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Nature vs. Nurture, the What If? edition

Conn Eremon

By Conn Eremon
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Kol Saresk Venerable Brother

Kol Saresk

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[table II Primarch]PlanetLinkAuthor
Ameridia http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-15?do=findComment&comment=3465021 Bohemond




Perturabo
Planet LinkAuthor








Konrad Curze
Planet LinkAuthor
Calibanhttp://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/?p=3459467 Capitano
Baalhttp://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-7?do=findComment&comment=3462469Heinrich
Nocturne http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-7?do=findComment&comment=3462670 Thunor’s Hammer
Colchis http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-9?do=findComment&comment=3463040 Wade Garret
Olympia http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-15?do=findComment&comment=3464952 Wade Garret
Part II http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-15?do=findComment&comment=3464990 Wade Garret
Part III http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-16?do=findComment&comment=3465448 Wade Garret






















Right now, I wouldn't mind taking BnC and slamming it into a brick wall.
Conn Eremon Veteran

Conn Eremon

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There won't be a formal announcement, since I will hopefully be asleep. But any submitted after that point will not be put to vote. However, that doesn't mean don't submit. I want this thread to live on and continue to produce good stuff, and explore the Primarchs.

 

You never know, this might become a quality Alternate Heresy Generator thread!

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

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Rogal Dorn, The Haunted, Primarch of the Blackened Fist, VII Legion


 

"We walk the ragged edge, the gulf between suffering and dementia. We commit to what others cannot, becuase we are free of morals, and our sight is clear. There is no pride, no honor, no respect; only peaceful compliance or a violent death. Choose."

 

-Sigismund, First Captain of the Envenomed, speaking to the first Governor of Habbas XI


 

The origins of the ruined Demi-God known as Rogal Dorn has forever been a mystery soaked in blood and hatred, though rumors were abound. It has been said that he was pulled from a world shrouded in darkness, and Dorn ruled over a Kingdom of the Dead, beneath the gaze of a broken and blinded angel, hands soaked in sin. It was whispered that he was enslaved to suffering and horror, and endured pain the likes of which any other being would have begged for death. Whatever the truth may be, his upbringing will forever be hidden, as the world of his origins has never been revealed to any outside his Legion. What has been recorded, though, was his first meeting with his gene-sons.

 

The unnamed VII Legion were a proud and noble breed, respected for their battle record and honoured for the many worlds brought into compliance during their march from unified Terra. When they were told that their Gene-Father had been found, they ceased all combat operations and made haste to the rendezvous point given to them. The VII met with the fleet of the mighty IV Legion, led by the Hoplite of Chemos himself, noble Perturabo, and made ready to receive their father aboard the VII flagship, Storm of Wrath. In orderly grey ranks did the VII file into within the ship's landing bay, wishing to make their Father proud. As the Stormbird in the Hellenic heraldry of the Iron Hoplites touched down, and the ramp lowered, the VII were ready to receive. In truth, though, they were not ready at all.

 

Surrounded by a host of the Emperor's Custodians was a hunched and pale faced giant covered in a black cloak, shortly followed by the Hypaspistai of the Imperium himself, Perturabo. The cloaked giant pulled back his hood from familiar, yet alien, features, and drew back the cape from flayed shoulders, to the horrified gasps of his sons. Confusion reigned, and Sigismund, warden of the VII, went to Perturabo with tears in his eyes and questions in his heart. The Lord of Iron and the First Captain of the VII withdrew and spoke for many hours in private, while the Primarch who only refered to himself as The Haunted simply stumbled to a shadowed corner of the bay and sat on his haunches, returning the morbidly curious gazes of his gene-sons with soulless black orbs set in deep sockets, of his own, whispering in a snakes' tongue, all the while still guarded by the Custodes of the Emperor. When Perturabo and Sigismund returned, all life seemed to have been pulled from the First Captain's face. Perturabo, his own face unusually dour, called away the golden Custodes, and made for his craft. At the ramp, he stopped, looked as if he was to say something else, but then simply shook his head in sorrow, and departed.

 

The next year saw no further action from the VII, their ships not even transmitting from the rendezvous point they held, surrounded by the Imperial Army and other delegations who kept a respectful distance. The mortal serfs who later left the service of the VII in fear spoke of the ships lights ripped from their mountings, casting all into darkness, and deeds and banners of their past cast away from their halls. They spoke of a terrible machine called the "pain glove" which was created for the Astartes of the VII to mentally become closer to their monstrous father, and of horrifying screams of pain and soul-rending horror filling every ships' hold. Astartes with blackened gauntlets, so much like their fathers. Of High Gothic subsumed by a whispering snake language, and day always referred to as night. Blood splatters on the walls, brother murdering brother for past sins committed, even while still young. Pain, and suffering, and horror, and desperation. Then, just as an investigation was to be launched, the VII fleet signaled a ready beacon, and made haste to their first compliance. It was said that Perturabo and the honourable Angron listened closely to their astropaths during this time, expecting the worst from the first world visited by The Haunted's sons, and prepared their own for swift movement.

 

But, amazingly, the first world met by the VII was integrated into the Imperial fold without any bloodshed. It had been a quiet, prosperous world, which had hailed Unification of Mankind as a dream made true. The Imperial Governor delivered a grateful message to the Lord of Iron, stating that only one Astartes, Sigismund himself, had visited and made his case for the Imperium and Compliance, which was wildly accepted by a grateful planet. He did, however, remark that the transformation of the noble VII was jarring. Their Unification grey plate was stained in streaked black along the gauntlets and covered in carved scrolling cursive script, barbed chains rattling from pauldrons, eyes of endless oblivion, and a terrible clenched and spiked obsidian fist as their symbol. Despite this, their next world visited complied as well, and all was peaceful.

 

It was not until the events of Habbas XI when the Imperium learned of how far the VII had fallen. Very little is known of the Blackened Fists first visit with the planetary delegation in Teiniaen Hive, only that Compliance was refused outright. As the planet's capital turned away into nightside, the VII struck with the fall of dusk. Never has there been found a survivor of the event, though the Blackened made the planet fully aware of that horrible night. Wide band Voxcasts spread across the world, the airwaves full of screaming and pain, begging and choking, pleading and the wet slap of flesh struck hard. Pic-casts quickly followed, showing city-guards cast from walls, of Astartes with crackling power gauntlets killing with only their hands, uncontrolled and unstoppable, stooped over broken bodies beaten into unrecognizable organic mash. Monsters with ragged black skin-cloaks striking unseen from the shadows, breaking man, woman, and child with every movement of their spiked fists and clawed fingertips. Most horrifying of all was the images of the terrible Lord Dorn himself, striding through black smoke and cinder, white hair flowing from a tortured marble face carved with tears of black blood from obsidian eyes, his curved and barbed grey plate awash with gore and spiked chains, a shattered city guard carried along by a splintered ribcage in his hand.

 

As day broke over the smoking ruins of Teiniaen Hive, no sign of the VII could be seen, though that they had been was undeniable. The entire city was awash in blood and corpses. Atop it all, at the center of the hive-city sat the Governor's palace, now crowned with spiked poles, with every member of the planetary council impaled upon them. That morning, Sigismund the Envenomed visited the second largest city, and repeated his demand of Compliance, telling the new planetary leaders that the previous night had been a lesson that they should learn from, but next time would be taught on a far grander scale. A declaration of surrender and unification was signed before noon, and the planet of Habbas XI Complied. As did two score other nearby planets, who had received the same violent broadcasts. In demonstrating the violence mankind is capable of falling to, The Haunted and his sons taught an entire subsector that is far better to be honourable, than dead.
 

As the Great Crusade has worn on, the Blackened Fist Legion has repeated this action on a dozen worlds, with the same effect, all while absolutely ruining a score of xenos empires, all under the shadowed blanket of night. Though many have protested at their brutal tactics, Angron of Macragge the loudest of all, there is no denying that their results have been effective, as worlds taken by the bloody VII have been a model of Compliance, and entire sub-sectors who have refused the Imperium have quickly changed their minds with only one lesson, instead of decades of war. Of course, those who did not learn from the first lesson will never complain, because none have survived a second....

 

 

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

 

This is not a planet, thought Perturabo, this is a mass grave. The whole city that he now stood in was silent, except for drips of water from the gutters, and creaking metal, and the slap of the pouring rain hitting the concrete. The Hoplite of Chemos bent down, attempting to read a sign written in a complex curving cuniform, but the language was utterly alien to him. Still, it looked like a warning. Or perhaps a declaration of the sternest kind. The obsidian sky and all consuming darkness did not aid him in his endevours, though it at least partially hid the piles of mummified corpses that filled the streets. Father had insisted that he could sense one of their lost brothers upon this world of perpetual night, within this very city, but his thoughts were so disjointed that it was nearly impossible to pinpoint his location. His closest brother Angron, clad in the stunning marble and cobalt of Macragge, was a street down, practically reading his thoughts.

 

"I fear the worst for our lost kin, Perturabo." Concern flecked his voice, unusual to hear in a proud, noble man always so sure of his actions, 'Everything on this world is dead, and they did not die painlessly or easily. Has there been any word from the others?"

 

Perturabo shifted uncomfortably in his plate as he looked down upon a family group, their bodies broken in obscenley violent patterns, still clustered around each other in protection. They looked as they had been stoned to death. Or beaten by a monster, perhaps. Before he could answer, a gruff, harsh voice broke over the vox. "We found him," said Roboute Barabus. "The Lion is with him now, seven streets from your position. You might want to hurry." Forever short in conversation, the link clicked closed. Perturabo and Angron looked to each other, then began running.
 

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

 

As Perturabo rounded the corner, his hoplon loose on his back and fingers upon his sheathed xiphos, he came upon a scene that would be with him until the end. Within a ruined plaza, which may have been a public park, were bodies scattered everywhere in various forms of decompesition. Torn in half. Broken. Dismembered. Crushed. At the centre of the plaza, beneath a granite angel with it's wings shattered and it's eyes gouged out, stood two of his brothers, and a crouched heap of rags between them. On the left was an image of death wrapped in cyonic blue plate, hooded with filthy rough canvas around a jaundiced face, a chipped and stained double-headed axe strapped to his back; Roboute Barabus, master of the XIII. The second Angron came around the same corner, Roboute turned away. Their animosity pained Perturabo, but the mindsets of Angron and Roboute were too distant to ever be brotherly. "I will find Father, though there is little to tell. Personally, I would put that animal down." He walked away into the dark, towards an aura of golden light flickering over the tops of the buildings around them.

 

To the right was a tall and regal warror wrapped in the black and red heraldry of the knightly order of his homeworld, his warplate mimicing this aspect. The Lord of the I Legion, the Lion of Caliban, the tamer of the forest beasts, Magnus the Red-Maned. Horrific scars cut across his face and through one eye socket, leaving the one remaining golden eye, unblinking and unchanging, a solitary opening to his honest heart, framed by flame-red hair, pulled into a tight pony tail with steel rings. Perturabo sensed a deep rooted horror in that soul-window, and suspected that Magnus had already attempted to see into the mind of their lost kin. By the pained lines upon his face, what had been found there had not been...pleasant. "Be cautious, brother. His humours are unsound, and..." The mighty Lion looked down, struggling for words.

 

The rags before them suddenly shook, and blackened hands reached out from soiled cloth, running through grime-caked hair. A heaving voice could be heard below it, animalistic and near hyper-ventilating. "I tried. I tried to teach them, these murderers and rapists." The hands cast away the cloth, revealing scars upon scars, tattoos that resembled contracts, and more alabaster skin. "I tried to teach them to be noble...to honour...to..." Another ragged breath. Magnus and Perturabo shared a glance, not knowing what to say to this wretch. "They enslaved me. They ...broke me and beat me and whipped me and cut me and hurt me, no matter what good or ill I brought them. The chemicals they injected....burned....made me see my death, again, and again, and again. I tried to show them a better path, I threatened them, I begged. They... wouldn't listen. But I grew. I freed myself, when they were finished with their sport, and turned away. I made examples, but still they could not hear the lessons, not even from their bleeding wives and children who preached what I taught." A broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. " So... I purged this den of sin. I hated every second of it, but it had to be done. It. Had. To. Be. Done. I broke every liar. Every killer. Every thief. I twisted them, and ground them, and splintered thier bones and ...I... " This time a gag, and another sobbing sound. "I am free.....I am free...."

 

Molten sunlight filled the shattered plaza, bringing light to the long dead who would never be blinded by it's beauty. The Emperor of Mankind, a supernova at the heart of a star, stood before this ragged man, his own son. The ragged demi-god looked up, revealing a stone-cut face topped with dirty white hair, and ice-blue eyes that slowly revealed themselves as they dialated in reation to their Father's brilliance. "Be at peace, Rogal Dorn", said the Emperor, as he held out a hand, "for I have come to take you home."

 

Dorn's hand raised like he was about to accept the gesture, but then the fingers curled back into blackened fists, and drew away. As the ragged creature stood, Perturabo suddenly realized what had happened, and what Dorn had meant. There had been no war on this planet. His brother had not led a host of like minded freedom fighters to combat evil, and all had died in some extincition level battle. No, he had killed every man, woman, and child, believing all to be evil, by himself. By himself. With just his hands.

 

Perturabo looked again to those blackened limbs, which he had mistaken for mud and dirt. Instead, he realized that Dorn's hands were black with blood; so much, that it had stained his arms to the elbow forever. The murder of every living thing on this planet marked his brother for eternity, as surely as their cruel maltreatment had shattered his mind. Standing somewhat erect finally, Dorn looked to his Father. "The name you speak is not mine, Father. I am known to the loyal citizens of my city as The Haunted, and I know full well what you intend of me."

 

===========================================================================================

 

Perturabo met Angron at the foot of the landing craft, both looking out to a city, a whole world, of genocide fueled by twisted morals. What they suspected had been confirmed by the Mechanicum adepts that had followed them down; all were dead, no sign of life detected. Their Magos was explaining in detail every death they had stumbled across in their expedition, reading from a massive scroll. It was not even half through, and was pooling at his feet.

 

"Enough." Said Perturabo. "Board the ship, Magos. We are leaving. There is nothing and no one left here to save". His face as iron-shod as his heart, he turned to board the ship. Angron called from the foot of the ramp, "And what of the planet, brother? Do we leave these wretches to rot away?" Perturabo glanced one last time at his worst nightmares made real. "Burn the planet. Let these lost souls have a funeral pyre, at the least."

 

And with that, they left a planet whose name would never be known, but whose ghosts would haunt the Imperium of Man forever.

Conn Eremon Veteran

Conn Eremon

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If you find that there is something missing, please provide a link or page number so we can find it. It's a big thread, there were a lot of submissions, we might miss someone. Please be patient with us and help us make sure it is accurate in time for the vote.
Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

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Magnus the Red-Maned, King of the Ordú Claíomh; XV Legion

There is no darkness in the wood, only those too blind to see the trails weaving between their trunks.
-Magnus the Red-Maned, Ghost-Fox of Caliban

Upon the former death world known as Caiban, the Demi-God who would become the Master of the XV Legion spent his formative years in secrecy, growing to adulthood alone deep in the deadly forests. What he experienced in these times remains hidden to all, except for folktales from the knights of the various orders that held back the creatures of the woods; stories of a woad-painted child weaving between poisonous tree trunks, of a boy with skin of fire walking alongside monsters made tame, of fellow knights suddenly saved from death by a scar-faced child with one eye like a rainbow, and arms stronger than the grip of a Calibanite Lion tearing boulders from the ground to form contracentric stone monuments in openings of the deepest thickets.


A knight-king of Caliban known as Luther was first to make true contact with the "Ghost Fox" of myth. During a patrol with a band of his mightiest knights, they had the misfortune of stumbling upon a Calibanite Lion, a horrible monster of fang and quill torn from man's nightmares. Luther and his band fought hard against the creature, but it swiftly savaged half of his band, before leaping upon Luther, tearing the knight-king from his mount. Just as the creature was about to rip his face from his skull, the lion was knocked away in a blur. When Luther regained his footing, he watched on as a powerful, copper-skinned teenager, clad in nothing more than woad paint and a leather loincloth, wrestled with one of the deadliest creature known. The adult-child, pinning the monster, placed his hand upon the lion's brow, closed his one multi-hued eye, and breathed out. The lion beneath him went slack, and a light of true life glowed within it's formerly soulless depths. Before Luther's sight, the horrible mutations of the lion's flesh retracted and faded away, leaving a much more mundane animal behind. The mysterious Red-Mane stepped away, as the lion shook it's head in confusion, then calmly walked away into the depths of the forest. Amazed by the miracle, Luther approached the red and blue teen, and asked his name and order of birth, to which the Fox replied, 'I know not from where I come, or what name to call myself beyond that which your kind have already named me. I am simply of, and not of, these woods.' Luther offered to take the teen into his Order, curious of the boy's abilities to cleanse the monsters the world, of which the youngling tentatively agreed to. Naming the boy Magnus, after the spirit-gods that haunted the deep wood in the old myths, Luther took him under his wing as his adoptive son.

 

As the years passed, Magnus was taught the ways of the knightly orders, while he in turn taught those who had the roaming sight of the druid-knights how to use their talents to transform the monsters of their realm into animals of flesh and blood, and instructed those who did not how to write intricate knotwork scriptures into their proto-armour and blades to defend themselves against the same. Seeing the successes of Luther's Order, other knightly orders paid homage to Magnus's king, desiring to learn how they had cleansed the horrors of the forest, and one by one, every single knight on Caliban eventually swore themselves to Luther and Magnus's kingdom. Declaring Magnus as High King, Luther presented a plan before the kings of the world to forever rid Caiban of darkness, a crusade of purification, led by the mighty Red-Mane himself. Magnus humbly accepted the simple crown, placed upon his brow by his proud adoptive Father, and rose to the sound of fists hammered against chestplates.

 

By the time the Imperium of Mankind found Caliban, the Emperor and the Imperial delegation set their feet upon a garden world of rich, deep forests; of fresh, cold streams weaving between healthy oak trees; and docile animals, both large and small, flitting branch to branch, and meandering away through the forests. The people of the world were at peace with their surroundings, no longer fearing the depths of the dark wood. Already waiting for them was a crowd of citizens and a massive host of druid knights upon white steeds, clad in proto-armour the color of rich wine, weaved throughout with intricate knotwork of obsidian, and covered with hooded robes of cream. Magnus stood at their center, armour alike his brethren, his noble visage split between vicious scars that had taken his sight on one side, and his other eye which flickered from one hue to another, all framed by copper hair bound with steel circlets into a tight ponytail. Dropping to one knee before his Father, Magnus presented his beautifully crafted and elegant curved sword to him, hilt first. The Emperor gently placed his golden hand upon the blade, his other upon his sons' brow, and all were blinded by the brilliance of two of the greatest minds in existance meeting for the first time. A moment later, and the gesture was withdrawn, a smile upon both father and sons face, understanding written on Magnus's visage. As the Emperor turned and left, the Red-Maned spoke to the noble men and women of his world, and explained to them what the Emperor had shown him. They learned of the unification of all of mankind, of worlds beyond their borders, of wars against the evils of the universe, and of Magnus's demi-god sons, born of his flesh, that would be arriving shortly. For the moment, the people rejoiced, not knowing what the future held.

 

When the sons of Magnus arrived days later, the knight orders assembled in mighty rows with flapping banners at their back, expecting a legion of god-men. What exited the ships, though, was barely two thousand Astartes, their plain grey armour chipped and worn, their heads low. Though their size and presence was unmistakable, their mannerisms were of desperate men who had lost hope. Magnus, shocked at the appearance of his sons, spoke to the leader of them all, a warrior-mystic called Ahriman. He spoke to his gene-father of the Curse of their flesh, of the change that took them one by one, and the failures of all of mankind to find a cure for their malady. Magnus shed tears at the stories of their trials, and his broken face grew serious. He ordered his sons to follow him into the wooded depths, and told the knightly orders of his homeworld to ensure none followed. Magnus led his sorrowful children into the forests, towards his very first monolith he had constructed as a youth, and none were seen again for many weeks.

 

When they returned, a change had taken them all. The Sons of Magnus were bare except simple loincloths, their warplate gone, their bodies tattooed with mystical knotwork from head to toe. Magnus, too, had changed, his singular eye forever golden, never blinking, always watching. His skin, once the color of molten bronze, was now a more mundane dusky hue, his face drawn and hollow. As the last of them left the deep wood towards Luther's castle, one could see diminutive creatures in robes, watching Magnus and his children depart, before they faded into the thicket. What had happened at the monolith would never be spoken of, though the effect upon those of Magnus's sons was obvious. They were strong again, heads held high, ready for their destiny. Only Magnus would look sorrowful when the subject was broached, as if it had been a terrible tragedy, or a horrible secret had been revealed to him. Despite this, the Ghost-Fox re-introduced his sons to the order and his adoptive father as new men reborn of the forest, as he had been when Luther first found him, and they were inducted into Knighthood.

 

With the assistance of the Martian Mechanicum, and forever in balance with their garden world, their castles were recreated as technological marvels, each becoming the home for a part of the reborn Legion as they learned the knotwork scriptures of warding, the blade art of the Claíomh Damhsa, and the psychic disciplines of the Wanderer. The knights of the orders clamored to follow their great King into their stars, and the Mechanicum was ordered to turn the men and women of the sword into post-humans as best they could, their skills and knowledge forever appreciated by their king. The youth of the orders were made into Astartes, the elders and females given as much alteration as possible to make them mighty. Five years later, the XV Legion, now named Ordú Claíomh, their warplate marked with a silver knotwork tree guarded by crossed swords, took to the stars to unify all of mankind in the Emperor's name.

 

Though their victories were great, as the Ordú Claíomh used their mighty psychic abilities to smite the terrible xenos enslaving entire sectors, Magnus the Red-Maned forever looked sorrowfully towards his sons and daughters, knowing that there would be a terrible price to pay for saving their lives so many years before.... one day...

Kol Saresk Venerable Brother

Kol Saresk

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Okay, this is something I have never done before, so please bear with me. And don't be surprised if I riddle BnC with bolter holes if it doesn't work.
 

 


Lion El’Jonson


Planet


Link


Author


Cthonia


http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/?p=3463534


Grimdarkness


Chogoris


http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-4?do=findComment&comment=3462133


Cormac


Nocturne


http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/?p=3463429


Bohemond


Macragge


http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/280098-nature-vs-nurture-the-what-if-edition/page-17?do=findComment&comment=3466033


MarshalGR

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

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Alpharius Swifthand and Omegon Bloodbound, Primarchs of the XX Legion and XXI Legion

 

"My twin? He's a sorry criminal, always has been. It'll be a wonderful day for the Imperium when I hear of his death."

-Alpharius Swifthand, Lupercal of the Cerberus


 

"There's a reason we still run around in the dark with knives at our backs. We're the last damn thing my brother will see, if the spoiled bastard ever steps out of line.."

-Omegon Bloodbound, Gang-Lord of the Effrit Legion


 

Cthonia, a barren planet, stripped of all resources, riven with crumbling factory-hives and interconnecting mining catacombs, was the home of constant violent gang wars between the populace of the abandoned world. Anything of value that could be taken or used, when found, would swiftly become the site of a bloodbath, as rival gang lords would spill any amount of blood to obtain such a reward. Thus, when a star fell from the sky and slammed into an abandoned hanger, nearly seventeen gangs swept forward to mark their claim, hoping that a starship had crashed, leaving a wealth of treasures behind. The first Cthonian gang to get on site were the Justaerin Swifthands, though the area was quickly contested by the Catulan Bloodbound. Gunfire already sweeping through the open bay, most of the gangers took cover, moving swiftly from wreckage to rubble in an attempt to get to the ship before their rivals. Upon reaching the crater, both groups saw not a ship, but a capsule, with two infants within, an engraved "XX" above the pod's door.

 

Perhaps not the prize they were hoping for; but assuming that it may have been a lifeboat from a dying ship, the gang members hoped that some rich fool would be willing to submit to a ransom. The Justaerins were able to grab the first child, but not the second, as a member of the Catulans swiftly nabbed the other and ran off into shadow and catacomb. Wanting the other child, but unwilling to stray into Bloodbound home territory, the Swifthands decided to cut losses, and disengaged from the battle. As the years passed and the twins grew, both groups would come to realize that, though no ransom would ever be put forth, they had obtained something far greater than resources from these Star-Children; they had gained an opportuity to crush their rivals. Even though both were raised into a gang culture, the upbringing of the twins could not have been more different.

 

The Justaerins of Swifthand claimed to have once been the backbone of the military elite of Cthonia in ancient days, and attempted to hold to some of these traditions. Furthermore, they claimed that they had only fallen to this level of criminal activity to survive, thus held themselves to a higher pedigree than all others. Life could be as normal as one could think of on such a ruined world, as long as a member pulled his weight and contributed to the gang. Ascending the rank structure was earned through dedication and hard work. Recognizing the sharp mind and tactical capabilities of the young child they were developing, they named him Alpharius, the first of a fresh hope to unify the planet under their rule. He quickly grasped the concepts of squad-based movement, handling of explosives, setting of ambushes, and navigating the narrow maze-catacombs of the planet under fire, swiftly outstripping his tutors, and eventually leading entire "termination and compliance" teams through rival gang territory, targeting the leaders of enemy gangs, and ripping out their throats through overlapping ambushes. One after another, ruined hive-factories fell in line with the Justaerins, with Alpharius at their head, slowly claiming vast swathes of territory of the wasteland of their homeworld.

 

The Catulans of the Bloodbound pretended to be nothing but what they were; criminals and thieves, just trying to survive in a hostile world. They held to no honor system beyond grudge matches and victory tattoos, and the only way to survive and advance in their society was to spill more blood and break more bones than your rival. The star-child being raised by their current warlord named the boy Omegon, indictive of the Bloodbound's perfered method of warfare, being shadow-kills and assassinations; never seen until it was too late. Omegon was far more clever and crafty than even the best of their kind could ever be, and he quickly was teaching his teachers in the art of infiltration, psychological warfare, trap-setting, misdirection and blood operations. As they absorbed gang after gang through overlapping plans and subterfuge, the Catulans, with Omegon now at their head as their master, quickly took control of the other half of their ruined world. The inevitable finally happened in the city-district of Ha'adek, the two rival gangs, led by opposing twin brothers, went to war against each other.
 

Hours turned to days, then weeks, then months, as the war became a shadow game of ambushes of groups with overwhelming crossfires, and of blackened knives taking throats, bodies hidden in ruins and ditches and culverts, detonating trip-mines, and sniper fire. Suddenly, all eyes turned towards the heavens as the sky fell on the contrails of an inferno. Massive, clawed pods slammed into the ground, and gods of war fell from aperatures beneath them, targeting any who dared fire on them, killing any opposing groups. Caught in the middle of the drop pod assault, both of the twins fought against the invaders, killing dozens of the armoured giants before meeting something unique: not even one of their kind, but something far greater. A massive warrior with armour the color of the sun covering his frame, stopped every blow aimed at him, every knife thrust swiped, every hard round swatted away at the tip of his flaming sword. Suddenly, the warrior howled for a halt to their conflict, his voice driving every man to their knees, whether they wanted to or not. He revealed himself as their Father, and demanded a halt to the conflict engulfing the world. Grudgingly, the twins did exactly that, though their hatred still burned beneath the uneasy truce.

 

Alpharius and Omegon were taken to Terra, not only to learn of their destiny and future as leaders of men of the Great Crusade and allow time for their young Legion to recruit from their homeworld and grow, but also as an attempt by their father to heal the rift that had grown between his twin sons on Cthonia. Such endevours failed; the anger and hatred ran too deep. The Twins were introduced to their young Legion, marked as the XX; Immedietley, there were severe problems, almost culminating in an Legionary Civil War, as the XX drew back into camps. Those recruits drawn from the Justaerin gangs, and nearly every surviving Terran, fell under Alpharius, seeing in his more militaristic upbringing as the natural leader of the Legion. Those taken from the Catulan, and the few recruits adopted from other locations in the Sol system, saw the wisdom in the clandestine tactics of Omegon, and drew to his side as their leader. When gunfire began to ring out on the ships not even yet undocked from the Saturnine shipyards, the Emperor stepped in. Angry at his sons for such behavior, he commited to the unthinkable, and split the Legion in twain, effectivley creating a twenty-first Legion. Furthermore, they were ordered to opposite sides of the Crusade, and were sworn from ever making contact outside of compliance action, which had to be made between an intermediary. The twins complied. Barely.

 

Alpharius, now hailed as Lupercal, named the XX the Cerberus, a symbol for their multi-direction suprise ambushes and crushing assaults leaving enemy armies leaderless, and sending them straight into the gates of Hell. Their symbol was the three headed hell-guard of their namesake, the arching alpha insignia behind it. Their armour took the royal blue hue of the ancient military orders of Cthonia, and the Legion did everything in their power to aquire as much Cataphractii Terminator plate as they could, along with transporters for their fleet, to supplement their forces perferred tactics. Forever alongside his sons, Alpharius could be seen, still with a archeotech pistol at each hip and a power machete over each shoulder, though all more powerful than the more mundane weapons of his youth, leading every ambush of the emperor's foes with textbook efficiency, surrounded by his elite Justaerin.

 

Omegon, forever the Gang-Lord, renamed his newly founded XXI the Effrit Legion, after the mythical creatures of Terra's ancient deserts. Shoulders marked with Omegon's personal symbol, chained across it's width, sat upon Infiltrator pattern armour that was coated in camoline paint, which would shimmer an iridecent green-blue when not active. Despite his rough upbringing, Omegon was utterly devouted to his Father's dream, as was determined to exceed his brother in everything he did. With his powered stilletos in each hand, and his custom-made sniper rifle slung across his chest, he leads his silent and thuggish Catulan infiltrators deep into enemy territory, striking the Imperium's foes before they even had realized they had a reason to fear the shadows.

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

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Perturabo, Hypaspistai of the Imperium, Primarch of the Iron Hoplites, IV Legion


 

"Remember always that the worlds we bring into glorious Compliance are the pillars of our newfound Empire. Our treatment of those who become unified in mankind's destiny will decide whether we stand strong, or fall into ruin. Plant the seed of honour and respect with every world we make contact with, in both war and peace; and we, as a species, shall become grounded with a deep foundation, strong walls, and a citizenry dedicated to it's glory. With honour, cometh strength."

 

-XIX Chapter, LVII Paragraph of Perturabo's Treatise on Legiones Codification.

 

 

Chemos. A world choking on it's own industry; it's soil, water and air poisoned from centuries of pollution, it's populace forced into fortress-factories, working unto death, in an effort to simply survive. It was upon this wasteland of a world where the Demi-God who would become the Lord of Iron fell, landing in one of the abandoned farmlands of Callax. Found and taken in by a menial family, the dark haired child with stormcloud eyes was named Perturabo, ancient Chemosian for "New Dawn". The child grew swiftly, and worked harder than all in the factories, to repay his family-group for adopting him, though they were forced to live off of shortened rations to sustain him as a babe. The boy's mind was sharp, and with hard work and dedication, was able to increase production of the factory in which he toiled, even going so far as to re-engineer the tools and machines of his trade, lightening the workload of the bent-backed people who cherished their adopted son as a true miracle. The Overseers of Callax Forge came to Perturabo after hearing of his accomplishments over the years, demanding to know the secrets that they thought he hid and used to re-forge the factory machines, to which he replied "I am a simple man with rough hands. I hold no secrets; my strength comes from my family's love, my mind bent to bettering the lives of those who have sweat upon their brow." The Overseers offered him power, riches, anything he desired if he would simply abandon his factory and become one with them, to which he flatly refused. Instead, he made a counter-offer: Step aside in peace, and assist in rebuilding the world they lived in, or be overthrown by a workers revolt, and placed in prison. Though they were proud and stubborn, the Overseers saw in the young giant's eyes a terrible power if angered, as well as the crowd behind him who were ready to defend their adopted family member to the death, and wisely accepted Perturabo's terms.

 

Though the Overseers prepared for the worst, and had pre-set schemes to regain power, Perturabo worked hard to not alienate the former factory masters; he explained to the people that they were simply doing what they knew would keep them all alive, so as to prevent bloodshed or a second revolt, and ensured to keep the former masters involved in all plans. In the end, the reformative societal revolution was the final decider. Piece by piece, and week by week, Perturabo finally won them over, especially as they saw his amazing and audacious plan to raise Chemos from the ashes. He set the greatest minds to creating purification machines, to cleanse their poisoned world, and increased productivity in the factory a million-fold though new machines crafted from the depths of his overactive and creative mind. It was said during these hard times, Perturabo never slept and was everywhere at once; travelling from Factory-Hive to Factory-Hive to develop political ties, designing blueprint after blueprint, walking amongst the people and working alongside them, delivering water and rations to the workers, and aiding the scientists in their endeavors. Most of all, he gathered whatever ancient knowledge he could pull from the blasted soil as it healed, reading and learning of all humanity's past he could. Inspired by bits and pieces of ancient myth and art pulled from the poisoned soil, forms of culture long forgotten in the drive to maintain survival, Perturabo was soon tearing down the rusting steel of abandoned buildings, and instead raising vaulted buildings resting upon fluted columns, carved from the stone of Chemos herself, monuments of men with strong minds who inspired his spirit, and beautiful frescos carved from jade threaded Chemosian Marble, celebrating a society who worked hand in hand for the betterment of all.

 

When the Emperor came to Chemos, he found a world of beautiful granite cliffs and snow capped mountains, with marble and stone cities inspired by mythical architecture raised from what was once poisonous and useless soil, now rich with gene-engineered fruit trees, and a proud people who were rewarded for their hard work with the bounties of a world reborn. Nowhere to be seen were the factories of the old world; they had been torn down and recycled, every single piece of metal reused. Perturabo met his Father in the remade capital of Callasi, and it was said that when they met, it was with a warm embrace of not only father and son reunited, but also of two men who appreciated the artisan's mind. Shortly behind were the sons of Perturabo's flesh, the IV Legion Astartes, who were amazed by their father's work, their mason's heart swelling with pride of the legacy they were being shown, and would soon be a part of. Perturabo was also greeted by his brother, Angron, whose homeworld shared many of the same structure and aesthetics, and the two quickly became close. The Emperor and his two sons stayed for many weeks, traveling the world and enjoying fine Chemosian wine, while speaking of the Unification of all mankind, the Primarchs and their Legion-Sons at the forefront. This dream, to Perturabo's eternally creative Masonite mind, was the challenge he felt he was born to; raising the worlds of mankind and their people from ashes into glory, much as he had done for blasted Chemos. Eventually, the Emperor was forced to depart with great fanfare and shed tears, the demands of the Great Crusade calling him away, but mighty Angron and his sons stayed behind for a time. The Lord of Macragge began teaching his brother the art of war, and Perturabo instilled in his sons the ethics he had been born into as they trained; honour and respect, always preserving what could be saved, forever in the name and defense of the people under their guard. Never would combat be treated as an end, only as a means to begin a healing process, to bring lost societies into the Imperium, and rebuild what was lost. The lessons of war taught, Angron took his leave from his beloved brother with great sorrow, but with promises to meet again soon at the forefront of the expanding Crusade.

 

A year later, with the Mechanicum of Mars upgrading the hidden mountain factories of Chemos and placing shipyards in her clear, jeweled sky, the IV Legion took leave from their work to much acclaim of the people, and reached out to other worlds of Mankind and bring them into the fold. Renamed the Iron Hoplites in representation of their duty to guide and protect the citizens of the Emperor's realm, their iron armour marked with unique Chemosian artwork and the gated Iron Mask of Callasi showing their warrior-mason mindset to the galaxy, the mighty IV began their march into the stars. Within a few short years, the Iron Hoplites gained a reputation as honour-bound warriors, guardians of the weak, masters of chisel and hammer, the great shield-wall of mankind. With Xiphos and Lance, the Hoplites exterminated the alien, freed the poor and enslaved, and spent time rebuilding the worlds they walked upon, always leaving a delegation of guardians behind to ensure their continued freedom and safety. After the War of Raining Fire against the vast Kine hordes of that sector, Perturabo and his glorious and humble Legion earned the title "Hypaspistai of the Imperium", bestowed by the Emperor himself, with his beloved brother Angron smiling alongside him, honoured as well.

 

This is how the Iron Hoplites of Chemos are known, and forever remembered; empire-builders, saviors, Lord-Masons and Shield Bearers. With calloused hands and humble hearts, they serve and protect the dream of humanity reunited and transcendent. Glory to the IV.

Wade Garrett Veteran

Wade Garrett

Posted
Posted

If you find that there is something missing, please provide a link or page number so we can find it. It's a big thread, there were a lot of submissions, we might miss someone. Please be patient with us and help us make sure it is accurate in time for the vote.

"We've entered realspace, Father." The novice squeaked, awe of the mighty figure kneeling in the Jure Divinus's main reclusiam radiating off him. The prostrate giant did not acknowledge him, but continued to stare straight ahead while he repeated the Litany of Duty again and again, seeking clarity for the task he would soon have to perform. He could scarcely credit the Warmaster's orders, but the evidence his armada had collected as they had followed in the wake of his brother's Legion left little room for doubt.

 

The Angels of Mercy had completely withdrawn from the Crusade, only stopping their pusillanimous drive towards their dark homeworld to ravage various IMPERIAL planets along the way. The high riders of Nuceria, the Tech Guild of Deliverance...the Ninth Legion had left a trail of mas executions and eviscerated societies in their wake, and only the Emperor Himself could know what insanity they were plotting in Nostromo's serpentine alleyways.

 

"And the Master of Mankind shall know you, not by your glories and your triumphs, but by your scars." Rogal Dorn, the Martyr King of Colchis, finished the familiar refrain, but his mind still roiled with the unaccustomed emotions of uncertainty and doubt. To go to war with his brother seemed blasphemous, yet what choice did he have? He was oathed to the moment, his orders to drag Sanguinus back to Terra, dead or alive. The thought of his oath to the Emperor settled it.

 

He would take this burden on his shoulders as he had so many others, as he had done on Colchis so long ago, when he had demanded the Covenant take their sacrifice from HIS flesh instead of the pre selected victims gathered on the temple steps. Servos in his armor groaned as he stood, the mighty war plate etched with a hundred thousand scars, cracks, and burn marks, each one a silent remembrance of a moment when he had shielded his little brothers with his own divine form. The Emperor's will be done.

 

Colchisian Dorn:

Canon Dorn has always had an...interesting relationship with pain and suffering. And one of the things many religions share is...I'm having trouble putting it into words. The nobility of those who suffer for their beliefs, are martyred for their faiths, who endure suffering for others. "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."

 

The scene I imagined when I had the idea for him:

The Covenant of Colchis is still practicing human sacrifice (see The First Heretic, where Lorgar tells Argel Tal that Erebus and Kor Phaeron would have recognized the bloody ritual that Ingethel is conducting) but they do allow a volunteer to take one of the victims places. Dorn steps in between the priests and the first victim, and tells them to take him instead. They turn that fellow loose, do their cutting on Rogal, and get ready to move onto the next one...when Dorn stands up, steps between them and that victim as well, and says to take him instead. And he repeats this until every victim has walked free, and he himself has been mutilated beyond belief...but he rises from the horror of his sacrifice and tells the assembled people that from now on there will be a new Covenant.

 

And then they make him King of Colchis, because, well, what ELSE can you do in that situation?

 

I can see his Legion having the practices of Vraal in Soul Hunter, or the Excoriators in Legion of the Damned, where they repair their armor and weapons after the fight but leave as much of the cosmetic damage as they can, just to show how much they can take. Of course, when you start taking pride in pain, actively seeking out suffering to show you can handle more of it than the next guy....sounds like somebody's angling for the Dedicated Slaanesh or Nurgle Legion spot!

 

 

The above is a compilation of my stuff from page 20-21 of the thread.

Ace Debonair Venerable Brother

Ace Debonair

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-=-= Magnus the Blind, Lord of the Thousand Eyes =-=-

The Primarch of the XV Legion landed on the planet of Colchis, a devoutly religious world. Seen as a sign from their great gods, the people of Colchis were quick to worship and laud Magnus as he grew up under the care of the high priests. His powerful psychic talents were used as evidence of the divine, and Magnus was called upon time and time again to perform 'miracles' for those who devoted themselves wholly to the church. Magnus was happy enough with his life, spending much of it in study and more of it exploring the depths of his own powers. Infrequently Magnus would be called upon to fight in the name of his church, as they warred against non-believers.

Then, one day, Magnus psychically beheld a presence, brighter and stronger than the sun, coming towards Colchis. Overwhelmed, Magnus babbled to the priests about the return of their saviour, and was hailed as a prophet.

When the Emperor arrived, he was greeted with an elaborate religious ceremony, during which he was reintroduced to his son. Magnus, immediately feeling a connection with the Emperor, set out to impress his father with the greatest feat of psychic power he could muster. However, Magnus drew too deeply on the powers of the warp, and something went terribly wrong. Around Magnus, daemons materialised and moved to attack the Emperor. The Emperor banished them with barely a movement and reached out for his son with his mind, hauling Magnus back to sanity and the materium and quashing temporarily his psychic abilities.

His son was saved, but at a price. Magnus' eyes had virtually dissolved, leaving the Primarch sightless and terrified. The Emperor counselled his wounded son in the ways of the psyker, for days on end, training him to see the world through his mind.

Eventually, Magnus was gifted command of his own Legion. While the existing legionnaires struggled to deal with the flesh change, the Emperor's intervention had further reaching consequences than first realised. Subsequent gene sons inducted to the legion had a much lower chance of succumbing to the flesh change, and Magnus was quick to bind himself to his pre-existing sons, minimising their chances of suffering as best he could.

The Emperor and Ferrus Regnus both taught Magnus much of the ways of war, but the former's sternness after Magnus' over-reaching himself and the latter's overbearing, pitiless attitude meant Magnus grew somewhat resentful.

Sensing the time was right, high priest Kor Phaeron whispered to Magnus of the great and ancient Gods of Chaos, promising him a thousand boons if he would but obey them. Magnus hesitated for a long, dangerous moment before replying.

"No."

"But He blinded you!"

"And yet some things I now see very clearly."

History does not record what happened to Kor Phaeron and his brother high priests, but the influence of Chaos slipped away from Magnus' Legion, called the Thousand Eyes, and eventually, even the planet of Colchis.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Phew. I go to bed and suddenly there's a deadline set an hour after I wake up.ermm.gif

Hopefully anyone who reads this enjoys it, 'cause I had fun writing it.happy.png

EDIT:

My inspiration for this one honestly just came from the name 'Magnus the Blind', so I couldn't really say if I've done his personality justice. Or that of Colchis, for that matter, but hey, it's a neat idea, right? Right?

Adra'Melek Veteran

Adra'Melek

Posted
Posted

Well that's about it then. I'm in work for the next 10 hours or so. Will we be voting one at a time or are we going to put our choice for each in one go? I'd prefer the latter. Keeps a posters votes all together and allows some consideration.

 

Darn that Heathens coming back. I could have knocked up a quick Perturabo at 5 to 8 and got one in by default :)

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