IA The Aristocracy

[Fiery Ovaltine]

The Aristocracy

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Origins

T

he Sanctified Swords chapter, of the Ultramarine gene seed was tasked with creating a proto-chapter. Centuries earlier, the then commander of the sanctified Swords had promised over a game of poker that if they ever had to create a proto-chapter, the task of leading it would go to the captain of the 6th company. Goderick Massyngbyrd. By the time this honour came to the chapter, Massyngbyrd was over 700 years old and had received a blow in the head from a thunderhammer, and spent most of his mornings roosting in the great hall, believing he was a pigeon. But a promise is a promise and, catching him at his most lucid, the current commander told Massyngbyrd what he needed to do. Massyngbyrd jumped into action and named 40 marines he wanted to join him in the proto chapter. Unfortunately most of these were long dead veterans or fictional characters from books.
But eventually Massyngyrd, his rightly hesitant fellow marines and their serfs took off on a battle barge in search of a suitable homeworld in the far north of the segmentum obscuras. Following communication problems between Goderick and his navigators the proto chapters landed not on Askantor, the swirling storm world of the constant cyclone, home to the hulking ogre-men of the jagged spires. But instead on Astantor, the civilized cosmopolitan world of the reasonably prized wine, home to the reliable boyfriends of the quiet suburbs. Tired of the substandard brandy in the ships kitchens and in search of a more comfortable back-supporting chair. Massyngbyrd took to the surface of the planet and quickly requisitioned a huge stately home and it's vast grounds as a fortress monastery. Massyngbyrd, having spent the previous 7 centuries in a fortress monestary and only seeing the real world through the sights of a bolter, took one look at the 'Oinks and plebs' the other veterans suggested he recruited, and was disgusted. 'These people are subhuman! That lads using a fish knife for lamb, an oyster knife for fish and a butter knife for stabbing!' So he saw fit to restrict recruiting to the upper echelons of Astantorian society, he invited the heads of the great families to jovial games of bridge, golf and pin the tail on the urchin, and soon they were lining up to offer their sons to the chapter. Seeing their acceptance as a sign of their good breading, it became a competition, the family with the most boys in the chapter, or the most successful marine, could laud it over the others at dinner parties in all the smug silent ways that cripple the souls of people with no sense of perspective whatsoever.
Members of the chapter constantly claim to suffer from many different gene seed defects, although there is no evidence to support this, and it is generally agreed that they are just pretending to get out of work. Nonetheless, the most common claims are:
'My Biscopea is clearly defective, I better not do any of that undignified running.'
'My Omophegea is faulty I tell you! I can only learn by eating if the tissue is fermented and distilled into a fine brandy, and then aged for several years in my personal wine cellar.'
'My Lyman's ear is on the fritz old chap, I can't hear anyone with your poor standard of breeding, damn thing just filters it all out you see. I would get you to write it down, but we both know thts slightly beyond you.'
Over the following millenniums their distinctive organization and combat doctrine was ironed out in many of the impirium's most major battles, such as the rebellion of the nurses union of Epsilon-Trimulon, crushing the united-love-coven of indignant poets of the Grabnar system and the succesful bombings of the heretical mass orphanages of Toddlash 5.

“Damn nuisance that campaign on Toddlash 5, some of those orphanage fires stung the eyes like you wouldn't believe, I had to put my helmet on, which really messed up my hair. It certainly had an effect on my caddy's eyes, 'crying' he called it. In any case he was broken, so I tossed him in the fire and got a new one.” Trooper Harrington Perciville-Perciville Mountbaten Van D'Sessna 2nd company

Homeworld and recruitment

Astantor is located in the far north of the segmentum obscuras. And the perfect location for a chapter with a relaxed attitude towards combat efficiency and a preference for a fine brandy and pipe tobacco.
The majority of the planet's population live in large cities, full of winding roads of red brick houses, squalid slums, and the ever present stench of human waste. There are probably endless examples of charismatic merchants, charming pickpockets and grumpy landowners, but the chapter based here see's nothing but loud smelly ant-hills. Outside these cities, past the clean suburbs where contented couples trim hedges and hold candlelight dinners. Are the huge country mansions, some millenia old, these ludicrously large symbols of dominance tower over the surrounding land in a conscious effort to make plebs and oinks shudder. Each of these houses is encompassed by vast acres of virgin land, for bird hunting and fishing, and is staffed by hundreds of servants of various skills, who usually occupy the position their father, and granfather occupied before them. It is from these domesticated men that the Aristocracy chapter recruits it's serfs.
Recruitment to the chapter is slow, a family must restake it's claim to be well bred and wealthy enough for it's boys to be recruited every two decades. It is seen as the most devastating embarrassment if you are refused, or if none of the recruits from your family survive to full marine status.
The chapter bases itself in the grandest of all the stately homes, the Massyngbyrd House which is constantly being renovated and added to, leading the trend all others attempt to follow. Rather than grouses and peacocks the grounds are filled with the planets most dangerous animals, shipped in from the tropics, for the chapter to hunt, such as the spectacled maiming-monkey, the easily-enraged-elephant, and the hippopotamus. As a result, gardeners are a resource constantly in demand. This estate is unique in that it is surrounded by defense lasers and a large space-port, but all decorated in classic mahogany with vivid red soft furnishings and granite floor tiles. Training for these marines usually consists of sitting on the back porch with a cocktail in one hand, and the handle of a bolter fixed to the ground via a tripod, and firing at birds, trees, apples on the heads of serfs, apples behind the heads of serfs etc. Hunting big game with antique, traditional missile launchers and re-enacting past tactical victories through croquet, golf or, if the marines are feeling particularly energetic, motorbike-polo.

“Bad news lads, poor old Smittington took a banger in the chest at the last push, and ended up trousers deep in entrails. I had to snap his neck to stop the sreaming. Good old chap, we were in the same dorm back at marine training. I remember he played Mrs. Arbanara in the end of year play. No gels you see, so we had to make do with a purple dress and a ginger wig we'd found on some old target dummy. Very dedicated man, he ended up wearing the dress every night before the play just to get in character, and most nights after that come to think of it... I used to get very confused when I was around him... maybe thats why I smiled when I heard his neck go click...”
Se argent William Lloyd Banerman 2nd company

Combat doctrine

The Aristocracy follows a unique combat doctrine. Every Aristocracy marine is equipped with an attack bike and assigned a human serf (known as a caddy) to drive it. While the marine sits in the gunners seat shouting inane and contradictory directions and occasionally firing at the enemy.
Other popular ways to pass the time during battles include boring the caddy with old hunting stories and referring to them as Jeeves or Wilkins and out right refusing to remember their actual name.
Standard equipment includes a metal cane, which can be used as a walking aid, or for delivering a thrashing to a serf who had the audacity to bleed on your armor, or a xenos who had the audacity to shoot your serf, and make him bleed on your armor.
Often Large groups of lightly armed serfs, or PDF, guard or anyone else at hand, are used in large squads when objectives must be captured or defended, these are herded in the battle by the marines. Who often motivate these men with a few shots near there feet, or a nudge from a bikes front wheel.
Each marine has pretty much free reign in a battle, and getting lost, retiring early for a cocktail and firing on friendly forces is not uncommon. A marine of this chapter can only be successful if the caddy attached to them is highly skilled. Serfs with the confidence to ignore just the right amount of orders, and to trust that their eyesight is not wrong, and that is actually a cliff their marine is telling them to drive over. This allows the marines skill and power to not be nullified by their extreme arrogance, and total indifference to whats happening around them.

“...So anyway the captain chose this moment to pat his pastry chef on the back, alas it seems he forgot he was still wearing his power fist, awfully cumbersome things you'd never catch me with one Jeeves. Anyway the pastry chef worked double shifts for a few weeks and managed to get the stains out of the rug... I say Jeeves what is that large black thing in the distance all those other bikes seem to be milling around?”
“I believe that it is the chaos land raider sir, and it is in fact shooting at those bikes sir. By the way my name is actually Richardson sir.”
“Well than I should awfully like to fire at it myself Jeeves, show it who it's dealing with.”
“I'll take us there at once sir, blather on.”
“Where was I, ah of course. Lord Wilmington, seeing this display remarked... well I'm not entirely sure what he remarked I was too busy thrashing a porter, but I'm sure it was frighteningly witty. Ah the good old days, the padding in these motorbike seats was much better back then, I almost spilled my cocktail when you hit that log back then.”
“I believe that was a mine sir.”
“Are you sure Jeeves?”
“Quite sure sir, I believe it blew off one of my legs, few logs are known to do that.”
Trooper Percivile and his caddy during a battle against the black legion on Kaskador

Organization

The chapter numbers around 350, due to the selectiveness of their recruitment process. However due to their need for many more serfs, brandy, pipe tobacco and armchairs than other chapters it takes as much, if not more room to transport this chapter than any other. The scout company, which numbers 50 is organized in to 10 loose squads of scout bikes which aim to stay together on the battlefield. The 300 full marines that make up the other three companies however act almost entirely independently on the battlefield, and the rank of sergeant mainly mean bigger quarters and more serf's, rather than any actual authority. Captains are the only ones to ride around on land speeders, with their serf driving just like the bikes.
The Aristocrats never order each other around, even the commander would see it s the height of bad manners to tell his troopers what to do, usually politely worded requests are used, which because of strictly followed social norms are usually granted.
The Aristocrats make heavy use of whirlwind tanks as they don't care about accidental civilian deaths, and enjoy being away from the noise and confusion of combat.

Requisition for replacement caddy:
Reason for loss of caddy: During the last battle, which I am told as a riotous success. The impact of a missile had clearly created a rather large impression in the soft earth. And raining as it was, this crater was filled with what I was informed is referred to as 'mud'. This large pool, as you may say, of mud was between me and the nearest transport. And fearing that I would otherwise have to traipse around the obstacle, or else get my armour most ungracefully messy. I pushed my caddy, whose name I believed was 'You there' or something along those lines, into the puddle and walked across his body, which it seems was unable to take the weight of my armour.
Notes: It seamed a shame to ruin the boys whole battle, I think he was rather enjoying himself up until that point, from what I could decipher from his un-educated dialect. Find enclosed one pittance, to be payed to his family in ten yearly installments of one tenth of a pittance.
Yours Sincerely Trooper Richard Montvernesberg 1st company. Dictated but not read

Beliefs

The Aristocracy have no regard for human life whatsoever, with the exception of 'Good old boys' from the golf club, and the occasional charming urchin. Therefore in Aristocrat campaigns civilian death counts can sometimes be almost as high as the enemies.
They see the astartes, as the mot important members of the imperium. As they are the best dressed and most well spoken chapter, they are therefore the most important.
They find it very difficult to work alongside other imperial forces, and other forces get very impatient with them, very quickly.

“I met this awful character on the last crusade, chap said he was a 'Space Wolf'. Although why he seamed so proud of that fact was beyond me, because frankly I've never met such a rude man in all my life, quaffing and spitting and growling at the enemy. And he had the audacity to call himself a Space Marine! like us. When he started howling I almost dropped my pipe in sheer surprise, I didn't know where to look.

[Ace Debonair]

I Say! :o

 

You've got your homeworld down as both Askantor and Astantor, old chap. Prob'ly the fault of them rascally serfs. They do enjoy the occasional jape, wot?

 

 

The Aristocrats never order each other around, even the commander would see it s the height of bad manners to tell his troopers what to do, usually politely worded requests are used, which because of strictly followed social norms are usually granted.

 

Great stuff. Very easy to picture battlefield dialogue for these chaps.

"Watkinson, could you round up some of the lads and go sort out that bunch of yahoos on the left flank?" ^_^

 

Could use a gene-seed section, dont'cha know, all the best chapters have 'em.

And perhaps get one of the serfs to scribe us a jolly good, noble battle cry. You know the sort, let people know they're about to get what for. :)

 

 

A good start, all in all.

[Firepower]

I'm really liking this, you clearly know what you're doing. A few typos and punctuation errors are present, but it's perfectly readable as is: that sort of polish can wait.

 

Find enclosed one pittance, to be payed to his family in ten yearly installments of one tenth of a pittance.

 

Though i have to call shenanigans here, good sir. Futurama, in the reading of Bender's relative's will. Save the Groening plagiarism for Seth MacFarlane, he actually has to draw a paycheck from it. ^_^

 

Speaking of plagiarism, maybe an Upper Class Twits contest (a la And Now For Something Completely Different) could be held for those who aren't blue blooded enough to endure implantation and gene therapy without a clear loss of mental aptitude :lol: .

 

Some of the special staff could use fluffing, as well. I'm curious to see what you do to bastardize Techmarines, Librarians, and Chaplains into proper bred Astartes.

 

Jolly good m'boy. Tell your writer monkey to keep up the good work, and be sure to feed the little blighter once in a while. It's a right hassle to train new ones I hear.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

I have a VERY BAD feeling that, if the Aristocracy were to go into battle alongside ANY OTHER Space Marine Chapter, the result will make the Horus Heresy look like two drunkards bawling in front of a bar.

 

Black Templars: Considering how fanatical they are, they'll probably feel insulted when an Aristocrat- intentionally or unintentionally- questions their worthiness as the Emperor's chosen, and challenge the Aristocrat to an honor duel. This may descend to an outright firefight between the Chapters, as the Aristocrat claims fighting a duel is "beneath him."

 

Blood Angels: I can easily imagine the Death Company mistaking the Aristocracy for Black Legionnaires and the Aristocrat Chapter Master for Horus himself- especially as the Aristocracy is prone to "friendly fire" incidents.

 

Dark Angels: The Aristocracy's condescending manner towards other Astartes, may result in the Dark Angels interpreting an Aristocrat rebuttal as knowledge of the Fallen. Supreme Grandmaster Azrael may arrange for several Aristrocracy companies to be "lost to the Warp."

 

Salamanders: With the Aristocracy's disregard for human life, they'll make Captain Vinyard of the the Marines Malevolent, look like Vulkan himself to Chapter Master Tu'Shan. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Chapters go to war against each other, after an Aristocracy Whirlwind bombardment on a besieged hive, results in the deaths of Salamanders defending the hive or covering the retreat- with the Aristocrat Chapter Master claiming the dead Salamanders "got what they deserved" afterwards.

[Grey Hunter Ydalir]

I am being quite amused by imagining the reactions of various other chapters all and sundry in their reaction to the Aristocrats.

 

I know that my Blazing Sons would take about five minutes to come to the conclusion that all of the Aristocrats need to die. Right now. Then they would kill them all. :tu:

[Galdegir]

A great read, I love it :lol:

I am tempted to paint one just for laughs.

 

“I met this awful character on the last crusade, chap said he was a 'Space Wolf'. Although why he seamed so proud of that fact was beyond me, because frankly I've never met such a rude man in all my life, quaffing and spitting and growling at the enemy. And he had the audacity to call himself a Space Marine! like us. When he started howling I almost dropped my pipe in sheer surprise, I didn't know where to look.

Space Wolves are known to be impulsive and do not take insults lightly, how did he survive the encounter is beyond me...

[DeathTyrant]

Ok, you absolutely MUST have your servitors be robot butlers to complete the image! :lol:

[Ace Debonair]

[/i]

“I met this awful character on the last crusade, chap said he was a 'Space Wolf'. Although why he seamed so proud of that fact was beyond me, because frankly I've never met such a rude man in all my life, quaffing and spitting and growling at the enemy. And he had the audacity to call himself a Space Marine! like us. When he started howling I almost dropped my pipe in sheer surprise, I didn't know where to look.

Space Wolves are known to be impulsive and do not take insults lightly, how did he survive the encounter is beyond me...

 

Probably interrupted by one of those dastardly chaos bounders, wot? :lol:

[Galdegir]

Probably interrupted by one of those dastardly chaos bounders, wot?  :P

 

Yes, those spiky bastards tend to do that...  :tu:

[elohimalpha]

Loving it! I think the Chapter's Techmarines need to be primarily devoted to distilling brandy and the manufacture of obscenely decadent armchairs. Librarians would have to be even more snooty and insufferable, even by The Aristocracy's standards. Not sure about Chaplains . . . lecherous Cardinals? Bumbling country priests? Every time I think about this Chapter I picture Dickens characters in power armor. Poor orphans.