Search the Community

+Forgotten Sons+ “A forgotten blade retains its edge…” 'How insular is Chapter 333? Well it depends entirely on their mood; with some being quite open, while others often as not sulk or ignore you. In the time I dealt with them, I could never truly say I knew their true character.' -Lord Astor Glaber, "Beyond the Light of the Emperor: A Privateers Tale" Astor Glaber grunted as he ripped the rapier from the guts of the spindly A’ltuu scout, the alien’s cerulean blood spattering across the privateer’s face. Behind him, he heard a wet crunch and snap fired his arklock, the lightning gun obliterating the insectoid that had it’s mandibles deep in the chest plate of one of his scions. Glaber, the youngest son of the formidable Rogue Trader family, had found himself in the employ of one the fleets escorting the Lord Regent’s primaris marines to a forgotten region of space, though the fact that a chapter could have survived this long, so far from the galactic core, had seemed impossible. However, the young Glaber, at the time, a tender twenty-two and in command of his first vessel, had leapt at the opportunity to make something of himself in the years following the schism of the galaxy. That, of course, had been ten years prior, and while Astor had seen his share of wonders on the edge of Mankind’s great empire, he more often found himself in situation like today: balls deep in unknown xenos forms, hoping desperately that Chapter 333 would arrive as promised. As more of the yellow and black insectoids began to push into the atrium, Glaber cursed, the guttural slurs black enough that even a Necromundan ganger would have taken pause at some of his word choice. “Where in the three hells is Sjakpaba?” He roared into his vox, not really expecting a response, though hoping that the smooth tone of the Gatebreaker Gnostic would respond. His vessel, the light cruiser Solinus had been carrying fresh supplies for the long out of contact 5th strike force, and had been caught in low orbit as they had begun to ferry the supplies to the designated dropzone. Alien raiders had broken out of the black of the void, laser weaponry burning two of his escorts before they could even raise shields, with boarding pods already streaking towards his anchored fleet. Within an hour of engagement, the sons and daughters of the Imperium were fighting and dying to hold on to their vessels, Astor Glaber included. Astor shoved one of his bodyguards into the path of a marauding Mandarinia elite, whose hooked stinger glistened with the potent neurotoxin that had tested even the resiliency of the Adeptus Astartes. The yellow and black striations on its carapace were dappled with the red of the rest of his retinue, and while Glaber was no slouch with a rapier, he did not like his odds against the chittering warrior. Uttering a quick prayer to the Emperor, Astor braced himself to die, wishing desperately that he had smoked the Macraggian Cigarillo this morning instead of maintaining his diet. “Fething Astartes, useless fething arseholes.” He growled, not bothered that his vox was open, nor for the arguable blasphemy of his words. His rapier snapped, embedded in the carapace of his opponent and Glaber grimaced, looking up at the clacking mandibles of the 7 foot insect. The beast lunged forward, and the void prince heard a boom and felt warmth spreading across his face as he fell to his knees. He smiled, eyes closed, surprised at how little pain there was. The heat, he assumed, was the beneficence of the Emperor, carrying him to his side. He however, was wrong, as he was roughly dragged to his feet, the booms now echoing rhythmically around him. Opening one eye, he was greeted by the image of a giant in green and yellow, who’s pale face was broken with a rather large grin. Gnostic Sjakpaba, alongside his rift team, had arrived. As the Astartes veterans quickly began to drive back the xenos, Astor’s vox bead crackled and he heard the bemused response of the Gatebreaker lord: “Useless. That is a grave insult little prince. Maybe next time I am not so quick in arriving. Let bug implant you with eggs. Then we see who is useless.” [Gnostic Kixang Sjakpaba, Lord of the 5th Strikeforce] [Member-Cardinal Janus Tor, Firstborn] This is my take on Apologist's lovely Gatebreakers, which I am sure many members of this forum are familiar with. All credit for lore and color schemes goes to him, and you should absolutely visit his thread Here

++The following is an excerpt taken from an interview with Astartes Sergeant Aeneas and Interrogator Buria ++ ++Inquisition Eyes Only++ Buria: Sergeant Aeneas, you are a member of the Shattered Suns yes? A member of the 5th company I am led to believe? Aeneas: Yes Interrogator, I am indeed. Buria: Do you know why you are here? Any idea whatsoever? Aeneas: I can suspect on that account. Buria: Can you? Aeneas: Yes. I suspect I am here because, like the rest of my Chapter, we are one of the few living individuals to have survived against the skrið dauða. Or mostly survived. You and I both know most did not, either in that first, bloody encounter, or the wars after. Buria: That is correct. They are alleged to be operating in Conjuction with Abaddon, and the Imperial Inquisition believes the Shattered Suns are one of our greatest resources. Aeneas: Only took you 200 years, but I see how it is. We'd be going after them in any case inquisitor, I suspect a bit of help may be appreciated. But let me start from the beginning. Aftui` 200 years earlier Hab Spire 7/Level 425(Underhive) Squad Aesychlus had found itself in the Underhive, defending besieged citizens from the monsters that roamed the streets, the cultists in rags, and other...things. Aeneas snapped off a three round burst, the bolt shells detonating in the Plague Ogryns rotting gut, spewing a slurry of offal onto the cobblestone. Another two humans staggered out of the fog, one bearing an antiquated las weapon,the other a rusty cleaver. Both men charged him, but Aeneas deigned to waste holy ammunition on these dregs and simply crushed them beneath his boot. He turned to Cambrius, one hand shielding a child, the other firing with a bolt pistol. "Brother! Are you well?" Cambrius nodded, the grilled face plate presenting a bleak visage to the world. His bolt pistol roared again, and Aeneas heard rather than saw the fury of whatever his Brother had hit. The ground rumbled as it approached the putrid fog obscuring anything but the shape, a hulking thing with large shoulders and a hunched form.Aeneas felt his heart sink. Terminators... His head snapped as an autorifle round impacted and he turned, firing on the knot of cultists eho were attempting to bracket him with Heavy Stubber fire. A warning pulsated in his visor. Low Munitions Low Munitions SEEK RESUPPLY "Brothers! I am low on munitions! Anyone have any spares?" Wuldrad passed him two more magazines, and Aeneas expended the spent one, his bolter steaming. The other Astartes nodded once before moving past him, plasma weapon juddering in his hands, eager to release the Sun. The gorund shuddered again, and Wuldrad let out a roar, one finger pointing to the target. Aeneas turned and saw his guess was right. Two Chaos terminators were striding forward, their once crimson armor now faded, the leering Daemon skull marking their Allegiance to the XVII. One bore two crackling claws, the tips twitching, while the other had a power fist and combi bolter. Aesychlus came on the vox, "Terminators. Wuldrad, Aeneas, take the one with the fist! Ovidio, on me! Cambrius, let none pass!" "Affirmative." Wuldrad began a steady streamy of plasma, the bolts melting and penetrating into the rancid flesh of the Word Bearer, who simply growled. Aeneas began to fire on the joints, ceramite exploding with loud pops. Both astartes kept firing as the beast began to slow, and Wuldrad bellowed as the combi bolter caught him in the shins, knocking him to one knee. Aeneas ripped two grenades from his belt, priming them both as he did it and let fly. He dragged Wuldrad away as the terminator exploded, the damage far to much to bear. He heard a grunt and saw Ovidio go down, one arm spinning away, the other clutching at his neck, blood gouting in a stready flow. Aesychlus was a viper, moving two quickly to be hit, the power sword finding chinks in armor and severing servo muscle bundles. Cambrius had already grabbed Ovidio, but paused when he saw the sergeant knock away a clw and ramming his sword under the chin of the Traitor, the glowing blade coming out of the tusked helm. He staggered away, and Aeneas caught him as he stumbled, noting the damage to his Sergeants chest, the black aquila marred, and the blood leaking from 4 punctures. The 5 marines managed to get into the open shelter, hoping the other half of the squad was more successful in sabotaging the bridge three levels down. Intense Firefight by vazzy2012, on Flickr Primus Squad,under command of Sergeant Aesychlus. Primus would be engaged in a running war across Aftui` and would be one of the few to escape before the planets destruction. Cultist Cam by vazzy2012, on Flickr Captured from a damaged servo skull. Phobos rifle implies Brother Ovidio, the caretaker of this rare weapon.

T he world before me is a barren orb of ash, blood, and mud. It is the fifth of it’s kind we have encountered. Lord Guilliman has tasked us with border security, and the 129th obeys. We departed Macragge four years prior, resupplied by her forges, and reinforced by her scholams. One thousand warriors, bearing the double hammers of Tallassar. Four years since we encountered another warrior of our legion. Four years since any news of Terra has reached us. Six years since the Betrayal. Our connection with Macragge has failed us, the technology used to command us, gone. Lord Fidelitas has split the company, assigning my sub-company to follow up on distress beacons set off by our worlds. It is a thankless job, and we have been chasing shadows, having last fired a bolter in anger over six months ago. Mostly, we find a dead world, arcane sigils etched into the dirt. These we raze, I will not have the shame of them blighting the honor of Ultramar. We find some survivors, but they are rare, and often do not survive more than a week, no matter how much we try. The rest are…broken. The warp has twisted their minds in such a way that we often are forced to put them down. There is no war here. Only death and despair. “Ruminations on Betrayal” Sebastus Ixion -Sub-Tribune, 129th Co. XIII, Legio Astartes The 129th company, following rearmament on Macragge, would be assigned by Roboute Guilliman with hunting down and countering the ongoing Shadow Crusade led by Lorgar and Angron. Captain Fidelitas would opt to persecute this mission by pursuing the Chapter of the Ruined King, led by Lord Allant. This blood feud would last the length of the Heresy, and would conclude over a millennia later, with many of the parties involved remembering little, if any of the reason for the initial vendetta. However, that is a story for another time. This chronicle is instead focused on the exploits of Sub-Tribune Ixion and his veteran elite. Ixion would lead a force of about 100 separate form the rest of the company, dealing with various traitor incursions that might threaten the flanks of the company. This action would see them battle various forces under the banner of Horus, including the Warmaster’s own. Referred to as Strike Force Alpha, the warriors under Ixion were some of the 129th’s best void and terminator warriors, renowned for their first strike capacity and armored assaults on the ground. As such, it was something of a shock when the task force was reassigned to Ixion. What to say of Sebastus Ixion? ‘Lion of Tallassar’, ‘Lord of the Void Born’, he was a decorated, if somewhat unremarkable captain of the Thirteenth. Part of the 129th that had been in orbit during the Betrayal, he repelled three waves of Word Bearer assault forces attempting to take the company’s flagship, earning an Iron Halo he wore with pride until his demise. Soft of voice, Ixion was respected, if not particularly well liked by his fellow officers in the 129th, though this had little to do with his abilities, and instead reflected upon the cult of personality Luciel Fidelitas had built around himself prior to his elevation as Senior Captain. Some murmured that Ixion had rankled at the young man being promoted above him, but closed logs from the deciding vote made it clear that Ixion had nothing but respect for the young man who would go on to lead the company into the Scouring and beyond. This account will pick up immediately prior to traitor incursions into the Hadrius System, and will end immediately following the start of the Scouring. It will include multiple interludes, as well as Character profiles depicting important figures from the campaign. This author will not pretend that this account is unbiased. It is written by a survivor of said campaign, and includes various interview profiles taken from Astartes, mortal, and Mechanicum perspectives. More information is available upon request. +++PICT CAPTURE//XIII.CXXIX.FABIAN+++ +++Note: Many XIII Legio companies had began to move towards alternative heraldry as legion forces dispersed throughout Ultramar. This particular scheme is believed to have referred to themselves as the 'Shattered Suns'. Origin is unclear, though possibly a reference to the death of the Veridian star.+++ +++Laurel and Gladius insignia represents void specialist, not surprising considering armament.+++