Blood Angels Lore

[SnorriSnorrison]

Brothers!

 

I've created this thread in order to gather our long-forgotten stories, the written heritage of the past, so it can be passed on to the coming generation of Blood Angels. May they know what happened over the years and what burden our nature places upon us! May they know that the Angels stand proud to defend mankind and their Primarch's will to the last, and may they know what it means to be counted amongst the Sons of Sanguinius!

 

I'm asking every Son of the Legion to share the stories that have gone untold to this day, every piece of officially written lore that has been created(please no Swallow work other than 'Fear to Tread' :) ). It's a certain amount of work, yet these masterpieces of our background are worth it, especially stories from books that aren't printed and sold anymore. So arise brothers, and let us gather the knowledge of long gone years for the sake of our glorious Legion! For Sanguinius!

 

 

 

 

********

 

 

The beat of powerful wings, a sense of depthless sadness. That it should come to this... comrades in arms locked in a battle to the death. Then he saw him, his brother once, his enemy now. Flashing blades and an explosion of blood, screaming pain flaring round his body like an electric charge and he...

 

...opened his eyes, sweat coating his skin with an oily sheen, his mouth filled with blood. He swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth, fighting down the visions. But no matter how hard he pushed them away, they were always there, lurking at the back of his skull. Brother Captain Erasmus Tycho stood and turned to leave the chapel, stopping as he saw Chaplain Lemartes standing in the archway, his face shrouded in the dancing shadows cast by the electro-flambeaux.

"Were you seeing them again?" asked Lemartes.

Tycho nodded slowly. "Yes..." he whispered, "I see them even now. I can feel his pain, it burns me."

Lemartes approached Tycho and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He had always known it would come to this, but still he felt sorrow. Fitting that it should come on Armageddon. He could see Tycho's glassy eyed stare and knew that part of his mind was no longer here in the now, but had been wrenched back to the time of the Great Betrayal. To the last battle of their Primarch Sanguinius. To his death.

 

"Have they considered my... request?" asked Tycho.

"They have, my friend," replied Lemartes sadly.

"And?"

"You shall have your wish, Erasmus. The honour of leading the forlorn hope into the Tempestora breach on the morrow is yours. Come, I shall perform the moripatris."

 

 

 

*****

Arrayed in his newly painted black armour, Tycho stared fixedly towards the besieged Hive Tempestora as the Chaplains moved amongst the men of the forlorn hope, the first men into the breach. The first men to die. He felt his pulse race and his breathing quicken... The Imperial palace was in ruins, thousands were dead... He blinked and watched as vast bellied Gargants.... Daemon visaged Titans stalked through the rubble of Terra like predatory gods, killing and destroying all in their path... lurched into firing positions before the hive. Somewhere in the cratered hell before him was the enemy who had horribly disfigured him all those years ago... One man's betrayal had brought them to this, one man's vanity and pride. But they had a chance to end it here. His Emperor had made the decision to take the fight to Horus and Sanguinius of the Blood Angels would not fail him... Chaplain Lemartes stopped before Tycho and dipped his finger into a blood filled chalice. He anointed Tycho's helmet with blood in the form of a jagged saltire and said, "With my blood I commend your soul to the Emperor. May he watch over you this day."

"And you also Dorn," said Tycho, taking Lemartes' hand in the warriors grip, wrist to wrist. "One last time brother."

"Yes," agreed Lemartes, knowing that Tycho was finally lost to him. "One last time."

 

*****

 

Tycho smashed another Greenskin from the rubble with a backhanded sweep of his fist. Bones cracked and blood sprayed. The top of the breach was less than ten metres away. Gunfire stitched a path towards him, spurts of dust and stone exploding around him. He felt the powerful impacts, but ignored them, charging up the debris strewn slope. Choking dust and smoke filled the air. All he could see were shadowy forms before him... brother Space Marines, their oaths of loyalty ashes in the dust. He hated them like nothing he had ever hated before. A blade swung at his head, striking his shoulder guard and tearing upwards... Tycho's golden mask tore from his rictus face in a wash of blood and skin. He screamed in fury, standing at the top of the breach, surrounded by his foes. The Orks swarmed around the Blood Angels, dying by the dozen as fifty years of hatred and vengeance poured through Tycho's veins. Behind him, the last Space Marine of the forlorn hope fell beneath the blades of the Orks... the others were gone, separated in the teleportation. He was aloneÉ Tycho fought with the strength of legend, fighting and killing all who came near him. He swept up a fallen sword and continued the slaughter, the blade rising and falling, Ork blood sheathing its edge. No blade could pierce his armour, no bullet could lay him low. Ork corpses, scores deep, surrounded him, his altar of death. The smoke parted and a massively powerful Ork, clad in wheezing mechanical armour, crunched across the rubble towards him. Black exhaust fumes belched from rusted pipes and enormous claws snapped from each arm. Tycho snarled as the unquenchable fury of the Black Rage finally consumed him utterly...

 

Horus, greatest and most beloved of the Primarchs. Why? When we could have achieved anything we dreamed of, why? Horus said nothing, swinging with his bladed fist. He sprang away from the powerful claw, spinning behind the Traitor. Sanguinius leapt feet first at Horus, feeling fangs break under his boot heels. He landed lightly, rolling swiftly to his feet as Horus attacked again. His back was to the wall, nowhere to go but forwards. The two brothers met blade to blade and Sanguinius knew he could not defeat Horus. The sword snapped and Horus smashed the claw through his armour and deep into his belly. Excruciating agony ripped upwards into his ribcage as Horus tore his heart out. Sanguinius spat blood into his brother's face and hissed, "I die, but you will die with me, traitor!" as he lashed out with his fist and ripped out his foe's throat in a welter of blood. He felt Horus' grip slacken and slumped to the ground, his lifeblood pumping from his broken body. He could vaguely hear his companions calling his name, but with each second their voices grew dimmer. He had not failed his Emperor. He smiled and closed his eyes as life slipped away.

 

*****

 

Lemartes watched the small group of Space Marines as they bore their Captain on their shoulders towards the Imperial lines. The breach had fallen and the outer ring of fortifications and bunkers were now in Imperial hands. Tycho had held the breach long enough for the rest of the army to reach the walls and carry the day. With a tenderness that belied the gore-streaked appearance of the Blood Angels, they laid Brother Captain Erasmus Tycho at the feet of Chaplain Lemartes. He knelt by the bloody corpse, laying a hand on his brow and staring at his friend's face. Perhaps it was just the relaxation of muscle that followed death, but he believed he could see a softening in Tycho's features, as though the terrible disfigurement done to him had retreated within his flesh. He hoped so.

"Farewell brother," he whispered. "You will not be forgotten."

 

 

 

 

 

Snorri

 

 

 

PS: Dear mods, I hope there won't be any IP infringement issues with this. If there are any...you know, the melta.

[Jorre]

Great story that one snori thanks for sharing

[Leonaides]

Will be back later with some 2nd ed...

[Jolemai]

For eleven hundred years I have fought and I have seen the darkness in our galaxy. I have seen the vileness of the alien, I have seen the heresy of the mutant, I have witnessed the sin of possession. I have seen all the evil that the galaxy harbours and I have slain all whose presence defiles the Emperor. I have seen what you will see, I have fought what you must fight and I have slain what you must slay.

 

Our enemies number untold billions and they will fight you with tooth and claw, with starships and guns, with vile sorceries and corrupt illusions. They are armed with all the strength that evil can muster. But you, brothers, have something more.

 

You are armed by the Emperor himself. Righteousness is your shield, Faith your armour and Hatred your weapon. So fear not and be proud, for we are the sons of Sanguinius, the Protectors of Mankind. Aye, we are indeed the Angels of Death.

 

Lord Moderator Moticon

addressing new recruits to the Blood Angels sub-forum at the start of their Bolter and Chainsword campaign.

[Reldn]

One of my favorite bits of fluff from the old "Angels of Death" Codex:

 

With a roar of rocket motors a great cloud of dust was blown up from the parched earth as the five-man assault squad landed. The Blood Angels captain approached the Imperial Guard unit positioned behind a hastily-constructed barricade of wrecked tanks. "What do you have to report, Sergeant?"

 

"One of the remaining units of Varlak's rebels are still holed up in part of the command centre, Sergeant Mordax of the Mordian Iron Guard explained. 'We've attempted an assault on the bunker but Varlak's men are well armed and we can't get close enough without them picking us off."

 

The Space Marine could not but fail to see the truth of the Guardsman's report, for the bodies of several Mordians lay unmoving in the dust between the makeshift barricade and the ruins of the command centre. Although Lord Varlak's rebellion on Korsk II had been suppressed, pockets of resistance from those loyal to the rogue psyker still held out against the Imperial forces across the planet. Most had been crushed, but here the rebels' position was simply too strong, and so the Blood Angels had been called in.

 

"You may need to call for more men, Sir," said Mordax, looking at the small group of Blood Angels.

 

The Space Marine captain pulled himself to his full height and glowered down at the Guardsman. "You insult us, Mordian," he growled. "I will have words with you after we have dealt with the rebels."

 

With a signal from their captain, the squad launched themselves skywards, their jump packs carrying them high over the barricade and in the direction of the rebels. Descending on the command centre, the Space Marines let fire with their bolt pistols. Already weakened by the tank bombardment the side of the structure gave way and the Blood Angels burst right into the heart of the rebels' rathole. Without a pause for thought about their actions the elite warriors began blasting away at the humans and cutting into them with whirring chainswords.

 

Yelling a battle-cry Mordax led his Imperial Guardsmen forward into the fray. But the cry died on his lips when he came to the gap tom in the wall and he saw the charnel-house scene within. Although there were only five Space Marines compared to at least six times as many rebels, the barely-contained animalistic fury of the Blood Angels made up for their comparative lack of numbers.

 

Broken bodies lay scattered among the ruins, not just cut down by gunfire but butchered in ways that the Guardsman would only have expected from an alien horror such as the Tyranids. Here a rebel killed by a gunshot to the stomach had had his heart tom clean out of his chest; there the corpse of another man testified to the fact that, while still alive, his head had been ripped from his body, taking half his spinal column with it. That such destruction could have been caused in so short a period of time seemed almost impossible.

 

Frozen with horror, the Mordians looked on as the Emperor's elite went on with their slaughter. The bloodlust was on the Space Marines now and nothing would stop them purging Korsk of the rebels. Only half the defenders remained.

 

His armour splattered with blood and gore the Blood Angels captain slashed sideways with his buzzing chains word, slicing one of Varlak's men in half from shoulder to midriff. A rebel Guardsman leapt at one of the Blood Angels, his lasgun firing. However, against the mighty armour of the better equipped Space Marine the weapon's energy blasts had little effect. Turning on his assailant with superhuman speed, the Blood Angel struck out with his left arm. His power fist, its energy field crackling, hit the rebel full in the face, shattering the glass of the man's helmet and splintering his skull at the same time.

 

Close by another Blood Angel hoisted a rebel into the air and hurled him across the room with contemptuous ease, emptying the clip from his bolt pistol into the helpless Guardsmen as he slumped to the floor. The Guardsman's stomach and chest exploded in a bloody shower of intestines and internal organs.

 

In moments it was all over and all that was left was a scene of devastation and carnage. Mordax waited uneasily in the deathly silence that followed the battle as the Blood Angels captain strode towards him over the corpses of Varlak's troops. It required all of the Guardsman's will power not to cower before the seven foot tall warrior that was approaching him. He could imagine the captain's eyes burning with barely-suppressed bloodlust behind the visors of his helmet. The urge to kill was still on him.

 

The Blood Angel halted and leant forward, his visor mere inches from the Guardsman's face. There was a moment of tense silence as the Mordian dared not imagine what might happen next. A sound like a low growl emerged from the Space Marine's helmet. "Praise be to the Emperor!" he suddenly roared and then, turning on his heels, marched away with his squad across the churned up battlefield.

 

Praise be to the Emperor indeed, Mordax thought with an unrestrained sigh of relief.

[SnorriSnorrison]

Thanks, Reldn, this is one of my favourite stories! :lol: Glad you took the time to post in here, so thank you again.

 

And thanks, Jolemai for the well-known but not less awesome speech of our Lord Commander Dante errrm Morticon. :lol:

 

 

Thanks for the interest, guys. If I only had an English version of our 3rd edition codex... :lol:

 

 

 

Snorri

[Jolemai]

That's actually where I copied Dante's Morticon's speech from. Anything in particular you want from it?

[SnorriSnorrison]

Anything in particular you want from it?

 

Now that you ask there are pages worth of material. :lol:

 

No, kidding. The story I had in mind was the one of the Veteran Sergeant Adeon leading his squad into battle against some xeno-bug race. It's on the last page, if I'm not mistaken. It's a little bit annoying that these take quite long to write down...if you or anybody else wouldn't mind... :whistling:

 

I would've translated it myself, however then it wouldn't be close to the original or a nice read anymore. :lol:

 

I tried to find it on the internet, but the search results were unsatisfying. Thanks in advance.

 

 

Snorri

[Jolemai]

As it happens, I had taken the 3rd edition codex to work with me...

 

Like a furious storm, the Blood Angels descended upon the foul aliens. Sergeant Adeon looked about for a target, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the battle. To his left, the favoured brothers of the Death Company leapt from a Rhino, surging into the middle of the enemy force. He watched with detachment as they carved a bloody path with their weapons: bolt pistols firing, chainswords biting into white flesh. Glancing to his right, he saw the magnificent Terminators of Squad Marius battling a many-limbed war engine. As he watched, one of their number was cleaved in half by a shimmering blade but they pushed forward with greater determination. Soon their power fists were tearing apart the alien machinery, scattering fragments of armour plate and twisted engine about them.

 

Turning his attention to his left, he saw the Death Company being swamped by a converging mass of spider-like creatures. Although the strange aliens were small in stature, each of their many limbs was tipped with a vicious poisoned barb. The jungles of Styria V were infested with the creatures ans it was now the task of the Blood Angels to eradicate them, to pave the way for the colonists to build their mines and temples and claim this world in the glorious name of the Emperor. Signalling his squad to charge, Adeon activated his jump pack and bounded forward. Around him, his fellow veterans were chanting the Liturgus Sanguinius, working themselves up into a fever of battle-lust. He could also feel the blood of their Primarch racing in his veins. His body trembled with suppressed energy as their jump packs brought them closer to the enemy. With a resounding battle cry the Blood Angels Veteran Squad leapt upon their foes.

 

"For the Emperor and Sanguinius! Death! DEATH!"

 

The Stryites were thrown back by the sudden assault, and soon twenty of their number lay dead in the thick undergrowth, their black blood spattered across the leaves and trunks of nearby trees. Adeon was panting, not from exertion but from excitement. His plasma pistol spat a ball of energy, incinerating one of the creatures. Stepping over its corpse he brought his power fist round in a wide arc, smashing through three more of the small beasts. His helmet's auto-senses picked up the sound of shattering exo-skeleton as he stepped across more bodies, his heavy tread crushing them underfoot. Suddenly something slammed into Adeon, and he could feel a long tentacle wrapping around his left arm. Swivelling as much as he could, he saw he had been ensnared by some huge carnivorous plant; its dripping maw was opened wide and he was being dragged towards it. Digging his heels into the soft mud, he tried to straighten. Actuators in his armour whined in protest as they struggled against the sinewy strength of the grappling limb. With a final grunt, Adeon ripped himself free in a shower of blood-coloured sap. Blasting away at the plant with his plasma pistol, he felt his anger rising even more. He was a Blood Angel. He had not fought across the desolation of Baal Secundus, he had not undergone the pain of the Transformation, he had not trained for two decades and battled the Emperor's foes for three centuries just to be eaten by some damned plant fighting for a backwater populated by barbaric aliens.

 

With a roar that caused even his battle-brothers to flinch, Adeon leapt in amongst the Stryite hoarde. The double-beat of his hearts pounded in the Sergeant's ears and he could feel thick sweat rolling down his face within the confines of his power armour. He felt strength surging through his muscles and dropped the plasma pistol, wanting to use his bare hands to crush the enemy before him. With a backhand blow he sent one of the creatures flying into a thick tree trunk, its carapace shattered, He grabbed another by its neck and dashed its head against an arching root, while he brought his power fist down onto yet another, squashing it like the giant insect it was. Hi attack was relentless, and soon he fought through to stand besides the Death Company, where they battled against a seemingly endless flow of scurrying creatures. However, no sooner had Adeon arrived than the verminous filth turned tail and fled, disappearing along the twisting trails and vanishing up the massive trunks.

 

Pausing for the rest of his squad to reach him, Adeon began to calm down. He looked at his blood-red armour and saw that he was slick from head to foot in alien ichor: it was beginning to collect at his feet in a spreading dark pool. He watched grimly as the Death Company chased into the jungle depths.He could understand their hatred, their burning anger that seemed to set them afire from head to toe. He too could feel the Black Rage, suffusing his entire body and soul with the pain of Sanguinius. For a moment he let is spill forth, but had had controlled it. The Black Rage had not claimed him. Not today.

[Taranis]

THE SILENT ANGEL

 

by Fernando Rojas Jr. (AKA Plague Angel)

 

 

 

 

IT HAD BEEN too long since the boots of the IX Legion marked the surface of Baal Secundus. For many of the Astartes, the soil of holy Terra still clung to their feet, weighing their steps. The blood of traitorous brothers still marked their armour, all but invisible against the stark red ceramite.

The only sound was the crunching of ground beneath their feet.

Dumah had not spoken since they had left mankind’s birth-rock, nor had any of the brothers in his charge. He looked to his fellow captains, but they were as silent as he. Closest to his left was Captain Ciardi, who had lost three quarters of his company on Signus Prime. He and his remaining brothers walked resolutely, never looking to the right or to the left. Beyond Ciardi was the company of Captain Tasso, who had witnessed with his own eyes both of the primarch’s duels with Ka’Bandha and still lived to tell of it. Ever alert, Tasso noticed Dumah’s glance and met his eye with a slight nod and a single vox click, acknowledging his presence.

On his other side was Jophiel, who had saved Dumah’s life during the fighting on Terra’s surface. He too caught Dumah’s glance, and Dumah opened and closed a channel, just as Tasso had done. Jophiel turned to one of his battle-brothers, who bore the chapter banner of the Wing Vermillion – Dumah heard a single burst of static, and the banner bearer lifted the standard higher as Jophiel signaled the captain to his right. Slowly the vox network crackled to life. Not one of them said a word, but the sound of clicking spread as each captain reminded another that they were not alone. The Blood Angels straightened, their purpose renewed. For it was not sorrow that kept the Astartes silent, but untold discipline, checking a simmering rage.

Though Dumah was a survivor of Signus Prime and had crossed his blade against the claws of daemons, he had not seen the battle where Sanguinius had been bested by another. But he had seen the aftermath, the winged primarch unable to walk for days.

Yet still the rage he felt then was as nothing compared to what he felt now. It was as though he could still feel the armour of Horus beneath his fists, still feel the resistance of Horus’s talons keening against his sword as he parried, thrust and cried out the Emperor’s name. Dumah’s grip tightened on his bolter and his shoulders itched, the phantom memory of wings he never had burning at his back. He focused on the clicking noises of the vox, knowing his brothers all still saw what he saw.

The march halted. The cliffs of Baal Secundus suddenly slid back into focus, banishing the walls of the Vengeful Spirit that Dumah knew too well. They had arrived at Angel’s Fall, the place where Sanguinius had been found as a child, and where the Primarch had protected the Blood from flesh-eating mutants. That was long before Dumah’s time, but he had seen other such cannibal-cults on the Crusade, seen distaste and outright revulsion mar the perfect face of Sanguinius. They had burned those worlds, or brought them into compliance – with bolter and chainsword, Dumah had ensured that there was nothing left of the cannibals, not even meat. He had always remembered those actions with disgust, but now that he had seen the daemons of the warp they seemed inoffensive by comparison. He felt a strange and unfamiliar tingle on his tongue as he thought about it. His jaw clenched.

The Blood Angels stood in silent formation, waiting. Dumah sensed the tension in the air and knew he was not the only one wrestling with this inner turmoil.

A sudden glint of gold caught his eye. The legion parted.

Making his way through them was Azkaellon, last of the Sanguinary Guard. Alone in his gleaming armour, he shone out among the sea of red, and every eye turned to him. He was beautiful, yet pure – a marked contrast to the perverse beauty of the daemonettes they had fought on Signus. With Sanguinius dead, there was none left like him.

Unhelmed, he met the gaze of each individual legionnaire, his expression unreadable. Azkaellon stood before them as a reflection of their absent father, a light unto himself. He spoke the first words they had heard since leaving the Emperor’s world.

‘Angels,’ he said. ‘Brothers Sanguine.’ His voice was shockingly calm, free of the rage that gripped them. He spoke quietly, but each heard him clearly, as though his words were fated for them alone.

‘I will make no eulogy. You feel in your blood and see in your mind’s eye the only true memorial he can ever have. Do not be ashamed.’

Some distant brother whispered through gritted teeth, and Dumah heard it over the vox. ‘Horus.’

‘Horus is dead,’ replied Azkaellon.

‘Horus!’ came another harsh whisper, and Dumah recognized Ciardi’s voice. Throughout the massed legion spread a chant of rage. Horus! Horus!

‘Enough!’ Azkaellon cried. ‘We did not come here to give voice to that name!’

Discipline reasserted itself under his wrathful gaze. There was silence on the moon for a long while as the Blood Angels waited for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was tinged with sadness.

‘We will follow the Codex of Guilliman.’

The golden warrior’s pronouncement met no resistance, not even from the staunchest conservatives. They knew it was necessary.

 

AND SO AZKAELLON drew the Glaive Encarmine and spoke aloud the names of the chapters, and with his words the IX Legion passed into history and became no more. Ten thousand veterans of the Great Crusade splintered at the words of one man. Dumah tried to listen, but thoughts of the cannibal-cults darkened his mind.

And he realized it was not cultists he imagined pouring blood down their throats, but Astartes clad in vermillion armour.

The new Chapter Masters knelt before Azkaellon and he touched them with the anointed blade. They stood and faced their brothers. ‘For the Deus Encarmine!’ they proclaimed as one.

‘For the Emperor!’ came the response, but Dumah could not join in. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, dry with longing.

[Erasmus of Baal]

THE SILENT ANGEL

 

by Fernando Rojas Jr. (AKA Plague Angel)

Now, that's some fine storytelling.

 

Kinda gruesome.

 

Brought me there better than most things I've read lately.

[Leonaides]

Second edition Wargear book - Sergeant Raphael:

 

The fading light of Armageddon's bloated red sun washed feebly over the desert encampment. The twin moons started their long, slow climb into the heavens. As the searing heat of the day faded, the camp came to life. The roar of great engines filled the air as the crews of the Shadow Swords started up their enormous tanks. Slowly, drugged by the heat, the men of the Fourth Imperial Guard Army of Armageddon emerged from their bubble tents into the dying daylight.

 

The men were tired, listless, not quite awake. Sergeant Raphael listened to them grumble about the heat, the constant threat of spiderscorpions, the possibility of an Ork attack. Their complaints seemed almost amusing to the Blood Angel. These men thought of the desert lands outside their hive cities as the closest thing to hell they could find without dying.

 

How little they knew, thought Raphael. This place was a child's nursery compared to the world on which he had been raised. These men's lives, hard though they were, had been sojourns in paradise compared to the upbringing he had endured. But then, he thought proudly, he was a Blood Angel, one of the children of Sanguinius, who had died preparing the Emperor's way against the great Evil One himself.

 

Raphael studied the dunes, so like and yet so unlike the deserts of Baal Secondus, his birthworld. Convection currents raised small dust devils in the air. Heat haze shimmered on the horizon, making distances all but impossible to judge. One of the great sand storms, capable of burying an army alive, could be approaching at this very moment and they would not know, unless warned by a weather augury from one of the Monitors placed in orbit by the Adeptus Mechanicus. It was true; this was a harsh land, but it could not compare to Baal Secondus.

 

Here the wasteland was a chemical slag, by-product of a hundred centuries of industrial production. Rivers of sludge, soiled by the output of hive cities like Tartarus and Acheron, rna down to the poisoned seas. On Baal Prime the only sea was the Sea of Glass, a smooth shimmering plain of silica fused by the detonation of ancient, forbidden weapons. The deserts were multicoloured wastes, the dusty corpses of continents made uninhabitable by the deadly chemical clouds used long ago in the wars that ended the Dark Age of Technology.

 

Here men lived in teeming hive cities, protected from the elements by mile-thick plasteel walls. Only the mighty Ork invasion by Warlord Ghazghkull Thraka could have driven them into the desert. On Baal Secondus all the old cities were dead, and their rubble was inhabited by scavenger tribes. Only the Shunned Ones, their faces eternally masked, dwelled amongst the radioactive ruins, their factories using materials extracted from the corpses of their cities to churn out the endless stream of weapons they bartered to true men and deviant alike.

 

Here the worst the weather threatened was sand storms capable of shredding an unarmoured man down to the bone. On Baal Secondus there were Hellstorms where thousand mile an hour winds uprooted great boulders and sent them tumbling across the tortured land, where lightning bolts containing the power to shatter mountains lashed the scarred earth. There was acid rain, which could dissolve armour and eat through flesh. There were chemical blizzards whose multi-coloured flakes, laced with the old deadly neurotoxins, could dissolve nerve tissue in fiery agony or open up the mind of a potential psyker to the dark influence of daemons.

 

Here the main threats were heat and thirst. On Baal Secondus there were other more insidious ones: poisoned wells and deadly rad-zones where the only warning of oncoming death was a strange glow in the night sky or the sudden clicking chitter of a rad-alert amulet.

 

Here, on Armageddon, the only living threats were landragons and spiderscorpions. Only now, during the Ork invasion, would a traveller be attacked by armed warriors. On Baal Secondus roving hordes of mutants and true men wandered the Ash deserts, fighting terrible battles for the possession of scant resources. Defending the sites where they dug up the artifacts of the ancients, or the holy battlegrounds where men might join the Chosen.

 

Raphael thought back to those days with something like nostalgia. Then he had been a simple warrior, fighting for nothing more than his life, and a chance to join the Chosen. Now he was a Blood Angel and the awesome responsibility of defending mankind against its enemies rested on his shoulders. Now he was sworn to uphold the legacy of Sanguinius, no matter how heavy that burden became.

 

He had donned more than a protective suit when he put on the crimson armour of the Blood Angels. He had donned the mantle of a tradition that dated back to the time of the Great Crusade, when the Emperor yet walked among men. He had joined the endless procession of mighty warriors who had marched into battle beneath the Blood Angels' banner. He had become a successor to the men who had defended the Emperor's palace on Earth, the holiest site in the entire galaxy, against the treacherous legions of Chaos.

 

When the Sanguinary Priest had implanted the gene-seed that controlled the process that transformed him into a superhuman warrior he had implanted a living link with the Primarch of his Chapter, for the gene-seed contained cells cultured from the gene-runes Sanguinius himself. When he had drunk from the Chalice Incarnadine he had sipped wine mixed with the cloned blood of the Winged One himself and that blood had mingled with his own to start the transformation. When he had been shut in the great golden sarcophagus and the mediation nodes attached to his head, visions of the Blood Angel's life had flickered through his mind. Now he could remember them only when the Black Rage came upon him and visions of Sanguinius' last moments danced through his mind driving him insane with grief and fury. But he knew that had shared some of the thoughts of one of the Emperor's Primarchs and had been granted a privilege given to few men, even Space Marines.

 

With such privileges came a terrible burden. He knew that the Blood Angels were a dying Chapter. Their fading might take many thousands of years but it was happening, slowly and inexorably. Tiny errors in the gene-runes had accumulated down the long centuries, small flaws that gathered together to produce greater ones. The first generations of Blood Angels had not suffered from the Black Rage, that had come later, had crept in so slowly that it had barely been noticed until too late. There was the Thirst too, that sometimes irresistible longing to drink the blood of their enemies that took even the most restrained members of the Chapter. Some of the Chapter's more philosophically inclined members had theorised that perhaps this taint might lead them to Chaos. Raphael knew this was impossible. The Space Marines of the Blood Angels would die rather than allow that to happen. Still, it was a discomforting thought.

 

A man in the uniform of a Guard Lieutenant apprached him, wary respect visible in every line of his face. He gave a perfect salute, as if standing on a parade ground, not in this burning desert. Sergeant Raphael turned his gaze on the man.

 

“Sir, my men are almost ready to move out. Are you ready to depart, Sir?”

 

We have been ready to depart all day, thought Raphael. It seemed best not to demoralise the man by telling him this though. His warriors lacked the superhuman hardihood of a Space Marine. There was nothing to be gained by rubbing this fact home. The Guard were true soldiers of the Emperor, even if they were only men.

 

Only men, thought Raphael and caught himself. Yes, to be a Space Marine was to be more than an ordinary man. It was to have keener senses, and stronger muscles, faster reflexes and deadlier weapons. It was to have a lifespan many times longer than an ordinary man, for Space Marines shared some of the gene-runes of the immortal Primarchs. Yes indeed, being a Space Marine was to be more than a man, but it was also to be a man. That was never to be forgotten. Space Marines were drawn from the ranks of men, and it was their duty to serve Man. Man generations ago entire Chapters had forgotten that and fallen into heresy and worship of Chaos.

 

“Yes, Lieutenant, we are ready.”

 

Suddenly he heard a single chime, like the tolling of a great temple bell, resound in his comm-net earbead. He touched the rune of communication and listened to the voice of his Company Captain.

 

“Sergeant Raphael, you and your men are to report to Company headquarters at once. You have been assigned to a most urgent mission. The Emperor be praised.”

 

“The Emperor be praised”, responded Raphael. “We are on our way.”

[SnorriSnorrison]

Leonaides - wow, that's some really great stuff there. Thank you so much for writing that down, it must have taken ages! :huh: It's nice to see the humbleness in Raphael's thoughts even though he's a super human warrior, a god among men, and that's why the Blood Angels are the most noble marines. Really catching. ;)

 

 

Jolemai, thank you again for writing the short story in here, especially since you used your time at work for doing this! :) The story is one of my favourites, really. Even though the 3rd edition codex was of smaller size than others during the time, it harbours some detailed insights into the background of the Blood Angels.

 

 

Taranis, thanks for posting that short story in here! A very nice read which also embellishes the period after the Heresy and how the Codex Astartes came to the Blood Angels. :)

 

 

 

Thanks so much guys. Soon we will have a respectable collection of background available to everyone - indeed a noble cause!

 

 

 

 

Snorri

[Jolemai]

Some say that the Blood Angels are tainted: that they harbour a dark secret. I know this to be true. I have seen the infamous Death Company: wild-eyed and foam-mouthed berserkers who tear their enemies limb from limb, crush skulls with a single blow, snap spines and rip out inner organs. I have seen the Sanguinary Priests: the passing of blood filled chalices from lip to lip, heard their wracking lamentations of Sanguinus's death. I have watched their rituals: mighty warriors daubing their armour in the blood of their foes, heard them crying for vengeance against the enemies of the Emperor.

 

Inquisitors should mind their own business when it comes to things they don't understand or have no knowledge of.

[SnorriSnorrison]

Some say that the Blood Angels are tainted: that they harbour a dark secret. I know this to be true. I have seen the infamous Death Company: wild-eyed and foam-mouthed berserkers who tear their enemies limb from limb, crush skulls with a single blow, snap spines and rip out inner organs. I have seen the Sanguinary Priests: the passing of blood filled chalices from lip to lip, heard their wracking lamentations of Sanguinus's death. I have watched their rituals: mighty warriors daubing their armour in the blood of their foes, heard them crying for vengeance against the enemies of the Emperor.

 

Inquisitors should mind their own business when it comes to things they don't understand or have no knowledge of.

 

True, for they see not the whole truth, and never will they understand what it means to be a Son of Sanguinius, and never will they feel grip of the Dark Rage, or the blood-lust that is the Red Thirst. They don't understand, and they will always fear what they don't understand. :D

 

 

Thanks Jolemai! A very nice paragraph, very grimdark. Love it. :)

 

 

 

Snorri

[Demoulius]

Loving the stories, even if I already knew some of them ;)

 

3rd edition codex had some awesome lore pieces ;)