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  1. Index Astartes: The Curs'ed Origin F orged in the fires of war, I, Genator-Magos Victorus Mortem, stood as the architect behind the birth of this accursed Chapter, emerging from the shadows of the Imperium's 21st founding. In those tumultuous times, as the embers of conflict consumed the galaxy, the Adeptus Mechanicus dared to delve into uncharted realms, seeking to shape superhuman warriors that could sway the tides of battle. Like a fateful Prometheus of the Imperium, amidst the clamour of war, I ventured forth to fashion a new breed of Space Marine, harnessing the power of experimental gene-seed and genetic manipulation. Drawing their lineage from Guilliman's noble seed, I handpicked descendants known for their genetic purity and unwavering dedication to the Imperium. But in my relentless pursuit of perfection, I hungered for the finest aspirants to breathe life into my creation. Thus, I delved deep into the vast archives of the Imperium, where fate led me to the citizens of Aberrantia. Among their ranks, I unearthed physically superior elites, pristine slates upon which I could etch my visionary masterpiece. Within the enigmatic realms of life and death, I dared to tread, manipulating the gene-seed to bestow upon them hyper-regenerative gifts, transforming them into beings capable of defying mortality itself. Yet, the wheels of fate spun treacherously, and my hubris birthed grave errors. Like a merciless curse woven into their essence, my creation became grotesque parodies of their once noble form. Bloated flesh, twisted growths, and ghastly scars marred their bodies, while their minds twisted and their souls tainted by the warp's malevolent touch. I bore the weight of shame for what I had wrought, my legacy now a cautionary tale echoing through the annals of time. Let my ill-fated creation stand as a sombre reminder, a testament to the perils faced by those who dare to assume the role of the Omnissiah. For those who meddle with the enigmatic mysteries of the universe, the consequences are dire, as witnessed through the cursed existence of my Chapter. May the echoes of my missteps reverberate across the generations, serving as a resounding lesson on the precipice of creation and destruction, forever etched in the annals of cautionary lore. Homeworld R uminating with a burdened heart, I contemplate the enigmatic tapestry of Aberrantia, the ill-fated homeworld I rashly selected for the Chapter's genesis. A realm of striking paradoxes, where lowly serfs toil amidst fields and humble villages, their abodes fashioned from wood and stone. Clad in modest attire, their garb exudes practicality, shielding them from nature's cruel whims. Despite their meagre existence, an unwavering devotion binds them to the Chapter, hailing the Adeptus Astartes as paragons of strength, valour, and honour. Within their modest culture, one discerns the motifs of modesty, resilience, and unwavering allegiance, interwoven into the Chapter's ethos. Yet, towering above the sprawl of Aberrantia, its gothic bastions pierce the heavens, casting a sombre shadow upon the masses. The aristocratic echelons, ensconced within their lofty enclaves, masked their true nature behind a veneer of ceaseless propaganda. Alas, I, Victorus Mortem, discovered the harrowing truth too late. This self-proclaimed elite bore within their bloodline an inherent flaw, their sordid dalliances with kin resulting in a profusion of mutations and aberrations meticulously concealed from imperial scrutiny. Oh, how the hubris of these nobles resonates with the perils that befell our genetic manipulations as we, too, ventured to tamper with the very essence of life itself. Contemplating the loathsome mutations that afflict Aberrantia's ruling class, my pursuit of redemption intermingles with an odd sense of...fascination. A perverse allure veils their contorted visages, artistry in the warped forms sculpted by the forces they sought to command. It serves as a stark testament to the might and caprice of genetics, an eternal reminder that the mastery of nature eludes our grasp. Alas, the once humble festivities that graced Aberrantia's land have met their untimely demise, much like all else touched by the curse I have unleashed. Once a jubilant occasion marking the bountiful autumn yield, the ‘Festival of the Reaping’ now devolves into a grotesque spectacle of excess and debauchery. The villagers no longer partake in modest appreciation of their fruitful labours; instead, they revel in gluttony and avarice, engorging themselves to the brink of sickness. The ‘Festival of Resurgence’, a time of rejuvenation and budding hopes, heralds on Aberrantia the advent of decay and demise. Villagers engage in macabre rituals of sacrifice, beseeching dark powers they believe can ensure a plentiful harvest. The mutations that beset the Chapter have seeped into every facet of existence upon Aberrantia, tainting even the most innocent celebrations with an irrevocable stain of horror and decay. The repercussions of my ill-fated genetic experimentation upon this world have yielded nought but calamity and desolation, forever etching a tale of woe that defies all remedy. It serves as a poignant reminder that, as Magi, we must ever ponder the delicate balance between the fruits of inquiry and the perils of unintended consequences. Thus, seated here, amidst the desolate remnants that befall Aberrantia, I cannot help but question if I have become nought but the Prometheus of the 41st Millennium, forever doomed to endure the torments of my hubris and transgressions against nature's religious order. Fortress Monastary A s I returned to the towering fortress monastery of the Space Marine Chapter years later, I was shocked to find it in utter ruin. The once imposing structure was now a mere shadow of its former self. The thick walls, once bristling with gun emplacements and turrets, now lay in disrepair. The massive gates that once guarded the entrance were rusted and broken, and the rare metals that once reinforced them were now tarnished and dull. Inside the walls, the once-a-hive of activity facilities was now abandoned and overgrown with vegetation. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the only sounds were rodents scurrying through the rubble. As I explored the ruins, I came across mounds of flesh sliced off and left on the floor, along with surgical tools that the Space Marines had used to keep their mutation in check. Clearly, the Chapter's mutation had overcome them, and they had succumbed to their hubris, leading to the downfall of 'The Mother, ' their once-great fortress-monastery. Founding Lore N ightfall descends upon my thoughts as I inscribe the dark history of the Chapter onto data-slates. Once heralded for their unrivalled gene-seed manipulation techniques, the Adeptus Astartes of this Chapter possessed hyper-regeneration abilities, granting them a formidable advantage on the battlefield. They blossomed in strength and influence, emerging as an indomitable force amidst the vast expanse of the galaxy. Their valour blazed like a nova as they fearlessly positioned themselves at the forefront of the most brutal conflicts, shielding their brethren of the Emperor from grievous harm. Their unwavering courage garnered immense admiration from fellow brother chapters, who held them in the highest regard. Yet, as the wheels of time turned, the growing trove of data collected by the Adeptus Biologis unveiled a disconcerting truth. Once believed to be infallible, the once lauded gene-seed manipulation techniques began to reveal signs of inherent fragility. Mutations and anomalies seeped into the ranks of the Space Marines, kindling apprehension within the Chapter's training cadre of Doom Eagles. Wounds and battle scars, once testimonies to their resilience, now festered with excess adipose tissue and scarred flesh, trapping perspiration, filth, and pathogens. Festering sores and minor infections burgeoned, fueling rampant skin growth and cellular regeneration. Their mobility became hampered, and in dire instances, some brothers could no longer don their revered grey suits of power armour. Though we endeavoured to quell the mutations, our efforts proved futile as the taint spread relentlessly. Piles of flesh excised from the afflicted Space Marines and the implements of surgical intervention employed to impede their degradation became commonplace sights within the Chapter's halls. As the mutations burgeoned and metastasised, the Chapter's once-glowing reputation dimmed to a pallid hue. Fellow Space Marine Chapters regarded them cautiously, wary of their unstable nature. Even their closest allies distanced themselves, reluctant to be associated with the shadow now cast upon the Chapter. A once-promising beacon in the firmament of the galaxy now teetered on the precipice, desperately struggling to retain its waning power and influence. Gene-Seed K neeling here in my laboratory, encircled by the instruments of my trade, I cannot help but reflect on the calamity that my creation has unleashed upon the galaxy. For you see, I am the mastermind behind one of the accursed Chapters of Adeptus Astartes that currently afflicts the Imperium. Keenly, I utilized Guilliman's gene-seed as the cornerstone of my work, yet I dared to manipulate the Ossmodula gland, responsible for augmenting bone density and muscular development, to forge a distinct prowess called Hyper-Regeneration. This ability, combined with the disciplined training and strategies of the Adeptus Astartes, was meant to elevate them as one of the most dreaded and revered Chapters in the cosmos. Alas, my ambition blinded me to the perils that awaited. Kindled far beyond my foresight, the gland became a maelstrom of hyperactivity, subjecting the cursed warriors to mutations and aberrations beyond mortal comprehension. How it escalated so uncontrollably, I cannot say. Whispers of conspiracy permeated the ranks, with some alleging that their disfigurements were not the result of some mysterious curse but rather my own ignorance of the truth. They accused the clandestine selective breeding by the planet's elite, embedding aspirants harbouring an array of incompatible genetic codes into the process, thus sowing the seeds of this cursed Chapter. The cursed warriors and the planet's governors found themselves besieged by doubt and trepidation as they pondered the true origin of their affliction. Was their fate preordained by their own kin? Were they mere pawns in a grander scheme, deployed to test the boundaries of possibility? In their bleakest hours, some even questioned if they were the fruits of a deranged Magos' failed experiment, a living embodiment of the consequences of tampering with life's essence. Once an emblem of the Imperium's might, the Ultramarine gene-seed had transmuted into a font of horror and desolation. My creation had birthed a Chapter that starkly contradicted Guilliman's and the Emperor's intentions. The accursed warriors were now feared and abhorred; their existence serves as a chilling reminder of the perils inherent in meddling with the very tapestry of existence. Recruitment E erily, as I contemplate my creations, I am engulfed by horror and remorse. The endeavour to recruit for the accursed Chapter commenced innocuously enough, selecting solely the most formidable aspirants from the elite of Aberrantia. However, as their hyper-regeneration burgeoned in might, the rituals became increasingly macabre. Embracing one such rite, christened 'The March,' was initially meant to inflict harm upon the aspirants, allowing the Apothecaries to refine their healing arts. They were compelled to traverse a treacherous path towards The Mother while burdened with a weighty load upon their backs, confronting obstacles and perils. Those who reached the journey's end without faltering or relinquishing their burden were deemed deserving of initiation. Embarking upon the path of the initiate, they were subjected to the Enigmatic Rite of the Pierced Flesh, which entailed enduring confinement within a Dread Casket without a single flinch or cry of anguish. This was a testament to their strength, resilience, and newfound regenerative abilities. The Dread Casket was a macabre contraption that instilled dread in all who beheld it. Resembling a cold, black coffin adorned with jagged spikes and hooks lining its interior, its exterior bore intricate designs depicting contorted and tormented souls, further heightening the pervasive sense of foreboding. Its cramped and uncomfortable interior ensured that no part of the victim's body remained unimpaled by the malicious spikes. The casket was meticulously sealed with latches and locks, ensuring the captive's inescapability. The scars left by the Dread Casket were indelible, worn as badges of honour by the Brethren of this woeful Chapter. As I retrospectively survey these abhorrent rituals, I cannot evade the weight of responsibility for the abominable creations I have wrought. The ramifications of playing deity with the very essence of life have proven to be profoundly terrifying. Chapter Doctrine and Faith N ever had I witnessed a more eerie spectacle than the one unfolding before my eyes, a ghastly ritual enacted by the members of my accursed creation. It was known as The Reclamation of the Body,' a sombre custom entailing the severing of the grotesque growths that sprouted from their flesh, a consequence of the unbridled expansion of their Ossmodula gland. This self-inflicted mutilation had become deeply ingrained in their beliefs, serving as a testament to their sacrifice and unwavering dedication to the Emperor. The atmosphere surrounding the ceremony was heavy with solemnity, casting a shroud of reverence upon the Brothers. With unyielding conviction, they embraced the belief that the excision of these growths was essential to better serve the Emperor and the Imperium. Regarded as a physical manifestation of the Chapter's affliction, the distorted tumours held symbolic significance. Through their removal, the Brothers sought to purify themselves of their wretched state, seeking absolution from their cursed existence. Before commencing the ritual, each Brother prepared himself, both in body and spirit, mentally steeling himself for the agony ahead. With grim determination, he took hold of his blade, its cold steel glinting in the dim light, and embarked on severing the malignant growths. Every incision was executed meticulously, a delicate dance to avoid harming vital organs or inducing excessive bleeding. As the Brother sliced away the tumours, his lips moved in silent supplication, uttering prayers and mantras beseeching the Emperor for strength and guidance. In their eyes, the torment and shedding of blood during the Reclamation of the Body assumed the form of penance, a means to atone for their accursed state. The Brothers embraced this suffering willingly, convinced that it was an indispensable path to absolution and an enhanced capacity to serve their divine sovereign. Upon completing the sombre rite, the Brother purified himself in a ritualistic bath, cleansing away the traces of blood and agony that clung to his weary form. Clad once more in his formidable armour, he emerged transformed, a symbol of resilience and dedication. The meticulously collected tumours were consigned to the purifying flames, their ashen remnants scattered by the whims of the wind, an outward sign of the Brother's purification and renewed purpose. The Reclamation of the Body stood as a potent symbol of the Cursed Chapter's unyielding fealty to the Emperor, a testament to their unwavering resolve to endure any torment in service of the Imperium. They sought absolution in their morbid devotion and tireless sacrifice, even amidst the darkest shadows that haunted their existence. The pain and suffering the members of the Cursed Chapter endured while cutting off their tumours would become a form of penance for their cursed state. They believed that their mutation was a punishment for some unknown sin, and the act of self-mutilation was a way to atone for their perceived wrongdoing. It was a painful and bloody ritual, but they endured with stoic resolve, seeing it as a necessary step in their journey towards redemption and purity. Cutting off their tumours symbolised their devotion to the Emperor, a way to show their unwavering loyalty and dedication to the Imperium. In their moments of introspection, the members of my Curs'ed Chapter found themselves bargaining with their fate, seeking a path to salvation. They yearned to be released from the burden of their mutation, to be free of the physical and emotional pain it brought upon them. They pleaded with the Emperor, offering their pain and suffering as a payment, a sacrifice to prove their worthiness of redemption. They believed they could bargain with their bodies through self-mutilation, negotiating for deliverance from their cursed state. With every slice of the blade, they hoped to buy a moment of respite, a chance to glimpse a future where they could serve the Emperor without the weight of their mutation dragging them down. Their ritualistic self-mutilation became a desperate plea, an attempt to find a way to regain their former glory and purity. They clung to the belief that their devotion and sacrifice would be rewarded and their suffering would not be in vain. It was a delicate balance between acceptance and resistance as they navigated the fine line between embracing their mutation as a gift and seeking a release from its shackles. In this bargaining stage, Brothers sought solace in their pain, viewing it as a currency to be traded for redemption. Their determination to overcome their cursed state and unwavering loyalty to the Emperor drove them forward, propelling them through the darkest depths of their suffering. And with each ritualistic act of self-mutilation, they clung to the hope that their pleas would be heard and their sacrifice would lead them to salvation. Despite the unmistakable weight of their disfigurement, the burden their mutation imposed upon their physical forms, the Chapter finally came to embrace an extraordinary conviction: to view their affliction not as a curse but as a necessary sacrifice bestowed upon them to better serve the Emperor. It was a perspective that set them apart, as they perceived their condition as a sacred gift, a divine bestowal that granted them unparalleled regenerative abilities, transforming them into fearsome warriors upon the blood-soaked stage of the battle. "O felix mutatio! Da nobis virtutem superare hostes nostros et in sanguine eorum gaudere!" Over time, the Chapter transformed the soul, gradually shifting their perception of their existence. What had once been met with trepidation and attempts at suppression gradually evolved into acceptance and reverence. Their mutated forms, once sources of anguish and despair, now became symbols of devotion, emblematic of their unyielding dedication to the Emperor and the Imperium. In the deepest recesses of their hearts, the Chapter began to believe that their mutation was not an aberration but a manifestation of the Emperor's divine will. They saw it as a peculiar mark of distinction, a sacred touch that set them apart from their brethren and endowed them with a formidable advantage. Their regenerative capabilities, honed to a razor's edge, elevated them to living weapons capable of enduring wounds that would cripple ordinary mortals and recover with astonishing swiftness. This newfound belief infused their ranks with a profound sense of purpose. They no longer fought against their mutation but embraced it as an integral part of their identity. Their physical deformities became a badge of honour, a testament to their unwavering loyalty and the Emperor's chosen path for them. Through their acceptance, the Brothers of the Cursed Chapter found solace and a renewed sense of belonging, no longer plagued by doubts or haunted by the spectre of their cursed existence. In the face of adversity, they drew strength from their shared conviction. The pain and suffering they endured, the excruciating process of self-mutilation and the weight of their unique burdens were embraced as holy rites, acts of devotion and sacrifice. Each slice of the blade upon their flesh was imbued with meaning, a testament to their unyielding faith and commitment to the Emperor's cause. As their acceptance grew, so too did their unity. They stood as a resolute brotherhood, bound by their shared mutation and their unshakeable belief in the divine purpose it served. Their once fragmented souls had fused into a collective will, an unbreakable resolve that propelled them forward, undeterred by the scorn of others. Deep within their hearts, they knew that their path was chosen, and their journey, though marred by suffering, was one of unswerving devotion and unwavering service. The Chapter had transitioned from a state of resistance to acceptance, transforming their perceived curse into a sacred mantle. They stood as living testaments to the Emperor's mysterious designs, finding strength and purpose in the aspect others deemed monstrous. They had become an embodiment of faith, a living testament to the indomitable spirit that resided within them. And with each passing day, their belief in their divine purpose burned brighter, casting aside the shadows of doubt and illuminating the path ahead. Tactical Imperatives S ummoned forth from the depths of forbidden knowledge, the curse that haunts the Chapter has woven itself intricately into the tapestry of their combat doctrine. It moulds their strategies, strengths, and vulnerabilities on the battlefield, imbuing their actions with themes of resilience, sacrifice, and unyielding determination arising from their tormented existence. Swathed in the shroud of adversity, their resilience is a testament to their wretched nature. The grotesque mutations etched upon their forms grant them a fortitude beyond mortal ken. They endure, defying the limitations of flesh and bone, bearing wounds that would crumble lesser beings. Through pain and anguish, they forge ahead, unyielding in their pursuit of victory. Like a relentless tempest, they weather the storm of battle, their tenacity unmatched. In sacrifice lies their grim purpose. Their bodies become the altar they offer themselves for the greater good. Their plight, a macabre offering, drives them to protect their comrades at any cost. They cast themselves into the fray, bearing the weight of the enemy's fury upon their mutated frames, shielding their kin from harm. Their existence embodies selflessness, a living sacrifice for the Imperium's cause. From the crucible of affliction, their determination emerges unyielding. The curse, a constant reminder of their wretched fate, fuels their unwavering resolve. In the face of insurmountable odds, they stand firm, unflinching. Their souls were aflame with an undying passion; they pressed forward, their hearts resolute, their spirits unbreakable. No obstacle can deter them; no setback can extinguish the fire that burns within their malformed souls. Adapting to their twisted forms, their combat doctrine evolves. They wield their physical bulk as a weapon, a monstrous force unleashed upon the enemy's ranks. Their movements, slow yet purposeful, are calculated and precise, leveraging their mass to crush all who oppose them. Through the perverse blessings of regeneration, they endure protracted battles, wearing down their adversaries with a grim determination. Each scar upon their flesh becomes a testament to their resilience, a mark of endurance etched upon their very beings. The Chapter's combat doctrine takes shape in the dark realm where science melds with abomination. It is a grotesque symphony of resilience, sacrifice, and unyielding determination, played out upon the stage of war. They find strength, purpose, and an unparalleled capacity to endure through the curse that plagues them. Though shunned and reviled, they march forward, their existence a chilling reminder of the depths to which humanity can descend in its relentless pursuit of power. Chapter Master T ouched by unwavering loyalty and fueled by unyielding determination, Captain Lucian Tiberius of the Doom Eagles emerged as a shining example amidst the inception of this abhorrent creation. However, as the magnitude of its horror became undeniable, he found himself compelled to make a fateful decision—to renounce his oath as Chapter Master and embark on a solemn pilgrimage back to his origins, driven by the sole purpose of purging the Galaxy from the abomination I had unleashed. Clad in his resplendent grey power armour adorned with intricate symbols of devotion, he embodies the spirit of self-sacrifice and resilience that defined the Chapter so quickly in those early days. Lucian's towering figure, marked by battle scars and the weight of his responsibilities, commands respect and inspires awe among his brethren. His noble countenance reflected a steadfast resolve and unwavering dedication to the Emperor and the Imperium. His piercing blue eyes, hardened by countless trials, reveal both the weight of his burdens and the fire of his righteous fury. With a tactical mind honed through years of warfare, Lucian possessed a brilliant strategic and political mind that allowed him to navigate the treacherous path of leading this doomed Chapter. His ability to analyse complex battle scenarios, anticipate enemy movements, and adapt swiftly to changing circumstances has earned him the admiration of his brothers and the respect of his allies. Lucian's charisma and commanding presence made him a natural leader, inspiring his warriors to push beyond their limits and face the horrors of their mutation with unwavering courage. He led by example wherever possible, charging fearlessly into the heart of the fray, his thunderous strikes and unyielding determination inspiring his brothers to follow suit. But it is Lucian's unshakeable faith in the righteousness of their cause that truly sets him apart. Despite the burdens imposed by their cursed state, his conviction in his belief that their mutation was a punishment for a sin sent from the Emperor, a trial to redeem their resolve and commitment to his service, he almost willed into existence. He tirelessly emphasised the importance of their duty to protect the Imperium, instilling in his brethren a sense of purpose and a belief that their suffering has a higher meaning. I know of no greater soldier than he. His conviction was true until the end when he led the charge with unwavering resolve alongside the Doom Eagles against the monsters they had become. Lucian Tiberius was a living embodiment of what the Chapter's values could have been; a symbol of hope and a testament to the power of faith and resilience in the face of adversity. The Fall E thereal unease engulfs me as I witness the dreadful transformation unfolding before my eyes. The once noble Brothers of the chapter, now ensnared in the clutches of this grotesque affliction, find themselves condemned to a wretched metamorphosis. With each passing moment, their corporeal forms, once defined by strength and purpose, contort into an abomination of flesh. Twisted and warped, their bodies become host to engorged masses of repulsive tissue, a grotesque manifestation of malignant growths and bulging protrusions. These deformities sprawl across their once proud frames, engendering both a morbid fascination and deep repulsion within me. Their every movement is now imprisoned within the confines of their own monstrous bulk, their once agile forms reduced to immobility under the weight of their mutations. Limbs, once crafted for precision and honed in the crucible of warfare, writhe in twisted agony, their true essence obscured in a state of perpetual distortion. They have become mere caricatures of their former glory, trapped within their grotesque and torturous existence. The torment inflicted upon them extends beyond physical affliction. Their lungs, distorted and misshapen, strain beneath the weight of their burgeoning growths. The air they inhale, thick with the stench of decay and putrescence, is a fleeting resource. The once indomitable Brothers, champions of resilience, are reduced to gasping for each breath, their inevitable suffocation looming ever closer. In their final moments, muted screams escape their disfigured mouths, suffocated by the fleshy encasement that has claimed them. Despair and agony reflect in their glazed eyes, witnessing their flesh devouring them from within. The pulsating tumours, fueled by a malevolent force, continue their unrelenting expansion, crushing vital organs and extinguishing the last flickers of life. This wretched stage, so pitiful and abhorrent, marks the initial descent of the chapter into a vortex of physical deterioration. Once celebrated warriors, the Brothers now succumb to the ravages of their uncontrollable mutations. Their demise, a tragic irony, is an embodiment of their genetic enhancements turned against them, consuming them in an unforgiving embrace. As their bodies twist and deform, their visage evokes nought but horror and revulsion from their former comrades within the Imperium. Adorned with bulging tumours and writhing flesh, they are no longer regarded as brothers-in-arms but as pariahs, an affront to the purity of the Emperor's design. The rejection they face from their once-familiar allies weighs heavily upon their already burdened souls. Isolation becomes their damning companion as they are shunned and cast aside by those who once fought alongside them. Once so steadfast, the bonds of brotherhood and camaraderie crumble in the face of their grotesque transformation. The Imperial forces keep their distance, fearful that this mutation may be contagious. They are met with fear and disgust, viewed as harbingers of corruption rather than stalwart defenders. The rejection and hostility sear deep into their psyche, plunging them further into despair and madness. Estranged from the support they once cherished, they spiral into the recesses of their tortured minds. Whispers from the warp invade their thoughts, sowing seeds of doubt and malevolence. Like fragile glass, their sanity shatters under the relentless weight of despair. Alas, no reinforcements come to their aid. The mutation that consumes them is a secret they bear alone. They confront the horrors of their existence, abandoned by the Imperium they swore to protect. It is a harrowing truth that entwines their fate with hopelessness and despair. The realization settles, heavy and unyielding, that they are condemned to face this insidious mutation alone. Desperation engulfs them, fueled by the primal instinct to survive. The remaining Brothers, forsaking all bonds of brotherhood, turn upon each other with savage ferocity. Honour and loyalty hold no sway as they engage in brutal battles, driven solely by the need to ensure their own preservation. Within this frenzied state, violence becomes the catalyst that ignites their mutations into a savage frenzy. Every blow struck, every life taken, breathes perverse vitality into their twisted flesh. Once contained and grotesque, the mutations now thrive and multiply at an alarming pace. Their growth accelerates with each act of brutality, a gruesome testament to their descent into darkness. Once proud warriors, they merge into a nightmarish assemblage of limbs, appendages, and seething tumours. The fallen Brothers become building blocks for their mutated brethren, assimilated into the monstrous masses that roam the chapter's ranks. The unity and brotherhood they once cherished lie shattered and forgotten. In this wretched stage, the chapter becomes a tableau of internecine conflict. No longer driven by noble disagreements, their battles devolve into a grotesque struggle for dominance. The mutated monstrosities tear through the ranks ruthlessly, guided by their insatiable hunger and the instinct to overpower one another. Friend and foe become indistinguishable in this macabre spectacle of carnage. Unity and honour, once their guiding lights, crumble beneath desperation. Survival at any cost eclipses the noble ideals they once upheld. They have become savage beasts locked in a brutal fight for existence in a world that has forsaken them. Amidst this despair, a ray of hope emerges as their former Chapter Master, Lucian Tiberius, returns to lead the charge. Alongside the Doom Eagles, he marshals an extermination force with one singular purpose: to eradicate the mutated Brothers and cleanse the stain of their existence. The arrival of Lucian Tiberius, a figure once revered and respected, sparks a fragile glimmer of relief among the surviving Imperial forces. His presence promises an end to the grotesque horrors that have plagued the chapter. In the face of despair, they cling to this fleeting thread of optimism, yearning for liberation from the torment endured. Together, Lucian Tiberius and the Doom Eagles unleash a relentless assault. Their firepower and martial prowess converge upon the twisted ranks of the mutated chapter, each strike infused with a fervent desire to end their suffering and bring closure to this dark chapter of history. Yet, despite their combined might and unwavering determination, the mutated Brothers prove a formidable adversary. Their grotesque flesh and unholy resilience grant them an uncanny resistance to destruction. The battle rages on, the clash of blade and bolter echoing across the scarred landscape, but victory remains elusive. As the conflict escalates and the cost rises, a grim realization settles upon the battlefield. The combined force of Lucian Tiberius and the Doom Eagles is insufficient to fully extinguish the twisted presence of the mutated chapter. Faced with no alternative, a desperate decision is made. The planet, the very stage upon which this gruesome chapter met its downfall, is condemned to utter annihilation. The Exterminatus order is issued, and the Atmospheric Incinerator Torpedoes rain upon the doomed world, consuming it in an all-consuming inferno. In the cataclysmic conflagration that ensues, the mutated chapter is obliterated. Nought remains, but smouldering ruins and fading echoes. The pain and agony they endured, the abominations they became, are finally extinguished. The haunting silence that descends upon the scorched remnants of their proud fortress-monastery signals the end of an era. Amidst the aftermath, a bittersweet sense of relief washes over the survivors and witnesses of the chapter's grisly demise. The torment has ended, and the darkness that once engulfed their lives is lifted. The sacrifices made, the battles fought, and the unimaginable horrors endured will forever be etched in their memories. They serve as a solemn reminder of the price paid to rid the galaxy of such a twisted aberration. Ultimately, the chapter's tragic tale concludes with resounding finality. Their name is forever lost to the annals of time. Known only to me as My Curs'ed. The pain and despair that plagued them, the noble ideals corrupted by the monstrous transformation, are laid to rest. Their legacy, once one of honour and heroism, is forever marred by the grotesque fate that befell them. A grim reminder echoes through the annals of the Imperium, warning of the horrors that can befall even the noblest of warriors. Aftermath In the aftermath of the chapter's catastrophic fall and the cruel Exterminatus that befell them and their cherished homeworld, the once-proud warriors, who once stood tall and resolute, are now nought but remnants of an extinguished flame. Their valor and might reduced to scattered embers, dispersed by the merciless winds of fate. In this desolate abyss of despair, where darkness reigns supreme, I, the sole repository of their memory, bear witness to their tragic tale. I, the Genator-Magos, have traversed the charred remains of their ancestral grounds, where once they stood as paragons of strength and glory. Now, all that remains are echoes, whispers carried on the cold gusts of regret. The knowledge of their existence lies solely within the confines of my burdened soul, entrusted to me as an unwelcome gift, bestowed by the cruel hand of destiny. Amidst the desolation, a flicker of a nightmarish return emerged, a mere glimmer amid the ashen wasteland. Deep range scans, conducted with trepidation and a tinge of desperation, reveal a singular artifact buried beneath the layers of desecration. A lone pauldron, battered and scorched, lies entombed within the heart of the world now cloaked in grey shroud. A symbol of a past once revered, now but a relic of a bygone era. Yet, in the depths of despair, a chilling realization descends upon my weary spirit. As I gaze upon the ravaged landscape, a shadow, elusive and enigmatic, dances amidst the ruins. A phantom of movement, defying the logic of survival, defying the very fabric of my understanding. Could it be, against all odds, that a survivor has emerged from the abyss? A solitary figure, defying the ravages of time and the merciless hand of destruction? That image, forever etched upon the tapestry of my tormented mind, shall haunt me till the end of my days. For in that fleeting moment, hope rescinded and dread intertwined, casting a veil of uncertainty over the tragedy that has unfolded. The chapter, now consumed by the flames of oblivion, may yet hold life, a spark refusing to be extinguished. And so, with trepidation and a heart burdened with responsibility, I embark upon a journey into the abyss, driven by an insatiable curiosity and the desperate need to unravel the mysteries that lie shrouded in the aftermath. In the bleakness of this forsaken realm, where life and death dance a macabre waltz, the fate of the fallen chapter hangs in the balance. What awaits me in this realm of sorrow and ruin? Only time will unveil the secrets that lie dormant, waiting to be unearthed in the ashes of their and my own shattered legacies.
  2. I was thinking, and... I want to convert some Black Dragons models. However, I don't want to run actual Black Dragons, because then I have to stick to regular lore. I was thinking Reivers rules for specialized Dragons melee models. However, I'm not sure if the Black Dragons can have a successor. Thoughts?
  3. Hello and welcome to yet another of me and Umbral's ongoing exercises in Hobby ADHD. This time, we step away from the grainy past of the Unification Wars and Horus Heresy - and, for that matter, recoil from the Inquisitorial goings-on of the Grim Shadows of the 41st Millennium - to present you something rather more straightforward. In this instance ... a chapter of Space Marines called the Adamanticores, depicted at their relative height in the early 38th Millennium. Now, a proper write-up of the fluff behind these absolute beauties will shortly be incoming [and the revelation for what might seem, at first, to be somewhat temporally inconsistent design-choices will arrive as part of that]; but for the moment, let's just enjoy the view. First up, a Veteran Sergeant equipped with a combi-plas bolter and power-sword; decked out in a composite hand-crafted armour which draws elements from an array of marks presently in Imperial service [note the Mk.III legs and hardened Mk.IV helm], plus a somewhat experimental power-pack not yet in common production... Next, one of his squadmates - a marksman by specialization, again adorned in a composite plate and with a longer make of bolter for additional range in his chosen battlefield role. [although he'll be no slouch in close assault, either - that chainblade bayonet looks rather nasty!] Third, is another weapon specialist - this time, another combi-plas wielder, who's steadying his main weapon whilst also holding his close combat blade ready for a swift employment. Of arguable interest is his choice of Mk.VI legs and power-pack for perhaps quieter operations than his comrades' predominant Mk.III stylings. Finally, we have a gallant captain for this small detachment - equipped with a fine artificer-developed plasma weapon and [potentially double-handed] power sword; as well as being clad in a most unusual and advanced pattern of power armour.. There'll be more along shortly [including a Truescale Terminator who absolutely has to be seen to be believed] ... but interested to see what you make of them :)
  4. I'm not sure this force will be my next DIY, but I felt that even this tidbit would be appropriate, given the recent updates to the Basilisks. The Pythons will receive updates, too, just not 100% sure how soon. Chapter Datafile: Baal Pythons Primary Data Founding 21st Progenitor Legion Blood Angels Known Descendants None Homeworld Unknown Status Excommunicate Traitoris Notable History Originally known by the name of the Blood Angels' homeworld, their time in the warp and loss of their own records have corrupted the speech of the Baal Pythons, who now identify themselves with a mispronunciation of their former name. Inquisitorial records of the Cursed Founding name the Pythons among the Chapters created, but from the very date of their sanctioning until 198M41 the Chapter has no registered appearances on any battlefield, nor submitted any tithes, but has been lost to all Imperial knowledge. Curators were hesitant to label the Chapter as destroyed when it was unclear whether or not a single marine was even created. Such is no longer the case. Having emerged from the warp transmitting dated imperial codes and bearing the heraldry recorded under their name, the Baal Pythons have returned. The fleet transmissions of the Pythons lasted less than an hour, and were heavily encrypted. To date only portions are understood which appear to implicate the Basilisks Chapter in heretical gene experimentation. The Pythons did not remain to be questioned, but fled again through the warp at the appearance of the first Imperial vessel. These encounters repeated until the Pythons finally appeared to find what they were looking for: The Basilisks' fleet. An Imperial Navy patrol found the Pythons with a sizeable fleet engaging the Basilisks in ship to ship. When Navy forces called for a cease fire, the Pythons turned their guns on the Navy ships, destroying one as they fled again into the warp. Remains recovered from the battle reveal that the Pythons have been horrifically mutated, and they have since been declared Excommunicate Traitoris. What remains of the Chapter continues to harass the Basilisks while avoiding other sources of Imperial contact. They have begun to make open transmissions once more, but their garbled broken language and persistent outdated codes have made their intentions unclear.
  5. HALLS OF THE BLIND: The Bronze Prophets They can see what you see not...vision milky then eyes rot...when you turn, they will be gone...whispering their hidden song... - Excerpt from the heretical ramblings of the 'prophet' Melchior Keb Long and strange is the saga of the Bronze Prophets of the Adeptus Astartes. Though once among the finest of marines, the calamities which afflict them have caused many to question their purity. There can be little doubt that their origins lie in that most benighted of times - the Cursed Founding. Origins Our wars are fought on the edge of Limbo, as its winds roar around us. The scars of our battles lie on the inside, not on our skin. The destruction those wounds wreak may leave nothing. We are the veterans of the wars of the mind, and we know no fear, for the Emperor is with us. - Inscription above the entrance to the Bronze Prophets' Fortress Monastery Bronze Prophet Like many Cursed Founding chapters, little or nothing is confirmed about the creation of the Bronze Prophets. Despite this, many horrific legends surround them, whispered in darkness by the fearful.. Whether these tales are created by the Prophets themselves or are whispers of truth that have slowly spread across the Imperium is impossible to say. These legends say that the Bronze Prophets, in the early years of their founding, were a mighty force. They were keen of eye, strong of limb, and sharp of intellect, even by the standards of Space Marines. The enemies of mankind fell before them, and each victory was cause for great rejoicing in the Auguria, their monastery on their home world of Pawrath. Many are the stories of their victories
  6. Index Astartes The Basilisks Chapter “To know that our eyes are upon them must cause our enemies to be paralyzed with fear, to acknowledge the immediacy of their mortal lives. To look upon our silent gaze, they must know death, swift and sure!”-Asmodeus, 1st Serpent Lord Origins Meeting of Inquisitor Moisei and Master Kalis “Many eyes have pried into the cloying shadows of that founding, Inquisitor. Few have found what they sought. Fewer still have emerged unscathed.” The Inquisitor scoffed, but had no reply. The power armored giant chuckled again. “Don’t let my words deter you. We have the utmost interest in your…findings” Of the many Chapters birthed from the darkness of the 21st founding, few proved successful, and many were even driven swiftly to extinction. Among the enduring 'Cursed' Chapters are the Basilisks. If they were created with a specific purpose, it remains unknown. Official observers have concluded that the Basilisks are of Iron Hands descent, attested to by their doctrine, and a timely submission of gene-seed tithes. Since the time they emerged from the void no records have followed to confirm this, or give any other clues regarding their origins…which isn’t to say that no one is looking. Multiple factions within the Imperium have, in the past, questioned both the legitimacy of the Chapter’s genetic material, and its loyalty to the Emperor. Some still do. The Basilisks have, with great effort, evaded most unwanted attention, though they are still dogged from sector to sector by one Inquisitor Moisei, who has long doubted how such ‘purity’ could have emerged from the 21st Founding. The Chapter avoids as much contact with these and other Imperial Forces as possible, remaining tight-lipped under whatever scrutiny the Inquisition attempts to pursue…which has done nothing to dissuade their detractors. The Fleet Final audiolog from the pirate frigate Sorento “Is that a cruiser!? An Astartes cruiser!? You said the frigate was a Trader! Get us back to the fleet, now! Damn it all, is that another? Brace for im----” To the knowledge of the Imperium and even the Basilisks themselves, they had no world of origin. Since they were first sighted plowing through the void, no marine has set foot planetside except to do battle. The fleet is extensive, and continually grows with the addition of captured ships. These include a startlingly high concentration of Battle Barges, which despite being of a younger and smaller caliber than the venerable vessels of the Heresy, are able to give significant body to the otherwise thinly spread Basilisk fleet. The Monastery Battle Barge Serpent's Tongue and its escort are found at the heart of the fleet, where they are best able to support any engagement, while the rest of the fleet is spread in a loose, coiling line across a vast stretch of space on either side and there is no consistent course or predictability to the fleet’s movements. Constant communication is maintained from one end of the fleet to the other with as much accuracy as possible in an effort to allow fleet elements to redeploy for support as quickly as possible. The Chapter’s more frequent enemies, traitor fleets and pirates both human and xenos, have learned to attack or flee at the first sign of a Basilisk ship, as reinforcements are never far behind. In turn, the Basilisks have developed an expertise in rapid boarding actions as well as improved methods of defending smaller patrol fleets. Recruitment Survivors The Apothecary’s expression was impassive as he dressed the recruit’s wounds, stemming the open flow of blood issuing from his arm and side, while the man lay still on the table. His eyes stared straight up, unmoving. He would survive his wounds, but whether or not hypnotherapy and conditioning could get him past the mental trauma remained to be seen. The Chaplain stood looking silently on for a long time, but finally revealed his purpose. “Can you describe what you saw?” The recruit flinched; the Chaplain had undone all his effort thus far to bury the last eight hours, but he did not change his gaze. Eventually, he slowly shook his head. The Chaplain appeared to be satisfied, and turned and began walking from the room. “One final test awaits you,” The Chaplain stopped at the doorway, “Steel yourself. You will return to that ship again before your trial is over. If you are not ready, you will become what you now fear. To become one of us, you must know no fear.” The neophyte sat bolt upright, heading snapping to the doorway, but the Chaplain had gone. Falling slowly back to the table as the Apothecary grumbled at replacing the newly torn wrappings. The recruit’s gaze returned to the ceiling. Back to the ship. One more time. Like most Chapters of the Cursed Founding, the greatest challenge of the Basilisks is not victory in battle, but propagation. In order to maintain a flow of successful initiates, the Chapter takes suitable candidates en masse from liberated worlds. For the inhabitants of such worlds, it is the price paid for freedom, as the green clad Astartes move among them, claiming the choicest of their youth. No word of explanation is ever given and often the Basilisks leave a liberated world without the planet's inhabitants even knowing who they are. Few worlds visited by the Basilisks understand anything more about their visitation other than that they are purged of whatever heresy plagues them in return for however many children the marines choose to spirit away. The trials faced by recruits are among the most lethal of tests employed by Space Marines, and despite taking large numbers of prospective initiates there are very few survivors. While the exact nature of the trials is unknown, the bodies of most failed neophytes are unceremoniously jettisoned into the void, and their occasional recovery by Inquisitor Moisei has long fueled his obsessive investigation. Some of these corpses appear to have been pierced by the fangs of some great maw, others torn by man made weapons, and still others show signs of both. These aren’t unusual fates among Astartes recruits, but they do indicate that the Basilisks house some sort of creature for these trials, though no one has ever observed the Basilisks collecting any such specimens. The Chapter keeps a fairly large body of serfs, but they are maintained at a distant arms length, usually assigned to the support of ships in the fleet rather than working with battle brothers. This is the most fortunate fate to befall unfit recruits, while the dregs are augmented or turned into servitors to assist the Techmarines in their considerable work. Combat Doctrine Day 16 of the Wailing Portent Campaign For two days the rangers of Iybraesil had lain in wait, assured by the Farseer that the humans would pass this way with minimal support. While Ynarana’s banshees were too important to set aside for days at a time, they would arrive in time to mop up. Mendor and his squad were beginning to shift into ready positions as the appointed time came close, sliding the barrels of their long rifles over ledges amid the debris of the ruins, sighting down the only clear path through the area. Minutes passed, then hours. Mendor began to stretch, and sniffed as a strange scent reached his nose. He had turned part way toward the source when he felt his muscles seize up, his eyes catching sight of a small canister on the ground nearby. He couldn’t move. The ground crunched heavily beside him, but he couldn’t turn to look. What came into view first was Ynarana’s head, jaw slack, eyes sightlessly staring, hair caught in the gauntleted fist of a Space Marine. The green armored figure crouched down. “Expecting someone, witch-kin?” Issued the voice from the helmet, then the figure straightened up and Mendor saw the free hand reach for him and felt the grip on the back of his neck, pulling him easily off his feet, “Worry not. We will keep you company. We can discuss the location of your webway gates.” AAll of the Basilisks most significant actions have either been ship to ship boarding maneuvers, or targeted at planetside orbital defenses, usually aimed at creating a beachhead for other Imperial forces. The Basilisks don’t wait for support, and the forces these beacheads are intended for are usually days or even weeks behind. The Chapter has become adept at creating large, defensible groundside footholds, and loyalist forces descending on a world visited by the Basilisks will often find well stocked defenses waiting for them, though the Chapter itself is frequently gone by then. The Basilisks are extremely well suited to fighting in the cold confines of dying capital ships, as well as the shadow-pocked, rubble strewn, urban battlefields of hive worlds. Indeed, they seem to prefer such restrictive environments. On a larger scale, the fleet of the Basilisks feels like an omnipresent threat to enemies of the Chapter or the Imperium, for wherever there is one ship there are not only several more close at hand, but virtually half the fleet can redeploy to an engagement before within short order of the commencement of hostilities. In fleet engagements, their ships seek to close quickly to boarding distance, from multiple angles if possible, in order to disable and capture enemy vessels before they can react, after which said ships are usually used against the very planet or fleet they had defended. One favored tactic involves covertly introducing a paralytic nerve agent into an enemy vessel’s environmental systems, leaving entire crews helplessly at the Basilisk's mercy, which is, at best a quick shot to the head and at worst a one-way trip to the airlock. Basilisk attacks can be quick, or prolonged, according to the adaptability of the Codex and tactics inspired by the creature for which the Chapter is named. The initial strike of any Basilisk force is aimed at forcing the enemy to dig in, whether by pinning them with hails of ranged fire or holding them in place with bloody assaults. If this fails the strike force will fall back, regroup, and repeat the attempt until successful. As soon as the Basilisk force has ‘caught hold’ of the enemy, they move to surround them. Usually this is done by drop pod assault into the enemy’s rear rather than redeployment of ground forces, but fast moving tactical units have effectively fenced in target forces on many occasions. Once surrounded, the Basilisks either grind the foe into oblivion with steady and unrelenting fire, supported by assault units that flush out entrenched targets, or the Chapter may employ an orbital bombardment, destroying everything within their grip. If said grip should be broken, or the enemy can’t be held down long enough to surround, the Basilisk force will withdraw, usually to make an attempt from another angle. The Chapter does not move or fight with such fluidity on an open battleground, and their tactics are far less effective in pitched battle situations. At these times the Basilisks are more likely to break off the attack and seek to engage the enemy in an area more of their choosing, or to bleed them with endless hit-and-run attacks that drain the enemy of vitality each time. What few Scouts they employ are adepts of sabotage, especially using poisons. Where this proves ineffective, such as against the multi-filtered nervous and digestive system of other marines, more direct means are used, such as explosives. Sabotage like that is usually aimed at enemy ammunition supplies and armor. In more urgent situations, or especially if striking at a port or manufactorum, the enemy may be shelled using the same gaseous nerve agent employed in their boarding actions in an effort to minimize damage to salvageable assets. The tactic is often looked down on as cowardice by other Astartes, but the Basilisks are either oblivious to the stigma or simply don't care. Individually, most Basilisk marines favor close combat, and most of their extensive bionics are optimized for it. While the majority of these enhancements and prosthetics are still covered by armor, some Basilisks make frequent use of digital weapons and so sacrifice armor to better facilitate cooling. Veterans invariably possess the most bionic replacements. Organization Despite the size of its recruitment pool, it appears the Chapter has never grown far beyond six hundred marines in strength. Even so they have proved on multiple occasions to be willing to commit up to three hundred marines to an engagement without hesitation, and within a reasonably short space of time. These marines usually come from the three nearly full strength only Battle Companies, spaced roughly evenly throughout the fleet. Their remaining marines are distributed across six half sized Reserve Companies, usually lingering near the Monastery Barge. The Basilisks are, despite their numbers, fairly Codex adherent, with only a few variations in their naming conventions. The Chapter Master is known as the Serpent Lord, and no other power in the Chapter, individual or group, is equal to his. As in any other Astartes Chapter, he is indisputably the strongest marine among them, physically and mentally, perhaps even more so considering how long the Serpent Lords tend to live. At the turn of each generation thus far, caused each time by the death of the Master in battle, the Chapter disappears and is lost even to the unclosing eye of the Inquisition. When it next appears, usually not for decades, the Chapter is markedly weaker for a time. Twice they have fallen to less than two hundred marines. This too usually lasts a few decades. The cause for this decline is also a mystery. The current Chapter Master is Serpent Lord Sicariss, who has been the head of the Basilisks for well over three and a half centuries. The Basilisks have not looked favorably on the Ultima Founding. When they were called upon to augment their ranks with Primaris marines, they responded with silence, and seem to avoid joining with Primaris chapters on the battlefield. The Head Transfusion The doors to the Serpent Lord’s chambers sealed with a hiss, leaving the black and gilded casket sitting in the center of the darkened room. After several moments of silenced, a whirring and hum of power announced the activation of a pair of servitors recessed into a wall. One, some sort of surgical servitor, approached the casket, while the other, which appeared to be a Historitor, moved toward the bank of screens and monitors that dominated the wall across from the casket. Deft mechanical appendages keyed several panels, deactivating and reactivating several screens, and moving subtly hidden levers and switches. A few seconds later the wall split and opened, revealing an alcove, softly lit by the glow of the translucent screens still suspended in front of it. The light fell on a whispering, shifting form, a humanoid bound and connected to the wall behind it by cables and chains, all sallow skin and exposed circuitry. The historitor reached out to a plinth over which this hidden servitor was held, metal digits skittering across it. The sound of sparks and buzzing current came from the mess of cables and cords, and the figure twitched and jerked briefly, before its unintelligible burbles and whispers were replaced with a single, low hum, almost musical to hear. At this, the historitor settle back on mechanical haunches and quieted, waiting. Behind it, the surgical servitor had unsealed and opened the casket, and with drills, saws and scalpels was peeling back layers of skin, muscle and bone on the figure within. It worked methodically, ceaselessly, slowly extricating wires and circuitry from the now faceless cranium. Eventually, whether hours or days later, the continuous monotone of the hidden servitor pitched up for a moment and then went silent, at which the historitor stirred and straightened, eyes abnormally attentive. A rasping, modulated voice issued from the hanging form. “Report.” The response came from the historitor, but the voice and cadence was not that of a lobotomized servant. “Scitalis has expired on the battlefield of Pharsalia, my lord. The Basilisks are entering dormancy.” “The Chain Node?” The supposed historitor turned to look at the surgical servitor, which stood in active over the casket, a mesh of fine wires and organic components held in one claw. Turning back, the strange servant answered. “Intact.” “Well done, Li-Char. We will begin preparing potential successors,” the voice answered, “Rendezvous coordinates forthcoming. To the coming of the True Omnissiah.” “To the coming of the True Omnissiah.” Beliefs Volcanic Deathworld Cerregra The feed from the servo-skull was spotty, marred by static bursts and light flares from the lava below. A group of Astartes stood beside the molten river, several of them gesturing upstream, while one was kneeling by a device on the bank. Presently, they stood and trotted off further downstream. Moisei did not send the skull to follow immediately, but as the visual began to shudder, he realized he should have. The drone turned to see some sort of detonation erupt on the side of the ashmount, and the lava flow immediately swelled, doubling, and then tripling in size, until a veritable wave of lava was rolling down the mountainside. There was a heatbloom in the feed as the skull tried to escape, and then the connection was lost. Moisei sighed, pushing away from the monitor in frustration. What were they after on this hellscape, these supposed sons of the Gorgon? And how many servo-skulls was it going to take to find out. There appear to be two tiers to the belief system of the Basilisks. The first echoes the Iron Hands mantra of Purge the Weak, with a slightly more progressive approach: a doctrine known as Shed the Weak. According to the Basilisks, the transformation familiar to Iron Hands and their successors for millennia is a natural order of evolution prompted by the very first advent of technology. They believe that humanity may ‘grow into’ this changed and improved form over time, which progression is based on merit. The first thing shed by every Basilisk upon initiation is his given name, and after induction, the traditional right hand of Manus’ sons. From then on, augmentations and bionic replacements are earned. Should a marine suffer a wound or lose a limb on the battlefield without having proven his worth, he will not be saved except for his invaluable geneseed, and is considered as shed weakness. This much is known because the Basilisks have, in the past, allowed Imperial agents unrestricted access to their regular rites in an attempt to dissuade Inquisitorial attention, and these rites clearly suggest another level of doctrine among the Basilisks. This other ‘tier’ of beliefs is repeatedly mentioned during regular rites, in the oratories of their Chaplains. What this second tier is exactly is unknown to any but the brothers of the Chapter, and is referred to simply as The Quest. Every marine seems to be aware of its meaning since both Initiates and Veterans are present when the Chaplains are relaying its urgency and significance, and all those who are present respond with equal fervor. This suggests that the knowledge is planted along with the 19 organs, during hypnotherapy, and this process has always been strictly prohibited from outside view. The truth of The Quest is surprisingly simple, something of an evolution of a belief common among the Gorgon’s sons, that one day the Primarch may return. The Basilisks don’t espouse this exact belief, but rather they believe that the bearers of the Iron Hands legacy must become as their Primarch, believing that to do so requires not only mastery of the mechanical, but the literal hands of Ferrus Manus. The Quest, in essence, is a search for the spawn of Asirnoth, which the Basilisks are convinced exists somewhere in the galaxy, and can grant them the power of the Primarch, or in other words, return His power to the Imperium. Where this belief originated is unclear, but it accounts for the haste with which they answer any call from a world with remotely volcanic activity, which has been the only pattern ever detected in their fleet movements. Though he has little to no support among other Inquisitors, Moisei has long investigated the Basilisks because of these strange beliefs coupled with rumors of the Basilisks attacking and destroying young Chapters under the banner of perceived Chaos influence, only to claim the remaining fleet assets for their Quest. The most substantiated occasion involved a newly gathered Ork invasion which sprung up in the Heltoez system, only a subsector from the volcanic homeworld of the young Ash Eagles Chapter. Though the Greenskin invasion saw to it that surviving records were scarce, sources suggested that when the Basilisks ‘answered’ the call for help, their ships orbited the planet, guns and launch bays still, for two and a half weeks while the Ash Eagles scoured wave after wave of Greenskin hordes, and were ultimately ground down to less than half a company. After the Basilisks joined battle, the conflict was decisively ended, but the Eagles were lost while the Basilisks left with all the fledgling Chapter’s fleet elements. For Moisei, the mere possibility that this transpired is more than enough evidence that the Chapter has turned from the Emperor’s light, while others, who he derides as ‘charmed by the snake’ question how or why the Eagles wouldn’t have conveyed such damning evidence of treachery to anyone. The appearance of the Cicatrix Maledictum seems to have fueled the urgency of the Basilisk’s quest, and they now traverse the Dark Imperium erratically, smashing aside resistance of any form as they scour sector after sector for clues to the location of Asirnoth’s kin. New rumors have risen about the Imperial costs of the Basilisk’s campaign; supplies and materiel that has been more raided than commandeered, PDFs abandoned in the middle of battle with chaos forces, and worse. Gene-seed The genetic material of the Basilisks is severely mutated, the cause of their thin numbers and low rate of implantation success. Extensive genetic manipulation during the gene-seed’s growth would have been required to arrive at the functionality of an average Basilisk marine, and the fact that they display any genetic stability at all is a testament to Mechanicus handiwork and not the simple passage of time. For any other founding of marines, this would be great cause for alarm, but among the marines of the Cursed Founding, signs of deliberate mutation among essential Space Marine organs is more the rule than the exception. The first significant change is in the Occulobe. Basilisks do not have the hypersensitive eye-sight of other Adeptus Astartes, nor can they see as clearly at range. However, Basilisk marines can make use of frighteningly accurate vision on the thermal spectrum without the use of a filter of any kind, making them especially lethal urban hunters. Their second mutation is of the Neuroglittis which has been so overcharged that a marine need only open his mouth to taste what is before him. With chemical injector augmentations, usually one of the first received by most Basilisks, the Neuroglittis can be used to track scents at an alarming distance, when eyes might fail. The final mutation is of the Mucranoid, which produces a thicker, tougher than usual covering, allowing marines to last longer than usual in the vacuum, as well as decreasing the effects of harsh elements. Basilisk marines customarily force the Mucranoid covering to form after each augmentation, only removing it to replace a broken layer, or at the time of the next shedding. The layer formed is almost completely covering, and requires the placing of a rebreather as well as spacers and seals over the eyes and ears, though these are fairly simple to integrate. Such advanced mutation would attract Mechanicus attention were it not for the campaign of carefully spread rumors by Chapter serfs, exaggerating the staggeringly low success rate of implantation, the weakened Occulobe and insinuating a completely absent Neuroglittis. Once perpetuated, these rumors left the Adeptus Mechanicus with little interest in digging deeper, content to simply receive the Chapter’s tithe. The misinformation has not, however, dissuaded the Basilisk’s “resident” Inquisitor. There is no official knowledge of any further mutation among the Basilisks, despite the ample opportunities to study them, as their fallen marines are so frequently left on the battlefield. Even those suitable for dreadnought interment are rarely saved. The damning truth is that the Basilisks are far more genetically unstable, only very skilled at hiding it. The Chapter’s progenoids mature normally enough, and so tithes of it have not betrayed them yet. Pinning down the source of the mutation has proved impossible, but in most cases the full complement of organs together causes aspirants to grow well beyond standard Astartes size, turning them into voracious and cannibalistic predators. The engineered enhancements appearing in normal Basilisk marines are greatly intensified in these monsters, giving them hides which have been seen stopping bolter rounds, and supernal hunting senses. If the Chapter were ever forced to subject to true Inquisitorial investigation, discovery would be likely be immediate. In an effort to cull these aberrations, one ship out of the fleet is designated for the implantation process. Fortifying the medbay into a bunker, and equipped with a trap door, each aspirant that succumbs to the mutation is dropped into a lower chamber and released into the ship. It is this same vessel where recruits face their trials: to outhunt and destroy these nameless beasts. Survivors learn what it really is that they defeated after successfully receiving the last organ, and from then on are sworn to silence. Battle-cry The Basilisks offer no call or outwardly audible sound at all when in battle .
  7. Hello fellow lovers of lore! It's been a while since I have publicly revisited my DIY Chapter of Space Marines. However, I have been hard at work painting my Imperial Consuls (formerly the Guardian Consuls) and playing with the on the table top. And so, since it had been a while since I revisited their fluff, I thought I would take the time to polish it up a bit. As always C&C is very much welcomed. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Name: Imperial Consuls Founding Chapter: Ultramarines Founding: The Imperial Consuls were founded during the Cursed 21st Founding in M.36. History: Founding and the Dark Marches Crusade The Imperial Consuls were created during the 21st Founding in order to take part in the Dark Marches Crusade. The Dark Marches Crusade was an Imperial Crusade launched in 610.M36 to retake the region of Segmentum Tempestus, then called the Dark Marches, and Commanded by the Lord Commander of Segmentum Tempestus Hal Orpheus. After a century and a half of fighting the Crusade ends with an Imperial victory, and over 600 worlds claimed in the name of the Emperor. Over the course of the Crusade, the Chapter began to develop their own traditions and methods of war. The Chapter developed a preference for the use of heavy weapons, and mechanized warfare, preferring the destructive capability of Devastator and Centurion units, and Predator tanks. Drawing from the Codex Astartes, the Imperial Consuls would launch drop pod assaults deep into enemy territory to seize vital enemy assets and act as an anvil for the hammer of a Predator spearhead to fall upon. However, as with other Chapters of their founding flaws in their gene-seed began to manifest as serious mutations among the brothers of the chapter. The Occulobe, the implant that allows a Space Marine to develop sight far superior to normal humans had betrayed the Chapter. Instead of granting superior sight, the organ instead caused their eyesight to degrade, and their eyes to cloud over. All attempts made by the Chapter’s Apothecaries to repair the corrupted gene-seed failed. However, the Chapter’s Techmarines were able to develop a stop gap measure: augmetic implants that allowed the integrated auto-senses of Power Armor to plug directly into a Marine's visual cortex, allowing a Marine’s helm to act as their eyes. By the end of the Crusade, the processes for implementing these augmetics had been perfected. Journey to the Ghoul Stars With the Dark Marches Crusade ending in an Imperial Victory, a new task had to be selected. Given the unstable nature of their gene-seed, Chapter Master Felix Gomez made a fateful decision. In order to stay out of the gaze of Inquisition, the Chapter would set course for the galactic northeast, and secure the Ghoul Stars for the Imperium, and stand as a bulwark against the horrors from beyond. Discovery of Vigil The Discovery of the artificial planet "Vigil" would be a defining moment for the Imperial Consuls, and cement their presence in the Ghoul Stars sector. The planet Vigil is a ring shaped world surrounding an F-Class star. This planet appears to be a relic of the Dark Age of Technology: an ancient mass cargo transit hub. The interior of the ring offers a climate much like an agri-world, along with a single heavy rail line throughout the interior of the ring. The line connects thousands of docks and shipyards found along the exterior of the ring. Seeing this world as a perfect mustering point for their continued military efforts, the chapter named the planet "Vigil" and declared it to be their chapter home world. The Dark Imperium The opening of the Great Rift has been hell unleashed upon the Imperial Consuls. In the immediate aftermath, one of the Campaign Fleets was lost to the warp. Without the light of Terra to guide them, the surviving fleets found themselves blind in the dark, and surrounded by enemies. The First and Second Campaign Fleets eventually made their return to VIgil, each one under half strength. Given the gravity of the situation, Chapter Master Cortez made the decision to consolidate their strength at Vigil, and tighten their battle space to nearby systems. Without the light of the astronomicon to guide them, warp travel would only be made in short jumps, and to systems whose strategic value warranted such a grave risk. For the first time in memory, the Chapter did not respond to a call for aid. The Arrival of the Indomitus Crusade Even with the reduced operational footprint taken by the Chapter, the time following the opening of the Great Rift was a time of endless blood and horror. Chaos cults, rampaging warbands, and horrors from beyond the stars raged among the Ghoul Stars, and took their toll upon the Imperial Consuls. By the time the exploratory fleets of the Adeptus Custodes arrived, all they found was a chapter greatly diminished. The endless war without resupply left the Imperial Consuls with a single Campaign Fleet that was combat effective. The arrival of Primaris reinforcements has been met with open arms. Combat Doctrine The Imperial Consuls have broken themselves down into four Campaign Fleets. Each Campaign Fleet consists of a single battle company, elements of the 1st company, as well as Special Weapons teams drawn from the Reserve Companies. These Special Weapons Teams provide heavy armor, and close air support. The Chapter maintains a garrison command upon Vigil itself that oversees Chapter assets, logistics, and the training of new recruits to the Chapter. The Flaw In the centuries since coming to the Ghoul Stars, the flaw in the gene-seed has become more pronounced. Indeed, by the time an Astartes completes their service as a Scout they are usually blind. The use of an additional augmetic in the cerebral cortex allows for the Astartes to plug the auto-senses of their power armor directly into the visual centers of the brain. This technology, along with their augmented sense of hearing, and smell have allowed the chapter to maintain their combat effectiveness. Indeed, it seems that like other humans who have lost their sight, their other senses seem to be heightened further. Additionally, the Librarians of the chapter have begun to manifest a kind of "warp sight". Their psychic connection to the warp granting them a near perfect sense of awareness without the use of their bionic implants. Recruitment The Imperial Consuls recruit from feudal worlds; preferring to leverage the melee skills developed by young warriors on these worlds before teaching them the way of the bolter.
  8. Well, time is running out, so here's something to put on the board to at least help establish some idea onto who my Cursed Founding chapter are, as part of the LASC. Plenty more additions to come to build and refine this work, but here's some outlines and some early history and Chapter structure. DEATH CASTERS Chapter: Death Casters Founding: 21st Homeworld: Lacrima Geneseed: Blood Angels Organisation: Codex Chapter Master: Nikel Fulmos Heraldry: Legacy Created in the ill-fated 21st Cursed Founding, the Death Casters have long walked across the knife-edge of destruction, not only from the enemies of mankind, but from elements within in Imperium itself. Fashioning themselves to appear as blessed angels of deliverance to the Imperiums citizens and of retribution to their enemies, the chapter hide beneath this appearance a dark and destructive flaw that has given them the reputation of monstrous butchers to survivors of their ill-placed fury. Born from the Angels Encarmine, their initial growth was one without major fault or aberration, as they utilised the Blood Angel geneseed stock given to them at their founding by the Mechanicum. Recruitment proved to be more difficult from the norm, as a larger than average number of aspirants died during the application of the Black Carapace, but this was not seen to be an issue of great worry as many more passed and became fully fledged Astartes in their formative decades. As the Chapter grew to a viable fighting strength to be independent in their campaigns, it became increasingly clear to observers and allies that the Death Casters possessed a near preternatural knack of working with their brethren as combat grew in intensity akin to a shared consciousness. As larger numbers of the Death Casters fell in combat, their ferocity increased to savage levels as the sons of Sanguinius would fight to avenge their fallen. Some Imperial commanders and eyewitness accounts from battlefields shared with the new Chapter described how the ferocity of the Death Casters squads would reach wild levels of barely controlled rage as squad-mates fell or were grievously wounded. As the corrupted seeds of the 21st Founding began to bear its tainted fruit across the Imperium in the centuries following, the Death Casters faced much closer scrutiny from elements of the Inquisition as they fought for humanity in numerous campaigns and crusades. Being tasked with the defence and pacification of the Luctum sector, located to the very northern borders of the Imperium in the Segmentum Obscurus, the Death Casters were sent to cleanse and establish the Imperiums foothold by scouring it clean of the Ork and other minor xenos presence. Some observers tacitly commented on this being a method to remove the risk of an aberration in a Chapter that originated from the Cursed Founding. But despite this arduous and impossible task, filled with a desire to prove their worth to the Imperium and that they were loyal and pure sons of Sanguinius and the Emperor, the Death Casters succeeded in establishing a foothold in the Lacrima system, named for the unique tear-drop shaped continent on its primary planet, which became the homeworld of the chapter as they established their base of operation. The system began to grow and settle with fresh citizens from across the Imperium and the Death Casters sought to cement themselves into the culture of Lacrima, looking to be their angelic protectors and saviours in purple and bone. For the next half-millennia, with aid from elements of other Imperial forces and brother Chapters, the Death Casters suitably cleared the xenos corruption of the Luctum Sector and Rogue Trader and Explorator fleets began to found new settlements and trades, which the Death Casters swore to defend at all costs. A number of strong ties were made between a small number of Rogue Trader houses, which has proven useful in negotiation with other elements of the Imperiums groups, including elements of the Ordos Xenos Inquisition. Within this time however, the increased levels of ferocity and synchronised reaction between squads and Companies at heavy losses began to become more noticeable as larger threats appeared to challenge the new Imperial presence, including Drukhari raiders and elements of Chaos bleeding through strongholds in the distant stars surrounding the Luctum Sector. Internally, the Death Casters command elements sought to find the source of this issue as further aberrations to the implantation of the Black Carapace became more pronounced as the centuries marched on from their founding. The truths of the Black Rage and Red Thirst were already well known to the chapter from their parentage in the Angels Encarmine and they dealt with those consumed by the Black Rage in the method almost all Blood Angel descendants have done. But the divergent unique mental bond between squads and the consequences of losses within them was becoming harder to hide as elements of the Inquisition kept close scrutiny of these sons of the 21st Founding. With increased research from their Librarius and Apothecarion, they came to the conclusion that a latent psychic link was shared between all members of the Death Casters and severe traumatic events such as grievous wounds or death would mentally assault them, leading to a faster fall into the Black Rage as the Astartes would descend into a savage and wild blood craze, ending all threats perceived before them. An increase in psychically gifted Astartes also pointed further to this theory after initiates received the chapters stock of altered-geneseed as Librarians dealt even further with the psychic shock of the death of their brethren, but the Psychic Hoods utilised by the Librarius proved to be useful in dampening the shared pain. Thus, unique mantles were formed akin to the metal and crystal shrouds used by the psykers to help limit the mental pain and anguish, limiting it mostly to more traumatic deaths amongst squad-mates. But a boon of this unique flaw was that battle-brothers in squads also possessed a useful link to synchronise their attacks to seem to work as one, complementing each others flows and firepower when they reach the peak of their combative abilities in open warfare. Atop this, as the chapter continued to scour the Luctum Sector clean of Xenos presence, they also secretly searched for any source of psy-damping technologies to add or enhance their protective mantles, utilising their links with the Rogue Trader houses and Mechnacius forces that they had formed allegiances and pacts with during their formative centuries. What technologies they have earned is not known beyond the Death Casters upper echelons of command and those they have made deals with amongst their allies, but some unique bespoke armour worn by the highest ranks of the chapter hint at unique methods or technology being utilised to prevent them from falling to the flaws of their geneseed and psychic link through the bond of those that they command into battle. As the centuries have passed from this, the Death Casters earned a number of notable battle-honours that have held them in good stead with a number of forces throughout the northern region of the Segmentum Obscurus, including with Rogue Trader House Cassilon, which was first forged with the cleansing of the Luctum sector. Often the Death Casters have provided them with battle brothers to protect the Rogue Traders ships as they seek new planets and resources. In return, the chapter have received a supply of those resources in gratitude. But countering these bonds of friendship and honour pacts, the Death Casters have also earned the ire and scrutiny of a myriad of Imperial forces due to their afflictions effects. The Stain of Parallax A notable incident and mark of shame that has marred the Death Casters reputation even now in the Imperium Nihilus originates from fighting alongside the Shield Bearers chapter, after both suffered catastrophic losses during the Parallax Genocides in 380.M37, against the brutal forces of Lord Discordant Tarr's Word Bearers. The wild ferocity of the Death Casters combat was one that perturbed the more martial and systematic combat of the Shield Bearers, which strained ties from the earliest points of the campaign. But as the Death Casters suffered more losses, including deaths from malefic methods of warfare utilised by the corruptive Word Bearers, a chain reaction of falling to the Black Rage and Red Thirst occurred across their squads. The chapter attempted to obscure these terrible occurrences, but as both chapters attempted to defend and evacuate Hive Aurus Prima, reinforcing elements of the Shield Bearers discovered rogue, maddened Death Casters indiscriminately killing all and feasting upon the blood of the fallen. Carrying a contempt for any and all mutations and enshrining purity above all else, the Shield Bearers declared the Death Casters to be corrupted and opened fire upon their afflicted Astartes of the Death Casters to purge the aberration of Astartes purity. This action was answered by the full fury of the Death Casters fleet above the Hive when they received word of what had happened. Captain Heleas ordered for that sector of the Hive City to be bombarded with their full arsenal to purge all elements of the Word Bearers forces, but also hiding the evidence of what had been seen, preserving the Death Casters secret. The bombardment completely annihilated the Shield Bearers that had fired upon the Death Casters forces, but also wiped out any remaining forces of their own battle brothers as well, who sacrificed themselves for the good of the Chapter. This single, desperate act completely shattered all bonds of brotherhood between the Shield Bearers and the Death Casters, as the sons of Lacrima explained their reasoning that the Hive City was too far gone with corruption. The Shield Bearers cut off all communication and the two chapters fought their battles separately, avoiding all opportunities to aid each other. The Parallax Sector fell soon after, becoming a charred husk from countless Exterminatus orders to end further daemonic incursions and the sheer madness that had been created by the forces of the Word Bearers, as neither chapter could counter the forces of Chaos on their own. Sending word of their suspicions to the Death Casters actions, the Shield Bearers brought the investigations of Inquisitor Kovohr of the Ordo Hereticus upon the sons of the Cursed Founding. The chapter were placed under arrest upon arrival at Lacrima, undertaking strenuous tests and investigations of loyalty and purity. It was fortunate that those who had fallen to the Death Casters curse and subsequent Black Rage had already been given the Final Mercy prior to their leaving of the Parallax Sector. But the actions undertaken over Hive Aurus Prima and the close ties the Shield Bearers held with the Inquisition and Inquisitor Kovohr led to the Death Casters receiving a century long Penitent Crusade, with recruitment of new aspirants forbidden during that time. The subsequent crusade nearly halved the chapters number of Astartes, but they emerged unbroken to the eyes of the Imperium. However ever since the shameful events of the Parallax Sector, elements of the Inquisition continue to monitor the Death Casters at every turn as Inquisitor Kovohr's retinue spread these beliefs of the Death Casters being a Chapter to always scrutinise over the centuries and millennia, until it became gospel by the end of M41. However, with the events of Noctis Aeterna and the tumultuous events following the cutting off from sacred Terra, large elements of these Inquisitorial forces were annihilated through the madness and chaos that descended across the Imperium Nihilus and the memory and teaching of the Death Casters being a risk have slowly faded from focus as greater issues and threats in the besieged and isolated half of the Imperium. The Call to Baal and Noctis Aeterna In the final centuries of the 41st Millennium, the fate of the Death Casters seemed increasingly grim, as the sheer ferocity and relentless nature of enemies, both xenos and chaos continued to harass and attack the Luctum Sector and beyond. The reputation of the chapters tainted ferocity and from incidents across the millennia had led them to become outsiders to numerous forces of the Imperium and treated with distant contempt by some commanders and brother-chapters of Astartes. The curse and afflictions that affected them seemed to increase further as a direct result of these arduous campaigns and battles they faced, often without reinforcement. As the final century of M41 dawned, the Death Casters suffered a crippling blow of the utter extermination of the Second Company and their geneseed, as they sought to purge a Necron tomb-world that had recently been discovered, only to awaken the metal Xenos and be systematically wiped out within a short span of weeks as the curse ruined any chance of a retreat, such was the excruciating brutality of the deaths of their comrades to a full legion of Necrontyr that awoke at their trespassing. But this was but the prelude to the harrowing centuries that would follow as the Death Casters neared total and irreversible losses to their numbers through further degradation of their affliction through further terrible and brutal events the chapter desperately fought to maintain their control of the Luctum Sector and protect its people. When Hive Fleet Leviathan descended upon Baal and Commander Dante made the call to all descendants of the Blood Angels to answer the call and defend the planet, Chapter Master Phakeos deployed the Sixth Company to immediately make way to Baal, whilst he recalled and mustered all available Death Casters not engaged in critical battles to make their stand alongside their fellow brethren. Their remaining chapters journey to Baal was one that became a nightmare of destruction and madness as they became caught in a colossal Warp Storm in in the Nohs Gulf, as the events upon Cadia sent shockwaves across the galaxy. By the time the Death Casters reached Baal, their numbers were halved from the fighting within the warp storm that trapped them for what was mere days in realspace, but were weeks for the chapter until they broke free. Upon their arrival, the fighting against the Tyranid and Daemonic hordes at Baal were at their peak. The Death Casters sought to aid and reinforce their brothers of the Sixth Company that had already arrived in the weeks prior. But no remains of the Sixth were present, having already been lost and devoured in a void battle to shatter a splinter fleet in a pyrrhic sacrifice before the bulk of Hive Fleet Leviathan had fallen upon the Baal system itself. At the conclusion of the Devastation of Baal, the Death Casters now stood at a fifth of their original number that had deployed to Baal, enough to build a mere one and a half companies. Chapter Master Phakeos had survived, but the same could not be said for the four Captains lost in the fierce fighting. With bonds forged with their fellow sons of Sanguinius and with the true horror of the Cicatrix Maledictum forming across the length of the galaxy, the Death Casters sought to return and rebuild upon Lacrima. The loss of so many of his brethren however became a burden too great for Chapter Master Phakeos as he meditated during the journey home, descending to the Black Rage and was summarily given the Final Mercy before he truly fell into utter rageful madness. At this time, all sense of hope was now but a guttering flame in the hearts of the Death Casters as their geneseed continued to degrade as they sought to rapidly grow in number, despite the near-logarithmic increase in attacks against Imperial worlds. But soon that light would be rekindled at the arrival of the Torchbearer Fleet decades later with the gift of the Primaris. The Advent Primaris became a pivotal moment in the potential fate of the Death Casters as the arrival of the Custodes and their new Greyshield brothers bolstered and regrew the chapter anew. The secrets of creating the Primaris Marines and their new bank of genestock were immediately utilised by Chapter Master Nikel Fulmos. Having been blessed with this new reinforcement of new Death Casters, the chapter have ranged out to retake lost worlds across the Luctum Sector to maintain and Imperial stronghold to the northern edges of the Imperium Nihilus. Numerous firstborn sought to undertake the crossing of the Rubicon Primaris as well, but these were limited in number simply due to the need of active Astartes to counter the threats constantly emerging. As the centuries have passed into the 42nd Millennium, the chapter have also noticed a lack of affliction amongst their newer Primaris brothers raised with the new stock of geneseed provided by the Mechanicum, but the larger than usual amounts of psychically gifted Astartes that grow from these supplies have tempered any true hopes of a turning in the curse that has gripped the Death Casters since their inception. But regardless of their faults and afflictions, the sons of Lacrima continue to fight on as the angelic champions of the Luctum Sector and the Imperium, striving to maintain the example of their genefather Sanguinius and that of the Emperor Himself. Chapter Organisation The Death Casters follow a similar set up to their fellow sons of Sanguinius, adhering to the Codex Astartes, but with additions that are standard across most Blood Angels successors including a Death Company, which with the mutations of their tampered geneseed, it has been heavily utilised in their combat methodology due to the sheer numbers that have fallen to the Black Rage from their plight in recent centuries. Their Chaplaincy, referred to as the Ebon Sentinels continue the standard rite and duty of leading their afflicted brethren into combat and guiding them where they are to meet the merciful embrace of death in combat against the Imperiums foes, or to administer the Final Mercy once the battle is ended and some continue to survive. However, in recent history with the sheer loss of number and increased levels of desperation, the Death Casters leadership have sought to utilise the Death Company in more than one battle if possible, interring those surviving Astartes in stasis caskets akin to ones used in Dreadnoughts until they arrive at their next battle. But often these second or third engagements, these surviving brethren are fully fallen to the Red Thirst and are unleashed as a wave of mad and bloodlust driven fury that often die quickly as they engage in the deadliest of combat zones on the battlefield. The chapter also possess a Sanguinary Guard amongst their First Company, their colours inverted to be of polished bone with purple pauldrons, to stand out and reflect the light of the Emperors fury upon their enemies. Often those within the Sanguinary Guard are those that have survived the afflictions of their geneseed and the loss of their brethren and squadmates. Still, they can fall to the Black Rage and Red Thirst as every descendant of Sanguinius is doomed to suffer inevitably and their sacred and masterly-crafted angelic armour is stored in the Detraxi Vaults beneath Lacrima, waiting to be used once more as others ascend to the vaunted ranks of the Sanguinary Guard. As is typical with Blood Angels successors, the Death Casters to possess an increased amount of psykers within their Chapter. But in their case, it is further increased by their unique genetic flaw from their creation, with an even greater number of Librarians being found within their Company and Chapter structure. Librarian Dreadnoughts can be found across the Companies and have been seen to lead their fellow Astartes in a number of engagements and deployments. Librarians often attempt to dampen the shared link between their fellow Death Casters using their abilities by keeping some distance from the battle lines but often it cannot be done when combat is fully joined. The arrival of the Torchbearer fleet and the Primaris Decree was greatly welcomed by the Chapter after the tragic and cataclysmic events that had befallen them and the Imperium at large during Noctis Aeterna and their misery in trying to reach Baal. The additions of the new Primaris Astartes and war material have been quickly integrated into the Chapters structure, with a more than half of their Companies being made almost entirely of Primaris marines to fill the empty ranks and lost companies. The Death Casters attempt to maintain a strong Scout Company to ensure their legacy continues throughout the dark era the Imperium Nihilus is enduring. This includes breaking typical Codex teachings by increasing the retinue of their Tenth company to anywhere between 150 to 200 when at full strength simply to replace their constant losses from combat or from their genetic curse, but often it is depleted quickly throughout their history from the constant intense battles the Death Casters face and from undertaking marks of penance throughout their history. Combat Doctrine The Death Casters maintain a very similar methodology of combat as their sibling chapters born from Sanguinius' Blood Angels, relying heavily upon mobility and ferocity to meet the enemy in close quarters, where they exact their fury by bolt and blade. The sons of Lacrima have fully embraced the use of their Primaris brethren, especially the Assault Intercessors are part of their main line of combat, delivered by Storm Ravens and the new Grav-Tank vehicles created by Belisarius Cawl. Belief Despite their marred and tainted history and legacy through the ill-fortunes of their creation, the Death Casters maintain a strong and unshakable belief that despite their afflictions wrought by their geneseed, they are all champions and angels of the Imperium sent to protect humanity from the myriad of enemies that seek to bring ruin and death to the Emperors citizens. As such, their armour is often fashioned to look as celestial and noble as is possible, with little in the way of terrifying effigies or icons of death and despair towards their enemies. They see their actions in combat and a visible enough symbol to those that earn the ire and vengeance of the Emperors Angels that scour away the abominations that seek to destroy the Imperium. The curse itself that all Death Casters will suffer and inevitably succumb too is looked upon without shame, but one of acceptance of the sacrifices they must undertake to ensure the Imperium survives, especially during the current era after the Cicatrix Maledictum tore the Imperium in two and their stranding within the northern regions of the Imperium Nihilus. The chapters link to their Primarch, Sanguinius is one that is held in the highest regard. The Death Casters hold the opinion that their genefather was the greatest hero of the Imperium during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy after the Emperor himself, for Sanguinius had selflessly sacrificed himself fighting the arch-traitor Horus to allow the Emperor to defeat them and send the traitor Legions retreating into the Warp. Icons of a teardrop of blood is often worn across their armour and adornments, reminding the chapter of their legacy as they seek to follow Sanguinius example. ++++ TO DO LIST: Recruitment And that's it for now, hopefully COVID work doesn't fully draw me away to get this done in time. Feedback as always is welcomed. Cambrius
  9. Hello all, I'm LamenterMarine and I'm an addict. I know I'm an addict because I have more GW product that I can I need, I even have three baneblades in my loft still in the cellophane wrappers. I know what you are thinking....he has so much he has to keep it in the loft.....well yes. Anyway, some of you may have seen my blog in the Blood Angels sub-forum and you can follow the link in my sig to see what has gone before now (though I wouldn't bother). I have decided to abandon my blog and move to the WIP forum instead so you will find it harder to ignore my incessant posts. So that's the writing stuff done. Time to show you the goodies... The makings of my counts as attack bike squadron - these are my effort at replicating the Rapier Laser Destroyer: Current WIP Tactical Squad And something mostly painted: So welcome to my new hole in the wall.....
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