A Renegade Story

[Commander S. Caesare]

This idea has been in my head for a while, Renegade warband that wishes to thwart the gods of Chaos for betraying them of the promises that were given, in the means of denying worlds, killing champions, etc. I can't really discern what Legion they should originate from, but I wanted them to be like gladiators, since I never heard of Astartes like that. Someday I'll get to modelling them.

 

This particular excerpt from the tale is the introduction of the leader of this warband. He's no Talos, but I find him way cooler. You'll get the idea in later entries. Yeah, his name is derived from a Roman Gladiator fighting style.

 

Please tell me what you think. C&C are welcome.

 

Punishment

 

 

 

His name is Samnitakus.

 

He was once a son of the Corpse-God, fighting for a blind promise and false faith. He was noble, angelic, like his brother Astartes. He was an Angel of Death, a master of war and a thousand weapons, a judge of life and death.

 

He fell upon his enemies. The earth shook beneath his boots. Fire raged about him like an inferno from Hell. So godly was he that he hardly felt the assault upon his metal flesh, turning aside the blows that could have ended a normal being’s life.

 

Xenos fled at the sight of his furious bombardment of righteous blows. They crumpled and wilted by the hundreds by his titanic fury, an awesome sight of a crusader to the Emperor. Their weapons and armor were to no avail when he came before them, as if Death had come to collect His payment. Bodies of the defeated became his trail, their blood rivers of his victory and their tears his gift of release.

 

Then came Chaos.

 

Beautiful and glorious Chaos! They offered a true prize to Samnitakus, a chance to fight for truth and salvation from the wretched Throne. No longer was he blind. No longer was he a tool. He knew now he was the master of his own fate, no longer a puppet to a mortal, but to true gods whom promised a truer truth and a greater power.

 

He was free.

 

He marched with the great Legions, the Sons of the beloved Horus and the Warriors of iron-hearted Pertuabo through the domain of the accursed Corpse-God, dealing death with every stomp of ceramite-clad feet. Pride swelled in his heart. Aspiration gripped his mind. Rage and hate powered his steel body.

 

Samnitakus was a god made into flesh. When he was on Isstvaan VI, he was a genocidal berserker, a death dealer to the loyalist Astartes, a butcher with a thousand poor souls flowing behind him like a cape. When he was on the golden steps of holy Terra, he held the life of mortals within his hand, crushing them with ease and enjoyment, and relished the battle against his false brothers. When he fled to the Empyrean, he still was one, his fleeting path a trail of death and fire as true Legions disappeared into the tides of the insanity of the warp.

 

Betrayal was his only gift when he returned to his gods.

 

They mocked his offering of the thousands of deaths he dealt for them. They played him like a pawn, a mere plaything to their games.

 

And when he screamed and bellowed for rightful inheritance, the gods denied him. It was he who struck his blade upon the thrones of Chaos, his thirst for the promise made driving him into a whirlwind of hate. It was he who raised his hand against the great aspects of Chaos: Tzeentch, Slaanesh, Nurgle, Khorne. And it was he who took the icon of Chaos from the court and swung the sacred symbol at his former masters.

 

His rage alone could not harm them, for the laws of reality did not apply to realm of the warp. They laughed and cackled at his immature state, humored by this child of the Corpse-God.

 

Samnitakus, stripped of purpose, dropped forth to his knees, his efforts futile and emotions expended. The gods’ mockery did not stop, his mind becoming soft and unreal, despondent to what he could do. He disappeared from the courts of Chaos, hiding his beings deep within the recesses of the insane sea for centuries, with the gods caring little of what he can do.

 

In the forty-first millennium, he returned.

[DaanofWar]

I like it B) . Nicely written and the idea of chaos space marine = gladiator is an inspired one.

 

So far though, more specifics and a reason (or better: a hint of a reason) why exactly the chaos gods didn't fulfill their promises. Which promises were made to begin with? Immortality? Daemonhood? As far as I know, as long as a servant is impressive enough, daemonhood is not a very uncommon reward. Perhaps Sam refused deamonhood, seeing it for the lie that it is and the gods forced him into (gladiatorial?) servitude anyway?

 

What I mean to say is: The only part in this story that doesn't make sense is that I can't think of any reason why the chaos gods would not fulfill their end of the bargain if this guy actually did what was claimed. If that bit is fixed you got yourself a good start to work with. If the gods had a good reason to flake out on their promises (besides the "we're chaos so we don't need to make sense, lol") that would make this story a thousand times more interesting.

 

Also: give your character a flaw or two to make him a little less 2D (example: sounds like he might be a tad arrogant for instance).

[Commander S. Caesare]

I think for this tale, I think his promised gift should be a dark secret in which he never speaks to his brothers.

 

As for the gods, they just play him like most Chaos servants: a pawn to a grander design.

[Commander S. Caesare]

Naming

 

Can anyone help me out on how to name this gladiator Renegade warband? And I just realized that this warband is like Deathwatch, with different people of different Legions and Chapters.

[Menkeroth]

And I just realized that this warband is like Deathwatch, with different people of different Legions and Chapters.

All of the Chaos warbands're like the Deathwatch :P

 

Naming... Always quite a compicated task, no? :)

 

So here're my variants - Dark Gladiators, Sons of Spartacus, Blood Brothers, Eternal Warriors / Haters, Dark Conquerors, Conquerors of Eternity. Smth like that :)

[Brother Ambroz]

I like the Blood Brothers. I think that your lord sounds like he's from the Night Lords or World Eaters. They're the most vengeful and hateful of all the traitor legions I think.

[Commander S. Caesare]

Thanks for all the names, Menkeroth and Tanith Ghost!

 

@Menkeroth you're right on that. But I think you can tell for this warband, since they'll still retain certain aspects, like if I had an Iron Warrior, he still look like one, just have the colour. If I had a Thousand Son, he'll still have his bunny ears.

 

@Tanith Ghost I think I'll go with the Blood Brothers, or the Argent (or Brass?) Spectres. One of the two. Maybe I'll make a poll on that. Indeed, they are vengeful. However, seeing how this story is going, seems to be like ADBs Night Lords, which I'm trying to avoid, though I like the series.

[Commander S. Caesare]

And here's the paint scheme I want them to be. A very, pale brass/copper look. I'm not sure why I though so, maybe that I never seen any other Chapter have this colour.

 

What's funny is that I found this entry on Wikipedia. Just ctrl+F the word brass. I think this colour now has meaning to it.

 

Mythological Application of the word Brass in Wikipedia

 

http://i1119.photobucket.com/albums/k640/Cristian_Ly/csmphp.jpg

[Commander S. Caesare]

Next excerpt! We cut into their present activities, which involve them escaping with a Dark Eldar artifact of great psychic power.

 

C&C are welcome. My education of the Dark Eldar are basic, so bear with me.

 

“Slayer. Xenos here. They come soon. Kill?” Neumakos chittered, the former Night Lords Raptor’s movements erratic. His metallic spiders of a hand twitched for murder as he played about the battery console as weapons officer.

“Prepare Bombardment Cannon. Divert plasma reactor power to prow lances,” Samnitakus ordered, watching the battle from his command pulpit, standing upright in the massive bulk of Terminator Armour.

“Yes yes. Power going to forward weapons. Cannon ready, three minutes.”

“Navigator! Set a random jump course!”

“Compliance, sire. Calculating random warp vectors. Standby.” Captured recently from the great House of Helmsburg, the young witch fearfully did as he bid, his sacred eye seeking into the seas of the Warp, perched within his throne of cable and wire. Samnitakus and his warband had raided the pilgrimship he was aboard when he sought passage to the ports of Hydraphur, forced into service along with several other people of skill to maintain the lord’s salvaged strike cruiser of ancient origin dubbed the Talion Fornix, or the Vengeance Vault in loose translation of High Gothic.

“Neumakos. Slay them.”

The Raptor cackled with glee as he relayed the order to the weapon crews. A volley of lance and heavy ship-to-ship rounds seared the black sea before them with its blinding light, cutting the sleek raiding ships of the Dark Eldar, their hulls crumpling and buckling under the brutal power of the Bombardment Cannon and its engines melting by the barrage of lasers.

Several, the cruisers, remained unscathed, their shadow fields nearly collapsing from the bombardment though They continued to pursue them, launching their serpentine assault fighters and, according to the command deck’s scanners, preparing their fearsome batteries of Phantom Lances.

“Xenos warships persistent. Xenos tech strong.” Neumakos rasped, a sliver of irritation edging his tone.

“You seem to admire them, no?” rumbled Mercurian, standing nearby the pulpit. Once a son of Perturabo, Mercurian turned rogue after his squad was turned upon by the mad daemons of Slaanesh at an invasion of the Imperial penal world of Korniva Secudnus, finding that Chaos used him and his brothers as bait and were intended to die in their first wave. Most of those on deck could not identify his emotions, as the Astartes refused to ever shed a piece of his armour, a trait common within his Legion, with its affinity for technology and aspiration to become like their steel Primarch, and relied on his colourless vox-speakers to do his verbal work.

Neumakos cocked his avian helm to one side, and hoarsely chortle at the remark. “No. You, Steel-skin, who admire. Yes yes. Xenos tech better than Corpse-God. Powerful in aspect.” Only Neumakos could name him that title, as the warrior tolerated such, finding the name amusing and well suited.

Mercurian replied, “Aye. Tis’ their weapons would best us if they had not flimsy protection. Such treasures must be used at their maximum capacity. I curse this ship for lacking, am I not right, Slayer?”

“Be careful with your words, Mercurian, lest you wish a knife were to appear at your neck seals,” Samnitakus growled. “Remember that it was I who revived this ancient remnant. The Talion has got us this far, and she never has failed us in a battle.”

To the Navigator, “What of you, warpsman?”

“I have your request, sire. Prepare for warp immersion.”

Klaxons and sirens blared, the command deck tinted in a red glow. A flash of retina-searing light bathed them as the elder ships opened fire. “Talion hit! Voids dying! Ship cannot take another.”

“Slayer, I suggest we launch the remaining aft torpedo tubes. Short fuse,” Mercurian said.

Samnitakus nodded as he understood what the warrior implied. “The debris from the torpedoes will run their targetters and scanners afoul and perhaps impede the progress of the fighters. Neumakos, is that understood?”

“Torpedoes go. Xenos in for surprise.”

“Navigator, take us in.”

“Yes, sire. Immersion in three…two…one.”

And the Talion Fornix was no more.

 

An hour in the warp had confirmed that the darkling ships did not continue their pursuit.

Satisfied, Samnitakus stepped away from the pulpit, and went to the ship elevator, his bulk easily slipping into the massive lift.

Neumakos, with a slight cough from his jump pack, fluttered down beside his commander. Long had they known each other. The Raptor was first among the warband to be rescued by Samnitakus, having been trapped beneath a smoking wreckage of a Salamander Thunderhawk for seven days and abandoned by his brothers, whom continued their obsessed chase of the scaly Astartes, on a far-flung feral world. Nursed back to health by the Talion’s medicae bay and traitor Mechanicus servants held at gunpoint, Neumakos had become Samnitakus second-in-command, which most of the warband found most unusual to find a frenzied berserker such as Neumakos at that position. However, had it not been the Night Lord’s tactical mind and clever tricks, the warband would not have been as strong a figure as they are now.

“Champion,” Neumakos clicked, using a former title of his commander, “What of artifact? Xenos not abandon prize easily. Too great.”

Samnitakus sighed in agreement. “I’m afraid, Neumakos, of that. Though we are Astartes, I have fear of this notion. I too am under that impression. Never have I known the dark eldar to give up a vaunted item, especially when it holds a piece of their heritage.” He pushed several buttons on the lift’s interface. Then they began their descent.

Neumakos noticed the change in level. “Augur? Foresee the future, pierce the veil, Champion?”

“Indeed. The Oracle is the only one here that can tell us this.”

“But, Chaos. Augur child of Chaos, spawn of Empyrean. Not trustworthy.”

Samnitakus sighed once more. “In times such as this, it is necessary to call upon Chaos to save our cause, even though it had turned on our backs on us in the darkest of moments.”

Neumakos clicked his vox-speaker, his equivalent to a sigh. So warped was he to his armor that he and the suit were one. Wire bundles were melded with his muscle fibers and tendons. Ceramite became his skin and cables his nerves. His vox was his voice, though still colorful and fierce, unlike Mercurian’s.

Tuning to his warband’s public channel, Samnitakus called to Tolkur, a renegade Space Wolf who had the talent of the untouchable, the antithesis of psykers, the perfect watchman and bodyguard to the Oracle. “Tolkur, is he still asleep?”

“No, my lord. He is awake. Lately he was muttering and murmuring, but rest assured that he is of not trouble for now.”

“Good. Prepare the chamber. I need to discuss a matter with him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

[Brother Ambroz]

You are a talented writer, that could possibly have been out of a BL books if I didn't know any better. :lol:

 

I vote Brass Spectres, pretty cool name in my opinion.