure, pieces of the world began moving independent of each other as . . . Trembling fingers found the trigger. Another resounding crack, and Roen’s rifle kicked against his shoulder. The beam burned through exposed flesh and into the brain behind the fiery eye. The World Eater ceased its contortions, and slowly collapsed, causing the stone bridge to tremble under the dead weight. Deep in the titan’s chest, a heart of black stone burns cold, empty. Daemon cage, it sat empty, void of unlife. What might have happened, in another reality, had it been filled? What destruction might such a creature have wrought when freed? Irrelevant. The battle continues. =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= TIVAN War Serpent of shattered sons, Blood Dragon of darkened skies The earliest recorded mention of the daemon now known as Tivan can be found deep in the central radwastes of Urazi, within the Ruslav Spires. There, kept under lock and key by the Inquisition, is a treasure trove of ancient, mythological information pertaining to the local region. These records are incomplete, and suffer greatly from countless generations of scholarly rewrites and biases, leaving only old recorded analyses of older analyses. These antiquated strictures detail a period of great turmoil for the Rumanii, as barbaric, eastern peoples waged terrible war upon them. Salvation came to the Rumanii in the form of one of their princes, whose prayers to the Sole Divine did not go unanswered. A legend speaks of this prince, visited in the night by a winged shadow, granting him angelic blood. This prince grew powerful, crushing those who had gathered before his gates, toppling all rivals to his domain, and inflicting a reign of terror upon his own. The name given to this prince upon his birth is long lost, all that remains is what, in frightened whispers, his people would call him long after his passing. Dracruor, the dragon of blood. This change of man into demon is far from thoroughly recorded, but accounts attributed to this Dracruor continue centuries after a would-be natural, mortal demise. Though somehow deposed from his position of political power, this entity would become a well-known terror within the darkness of night, preying upon humanity with rarely opposed abandon. The records state that this Dracruor had the capability of creating others like him and that many such children were made. However, no evidence has ever been found of these beasts crawling forth from his den. It was as if, in the process of transformation, they simply ceased to exist. Often throughout history, the Dracruor would fade from mortal memory, as if possessed of some demon trait to cause forgetfulness in all who consider him. Tracing his path upon Old Earth will lead one to the shattered islands of Meztli that link the Merican landmasses together. While even less reliable than the information found within the Ruslav Spires, there is some evidence of a feral god, the Kukulkan. This foul deity, popularly depicted as a great serpent, demanded blood sacrifices in his name, and molded the local tribes to his will. Though much in the myth of the War Serpent points to it and the Dracruor being the same entity, the matter is left unsettled due to the often-conflicting time periods, with some records of the Kukulkan pre-dating Dracruor. However, it is possible that the Kukulkan deity predates the creature known as Dracruor, and that in Dracruor’s travels he would come upon its worshipers who would mistake them for their terrible god. It is impossible to tell how long Dracruor took on the Kukulkan persona, as the march of central pre-civilization would eventually reach this western expanse, and with its coming bury these feral tribes beneath concrete and steel. In this age of ignorance and savagery, those dark times before Humanity would rise into the stars as a truly civilized race, the Dracruor was a figure of legendary malice. War-perpetrator, this vulture of the dead instigated conflicts of theretofore unheard of levels of bloodshed, every drop shed upon dry earth as refreshing to it as the drops that would pour down its inhuman throat. His myth also featured great amounts of guile and charisma. While when caught in the savagery of war this monster would be death for millions, it would also stalk the darkened alleys and shadowed recesses of Mankind’s villages, singling out individual victims and alluring them into its embrace. Often this latter persona of Dracruor’s was connected to the rise and fall of Luna, which perhaps makes it unsurprising what one can find in the recorded histories of the Selenekh Hallowdomes. The populace of Luna has long been a fey lot, easily given over to superstitions, but in this, they may not have been far from the truth. How or why the Dracruor traveled to Luna is not understood, but it quickly began making its mark once it set foot upon the grey dust. In time, the dusty plains surrounding the Selenekh Hallowdomes were littered with the desiccated corpses of the enchanted and the enticed. The chirurgeons of Luna were distressed by the bodies, their faces pulled tight and mouths frozen wide, caught in an eternal silent scream of horror in their final, tortured moments. The Dracruor would plague Luna for centuries, yet could never be cornered or brought to task. In fact, there is little to confirm that this creature of the moon is the Dracruor, but for its identifying behavior and what few reputable eyewitness accounts one can uncover. While potential incidents may have occurred that prove the Dracruor’s continued presence within the Sol System, it appears as though the beast took refuge within the great Hibernatships of Mankind’s initial diasporas into the greater black. Little reliable sources can be found on the creature from this point, though all told points to it perpetuating an age of darkness and blood upon many a world. During the Age of Strife, when the warpstorms isolated and swallowed the domains of humanity, all mention of the Dracruor ceases. Ancient cartographical data originating from the Great Crusade reveal the potential home of the Dracruor during this period. Labeled Moyscax, it was given a peripheral scan and superficial planetside exploration. What was found was a planet enveloped in dark jungles and hot waters, populated by warlike native humans who had truly gone feral upon the fall of civilization millennia prior. A false faith was prominently catalogued, as was the habit of Imperials of this age. The tribes of Moyscax worshiped a pantheon of dark gods who thirsted for blood, and who walked among them as if of them. Though their highest god, the most devoted one by the name of Tivan, matches all prior descriptions of the Dracruor, there are oddities to be found. For one, this Tivan is described as a god contained within the heart of stoneblood, and who walks and massacres among its faithful by means of a devoted taking this stone device within him or herself, replacing their mortal heart. Secondly, this account holds the only reliable source on the so-called children of the Dracruor, often hinted in older legends but never given weight due to severe lack of evidence. Matching in behavior and description, though in varying degrees sorely lacking in strength of will and physical prowess, these lesser deities are likewise encased within small, eye-scoured blocks of stone. Whatever the case may have been, the planet was tagged for immolation at the hands of the XII Legion, a task undertaken in the opening days of betrayal that would bring the Great Crusade to an end. Decades later, when Imperial vengeance entered Moyscax space, they found a planet still in a slow blaze, with the few survivors taken into Imperial possession raving of their need to attract their gods back to them with acts of bloodshed. They were in short order put down. In the process of confirming classification of Moyscax as a Dead World, no material evidence of their false faith was found, beyond the ruined remains of ossified temples splattered with boiled blood. Whatever was on Moyscax, if it was the Dracruor, left with the World Eaters. =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= BLOOD OF STONE Blood Nonetheless Rodon found the talisman archaic, rudimentary, and foul to his senses, as any trueborn son of Magnus would the blunt work of the Blood God. Yet, he could not help but admire the effectiveness to be found within its simplicity. The stone was warm to the touch, lightly pulsating in the semblance of beating life. Everything about it spoke to its nature. A rock of black glass, forged from the fiery blood found deep within the heart of a world. Its shape smooth and smoky, yet contoured to fit perfectly within the cavity of a full-grown man’s chest. An indentation upon the stone, that of a small circle, gave it the impression of an eye. It was the ritual importance of the eye that lent it its power and integrity, and yet the carving upon the stone predates the power of the eye as a ritual device. The Eye of Terra, not yet raised, not yet corrupted. The Eye of Terror, symbol of the Warp upon the material plane, not yet named. Eye of Horus, of Abaddon. The Eye of the Warmaster not yet born. The eye stared outward from the stone, and by looking out prevented all sight of within. It was basic, lacking in subtlety or complexity, yet Rodon found the blood-washed stone alluring. How this Tivan had the knowledge or wherewithal to even conceive of these black hearts, constructs that would house beings existing outside time that was, is and will be, was completely beyond him. Both the device and the daemon were decidedly unlike anything the Thousand Son had ever encountered among the Khorne-sworn. But then, he supposed that may be the point. =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= =][= To Become a God If Able Krune tore the twelfth heart from a screaming savage. It was a sacred number to his brothers, for it was their Legion numeral in the ancient past. It meant nothing to Krune, as this Legion many of his older brothers were once a part of meant nothing to him. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip on the young boy thrown flat upon the stone as it went into spasms. Krune passed the heart to a brother, who held it aloft with a roar before devouring it, and gestured for one of the gods to be handed over. Dutifully, an attendant serf, one of the Blood-touched, heavily scarred from the lash and the pit-duels, passed him the obsidian stone with reverence, his hands and forearmed heavily threaded with black lines from the contact. It was one of hundreds kept in the possession of Krune and his brothers, who each bore one within them as well. All had been upon a stone slab such as this one, their hearts ripped free and replaced. Gripping the small form of this lesser god in his armored palm, Krune once again marveled at the ease with which he could simply crush it, grind it into dust. Though such acts of deicide were not uncommon among his uncontrollable brothers, it was well known that all god-slayers are hunted down, slain and their skulls and obsidian hearts ground to powder, lest their perfidy taint the warband further. As always, Krune dismissed the thought and plunged the hand gripping the stone of liquid black into the boy’s chest cavity, holding it in place where the heart once was. Instantly, the body arched its back upwards, veins becoming visible as something darker than the space between stars threaded through. The screams sputtered and became choking, the spasms grew in strength. One of the serfs reached over with some gear taken from the corpse of a medicae, and stapled the boy’s chest closed. The boy’s head snapped around as the noises escaping his tortured throat became filled with anger. Eyes of the deepest black stared at Krune with pure hatred. Then the flesh around the eyes browned and blackened, and small embers formed in the eyes. The roars of anger degenerated back into screams of pain, as blackening spots appeared across the body. With a snarl of disgust, Krune tossed the boy off the altar with a swipe of an arm. It came to rest at the base of the temple of skulls among blackened skeletons just as flames began to flicker across the skin. Krune looked across at the other half dozen altars built upon the smoldering plains of this feral world. One of his distant brothers roared in triumph, holding high his sacrificial victim by the throat. Even across this considerable distance, Krune’s enhanced sight bore witness to the changes beginning to come upon the boy. He let out a deep growl as he gestured impatiently for the Blood-touched to drag forth another of the crying masses below. Krune tore the thirteenth heart from a screaming savage.

The Eyes of Tivan Blood for Blood Cast in the image of nobility and austerity, the proud, conflicted warriors of the Eyes of Tivan chose the wrong path to end their suffering. Broken warriors humbled and enslaved to wills greater than they, the passing of millennia and the incessant turmoil of war has eroded their identities until they can no longer tell the difference between servant and god. Age of Heroes "Come, sons of slaughter. The Enemy of All desires your presence, your power, your blood. Stare deep into the smoking mirrors and be reborn as Those Whose Slaves We Are. His eye is upon you already. In His sight, Tivan knows you.” -- High Priest of Moyscax, fourteen centuries before the Emperor unifies Terra The World Eaters' 30th Echelon had been ordered to break itself. The Warmaster's treachery had begun, but they were too distant to join in the wars on Istvaan III. And so its commander had been ordered, by their broken father, to purge his ranks of the weak of heart and arm upon the bloody shores of whichever world they came upon. Unknown to Captain Brute Tyrke, the feral jungles of Moyscax proved a more than adequate crucible. The world of Moyscax was one of deep green lands, broken only by the smudges of black and glaring red that marked the extensive fires that tried, and failed, to keep the jungles at bay. Fire of a different sort afflicted the world on the day of new stars. The 30th Echelon landed upon the world of Moyscax like a doomsday rain of meteors. The World Eaters' orders from their commander had been simple and exactly the kind they loved to hear. The world of Moyscax would not be brought into compliance. It would be butchered wholesale. With the Nails hammered into their skulls singing of blood and pain, the World Eaters tore through the settlements. Primitive warriors stood their ground against them and were struck down with impunity. Their wives and children were easier targets. However, no matter how easy the massacre, one truth played out across the world as the conquering sons butchered their way across. No matter the victim, no matter their abilities, they knew as little fear as their killers. Hate only was in their eyes. No matter the futility, they would strike back with all their weak might as life was torn from them. The first sign of the dangers Moyscax would pose was in the religious centers of the world. Great, mountainous piles of bones dominated the centers, flaming torches upon their peaks illuminating blood sacrifices that should never be known by humanity. Bodies with their hearts torn free would be kicked from the peak and tumble to the bottom. These bodies would barely begin to settle at the base when, horrifyingly, they would stand and race, screaming murder, for the nearest living thing. The World Eaters laughed in the face of these charges, but the laughter turned to blood in their throats when the unclothed, unarmed bleeding dead struck with enough power to shatter chainaxes and stab through ceramite armor. With blunt claws would they tear open the enemy, and with small fangs would they engorge themselves of blood and flesh. This was how Moyscax would defend itself against would-be conquerors. Had it been any other conqueror, they might have won. The chained warriors of the World Eaters welcomed death in the pursuit of bloodshed. No World Eater flinched from the dead, no matter that a dozen would die before the black-eyed monstrosities could be put down. The mountains of dead were toppled, the rituals subverted and those already turned struck down, at great loss. At the center of the world, deep within the primitive civilizations' grandest city, built upon an island of skulls that thrust from a shallow lake of blood, the World Eaters were held back the longest. As religious centers everywhere were stamped out with finality, often at the cost of the last living World Eater to assault it, Captain Tyrke led his finest up a mountain of dead that dwarfed the grandest of Moyscax's natural mountain ranges. Bodies twitched and with great fury freed themselves from the slopes to throw themselves upon hulking Astartes. Many Marines simply disappeared as hands void of muscle yet great of strength pulled them under too fast for the victim to roar with anger at his demise. None of it slowed their advance. As a force that began as hundreds, mere dozens reached the beclouded peak. Like the home of ancient gods, Moyscax's great temple was dark, foreboding and splashed red with blood. The survivors of Tyrke's command never once hesitated. The Nails prevented them from ever experiencing that. As one, they mobbed the Temple to meet and kill the dark gods of Moyscax. The Foundations Cracked "How could anyone champion this insanity? Necessity be damned, along this road lies only that fate from which we flee." -- Ragiin Loeras, former Techmarine of the Emperor's XII Legio Astartes, Lord of Outer Night Captain Tyrke's 30th Echelon left the burning world of Moyscax with a mere one hundred and fifty Marines, a loss of more than four for every five. Their lord father would have been pleased, if would ever care to know. The world of Moyscax had broken them, shattered them, and those few that emerged from the darkened temple high above the burning land had been marked, changed. Clutched tightly in his hands, Tyrke carried from its depths an icon of obsidian, which shined bright with the deepest black, torn bloodily from the hands of the Archpriest. Carved into its surface was a single, staring eye and its gaze was upon them all. The 30th Echelon no more, for there was no longer enough to form a Battalion, nor even a second Company. The World Eaters repainted their worlds clenched by the jaws upon their shoulders into that of the obsidian eye, christening themselves the Eyes of Tivan. Though small in strength, the Eyes of Tivan entered the battles of the Heresy as they always did. No hesitation, or a care for losses sustained. Reports abounded of a World Eater force that would strike loyalist worlds, burning their cities before drowning the flames in blood. They were fearless and savage, many so far gone that they didn't bother to arm or armor themselves before striking enemy lines with obscene force, their black eyes seemingly void of life or thought. Behind the naked savagery was the armored core. Just as relentless, just as savage, just as merciless. One band of World Eaters, releasing its own torrent of bloodshed to take part in the galactic flood, the rising tide finally slapping upon the shores of noble Terra. The actions of the Eyes of Tivan upon Terra are lost to history. The Siege was too great in scope for the minor details to be retained, but they left their mark nonetheless. Ten thousand years later, it remains a customary greeting to the denizens of the hives of western expanse of Hy Brasil to shine a light upon their face, to prove honorable intentions by showing the whites of their eyes. However, what history does hold is that the Warmaster's horde was defeated upon his death. Like their brothers, the Eyes of Tivan fled Terra. The Eye of Terror's gaze upon them burned like the obsidian eye of their icon, drew them in and embraced Blood is Life, Life is Eternal "They cannot hide the falseness of their faith. They believe it frees them, but it only chains them further. I know, oh, I know. I can feel the chains, the tick-tick-ticking of them in my head. These chains; we will never be free. Kill them all." -- Brute Tyrke, Red King of the Eyes of Tivan The Eyes of Tivan fared poorly during the Legion Wars following the Horus Heresy. More and more of their brethren fell to the singing of the Nails, to the brutal whisperings of their black-eyed patron. Though terrible in battle, their losses were more horrific still. It was a lesson their brothers had already learned. Give in to the blood, give in to the pain, and be free within it. It was a lesson their Lord refused to heed, as decades turned into centuries, though it was a battle he was destined to lose. The obsidian idol, never far from Tyrke's presence, was an ever-present companion within his own mind. There, from that pocket of red darkness that itched with such familiarity, understanding came. Life was enslavement. Death was no escape. The eternal game of the Gods would hold them hostage as pawns for as long as the game was played. Only the death of a God could upset the balance enough to end the game. Only with the game over could freedom be gained. As that dark presence within Tyrke's mind roared in victory, the Eyes of Tivan finally, finally gave in to the bidding of their Blood God, by vowing to take his head. Their eyes blackened, their minds deadened, their fury deepened. Lesser servants of their patron bonded to them, one and all. From that point on, sanity was expelled from their souls. They would wage war across the galaxy, working ever to undermine the actions of their own brother warbands. All the while, never knowing they have become nothing more than a tool for a lesser deity of the Warp to gain ascendancy within the Blood God's court. For Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows. Only that it flows. Combat Doctrine "Hrngh. Ah, the Nails bite is strong. Days in the blood pits, still they demand more. Damn them. Must I blacken my eyes to be free of this? Must I?" -- Blood-Sergeant Agalito Brog The Eyes of Tivan fight with all the bloody rage common to World Eater warbands. Aspects of war like ranged combat or armour divisions have become foreign elements, lost alongside their sanity. The Eyes of Tivan include themselves in the terrible crusades that spill with regularity from the oppressive Eye of Terror, spreading murder and hate across the Imperium. How the Eyes of Tivan strike out at the enemy varies by each member of the Warband. Some, such as their Chaos Lord, the Red King, wade into battle fully armored and armed. Many behave like further degraded Berzerkers, their rush to enter combat brought on by such a great need that things such as war plate or weapons are forgotten where they fall from clawed fingers. Like the tortured, lost sons of the Great Angel, the Eyes of Tivan exhibit many cannibalistic traits in their rages, preferring to drink of the blood rather than simply letting it spill upon the earth. Though nothing brings them more pleasure than slaking their bloodthirst upon the worshipers of the False Emperor, often it appears that their true intent is to break their own crusades. At the cusp of victory, the Eyes of Tivan turn from their grand slaughtering of the foe to visit the same destruction upon their erstwhile allies, all too often tipping the balance so that the forces of Chaos are routed. Though none now doubts the perfidy of the Eyes of Tivan, there are always over-prideful Chaos Lords who feel themselves invulnerable to such betrayals and rarely is the Warband without such a warhost. With such servants, their patron gains in power primarily by weakening or destroying the powerbases of its rivals. Organisation "There! Did you hear that? In the wind, listen! The whispers, they sound so near. The words are madness. Wait! What was that?" -- Last transmission of the 451st Jarglundd Recon; first recorded report of the phenomenon known as the Black Wind The numbers of the Eyes of Tivan are forever in flux. Though their recruitment process is quick, their manner of war means that it is rarely enough to keep them ever more than three, four hundred Marines. The Eyes of Tivan practice a terrible blood ritual to convert a recruit. The hapless victim is taken and their heart torn free. As the body twitches in its death throes, the blood and heart of a dead Marine is forced down the corpse's throat, while a Lord of Outer Night performs the binding ritual that seals one of their patron deity's lesser servants into the body. The practice fails more often than not, but enough of the recruits stand from the altar under their own power to keep the Eyes of Tivan from extinguishing themselves. Within the Warband, there is a very strict hierarchy. Lord of all is the Red King, Brute Tyrke, a hulking monster in Terminator armor with the obsidian eye implanted into the chestplate, though many say within his own chest as well. Though his own eyes shine just as black, it is no mere servant that inhabits his body alongside his own soul, but their patron, Tivan itself, that is bonded to him. Beneath him are the Lords of Outer Night, those high officers and commanders of the former 30th Echelon who, upon surviving the crucible of Moyscax, were granted the boon of Tivan's greater servants, blood gods themselves who were worshipped on that dark world. The remainders are the legionaries of the Warband, though a lesser caste exists below. These are the cultists that rally behind the Warband, the recruits whose transformations are stillborn, the Marines, of any rank, who failed to control themselves. These are the Blood Slaves, feral beasts without intelligence but full of ferocity and power. The Blood Slaves are the warband's shock troops, the first cast into battle. Rarely do any survive to leave it. Beliefs "Take their hearts and eat of it. Slice their throats and drink from it. Blood is power, so we keep it for ourselves. It makes our deaths all the more sweet, for it will not be our blood alone that flows from our veins." -- Ta'omes, Lord of Outer Night Over the millennia, the Eyes of Tivan have had their consciousnesses subverted by the entities they have taken into themselves, who now wear their skins. Though many have retained their former identities, much was lost. Most now identify strongly with the entities' memories and recall themselves as ancient blood gods, older than humanity. Whether the individual was lost to the daemon within, or was so corrupted that the two became one, is unknown even to the individuals themselves. Whatever the case, their bodies are suits no different from the armor they wear over it. The Eyes of Tivan are worshippers of Khorne of a different sort. Though they do not praise him specifically, they rally to his cause and are clearly crafted in his image. Their true beliefs are far more self-centered. The only gods they openly praise are themselves. This is their worldview, that they are the mortal forms of eternal gods, birthed for the sole purpose of preying on the galaxy. In interactions with other traitors, kin or otherwise, the rivalry they feel can be so overwhelming that they seek nothing more than their total destruction. Battle cry "I see you." --- --- --- --- --- --- --- http://i.imgur.com/F99l5vX.jpg Their icon is typical World Eater one, but replace the world with a black ball carved into an eye. Not the Eye of Horus, I am imagining a simple circle in the center to look like a pupil, with the cracks leading from the fangs looking like red veins. Thanks go to Kol Saresk for helping me come up with ideas.