Sword Bearers and the Unforgiven (Updated 1/07/23: Angels Redeemed)

[recon0321]

Spaced hulk

 

Other than anvil it's...I've noticed DA Templar and GK bitz did I miss any?

[Spaced Hulk]

Hi mate. Not sure whether they're actually pictured in this thread yet, but I've also used BA death company and sanguinary guard bits, and even (perhaps heretically) Space Wolf & Chaos Marine parts for Sword Bearers as well (Chaos bits are pretty good for older looking armour marks.) Been collecting a long time so have a pretty well stocked bits box .

 

Are you going to restart your Sword Breakers thread in Libre?

[recon0321]

Yes I am...I want to get the basics of my IA ( this seems like the first idea I really can see me sticking with)...I want to develop the 1st Co. The main battle company and I want to to a power armored recon company...thinking scouts go straight into a recon company then if the mission dictates they wear carapace Armor...gives me a reason to buy the anvil black ops units and and scouts....so the whole chapter will use the sword knightly theme except for the recon co...sorry end rant

[deathspectersgt7]

I have'nt played a real game since 4th edition mostly played kill team or space hulk.Now just paint collect  closest store is 75 miles away.

[recon0321]

Deathspectersgt7

 

I know what ya mean about not playing a proper game... I myself haven't played since 4th also...but I love fluff and painting

[Spaced Hulk]

Amongst the battle brethren of the Chapter he was an anomaly. A captain without a company, a bearer without a sword, a knight without honour. Even the ill favoured Revenants were still deemed brothers by those who despised them, but there were none who would willingly claim kinship with him. Amongst a thousand warriors, he was truly alone.

The title and nature of his duties were understood only by the highest ranking members of the Inner Circle, yet his authority was almost absolute. Only the Chapter Master himself could countermand his orders. Even the Lords of the Reclusiam and Librarium gave fealty to him, for he endured responsibilities even graver and more demanding than their own. Yet his true rank was obsolete, an ancient term forgotten by most within the Imperium, and unspoken by those who could remember such things. His kind were a shadow on the pages of history, a dark spectre gratefully consigned to the nightmares of the past.

He could command armies to accomplish his aims, or even mobilise the entire Chapter to war if he deemed it necessary. However, it was exceedingly rare for him to exercise his prerogative. In fact he usually worked alone, and indeed, actually preferred it that way. The blood on his hands, the stain on his honour, the taint in his soul: these were his to endure, and endure alone. Such was the price that needed to be paid, he endured this penance so that his brothers would not.

Like them, he was a knight, a warrior, a killer. But alone amongst their ranks, he had another role. A task sanctioned at the highest level of his order yet officially denied. Secret, necessary but forever unforgivable.

He was a murderer.

***

The redoubt, or what was left of it, was built high upon the brooding black cliffs. An entire company of the Adomite Royal Guard had been stationed within a fortress carved into solid rock. Artillery had been dug into the cliff top: long range mortars, large calibre autocannons, missile batteries and anti-aircraft guns. Enough men and firepower to theoretically repel any attack, whether it came from the dark, turbulent waters of the Adomitean Sea or an airborne assault through the storm laden skies.

Theoretically, that may have been the case, but then the invaders had appeared, like ghosts in the darkness and the redoubt had burned. It's defenders had died, almost to a man. Their mutilated remains were strewn throughout the ruined fortress. The few survivors, those who had managed to escape the carnage, were huddled in a small group amongst the gore stained wreckage, struggling to keep warm as the freezing night wind howled across the cliff tops.

So fierce were the gales, and so deafening their volume, that the Guardsmen didn't hear the roaring engines until it was too late. As the jet black gunship flew directly overhead, a robed figure leapt from the open cargo ramp, dropping amongst the survivors on a pillar of fire. Scattering in panic, the Adomites raised their lasrifles, aiming them at the massive, power armoured warrior that had suddenly landed in their midst. Despite the horrors they had endured, no one fired. It was impressive discipline, the Space Marine thought to himself, considering the nature of the foe that had razed this fortress to the ground.

“Identify yourself.” One of the Guardsman stepped forward, an auto-pistol clenched in a shaking hand. The ragged remains of a great coat was worn over the soldier's battered carapace armour, the epaulettes on his shoulders marking his rank. The speaker's other arm ended abruptly at the elbow, the tattered, blood soaked cloth of his jacket fluttering in the wind. A chainsword wound, the newcomer assessed.

“At ease Lieutenant.” The Space Marine's voice was a deep, bass growl, somehow audible even over the howling gale. His war plate was a bright, shining steel, covered by wind swept black robes and the pelt of great, ursine beast that trailed behind him like a cape. The bulky jump pack strapped to his back made his massive form even more imposing. Grenades and melta charges were attached to his armour, but other than these explosives, the warrior appeared to be unarmed.

“Captain Charon, of the Adeptus Astartes Sword Bearers,” he continued, “We intercepted your distress call. I am here to assess your situation. Are you in command here?”

“Yes...my lord.” The officer nodded to the Guardsmen around him. Slowly, warily, they lowered their weapons. “You are alone? We had hoped for...”

“My brothers are scouring the hinterlands, searching for the attackers before they can strike again.” Charon looked around as he spoke, staring into the eyes of each surviving Guardsmen. He could see the same emotions repeated again and again: fear, pain, shock. These soldiers had somehow survived an assault of utter brutality, and the psychological trauma was evident on their numbed faces.

“Tell me what happened here.” The Sword Bearer turned back to the wounded lieutenant. “Tell me about the Space Marines who did this.”

***

“They came two mornings ago, just before dawn.” Vadim, the Adomite Lieutenant was sitting on an empty ammunition case, cradling his ravaged arm to his chest. The young officer should have died of blood loss, but this close to the man Charon could smell the unmistakable stench of burnt flesh. He had cauterized the wound himself in the only way possible, by thrusting his bleeding stump of an arm into a burning gun emplacement. For a mortal, the pain must be excruciating, Charon thought to himself. That the Adomite was still alive, let alone conscious and lucid, was a testament to the strength and hardiness of the inhabitants of this world. Potentially ideal aspirants to the Astartes, the Sword Bearer mused.

“The attack started without warning,” Vadim continued, “somehow they evaded all our sensors and auspex traps, silently eliminated the sentries and infiltrated the redoubt. The first we knew that something was wrong was when the generators exploded in a fireball that shook the entire fortress.”

“And then?” Charon asked, still watching the Guardsmen around him. The fear was slowly beginning to leave them, he decided. His presence, the presence of one of the Emperor's Angels, was having a calming, reassuring effect. Even for mortals as traumatised as these.

“Then the lights went out, and they began to slaughter everybody. Everybody.” Vadim's voice took on a cold, harsh edge. “There was nothing we could do. Our weapons were completely ineffective. Lasguns. Autorifles. We may as well have been throwing stones.”

“How many were there? What did they look like?” Charon asked. This was the information he needed to know. The information his Chapter needed to know.

“We estimate five, maybe six. It was difficult to tell. Almost everybody who saw them died. We're fortunate to be alive. Twelve of us left, from a company of over two hundred.”

“What did they look like?” Charon repeated, more forcefully this time. “What colour was their plate?”

“I'm not sure. It was pitch black, we barely saw them.” Vadim murmured, pain and weariness etched into his face.

“Blue. Their armour was dark blue” Another Guardsman spoke this time, an older man whose face was swathed in bandages. “I saw them before the explosion that took my sight. They wore blue armour, covered with skulls and lightning bolts. They were collecting the skins of our dead.”

“Night Lords.” Charon hissed, speaking more to himself than the soldiers around him. The foul traitors of the Eighth Legion had been his Chapter's ancestral enemies since the days of the Great Heresy and the Thramas Crusade. Indeed, the Sword Bearers had been founded, officially at least, to counter the Night Lords predations out here on the very edge of the Imperium. He was not surprised to find that Curze's Sons had been responsible for the carnage. In fact, part of him was relieved. Whilst horrific in their methods, there were worse possible culprits for this assault than the traitors of the Eighth. From his perspective anyway.

“Aye, blue armour.” The blind soldier continued, “All but one of them wore blue.”

Charon moved so suddenly that the Guardsmen around him gasped. He grabbed the blood stained tunic of the speaker, lifting him off the ground and pulling him close to his face plate.

“There was another?” The Sword Bearer whispered, his voice surprisingly soft through the vocal emitters of his battle helm.

“Yes my Lord” the blind man gasped, his whole body trembling in renewed fear. “There was a warrior unlike the others. A warrior in black.”

“Did you see anything else? Any logo or insignia? Is there anything else you remember about him?”

“No my lord.” The soldier was sobbing now, unable to weep through his ruined eyes. “Only a sword. A winged sword on his shoulder.”

Charon released the old man, letting him slump to the floor. The Sword Bearer took a step back, away from the cluster of soldiers. He folded his arms behind his back and sighed, the sound hissing from his helm in a burst of static. It was true then. A traitor far worse than even the Night Lords had walked this cursed ground. And there were witnesses. Crom's prescience had, regrettably, been proven correct once again. Not for the first time, he wished that the Chief Librarian could be a little less accurate in his divinations.

“My Lord, is..is everything alright?” It was Vadim who broke the Sword Bearer's reverie, the young officer had risen from his seat, still holding his mutilated arm.

The Sword Bearer didn't answer, for he had no desire to lie to these men. Turning slowly around, he observed each of them in turn, memorising their faces. Fear was evident in them once again, but whilst most Astartes would be repulsed by such mortal failings, Charon felt nothing but pity. These Guardsman had already suffered a horrific assault by a brutal and merciless foe, but now they were damned simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“We're glad you're here my Lord” Vadim continued, approaching cautiously. “We are fortunate to be alive, but we would not survive another attack. If you hadn't...”

Charon spun around to face the young lieutenant, drawing both his plasma pistols in a smooth, continuous movement. The matching handguns had been holstered at his back, hidden from view by the animal pelt that hung from his shoulders. They were ancient and powerful, relics of a bygone age, but they lacked the grace and balance of a blade. Even now, so many years after giving up his sword, the ritual weapons of his office still felt cumbersome and unwieldy. He had exchanged finesse for sheer destructive capability.

“No.” Charon said softly, aiming a pistol straight at Vadim's trembling features. The other gun was targeting the next soldier in line. He had already worked out the most efficient fire pattern. “You are far from fortunate I'm afraid.”

The Sword Bearer would remember them, as he remembered all the Emperor's servants he had killed in the prosecution of his duty. That was his penance. That was the price he paid to protect the secrets of the past.

“Forgive us.” he whispered as he pulled the triggers.

***

My first entry for Grotsmasha's Captain Conversion Contest: Dumah Charon: Suppressor Captain of the Sword Bearers, Lord of Silence, Last Moritat of the Dark Angels Legion.

***

Dumah Charon is the current Lord Suppressor of the Sword Bearers, a position he has held for over sixty years. Amongst their fellow Unforgiven Chapters, the responsibility for concealing the existence of the Fallen Angels is shared collectively by every member of the Inner Circle. The Sword Bearers, however, appoint this task to a single individual. The sole duty of this 'Lord of Silence' is to ensure that knowledge of the Fallen is contained, by eliminating all evidence and witnesses to their existence. Such a crucial role requires it's incumbent to abandon all sense of mercy and honour, for they must be prepared to do whatever is necessary, no matter how heinous and ignoble, in order to fully safeguard the Legion's dark and terrible secrets.

The office of Lord Suppressor is an evolution of a martial caste that was once widespread throughout the original Space Marine Legions: the Moritats. During the Great Crusade such warriors were synonymous with wanton death and destruction, acting as the very epitome of the Adeptus Astartes. Following the Great Heresy, Moritats fell into disfavour, their battlefield excesses perhaps too reminiscent of the horrors perpetrated by the Traitor Legions. The Sword Bearers resurrected this long forgotten tradition, adapting the concept to better serve their own needs.

Once selected, each Suppressor Captain is presented with the antique heirlooms that serve as both their traditional weapons and mark of office. The Lion's Claws are a matching pair of Mark I plasma pistols, ancient but deadly handguns believed to have been part of Lion El Jonson's personal armoury. In exchange, the new Moritat surrenders his own sword, which is then buried with the mortal remains of his predecessor deep within the crypts of the Fenspire, the Sword Bearer's mountain fortress home. This symbolic gesture means that in death, each Lord Suppressor is able to finally reclaim the honour they renounced in life.

Although officially a Captain, Lord Charon does not lead a specific Company. Instead, all Sword Bearers assets and personnel are his to requisition as he sees fit, although he must ensure that the Legion's secrets remain concealed to the uninitiated. As a result his rank is something of a paradox, for he is technically outside the chain of command and yet his orders are obeyed without question. For those unaware of the necessity of his actions, he is seen simply as a weapon of terror, the orchestrator of senseless murder and atrocity. As a result the rank of Suppressor Captain is abhorred by the knightly orders of the Sword Bearers, for whom dishonour is seen as worse than death itself. Only those within the Inner Circle know how critical Charon's task truly is, respecting both his sacrifice and the terrible burden he carries on behalf of all Sons of the Lion.

***

[Cactus]

Superb! Your tease with the Night Lords had me thinking there wouldn't be a Fallen connection to this tale and that the guardsmen might survive, then pow!

[deathspectersgt7]

WRITE THE BOOK!!!!.I saw that coming but man that was brutal for those guardsmen. I like Charon . Great job on the fig and his story Brother can't wait to hear more about him down the road.

[recon0321]

Spaced hulk

 

Do you think you could place the entire story in one post so we catch up..?

[Spaced Hulk]

Thanks brothers, glad you liked it  Ended up writing a lot more about Charon than I'd originally planned, as initially I just wanted to try to justify the existence of a post heresy DA Moritat. Quite pleased with how the model and his background turned out though.

 

@recon0321: I did actually start a thread compiling the completed parts of the main storyline together over in the fan-fic section of the Black Library forum. Unfortunately the board shutdowns meant that I haven't kept it up to date. Here's a link to what's there at the moment, and I'll try to update it again with the newer fiction soon:

 

http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/274091-sword-bearers-completed-fiction/

 

To be honest though, there's always going to be stuff here that I don't post in the completions thread. For example, Charon's backstory (and Crom's, when I get round to re-posting it) won't go over there, simply because they're intended as just stand-alone bit's of fluff that are separate to the main story line. Similarly, the background I wrote at the very start of this thread (like the Inquisitor's reports and the recorded 'history' of the Chapter) won't be posted over there either. I'm going to keep the Completions thread purely for the main 'Necropolis' storyline, which starts with Balian's assault on the outer defences, and then continues with Aldous and his mission.

 

Thanks again guys, I really do appreciate the support and feedback  Next up in terms of writing is Aldous and his encounter with the Fallen. Unfortunately I keep getting distracted by other stuff (blame Grotsmasha's Conversion Contests ) but I haven't forgotten about it. I also want to write some background for those Chaplains I posted before the board's data loss. Modelwise I've just about finished another Revenant Headhunter (the squad leader this time) so that'll be the next thing I post.  

Edited August 23, 2013 by spacedhulk

[Spaced Hulk]

Figured I might as well re-post Crom while I've got time. If the corrupted data does get recovered I'll just edit out any duplicate posts.

There were four of us present that day. Four Sons of the Lion on a dead Imperial world. It was the day I took up arms for my Chapter once more, and witnessed the true nature of the monsters amongst us.

Like myself, Apollyon was a Sword Bearer of the Fifth: a battle brother born of Mire, raised for war and destined to fall in service to the Emperor and his First Legion. For both of us this was our first operation since being returned to active duty. We had each suffered grievous wounds during the Hothe Migrations: the Hrud's entropic field causing terrible damage even to our gene-enhanced, post-human forms. I had watched my left arm and leg wither and die before my eyes, reduced to little more than scraps of flesh and ceramite clinging to bleached, yellow bone. Apollyon too had barely survived, his whole body atrophying at a catastrophic rate as he'd aged hundreds of years within minutes. As always against the Hrud, it had been an intense, brutal campaign, and many of our brothers had not been as fortunate as we.

Despite our Astartes physiology, it had taken six months of re-constructive surgery and bionic augmentation before either of us were battle ready once more. I am certain that Apollyon was as frustrated as I to learn that our first posting was not a combat mission, but instead to form a personal bodyguard for one of the Lords of the Chapter. Although there was no doubting the honour and responsibility inherent in such a role, they were not the orders we craved after half a year of inactivity. Our enthusiasm waned even further when we learnt the nature of the operation: a fact finding visit to Carax Mor, a world already cleansed of the Great Devourer. Whilst our brothers took the fight to the remnants of Behemoth, we were relegated to mere observers on a devastated battlefield.

The third member of our party was a Revenant. As with so many of our black clad brethren, I do not know the identity of the warrior behind the skull helm, only that he was one of the Hellrazers: Second Company's incendiary and immolation specialists. Designed not just to exterminate life, but to eradicate all signs of it, the Hellrazers were armed exclusively with flame and melta weaponry. This warrior was no exception: a pair of bulky hand flamers were holstered at his sides, the chemical reek of their fuel tanks detectable despite the charnel stink of the ruined world we walked upon. As always with their kind, the Revenant did not speak or communicate in any way, a silent companion that impassively followed us through the barren landscape. For my part, I was simply glad that he was the only member of Second Company present. After my recent brush with death, I had no desire to experience the morbid chill of a Shadowcaster's psychic aura. And, as I had quietly joked to Apollyon during our journey, one psyker in our party was quite enough.

It was the Chief Librarian himself who led us that day. Skeletally thin and haggard even in power armour, his appearance seemed more akin to an emaciated wraith than a Space Marine: a ghoulish creature of the underworld instead of a proud warrior of the Astartes. Tattered robes covered curiously elongated Mark VIII plate like a funeral shroud, and as he strode purposefully through the Caraxian ruins, his skull headed staff tapped rhythmically against the cracked ferrocrete of the ichor stained roadways.

His name was Reynard Crom, but most of us knew him by another title: the Faceless. Although perhaps disrespectful, the nickname was certainly apt, for his visage changed constantly. Despite wearing neither helm or hood, Crom's features were as much a mystery as the Revenants who are, of course, never seen without their death masks. His countenance seemed to be in a state of perpetual flux, an endless succession of different identities that morphed from one forlorn face to another even as you watched. One moment he appeared young, gaunt and heavily scarred; the next he was ancient and wizened, his facial features gnarled and shrunken by extreme age. There was no way of knowing what he truly looked like. Only his cold, calculating eyes remained constant and unchanging. They were the eyes of a predator, not a warrior.

Many amongst the Sword Bearers considered him to be a shape-shifter, capable of moulding his own flesh into whatever form he wished. Others, myself included, believed that it was the perception of those around him that he altered, using his psychic gifts to force us to see only what he wanted us to see. That day on Carax, I believe this theory was confirmed, and the three of us, perhaps alone in all our Chapter, observed Reynard Crom's true identity.

The attack came without warning. We had been walking through a ruined street littered with Tyranid corpses, pausing occasionally while Crom examined anything he deemed particularly noteworthy. Despite the novelty of seeing the nature of this new threat in person, Apollyon and I were struggling to hide our boredom. We wished to be fighting such creatures, not studying their remains. The only other signs of life, if you can call them that, were a team of servitors picking their way along the street, collecting samples for the benefit of their Inquisitorial masters.

Suddenly the building behind the servitors exploded, bricks and debris flying in all directions as a monstrous Tyranid creature emerged from it's hiding place within. The beast had lain dormant inside the ruins, as though waiting specifically for our arrival to reveal itself. Larger than a Dreadnought, it's hulking form was covered by thick, chitinous armour, while four of it's six limbs were formed into massive, scythe like blades. Even though the Hive Fleet had only just begun to be documented, I recognised the brute from the tactical data compiled, at such great cost, by Guilliman's Sons. The Magus Biologis had categorised such beasts as Carnifex Voracio, heavy assault constructs that had been commonly encountered since Tyran onwards. Those that had fought and survived Behemoth though had given the creature another, more emphatic title: the Screamer-Killer.

It was screaming now as it charged: a terrible, high pitched shriek that assaulted the senses despite the audio dampeners built into our battle helms. The Carnifex reached the servitors within seconds, trampling two of them into the ferrocrete with it's sheer bulk, eviscerating the others with it's talons without even breaking it's stride. Then it had moved on without hesitation, heading straight towards us. Obviously we were the chosen targets, the servitors had merely been unfortunate enough to be standing in the brute's path.

Apollyon and I began firing instantly, bolts smashing into the armoured carapace with dull thuds. Even as chitin erupted into splinters, I realised it was futile. To bring down such a monstrosity would require far more powerful weapons than a simple boltgun. The beast continued it's charge and the screaming intensified, as though our shots had served only to enrage the Carnifex even further. As it bore down upon us I began reaching for a krak grenade, thinking that perhaps in death I could inflict enough damage to give the others a fighting chance.

The Screamer-Killer was just ten metres away when it suddenly stopped, as though it had run headlong into some invisible barrier. So close, I could see it's muscles straining against the unseen obstacle, it's fanged, snarling maw drooling strings of vile, corrosive spittle. Still the beast did not move. On instinct, I glanced sideways, and at last understood what was happening.

The Chief Librarian was standing motionless, his left hand outstretched towards the creature. But this was not the same Space Marine we had accompanied that morning. The gaunt, cadaverous wraith was no more, and in it's place stood a more typical Astartes warrior. Despite such a drastic change in his appearance, it was still undoubtedly Reynard Crom. A tunic partially covered what was now standard issue Errant plate, and the great tome still hung at his side, it's pages chained shut. Sigils and seals covered the psyker's armour, and the great horned skull was still affixed to his right shoulder guard as the symbol of his calling. He carried the same, skull headed force staff. I realised at that moment that it was not just his face that Crom hid from us. The wraith we were so familiar with was also a disguise, a psychic facade that he used to shroud his appearance. In stopping the thunderous charge of the Carnifex, the Librarian had been forced to drop his other defences, showing his true form for the first time.

Despite the massive Tyranid monstrosity before us, this sudden transformation was somehow far more shocking. Nor was I alone in my reaction: Apollyon and the Revenant were both staring unreservedly at the psyker. Even his facial features had ceased their constant flux, becoming a single, unchanging identity. I cannot be certain, but I believe the three of us saw Crom's own, unaltered visage that day. It was a stern, cruel face, frowning in concentration. Some kind of apparatus, presumably a psychic hood, was embedded directly into his skull, dull metal plates and cables protruding from the bare scalp.

As we watched, the Librarian slowly raised his left arm. As if mirroring his action, the Carnifex smoothly rose several metres off the ground. There it hung, suspended in the air, still furiously screaming as all six of it's limbs thrashed in futile resistance. Fascinated, my Astartes training kicked in and I began evaluating the creature, noting the lethal efficiency of it's biological weapons, visually searching for weak points in it's chitinous armour. This, after all, was one of the most dangerous Tyranid constructs so far encountered. Beasts such as this were at the forefront of the Hive Fleet's attack. An attack that had devastated mighty Ultramar and left the whole Imperium reeling in shock at this new menace that assailed us from the stars. To see a live Carnifex so close, and to have time to appraise it's combat abilities was a luxury few, if any, could claim.

Suddenly the beast convulsed, spasms running through it's massive frame. With a sickening crack, a great rent appeared in it's armoured torso, the dense chitin tearing as though invisible hands were slowly, inexorably pulling it apart. The screaming became a terrible, keening wail as the Carnifex visibly shuddered in it's agony. Before our eyes, the creature's exoskeleton was violently ripped open in a spray of gore and viscera: it's ribcage, if such terms can even be applied to so alien a physiology, splayed wide to reveal it's internal organs. Still the beast howled, somehow still alive despite the terrible damage being inflicted upon it.

I glanced sideways once more. Frost was beginning to crystallise on Crom's cranial implants, even though sweat beaded his brow from the obvious mental exertion. A grimace of intense concentration gripped the face so recently revealed to us, but beneath it I could detect another, more sinister expression: a cruel smile of dark amusement. Evidently, the Chief Librarian was enjoying himself.

Turning back, I saw that a similar tear had appeared down the centre of the Tyranid's skull. Still the beast shrieked in it's misery. Seconds later a grotesque popping sound accompanied the sight of the creature's head splitting completely in two, both halves peeling back to reveal glistening, slime covered brain matter. The wailing instantly subsided, replaced by a low, pathetic whimpering. Even now the Carnifex was alive and seemingly conscious, experiencing the full, unimaginable horror of it's own body being slowly, methodically dissected.

I had no sympathy for the beast, of course. Such monstrosities deserved nothing but our contempt, for even the torment this Tyranid was suffering was insignificant compared to the nightmare it's race represented. All the same, Crom's handiwork was chilling to behold. Not just because of the immense degree of psychic power being exhibited, but also because of the grim satisfaction evident on the Chief Librarian's features. At that moment, I finally understood that some monsters are born with a human face, and I realised how grateful I was that Reynard Crom was not my enemy.

My thoughts were interrupted as my boltgun was torn from my grasp. Beside me, Apollyon swore as his own firearm was also pulled brusquely from his hands. Each bolter flew though the air towards the Carnifex, stopping directly in front of the stricken creature. For a moment both weapons simply hovered there, held by an unseen force, one aiming inside the beast's ruined torso, the other at the bisected skull. Then as if heralding the end of a surreal dream, each boltgun barked once, the shots obliterating the alien organs in a shower of sickly blue ichor. At last the whining stopped.

“My apologies brothers” Crom's placid voice broke the eerie silence as the bolters glided smoothly back into our hands. “Sometimes my enthusiasm overrides my manners.”

The mutilated corpse of the Carnifex fell to the ground with a wet thud. Motioning to the Revenant, the Chief Librarian continued, still smiling jovially as he spoke. “Burn the remains. Leave nothing behind.”

“Forgive me my Lord” Somehow I managed to find my voice. “But hasn't Inquisitor Kryptman ordered all specimens of the larger Tyranid strains preserved for future study?”

Crom's face twisted in a sudden fury, the good humoured smile becoming a look of pure malevolence. “The Inquisition,” he snarled, “may do whatever it wishes.” For a second I wondered if I had made a critical mistake. After all, the Chief Librarian's contempt for Inquisitors was well known throughout the Chapter. Not for the first time, I wondered about the origin of the skull that crowned the top of the psyker's force staff. The skull engraved with the symbol of a crossed letter 'I'. Surely not even Crom would dare take such a trophy and then bear it so brazenly?

As quickly as it had appeared, the Librarian's anger subsided, his voice regaining it's customary composure. “I, however, have seen all I need to see. Burn the remains.” he repeated. As the Revenant raised his flamers and stepped forwards, Crom had already turned away. The wraith had returned once more, the psychic camouflage morphing the Faceless into his familiar, cadaverous form.“Come brothers, let us see what else we can find.”

That day, as I watched him stroll down the street of decomposing corpses, I decided that Reynard Crom's true face was far more disturbing than any of the alien monstrosities that surrounded us.

***

Reynard Crom, 'the Faceless', Chief Librarian of the Sword Bearers Chapter

[FerociousBeast]

Nice story and nice conversion!

[Spaced Hulk]

Cheers mate

Here's the next repost of stuff that disappeared with the data loss:

Revenant Headhunters are specialist assassination squads, tasked with hunting down and executing enemy psykers, or indeed, any opponent naturally resistant to the Shadow's effects. Deployed directly into the heart of enemy lines and operating far from support or the influence of the Shadowcasters, only the most skilled and experienced Second Company warriors are chosen for these crucial missions. Renowned for their practice of decapitating their psychic prey, the skulls chained to their armour are as much their trademark as the twin gladius blades that are their chosen weapons.

[Spaced Hulk]

Some new pics today, this time of the Headhunter Squad Sergeant. I'm going to use the combination of wrist blades & power falchions for counts as twin lightning claws.

[deathspectersgt7]

The Headhunter Sgt is great  .Where did you get those blades on his wrist don't reco.I decided to get me a set of the centurions.

[Spaced Hulk]

Thanks brother  The wrist blades are from Anvil, they're included in the Black Op's command sprue (the one with the satellite com-link).

 

I'm still undecided on the Centurians (even though I poked fun at them in the Rumours thread ) The Devastator versions do look better, and I suspect the assault versions will grow on me too, especially with better pics. I think the Vanguard, Sternguard and Tactical boxes are going to be more of a priority purchase though. 

 

Currently wondering whether to include the new kits in my Sword Bearers army, or to start a brand new Chapter for them, or possibly do both. I started an Executioners army last year that I could revisit, but I've also always been interested in both the Iron Hands and the Raven Guard (& their successors). It's the eternal problem, there's just too many Chapters I like!

[deathspectersgt7]

The new vanguard has to be a must for the Sword Bearers,Yup to many chapters I think I'm up to 21 now

[Spaced Hulk]

Well, it's been a while since I updated this I've also only just realised that I still haven't re-posted all the stuff that disappeared in the data loss. There are a few pics, and also the next instalment of the Necropolis story line.

First of all, here's another Revenant Headhunter

Next up are the two Chaplains that were lost in the crash:

Arathorn, Interrogator Chaplain, attached to the Sword Bearers 3rd Battle Company

Mordrain, Lord High Interrogator, Sword Bearer's Master of the Reclusiam

[Spaced Hulk]

The valley had become a scene of almost unimaginable chaos: a tangled morass of men and machines crashing together at high speed. As hundreds of bikes, tanks and armoured carriers sped around each other in a vast, swirling melee, great clouds of dust and smoke filled the natural amphitheatre. Even from Third Company's elevated position high on the ridge, it was difficult to discern how the battle was unfolding.

 

Balian was witnessing a plethora of different images through the Rhino's long range optical sensors, each screen showing an isolated snapshot of the carnage erupting below. Pockets of extreme violence that appeared suddenly through gaps in the smoke, miniature dramas briefly playing to the waiting audience before being swallowed once more by the thick, suffocating veil.

 

He watched as a lone Revenant biker raced towards a lumbering Leman Russ, manoeuvring so close that, for a second, Balian was sure that the rider intended to ram the enemy tank in a futile act of defiance. Instead the skull helmed warrior veered slightly to one side at the very last moment, deftly clamping a melta bomb to the armoured hull as he sped past. A moment later the fusion charge detonated, causing a massive explosion within the Russ as either fuel or ammunition were caught in the blast, ripping the vehicle apart from within.

 

Near the centre of the battlefield, a squadron of five Sentinels were surrounded by an equal number of Cursed Knights, the elite Second Company warriors circling the enemy walkers like a pack of predators toying with their prey. The Sentinels were shooting constantly, a hail of autocannon and multi-laser fire chasing after the hooded bikers, but the disruptive effects of the Shadow, combined with the Revenant's speed and manoeuvrability meant that not a single shot hit home. Suddenly all five bikes changed course as one, heading straight toward the cluster of walkers and unleashing blindingly bright streams of plasma energy at their targets. Each and every Sentinel exploded in unison, reduced to little more than flaming chunks of wreckage as a testament to the Cursed Knights impressive co-ordination and deadly fire-power.

 

Landspeeders strafed the floundering columns of armoured vehicles, bombarding them with a relentless barrage of missiles and assault cannon fire. Ebon attack bikes darted through the chaos, obliterating tank after tank with devastatingly precise multi-melta shots. Jump teams dropped from low flying gunships directly onto the hulls of enemy vehicles, latching on like parasites and systematically destroying their armoured hosts with krak grenades and meltaguns.
 

However, even with the considerable tactical advantage provided by the Shadow, the battle was not completely one sided. Just minutes before, Balian had seen an entire six man Attack squad wiped out by a Malcador battle tank. Obviously out of control, the heavily armoured vehicle veered erratically, ploughing straight through the bike squadron ranks and crushing them all instantaneously. On the eastern edge of the battlefield, a black landspeeder was brought down in flames by a burst of prolonged heavy bolter fire from a Mechanicum Chimera, the troop carrier presumably servitor crewed and therefore immune to the Shadow's effects. The sheer quantity of rebel armour, combined with the pandemonium the psychic aura had created amongst their ranks, meant that casualties amongst the Revenants were always inevitable.
 

Suddenly, a massive armoured shape emerged from the dust cloud directly in front of Third Company's position. The wreckage of countless vehicles littered the valley floor like an obstacle course, but each one was crushed or smashed apart like matchwood by the lumbering, unstoppable metal beast.
 

Rising from his seat, Balian opened the Rhino's top hatch and raised himself through the circular opening. Even this far from the battlefield, dust particles filled the air around him like a sandstorm, coating his war helm in a fine white film.

 

We may have a problem, he thought to himself as he watched the Doomhammer begin to climb the ridge towards them.

 

***
 

Aldous was nearing the end of the great spiral walkway. The horde of cultists that filled the chamber were just a few meters below, a solid mass of bodies pressed tightly together. At this distance, the chanting had reached a truly deafening volume: a relentless barrage of sound that assaulted both his mind and his senses. Although the language remained incomprehensible, the guttural words and tone of the song now seemed inexplicably disturbing. It was difficult to concentrate, and his skin crawled with each repetition of the dire verse.
 

He could see his prey, along with six other renegade Astartes, standing near a podium at the far end of the Temple. A trio of robed priests were mounted on the raised platform, presumably orchestrating the mass ceremony within the chamber. The traitorous Space Marines had formed a thin but obviously effective barrier between the crowd and their masters.
 

Between Aldous and his target was a literal sea of human forms. Even with his false-hood camouflage, the crowd were packed far too closely for him to realistically force his way through. As he scanned the area for options, he realised there was a narrow but clear corridor of space around the circumference of the chamber. Necropean enforcers were stationed at intervals around the walls, silently watching the mob around them. It would be a longer and more time consuming route, but the brooding guardians would be far easier to slip past than the crowd itself.
 

Slinging his silenced shotgun across his shoulders, Aldous drew it's twin from his back mounted holster. This weapon was named Ultorem: the Avenger. Although the two firearms were superficially similar, their capabilities were quite different. While Tacita Venator was modified for stealth, Ultorem had been adapted purely for increased lethality: firing a variety of rounds that were effective against a wide spectrum of opponents. Taking a drum magazine from an equipment pouch at his side, he slotted it into the shotgun with a soft click.

 

Checking the integrity of his false hood camouflage one last time, the Pathfinder began to work his way towards his target.

 

***

Despite it's size, the super heavy tank had not escaped the carnage of the valley unscathed. Smoke billowed from a score of damaged hull sections and wrecked weapon sponsons, while it's slow speed suggested at least one of it's main drive units had been disabled. Unfortunately it's primary armament, a deadly but short ranged magma cannon, seemed ominously intact. Balian was uncertain just how short ranged the titan-killer weapon actually was, but as the colossal war machine crawled slowly up the ridge towards them, he decided he had no desire to find out. Third Company's transports would offer no protection at all against such devastating firepower.
 

The sergeant was just about to order his squad to disembark and take cover when he noticed a host of armoured forms descending from above. Like a swarm of black locusts, the Revenant Murder Squad fell from the sky, the whine of their turbine packs audible even over the thunderous uproar of the battle.
 

Even by Second Company standards, the heavily armed Murder Squads were particularly feared. Close assault specialists, they were infamous for their habitual use of combat drugs, utilising intravenous injectors built into their war helms to administer a potent cocktail of chem-enhancers during battle. With their abilities boosted by such notorious stimulants as Frenzon, Spur and Satrophine, they were formidable opponents: stronger, faster and more resilient than even a normal Space Marine. However, whilst their Astartes physiology enabled them to survive the biological strain caused by such a potentially lethal mixture of chemicals, the psychological effects were another matter entirely. Renowned for their bloodthirsty ferocity and berserk rages, the frenzied warriors were practically uncontrollable once committed to battle. Even their fellow Revenants seemed to give their gore stained brethren a wide berth during combat operations. Nevertheless, as shock troops the Murder Squads were unsurpassed, often delivering the killing blow to enemies pinned in place by the Company's attack squadrons.
 

The twelve man squad fell upon the Doomhammer with impressive accuracy, especially considering their target was in motion. Only one of the assault specialists misjudged his landing, falling in front of the moving super-heavy and disappearing with a sickening crunch beneath it's tracks. Activating the magnetic plates built into the soles of their armoured feet, the remaining Revenants clamped themselves to the vehicle's hull. While several of the black armoured warriors began to detach their bulky jump pack harnesses, another set to work on the top mounted access hatch, ripping it to pieces with his power fist. As soon as the hatchway was open, the pack-less squad members, each clutching bolters and combat knives, began to drop, one by one, into the behemoth's dark interior.
 

The Doomhammer was just a quarter of a mile from Third Company's position when it finally ground to a halt. Despite the battle raging before them, with it's constant roar of engines and gunfire, explosions and collisions, Balian was certain he could faintly hear another sound over the cacophony. A noise resonating from the now stationary super-heavy tank.
 

To Balian, it sounded very much like screaming.
 

***

 

The renegade Space Marines stood in a loose line in front of the podium, shielding the Secessionist preachers from their followers. Although the horde of frantically chanting cultists were pressed suffocatingly close together, the presence of the Astartes had cleared an area at least ten meters between the rebel mob and it's leaders.
 

Invisible beneath the falsehood, Aldous stood in the middle of the clearing, intently scrutinising the traitors before him.
 

Five of the renegades wore bare Mark Seven plate, all signs of their former allegiance scoured from the dark grey ceramite. Their armour itself was pitted and battle scarred, showing no signs of the care and attention it would have once received. They were all distinctively armed: in addition to a bolter holstered at his side, each Marine cradled a long-barrelled heavy stubber to their chest plate, with extra ammunition belts for the primitive weapons draped across their torso and shoulders.
 

In complete contrast, the sixth renegade had kept his Corvus armour largely unaltered, the bright blue colour scheme and chapter heraldry displaying his origins in Ultramar. Aldous had fought alongside the Sons of Macragge several times, and even now, with all that he had learned of his own Legion's tragic past, he was surprised to see one of their number amongst the traitors. Instead of removing the evidence of his treachery, this warrior seemed to be proudly proclaiming his fall from grace. Although the Ultramarine had kept his livery intact, there had also been a bizarre addition to his wargear. Long strands of razor wire were twined around him, covering the Mark VI plate with thousands of tiny blades. A thunder hammer was slung across the warrior's back, and that too seemed to be wrapped in the same vicious material.
 

However, it was the final renegade that now commanded the Pathfinder's full attention. The Space Marine stood facing the Secessionist preachers, his back to both Aldous and the chanting mob of cultists. His jet black power armour was a true relic: Crusade pattern, Mark II plate, now rarely seen even amongst the First Founding Chapters. A broadsword was sheathed across the ancient power plant, while a tattered white surplice partially covered the traitor's hulking form, the hood pulled up over his bare head. The armour's war helm, with it's distinctive grill face plate, was clamped to the warrior's side, resting alongside an antique firearm that Aldous had previously only ever seen pictured in historical accounts. The last surviving example of this type of weapon had been lost to the Imperium thousands of years before, yet here was an intact and presumably fully functional Volkite Charger.
 

There was one final detail that confirmed the warrior's identity. One that left Aldous seething with rage and hatred, his hearts racing in barely constrained anticipation. A detail that left no doubt as to the validity of the Pathfinder's mission. It was the image etched in crimson on the renegade's left shoulder pad. A winged sword, the symbol of the First Legion. This was the Fallen Angel known as Barazadon, one of the traitorous sons who had betrayed their father, their brothers and the Emperor himself.
 

It took every ounce of willpower Aldous possessed not to act. Every instinct told him to attack, to use Ultorum as it was meant to be used. For vengeance. For vindication. To eliminate this stain on his Legion's honour and the grave threat it represented. But that was not his mission. The path to redemption was not to be found in revenge alone. Atonement was necessary. The traitor must be given the opportunity to confess and to repent, for it was only by the salvation of their treacherous brothers that the Sons of the Lion could earn their own absolution.
 

Forcing himself to relax, Aldous glanced at both his chronometer and his vox link. The siege of the Necropolis must have been well under way, but the lack of communication signal meant that the city's generators and void shields were obviously still active. He would have to wait. There was still time to activate the teleport homer and deploy the Penitent hunters. Together they could capture this abomination, and the journey to redemption would be one step closer. He had to be patient.
 

An unusual smell seemed to emanate from the Renegade Space Marines. The air in the temple was thick with the cloying scent of incense and smoke from burning torches, but this close to the traitors, Aldous could detect something else. Something repugnant but also strangely familiar. It took the Pathfinder several minutes to realise that the pungent aroma reminded him of his earlier meeting with the Chapter Master. It was the smell of diseased, rotting flesh. The stench of death.
 

Thinking of his dying lord reminded Aldous of the promise he had made. Talyn's instructions had been unequivocal. Under no circumstances should the Fallen Angel be allowed to either escape or fall into the wrong hands. The pathfinder's hand slowly came to rest on the holster of his plasma pistol. He realised once again that there was still a decision that needed to be made.
 

As if hearing his thoughts, Barazadon turned and stared straight towards the Pathfinder. Beneath the cowl, the traitor's features were hidden by shadow, but Aldous was suddenly certain that the Fallen could see him, that he was looking directly at him. It was impossible of course, with the False-hood activated he was invisible, even the most powerful auspex or Preysight couldn't detect him. It must be his imagination.
 

With incredible speed, the Fallen Angel raised both hands and stabbed them into the air towards Aldous. A wall of irrepressible force slammed into the Sword Bearer, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying backwards.
 

As he crashed into the mob of cultists behind, the weight of his post-human form knocking a dozen of their frail, mortal bodies to the ground, a single realisation kept repeating in the Pathfinder's mind. The implications of which were troubling indeed.
 

The Fallen was a psyker.

 

[Raven Angel]

More Please !

[Spaced Hulk]

@ Raven Angel: Thanks mate The next chapter is in progress and should hopefully be finished over the weekend. In the meantime, I've primed the first three Revenant Headhunters. Need to get some more gladius blades from Anvil Industry so I can finish the squad, but here's how they're looking at the moment:

[Eternal Warrior]

First off, inspiring. True blue inspiration. Please keep it up.

 

Now forgiveness. Since this is a successor chapter can you still use Belial, Azreal as per the new editions rules or is this more of an issue for our codex based brethren not being able to take shrike to lead imperial fists?

[deathspectersgt7]

Looking Good Brother A good Start .

[Cactus]

First off, inspiring. True blue inspiration. Please keep it up.

 

Now forgiveness. Since this is a successor chapter can you still use Belial, Azreal as per the new editions rules or is this more of an issue for our codex based brethren not being able to take shrike to lead imperial fists?

 

If it's in Codex: Dark Angels it can be taken in any army chosen from Codex: Dark Angels. Being a successor chapter only changes the colour of the armour, which has no impact on the army list. However, knowing Spaced Hulk's intense creativity I'm sure he has ideas for his own unique characters. The Chapter Master was featured in an earlier instalment of the story.

 

Spaced Hulk, does this mean you'll finally do justice to your conversions by painting them?

[Spaced Hulk]

@ Eternal Warrior: Cheers mate  In answer to your question, it all depends on which Codex you're using. As Cactus said, if you're using Codex DA, then you can use any of the special characters, regardless of what your Chapter is called or how it is painted. They're just that Chapter's equivalent of Azrael, Ezekial etc. For example, the Master of the Sword Bearer's Penitent (First) Company is called Elric Torr. However, when I get round to converting him (probably using Forge World's Terminator armoured Praetor as a base) I'll use Belial's rules to represent him (obviously making sure he's WYSIWYG for the benefit of opponents).

 

To be honest though, the Sword Bearer's are designed to 'run' using either Codex DA or Codex Space Marines, depending on what I want to field at the time. This isn't particularly for tactical or gaming reasons (I rarely play and so far have never attended a tournament) but simply to allow me free reign when it comes to building models. Certain aspects of the Chapter, such as Revenant jump pack troops, have always been intended to be fielded as Allies from other Chapters, as those rules are a better fit for my concept of the Chapter's Second Company. Regardless of the rules though, the Sword Bearers are still Unforgiven, they've just diverged considerably from the practices and traditions of the rest of the First Legion.

 

Hope that helps

 

@ deathspectresrg7: Thanks brother. Found an old can of black primer which amazingly still worked. I've been paid now so should hopefully be getting some new paints this weekend. Any tips on painting black power armour will be appreciated

 

@ Cactus: "do justice" implies a level of skill which I don't really have to be honest!  However, the growing ranks of bare plastic and resin models are starting to stare at me accusingly, so yes, it's time to start painting! Not necessarily painting them well, but painting nonetheless, and hopefully I'll improve with practise. Thanks for the compliments though mate.

 

Back to writing now