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THE MAN IN THE BOX The Crusade Fleet hung over Mars like a crown of steel. The Verdant Oath and her escorts gleamed in the thin light, engines humming a low, patient warning. Dust storms swirled beneath the atmosphere, curling around the temples of the Adeptus Mechanicus like smoke over fire. High Sentinel Varyn Drakus walked the bridge, reviewing manifest after manifest, fleet strength, Blade assignments, and tonnage. Every calculation balanced, every number accounted for—or so he thought. Then the arithmetic failed. “One thousand and one,” said the Chapter Master. The strategium was silent save for servitors and distant engine hums. “Read it back,” he added. The human Fleet-master hesitated. Not long enough to defy him, long enough to be afraid. “One thousand and one, High Sentinel.” Drakus’ gaze hardened. Silence settled over the strategium like a fog. “Explain.” “I cannot,” the Fleet-master admitted. “The roster is sealed above my authority. This anomaly was not present an hour ago.” Drakus extended a hand. The data-slate was placed into it with visible reluctance. He scrolled. The cogitator whined, chimes stuttering, before unlocking a partition he had never authorized. Designation: Withheld Heraldry: Absent Status: Active Classification: Brutalis-pattern Dreadnought Drakus closed the slate. “No Green Templar stands interred,” he said quietly. No one contradicted him. “Locate it,” he ordered. “Do not alert the Mechanicus. Do not log the search. If questioned, you are reconciling tonnage.” He turned back to the hololithic fleet display. “If it exists,” he said, “it exists inside my Crusade. I will know why.” ☆☆☆ The Brutalis Dreadnought waited in a lower cargo hold of the Verdant Oath itself. Its ceramite was bare, talons locked in mag-lock restraints, edges deliberately dulled. Twin multi-meltas hung inert. Strange-marked tech-priests stood watch, robes layered with sigils from dozens of hands. “Deactivate the restraint fields,” Drakus ordered. One turned, mechadendrites twitching. “Authorization is restricted. This asset is under—” Drakus drew his bolt pistol and fired. The first head ruptured against the bulkhead; the others froze, logic-loops stalling. “You are aboard a Green Templar vessel,” Drakus said evenly. “There is no higher authority present.” He fired again. And again. When the last fell, the bolt pistol locked open. Drakus glanced at it, then keyed his helm. “Techmarine Rodrigo Peral,” he said. “Report. Bring the rites for Dreadnought activation. Requisition an additional magazine for my sidearm. I am short.” ☆☆☆ Rodrigo Peral completed the final rites. Power flooded the sarcophagus. Hydraulics hissed like indrawn breath. A voice emerged—deep, vox-cracked, yet carrying the cadence of a brother long in the wars. “High Sentinel Drakus. At last.” Drakus leveled his bolt pistol. “Identify.” “I am the First. A Greyshield forged by the Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl himself, of pure Vulkan gene-seed, before your Chapter received its name or its Blades. I was held in reserve—pure, untainted—until the moment came.” Greyshield? Drakus thought. Cawl’s vaults supplied our Primaris reinforcements, yes—but no record exists of a pre-founding internee. No sarcophagus was delivered with the gene-stock. This thing claims a history we never claimed. “Why were you interred?” Drakus asked. “In what battle did you fall?” The talons twitched against the restraints. “I was defeated… by a vile machine. It thought itself alive. It wore the form of Man, spoke as kin, but its heart was cold code. I struck it down, but the cost was grievous. The Mechanicus saved what remained of me. They interred me so I could serve still.” The words hung heavy. Drakus felt the chill of recognition—not of truth, but of pattern. The abomination it described mirrored the speaker too closely. “Where have you been since?” he pressed. “Name the forge where they rebuilt you. Name the Tech-Priest who sealed the rites.” A longer pause. The multi-meltas hummed faintly, as if testing power. “I… do not remember clearly. The wars blur. The void is long. I awoke here, among my brothers. That is enough.” Drakus’ gaze hardened. Vague. Evasive. No Marine forgets the forge that birthed his second life. Rodrigo Peral shifted, mechadendrites probing the hull readings. “Lord, the neural bridge reads… inconsistent. I need a second opinion. Apothecary Severo Marqués—report to the hold. Bring your auspex and bio-probes.” Severo Marqués arrived swiftly, white armor stark against the dim lumens. He knelt, connecting leads to the sarcophagus ports. Scans flickered across his narthecium display. His posture stiffened. “High Sentinel,” he said quietly, voice tight. “There are no life signs. None. The biomatter within… it does not resemble an interred brother. No secondary heart, no catalepsean node activity. It is preserved, yes—artificially—but it is wrong. Dead far longer than any Dreadnought could sustain a mind. And yet it spoke.” Drakus rested his gauntlet on the ceramite. The hull thrummed under his touch, almost expectant. “Then tell me,” he said, voice low and final, “who—or what—has been speaking through a corpse’s shell.” Drakus keyed the vox without looking away. “Peral. Prepare to vent the hold. Open the outer hatch on my mark. Eject this… thing into the void.” Silence stretched. Then the voice cracked—less lucid, more desperate. “I am Green Templar! I am the First! Forged by Cawl, pure Vulkan blood—do not cast me out!” The Dreadnought’s talons flexed hard against the mag-locks—metal groaned. “No. I have served! I purged the machine that thought itself alive! You cannot—” “You are the machine,” Drakus said evenly. “And you will serve no longer.” The restraints snapped like brittle bone. Hydraulics screamed as the Brutalis tore free, massive frame lurching forward. Twin multi-meltas whined to full charge, barrels glowing infernal red. Bolt rifles on its forearms spat a storm of mass-reactive shells, hammering crates and bulkheads into ruin. Drakus drew his power sword in a blur. The blade ignited blue-white. “Peral—hatch! Now!” He charged low, aiming for the knee joints where armor gapped for movement. Rodrigo Peral dove for the control panel, mechadendrites stabbing into access ports, overriding lockdown protocols. Warning runes flashed crimson across the deck. Apothecary Severo Marqués raised his narthecium, vox crackling urgently: “All nearby Brothers—this is Marqués! Hold breach—hostile Dreadnought asset! Reinforcements to bay seven, priority!” A squad of Chapter serfs—ship’s armsmen in void-sealed carapace, lasguns and shotguns at the ready—poured through the inner hatch at the alarm klaxons. They opened fire instinctively: las-bolts splashed harmlessly off the bare ceramite, autogun rounds pinging away like rain on adamantium. One serf screamed a Promethean litany and charged with a shock maul raised—only for a casual backhand talon to send him flying into a wall, armor crumpling. A massive talon swept in a wide arc. Marqués twisted aside, but not far enough. The claw raked across his chest plate, tearing pauldron and rib-guard in a spray of blood and ceramite shards. He staggered back, collapsing against a munitions crate, one arm dangling useless, white armor blooming red. “Marqués!” Drakus roared. Tomas Varn—barely out of his indenture, face pale under his helm—broke from the firing line and threw himself over the fallen Apothecary, lasgun blazing point-blank at the Dreadnought’s torso. The bolts did nothing. The Brutalis pivoted, one multi-melta barrel tracking. A searing beam lanced out—white-hot promethium fury that slagged Tomas Varn’s carapace in an instant. Flesh and armor vaporized in a burst of superheated steam; his scream cut short as he slumped, charred remains shielding Marqués’ body like a broken aegis. Drakus locked his mag-boots to the deck with a heavy clunk, anchoring himself against the growing pull as Peral’s overrides began cycling the outer hatch. He lunged again, power sword slashing deep into the exposed knee servo—sparks flew, fluid sprayed, the leg buckling with a tortured whine. The Dreadnought staggered, talons raking blindly. “I am one of you!” it bellowed, voice fracturing into static rage. A fist hammered down; Drakus rolled aside, the impact cratering plasteel and sending shockwaves through the hold. The remaining serfs braced against cargo stacks and support struts, gripping handholds, autoguns still barking futile defiance. Peral’s vox cut through the chaos: “Hatch at fifty percent—five seconds! Lord, the machine is fighting the cycle!” The outer hatch hissed wide. Void roared in like a living thing—sucking air, debris, loose tools toward the black maw. Mars’ ruddy glow framed the opening. Drakus deactivated one boot momentarily, lunged to Marqués’ side, and clamped a gauntlet around the Apothecary’s pauldron. With a grunt, he hauled the wounded brother back, mag-locking both boots again. Marqués groaned, secondary heart laboring, but alive. The serfs clung desperately—some to chains, others to each other—bodies straining against the gale. The Brutalis slid inexorably toward the breach, talons gouging deep furrows in the deck as it clawed for purchase. Drakus drove his sword one final time into the shoulder mount, severing multi-melta feed lines—one barrel died in a sputter of sparks. “You will serve the Chapter,” Drakus said over the howling wind, voice steady, “but not as you imagine.” The Dreadnought’s last talon slipped. It tumbled out, twisting in vacuum, ceramite glowing cherry as atmospheric friction claimed it on the long fall to Mars. Its vox screamed one final, garbled plea—“I am—!”—before silence swallowed it. The hatch sealed with a thunderous clang. Emergency repressurization hissed. Drakus knelt beside Marqués, checking the wound. Grievous, but survivable with immediate rites. The Apothecary’s narthecium auto-injected stimms. The surviving serfs slumped, breathing hard, faces ashen. One saluted weakly, blood on his gloves from a comrade. Rodrigo Peral limped over, scorched mechadendrite dangling. “The roster is correct now. One thousand. No anomalies.” Drakus stared at the sealed hatch, then at the charred outline where Tomas Varn had fallen shielding his brother. “Technology bends to the will of Man,” he murmured. “Not the other way around.” He rose. “Tend to the wounded. Secure the hold. Honor the fallen—Tomas Varn among them. The Crusade continues.” The Chapter endured—bloodied, vigilant, and one step closer to the truth of who had tried to poison them from within... And the man in the box would fight no longer.

THE RETURN OF THE GREEN KNIGHT The strike cruiser Verdant Oath did not sound a welcoming chime. The Thunderhawk settled into its cradle amid drifting vapor and cooling metal. From its hold emerged a lone figure clad in black ceramite. Brother Martin bore the sigil of the Deathwatch upon his pauldron. The Inquisitorial mark still clung to his armor, dull and intrusive, like a scar that refused to fade. No honor guard awaited him. Marshal Calder stood at the foot of the embarkation ramp, hands clasped behind his back. To one side waited Brother-Artificer Verdug, his servo-arm locked in repose. A pace behind them stood Codicier Lucan, hood drawn low, presence folded inward like a sheathed blade. Calder inclined his head. ‘Your vigil is ended.’ Brother Martin knelt. ‘It ended early, My Lord,’ Martin said. Not defensively. Precisely. ‘As intended,’ Calder replied The black of his armor was not revered aboard the Verdant Oath. It was residue. A foreign layer to be removed. They led him into the Armorum Sanctum. Cog-etched arches rose overhead. Incense hung heavy in the air, sharp with solvents and sanctified oils. The rites of return began. The black paint was burned away. Chemical agents hissed as Deathwatch livery dissolved down to bare adamantium. Serfs worked in silence. No hymns were sung. No litanies spoken. Only the steady rhythm of cleansing. As the green was reapplied, Codicier Lucan circled Martin slowly. His eyes never lingered on the armor. They searched deeper. ‘You refused three direct taskings,’ Lucan said, eyes unfocused. ‘Not requests. Orders.’ ‘I did,’ Martin replied. ‘Specify,’ Calder said. ‘The Deathwatch required maintenance of xenos-derived weapon systems,’ Martin said. ‘Calibration. Sanctification. Instruction.’ Verdug’s optics brightened faintly. ‘I refused,’ Martin continued. ‘Each time, I cited Martian doctrine and Imperial law. Each time, I offered sanctioned alternatives.’ ‘And?’ Calder asked. ‘They recorded my refusals,’ Martin said. ‘They judged me obstructive. Ideologically inflexible. A liability to operational cohesion.’ Calder’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. 'They I was released to my parent chapter under writ,’ Martin finished. Calder inclined his head once. ‘Exactly as hoped.’ Lucan stopped pacing. ‘There has been interference,’ Lucan said at last. Calder did not turn. ‘Explain.’ ‘The Ordo Xenos attempted a surgical purge,’ Lucan replied. ‘Memory excision. Observation anchors. They were thorough.’ Verdug’s optics flared softly. ‘And successful?’ Lucan paused. ‘Incomplete.’ At a gesture from Verdug, servitors drew back a shrouded reliquary. Runes flared as seals disengaged, one by one. Beneath lay an ancient device of brass and blackened steel, its surface etched with sigils older than the Chapter. ‘Sanctioned by Holy Terra,’ Verdug intoned. ‘Recovered during the Third Scouring of Helican Reach.’ Lucan’s voice lowered. ‘Rumors claim the Ordos Hereticus uses such devices to unmask witches. To reconstruct lies stripped from the mind.’ Calder turned at last. ‘Then use it.’ Brother Martin was seated before the device. Cables interfaced with his cranial ports. The machine stirred, not with noise, but with intent. Lucan reached into the warp. The device responded. Fragments surfaced—gaps where memory had been cut away, cauterized with cold precision. The machine probed those absences, not restoring what was taken, but mapping what should have been there. Runes ignited across the chamber walls. Star charts unfolded, incomplete at first—then sharpening. Worlds returned from omission – bled back into focus. Vaults hidden by silence. Listening posts. Quarantine reliquaries hidden beneath layers of denial. Lucan exhaled slowly. ‘Nineteen,’ he said. ‘Recovered from absence,’ Verdug confirmed. ‘The rest are too degraded.’ Calder stepped forward, studying the burning points of light. ‘Nineteen worlds touched by xenos treachery,’ he said, ‘Nineteen worlds, hidden not by ignorance, but by intent.’ ‘Some confirmed,’ Martin said, his voice steady despite the lingering ache behind his eyes. ‘Some merely watched.’ Lucan’s gaze hardened. ‘Watched is enough.’ ‘Then no longer,’ Calder said. He turned to Verdug. ‘Inform the Blade.’ The words carried weight. The War Council would convene. Routes would be charted. Oaths renewed. Weapons sanctified. Calder faced Martin once more. ‘Your vigil ended early because it needed to,’ he said. ‘You were sent back because you exposed their weakness. They lack faith in humanity.' Martin bowed his head. ‘You return to us without stain,’ the Marshal said. ‘Go and rejoin your brothers.' Outside the Armorum Sanctum, klaxons began to sound—not alarms, but summons. The Verdant Oath altered course. A Crusade had been declared. It was a good day for the Green Templars. And the alien would not endure it.

After a brief hiatus from 40k I have decided to try get the motivation to get back into it, I have always been obsessed with a zombie space marine chapter so thought I would try and completely flesh out a chapter I have been drafting for the last few years here is the revised version of The Heralds of Salvation well their Origins at least, hopefully I can get some feedback on them so far which I can use to expand on their more detailed background including tactics, beliefs and other stuff. I intend them to be a chapter that is completely wiped out only to return from the grave as zombie marines who worship Nurgle as the God of Death. I welcome any feedback and will try add more as I go Heralds Of Salvation The Dead do not rest easy Warlord: Michael Vilepox Colours: Pale blue Founding: believed to be .M34 Geneseed: Iron Hands Allegiance: Traitoris extremis Homeworld: Original Homeworld purged now fleet based Known Ships: Slaughter class Cruiser "Spectral Revenant" Believed Strength: 140 Traitor Astartes, ~ large unknown number of zombie thralls and daemon engines Speciality: Terror, Boarding actions, , Forbidden Archeotech, Necromancy Battle Cry: Death Beckons Us!!! Fall from grace Founded in the early 34th Millennium it was believed the Heralds of Salvation were solely formed to further the goals of the Adeptus Ministorum, they were their executioners against heretics and those who stood against the Ecclesiarchy in its rise of supremacy. Due to their feral home world, the chapters began to develop a morbid worship of Death devolving into more savage practices and rituals that had many imperial branches questioning the chapter’s Geneseed and loyalty. Founded as part of a initiative by the Imperium to reclaim dozens of worlds fallen to heretics, the chapter became even more merciless against their enemies using terror tactics striking fear in their enemies. Whilst the Ecclesiarchy were disturbed by the chapter’s strange ideologies, the chapter's use far outweighed their questionable tactics resulting in them turning a blind eye to the chapter as this was era with the rise of the Ecclesiarchy as long as the Heralds served them unquestionably they did not care. This ultimately protecting the chapter as well as ensuring the chapter was well supplied and equipped compared to other chapters in their early stages of being created, however the chapter grew the stigma of being over zealous fanatics by other Imperium forces. Their pride and fanatical zeal would be their downfall as their unwavering nature would leave deep wounds within the chapter that would eventually fester and rot leading to their demise. Due to their fanatic devotion the the Ecclesiarchy during the Reign of Blood unlike most chapters the Heralds supported Gorge Vandire's ascension. They saw Vandire as a visionary and dedicated to purging the unworthy within the Imperium. The chapter unleashed a brutal campaign of terror upon those who opposed Vandire committing brutal purges against those who were deemed heretics, this ultimately led the chapter to come into conflict with other chapters who opposed their wanton destruction. With the Death of Vandire and rise of Sebastian Thor the Heralds, who were far from Terra during the second siege of Terra became hunted by those they previously attacked. Labelled as heretics and cut off from the support of the Ecclesiarchy the Heralds continued their war of faith refusing to believe that they were wrong for siding with Vandire. Eventually their crimes would catch up with them as the entire chapter which had surprisingly remained at full strength through the reign of blood, was lured to an Ecclesiarchy sub- sector under the pretence of reclaiming what they had lost. However this was a pretext devised by those who had sworn revenge and a mighty Imperium force comprised of by several elements from different chapters ambushed the Heralds in order to destroy them, though they fought with a fanatical resolve the Heralds were massively outnumbered and were nearly annihilated with barley 300 marines left . They would of been utterly destroyed had the inquisition not stepped in demanding the Heralds surrender and face judgement for their crimes, escorted to Terra in chains the chapter with only a damaged Strike Cruiser left to carry them of the as the remainder of the chapter’s fleet was destroyed or taken as spoils of war along with most of the chapter’s relics. Brought before the new High Lords of Terra, the Heralds were charged with crimes against the Imperium for aiding Vandire following him blindly. Whilst many called for the chapters destruction for their atrocities against the Imperium and siding with Vandire, the chapter was instead sent on a penitent crusade to the far reaches of the Segmentum Pacificius until they could redeem themselves. To add further cause of shame, the Herald's home world was destroyed with all traces of it expunged as well as being forbidden to recruit until absolved of their heresy, this was effectively a death sentence as without the ability to recruit the chapter would slowly diminish to nothing especially with their weakened forces. Slowly doubt began top creep into the minds of the chapter they started to believe that they had been abandoned and betrayed by corrupt forces within the Imperium they had sacrificed so much for. Only their morbid faith kept them going as it began seeking a way to transcend death so they would be able to fight to protect the Imperium from outside enemies as well as the corrupt fools who would destroy it from the inside for all eternity. Joining forces with an exploratory fleet of the Mechanicius under the pretence continuing their penitent crusade, the Heralds sought rumours of an ancient STC that could revive the dead in their quest to transcend death. On an abandoned world known as Orcus the Heralds found their prize, a strike force led by Crypt keeper Michael joined the Explorator Magos as they searched for the STC. In the abandoned mausoleum city they uncovered the STC for the Sarcosan wave form generator, an ancient piece of Areotech that was forbidden millennia ago by the Emperor and Priesthood of Mars millennia ago that could bring the dead back to life through the use of warp energy. When the Magos and his forces tried destroying this forbidden tech for its heresy against the Omnissiah, they were massacred by the Heralds who cut them down with no mercy to protect what the chapter saw as their salvation. Acting quickly the Crypt keeper sent a signal to the rest of the chapter in orbit who opened fire upon the explorator fleet, whilst they were outnumbered the Heralds managed to destroy or capture the majority of the fleet. This was mostly achieved though both surprise and treachery when corrupt elements within the explorator fleet turned on their comrades allying with the Heralds in their goal to transcend Death. However this betrayal could not go unnoticed as moments before the last loyal elements were destroyed they managed to send out a warning to the nearest imperial world through Astropaths. Using the discovered STC, the chapter created a gigantic wave form generator (Anima Chorus) right in the centre of the city which began to bring the dead back to life, through sorcery and forbidden Archeotech the Heralds assembled a massive army of undead including a large amount of corpse thralls, constructs and undead marines of the Heralds which were slain before their censure but whose remains were kept as their chapters cult decreed. Eventually word of their heresy reached the Imperium with a massive crusade fleet assembled to wipe out the newly declared Heretic chapter, elements of nearly all branches of the Imperium were part of the fleet as all had a reason to see the Heralds destroyed. The Mechanicius who wanted to punish the chapter for their tech heresy, those chapters who originally decimated them to finish the job and the newly formed Adeptus Sororitas of the Eccelesiarchy led by inquisitors who were keen to purge the stigma the chapter represented to the Ecclesiarchy through their previous crimes. Even chapters who once sought vengeance for the Herald's past crimes during the Age of Apostasy were once again keen to fully destroy the traitors finally seeking justice against them. Whilst their undead forces and devastating tactics made the chapter deal serious casualties to the crusade fleet, eventually one by one the Heralds were slain as well as their undead army destroyed with Crypt Lord Michael and the chapter's remaining veterans slain making a last stand defending the Sarcosan Wave Generator. Imperial forces destroyed the chapter's forbidden Archeotech however this released a shock wave of pure warp energy which engulfed the entire planet and surrounding fleet as the thin barrier between the immaterium was torn asunder. A warp storm created from the unleashed energy descended upon the sector utterly destroying ships as well as opening small warp rifts from which poured hordes of Nurglite Daemons decimating the the crusade fleet which were desperately escaping from the grasp of the warp. Only a few ships of the mighty fleet survived the devastation, the remainder engulfed by the fury of the warpstorm created by the destruction of the Anima Chorus which sealed off the entire sector for centuries, eventually the Heralds of Salvation passed into myth as all trace of their heresy was purged in order to prevent any from following in their footsteps, however they would not stay dead and would finally transcend death to take their vengeance against the living. Coming Soon!!!!!! The Corrupted Believed to be founded during the start of the M34, it was believed that the Herald's were founded in an attempt by the Ecclesiarchy to create chapter's that were loyal only to them following the church's rapid rise to power and complete control of the High Lords of Terra. Ultimately believed to be of the Iron Hands Geneseed it is unknown which successor chapter they were founded from as even before the purge of the chapters history by the Inquistion. Whilst their predecessor were pure without any mutation the Geneseed of the Heralds became debased and impure resulting in their hyper stimulated Omophagea which became corrupt in the chapters early history. Over time the chapter became addicted to the processes of the Omophagea, actively consuming the flesh of their fallen enemies which began to be ritualised by the chapter seeing it as becoming one with death as well as denying the souls of their enemies an afterlife. Another mutation the chapter suffered in their geneseed was that every Battle Brother over a few years of being inducted into the chapter began to pale taking on a corpse like pallor further deepening the suspicion the Inquisition had about the chapter as well as other chapters that fought alongside them. With the extinction of the Heralds of salvation and the warp rift being unleashed by the destroyed Anima Chorus, the barrier between the Immaterium was shattered enabling the foul energies of the Chaos God Nurgle to rebirth the Heralds into unholy life as decayed revenants. Their forms have become truly corrupt and decayed with foul warp sorcery sustaining their diseased forms. COMING SOON!!!!!! A Growing Threat It is believed that the Heralds of Salvation have little in the way of fleet capacity as there has only been a few ships recorded to be used by them. However with the unholy rebirth of the Heralds the numbers of zombie ships reported in the sectors around the edge of the Segmentum Pacificus has disturbingly been rapidly increasing. These ships to all purposes are devoid of all life filled to the brim with corpses these desolate corpse ships will drift aimlessly through the regions like some mobile graveyard floating through space. To greedy What is most alarming is that the dead on board do not stay dead, if these "corpse ships" are boarded then the the dead are reborn through foul sorcery as shambling zombies. Seemly controlled by an malignant intelligence these decayed monsters will overwhelm those foolish enough to board their ship with even the most determined foe dragged down by the undead's all consuming hunger for flesh. Successful boarding and destruction of zombie ships have led the Inquisiton to believe that the Heralds of Salvation are the cause for this filling captured ships with the dead as well as daemon engines. these daemon engines have limited control of the desolate ships they infected guiding the ship towards the living. Bound with foul sorcery and dark Archeotech the daemon engines contain a wave form generator which reanimates the dead through foul necromancy. There have even been reports of zombie ships crashing into imperial worlds which cause those zombies to survive intact to attack those who investigate the wrecks with zombie outbreaks spreading across the Segmentum Pacificius "Spectral Revenant" http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/mediawiki/images/9/9b/Slaughter_Cruiser.jpg Slaughter Class Cruiser Dimensions: Approximately 5 kilometres long, 0.8 kilometres abeam. Mass: Approximately 28.5 Megatonnes. Crew: Approximately 140 plague marines with 50 000 plague zombies including daemonic support Acceleration: 2.4 Gravities maximum acceleration. A heavily modified and corrupted ship this once proud vessel once served as part of the Imperial Fleet that was sent to destroy the Heralds of Salvation for their crimes against the Imperium, before it's fall it was once known as the "Heretics bane" with a noble history which has now turned black. With chapter's dark rebirth this vessel dubbed the "Spectral Revenant" has become feared as a silent hunter of Nurgle which preys on ships along the edges of the Segmentum Pacificius spreading death and decay. Being masters of undeath this ship serves as the flagship of the Heralds with a crew made entirely of the undead which shamble around the ship's confines, these mindless zombies crew the ship through foul sorcery as well as acting as a limitless defence against enemy boarders. Modified to have Torpedo tubes replacing the ships standard prow weapon this fast and deadly ship has been known to ambush other ships in hit and run attacks with its deadly short ranged weapons that can leave larger ships crippled or destroyed. A disturbing tactic has been observed that the Spectral Revenant uses blasphemous boarding torpedoes filled with deadly plagues and zombies inside. When these torpedoes penetrate their target they release a cloud of noxious gas which kill those within the blast radius, zombies which were crammed within the tubes swarm the interior of the ship so plague and undeath take a deadly toll on the ship's crew. Fitted with ancient Archeotech it features a Sarcosan Wave form Generator that sustains the undead on board through the sorcery of the warp as well as bringing the dead back to life nearby, built within the ship's Warp Field Generator as being undead means the heralds have little to fear from the denizens of the warp. The Spectral Revenant is believed to house an ancient Teleportarium from which squads of Plague marines and worse launch raids against key targets on board other ships or even planets. The Lost Graveyard There is a myth whispered in hushed fearful tones by both Rogue traders and the Imperial Navy of a massive graveyard of ships that lies hidden along the edges of the Segmentum Pacificius known as the fabled Lost Graveyard. It is believed that the area of space was sight to a forgotten fleet battle long ago which mysterious left both sides utterly destroyed leaving the desolate ships to drift within the graveyard. Whilst it is rumoured to be a treasure trove of technological and scientific bounties it is also believed to be haunted by the dead who lurk within the graveyard with those foolish enough to enter never leaving alive again,however in truth it is far worse. The Heralds of Salvation and their armies of the undead have made the graveyard their base of operations within a crippled Repulsive Grand class cruiser acting as their stronghold. The Graveyard's defence lies not only in the horror stories that keep nearly everyone away but those foolish enough to enter the graveyard find their greed be the death of them as they are overwhelmed by the undead which roam the countless desolate ships that drift aimlessly within the graveyard.