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Glory and Hate! A Marines Malevolent Project


Hyaenidae

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The M88 "Negotiator" Anti-Material Rifle from Anvil Industries makes a good variant for scout snipers. Also matches better your badass style.

 

I'd also love to see a command squad but it may need some planning so don't rush it :)

(Note: This IS an official vow. Just in an abstract, very Heathen-esque form. The actual vow will be colored bright orange at the bottom for Captain Semper's sake and sanity. Forgive my madness, I was inspiried)


'I have been bequeathed ash and failure', thought Ward-Captain Phelan Madra as he walked into the cavernous flight bay that acted as the Marines Malevolent IV Centuria's motorpool and armoury. The dull lume lights above snapped on fitfully, at least those that worked, making the dusty, quiet bay appear like a graveyard on a rain-swept day. The thought was quite fitting to the hold he stood in, tarps covering many of the salvaged vehicles like death shrouds, piles of half-ruined warplate laying about here and there in various colors, half-full wooden supply boxes stacked randomly like so many caskets. Along the walls were tall alcoves, each covered by more plastek tarping. Phelan knew that under each was racks for spare plate, though he knew far too many of the alcoves were utterly bare, stripped for useful part years, decades, centuries, even milennia ago. Like everything the IV owned, corrosion had set into almost every piece of equipment, turning the proud heraldry of the Marines Malevolent into a rust-streaked ruin. Even the bastardized Conquest-class Star Galleon Cú Sídhe that the IV had called home for the last 7,000 years was a mismatched mess of refits, non-standard modifications, and desperate repairs; clusters of cabling bracketed to the walls, giant plates of steel and adamantium welded the hull from damage taken long ago, the constant drip of failing pipes filling the air with the smell of wet rust and mold. Hundreds of thousands of small etchings could be seen on every surface, Brothers of the Centuria scratching millions of sayings into the very hull over the millenia. Kill talleys, oaths, memoriums to long-dead battle-brothers; once in a while, one could even see artwork carved and painted into corners and hidden passages, proof that there once was a soul within the Demi-Legio.


If Phelan had his way, there would be such spirit again, one day. He cracked his knuckles, going over what he would say in his mind, in hopes of swaying his brethren to an honourable path. A quirk of his personality, Phelan rarely wore plate over his arms, perfering the stinging kick of a bolter or the brutal vibrations of a chainsword in his bare hands, only leaving his pauldrons to mark his position and allegeance. It made him feel... grounded. Mortal, even. Keeping such a thought in mind held back the daemons of his blackened humours, at least usually. Very old and faded tattoos wrapped all around his arms and hands, more peaking out around his neck and jawline; a visual reminder of the violent, wasted youth that he barely remembered any more. With a start, he realized his Legio was the same, living a new life and having forgotten their past. The difference, though, was that Phelan had left a life of dishonour and had been remade a better man; the Marines Malevolent had once been a Demi-Legion of noble warriors, and over the milennia had become monsters. Inspired, he knew now what to say.


Reaching out with one hand, Phelan ripped the plastek sheet off of the nearest vehicle, creating a dust-storm as he cast it away. Underneath was a Land Speeder "Storm" variant, a recent aquisition during the War of Cinders, against the pagan Star Phantoms. It's hull was still a pale grey-white, the skulled hourglass showing promenantley on the nose, it's rear thrusters shot through from a heavy bolter. Streaks of red-brown could be seen spattered across it's hull as well, mostly around the pilot and co-pilot positions, from when the young post-humans had been executed after crashing. Phelan turned, facing the group of his brothers, his bared and tattooed arm sweeping across it's hull like a peddler showing off his wares. He scanned the group of yellow and black plated Astartes, locking on to a warrior with multiple bionics implanted within his flesh. "Master Engineer Risada," He began, the curl of his lip uttery ruining the sound of respect in his voice," Would you care to explain why our Centuria goes to war almost naked, with no aerial support and very little ground armour, when our holds are full of half-wrecked and even fully salvageable vehicles?"


Risada, the senior technician within the Centuria, looked taken aback. "Serg... Captain, I was following the Reclamation Oath put in place by Honorable Captain Valus Anicetius, after the wounds we took against our former cousins, the Sons of Malice. I did not think...."


Phelan cut him off. "Indeed. You did not think. None of you are thinking," he spread his arms wide, taking in the entire leadership of the IV, glaring daggers into each set of eyes he crossed. "Anicetius, Terra keep his memory, is a qa'ahi corpse thanks to the Star Phantoms. Dead. He did what he could to keep us alive, but events have transpired against us. We spent far too long in the void, gutting pirates and swine-kin, and slowly letting The Condition set in, going for each others throats as much as strangling the enemy of all, or staring at walls remembering every horror filled moment of our broken lives."


Phelan took a cleansing, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself before he was claimed by the very madness he spoke of, then continued, "Six Thousand Terran years we have followed the path of the nomad, avoiding the Imperium to preserve it's citizens from our brand of combat, as our great Father taught us. We jumped from warzone to warzone above the galactic plane for almost our enitre existence, only returning to the Imperium we defended when our supplies were short, we were about to become extinct. The emergency beacon we recieved from Legio Command was enough to finally drag us from the shallows, rushing to save our own from death at the hands of the Ashen Ones. And what did we find? Our Demi-Legio has lost it's way entirely. They call themselves a "Chapter" now. They actually follow the Half-Traitor's 'Codex'. They murder the Emperor's citizens en masse, not as a necessity, but because it is an easier path. Because they enjoy it! There is rumor that Witch-Kin are actually allowed to wear the Yellow and Black amongst some of their so-called 'Companies'! " Phelan was practically screaming now, his blood up, lips peeled back from teeth. So furious was he that he did not notice his own brothers, even the adopted I Centuria Chaplain, taking a step back nevously, the hypervigiliance of the Condition causing them to place their hands upon weapons. Such focus. Such fury. Such rage. Such charisma. The Condition, also known as Transhuman Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, was both a curse, and a determination of one's control amongst the IV. The dark circles under Phelan's eyes told of how little sleep he was getting, the muscle tics and dialated pupils showing how deep his mind had gone in the last few moments, yet he still had mastery over his black heart.


Any amongst the IV command who doubted the young Ward-Captains' ascension swiftly reconsidered their opinions that moment. If not because their thoughts matched his, then because they knew that to challenge him would result in a violently crushed skull.


"We go to war, brothers. A war unlike any we have seen before; a war for the very core of our Demi-Legio," Phelan's pacing had stopped, turning to see every warrior, every specialist, every non-commisioned officer had removed their helms and were watching him intently. "We are going to war with our own. I have already prepared communicae's to every Centuria that I know still holds to the Old Path to join us, or die forgotten. If I have to, I will gun down our own Lord Warden myself to save us all. And this war will begin with the re-establishment of our Armoury, at any damned cost."


Phelan turned away from his brothers, and begun walking the line, ripping tarps off of vehicles, one by one. The men behind him followed, their blood up, knowing every word he had said was far too brutally true to be ignored, knowing action would be their only salvation. "This Land Speeder Storm will be operational now, Risada. Ensure it's Multi-Melta is fully functional as well, " Phelan called over his shoulder. The Engineer nodded, his face set in grim determination. "Scout-Master Arlee, I expect a higher op-tempo with the advancements of our Neophytes, and five capable Scouts ready for combat within the year, trained in the use of camo-cloaks and bolters. No excuses, or you will be replaced in the most horrible way I can imagine. Tracking, Master Sergeant?"


Arlee's scarred face never ceased scowling, but his voice became more animated, "You can bet your ass, Sir. Five tough-as-ceramite scouts decked in black, coming up."


Tearing away the next tarp, even Phelan had to stop, suprised at the Machine of Death that lay beneath, still painted in the heraldic colors of the IV Centuria. "A dreadnought. How... how long has this sat here?" Risada referenced the black paper traced in gold that sat upon it's twin-linked Autocannon, affixed with a red wax seal, and spoke the words aloud "'The mighty Lin Yang, honoured of the Poisoned, was layed low, in the year M37.558. May Terra never forget his name.'"


Phelan shook his head. "Madness. We have the ability to burn the Eye from memory with the equipment we have, yet we hoard it all like a pauper-child hiding broken toys." Phelan thought for a moment, then turned to Chief Medic Soeka. "Doc, do we have any who fit the pre-requisites for entombment?"


Soeka, his dark skin creased in concentration, took a moment to think as well. His eyes widened as he reached a conclusion. "Riguez, sir. He was critically wounded during the purge of the Halo of Steel, and his body is too badly damaged to accept normal cybernetics. He is Lionhearted, and I feel would survive the internment."


Phelan nodded. "Good enough for me. Leave us, and prepare him for eternal glory." Soeka saluted, and left the bay, pushing past High Chaplain Sabaktes. The Chaplain, watching the young Ward-Captain throw out orders, was highly conflicted. His loyalty was torn, between the master of the Marines Malevolent to whom he was sworn, and the honour of his Chapter, which this young warrior seemed to embody. He had been attached to the IV, expecting to order their death as his Master had expected as well, but found that the Old Ways that these men had brought back from the void, were far closer to the Shrouded Teachings of the Chaplaincy than the Companies and Chapter he had been born into. Those bastards didn't even notice his rank; the men of the IV respected his position greatly, and despite hating whom he represented, came to him to soothe their damaged psyches.


Trust in the Lost, said the ancient Father of Hate, the Marines Malevolent's unnamed spiritual founder, the man who had destroyed their past to abolish the memory of their Primarchs, so that they could rise above their total failure to the Emperor and Imperium. Never had those words seemed more prophetic....

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

I, 1000heathens, vow....blah blah blah....august 15th.....death and shame... (I've typed enough and shown my determination, I think)

Land Speeder Storm w/ MM: 65

5 Scouts w/ bolters, missile launcher and cloaks: 100

Dread w/ TLAC: 115

This is... your new captain is a bonafide badass. I know this isn't the place to go into details of fluff and the like, but I really, really, REALLY like the idea of Transhuman Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It makes so much sense, and adds a whole new layer of terror and scary to an already awesome company of marines. I'm looking forward to seeing what you're going to do with the vow... Knowing you, it will be utterly spectacular.

 

Also, I'm gonna say it, but your Marines Malevolent feel like a loyal version of the Night Lords 10th company. To me, at least.

 

Cheers amigo, and best of luck. I will be watching closely.

Longtime follower of this project reporting, but haven't commented much (at all, I think!).  Seeing as how you're on track to wrap this army up, I just want to let you know that I've been in awe of these guys from the start.  The battle damage, the poor equipment, and the scrappy barebones force organization have really endeared me to this army, and it'll be a sad day when this awesome project comes to a close.

 

As a Space Wolves player who values narrative and close, hard fought victories, it's been great seeing you take the same approach.  I love seeing armies that stress total annihilation of their enemies through skill at arms over the quality of said arms, and your Demi-Legio has certainly taken this to heart!  Hopefully we'll see some batreps from these guys in the future, because they deserve a hell of a saga.

 

Inspirational stuff.  Keep it up.

Man your conversions, attention to detail and back story's are a inspiration when it comes to my crimson fists. After they're a chapter that a re building what ever they can.

 

That plasm.....sorry.....mini nuke launcher is awesome and that flamer too.

 

Great..... great work fella. Thumbs up all round

@War Angel: True. Maybe I can see about taking one for y'all

 

@Loketh: Nah, I'm still going to end it. Just going to add a little more armour to the ranks. Why? You'll have to see, my loyal lurking amigo... ;)

 

@Aquilinaus: I want this one to end, though. I want to begin focusing more on my Astral Claws more, as I have a :cuss: load of human auxilia to paint. Like, 79 of them...

 

@Everyone: I'm really glad you all liked the story. There will be more installments after each completed ETL vow. Keep an eye out!

Great fluff, really brings your army to life; love Phelan already.Looking forward to more and good luck with the ETL.

 

And wadyamean the death of my chapter?! The inquisition, xeno and heretic have all failed. Even the Blood Angel codex has failed to kill us off!! Still we cling to 'life'.

Um... well, that was the plan, until I just saw the new Legion Tank from Forgeworld today....

gallery_2_3711_41896.jpg

Are you seeing this bloody thing?!? My God, this is so damn cool! Imagine it in yellow and black.... :drool:

Sweet baby Sanguinius that is the coolest tank to come out of Heresy range I've seen yet! I want these SO BADLY!!! :drool:

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